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It’s not that Arthur has given up. Over the years, he’s just learned to be realistic. After all, if he were going to find someone to share his life with, it probably would have already happened by now.
When Arthur was a little boy, his mother used to tell him the story of how she met his father before bed. When the story was over, she would say, “When the time is right, you’ll meet your special someone too.” For so long he had bought into the lie, the one that said the only way to a happy life was to find a partner, fall in love, and start a family. He’d dated so many women, and a few men too, hoping to find that one person who was perfect for him.
When he was 38, after more than two decades of failed relationships—one ending quite horrifically with a trip to A&E for Arthur and prison time for his ex—he’d decided that he just needed to accept the next tolerable person he went out with. That’s how he’d had a brief engagement with Gwen. He wasn’t bitter about how that ended—with her childhood friend Lance publicly declaring his undying love for her and Gwen, shamefaced, handing him back the engagement ring. It had been a humiliation at the time, but it was so much better for it to have ended there than to let a doomed marriage start in the first place.
He’d done a lot of self-reflection after that and had slowly come to the conclusion that his entire way of thinking was wrong. Plenty of people around the world were perfectly happy without a partner. There was no reason he couldn’t be one of them. Having a spouse would be nice, but he doesn’t need one to be complete. It was a revolutionary shift in thinking that spread to the rest of his life too. Arthur had followed the path that Uther paved for him since birth, but there were other options. So, after years of slaving away at his father’s law firm, he’d finally taken the plunge and moved to a non-profit that actually helped ordinary people. The hours were more regular and less rigorous. Sure, he made less money, but it was still more than he needed. He liked the people he worked with, and with the reduced amount of stress he was under, he was feeling better—both physically and mentally—than he had in years. He had more energy and had unintentionally lost a few pounds without making any conscious changes to his diet or exercise routine.
The day Arthur turns forty starts like any other. He takes a quick shower, towels off, combs his hair while leaning in close to the mirror (is his hairline a bit thinner than it used to be?), dresses, and heads off to work with his first cup of coffee of the day in hand.
Arthur’s co-workers treat him to lunch for his birthday, but they don’t make a big deal of it, for which Arthur is grateful. Forty is too old to be doing much celebrating anyway, he tells himself. It’s a healthy attitude, he thinks, considering that all his friends don’t have time to hang out with him like they used to. They’re all married now and most have children.
If he really wanted, he could have a date for the evening, but he doesn’t push himself to date anymore. Not like he used to. There’s no sense in forcing something that isn’t meant to be like he’d done with Gwen. He does get a little lonely on occasion. If only he could find a good friend—one that wouldn’t abandon him at the first hint of a romantic partner—that would be enough for him.
When he arrives home, he sits on the couch, loosens his tie, and contemplates what to have for supper. Something quick and easy, he decides. Then he can pick a film to watch and that will be it. Before he’s made up his mind, a knock comes at the door. He’s expecting the building superintendent; there’s been a notice in the lobby all week about smoke detector inspections.
Instead, he opens the door to find a familiar man with a dark head of hair and a sheepish smile—Merlin from down the hall—and Arthur’s day brightens just a little. Arthur doesn’t know him all that well. He’s mostly just seen him in passing. For years, when he was still working for his father and he came home late after too many hours of overtime, he would see Merlin headed to work the night shift at one of the local hospitals. At least, that was what Arthur assumed judging by the scrubs Merlin would inevitably be wearing.
It had always been just the tiniest bit of balm in the middle of all that stress because Merlin was easy on the eyes. He would never be any more than that, Arthur knew, so he’d never tried to get to know Merlin better. Arthur tries to think back to the last time he’d seen Merlin’s live-in girlfriend—a petite brunette who looked at Merlin like he’d hung the moon—and realizes he can’t recall. Maybe they’d broken up. Arthur couldn’t imagine it—they’d always looked so happy together—but it was of little consequence. Statistics said that Merlin was most likely straight, not bi.
“Sorry, Arthur,” Merlin says, handing Arthur a pair of envelopes, “the postman did it again.”
“Ah.” Arthur lives in flat 314, Merlin is in flat 319, and every now and then, Arthur’s mail ends up in Merlin’s box. “Thanks.” Arthur takes the envelopes and expects that to be the end of their conversation.
Merlin hesitates, says, “Ermm…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t mean to pry, but is today your birthday?”
“How did you know?”
Merlin points. “The pink envelope has a sticker with a birthday cake.”
Arthur turns it over to find the offending sticker, right in the middle, helping keep the flap sealed. There’s no return address on the other side. Maybe it’s from Morgana. Even texts are rare from her, but she does send the occasional card for special events. Typically, that just means Christmas, but Arthur can’t think of anyone else that would send him a card in this style. She must be feeling particularly generous this year.
“So, it actually is today then?”
Arthur gives a little grunt of assent.
“Well happy birthday then! Do you mind if I ask how old you are?”
Merlin has to be several years younger—Arthur estimates him somewhere between 30 and 35—and once he knows Arthur’s age, he’ll probably think of Arthur as an old man, but it would be weird if he were to refuse to answer.
He says simply, “Forty.”
Merlin grins. “Ah, one of the important ones.” His gaze darts past Arthur, seems to take in the lack of anything resembling a celebration, and says, “Do you have big plans?”
“Just a normal night.” Arthur doesn’t want to get into the whole explanation. ‘I do have friends, I promise. They’re all just too busy with life. It’s all very reasonable and normal. I’m not a pathetic, friendless, loser. Trust me.’
“That won’t do. You can’t do nothing on your fortieth birthday! You have to at least let me buy you a pint. Just down the street at the Oaken Barrel? Won’t take but half an hour.”
Arthur’s pretty sure he’s never seen Merlin looking so bright and cheerful. He’d have remembered.
“You really don’t have t—”
“Oh, come on, I insist.”
Offering to buy him a drink like this, this is just Merlin’s way of being friendly. Arthur can’t read too much into it. And hadn’t he just been thinking it would be good to make a new friend? Even if that doesn’t work out and all Arthur gets out of it is the opportunity to admire Merlin’s looks for a while longer, it seems like it might be worth it.
“Well, all right then.”
Merlin really does have the most brilliant smile. It’s no wonder his girlfriend had looked at him so adoringly if Merlin had always smiled at her like this.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to change your clothes. Meet me downstairs in the lobby when you’re ready, all right?”
Arthur looks down at his suit. It’s a little wrinkled, but no one at the pub would care.
“Something wrong with this?”
Merlin gives a little shrug. “Nothing, except that I assume those are your work clothes.”
Arthur nods, not seeing the point.
“How are you supposed to relax if your clothes make you feel like you’re still at work?”
Arthur hadn’t thought about it like that, but it did make a certain kind of sense.
Merlin starts to backtrack. “I’m not saying you have to. If you’re more comfortable—”
“No, no. You’re right. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
Arthur rifles through his wardrobe looking for something that will show off his recently improved physique. He squashes down the incessant reminders that he can’t impress his way into Merlin’s heart no matter how hard he tries, and tells himself instead that it always pays to dress in a way that makes you feel confident regardless of the circumstances. Merlin apparently thinks he needs to relax, so he chooses jeans over more formal trousers and a fitted tee that manages to highlight his upper body strength without looking like it’s a size too small.
He takes a brief stop in the bathroom to check his appearance in the mirror, runs his fingers through his hair to try and quickly style it into something a little more modern. A ridiculous, nervous flutter sputters to life in his belly. He hasn’t felt this sort of nervous excitement in ages. I’m trying to make a friend here, not a boyfriend. The reminder does nothing to calm him because so what if he’s straight? Merlin might be his new best friend. It’s been so long since he’s had one of those.
Arthur tries moderating his expectations even further. We might have nothing in common. Just because Merlin is fit doesn’t mean he won’t turn out to be a complete dullard. It’s a good thing this outing is only going to be a single drink and nothing more.
Arthur’s not typically happy to discover that he’s wrong about something, but Merlin turns out to be incredibly easy to get along with. Even when they disagree on a topic, he doesn’t feel like Merlin is judging him—secretly thinking Arthur is a complete arse. One pint at the pub quickly turns to two, which then turns into supper, and Merlin’s half hour estimate was off by a factor of nearly 10.
Merlin, Arthur learns, has a small family—just one younger sister, his mother, and a great-uncle who was his inspiration for entering the medical field—and works at a walk-in clinic downtown as a physician’s assistant. He doesn’t mention his girlfriend, so Arthur doesn’t bring it up, assuming the breakup must still be a sore topic for him. Merlin isn’t quite so tactful.
“That’s great that you were able to find a job that suites your needs so much better,” he says. “It must have been really hard to tell your father you didn’t want to work for him anymore.”
Arthur gives a bitter little chuckle. “That’s an understatement. He yelled loud enough for the whole office to hear when I told him.”
“You can’t live your life for someone else, no matter how much you love them, but that doesn’t make it easy.”
Arthur nods in agreement. Where would he be now if he’d had a friend like Merlin to tell him that fifteen years ago?
“You’re a brave man, Arthur.”
“And you’re unexpectedly wise for someone your age.”
“My age?”
“How old are you? Thirty-one? Thirty-two?”
Merlin snorts. “Hardly. I’m thirty-eight. Nearly thirty-nine.”
“What? You’re kidding.” Arthur leans closer. “You haven’t got a single grey hair.” Arthur has too many to count. They blend in well with his blond hair so they aren’t obvious to the casual observer, but Arthur notices them every time he looks in the mirror.
“Good genetics I guess.”
“I don’t see a trace of fine lines around your eyes either. You’re not having me on here, are you?”
“Why would I lie?” Merlin sounds a little defensive. “I’ve got some little lines starting. You’re just not looking closely enough.”
He brushes a finger at the outer corner of his eye and leans closer, as if to show them off, and Arthur follows his lead before realizing what he’s doing. He hasn’t been this close to another man’s lips in ages—close enough to see the tiny flecks of brown and green in Merlin’s otherwise blue eyes, the early beginnings of stubble along his jaw and chin… A vivid little daydream sparks to life and for a moment, Arthur can almost feel the texture of those short hairs against the tips of his fingers, against his own face, Merlin’s lips on his—
Arthur clears his throat, leans back a bit too quickly, and tries to remember what they’d been talking about. Admittedly, he’d been a little distracted, but he still hadn’t seen any signs of aging around Merlin’s eyes.
“If you’d told me you were still in your twenties, I would have believed you.”
“Oh, come on, now you’re just trying to flatter me.”
“I’m really not. You have a very youthful look. Can’t believe you’re nearly the same age as me.”
“Want to take bets on how much more we have in common?”
Arthur laughs, thoroughly charmed. That alone should be a red flag because this isn’t the first time he’s been pulled in so quickly—there had been Sophia, who’d thought to use him to help her incarcerated father with an appeal that no reputable barrister would touch, and Mordred, who’d literally tried to kill him, but had been caught before he could do too much damage. Arthur still doesn’t understand how the police had managed to arrive so quickly, but he’s grateful for it every single day. Those experiences give Arthur every reason to hesitate. Except this is different. Merlin isn’t pursuing him. This whole friend-making business is actually pretty nice.
“Back when I worked the night shift at A&E,” Merlin says, “I lost touch with a lot of friends. I’m betting you were the same way when you worked all those late nights for your father. By the time I moved to the clinic and started working days again, most of my friends had moved on.”
As if by magic, a weight lifts off Arthur’s shoulders. Merlin won’t think him a pathetic loser when he finds out that he has essentially no social life anymore. He nods in agreement. “That’s about right. All my old friends are too busy teaching their teenage children to drive or shuttling the ones that aren’t old enough yet between after school activities. It’s hard to believe that some of them have kids that are close to going off to university, and I’m still not even married.”
“I’m… Don’t take this the wrong way, Arthur, but I’m assuming you’re single. I mean, if you were in a relationship, you’d be out with them right now instead of me.”
Arthur’s not sure if it had been intentional or not, but Merlin had used gender neutral language, and that fact caught his immediate attention. Most straight men would assume that Arthur is also straight and would have asked specifically about a girlfriend. Arthur is fairly confident Merlin has never seen him with any of the men he’s dated before. Maybe he’s just a great ally, accepting of everyone, and not in the habit of making assumptions about people he barely knows. That’s probably all it is. Merlin seems to be a very courteous person by nature.
“You’re right. I haven’t been in a relationship for a while. Not that I’ve given up…”
“No, you don’t have to explain. I get it.”
Arthur still feels nervous asking, but since they’re on the topic, it might be rude if he doesn’t, and okay, maybe if he’s being completely honest, he’s starting to get his hopes up a little… “And what about you?”
“Oh, I’m single too. I mean…” He gives Arthur a soft little smile, “I do kind of have my eye on someone—”
Arthur’s heart sinks.
“—but it’s still early days.”
“I wish you all the best then.”
Merlin’s full smile bursts back into view. “Thanks, Arthur. That actually means a lot.”
It’s nearly midnight by the time they make it back home.
“This was a lot of fun,” Merlin says.
“Best birthday I’ve had in years.”
“Hand me your phone then.”
Arthur isn’t sure what he wants it for, but he does as asked anyway, trusting that Merlin isn’t going to do anything nefarious.
Merlin takes the phone and clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth in mild annoyance. “You have to unlock it for me first.”
Feeling stupidly bold, instead of taking the phone back, Arthur crosses his hand over Merlin’s to unlock the device with his thumbprint while Merlin still holds onto it. Their hands brush, leaving a trail of pleasant tingles along Arthur’s skin. Merlin doesn’t appear to be put off by the contact and a few moments later, he’s handing Arthur the phone back.
“There. I’ve added my contact info. No need to wait until we run into each other in the hall. Now you can just text me whenever you feel like going out again, or need a friend to talk to, or you know, just need a pair of extra hands to help you move a piece of furniture in your flat.”
“All right, Merlin, if you insist on being so helpful, you’ll be the first one on my list.”
Merlin looks inordinately pleased at the prospect, but instead of giving Arthur the kiss he’s suddenly longing for, he just bids Arthur a good night and enters his flat.
-x-x-
It’s stupid, really, and Arthur knows it, but he can’t help the dozens of new fantasies that bloom to life whenever he thinks of Merlin now. He wants to text Merlin right away and ask him out on a date, but reminds himself that he has to stay rational. He’s made a new friend. He should be happy and leave it at that. And that means, no dates at all, not the romantic kind.
A straight man, Arthur reasons, would likely be offput by too much eagerness from a new male acquaintance, and even if Merlin isn’t straight, he has feelings for someone else already. It’s not like Arthur can get in the way of that. So Arthur tries to moderate his enthusiasm for their newfound friendship, forces himself to wait to contact him. He has it all planned out already and intends to ask Merlin if he wants to go see a local football match together. Fate has other plans.
Arthur is on his way to give a report to his boss about recommendations he has for improving their template language for contracts when the receptionist chases him down and hands him a phone.
He says, “Hello?” having no idea what to expect.
“Arthur?”
Arthur immediately recognizes the voice as George, his father’s assistant.
“Arthur, you need to go to Albion Memorial as soon as you can.”
Throat suddenly tight, he croaks out, “What’s happened?”
“Uther was in the middle of a meeting when he began slurring his words. We think he might be having a stroke.”
Arthur usually prides himself on being good in an emergency, but it takes longer than he likes for his years of lessons from Uther to kick in. Stay calm, he has to remind himself. Tell Sefa to inform Annis that I have a family emergency. Hail a cab…
Once at the hospital, he’s directed to a waiting room, informed that Uther is in surgery and that he has to wait to learn more. He doesn’t have anyone to call and wait with him. He texts Morgana to let her know, but doesn’t expect a reply, let alone for her to come. He can count on one hand the times he’s seen her in person since her estrangement with their father. Arthur still sends her messages every now and then, trying to extend the proverbial olive branch. He knows Uther regrets how things turned out. If he can just get them in the same room for a few minutes, they might be able to work things out.
He knows he has a tendency toward pessimism in situations like this—when he feels helpless and out of control. That self-awareness doesn’t stop his downward spiral. His father is about to die and he will never be able to make amends with Morgana. They’ll never have another Christmas together, never have the opportunity to reminisce about Ygraine again. Morgana will drift even further away, and Arthur will be left with no one.
Arthur tries scrolling through his phone for a distraction and for the first time, notices that Merlin input his name into Arthur’s phone as “✨Merlin✨.” Despite himself, Arthur manages a little smile. Merlin was near enough to a doctor, so even though Arthur doesn’t feel like he knows Merlin well enough yet to ask him to help him through a family crisis, he sends him a text anyway.
My father’s just had a stroke
and is in surgery at Albion Memorial
I don’t know what to do
Arthur doesn’t really expect much of a reply. Merlin will be seeing patients all day, but maybe he’ll notice the message when he takes his lunch, have time to send a generic my-thoughts-are-with-you type response.
It’s a short time later, while Arthur is taking a break from pacing to sit and stare at the floor, that he notices a pair of shoes—someone standing in front of him. He expects a doctor or nurse to inform him of the status of his father’s surgery. He finds Merlin instead, face flushed red, chest heaving.
“Merlin? What are you doing here?”
“You texted me.”
“Yeah, but aren’t you supposed to be at work?”
“I’m on a break.”
Seeming to understand the source of Arthur’s confusion, he says, “The clinic is right next door. We’re basically an extension of the hospital.”
“Oh.” Arthur hadn’t realized that, but even knowing the place is so close, he still would never have expected Merlin to actually rush over.
“How’s your father? Anyone been to talk to you yet?”
“He’s still in surgery. They said the clot ruptured a vessel in his brain, and they have to stop the bleeding and relieve the pressure.”
Merlin nods understanding and sits down in the chair to Arthur’s left.
Arthur takes a deep breath, trying to hold in all his fears and appear strong. It doesn’t work. “My mum died when I was 15. My father’s only 64. I’m not ready to—“
“Okay, hold on. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Were you told who his surgeon is?”
“Erm…” Arthur racks his brain. It had been difficult to concentrate on details like that. “It was a Dr. Ki….”
“Gareth Killian?”
“That sounds right.”
“That’s good.” Merlin puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder for a brief moment. “Dr. Killian is a frustrating old bastard, but he’s the best. Trust me, your dad’s in good hands. You could have got Dr. Muirden instead, but he isn’t nearly as experienced, and there’s something about him that just feels off to me.”
Arthur nods, feeling a tiny bit less overwhelmed.
“Here,” Merlin says. “Let me call the clinic and get my co-workers to cover the rest of my appointments for the day. I’ll sit and wait with you.”
“No, you can’t do that for me.”
“Why not? Do you want to wait alone?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Is there someone else you want to call to come and sit with you?”
“No, but—”
“Right, then. That’s settled.”
Arthur can’t hold in his laugh. He’s never had a friend as bold as Merlin—someone who so openly challenges him when he’s being the fool. After the initial shock of it, it’s actually rather refreshing.
Merlin does a good job of keeping Arthur distracted—gets him talking about the situation with his sister, about his best memories of his mother. When the conversation hits a natural lull, Merlin takes hold of Arthur’s hand in one of the most reassuring gestures Arthur’s experienced in his adult life. It forces him to divert a portion of his mental energy away from worrying about his father and into wondering why it is that modern straight men have to be so damn comfortable with their sexuality.
When the doctor finally comes to inform Arthur about how the surgery had gone, Merlin stands right next to him. The doctor turns to Merlin, eyes narrowed. “Why are you here?”
“This is Arthur Pendragon, your patient’s son. I’m his good friend.”
Good friend. Arthur likes that.
“I want him here,” Arthur says.
Apparently mollified, Dr. Killian launches into an overly technical explanation. Seeing that Arthur isn’t following, Merlin starts asking questions and Arthur just lets him handle it. After the surgeon leaves, Merlin gives him much more understandable summary.
His father is in recovery and isn’t likely to wake for some time. They won’t know the extent of any damage until he regains consciousness, but they’d been able to find the bleed and his vitals are stable.
Merlin explains the potential range of consequences. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything, but he also manages to somehow make Arthur feel more hopeful. Whatever the situation turns out to be, there will be something he can do. He isn’t helpless.
“If he needs an occupational therapist or a nurse, if he needs a full or part-time rehabilitation center—anything like that—I’ll help you find the best place for him.”
“I’m really glad you’re here, Merlin.”
The corner of Merlin’s mouth twitches up.
-x-x-
The first few weeks after the stroke are the hardest—waiting for the full battery of tests to know Uther’s condition and chances for recovery, the shock of seeing his father the first time after he wakes from his surgery to find he’s unable to sit up on his own and has severe aphasia, dealing with his father’s stubborn nature when it’s suggested that recovery might take years, that it’s possible he might never fully return to his pre-stroke self.
“His attitude might actually be good thing,” Merlin says, “It means he’ll work hard in therapy. That he won’t give up.”
Good to his word, Merlin recommends a rehab center with a great team of therapist that Uther is amazingly able to tolerate. Uther already employed a maid that came once a week to clean his house, so that at least will be one less thing for Arthur to worry about when Uther is able to go home.
Over the next few months, Arthur visits every day, tries to ensure his father is being given the best opportunity to regain as much independence as possible.
Between caring for his father and work, he has little time for anything else, so when Merlin sends him a text—
How is everything? Hope you’re
taking care of yourself first and foremost.
—Arthur decides that instead of texting a reply, he should stop by Merlin’s flat when he gets back home and have a proper chat.
It’s his first time in Merlin’s flat and his eye is drawn to a framed picture sitting prominently on a side table in the living room. It’s Merlin with his arm wrapped around his ex-girlfriend. They’re standing on the shore of a lake, a little row boat pulled up beside them. Why would Merlin still have this on display? He couldn’t still be secretly pining for his ex could he? Hadn’t he said that he had a crush on someone new? Arthur isn’t sure if he should ask, but curiosity gets the better of him.
“This girl…”
“Hmm? Oh, that’s Freya.”
Freya. That name sounds familiar for some reason. “Wait, this is your sister?”
“Yeah, you might have seen her around for a while. She lived with me to save money while she was working on her PhD. She’s living in Glasgow now with her fiancé.”
Arthur has to rethink everything he knows about Merlin’s love life. It might be possible he’s not straight after all. Has he ever even seen Merlin with any woman other than Freya? He can’t remember for sure.
“Here. Why don’t you take a seat?” Merlin gestures to the couch. “I’ll go get us something to drink.” He leaves for the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with two cups of tea. He sits one on the coffee table in front of Arthur then takes a seat in the chair opposite. He takes a cautious sip of his hot tea, says, “How was your day, Arthur?”
Suddenly more nervous than ever around Merlin, Arthur says, “We always seem to end up talking about me. What about you? You said you had your eye on someone. How’s that going?”
Merlin sits his cup down, says, “I’m not sure I should tell you. You might ruin it for me.”
Arthur’s a little offended by that. “We’re friends now. You have to tell me something. What’s your crush like?” Arthur pauses to allow Merlin time to respond, but when no answer is forthcoming, he says, “Come on, just three adjectives.”
Merlin narrows his eyes at Arthur, turns his head a bit to the side, suspicion rolling off him in waves. He taps a finger on the arm of his chair, considering. “All right, then.” He stands, says, “brave,” walks over to the couch where Arthur is sitting, “loyal.” He sits next to Arthur, looks directly at him, a pleased little grin on his face. “Handsome.”
Arthur’s heart nearly stops. He sputters. “You mean— You don’t mean me, do you?”
Merlin laughs. “Do you want me to mean you?”
Arthur finds he’s too old to be coy, but that doesn’t stop his heart from racing as he says, “Yeah. I do.”
Merlin only laughs harder. “I should have said ‘thick.’”
“Oi!”
“Did you really not know?”
Trying to save face, Arthur says, “Guess I was just trying not to get my hopes up.”
Merlin puts his hand on Arthur’s forearm, gives him a look that Arthur knows means that Merlin is about to kiss him. He’s not quick enough about it for Arthur’s liking though, so Arthur takes it upon himself to speed things along. He pulls Merlin close with his free hand pressed to the back of Merlin’s head, presses his lips to Merlin’s in a series of slow, lingering kisses. Arthur wants to keep going, deepen the kiss, but a sudden thought hits him, and he pulls back.
“Hang on. You haven’t been waiting to tell me these few months because you were trying to figure out whether or not I like men, have you?” Maybe if they’d been more straightforward with each other from the beginning, Merlin really would have kissed him that first night after going out for drinks to celebrate his birthday.
“What? No. I’ve known for years that you date men. I, uh,” Merlin says, looking suddenly sheepish, “had a bit of a run-in with one of your boyfriends a while back.” Arthur wants to ask which boyfriend he’s talking about, but Merlin distracts him with a question. “What makes you think I didn’t know?”
Arthur shrugs. “It seemed like a natural conclusion to draw. I didn’t think you were the type to be this cautious with romance. You’re one of the boldest people I’ve ever met. Why didn’t you just ask me out to begin with?”
Merlin gives a little smile. “I just wanted to get to know you as a friend first.”
“You weren’t afraid of being locked into the friendzone?”
“No,” Merlin scoffs. “I think the whole concept of the friendzone is silly anyway. An excuse people use to make themselves feel better when a friend doesn’t like them the way they want. In which case, no amount of having not been friends previously would have helped. And besides, one of your exes did try to kill you. I thought you’d appreciate a bit of caution.”
“How did you know about that?” Even as the words are coming out of his mouth, he realizes it’s a stupid question. Merlin had likely been at work when it happened, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have heard about it later from their other neighbours. It’s not every day there’s an attempted murder next door. It had probably been the talk of the building for weeks.
“That ex-boyfriend I mentioned?”
For the second time that evening, Arthur has to re-think everything. So it hadn’t just been gossiping neighbours after all. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you met—”
“Mordred? I think his name was.”
“Ugh.” Arthur rubs a hand across his face. “I am so sorry.”
“I was running late for work, but when I got out of the lift on the ground floor, there was some bloke I’d never seen before pacing around, clearly agitated. So I asked if he needed help.”
“You what?!” Arthur’s tried his best for the past few years to think about that night as little as possible—the way Mordred had used a copy of a key he wasn’t supposed to have to break in, the wild look in his eyes as he’d waved his knife around, how he’d lunged forward, slashing Arthur across the ribs when he’d reached for his mobile. And now, the idea that Merlin had encountered Mordred in that state, that Merlin might have been in danger as well because of Arthur’s bad choices, that thought curdles his stomach.
“He went off on a rant about you. Something about some girl you sent to prison. It didn’t really make much sense. I thought he might be high or something. I’ve had to deal with people in that condition at work before, so it didn’t make me feel as uncomfortable as it might most other people.
“I’d been planning to just monitor him to make sure he didn’t need medical intervention, help talk him through it, but then he turned to the side and that’s when I noticed he was clutching a knife under his jacket. So when his back was turned, I called the cops, put the phone on speaker and shoved it into my pocket so he wouldn’t see. I tried my best to keep him talking to give the police time to get there, made sure to say the address and your flat number too just in case something happened to me before they arrived.”
“Oh my God, Merlin.” For years Arthur had wondered how it was that the police had managed to arrive within a minute or two of Mordred breaking into his flat. There’s never been a doubt in his mind that things would have gone a lot worse for him if Mordred hadn’t been apprehended so quickly. “Why did you never tell me? You saved my life!”
The tips of Merlin’s ears are turning red, and he shifts his shoulders as if uncomfortable. “All I did was call the police. I don’t want any praise for that. And I would never want you to feel… obligated, in any way, toward me because of it.”
Arthur’s momentarily at a loss for words.
“I wish I’d been able to stall him a little longer. You might not have been hurt at all.”
“Don’t be so modest, Merlin. You’re amazing.” Not only was he Arthur’s own personal hero, but he was humble about it too. “Not that I hadn’t already noticed that, by the way.” Between brightening up Arthur’s admittedly rather dull 40th birthday, sitting with him at the hospital, and all the support he’s offered since, Arthur’s quickly finding it difficult to envision his future without Merlin at his side.
Arthur takes hold of one of Merlin’s hands, gives it a little squeeze.
It’s strange how life works sometimes. All those awful relationships Arthur’s been through while Merlin had been right there, just down the hall, for years. Until not all that long ago, Arthur would have declined any invitation from Merlin with the assumption that he wasn’t a valid candidate for a partner. It wasn’t until he’d opened himself up to the possibility of a friendship with Merlin that he’d found himself with the opportunity for more.
The sound of Ygraine’s voice—her tone, her cadence, her inflections—bubbles up in Arthur’s memory. ‘When the time is right,’ she’d said. Maybe she’d been onto something.