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Arthur was familiar with the concept of love languages in a very abstract sense. He understood that everyone had one, and that they were different for each person, but if you were to flat out ask him what his was, or what they might be for any of his friends, all you’d get is an awkward laugh and a slight shrug.
Of course, this was before Gwaine had stumbled across the Love Languages book and practically forced their entire friend group to read it. It was something that happened now and then with whatever Gwaine’s newest hyperfixation was. The same thing had happened when Gwaine decided to learn how to brew his own beer, and the time he knitted everyone’s christmas gifts one year because he had spent the year learning how to work the yarn.
Reading a book, by comparison, seemed like less of a hassle than drinking mug-fulls of shitty, not fully fermented beer.
i - Gifts
“See? It’s very simple, I know based on this theory that Gwen and Lance are paired well because their love language is both quality time.” Gwaine rambled at them, not pausing for breath nor interruption.
With a sigh, Arthur shuffled his way out of the booth and headed to the bar. Pulling out his phone, Arthur noted a new text from Merlin.
Arthur nodded to the bartender as another pint slid his way, then hummed a little as Merlin typed out the intersection. A few minutes later, Arthur grinned down at his phone as another text alert popped up.
What followed was a selfie of Merlin in the backseat of the Uber Arthur had sent for him.
ii - Quality time
“Arthur, I swear to god if you flake out on me one more time,” Merlin grumbled through the phone’s speaker.
The little smirk pulling at the corners of Arthur’s lips was threatening to grow into a full blown grin.
“Calm your grousing. I’m five minutes out at best. Traffic is always a bit of a wanker this time of day.”
“Another benefit of using the tube over having a car.”
“Is it really though?” Arthur mused, flicking on his turn signal and entering the car park. “Smelly tube packed so tight you might as well be canned sardines, versus a bit of traffic but comfort and privacy.”
“Whatever, I’m starting FIFA without you.”
“You better not. Friday FIFA days are sacred. This is the bond of man. One does not simply start FIFA without their best friend. It’s illegal.”
“Who said you’re even my best friend?”
“Literally everyone. Also you did last week when Gwaine kept telling people you were his best friend.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no proof.”
“Whatever. I’m here.”
iii - Words of affirmation
“And then, Arthur here, just stares the client down, all while pulling the file folder out of his desk and sliding it over like some sort of mob boss.” Merlin rambled to the group, pride evident on his beaming face.
Arthur looked down at his lap, not used to being so lavishly praised. It felt…Well whatever that feeling was, burned through him and settled like a warm blanket in his chest. Right next to his heart.
“I don’t kn-” Arthur began but Merlin cut him off.
“No! No, you don’t get to take this from me. That was absolutely the greatest thing I have ever had the pleasure to witness. It’s about time someone served Cenred his own arse on a platter.”
“Merlin, that doesn’t even make any sense.”
“No, shut up. It does. It makes perfect sense. But none of that matters. What matters is how absolutely brilliant you are, and how you’re probably the greatest CEO in the history of CEOs.”
Words failed him as Merlin continued his rambly praise. Pink cheeked, and feeling a strange sort of flusteredness, Arthur excused himself to grab another round of drinks from the bar.
iv - Acts of Service
Arthur groaned pathetically, wrapped in blankets and the curtains drawn. A pile of pillows behind him kept Arthur’s body in a semi-upright position, and a box of tissues sat close beside him. Overflowing onto the floor was a pile of tissues haphazardly tossed into the bin. It had been literal years since he’d last been sick but this one had taken him down like an elephant tranq.
“Arthur…?” Merlin’s voice cut through the foggy fevered haze. Merlin? What was Merlin doing here? “Morgana said you were sick.”
As Merlin’s voice got closer, Arthur pulled the blankets up a little higher, as if somehow his modesty was in question.
“Go’way.” Arthur groaned, nose stuffed and throat raw. Even talking caused another round of coughs to come up.
“There you are,” Merlin’s voice came from the foot of his bed, quiet and soothing. “You look rough. And that cough sounds horrid.”
You should look in the mirror. Arthur snarked in his head, but it was unfounded. In this hazy headspace, he could let himself appreciate Merlin’s face. He was attractive, handsome in a way that Arthur had no doubt would only multiply as Merlin aged.
“Hmm. Let’s get a read on your temperature.” Merlin fiddled with his bag, pulling out a thermometer from lord knows where. Was Merlin playing doctor? The thought of his best friend in any semblance of nurse outfit had Arthur snickering to himself.
“Oh? What’s so funny now? Open up,” Merlin murmured, slipping the thermometer between Arthur’s lips.
Shaking his head, Arthur didn’t bother answering. What was the point when he couldn’t really formulate why it was so funny in the first place.
A moment later, Merlin was shaking his head and putting the thermometer back.
“You’re running a little warm right now. Here, take this. Should help ease your cough and bring your fever down a little. I’m going to go make you some soup in the meantime. Why don’t you try getting a little rest?”
That same warmth that had been filling his chest each time he was in Merlin’s presence flooded him once again. Or was that just the fever?
v - Physical Touch
Arthur wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed between when he’d taken the meds and passed out, and when Merlin had come back with the soup. It must have been some time because Merlin was sitting on the bed next to him, laptop open and watching some obscure show on Netflix.
“Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” Merlin paused his show and set the laptop aside.
Arthur groaned and stretched his limbs.
“Sweaty,” he groused. “But better than before. What the hell was in that syrup?”
“Magic,” Merlin grinned cheekily, waving his fingers about. “Why don’t you go take a shower or something.”
“You telling me I stink or something?” Arthur frowned.
Merlin snorted. “Hardly. I just know how you feel about being covered in sweat for extended periods of time. Go wash, you’ll feel better.”
Rolling his eyes, Arthur did as he was told, stripping down once he was ensconced in the bathroom. The shower was warm and actually felt quite nice on his achy limbs. Maybe Merlin knew what he was talking about after all.
Out of nowhere, Arthur’s brain flipped back to Gwaine’s theory about love languages. He’d never gotten around to doing more than skimming the subsections. Between the two of them, they’d managed to hit almost every single point. Gifts were more of an Arthur thing, but he’d come home numerous times to find a few containers of food he knew Merlin had made—despite not living together. Their version of quality time was their game nights, the ones that everyone else knew not to book things on because both would refuse to attend whatever it was. Game nights were sacred. Arthur had never really delved into why that was.
Everything fit so perfectly, little parts of them slotting together like they were always meant to be dancing around this thing. Like he and Merlin were somehow destined from the start, in ways beyond mere words. Arthur could feel it now. Could understand what Merlin was saying without either of them having to really say anything at all.
Once sufficiently showered and dried off, Arthur slipped into a pair of pyjama bottoms that had been strategically placed by the sink. When had Merlin done that?
Opening the bathroom door released a torrent of steam and fog, the cold hitting Arthur’s body so suddenly he started to shiver.
“Quick, get under the sheets.” Merlin patted the spot Arthur had been huddled in earlier.
He noted with mild surprise, that the sheets had been changed and his rubbish bin emptied.
Obediently, Arthur slipped between the sheets. They were warm, strangely so.
“How—” He started to ask, but Merlin shrugged with a little bit of a shy grin.
“Warmed it up for you. I figured you’d be cold once you were back in here.”
Leaning on his side, Arthur blinked up at Merlin. And there it was again. That warm feeling that pooled in his chest, spreading like thick maple syrup.
“You love—”
“Shh. There’s no need to talk.” Merlin grinned, cheeks equally pink as Arthur’s had been earlier. Arthur nodded, the haze of exhaustion creeping in again.
He tugged Merlin down, who took a moment or two to get settled in the bed. One arm went over and under Arthur’s head, cushioning him a bit. And as Arthur nosed into the fabric of Merlin’s shirt, swallowing thickly at the way he always seemed to smell like home, Arthur finally spoke.
“Sometimes words aren’t enough. I think whatever this is… it transcends. It’s beyond words.”
Merlin leaned down to hover a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head. “I think you’re right.”