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Merlin pushed the door open and all but stumbled inside, immediately dropping the two boxes full of photos on his bed. It hardly seemed fair that, on top of making the album for Gwen and Lance, he’d also had to carry the boxes to his flat. He lived on the fifth floor, for Christ’s sake! There was a lift, but it was constantly broken and Merlin had so far resisted the urge to repair it with magic, partly because he was afraid something would go wrong.
As he pulled out the photo album from underneath his bed, it occurred to him that he could have just levitated the boxes.
He definitely needed to start sleeping more.
Sitting on his bed with his legs folded beneath him, he opened the first load of photos. It still amazed him how anyone could have taken so many photos in just a few hours. Wedding photographers certainly possessed their own kind of magic.
He started sorting through them, discarding those that had caught someone at the wrong moment and making an extra-special heap of all those that showed Gwen and Lance looking at each other with hearts in their eyes.
The wedding had been fantastic. It had taken place at an ancient farm, right in the middle of what had once been a field but was now a meadow of lush grass and patches of red poppy.
Of course Arthur had been in a foul mood all day, no surprise there. Merlin supposed he had some justification for it, but then again, his and Gwen’s fling back in college was more than ten years ago by now, so Arthur should just calm the fuck down, really.
As neither Arthur nor Merlin had brought a date – and were considered best friends by everyone anyway (not that Merlin necessarily agreed, seeing as Arthur was a bit of a dick) – they’d ended up being seated next to each other. Theoretically Gwen’s mum and Lance’s parents had sat at the same table, but they hadn’t spent a minute longer than necessary sitting there, instead making the rounds and talking to everyone present.
The result was that now there was a ridiculous number of photos of just Merlin and Arthur, looking like they’d gone to the wedding together. It was cruel irony, really, and Merlin’s heart clenched as he went through the pictures.
Arthur laughing as Merlin spilled a bit of champagne on his button-up. Merlin raising an eloquent eyebrow when Arthur managed to let a canapé drop into his lap (Arthur’s lap, that was) and tried to remove the stain by rubbing at it with a napkin. How had Arthur even made it to his thirtieth birthday?
Merlin set aside the other pictures to focus on the ones of Arthur and him. It was bittersweet, seeing his (yeah, okay, he’s not actually a dick, just some of the time) long-term crush smiling at him and giving him all his attention.
Oh, but there was a picture of Arthur scowling. And another one. They both showed Merlin deep in conversation with Freya, who’d wanted his opinion on a flower she’d spotted on the meadow and incorporated into her hairdo. Merlin remembered turning back around afterwards and spotting Arthur’s expression.
“Come on,” he’d said, and plucked a poppy from behind his chair. “Don’t be such a grumblebum. You know you can pull off the flower chic just as well as Freya.”
Arthur had huffed but been unable to keep a smile off his face. “Grumblebum? What’s that, Australian?”
Instead of answering, Merlin had leaned forward, flower in hand, and Arthur had leaned back, but eventually Merlin had succeeded at sticking the flower into Arthur’s hair, just above his ear.
“Lovely!” Merlin had grinned, sitting back and admiring his handiwork.
“Whatever,” Arthur had grumbled, but there was a definite blush on his cheeks.
Merlin was blushing just remembering it. Biting his lip in anticipation, he thumbed through the pictures until he found a handful depicting exactly that scene. The photographer really had been magic.
Yup, that was Arthur blushing and looking away. Not a sight Merlin often saw. And that was Merlin with his head thrown back in happy laughter. Arthur was watching him on that photo, but any signs of grumpiness or even amusement had faded from his face. He was only... staring, Merlin supposed. It was hard to tell. Maybe it was presumptuous, or maybe it was Merlin’s overactive imagination, but Arthur was wearing a look that Merlin could relate to all too well. It was the same way he looked at Arthur when Arthur couldn’t see.
Merlin rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. “Why am I such a loser,” he whined. Whining dramatically was okay when no one was listening.
He got up and poured himself a glass of lemonade, holding it against his heated face for a moment before taking a sip.
He needed to get over this ridiculous crush. But. Merlin knew he could be wrong. He also knew that he wasn’t crazy, and that he recognised the look on Arthur’s face.
The situation wouldn’t get any better if he just waited around forever.
In a moment of intense bravery, Merlin grabbed his phone and took a photo of the photo, sending the shot to Arthur.
This was a safe route to go. If Arthur had any... feelings for him, he’d answer in kind. If he didn’t, he’d think Merlin had simply sent a funny photo. Genius.
Merlin stared at the phone for five minutes straight, willing it to signal an incoming message.
Nothing happened.
Eventually Merlin used all his pent-up energy to do the washing-up that had gathered in his sink, agitatedly scrubbing away at his plates.
It wasn’t until an hour after he’d finished that he got an answer.
When he opened the picture – god, was it a good sign that he’d got a picture in response? – he was perplexed for a moment before he remembered where it’d been taken.
It had been shortly after they’d met, back in university. In fact, it was the night that they’d all partied at Arthur’s house and Arthur had introduced Lance to Gwen.
The photo showed only Arthur and Merlin, though. Merlin thought he remembered Percy taking it with the Polaroid camera he still carried around nowadays, but he’d never actually seen the picture.
It was a ridiculous picture. They were sitting on the leather sofa in Arthur’s father’s home office – Merlin sent a quick thank you to whichever deity was listening that they hadn’t put any permanent stains on it. There was a bag of crisps on the arm of the sofa, and there was a pair of Haribo Twin Cherries dangling from Merlin’s ears. They each had a bottle of beer in one hand and Merlin was smiling widely at the camera, tell-tale flush indicating that he’d been partying for a while already.
Arthur, though, wasn’t looking at the camera at all. In fact, his face was practically identical with the one he’d been wearing on the photo Merlin had sent him.
After what felt like minutes, a shaky breath escaped Merlin and he almost dropped his phone.
Up till now Merlin had only half believed Arthur when he’d called him an idiot. Now he had to admit he was right. His stomach was in uproar, fluttering like a greenhouse full of exotic butterflies. He put on his shoes in a daze, absently amazed that his fingers could coordinate the action of tying his shoelaces.
He straightened, looking around to see if there was anything he needed to take with him, and when he didn’t spot anything... he appeared right in front of Arthur’s door.
He really needed to work on controlling his magic, yes, but this situation was an exception.
He rang the doorbell, heart pounding, and not twenty seconds later, the door opened to reveal Arthur.
“That was quick,” Arthur said, eyebrow raised and smirking slightly.
“I’m an idiot.”
“True. Anything else you wanted to tell me?” Arthur asked, leaning nonchalantly in the doorframe.
Merlin almost groaned. “Just for a moment there I forgot you’re actually an arsehole.”
Within a single breath, Arthur’s expression transformed into a genuine smile, and he held out his hand to Merlin.
“Come in, Merlin. We haven’t got all day.”
Merlin shot him a look. “You’ve waited nine years.”
“Enough’s enough,” Arthur proclaimed, grabbing Merlin’s wrist and pulling him inside, the door falling shut behind them.
Merlin shuffled his feet awkwardly, all too aware of Arthur’s warm fingers on his wrist. “Waiting normally isn’t your strength.”
Arthur rolled his eyes and dropped Merlin’s hand, looking away before admitting, “I’d have waited a thousand years for you.”
Merlin took in Arthur’s stance, his expression, and marvelled at how insecure he could look. He huffed out a laugh. “I’d have waited longer.”
There was a moment of silence until finally Arthur dared to look at Merlin to find he wasn’t mocking him or anything equally ridiculous.
Merlin waited, expecting Arthur to make a joke and laugh it all off. But he didn’t.
Arthur looked at him, eyes solemn. “I don’t even want to think about that. A thousand years is too long. Hell, an hour is too long. Let’s stop wasting time.”
Merlin smiled, shrugging slightly. “I love you.”