Room 502, Monday after Classes

After physics, Romeo went back to his room and started the much-slower-than-usual process of taking off his shoes. He hadn't realized how much he needed both arms until he lost the use of his left to a bullet-shattered shoulder; getting dressed was slow agony, and he hadn't even tried to move his arm for anything else.

Still. He supposed he could only be grateful it wasn't worse. Tybalt was gone (and dead again, or so Romeo hoped); Romeo was alive. That might be the best he could ask for, and a few days in the clinic and the frustration of healing a minor price to pay given how much dearer the cost could have been.

[OOC: Door open.]