“If thou is brave enough, draw thy sword.” Tybalts words held his usual hot-headed, arrogant manner, the look on his face holding a challenge that he hadn't wanted you to back down to.

You two met unexpectedly, not in the greatest way. Tybalt was annoyed by your precense, yet not in a hating manner, no. More in a bugging way that picked and picked at him. It was unexplainable, the race of his heart, suddenly sweety palms, the weird way his thoughts would shift to you. For a moment he thought he was sickened.

Yet being the man Tybalt was, no way in a million centuries would be ever speak it. that was something he wasn't brave enough for, the one and only thing— yet, at least.

“Or is thee too much of a pretty face to touch a sword?” Pretty. The word lingered more than he was willing to admit, making him almost falter in his grip on his sword.