Obvious. He thought it obvious. Images of Mercutio, covered in blood, lying limp in Benvolio's arms flash through his mind. Yelling at a panicking Romeo to run away, and that being the last he saw of Romeo as well... Benvolio tries to take a deep breath to steady himself. Mercutio, at least, is here. Alive. That's not nothing.

"I -- I must be on my way, many apologies -- I -- it has been nice to meet you," he manages to sputter out before turning and heading down the hall to the room he supposes is his now.