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It was quiet.
The pews were cold and empty, save one lone man, staring up at the rafters. His eyes were a soft shade of cerulean, and his hair like spun gold. The whites of his eyes, though, were reddened and his eyelids were swollen. There were crescent-shaped marks along his palms. Red and angry but not bleeding. Not yet.
A book bound in faux leather sat thrown haphazardly to the side, on the floor in front of the bench he sat on. Open, pages creasing as they pressed into the hard, marble tiled floor. A crucifix stood tall in the front centre of the large hall.
It was silent.
It was deafening.
It was perfect.
It was awful.
It was—it just was.
And the man breathed in.
Loud, shaking, slow. He breathed.
The sound echoed from wall to wall. It filled the quiet space with agony and guilt and confusion. But the bit off, choked, sob at the end was the worst part. Almost like a cough cut off too soon, but devastatingly pained. Like a wounded pup crying for its mother. And it rang out.
Echoed like the breath.
Lingered.
He didn’t hear the footsteps until it was too late.
“Arthur?”
He would have cursed when the hand touched his shoulder if not for where he was. Instead, he caught his tongue and clenched his teeth. It felt wrong. Despite how he said he didn’t care. How he said it was behind him. It was in the past. It felt wrong, and so he held his tongue.
But he couldn’t hold the flinch.
“Hey—hey,” the voice said, softening, “it’s just me. Can I sit?”
Merlin.
Arthur’s heart skipped and he cursed it in his thoughts. He didn’t answer, but he heard Merlin sit beside him anyway. It was hard not to in the quiet room. Even the softest breath was audible all across it.
“How did you find me?” Arthur asked, but the voice didn’t sound like his own. The words came out rough, hoarse. Choked.
“Elyan called.” Merlin’s arm pressed against his, heat radiating from him. Arthur struggled with the simultaneous urge to both jump away and melt against him. His eyes began to burn again. “Said he saw your car parked outside the Church on his way to the hospital for his shift.” He paused. “What are you doing here, Arthur?”
Letting his gaze flick to Merlin beside him before returning to the rafters above him, Arthur didn’t answer. How could he?
He didn’t even know, himself.
What was he doing there, in the place that had condemned him? The place that had burned him. Isolated him. Outcast him. Made him question his worth. His life.
He didn’t know.
He’d never know.
No—that was a lie.
He did know. He knew.
Arthur closed his eyes tight, jaw clenched as hot tears slid down his face. He always knew. He would always know. It was always the same.
The fear.
The dread.
The isolation.
The wonder of what if.
The unanswered prayers.
The scars on his heart, buried deep in his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs. Aching. Longing. Terrified.
And they were no more than a whisper when the words slipped past his lips, but that was enough, because they echoed out loud and clear as a shout,
“I’m in love with you.”
The sharp breath that followed his words made him wince.
Not even seconds later, the sob lodged in his throat broke free. As it echoed around the two of them, Arthur slumped down. His elbows propped on his knees, he dropped his head into his hands. One sob became two, and then three, and then it became impossible to count. His shoulders shook with the force of them, though, and they were near deafening as they echoed through the large hall.
As if mocking him, the broken cries bounced off the walls and carried up to the rafters. High, stained glass, mosaic windows cast colourful shadows over his trembling body as the sun began to set ever-so-slowly over them.
“Oh, Arthur…” Merlin murmured, gentle and tender and much more caring than he should have been when Arthur just ruined everything.
Merlin had been the only constant he had. Now, he would leave.
He would get up. Apologise, tell Arthur he was a good friend, maybe even the best—they’d known each other since toddlers, after all. Then, he would leave. He’d slowly fade out of Arthur’s life.
All because Arthur was in love with him.
Because Arthur told him.
Arthur took sharp, gasping breaths as he tried to compose himself. If he was lucky, he’d get to explain himself before Merlin left. Get one final conversation with him. One final apology.
Why did he have to apologise for how he felt, though?
The bench was hard beneath him, and it was a cruel reminder.
Of course.
He’s always had to apologise. Hide it. Never tell and apologise if he did.
It was just a joke—no, sir, of course he wasn’t being serious.
The arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a warm chest, startled him. His shoulders jumped and his head snapped up, red and teary eyes wide as he stared at Merlin. Merlin, who embraced him close. Merlin, who wrapped his arms tight around Arthur and held him to his own chest, secure and tight and warm. Merlin, who was always there.
He let himself sink into Merlin’s arms—pressed his face into his shoulder and took deep, steadying breaths.
Why shouldn’t he?
It could be the last time he ever felt the comforting touch of his oldest friend. Was it really so bad for him to savour it? Even if it hurt—ached—because he knew he would never get more than that?
The fingers tracing pictures into his back in an attempt to soothe him burned through his shirt. He wanted to feel them laced with his own fingers, wanted to hold his hand. The most chaste, innocent things, he wanted so badly, but could never have.
He’d resigned himself to this.
Accepted it.
It didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, though, to know this would be the last time he got to be so close with his best friend.
Merlin would be so nice about it, as well. Arthur choked back a fresh sob and closed his eyes tight.
“Arthur…” Merlin coaxed, and his voice was so quiet it hurt. “Arthur, look at me…”
Arthur shook his head.
It wasn’t that he was being defiant—though, by definition, he was—but it was more that he couldn’t bear to face Merlin. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the gentle rejection in his eyes before he let him down easy. He couldn’t stand the thought of watching his face as Merlin crushed his heart and spirit and left his life.
Merlin let out a soft sigh. Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when one hand found its way to his head and lightly stroked over his hair. It was such a tender action, Arthur wanted to weep.
“I’m going to make your father wish he’d never been born,” he heard Merlin mutter under his breath. His heart skipped and he almost laughed at the protective bite to Merlin’s voice. Even when they were boys, he’d always been so fiercely protective of Arthur, no matter how often Arthur proved he could take care of and protect himself.
He supposed it was a two-way street, though. Merlin was damn smart, and strong willed, too. He could protect himself—he had on multiple occasions, even. Arthur, though, was still wildly protective of him.
It was mutual. Always.
No one ever messed with Arthur, they knew Merlin would be in their shadows, and no one messed with Merlin, because Arthur would be lying in wait.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Merlin asked finally.
Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s neck for a moment, hiding, before finally letting out a shaking sigh and pulling back. He couldn’t—he had to face him sometime. The look on Merlin’s face, though, when he pulled back to look at him was unreadable.
Arthur bit his lip. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
The look that flitted over Merlin’s face was a blend of incredulous and heartbroken. It made Arthur want to reel away from him and curl in on himself and press closer to hide his face in his neck once more all at the same time. It was weird, the effect Merlin had on him.
“You will never lose me,” Merlin said, like it was an oath to the highest divinity—fervent and insistent. Like he was simultaneously trying to drill it into his brain and swearing it to a crowd. “Ever.”
It was unbelievable, the confidence with which he said it. Arthur didn’t understand how he could have so much faith.
Not after what Arthur had confessed.
“But I—”
“Ever,” Merlin swore, moving one hand from around Arthur’s waist to cradle his cheek like he was truly something delicate.
Arthur’s brows furrowed, confusion colouring his skin with a gentle flush as he leaned into the touch. It didn’t make sense to him. Merlin should have been making excuses, leaving, promising to remain friends while knowing he’d never speak to Arthur again. Yet he held him close, pressed their chests together in the cold, quiet pews, and held his face with the touch of a lover as he promised himself to Arthur.
“But why?” Arthur nearly sobbed the question. There had to be a catch.
There had to be.
There always was, with everyone.
Merlin clicked his tongue and shook his head, sad smile playing at his mouth. “Oh, Arthur, you dense fool…”
Not with Merlin.
There never was a catch with Merlin.
Lips covered his own, gentle as can be, and Arthur gasped—quiet and stunned. Merlin’s thumb brushed over his cheekbone and the arm around his shoulders moved to snake around his waist, holding him closer as he kissed Arthur sweeter than should have been possible.
Faintly, Arthur tasted grapes—the softest hint of rich, red wine. His eyes fluttered shut, tears sliding down his face, and he let his lips move back against Merlin’s slowly.
Something about it felt freeing.
And when Merlin parted from him, only to rest their foreheads together instead, Arthur felt lighter.
“I’ve been in love with you since year seven,” Merlin murmured. He brushed away Arthur’s tears with his thumb. “I never thought you’d feel the same, so I kept quiet… I know how much it hurts to hide. I don’t want you to hide.”
“I…” Arthur trailed off, breathless. “You love me…?”
“I do.”
“You’re really not going to leave?” he whispered.
He hated how vulnerable the question made him, but considering he just sobbed in Merlin’s arms, he figured he couldn’t do much worse.
“You couldn’t make me leave if you tried,” Merlin snorted softly, pressing a kiss to his nose.
Arthur’s cheeks lit a soft pink and his eyes crossed as he looked to the tip of his nose where Merlin’s lips had been.
It felt like such a crushing weight had been lifted from his chest. Like he could finally breathe again. Arthur let out a shaking sigh and closed his eyes. Silence fell over the pair, but it was comfortable. The stain-glass mosaic windows cast colourful shadows over them as they held one another. The pews were still cold, but they weren’t lonely anymore.
Arthur sat with his hands on Merlin’s sides, their foreheads pressed together and Merlin’s hands cupping his cheeks.
And neither spoke further. They sat in the silence between them and let it fill the space, let their words go unspoken. There would be time for talking later, but now they just sat in the empty hall, alone and embracing.
It was quiet.
It was perfect.
It just was.