It's a love story

Romeo dreamed of Juliet often. Sometimes she kissed him tenderly. Sometimes she slapped his face. Always he awakened from these dreams with a melancholy settled over him.

When he first woke up Monday, then, he thought he'd had an unusually long and vivid version of such a dream.

Nay, that wasn't so, he knew, as soon as he sat up. He wouldn't feel so sick were it only a dream. And, distracted by his own life, he'd not heard radio or noticed the other oddities around town.

The truth to him, then, was simple: He'd broken Juliet's heart. She'd come back, against so many odds and across so many months, and he'd been unable to offer her the love he had once promised.

He wasn't leaving his bed.

[OOC: Closed door, open post.]

As a rule, Romeo did not notice dates, days, the endless passage of time. He knew Yurika's birthday because it was the Ides of March, his own because it was his, and registered his class and work schedule well enough to show up, mostly more or less on time.

He knew, though, that it had been the middle of July, a year before, when he met and wed Juliet, and it was mid-July again. Another hot day, too, although it found him in a city not his own, on the shores of a stranger sea.

Pondering all of this, he pulled out his long-neglected journal and picked up a pen. He wasn't sure what to write, only that he needed to.

[OOC: Door closed but knockable, and of course open to Teyla. Phone call thread is first chronologically. And, because I am a geek -- intersecting Juliet's canon birthday with Romeo's FH timeframe dictates he met her July 15, 2007. His wedding anniversary would be July 16, she died (and he attempted suicide) July 19. My Shakespearean will be emo this week even by his standards.]

After Round 10 of I Never -- a game he was, again, swearing he would never play again -- Romeo lead Yurika into the hotel room bathroom.

It was far from the setting he had imagined for this, but it was nearby, and he wasn't sure he trusted his slightly drunken legs to carry him much further. And at least there would be people to intervene if she tried to kill him.

"I meant to tell you," he began, without preamble, leaning against the cool tile.