Gloomy wine-colored eyes flitted open, greeted by a dreary ceiling that must have been white once. But it had been a long time since then. Now, little cobwebs peeked out of its corners, more than a few spots of plywood were stained yellow and brown from water damage, and the flickering fluorescent lights looked like they too, were about to kick the bucket.

His gray sheets crumpled to the floor as the man slinked out of bed, avoided the too dark patch of carpet. A clumsy hand brushed bluish-black hair out of his face before he reached for his convenience store toothbrush. He would need a new one soon.

As he squeezed the toothpaste, Cú met eyes with his reflection, taking note of the lines underneath his eyes and the too-dark color of the bags beneath them.

Another nightmare.

A frustrated huff of breath echoed in the humble bathroom as he realized he couldn't keep this up. This had been the twelfth time he would be waking with a lack of sleep. Sure, Chikagi, one of the waitresses, had been helping him by lending him some concealer at work from time to time, but this couldn't be healthy. Even he, who had once slain thousands upon thousands during long-running wars, was beginning to tire.

If Diarmuid decided to come by to spar, he would be entirely overwhelmed. Well, maybe not, but he knew his friend would definitely notice the weakness behind his usual strikes.

Warm, heavenly droplets peppered his skin as he stepped into the shower and turned the knobs. He dared not close his eyes, even as he washed his long hair, knowing the vision in his dream would come back to haunt him in the darkness behind his eyelids.

He had to move out. For his sanity's sake, he should do it soon. He had enough saved up for the average month's rent, even if he didn't get the same figures as the other Lancer, plus he didn't have to worry about meals thanks to his job. All he needed was a place. One that was far away from here, and if possible, even further from that cursed church.

Reaching for the soap, he wondered briefly if that was enough to keep the damned dreams away. He couldn't continue seeing Bazett like that, broken, bloody...no. He willed himself to tuck the memory into the back of his mind and think of happier times. He was glad for his new friends, Iskandar, Diarmuid, even Arturia and her family, he supposed, remembering that drunken night at her place. Damn, he hadn't gotten a rematch with her yet, had he?

Lancer leaned his head back to the tiled bathroom wall, the little thump resonating amidst the steam in the cramped shower. Not too long ago, his true master would have scolded him for taking so long. She would complain he used up all the hot water. They would have been a good team if he'd protected her properly. He swore he could have beat Gilgamesh with the ridiculous talent Bazett had for magecraft. He would have definitely beaten Saber, put an end to that pitiful Master of hers before she could blink.

But it was useless to mull over things like that now, wasn't it?

Lancer swept his hands over his sculpted torso, rubbing over the multitude of faded scars across his body as if doing so would wash away his sins. It wouldn't, he knew, but somehow it made him feel just a little bit better. And that feeling was all he needed.

The flip phone beeping in the other room told him it was his day off, and thus the perfect day to begin house-hunting. The man stepped out of the shower and pulled his one towel off the rack, water droplets falling from his hair to the floor as he crossed the room to the tiny dresser. He still had that cool shirt Diarmuid had lent him, so he slipped that on with some pants, grabbed his phone and wallet, slung a small backpack over his shoulder and closed the door behind him. For a minute, he stood still, the permanent stain on the carpet floor of the apartment flashing in his mind.

He hoped with all his heart, that after today he wouldn't have to come back.

Pencils flew off the wizard's desk as he bashed his forehead onto the table for the fifth time that day.

"Whyyyyyy!?" he whined, flinging frantic sketches across his office in frustration. No, no, nonononononono! It wasn't right! None of it was right! The lines they jus- and the skirt? Why did he think frills were a good idea?! On what universe do you put frills and glitter in the same- bloodyshite!

The old wizard gripped his lopsided ponytail and pulled at his white locks. This line was impossible. Improbable. An absolute clusterfuck. Oh, manufacturing was going to kill him, gonna kill him. His poor little princess Arty would find him in a ditch on the morrow. Oh, this was bad, this was very bad.

Breathe, Merlin. You've seen fashion go from frocks to corsets to neon leotards. If you survived watching the 70s and their hairspray, you can create a gown.

He put a pencil to his temple, connected it to his brain and-

Broke the lead against the paper because he could not do this!

"M-Merlin?"

The wizard finally looked up from the piles of papers to find his glass-walled office in a state of disarray one would more accurately describe as a dumpster, what with the multitude of pencil shavings fluttering off of his desk into the pile of crumpled sketches strewn across the floor. It finally registered to him that the smell of coffee in the air was not in fact a particularly strong brew, but from a spilled cup dripping onto a previously pristine white carpet.

"Poppycock," Merlin huffed, clapping a hand to his head and slinking back into his chair.

Arturia cautiously stepped into the room, wearing one of his designs. One of the better ones, another summer suit. Bah! Now, why couldn't he just design suits forever? They were a hit with Japan's working population now, and abroad, the sales were doing more than well. Look at Arturia, so cute and beautiful in this little paste pink piece, wasn't she precious? Oh, if Uther knew how beautiful Arturia would end up maybe he would have thought twice about dismissing her and raised a pretty princess.

She walked behind his chair to look over his shoulder as he continued to sulk and whine into his hands. Arturia sifted through the rat's nest that was his table. Merlin had always been one with the rather...eccentric taste, though it pulled off at times, especially with her battle gown. However, she could understand his frustration when she took in those particular color combinations of green and red. That was not the way to go.

"You alright, Merlin?"

The wizard let out a huge groan and reached behind himself to bury his head into Arturia's stomach.

" Artyyyyyyyy~ I'm never going to make the deadline; I'll never get it ready for print. No one's gonna buy from the collection, RTK is going to dieeeee!" he moaned, mashing his face into her chest like a little child would do to his mother as she struggled to push him away.

"Now, now, wizard, this isn't the behavior expected of a court magician," she scolded, carefully extracting herself from his iron grip. "That said, I believe you are in need of a short respite," she said, tiptoeing over a clutter of colored pieces of fabric that looked like they were randomly put together. What was he making...gowns?

"Certainly not your best work, mongrel."

That was Gilgamesh, standing in the doorway, the usual scowl and cocky eyebrow on his exotic features. Merlin accurately predicted they would be a hit with the ladies (they were MORE of a hit than he had intended, a good many luxury brands scrambled to stock the suit jackets. He couldn't let those massive prices go by much as it pained him to not release them under RTK's brand instead). The old king chucked the crumpled sketch into the corner with a slight flick of his hand.

Arturia's slender fingers tensed on his shoulders as Gilgamesh's eyes met hers. It seems she was still cross with him. Well, of course she was, after being manhandled in her own bathroom by another king.

"You're harboring a grudge now, King of Knights?" Gilgamesh asked, the little scowl on his face shifting into a lopsided smirk. Maybe it was practiced, maybe Arturia was too agitated to notice, but nothing ever escaped Merlin's eyes. It had been more than a week since they'd last spoken, August had brought terrible, almost unbearable humidity that everyone but the Mesopotamian King seemed affected by. A long time had passed, and to the king's credit, he was patient. But Gilgamesh was beginning to crack.

Arturia was at least nodding in his direction whenever they crossed paths in RTK, but that was it. She avoided eye contact, walked in the opposite direction when they would have crossed paths, and Gilgamesh, of course, would not damage his pride by chasing after her. He'd seen the King of Heroes waver, once, heard the little scuffling of expensive leather shoes as he shifted forward in her direction. But he hesitated, and once again she was out of his reach.

The wizard was beginning to suspect she always would be, if Gilgamesh did not close the distance growing between them, but the wizard honestly didn't know how the king would do that. It had to be Gilgamesh that made amends. Arturia wouldn't. She certainly hadn't thought about it even once, Merlin would know.

"I might know someone who can help you, wizard," she finally answered, breaking eye contact with the other king. She seemed to whisper into the back of her hand, and then he felt her warm presence leave his back as a new one materialized into existence. First, lilac hair and knife-shaped ears, and then Medea, clad in simple, womanly clothes of this age.

"Ha! You summoned that wit-"

"Enough , Gilgamesh."

Arturia's voice brought in silence from the entire floor. It was even enough for both the two magi to flinch, Medea more surprised than Camelot's wizard.

"Medea, this is Merlin. He was my court magus, my counsel...and now the owner of this establishment. I feel you may be of assistance to him," she said curtly, gesturing at the remaining pile of sketches on Merlin's table.

The greek mage nodded speechlessly, a bit shaken to be standing in the same room as her murderer and to have the King of Knights provoke that same murderer over him calling her a witch. She...remembered Medea hated it. But at what cost?

Gilgamesh looked like he was at his limit, like a boiling pot about to spill over into the fire, and all Arturia looked like she was doing was fanning the flames.

"Merlin, she's a talented seamstress. I leave the rest of these matters to you," she stated, and made the few strides to the door. When she passed Gilgamesh, she pulled on his sleeve with just enough force for him to follow. To everyone's surprise, he was quick to comply, and both kings disappeared out the door without another word.

Suddenly, two of the most powerful magicians that had ever stepped foot on Earth were alone. Both, utterly at a loss about what to say.

"So," Merlin began, awkward as a newborn duckling, "you're a seamstress?"

"Those are the first words you've said to me in weeks, and all you've done is bark orders," the king complained, ire apparent as the little model led him through the office till they stood in the hallway. She stopped, released him, and didn't even spare a glance as she made for the elevator. They had ended early in the afternoon despite the multiple outfits they had to shoot. She could make it to the grocery and back in time for dinner if she left now, but the fingers holding the elevator door open told her that Gilgamesh had other plans.

His eye began to twitch as she gave no reaction, only pressed the button for the ground floor soon as he'd stepped inside.

"You try my patience, Arturia," Gilgamesh warned, the numbered floors blinking one after the other above the metal doors. She offered no reply, avoiding his eyes as she stared at the numbered elevator buttons. One could cut the tension in the air with a knife, or a sword, judging by how Arturia was flexing her fingers as if feeling the hilt of Excalibur. Yet the woman still remained silent, though her brow creased and her mouth pulled into a thin line.

"Arturia," he repeated, the veins of his neck popping as he dampened the urge to raise his voice. They were halfway down now, it was only a few moments before she was out the door, and he was out of her hair for the day. She knew that he would never follow, never pursue if she walked out of his reach fast enough lest his pride suffer. All she had to do was wait.

But Gilgamesh knew that too. He tired of waiting; Iskandar's advice be damned. All he'd seen of her were glimpses of her hair, if he blinked, he'd have missed it. They'd never exchanged words, not even simple greetings. He'd only ever passed her in the in-betweens of outfit changes, of breaks, of shoots, but there were never any words. She never stayed in his presence long enough for him to call her name, to touch her...to tell her how tempting she looked in red lipstick.

The light blinked 20, in a few moments they'd be at the bottom floor and she'd be gone once again. How pitiful, wasn't it? That these meager seconds in this blasted metal box was the longest he'd been in the same room with her? And she wouldn't even look in his direction, she looked disgusted to be breathing the same air!

Gods be damned.

Gilgamesh slammed his hand into the emergency stop button. He steadied himself as the box staggered to a stop, tossing its contents lightly as it braked. But screech as it did, it did nothing to drown out Arturia's furious words.

"Have you lost your goddamn mind?!" she shouted, smacking his arm away from the controls just in time for the lights to flicker out. She looked up as the emergency lamps came on and groaned. They barely lit up the lift. The crackling voice that resounded told her of her fears, that the elevator's abrupt stop had caused it to malfunction and it would be a while before help would come.

"Damn it!" she cursed, slamming both fists into the shut doors. She had half a mind to summon Excalibur to tear this tin cage apart if the bill didn't have to be footed by RTK. She contemplated texting her brother that she couldn't pick up the ingredients he requested but felt her spirits fall upon seeing the signal bar.

"Why did you do that?" she asked over her shoulder. She could just see the other King out of the corner of her eye as he leaned on the back wall. Strangely, his usual amused smirk was absent, replaced with a terrible scowl. Arturia did not know what to make of it. When he wasn't being arrogant, he was filled with rage. If he wasn't that either...

"Do you hate me so much?" Gilgamesh answered her question with one of his own, his wine-red eyes seeming to glow in the dim light as he spoke. There was something in his voice that she could not place, but whatever it was, it bothered her to no end.

In her shock, she hadn't even noticed she didn't reply. "What?"

An exasperated sigh escaped his lips as he tilted his head to the side. "You no longer even look at me, Arturia," he muttered, stepping forward in the small space until she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. Her skin prickled with every word he spoke, and eventually, she did face him, if only to stop the sensation from overcoming her.

For the first time in weeks, he fully met those beautiful emerald eyes, iridescent in the dark lift, almost brighter than the little light they had. Only now, he realized how much he had yearned to gaze upon them again, when she'd so cruelly deprived him of doing so for this long. He reached for her, but she retreated from his fingers as he brushed her cheek.

Her heels clanged against the metal doors and she cursed the small cage she was trapped in. And with the one person she didn't want to be around, as well. For a split second she tensed, expecting his anger at her rejection, but he stood confused, speechless, his hand still lingering where her face had been. A million different emotions filled his eyes until finally he settled with acceptance.

"So you do despise me then."

Very well. He had decided long ago she was his. He'd believed there was a better approach since they'd been cast into the world together but he couldn't bear rejection much more. If she refused to be his...if she felt this much hatred for him, then maybe he should have gone back to his old methods. In time, surely, she'd learn-

"I've never hated you, Gilgamesh," she said, her eyes extinguishing whatever flames had begun to burn within him. Both her palms were on his chest, stopping his advance. Slowly, gingerly, he removed his hands from the wall behind her.

"Then why do you deny me?"

Arturia scoffed and shook her head. She was honestly beginning to think that the bastard was willfully ignorant of how uncomfortable he had been making her feel. Even now, it seemed he hadn't learnt his lesson. Constricted in this tiny lift, anyone decent would at least maintain personal space. Who was she kidding? Gilgamesh had never known the meaning of those words.

"Perhaps if you actually showed me some respect," she chastised, folding her arms over her chest, "I'd be more inclined to show you the same."

Even in the dim light, she could see him raise a skeptical eyebrow. "And I haven't?"

A frustrated sigh escaped her lips as her fingers combed through her hair. So he wasn't being willfully ignorant, then. He simply saw no error in his actions. A quiet thump echoed as she leaned her head back. Honestly, Arturia wasn't sure why they were even having this conversation, when a few weeks ago she thought she decided she didn't want him in her life.

"Gilgamesh...you touch me without permission, you barge into my home without warning, without my consent," she listed, her voice quivering as she was reminded of the two faded marks hidden under her collar.

"Arturia."

She silenced him with a wave of her hand, challenging his sharp eyes with a cutting look from her own.

"Every time I see you, you act like I'm your plaything, calling me all these silly things as if you mock my title!" she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air to vent her feelings.

"Arturia."

She whipped her head to him as if daring him to say another word.

"I understand you and the King of Conquerors have different views, but I am a king in my own right," she reasoned, her stance firm. "I feel I at least deserve your respect-"

All at once, she could feel her stomach leap into her throat as the floor slipped from beneath her.

"Maria...who was in there?"

The lobby looked as if a hurricane had stormed its corridors, with rubble of all shapes and sizes strewn across the floor. Sirens blared in the background as uniforms rushed past Diarmuid, barking startled orders for him to stand aside. He resisted the urge to cough from the dust as he pulled Merlin's sputtering personal assistant out of the way.

Several men were frantically putting up yellow tape, with CAUTION written in bold and all caps, but every nerve in his body only urged him closer to the debris. His chest felt like the inside of a battered drum, heart pounding a thousand beats per minute as he took in the scene. Glass crunched under his shoes, but he paid it no mind as he pushed forward past the bits of concrete scattered on the marble.

What once would have been the entrance to the lift was completely blown out. To his right were the frayed remains of metal cables. Cables that should have been strong enough to hold two tons. They should have been more than enough for twenty people, why were they on the floor? Electricity crackled as some poor staff member urged him away, but there was no way he could leave. Not until he made sure there was no sign of fair skin and yellow hair in the wreckage. He couldn't leave. No. Not until he knew she was safe. He couldn't leave.

" Maria, who was in there?" he repeated, desperately, jostling the frightened Maria back into reality. But she hadn't the strength to reply. Merlin was a seer, he would have seen everything, he would have seen them fall. She had to get everyone out of the building if Merlin was to perform magic to save his king. Surely, they were still alive. They had to be.

" Maria," Diarmuid urged one last time.

The woman looked back at him, her brown eyes flashing bright gold. Suddenly, Maria's suit was replaced with a white so pure it was nearly blinding. Her hair was loose from her bun, her feet free of her heels. Fog exploded from her toes, rolled across the polished floor till there was nothing in the lobby but dense cloud.

"W-what?"

She was a Servant?

"The ones in the elevator. The King of Heroes and... Merlin's daughter. You must get them out, I'm sure Merlin will be here soon," she explained, catching the head of one of the women who'd fallen asleep after inhaling the fog.

No sooner had she spoken, the lancer practically dove into the pile of distorted metal. Arturia was alive, she had to be alive. She couldn't fall to an accident such as this, she was strong. He dreaded finding her broken body, dreaded seeing blood scattered over shattered bones, but if she did survive-she did, she had to have survived-he had to find her.

"That's enough, Diarmuid, Maria. They're fine." Merlin's voice echoed in the hall as he stepped over the sleeping personnel strewn across the floor due to Maria's magic.

As soon as he finished speaking, golden dust materialized in the far corner of the lobby, followed shortly by the lift's passengers, both bleeding from the side of the head.

Diarmuid felt his heartbeat finally ease at the sight of Arturia. He wanted to run to her, but it seemed she hadn't even noticed him yet, when she'd been so busy pressing her handkerchief to the King of Heroes' forehead.

Gilgamesh's hair had fallen from his usual updo, and he was curved protectively over Arturia as both kings sat on the floor. Diarmuid could see Arturia's lips moving as she and the King of Heroes exchanged words, but he couldn't hear a thing, he could only infer they were arguing from how angry she looked. The Mesopotamian tyrant pushed her hands away and held her chin. Using his free hand, he carefully brushed hair from her temple, where small traces of blood had begun to drip. She wasn't making it easy, squirming out of his hands, but he said just one word and she stopped, her irate expression turning to one of shock.

For a few moments, Arturia stared at Gilgamesh dumbly, before she spoke again, more calmly this time, and let him tend to the cut on her head with a cloth he'd pulled from his treasury. Diarmuid could not have known what conversation they were having, but for one reason or another, he couldn't bring himself to keep looking.

Merlin smiled, knowingly. Even if he were a clairvoyant, he wouldn't need his eyes to see how Diarmuid really felt.

"Maria, lower the mist please. The poor common people won't wake up for another hour if this goes on any longer-"

Merlin was cut off by a loud groan coming from the pair of kings, and the three looked up to see Arturia storming away from a wholly pissed off King of Heroes.

Well…

Merlin sighed as Maria undid her spell, patting his suit down as the ordinary mortals began to wake. Soon his lovely assistant was back in her usual suit, her olive skin tucked under a gray jacket, and brown eyes hidden behind thick glasses. The wizard quietly watched as Gilgamesh stared after his king and then at the white handkerchief she left. He seemed to think a moment before turning a corner and vanishing into the air.

Merlin smiled, pleased despite how the rather eventful day ended with Arturia storming out the door. Maybe he didn't have to worry about Gilgamesh that much. He let out a little chuckle.

Watching the two kings was like waiting for a flower to bloom when one had just planted its seed. It would take a lot of time and perhaps even more patience, but already Merlin could see a little sprout.

But he could mull about that later. The wizard turned to his assistant. "Ma riaaaaaaaaaaa! Won't you stay in your anito dress more often, pleeeaase~?"

It was nearly midnight by the time Diarmuid was off the clock, but Merlin had sent him out with a promise for overtime pay, so that was...good? Honestly, he was surprised the shoot went well at all, given how occupied his mind was at the time. He barely recalled the shots being for a release later that year, but the rest was a blur.

No, he was far too busy sorting out the rather extended period of panic during the elevator crash, the relief when he'd finally found out Arturia was alright, and the gaping hole in his chest that resulted from seeing her in the arms of...of…

His eye twitched. He shouldn't even be thinking these things. Why was he thinking-nevermind. Never. Mind. It was perfectly normal to be concerned for Arturia's welfare. Not that she couldn't take care of herself, he was very aware of her abilities. He was loathe to admit his bones still quaked from the last time she'd slammed Excalibur's broad side into his chest, but damn if that fight wasn't exciting.

He frowned. Was...was he becoming a masochist? Gods, what would his father think of this-Diarmuid, son of Donn the death god, gets his kicks from cuts and bruises, now that was a story. Still, he couldn't deny he itched for yet another match with the King of Knights if she would allow it. His heart quickened at the thought of spending time with her again. Now, how should he ask her? Should he send a text message? Call? Come over? No, no he couldn't do that, he was just over at their place last Thursday, surely Sir Kay would be a bit bother-

Diarmuid flailed as he recovered from the collision with an equally hardened mass of man.

"Oi! Watch where you're...D?"

"Cú?"

Goodness, was he so distracted he couldn't sense the presence of a brother? Hold on, it was the middle of the night. If he knew Cú and he did, he'd be ready to retire. The man loved sleep, he'd only sacrifice it every now and then for a spar. Well, he would sometimes catch Cú napping during the day, but…

"What are you doing out late?" he asked, finally noticing Cú's appearance. He recognized the shirt he lent him, but what was curious was the little bag slung over the man's shoulder and a familiar-looking folder in his hands. He looked like he was supposed to be dressed to impress. His hair had been gelled, but the lopsided rat's tail told Diarmuid it had been a long, long day for Cú. He'd never seen the man look quite so tired, what with the dark circles on his eyes and his smile barely pulling up at the corners.

"Ha! I'm a grown man, Diarmuid. You don't need to look after me," he teased, a huge grin erupting in his face. "Got a few drinks. Enjoyed myself, you know."

Strange, he didn't smell of alcohol.

"Try again. I am not so easily fooled, friend," he replied.

Diarmuid meant it jokingly, he really did, but Cú's face crumpled so quickly it alarmed him. It was quite frightening, to see the proud countenance of a knight recede and be replaced by that of a man defeated. Especially on Cú, who even Diarmuid had heard songs and stories about.

"Diarmuid...did I ever tell you what happened to me in the Fifth Holy Grail War?"

Diarmuid stared into his empty bottle, throat dry. He wondered briefly if he should have another, but a single look at Cú and he'd tossed the man the last Guinness. Cú needed it more.

He couldn't have imagined the other lancer would have equally terrible luck with Masters. God, at least he didn't need to watch his prick of a lord die. To think Cú had no choice but to serve his true Master's killer was bloody unthinkable.

Now, Diarmuid was proud. He knew he was a skilled spearman, but in many ways, Cú had been a legend. Famous enough to inspire the bards' tales and bedtime stories told to the little ones as they were tucked into bed. Diarmuid never got the chance to face Gilgamesh in combat, not really, but if Cú were defeated by him, surely the King of Heroes was indeed powerful.

And an arsehole, Cú had said. Well, Diarmuid could agree with him on that point.

They were drinking beer on Diarmuid's balcony, taking in the cool city air as one by one the lights on the neighboring buildings began to flicker out. His fellow demigod wouldn't have turned down a spar, he was sure...but the dual-wielder knew Cú wasn't in the mood. He looked so sullen, staring out into the city like that.

"What were you doing out tonight? The truth this time," Diarmuid urged.

Cú looked at him, sighed, hung his head. Man, the guy was stubborn. Still, he owed it to Diarmuid for his hospitality.

"I've been living in Bazett's apartment since we got here. I thought it would be fine, but it isn't," he confessed. "I searched the whole day for some other place to live, but there was nowhere affordable enough on such short notice."

Suddenly, Diarmuid understood why Cú was so adamant about not letting him inside his apartment when he carried him back from Kay's condo. Gods, Cú had been living in his own personal hell for more than a month.

The man turned away when he saw Diarmuid's expression, knowing the latter was much too kind. He'd pity him, and out of everything in this world that was the last thing he needed. This was the whole point of him saving up all that money for a month, for putting in overtime hours.

"Why did you never say anything?"

Ireland's Child of Light couldn't meet his eyes. "Because you'd try to do something about it. You'd likely tell the King of Knights too, then she'd do something about it. I feel you've both done enough for me. I mean, you two had that made," he said, pointing to the folder on the table containing files for a certain Corin Connell , 26, Irish . "You're the reason I'm an actual living citizen."

Well, that was true. During the few days following their arrival, he and Arturia had been handing out such legal files. It was less efficient to personalize each one, so apart from those of Gilgamesh, Arturia, and himself, the other Servants were just given names and biodata he and the King of Knights invented.

"Well, of course, we'd do something," Diarmuid said, as a matter of fact. "You're our friend."

The Knight of Fianna snatched up Cú's bag and his files and hurried inside, ignoring the frantic oioioioioi and his friend's drunken scrambling to retrieve it. Despite Cú's shouting, he managed to throw his stuff into the second bedroom in his rent-to-own condo, courtesy of RTK. Kay did mention he could have a roommate. The place was certainly big enough.

"You're staying," Diarmuid said, rather imperatively, silencing the beastly man who was sputtering a protest. Red eyes met droopy orange ones with defiance, but truthfully, the older knight couldn't muster the strength to disobey. He couldn't go back to his master's old place tonight. He promised himself he wouldn't.

When he let out a breath of surrender, Diarmuid shoved the guy in the room and made to get him some bed covers. And a change of clothes. And maybe some pillows. He threw them all at Cú before the man could even think about leaving. Luckily, they were of identical size and height, although Diarmuid knew Cú was lighter than he was. He later came back with a set of toiletries, which he set on the bed as Cú installed the fitted sheet.

"There's a bathroom outside to your right. That'll be yours from now on, brother. Good night," the Lancer whispered, closing the door on his way back to his room.

A bit stunned, the spear-wielder stared at the various bottles and tiny boxes Diarmuid had brought, deciding maybe he'd shower. He went to scoop the stuff out when he noticed. Right in the middle of the pile was a blue toothbrush, unopened and still in its box.