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Thim and Meistro had an...interesting dynamic, that was for sure.
The other plushies really didn't know what to say- of course, Meistro had always been a jester. It would be in character for him to constantly poke and tease, right?
Well, not...exactly, with Thim. Not with how...affectionate Meistro had become with him.
Thim herself didn't know what to say to it. She didn't mind the attention from Meistro, not at all (although it could get a little suffocating sometimes), but he almost seemed to treat her...differently than everyone else. Almost as if he was trying to get a reaction out of her.
What kind of reaction does he want?
It's late. The factory is quiet, most plushies had retired to their rooms. Thim sat on the couch, head tilted back slightly, half-asleep. Normally he wouldn't rest much- he apparently "overworked himself to the bone" according to Meistro, he thought with a roll of his eyes. Why was he even thinking about him? About his smooth voice, his makeup, his eyes...
"Thim?" The voice snapped her out of her thoughts, looking up to see Jellybell approaching her- with no Triton hovering behind her, for once. "Shouldn't you be asleep, dear? It's late." Thim blinked the sleep out of their eyes, sitting up straighter.
They cleared their throat. "Of course, I was just going. I could ask the same for you, though, you need to rest." Their voice held none of the tiredness that was there before. Jellybell sighed fondly.
"Don't worry about me, I know how often you stay up working. You're a plushie, just like the rest of us. You need to sleep." She scolded him lightly, obviously very aware of his horrendous sleeping patterns. It sometimes got to the point that there were deep bags under his eyes, but he wore his thimble a little lower those days. Couldn't fool Jellybell, though.
"I can take you back to your room if you'd like." Thim said, completely ignoring Jellybell's previous statement. She stared at them for a moment before shaking her head.
"No, I'm alright, but thank you for offering. I'll head back now." She smiled softly, turning to leave, before pausing and looking back. "Just...make sure you sleep, alright? I'm worried about you." One of the tentacles in her hair curled slightly in stress as she turned back around to go. Thim glanced at her retreating figure. She was always so kind to them...he really doesn't do much to pay her back. Their lip curled into a small frown. They should make her something when they sew with Spinette tomorrow.
...Sleep.
Don't really wanna...
"...move..." He mumbled to himself, slumping against the couch. Sigh. He'll get up in a second, he just...needs a moment to rest...
"Soldier?" A voice. And way too close.
"AH! WHAT THE HELL-?" He yelped, flinching back and turning towards the mystery person, fearing that he already knows who it'll be- and he does. Meistro, in all his glory. And his face is hardly a few inches away from Thim's. What the fuck.
Thim coughed into his fist (attempting to regain any semblance of composure) and pushed the jester away lightly. "Personal space, Meistro."
Meistro grinned, clearly aware of the panic he caused. "Ah, dear mender of Thread and Stuffing! I'm stopping by to see how you're functioning. What's keeping you awake?" He was practically glowing with glee at Thim's reaction- or, well, overreaction, Thim thought.
"I was...just about to go to my room and sleep." She was lying through her teeth, but she'd never admit that to him. Meistro's smile didn't waver.
"Really? It seemed to me that you were about to pass out right here! Such a frightful sight..." He wiped away a fake tear, sniffling. "Well! Don't let me keep you here then, soldier, you must go! I could even, ah, escort you-if you wanted." That last sentence was finished with a theatrical bow, although Meistro seemed almost...nervous. Him? Nervous? For her? Well, what a sight...
They thought to themself for a moment. Let him escort them, and they'll probably have to deal with Meistro's incessant chatter. Go themself, and...nothing. Nothing bad could happen. But there was something inside him, telling him to say yes.
"You can come." The words were tugged out of their mouth without further processing. Damn it! What are you doing, Thim...? The uneasy smile on Meistro's face was gone in an instant. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but Thim pressed a finger against his lips. "But don't talk to much. I'm tired, and the last thing I need is you yapping my ears off..."
Meistro blinked and nodded, smiling so wide it hurt Thim to look at his face- though they could have sworn they saw Meistro's face redden every-so-slightly at the contact. Weird. Wonder how it feels to never frown. Thim adjusted the thimble on their head before starting towards their room, Meistro in tow.
The jester was careful not to walk too fast, since he had much higher speed than Thim. It's nice how mindful he is of me sometimes. I wonder why he puts in so much effort for me... Thim brushed off the thought, glancing over at Meistro...who was already staring back at him. "Something wrong?"
He shook his head. "No, it's nothing, dear. Just wondering what you hide under that thimble!" He knocked on Thim's head teasingly, almost as if to prove his point. She swatted his hand away with a huff. "There's nothing to hide...besides, it's nothing important."
"Aww, you're no fun." He pouted, sticking out his bottom lip in a dramatic pout. So nosy, Thim thought to herself in disbelief- but she could feel the warmth bubbling up inside of her at his idiocy. That was even more bewildering.
"Somebody needs to be boring here. Maybe to give you a real taste of life." He glanced at the grinning clown. "Do you ever stop smiling?"
"No no, dear Thimmy," "Don't call me that." "I have an image to upkeep! Just as you tend to the wounds of the hurt, I make sure everyone stays merry- with Spinette's help, of course! She's a wonderful student, and such an adorable one too~!" And so he continued to gush and talk (very loudly, Thim noted with a hint of irritation), spewing nonsense that Thim didn't care to listen to. He was exhausted to the bone, as much as he hated to admit it- he was sure that Meistro could tell.
"Hm...Thimmy?"
"I said don't call me that."
"Thimothy?"
"..."
"Thimothy the Serious."
"Stop."
"Thimathan."
"That doesn't even sound like my name."
"Thread prince."
"What are you talking about..." At this point, Thim was too exhausted to argue. His words came out as a mumble, unclear and dry.
But Thim realized, with the next paining ache in his head, that he was indulging in the clown's banter. How silly of him. What was he doing? Uncharacteristically, he felt...affection. Affection at Meistro's expressions whenever Thim argued back with him playfully, whenever he teased Thim for being so uptight. Why was he thinking about this?
"You're looking awfully tired, Master of Thread and Stuffing. Good thing we've reached your humble abode!" The performer cheerfully skipped ahead of Thim, opening and holding the door for them. The medic shuffled in, back slightly hunched under the weight of the large spool on his back. They tossed it aside into a nearby chair, ready to run straight to their bed- until they remembered that Meistro was still there. They turned around, but it was slow, as if the small action cost a lifetime's worth of energy.
"Thank you, uh, for bringing me to my room. I appreciate it." He felt slightly awkward under Meistro's intent gaze, finishing the sentence with a yawn. The jester's grin softened.
"Anytime, dear...I'll take my leave now, you need the rest! Plus, Jellybell will probably burn my food the next time she bakes if she finds out I made you stay up even later...Hehe." Meistro snickered a little, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want that. Well, night! May I appear in your dreams with my perfect face." Thim scoffed, but the action came out sounding more amused than he would have wanted it to. The small smile on his face disappeared as soon as it had arrived when he saw Meistro pause; hopefully he'd think he had imagined the sound.
"Did you just...laugh? At my silly little joke? Oh, I'm honored! The first in the Factory to make the most stern person here chuckle!"
Thim paused in the doorway, exhaustion still heavy in his posture, and for a moment looked like he might deny it out of habit. But the effort of pretending otherwise felt too distant now, too unnecessary. Meistro was still grinning at him—softened at the edges in a way that didn’t feel like performance for once.
“…Go back to your room,” Thim said, but there was an amused undertone beneath it.
Meistro placed a hand over his chest dramatically, like he was wounded by the very concept. “So cruel, soldier. Casting me out after I achieved the impossible.”
Thim huffed, pulling down his thimble slightly to hide the faint smile on his face. "Go back to your room, Meistro," He repeated, with no real anger. Meistro clicked his tongue in fake disappointment, but he gave a small, satisfied hum, then tipped an exaggerated bow. “Rest well, Thimothy the Serious."
When the jester walked away, Thim felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off their chest. Why, they weren't sure; maybe it had been so long since they had joked with someone like that, that they had been internally yearning to experience it again. Meistro made them feel- what was the word? Elated. Meistro made them feel elated.
...
They would reach out to him tomorrow and see if he wanted to talk.