Hamlet turned to rest his head against Horatio’s chest, gently stroking delicate fingers against the tanned skin. He hummed happily, allowing himself a rare smile in the privacy of Horatio’s embrace. Ever since his father’s unexpected death and his mother’s hasty remarriage, nothing, not even Ophelia (especially Ophelia, he thought with distaste), seemed to make him feel joy anymore. Nothing, save for the comforting smile and calming voice of his Horatio.
“I’m glad you’ve come back to visit, Horatio,” he said quietly, tilting his head up to see Horatio’s face. “I’ve been terribly dreary since the funeral and wedding.” Hamlet frowned, even the mere memory of the events enough to sour his mood.
Horatio grinned cheekily and said, “Of course, Lettie. After all, what are best friends for?” He raised an eyebrow and poked Hamlet in the shoulder, daring him to keep the frown upon his face.
Hamlet easily gave in to Horatio’s light teasing, letting a few stray laughs escape his mouth. “Friends,” he whispered with a wink, “how laughable. If they knew just how close we are, I fear my mother and Claudius would exile you from the country altogether!”
The pair laughed, Hamlet’s deeper tones blending with Horatio’s lighter ones in natural harmony, until Hamlet clapped a hand over Horatio’s mouth. “Hush,” he said urgently.
A knock sounded at the door. “Hamlet? Is everything alright? I thought I heard a noise,” said his mother.
“I’m fine,” Hamlet called out. “I must have been talking in my sleep and I woke myself up.”
“Just as well,” said Gertrude, “for I wish to speak with you. May I come in?”
“Uh—ah—of course, mother,” Hamlet replied, frantically glancing between Horatio and the door. Finally, he pushed the other teen beneath the coverlet and piled his pillows on top of him as his mother came through the door.
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