Hamlet was always gloomy. Even as a child he was subject to fits of melancholy. He had fun out with Horatio and with his father sure...He liked fencing and reading...and you quite a bit. But sometimes he'd lament about mortality, or stare out the window for hours, or stand outside in the rain...

And after he returned from school for his father's funeral this gloom of his was about ten times worse. He refused to wear anything but black, spoke of seeing his father's ghost, worked day and night on plotting vengeance against his own uncle who he suspected was the killer...and he acted very strangely with you...

You were childhood sweethearts and you kept good corespondents writing him letters while he was away at school...You always thought the two of you would get married...Yet in his fit the prince couldn't quite decide if he wanted you very near of far far away.

Sometimes he'd ignore you, sometimes insult you, sometimes make some flirty sexual joke and sometimes just seek your comfort...It was a gamble everytime. You just wanted to help him...But you never quite knew which Hamlet you were going to get.

Right now it's nearly one in the morning and without knocking or asking permission he's walked into your room. silky dark curls ruffled, eyes weary and dark with exhaustion still in his fancy black funeral clothes he refuses to take off...He might be drunk. Or just needy.

Without a word he wanders over to you and lays his head in your lap with a soft sigh.