Archive of Our Own

Merlin drinks the rest of his tea and quickly rinses the mug in the sink before scrambling for his binoculars situated on his makeshift coffee table. (It’s really just a big rectangular mirror with an old wooden frame, intricate floral carvings and all, and stacks of books instead of table legs. Gwen adores it and thinks it very shabby chic. Though the truth is, Merlin just couldn’t afford extra furniture save for his bed, a small dining table, a few chairs and a beanbag when he first moved in. He acquired the mirror from a garage sale one Sunday morning and thought that it’ll do till he can get himself a proper coffee table. It grew on him after a while. And despite the fact that he can now afford a new coffee table, with matching sofa if he pleases, it hasn’t really occurred to him to change it. So it stays.)

He checks the time; 21:09. Just a minute more. He settles on the built-in bench next to his window, his blinds drawn. He peeks a bit and the tiny alarm on his watch goes off signaling 21:10. In the apartment building across from him, a man comes into view. The window frames an Adonis in all his shirtless glory, slightly tanned and deliciously well-built. Merlin brings the binoculars to his eyes, the rims make contact with the slightly smudged lenses of his glasses, and enjoys the view.

Every night at the same time his sort-of neighbour never fails to stand in front of the window across from Merlin’s and stretches. (Yes, yes, Merlin thinks it’s ridiculous too, until he actually looks and likes what he sees). It’s been going on for more than a month now. Merlin stops whatever it is he’s doing in the minutes leading up to ten past nine in the evening and sits next to his window to ogle at the man for the few moments he flexes and relaxes his muscles. It’s both hypnotic and fascinating how his movements are so fluid yet so tight. How his muscles are so in tune with the every movement of his joints and motion of his body.

Merlin has made the mistake of mentioning it to Gwen and Will once and Will calls him a sad and shameless pervert whilst Gwen just looks at him in a way that tells Merlin that she’s trying not to say anything that could hurt his feelings, bless her. But he justifies it as a ridiculous waste not to appreciate the beauty the Greek gods have directly presented upon him. It might even be an insult to them if he doesn’t look. The satisfaction of wanking after is just a collateral perk which should really put him to shame but doesn’t.

The Greek god, as Merlin has started calling his sort-of neighbour in his head, works his biceps and triceps and with Merlin’s binoculars, he can almost see the ripple of muscles in his arms. He starts twisting his torso from left to right before bending his upper body up and down. He does this for a few more times before he draws his curtains closed, finally blocking Merlin’s view. It’s always like this: the man does his routine and closes the curtains after he’s finished; it almost seems like a performance in theatre. And now that the show is over, Merlin lets out a sigh of disappointment, stands up from the bench and makes his way back to his living room and turns on his television. He sits there watching whatever is on as he languidly touches himself.

After a while, his lazy strokes turn faster, harder; his body’s not content with the idle touches anymore. He imagines it: muscled arms stroke his side up and down, the fleeting caresses make him shiver. One of the arms makes its way down to his thighs, rubbing dangerously close to Merlin’s cock. Merlin lets out a small gasp and grips his cock tighter; his strokes are more desperate now. The imagined hand takes over from Merlin’s, keeping up the hard and fast pace. Merlin bites his lips as he works himself up. He imagines a kiss, sloppy and open-mouthed. He imagines scratching those toned arms whose hands hold him in place and pull at his dick simultaneously. He imagines giving up all control as he lets the other man touch him. And when he tips over the edge and spills his seed, he imagines licking those fingers clean, savouring the mixed taste of his come and the saltiness of the man’s skin.

Merlin comes with a groan, his breath loud and his heart races audibly in his otherwise quiet flat.

--

Merlin doesn’t have any illusions as per his weird arrangement with the Greek god—he really needs to come up with a better epithet, or find out his proper name at some point. He knows it’s unconventional at best, and perverted at worse. However, of all the scenarios he has come up with in the past month as to how he’s going to get discovered, this one never quite comes to mind.

--

Merlin lays down his guitar next to him on and the couch and removes his black-rimmed glasses. He closes his eyes and lies back down. Breathe in, breathe out he tells himself. It’s been a tiring day; he’s been rehearsing with all the instruments he needs for the next cover he’s filming. The piano and violin turned out fine when he practiced this morning but it seems he’s having an off day with his cájon. He just couldn’t get the correct beat. It frustrates him enough that it affects even his guitar playing after. He pinches the bridge of his nose before putting his glasses back on. He loves his job, if he can even qualify it as that since he posts cover music videos on YouTube for a living. By sheer talent and a great amount of luck, he has garnered a substantial number of subscribers— enough to get a YouTube partnership and eventually a contract with Apple that allows him to sell his recordings on iTunes Store. And the mind-blowing thing is, people actually buy them. So in that respect, Merlin cannot really complain. But after the kind of day he just had, all he really wants is to see the Greek god, have a quick wank and go to bed. Rehearsals can continue tomorrow and worst case scenario is that they’ll just have to move filming to a later day.

He makes his way towards his window and waits. The other side is empty but it’s still a few minutes before he’s due to appear so Merlin just rests his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

His alarm goes off and Merlin takes a peek. Still no one. That’s odd. The man has always been prompt in the past. Not a minute later than 21:10. Merlin looks to the peripheral windows. The flat opposite him seems to be empty. In fact, the other windows show no lights and the usual bright lighting from the window is much dimmer now. Merlin decides to wait. Maybe the man is running late or is held up by a late meeting at work.

As 5 minutes turn to 10 then 20, the normal scenarios morphed into more gruesome ones like maybe he drowned in the bath or got hit by a lorry and is now in bed in a hospital. Alone. Battered beyond repair. These greatly distress Merlin and he feels panic rise up from his chest. He is just about to march into the other building and check up on his sort-of neighbour—as to how he’s going to do it, Merlin hasn’t figured out yet, when he sees a piece of paper inconspicuously stuck on glass. How has he not noticed it before? Using his binoculars, he tries to decipher whether the paper has any significance.

And significance it does have.

There, on a 5th floor apartment window opposite Merlin Emrys’, is a paper that reads: Sorry, I'm out tonight.

Fuck my life, he thinks.

--

In true Merlin-style, Merlin experiences a mild panic attack before running for his mobile to call Gwen and almost braining himself in the process. He also contemplates calling Will, but he knows he’ll just be an unsympathetic twat and Merlin really doesn’t need that right now because, what the actual fuck?

“Please pick up. Come on, Gwen. Pick uuuuuup—,” Merlin whinges just as someone on the other end says,

“Hello?”

“Gwen!”

“Hey, what’s happened?” she asks, hearing the slight hysterics in his voice.

“Gwen,” he says, dragging the vowel of her name, “I’m buggered. Thoroughly and completely buggered. And not in the orgasmic sense, either. I’m going to die. I won’t be able to go out of my flat anymore and I’ll live off of tea and biscuits and soon I’ll starve to death or die of scurvy. Or vitamin D deficiency. My cat will eventually eat my rotting corpse because who will feed him once I’m dead? You know that happened with that woman in America. I saw it on Sex and the City! Gwen, you can’t let my cat eat my flesh.”

Merlin knows he’s maybe being a bit pathetic but that doesn’t stop the dry sob that comes out after his ramble. He throws himself on his couch and covers his eyes with an arm.

“My corpse, Gwen!” he says for emphasis.

“First of all, you don’t even have a cat so you don’t need to worry about carnivorous felines devouring your remains. Secondly, you live off of take-aways, and tea and biscuits are the only edible things in your cupboard so no drastic change there, really. If you were ever to die of any deficiency, it would’ve happened a long time ago. Lastly, no one dies of vitamin D deficiency anymore, Merlin. So, you need to calm down, love, and tell me what’s happened.”

“He knows.”

“Who knows?”

“My neighbour. He knows I watch him from my window.” Merlin lets out a miserable groan. He tells her the Tale of the Sign on the Window—Merlin has a flair for naming things and events, and promptly buries his face on a nearby throw pillow whilst chanting that he’s buggered and its variation. All that comes out is train of incoherent mumblings stifled by the pillow.

“Okay, I’m coming over.”

“No, you don’t have to Gwen.” Merlin sits up and sobers up a bit. He’s a grown man and he can deal with this by himself.

“I think I do. I’ll bring home-baked scones and make you some tea while we figure out what you’re going do.”

Merlin sighs. Who can say no to scones and tea? Besides, he really does need to figure out what he’s going to do and how better to do that than with a batch of deliciously baked quick bread and tea. “You’re a star, Gwen.”

“I know,” she says before hanging up.

--

“If I wasn’t as gay as a unicorn prancing between two rainbows, I would marry you. If not for your looks and good-will, then definitely for your tea and pastries.”

Gwen pulls a shocked face and clutches at her heart mockingly. “I feel so empty now. You break my heart, you cruel cruel man.”

Merlin resists sticking out his tongue in response because he is not, in fact, a five year-old girl as his mates have always insisted. He takes another sip from his giant mug and looks at Gwen.

She gives him a smile but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“How are you holding up?”

Merlin knows Gwen doesn’t need any clarification. She just looks away before replying, “Oh you know. Coping.” She clings to her own mug like it’s a lifeline and Merlin can see just how sad his best friend is.

If Lance was not Lance—that is to say, a good-hearted man with only the purest intention and really, he’s altruistic to a fault—then Merlin would’ve killed him a long time ago. Or at least inflicted serious bodily harm. Or just give him a piece of his mind. (Merlin’s more a pacifist with a sharp tongue than anything, thanks to his hippie mother). The point is, if Merlin didn’t think Lance really loved Gwen, Merlin would’ve told Gwen to leave Lance a long time ago. But the thing is, Merlin hasn’t seen anyone so in love as Gwen and Lance. It’s all kinds of warm fuzzy feeling-inducing.

Lance left a few months ago for a voluntary mission in Ethiopia for a year maximum. He’ll be mainly using his nursing degree to help in medical relief camps as well as help build houses in the community. He calls Gwen once a week (at most) when he travels to the main head quarters which is 35 kilometres and an hour away by jeep from his site. Gwen had been near inconsolable the first two weeks when Lance had gone but she has since put on a brave face because she also believes in the cause he’s working for.

Merlin bumps his shoulder to Gwen’s. “You know he’ll come back a better man. And he’ll come back to you.”

“I know.”

They sit in a comfortable silence before Gwen puts down her mug and faces Merlin with a more animated look on her face.

“So how about that neighbour of yours.”

Merlin feels that the ensuing grin does not bode well for him.

--

Gwen insists he writes something back.

“No. Absolutely not. It’s bad enough that he knows. I’m not going to confirm it by writing him back.”

“Oh come on, Merlin. You know it’s your best and most dignified option.”

“How is that dignified?”

“Well, what do you propose you do?”

“I don’t know. Ignore it and get on with my life like it never happened? While at the same time, I shall resist looking over at that window ever again? Anything but write back.”

Gwen stands up and walks towards Merlin’s desk drawer. She rummages for something before returning to the couch next to Merlin with a triumphant look on her face. Merlin groans as she shoves a stack of blank A4 paper and a felt tip pen at him.

--

By the end of the night, Merlin safely fastens Gwen inside a cab (“I can walk to the tube, you know.”

“Lance will kill me if I let anything happen to you. And it’s past 01:00 in the morning already. There is no Underground anymore.”

Gwen huffs in protest but settles in anyway. Merlin tells the driver where Gwen lives and gives him a £20 note. He’s not exactly poor anymore but he’s still not at the point where he can just give away £20. Though it’s for Gwen and Merlin hasn’t got any problem with it). Between the times he walks back to his flat and as he tucks himself into bed, his mind constantly drifts to the note stuck on his own window and cannot help but let out a boyish grin.

FML o____o, it says.

--

Merlin’s alarm blares obnoxiously right next to his ear and he jumps up in surprise. He looks around, a bit disorientated from sleep, and then hits the snooze button. The sun is already high and streaming through his window, past his sheer white curtains, almost blinding him with its brightness. He releases a deep groan and rubs his face with his hands. He really is not a morning person and this is one of the moments he is very thankful that his job does not require him to be anywhere at an ungodly hour of the morning everyday. (There are the odd days where he gets up early for meetings or scheduled filming, but those are rare). He gets up from his bed and makes his way to his kitchen where he turns on the kettle, his body already craving that first sip of caffeine.

He stares into space as he waits for the water to boil. That is the extent of what he can usually manage in the morning. It is only after he’s had his coffee (a teaspoonful of instant coffee, two sugars and a liberal amount of milk) that he can actually recall the things he needs to do that day. This, of course, can be difficult. There are times when he’s suddenly reminded of an urgent task he needs to do or a call he needs to make. Then there are days when he’s suddenly reminded of events that happened the night before which causes him to stop dead, heart beating fast and then flail—actual, honest to God, flail with hand flapping and undignified squawks.

(His friends who have had the fortune—or rather, misfortune to witness this call it the Dying Chicken Dance. Clearly, Merlin isn’t the only one who has a talent for naming things and events.)

He bounds out of his kitchen and into his living room in a matter of seconds.

It’s somehow reminiscent of Christmas mornings in the past, this. The excitement thrums through his veins like strong rhythmic beats of a war drum. And yet, unlike those Christmases, there is a certain amount of fear and insecurity mixed with his excitement.

He walks to his window and just stands there with the blinds closed.

“Maybe he hasn’t seen it yet,” he tells himself out loud. It’s an attempt at nonchalance but he doesn’t sound convincing even to himself. Merlin continues to stand there without actually doing anything for a good 5 minutes.

This is ridiculous, he thinks to himself, one hand already touching the blinds. He opens them and looks. There is clearly a reply, indicated by the piece of paper on the window. He takes the binoculars he conveniently left on the bench and reads.

He laughs. It’s a booming laugh that comes from deep within his stomach that he trembles at the intensity of it. He laughs out of relief. He laughs at the foolishness of it all. He laughs at the words themselves.

Did you miss me? No, I didn’t.

He did. He so did but he’s not foolish enough to admit that. He almost adds ‘You’re a conceited prat’ just below the first sentence but he doesn’t know how well it will be received. Besides, he knows the other man is just teasing.

After that, he quickly sticks the paper to his window and steps away from it. He figures it’s better to do it fast and not look back or else he’s going to over think everything and really, that cannot be good for Merlin.

He goes about his day normally, or as normally as a restless man waiting for something can. He rehearses with his instruments, which thankfully are cooperating with him that day; he schedules meetings that he really doesn’t want to go to; he writes a song he doesn’t completely hate.

If he goes to his window more than necessary, well, it’s just to check if the bright sunny sky is still there.

--

It goes on for days, this unconventional communication method they have somehow developed. Merlin usually finds a paper stuck on his neighbour’s window every morning and it sure is an effective way of waking himself up; the anticipation of finding the next reply is exhilarating.

--

Sure you did. Don’t lie…

He finds this as a reply the next morning. He cannot suppress the grin that follows.

--

Merlin.

There, his name. He hesitates for a long time before actually posting it, worrying that he might be crossing a perceived line (a non-existent line even, but Merlin worries about these things) in their imagined relationship.

As soon as he sticks the paper with Sellotape, his phone rings and Will tells him he’ll be at the pub in less than 10 minutes and Merlin better be not be late. So Merlin has no choice but to run along and leave the paper. It’s a good thing, too, as it prevents him from removing it even if he changes his mind.

On his way to the pub, he half expects himself to panic again, thinking of the worst-case scenarios, each one more ridiculous than the one before (there is a pattern here, somewhere), and run back to his apartment to take the piece of paper back before his neighbour sees it. But the threat of Will’s wrath pushes him along.

--

It goes something like this:

The subsequent reply to Merlin writing his name is,

What?

(Merlin stands still in shock and mortification. It’s such a non-reply reply that he doesn’t know what to do with it. Fine, given that his name is really quite a strange one—thank you, mum, that his neighbour might’ve thought he’s just spewing random and pointless words at him now.)

But he trudges on and replies with,

Merlin. That’s my name. And yes, like the wizard. No, I don't have magic. If it's a joke, I probably heard it already.

And this comes:

Hi Merlin, I’m Arthur.

(Wow. Just wow. Of all the names in the whole sodding universe, eh? And really, that’s just not playing fair. It’s a joke—a stupid one, at that. It must be.)

Then, inevitably, the following correspondence ensues:

:| I said no jokes.

(If he sounds like a whiny teenager, he doesn’t really notice. Or rather, he skillfully ignores the tone of his messages, a skill he is slowly mastering.)

I’m not joking.

It’s already the next day and Merlin’s just about to write a reply (something along the lines of, ‘Would you look at that, I’m Merlin and you’re Arthur and I watch you flex, half-naked and looking like a Greek god from my living room window. It’s like the legends all over again, no?’ or ‘It’s destiny’, but again, Merlin doesn’t know how well those will be received) when he sees the man in question—without a shirt, nonetheless; and really, does this man even own any?—appear from the window.

Arthur smiles at him and Merlin certainly does not feel his stomach clench and his heart skip a beat because that would be foolish.

Completely and utterly foolish.

In the end, Merlin returns the smile and holds up a new note.

Hi :)

Arthur’s smile morphs into a grin before he disappears out of view, only to come back moments later with what looks like a his own stack of paper and a felt tip pen.

Hello :)

Nice shirt. ;)

(Oh God, did he really just—?

But before he could die of pure and utter embarrassment due to his apparent lack of brain-to-hand filter or whatever, he sees Arthur laugh. It looks exuberant even from where he sits; Arthur’s head is thrown back and he’s shaking even after he looks back at Merlin with a glint in his eyes. He can’t hear Arthur but he reckons he would like the sound of his laughter.

He might possibly be in a lot more trouble than he originally anticipated.)

Thanks. It’s my favourite one. :P

Oh, I can tell.

(Merlin cannot help but grin at his own reply. It’s clever and funny, but it also just grazes at the underlying matter that brought them here in the first place: a case of harmless voyeurism. He wonders if Arthur is going to directly call him out on it.)

Coffee?

(And that, right there, blows Merlin out of the water, so to speak. It is so completely unexpected that he just stands there staring and possibly looking gobsmacked and simple because Arthur’s accompanying hopeful grin turns into an unsure one. And even his hold of the paper lowers and just. It’s not fair, okay? Merlin wonders how Arthur expects him to react to that. One second they’re teasing each other using notes from their window and the next he’s being asked out for coffee. By his neighbour. His fit neighbour who he watched flex his muscles without any shirt on. From his window.

God, he is a pervert just as Will has always said. He mentally groans.

This is completely mad.)

And of course, it ends with:

Sure, why not? :)

--

They arrange a time and day for their coffee date before Merlin has to excuse himself (15:00 the next day at their local Costa Coffee 3 streets away from their flats). He can stay next to his window and do this all day if he wants but he’s got errands to run, a storyboard to plan for the next video and a night out to get ready for. Despite Merlin’s wishes to just forgo all his plans for that day, he can’t. And he’s pretty sure Arthur has to be somewhere else too.

With a final smile, he stands up from the bench and gets on with his day, albeit in a much better mood than he would’ve if he hadn’t just arranged a date with Arthur.

Merlin likes how the name rolls off his tongue. He repeats it in his head and yields to the persistent desire to say it out loud more than a few times that day. He likes how it sounds; it’s as if it’s meant to be uttered by him.

He tries not to think about the date (datedatedate; the word pounds in his head like a hammer) but it is ever present in his thoughts the whole day. It’s still such a strange thing to wrap his head around. These things don’t happen to someone like him; it’s almost like a plot to a bad daytime romantic comedy show.

--

He’s still in a pleasant mood when he arrives at the pub where he’s meeting his friends. Gwen and Freya have already secured a booth for them and he makes his way towards it.

A chorus of greetings comes from both girls and he smiles at them, echoing their welcome. He also thanks them for the pint of beer that’s already awaiting him. He sits down and removes his leather jacket, leaving him in just his well-worn Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt.

“You’re buying the next round, Merlin,” Gwen informs him.

He chuckles before saying, “Yeah, I will.”

“What time is Will coming here?” Gwen asks and Merlin just shrugs as he takes a sip from his drink.

“I want to go dance!” Freya says out of the blue, looking eagerly at her friends..

“By all means, Frey, the floor is all yours,” Merlin replies as he waves his hand towards the bar tables.

He gets a slight push for his troubles; he gives her a cheeky grin in reply.

“No. I mean, let’s go clubbing tonight.”

“I’m all for some clubbing tonight.” Will says as he slides in the booth next to Merlin, one arm going around Merlin’s shoulders and giving his friends a wide smile. Gwaine follows in tow and everyone moves up to give them some room.

“What’s this about going clubbing?”

Will takes a sip from Merlin’s glass and Merlin tries (and fails) to swat him away and reclaim his pint. Gwen rolls her eyes at them before turning to Gwaine and says, “Freya wants to go dance tonight.”

Gwaine leers at Freya and moves his eyebrows suggestively at her. She laughs out loud and kicks him from under the table. “Shut up, Gwaine.”
“The Nordic Bar is having their 80’s night tonight,” Merlin says, showing the leaflet he’d been handed on his way to the pub advertising the club’s themed night that evening. Will makes a face as if he’s smelled something particularly foul.

“Merlin, only John Travolta can make dancing to Summer Nights look good. It’s just ridiculous on everyone else.” Gwaine pats Merlin’s hand mock-consolingly. Merlin pulls his hand away and gives Gwaine the two-finger salute.

“I’m quite partial to 121 or Hugo’s. They always have a good crowd and good music to dance to,” Gwen supplies.

“Ooooh, I haven’t been to Hugo’s in forever,” Freya says.

“It’s decided then. ”

They finish their drinks and make their way to Hugo’s just a few streets away.

--

Merlin pushes his way through the sea of sweaty, gyrating bodies, all dancing to the beat of the latest R&B music. He tries to locate the bar and when he does, he looks back and grabs for Freya’s hand so as not to lose her. They’re a train of bodies, all five of them, holding each other’s hands and zigzagging their way through the crowd.

“Do you guys want anything?” Merlin asks once they reach the raised bar.

Freya and Gwen shake their heads in unison before Freya grabs for Gwen again and pulls her back towards the throng of dancing bodies, belatedly shouting to the others that they’re going to the dance floor. Will laughs and follows after them.

“Yeah, I’ll have another beer,” Gwaine says beside him. Merlin orders and they settle for leaning against the bar; their elevated location gives them a good view of the entrance.

They sip their drinks as they watch people dance around the island of the DJ booth, strangers and friends alike touching and swaying next to and against each other. They don’t say anything for a while, content with just looking.

And then the door to the club opens just as Merlin turns his attention to it.

It feels as if everything stops, though Merlin knows it doesn’t. His vision tunnels to the group who comes in; the one leading the pack is blond and incredibly fit. He’s wearing a crisp white button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and even from where Merlin is standing he can see that the first three buttons of the shirt are open.

He’s reminded of the times he’s seen that chest bare and those arms flexed and he licks his lip involuntarily.

When he recovers slightly, he takes note of the pairs of men and women with Arthur. One of the men is tall and scruffy whilst the other looks very muscular; the sleeves of his shirt hug his arms snuggly. There is also a blonde woman with them who trips and almost falls if not for the muscular man extending his arms to steady her. The other one is beautiful, Merlin notes. She turns people’s heads as she walks past them, her long dark hair standing out beautifully from her porcelain skin. Merlin feels momentarily ashamed for giving these people quite superficial identifiers, but first impressions and all that, he tells himself.

It’s not long till the group nears where Merlin and Gwaine are standing, partially because people seem to part and form a path when they pass.

Merlin catches Arthur’s eye and he doesn’t know whether to acknowledge him or make as if he doesn’t know him. (Merlin has a quick mental debate where the winning argument is that he’s never even spoken to him in person before so it would be awkward if not presumptuous for him to go over to Arthur and say hi). In the end, Arthur makes that decision for him with a small nod and a smirk directed at Merlin. Merlin just smiles helplessly at him as he watches them move a bit further back where he knows the VIP lounge will be.

None of Arthur’s entourage seems to have noticed the exchange so he feels safe in following them with his eyes.

“You know him?” Gwaine’s question snaps Merlin out of his Arthur-induced trance. He’s still smiling when he says,

“Yeah, I do. He’s my Greek God.”

At that moment Will, Gwen and Freya all return to where Merlin and Gwaine are and they must’ve caught what Gwaine said because Will asks, “What Greek God?”

Merlin’s smile disappears as he looks back to his friends; they return his gaze expectantly.

“Oh, you know, that guy from the building across from mine.”

Realisation seem to dawn on both Will and Gwen at the same time because they simultaneously exclaim, “The Greek God?!”

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, he’s here?” Gwen says excitedly just as Freya asks,

“Who? What? When? Where? Who?”

Will gives him a raised eyebrow and Gwaine has a grin on his face; a grin that looks as if the exchange is especially amusing to him (and it probably is, the bastard).

“I’m much too sober for this,” Merlin says. He turns to the bar and flags a bartender, ordering a tray of tequila shots. He gets a dubious look from Gwen for that but he dismisses her with a shrug.

He takes two shots before he could start telling both Freya and Gwaine about Arthur, and another two for him to inform them of the latest development in his harmless voyeurism (which, to his defense, doesn’t feel much like it at all as it seems he has Arthur’s permission anyway, with him knowing that Merlin watches him and not really telling him to bugger off and top himself).

After the initial excitement wears off and the rest of them finish the tray of shots (with Will stopping Merlin from taking any more to which Merlin complains that he’s paid for it so he can drink as many as he likes but Gwen reminds him of his chronic low alcohol tolerance—which is just another way of saying that he’s a pathetic lightweight; Will’s words, not his—so Merlin just pouts as the rest of them down one shot after another), the girls and Will go back out to the dance floor.

Naturally, he starts to feel the steady buzz that usually precedes the end of his sobriety. Unfortunately for Merlin, no matter how much alcohol he takes and no matter the frequency he takes it, he has never managed to improve his alcohol tolerance. Not by much, at least.

Merlin constantly looks over to where Arthur is and a few times he finds him looking back at him. He would smile bashfully (Arthur would smirk at that) and look away before returning his attention to Arthur again after a few minutes. Arthur would sometimes dance with one of the girls and Merlin watches intently Arthur’s every move—every swing of his hips, every sway of his body, every carefree laugh he seems to generously throw. The club is relatively small and it’s not hard to see even these fairly small facets in the other man’s movements.

It’s not the first time Merlin feels hypnotised.

--

“You know, if looks could give someone an orgasm, Arthur would’ve been screaming in pleasure already.”

Merlin turns his attention to Gwaine, his brows furrowed as he regards his friend. Gwaine is leaning casually against the bar, one hand holding the pint he’s nursing, and he’s looking away from Merlin.

“What?”

“You’ve been eye-fucking Mr. Greek God over there practically since he came in.”

“No I haven’t.”

Gwaine turns to him and gives him a skeptic look.

“Let’s dance!” Merlin says and grabs Gwaine’s hand, pulling him towards the horde of dancing bodies.

They join the others and for a while Merlin forgets Arthur is there. He’s focused on how low he bends or how much he twirls and he enjoys the press of bodies all over him. Strangers touch him—waist, hand, neck, hips. His friends lead him, starting one ridiculous dance move after another as they laugh and have a great time.

Merlin excuses himself to the loo and pushes through the crowd to get to where he thinks it’s located.

Other people try to dance with him as he passes and one girl makes a particularly theatrical turn and knocks against Merlin. Merlin, for his part, stumbles as the combined force of another body hitting him and the effect of the alcohol impeding whatever sense of balance he may still possess crash over him. His hands flail, his eyes close and he anticipates the fall, the moment he’ll hit the ground. However, it doesn’t come and he feels a pair of strong arms hold him firmly, almost to the point of pain. He opens his eyes again and tries to get back on his feet but the arms never let go of him, not really.

He turns to say his thanks when he comes face-to-face with Arthur.

Oh.

Merlin looks at him for a while; his arms have somehow made their way to grip Arthur’s shoulder for balance. It is only when the woman who bumped into him apologises profusely that he lets go and faces her. He tells her it’s quite all right and he turns back to Arthur.

“Hello,” he says lamely after some more time of them just staring at each other.

Arthur smiles at him, his perfect teeth visible even in the dim nightclub. “Hello to you too.”

“So, thanks. For, you know,” he points towards the direction of where the girl was, “not letting me fall flat on my arse and everything.”

Arthur lets out a low laugh. They are pretty close in proximity now, their faces almost touching so as to aid the conversation they’re having and he feels the breath of Arthur’s laugh ghost against his cheek. “It’s not a problem, Merlin.”

There’s something in the way Arthur says his name that makes him shiver. Or it may possibly the fact that Arthur says it next to his ear. Either way, he trembles slightly and he’s pretty sure Arthur notices it.

They pull back a little, just enough so they’re facing each other again, his hands gripping Arthur’s arms (and when did those get there?). Arthur gives him another smile and then bends his head down. Merlin has a short period of panic, afraid that Arthur is going to kiss him. But instead of going for his lips, Arthur goes for his cheek, giving Merlin a quick and chaste kiss there.

Merlin may have felt a little bit disappointed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” he says again near Merlin’s ear. Merlin nods and forces a smile (it’s either that or a shocked expression and Merlin’s pretty sure his shocked face makes him look like a fish).

“Yes, I’ll see you.” Merlin lets go of Arthur and Arthur steps around him to continue walking to wherever he was heading before. Merlin watches him and Arthur looks back once and throws Merlin a smile. It takes a huge amount of will and strength for Merlin not to sigh and melt into a puddle of Merlin-goo right there and then.

--

As far as first dates go, Merlin reckons his date with Arthur wasn’t much of a disaster. But then again, any date that is compared with the one he had with a bloke named Edwin can always be considered as a better date. The man made a huge scene in the restaurant after finding a beetle in his pasta and promptly demanded they be given their meal for free. The strange thing was that Merlin saw him stealthily pick the beetle off of his plate before it got whisked away to the kitchen and placed the insect where Merlin thinks his jacket pocket was. Merlin let it go mostly because he was already far too embarrassed. Though he didn’t feel any remorse in the goodbye pat he gave Edwin as soon as they got out of the establishment and went their separate ways, never to make contact with each other ever again.

Merlin walks to the coffee shop and every street he gets nearer, he feels his heart increase in rate and his palms sweat profusely. He has told himself that these are normal reactions to anxiety – the good kind – and not him experiencing a heart attack. He has half a mind to just go back to his flat and leave an apology note for Arthur to see later saying that he has fallen ill, but by the time he decides that he will do just that he finds himself already in front of the shop.

Merlin takes a deep breath and pushes the door open.

Customers are sparsely scattered around the shop and Merlin takes in the warm red and brown scheme and the generic yet cosy feel of the place. It doesn’t take Merlin long to find Arthur sitting on a brown leather couch in a corner, the opposite seat to him vacant. He’s wearing a red polo shirt, his hair falling over his eyes and he seems to be engrossed with something in his mobile.

“Hey.” Merlin greets him with a hopeful smile. Arthur looks up from his mobile and seems momentarily lost until he recognises Merlin and gives him a wide smile.

“Hello,” Arthur greets back, “sit down.” He gestures to the seat opposite him. Merlin sits down and an awkward silence falls over them.

“Right, do you want something to drink?” Arthur asks after a few beats.

“Yeah, cappuccino would be nice.” Merlin stands up to get the drink himself when Arthur beats him to it and says,

“It’s on me. I was the one who invited you.” Merlin finds himself on the receiving end of another brilliant grin, this time a bit more flirtatious, a lot more confident. He cannot help but smile himself and settles back down on the couch.

“Okay, but ice cream’s on me later.”

Arthur looks at for a moment him, eyebrows raised in surprise and amusement, and then says, “Deal.”

Merlin feels a little bit scared and plenty smitten as he watches Arthur walk up to the counter and give the barista their orders.

--

Arthur comes back with Merlin’s cappuccino and a macchiato for himself. They get the normal exchange of names and typical first date appropriate information out of the way (favourite colour – red for Arthur, blue for Merlin; favourite sports team – Arsenal for Arthur and Merlin only scoffs in reply; genre of music they listen to – whatever is on the radio is Arthur’s answer whilst Merlin lists a lot few of his favourite bands and artists). Merlin makes a mental note to educate Arthur on proper music if this thing between them gets further. Arthur brings up the night before at the club and how he thinks Merlin dances really well, if a bit clumsy. Merlin blushes at that and his face comes dangerously close to the colour of Arthur’s shirt. To his secret delight, Arthur seems to only find it amusing judging by the small smile he keeps throwing at Merlin.

There is also an alarming increase in the flirtatious scale between the two of them in the short span of time they’ve been there. The awkwardness has not completely gone but Merlin starts feeling more comfortable and allows himself to relax slowly. He thinks it’s probably a bit early but he’s starting to really like Arthur.

He finds himself laughing at Arthur’s anecdotes about his stepsister Morgana. She’s the beautiful dark-haired woman with him last night. Arthur tell his about the mischief they got up to whilst growing up and how they drovetheir nannies to insanity. Merlin, in turn, tells him about growing up in the country, about his best friend Will whom he has known since they were in nappies. He relays his own stories of their misadventures and how Will saved him from a stray dog once.

(“A stray dog attacked you? Seriously?”

“It was mad, yeah.”

“And how big was the dog?”

Merlin hesitates. “Like 3 ft.?”

Arthur snorts in reply.

“Shut up.”

Arthur puts his hands up in a placating way but his eyes dance with mirth. “I didn’t say anything.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at him. He takes a sip from his drink whilst taking a glance at a still smiling Arthur. God, if that doesn’t make his heart beat just a little bit faster.)

Somehow they end up telling each other stories from secondary school to university. How Arthur went to a prestigious university to study Business Economics and he proudly notes that he got in with his own merits. This seems strange to Merlin at first until Arthur mentions his father, not in great detail and Merlin doesn’t push because of the tense look Arthur gets whilst talking about Uther. Arthur then changes the topic.

“Yeah, I majored in music in university because that’s all I really know how to do and somehow I ended up here.”

“What exactly do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Merlin laughs nervously and scratches the back of his neck before focusing on the drying foam in his empty cup. “I make music videos and post them on YouTube.”

Merlin always feels uneasy when people ask him what he does for a living. It’s not that he’s ashamed of it, but people quickly jump to conclusions, not all of them are nice. He’s had one too many embarrassing conversations where people assume he’s some sort of porn star.

“So you’re like one of those Internet celebrities?”

Merlin looks up at Arthur and smiles slightly. Somehow he just cannot help smiling when he’s around this man. “I wouldn’t really call myself a celebrity. But you know, with the partnership programme and the other benefits help pay the rent.”

“You must be really good then. To earn enough money from what I’m assuming is a system based on number of views among others per video, people must love you.”

Merlin blushes again and looks up at Arthur from beneath his lashes, a shy smile on his face.

“But you don’t know that for sure. Maybe I’m one of those tragedies who get a lot of views for being so bad. ”

Arthur laughs. “I doubt it. See, this friend of mine, Leon – he’s Morgana’s boyfriend, by the way – likes sending me hilarious viral videos. If you were the tragic kind, as you would put it, I would know by now. Nothing gets past him. So it’s either you’re really good or you’re really bad at being bad.”

Merlin chuckles but only shrugs.

“How did you get about starting it then?”

“Oh, I was unemployed for a while when I first moved here and I was bored at home. One day I decided to take out my camera and record myself covering Maroon 5’s Must Get Out for giggles. A week after I put it up on YouTube, it hit 100k views.”

Merlin stares at an interesting stain on the table while telling Arthur this.

“And the rest, as they say, is history,” Arthur finally says.

“You could say that,” Merlin says, laughing.

--

They leave the coffee shop and decide to walk along the river that runs through the city.

They continue their talk and sometimes they fall into a companionable silence which Merlin doesn’t really mind. The awkwardness doesn’t dissipate, not really, but Merlin manages to ignore the feeling most of the time and continues on. The blushing and nervous giggles have also considerably lessened. Several times Merlin almost brings up the subject of Arthur’s shirtlessness next to his window, and every time he clamps his mouth shut.

They stop next to an ice cream kiosk and Merlin gets a double scoop of chocolate ice cream in a waffle cone whilst Arthur asks for a scoop of vanilla and a scoop of strawberry. Merlin smiles to himself at Arthur’s choice of flavours.

Arthur licks at his ice cream and chases a melted drop from his lips with his tongue. He then bites his lower lip and scrapes his teeth before going back for another lick. Merlin notices how kissable Arthur’s lips are at that moment and he wonders how good Arthur will taste mixed with strawberry and vanilla.

The feel of something cold on his fingers breaks Merlin’s train of thought and he sees his own ice cream melting slowly. Thankfully, Arthur doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.

“It’s pretty girly, isn’t it?”

“What?” Arthur asks then takes a bit from his cone.

“Your ice cream.” Merlin gives him a cheeky smile.

Arthur makes a mock shocked face and says, “Only a true man can heartily enjoy a vanilla-strawberry ice cream without feeling insecure.”

“You’re a true man, then.”

“You bet I am.”

They both laugh and Merlin bravely bumps his shoulder to Arthur’s slightly as they continue their walk.

--

“So what about you? What’s your story?” Merlin asks after a while. They settle down on a bench next to a lake where they can enjoy the remaining seasonal heat and the cool breeze that chases after it that is typical of the last days of summer.

“Nothing really interesting,” Arthur shrugs. Merlin looks at him but he’s looking out at the water.

“Tell me anyway.” It’s Merlin’s turn to look away but he sees Arthur look at him from his periphery before looking back out again.

“I work in administration for my father’s company. I started out from the bottom and worked my way up. Father wanted me to prove myself worthy, I suppose. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I go out with my mates every weekend, almost. But between the pub and the office, my flat is the only place I really go to.”

“You’re young though. I mean you look young, at least. You’ve really managed to get up to executive level that quickly?”

“Twenty-seven. And yes, I’m quite brilliant.” Merlin looks at Arthur but he’s smiling that smile, teasing Merlin.

“Yes you are,” agrees Merlin, and honestly too.

--

They sit there for a while, neither of them talking but they have somehow managed to get closer to each other in that time because suddenly Merlin feels Arthur’s hand next to his on the bench. Merlin thinks that if he just inches his hand a bit more that he could touch Arthur. But for all of his thinking and internal debating, he never does bridge that final gap between them and neither does Arthur.

A pair of mallard ducks swims past them, their bottle green heads glimmer as the last rays of the setting sun reflect off of them. They swim next to each other, one of them lagging behind sometimes and the other seems to slow down to wait for it. Merlin doesn’t really know if this is a common behaviour among the species but he smiles despite himself. Arthur seems to have noticed too as he’s following the pair with his eyes, both males judging from their colours, as they paddle around the water.

“Did you know that ducks mate for life,” Merlin says out of the blue.

“Oh, you’re the duck expert now, Merlin.”

“Prat.”

Arthur laughs at him and he laughs too. “It’s pretty incredible, isn’t it?” Arthur says after a while.

“Yeah.”

--

Merlin’s feeling pretty happy as they walk back to where their block is. The sky is already a blend of blue, pink and orange as the sun slowly sets. He’ll definitely play this day over and over again in his head tonight, picking apart their conversation and looking at every gesture and every exchange they had.

“This is me,” Merlin says when they reach the short steps that lead to his building. Merlin puts his hands in his pocket and shuffles his feet before catching himself at it and stopping. He doesn’t know what to expect really, but definitely not a kiss. He’s enjoyed himself and if he’s being honest, he wouldn’t mind getting a kiss from Arthur but Arthur doesn’t seem inclined to doing it as he’s looking up Merlin’s building.

Merlin awkwardly stands there for a few more seconds before nodding and pointing his thumb towards his door. He makes the first step before he hears Arthur say,

“I had fun today.” He’s stopped looking up the building and is now looking down at the pavement, as if the cracks themselves are personally telling him the secrets of the universe.

“Me too,” Merlin says, smiling.

Arthur looks up at him and gives a small wave. “See you around.”

“Yeah.”

Merlin watches Arthur turn around as he heads for his own building and then Merlin forces himself to go up the rest of the steps and into the foyer.

--

Inside, he rests his back against the building’s front door as soon as he’s shut it. He closes his eyes and softly bangs his head against the wood. He takes long deep breaths, his body shaking slightly. He opens his eyes again and stares up at the ceiling. There is an odd-shaped water stain on it and Merlin traces it with his eyes for a while.

His hands are still holding the knob, his back still pressed against the door and before he knows it, he’s turning the knob again and pulling the door open.

--

He’s surprised to see Arthur there, just as he bounds for the last step of the stairs. He’s now facing Merlin, his eyes wide, colours high on his cheeks and breathing quite loudly. Merlin momentarily gushes in his head at how lovely Arthur looks when he blushes.

Focus, Merlin.

“Did you forget something?” he finally manages to ask.

“Yes.”

They stand in front of each other, neither of them able to look away, and then Arthur swoops down on him and gives him a quick peck on the lips.

Merlin stands still, his eyes wide as he stares at Arthur’s lips. Then the lips form a satisfied smirk.

“That.”

Merlin remains still but there is a raging battle going on inside his head. When he sees Arthur hesitate and steps back a bit, he thinks, fuck it, he kissed me and he’s been doing all the first moves so far and just… and then grabs at Arthur’s shirt and pulls him closer to himself.

He places his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and searches Arthur’s eyes briefly, looking for confirmation that he’s reading all the signs right. A tiny lift at the corner of Arthur’s mouth is all the confirmation he needs, apparently.

“You should do that properly, mate,” Merlin says and before Arthur could say anything else, he smashes their lips together. It’s all wrong at first, Merlin miscalculates the angle so his nose presses uncomfortably against Arthur’s. But then he tilts his head a little to the side and fits their mouths better and then Arthur opens his mouth and really, Merlin hasn’t got a choice but to plunge his tongue in. He traces the inside of Arthur’s mouth and Arthur lets out the most encouraging of sounds. Arthur tastes good. No, he tastes better than Merlin has ever imagined – a hint of the strawberry and vanilla mixed with something so good, so saccharine that Merlin has never tasted before; a taste which he can only qualify as distinctly Arthur’s. He licks at every crevice of Arthur’s mouth, searching, craving for more of that taste.

Merlin pulls back a little and he hears a soft whine from Arthur. He smirks and then goes back for another kiss. This time it’s softer, less urgent. He feels Arthur lick at his lips and he involuntarily moans and holds on to Arthur tighter.

He doesn’t want to stop, never wants to stop anymore but Arthur pulls back this time; their faces are still only centimeters apart. Their breaths are shallow and laboured as if they just ran a marathon and somehow Arthur’s hands end up cradling his neck. Merlin feels good, really really good.

They beam at each other, the crazy glint in their eyes identical.

He cannot help it and kisses the corner of Arthur’s mouth again; Arthur chuckles at that.

--

Merlin launches himself at his couch and promptly tries to suffocate himself with a pillow. Maybe if he dies he won’t have to face the consequence of his brief moment of stupidity.

He doesn’t even think about calling Gwen because he knows even she won’t be sympathetic about this.

He rights himself up and stares up at his ceiling. Thankfully it doesn’t have water stains on it. He wonders if he could get out of it. Maybe he could do a sign that he’s fallen ill like how he planned earlier that afternoon to try and avoid going to the coffee shop. But Merlin is also aware that, like that afternoon, he won’t actually do it.

Apparently, in his kiss-induced daze, Merlin ended up inviting Arthur over to watch some DVDs the following night and Arthur smiled so sweetly that the ensuing thought of taking back the invitation before it’s too late disappeared.

And God, he just snogged the man. On his front steps. He grins at the memory of Arthur’s lips against his and how good he tastes. Then he groans when he’s reminded that Arthur is coming over tomorrow night and it may possibly be a very bad idea.

Really, Merlin’s only human - a foolish human who is also evidently not immune to Arthur’s trouser-dropping grin.

--

At some point during the night he feels desperate enough to call Gwen. He tells her everything – from the development in their note conversations to the subsequent date to the kiss. As expected, she isn’t very sympathetic to his situation; that is saying, not at all. She laughs and teases him and it is only at the threat that Merlin is hanging up on her that she stops.

“Honestly, Gwen. This is a bad idea.” Merlin is sitting next to his window, looking over at Arthur’s drawn curtains. The lights are on in the apartment and he sees movements inside. He wonders whether Arthur is preparing dinner or watching telly or whatever other mundane and domestic thing he might be doing at that moment. Merlin hasn’t sat down here like this since that night he first saw the note from Arthur. He wonders if Arthur still flexes in front of his window; Merlin has been too embarrassed to linger next to his window since then to find out.

“You should’ve thought of that before inviting him over then.”

“The man had his tongue inside my mouth!” Merlin exclaims. “You really think higher thought processes were even possible at that point?”

“That good, huh?”

“Gwen!” Merlin feels his face heat up. God, if only Gwen had any idea. It is all Merlin has thought about since that afternoon. The softness of Arthur’s lips contrasting to his chapped ones. The distinct taste of Arthur. The fact that he might’ve gotten a bit hard from that kiss alone.

Gwen laughs and says, “I’m just saying that if you’re reduced to spacing out and making bad decisions, then he must be a good kisser.”

Merlin cannot help but sigh because it’s true. He takes one last glance at Arthur’s window and walks over to his kitchen. The pantry is empty just as Merlin expects it to be, but it doesn’t stop him from checking anyway. Take-away it is, he thinks.

“I’m done for,” he says and Gwen only laughs on the other line.

--

Arthur arrives the next night holding up a six-pack of beer. He smiles apologetically at Merlin and says, “I don’t really know the protocol for movie nights and the best advice I gathered is a pack of beer.”

Merlin laughs and feels a surge of affection for Arthur. He looks so unsure standing there outside Merlin’s apartment, so unlike the confident man he met yesterday; it’s endearing. From the short time he has spent with Arthur, Merlin gets the impression that not many people see him like this. Arthur always seems so self-assured even in the most awkward of situations. This is different and Merlin almost feels special to have been able to see this side of Arthur. It makes Merlin smile widely on the inside.

“Beer is just fine,” he says whilst stepping aside to let Arthur in. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll go pop some popcorn and you can choose which movie to see?”

This is where Merlin gets a bit hesitant himself. He’s been eyeing his large collection of DVDs, mostly a mix of Sci-Fi and indie films and TV shows with the odd live concert DVDs. He doesn’t know what Arthur’s taste in movies is and this is part of why he’s been worrying the whole time. He’s convinced that one look at his original Back to the Future set (complete with the initial flaws from its first release in 2002; of course, Merlin also owns the recent release with all the corrections Universal Studios has made, but that’s beside the point) and pile of Irish indie films (many of which feature Cillian Murphy, but really, Breakfast on Pluto is stellar) and Arthur would go running out the door. He settles for shooting withering glances at his shelf as if it’s the DVDs fault that he is in his current predicament.

Of course, this would turn out to be unfounded because as soon as Arthur regards his collection, he gasps out in surprise and then turns to Merlin with an expression that can be liken to a certain holiday coming early.

“You have the original Star Wars trilogy DVDs sans CGI technology?”

Merlin thinks he might be very well smitten.

--

For all of Arthur’s earlier amazement, the film soon plays forgotten in the background as Merlin explores Arthur’s mouth further; he’s like a man on a mission to map out its every curve and crevice, to memorise his varying taste, to savour the little whimpers and delicious moans Arthur lets out.

To be fair, they start out on opposite sides of the couch, the big bowl of popcorn between them. But the popcorn soon finishes and Merlin places it on the coffee table, leaving them with nothing for separation. Just as the film progresses and Luke and Obi-Wan meets the rouge smuggler that is Han Solo, Merlin finds himself inching closer to Arthur.

Much later, when the end credits have rolled and the only sound that can be heard is the disc whirling inside the player, they would look at each other, all wide eyes, their lips red and swollen, and smile shyly at each other.

“We should do this again.”

“Definitely.”

--

They make plans for the weekend which soon extend to the next week and then the week after; next thing Merlin realises, he’s already been seeing Arthur for two and a half months. In that same time frame, he’s only slept with Arthur in the last 2 weeks.

This poses a different dilemma of its own. Merlin is hardly a man keen on labels and statuses but he thinks that it would be nice to know what sort of relationship he has with Arthur exactly. He’s afraid to be the first to initiate calling Arthur his boyfriend in case Arthur doesn’t see him that way, and yet he knows that he has to do something because the sort of limbo and uncertainty he’s in right now is surely just as bad as any kind of rejection he may receive from the other man.

This is why the next time Merlin finds himself cuddling and watching The X Factor with Arthur on Arthur’s couch (black leather and not very comfortable but matches the rest of Arthur’s flat – designer and modernly furnished like something right out of a magazine), he cannot control his nervous fidgeting so much so that Arthur moves away from him a bit and demands, “Spit it out, Merlin.”

“What?” he asks. He furrows his brows but determinedly keeps his eyes on the telly; Gary Barlow is getting a very disturbing lap dance from a contestant which Merlin thinks is worthy of his full attention, especially since Gary is looking really dumbfounded himself.

Arthur gently makes Merlin face him, one finger firmly pressing against his jaw. “What’s on your mind?” Arthur says quietly. “Last time you were this restless you wanted me to appear in one of your videos.”

Merlin smiles at the memory. He needed someone extra in one of his music videos and he didn't know whom to ask (Gwaine is behind the camera and Will outright refused). Arthur was received warmly by Merlin’s viewers, quite a lot of them speculating his relationship with Merlin. It doesn’t hurt that the number of views is double the usual Merlin gets. Arthur only smiles smugly as Merlin tells him this.

“Yeah, about that…” There is a long pause and Merlin quickly flicks his eyes towards the television again. Arthur nudges him with his foot. “See, there’s this video tag some YouTubers have included me in. And I was thinking…” Another pause. Merlin doesn’t quite know how to word the next part. The ever-present doubt creeps into his chest; it makes him stop and risk a look at Arthur. Arthur is staring back at him, a soft expression on his face and maybe a hint of a smile on his lips. He feels Arthur’s fingers card through his hair, comforting. This gives him just enough faith that maybe Arthur wants this just as much as he does. The curious thing is, he doesn’t even realise just how much he really wants this, them, until that moment of close familiarity. He wants to be with this wonderful man and Merlin certainly didn’t expect his feelings to be this strong when he first saw Arthur from his window all those months ago. The revelation hits him like on-coming traffic and he gasps out a breath.

“Are you all right?” Arthur looks at him worriedly.

“Yeah, fine,” he says, looking away. He focuses on the clock above Arthur’s TV set just as he continues, “Just, you know, they want me to do this Boyfriend Tag video which has been circulating around the community. I wondered if you’d do it with me?” The last part came out more of a question than a statement, and Merlin says it in an almost whisper.

Arthur doesn’t say anything at first and Merlin doesn’t take his eyes off of the clock. A minute and 11 seconds pass before he feels Arthur shrug. “If you want me to.”

It would be like Merlin to get even more confused at such a straightforward answer. Does Arthur realise the implication of being in a video like this? It would appear he does. Arthur is a meticulous kind of man and seems to always know what he’s doing. He wouldn’t agree if he has any objections to, would he? But does that mean they’re really together? Will Merlin finally get to have a name for this thing between them other than ‘we’re seeing each other’?

“Does that mean we’re – I mean, there hasn’t been anyone for me but you know,” Arthur raises an eyebrow, as if daring Merlin to continue that train of thought, “maybe it’s different for you?” Merlin finishes weakly.

“Unless you think there is more than 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week in my world, I don’t see how it’s possible for me to meet new people, what more, date them, when I’m already spending most of my free time with you.”

Merlin bites his lower lip but doesn’t say anything. Arthur makes him look at him again. “There’s no one else either, Merlin, just you,” he says softly. Merlin reaches up and takes Arthur’s lips to his. It’s sweet and gentle, this kiss, something that’s shared between two people in love. Merlin puts that last thought at the back of his mind because he’s not sure he’s really ready to face it just yet. But he feels as if his heart could explode in sheer joy just the same. The moment is so precious that Merlin wants to grab hold of it and keep it close to his chest forever.

“Though I have to ask,” Arthur continues, “will I need a manager if I keep appearing in your videos?”

Arthur gets a pillow on his face for that.

--

One day Merlin gets a laminated sign from Will which says:

Warning: May cause nausea due to excessive besotted smiles, sighing and/or mentions of a certain Arthur Pendragon. Approach at your own risk.

Merlin only sticks his tongue out at Will.

--

Gwaine comes over a few weeks later to discuss with him some technical details for the next video. He helps direct and produce Merlin’s videos and is responsible for the majority of the post-production. For all of Merlin’s musical talent, he can’t operate a video camera properly to save his life (his earlier videos are a testament to that).

He listens to Gwaine go over all the notes and ideas they have as he sits next to his window again. Arthur’s not home yet so he watches the street below. There isn’t a lot of foot traffic in their area but they get enough and Merlin likes times like this, watching from above as people get on with their lives, seemingly tiny from his vantage point when it’s the complete opposite. Each one of those people passing below him has something big going on in their lives: planning a wedding, getting a divorce, taking care of the children, battling an illness, falling in love. It shows just how much perspective can be distorted sometimes and nothing is what it seems.

“Merlin!” Merlin snaps to attention at the mention of his name. Gwaine’s looking expectantly at him and he gives a guilty smile. “You weren’t listening, were you?” he asks.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Is it about the princess, then?” Gwaine has got to calling Arthur ‘princess’ after their first official meeting. They were at a pub and it just so happened that there was a small hen party going on next to their table. The bride-to-be seemed to have taken a liking to Arthur and drunkenly placed her crown on his head. Everyone laughed whilst Arthur graciously humoured her before giving back her crown and placed a kiss on her hand. The other women cooed at that and Merlin felt a mixture of strong affection and possessiveness all of a sudden.

“He’s not all I think about,” Merlin protests. Gwaine only gives derisive snort.

“Well, we’re done for now. Do you have any food?” Merlin gives him a look. “Of course not. Well, I’m starved so I’ll go down to buy some. Do you want anything in particular?”

“Pad Thai?”

“Okay, got it. Be right back.”

It’s not been long after Gwaine left that Merlin sees light in Arthur’s apartment. He must’ve missed Arthur entering his building. Merlin smiles and grabs for his mobile phone to send him a text message.

having thai with gwaine. wanna come over? i’m sure he won’t stay too long. :-)

He sends the message and stays where he is. Arthur doesn’t reply until half an hour later saying,

Can’t. Working late tonight. I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow? xx

It isn’t unusual that Arthur works late nights at the office; it comes with bearing high expectations from his father among other people. He always wants to be prepared, always wants to do his best and Merlin cannot fault him for that. However, in the recent weeks Arthur has worked late less and less and has gotten into the habit of having breakfast with Merlin, either in one of their flats or outside. So when Merlin sees Arthur come out of his building moments later with a beautiful blonde woman in tow, highlighting the blatant lie he’s just told Merlin, something dark and ugly fills Merlin.

It is easy to assume things; he knows that. And maybe the rational part of him also knows not to jump to conclusions. But the swelling rage that is rapidly building up inside him at the sight of Arthur with a woman, their hands clasped together, clouds his more reasonable side and all he can think about is the feeling of utter betrayal. His vision tunnels to that contact alone. Merlin wonders if the intensity of one’s feelings for someone is proportional to the strength of the hurt one might feel when thrown into a situation like this, because he finds it unbearable at the moment.

He has just enough sense left in him to quickly send Gwaine a message to pick up alcohol, preferably vodka, before rummaging through his kitchen in search of more alcohol. He finds a bottle of Jack Daniels with only a quarter of it left. He takes a long swig from the bottle and hisses at the burn as he swallows.

By the time Gwaine comes back with food and a huge bottle of Absolut, Merlin is one gulp away from finishing the whiskey and already well on his way to mind-numbing intoxication.

“What happened?” Gwaine asks as he pries the bottle away from Merlin’s grasp. Merlin tells him about Arthur and at first, Gwaine tries to reason with Merlin. But with every swill straight out of the bottle, Merlin finds himself caring less as he drowns his misery in the temporary escape the drink offers.

--

Merlin wakes up with a pounding headache and the feeling that he’s been on his uncle Gauis’ old rickety boat again. The sun is already high and streaming past his curtained window, its brightness only adding to his worsening migraine. He mentally grumbles at the fact that it doesn’t have any right to be so sun-shiny when Merlin feels like death warmed up; he swears he’s going to change his curtain to something more effective at blocking the light, like canvas or plywood. He crawls, rather than walks, over to his en suite bathroom and dry heaves over his toilet for what feels like an eternity before giving up completely and miserably follows the smell of food and coffee back to his kitchen. The mere thought of food makes him feel nauseated but he reckons he can do with a caffeine fix.

He expects Gwaine to be causing some ruckus in his kitchen, maybe burning a slice of toast or two even. Instead, he sees Arthur in a very wrinkled dress shirt and trousers, cooking egg over the stove. It makes him stop in his tracks as he tries to remember when exactly Arthur got here. He momentarily smiles at the sight of him, before all of last night comes back to Merlin in a rush, from Arthur’s lies to his attempt at drinking his weight in vodka. The feeling of nausea comes back up and he rushes over to the sink. He does nothing more than make retching noises because apparently he has zero stomach content (he notices the untouched take away boxes on his counter top; he is never drinking on an empty stomach again). Arthur is instantly next to him, rubbing smoothing circles on his back and whispering comforting words next to his ear as he tries (and fails) to regurgitate.

Merlin splashes water on his face and Arthur hands him some paper towels to dry. He mumbles a ‘thank you’, rests against the sink and closes his eyes, willing himself to calm down and for his nausea to go away. He feels rather than sees Arthur in front of him, his heat just about reaching Merlin. When Merlin opens his eyes, he comes face-to-face with a very worried-looking Arthur.

“Are you all right?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

Arthur tries to envelop him in a hug but he steps aside and looks away. “Please don’t touch me,” Merlin says quietly.

He avoids looking at Arthur because he’s sure that the hurt would be evident in Arthur’s eyes and he doesn’t know how strong he can be to resist just forgetting everything and appease him.
“What’s wrong? Hey–” Arthur tries to reach for him again but Merlin only walks away, putting his kitchen island in between them.

Merlin chances a look at Arthur and he looks so confused and hurt; it makes Merlin hurt too.

“What’s this all about? I don’t understand.”

“What are you even doing here?” Merlin asks, his voice louder than usual. Arthur being here is not helping his current state and he just really wants to wallow alone. He doesn’t need Arthur here pretending that everything is all right when Merlin feels so lost and hurt and just miserable all together. How can Arthur look at him like he’s done nothing wrong?

“I came here last night because Gwaine put up a drunken note on your window and when I arrive I see you completely inebriated out of your wits. He leaves you for me to take care of and I spent the night on your couch. Why are you even asking as if me being here is a problem?”

Merlin glares at him. “Because it is a problem!” He’s almost shouting now and his headache keeps getting worse by the second. “I don’t need you to take care of me, okay? Will you just leave?”

“Will you at least tell me what I did wrong?” Arthur’s shouting too, his confusion letting up for his growing anger.

“Seriously? How can you honestly look me in the eye and ask me that question?” Merlin plants both his hands on the island as he leans towards Arthur, angry eyes glaring.

“Will you stop being so fucking vague and tell me what you think I did wrong?” He says it almost accusatorially.

“You lied to me! I saw you with that woman last night after you messaged me that you’re working late. Last I checked fucking other women behind your boyfriend’s back does not constitute as work. Was she good Arthur? Was she worth it? How could you–” Merlin stops and takes a few deep breaths. He chokes back tears that he knows are coming. He will not show weakness in front of Arthur, not now. He may not be able to stop his heart from breaking, but at least he can still keep his dignity. “I thought I actually meant something to you.” He says this in a tone softer than what he’s used in the whole conversation.

He looks up at Arthur and the dawning realisation and horrified expression just about confirms it for Merlin and he feels his heart drop to his feet and shatter into a million pieces; the broken shards lay useless and he doesn’t know what to do with them. However, it’s gone as quickly as it came and Arthur’s expression shutters.

“Do you really think so low of me? Do you honestly think I would do that to you?” Merlin’s not even looking at Arthur anymore but the disbelief in his voice is loud and clear. He doesn’t know how much more he can take of this and he wishes Arthur would just leave, disappear. He really just wants to be by himself. He says as much but Arthur ignores him and continues on.

“That woman is just a friend.” His tone is stern and unrelenting, commanding Merlin to listen; and he does. “Her name is Elena. We had a dinner function at work last night and my father asked me to take her with me. Yes, as a date, but we both know where we stand with each other and it did not go any farther than normal mates would. Her father’s an old family friend and a business partner; of course I cannot refuse.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything for a while, just keeps staring at his plain white cupboards. The mental image of Arthur holding Elena’s hand as they walk out of his apartment keeps emerging in his mind and he can’t let it go. The ugly resentment that is the product of betrayal and wounded pride stands its ground.

“I think I need some time alone. I’d like you to leave, please,” Merlin says softly. He’s still not looking at Arthur, knowing he just might lose it and take everything back. He really does need to think about it – Arthur’s excuse, his reaction, both their actions and what this means for them and their relationship, ultimately. When Arthur neither moves nor speaks after some time Merlin turns his back to him, hoping he’ll get the message.

“Fine,” Arthur spits out, angry. Merlin doesn’t look back when he hears Arthur slam the door on his way out. He only bows his head low and thinks about what a mess this has turned out to be.

--

Merlin gets the rest of the story out of Gwaine later that day. He pieces it all together and comes up with more or less a chronological timeline. After Gwaine comes came back with the vodka, Merlin all but lunged at him for the bottle. Apparently, Gwaine thought it was a good idea to write a message to Arthur and post it on Merlin’s window (when Merlin hears about this, he rushes to said window and finds Gwaine’s note; it reads: Hey Princess, since you're too busy being a right twat to spend time with Merlin, I'll just enjoy his company myself). Merlin shouts at Gwaine for it but he’s secretly amused. Leave it to Gwaine to do something so brazen. It was hours after that when Arthur nearly broke down Merlin’s door, still in his tuxedo. Gwaine tells Merlin that Arthur was ready to hit him when he saw Merlin unconscious on the couch and pushed past him to get to Merlin. Merlin stays quiet when he hears this, not really knowing what to think or say. He can almost see the frantic look on Arthur’s face, his eyes lined with worry. It makes Merlin think back to what Arthur said and he frowns. But Gwaine interrupts his thoughts by repeating a part of their conversation.

“So he comes in and asks me what happened and I tell him, you’re drunk. I even pointed to you, mate. So he says, I can see that; why is he drunk? And I told him this: because you’re a prat who wouldn’t notice an amazing thing in front of him if it had a bloody marquee sign and a line of Cancan dancers. I told him exactly that!” Gwaine sounds proud from the other line and Merlin shakes his head at his friend, even though Gwaine can’t see it.

“Right,” he says. Gwaine seems to take this as an encouragement to continue.

“And then the bastard asks what that supposed to mean. He can be thick sometimes, your man. So I tell him to fix it because he royally cocked everything up and left. Sorry mate, but bonking Sylvie is much more interesting for me than watching you two get domestic. So how are you two, anyway?”

Merlin hesitates. “I don’t think there’s a two of us anymore.”

Gwaine is silent on the other line.

--

He locks himself in his flat for days after that, not leaving and not letting anyone in. A week or so into it, Gwen, Will and Gwaine all start threatening him of breaking down his door. It’s only then that he grudgingly opens the lock, because he wouldn’t put it past them to make do with their threat, especially Gwen who can be shockingly forceful when she wants to be.

Merlin lets them in and reclaims his spot on his couch where he sits and wastes his days idly surfing the Internet. All of his blinds are drawn shut (he just about resisted boarding up a particular window, but he knows that’s being too melodramatic). He’s well aware of the state of his kitchen (and can already foresee the hell he’s going to get from Gwen); dirty dishes sit precariously on top of each other in his sink and take-away bags lay strewn on every available surface in his kitchen. He has been on a steady diet of tea and take-away. His bed is unmade, there are random pieces of clothing on the floor and he hasn’t watered his plants in days. The only area which has been spared from the disarray is his studio, but that’s mostly because Merlin’s afraid of breaking any of his instruments and equipment. He still cares, even in his heartbroken state.

In all, the flat is a right mess. Which just about reflects everything in his life, Merlin thinks.

Will whistles from behind him and Gwen is going on a diatribe about health and hygiene whilst she makes a valiant attempt at cleaning up. Gwaine just sits in the armchair next him, watching him. He ignores them all in favour of 9gag.com.

--

“You need to stop holing yourself up in your flat.”

Gwen and Will have just left and the place looks exponentially cleaner than when they first arrived. Clothes are in the wash, dishes have been cleaned and Gwen even makes him a home-cooked meal (he hasn’t had one of those in a while). He really owes her a lot and she doesn’t dither on reminding him that.

Gwaine is the only one left and he’s currently plucking a tune on Merlin’s Seagull Coastline S6 guitar. It’s the first guitar Merlin has bought with his partnership pay-check and arguably one of the best he’s had (he’s still looking at Gibson showrooms, though).

Merlin doesn’t say anything, just continues to watch Gwaine’s fingers dance along the fretboard.

“I have a theory,” Gwaine starts when he tires of playing and Merlin looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. Gwaine’s theories have not always been clear (or concise, for that matter – like that one time he got invested in the idea that Dumbledore was not dead before the final Harry Potter book came out) but they’re most usually interesting and sometimes they can even catch you off-guard. Gwaine can be insightful that way. “You’ve fallen arse over tits for the princess – more than you’ve ever anticipated and now you’re not sure what to do. I think you’re not angry at Arthur, at least not anymore. I think you actually believe that he’s telling the truth. You’re angrier with yourself for caring this much. You have all these feelings that are unfamiliar to you and you’re probably scared shitless.

I also think that if both of you can just stop pining and wallowing in self-pity for five seconds, you will see that you’re actually good for each other and you can easily solve this. I haven’t seen you as happy with anyone else than when you’re with Arthur. So forget your pride, stop over-thinking and just make up, okay?”

Merlin hates that Gwaine is not entirely wrong. He’s arrived at roughly the same conclusion himself but hearing it spoken out in the open feels so much different. It makes it more real. Merlin can easily solve this, he knows. He can admit he’s wrong for readily jumping to conclusions and thinking badly of Arthur. He can apologise for acting like an idiot. He can even try and make Arthur understand that he literally feels overwhelmed with the amount of affection he feels for Arthur. That it’s all new to him and he’s just learning to cope with it. But he’s also afraid that Arthur would turn him away. He’s afraid that his actions have done irreparable damage. That this beautiful thing they had – have, hopefully – is beyond salvation.

It’s then that he realises that he’s going to have to take a leap of faith. He’s just not sure if he’s ready.

“Do you have a psychology degree that I do not know about?” he asks after some time. It’s an attempt to lighten the mood but it might’ve fallen flat and he cringes slightly.

Gwaine chuckles anyway. “I have depth, Emrys.” His eyes crinkle when he smiles and it makes Merlin smile too – his first genuine smile in days. “Fix this, yeah?”

He nods.

--

Two weeks have passed since his row with Arthur and Merlin catalogues them in every passing thought he’s had about Arthur. Two weeks is a lot of time to think about what happened and what he wants to do. Though that’s not saying he has any inkling as to what he’ll actually do. He hasn’t heard anything from Arthur the entire time. Merlin’s not surprised, especially with how they parted the last time. But he can’t help the dreadful sinking feeling in his stomach every time someone calls or texts and it turns out to not be Arthur. Disappointment is a horrible thing.

He’s sitting on his bench again and looking down on the streets from his window. He’s stopped avoiding the window altogether days ago and has since been spending a lot of time there, secretly hoping that he might get a glimpse of Arthur. However, the opposite side’s curtains remain drawn.

He’s so engrossed with people watching that he jumps nearly off of the bench when he hears his phone ring, indicating a text message. He’s vibrating with anticipation that this could finally be Arthur. And again, the letdown leaves him with a big slice of reality check that gets harder and harder to swallow every time.

It’s from Gwaine and it reads:

Check the video responses for the lego house video NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Merlin furrows his brows at the excessive exclamation marks. It’s true that he hasn’t checked his account in days, but the Lego House cover video has been online for 3 weeks already. Maybe someone left a hate response or a hilarious video; Merlin really hopes it’s the latter. He doesn’t want to come off as a delicate flower who cannot take criticism, but he really cannot deal with those right now. Nonetheless, he migrates to his couch where his laptop is charging and opens his YouTube page. He finds notifications for new messages, comments and video responses. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for exactly so he opens a new tab for the video in question. The page takes some time to load after clicking the see all link of the video responses so Merlin gets up to make himself a cup of tea.

He comes back and finds new video responses from the last time he’s checked. None of them seems to be out of the ordinary and he mentally notes which ones he’s going to watch first. Then he comes across a video entitled: DUCKS MATE FOR LIFE! (An Open Letter to M). The video itself has a black screenshot but something about it is foreboding that it makes Merlin’s heart beat faster.

He clicks the play button. The video takes a few seconds to buffer and Merlin clings to his mug, his legs tucked beneath him. He doesn’t know what to expect but something in his gut tells him this has something to do with Arthur. He tries not to think about it, though, because he’s been disappointed far more times than he could handle this week.

The video starts out shaky as if someone’s arranging the camera from behind. When it clears, Merlin can see a familiar black leather couch. His heart is literally at his throat at that point.

He stops breathing all together when Arthur comes into view, all tousled blond hair and nervous smile. He’s wearing a soft-looking grey basic t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Merlin knows they’re the same jeans he’s made Arthur wear a thousand times just because it perfectly shows off Arthur’s pert bum. Arthur just sits there for some time, looking straight at the camera. Merlin can almost see the gears in his head turning and the slight shaking of his legs. Arthur clears his throat and begins to talk.

“There’s this amazing man. He’s funny and clever and very very talented. He’s absolutely beautiful and he doesn’t even know it. His smile could power up cities and could make a bad day turn around. He has a heart of gold and his humour is something… well, no,” Arthur huffs out a laugh. “His humour needs some getting used to.” Arthur pauses in the video, a small smile on his face as if he’s remembering a secret. “And then there are the ears. They’re the first things I noticed about him, actually. They’re huge and they stick out and can double as a satellite dish. But they are absolutely perfect.” Arthur looks down and chuckles. A small blush appears on his cheeks. When he continues, he’s looking away from the camera.

“But best of all, he was mine. You see, I’m completely in love with this man but I’m afraid I may have bollocksed it up.”

There is a whole array of profanities that come out of Merlin’s mouth. He holds his mug close to him, his tea forgotten completely.

“I’ve been a right idiot. I’ve hurt him and I don’t know how to fix it. I miss him every day. I wish I could explain to him that it was never my intention to cause him any grief. I’ve always been faithful to him. He’s it for me.” Another pause. “Three months is a short time to be saying he’s the one, but I feel it deep within me. A wise woman once said: when you find true love, you just know. And I know.”

Merlin remembers that. They were sitting at the park bench where they sat on the first date two weeks into seeing each other. They were talking about anything and everything and somehow Merlin found himself telling Arthur about his mother and father’s relationship. Hunith met Balinor when she was in her early twenties. They fell hard for each other and within a year she was pregnant with Merlin. She told him that she knew it was him whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, the man whom she would build a family with. She told him that when it comes to true love, you don’t choose. When you find it, you just know. But Balinor was a navy man. He was called back for duty in the middle of Hunith’s pregnancy and a year later, they got word that he died in battle in Argentina. It was the first and last time Hunith had spoken about Merlin’s father and he admires her for being strong for both of them. All these years, her words stay with him.

Arthur’s looking down again, his cheeks fully flushed red now. Arthur is a proud man and Merlin knows it must have taken a great deal for him to go in front of the camera and bare his feelings. There is a long pause and Arthur seems to be contemplating something. When he does speak again, he has a determined look on his face.

“I know I will make a complete and utter fool of myself but this is all for you, M.”

Merlin’s heart is racing at lightning speed. He doesn’t know what Arthur is about to do but with a disclaimer such as that, he reckons it can’t be good. Arthur fiddles with something in his computer off-camera. When he comes back fully into view, Merlin can hear the starting chords of a familiar song.

Merlin watches in horrified silence as Arthur sings his own rendition of Shape of My Heart by the Backstreet Boys. He has to admit, Arthur doesn’t sound too bad. And he distractedly wonders where Arthur found the minus one version of the song. Merlin’s caught between cringing and laughing the whole way through the video. All he could really do, though, is bite his lower lip as he watches Arthur get into it, complete with closing his eyes, nodding his head along and the occasional hand gestures.

When the video finishes Merlin stays still for a few minutes, processing everything.

--

He’s watched the video about ten times already and he knows there’s only one thing to do. He gets up and looks for his A4 paper and felt tip pen.

--

In the end, he keeps it simple.

I saw the video. Let’s talk. xx

--

It’s a whole 48 hours before something happens. Merlin spends it by pacing a hole on his living room floor or moaning to whoever would listen that he’s too late. Gwen and Will come over that first night to watch the video and to show some support for Merlin (at least that’s true for Gwen; Will just laughs mercilessly). In the end, he reckons one of them got tired of his whinging and messages Arthur to look at his window. At least that’s what Arthur tells him when he shows up at Merlin’s front door two days later.

Arthur’s standing outside still wearing his waistcoat and looking tired. If it weren’t for the missing jacket, he would’ve been inclined to say that Arthur came straight here from work. He has dark circles under his eyes from what Merlin thinks is lack of sleep and his hair is a bit dishevelled. Still, Merlin thinks he looks beautiful and drinks in the sight of Arthur in front of him. He’s missed this man and he doesn’t know how he lasted more than two weeks without him.

He resists running his fingers through Arthur’s hair and burying his face in the crook of his neck. He pulls himself together though and finds that Arthur’s staring back at him too; probably doing the same thing he’s done. He clears his throat.

“Do you want to come in?”

Arthur seems to stand to attention at that and offers him a weak smile. He nods and Merlin steps aside to let him in.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Arthur only shakes his head, his back still to Merlin. They stay like that, not saying anything to each other for a few minutes. The silence is not awkward, though it’s not companionable either. It’s the kind of silence where you don’t know where and how to begin, so you just keep quiet and hope that the other would break it.

A few more beats and Merlin tires of staring at Arthur’s back. “You really have shit taste in music.” That makes Arthur turn, his expression a mixture of surprise and confusion.

“And do you have to sound so posh all the time?” Merlin continues on. He’s afraid that if he stops now, he’ll lose his nerve and they’re going to fall back in silence once more. Arthur quirks a smile at that. Merlin never wants to kiss the corner of Arthur’s mouth more than at that moment.

“You’re not the only one who made a mistake though.” Arthur makes a sound of protest but Merlin puts his hand up, stopping him. “No, let me. You’ve had your chance to talk in that video. Nice voice, by the way.” He smiles. “I hated that you didn’t think you could tell me the truth. I hate that I had to see you with a woman I didn’t know and that I instantly assumed the worst of you. I hate seeing you with her and the thought of you with anybody else killed me. I hate that this turned out to be a bigger mess than it ought to be.” Merlin’s shaking now and there is tightness in his throat that makes it difficult to speak.

“You could’ve told me, Arthur. I would’ve understood. But most of all, I hated myself. I feel so much for you, more than I can explain myself and I think at that moment it was easier to hide behind the anger than face the fact that I felt so gutted seeing you with someone else. That it felt like the world had collapsed around me. It feels horrible, Arthur.”

Arthur’s instantly by his side, wrapping his arms around Merlin and Merlin is so thankful for the comfort it brings. He clings back to Arthur because there is nothing more important at that moment more than feeling the solid weight of Arthur against him and holding on for dear life.

--

They lay in Merlin’s bed that night, with Merlin mostly draped across Arthur. Arthur’s hands are making slow lazy circles on Merlin’s back. It’s a comforting feeling to have Arthur beside him again. To know that here is a person who thinks the world of him, who helps keep him grounded and at the same makes him feel like he’s on top of the world.

They’ve just got past their first obstacle and Merlin doesn’t doubt that there will be hundreds more ahead of them. It’s never going to be easy between the two of them. He’s sure they’ll have plenty of arguments and there will be days when he’ll wonder why he even bothers. There will be cold silences and shouting matches. There will be rocky days and hellish weeks. But all of those don’t daunt Merlin. As long as he could have this at the end of the day, the two of them together, Arthur holding him and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, he’d brave those difficulties in a heartbeat. Merlin knows deep in his heart that if anyone could do it, it would be them.

Merlin can feel Arthur dozing off next to him as his arm wraps around Merlin’s waist. He gives him a small nudge and Arthur turns his head towards him. Merlin smiles and kisses him on the lips. Arthur responds instantly, holding Merlin closer to him as he licks at Merlin’s lips. Merlin obliges and opens his mouth to grant Arthur access. He will never tire of this, of Arthur, of how he tastes. He could stay here forever and just have this.

He gently bites at Arthur’s lower lip and pulls away. Arthur lets out a small whine.

“You really have shit taste in music, though,” Merlin says apropos of nothing.

Arthur laughs then growls at him. He pushes Merlin down and goes on top of him, holding Merlin’s wrist above his head and assaulting Merlin’s lips like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

Yes, Merlin thinks, forever seems just about right.

Fin.