Behind the Curtains

The thunder is what jolts her awake, the sound so horrifyingly loud to her hazed mind that she can feel it resonating in her bones.

With a curse, Artoria curls tighter into her sleeping bag. She’s always been a light sleeper- there is no way she’ll be able to go back to sleep now, not with the rain pounding the roof of the theater.

And she’s cold. This sucks. This sucks hard dicks.

Blindly, she pats around for her phone, then turns on the flashlight. While mostly abandonned (or so she hopes,) this is still a storage room . There has to be something around here she can use as a blanket.

She shivers as she gets out of the sleeping back. She hears the rain outside- pitter, patter, pitter, patter. Her eyes rake across the room. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter.

At last, she finds what she’s looking for- a thick cloth with white faux-fur stitched on the edges. A cape, it seems, though whatever costume it was meant to go with is long lost. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter. She throws it over her shoulders with a content sigh. Maybe she’ll get to doze off now. Pitter, patter, pitter, patter-

Artoria goes still.

There’s a voice.

She strains her ears. It comes from… below the planks. So, the main stage? She shoots a quick glance at her phone- no way there is a representation at two in the morning.

Pitter, patter, pitter, patter. Now that she's more awake- this isn’t just the rain. These are footsteps she’s hearing. It doesn’t sound like the security guard either.

She could ignore it. She should ignore it. So long as she doesn’t move, no one will find her out.

… But it would also be dangerous to let unknown factors just wander around the theater. Artoria can’t plan an effective escape route unless she knows exactly what awaits her around these parts.

She ponders for a second, then moves to the trapdoor. She’ll take just a peek, and leave it as is.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not this.

There is a man on the stage. With the lights off, she can’t make out his features. What she can make out are the large wings stitched to his coat. He moves as if they were part of his own body, unbothered by their size. It’s mesmerizing. He’s walking, twirling, twisting his hands in the air.

“For she his hairy temples then had rounded with a coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers. And that same dew, which sometimes on the buds was wont to swell like round and orient pearls, stood now within the pretty flowerets’ eyes like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.”

Artoria squints her eyes. These words are familiar. Where did hear them…?

The man keeps acting, blind to his audience. The monologue is in old English, but he delivers it as fluently as if it were his mother tongue. This is truly a feat- Artoria has always been terrible at speaking in grand ways. She remembers tripping all over her tongue when she used to read-

AH! THAT’S why the monologue seems familiar! It’s from A Midsummer’s Night Dream!

Unfortunately, Artoria does not get to be proud of her references for long. Soon, she starts hearing a second set of footsteps from afar- one she is way more familiar with.

She glances back at the actor. He doesn’t seem to have heard.

Whatever. It's not like it's her business. Besides, maybe the man has special permission to perform after hours? Surely he wouldn't break in just to play. On the other hand, if he doesn't have any permission, he's in for some big trouble if he gets caught.

... Ah, fuck it.

“Hey!” She whisper-yells. “Dude! The security guard is coming!”

The actor starts in surprise. He looks around- he doesn’t appear to know where she is yet.

Artoria does some quick calculations in her head. She could crawl back up and leave him here- bit of a dick move, but she did give him a warning, which is more than what she owed him in the first place. She could drag him up with her- but no, bad idea. She’s confident in her ability to climb fast, but if this guy is too slow, not only will they be caught, but they’ll also realize that Artoria has been stowing away in the theater’s attic, and either kick her out or (worse) call the cops. Which means…

Artoria drops on the floor, then rushes towards the actor. “Come on!” She grabs his arm and pulls. “We need to go!”

To his credit, the man is only startled for a couple seconds, after which he starts running with her. Good. He’s quick to the uptake.

Okay. She knows the guard’s patrol routine. They can avoid him if they find another storage room to hide in.

Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done, because unlike the attic, people actually use the other storage rooms. Meaning- most of them are locked, and there’s no time to lockpick. The best Artoria can do is quickly bat at the handles to check if a room is closed, then move to the next one.

One door. Two doors; Three doors. The footsteps are getting closer. She’d swear if she wasn’t afraid it’d give her away. Come on come on come ON-

She’s about to move on to another door, when the one she’s facing suddenly opens wide. She has about three seconds to be surprised, and then two hands take hold of her and her companion to forcefully drag them inside, closing the door behind them.

She stumbles inside, catching herself on some furniture (a shelf?) so as to not fall. She turns around. The one who dragged them inside is currently leaning against the door, listening.

Artoria stays quiet. The actor stays quiet. The stranger stays quiet.

Painfully slowly, the footsteps get farther and farther.

“... Man, that was close!” The stranger reaches out, and flips the light switch on. The sudden brightness makes Artoria flinch. “You guys okay?”

“I am fine! Ah, my friends, you saved me from quite the predicament!” The actor claps his hands. Oh damn, she hadn’t noticed in the dark, but he is in full costume, fantasy regalia and all. Now that’s some dedication to your rehearsals. Worried about a future representation, perhaps? “Eric would have never let me hear the end of it if I’d been caught.”

Eric, huh. Artoria stores that name in a corner of her memories. It’s always worth paying attention to these kinds of details. You never know who could be connected to who.

The stranger chuckles. “Glad to hear it! What about you, miss…”

Their voice trails off when their eyes land on her. There’s an expression on their face Artoria is not sure how to read- surprise? Recognition? Shock? “Gray?”

Artoria glances down at herself. She's still wearing her pajamas- a white tank top and brown yoga pants. The cape she found in the attic is still on her shoulders. She hadn’t noticed in the dark, but the cloth is a deep blue.

Maybe they’re some shade of colorblind? Though, weird flex to comment on colors she is not wearing first thing in a conversation. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

The stranger eyes at her strangely for a second. It makes her skin crawl. But a second later, they look away, nodding to themself. “That’s good. Well, we probably shouldn’t stick around here for too long. The guard might come back.”

He won’t- not for another hour, at least- but they’re right. Artoria has no desire to start a sleepover with a couple burglars. Whatever they’re here for, it doesn't concern her. Besides, she has learned the hard way not to involve herself with other people.

The stranger gives them both a quick sign of the hand. "Take care! Don't get caught!" And with a wink, they slip past the door, disappearing in the darkness.

The actor stays a bit longer, just long enough to give her a curtsy. “I must thank you again. You really saved me back then.”

“It’s… fine. Don’t worry about it.” She makes a vague gesture of the hand. She's just glad her stupid impulse didn't bite her in the ass this time. “Just try not to get caught on your own, right?”

The actor nods, then leaves as well. He's surprisingly nimble, for a man with such an inconvenient costume. Like a real fairy, in a way.

Artoria stays behind, staring at the door.

This might be the first time she's talked to someone other than a store clerk in weeks.

... Ah, well. She's not going to see either of them ever again, so no need to think too much about it. She tightens the cape around her shoulders, turns off the light, and leaves the room at last.

The next time she sees them is quite literally the next day. Artoria is never making any prediction ever again.

She’s midway through her sandwich when she starts hearing voices again. A quick glance through the trapdoor tells her The Actor is back on stage. He’s wearing a different costume this time- some sort of white travel coat, it seems. The wings are still on, though.

She watches him pace as she eats. He’s performing something different this time. Still old English, though. Still some Shakespeare, maybe? Artoria doesn’t know. She didn’t have access to that many books growing up. Mostly Arthuriana, and A Midsummer’s Night Dream hidden under her mattress.

The Actor is mesmerizing to watch, though. Maybe it’s due to her lack of experience when it comes to plays, but he seems very good to her eyes. He delivers his monologues with passion, incorporates even small mannerisms as he moves. He doesn’t look like he’s playing a character; he looks like he is a character.

“Hello!”

The sudden voice startles the Actor. Panic suddenly spikes through her spine- she hadn’t heard any coming footprints, and Artoria is normally very good at picking up incoming dangers. But then she pays a bit more attention, and- at last she recognizes the voice.

“My dear fellow! I did not know you to be a regular at this theater after hours!” The Actor greets back, confirming Artoria’s suspicions; this new stranger is, well, The Stranger. The one from last night.

“I didn’t expect to see you either. I’m glad you’re doing good, though!” At last, The Stranger walks onstage, allowing Artoria to see them from above. Yep. Same lad as before. “Is that girl with you?”

“I don’t know.” The Actor replies, and then

looks

up.

“Little Phantom of the Opera! Are you up there?”

…

Well. There are worse people to be caught by, she supposes. Besides, if she plays dead, they might come up themselves to check, and she’s not letting them get anywhere close to her shit.

“Don’t call me little .” She calls back as she makes her way down the ladder. “I’m not a child, I’m just scrawny!” The moment she can actually eat regularly her growth spurt will catch up with her, they’ll see, they’ll all see.

The Actor chuckles. The Stranger smiles wide, for some reason she cannot fathom.

“Nice to meet you too!” They say. “The name’s Ritsuka. Ritsuka Fujimaru. What about you?”

“Can’t you tell?” The Actor twirls on himself. “I am Oberon, the Fairy King!”

Damn, the man sure is dedicated to method acting.

Ritsuka frowns slightly. “Oberon, you say?”

“That would be correct.”

“As in… the night of Wallachia?”

“Ah, I am many things- a king, a prince, a loving husband, a cunning conman- but knight is a title I have yet to earn, i’m afraid.”

Ritsuka stares for a few seconds, then turns to her, smiling again. “And what should I call you?”

“I’m Artoria.” Giving them just her first name should be okay- they’re not actually fairies, after all. So long as she keeps her last name close to her chest, there’s no way they can look her up.

“Awesome! I’m glad I ran into you guys. It can be a bit creepy out here alone.”

Oberon nods. “Ah, yes. It’s an old theater. Weird things happen.”

Nothing weird has ever happened around Artoria, but then again, she’s not a really superstitious person. She already has her hands full worrying about very tangible problems, thank you.

“I’m looking for something, so I won’t be able to pay full attention to your performance, but by all means, do carry on! I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

Looking for something…? As in, a lost wallet, or as in, a safe? “Do you need any help looking for it? I can spare some time.”

Ritsuka shoots a glance at her, then at Oberon. “No, it’s fine, don’t worry. Just stay around. I’m sure I’ll find it eventually.”

Alright. Whatever they say. Artoria props herself down the stage, and takes a seat in the audience. Since she got down the attic, might as well experience Oberon’s performance the way it was meant to be seen.

So. Turns out, the other two are regulars. Or became regulars right when Artoria decided to freeload here. They don’t show up every night, and sometimes only one of them comes, but… it’s nice. Oberon performs a different play everytime, Ritsuka rummages through random places, and Artoria… Artoria is just chilling, really.

Right now, she’s passing Oberon a bottle of water in between two rehearsals. He drinks it with gusto, then wipes his mouth. “Hey, would you guys ever eat rats?”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Rat! Or mice, or rodents in general. No guinea pigs though, people already eat those.” He takes another swing of water. “Eric was telling me this really funny anecdote about Christine, and the topic came up.”

“I’d love to meet Christine one day.” Ritsuka muses out loud, pulling back from the underneath of a viewer’s seat. “I always hear the wildest stories about her.”

(Eric, Artoria has learned, is the name of the owner of the theater, though she’s only ever heard Oberon refer to him as such. As for his wife, Artoria has sadly never seen her inside the theater.)

“But to go back on topic,” they lean against the back of a seat, “meat is meat, right? It can’t be that bad.”

A violent shiver shakes Artoria’s body. “Ew, gross. ” Granted, her one experience with rat meat had been- less than ideal. She had been so hungry at the time she’d just bitten into it raw. Still, the feeling of so many little bones bending under her jaws is one she does not want to experience again. “I bet it’s chewy anyways.”

Ritsuka shrugs. “Just let it simmer in a stew and it’ll be good? Think about it. Just the right amount of meat, some paprika, add in the carrots, the potatoes, the moly-”

“Moly?” Oberon interrupts. “I’m afraid I don’t know what this is.”

Ritsuka frowns. “You have to know them, they sell them at every single market out there. You know, those little herbs? Tastes a bit bitter? Black roots? White blossoms? There are a ton in-”

Suddenly, Ritsuka falls silent. There is a beat, then they smile sheepishly. “Ah… sorry, I forgot they don’t grow around here.”

Before anyone can push for an answer, they shake their head. “My point is, rat meat is fine. It’s not what I prefer to eat, but it’s edible.”

…

Artoria glances at Oberon. Oberon glances back at her.

The choice of tenses in that last sentence was deeply concerning. 

She’s still debating whether or not to confront them about it, when a shadow suddenly passes over her. She sees a shape like a giant maw, dark paws walking across the wall- and in a second, it’s gone.

“What was that?!” She turns to look at the light source. There is no one here. 

“I told you. It’s an old theater. Weird things happen.” Oberon shrugs. “A bird must have flown in front of the light source.”

Right. Sure. Of course. A bird. Artoria has seen a grand total of zero wild animals inside the theaters, which should be saying something about the average amount of creatures crawling in here considering she literally lives here, but sure. A bird managed to find its way in at a time where no one even opens the doors anymore. Somehow.

Artoria turns to Ritsuka, to check if they’re buying the obvious lie, just in time to see something shine in their hands right before they put it away.

… So Ritsuka is just. Carrying a knife around. Yes, Artoria does too, but Artoria is also broke and homeless and really really needs a way to protect herself. As far as she is aware, Ritsuka is none of these things, so what's their excuse.

She narrows her eyes briefly. Oberon and Ritsuka are a lot of fun to hang out with. This is probably the longest she’s ever maintained a positive relationship with anyone barring Ector.

But she doesn’t have a lick of trust in either of them.

“Hey, do you guys want to go grab something to eat?”

Oberon pauses midway through readjusting his coat. “As in, outside?”

“I don’t think the theater has anything resembling a cafeteria, so yes.” Ritsuka confirms, stretching their back. They’ve been crawling around the fog machines for the better part of the hour, their spine must look like a pretzel by now.

Artoria shakes her head. “I’ll have to pass. I’m a bit low on cash at the moment.” Which is not even a lie. She didn’t get to take much with her when she left Tintagel. Pickpocketing can only replenish her reserves that much.

“I mean, I was thinking Burger King, not anything fancy.” Ritsuka smiles at her. (They always smile. It’s incredibly jarring, because they seem to be genuinely meaning it, rather than putting up a front to butter her up.) “I can spend ten bucks on your share if you need me to.”

“That seems like a wonderful idea!” Oberon, the traitor, suddenly grabs Artoria’s arm to prevent her from bailing. “Lead the way!”

“ Oberon. ” She hisses. “Are you not broke?”

“You wound me! I do perform during the day too, you know. It’s a legitimate job with a legitimate pay.”

Wait, forreal?? She’s so used to thinking of her weirdos as those two shady lads that it genuinely did not occur to her that they might do anything normal outside of the theater.

“Come on.” Ritsuka pats her shoulder. “It’ll be fun!”

… Well, unless they decide to poison her in the middle of a public restaurant, it’s fine, she supposes. Besides, she hasn’t eaten anything but subway sandwiches in a month.

The three of them head out of the building, easily dodging the security guard. They sneak out through one of the windows. Ritsuka goes first, then Oberon (so both Ritsuka and Artoria can help him fit his wings through,) and Artoria goes last.

“Alright.” She says. “Lead the way.”

Oberon and her follow Ritsuka through the empty streets. They have to go slow; for some reason, Oberon seems absolutely entranced by the city, frequently stopping to stare at leaf or a bug.

“Apologies.” He says with a sheepish smile. “I have not left the theater in a very long time, you understand.”

Ritsuka raises an eyebrow. “Do you never go home?”

“I must, certainly.” He replies noncommittally.

Now it’s Artoria’s turn to look at him curiously. “Are you… not sure?” She knows for a fact that she is the only stowaway who lives here, if nothing else.

“Ah… this is a bit embarrassing, but my memory has been spotty as of late.” He says this so casually, as if he were speaking about spilling his coffee, whoops dee doo, what a funny story, “I could not tell you where I live to save my life.”

Ritsuka’s steps falter.

“Hey, this sounds pretty serious.” They do an admirable job at keeping calm, though their voice is obviously strained with worry. “Are you alright?”

“You are sweet, my dear fellow. But worry not. I have yet to be found collapsed on the streets, have I?” He turns around and boops Artoria’s nose. “And this goes for you too. It’s not something either of you can do anything about. Since concern will not be of any help, might as well leave it at the door, don’t you agree?”

Mh. Artoria will keep an eye on him regardless. She’s come to care about this weird little actor.

The trio finally reaches the Burger King, and the conversation ends. There aren’t that many customers in- it is getting kind of late. Still, they all immediately turn to stare at them.

Artoria refrains a flinch. She really should be used to that by now- the sneers, the glares. When she was a kid, she used to daydream that she might be some sort of supernatural creature- a changeling, a selkie with no skin, a fox who was never taught how to shapeshift- because whatever a human is, it had been made abundantly clear that she was not seen as one. Of course, now she knows the reason was most likely some shade of autism (not that she’s trusting any medical professional to get her an official diagnosis) but that doesn’t stop her from feeling at odds with most people. 

The point being: walking in a place normally frequented by students hanging out with friends and families treating their children is making her profoundly uncomfortable.

“ Oh shit, your wings! ” Ritsuka suddenly snaps their face towards Oberon. “I’m sorry, I’m so used to seeing you like this I didn’t even realize you were still in costume.”

“It’s fine! I wouldn’t be in this line of work if I didn’t like some attention.”

At least Oberon is the one attracting curious gazes, not her.

They place their orders. Artoria takes the cheapest thing on the menu, unwilling to put herself into any more debt with Ritsuka, and then they go sit in a corner.

“You guys think this place is hiring?” Artoria asks, looking around. She really ought to start looking for a job soon- or she’ll have to start lockpicking more than the theater’s doors for money.

“I think you can do better than here.” Oberon responds.

She shrugs. “Not really. I don’t have any diploma or anything. And I lost my ID.”

“That is unfortunate.”

“I can ask my work if they need extra hands, if you want. They might hire you if I vouch for you.” Ritsuka frowns. “You are of age, right?”

“I told you, I’m scrawny, not a kid!” Artoria puffs her cheeks. “I’m nineteen years old, thank you very much.” She left the day after she graduated from high school, and has spent the major part of the year wandering around until she landed in that theater. She hadn’t planned to stay for so long, but now it seems like a good place as any to settle.

Ritsuka raises both hands, palms up. “Hey, I work in a gay bar. You can’t blame me for checking. I can’t let a minor near alcohol.”

That’s where they draw the line. Really. Carrying a knife around is fine, breaking and entering is fine, but god forbid a kid gets near alcohol. Sure. Why not. “What about you? How old are you?”

“Me?” They scratch their chin. “I’m… twenty-one?”

“What a confident and trustworthy answer.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t pay attention to time that much.” They then turn to Oberon. “What about you? How old are you?”

“Glad you asked! I was born under the skillful pen of William Shakespeare in a fateful night of 1594-”

“Isn’t the myth of Oberon much older than A Midsummer’s Night Dream though?”

“Aw, did you look me up? I’m flattered!”

Ritsuka laughs, but doesn’t push the issue. Neither does Artoria. Based on their earlier conversations, she has a strong suspicion that Oberon may sincerely not know.

“Hey, what do you guys think of Oberon?”

Ritsuka doesn’t even look up from the spotlight they’re tinkering with. “I like you! You’re my friend!”

The actor chuckles. “No, no, I don’t mean me- I mean the actual mythological figure! You guys did know of him before you met me, didn’t you?” He turns to Artoria. “You read A Midsummer’s Night Dream as a kid, right?”

“... did I ever… tell you that?”

“Most likely. How else would I know that information?”

… True. Though she feels like it’s a bit out of character of her to mention anything regarding her childhood. “I did, yeah. It was an important play to me.” The one book she’d managed to sneak past the house’s censorship. Her own little secret, an escape route through stairs built on worn-out pages. “I like Oberon. I used to wish I were more like him.”

“Terribly handsome?” Oberon grins, and Artoria slaps his shoulder.

“I meant cunning like Oberon.” Well, she wouldn’t mind being handsome either. If she could, she would be performing every gender at once. Oh, to be a handsome woman and a pretty man at once…

“What about you, Ritsuka? Heard of me before?”

“I have.” They nod. “Not as the fairy king, though. Only in horror stories passed around the campfire.”

“Oh, do elaborate.” Oberon sits on the edge of the stage. “Scared I would come steal you away if you gave me your true name?”

“No, they weren’t fae stories at all really.”They scratch their chin, squinting their eyes. “It was something about… Oberon being a mass of malignant rumors, if I recall correctly? Who is also maybe a vampire?” They shake their head. “Sorry. Mash was the one who knew all about folklore, not me.”

A shadow passes on Oberon’s face. “A mass of stories given human form, huh…”

Ritsuka does not elaborate. Instead, they reach down to the tripod holding the light up, and pick something up. “Artoria, you would not believe what I just found.”

They throw it at her, because walking up to her would be too much effort apparently. Thankfully she manages to snatch it mid-ari. It’s a small, flat square, made of hard plastic. She peers down at it.

Her eyes widen.

It’s her ID.

“I don’t know how you managed to lose it here of all places, but I’m glad I could find it!” Ritsuka concludes, going back to examining the light.

There’s no mistaking it. This is her photo. This is her name. There is no one else on earth this ID could belong to.

It’s also, very obviously, forged.

For a start, her name is listed as Artoria Pendragon. Her name is Caster. (Yes, as in witch. This would be very funny if the reality of being ostracized by her own birthplace didn’t suck hard dicks.) Her date of birth is wrong too; the year is correct, but the month and day seems to have been picked at random. Her legal gender is wrong too, for that matter.

Not to mention. Artoria did not actually lose her ID. She just gave up on stealing it back when she left.

Oberon looks above her shoulder. “Excellent work, Ritsuka! I was planning on looking for it myself, but I see you beat me to the punch.”

Ritsuka replies with a single peace sign from the other side of the stage.

… Well. Artoria had kind of expected that they would not buy her I lost my ID excuse. There are many things the three of them have a tacit agreement to never bring up. (Why does Oberon keep performing so late at night? What is Ritsuka looking for? Why does Artoria live in the ceiling?) Though, she had expected Oberon to be the one inclined to forgery- he seems much more predisposed to be a conman than Ritsuka and their total inability to lie.

Who is Ritsuka, really? She’d been avoiding the question the entire time, but maybe it’s about time she starts looking some things up.

She pulls out her phone, and googles their name up. She doubts she’ll find them on the list of the top ten most researched serial killers, but even just a linkedin page would be nice-

…

“Oberon,” she speaks quietly, glancing at Ritsuka. They seem focused on something else, thankfully. “Have you ever looked up Ritsuka’s name?”

“I don’t have a phone.” Ah. Right. Of course. “Why? What did you find?”

Wordlessly, she shows him her phone screen.

The first result is a newspaper article. A missing person report. For Ritsuka Fujimaru, aged 13.

There’s a picture included. The kid is much younger, their cheeks are fuller- but there’s no mistaking it. 

That’s Ritsuka.

Oberon looks at the article, then glances at Ritsuka. “... Ritsuka is not fourteen.”

That is- true. Granted, Artoria doesn’t know how old they are exactly, but she thinks she can say with certainty that they’re younger than thirty, and older than sixteen.

“It could be a coincidence.” Oberon whispers, but she knows neither of them actually believe it.

So what? Did Ritsuka steal the identity of a missing sibling? Is that what they’re looking for? A way to get them back?

( Or, whispers a treacherous part of Artoria’s mind, the part that believed with iron-strong faith that she was not human as a kid, maybe they did age a decade in the span of one year. )

When Ritsuka invites them into their apartment, Artoria spends the entire way there wondering what their place must be like. It’s a small flat, surely, but what kind of space did they build in there? What kind of tokens do they furnish their shelves with? What kind of furniture do they have? Heavy, old wooden things? Bland ikea ones?

Well. The answer is. She was wrong. Just. She was wrong.

“Welcome to my place!” Ritsuka spreads their arms, smiling. “Feel free to take a seat on the bed.”

Their mattress is right on the floor. There is a fridge in a corner. A closet in another.

That’s it. There is no other furniture in this room. All and any personal item Ritsuka owns is directly set on the floor. Clothes? On the floor. Cutlery? On the floor. House keys? On the floor.

“Ritsuka, light of my little moth life, my dearest friend,” Oberon sets both hands on Ritsuka’s shoulders, “you live like this?”

“I know it isn’t much, but-”

“This isn’t not much. ” Artoria cuts them mid-sentence. “This is disastrous.”

“Appalling, even.” Oberon adds.

“Straight out of the malelivingspace subreddit.”

“A barn would be cozier than this.”

“I wouldn’t even invite my dog in here.”

“I think people should be legally allowed to sue you over-”

“Jeez, I get it! I get it.” Ritsuka throws their hands in the air, rolling their eyes. “Look, it’s bad, but that’s what I got. Take it or leave it.”

Fine. Artoria drops on the mattress. It’s a decent one, at least.

Oberon sits next to her, humming. “The least I’d do is add a bedframe.”

“Oh my god I don’t have money for a bedframe!”

“The cheapest Ikea one is like, fifty bucks. We can literally go there right now and get it.” Artoria knows this because she spent an embarrassing amount of time scrolling through online furniture catalogs daydreaming about the day she would finally have her own place to call a home. If she were a character in a greek tragedy, sirens could easily drag her to her demise by singing of hair ornaments, well-furnished apartments, and the promise of having things that actually belong to her and no one can take away from her.

Ritsuka huffs, crossing their arms. “I don’t like Ikea. Huge liminal spaces freak me out. I feel like I’m going to isekai into the wrong world if I take the wrong turn.”

“Ikea does deliveries though.” Oberon points out. “We get stuff for plays all the time at the theater, and I never had to set foot in the place myself.” 

“I don’t have time to look for furniture either. I’ve got stuff to do! I’m a busy person”

Artoria quirks up an eyebrow. “Don’t you spend all your free time fucking around in the theater with us?”

“Well maybe I have important things to do  in that theater! It’s a time-consuming hobby!”

There are things the three of them do not talk about. They don’t ask why Artoria always pops out of the ceiling when they’re here. They don’t ask why Oberon never leaves the theater unless physically dragged out. And they don’t ask what Ritsuka is looking for so obsessively. Yet Artoria finds herself pushing that unspoken rule: “Is it really so important that you can’t spare five minutes to look for a bedframe?”

“Yes.” The answer is instantaneous. No hesitation. Not a single second spent thinking about it. As if there was nothing in this world that could possibly be more important than this task.

Artoria and Oberon both fall silent, taken aback by the weight behind that single word.

Ritsuka must realize that their answer was a tad too serious, because they give a sheepish smile. “It’s related to a good friend of mine. I miss her very much.” They sit down on the floor, right in front the two of them. “I’m only staying in town until I find it, that’s why I don’t bother too much about the apartment or anything else.”

Ah… that makes sense. She’s familiar with hopping from town to town, only staying as long as she needed to heal her blistered feet. It has to be similar, she supposes. “You’re sure it’s in this theater, though? If you haven’t found it yet, then maybe you should try your luck else-”

“It’s here. I’m sure of it . ”

They say that with a determination Artoria is almost jealous of. Her entire life has been defined by uncertainty- where should I go next? What should I go next? I’m out of cash again, how will I eat? They locked me in the shack again, what do I do? What did I do wrong? What is so fucking wrong with me that they can’t bear to even look at me? - and here they are, in a shitty apartment looking for something they couldn’t find in months, yet armed with an iron will that will not falter, and-

Artoria glances at Oberon. His face hasn’t changed. His hands haven't moved. He’s an actor, which is really another way to say he’s a liar. She can’t tell what he’s thinking. But right here, at that moment, she can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for him- if the actor who barely remembers leaving the stage feels that twinge of envy, too.

“Literally nothing I can ever say will change your opinion on this, huh?”

Artoria lets out a long, drawn-out breath, before readjusting her grip on the table. “Shut up and help us set this up.”

In the span of the last couple weeks, she’d taken to dragging Oberon in the streets for some good old dumpster diving. Furniture aren’t her area of expertise, but she figures that so long as it’s hard and sturdy it can’t have bedbugs in it. Through their combined efforts they’ve forced Ritsuka to accept three chairs, one bedside table, one coat hanger, and as of right now their biggest catch yet- a large wooden table that can actually fit the three of them.

Ritsuka sighs, but they move to help the other two set the table down. “How far did you walk with that thing?”

“Too far.” Christ alive, this thing was heavy. The things she does for her friends, she swears…

Once it’s set, Oberon rubs his shoulders, wincing. “It was a bit of a hardship, I’ll admit.”

Ritsuka smiles. “Well, once again, I never asked you guys to actually do that, but I appreciate the… uh… the…”

Ritsuka’s eyes widen as their words fail them. Artoria follows their gaze, all the way across the table, until-

oh.

Oberon has taken off his coat.

The fairy quirks up an eyebrow. “Are you perchance being possessed by the ancient spirit of a Victorian man? Are you being overtaken by lust at the sight of my bare neck?”

“No!” Ritsuka says, with just a bit too much vindication (Not that she can blame them. Oberon is quite attractive. Objectively speaking.) “It’s just- it’s weird to see you without your wings.”

Ahh. Yeah, Artoria can relate. It’s like… seeing someone after a haircut. It’s uncanny.

“I don’t like taking them off.” He says that lightheartedly, but there’s a twitch in his fingers. Words are powerful tools to understate truths, but Artoria is used to looking for other physical tells. “It makes me feel a bit dysphoric. ”

Considering it took him risking a heatstroke walking half a mile carrying furniture to finally take off his coat, Artoria thinks can safely say it makes him feel really fucking bad.

“I’ll get you some water. You can put your coat back on when you’ve cooled off.” She looks around. Today of all days, Ritsuka seems to have put away their tableware. (Yes, it is probably her fault for always clowning on them with Oberon about it, but that won’t stop her from being annoyed about it.)

Though, considering there is only one (1) closet and nothing close to a cabinet nearby, it’s no rocket science figuring out where they are. Confident in her deduction, Artoria heads towards said closet, intending to grab a mug for Oberon.

Ritsuka perks up. “Ah, wait, don’t-”

The one solace Artoria had back in Tintagel was Ector’s workshop. While he never let her handle anything dangerous, he gladly let her watch him work on any cosplay he had set his eyes on at the moment. Under his tutelage, Artoria has learned the following:

• Swords are really fucking cool.
• Armors are really fucking cool.

Which is why when she opens the closet, finds the tableware at the bottom, and a whole-ass chainmail suit hanging from a coat hanger, her reaction is thus: “I can not believe you would hide that from me!”

She latches onto it with an excitement incomparable to anything she has ever felt before. Chainmail!! A complete suit of chainmail!! Ector had dealt with chainmail too (these are actually quite easy to make with basic jewelry techniques) but he only ever made the parts that would be visible under armor and/or clothes because they’re, well, really long to make. And the rings are so sturdy! This is some high quality stuff. Ritsuka did an excellent job-

… No. Upon reflection, she doubts Ritsuka would have had the skills, time and money to make this. No offense to her friend, but- they couldn’t even be assed to buy a chair. “Where did you get this?”

Ritsuka shifts uncomfortably. “It was a… gift.”

“A was unaware you had any interest in medieval settings.” Oberon walks up to her to take a look at  the suit himself. Then, in a neutral tone, he adds: “This is really well-made.”

“Ah,” there is a slight pause, “I was really into medieval reenactments and all at some point? I kind of fell out of it, but I’ve still kept my stuff.”

“Oh, really?” Oberon turns to look at them. “I didn’t know that. What events did you go to?”

“The…” They pause, as if struggling to recall the name. “The Luik Festival. As I said, it was a long time ago, though.”

“That’s great!” Oberon taps twice on Artoria’s pocket, then shifts to conceal her body behind his. She gets the message; while Oberon keeps the conversation going, she takes off her phone and quickly types a search in.

To Ritsuka’s credit, the Luik Festival does exist. It just happens to be a music festival rather than anything related to medieval fairs.

The lie doesn’t surprise her, not really. They all lie quite often. The part that confuses her is why lie in the first place. She can take a guess as to why Ritsuka doesn’t want to be more explicit as to what they’re looking for or why (it might be embarrassing, it might be deeply personal, it might be something precious they don’t want anyone else to look for.) But what could they possibly be trying to conceal with this poorly thought-out lie? It’s just chainmail. It’s not like they stole it from a museum.

So why?

The goal is thus: they need to make Oberon a new set of wings stitched to a tank top, so he’ll have something to wear during the summer that isn’t a full prince regalia.

Consequently, the issue is thus: how do they make said wings?

“Cardboard is out. He deserves better than that.”

“Obviously.” Ritsuka taps their pen against the notebook. For someone who was so averse to getting a table, they’re gladly using it now, taking notes with Artoria on how to help their shared friend. “We need something better. Something light, he’ll be carrying it around a lot. But solid enough to stand on its own. Something waterproof, ideally, in case we want to go out to swim.”

“I’m gonna stop you right here.” Artoria raises her hand in a stop sign. “The good waterproof stuff is expensive, and, frankly, we don’t have the skills for it.”

“We don’t know if we don’t have the skills for it. Maybe we do!”

“And if we don’t it will take us ten times to get it right when we could make him something decent in one.”

“... Fair point.” Reaches out with their other hand to grab their mig. “What if we get him inflatable wings?”

Artoria gives them a flat look. “Really. Inflatable wings. Really.”

“Look, I know they don’t look so great, but-”

“Not only are they ugly as sin, but also they’re gonna absorb so much heat. Which defeats the point.”

Ritsuka sighs deeply, staring at their coffee. “Who knew taking care of royalty would be so difficult.”

“I don’t see what royalty has to do with our predicament.”

“Who knew taking care of the fae would be so difficult.” They amend, taking a sip.

“Everyone knows that. That’s like, seventy percent of every fae story in existence.”

Ritsuka quickly has to put down their mug so as to not choke on their own laugh.

The two of them trade jabs for a minute or so. Ritsuka and Oberon are about the only people she can be openly rude and petty to, and by god it feels so good to not be constantly watching her metaphorical steps.

“Hey, do you think Oberon truly is one?”

She blinks. “A what? Royalty?”

“No. A fae.”

The question is so bizarre it takes her a moment to process it. “No? Fairies aren’t real.” For all she likes to toy with hypotheticals, even now- fairies aren’t real. Magic isn’t real. No one will come to whisk her away to a place where she can actually belong. That’s depressing, but that’s the truth. “What brought this on?”

Ritsuka shrugs. “I don’t know, it’s just- he only ever referred to himself as Oberon. He gets dysphoric from lacking wings- we’ve seen him without his binder a bunch of time, but only once without his wings. The theater casts weird shadows when he’s around. It made me wonder, that’s all.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.” Maybe that’s why they’re so cagey about some subjects. Perhaps they’re afraid of being cursed, or something. “They could just be weird coincidences. As for the name, I just assumed he renamed himself? I picked Artoria as a first name in reference to King Arthur, but that doesn’t make me related to him-”

Whatever it was about that last sentence, it startles them enough to loosen their grip on their mug. The cup tilts forward, the coffee flows- and spills directly on their front. “ FUCK! ”

Ooooh shit shit shit. “Take that off!” She shoots off her chair, rushing towards the fridge. Ice, ice, she needs ice for that burn. Thankfully, she manages to get her hands on a bag of frozen peas quickly enough. She rushes back to her friend- and almost trips.

For all their time dicking around together, she’d never seen Ritsuka without their clothes on. A fact common to many friendships, which Artoria had never questioned (though, privately, she sometimes thought that it would be neat to see what her friends look like in the nude.)

Which is all a long way to say: what the fuck happened to Ritsuka??

An ugly, jagged scar starts at their sternum and ends right above their waistband. It reminds her of a gutted fish- a wound inflicted without a care for the marks it would leave behind, for the sole purpose of getting a fast access to the internal organs.

There are other scars as well- a circle of teeth around a bicep, three parallel lines around the hip, a dot like a star on the shoulder. Artoria is familiar with wounds- bruises mostly, and frostbite, though burns are common acquaintances, and she’s encountered stabs a couple times. These aren’t like anything she knows.

These weren’t meant with the intent to hurt. These were meant with the intent to kill.

It’s raining again. God, Artoria fucking hates the rain. It’s stupidly loud from the attic, which means that Artoria can’t sleep, which means that she can’t stop thinking.

It’s stupid. It’s crazy. It’s an absurd idea she shouldn’t even entertain.

But…

scars that don’t seem to come from accidents or abuse, but actual fights…

a full suit of chainmail they certainly cannot afford and refuse to elaborate upon…

genuine belief that Oberon could be a fairy…

Is… is Ritsuka a genuine medieval knight?

No. No, that’s dumb. Besides- Ritsuka is, was a real person at some point. The missing poster proves it. Ritsuka Fujimaru is a person who was born from this world.

And they aged half a decade in one year how?

Maybe they had a huge growth spurt! Maybe it’s not the same person at all! This isn’t some Narnia shit, you can’t just walk through a wardrobe as a kid and come back a full adult-

wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.

The fucking. Ikea conversation. The one that prompted her and Oberon to drag random furniture back to their home. What was it that Ritsuka said again? I’m afraid to isekai into the wrong world?

I’m afraid to isekai into the wrong world.

Oh.

Oh mother fucker.

It’s insane, it’s inane- but doesn’t it make sense?

Okay. Okay. Let’s- let’s just, entertain the idea. For a minute. So Ritsuka is an isekai protagonist. 

So what? It doesn’t affect her in any way! There, case closed. Maybe magic is real. Who cares. That won’t feed her tomorrow.

And why are you struggling with food, woman? Why have you consistently failed to find your place in human society?

No. Shut up.

You’ve thought about it.

These were fantasies. Silly daydreams from a child who wanted to believe that this world could not be as cruel as it appeared.

This world?

Oh shut the fuck up. Besides, magic being arguably real doesn’t mean that she is magic.

But it could .

Could. That single word is the first nail on her coffin. Could. All these years, all this time spent accepting that it would not get better- blown away by that simple concept. Could. Could. Could. Maybe she was right all along, maybe she is a monster or a fae or a demon- or maybe she was wrong, magic or no magic she’s but small fucked up girl, or maybe- maybe-

Could. Could. Could. How can possibility be so much worse than certainty? The one thing Artoria used to be sure of was that there was something wrong with her, and now she doesn’t even have that anymore.

Not for the first time, she curses Oberon’s lack of personal phone. She can’t speak to Ritsuka about this. But she really could use a shoulder to lean on…

Oberon…

If magic is real… what does that mean for Oberon?

Oberon. Oberon. Oberon. Oberon, the fairy king. Oberon, the actor who endlessly performs even when no one is here. Oberon, who cannot stand to be parted from his wings. Oberon, around which the theater whispers.

Is he? Oberon, king of the fairies? Or is he an actor, a pretender, and man whose mask is too well-crafted? Does he know?

Oberon, Oberon, Oberon. The man who will not leave the theater she lives in. The man who somehow knew which play she cherished as a child. The character she latched hard as a role model and coping mechanism.

…

If magic is real. And if she is magic. Which, is, admittedly, a lot of ifs- too many, in fact, this is ridiculous, she should stop thinking-

but if magic is real, and she is magic,

then did she call him here?

The sight is so profoundly shocking that Artoria almost drops her bag of take-out. At her side, she can see Oberon staring, mouth agape, confusion dancing in his eyes. This has to be a dream. This has to be an elaborate trick, an illusion, a-

“Guys, you’re overdoing it.”

“You bought a bedframe.” Oberon sets a hand over his heart. “Oh, how I yearned to see that day! Finally, our pleas have been heard-”

“ Guys. ”

“If there is such a thing as a miracle, then this is what it is.” Artoria bounces from Oberon’s argument. “The living proof that God exists-”

“You are both terrible, terrible people. I don’t know why we’re friends.”

They both laugh to Ritsuka’s face. Double-teaming on their third will never get old- unless Artoria is the third, obviously, in which case her friends are awful people who should get a better sense of humor.

The three of them sit down, passing the food around. “So, what’s the occasion?” Artoria asks, unwrapping her taco. “Finally realized to give your back a break?”

Ritsuka rolls their eyes, grabbing their own order. “You wish. No, I wanted to ask you guys if you wanted to stay the night, but I figured you were softies who need something a bit more comfortable than the floor.”

Artoria almost drops her food.

“My, how bold.” Oberon muses. “You know, most people would go for flowers or a fancy dinner, not an entire bedframe-”

“To stay the night as in doing a sleepover. As sleeping and being asleep. ”

Oh. Uhm. Well. Her bad.

Thankfully, Oberon is busy glancing at the bed, so Artoria can quickly hide her blush. If Ritsuka notices, they don’t say anything. “Would the three of us even fit on here? It’s not that big of a bed.”

“We would have to squeeze a bit, but I’m sure that’s doable. Besides, Artoria is like, half our size.”

“I am going to bite you, and it is going to hurt.” She replies in a completely flat tone.

“Kinky.” 

She kicks them both under the table for good measure.

The banter goes on until they’re done with dinner. When they get up to put away the dishes, Ritsuka speaks up: “I was serious, by the way. About you guys sleeping over.”

The silence only lasts for a couple of seconds, but it feels like an infinity to Artoria. It’s nothing serious- it’s just a sleepover for Christ’s sake, the kind you see in teenage movies. Ritsuka forged her ID from scratch. She made wings for Oberon. Oberon kept quiet on their secrets. A sleepover cannot possibly be that big of a deal compared to all of that.

And yet- maybe it’s because sleeping with someone implies a vulnerability she can never show when awake. Maybe it’s because sharing a bed implies a closeness, a familiarity, implies associating others with safety in a way she can only get close to describing with terms like family or home. Or maybe it’s because the three of them consistently refer to each other as friends, but every once in a while Artoria finds herself thinking, is that friendship?

(She would help them bury a body without a single question asked. Is that friendship? She wants to wrap her hands around their neck everytime Ritsuka and Oberon say something that blurs the line between magic and reality. Is that friendship? If Ritsuka had genuinely proposed a threesome earlier, she’s not sure if she would have refused. Is that friendship?)

“Sure. Why not?” At last Oberon answers. “I am not taking the wings off though, I’m warning you.”

Artoria snorts. Yeah, that checks out. “I’m down too.” She looks down on herself. “I don’t have any sleepwear, though.”

Ritsuka makes a vague gesture of the hand. “Just grab some of my clothes. They’ll be a little loose, but they should fit you.”

Alright, then. Without any further instructions, she grabs the first shirt and boxers she sees, then heads to the bathroom to get changed while the other two finish cleaning up. Midway through it occurs to her that she’s about to wear clothes that Ritsuka regularly uses to cover their ass, and she tries really hard to be normal about it. She fails, mostly, which is the most embarrassing moment of her life (dear god she likes how their shirt smells she’s going to fucking kill herself who even thinks shit like this) but after taking a couple minutes to breathe she manages to calm down enough to come back to the living room.

“Alright, I’m done.”

Ritsuka and Oberon turns towards her, interrupted in whatever conversation they were having.  “Nice. Well, then, I… I…”

Ritsuka’s voice trails off. Their gaze moves from her head to her socks, and then very pointedly away from her. “... I’ll get changed next, if you’ll excuse me.”

Artoria wouldn’t quite describe them as running away, but they certainly walk quite hurriedly towards the bathroom.

“... Did I do something wrong?” She looks at herself again. She has a few nicks and scars here and there, but the worst of them should still be hidden away. So really, why-

“I think the issue is more that the shirt is a bit long.”

Well, yes, it is long, Oberon is right, but she doesn’t see how that correlates with Ritsuka’s behavior. Their shirt reaches about mid thighs, a bit above the hems of the boxers oh it looks like she’s not wearing anything at the bottom ok she got it.

She sits on a chair, covers her face, and screams internally.

“Hey, no need to be ashamed. You’ve got nice legs. You got it, you flaunt it.”

She slides her palm off her face. She can feel the blood pounding in her cheeks. “That’s unhelpful, but I appreciate the sentiment, I guess.”

Is Oberon checking her out too? She can’t tell. He’s much better at this brand of lies than Ritsuka is.

Speaking of, Ritsuka just came out of the bathroom. They nod towards Oberon, who gets up to go get changed himself.

“Give me a second, I just remembered something.” Ritsuka heads towards the bed. They stick their hand underneath the pillow, and bring it back with- of course it’s a knife. She doesn’t know why she expected anything else.

Ritsuka smiles at her sheepishly. “A bad habit of mine. But… I thought you guys might accidentally cut yourself on it if we sleep together. I’ll put it away tonight.”

“That would be for the best.” Artoria didn’t take her knife either- she left it in the breast pocket of her sweater. They’ll just- have to trust their back to each other.

Before the conversation can go any further, Oberon comes back. He’s wearing the tank top they made him, the one with foam wings. She’d never seen his arms bare before. They’re surprisingly thin. They remind her of twigs, or a bug’s leg. She could easily wrap her whole hand around his bicep. She knows he’s strong, though- he helped her carry this accursed table, after all. But if she took hold of him, if she pinned him down- would he be able to get free? She genuinely can’t tell. She kind of wants to find out.

“So, how are we doing this?” Oberon asks, interrupting her trail of inappropriate (but very pleasing) thoughts.

Ritsuka sits on the bed. “The easiest way would probably be for you to be on one side? That way your wings can just hang over the edge of the bed.” They turn to Artoria. To their credits, they mostly manage to keep their eyes on her face. “So it really comes down to whether you’d rather be on the side or the middle.”

She looks at Oberon, then back at Ritsuka. “I’ll take the side.” She’ll feel safer with an easy escape route. And- much as she hates to admit it- they both are much taller than her, and she fears she’ll be squished between them if she goes in the middle.

The three of them move to their respective positions. It’s… painfully awkward. Bare skin bumps against bare skin making Artoria’s heartrate rise in spikes. The blanket falls just a bit too short over her. She’ll be cold tonight.

“You guys okay?” Ritsuka asks from the middle.

She feels the mattress shift underneath her. “Ah, I fear I might fall off the bed, to be frank.”

Ritsuka snorts. “That’s a problem with a very simple solution, my friend.”

She feels the bed shift some more, though she doesn’t quite see what Ritsuka does. What she does feel is their arm suddenly wrapping around her stomach to pull her right against their chest, making her squeak. “What are you doing??”

“If we stick closer, Oberon won’t have to stay so close to the edge.” She feels them move again, then feel an extra arm being haphazardly thrown over her shoulder. Oberon’s, laying all the way across Ritsuka’s body, she assumes. “There. Isn’t it comfier this way?”

It… is. And the blanket is large enough for the three of them like this. It is a bit too comfy, in fact, so for now she crosses her fingers and thank god that she’s facing away from the both of them else there is no way they wouldn’t notice the bulge in her boxers.

“Well then. Good night.”

They turn off the lights, then all fall quiet. Slowly, Artoria manages to calm her breathing down. This… is nice. Unfortunate lusting aside- it’s nice. She thinks she wouldn’t mind sleeping on the bare floor again, so long as these three are with her.

“Hey, are you guys asleep?” Oberon whispers from the other side of the bed.

Ritsuka grunts. “Not yet. Artoria?”

“Not yet either.”

“Do you think magic is real?”

Ah- of course. Oberon is smart. She doesn’t know how much he picked up compared to her, but- if he caught as many hints as she did, obviously he’d come to the same conclusions. Regarding Ritsuka. Regarding himself, maybe.

“I don’t know.” She responds honestly. “I wish I did. I don’t mind if it’s not real, but I just wish I knew. ”

Ritsuka rubs her arm. “I don’t know if magic is real in this world either.” In this world, huh. “I guess the only way to know would be by looking backstage of  the theater of life, huh.”

She takes a sharp breath.

“Artoria?” Ritsuka calls, a tinge of worry in their voice. “You okay? You tensed up suddenly.”

She knows. She knows. She knows what Ritsuka is looking for. There is no way in hell that wording was unintentional. She knows.

They want to go back.

Their body is a mess of scars. They sleep with a fucking knife under their pillow. They lost five years of their life to another world, it fucked them up beyond belief, it turned them into someone who can only speak of their past experiences in half truths, and they want to go back.

Oberon wipes his brow, grinning widely. “So, how was it?”

Artoria gets up from the audience seat, clapping loudly. “It was great! Incredible job as always.”

From the back of the stage, Ritsuka flashes him a thumb up. “I liked it a lot! That last monologue was especially raw.”

Artoria climbs on the stage, grabbing a water bottle on the way up. “What do you guys want to do now? I was thinking of trying out that one Chinese place we talked about.”

Ritsuka gets up and stretches, nodding. “Sounds good to me!” They walk up to the remaining too, rummaging through their pocket. “Which reminds me, I meant to give you guys this.”

?

Are those… spare keys?

“Yep! That way you guys can come to my place whenever you want.” They smile. Unlike most of their smiles, this one is smaller, more genuine, which is the only warning Artoria gets for what they say next: “Also, if anything ever happens to me, you can just grab whatever you want before the cops show up.”

For a few seconds, Artoria just stands here, speechless. “... What?”

“Hey, don’t make that face, I don’t plan on getting horribly murdered.” They have a small chuckle there. Their fingers are twitching. Liar. Liar. Liar. “It’s just in case, you know? Shit happens-”

Oberon’s fist connects with their jaw, and the sentence ends. They stagger backward, taken aback. Slowly, they bring a hand to their face.

“How dare you.” Oberon hisses , like a snake, like a dragon. “How dare you act like you leaving would be an accident and not something you have been planning on since the beginning.”

Ritsuka chuckles, because of fucking course they do. “I think you misunderstood something? I-”

Oberon’s anger echoes with her own. It fuels her, fills her with gasoline and hydrogen and one shot of vodka too many, and maybe that’s why this time instead of compartmentalizing Artoria lets herself burn. “For once in your life stop roleplaying as a normal guy. You suck at it anyways.”

Something shifts in Ritsuka’s expression. “... What do you want me to tell you? I will leave one day. It’d be a waste to leave all my stuff here to rot. I want you guys to have it. It seemed fairly logical to me?”

Are they fucking serious. “We don’t want your stuff. We want you to not go back to the fucking murderland that almost had you eviscerated! ”

“You don’t understand-”

“No I don’t! I don’t want to understand!”

“I have a duty!” Ritsuka throws both hands in the air.  “I left people over there! I have shit to do! Every second I spend here is a whole minute lost over there. They need me! I need to go back before they fucking die!”

“You don’t even know if you can go back!” Oberon yells.

Ritsuka’s face snaps towards Oberon’s. “Of course I know. I know I can. And I know it’s here. ” 

They take a step forward. There’s something wrong with the way they move. A lifetime ago, Artoria remembers being surprised that she hadn’t heard them walk into the theater. They walk like a prey animal who needs to be silent under threat of death. “I know because you are here. Oberon, Oberon, Oberon! You share his name, you share the name of the Night of Wallachia. Oberon, Oberon, Oberon! How is that not a sign?”

They suddenly turn to Artoria. “And you. You have Gray’s face. Or King Arthur’s face, or whatever the fuck this weird cult believed. How is that not a sign? There has to be something here. A door. A clue. A message. I will find it. I will find it if it kills me.”

Belatedly, Artoria realizes that she’s forgotten to breathe. “You know what I am.”

“I’ve been back in this world for barely a year, you think I know jack shit about how it works?” They shake their head. “I don’t know if you are human or not. As for you,” They turn to Oberon, “I don’t know if you are the character or the actor either. That’s something the two of you have to figure out without my help.”

Artoria looks at Oberon. Oberon looks at Artoria.

There is a beat.

“Did you create me?” He finally asks, blunt as a hammer and just as intent to harm should the answer be displeasing.

“... I don’t know. Did you answer my call?”

“I don’t know. ”

And that’s the crux of the problem, isn’t it? A hopeful uncertainty is so, so much worth than a terrible truth. 

“Great! Communication! We love to see it!” Ritsuka claps their hands together. “Since that’s solved, why don’t we just-”

They smile as they start that last sentence, that goddamn fucking smile they wear all the time, and Artoria has never felt so physically violent.

“We literally did not solve a thing. ” Oberon barks at them. “Don’t you dare escape this conversation-”

“Oh my fucking god, what do you want from me?!” Their smile turns to bared teeth. “I am not going to apologize because I know what I want to do with my life while you people can’t even figure out what you fucking want to be-”

It’s a low blow, and they all know it, but that does not stop Artoria from fucking exploding. She grabs Ritsuka by the collar and fucking slams her forehead against their nose.  

Ritsuka makes a horrible, drawn-out noise. A sick sort of satisfaction sets inside her guts, for a second- then Ritsuka seizes her by the arm and throws her against the wall.

The shock sends her head ringing. The lights of the theater flicker. She shakes her head to force herself to focus. There are shapes fighting in front of her. Oberon and Ritsuka are fighting in front of her. They’re punching the shit out of each other like drunkards outside a bar, and the sight is as brutal as it is pathetic.

“Sorry for your existential crisis, but I cannot fucking help you! ” Ritsuka yells, breathless. “I don’t have any answer for you! Leave me the fuck alone!”

“ You’re the one who gave me this crisis! Before I met you, I was fine! I knew I was insane! That was the only explanation possible! But you came in, you just had to come in!”

Ritsuka decks him in the face. Oberon retaliates with a hit to the stomach. Artoria gets back on her feet and charges, tackling Ritsuka off their feet. They flail, grab onto a nearby rope, and fall, pulling it with them.

“ Why are you like this. ” She growls. Vaguely, she can hear the curtains fall behind her, trapping the three of them on the stage- Ritsuka must have pulled on the mechanism to close the stage. “ You can live in this world! You’re human! You could be normal! People cared enough to look for you when you left! Why are you so ready to throw it all away?? Why are you so intent on going back to the meat grinder??”

Ritsuka’s knee hit her once in the stomach- then they use the leverage to flip her over. “There are people I love there! Can’t you understand? Can’t you understand? ”

She reaches up and grabs them by the throat. “Can’t you see that we love you too?! We don’t want to inherit any of your shit. We just want you!”

Her grip is weak- the angle isn’t ideal. But she has her palm right on their pulse point, and at that moment she’s hyperaware of their skin, their veins, the very flow of their blood. She feels their pulse quicken before she sees them lean down.

The kiss is nothing like a fairytale. It’s more teeth than tongue, the intent to bring more pain than pleasure. She responds in kind. She wants to hurt. She wants to be hurt. She loves them and hates them and cares for them and resent them and a thousand other feelings like a maelstrom in her lungs.

Their lips part when Ritsuka is suddenly pulled off her, Oberon’s hand on their collar. He grabs their chin and forces them to turn their head to the side, before catching their lips with his own. Artoria’s mouth tastes like copper. Briefly, she wonders if Oberon can taste her blood on their lips. He doesn’t look like much royalty now; hair mussled up, buttons popped, coat torn, he looks more like a cautionary tale than a fairy one. The sight makes Artoria’s heart skip a beat.

Artoria latches onto one of their arms and jams it in her mouth. She wants to carve herself inside of them. She wants to leave scars akin to the ones they already have. She bites with all her might, holds onto them with all her teeth, and every mark she indents in their flesh is a quiet don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me.

A sudden sound like thunder startles the three of them. They all turn at the same time- only to discover that one of the spotlights have fallen on the stage.

None of them speak. Perhaps they’re all glad they weren’t under that. Artoria looks up. She’s fairly certain she’s the one who damaged the light when she was thrown against the wall.

“... Do you smell that?”

She’s not sure who spoke up. Her gaze falls on the broken lights. Light smoke is seeping through. “Is it burning?”

Ritsuka hurriedly staggers their way up. They rush towards the device.

“Hey, wait, it could be dangerous-”

Without a care for her warning, they push the light aside. Whatever they see beneath it, their face- their face- she doesn’t know how to describe this. It brightens up with joy beyond human comprehension. They look absolutely manic. 

“Ritsuka?”

Ritsuka grabs the spotlight with both hands, rises it above their head, and slams it against the floor.

“Ritsuka, what the fuck! ” Oberon and her both run to get to Ritsuka’s side. The planks have started cracking. Smoke seems to be coming from underneath them. 

Oberon reaches out to grab Ritsuka’s arm. Ritsuka immediately drops the spotlight and turns to take Oberon by the collar.

“If you want to get off the stage, you can’t just go backstage. You get it, right? You need to get rid of the stage itself. That was obvious! That was so fucking obvious! You get it, right??”

It’s a completely different tone from earlier. They’re not angry, they’re not hostile. It’s like they’re possessed. Their hands are trembling around Oberon’s clothes. “What are you talking about?!”

Ritsuka glances at her, then at him, then shoves Oberon against her. He’s heavier than her; they can’t just throw him around like a ragdoll. But it’s enough to make the both of them trip and stagger. It’s enough for them to lose a few seconds.

A few seconds too much.

Ritsuka grabs the spotlight again, slams it against the floor one last time, and with a terrible, terrible sound, the planks give in.

Every light on the stage flickers. Shadows dance against the wall. Whispers rise from an unseen audience. Thick smoke erupts from the hole of the stage, smelling like firewood and honey and something Artoria can only describe as yellow. Behind the closed curtains, everything suddenly feels claustrophobic.

Ritsuka laughs. It’s an expression of pure, unadulterated joy. Something dances in their eyes, a deep obsession that can only be defined as madness. They’re a moth in love with the flames below, and Artoria wishes she had ever wanted anything as much they want to fry themself.

They turn to the two of them. Their smile falters.

They extend a hand. The imprint of Artoria’s teeth are still visible all over their arm.

“Come with me. Please.”

Oh, how she hates them for saying that. How she hates them for offering her a way out a full decade after she just begged for one, how she hates them for offering a life-altering choice in the middle of an unsettled argument. Ritsuka, Ritsuka, Ritsuka, the one person she wants in every way it is possible to want another human- as a friend, as a lover, as a prey, as an enemy.

“You are,” Oberon says, “the worst thing that has ever happened to me.”

He means it. She knows he does. They know he does. 

But there is more to that, and they all know it too. 

Because Oberon takes her hand, she takes Ritsuka’s, and when Ritsuka steps backward and falls through the hole in the stage, none of them let go.