It's a love story

Romeo's nineteenth birthday started with a package from his father containing a collection of Lord Byron's works, a dagger that was about twice as elaborate as anything Romeo had any business carrying, and a letter that suggested -- in a polite, backhanded, and elaborate way -- that Romeo was missed and should make it his business to visit Verona sooner rather than later.

There was also a large box of chocolates. They were good. Romeo ate the caramels as his breakfast. He should have been reading about the equilibrium point in supply and demand, but that kept turning into perusal of the poetry. Really, the poetry struck him as more relevant.

[OOC: For the girlfriend, or for birthday emails/calls/texts/homing pigeons.]

And so it was that after a good party, a last bout in the Salle, a frantic trip to the post office to send off most of his boxes (and why was overnight, cross-universe shipping to Tokyo so expensive? It was a good thing Romeo didn't care about money or he'd be rather peeved), a quick visit to the church where he never spent nearly as much time as he should, and a last mocha with extra chocolate sauce at the Perk, Romeo Montague came to wait for the portal that would take Yurika and him off to Tokyo.

He shifted his bags hand to hand a little impatiently. Mostly, he wanted all of this goodbying to be over. He'd miss everyone; he knew that. But having so many last things was wearing on him.

Homecoming wasn't so very far away, was it?

[Last post in Fandom for Romeo & Dojima! dojima_hime modded with permission. If you want a call inviting you to come see one or both of them off, well, you got it!]

Note duly passed and ghost presumably defeated, Romeo quickly left hunting class and waited in the hall for Yurika.

He was still confused -- confused, with anger flashing under the surface like lava. But he'd talked to other people so much it felt like it was time to give Yurika herself a turn.

And so, he waited, and hoped she wouldn't hurry past.

Romeo was perhaps not to be blamed if he hadn't much left his room all day. It had been a long week, even before prom and after prom.

But then he had met his children, one then two and a third. And for a few days, children had been everywhere -- having pizza for dinner, demanding waffles and video games, even following him to work and Caritas, where he learned he might well see Juliet's face on a different person entirely in a few short days.

And then it was time to say goodbye.

All of this had made him dig Juliet's wedding ring out of the drawer where it made its home, and he was idly spinning it in his palm, half-jealous of the Romeo whose wife wore it in Seraphina's world. But only half; he knew he saw other futures, even happy ones, for himself.

It was an odd feeling.

[Door closed but knockable.]

Romeo spent the hours around lunch fighting with the washing machines. Rather proud of himself for only turning half the whites gray -- and for having the patience to keep from tugging the sodden clothes out of the dryer too early -- he carried the laundry bag of clean clothes up to his room, dumped it at the foot of his bed, and called it good before turning on his laptop.

( And then he wrote an email home (that, not so coincidentally, looked much like a linkdrop) )

The door was open.

[OOC: Oooooopen.]