Work Text:
Arthur is settling into his armchair with his pizza, ready to browse through Netflix to find a new show to watch, when his phone pings with an e-mail notification. Arthur huffs in annoyance. It’s probably just some spam offering him penis enlargement. Nonetheless, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and opens his mail app.
‘Emryswarlock updated their journal’ the subject line reads. Not spam then. He quickly skims the content. The post itself isn’t named, but there are three tags. Personal, ramblings, fuck my life. Worry settling into his stomach, he clicks open the post itself, watching the familiar layout loading before the actual text post appears.
‘I’m tired. Tired of school, tired of work, tired of constantly hiding my true self,’ the first line says, serving as a confirmation that this won’t be a happy post. Arthur sighs and puts his pizza on the coffee table.
‘I know I complain a lot, and I apologize to those who actually read my ramblings, but this is the only place I feel safe enough to vent. I don’t want to burden my family and friends.’
“Not a burden,” Arthur mutters.
‘I’m also ashamed. I don’t want them to know I’m even more useless than they know.’
Arthur wants to grab him and shake some sense into him, but he feels his own shame creeping in. It’s been months since he stumbled upon Merlin’s blog and created an account to friend him. His original plan was to keep posting silly comments on Merlin’s posts and get some material for teasing, but when Merlin added him back, he found the friends only posts which showed a side of Merlin Arthur didn’t know existed.
At first Arthur considered not reading Merlin’s blog anymore, to stop invading his privacy, but then he realized he could use this knowledge. He didn’t stop reading, didn’t reveal his identity. Instead after every dark post, he started doing little things to cheer Merlin up. Innocuous stuff like sending him silly animal pictures or invading his dorm room with a huge bag of takeaway and several movies to choose from.
It’s not like he didn’t do this stuff before or that he does it only after reading about Merlin’s misery. He’s simply more careful on those days, more observant.
‘I have trouble concentrating. It’s my last year at uni, and I can’t keep up with the course work. I think I’ll fail at least two of the classes. My work hours were reduced because they need to lower their costs, and I think they might even kick me out entirely soon. Even now my budget is tight. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose my job.’
“I’ll drag you to my flat and force feed you if your pride won’t allow you to accept money from me,” Arthur says to the empty room.
‘I don’t know why I keep trying. I should just give up. It’s not like anyone would miss me.’
Alarm bells sound in Arthur’s head, his heart speeding up.
‘Mum would at first, but at least I’d stop dragging her down with me. She has a partner now. He’d help.’
Arthur’s worry turns into pure fear.
‘I’m just so tired…’ the post ends, offering no reassurance.
Arthur quickly backs out of the browser and fumbles through his contact list, stabbing at the call button with more force than necessary.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he mutters, listening to the long beeps of the dial tone.
Merlin doesn’t pick up.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Arthur whispers, his hands shaking, panic settling in.
He calls himself a cab, somehow managing to tell them his address even with his mind full of horrible possibilities. He tries Merlin’s number again and again and again while he pulls on his shoes and jacket and heads out to wait for the cab to arrive.
He must look downright horrible because the cabbie doesn’t question his request to go fast and it takes less than fifteen minutes to arrive at the dorms. He pays the driver and leaves a generous tip before breaking into a run towards Merlin’s room. He ignores people’s stares, only the horrifying images of Merlin dying or dead filling his mind, making him run even faster.
“Merlin,” he shouts and pounds at his door.
He’s considering breaking the door down just when it opens, revealing a confused looking Merlin squinting against the light, his head sporting a serious case of bed hair.
“Arthur?” he croaks. “What’s wrong?”
“Fuck,” Arthur breathes out, the wave of relief crashing through him, making him feel slightly lightheaded.
He takes the last few steps towards Merlin and pulls him into a hug, his whole body trembling again, the adrenaline wearing off.
“Fuck,” he gasps again, tightening his hold even more.
“What’s wrong?” Merlin asks again, worry entering his voice.
It’s time to spill the beans.
“I though you…” he starts, his throat constricting, not allowing him to utter those terrible words. “I read your last post, and I thought you…” he still can’t finish the sentence.
“What post?” Merlin asks as Arthur forces himself to let go, to pull away.
He can see the moment understanding dawns on Merlin’s face. He switches the lamp near the bed on and closes the door before saying, “you read my lj.”
“Yeah, I’m knightdragon,” Arthur says, fully aware that Merlin probably remembers that he commented on quite a lot of his posts.
“Okay,” Merlin says, dragging the word out, his cheeks flushing. “You weren’t supposed to read that,” he says, looking at the floor. “But, well, the cat is out of the bag. I’m weak and kinda useless,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s not true,” Arthur says.
“You don’t have to pretend. It’s the truth,” Merlin says.
“I care about you, okay?” Arthur says. “You’d close off if I told you I read your blog. I didn’t want that.”
“You don’t have to say that just because of the post,” Merlin says, turning away, but Arthur steps in front of him again.
“I’d never be able to forgive myself. I’d always think about what I should have done differently,” Arthur says, his tone urgent. “When I thought you…” he still can’t say it. “I’ve never felt worse. Never.” He blinks away the tears gathering in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin says.
“God damnit, Merlin,” Arthur swears, hating that Merlin felt the need to apologize. “Just pick up your phone next time, okay?” he says and sits down on the bed.
“I’ll turn off the silent mode,” Merlin says and sits down next to Arthur. “I wouldn’t do it,” he says after a short pause. “I’m scared of death. And pain.”
Arthur doesn’t miss the hint of shame accompanying the words. He hates it, but doesn’t comment on it. He’ll talk to Merlin when he’s not about to fall victim to the adrenaline wearing off.
He tumbles Merlin onto the bed, ignoring his squeak of protest, and pulls the blanket over them, switching the light off.
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he says.
And maybe, if Arthur is brave enough, and he wants to be brave enough, he will address his own feelings during that talk. But not now. He’ll make do with sharing Merlin’s bed, listening to his soft breaths. Merlin is alive and physically well, and that’s enough for tonight.