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Summary
It wasn’t that Arthur hadn’t prepared himself for this very moment.
No, he had spent years and years imagining it, had spent countless nights in his bed, locked away from his father and sister, picturing it in his mind. He had hundreds of scenarios laid out, including colourful, charming dialogues to go with them.
Still, he could do nothing but stare dumbly as he watched Merlin step into the train compartment, two plastic cups of coffee in his hands, his hip nudging the sliding door shut after himself and almost spilling the hot drink in the process.