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Merlin tightens his arms around himself, watching longingly at the way the little girl throws her arm around her mother as she gets off the bus, her tiny arms squeezing with all her might. Children are so free to be unrestrained when it comes to showing their love and affection. He can't remember the last time he's been hugged like that; the last time he's hugged someone like that.
At some point, he isn't sure when, side hugs had become the new normal. He can't say he doesn't get hugged often because it's his preferred way of greeting but how can he explain to his friends that he wants more than that without seeming strange? How can he say those half-a-second long hugs which are nothing more than a brief, one-armed squeeze leave him feeling bereft and hollow and craving for more?
All he truly wants is a proper hug. One where he can sink into it properly, where he can hold and be held. But that's something more intimate than he can expect from everyone he knows, that's the sort of hug he can get from a boyfriend, not a friend. Or maybe not even that because he’s had boyfriends before and they weren’t willing to indulge Merlin like that either. Unlike with his friends, instead of simply trying to sneak a longer hug when he could, he’d actually tried to explain himself to them, to actively voice his wants, but that hadn’t accomplished much. In the end, they’d all written him off as annoying or clingy or something along those lines.
And he's been single for long and probably will be for the foreseeable future so he ignores the feeling and resigns himself to trying out a weighted blanket.
-
But then, he meets Arthur.
It’s ironic that of everyone Merlin has ever met, Arthur’s the one who gives the best, most intimate hugs. He’s the last person Merlin–or anyone–would expect that from. Arthur’s grown up stoic and emotionally repressed, if not completely reticent. Affection isn’t something that Arthur’s used to–and yet.
And yet, he never hesitates to hug Merlin within an inch of his life, although Merlin is always the one to initiate it. It takes a while before Merlin manages to connect the dots but once he does, his heart aches.
Arthur always greets Merlin with a soft smile and a hopeful gaze. Merlin can understand the smile, considering he’s sporting a matching one more times than not, but he can’t make sense of the hopefulness. It doesn’t make sense to him, until he watches it fade into something like contentment after he and Arthur have hugged for a bit.
At the moment, he doesn’t put it together but later that night, when he’s thinking back on it, he realizes that Arthur has been wanting to hug him and it’s not simply something he does solely for Merlin’s sake. He wants the easy affection just as much as Merlin does, he’s simply not able to initiate it the way that Merlin can.
Merlin had been holding himself back, aware that Arthur is unfamiliar with physical affection. He’s been afraid to make him uncomfortable, afraid to push him away by coming off as clingy and needy and annoying, but after that he makes sure to hug him as both a ‘hello’ and a ‘goodbye.’
Neither one of them ever mentions it–and Merlin knows they should, really–but he doesn’t know how to broach the topic without freaking Arthur out so early in their relationship. They’ve only been dating for a couple months, things were still too tentative for them to get into the deep stuff like feelings. Arthur hated talking about feelings, especially his.
Merlin shakes his head physically, attempting to stop thinking about his boyfriend and focus on the essay he was meant to be writing. He manages to get a solid four pages done before his phone beeps, Arthur’s name popping up on an iMessage banner.
Are you busy? I’d like to see you.
Before Merlin can respond to say that yeah, he is pretty busy and that they’d meet up tomorrow as planned, another message comes through.
Please.
Merlin stops typing, his eyes locked on the plaintive word. Arthur barely ever says ‘please.’ It sounds terrible, as though he has no manners, but it’s not actually that bad. Merlin doesn’t know how to explain it, mainly because Arthur’s still a mystery to him, but he knows that the use of the word must mean that Arthur needs to see him more than he’s letting on.
Okay. I’m home.
The message is read as soon as it’s delivered and Arthur replies with a Thank you. Merlin knows he’s supposed to be at dinner with his father on the other (richer) side of town so he doesn’t expect to see Arthur for at least the next hour or so, more than enough time for him to finish up writing his last point and conclusion, which is why he’s surprised when his doorbell goes off within a fifteen-minute period.
He goes to answer the door, blinking in shock at the sight that greets him. He’s never seen Arthur look anything less than perfect. He’s always put-together so it comes as a shock when the man in front of him could only be described as disheveled. His hair is a mess, sticking out in all directions. His tie is loosened and askew, his shirt rumpled and untucked, the collar bent out of shape. As for Arthur himself, his lips are downturned and his eyes seemed both lost and devastated, rimmed in red.
Merlin doesn’t hesitate to pull him inside and into his arms. He wraps his arms around his back, one hand going to the back of Arthur’s neck as Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s shoulder, his body sagging against Merlin’s as tension flows out of him in waves. Arthur pulls away eventually and Merlin takes his hands in his, only to realize he’s shaking.
“Come sit down with me,” Merlin offers calmly, taking extra care not to give away how worried he is as he leads him to the couch.
Arthur sinks into the cushions, turning sideways to rest his head against the back of the couch as he looks at Merlin imploringly. There’s something broken in his gaze and Merlin wants to reach out, to touch and soothe, but he pulls back at the last moment because he’s afraid to overwhelm Arthur when he’s already in such a state.
“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” He begs but Arthur only squeezes his eyes shut in response, looking incredibly pained. Merlin frowns. “Okay. That’s alright. What can I do to help?”
Arthur still doesn’t say anything, only opening his eyes to look at Merlin beseechingly but Merlin can’t figure out what he’s asking for.
“Please,” Merlin whispers. “Please, Arthur, just tell me what you want. I can’t help you if I don’t know how.”
Arthur’s jaw clenches, a nerve bouncing as he swallows nervously, his hand shaking even where it’s held in Merlin’s grip.
“I, um, can you just–just hold me, please?”
Merlin feels his heart break at the realization that this is what Arthur was so afraid to ask for.
“Oh, Arthur. You never have to ask for that. C’mere,” He utters gently, opening his arms so that Arthurt can easily fall into his chest and then wrapping them around him as tightly as he can. Arthur pushes his face into the crook of Merlin's neck and Merlin can feel just how shallow and shaky his breathing is so it comes as no surprise when hot tears pool against his skin as Arthur starts to cry.