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"I'm going to be spending this New Year's with Gwaine."
Arthur sits up so quickly he nearly gets whiplash. Merlin is perched atop the armchair at the other end of the room, his book lying abandoned in his lap, glasses slipping off the edge of his nose. It’s all so very domestic; they’ve known each other for years, and yet Arthur cherishes every time he sees Merlin like this.
"But… but that's our holiday," he flounders, staring at Merlin in sheer, unadulterated disbelief. The sense of betrayal has already begun creeping in, tying his stomach up into knots. "It's always been our holiday."
Merlin, to his credit, looks apologetic and just the slightest bit contrite—which he should be, considering he's just ruined all of Arthur's New Year's plans.
"I know, I'm sorry. It's just, Gwaine and I haven't been together all that long, and I don't want to disappoint him by not going to his party," Merlin rushes to explain, waving his hands around as if that will make this any better. "You can come too, of course! It wouldn't be New Year's otherwise."
The paltry smile Merlin offers up makes Arthur feel like he's about to be sick. Not once did he consider that one day, Merlin might want to spend the holiday with someone other than him. Swallowing down the bile that's risen to his throat, Arthur says, "I wouldn't want to impose."
"You wouldn't be!" Merlin says. He's staring at Arthur a bit oddly, and despite how long Arthur has known him, he can't make sense of what the expression on Merlin's face means. He sighs, offering up a smile of his own, despite the fact that smiling is the last thing he wants to do right now.
"It's all right, Merlin," Arthur says, even though it's really, really not. "I understand."
"Thanks," Merlin says, the relief—relief because Arthur isn't going to be at the party with him, and wow, that hurts so much more than he thought it would—evident on his face. Seeing it makes Arthur feel like his heart is being torn out of his chest, so he turns away.
"Have fun, yeah?" he says, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on his laptop screen, pretending to read over the report he's got open.
"Oh, I will." Merlin's tone is almost predatory, and isn't that isn't a punch to the gut.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Arthur shouts after him half-heartedly. Merlin laughs as he stumbles his way towards his own bedroom, no doubt to call Gwaine and tell him the good news.
Gwaine. What kind of a name is Gwaine, anyway?
~oOo~
Arthur is used to being alone. For most of his childhood, he was left to his own devices. Sure, there was always some staff member or other running around in the background, but other than that? He was alone. His father was always away on business trips, and Morgana was too much of a social butterfly to stay cooped up at home. Not that Arthur blamed her—the Pendragon mansion always felt cold and empty; completely void of life, no matter how many people were wandering around inside.
Nothing like Merlin's house, with its bright colours and cosy decorations and his loving mum. It's indescribable how much Arthur's life changed when Merlin stumbled into it, bringing with him his warmth and playfulness and love.
And now, about a decade later, it feels like he's stumbling right out of it.
Arthur quickens his pace, wanting the jog to end. He came in thinking it would clear his head, but what it's really doing is giving him too much time to ruminate, and that's the last thing he needs right now. He'll just start thinking about Merlin, and Gwaine, and Merlin and Gwaine, and in that direction madness lies. The last thing he wants to do is picture the two of them together, Merlin on his back, brilliantly red love bites marking the pale skin of his neck and chest, or Merlin sitting atop Gwaine's thighs, straddling him, getting ready to take his cock into—
Arthur grits his teeth and breaks off that train of thought. He's not… he's not jealous. Well, not jealous past what would be reasonable—he's allowed to be a little bit envious of this new person who’s taken over best friend's social life, the man that's been making him so unfairly happy these last few weeks.
It's nothing out of the ordinary, and yet every time Arthur sees the two of them together, it feels like his heart is breaking, and that little green monster that's made its home in his chest rears its ugly head. Which is why Arthur does his best to stay out of Merlin and Gwaine's way whenever they're at the flat—case in point: today's jog.
Gwaine doesn't like him, either. He hasn't said anything outright, but the suspicious glances he sometimes directs towards Arthur, the almost-glares... This jealousy seems to run both ways, so Arthur has made it his life's mission to avoid interacting with Gwaine at all. At least this way, he won't have to listen to Merlin complain about Arthur’s terrible behaviour whenever he has his boyfriend over.
Merlin and Gwaine are probably still holed up at the flat, canoodling on the sofa. That's the last thing Arthur wants to see right now, but he's disgustingly sweaty after his run and at this point, he’s willing to just about do anything for access to a shower.
The other option is veering a bit off course and jumping into the river, but it's the middle of winter and far, far too cold for those sort of shenanigans. He's desperate, but he's not that desperate.
And just as expected, the first thing he sees when he walks into the flat is Merlin and Gwaine cuddling in front of the telly. That used to be their thing, his and Merlin's—both the sofa cuddling and the film watching. It's always been their thing, and it grates on Arthur, knowing that Merlin is now doing the same thing with Gwaine.
Logically, he knows it comes with the 'he's my boyfriend' territory, but…
But it fucking hurts.
"Arthur, you're back!" Merlin exclaims when he sees him. Once, he would have gotten up off the sofa to greet Arthur properly, but not today. Apparently, Gwaine takes priority. It takes a monumental amount of effort on Arthur's part not to glare at him and his immaculately styled hair.
"I'm off to take a shower," Arthur says, raising his hand in greeting, only stopping to toe off his running shoes and dump them next to the door. He doesn't even bother putting them on the shoe stand, which he knows always annoys Merlin to death. He distantly wonders just how much of a terrible person that makes him.
He opts to ignore Merlin's raised eyebrow.
"Dinner's in the fridge!" Merlin calls after him as Arthur makes for the loo. The tension in his shoulders only releases once the door is securely locked behind him. Arthur leans back against it with a sigh.
Maybe, if he's lucky, Gwaine will be gone by the time he comes out.
He stalls in the shower. The water that pours down on him is cold—probably colder than it should be, but Arthur can't quite bring himself to care. On a whim, he grabs Merlin's weird, fruity shower gel instead of his own and squeezes a dollop onto his hand.
And of course, as he lathers every inch of his skin in bodywash, his thoughts drift to Merlin, as they usually do these days. He tries not to think about the fact that this is the first New Year's in about a decade they won't be spending together, tries not to think about Merlin and his boyfriend lying on the sofa behind the closed door.
Though honestly, those thoughts would probably be safer than reminiscing about how ruffled Merlin looks when he gets up in the early hours of the morning, always in a rush so he isn't late for work. Arthur thinks about the way Merlin's eyes shine when they banter and tease and insult each other—a dynamic he's never had with anyone else, and frankly, one that he wouldn't want to have with anyone but Merlin. And oh, once Arthur starts thinking about Merlin's eyes and the teasing, his thoughts inevitably wander to Merlin's full, entirely too kissable lips.
He's not stupid. He's known for a while that he's attracted to Merlin, but that's only because Arthur is very bi, and Merlin is a very attractive human specimen. This attraction, it's nothing out of the ordinary. Besides, he wouldn't jeopardise their friendship by actually telling Merlin about this.
Except the more he thinks about Merlin and his lips and his eyes and his hair and his skin, the more his cock starts to swell. Arthur pushes the heel of his palm against it, but then his horrible, terrible brain imagines that it's Merlin's hand rather than his own pressing against it and all hope is lost. Arthur wraps his fingers around his cock—loosely at first—and starts slowly stroking it, bringing himself to full hardness. The lather makes the process all too easy, and Arthur knows he can stay quiet for the duration of this. After the week he's had, he deserves a few minutes to himself, a few minutes of relaxation. If he keeps any noises to himself, no one will ever know.
It's not long before the pleasure starts creeping up his spine, like a lover's touch. If Arthur closes his eyes, he can imagine Merlin is pressed up behind him, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, telling him all the ways in which he'll take Arthur apart, telling him he loves him and that—
And those words, that imagined touch—it's enough. A few more thrusts into the tightness of his hand and Arthur's coming, painting the shower glass with streaks of white, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. He doesn't get to bask in the pleasure for long, because right on its heels comes a rush of shame so great that it has tears springing into Arthur's eyes.
Fuck. This is Merlin, his flatmate, his best friend.
And Arthur just got himself off imagining them together. He’s crossed so many lines! He's supposed to have more control over himself; this never should have happened! It's… it's…
It's just that, the longer he thinks about it, the more convinced he is that he might be a little bit in love with Merlin. Maybe this jealousy isn't the regular, friendly type, after all. Maybe the little green monster is on to something.
Fuck.
Arthur grabs the shower head and washes away all evidence of his wrongdoing. That's the one good thing about wanking off rather than admitting his feelings aloud—the only person to witness his shame is himself. He can blame the redness in his cheeks on the shower, though how he'll be able to look Merlin in the eye after this, he doesn't know.
After rinsing the rest of the lather off his body, Arthur turns off the water with a sigh. He'll need to leave the loo sooner or later; he's been here long enough already. He rues the day he let Merlin talk him into renting such a small, cozy flat rather than one with two en suites. Merlin's always been a bit too persuasive for his own good.
It's not until Arthur's halfway done drying himself off with the towel that he realises he didn't bother to bring any fresh clothes with him, and there is no way he is putting those sweaty, stinky jogging rags back on. His bedroom door is only a few steps away. With a bit of luck, neither Gwaine nor Merlin will actually see him.
...Though on second thought, yes, he does kind of want Merlin to see him, if only to show him what he's missing out on. Arthur isn't ashamed of the way he looks. There's nothing to be ashamed of. He's fit; he exercises, and it shows in the plains and valleys of his muscles. More than once, he caught Merlin looking on in appreciation of his biceps, and right now, feeling slightly petty, he plans on taking full advantage of his admiration.
All the better that Gwaine is there to see it.
Wrapping the towel firmly around his waist, Arthur opens the door and walks out.
It's gratifying to see the double take Gwaine does when he sees him, tiny rivulets of water seeping from his hair, down his back and chest. His gaze travels up and down Arthur's body in obvious appreciation. Merlin is in no better a state, staring at Arthur open-mouthed, as though this is only his first time seeing him half-naked.
Arthur has to fight down the self-satisfied grin that threatens to rise to his lips as he makes the short journey to his bedroom, making sure to close the door behind him. Merlin and Gwaine are both silent, back in the living room, or maybe Arthur just can't hear their quiet chatter over the sound of the film they're watching.
He's tempted to stay at the door and eavesdrop, but he thinks better of the idea. Arthur lets the wet towel drop to the floor and throws himself onto the bed, messing up the pristine sheets. He lies there for a moment, staring straight up at the ceiling, before sighing again.
So he has feelings for Merlin. Now what? There should be a support group for people who've spontaneously found themselves infatuated with someone who most certainly doesn't share their feelings. Obviously, telling Merlin is out of the question. Something like this could end their friendship, or at the very least, badly strain it. The last thing Arthur needs right now is for Merlin to become even more distant when they're already barely spending anytime together.
Is this how Merlin felt whenever Arthur had a significant other? Alone and unimportant? At the time, Arthur thought that he dedicated sufficient time to their friendship, but now... Now, he's not so sure. Merlin never outright said anything, but then, he was always more the type to suffer in silence when it comes to something important. Not that Arthur is any better, mind.
He throws his arm over his eyes and sighs again. He seems to be doing that a lot today.
Arthur isn't sure when, exactly, he falls asleep—still naked, still spread out atop the covers rather than beneath them—but he knows exactly when he wakes up.
Mostly because the first thing he does when something bangs into the wall right behind his head is check his alarm clock. 23:37. Pretty much the middle of the night for him, especially considering he needs to be up and about in the morning. God forbid he's even a minute late for work. His father is still constantly bringing up the one time that happened.
It's only after a few seconds pass and the noise repeats itself that Arthur sits up in bed, fully alert. Merlin's room is right behind the wall, so the sound must be coming from there. And it's… it's not just the banging, now that he listens closer. The walls are thin; Arthur doesn't even have to strain his ears to hear the muffled moans and groans and pleas for more and—
Oh God, he's going to be sick. Arthur swallows and puts his hands over his ears, hoping it will block out the sounds. It works to an extent, but then Gwaine must do something to Merlin, because he's screaming Gwaine's name, his voice carrying, and it's more than Arthur can stand. He lurches off the bed, headed straight for the headphones he left lying on his desk. His mobile is right next to it—right where he put it before leaving for his jog. As quickly as he can, Arthur plugs the headphones in and plays the first song he finds, raising the volume to the max, letting the words echo around his head and threaten to burst his eardrums.
It works, to an extent, but during the lulls in music, he can still make out every single sound Gwaine and Merlin make.
And it's horrible, having no choice but to listen to them. Not even the pillow he puts over his head does anything to muffle the noises, and Arthur has no choice but to lie there and fervently wish that Merlin was making all those moans of pleasure because of him, and not some twit with hair for brains.
It's going to take more strength than he has not to punch Gwaine the next time he sees him.
~oOo~
As luck would have it, Arthur doesn't see Gwaine when he gets up early in the morning. He didn't manage to get much rest, having found himself unable to fall back asleep even once Gwaine and Merlin concluded their… activities. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing Merlin lying on his back and Gwaine thrusting in between his thighs. Every time the image appeared in his head, it made Arthur want to hit something.
He almost did, multiple times, but stopped because that would only make Merlin realise he was awake.
In any case, Gwaine isn't there when Arthur emerges from his bedroom. His coat isn't on the hangar, his boots aren't where he left them, and Merlin must have aired out the flat because he can't even smell the fumes Gwaine's horrid hair gel gives off.
He finds Merlin standing in front of the kitchen counter, clad in nothing but his boxers and a loosely tied bathrobe. He must hear Arthur enter—the floorboards creak so loudly that even a professional burglar would have trouble getting around quietly—but Merlin doesn't turn to face him. Even from his position in the door, Arthur can see the back of his neck and tips of his ears turning a dark shade of red.
He's embarrassed, then; he must have figured out that Arthur heard every single moan, every bitten off whimper he made in the night. At least he had the decency to get rid of his paramour.
"Your breakfast is over there," Merlin says, gesturing back towards the table, still looking away. Arthur studies him for a moment longer, before padding over to the table and dropping down onto the chair.
"Thanks." It's not every day Merlin makes him breakfast. It looks like he ran out to the store to get Arthur's favourites, though Arthur has no idea when he would have had the time to do that, considering Merlin finds it harder to get up in the morning than he does.
Grabbing a knife and a fork, Arthur digs into his food. There's a cup of coffee right next to it, which is incredibly surprising considering that just last week, Merlin had no idea how to use the espresso machine.
The silence in the kitchen is stifling. It’s never been like this between them, not even those times they argued and stayed mad at each other for days on end. Merlin keeps standing by the counter doing god knows what, and Arthur keeps sitting in his chair, eating, and watching Merlin out of the corner of his eye.
It's not until he's on his last bite of food that Merlin—bless his sense of timing—hesitantly clears his throat and turns around.
"I'm sorry about last night," he says, fixing his gaze somewhere over Arthur's left shoulder rather than his face. That, more than anything, is a testament to how ashamed he must be—Merlin's never had any problems looking him in the eye before. It… it hurts, oddly enough. Makes it seem like their relationship is slowly falling apart, tearing at the seams.
They used to tell each other everything. Arthur wonders when that changed.
"Right," Arthur replies, unsure of what to say. He blinks at Merlin a few times, before picking up his cup of coffee and looking into it. What else is he supposed to say? 'Don't mention it'? 'Apology accepted'? 'Maybe next time you're planning on having your boyfriend fuck your brains out, do me the courtesy of telling me beforehand so I have enough time to make myself scarce'?
God, it is going to be happening again, isn't it? Gwaine is Merlin's boyfriend, for crying out loud. Just how many more times is Arthur going to be forced to listen to the sounds of the two of them having sex?!
He could always move into a place with thicker walls. Or he could attempt to break Merlin and Gwaine up, but that would probably end up being a short term solution, because what would stop Merlin from finding someone else? And then the whole process would start all over again.
"It's just…" Merlin says, jerking Arthur out of his thoughts. "It was Gwaine's idea, is all. I tried to get it out of his head, but…"
"It's all right, Merlin," Arthur says, if only to put him out of his misery. "This is your home too, and I could have left for the night when I realised Gwaine was going to be staying over.
"Still, though." Merlin scratches at the back of his neck. "That was… that was shite. We shouldn't have done that. I promise it won't happen again."
Arthur nods stiffly. "If that's all, I really need to get ready for work."
"Oh," Merlin says, looking at him in wide-eyed uncertainty. "I thought… never mind. Have a good day at work." He tacks a small but sincere smile onto the end. Arthur tries to return it, but his facial muscles feel like they've suddenly turned to stone.
"Thanks," he replies, and then he's out of the chair and out of the kitchen and back in his room, where it's safe.
~oOo~
Christmas passes quickly, filled with family and laughter and presents. Despite the fact that Arthur and his father might not see eye to eye on many things, the week he spends at his childhood home is bliss in comparison to the stifling mood that's overtaken his and Merlin's flat. Not even Morgana, try as she might sometimes, manages to put a dent in the surprisingly pleasant ambiance.
Of course, the downside of spending so much time around Morgana is that she's always been quick to catch onto his emotions, and it never takes her long to figure out if something is wrong. It's a trait Arthur both loves and despises, mostly because he's never sure how she'll react if he tells her of his troubles.
At least this time, she waits until their father has retired for the night before beginning the interrogation.
"So a little bird told me you've been increasingly miserable these past few days," she says, plopping down on the other side of the sofa and curling her feet beneath her.
"Really," Arthur replies, barely sparing her a glance. Give Morgana an inch, and she'll take ten miles.
The smirk melts off her face quickly at his non-committal reply, and concern takes its place. He's so unused to seeing this expression on her that he can't help but stare.
"Arthur," she says with a sigh. "I'm not saying this to tease you or make fun of you or whatever it is that you've made this out to be in your head. I'm worried."
"There's nothing to worry about." Arthur takes another sip of his eggnog. It's unfairly good. All his life he's been trying to figure out how their chef manages to make it taste so heavenly, but the woman has always refused to spill her secrets. One day, Arthur would get them out of her. Until then…
He takes another sip and smacks his lips together, if only to see the disgust in Morgana's eyes.
"Have you and Merlin been fighting?" she asks, pointedly looking away from the tumbler. The words startle Arthur so much that it almost slips through his fingers.
"What? Who told you that?!" he asks, sitting up straighter, trying to blink away the alcoholic haze that's muddling his thoughts.
"So it's true, then?"
"It's not!" Arthur replies mulishly, placing the tumbler on the coffee table, where it will be safely away from his trembling hands. "Who have you been talking to?"
Morgana bites down on her lower lip and looks at him searchingly. Hesitantly, she reaches out and places her hand atop Arthur's, and it's that display of affection, more than anything else, that tells him how serious she is.
"I've spoken to Gwen," she starts, her voice a soft whisper. "You know that she and Merlin work together, and she says… she says that he's been miserable these last few days. Apparently, she's never seen him this sad before. And she would have assumed it's relationship problems, except that she saw Merlin together with Gwaine, and they seemed fine. So logic dictates the only other thing that could have him in such a mood is you. And to be honest, you don't look particularly happy yourself."
"I'm not," Arthur says before he can think better of it. "I… I'm not." He swallows loudly, moving his hand out from under Morgana's, trying and failing not to clench it into a fist.
"What is it?" she prompts. "Did he do something? Did you do something? You and Merlin have known each other forever; I'm sure there's something you can do to fix this."
She seems so convinced of what she's saying, and once upon a time, Arthur would have been as well. But after the last few days, seeing Merlin grow increasingly distant in regards to him…
He's not all that sure anymore. He's always known that people outgrown relationships—friends you had as a kid won't necessarily be the same friends you have as an adult—but never in his life did he think that would happen to him and Merlin. They've spent so many years practically living in each other's pockets, and now…
And now, Arthur was starting to wonder what will happen when they stop living together—and it's when, not if, because Merlin and Gwaine's relationship seems to be moving along splendidly. He fully expects Merlin to announce that he'll be moving out within the next few months.
What will Arthur do, then?
"I think I've done something stupid," Arthur says, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "I think I've gone and fallen in love with my best friend."
"Oh, Arthur," Morgana says. She holds out her arms, and for the first time since they were children, Arthur allows himself to fall into them and cry.
~oOo~
Things don't exactly get better after that, but they certainly don't get any worse. Morgana sat with him all night and he told her everything. Well, obviously he omitted some of the more R-rated things, but other than that? He spilled his heart out. And Morgana listened, at first, and then when he was finally done, she smacked him upside the head and called him an idiot.
Her solution to Arthur's dilemma? To talk to Merlin. To have a sincere heart-to-heart. Apparently, it's that simple.
And honestly? Arthur isn't entirely sure that she's wrong. If things between him and Merlin stay as they are, their friendship will disintegrate within the next few months. Already, they're both constantly looking for excuses to avoid each other. In his darker moments, Arthur blames all of this on Gwaine, but in truth, he's just as much at fault.
He needs to talk to Merlin, if only to put this to rest. It's not as though their relationship can get any worse.
Two days after Christmas, Arthur drives back home, taking with him an ungodly amount of cakes and pies and other leftovers. Neither he nor Merlin will have to bother with cooking for the next couple of days at least, especially considering Merlin is likely to bring back just as much food from his mum's.
He isn't surprised to find that he's going to be spending his first night back home alone. When Merlin texts him to say he'll be back a day later than anticipated, he doesn't bother with an explanation, and Arthur doesn't ask for one. What he does instead is get drunk off his arse on the wine he meant to give Merlin for Christmas and wallow in self-pity.
At around three in the morning, Arthur has the magnificent idea to jot down his New Year's resolution onto the calendar. He manages to get it off the nail and bring it to the coffee table without stumbling over his own two feet, which is nothing short of a miracle. Next to his hand is a ceramic cup in the shape of a dragon, containing a surprisingly wide array of colourful pens. Arthur grabs the red one, missing twice before he finally manages to wrap his fingers around it. Uncapping it is a challenge, and it takes him longer than he would admit to figure out that that's because it doesn't have a cap to begin with. Nearly banging his head against the table at his own stupidity, Arthur clicks the button on the upper end of the pen and puts it to the paper.
And then he starts to write. It's not New Year's yet, but who cares? A resolution is a resolution is a resolution. Besides, he's not entirely sure this thing between him and Merlin can wait that long.
Confess love to Merlin, he writes onto the little square marking January 1st. His drunk brain even tacks on a little heart over the 'i' instead of a dot.
Arthur isn't sure how long he stares at the words, all squiggly, nearly unreadable lines—chicken scratch, really, especially in comparison to the way he writes normally—but it's long enough that Arthur's eyes start to blur. He rubs at them, but that doesn't help at all. It's probably because it's so late; he can't remember the last time he stayed up half the night, not unless he counts—
But no, he doesn't count that, doesn't even want to think about that incident. If only he could wipe it from his memory, he would. It would save a lot of people a lot of trouble and embarrassment.
Not Gwaine, though, Arthur thinks, annoyed. Gwaine isn't ashamed of anything. He went so far as to smirk at Arthur and waggle his eyebrows the last time he saw him.
Arthur will never understand why Merlin likes him so much.
His eyelids feel like someone poured a tube of glue all over them. They're sticky and heavy, and really, all Arthur wants to do is let them slip shut and fall asleep.
And then he thinks, why not? He's all alone in the flat. It isn't as though anyone can tell him off for sleeping on the sofa rather than his own perfectly comfortable bed.
Though truth be told, he doesn't think he's actually going to be getting on the sofa. The cushions are so high up and far away, and it might just be the alcohol talking, but the floor really is quite comfortable, the wood pleasantly cool against his fevered skin. Why would he bother moving when he can just lie down right here on the floor and pillow his head on the rug.
Or, better yet, he could put his head down on the coffee table. That way, he can force himself to continue looking at the words he wrote until he falls asleep, so that he's sure he won't forget them come morning. Sure, he wrote them down, but if someone flips the calendar back up to December, where will he be then?
The pen falls out of his hand, landing on the floor with a soft thud. Arthur keeps looking at the square. He manages to blink at it a few more times, but his eyelids are quick to stick together after that, and so Arthur leaves them that way. Sleep comes soon after.
~oOo~
He wakes to soft hands pushing his hair away from his face.
"Oh, cariad," Merlin's voice whispers into his ear. Arthur grunts in return, and the hands pause their strokes. It was such a lovely sensation. He misses it. He wants it back.
Arthur forces his eyes to open just the slightest bit to locate the hand, then pushes his head in its general direction. He's rewarded with a laugh, and the fingers resume their motions.
"You should have just said," Merlin's voice says. He sounds like he's crying, which is alarming to say the least. Arthur makes an honest effort to wake up properly, but he's just so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that it doesn't quite work. The fingers are no help at all, lulling him back to sleep as they are.
"Shhh," Merlin's voice whispers. "Go to sleep. We can when you get some rest. Don't think I haven't noticed those bags under your eyes."
Merlin, Arthur thinks. Merlin, Merlin, Merlin. He's supposed to tell Merlin something, isn't he? Something important, something he talked about with Morgana and wrote down in the calendar and—
"You talked to Morgana about this?" Merlin's voice laughs, his breath displacing Arthur's hair and making it tickle his skin. "I'll be wanting to know how that conversation went."
Nononono, that's not what Merlin needs to know, not the conversation with Morgana, not the calendar. It's something more important, something far more important and really, Arthur should have told him ages ago, he's not sure why he didn't because it's so obvious now, it should always have been obvious but he was too stupid and self-absorbed and emotionally repressed to realise and he—
He really, really loves Merlin. As more than just a friend. Arthur loves him so much that sometimes, it feels like his heart is going to crack in two, unable to contain the enormity of this emotion.
"I love you, too, you know. Have done since you spilled your coffee all over my uni homework. You were a right prat about it, though."
Arthur hums in agreement, prompting Merlin's voice to chuckle again. It's so nice, having it whisper things into his ear. He could get used to this. Maybe he could try to convince Merlin to sleep with him in his bed sometime.
"You won't need to put much effort into the convincing, really."
Arthur feels weightless, suddenly. There's a pins and needles sensation in his legs, and he stumbles as he takes his first step forward. Why can't he just stay at the table? It's such a nice table, so comfortable, so… wooden. A very nice table. Merlin loves that table.
"Because you're going to be complaining about all the aches and pains come morning, and neither of us want that."
That's… fair enough.
"Come on then, you big clod. Let's get you to bed. You're going to regret this so much in the morning."
It's hard, putting one foot in front of the other. Half the time, Arthur feels like he's going to trip over them, but then suddenly, he finds himself sat down on the bed, then pushed down to lie in it. The duvet wraps around him almost as though by magic.
"I'll get you a bucket and a glass of water. And some ibuprofen to take when you inevitably wake up with a headache. Try to get some rest, Arthur. We have a lot to talk about in the morning."
And with that, Merlin's voice is gone.
~oOo~
Arthur's head feels as though someone has replaced his brain with straw. And his stomach, god. The nausea is overwhelming. He leans over the side of the bed, just in case, and waits for it to pass.
He hasn't gone on a bender like this since his uni days, and even then, it happened only a handful of times. Merlin was always there to nurse him through it, mostly because he, for one, knows better than to get blackout drunk.
Arthur's heart aches with how much he misses Merlin. Logically, he knows they've often gone longer without seeing each other, but…
He wants to see Merlin so much it hurts. With one last sigh, Arthur sits up. He needs to get a glass of water from the kitchen, and then he can spend the next hour trying to drown himself in the shower. He doesn't recall the last time he felt this disgusting.
Instead of putting his foot on the floor, Arthur puts it inside a bucket. He blinks down at it, confused. He doesn't recall bringing it into his bedroom yesterday; it’s unlikely he would have come up with the idea considering the state he was in last night. Looking around, Arthur finds a full, half-litre mug of water on the nightstand, and next to it, a pill.
He takes his foot out of the bucket, then reaches for the painkiller and the mug. His mouth tastes like something died in it, and that hardly improves even after he's downed half of the water, but brushing his teeth would require effort. Maybe in a few hours, once he's feeling a bit more like a human being again.
Something clangs loudly in the kitchen, followed by a stream of muffled curses. Arthur looks at the time—barely past noon—and gets up on shaky feet. Merlin must be back. Arthur has a sneaking suspicion it was he who brought the lifesaving supplies into his bedroom.
It would probably be better to wait until the painkiller has kicked in, but that would take too long, and Arthur really wants to see Merlin now, roiling stomach or no.
"Well, look who's awake," Merlin says once Arthur has stumbled into the kitchen, his arm thrown over his eyes to protect them from the searing sunlight. He flinches when Merlin slams a plate onto the table.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Was that too loud for you?" Merlin asks, making sure to raise his voice enough to have whatever is left of Arthur's brain ratting about in his head. He can't stop the whimper before it leaves his lips.
"When did you get back?" Arthur asks, grabbing hold of an empty glass that's on the counter and pressing it to his face. It's so blessedly cold.
Maybe he should lie down on the tile floor.
Or—judging by the way Merlin is scrunching up his nose at him and turning away—take a cold shower. That's an idea. He turns around and makes to do just that, momentarily forgetting that he's supposed to be waiting for an answer.
"Early this morning," Merlin says before Arthur has managed to take the first step. "I found you asleep on the coffee table."
Arthur whirls—slowly, mind you— back around and blinks at him, unsure of what to say. Merlin doesn't seem to be looking for an answer, however, because he continues speaking.
"Do you have any idea how close you came to giving yourself alcohol poisoning last night?" Merlin asks, furrowing his brows in… something. Arthur can't quite tell whether it's concern or annoyance. Maybe a mix of both. As much as it warms his heart, knowing Merlin worries about him, it also makes him feel terribly guilty. He's just about to open his mouth and apologise, but Merlin holds up his hand, silencing Arthur before he's able to get a single word out.
"Breakfast," Merlin says, pointing down at the plate he put on the table. The bacon and eggs smell heavenly, but still make Arthur's stomach churn. He knows it would be for the better, though, for him to eat some food. Right now, he feels like his body is made up of 10% alcohol and 90% hangover. It would be nice to replace some of that with something normal.
"Coffee?" Arthur asks hopefully, eyeing the espresso machine. Merlin makes a show of rolling his eyes, but obediently goes over and sets it up. Arthur takes the opportunity to sit down, put the empty glass back on the table—he almost drops it, but thankfully, Merlin isn't around to see—and dig into his breakfast.
The taste of it is heavenly in his mouth. So much so that Arthur has to force himself to slow down and not eat everything at once, just in case his stomach decides to rebel. He barely notices when Merlin puts the cup of coffee next to the plate and sits down across from him.
"I saw the calendar," Merlin says when Arthur's on the last bite of his food.
He almost chokes.
Arthur’s… no. He couldn't have been so stupid as to leave the calendar lying around for Merlin to find, could he? He might have been a bit drunk, granted, and he had fallen asleep on the coffee table right after writing down his New Year's resolution, but…
Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
Merlin keeps his gaze steadily on Arthur, cataloguing each and every one of his reactions.
Is it too late for denial? "I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur says around the food. He swallows, his mouth having suddenly gone dry, then reaches for the coffee, intending to gulp it down hot and retreat to the loo.
Before he can do so much as wrap his fingers around the handle, Merlin puts his own hand over Arthur's. Arthur isn't all that sure he likes the expression on his face.
Fuck. This is not how he anticipated having this conversation.
"The calendar," Merlin repeats, raising one of his eyebrows. "Specifically, the entry for the first of January."
There's a string of curse words coursing through his brain, just itching to be released. It's unfairly hard to beat them back into submission. Why must they be having this conversation while he's still in such a state? Could Merlin not have waited until Arthur was once again fully functional?
"Merlin," Arthur starts, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, hoping that will help him get a handle on himself. "I—"
"It's not just the calendar," Merlin interrupts before Arthur can say anything else. "You're a talkative drunk, even when you're half-asleep. And I… You probably don't remember, but—" Merlin takes a deep breath and tightens his grip on Arthur's hand. "—I told you I love you, too."
It takes a few seconds for the words to make it past Arthur's ears and into his brain, but when they do…
"Please tell me this isn't just a joke." If this is some twisted way of letting him down, Arthur doesn't know what he'll do.
"Of course n— is that what you think of me? That I'd joke about something like this?" Merlin exclaims, standing up so abruptly that his chair goes skidding back and falls to the floor with a crash.
"No, no. Of course not," Arthur says, contrite, not looking Merlin in the eyes. "I… I suppose I'm feeling a bit defensive."
With a sigh, Merlin lets go of his hand, replacing the warmth of his touch with cold air.
"I'm not joking, if that wasn't clear," Merlin says, and this time, he's the one avoiding Arthur's gaze. "I fell in love with you in uni. I… I suppose my feelings never changed."
"But Gwaine…" Arthur says. He might not like the man, but he won't sink so low as to start something with Merlin while he's still unavailable.
"I broke up with him before Christmas," Merlin rushes to explain. "He's always been unreasonably—well, not so unreasonably, I guess—jealous of you. And, well. You know how that ended last time." Yes, Arthur remembers perfectly well how Gwaine's jealousy manifested—as the banging of a headboard against the wall, Merlin's moans loud in the silence of the night. "It wasn't fair to him. Gods, it makes me sound like an utter arse, but I suppose I was using him to try to get over you, and… yeah. It wasn't fair to him."
"You broke up," Arthur repeats, mind still stuck on that part of the sentence. "Because you're in love with me?"
"Yes," Merlin says, in that same exasperated tone he uses when Arthur's being particularly obtuse. Which isn't fair, because this whole week has been one revelation after another, and Arthur deserves some time to process.
"I think I'm going to kiss you now," Arthur finally says, and with that, he pushes the plate out of the way and leans across the table.
Merlin stops him with a hand to his face.
"You're not getting anywhere near me with that mouth." He pointedly wrinkles his nose.
"Join me in the shower, then?" Arthur asks, trying and failing not to sound too hopeful. "I promise I'll behave," he adds when Merlin snorts.
"You not behaving is the last thing I'm worried about. With that hangover, I doubt you'll manage to keep your feet under you. I'll go, if only to make sure you don't brain yourself on the tiles." Merlin gets up, holding one hand out to Arthur. "Come on, then."
It seems surreal. This whole situation has been surreal since the moment he realised he's in love with Merlin. And now Merlin is standing here, before him, willing to—
Arthur's brain short-circuits. He takes Merlin's hand and lets himself be pulled out of the kitchen. After all, the sooner they get this done, the sooner they can move on to bigger and better things—like getting cosy in his bed.
If they even manage to make it that far.