It's a love story

This was an unusual sort of Friday night for Romeo: Lying on his bed, book on retail management open in front of him, rapidly emptying bag of mixed hard candies readily at hand where his cigarettes would have once sat.

Eighteen, it turned out, was a very innocent age.

He took some notes on pricing in his leather-bound journal, pausing as he turned the page to wonder what the citizens of Verona would make of the scene. No doubt they'd think him mad.

Perhaps he was, a gentle, dull kind of madness.

It wasn't so bad.

[OOC: Door cracked and knockable.]

Romeo probably should have been sleeping in. After all, he didn't have to go to detention this week (and the king-quest-newt thing was still weird, no matter how he thought about it).

But for no particular reason he was up early, reflecting on his week as he flipped through a certain notebook. He'd spent some quality time with Yurika, helped dress Rikku twice (in a not-dirty way), gotten killed at paintball, discussed ladies and tigers in ethics class, and encountered (and mocked, and danced with) girls-who-were-boys.

He was glad, too, that things seemed to be going better for certain friends.

Most of the vocabulary in the notebook, like that in the book he'd found at the library, struck Romeo as useful but boring, but he smiled when he found one phrase and read it aloud slowly. "Kimite hontoni kirei dane."

Starting with compliments never hurt.

[OOC: Mostly linkdrop but door closed, post open.]