Perhaps the burning heat had addled my brains; I thought at first it must be so, for I was surely hallucinating. I knew that the figure beside me – who seemed like a god in my eyes – was no more an immortal than I was a Capulet. Was it just a cruel trick of the blinding sunlight that sparkled in his black eyes and polished them a devastating onyx, and that seemed to transform his quick grin into a dazzling, dizzying smile? I knew full well that he was no more nor less – never less, for we barely ever fought – than my best friend, Mercutio, but in the drought of July I became aware of something deeper. While my kinsman Romeo busied himself with his pursuit of the unfortunate maid that had become the subject of his latest fickle affections, I preferred simply to sit and listen to Mercutio's chatter. My boyhood companions had grown up and become young men – as had I – and many were newly married, yet the very idea of marriage repulsed me. And had my father not chided me of late for my closeness to Mercutio?

…

I had been sitting on a bench underneath one of the trees in the orchard, Mercutio leaning against the garden wall and chattering away. Although a book had been open on my lap I neglected even the pretence of reading it – I was too engrossed in what my friend was saying (and unaware that this was anything beyond the ordinary. At that point, I naïvely assumed everyone was as fascinated by Mercutio as I was.) It was not until my father spoke that I realised he and my mother had been there all the time, standing quietly by a trellis and watching us.

"Mercutio, thy father desires a word with thee," my father had said, and Mercutio nodded once – they shared a glance which I thought nothing of at the time. Then he slipped away, stealthy and silent as a jaguar.

My father had turned to me then.

"'Tis most unnatural for a youth," he had scolded, observing how my time was spent chiefly with Mercutio and – if he could bear to be apart from the lady he was chasing at the time – Romeo. "Wilt thou not find some pretty maid of whom to make a happy bride?" Then my aunt – who had clung to the arm of my uncle while he spoke – had regarded me with serious eyes that seemed to bore into my soul, searching for something that could not be found and that (so few days ago!) I did not understand.

I understood now, painfully so. The thought had come to me – borne on the wave of heat that stifled Verona – as I sat in the sunlight watching him two days ago. Since then, it had festered in my brain like a fever waiting to strike.

…

Being so near to Mercutio as now was both agonising and wonderful in seemingly impossible measure. But mostly, as we walked side by side – I was all too aware of the tiny space between us, the minimal and yet Herculean effort it would take to reach out and touch his hand – my stubborn heart concentrated on the pain.

The heat of the day was upon us, its oppressive atmosphere prompting in me a foreboding that warned the Capulets were near – and in these temperatures they would be as hot for a fight as any. If we met any of that house, a quarrel (the likes of which had been lately banned by Prince Escalus) would surely follow.

To my annoyance, I could not keep the tremor from my voice as I conveyed all this to Mercutio. In my awe, I was as a newly born lamb over my tone and the things which my face betrayed to the world. I sounded both a fool and a coward, I knew.

My odd behaviour had not gone unnoticed by Mercutio. He laughed and told me how he had noted that I would often, upon entering a tavern, lay my sword on the table as if to abandon it, but after two cups of ale I would be fighting with another youth for little reason.

"Am I such a fellow?" I asked in surprise. Secretly, I thought Mercutio himself better befitted that description, but who was I to argue with this kinsman of the Prince and my very friend? (I wished that he could be more than that, but I knew it was not to be.) I loathed myself then for doubting his opinion.

"Come, come, thou art as hot a Jack as any in Italy; and as soon moved to be moody, and as soon moody to be moved."

He was off again, his clever mind forming pun after pun to fire at my inferior wit. Mine was no match for his sense of humour, but I played along and let him talk, rejoicing in the silver sound of his voice. It was like music, the most beautiful music that I had ever heard, the music of angels playing on golden harps…The words lost all meaning before long, but my ears drank them gladly. I spoke as little as I could, for I hated to interrupt the merry stream of words that flowed so naturally from lips too rosy and flawless for my eyes to turn away.

Distraction enough presented itself in good time. A shadow fell across the ground before our feet, and I froze in dread as I recognised the blond figure storming towards us, followed by a trio of mean-looking youths. My mouth and throat dried up. "By my head," I croaked out shakily, "here come the Capulets."

Mercutio's eyes sparkled, no figment of my imagination this time but a fervour of barely concealed excitement. He grinned wickedly, instilling a deeper dread within me. Thiswas as I had feared. "By my heel, I care not." And before I could stop him, he strode towards the approaching Tybalt.