Dear whoever is taking the time to read this,
Please remember that Princess Tutu and its characters do not belong to me. If they did, I would ship Fakir and Ahiru so hard it might transcend the boundaries of canon (probably not). Nor do I own the abridged series of Princess Tutu, which I take some of the characters' traits from.
And if you are still reading this, I will warn you that this story is not for everyone. There is stupidity. There is breaking the fourth wall with self-insertion (my comments are in parentheses and in bold. Other characters' comments are in parentheses and italics). And most importantly, there is pantslessness.
tl;dr: I don't own the characters and this is stupid.
Now if you haven't decided to turn back after reading those warnings, I applaud either your courage or your ability to read the tl;dr, and I hope you enjoy the story.
Mytho had never liked wearing pants. Ever.
To him, pants were an abomination and they should be abhorred and abolished if humanly possible. When he lost his heart, all that was left of his original self was his instinct to protect everything at any cost, and his built-in dislike for pants. (Though without a heart, he couldn't understand dislike, but that didn't matter.)
Either way, he never wore pants. He would hold plot-relevant conversations with his roommate, Fakir, without wearing pants. Or underwear, for that matter. He would jump out of windows wearing only an oversized white shirt, and only that. If he could, he would fly off toward the horizon without wearing pants.
This deep "dislike" of pants endeared Mytho to many an in-universe fangirl in a strange, but cute way; however, not everyone wished to see him walking around without some sort of clothing to cover his legs...
It was a chilly winter morning. Fakir and Mytho were standing in front of a clothing store.
"It's freezing right now. Are you even cold?" Fakir asked Mytho, zipping up an extra-fluffy jacket. Ahiru had given it to him so he wouldn't turn into an ice cube for the third time. Gold Crown Town had gained quite a reputation for not only a certain crazed writer of tragedies, but also incredibly cold winters.
(...I'm talkin' about you, Drosselmeyer!)
(Who, me? I am simply a teller of stories who happens to love tragedy!)
(And you're a crazy old man who should already be dead. Just thinking of your creepy grin makes me want to chop my hands off.)
(Don't talk to me like that, young lady! Remember that even if I am a character in a story, the puppets in your play were created by me! And I still have the right to mess with them as I please. Besides, don't you have a story to be getting on with?)
(oh that's right, whoops... resuming storytelling mode)
"It's freezing right now. Are you even cold?"
"Not really," Mytho answered in the usual monotone, wearing his big nightshirt.
"Idiot."
"Fakir."
"Put on some pants, moron."
"According to urban legend, Donald Duck comics were banned in Finland."
"Don't be a useless idiot. This is SPARTA- uh, I mean, Germany. I told you to put on some pants."
(Fakir, take that back! You're not supposed to be making meme references while you're here! They haven't been invented yet! Are you off your meds again?)
(Uh... no...)
"I told you to put on some pants."
Mytho didn't comply. "They said the comics were banned because he wasn't wearing any pants."
"And I'll ban you from my company if you don't get some pants on right now."
"But I... I don't want to wear pants."
"Do it." Fakir felt that something sounded wrong with that sentence. He disregarded the strange feeling.
"But I don't have any pants."
"What?" Oh, that's right. I left his only pair of pants back at the dorm. "At least put on some underwear."
"Ten percent of women have confessed to not wearing panties at some point or another to avoid having their panty lines seen through their pants."
The strange feeling Fakir had got a little stronger. "Don't tell me you don't want to wear underwear either."
"I'm not. I'm just stating a fact about underwear." Hanging out with Fakir and his snarky sarcasm had taken its effect on Mytho, it seemed.
"Implying that you don't want to wear underwear." The stange feeling got stronger. They really should not be talking about underwear, Fakir thought.
"You said it yourself," said Mytho.
(This is not going the way I want it to go. Mytho, take a step toward Fakir. Pull his pants off and demonstrate your innate hate for pants. Do it now.)
Mytho stared blankly at Fakir. (What? Well, whatever. You know you're writing a good story when the characters don't always do what you say.)
A curly-haired blonde girl, then a red-headed one flashed by from out of nowhere, right under Fakir's nose. Or they weren't actually under his nose, since the girls were quite a bit shorter than he was, but you probably don't even care about these minute details...
It was Ahiru chasing after Liliae for a pair of her own underwear. She was so flustered by the plot-convenient theft that she was too distracted to see Mytho standing there in front of the clothing store with Fakir. The blondie and the duck-girl went by fast enough to create a breeze, blowing Mytho's shirt up and-
Fakir tried to bury his face in his incredibly fluffy jacket, but he did so a bit too slow to cover his eyes- and his red face. "M-Mytho! See, this is why you need to wear something to cover up your legs. What if one of the fangirls saw you?"
"I don't know," was the reply.
"What do you think this does to me?! And my reputation?! All because you..."
Fakir continued to rant angrily about how Mytho should wear pants, forgetting that there weren't any for him to wear, that it was really cold outside, and that neither Mytho nor Fakir had any money to buy any pants from the clothing store.
Mytho finally seemed to be coming over. Literally. He took a step toward Fakir, making him stop ranting for a moment.
"Fakir, do you want me to wear pants?" he inquired. "Is it bothering you?"
Fakir crossed his arms. "What do you think, stupid?"
"Okay then." Mytho took another step toward Fakir. And then another, and another, until he was practically up in Fakir's face.
To avoid having Mytho up in his face, Fakir started backing up toward the store. Slowly, he said, "What are you doing?"
"I don't know." Mytho actually didn't have any idea what he was thinking, and he probably didn't have very many thought processes running through his head anyway, but apparently he felt that whatever he was thinking of doing was worth a shot.
"Well, whatever you're doing, stop it right now!" Despite Fakir's orders, Mytho continued to approach him, still without any clue of what he was doing. He took another step. And another. And then another.
The cycle continued. Fakir backed up and threatened Mytho, Mytho completely ignored the warnings and stepped toward Fakir once more, Fakir backed up again, Mytho approached Fakir, Fakir backed up-
Fakir bumped into the wall of the clothing store. Not good. Definitely not good. Especially when Mytho didn't know what he was doing. When he lost his heart, did he lose his brain in the process, too?
"Mytho-" he began.
Addressed person suddenly grabbed Fakir by the pants and pulled, hard. The pants came off without a tear, like it was magic.
...Well, that was actually because it was magic. Magic is allowed to exist in fairy tales, don't you know? Luckily, when Mytho had lost his heart, he had retained, along with a desire to protect helpless things and hate pants, the ability to magically take off someone's pants without having them rip.
(...What, I didn't tell you that at the beginning of the story? Cucumber sandwiches! I'm such a forgetful author, aren't I?)
(More like an unreliable narrator. I think you purposely left that out.)
(Drosselmeyer... You may be a writer, but you're a character in this story too, don't forget that. So do as I say and, in Fakir's words, "shut up, idiot!")
(Don't steal my sayings and just please finish the story already. Everybody's gotten tired of your interruptions. You're the narrator, not a character in the story!)
(I won't be able to finish until everyone talking in parentheses gets quiet, Fakir! So shut up already! Ahem. Anyway...)
Fakir was left with no pants. And his shirt didn't exactly go down far enough to cover up his nether regions-
(A-hem.)
(Shoosh, you! Can't you see I'm trying to finish the story here! And haven't you heard of "show don't tell?")
But at least he had on some boxers. (And, much to my disappointment, they were plain black, not blue and covered in little yellow ducks. But not everything goes your way when you're a writer.)
(AAA-HEM. Nobody wants to hear your innermost thoughts about my underwear.)
(You know what, Fakir? Maybe you were right about everyone being tired of hearing me interrupt the actual story. Even I'm tired of my own interruptions.)
(And I was right about your being a moron. Ha.)
(...I am a moron. You got me, alright? You win. I'm 100% done with the interruptions. Let's finish this dumb thing already.)
Fakir, wanting to get away with at least some shred of his dignity, grabbed Mytho, who still looked clueless as to the embarrassing implications of the situation, and dashed back to the dorms screaming bloody murder (though really, he was trying to yell at Mytho about how he really needed to put on some pants).
"Fakir, I can't put on your pants while you're running," murmured Mytho amongst all the commotion.
Fakir suddenly realized Mytho was actually trying to put on some pants. But he was going about it in a completely wrong way. Hopefully no one, especially not Ahiru, would see him running around in his underwear, he thought.
And it looked like no one did. Fakir and Mytho managed to run down the streets, through the courtyard, and all the way back to the dorms without running into anyone. It was as happy an end as Fakir could get for such an embarrassing situation.
...Of course, embarrassing situations in fiction never end happily for the character being embarrassed.
The next day, Fakir happened to be walking by when Liliae mentioned she'd seen two people who suspiciously resembled him and Mytho running around without pants.
Fakir returned to the dorm, locked himself in his room (Mytho could not get in. Fakir didn't even care), and refused to leave for the rest of the week.
Fakir was not at all pleased with my derailment of his character. (laughs)
Please do tell me if you found the self-insert comments annoying. I need things to fuel my hate for my past self, who originally wrote this.