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He hadn’t known. He hadn’t known how good it would feel to hear the front door click closed, the shuffle of tired feet as they toed off shoes by the doorstep. The sound of steps moving through the rooms towards him. The warm feeling that would shake his whole world as arms made their way around his middle, holding him tightly and as if he was made of glass. And a kiss placed on the side of his neck. Warm breath and the words I’m home mumbled in his ear, while he stirred the food on the stove, trying not to break apart like a ripe fruit under deft fingers.
He hummed in response, pressing his back into the warm embrace. He hadn’t known.
He hadn’t known that his chest would swell with love as the razor blade was taken from his hands on the next morning and hands tipped his chin upwards gently. All he could see was a piece of the wall above a loving shoulder, and a pair of loving eyes, and he tried not to move or breathe, baring his throat to a blade that could slit his throat in the right hands. Noticing stillness in him, warm hands, kind hands tipped his chin back down, blue eyes staring at blue eyes, and blue eyes staring at lips, and lips kissing lips… Slowly, tenderly, any tension flowing down the drain. Later, shaving cream would be washed off two faces; matching smiles would meet on both sides of the mirror.
He hadn’t expected to ever know the comfort of lounging on the couch, wearing his love’s clothes, as his love wrapped strong arms around his waist, golden head burying itself in his stomach. Merlin wove his fingers through soft hair, earning a satisfied hum in response and feeling his stomach fill with warm honey. He hadn’t known the feeling of someone melting at his touch before. The feeling of someone’s body relaxing into his, heavy with weariness and love, pressing him against soft pillows, and warmth, enveloping him with the familiar scent of acceptance, of devotion, of home. He hadn’t known.
He hadn’t known that he’d measure love in soft breaths and low mutterings against one’s chest or in the scent of toast first thing in the morning. And yet, there he was, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, measuring love in the way the early sunlight caught at Arthur’s hair. In the way Arthur’s eyes met his. In the soft Good morning. And in the way he thought I love you I love you I love you…
He hadn’t known that watching someone wash the dishes could be fun. Listening to off-key humming and laughing at purposefully horrid dancing while hands held soapy plates and cutlery under warm water. He hadn’t known he could be such a sap that he would press Arthur against the counter and kiss him senseless then, until even the humming stopped for a moment, only to be resumed with a smile dripping with so much love and mischief that Merlin would have to close his eyes again and bury his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck. And Arthur would turn off the tap and hug him, pressing his arms to Merlin’s back, keeping his still wet hands in the air. He would kiss the top of his head, resting a cheek on the dark curls, and he would hum softly and sway them in something barely a dance this time. And Merlin would follow his movements.
He would always follow him. That he had known for a long time.