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A pair of well-loved hands blinded Merlin to the essay he had, until mere moments ago, been attempting to grade. He said “attempting” because even after the fifth time of reading through the three pages upon his desk, he had yet to determine how Elena Gawant’s detailed and poignant analysis of her profound experience of riding a horse for the first time related to the theme of The Lord of the Flies. It was possible that she had started out with the intention of discussing the nature of freedom, but she never managed to come around to the detrimental effects a lack of order can have on society. Although Elena was one of the brightest students in his third period English class - and quite possibly the entirety of the student body - her ability to focus on the subject matter was questionable at the best of times, and nearly non-existent at the worst.
Sighing, Merlin leaned back in his chair and allowed his head to rest against the broad chest he knew was waiting for him. “Have I managed to miss dinner again?”
It was a genuine concern. He only had so many days before grades for the semester had to be posted, and so for the last week, Merlin had been skipping meals more often than he had been enjoying them. Mrs. O'Neill, the elderly lady who lived in the flat just down from theirs, had taken to staring at Merlin’s bony wrists and tutting as they passed each other on the stairs. Still, it was only to be expected that Merlin would devote all of his time to his job. This was his first year teaching, and he fervently wished to prove that he could not only hold the attention of young minds generally opposed to education, but that he could expose them to the many worlds awaiting them in books and poems and folk lore.
Let it never be said that he was anything but an idealist.
The hands came away from Merlin’s face so that the arms that went with them might wrap snugly about his shoulders. “No, dinner can wait. After all, it’s just soup. But I am getting a sore back just from looking at you sitting in that chair, and you’ve been staring at the same essay for the past hour. What does that tell you?”
“That the manufacturers lied when they advertised this chair as ergonomic?” Merlin hazarded, not out of contrariness, but out of sheer inability to think. Besides, thoughts were overrated. Merlin rather believed he wanted nothing more to do with them. Closing his eyes and reveling in the familiar warmth that seeped into him from his partner’s chest and arms sounded far more preferable.
“That, too,” Gwaine acknowledged affably enough, “but I was actually thinking more along the lines of you needing to take a break.”
Sputtering, Merlin hastened to object. “Take a - Gwaine, no. That is the last thing I need right now. I feel like every time I blink that pile of ungraded essays gets steeper. If I take a break now, I’ll never get it done.”
“Merlin,” Gwaine said patiently, “you’re not getting anything done as it is.” His face forming the impish grin Merlin first fell in love with, Gwaine told him, “Come on. We’re going, even if I have to tie you up and drag you there myself.”
“And where, exactly, do you plan on dragging me?”
“We’re going sledding.”
“Sledding?” Merlin repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Right. You do realize it’s been dark for at least an hour?”
Completely unperturbed, Gwaine enthused, “Exactly. It just stopped snowing, and there shouldn’t be any kids out. It’s the perfect time.”
“You’re serious?”
“As your mother’s apple pie.”
His mother’s apple pie was about as serious as it could get. Not even his great uncle, crotchety old health nut that he was, could turn down a slice of Hunith Emrys’s apple pie. Merlin eyed Elena’s essay one last time, and then gave in to the inevitable, slowly standing from the chair which really should feel far more comfortable for the price they paid when it was purchased. His muscles and bones admonished him for sitting in one position for so long, and he twisted back and forth until several satisfying clicks sounded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwaine wince the same way he had for the six years Merlin had popped his back in the other man’s presence. Fighting a grin, he straightened and headed for the hall closet.
He didn’t have to look back in order to know that Gwaine was right behind him.
Upon opening the closet door, he pulled the brown suede coat his mother had given him before sending him off to his first year of uni off of its hanger. It had been out of style then, and certainly continued to be so today, but it had seen him safely through all of the years since his childhood truly ended. To part with this coat now would be sacrilege. As he pushed his arms through the sleeves, he reminded Gwaine, “You’d best bundle up. The last time you went out in weather like this, you were stuck in bed with the flu for a week.” Perhaps it had been unkind, but Merlin has spent the entirety of that week struggling not to laugh. For years, Gwaine had insisted that he never got sick, and the one time that he did, he had been completely miserable.
Gwaine rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath good-naturedly, though he did not hesitate to pull on his own leather jacket and the light grey mittens and scarf Hunith had knitted for him shortly after the flu incident. He reached up to the shelf situated just above the hangers and grabbed a similar set for his partner in crime. This set was a brilliant red, and included a beanie to cover Merlin’s rather boisterous ears. Gwaine had gladly paid the price of Merlin’s short-lived ire the one and only time he had jokingly lamented that there was nothing they could do about his rather impressive nose.
As Merlin slid the plush fabric of the beanie over his ears, Gwaine looped the scarf securely around his neck. Stuffing the mittens in his coat pocket, Merlin went to scoop his keys off of the coffee table in the living room. He met Gwaine back in the hallway and found him holding two wooden sleds - the same wooden sleds Merlin had grown up using with his step-brother, Arthur Pendragon, who was now apparently too old and responsible to slide down hills on his belly. Merlin lifted an eyebrow. “Ready?”
Lifting both sleds slightly for emphasis, Gwaine confirmed, “Indeed, I am.”
Together, they stepped out of their cozy little flat and tromped down the stairs to emerge onto the nearly deserted sidewalk. The cold night air bit at the exposed skin of their noses and cheeks, which rapidly gained a rosy hue. Lamplight cast a dim yellow glow on the freshly fallen snow. During the afternoon, the snow had become slush, heated by the miniscule rise in temperature and trodden into a murky, almost grey mess. With the most recent snowfall, everything had become pristine and picturesque, a downy, thick blanket concealing the decline of the day. Merlin took it all in as he slipped on his mittens, and he gestured for Gwaine to lead the way.
They walked on until they left the sidewalks and the streets dotted with cars. In their place were trees, their boughs weighed down by frozen precipitation. Their journey was conducted in silence in anticipation of the adventure to come. Eventually, trees thinned, and they came to a small hill.
Gwaine proffered one of the sleds to Merlin, the one which for years now had borne the initials M. E., and kept the one marked A. P. for himself. For a moment, they stared down at the perfect layer of snow, untouched by students on their way home from school or out to play in the intervening hours before sunset and the siren call of supper. Then, they turned to beam at each other, feeling like schoolboys at the start of a glorious vacation, and took off racing down the hill. Adrenalin and joy echoed in the pounding of their hearts and the whistling of the wind in their ears.
As the earth and snow rushed up to greet him, Merlin imagined that there was no ground below his sled, and that it was instead on its maiden flight. He whooped and found himself half wishing this could last forever.
Still, the hill had to end at some point, and end it did.
Upon reaching the hill’s base, Merlin rolled off of his sled and gazed up at the deep purple expanse of the night sky, gasping for breath and gradually feeling himself floating back down from the dizzying rush of his descent. Without a conscious decision, his arms began to move through the snow. Before he could commit fully to the action, Gwaine knelt above him and peered into his eyes, unable or unwilling to suppress his triumph at the sight of Merlin’s obvious enjoyment. They stayed that way for several moments, the air between them thick with the warm clouds of their breath, and then Gwaine asked, “What are you thinking about?”
The exultant smile on Merlin’s face softened, and even if there had been a thousand others in their little haven, Gwaine knew he would still have been the only one Merlin could see. “I’m thinking about freedom.”