Shakespeare one shots

So oblivious that a stabbing had to occur

Okay, this is a Tybalt x Paris, but hear me out.

Think about how many problems this would solve if it were established early on in the canon chain of events.

Paris would call off his marriage with Juliet, or at least tell her that she could do whatever because the marriage was only in political interest, meaning she could be with Romeo in secret.

Tybalt would have an emotional support pillar (aka someone to rant to) and would most likely think better of fighting with Mercutio and Escalus' warning, because now he's got someone who actually cares if he dies.

Everyone wins!

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Small warning: suggestive talk.
~ Paris' PoV ~

I tried for the thousandth time that night to stop my leg from bouncing. As soon as I did, the other leg started up.

I sighed. Something wasn't right.

I went through my mental checklist of things I had to do that day, confirming everything had been accomplished. Escalus hadn't called for any kind of emergency meeting. I was alone on my couch with a book and a cup of evening tea. So why the hell did something feel amiss?

"Paris!" Called a familiar voice.

Ah. That's why.

I opened the door, expecting perhaps Benvolio, here to see if Mercutio had gone out, or maybe Rosaline to complain about some fling or another.

What I got instead was Tybalt, bleeding heavily from a wound on his side and absolutely seething.

"T-Tybalt, oh my God, w-what happened?" I gasped, carefully leading him inside.

"I got in a fight," he hissed through clenched teeth.

He winced as I sat him down, which pained my heart more than was good for my pride.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I carefully removed his shirt to get a better look at the injury, firmly suppressing the blush that threatened to adorn my cheeks as I did so.

"Don't talk to me like I'm a toddler who had a fucking nightmare," he snapped. I flinched.

"Sorry," I murmured.

He bit his lip and looked away, furious at something. Probably me. He most likely only came to my house because it was closest, anyway.

"This cut is really close to your stomach, Tybalt," I hummed after wiping away some of the blood. "Next to a kidney, too."

"Which means what?"

"It means..." I had to stop to fortify my brain against the following image. "You could very well have died. A little further to the left and you would be a dead man right now."

Horror flashed briefly behind his eyes and his knuckles went white. Slowly, much too slowly, his eyes rose from the floor to meet mine.

"Paris, will I die from this?"

I was tempted to laugh, but seeing the genuine fear on his face made me stop.

"To be honest, Tybalt, you could. I'll do the best I can, but after that it's just chance."

He started taking a deep breath, thought better of it when it hurt the wound, and nodded. I left to retrieve medical supplies.

With the Capulet safely out of earshot, I stared myself down in the mirror.