Shakespeare one shots

The one where Hamlet needs hugs but refuses them (like an idiot)

"The Hyacinth dog whistle?"

"Mhm. So, I've been doing some thinking, and even though I'm sure I liked Ophelia a lot for a while, I don't feel that way strictly about her. Or, ah, her type. Of person. I mean, I go for the pastel artsy look any day, but not just on her. The pronoun being the emphatic part of that sentence. Er, confession. You know?"

Horatio was giving him a strange look; he hadn't caught up to the meaning of the words just yet. That was okay, Hamlet could work with hesitating confusion.

"Yeah. I know you know. There's a reason you cuff your pants, and I trust my gaydar more than I trust your denial. I mean... I hope? I don't want to assume, but it's really hard not to with the way you look at me, though I might just be projecting. Projecting what, Hamlet, you ask? Why, Horatio, that's the very point I wish to convey. Um. I'm hoping you're not straight because I like you...?"

Horatio's gaze flickered between Hamlet's eyes, his thoughts running at light speed behind the motion. In the time it took him to [process] and [analyze], Hamlet had lost all previous courage and was shooting up from his seat.

"You don't have to say anything! I'll just- you know what, it's better this way. I know you're too good for me even though you probably think I'm out of your league, which you don't because you're not into me like that. I wouldn't be into me either. God knows why anyone would be, really. I totally get it. I'm a handful, I'm difficult, I'm-"

Sometime during the stream of regret and awkwardness, Horatio had regained his ability to move and speak. He stood, reached for Hamlet's wrist, stopped himself at the last second, and managed a panicked, "Wait!"

Hamlet froze. Turned slowly, eyes shimmering. Horatio let out a breath.

"It's okay," he said, voice quiet and reassuring. "I'm definitely not straight. And I like you, too."

A brilliant grin broke out over Hamlet's face, and, well. Horatio was a weak man. He copied the expression, lifting his hand to the prince's cheek.

Hamlet rocked his weight away from Horatio's touch, smile faltering just enough for Horatio to remember himself and lower his arm.

"Sorry," he said, and was relieved at the steadiness of his tone.

"S'okay," Hamlet responded rather shakily.

Horatio chose to clasp his hands tightly behind his back lest they get more ideas and move on their own accord. "So. Are we..."

"Together?" Hamlet supplied, grin returning full-force.

Horatio's fingers twitched; he chastised himself for it. "If you're alright with that."

Something warm and vulnerable floated in the air between them as Hamlet nodded, and for a split second Horatio had an urge to kiss him. It would be so easy. All he had to do was reach out and put a hand on his shoulder, take a step forward...

But Hamlet was already walking around him to press his face into a pillow and let out a shrill scream.

"God, that was terrifying," he breathed, and Horatio laughed his agreement.

~~~

Six months of dating the unfairly pretty, unsurprisingly nocturnal, adverse-to-touch prince of Denmark. Six months of bliss. Six months of Horatio practically milking his friends for hugs so as not to get too greedy around his boyfriend. Six months of desperation.

So far, so good.

Hamlet no longer scooted away when Horatio sat next to him, now trusting the other boy not to invade his space. Horatio believed that Hamlet put too much faith in his (slowly withering) self-regulation. Horatio also believed that he was incredibly lucky to so much as breathe in the direction of who he now considered his favorite person, and therefore resolved to bury his unwarranted needs until further notice.