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The bitter cold of deep winter bit into his coat, nipping at his skin, exposed and covered alike. Every breath that escaped his mouth clouded up the air with its warmth, blowing billows of fog in front of his face. It was daytime – well, it would be if there was any sun – but there was almost no one around, the streets empty and deserted for heaters and the warmth of home.
His headphones were stuffed into his ears, which were covered by a dark beanie. In winter, of course his ears would get cold! Yes, he’d grown into them, but they were still huge and he lost more heat than an African Elephant through them. Which was annoying, to say the least.
He swept his gaze across the street; there was very little visibility and a heavy fog had settled around the city, shrouding it from his eyes and hiding the huge skyscrapers from view. To ward off the cold, he pulled the beanie down lower and blew warmth into his hands. It was only after he had stuffed his hands back into his pockets and started walking again that his mind actually registered the music playing over his earphones.
And I heard your voice, as clear as day…
Of course he instantly recognized the beautiful piano and rhythmic drums, the stunning voice behind the song, and he wondered why the hell do I have this song?
And you told me I should concentrate…
He loved this song. And hated it. Absolutely despised it.
It was all so strange, and it’s so surreal, that a ghost should be so practical…
Loved it because it was so beautiful and so wonderfully composed. Hated it because it drove him to instant sadness, reminded him of the one person he wouldn’t mind forgetting about every once in a while.
The familiar ache rose in his chest, made worse by the cold air prickling at his lungs, stinging him like bees on the inside. His heart beat faster but felt sluggish and all of a sudden, in a wild swirl of fog, there was a man walking in front of him. His heart sank as he saw the chain mail, the spaulders and the sword more familiar than his own hand.
Only if for a night.
The apparition disappeared, and he sighed in relief, only to see it reappear at his side, placing a cold but weighted hand on his shoulder. Desperately, Merlin turned his head away before he could see that handsome face. His heart cried out.
And I heard your voice…
He could feel the whisper of breath on his ear, even under the beanie, his name, in gentle, soft tones, like Arthur would whisper in his ear whenever he thought Merlin was asleep. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the tears.
As clear as day…
The weight lifted and he opened his eyes again to see Arthur standing directly in front of him, staring into his eyes with that intensity he had never managed to be rid of. His expression softened, as though seeing Merlin’s pain, and he reached out a hand as if to sweep it across his cheek, eyes filling to the brim.
And you told me I should concentrate…
As if he could hear the song, Arthur mouthed the words ‘concentrate, Merlin,’ exactly in time, the hint of that old smirk on his face and suddenly he had a training sword in his hand.
It was all so strange, and it’s so surreal…
Merlin clutched at his chest before a sob could break loose and pushed on again, walking right through Arthur – No. The hallucination, Merlin. He is not here. He died a thousand years ago. You were there.
His vision blurred and he kept on walking, trying to ignore the apparition beside him, giving him a sidelong look of concern, the one that he thought Merlin never noticed. And he couldn’t bear to have those sad eyes look at him one more time.
Merlin was so lost in thought and his vision was so blurry that he didn’t see a figure emerge through the fog and before he knew it, he was being knocked aside by the shoulder. He turned to see who had done it and was met by Arthur’s face again. It mustn’t have been him, since all of his hallucinations showed the King in his mail or his riding clothes; never in a modern coat with jeans and converses. But there he was, his face, his expression of concern on a random man, and Merlin’s eyes filled up again. He was going to see Arthur everywhere now, wasn’t he?
That a ghost should be so practical…
He swallowed another sob and muttered what could have been an apology, turning around and walking away. As he did so, he brought his shoulders in on himself and tried to quiet the sob that broke free of his chest.
The tears were warm down his cheeks but the tracks quickly cooled, stinging his face. He pressed his hands to his mouth as he sobbed, wobbling as he decided that he had to get home now. The tears ran freely down his face, catching on his fingers and making them colder as the one line of the song that he wished was true rang out into his ears.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Only if for a night.
Merlin turned his face to the sky, as if looking to God, the Gods, or whatever had decided for him this cruel and painful destiny. Who had spent his life tormenting him.
And he whispered his wish to the fog.
‘Only if for a night.’