#can you imagine neil in the red dress from the 1968 romeo and juliet film

[jemej3m]

Idk if I said this already but Romeo and Juliet au where Nathan makes sure Neil doesn’t marry Andrew and Neil and Andrew are a little smarter than the original Romeo and Juliet

how much smarter, though

*

Red gown, drawn above his waist. The sleeves fell from the elbow, sweeping the floor with a slit for his forearms. Atop of his fire-lick curls was a golden circlet, glistening in the candlelight. 

It was rumoured that Mary Hatford’s son was the most beautiful thing in a world. Unfortunately for Andrew, he wasn’t just Mary Hatford’s son: he was also the heir of Nathan Wesninski. 

Though the Wymacks and the Wesninskis had once shared Palmetto peacefully, the tragic murder of David Wymack’s wife, Kayleigh Day, and the kidnapping of his son, had not been forgiven. Equally unforgiven was the suspicious death of Riko Moriyama, allied to the Wesninskis under ancient laws. 

And so: they all hated each other. 

War is profitable, Aaron always said, when Renee insisted that perhaps they negotiate a ceasefire rather than another duel. Nobody wants peace.

And whilst Andrew knew that to be true, a traitorous corner of his heart wished that, just for one moment, the two families weren’t constantly at each other’s throats. Only then would Andrew allowed to be with him: the Wesninski son. 

Most knew him as Nathaniel. As his father’s shadow. 

Andrew knew him as Neil. Neil Abram, the flame to Andrew’s shadow. A man loathesome of his father and anguished over his dead mother. 

He was, undoubtedly, the most brilliant thing on Andrew’s horizon. Everythnig else paled in comparison. 

Even now, with the top-half of his face obscured by a golden mask, he was stunning. 

And even though Andrew wore a mask of his own - to be seen on Wesninski grounds as one of Wymack’s proteges would be certain death - Neil gravitated towards him. 

“Why,” Neil said, voice low. He was trying not to smile. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.” 

“I’m simply a travelling merchant,” Andrew bowed. “Seller of souls and blades.”

“Would you, by chance, be selling a moment of your time?” 

Andrew offered his arm. 

It was dangerous to dance with him, when his father was sitting at the banquet table and waiting for Neil to dance with Ichirou Moriyama instead, but Andrew didn’t care. He had a knife up his sleeve and boundless wit: if he was questioned, he’d escape. The only reason that he wasn’t knifing everyone in the room was for Neil’s sake: he’d seen enough bloodshed in his life. Andrew didn’t need to contribute to it. 

“Abby has a plan,” Neil whispered. His apothecary was his only ally and confidante. Andrew had received many a correspondence via her aid. 

“What is it?”

“You need to trust me.” Neil squeezed Andrew’s hand as he was spun around. “Alright?”

“I hate surprises.”

“I know.” 

The tune acquiesced. They stepped back from one another to bow once more. 

“Be at Eden’s Chapel at noon on Sunday,” Neil whispered as they brushed shoulders. “No matter what you hear. Okay?” 

“Neil,” Andrew tried, but he was gone, swept up in a crowd of gathered velvet and silk. 

*

Wymack had many a protege, most of which he considered his own children. Of course, he did also have Kevin, his genuine son, but in his absence he’d procured the strangest mix of deviants and created a family. 

Wymack rescued Andrew and his family from certain peril and poverty. It was the only reason Andrew willingly sat at his large dining table every morning for breakfast: he owed Wymack his life. 

It was Sunday morning: they were all dressed finely to attend the service. Andrew would be departing early to meet Neil at Eden’s chapel, a church way up on the hill. He would have too come back and retrieve a horse to make it there in time for Neil’s arrival. 

Since the masquerade of Friday evening, Andrew had been bereft of all knowledge about Neil’s plans. He could only hope that it would work, and that they would finally find peace and sanctimony. 

Amidst his thoughts, he did not notice his cousin barrel into the room like a rather tenacious tumbleweed. Panting, he gripped the back of Aaron’s chair, eyes lit up with glee. 

“The Wesninski heir!” he announced. “He’s dead! That old bastard is childless and his name will die with him!” 

Every hair on Andrew’s body stood on end. No. No. They had been so close to freedom. Neil could not be dead. He couldn’t.

“Andrew,” Renee said. Andrew had stood up with a sharp jolt: now the whole table was looking at him, shocked he had such a vicious reaction to Nicky’s news. 

“I must leave.” 

“But -” Nicky blinked, confusion. “What about mass?”

Andrew grabbed the first horse he could find and hitched himself onto the saddle, galloping Wesninski-bound. The noble family had their long line of sons buried in a mausoleum on the edge of their land, facing over the cliffs. Beneath their rocky faces were raging waves, smashing themselves against the unforgivable stone. 

The wind was cold but Andrew was colder: the burial grounds were all but abandoned. He threw the reigns over a thinning branch of an olive tree and stumbled towards the stone monolith. 

The door was heavy but desperation was Andrew’s fuel: he shoved it open and shivered as he entered the tomb. 

And there, in the centre of marble coffins, laid Neil. 

Andrew had never seen his skin so pale. A cloth was pulled up to his shoulders, but his head rested on a pillow of rosemary and satin. His hair was pushed back, eyes closed. Between his brows rested the gold pendant of his circlet, the one that fated him as a Wesninski. 

With trembling hands, Andrew reached out for his cheek. He was cold to the touch. His chest neither rose nor fell: his heart was still. 

Agony. Andrew was pretty sure that was what he felt: pure, unadulterated agony. His chest ached. He couldn’t breathe. Neil said he’d had a plan. Neil said to trust him, and now he was dead.

“You,” came a cold voice. “You.” 

Andrew turned around. 

If Neil was beauty, his father was all brutishness. He was sharp and stiff, his face etched with anger and sadism. Andrew felt the pain in his chest rise to his throat. 

Nathan Wesninski pointed a finger at him. “You are one of Wymack’s spawn. You sullied - ruined - my son. The one at his window. The one in his ear. You turned him against me.” 

“You did that yourself,” Andrew said. “And I will kill you for what you’ve done.” 

Nathan drew his sword with a feral roar, but Andrew was faster. Smaller, faster, angrier. It was, retrospectively, an unfair fight: the man was older, with a renowned capacity to inflict pain but none of the finesse. 

Andrew feinted and shoved his blade between one rib and another: the man dropped to the floor with a furious wheeze, eyes rolling back into his head. 

As he dropped, a new figure stepped into the tomb. 

Abby wasn’t much to look at, narrow and cautious. She had her hands held close to her chest, looking at the body of Nathan Wesninski with wide-eyes. 

“Andrew,” she whispered. 

“He’s dead,” he said, hoarse. “How could you let this happen?”

“He’s not dead,” she stepped closer. “He drank a tonic that makes him appear dead.” In her palm rested a small bottle. “I have the elixir to wake him.” 

He snatched it from her grasp and ran to Neil’s side. There were only three droplets: Andrew watched them coat Neil’s lips, grasping onto his hand and praying under his breath. If Renee could see him now, he thought absently, pressing his forehead into Neil’s shoulder. 

With a gasp, the man woke up, colour rushing to his cheeks. He choked, coughing and spluttering. Andrew held his shoulders. 

“Andrew?” he mumbled, weak-voiced and bleary-eyed. “What are you doing here?” 

“You fool,” Andrew snapped. “How did you think I would react when I heard the news that you were dead?” 

“But I wasn’t,” he said, petulant. “I told you to trust me!” 

“I told you we should have written to him,” Abby chided. “Now your father is dead.” 

Neil’s eyes went wide as he looked at his father’s corpse. His head whipped back, gazing up at Andrew. “Did you do that?” 

“It was him or myself,” Andrew responded. “I cannot live without you, Abram.” 

Neil’s lips were still bitter when he pressed them to the corner of Andrew’s mouth. “And I, you."

*

it was short because I'm tired lol