Chapter Text
Entering the gym was like entering the forge of a vaguely chaotic blacksmith. At least, that was Merlin’s impression. Concrete walls splashed with red and black, the air that filled his lungs was warm and oddly heavy. “I’m really glad you decided to join, Merlin- it’ll be nice to work out with a friend for a change.” Lance dropped his bag, fishing around for his gloves. “It’ll be nice to work out with a friend for a change. The guys are good, but they can get kinda… intense.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow. Lance was a great guy, making him both a brilliant friend and an unreliable narrator.
“Intense?”
“Yeah, just like… passionate.” He paused, brows furrowed. “One guy said he didn’t like protein shakes, and I swear, I thought things would get violent... Not that you need to worry, of course!” He amended with an almost convincing tone, “Just… Maybe let me do the talking.”
Merlin knew better than to argue.
“You’ve got it.” He grinned, turned to the equipment with a sweeping gesture, and oh God, is that a medieval torture device? “So… What do you want to do first?”
Lance suggested they stretch first, to minimise any risk of injury. Merlin had faith in his friend’s knowledge- not to mention the floor mats were the least threatening equipment in the gym- so, naturally, he agreed.
It was going well. Merlin was discovering muscles he never knew he had- mostly because they kept screaming at him to stop. He was pretty sure that was supposed to happen, though.
“Hey, Lance…”
Then this idiot showed up. “…What the hell is your friend doing?”
Already on edge, Merlin met the newcomer’s gaze. The guy was ripped, which only made him more irritating.
“… I’m stretching. Obviously.”
“Is that what you call it?” the prat scoffed, “You’re gonna snap a tendon doing that. Stop before you hurt yourself.”
Merlin didn’t trust himself to respond. He had three assignments due that Friday, so his patience for clotpoles was at an all-time low. “Lance, keep an eye on your friend.”
Lance, the modern-day saint, just nodded.
“Will do.”
The clotpole moved away. Merlin allowed himself a moment to glower at his retreating figure- and, coincidentally, his obnoxiously beefy biceps. What is he, part ox? Does he just flex 24/7?
“… Who the hell is that prat?”
“That’s Arthur,” Lance hummed, “One of the regulars. He grows on you, after a bit.”
Merlin stared; the brunet sighed, “OK, after a while.”
The prat hadn’t moved too far- he was leant against a nearby treadmill, arms folded and chatting to one of the female instructors. Probably chatting her up, the creep. The absolute dollophead.
“… Hm.”
“No.”
Merlin startled at the word. Lance stood his ground. “I said no.”
“What?”
“I know that hum. That’s the hum you made when Professor Kilgharrah gave your essay a B plus.”
That was a low blow. Merlin bristled, stretch now long forgotten.
“I spent weeks on that essay, and his feedback was so vague! How was I supposed to improve it?”
“You were in his office for two hours! I thought he’d eaten you or something.” Lance sighed, hand raking through his hair. “Look, just promise you’ll stay chill. Gwen will kill me if I let you get pummelled by an athlete.”
No promises. Merlin huffed, rising from his mat; if his bones creaked at the movement, he’d never admit it.
“Please… As if that clot pole’s a real athlete.”
Merlin had been going to the gym for about a week now, and honestly… it wasn’t that bad. He was sleeping better, he felt more focused in lectures, and he could picture his lab partner’s face right where he hit the punching bag. Stupid George… Thinks he’s soooo clever… learn some better jokes then, you prat…
Despite all these pros, there was still one significant con: Arthur, resident dollophead.
“How much weight do you want, Arthur?”
“Maybe ten more kilos, each side? I’m trying to push myself.”
Merlin scowled over his water-bottle, eyes narrowed, watching the blond’s barbell become increasingly heavier. “Thanks, Leon.”
“… Stupid show-off,” Merlin muttered, “With his weights… and his biceps…”
“Sure thing, Merlin.” Lance hummed, not bothering to pause his own work-out.
Merlin continued to glare at the weights- which was, in hindsight, a bad move. A cough drew his attention to narrowed blue eyes.
“You right there, mate?”
Crap, I’ve been spotted… Abort, abort…
“Yeah, yeah.” He sniffed, feigning nonchalance, “Just weighing up my options.”
Lance failed to stifle his snort- a victory in Merlin’s books; but Arthur, to his annoyance, just smirked.
“… You do that.”
That prat. Shoulders back, Merlin moved to the bell bars with a steely resolve.
"Hey, Lance, can you help me with the weights?”
“Hm?” His friend blinked. “Sure, how much do you want?”
“Just keep adding till I tell you.”
Lance’s hands hovered over the plates. He sent Merlin a worried look.
“… Merlin, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“C’mon, Lance, it’ll be fine! Trust me.”
It was not fine. Not fine at all.
“Merlin, I think you should stop.”
“What are you… about?” Merlin grunted, head pushed back into the bench. The barbell hovered shakily over his torso. “M’ fine…”
“Merlin, you’re turning red.” Lance groaned, hand combing through his hair. He bit his lip. “I think you should stop.”
God, what a worry wart… with shaking hands, and some (small) help from his friend, Merlin lofted the bar back onto its stand.
“F… Fine.” He grunted, ignoring the hollow ache in his chest. “How was that?”
“Well…” Lance quipped, gaze to the ceiling, “… You bench pressed twenty kilos, about five times.”
“… I’m pretty sure that was six, actually.”
“You don’t count lifting off the stand, Merlin.”
Thirty… Thirty-one… Thirty-two…
Merlin wouldn’t call himself competitive- just highly motivated. Right now, he was highly motivated to get one up on that annoyingly muscly dollophead.
… Thirty-five… Thirty-six…
“… Merlin, you’ve been squatting for the past ten minutes. You should take a break.”
“I’m fine, Lance.” He took a gulp of air. “My hand strings are tight, I need to work them.”
“Do you… Do you mean your hamstrings?”
… Thirty-nine…
“OK, this is physically painful to watch.”
Still mid-squat, his head snapped up to meet the newcomer. Arthur towered above in all his sweaty glory, lording over him like the prat he was. “You need to stop.”
“No way.” Merlin huffed, rocking in his crouch. “I can go all day.”
“Oh my God…” The prat had the nerve to look exasperated, arms raised in disbelief. “If you go any longer, you’ll hurt yourself. Your posture’s all wrong- you shouldn’t be hunched over like that.”
Whatever, what do you… Oh no.
Arthur was suddenly very close... Very close and very warm- heat radiated off him like a sauna, why is he so close? “Come on, I’ll show you.”
His muscles had turned to stone, taut as the strings of a violin. Merlin held his breath as a gentle hand pushed against his shoulder blades. “OK, keep your shoulders back like that, and imagine your touching the floor with your tailbone. Your spine shouldn’t be curved, you’ll only hurt your back doing that.”
Oh my God, oh my God, WHAT?!?
“… OK.”
“Good. He’s all yours, Lance.”
Arthur rose and left, but Merlin still felt terribly hot. He sunk to the floor, eyes wide and unseeing.
“… Did you see that? Right there?”
Lance raised an eyebrow.
“… Arthur helping you? Yeah, I noticed.”
Why would Arthur help me? Prats aren’t helpful… It makes no sense.
Merlin rose to his feet with a grunt, propping his weight against the wall. The fire returned to his eyes, bright and blind to the truth.
“He wasn’t helping me. He was showing off again. ‘Oooh, look at me! I can lift things!’”
Lance shrugged, unsurprised. He’d been Merlin’s friend long enough to know the signs.
“You are way too invested in this, mate… I’m going to the treadmill.”
The group fitness studio was hot. The air was thick with sweat and adrenaline, dubstep pumping through a nearby speaker.
Merlin had no concerns going into this class. It didn’t matter that this was a high-intensity session, or that this was his second week at the gym. It certainly didn’t matter that
Arthur frequented this class, because this wasn’t about him.
This was about fitness. Fitness, and Kilgharrah not replying to any of his emails.
“This’ll be fine.” He murmured to himself, rolling his shoulders and avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “I can handle a little cardio. Lance needs to lay off...”
… Except maybe Lance was right.
“Keep going, everyone!” Cried the instructor, her voice high and loud above the speakers. “Five more rounds! Keep it going!”
Merlin couldn’t breathe. Sweaty hands tight around the dumbbell, he froze in place, staring at the wall. Was it always this hot? It was, wasn’t it? God, it’s hot…
The instructor was coming closer, her words ringing in his ears. “Come on, keep going!” she hollered, flicking her braid over her back; with her sharp eyes and vaguely threatening aura, she reminded Merlin of… well, most characters in Game of Thrones. Why is she yelling? “Remember what you’re here for! Keep pushing, don’t stop, keep going!”
Merlin could feel it all- the sweat on his back; the metal of the dumbbell in his fingers; the pulsing vibrations of the music from the speakers. “Remember what you’re here for! Don’t give up now, don’t stop!”
He stared wide-eyed at the people around him, still going on, still pushing forward.
His throat closed up.
He had to get out.
The outside air hit him like a wave, wrapped itself around him in a blanket of cool relief. Merlin stumbled to a bench on unsure feet, dropping down without ceremony.
His head fell in his hands. “Oh my God.”
Merlin could feel his heart pounding, feel his eyes begin to sting, but he didn’t know why. He was fine… Why was he crying?
An unknown figure sat down beside him, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
“… It’s alright, just take deep steady breaths… In and out, that’s right.”
Merlin vaguely noted it was Arthur- his sworn enemy, Arthur. He couldn’t bring himself to care. “Do you have a water-bottle?”
He shook his head- it was back in the studio. “Here, have some of mine.”
Merlin accepted the bottle, forcing a wobbly smile.
“I don’t know why I’m crying.” He tried to laugh but it came out too harsh, too breathy. “I’m not upset or anything… I’m fine.”
Arthur offered a soft smile. His eyes are blue, Merlin noted. Nice shade of blue.
“Exertion does that to you- especially if you’re not used to it. Honestly, you did well, lasting that long.”
Merlin frowned, breath slowly returning.
“Is that sarcasm?”
“No, it’s the truth. My first high-intensity session was a wreak- I got to the end of the first Tabata and dissolved into goo.”
Merlin chuckled, rubbing at his eyes. “Doesn’t help that Morgana was the trainer, either- she can be brutal sometimes.”
Arthur sighed, his hands returning to his lap. Merlin missed the contact, much to his chagrin. “You know, you push yourself too hard for a beginner. You should ease yourself into this sort of thing… get a personal trainer or something.”
At this, Merlin smirked.
“You overestimate my bank account.” He teased, feigning contemplation, “I could probably hire a trainer if I dropped out of uni…”
Arthur laughed. Merlin decided he quite liked this side of Arthur- much more endearing that that clot pole from before.
“That bad, huh? OK then… I’ll put something together.”
His jaw dropped.
“… Really?” Merlin was at a loss, stumbling over words. “Are you sure? I mean…”
Arthur just smiled.
“I’m sure… I mean, I’m hardly a professional, but this isn’t my first rodeo.” He grinned, nudging the other in the side. “It would mean you’d be stuck with me, though.”
Merlin stared at the man, with his bright eyes and teasing smirk. Wiping away the last of his tears, he offered a smirk of his own.
“… You know what? I think I can handle that.”