Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The flat was dark and quiet when Merlin finally got home. Arthur usually worked much later than him, even on Fridays like tonight, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Except, when Merlin toed his shoes off, Arthur’s were sitting next to the door.  

“Arthur?” 

No response came, and Merlin was ready to assume Arthur wasn’t home. But then his keys jangled on top of another set in the bowl on the worktop.  

Merlin stood still and listened for any sounds. The shower wasn’t running, the telly wasn’t on, nothing was sizzling in the kitchen. Merlin quietly made his way to the bedrooms, and a tiny finger of worry wrapped around his heart: Arthur’s door was closed. They’d been flatmates for only two years, but even Merlin knew that Arthur closing his door all the way was a bad sign.  

He gently twisted the doorknob and sighed in relief that it wasn’t locked. 

“Arthur?” Merlin asked as he slid the door open. 

There was still no response, but the lump on the bed shifted a bit. Merlin could just see a tuft of blond hair before it burrowed out of sight between the grey pillows and red comforter.  

For anyone else, that would’ve been a clear sign to go away. For Merlin, it was an invitation to plop himself at the edge of the bed.  

“Bad day at work?” 

“No,” Arthur’s voice came out muffled and thick. 

“Something with your dad?”  

It was a pretty regular thing for Arthur and his dad to butt heads and leave Arthur feeling like a failed son, but that usually led to anger and whisky, not hiding under blankets.  

“No.” 

Merlin hummed loudly, thinking of what else could possibly drag Arthur down to this low state. He was pulled from his thoughts when an arm appeared and pushed the comforter down.  

One of the first rules Merlin learned when moving in with Arthur was Pendragons don’t cry. Under almost any circumstance. At least, not in front of people. So, he was only a little unnerved by the shiny blue eyes rimmed by red. His cheeks were dry, but the frustration at barely being able to hold back the tears was written painfully across Arthur’s face.  

“Go away,” Arthur pleaded. His voice was strong but lacked any force that would’ve driven Merlin from the room. Besides, Arthur should’ve been smarter than to believe Merlin would actually leave him at a time when he looked so in need of a hug. Though to Arthur’s credit, he looked more resigned than defeated when Merlin turned to face him fully on the bed, clearly saying, “You have my undivided attention, and I'm not leaving until you're better, dammit.”  

They sat in silence for a minute, Merlin watching Arthur and Arthur watching the wall. Merlin could see the gears turning slowly in his head, weighing the costs of letting Merlin in and sharing his pain with someone real, and tangible, and with arms to hug him despite his protests. Merlin half readied himself to pounce.  

Arthur let out a long, slow breath and muttered to the wall, “Mithian and I broke up.”  

“Oh,” was all Merlin could say. That wasn’t anywhere on the list of catastrophes Merlin had run through his mind. Granted, it could’ve been higher than witnessing a vicious bear attack or losing a bet to Morgana. 

Like a pendulum, he swung between calling her a bitch for breaking Arthur’s heart to shrugging the whole thing off as not a big deal to loudly whooping that Arthur was now a free man. But Mithian wasn’t remotely an evil person, and calling her names would probably incite Arthur to strangle him.  

And it was a big deal. Merlin could at least appreciate that. Arthur and Mithian had grown up together, their fathers being business partners. They had just started dating before Merlin met Arthur, and even though the thing initially reeked of arranged marriage and parents’ influence, Merlin had grown to like Mithian.  

So, loudly proclaiming Arthur’s newfound freedom to the single ladies of London it was. 

“Let’s go out! Gwaine said there’s this newer place, even has a ball pit. And look at this monstrosity,” Merlin said as he shoved an image of a glittery green drink in a goblet under Arthur’s nose. “This is bound to make you forget everything, including your name.”  

Merlin’s hand was inches away from yanking Arthur’s arm from under the comforter when those sad eyes met his. Merlin froze. They were bigger, rounder, and bluer than Merlin had ever seen them. And they silently begged for peace.  

“I don’t feel like going out,” Arthur muttered.  

“All right, then we’ll stay in,” Merlin flipped immediately. He hopped off the bed, thinking of what he needed to buy at the shop for a night in.  

“What? No,” Arthur’s brow furrowed as he sat up. “Go out with Gwaine. It’s a Friday night, go out and drink your gross drinks.” 

“And leave you to mope by yourself? Not a chance.” 

“I am not moping.” 

Merlin tried to hide his smile. Really, he did. “Of course you’re not. Now,” he said as he moved to the door, “I’m popping out for a mo, and if you’re not out of this bed by the time I get back, I’m carrying you to the sofa.” 

Arthur flopped onto his back with a groan. 

—II—

A half hour later, Merlin shuffled into the tiny kitchen, bags of food and drinks swinging from his arms.  

“What is all that?” Arthur asked from the sofa.  

Merlin disguised his inward sigh with a grunt as he lifted two boxes of wine from the bags. He was sort of hoping Arthur would still be in bed, and he was going to flip a coin whether to carry him bridal- or fireman-style into the living room.  

“It’s cheap night,” he said by way of explanation. He continued to pile the counter with packets of chocolate biscuits and crisps. He glanced at the time on his phone; the pizza should be here any minute.  

“Merlin,” Arthur said, eyeing the junk food warily, “I already feel like shit. I don’t need to make myself feel worse by eating shit food.” 

“Nonsense, this is a patented Merlin-approved method to cheering up. We’re going to gorge on greasy pizza and salty crisps, dunk biscuits in cheap wine, and watch classic comedies that have nothing to do with the l-word until we both slip into food comas.” 

Arthur’s grimace grew bigger with each word that fell out of Merlin’s mouth. But Merlin was stubbornly undeterred. This had worked for him and his friends countless times in school, and it was going to work for Arthur now. 

—II—

Merlin struggled to extricate himself from the nest of blankets and pillows he and Arthur had somehow created. Okay, maybe he felt a little gross from all the grease and salt. But he could feel the wine buzzing across his skin, and it made him feel warm and fuzzy. He refilled his glass with an overly healthy pour, and it only occurred to bring the wine with him when he was halfway back to the sofa and too late to turn back now.  

With all the gracefulness of a baby elephant, Merlin fell back into the nest. He somehow managed to get more tangled than before, kicking Arthur in the process, but didn’t spill a single drop of wine. He turned a wide smile of triumph to Arthur, who returned it with a glare. 

“Merlin, you’re drunk.” 

“Am not. Just buzzed.”  

“Bzz bzz,” Arthur said with a silly grin. A quick laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest, and it turned into an infectious fit of giggles. Merlin laughed along with him, but then the grin slipped from Arthur’s face. The corners of his mouth threatened to frown, and a vacant look unfocused his eyes. He looked down to the floor, but Merlin could see he was watching something else. 

“Hey,” Merlin tried to pull his attention away from those phantoms. The night was going so well, and he wasn’t ready to send Arthur back to the doorstep of his heartbreak yet.  

His eyes caught on the screen, a scene from whatever movie had started autoplaying showing a woman fanning her brightly painted fingernails. Slowly, an idea dawned on Merlin. 

“Let me paint your nails.” 

“What?” Arthur stared at him as if Merlin had suddenly growled at him in Greek. 

“It’s something my mum and I used to do, when we were really sad and needed a reminder that there’s always a bit of color in the world.” Merlin attempted to escape the nest again.  

Arthur was still staring at him incredulously when Merlin returned with a plastic basket of nail polish, Q-tips, cotton balls, and nail polish remover.  

“No.”  

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“I’ll paint mine, too.” 

“Merlin.” 

“Look,” he placed the polish remover on the table between them, “you can take it off as soon as it dries. Just let me try?”  

Merlin pulled the biggest puppy dog eyes he could manage. Slowly, Arthur’s resolve slipped, perhaps already slippery from the wine, but also because he, for some reason, had a hard time saying no to Merlin when he was being this insistent.  

Arthur didn’t really say yes, but he did grumble and push his feet into Merlin’s lap. Merlin had meant to paint his fingernails, but toes were just as good in this case. He happily turned to the vibrant glass bottles before him, fingers almost twitching over the possibilities. He was stuck between an electric blue and a metallic silver when Arthur huffed in a “get on with it” sort of way. He ended on the electric blue.  

“Isn’t that a little...bright?” Arthur asked nervously.  

“We want you to remember that there’s color in the world. And you’re going to take it off in an hour anyway.” Merlin sent him a soft, encouraging look. Arthur’s resolve slipped just a little further. He turned back to the movie, as if he had any idea what was playing. Merlin shook the nail polish a few times and set to work.  

He focused intensely on the wriggling toes in his lap. The wine had definitely upped his courage; he never would have proposed painting Arthur’s nails otherwise. But it also made his movements a little too slick, and he wanted to avoid tickling Arthur or painting his entire foot as much as possible. Once or twice, though, he looked up to see Arthur watching, fascination in place of the annoyance Merlin assumed would be there.  

He finished off Arthur’s little toe and waved his hands to dry them. Then, he guided Arthur’s feet to rest on the table and turned back to the basket for his own toes. The primrose pink seemed to be calling his name; he was feeling giddy, after all.  

“See? Not so bad,” Merlin said, once his toes were propped up next to Arthur’s. Arthur just snorted at the smears of pink running across Merlin’s feet.  

—II—

Merlin’s head snapped up. He had fallen asleep on the sofa, and he barely registered that Arthur had been snoring right before he nodded off. He looked to his right, but Arthur was gone. And so was the nail polish remover.  

Merlin stretched and lay down across the entire sofa. His bed was miles away down the hall, and he could handle a crick in his neck for a day.  

—II—

Arthur was still wallowing in his room on Saturday, and Merlin decided to be merciful and let him alone. He got lunch with Gwaine, bought some early Christmas presents for Gwen and his mum, and meandered around the park just long enough for frostbite to become a legitimate concern.  

Arthur’s shoes and keys were still in their place from Friday night, but there were signs of life in the empty bowl of cereal in the sink and the discarded box of tea.  

Merlin scurried to his room and flung his freezing clothes to the floor. After a very long, very hot shower, he was finally feeling his extremities again and was glad he hadn’t called Leon in mild panic. He was hanging his robe on the back of his door when something caught his eye. The nail polish remover was on his dresser where it hadn’t been when he walked in. Merlin let the smile crawl across his face. Sure, Arthur could’ve taken the blue polish off any time between last night and now, but a voice in Merlin (Hunith’s, if he was being frank) assured him his idea had worked.  

Chapter Text

In like a lion, out like a lamb, wasn’t that the saying about March? What if the entire month was a lion, then what? Merlin groused to himself as he stomped his sopping, numb feet at the door. He was soaked to the bone and shivering, and all he could think about was curling under the heated blanket Arthur had gifted him for Christmas.   

He was paces away from his warm sanctuary when he nearly bowled Arthur over in his doorway. Arthur’s surprise shifted into guilt, but Merlin was too cold to care what Arthur had been doing in his room. Almost. The thought wormed its way from the back of his mind to the front as his shivering subsided and he could breathe evenly again.   

It’d been a rough couple of months for Arthur. Naturally, Uther was disappointed. Though Merlin was fully ready to deck him when Arthur revealed the bastard couldn’t decide if he was more disappointed in the loss of business prospects their marriage would’ve opened or that Mithian was the one who broke it off and not Arthur. Too much whisky was had that night.   

But things had been improving. Arthur had clearly cared about Mithian, had maybe even envisioned a future with her. But in the end, there was no passion. It was all a huge manipulation between their parents, and Merlin really hoped he could thank Mithian someday for putting an end to that.  

Arthur learned to accept that and seemed for all the world to have moved on. His smiles were genuine again, and his laughs were hearty. He wasn’t fully back to going out on the town, but he’d come round to a few dinners and pub nights.   

But something would change when it was just Arthur and Merlin alone in their flat. He was shifty, anxious, quieter. There was a lot less smiling and laughing. Merlin chalked it up to coping, but now Arthur was snooping around his room?   

Merlin scanned his belongings. Nothing seemed out of place. What could Arthur possibly want of his?  

And then his eyes caught on it. The nail polish remover was on his dresser, again, where it wasn’t supposed to be, again. And there looked to be less liquid than when Merlin last remembered using it.   

Merlin got up and crossed to his desk, where he kept most of his cosmetics. The basket of nail polish was in the top drawer, and as soon as he opened it, he could tell. The basket wasn’t organized, it was just bottles on top of each other, but still Merlin got the feeling someone had rifled through them.   

A hot flush of anger came over him. This was his room, his nail polish. Arthur had no right to be sneaking in here when Merlin wasn’t around, going behind his back and using his things. What the hell?!  

Merlin’s fists clenched. The anger came on fast, but he took a deep breath and let it ebb away. Arthur was struggling, and worse, he was struggling with feelings. Uther was Arthur’s lifelong role model on the ideals of (toxic) masculinity. Obviously, Arthur liked having his nails painted, and, obviously, he needed that reminder that the world could be bright and happy. But that didn’t reserve him the right to be sneaky about it.   

Merlin tapped lightly on Arthur’s door. There was a shuffling noise, and then a sheepish, “Come in.”  

Arthur was sitting up on his bed, his feet conspicuously buried underneath a throw blanket. He looked caught, and Merlin felt bites of satisfaction and twinges of sympathy swirling within him. Sympathy won out.  

“Hey. I just wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”  

“’M fine,” Arthur mumbled. He could barely look Merlin in the eyes.  

Merlin let out a sigh. He wanted to be direct, to ask Arthur point blank if he was using his nail polish. But Arthur looked so guarded, and it almost hurt Merlin to see it. Arthur was expecting to be told off. He was waiting for Merlin to yell at him, the way his father would if he knew what girly things Arthur was doing. The shame was written plain as day in the tight lines of his face.   

“You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”  

The words weren’t accusatory, but Arthur still flinched. He didn’t say anything.   

Merlin crossed his arms and leaned into the wooden doorframe. The seconds crawled by. It was physically impossible for Arthur to curl himself into a ball, and yet there was no other way to describe what Merlin was watching. Arthur hadn’t moved; his toes were still hidden under the blanket, and his fingers were turning white where they gripped his knees. But he was smaller somehow. Merlin imagined if there was a hole where Arthur’s stomach was, he would have rolled himself into it and disappeared.   

“Right, well,” Merlin stammered. “As long as you know that.” He coughed into the awkward silence, stalling to give Arthur time to say something, anything. He didn’t.  

“Um, I hope you don’t mind, but I was thinking of moving my nail polish to the bathroom. It’s...er...taking up too much room in my drawer.”   

Arthur shifted at the obvious lie, told only for his sake.   

“Is that okay?” Merlin asked.  

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Arthur shrugged. Slowly, the tension released from his shoulders, running down his arms into his fingers, loosening his thighs and calves.   

“Great!” Merlin said, turning to leave. He had one foot in the hall when he heard the faint whisper, spoken so softly he wondered if he was meant to hear it at all.  

“Thank you.”  

He turned and, finally, Arthur was looking at him. Merlin beamed his brightest, most earnest smile back.   

“Of course.”  

—II—

"God, you’re heavy,” Merlin wheezed. They had one more landing and set of stairs before making it to their door, but he was thoroughly out of breath and shaking from the effort of dragging Arthur’s body up the three flights.   

“R’you calling me fat?”    

“No.” Where was the oxygen in the stairwell?  

“Because I am not. F-f-fat.”  

“I didn’t say you were.” Had the lights always been this dim, or was he actually blacking out?  

“I go to the gym 3 times a week—”  

“Oh Jesus, lord.”   

With a crash and a bang, Merlin managed to fling the door open and throw themselves inside. He zeroed in on the narrow hallway and the dark outline of their bedroom doors. Just another few steps, and he could collapse, mission to safely guide Arthur home from the bar accomplished. That is, if he didn’t strangle the sod first to shut him up for two goddamn seconds.   

“I mean, I hate those...those things. With the...er...d’you know what I mean? Ooh, but do you know what I looove?”  

Merlin grunted, eyes on the prize. Something in Arthur’s beer-addled brain must’ve recognized they were home, though, because Arthur’s entire body was sinking into his knees and bringing Merlin down with him.   

“Oh, no you don’t,” Merlin said. With his last burst of strength, he hoisted Arthur up and yanked his arm further over his shoulder. “C’mon, we’re almost to your bed.”  

“But the sofa...” They started listing to the left.   

“Absolutely not. You’d kill me if I let you sleep there all night.”  

“Wouldn’t,” Arthur grumbled, but he let Merlin lead him to the back of their flat.   

With an unceremonious thump, Merlin pushed Arthur into his pillows. He started to leave, his good flatmate act finally done, when a long and high-pitched whine cut through the air. He was tired, he was still catching his breath, and he knew better than to turn around. So, of course, that’s what he did.  

Arthur was sitting up with his legs dangling over the side, and his fingers were tangled in the buttons of his shirt. He was staring down at them with a growing look of frustration. Another whine escaped his lips, and he started to rip at the fabric to get free.  

Merlin rolled his eyes and slapped Arthur’s uncoordinated hands away. If Arthur would’ve killed him for letting him sleep on the sofa, Merlin didn’t want to consider if he let Arthur rip one of his work shirts. The buttons fell away easily, and Merlin made quick work of Arthur’s belt and trousers. He didn’t bother with the sweaty undershirt or boxers; Arthur would need to take those off himself.  

Merlin knelt to roll off Arthur’s socks. Suddenly, he was knocked back as something swung at him. In the semi-darkness, he could just make out the grey cotton-clad foot reeling back.   

“Did you just kick me?” Merlin asked, incredulous.   

Arthur scrambled back from the edge of the bed. Merlin reached for his foot.   

“No, leave it!” Arthur kicked his foot out again, but Merlin was ready this time and caught his ankle.  

“I cannot fall asleep knowing you’re wearing socks to bed. Ugh, stop wriggling!”  

“No! They’re ugly—Merlin!”  

In one swift pull, Merlin managed to pull off both socks. A streak of unnatural color zipped under his nose, disappearing into the darkness of Arthur’s sheets. His eyes snapped up to find Arthur’s, but he evaded Merlin’s questioning gaze.   

“Can I see?”  

Arthur shifted but didn’t uncross his legs.   

“Please? I’m the resident nail painting expert here. Only I can say if they’re ugly.” Merlin was sure Arthur could hear the gentle smile in his words.   

Slowly, one foot came back into Merlin’s view. A flash of pride shot through his heart and split his face into a smile.   

The green paint smeared across Arthur’s toes was a little sloppy and could’ve benefited from a second coat, but never, ever could Merlin call it ugly.  

He caught Arthur’s eye, the shame shining brighter with inebriation. “I think it looks brilliant.”  

Arthur sagged, but a lopsided grin slid across his cheek. “I needed the confidence, for that negotiation today,” he said, more to himself than to Merlin.   

“Well, considering the rather impressive celebration I rescued you from, I’d say it worked like a charm.”  

The other half of Arthur’s smile grew, and he looked genuinely pleased. Then it faltered.  

“D’you think it makes me gay?” The words seemed to slip out without Arthur’s permission, but he was too far gone to pull them back in.  

Merlin felt his blood boil. “No.”   

“But—”  

“Arthur, I swear to god, I am going to tie your father to a chair and give him a 122-slide powerpoint on all the unbelievable ways he fucked up your thinking. And at least 28% of those will just be ‘Fuck you, Uther’ in different fonts.”  

Arthur’s head bounced with a snort but then hung solemnly between his shoulders. Merlin rose from the ground and placed his hand over Arthur’s.   

“You can like girls and want your nails painted. They don’t have to be two separate things. If painting your nails makes you happy and makes you feel more confident, then that’s all that matters.”  

The instinct to hug Arthur at that moment was overpowering, and there was hardly any time when Arthur was sober to allow that sort of affection. Merlin wrapped an arm around Arthur’s back and cradled his head against his chest. Arthur didn’t hug back, but he didn’t push Merlin away, either.   

“If you’re worried it makes you less of a man, it doesn’t,” he whispered into golden strands, as if that could banish all doubt from Arthur’s mind.  

Merlin could feel Arthur’s breathing grow shallow under his fingers. He was caught somewhere between fighting for deep breaths and not breathing at all. It was counterintuitive, but Merlin tightened his arms around Arthur. It took a minute more of shaky breaths, but eventually Arthur sank into his embrace.   

There was a slight pull away, and Merlin dropped his arms, releasing Arthur to the comforts of his bed. All at once, the exhaustion from the night seeped into his bones and weighed on his eye lids. With a quick ‘good night,’ Merlin closed the door and crept to his own waiting bed.  

Chapter Text

The night air crackled with pent up energy. It was finally starting to feel like spring, and the irrepressible sense of new beginnings was swirling with the pounding music thumping from the club like a heartbeat. It was intoxicating.  

Merlin bounced from one foot to the other, desperate to get on a dance floor. Gwaine and Lance, ahead of him in the queue to get in, just shook their heads and counted how many more people before they could enter. Arthur, on the other hand, glared at him, arms crossed tightly over his chest. But that only made Merlin happier.   

Getting Arthur to join them for a reckless night out was the final hurdle in their Steps to Overcoming Heartache (lovingly diagrammed by Elyan and Gwaine, featuring illustrations by Gwen). Careful observations, mostly contributed by Merlin, showed major progress made over the previous five months. Arthur and Mithian had even met up in person to talk things through, and then, finally, Merlin received a text from Arthur asking if he could come out with them.  

“Quit grinning like a loon,” he scolded Merlin.  

“Nah, you’d enjoy that too much,” he smiled back.   

They shuffled forward as more people filtered in and out of the club. Merlin could feel the beat through his whole body. God, he couldn’t wait to lose himself inside. It’d been a shite week, but this was all making up for it.  

Gwaine and Lance were sucked into the abyss.   

“What color?” Merlin suddenly asked. The curiosity was clawing at him, but he didn’t want to bring it up in front of anyone who would ask more questions. And there was no chance they’d be able to hear each other once inside.   

Arthur ducked his head for a second. The residual shame was still something he was working on, but it was getting easier to push it away each time. “Orange. The neon one.”   

Merlin’s cheeks protested at being stretched impossibly wider. The guy who thought electric blue was too bright was now wearing neon orange nail polish in public? Granted, his toes were tucked away under socks and trainers, but still. The progress Arthur had made really was amazing.   

And then they were swimming between bodies in a sea of spotlights and electronica. Lance appeared magically at Arthur’s side, drinks in hand for each of them. They shimmied to a high table pushed along the far wall and sipped wordlessly, taking in the atmosphere. Finally, a head of brown hair bobbed over to them, clutching a stupidly huge golden goblet in his hands like it was something precious. The green drink glittered in the lights, like a witch’s brew, winking at them and promising to make it a night they wouldn’t remember.   

Gwaine dropped four straws into the goblet. “Drink up, lads!”  

—II—

Merlin’s head was lolling atop his shoulders. His hips moved of their own mind, swaying and snapping to the music. The lyrics were a jumbled mess in his brain, but the rhythm was imbedded in his bones. Each song was almost indiscernible from the next, creating a raft for Merlin to drift along on. He’d had a couple fruity cocktails and some of the mysterious green drink, but this, dancing with strangers, was what he really needed to unwind.   

He opened his eyes slowly, as if in a dream, aware of his own movements but wholly without control over them. Lance seemed to be in a similar state to him, eyes closed, head rocking back, sweat gleaming on his brow. Gwaine was another creature entirely, stomping and twisting and flipping hair left, right, and center.   

But Arthur wasn’t with them. Merlin’s head snapped around to where he sort of remembered the high table being. He shouted some mumble of words at Lance and Gwaine, then started pushing his way to the far wall.   

All the tables looked the same from here, black and shining with water or beer or juice. There were plenty of blond heads bouncing about, but none of them were quite the golden blond he was hunting for.   

Just then, a bloke, a huge bloke (maybe it was actually a tree with legs) moved away from the wall toward the bar, and there was Arthur. He looked flushed and relaxed, and he watched the guy walk away with an easy smile on his face.   

“Arthur!”  

His attention cut to Merlin, and the smile widened as he recognized who had called his name.  

“Merlin!” he called back with equal enthusiasm.   

Merlin chuckled, feeling a little more aware of himself now that he wasn’t lost to the music. Arthur looked gone, and Merlin slowly remembered the goblet being half full when he left to dance. It was nowhere in sight now. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked.  

“Yeah!” Arthur shouted back, nodding and smiling without a care in the world.   

A shadow loomed into their space, and Merlin turned to see the tree from before (but a nice tree, with a kind face). He held two drinks in his hands, and handed the one with a lime to Arthur.   

The song changed, and Merlin’s ears divided themselves between the music and whatever Arthur was saying, something something  Percy , something something  flatmate . A large hand raised to Merlin’s chest, and Merlin shook it without thinking. His legs started to itch to move again.  

“Wanna join us?” he yelled, throwing a thumb over his shoulder to roughly where he left Gwaine and Lance.   

“Nah, I’m good here,” Arthur said, a soft look in his eyes.   

Merlin shrugged, gave a wave to Arthur and Percy-the-tree-man, and elbowed his way back to the others.  

—II—

It was getting near closing, and Lance was the next one to go looking for Arthur. He reappeared at Merlin’s side with a disappointed look and shook his head. Merlin frowned.   

“Oh,” Gwaine’s face lit up, “I think I saw him step out with my friend Percy. Probably pissing in an alley somewhere,” and he flounced off with a grin.   

They danced to the last couple songs and finished their watered-down drinks. Despite Arthur not joining them for most of the night, the whole outing felt like a success.   

Merlin’s pocket was moving, and it took a delayed second to think he should probably do something about that. It was his phone, and there was a missed call and text from Gwaine.   

Arthurs not feeling great im taking him home  

Merlin looked at the words again then showed them to Lance. He texted Gwaine back, asking if he needed any help and if Arthur had his key. Gwaine insisted everything was fine and for Lance and Merlin to keep on keeping on. They decided to leave anyway, picking up any greasy sustenance they could get their hands on along the way.   

Gwaine met them outside the building, enormously grateful for the food and slobbering Merlin’s cheek with a sticky kiss for being his hero. Arthur was passed out upstairs, he said, just needs to sleep it off. Merlin groaned at the thought of having to clean up any sick left in the bathroom, but Gwaine patted his shoulder and told him that wouldn’t be a problem. There was a strange twinkle in his eye that Merlin had less than half a mind to worry about at the moment.  

Merlin crept as carefully as he could back into the flat. He couldn’t quite manage it, though, and nearly snapped his neck tripping over a wayward table leg. He righted himself with a huff. Arthur was definitely dead to the world, sprawled out on the sofa. He hadn’t even twitched.   

Merlin started to grumble something about if he  did  snap his neck and no one would find him until his body was cold and stiff. But then his grumbling came to a halt. Arthur’s eyes and cheeks were puffy and red. They looked rough, like someone had scrubbed at them with burlap. Merlin’s heart wilted at the sight. Maybe, just tonight, it would be okay for Arthur to sleep on the sofa.  

They didn’t talk about it the next day, mostly because any sound louder than a whisper set off tiny hammers in their skulls. But something had happened that night, something Merlin could only guess at.  

Chapter Text

There was room for only one thought, lonely and aimless, to meander in circles beneath the sweaty curls of Merlin’s hair: it’s too damn hot. They were going on day five of the latest summer heatwave, and of course neither he or Arthur had thought to replace their crappy fan before everyone else gobbled them up. He felt like the Dalí painting, too thoughtless to remember the name, spread out and melting over the kitchen table.  

Softly, footsteps shuffled somewhere in the back of the flat. And then there was Arthur, who, for the last three days, had opted to wear socks. All day. Inside. Like a monster. Merlin was ready to plan an intervention. Or an uprising. Whichever happened first so he wouldn’t keep getting sympathetic hot flashes each time he heard the scrape of fabric cross the floors.  

“Uuuuuggghhhhh,” Merlin groaned into the table. 

“Not this again,” Arthur muttered. 

“Just take them off, for chrissake!” 

“What if I like them?” 

Merlin rolled his head to shoot a murderous look at him. “You can’t. I wouldn’t be able to stand you if you did.” 

“You already can’t stand me,” Arthur countered. He tried to add a smile, but it withered under the heavy heat. At least that was a sign he was suffering, the stubborn bastard.  

Intervention or uprising, intervention or uprising. It really was going to be a toss up.  

Merlin cast another look to Arthur. The man looked deep in thought, staring at his no-doubt-swampy feet. And that’s all he’d done for three whole goddamn days: wear socks and stare at them. He couldn’t take much more of it. As fun as an uprising sounded, he knew intervention was the path of least resistance. But he’d need a cooler head to think properly.  

“’M going out,” he called out. Except his face had fallen back to smoosh against the table. 

“Huh?” 

“Out. Me. Hot.” It was all he could manage as he split his energies between talking, thinking, and lifting himself from the chair. They didn’t exactly need anything, but the shop at least had central cooling.  

“Coming?”  

Now it was Arthur’s turn to cast him a glance. He was spread like a starfish across the sofa, the remote just barely out of reach of his fingers. He was clearly thinking, but the thoughts were sluggish. He let his head fall back to rest on the cushion behind his head, then sighed a defeated, “No.” 

Merlin shrugged and rushed as much as he dared to the frigid escape of the shop.  

And, oh, the wonders it did to his poor suffering brain. Merlin even had the presence of mind to pick up a box of rainbow ice lollies that, somehow, still sat in the freezer section.  

He was a little more prepared to face the still air of the flat now. What he was not prepared for was to be ambushed by Arthur as soon as he closed the door.  

“Merlin, I need to talk to you.” 

Merlin smirked.“Finally come to your overheated senses?” 

Arthur took a deep breath, and Merlin took another look at him. He looked hot, yes, but anxious. Even panicked.  

“Just...I need to do this. Before I chicken out...again.” His hands were held in front of him, as if Merlin was the one ready to bolt and in need of placating.  

“Okay.” Merlin made a show of planting his feet.  

“Okay,” Arthur echoed. “Close your eyes.” 

Merlin immediately raised an eyebrow but did as he was told. He heard Arthur take another breath, then what sounded like shifting feet as the socks  finally  came off.  

“Okay, you can open now.” 

The first thing Merlin saw was Arthur, still standing in front of him with his arms now dangling at his sides. His face was even more stricken by panic, his eyes wide and blue and reading every single flicker that crossed Merlin’s face.  

Then Merlin slid his eyes down, down, and settled on Arthur’s toes. They were painted again, and colorful. No, more than colorful. Merlin swept his gaze from Arthur’s left foot to his right. Each nail was painted a different color: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, white. And then the colors almost looked like they repeated, but Merlin knew these colors had different names: magenta, lavender, and the same electric blue as that first time. Merlin didn’t even realize the smile that was growing across his face until he looked to meet Arthur’s fraught expression.  

“Arthur?” Merlin asked with that open, knowing smile. He could read easily where this was going. But he needed to hear the words from Arthur’s own mouth. 

Arthur looked frozen for a moment, the words weighing on his tongue. And then,  

“I think I’m bi.” 

Merlin’s arms snapped forward and gripped Arthur in a crushing embrace. Arthur gasped in a shocked breath, but then his arms wrapped around Merlin’s shoulders.  

“I’m so proud of you,” Merlin whispered. Fuzzy-edged puzzle pieces from the last months began sliding together, not quite fitting but finding each other in Merlin’s mind. All those little moments when Arthur seemed unsure of himself, shifty, that night at the club, Percy, and when he asked if painting his nails made him gay. God, Merlin could’ve hit himself for not noticing Arthur’s little signs sooner. 

Arthur’s fingers dug into Merlin’s shirt, and with sudden horror Merlin realized Arthur was shaking against him. It started small, little tremors, and then a sob reverberated between their chests.  

“Arthur?” Merlin tried to pull back to look at his face, but Arthur couldn’t let go. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Did you think I wouldn’t be okay with this?” Now it was Merlin’s turn to panic. “Did you think I wouldn’t accept you?”  

For a terrifying minute, Arthur didn’t say anything. The sobs kept rolling, but gradually Merlin could feel him regain his composure. He didn’t move away yet, but he seemed ready to say something at last. 

“I’m just so happy to tell someone.” 

Merlin squeezed Arthur impossibly tighter. When he let go, Arthur finally stepped back. His face was red, his eyes glassy. For a moment, Merlin saw the Arthur he walked in on after his break up and remembered what he thought then: Pendragons don’t cry.   But to Merlin, with his ruddy cheeks and teary eyes, with the unmistakable feeling of joyous relief radiating of him, Arthur never looked more like himself. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he said again, hands now gripping Arthur’s arms. Arthur spluttered a laugh, looking bashfully down. Merlin followed, beaming at Arthur’s rainbow-and-bi-painted toes. A special warmth curled in his belly at the dot of blue on his right pinky toe. 

Turning back to the ice lollies, Merlin presented a bright blue one to Arthur and grabbed a cherry one for himself. They “cheersed” to coming out, and their mouths soon took on the multi-colored hue of their pride.  

There would be time to tell people, his friends (Merlin suspected Gwaine might know something after what happened at the club), Morgana, maybe even Uther if Arthur really wanted to test the conditions of his love. But for now, there was just the two of them, their flat, and no more socks, for the love of god, Arthur.