#newmuseblurb

It was now easier to see the small smile that tugged between your cheeks as you spun on your heel toward him, a sewing needle and spool pin grasped lightly as you fiddled with them between hesitant fingers. You breathed out lightly before crouching back to Mitch's side, "What can I say, there's just something about gettin' under your skin there, that brings a little light to my days."

He was still toying at his lip; the need to release it quickly became apparent as it began to grow numb under its clamp, soon it would draw blood and he was sure you would reprimand him for yet another reddened wound. He exhaled heavily, an intent to steady his breathing as he awaited the next step of your aid and the inevitable misery to follow. It wasn't until he looked back down to your willingness to patch him up that Mitch started to settle into the stool, watching as you thread your needle, "You're a tease, darlin', ya know that? I'll have you saying my name one o' these days, maybe even screaming it if I'm lucky."

You didn't need to look at the man to know that his eye dropped into a low wink, the tone of his voice suggesting playfulness and rowdy jest. He liked to wind you up, that's why you wound him right the hell back. With a gentle head shake, you lifted your eyes until they met his caramel swirls that you've gotten to know so well, your needle now held high in the air with a threatening pose, "Keep talking sweet like that, and I'll be the one makin' you scream for all the wrong reasons, Cowboy."

It was hidden, only slightly by the angle he sat at whilst his elbow perched upon the bartop, when Mitch gulped down at the intimidation that you wore so damn well. He even thought that if he wasn't so alert in the moment, then a slight moan of appreciative attraction would've slipped so nonchalantly from him. He was quick to remain silent after that, but more so to retain concentration as he admired your quick handiwork.

"Okay-" You began, taking a deep breath to balance yourself. The skirt you wore was spread around your body as you kneeled on the ground, a near-perfect circle framing you as you mentally prepared yourself for the upcoming round of Mitch's pain. You held up a leather belt, folded over each other exactly four times before handing it to Mitch and pointing at your mouth. He immediately understood, teeth clamping around the material to prevent his future growls and screams from echoing through your night-filled sleepy town.

"Now, I'm no doctor, but I've seen this procedure more times than I could count on one hand. Do you trust me.. Mitch?"

Mitch nodded, instantly. Cheeks reddening at the use of his name, however, the leather prevented him from any further commentary. He saw your grin, and knew, just knew, that you calculated your words perfectly in time with his inability to talk.

Mitch was so incredibly taken by you.

And it was, soon enough, as the sudden jump of melodic tunes pulled him back to reality, illustrious music pervading the grand room you danced within. Thomas managed a grin when he pulled you toward his frame, a hand placed on your hip as the other became a mess of entangled fingers, your spare hand sitting in the curve of the boy's neck as your nails scratched at his lower scalp. Patrons of exquisite and dignified dress moved in mirrored unison to yourself and Thomas; a collective pattern of dips and twirls occupying the ballroom alongside an array of joyousness.

He did focus. He kept his eyes on you. They trailed across the happiness etched over your lips, and the lines beside your eyes when you would breathlessly chuckle at the goofy grin he was sporting so well. They ran down your neck as he pictured the sounds you would surely make when he latched himself to your skin. They took in the attire you wore... captivated, completely, with how the fabric clung to your body. They sunk even deeper, admiring how you've grown into such a stunning young woman, especially when he remembered what a little rascal you were as a child. All he did was focus on you, he always had; and the thing about Thomas, is that he always will.

He sighed, absentmindedly pulling you toward him by your waist. He knew that he was too close, especially for his father's liking - and god forbid if patrons from the visiting Kingdon saw - but you kept the young Prince grounded, and you had so for fifteen years.

Thomas hummed, "It's hard not to worry about being espoused to a girl I barely know, when I love yo-"

"Thomas... don't finish that sentiment. Please." You begged with a hushed tone as you took a step back from his comfort, an immediate cool sensation overwhelming your body as if a piece of you were gone. His usual caramel hues had lost their brightness; sadness beginning to filter through as they grew wide and unsure. It was difficult to see him in such a way, but the inevitable heartbreak that was soon to follow would make this brief moment seem easy. You drew a deep breath, "Once you say those words, my heart will grow.. but for a taken man. And such exasperating pain like that, would no doubt, be my demise."

Fate had a strange way of utterly intervening. It sought out the moment that Thomas nearly broke in two, his jaw slack, dedications of love sitting idly on the tip of his tongue before he was stopped. It crawled its way between you both and took control in the form of a fair brunette Princess, her accent thickened by French ancestry and with the addition of a heavy ring gracing her finger of betrothal. She smiled like the Cheshire cat, prideful and mischievous as she placed her hand on Thomas' shoulder and pulled him in her direction.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to finally share a dance with Thomas. Seeming, as he is, of course, my future consort, and I, the future Queen." Words dripped with a slickness that would make you tumble, a tone that would kick you when you were down, and a sharpness that would stab through your heart with no remorse. The Princess spoke with absolute power and you were in no position to fight back.

With a small curtsey, you took a step back, only peering to Thomas and the sympathetic quirk of his lips, "As you please, Teresa. But be careful... he's a clumsy one. Oddly brilliant at stepping on toes."

Thomas chuckled, reminiscent of his poor skillset from when he was learning to dance at a young age. He desired to call out a cheeky remark, something to do with how you were no better, yet Teresa pulled on his arm with an audible grumble, "I'd hope not. The future King cannot show inadequacies like that."

With that, his happiness fell, and his feet were guided across the expansive space.

It wouldn't have been a few seconds before a raspy voice settled beside you, his own accent strong and rugged, a familiar and welcomed sound, "Don't let her get in your 'ead. She'll get what's comin' to her."

"It's not that simple, Newt. I don't think friendship can win this round." You were calm, the misery internalized as it had you in a chokehold, but you wouldn't dare break where she could see you.

The blonde squire shook his head, "Whatever it is between you and Thomas ain't your average friendship. I've known you both nearly your whole lives, ya connected to one another." Darkened cocoa eyes peered to you before they, themselves, saddened. Such a series of unfortunate events were taking their toll on two of his friends, and all he could do was sit back and watch. Newt pursed his lips before holding his hand out to you, his injured leg faltering slightly as he turned to stand before your frame, determination contorting his facial features, "May I have this dance, your highness?"

"Newt, don't call me that-"

He rolled his eyes, throat clearing dramatically. He didn't bother to smile until he made you grin from his typical teasing nature, and when you did, he tried again, "May I have this dance, m'lady?" Grand symphonies of music echoed throughout the room, the festivities continuing to play through despite your small moment of bleakness. You glanced up to Newt, nodding gently before taking his hand.

You continued to smile, rocking back and forth on your heels as you ducked to catch his gaze, "Congratulations is more in order, actually. Years of sneaking around these halls and I have finally perfected the art of dodging every posted guard between your wing and the east."

Thomas snorted, "It truly sounds more like you're just that obsessed with me if you've made the journey that many times to form such an impeccable skill."

Eyes rolled back, your tongue pressing against your teeth as a click echoed off the stone walls. Thomas always seemed to have an inflated ego, the perks of being a prince automatically set him as the highest of importance. He was golden. Untouchable. He was the future king, but you knew him more than what his image preceded. Thomas was laid back, humble. He cared much more for the people around him, especially when he chose to put himself last as a priority. He took his status with a grain of salt and only ever played into the labels and moments of a boosted ego when it meant joking around with you.

"Well, of course, I'm obsessed. What fool wouldn't be so infatuated with their best friend, hm? You're just lucky that I've put up with your half-witted ass for so long."

Another chuckle sat in Thomas' chest, a hearty sound of complete joy that was often reserved only for those close to him. He couldn't help, however, slightly tugging at his bottom lip as he considered your words. It wasn't a secret to those within the kingdom that this love between two friends was one of an unbreakable bond - growing up together only further prompted the purity and nature of your connection. There was something, however, about being 'infatuated with your best friend' that hit him harder than necessary in the gut. He too felt the draw, the magnetized force to be with you whenever possible, but what he never expected was the recent feelings of a torn chest whenever you parted ways. It always hurt more, now, to watch you leave.

He shook his head once more, throat clearing as he tried to rid of the plaguing thoughts that would be keeping him up every night for days on end. Thomas eventually offered you a smile, eyes darting around your awakened face, "Did you come all this way to poke fun at my heart, or are we having one of our famous twilight adventures?"

"I thought you'd never ask." You groaned, quick to throw forward your hand and grasp at his wrist. You didn't give him time to think before you were dragging him through the corridors, torch still secured within your hold as Thomas gladly shadowed your footsteps. The castle's atmosphere was hauntingly beautiful when there weren't other bodies pacing them; it was as if everything within these stone walls, everything that could be seen, everything that could be heard, was just for you. The moonlight dictated your path as it shone between pillars and arched windows, patterns emblazed over long carpeted runners as it cast over your darting figures. Thomas found joy in reliving your childhood games, exceptionally, when it meant sharing these special and private moments with you by his side.

It wasn't until heavy feet sounded nearby, an indication that one of the guards has shifted to their new post position. You immediately backed against the wall, pulling the boy with you. He stumbled toward your frame, his spare hand reaching out to settle on your hip for stability, subconsciously pulling you close to him. His chest was pressed flush against yours, breaths deep and slow. He could see your features better now as the torch illuminated your skin, lips slightly parted and eyes doe-like as they peered to the boy through thickened eyelashes.

You gulped, watching as Thomas' gaze slightly dropped to your lips at the new angle, "It's more conspicuous, you know, if we remain here in the middle of the hall."

His focus returned to your eyes as your tone was soft, hardly a whisper. All that the boy could manage was a single nod as his hand grazed lightly over your palm, fingers entangling as he began to encase your hand within his larger hold. His tongue ducked out to lick at his lips, and he smiled. It was delicate.