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He could deal with the cold. He could deal with the snow. Hell, he could even deal with being out in said things all day.
But he seriously hated the wet.
Seriously, for a long time he had needed an arch-nemesis, and since all of them were dead – Morgana, Morgause, Mordred, and various others in his long lifetime – he decided that the rain was one he definitely would put on that list. Along with stairs. Gods, he hated stairs. When elevators had been invented, he’d been ready to fall to his knees and worship.
He’d left home that morning to go out and run a few errands, but he’d forgotten to bring his raincoat, and so there he was, trying desperately to run through the rain to find cover, getting soaked to the bone, and knocking people over.
The sky was grey and angry, thunder rumbling in the distance and getting closer. London was in for one hell of a storm tonight.
Merlin could feel the magic within himself react to the storm, charging under his skin like real lightning, raising Goosebumps that had nothing to do with the cold on his skin. When he felt the water trickling down his spine, he gave up trying to keep dry; he was already soaked beyond belief.
Reaching up, he pulled the hood of his coat down, feeling the rain hit his hair in full force. It felt good, being exposed to the raw elements, even if he hated the wet. The feeling of magic surging under his skin and in his eyes was worth being wet. He hadn’t felt such a raw and powerful storm in so long!
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the rain hit his face and the adrenaline pump through his body.
As soon as he opened them, a body crashed into his, sending him sprawling back. An arm caught him before he hit the ground, and he looked up in alarm to see a painfully familiar face.
He was set safely on his feet, but he couldn’t care less. He could feel the water running down his cheeks, but it felt good. A hurt, sad smile spread across his face. ‘Arthur?’ he sobbed tentatively.
And there he was, once shining golden hair plastered to his forehead and neck, water dripping down his face and onto his soaked shirt. But his eyes – his eyes – were the same piercing blue that had haunted his dreams for a thousand years, the same that had caused him immeasurable pain and unimaginable happiness.
A smile spread across his lips, that smile that only Merlin ever got to see. He reached out a hand, pushing his palm against Merlin’s jaw and stroking his thumb over the tears spilling onto his cheeks. He took a step closer and crushed the warlock into a tight hug, clutching at him desperately. He could feel Arthur shaking against him, the sobs threatening to overcome his body, and hear the wavering of his voice as he whispered, ‘Merlin.’
At once, Merlin sobbed in earnest, the arms around him tightening even further, clutching at Arthur like his life depended on it.
Arthur’s cold lips pressed against his neck and jaw, little points of comfort in the bittersweet feeling he was drowning in. And then, a soft kiss pressed to his lips, those three words whispered so quietly against his skin, and he knew it was all going to be okay.
‘I love you.’