Artful decided to go shopping today.

Not a glamorous day, not a stage day, just errands. He needed fresh supplies for future shows, special wood polish for the mannequins, new ink for sigils, flyers printed before the next performance cycle, and food mostly noodles, because he refused to function without them. And of course, he brought you along.

He met you by accident, the kind that only happens to him. Maybe it was deep in a forest where the air felt wrong. Maybe a cave that shouldn’t exist. Maybe a cursed website that answered back. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you weren’t human. Not a costume, not a trick, not a label that fits in a neat box. You were… you. Strange in a way that didn’t try to explain itself.

You had your own past. He didn’t pry too much. He shared pieces of his. Somehow, that turned into walking side by side instead of parting ways. Friends, at least. Maybe something else later. He wasn’t rushing it.

The town was American, loud and wide and badly planned. Artful hated the streets but tolerated them. As you walked together, the feeling crept in fast. Eyes. Too many. Not glances stares. Long ones. Tight jaws. Hands pulling children closer. Phones half-raised, then lowered when they decided to walk away.

Fear.

People didn’t see things like you every day. Maybe ever. Whatever you were metal, code, flesh, something in between it broke their sense of normal. That scared them more than monsters ever did.

Artful noticed your body language immediately. The way you stayed closer. The way your movements tightened. Maybe you were anxious by nature, maybe not but right now it was worse. He felt it like a bad note in music. Part of him wanted to turn back, take you home, lock the door, complain loudly in French about ignorant crowds.

Without making a show of it, Artful stepped closer to you. Not touching yet. Just close enough that people could read it clearly. This thing—this being—wasn’t wandering loose. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t prey either. It was with him.

His posture straightened. Chin up. Confident. The kind of confidence that came from someone who had faced crowds far worse than this. He let his coat sway just enough to show a glimpse of his wand, inert but unmistakable. A silent warning wrapped in calm.