A/N: After Friar Lawrence gives Benvolio the letter.
"It's about love." Love. The letter is sealed and I won't open it, but I know what it must say – the news is all over town today. Julia and Paris. She didn't waste much time! Romeo hasn't even had time to wash his second-best friend's blood from his clothes yet, and already, the girl who was the cause of all of it has forgotten him and moved on. Love? Did she even care for him in the first place?
Does it matter? It's done. Romeo is gone, exiled, homeless and alone. He left behind everything he knew, but all he could talk about as he packed up was Julia. Not a thought for his family, his friends – me – only Julia. Only love. Now he's going to hear that his affair with Julia amounted to nothing, that it meant nothing.
He'll take it badly – he always takes it badly, but this time will be worse. Because I believe it actually was different this time, at least to him. He thought it was something different. He thought it was love.
I'll have to tell him that Julia has agreed to be someone else's wife – and then what? He'll fall apart, he'll break down at losing that stupid, thoughtless, fickle girl and their imaginary future – on top of having lost Mercutio and lost his home.
At least he hasn't lost me. But I don't know how to help. What can I offer him?
Love, if he would take it. But he won't, and I don't blame him. Love hasn't done him any favors lately.