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There’s something nagging in the back of his mind. Or is that Merlin’s voice, which happens to be nonexistent at the moment? Arthur looks up from his desk, crown lopsided on his fair hair, and glares across the room sullenly. That stupid, stupid Merlin. Thinking he could just leave to see family. Ridiculous! Like a servant has the luxury of doing such things. Still, when Merlin came to him with that bloody face of his--big eyes, pleading, and that stupid little smile of his, Arthur had saidyes without a second thought. What is wrong with me?
Arthur slams his fist on the table and groans as his head falls downward and thuds against the wooden surface. The absence of Merlin’s rummaging through his room and his cheery voice cracking tasteless jokes is unnerving. In fact, he can’t seem to concentrate on his studies at all. Idly, he wonders when Merlin's presence became such a requirement for his focus and he can’t seem to conjur up a specific day or time. Sometime between the day they met and now, Merlin stepped into the light of friendship. But there’s something more. Something Arthur can’t quite put his finger on. Something that makes his heart skip a beat whenever he catches Merlin’s boyish smile or their eyes meet for a moment. Something that cuts his heart out whenever Merlin goes missing or turns up hurt or throws himself in the midst of danger like the idiot he is. Something that makes Arthur so ashamed of the way he wants to grab Merlin and kiss him that he ends up, instead, shouting and insulting and shoving armfuls of rags or armor at Merlin to clean. Because every time that little thought creeps into the front of his mind, Arthur knows he must push it far, far away.
Because princes don’t love their manservants, he reminds himself dully. They certainly don’t kiss them or hug them or...
His mind wanders but he stops it before it goes too far. A stolen kiss in the hallway. A brush of hands. Laughter, drunken laughter, and falling into his sheets. Too far, he interrupts the thoughts because they're dangerous territory.
Arthur hears the door creak open and his eyes trail upwards just in time to see the tall, lanky manservant grinning cheerily in his doorway. For a moment, the gleam in Merlin’s eyes catches on and Arthur grins so wide he swear he could hug that stupid idiot for all of eternity and he stands--
“Did you miss me?” Merlin teases with a playful twist to his lips and oh god I want to kiss him. He folds his arms across his chest, looking rather pleased with himself. Too pleased. Damn you, Merlin. Damn you and your lips and your neck oh bloody fucking hell your neck.
Arthur stops and glares soberly, trying to tear his eyes away from the slender lines of Merlin’s neck and the Adam’s apple that's practically begging to be chewed on. God, why isn't Merlin wearing his scarf? “Where the hell have you been? I told you four days and you’re gone for a week?”
“Yeah? I’m glad to see you too,” Merlin rolls his eyes.
Arthur grabs his helmet and chucks it at Merlin, who ducks and shouts in surprise. “You’ve got armor to polish and my room to clean, so hop to it!”
Merlin shoots him that look--that look that always begs what did I do wrong? Why are you such a royal prat?--and Arthur feels just a little bit sick. He wants to hug Merlin, to welcome him back with warm words and to never let go, but it’s just not right, I can’t, I just can’t, and Merlin slips away, dejection in his step and in the way his lips fall from a smile to something helpless.
I’m sorry, Merlin.
Arthur sits back down and slowly massages his forehead before opening his book to study words that all run together until they’re echoes of Merlin’s voice.