i wake up more awake (more than i've ever been before)
#sscappreciationweek / day one: favorite episode - “1x05: nature hath framed strange fellows in her time”
for day one i decided to write a missing scene from my favorite episode, “nature hath framed strange fellows in her time.” takes place directly after the rosvolio bath scene.
summary: rosaline decides that she and benvolio will need to rest before continuing to travel through the night. it’s an innocent enough comment, but figuring out sleeping arrangements will be a little more complicated.
“We’ll need to rest before traveling through the night,” Rosaline says as she wipes the tiny smile from her face, her cheeks still warm from her stolen look at the Montague. “Especially you.”
She turns to look at him again when she hears his incredulous snort. This time he’s clothed, thankfully. “Why ‘especially me,’ Capulet? Clearly you underestimate my ability to stay up all through the night.” He quirks an eyebrow, and she rolls her eyes; she’s become used to his innuendos by now.
“You’re a dead man on your feet, Montague.”
“Yes, I think I’ve noticed, considering I’m accused of murder and have an execution sentence hanging over my head.”
Rosaline shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean you look tired. I’ve seen the past few days taking their toll on you. You need to sleep.”
His face softens a bit at that. “And what of you? I’ve hardly seen you napping while we ran for our lives, either.”
And as much as she hates to admit it, he’s not wrong. Both of them have hardly slept since they left Verona in the dead of night. She’s dozed off for a few minutes at a time, but they had to keep a quick pace if they wanted to outrun anyone who might have come after them, so those moments of quiet were always short-lived. Truth be told, she’s completely exhausted. A few hours of sleep would do both of them some good.
“We both need some sleep, Montague,” she concedes. “We can wake when night falls and begin our journey, just as we planned.” She stands up and adds, “You can take the bed.”
The Montague looks outraged at this proposition. “No, Capulet, you take the bed, I insist. You’re a lady.”
“And you’re a convicted criminal on the run! If anyone needs to rest right now, it’s you. I’ll take the chair.”
“Over my dead body.”
“That can be arranged, Montague.”
They stand face-to-face, arms crossed, staring at each other with glares of ice and fire. Finally, Rosaline drops her arms and sighs, kicking off her shoes and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Fine. I’ll take this side of the bed, and you can take that side.”
The Montague’s eyes widen; if she’s not mistaken, he looks a bit appalled at the idea. “I can't—”
“You can. I may be a Capulet, but I promise that sleeping in the same bed as me for a few hours won’t kill you.”
“It’s not that, Rosaline,” he says, and her heart softens when she hears him call her by her given name again, just as he had the night they left Verona. “What of your honor?”
“My honor?” she repeats. It was the last thing that would have come to her mind. “What honor? I ran away willingly with a man in the middle of the night. My honor is almost certainly in question already.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, and she looks up in surprise.
“Sorry for what?”
“For forcing you to risk everything to come with me.”
“You didn’t force me,” she says, and she hopes her eyes convey the sincerity in her words. “It was my choice. I chose to come with you because you are innocent, and I do not wish to see you die. Now, will you please stop talking so we can do a bit more sleeping?”
The Montague chuckles at that, and Rosaline smiles in satisfaction. She lays down beneath the covers and turns toward the wall, listening as Benvolio closes the curtains, snuffs out a candle, and takes off his boots. It’s oddly intimate, and she can’t keep her cheeks from flaming.
A few minutes later, he climbs carefully into the bed; Rosaline can tell that he’s wary of touching her. She never would have guessed that a Montague could be such a gentleman.
“Goodnight, Capulet,” he says into the darkness.
She almost lets it go. Almost. “It’s the middle of the day, Montague.”
“Just trying to be polite, Capulet. Always a pleasure with you.”
She chuckles lowly, pulling the blankets closer to her chest. “Sleep well, Benvolio.”
(And if she smiles a little when she says his name and hopes that he smiled, too, she doesn’t think about it.)
(And if she wakes up hours later only to find his body pressed against her back and the warmth of his arm wrapped around her waist, and if she pretends to sleep for a few more minutes before waking him, she doesn’t think about that, either.)