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Arthur’s face is pressed into Merlin’s pillow, emitting soft snuffles and looking like just about the cutest fucking thing Merlin’s ever seen. It’s disgustingly early and there’s not much he wants to do more than crawl back into bed and pull his sleeping boyfriend’s arms around himself, warming him like some kind of living furnace.
Unfortunately, his boss would probably not accept ‘my boyfriend looked particularly cuddly today’ as a valid excuse for missing work. Which is rewarding and he’s totally passionate about his career and would never abandon his patients to spend a day in bed without his clothes on, no matter how tempting that sounds.
He sighs and shakes Arthur’s shoulder. “Get up, you great lump. You’ve got classes today, and the salon appointment’s at half past three.”
Arthur groans, splaying out on his back and looking as though he’s waiting to melt into the mattress. “It’s too early.”
Merlin has a comeback he’d like to make, something about how if Arthur would keep his hands to himself, they wouldn’t have to spend half the night in throes of passion instead of getting much needed rest. But that just reminds Merlin of how impossible it is to say no to Arthur, which he avoids thinking about, because it’s embarrassing.
“Up,” he insists instead, whacking his lover with a pillow and ignoring the glare he receives in return. It lasts for barely a moment and then dissolves into a yawn as he stretches and scratches at his beard.
That beard. That beard. Merlin has known it was coming, been reminded at the beginning of October that Arthur would no longer require his shaving cream to be periodically restocked (as shopping duties and making sure the flat is in order and pretty much anything requiring responsibility is Merlin’s territory). The early scruff was cute, maybe a little sexy if he looked past the unfamiliar scratching. But then it just kept growing, thicker and darker and not exactly having the best smell when Arthur fell behind on his hygiene (which he was prone to do, already balancing classes and football and shagging and seemingly endless hours with Merlin’s Xbox).
Merlin just keeps reminding himself that it’s for a good cause, and it will soon be over.
“Go to your classes,” he nags, switching Arthur’s clothes to the dryer because he knows Arthur will never remember to do it himself. “Meet me in the car park fifteen minutes before your appointment.”
“Yes, mother,” Arthur teases, receiving an exasperated kiss and pulling Merlin back for a few more seconds – long enough to slip in some tongue. Merlin ruffles his hair, completely smitten (as always), and grabs his keys on his way out the door.
*
Arthur shows up on time, saving Merlin from having to walk around campus looking for him. He scoffs about Merlin not having faith in him as their fingers lace together, and for once doesn’t point out that Merlin’s car is a piece of shit. Merlin’s car is a piece of shit, but he’s still paying off nursing school and doesn’t have a rich father to buy him fancy cars. And besides, it isn’t his fault that Arthur let his grades drop and Uther still feels the need to punish him by taking his toys away, even at twenty. Except that it kind of is, because Arthur invested way too much time in their sex life and not enough in his studies, but when it comes down to it, Merlin’s pretty sure that still counts as Arthur’s fault.
He drops him off at the salon, already anxious for the next time he’ll see him. He can’t think about it for too long, because he immediately has to go back to the hospital for the second half of his shift, but when he does think about it, he’s actually really excited. He’s pretty sure that makes him an odd duck, but there’s not much he can do about that at this point in his life.
He checks the clock repeatedly, feeling a flutter of excitement as it ticks closer to five. He eventually gets swept up in paperwork, but is pulled out of it when he hears the hearty, “Ho ho ho!”
And there’s Arthur, the bright red of the Santa suit making him stand out. His stomach is round with padding, but the snow white beard is completely authentic.
Merlin hardly gets any real work done while Arthur’s there, delivering donated toys and reading to the children in the pediatric ward. It’s the same as the first time he’d laid eyes on Arthur the previous year, a university student with a big white beard volunteering his time to bring a little Christmas joy to kids who had to spend their holidays in the hospital.
He finds Arthur waiting for him in the waiting room when his shift ends, still in full costume. “Hey, Santa,” he says, nudging Arthur’s shoe with his own. “Ready to go home?”
“Yes, please. I’m overheating in this suit,” he confesses, but he’s still flushed with happiness as well as the temperature after his time with the kids. Merlin can’t help reaching out to touch the beard, making him look different, older, while not totally unfamiliar. He has great memories of white-haired Arthur, young and cocky and a bit of a prat, and at the same time sweet and passionate and wholly irresistible.
He takes a moment to watch Arthur change into comfortable clothes once they’re back in the flat, unable to feel anything but fond seeing the smile that still hasn’t worn off his boyfriend’s face. It’s the same joy he’d had the first time they’d talked, when Merlin knew nothing about the strange Santa except for the piercing blue eyes and clear kindness in his heart.
Love at first sight, Arthur often claims, and Merlin usually rolls his eyes but he can’t say that he’s wrong. It’s like an instinct, something pulling him towards the man who both drives him crazy and makes him swoon. When it comes to loving Arthur, he never really had a chance – and honestly, he doesn’t mind that so much.