Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur adjusted the last of the little tables in his office, setting the bright red puppet theatre at a comfortable height to operate.

All his years of study and training had definitely not prepared him for a case as complicated as Mordred's. This was their sixth session together, and the boy hadn’t spoken a single word.

Arthur had worked with traumatized children before. He’d seen them shatter, cling to fragmented memories of their lives before the loss. But there was something about Mordred that unsettled him.

“Arthur, your favorite little patient is here,” Vivian’s sweet voice echoed from the front desk, though she didn’t bother to hide the gentle scolding in her tone. They’d argued about his dedication to the case weeks ago—“You're giving too much of yourself again. I don't want to see you get hurt.” She’d meant it sincerely.

For this session, Arthur had prepared a different approach. In the early stages of trauma, children often struggled to see themselves as hurt, or even recognize their emotions—honestly, that was hard for most adults, too.

In their first five sessions, Arthur had tried all sorts of techniques to get something—anything—out of Mordred. They’d drawn, played with toy cars and dinosaurs—well, Arthur had played while the boy stared at him in detached silence—and watched some animated shorts Merlin, Mordred’s father, had sworn the boy liked. That had only left Arthur with more questions than answers.

On his desk sat a green folder, its edges decorated with scribbles Mordred had drawn in a past session. It held the few tiny breakthroughs they’d made.

Mordred seemed to engage more when Arthur rambled about his own life or hobbies. He shut down the moment emotions were mentioned and actively dodged questions or assumptions about how he felt.

The boy entered the room with a vacant stare aimed at Arthur, who was already seated cross-legged on the soft green rug. The therapist had noticed something: Mordred always sought proximity. Even when he seemed indifferent, each session brought him physically closer.

Mordred might be afraid of being left alone after the accident. That’s a common behavior when someone we love dies. He clings to physical presence and avoids emotional closeness. Arthur noted mentally.

Mordred sat down beside him, his little eyes fixed on the puppet stage, eyebrows furrowed in focused curiosity.

“Good afternoon, Mordred. Today we’ll have help from a very special guest,” Arthur said cheerfully. The moment he mentioned “help,” Mordred’s brow tensed further. Before he could lose the boy’s attention, Arthur drew the curtain open.

At the back of the puppet box, a tiny mechanism slowly revealed a new scene—and a little felt hand with cartoon eyes peeked out before vanishing again.

The curtain rose a second time. Now a blond puppet with big blue googly eyes, a red tunic with a dragon embroidered on the chest, and a few bits of felt armor stood center stage. The puppet bore a comical resemblance to Arthur—as close as a children's puppet could get.

Mordred narrowed his eyes suspiciously, and Arthur let out a nervous chuckle. Hope slipped away for a second. He was running out of ideas.

With a shaky sigh, Arthur cleared his throat and pitched his voice high.

“I am a king! The King of Nowhere!” the puppet cried, turning its head dramatically as the scenery changed behind it.

“I’ve lost my kingdom, my sword, even my crown!” It flailed its tiny arms upward, trying and failing to reach its eyes. “I’ve even lost my tears—boo hoo, boo hoo!”

The puppet drooped along with the scene. Then its gaze slowly lifted to meet Mordred’s.

“But I still have one thing.”

When Mordred tilted his head slightly and opened his mouth, Arthur’s heart skipped. Maybe this was it. Maybe Mordred would finally speak. But the moment the boy realized Arthur was watching, he frowned again and looked away.

Mordred might feel like a burden to his dad for having so many feelings. He seems to shut down when he’s the center of attention, Arthur mentally noted.

“I still have a heart that hasn't given up,” the puppet whispered, patting its chest gently. “Even though I’m alone, I still imagine my castle. I imagine my people.”

The puppet looked around, wistfully.

“I’m still waiting for someone to see me.”

“I think our little friend here is seeing you, Mister King of Nowhere,” Arthur said in his normal voice, raising a brow at the puppet.

“What?! AHH!” the puppet screamed and darted behind a felt tree Arthur pushed into place with his other hand. “My new friend can’t see me like this! He can’t know I’m scared! I’m a king—I have to be strong!”

“You know, Mordred, I think the king and I have a lot in common,” Arthur murmured, eyes softening. Admitting fear was terrifying, even when you felt safe.

“But I’m the handsome one, just saying,” the puppet snapped, peeking at Mordred from behind the tree.

“Of course you are, your highness,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes at the puppet’s attitude.

The puppet strutted out, arms crossed proudly, victorious. Maybe Mordred needed to feel like he had some control. The King of Nowhere could give him that.

“The king and I are both blond and very good-looking,” Arthur said, his voice softening again. “We’re both scared sometimes. We get confused by our feelings. And sometimes... sometimes we just want someone to understand us. Being alone really hurts.”

That was true for Arthur. His job was to help others—but his training had also taught him to understand himself, and to value the people who had chosen to stay in his life.

Like Vivian, he reminded himself, hearing her voice again in his head.

“Don’t tell anyone,” whispered the puppet, “but... I sometimes cry quietly in the bathroom of my imaginary castle.”

Mordred almost smiled. His lips twitched halfway there before he caught himself. Still, it was two small victories in one session—record-breaking for Arthur.

Mordred was opening up, even if just in T-Rex-sized baby steps.

“Maybe the king doesn’t want to understand what he feels,” the boy finally whispered. “I think... I think he’s tired of everyone trying to fix him. He just wants people to stop thinking something’s wrong with him.”

Arthur’s heart pounded. The sound of Mordred’s tiny voice etched itself into his memory. A lump formed in his throat, but he didn’t rush to reply—he didn’t want to overwhelm the boy.

That afternoon, Mordred’s tiny steps had become giant leaps.

“I think you’re right,” Arthur said gently. “When people look at you like that, you just want to disappear. When my mother died...” He paused, breathing through the tremble in his chest.

Even after all those years, that moment had changed Arthur’s life forever. He hadn’t expected the sadness in his voice—or the tightness in his chest.

“When she died, I felt that way too. I wanted everyone to stop asking questions. To stop looking at me like I was broken.”

“Then I’m not broken?” whispered the puppet as the curtain slowly fell.

“No. You’re just feeling,” Arthur said, his voice steady and warm. “And that’s very brave.”

He slid the puppet off his hand and set it in front of Mordred as a quiet invitation. The boy said nothing—this silence was different. Calm, not heavy.

Session six had set the course for helping Mordred understand his grief.

“I didn’t know your mom too...” Mordred’s voice trailed off. From across the room, Arthur watched his little eyes fill with tears.

“Not every grown-up trying to help you feels sorry for you, Mordred. A long time ago, I was in your shoes.” Arthur stood, fighting the urge to curse as his knees cracked. He was way too young to be feeling this old.

Mordred stayed still, stroking the dragon stitched onto the puppet’s chest, ignoring the hand Arthur offered him. He stretched lazily, focused entirely on the puppet’s fabric.

“Er... if you liked him that much, you can borrow the king for a few weeks,” Arthur offered, not meaning it. That puppet was his favorite—a gift from his friend Guinevere, who’d studied several semesters with him at university before becoming a teacher instead of a psychologist.

“Really?” Mordred asked, visibly happier than when he’d arrived. He took Arthur’s hand at last, standing without taking his eyes off the puppet. The King of Nowhere was about to go on the best vacation of his life.

A couple of knocks on the door signaled the session was over. As soon as Vivian opened it, Mordred bolted into the next room—Arthur’s arts-and-crafts heaven.

Merlin had agreed to a routine of 45-minute sessions for Mordred, with the last 15 reserved for them to discuss his week and plan ahead.

“May I?” Merlin asked, his voice tired, glasses slipping halfway down his nose. Arthur had never seen him wear them before.

“Of course. Come in.” The dark-haired man entered cautiously, scanning every inch of the room before locking eyes with Arthur. One brow arched.

Arthur simply pointed to the other room.

The Emrys family relies heavily on nonverbal communication, he mentally noted.

Merlin looked through the glass panel separating the rooms. Mordred was curled up in a beanbag, tightly hugging the King of Nowhere as he watched a dolphin documentary.

“It was a good session,” Arthur said flatly. Merlin turned to him with wide, hopeful eyes. Arthur did his best to look casual, but the grin tugging at his lips was impossible to suppress.

“You named the puppet.”
“Mordred spoke.”
They spoke at the same time.

“Mordred already told me why he wouldn’t let me get close. You must be proud of him, Mr. Emrys.” Arthur shifted back into therapist mode, pulling Mordred’s journal from his desk and scribbling notes, marking key info with dragon-shaped post-its.

Merlin sat across from him, still processing it all. They stared at each other in silence for a beat too long.

Somewhere deep inside, Arthur took the admiration in Merlin’s eyes as a personal compliment. After all, the man was very attractive—and maybe just a bit too eared to be Arthur’s perfect type, but close enough.

“It’s a good start,” Merlin said, adjusting awkwardly in his seat under Arthur’s watchful gaze.

“It’s a dragon step,” Arthur corrected, chuckling at his own joke while Merlin blinked at him in confusion.

That session ended with a therapist seriously considering changing his clinic’s motto to something like: Where kids always get their way, while staring at the now-empty shelf and already missing his king.

Chapter Text

Grief was a strange feeling.

Or at least, that’s what Merlin thought.

He had met Freya when they were both teenagers, and since then, she had been a constant in his life.

Merlin had been the first boyfriend Freya ever brought home, and she had won over Merlin’s mother from the very first moment.

Everything with Freya had been perfect.

Don’t get him wrong—they had their share of problems, arguments, and challenges like any couple. But Merlin had always felt that facing those things was worth it, because he was with her.

Some days, he still couldn’t believe she was really gone.

His wife had lost control of the car on her way to the airport. The accident had been sudden and unpredictable. The paramedics had done everything they could, but the brain damage had been irreversible.

It was 4 A.M. and Merlin still couldn’t sleep. Freya’s memories refused to leave his mind.

Since her death, he hadn’t had the heart to unmake the bed. The sheets were folded the way she liked them. The cactus plushie Merlin had given her on their first anniversary still sat between the pillows.

Even her scarf was still hanging on the coat rack. Back in secondary school they used to get teased for wearing matching scarves.

The sharp sound of shattering ceramic snapped him out of his thoughts. Merlin stood up cautiously, adjusting the silk robe on his shoulders and turning on the hallway light as he walked.

The guest room was far smaller than the one he had once shared with Freya, but not having to look at that empty space helped dull the pain in his heart—just a little.

In the middle of the kitchen stood Mordred, wrapped in his star-patterned pajamas, staring down at the floor with an unreadable expression.

“Son?” Merlin called softly, not wanting to scare him.

Mordred didn’t speak. He only pointed to the green fragments on the floor.

Merlin followed his gaze and saw it—Freya’s favorite mug, split in half. The handle lay a few inches away.

He had never felt the need to raise his voice at Mordred. Even with the usual tantrums of his age, the boy had always been well-behaved, kind, and loving. At least he had been—before the accident. Since losing his mother, Mordred had grown quiet and distant.

Merlin took a deep breath, curling his hands into fists and digging his nails into his palms. His face burned with anger. He loved his son, but that mug had meant everything to Freya. It had symbolized a beautiful moment in their marriage, and now, like the mug, it was in pieces.

“Go to your room,” he said bitterly.

Mordred’s face twisted into what looked like fear as he clutched the therapist’s puppet tightly against his chest.

The next thing Merlin heard was the door of his son’s bedroom slamming shut. His eyes burned as tears threatened to fall.

He dropped to the floor, his knees hitting the cold kitchen tiles, and his trembling hands began picking up the broken pieces of the mug.

Thankfully, the damage wasn’t too severe. A little glue would fix it.

He leaned against the kitchen cabinet, holding the fragments carefully so he wouldn’t cut himself.

A long breath escaped him just as the tears began to stream freely down his cheeks.

He was exhausted. And so, so alone.

Merlin always took care of everyone else. He tried to stay strong for all the people who depended on him—not to worry his mother, and to give his son the emotional space he needed to be vulnerable, just as his therapist had advised.

Arthur was a godsend. Merlin would always be grateful to Guinevere for recommending the man.

At first, he had serious doubts about Arthur’s methods. He had seemed far too young to handle even his own problems—until Merlin found out Arthur was only four years younger than him.

But that week had changed everything for the better. Mordred had finally opened up to the therapist.

After these past few weeks, Merlin could almost consider Arthur a friend. Maybe it was just part of his “human-centered therapy approach,” as the blond liked to call it, but every time Arthur asked him how he was doing, Merlin felt genuinely seen.

He was grieving Freya too.

She had been his other half, his partner in everything—his confidante, above all.

He wiped the drying tears from his cheeks. It had been months since he last allowed himself to cry.

“I know being the anchor of the family puts you in a place where you feel like you have to hold everyone else up. Maybe you think your pain doesn’t count, or that it hurts less because you didn’t lose a daughter, or a mother...

That doesn’t mean you’re not hurting, Mr. Emrys. It just means your grief is shaped differently.”

That’s what Arthur had told him during their last session. And damn it, he’d been so right.

Merlin got to his feet, leaving the broken mug pieces on the counter, and quietly walked to his son’s room.

He placed a hand on the cold doorknob, turned it, and stepped inside.

His son was curled up beneath the sheets, still clinging to that ridiculous puppet. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm too steady to be sleep—Merlin could tell he was awake.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to react like that. It’s just… hard for me too.”

He reached out and ran his fingers gently through Mordred’s curls, brushing them away from his forehead in soft, soothing motions. Then he left the room and returned to his own.

The silence weighed heavier than ever. And though it was full of memories, his home had never felt so empty since Freya’s death.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since Mordred and Arthur last saw each other in person.

The King of Nowhere had become the most consistent part of the boy’s routine. Each morning, Mordred would wake up and whisper a small “good morning” to the puppet before getting ready for the day.

The puppet sat beside him at dinner — never at breakfast, which was time to talk with Dad, and not at lunch either, because he was too embarrassed to show it to his friends.

He played, walked, and laughed with that new companion Arthur had so kindly lent him.

Mordred hated endings.

So even though he was a little sad that he hadn’t gotten to play with Arthur during their last two sessions, it comforted him to know he hadn’t had to return the strange puppet yet.

Zoom sessions were boring, but at least Arthur had stopped asking how he was feeling all the time. Mordred had learned a lot from the man during their long, meandering chats.

Arthur was the least annoying adult Mordred knew. He was the middle ground between a grown-up and a kid — but not like teenagers. Mordred had a cousin who was a teenager, and he couldn’t think of a single good thing to say about her. She was always focused on her boyfriend and other gross things.

Arthur, though? Arthur was dramatic, but still his third favorite adult.

First place went to his grandma Hunith, who always snuck him cookies behind his dad’s back and let him stay up late watching cartoons.

Second was his dad. Not a bad guy. Mordred knew he tried hard, but sometimes he cared a little too much — his kind of love could get overwhelming.

And third place was for his therapist — the only one who really understood him.

Now, after two weeks of seeing Arthur’s face only through the iPad screen, Mordred was finally going toplay with him again.

He looked down at the puppet resting beside him. On every car ride, the King of Nowhere sat in the seat next to his, safely buckled in with a seatbelt.

A few nights earlier, Mordred had suffered a terrible accident — one of the puppet’s eyes had fallen off, and he’d had to run to his dad in tears.

Seeing the puppet’s empty socket in his hands had made his mind spin with horrible thoughts. He’d cried so much he’d ended up throwing up, even after the eye had been fixed.

He still didn’t feel safe enough to talk freely with his father. Not even to complain.

Mordred was scared that if he wasn’t a good boy, his father might disappear too.
That was something he hadn’t told Arthur — afraid that saying it out loud might somehow make it come true.

“Son, do you mind if I talk to Arthur for a bit before your session?”
Great. Now his dad was going to tell on him about the puppet accident. Mordred rolled his eyes and nodded in defeat.

He got out of the car hugging the puppet tightly against his chest, walking into the office with his dad. They were early for the session that day.

His father had insisted on doing something nice for the man who’d cared so much about them these past few months. Honestly, Mordred wasn’t going to ruin it for him.

Vivian greeted them warmly, guiding Mordred to the art room before giving Merlin a puzzled look — the man was holding three cups of coffee.

“You’ve all been very kind and careful with Mordred. I wanted to thank you in some way,” Merlin said with a small smile. Vivian squinted at him before taking one of the cups.

“You literally pay us to do that,” she muttered. Vivian loved her job, but unlike her cherished coworker, she was far more realistic about professional relationships.

“Is Arthur free right now?” Merlin asked. Vivian hesitated, then gestured lightly toward his office.

Merlin stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Arthur was at his desk, carefully gluing pieces of broken toys back together with super glue.

Merlin let out a quiet sigh, recalling his last two encounters with that same glue.

Fixing the King of Nowhere’s eye had been much easier than piecing back together Freya’s favorite mug.

“Good morning, Mr. Emrys. We’re a bit early today, aren’t we?” Arthur greeted him with that relaxed, easygoing tone that had become oddly endearing.

“Arthur, really… thank you for giving Mordred that horrible puppet,” Merlin started with a smile. If it hadn’t been for the accident, he suspected it would’ve taken months for his son to open up to him again.

“Hey! The King of Nowhere has won many beauty awards in every kingdom he visits,” Arthur replied, crossing his arms and shooting a look of mock offense at Merlin.

“Hmm, seems like you forgot to hang up your certificate for ‘arrogant prat’ right at the entrance,” Merlin replied with the same playful tone, setting a cup of coffee in front of Arthur. His expression softened.

“Really, thank you. I wanted to talk to you before the session because Mordred’s been doing much better — he’s been more cheerful, more open.”
Arthur’s heart warmed at those words. He was deeply proud of the boy.

“But… I’d like you to talk to him about something that happened. He accidentally broke Freya’s favorite mug, and I— I was awful to him, Arthur. I was so tired, but that mug meant so much to her. I miss her so much.”
The last words slipped out in a quiet, broken whisper, bursting the bubble of joy Arthur had felt just moments earlier.

Arthur shouldn't feel this moved by a patient’s family.

He shifted in his seat, eyes drifting toward the door, searching for an escape. Still, his voice came out steady and calm.

“Mr. Emrys, I appreciate your concern, but I can’t allow your personal experiences or guilt to influence Mordred’s therapy. I also can’t share much about what happens during our sessions unless I consider it absolutely necessary. That’s something you need to discuss directly with him.”

Merlin dropped his gaze, nervously fidgeting with his coffee cup, ashamed for asking something so unfair. Even if Arthur was a saint, he couldn’t repair the pieces of his family the way he did with toys.

“I know this is hard, Mr. Emrys. I really do. And it’s okay to not be okay all the time. I’m sure Mordred doesn’t hate you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. But I need to keep certain boundaries in place so Mordred can continue to feel safe here.”
Arthur’s tone had softened. He looked down at his coffee cup, avoiding Merlin’s eyes like they burned.

“I’ll go get Mordred,” Merlin said, giving him one last look before stepping out of the office.

You’re a mess and completely out of your mind, Pendragon, Arthur muttered to himself, imagining Vivian’s voice in his head. He slapped his cheeks a couple of times, trying to bring himself back to reality.

Seconds later, Mordred entered the room wearing an oversized green hoodie that looked suspiciously like Arthur’s scrubs.

“Mordred! We twin,” Arthur said with a smile — though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, still tense from the earlier conversation.

Unlike other sessions, this time it was Mordred who decided where they’d sit.

The boy settled on the carpet and began doodling on loose sheets of paper, with the King of Nowhere seated beside him.

They didn’t say much that day, but Mordred’s drawings were full of meaning.

A castle with no doors, guarded by a golden dragon.

A dolphin swimming alone while small fish watched from afar.

And a third drawing — one meant especially for Arthur. The blond quietly slipped it into his briefcase when Merlin wasn’t looking.

They said goodbye with the promise that the King of Nowhere would stay on vacation with Mordred for a few more weeks. And once they were alone in the car, Mordred understood the wink his father gave him.

His dad had convinced Arthur to let the puppet stay a little longer.

Small gestures like that reminded Mordred why his dad was still his second favorite person in the world.

Chapter Text

Their table was by far the quietest in the bar—not because they were any less animated.

"Viv, I swear, she’s so sweet to me. She treats me like a princess," Guinevere said, the emotion in her voice palpable as she let out a long sigh and sipped the colorful cocktail in her glass. A Sunset Tequila, if Arthur remembered correctly.

It wasn’t exactly a secret that her mysterious girlfriend was Arthur’s half-sister—especially not after the fifteen or so posts dedicated to their dates, where familiar hands were barely cropped out in forgotten corners of the pictures. The two women tried, in the most comically ineffective way, to hide their relationship.

That Friday was Arthur’s day off. A day to spend with friends and take care of himself.

Leon and Lancelot were running late, as usual.

The day had been a rollercoaster. Arthur hadn’t even finished processing all the changes that had arrived in just one afternoon.

"Earth to Arthur. I repeat, Earth to Arthur!" Guinevere called out, trying to get his attention. Arthur took a sip from his can and finally turned back toward the table.

"Have you finished saying how badly you want to kiss Morgana, move in together, and adopt ten cats like—what was it—all the lesbian couples I know?" he teased, earning a smack on the arm from the brunette.

Once the guys showed up, they caught up on life until around 11 P.M.

Leon had gotten a raise, while Lancelot shared that he’d started dating someone and hoped to introduce her to the group soon. Arthur beamed with pride for his friends.

When everyone had finished their updates, all eyes landed on Arthur, who swallowed hard and glanced toward the dance floor. It wasn’t too late to pretend he planned to take someone to a motel that night.

"Still keeping that heart of yours untamed, prince charming?" Leon teased, nudging him in the ribs with a playful raise of his eyebrows.

"Ouch! No, I’m not seeing anyone."

"Don’t believe him!"

Vivian and Arthur said it in unison. The woman earned the confused but hungry-for-gossip looks from everyone at the table.

"Arthur’s into a widowed dad."

"It’s not like that, Viv. I just care about the family. They remind me of my dad after Mom died," Arthur replied, feigning indignation, trying to make the lie sound convincing—not that it worked.

"Right. First, it was the coffee, and now you’ve opened up special sessions for his kid on your days off. What’s next? Going over to make them dinner?" she shot back, pointing at him with her index finger—the group’s ultimate sign of shame.

Arthur squirmed under her accusatory finger, his mouth falling open in shock. How the hell did she know he’d started doing extra sessions with Mordred?

His phone started buzzing on the table. Everyone glanced at the screen to see who was calling this late, only to collectively deflate at the name: “Dad.”

"Gotta take this, be right back," Arthur said, grabbing his phone and leaving his wallet behind. "I’m paying. Blue card. Vivian knows the code."

The short walk to the exit was full of stumbles, but Arthur—miraculously—made it to the door in one piece, albeit with a few stepped-on toes.

"Son? Dinner’s on the table…" Uther’s voice came through the speaker, sounding tired and out of breath.

"Did you take your meds, Dad? I won’t be long—I got a little distracted with the guys." Arthur tried to explain, sighing heavily.

"I’m coming to get you. I don’t like it when you drive after drinking," Uther deflected.

The man was stubborn. There’d be no winning that fight—even if Arthur had only had a zero-alcohol beer and a virgin piña colada.

"See you soon. Thanks, Dad," he said before hanging up and heading back to the table.

When he returned, his friends were staring at the center of the table like children looking at presents under the Christmas tree. Arthur tilted his head, curious.

"Why do you always get the pretty drawings while I get the scribbly ones?" Vivian asked first.

"Wow, this kid really likes you, prince charming. He put so much effort into the details," Leon chimed in.

Lancelot was inspecting the paper closely, eyebrows scrunched like he was trying to decipher some hidden message.

"Why didn’t you tell me you started seeing Mordred’s dad?" Guinevere asked last, her eyes full of confusion—but her smile was sincere.

Guinevere was Mordred’s teacher. She’d been the one to connect Arthur and Merlin. Of course she’d recognize the shaky handwriting in the corner of the page.

Arthur began to tremble slightly under their gazes. He knew his friends meant no harm, but he couldn’t help feeling… judged. Drunk Vivian was gentler with her words, but Arthur still couldn’t shake off her last lecture.

"You know I love you, Arthur. You’ve been my best friend since high school. Just be careful with the lines you’re crossing for that family. I’m not saying Merlin’s a bad guy, but he’s grieving deeply. I just don’t want to see you get your heart broken."

Her words were echoing again in his head.

Silently, Arthur picked up the drawing, folded it carefully, and tucked it back into his wallet—where it never should’ve left in the first place.

"My dad’s on his way. You know how he gets when I drink after everything with Mom. See you soon, guys." He hugged each of his friends tightly and promised to meet up again at Lancelot’s soon to meet his girlfriend.

It was just a drawing. It wasn’t that big of a deal… right?

Now in the car, Arthur glanced at his father through the rearview mirror. Uther looked deeply tired, but none of the worry Arthur had heard in his voice remained.

The phone buzzed again in his hand. A message from an unknown number.

Arthur opened the image and stared at the screen for several seconds, unaware of the smile blooming on his face.

It was a close-up of Mordred’s bed. The boy was fast asleep under the covers, hugging the stuffed toy tightly to his chest. The photo came with a simple message: “7 days without nightmares” followed by several celebratory emojis.

Arthur had given Merlin his number the day before to discuss upcoming sessions for Mordred.

And just like that, his mind went back to session twenty-eight.

Like every Thursday, Mordred had arrived before school. He greeted Vivian with a big hug and sometimes even complimented her nail color—but only if it was blue or green.

The boy’s file had nearly doubled in size since he started talking again. Arthur hadn’t made much headway into the grief and Freya’s absence, but he’d made real progress in helping Merlin emerge, little by little, from his depressive episode.

"Arthur, is there any way we could move Mordred’s sessions to Fridays? His school schedule changed, and keeping Wednesdays would be too much. Fridays are our only day off together."

Shit. Fridays were Arthur’s days off too.

"Of course. Does Friday work for you? We can confirm over the phone," Arthur replied without thinking.

"Perfect. Thanks, Arthur." Merlin gave him a small smile—the kind that didn’t reach his eyes, and yet still meant so much. They were both making progress in their grief.

That session, Mordred had been chattier than usual. He talked about school, new friends in art class, their walks in the park, and finally, a funny little system he’d invented for people.

"But you’re special, because you’re third on the list. Dad has to be on all my special lists because he’s Dad. And Grandma Hunith is my favorite because she always says I’m her favorite grandkid—even though I’m her only one—and she gives me cookies. Do you like cookies?"

In the past few sessions, Mordred had asked Arthur about his favorite things and always brought them the next time.

First it was a protein shake, then a bag of chips, breadsticks, coffee—and now Arthur had a feeling cookies were next.

"Mordred, I haven’t told you a secret yet," Arthur said slowly, adding dramatic flair to his tone. The boy’s eyes widened in curiosity, arms tightening around his King of Nowhere plush.

"My secret identity is… the Cookie Monster. Me love cookies!" Arthur began rubbing his hands over his face like the character did when eating.

Mordred stared for a second before bursting into laughter—loud, joyful giggles that filled the office. Arthur couldn’t help but laugh with him.

His laugh was ridiculously contagious.

They laughed until their stomachs hurt and Arthur realized he had to pee.

Excusing himself, he stepped out of the office—only to find Merlin in the waiting room, covering his face with both hands.

"Mr. Emrys? Are you alright?" Arthur asked, gently placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The man flinched slightly but lifted his head, revealing tearful eyes.

"Thank you, Arthur. Thank you so much… It’s been almost a year since I heard Mordred laugh, and you—" Merlin paused to sniffle, then stood and pulled Arthur into a tight hug. "You brought my son back to me."

Arthur froze. His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure Merlin could hear it.

"Mordred is a very strong kid. I’m just happy to help," he managed to say, praying the man couldn’t feel how fast his heart was beating.

Inside the office, Mordred watched the two of them through the glass window. His dad looked a little happier when he was with Arthur.

Arthur didn’t even realize when he’d taken the drawing out of his wallet again—but he spent the rest of the ride home just staring at it.

Chapter Text

It had been almost a year since Arthur and Mordred had started having sessions together.

Two years had passed since Freya's death.

Merlin buried his face in his hands, letting out a long sigh of frustration.

It was the ninth night in a row that Mordred couldn’t sleep, tormented by nightmares. The bad dreams had been gradually worsening—from monsters chasing him, to waking up the previous night screaming that his father had died.

And his reactions had only gotten worse with each nightmare. Irritability, small tantrums at bedtime, and now, complete refusal to close his eyes.

Merlin was exhausted. His coffee supply had dangerously dwindled, and the bags under his eyes seemed to deepen by the hour.

He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. He had followed a bedtime routine religiously. He had cut screen time further and started exercising regularly with Mordred, just like the therapist and pediatrician had recommended.

Still, the nightmares didn’t stop. They just took brief pauses before returning even more viciously.

For a Friday night, Merlin felt unusually drained—and extremely guilty for having given Mordred a couple of melatonin gummies under the excuse that they were vitamins.

He put away the dinner leftovers in the fridge and sat on the couch, trying to relieve the tension in his back.

Again, Mordred had spent nearly a month attending therapy sessions through his iPad. Though Arthur had initially agreed to work Fridays, he quickly proved incapable of lying to Merlin. His excuses for Vivian's absence grew increasingly absurd until he finally confessed that both of them were off at Fridays.

"I gave her the day off. She had a manicure appointment. Then she’s taking a trial skydiving class." But Merlin's favorite excuse had been the time Vivian allegedly went out for lunch at 8 a.m. Eventually, they agreed Mordred's sessions would be every Tuesday, and Arthur would issue a special medical note to make up for his missed classes later.

These memories often filled Merlin’s mind lately, stirring a small spark of joy he hadn’t felt since Freya was alive.

At first, Arthur’s sacrifices had seemed merely sweet—he was doing it for his son, after all—but Merlin couldn’t deny he had started to wonder about the deeper reasons behind them.

Mordred had grown attached to Arthur. Maybe Arthur was just being kind out of pity. But sometimes, when he laughed with Mordred or comforted Merlin without being asked—it was hard not to believe there was something more.

A heartbreaking scream snapped him awake. Disoriented, Merlin bolted upright and reached for his phone. The light from the screen stung his eyes before they finally adjusted. 9:20 p.m.

Mordred had only slept for a couple of hours.

Merlin stumbled groggily to his son’s room. He opened the door and found Mordred in the middle of the bed, clutching the plush Arthur had given him.

His face was red, eyes shut tightly, chest heaving fast—so fast it made Merlin’s own chest tighten.

"Sweetheart?" he whispered, brushing the boy’s hair back, revealing a face still trembling and murmuring nonsense in his sleep.

"Mordred? What’s wrong?" he asked, harsher than intended, making the boy’s sobs intensify.

It wasn’t the first time Mordred experienced sleep paralysis, as Arthur had once suggested. But this episode was nothing like the previous ones.

Merlin was on the verge of breaking.

Twenty minutes passed. Mordred was still stuck in his trance. Merlin was alone again, and the heavy fog of exhaustion clouded his thinking.

He looked at his son again—curled in on himself, clinging to the King of Nowhere like a lifeline.

That sight triggered something in Merlin’s mind.

Arthur could help.

He grabbed his phone and dialed the familiar number. Two rings, and Arthur answered.

"Arthur, Mordred’s having a really bad episode. I need you," he blurted out. Formalities had long faded from their calls, often replaced by memes from their youth.

"Send me the address. I’ll be there in minutes," Arthur replied. Merlin could almost hear the smile in his voice. He hung up and shot a quick message with the address and a cat emoji: "Keys under the pot."

Back in Mordred’s room, the boy looked slightly less frantic. At least his breathing had calmed somewhat.

True to his word, Arthur arrived 20 minutes later. He let himself in quietly, heading directly to the only lit room.

"Mordred?" he called softly.

"Arthur!" the child cried, throwing himself into the blonde’s arms, burying his face in his stomach.

"I thought something bad had happened to you," he said between sobs.

Merlin and Arthur exchanged a slightly awkward glance. They both looked awful.

Still, something about Arthur’s disheveled appearance made Merlin feel oddly at peace—he reminded himself: Arthur is here as a friend.

Arthur hadn’t had time to change. He wore mismatched socks with slippers, plaid pajama pants, and a silly shirt that said “Dungeon Master” with two fire-breathing monsters.

Despite the reason he was there, it was an endearing sight.

"Nothing happened to me, little dragon. I was just feeding Papa Pendragon before I came over—I have to look after my old man," Arthur said as he gently combed Mordred’s hair.

It only took a song and a couple of stories for Mordred to fall into a warm, slow sleep.

The boy had clung to Arthur’s side, one hand gripping his, the other clutching the puppet. He was full of Arthur.

Merlin hadn’t left them for a second, closely observing how Arthur comforted his son, soaking up every detail through his exhaustion.

"Sorry, Arthur, what were you saying?" Merlin asked, standing at the same time as Arthur and reaching to turn off the bedside lamp.

"I asked if I could stay over. You clearly haven’t been sleeping well, and if Mordred has another episode, I can help," Arthur repeated, lowering his voice so as not to wake the child.

They walked shoulder-to-shoulder to the living room, turning on a lamp to push back the night.

The couch creaked softly under their combined weight, making them laugh awkwardly. Their knees touched. The warmth of it made the moment feel real.

Merlin wasn’t alone.

"Of course," he finally replied, pointing to a chest near the front door. "There are blankets and pillows in there—take whatever you need. The AC remote’s on the table." He spoke under Arthur’s intense gaze.

The way Arthur looked at him was one of life’s great mysteries. Those eyes always seemed to see more. They stirred something in Merlin’s chest he couldn’t name.

"Thank you… You have no idea how much this means to me," Merlin said, voice cracking slightly. He hadn’t noticed the knot in his own throat until that moment.

He also hadn’t realized when his heart had betrayed his wife and replaced her with Arthur as his emergency contact.

Arthur stayed silent for a few seconds, carefully choosing his words. Too sweet, and his crush would become obvious. Too cold, and Merlin might feel unwanted.

Instead, Arthur pulled him into a firm, warm hug. He smelled like clean clothes and body wash. His arms were solid and safe. He radiated protection.

No words could explain the devotion Arthur felt for that little family. Maybe he was afraid to say it out loud.

The fear of being pushed away was stronger than his honesty.

"You’re not alone, Merlin. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself," Arthur whispered, squeezing him tighter.

Those words shattered the armor Merlin had fought so hard to build.

He’d thought he’d done a great job hiding how lonely, lost, and vulnerable he was. But Arthur had seen it. And since then, he’d guided him, comforted him.

And even though it was terrifying—being seen and validated felt like a relief.

Merlin cried for hours, protected in Arthur’s arms. There was no doubt in his mind—Arthur was an angel in his life. He had never met a man so kind and sweet.

They said a soft “Good night. See you tomorrow,” even though the clock had already passed midnight.

Merlin tossed and turned under the sheets, unable to find a comfortable position. Again, his thoughts kept him awake.

But after crying so much, he felt oddly relaxed—even happy. Because he realized he wasn’t alone anymore.

His eyes landed on the cactus plush sitting on the nightstand. He still couldn’t sleep in his own bedroom, but in a moment of bravery, he’d brought the plush to keep him company.

Was it wrong to feel happy again? Did it mean forgetting Freya and how much he missed her?

“Mordred, I’m sure that when your mom sees you from heaven, it makes her happy to see you smile again and do what you love. Healing isn’t forgetting.”

The memory of that past session wrapped him in warmth.

Maybe Merlin was starting to fill with Arthur too, after all.

Chapter Text

Arthur woke up under Mordred’s cautious gaze. A pair of light eyes were nearly drilling a hole into his face with such intense focus.

“Good morning, little buddy,” the blonde mumbled, his voice hoarse with sleep as he sat up in his makeshift bed, lifting a fist to wipe the drool from his cheek.

Exhaustion had made him sleep like a baby.

“I’m hungry, Arthur,” Mordred replied, touching his stomach and pouting in a way that melted the man’s heart. In his free hand dangled the puppet, mouth open—apparently even the king was hungry.

“How about I go grab my backpack, you show me where the bathroom is, we brush our teeth, and then we make breakfast?” he proposed as he stood up and started folding the sheets. Such a simple task shouldn’t have felt so comforting.

“The bathroom’s at the end of the hall. I’m going to brush my teeth and change out of my pajamas. Thanks, Arthur!”

The therapist stepped out briefly to grab his backpack from the car, promising to be right back. When he returned, the home was still warm and wrapped in that quiet comfort unique to Saturday mornings.

Even with the limited hygiene options in his gym bag, he managed to take a decent shower and changed into some sporty shorts and a fitted shirt.

He really didn’t regret skipping his morning workout.

“Do I look too gay in this?” Arthur muttered as he applied a bit of solid cologne. “Damn it, you’re not getting ready for a date, Pendragon,” he scolded himself, still applying scent in all the right spots—except his hands, so as not to transfer it to the food.

Arthur could still vividly feel Merlin’s arms hugging him back, the warmth of the man against his chest, the soft scent of his hair.

As impossible as it seemed, that hug had turned his little crush into full-blown infatuation.

But that wasn’t just Merlin’s fault—it was Mordred’s too.

Maybe Arthur wouldn’t be so in love with the scruffy father if he didn’t feel so attached to his little one. Maybe he wouldn’t be so in love if seeing Mordred smiling at him with clean teeth and fresh clothes didn’t feel so natural. If waking up with these two didn’t feel so right.

And as incredible as love felt, Arthur knew he shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not so fast, and definitely not for the father of one of his patients.

He closed the bathroom door behind him, leaving his dark thoughts behind and giving the kid two thumbs up.

“Time to get to work,” he said with a smile.

They tiptoed into the kitchen, careful not to make a sound as they passed Merlin’s room, trading conspiratorial grins as they reached their destination.

Arthur moved a chair closer to the table where they’d be making breakfast.

He knew exactly six recipes by heart that didn’t end up a total mess like some failed chemistry experiment: nuggets, fries, veggie rice, spaghetti Bolognese (which technically counted as two), grilled chicken sandwiches, and pancakes. Pancakes would be their choice that morning.

He put on one of his playlists for inspiration as he started taking ingredients from the cupboard along with a couple of measuring cups.

“Can we add chocolate chips?” Mordred asked, shaking the bag until a small handful fell to the floor. “Oops…”

“Of course, little dragon. Add some to the batter while I heat up the pan,” Arthur instructed as he opened the window, letting in a breeze of fresh air.

Arthur and Mordred ended up covered in flour, with a milk splatter on Arthur’s cheek. The boy had sugar in his hair and vanilla on his nose from sniffing the bottle too enthusiastically.

Merlin stirred, a familiar, distant smell filling his room. With sleep-swollen eyes, he made his way to the bathroom and brushed his teeth until his body caught up to his mind.

He didn’t bother fixing his hair, wild curls escaping in all directions and falling gently over his ears.

He stepped out and headed to the kitchen, frowning at the song playing in the background. He remembered it being sharper.

Merlin looked up and was met with the beautiful image of the kitchen bathed in early sunlight. The warm glow softened the shadows, making the space feel larger than it was.

In the middle stood his soon to be wife, her gorgeous curls glistening as she flipped pancakes with a spatula.

“Ohh wee ohh, I just look like Bobby Holly,” she sang, swaying her hips.

“Freya! That’s not how the song goes,” Merlin complained with crossed arms, though the grin on his face was too wide to hide.

From where he stood, he could smell the pancakes perfectly—so sweet his stomach growled.

“You just love to correct people, Merlin Emrys. You’re going to be a pain in the ass to your kids,” Freya teased, pointing the spatula at him.

“I still have a few years to prepare for that,” he defended, stepping a little closer, his skin warming in the sunlight.

“I don’t think so,” Freya whispered with a timid smile, running her fingers through her hair. Her hair always smelled like chocolate, just like the kitchen.

Merlin smiled halfway, puzzled by her words. Maybe she was still upset from when he said he didn’t want more than one kid—she had always dreamed of having three.

“I’m pregnant,” she confessed, placing her hands over her belly.

Merlin tried to step closer, but a foul burnt smell interrupted his dream.

“Shit, Mordred!” Arthur shouted, tossing the burnt pancake into the trash, watching in distress as the plastic bag began to melt around the scorched dough disk.

A tall stack of oddly shaped but perfectly cooked pancakes sat on the table. Apparently, the duo had struggled with the last batch.

“I promise not to tell Dad you cursed if you let me curse the next time we cook together,” Mordred offered as he dropped the dirty dishes into the sink.

This scene was so different from what Merlin remembered, but so much more beautiful. The sincere smiles on their flour-dusted faces seemed to light up the kitchen even more than the sun. Their shared laughter filled Merlin’s heart with a warmth he thought he’d never meet again.

He loved watching them like this—and he adored the comfort it gave him.

He stepped a bit closer, peering over his friend’s shoulder at the mess on the counter and the pile of deformed but delicious pancakes. Merlin took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Arthur smelled clean, like a man—just enough to be noticed, not overwhelming. He might not have smelled like chocolate, but he smelled like home.

Little manipulative rat, Arthur thought, turning to find Merlin dangerously close to his face, apparently spying on the kitchen disaster.

The three of them stared at one another in awkward silence before bursting into laughter.

“So… you like Weezer?” Merlin asked once composed, deciding it was best to ignore the little argument he’d overheard. Likewise, Arthur decided not to bring up the slightly tearful look on Merlin’s face.

“Are you kidding? My dad gave me my first beer while we listened to ‘Pink Triangle.’”

“That’s a… peculiar choice for a father-son moment,” the older man admitted, grabbing a mug from the cupboard to pour himself some of Arthur’s coffee.

“Hey! It was perfect, okay? I was in love with this girl from school and thought she came over because she liked me. Turns out, she liked my sister.”

Merlin hadn’t expected that, and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I can’t believe someone could turn you down. You totally look like you were the football team captain.”

“Actually, I had a crush on the captain—he was this really cool guy with long hair. I was a winger,” Arthur corrected, watching as Mordred began setting the table for three, remembering with some nostalgia when he used to do the same as a kid.

“So you… both?” Arthur tensed slightly at the phrasing. Maybe this beautiful breakfast was the end of his gay fantasy.

“Yes, I’m bisexual,” Arthur answered shortly but firmly as he began placing the rest of the food on the table.

“Me too, well, kind of. If someone makes me feel something, it doesn’t really matter what they are,” Merlin added quickly, sensing the edge in Arthur’s voice.

The three of them sat down, Arthur at the corner with Mordred to his left and Merlin to his right.

The way the two silently competed for the blonde’s attention was almost comedic.

“I feel like Doni—she’s a friend from school who has two dads. If you were my dad too, that’d be awesome, Arthur. I love your pancakes,” Mordred said with a big smile as his fork fell into the pot of melted chocolate Arthur had prepared. “Oops, again.”

Arthur bit his lip under the expectant stares of both Emrys. He grabbed a napkin to fish the fork out, wrapping it to avoid making a bigger mess, and handed Mordred a clean one so he could keep eating.

Merlin took a sip of his coffee, hiding a smile behind the mug. It had just the right amount of milk and was the perfect temperature. The idea of Arthur co-parenting Mordred sounded right—he fit into their routine naturally.

“Careful, Arthur,” Merlin said lightly. “Keep this up and I’ll have to give you an official audition for the position of Dad #2.”

The man raised an eyebrow at the joke but felt confident enough to play along. “What are the requirements?” he asked, a bit more earnestly than he meant to.

“Cook, survive chaos, and put up with a very weird kid.”

“Dad, I’m not weird!” Mordred shouted, standing up and running to his room in a fit of laughter—a perfect excuse to avoid cleaning up.

“I meant me, actually,” Merlin confessed, standing to help Arthur clean the kitchen.

At 4 p.m., Arthur gathered his things after an afternoon playing with the family—and as the saying goes, time flies when you’re having fun.

“Thanks. Dad hadn’t made dumb jokes like that since… well, since Mom. I missed seeing him happy.”

Arthur hadn’t expected Mordred’s words to echo in his mind for the rest of the month.

Chapter Text

Arthur didn’t realize how fast time had gone until his favorite patient burst into the office, happily waving his report card.

“I did it, Arthur! I was the best in my class!” Mordred nearly shouted, running around the office. That little kid was a total champ.

Merlin had shared his concern about Mordred’s grades, which had dipped shortly after Freya’s death.

Gwen had confirmed that such behavior was expected in grieving children and that, as Mordred learned to manage his emotions, his grades would naturally improve.

What Merlin hadn’t expected was that his son would improve this much once a certain blond had become part of their routine.

“I’m proud of you, little dragon. I knew you could do it.” The therapist ruffled the boy’s curls, making him laugh.

“Stop it, dad!” Mordred protested, trying to push Arthur’s hand away.

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat at the word.

Dad...

The first time Mordred had accidentally called him that was the third time Arthur had stayed the night at the Emrys residence.

They had just finished watching the Arsenal vs. Tottenham game and ended up having their first argument, all thanks to their competitive spirits.

“God bless your heart, Merlin. It must be tough loving a team that specializes in almost making it to the finals.” Arthur’s smug grin widened as his fingers brushed Merlin’s while taking the soda can from his hands.

“Pfft, you haven’t even come close to winning the league in the last 20 years, Arthur. Don’t be ridiculous.” Merlin shot back, settling on the couch, glancing over his shoulder to check that Mordred was still playing in his room.

“When was the last time you actually celebrated your team winning a trophy? Besides, your team barely even has history.”

“That was a low blow, Pendragon.” Merlin clutched his chest dramatically, snatching the can back and taking a sip.

Sharing the can made it go flat slower.

It was just convenient.

Arthur definitely wasn’t happy about sharing spit with Merlin. He definitely didn’t enjoy putting his lips where Merlin’s had just been. Nope. Not at all.

“Sweetheart, we’ve got Bukayo’s dimples. We didn’t win the game, but he won my heart. Let’s make a bet—whoever loses the next game has to wear the other team’s shirt to all social events for a month,” the blond suggested, stretching to ease the tension in his back.

The couch was so comfortable that Merlin hadn’t even realized when he dozed off.

“Thanks for helping me fold my clothes, dad,” Mordred had said to Arthur after they’d put away the last of the boy’s shirts.

The child looked up at him with bright, hopeful eyes and just a hint of fear.

Arthur’s heart thudded in his chest.

He wanted this.

That afternoon with the Emrys family had felt perfect. Their routines synced so naturally, even Arthur forgot the weight he carried in his own heart.

The three of them had shared space without overshadowing one another. They helped each other, laughed together.

Mordred whispered a trembling apology, tears threatening to spill from his eyes out of embarrassment and panic.

Arthur slowly wrapped his arms around the boy in a strong, secure hug that didn’t end until Mordred started gently tapping his shoulder.

“Arthur, you’re squishing me.”

This wasn’t a moment for tears — Mordred needed to feel safe.

“Arthur!” Merlin called a little louder, snapping his fingers in front of the blond until he met his gaze again.

Those deep eyes always left Merlin in a daze, slowing his every thought.

“What were you saying, Mr. Emrys?” There it was again.

Merlin still wasn’t used to the way Arthur shifted between the man in his home and the therapist in the office.

How could someone look at him so differently when saying Mr. Emrys compared to calling him idiot while cooking in his kitchen?

Arthur was a nice guy.

A very weird guy, but nice nonetheless.

“I was saying… since Mordred got such good grades, we have this tradition of making a special dinner so…”

How could Merlin say it without it sounding too intimate?

Things with Arthur already felt too intimate, and the fact that it didn’t bother him was quietly terrifying.

The person who was supposed to be there for all these moments wasn’t anymore, and thanks to Arthur’s help, their little family had made peace with that. They were in a better place — mentally, at least.

But why did Arthur fit in so well… without feeling like a replacement?

“Would you like to join us for this semester’s special dinner?” Merlin tried to sound nonchalant, but the second he saw his son giving Arthur the world’s most pleading puppy eyes, his own façade crumbled.

He wanted Arthur there too — for all the important moments.

“Mmh, sure, but don’t forget our bet. You’ve got to wear my Arsenal jersey.” Merlin suddenly wasn’t so sure he wanted the man in his home.

An awkward silence settled between them. Merlin looked at Arthur’s face, then his feet, then Mordred, and back to Arthur.

“Well… thanks? For the invite,” Arthur said, breaking the tension, patting Merlin’s shoulder.

His hands were warm. Arthur was warm.

It almost felt like a hug. Merlin wanted a hug. He opened his arms, trying to catch the man in the comfortable embrace they usually shared during their goodbyes.

“Uh, what are you doing?” Arthur asked, frowning—not in discomfort, but in confusion.

Did Merlin mess up?

“I thought were going for a Hug.”

Arthur always seemed to know exactly what Merlin needed, especially at home. He’d rescued him from countless moments of pressure and, more often than not, exhaustion.

Merlin smiled again, feeling even his skin sulk at not being able to steal a bit of the man’s warmth.

Thanks to the almost magical communication they shared, the rejection hit harder than expected.

Why did Arthur act so differently in the office?

“No,” Arthur said, shaking his head with comedic exaggeration. Vivian, who had been watching from outside the office, laughed as the two men lowered their hands awkwardly.

Her heels clicked against the floor as she stepped in to drop a folder on Arthur’s desk.

To Merlin, she seemed distant. Not in a bad way—Vivian was always well-dressed, eloquent, composed. She was distant the way royalty is from commoners.

“Have a good afternoon, Mr. Emrys. See you next week,” she said before closing the door in his face.

She was… peculiar.

“Dad, you’re smiling.”

“Not now, Mordred,” Merlin muttered, shaking his head to himself.

Arthur was really nice guy.

And that woman… she kind of looked like him. The same sharp cheekbones, the same golden hair. Even similar lips — not that Merlin had been looking at Arthur’s lips or anything.

Were they a couple?

He’d never noticed Arthur wearing a wedding ring, except that platinum band on his index finger.

From the bottom of his heart, Merlin hoped those two were just friends.

Friday came far too quickly.

That day, Merlin and Mordred had gone out to buy groceries for their special dinner.

“Four-cheese pasta with bacon and steak,” Mordred requested with such conviction it surprised Merlin. The boy wasn’t even that into pasta.

There were still a couple of hours before Arthur’s arrival, but Merlin hadn’t stopped checking his reflection in the mirror.

Arthur’s shirt looked pretty good on him, even though he hated the plain design of Arsenal jerseys.

Arthur had gone on and on about Bukayo’s beauty during the last game they watched, so it was no surprise the shirt was number 7.

Merlin didn’t care what kind of man Arthur usually liked. He just needed to know, for friendly purposes, what kind of man Arthur found attractive.

He needed to know for Mordred’s sake — because if Arthur’s ideal type was a charming Black man with a dazzling smile and a kind heart, then maybe, just maybe, Elyan should stay far away from the blond.

Preferably in another city, divorced, with no kids in need of therapy.

The ridiculous and definitely uncomfortable shirt clung slightly to his biceps, and every time he moved, Arthur’s scent filled his lungs.

Arthur had been a very good man to return the shirt freshly washed and smelling perfectly — deliciously — like clean laundry and Arthur.

Merlin was in love with Arthur.
But he had nothing good to offer him, and besides, the man was just being nice.

The sound of the bell snapped him into motion. He robotically made his way to the door, fixing his hair and shirt, gripping the keys with trembling hands before opening it.

He felt fifteen again.

Arthur stood at the door, wearing black trousers and a red jumper. Simple, but enough to make him look painfully good.

Merlin cleared his throat and stepped aside.

“You have the keys, you could’ve just come in without the grand entrance,” he teased, helping Arthur carry his bags inside, ignoring how the man’s cologne was now seeping into every corner of his house.

“I don’t talk to losers, move it,” the blond said, sticking out his tongue playfully.

Once their hands were free, Arthur let out a low whistle — the kind you give a woman when she looks stunning, and you’re close enough to pull off that kind of compliment.

“I take it back, Merlin. Tonight, you’re dressed like a winner, so you can sit with us.” It was funny how confidently the man invited him to Merlin’s own dinner table to play Monopoly with his own child.

The power had clearly gone to his blond head.

“Arthur, do you really need to take a photo of our dinner?” Merlin asked as the therapist tried to find the perfect angle for his Instagram story.

“I have to document the moment Mordred beat you four times in a row — proving he’s not just a school champion but also knows how to kick his dad’s butt in Monopoly.” Mordred's laugh filled the kitchen.

Less than an hour later, the two men stood shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen.

Arthur washed the dishes while Merlin dried them.

Even wet, Arthur’s fingers were warm. Everything about the man radiated warmth. Radiated home.

The silence was comfortable — nothing needed to be said.

Merlin knew Arthur was happy.
Arthur knew Merlin was too.

When Merlin dried the last plate, he looked up — and found Arthur already watching him.

Those deep blue eyes were there. This was his moment — a moment where Merlin could selfishly imagine being the center of Arthur’s world.

All it took was that look to dissolve all the denial Merlin had built up over the past week.

Mordred had left them exhausted. They’d played all afternoon like any ordinary family.

Arthur had never made them feel like a burden or like they were broken. He joined them, filled the silences with laughter, the absences with affection.

His gift to them had been making them feel like a family again — and Merlin was deeply grateful.

Merlin was the first to step forward, with a soft smile and a longing look.

But it was Arthur who closed the distance.

Even though it was their first kiss, their lips greeted like old friends, always missing one another.

Arthur’s warmth wasn’t just in his hands or his personality. It was in his eyes, and now on his lips, taking Merlin in as if he were something precious. Irreplaceable.

Arthur’s lips tasted like grape juice and glory, pressed gently against Merlin’s.

Merlin couldn’t keep denying it — he couldn’t keep denying Arthur the chance to love him.

One kiss led to another, then another, until their mouths were sore from so much gratitude, so much silent wanting.

Between those kisses, their hands found each other, holding tight — chasing away the fear, reminding each other that they were right here.

Arthur wasn’t just being a nice guy.

Arthur was courting Merlin.

Chapter Text

“Good night, Merlin.”

“Sweet dreams, Arthur.” The man closed the door behind him.

They had kissed, and Merlin’s lips still tingled from the lingering contact.

The cold sheets welcomed him as he sank into the guest room bed, the mattress dipping under his weight.

A kiss could mean so many things.

Maybe Arthur was just being a nice guy and Merlin had misread their shared physical loneliness as emotional intimacy.

Maybe Arthur preferred to be some sort of friend with benefits… or maybe he’d only kissed him because of the tension and comfort of the moment.

That last thought made a lot of sense. If Arthur only wanted something casual, it would explain why he was so distant when Vivian was around.

It made complete sense that Dr. Pendragon would regard him so cautiously, especially when compared to Arthur—Arthur, who sang silly songs and told dumb jokes to put his son to bed; Arthur, who cooked dinner more than once, even when they were both exhausted.

Arthur, who had kissed him after doing the dishes.

They had kissed. It had been real. They did it until their lips were sore, until their mouths repaid an emotional debt long overdue.

But Arthur didn’t have space in his life for relationships, kids, or unnecessary problems.

Merlin brought a hand to his lips, still feeling the faint dampness of that kiss.

None of their kisses had wandered toward lust. It had only been their mouths touching—sharing what their hearts couldn’t speak.

At least, that’s what Merlin believed as he rubbed his lips, the chill of his fingers erasing the warmth of Arthur’s gentle kisses from just minutes before.

Even though it had been perfect, Merlin was already full of regret.

By morning, things would change. And Mordred would be the one hurt the most.

Kissing Arthur had been a massive mistake. Merlin wasn’t young enough anymore for reckless decisions.

Being a father didn’t give him the freedom to risk things like this.

He had to be strong—to keep Mordred safe.

Merlin shook his head, trying to drive away the thoughts spiraling out of control, when the first “If Freya…” crossed his mind.

Freya wasn’t by his side anymore. And Arthur wasn’t her. Merlin had to stop analyzing his life as if Freya were still part of it.

But even after a whole lifetime with her, two years of absence hadn’t been enough to make him see the world any differently.

He grabbed the stuffed cactus from his nightstand, running his fingers over its furry surface before letting out a long, tortured sigh.

Why couldn’t things just be easier?
Why couldn’t he just welcome Arthur into his life without all this awkward, complicated mess?

With a frustrated grunt, Merlin tossed the stuffed toy across the room and flopped onto his pillow.

The last thing he needed was a ghost from the past reminding him of everything he’d done wrong.

The last thing he needed was to remember how Freya had loved him, flaws and all.

Merlin needed to stop seeing Arthur as some heroic savior—someone who would magically fix his family and heal him with the power of love.

Arthur was Mordred’s therapist and mentor. Merlin didn’t have the heart to take that away from his son.

A couple of knocks on his door snapped him from his thoughts. Who could it be at 2 A.M.?

“Merlin? Are you still awake?” Arthur’s voice came softly, but loud enough to be heard.

The door cracked open just enough for Arthur to poke his head into the room.

He looked so young in his pajamas, hair sticking up in every direction.

The exhaustion in his eyes made Merlin’s heart ache.

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone charger. I left mine at home and I can’t sleep so... Do you want to have some tea?” Arthur hesitated, as if unsure whether it was a good idea.

Merlin didn’t have the mental strength to say no when Arthur’s eyes sparkled like a pleading puppy’s.

“Sure. I think I have some chamomile that might help us sleep.” Merlin got to his feet, skipping the slippers—maybe the cold would help clear his head.

Arthur’s phone was finally plugged into the wall while Merlin stood nearby, watching the man boil water in the kitchen.

Arthur had been thoughtful from the very beginning.
Was he like this with everyone?

He was always finding ways to help around the Emrys household—playing with Mordred, helping with chores, asking about Merlin’s day.

One day, Arthur would make an incredible father and husband.

The silence was comfortable—at least for the therapist.

Arthur looked content, his face gave him away, and Merlin wondered why he was the only one consumed by doubt.

Arthur placed two mugs on the table, each one with twin tea bags—chamomile and mint. The scent of the herbs alone was already calming Merlin’s nerves.

Arthur sipped his tea slowly, blowing on it with gentle puffs. His other hand played absentmindedly with the tablecloth.

Merlin placed his hand over Arthur’s, lifting his gaze to meet his eyes.

Once again, the blonde was the first to look up—fear flickered in his eyes.

“Arthur… what are we?” Merlin asked, clearly shaken. His voice cracked at the end.

Silence followed. Arthur lowered his eyes, ashamed, and Merlin’s throat tightened with the weight of it.

“We’re a lot of things that aren’t supposed to overlap,” the therapist said after a pause, glancing back up at him. Both of their hearts ached in unison. “But this is all about who we want to be… in the future.”

Merlin let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Arthur’s eyes still held that same tenderness and care.

Not everything was lost.

“Then, what do you want?”

“You. But only if you want me too. But not now. Not like this.” Arthur’s voice trembled as he said the words. Merlin squeezed his hand tighter, silently assuring him that everything would be okay. “Eventually, when the time is right.”

Merlin could wait an entire lifetime if needed.

“I want you to know this is wrong. Not because of how we feel... but because of everything else. Because of who we are. Because of what we are. Because of who Mordred needs me to be.”

Had Arthur really been carrying all of that on his own for so long?

Merlin’s admiration for him grew a little more with every breath.

“I can’t be both a dad and Mordred’s therapist. Even if he’s only coming to therapy twice a month now.” Arthur’s voice regained that natural steadiness that always grounded Merlin’s storming mind.

“So my proposal is… we keep going with this. Just not yet. Not until Mordred has a new therapist.”

Merlin responded with a flurry of nods. His emotions were a tangled mess—hope, affection (which he feared was sprinting shamelessly toward love), adoration, longing.

Arthur stood up to collect the cups, setting them aside to be washed in the morning.

Merlin watched him, a soft smile forming on his lips as he noticed Arthur’s socks.

“Arthur, your socks are inside out.”

“There’s a lot in my life that’s inside out, Mr. Emrys.” From his tone, Merlin could tell he was joking. “I’ve been kissing a very handsome man… before our first date.”

“Prat,” Merlin whispered, wrapping his arms around the therapist.

There were no more kisses that night, but at least—this time—Arthur gave him a proper goodbye hug.

Chapter Text

Arthur had summoned his friends for an emergency dinner at Leon's house.

Everyone was trying to fit into the tiny kitchen while Lancelot chopped vegetables for dinner. Slowly, the room filled with the aroma of food—and Arthur's anxiety rose with every passing second.

How would his friends react when he told them his secret?

He knew what he'd done was wrong. Telling Merlin had been a turning point in their relationship. One of the few moments when Arthur had felt 100% himself—flaws, fears, and all. Deep down, he wondered if Merlin would even like that unfiltered version of him. The one who was scared.

The idea of being rejected by his friends stirred a gut-punching panic, one that showed up as a tight knot in his throat and the watery eyes everyone was politely ignoring.

His hands felt ice-cold under the hesitant gazes of his friends. He wanted to bolt.

"I kissed him," Arthur whispered, eyes dropping to his hands as he braced for shouting or judgment that never came.

"Yeah, we already knew. Vivian told us," Lancelot called out from the stove.

Arthur blinked, stunned. How was that even possible? He hadn’t even told Morgana yet.

"Vivian? She's finding out just now," Arthur said, turning toward his friend, trying to figure out how—and why—she knew about his ethical disaster.

"Was that the first time you kissed him?" Vivian asked loudly, cold sweat trickling down her back. The others looked just as confused as Arthur.

"Wait, you two weren’t already having sex since the first time you went over to his house?" Gwen asked, hiding her grin behind her hand as she took a sip of grapefruit juice—the same brand Merlin liked.

"What makes you think that?!" Arthur asked, voice high with disbelief—not just at the assumption but at how not freaked out everyone seemed.

They didn’t hate him for breaking the therapist's code. They weren’t even mad that he’d gotten emotionally involved with Mordred’s dad.

"Arthur, you posted a picture where he was clearly wearing your favorite Saka shirt. The same one I begged to borrow for last season’s game and you said I could only wear it when you were dead," Leon pointed out.

Arthur groaned. That shirt had been bought at a charity auction—Saka had worn it during Arsenal’s legendary 3–2 against Liverpool. It was his favorite.

But letting Merlin wear it had felt… justified. For the honor of the team. And because Arthur was too much of a coward to ask for it back the next day.

The shirt had become a physical marker—a quiet promise to himself that he’d return to that little family once he had sorted everything out.

"That doesn’t mean we’re sleeping together. And Mordred’s been with us every time," Arthur said, folding his arms, his lips pouting. The nerves were finally loosening their grip.

He loved these idiots.

"So what you’re saying is—if you two had ever been alone, you’d already be honeymooning?" Lancelot chimed in.

Arthur wasn’t a teenager talking about his first crush, but the blush burning on his face said enough.

"Yeah, well… Merlin is pretty hot and built," Arthur muttered, eyes flicking to Vivian, who was definitely hiding something.

"Viv, how did you know I was serious about him?" he asked, grabbing his drink again to steady his voice.

"When you asked me to find a new therapist for Mordred, I already figured you were halfway to being the kid’s stepdad," she said simply.

She was sharp like that—and honestly, it was one of the reasons she was so good at her job.

"Then why aren’t you mad at me?" Arthur’s voice came out as a shaky whisper. This was it—his emotional climax. He couldn’t hold back the wave crashing inside his chest.

"Arthur, of course we’re not mad at you. Was it unethical? Yeah. Was it wrong? Meh. What we did see is how committed you are. Even stepping away from treating Mordred, knowing it might risk your bond with them… that was the right thing." Lancelot walked over and patted Arthur gently on the back.

"We could never be mad at you for doing the right thing," Leon added with a warm smile.

That was it. The words that broke him.

They always knew what to say. No wonder they were the group’s honorary dads.

Arthur’s first sob came out as Leon wrapped him in a warm hug.

He honestly didn’t know what he’d do without these people.

He was still wiping his eyes when dinner was served.

"Guys… you have no idea how awful I felt. I really thought you’d all hate me," he confessed.

Vivian’s heart cracked a little.

Even after all these years, Arthur was still so fragile, so emotionally constipated, it hurt to watch him go through it alone.

"Arthur, we all work with kids. Leon’s a nurse, Lance teaches self-defense to children, Viv’s your assistant, and I’m a schoolteacher. We know how complicated things get when you get attached to a kid—and their parent," Gwen said, gently wiping his tears.

Everyone was being so kind.

And even if Arthur didn’t think he deserved it, he had no words for how grateful he was to have met such beautiful souls in his life.

"I shouldn’t have gotten so involved before I could even draw the line," Arthur said once he’d calmed down, voice low but clearer.

"Stop with the what-ifs, Arthur. You did the right thing—and that’s what matters. The real question is: who are we meeting first—your sexy boyfriend or Lance’s ghost girlfriend?" Leon teased as they waited for Arthur’s dad to pick him up.

"Thanks, Leon," Arthur managed.

When Uther arrived, he didn’t mention Arthur’s red eyes. He simply watched his son get in, buckle up, and start fidgeting with his hands.

Classic Arthur. Uther braced himself for bad news.

"I’m… I’m seeing someone, Dad."

That was new. Arthur’s love life had been a ghost town since his last breakup four years ago.

"Oh? Where’d you meet her, son?"

Arthur’s jaw clenched. Of course his dad assumed it was a woman.

"It’s a he. And I met him about a year ago. He’s the father of one of my former patients."

Uther’s expression flickered—definitely caught the pronoun switch.

"Is this the guy whose place you’ve been crashing at?"

Arthur wished—for once—his dad wasn’t so sharp.

"Yeah, it’s him." The shame laced in Arthur’s voice was undeniable.

His entire life, he’d wanted to make his dad proud. The thought of disappointing him now stung almost as much as saying goodbye to Merlin that morning.

"Arthur, I told you—I don’t care if it’s a man or a woman. Everyone has needs. But a serious relationship with a man? That’s a whole different thing."

It always started like that—seemingly supportive, before he doused you in cold water.

"That kid needs a mother. You know how hard it was to grow up without one."

Yes. Yes, it had been hard. But it had also been hard to grow up without a father who ever showed affection.

Across the city, a sweet old lady opened the door to find her son and grandson arriving with a modest suitcase bursting with gifts.

"Grandma! Dad has a boyfriend and I saw them kissing!" Mordred shouted as soon as he stepped inside, hiding behind Hunith like she was a human shield.

Merlin’s heart stopped under his mother’s silent stare.

They stared at each other for what felt like hours. All Merlin’s nerves went haywire.

His ears were burning, his smile turned awkward, and his hand itched to scratch the back of his neck.

It felt exactly like being 15 again and getting caught skipping school to kiss your boyfriend.

Why hadn’t Mordred said anything sooner?!

The memory clicked: “We’re going to see Arthur again soon, right, Dad?” That had been his test. His confirmation.

That little gremlin had known.

The kettle whistled, breaking the silence, but Hunith’s face made it clear: the lecture was coming.

Hours passed quickly. By evening, the adults sat on the couch watching the news while Mordred’s snores echoed in the background.

"Merlin Morgan Emrys Ambrosius."

He straightened up. Full name? Not a good sign.

"What’s this about a boyfriend?" Her tone had all the maternal authority in the world.

"Maybe I kinda fell for Mordred’s therapist and want to date him soon," Merlin blurted out in one breath, voice shrinking to a squeaky whisper.

His mother looked at him with cautious affection, taking his hands.

The same gesture they used with Arthur when asking about his future.

He braced for disappointment.

"How long have you known this boyfriend?"

"Arthur. His name is Arthur. And I’ve known him for about a year and nine months."

"I see. You haven’t been the same since Freya died two and a half years ago."

Merlin knew that. It haunted him.

Arthur didn’t deserve someone who could only love halfway.

"I just don’t want you to get hurt. And that boy—Arthur—doesn’t deserve that either."

He’d thought this before, but hearing it out loud from someone other than his inner saboteur hurt more.

"It’s not what you think, Mum. He’s not like Freya. I don’t know why I love him—I just know I do. He makes me feel safe. He makes Mordred smile. Having him close feels… right."

Admitting that felt like a huge leap. He hadn’t been this honest in months.

And while it terrified him, saying it aloud changed something.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until his mother wiped his cheeks.

"I’m not mad, sweetheart. I just want you to be okay. I don’t want to see you suffer anymore."

Her hugs were still the best.

Though there was a new pair of strong arms threatening to steal the #1 spot.

They stayed like that until his tears stopped. Only the buzzing of his phone broke the silence.

Hunith chuckled softly, seeing Arthur’s name on the screen.

She ruffled his hair and kissed his forehead goodnight.

Once alone in the quiet house, Merlin realized how still it was—nothing like his noisy teen years.

His phone buzzed again. He answered, smiling like a puppy wagging its tail.

"I know I shouldn’t be doing this and you have every right to ignore me but—"

Arthur’s voice was raspy, stupidly attractive, even when babbling.

"I wasn’t ignoring you," Merlin cut him off before he could spiral.

"I missed your voice," Arthur whispered.

And Merlin’s heart flipped.

How could he not love this man?

"I missed you too."

They talked for a while—Merlin sharing how the trip was going, Arthur telling him about dinner and his friends’ reaction.

"Goodnight, Merlin," was the last thing he heard before the line went dead.

And it really would be.

His dreams were always better after hearing Arthur’s voice.

Chapter Text

“So sweetheart, tell me more about your dad’s boyfriend,” Hunith asked as she placed a batch of freshly baked cookies in front of her grandson.

“His name is Arthur and he’s the best grown-up in the whole world,” were the first sleepy words to leave the child’s mouth.

Vacations with Hunith meant Merlin got to sleep in while Mordred woke up early to break his dad’s rules—mainly, the ones about food.

That was the main reason his grandmother was his favorite adult, she let him have sweets before breakfast and after dinner.

“How does Arthur talk about your mommy?” the woman asked as she filled her cup with spiced tea.

Mordred took a few seconds to think, quietly munching his cookies.

Arthur always seemed very certain that his mom was proud of him, even from heaven. He’d reassure Mordred that somewhere out there in the universe, she was watching over them, and that she felt happy whenever he was.

“Arthur always says mom’s happy when I’m happy. He didn’t even scold me when I called him ‘dad’ because I was excited.” Mordred quoted cheerfully, humming as the warm milk went down his throat.

He noticed something change in his grandma’s face but he couldn’t quite tell what.

“Arthur makes Daddy happy too. He smiles a lot more when he’s home, so that makes me happy too.”

That was true. Mordred had missed that version of his father. And even if Merlin hadn’t gone back to being as joyful as he once was, the change had been huge.

Mordred reached to the side and placed the puppet that had once belonged to Arthur next to him with a bashful smile. Big kids didn’t always play with toys, but the King of Nowhere was more than just a toy.

“And who’s this distinguished gentleman?” Hunith asked, running her fingers through the yarn hair of the stuffed puppet. It had been crudely filled with fluff and stitched together with loose threads that looked ready to burst.

“This is the King of Nowhere. Arthur lent him to me so I could take him to see new places beyond his kingdom.” Those words kicked off a long tale about his adventures with the king many of which included Arthur himself as co-star.

By the time he was done telling stories, half the cookies were in his belly, and his second glass of milk was finished.

“So, Mr. Arthur sounds like a pretty important person in all of your lives,” Hunith said as she gently smoothed down Mordred’s curls. Soon, the boy would need a haircut so they wouldn’t cover his eyes.

The King of Nowhere had returned to Mordred’s lap, where he was now held in a tight hug. Arthur’s absence was already big enough, and deep down Mordred wondered why he couldn’t come along on vacation too.

“Sweetheart, you know that even if it looks like Arthur loves you a lot, he’s not your real dad, right?”

Mordred shifted in his seat, heart squeezing tight in his chest at his grandmother’s words.

“Mordred knows… but that doesn’t mean Arthur’s going to stop loving him. Family isn’t just blood, Mom. It’s in your heart.” The boy looked up, filled with hope as his dad started to defend Arthur.

Merlin had been awake for a while already. He’d taken a shower and shaved his beard, going back to the younger style he used to wear years ago.

That day, he had promised to take his mom and son to the town square, and true to his word, he was wearing Arthur’s shirt—as a shameful trophy of Tottenham’s latest defeat.

“Good morning to you too, son,” Hunith said, visibly regretful of what she’d just said.

“Yeah, good morning, Mom,” Merlin replied with a tight smile.

Oh no. His dad was mad.

That was a side of Merlin Mordred didn’t see often—and definitely didn’t miss. The last time was when he broke his mom’s favorite mug. Honestly, Mordred had been mad at himself too.

He hadn’t meant to harm something so precious. He just wanted to feel close to her again—to sit on her lap and hear her say everything would be okay.

He needed Arthur in that moment. The blond would know what to say and how to make him feel safe. But Arthur was far away—either at home or at work.

Mordred didn’t even know what Arthur’s home looked like. He imagined it as an extension of his office: colorful and full of silly stuff everywhere.

He also didn’t know “Papa Pendragon,” whom Arthur often bragged about.

Would Papa Pendragon be a cool grandpa like Ben 10’s or a grumpy one like the old man from Up?

Maybe Mordred didn’t know anything about Arthur’s life because...

No. Arthur would never think that way. He couldn’t play with him, listen to him, make him laugh, and turn their house into a safe place again if he didn’t love him.

But what if Mordred didn’t know anything about Arthur’s life because Arthur didn’t want to have him as a son?

His tiny chest began to rise and fall faster as his eyes started to sting with tears.

The puppet was still with him. His dad still had Arthur’s shirt. Both objects were very special to the blond. That meant he’d come back, right?

Mordred curled up in his chair, hugging his legs to his chest, the King of Nowhere tucked tight in his arms.

That way, it was easier to cry quietly.

Through his tears, he saw his grandmother’s face, now filled with sadness. His father, looking even more upset, left the kitchen.

Crying was scary. It also made your eyes burn and your throat hurt.

Fingers threaded through his curls, gently trying to get his attention.

“Mordred, someone wants to talk to you,” his dad said, waving his phone in front of him.

“Hi there, little dragon.”

That nickname made Mordred instantly look up. Arthur was on his bed, hair tousled and face still puffy from sleep.

“How’s the King of Nowhere?” Arthur had learned not to ask directly how Mordred was feeling.

Mordred couldn’t stop crying. Soon Arthur would be gone again, and his dad would be alone, and they’d never eat blond-made pancakes again.

"You know what, little dragon? I’m happy you’re on vacation, but I hate that you’re so far away,” Arthur complained, sitting up in bed and using his blanket to cover his chest—didn’t want to flash too much skin to the kid.

“I’ve missed you a lot. It’s way more fun being with you two and beating your dad at board games than listening to grumpy old Papa Pendragon complain about his back pain.”

That one little sentence cleared up half of Mordred’s doubts about Arthur’s dad.

“When you’re back, you’ve got to promise me you’ll come over for dinner—so you and your dad can meet the old Pendragon.”

Maybe Arthur really did want him in his life. Maybe Mordred was worth it.

“Your dad told me what you saw.” Mordred braced himself for the scolding that never came. “And it’s okay. I’m really excited to spend more time with you both, but we might not be able to see each other as often for a while. I’ve got some boring grown-up work to sort out. Will you wait for me?”

“I will, Dad.” Mordred nodded with extra enthusiasm, head bobbing half a dozen times.

His father left the phone in his hands to give him some alone time with Arthur and stepped out to the living room, where his mom greeted him with a hug in silent apology.

Something in mom-DNA made them physically incapable of apologizing with words. It was always hugs—and sometimes food to complete the ritual.

“I’m sorry, son. I misunderstood the situation,” she said, offering him her phone. Merlin took it, his face softening at the name of his late wife’s mother on the screen.

“Hello?” he asked hesitantly, hearing Freya’s mom laugh warmly on the other end.

“Hi, my dear. I was hoping to talk to Mordred, but Hunith said he’s busy. Still, I’m happy to talk to you.”

Her voice sounded more lively now. Maybe time was slowly healing everyone’s hearts—even if Merlin still didn’t know if he should consider his former in-laws family anymore.

“Hunith ratted you out, lovebird.” They shared a light chuckle.

“What I wanted to say, Merlin, is: don’t shut the door on love. Falling in love while you’re healing is allowed. And out there, there’s someone who’s ready to love this version of you—the one that hasn’t fully healed yet. You deserve love, even when you’re not at your best. Freya would’ve wanted you to know that.”

Apparently, this stay at his mother’s house was going to be full of tears and tangled feelings.

That night, Merlin was once again lying next to a peacefully sleeping Mordred.

And even though it was already late, a certain blond still had him tied up in a very important late-night phone call.

"So… your mom’s words were what made Mordred so anxious,” Arthur concluded. His voice sounded tired, but he was still listening closely to everything Merlin said.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t hard at all for me… um… for my Arthur to make him feel better.” That line was still a point of tension between the two adults.

If it were up to Merlin, they’d be celebrating an anniversary at an amusement park—while Arthur heroically endured the rides with Mordred.

“My dad didn’t take it well either. He’s worried about Mordred, about how things will go once his classmates find out he has two dads.” It was a valid concern.

Merlin felt selfish for ignoring such a basic point—something that could have a real impact on his son’s life.

“Hey. I can hear you overthinking, Merlin,” Arthur scolded gently, snapping him out of his spiral.

“It’s nothing. I’m just scared,” Merlin said, managing a tight smile.

“I’m scared too,” the blond whispered, and in t

he silence that followed, they simply stared into the void, full of longing.

Despite the physical distance, their hearts had never been closer.

Chapter Text

“Arthur, are you sure?” he heard his father ask as the two stood in front of the blond man's house.

His dad had plans to go out with Uncle Elyan, and Grandma wasn’t available to watch him that day.

“Of course! I know I said we should keep some distance, but you really need to go out with your friends. The least I can do is look after Mordred for one afternoon. Go on, go, shoo.” Arthur said as he took his hand and led him closer to the house.

Mordred didn’t know whether to feel nervous or disappointed. Arthur had stopped coming to their house, and their reunion was happening at his house instead.

It had been two weeks since that night they stayed over at Grandma’s, and their dinner with Papa Pendragon was in another two weeks, meant to officially meet as a family.

Arthur’s house looked cold and gray from the outside, with some bricks showing and lots of plants.

“Do you like them, little dragon? They’re old Papa Pendragon’s hobby.”

The plants reminded him of Mom and her boring job teaching biology to teenagers.

He didn’t usually talk much about his mom, but she had loved plants. They even had a scrapbook filled with leaves of all colors and sizes.

A scrapbook they had failed to finish together.

“They’re green,” he answered in a soft whisper, tightening his grip on Arthur’s hand.

“Before we go in, I have to say—my dad’s a bit grumpy, but he’s a good person. Says and does old man stuff.” Arthur opened the door, and to Mordred’s disappointment, the house didn’t look anything like he imagined.

The living room was big and nice, with a giant TV and a couch full of brown and gray pillows.

There were shelves with photos and some Lego toys he couldn’t recognize.

An old man was also part of the house’s decoration.

“Dad, this is Mordred. He’s staying with us today.” Arthur’s words came out tight and awkward.

After all, the old man wasn’t an ugly wax figure like Mordred had imagined.

His hands clutched the straps of his backpack as the man frowned at him.

Had Mordred done something rude to upset the old guy?

From what he’d overheard in his dad’s nighttime talks with Arthur, the man hated his dad and didn’t want him in the family.

So maybe Arthur’s dad hated him too.

“I’m Uther. A pleasure, Mordred.” The man held out his hand, and the boy took it cautiously—though he shook it firmly.

Arthur had taught him to never feel intimidated by anyone.

“Nice to meet you, Sir Mr. Uther,” he said, trying to hide the tremble in his voice.

“You’re a shy kid, huh?”

That question sent a ripple of fear through him.

Naturally, he pressed his fingers together for comfort, and—as always—Arthur placed his hands on his shoulders to reassure him.

Arthur was like a knight. He always knew when to save him.

“If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen, alright?”

Uther kept reading his book, and once Arthur was out of sight, Mordred sat on the couch—as far from Uther as possible.

Copying him, he pulled out his coloring book and started coloring in some leaves.

If Papa Pendragon was going to be his grandpa, he needed to be well-behaved.

Good boys were always welcome. Grandma's words.

“Why do you hate my dad?” Mordred asked, his little voice just loud enough for Uther to hear.

The man’s face stayed blank. How could this tiny little man dare to make such assumptions—and worse—question his judgments?

“Who told you that?” Uther asked, genuinely surprised.

“It’s rude to answer questions with more questions,” Mordred replied, never lifting his eyes from the book, peacefully coloring his dinosaurs.

“You always say I need a mom. Why do I need a mom?”

He turned toward Uther, using the book like a physical shield to protect himself from the man.

“That’s a good question, little one.”

Uther lowered his own book, hugging a pillow on his lap to look more relaxed.

“Don’t you think Arthur’s a bit... odd?”

Even though Mordred shook his head, Uther kept talking.

“All families need a mom—to care for the kids, help around the house. Moms just... know how to do certain things.”

Mordred furrowed his brow in total confusion.

Arthur and Dad already did all that stuff. Why would he need a mom to be taken care of?

“Sir Mr. Uther, Dad and Arthur already do all that. They take care of me, help me, make me feel better.”

“But Mor—”

“Do you like plants, Sir Mr. Uther?” Mordred interrupted, setting his backpack aside.

“Uh... yes, I like them a lot.”

“Can you show me them, please?”

They stared at each other, hesitant, but Uther eventually took the boy’s hand.

“Son, we’re going for a walk. Be back in a bit,” Uther said before stepping outside with the child.

“My mom liked plants too,” Mordred said, examining the leaves in Uther’s planters.

“Plants are like people, Mordred. They need the right things to grow. A plant without sun or water won’t thrive. Same with parents—mothers and fathers.”

Uther’s comparison made sense.

His mom once told him that sun and water were the food of plants. But he already ate a lot.

“But I’m a kid. I need love and food. Arthur gives me a lot of love and food, so I don’t understand why he can’t be my second dad.”

Uther was running out of arguments—and if he was honest, even beginning to doubt his own assumptions about his son.

The Arthur Mordred described felt so distant from the insecure, withdrawn, egocentric teenager Uther had raised.

“I already had a mom, and now she’s in heaven taking care of me. Arthur taught me that. He makes dad really happy—and me too. That’s why I want him to be my dad number two.”

Mordred bent down to pick up some fallen leaves that had caught his eye.

“I really missed talking about plants with someone. Now that Arthur will be my dad, that makes you my grandpa. Did you know I don't spend much time with my other grandpa? He has this weird job studying lizards, so he’s never home.”

Even though Uther wasn’t much of a dreamer, he had never really let go of the idea of someday being called Grandpa—even if that hope had wilted when Arthur came out as bisexual.

“I think I heard the ice cream van, Mordred. I’ll buy you one.”

Maybe Uther had been too hard on Arthur. What if the boy was right, and all anyone needed was a loving home to feel complete?

The idea of being called Grandpa by such a smart, thoughtful kid didn’t sound bad at all.

“What flavor do you want?” he asked as Mordred looked at the drawn ice creams on the menu, pointing to the most colorful one.

“I want that one, please.”

Uther checked the name of the ice cream, cleared his throat, and turned to the vendor.

“Two uh… Unicorn Snot and one Toffee Pudding, please.”

He paid and handed Mordred his ice cream.

He’d never admit it, but the Unicorn Snot had caught his attention too—though he grimaced when the cold dessert touched his lips.

It tasted of milk, vanilla, and a hint of white chocolate—totally different from the artificial, overly-sweet flavor he expected.

In silence, they walked back into the house, being noisily welcomed by Arthur, who had just stepped out of the kitchen.

“You two had fun on your walk? I see you’re eating something,” he said, eyeing Uther’s hands curiously.

The older man simply handed his son the toffee pudding ice cream.

Even though Arthur was nearing thirty, and Uther didn’t seem to know a big part of who he was, Arthur would always be his baby—and he would spoil him like one.

“Aww, you still remember my favorite flavor, Dad?” Arthur asked, sitting in the living room to eat with them.

It had been a long time since he’d shared a sweet with his father. Their love language had always been a little rougher.

Over time, Arthur had learned to treasure those gestures like gold.

“Uther survived?”

Merlin’s laugh flooded the call once Arthur finished retelling how the afternoon had gone.

“I’d say so. Mordred asked to see his garden and they talked for a long time… I think they forgot I was on the other side of the kitchen window, so I overheard some… sensitive stuff.”

“And you? How do you feel?”

Those kinds of questions always caught Arthur off guard.

He was the one always worrying about everyone else—and for it to be Merlin asking? It felt different.

Words just spilled out around him. No fear.

“I’m okay. Though… I don’t know how to feel about Mordred wanting me to be his second dad.”

“Even a child knows Arsenal—and all its fans—are second place.” Merlin teased, and Arthur could practically hear him grinning on the other end.

“Did you answer him?”

“Of course not, I was eavesdropping on their conversation. And it’s not time yet, Mer-lin.”

Merlin loved when Arthur said his name like that—half growl, half affection, always unmistakably him. It made Merlin’s heart beat faster.

“When the time comes… I hope the answer isn’t ‘no.’”

Arthur, in no possible reality, could say no to that proposal.

Not when it came from them.

Chapter Text

“Don’t you think that’s a bit much for dinner, son?” Merlin asked, adjusting his son’s bow tie. Mordred had put so much effort into picking out his outfit that it made the older man feel bad for even questioning it.

“No, Dad.” The confidence in his voice sent a chill down Merlin’s spine as he watched his son polish his shoes before slipping them on.

His son’s decision to show up so formally left Merlin mentally adrift.

Was his outfit even appropriate for the occasion?

He checked himself in the mirror a third time — dark green trousers and a black long-sleeve shirt, unbuttoned at the top.

It felt like a decent combo. Understated enough for a young dad to pull off.

Though maybe the black shirt made it too casual — especially with his hair still a tousled mess.

He rifled through his closet again, fingers brushing over various fabrics and prints, nothing really convincing him.

After ten long minutes, he settled on a white shirt and brown slacks.

Much safer. Much more comfortable. Feeling satisfied, he sprayed some woody cologne on his wrists and neck — his favorite kind.

Although, ever since a very blond someone had complimented that specific scent, the bottle had been emptying far quicker than usual.

He grimaced at his accessories. Everything was silver — except for one piece.

Even though his wife had passed away over two years ago, he still hadn’t been able to let go of his engagement ring. Merlin considered himself mostly healed, but he still stumbled over these small things.

Arthur didn’t know, but he had been the spark that had finally pushed Merlin to move on from much of the grief tied to his wife. His insightful comments always lingered, gently nudging Merlin’s perspective — with the quiet promise that healing led to better things.

Arthur had described Uther as deeply observant and introspective, which, if Merlin were being honest, intimidated the hell out of him.

Would Arthur still want a future with him if his father disapproved?

If Uther saw the golden band on Merlin’s finger, would he jump to the wrong conclusions?

Would he see Merlin as unworthy of his son’s love — not even over his past?

Or worse — think Merlin was just using Arthur as emotional rehab, like Merlin's mother once had?

Was it wise to wear such a personal relic from the past to what might be considered a first date?

Arthur deserved more. Even if this wasn't their official “first date,” meeting Uther was a turning point.

You don’t meet someone’s family unless things are serious. And if it weren’t for all the moral gray areas in their story, they’d probably already be official by now.

Merlin caught his own reflection again — tired, anxious, and yet... ready.

He wrapped his fingers around the warm gold band, pulling it off in a single motion. Any lingering doubt would only lead to regret.

Freya had been a beautiful chapter. But life had moved on. And now, Merlin had to give his whole heart to the family he was building.

As he placed the ring on a shelf in his bedroom, his ex-mother-in-law’s voice echoed in his mind.

If Arthur could love him, even when Merlin hadn’t completely healed, maybe — just maybe — that love was worth turning the page for.

“Let’s go, Mordred.”

The 20-minute drive to Arthur’s place flew by, despite two stops.

“Dad, we need to bring flowers,” Mordred insisted, pointing at a display in the market.

“The wine’s the gift, kiddo.”

“No, Dad. The wine’s for Sir Mr. Uther. The flowers are for Arthur. You’re boyfriends. Boyfriends give each other flowers.”

Merlin couldn’t argue with logic that adorable. And somehow, Mordred got his way.

Now, father and son stood at Arthur’s doorstep.

Merlin held the wine and bouquet; Mordred clutched a chocolate egg, grinning with anticipation.

What had started as a quick trip to the market had cost Merlin more than expected — emotionally and financially.

Merlin’s jaw nearly dropped when Arthur opened the door.

He wore a simple red shirt and dress pants. His damp hair hung over his forehead.

Seeing Arthur in such a casual, domestic look always scrambled Merlin’s brain.

“Evening. Right on time — Dad’s setting the table,” Arthur greeted them warmly, completely unaware of Merlin’s heart doing somersaults.

A small kick to the leg snapped Merlin out of his trance.

He looked down to see Mordred signaling at him with increasing urgency.

“Uh — I know you said not to bring anything, but I brought wine... and flowers. For you,” Merlin stammered, uncertain, suddenly nervous at the idea of being rejected.

Arthur blushed, taking the bouquet. He tried (and failed) to look cool.

One of his many tells Merlin had memorized and grown to love.

Their fingers brushed during the handoff — brief but electric. Merlin smiled, echoing Arthur’s own.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered, eyes bouncing between Merlin’s face and the bouquet.

“YEAH, YEAH, WE GET IT,” Mordred huffed, pushing them inside. “I’m hungry.”

He headed straight for the kitchen, trailed by two very amused adults.

“Good evening, just in time,” Uther welcomed them, pulling a lasagna from the oven.

It was no secret the elder Pendragon knew his way around the kitchen — though since his wife’s passing, he’d stuck mostly to basics.

He wore blue jeans, a white shirt, and a red crochet sweater.

From Mordred’s dramatic descriptions, Merlin had expected someone taller. And scarier.

They all settled into pleasant conversation, the warm clinking of cutlery filling the Pendragon kitchen.

“Dinner was delicious, Sir Mr. Pendragon,” Mordred declared, earning a smile from the older man.

Arthur was pleasantly surprised. His father had been remarkably polite — and talkative — within reason.

Merlin had expected a cold reception, maybe even a rude comment or two.

“Having you here has been a pleasure,” Uther said, standing to clear the dishes. Despite his gruff reputation, he had a gentle side — when given time.

“I still think kids need a mother, but more than that, they need someone brave enough to fight for them and push them to chase their dreams. And if you raised such a fine little gentleman like Mordred…” He winked at the boy, who giggled and kicked his feet under the table.

Without realizing it, the roles in Merlin’s family had reversed. Now it was Mordred giving him the chance to be part of something more.

“If you are the man my son has chosen to love, I can’t deny him that happiness. In fact, I think... you're adequate, the right person for the job.”

That was it? Merlin almost couldn’t believe how easy it had been to earn Uther's approval — especially after all of Arthur’s dramatic warnings.

“Thank you, Mr. Uther. Over these past months, I’ve come to truly cherish Arthur, and I’m honored to have the chance to love him — openly.”

Uther nearly smiled at that. He patted Merlin’s shoulder.

“It’s too late to head back. You two should stay over. I’ll go set up the guest room. Finish your dessert.”

Mordred followed him under the excuse of being sleepy — leaving Merlin and Arthur alone again.

“That... was all real?” Merlin asked, drying dishes as Arthur washed them with almost exaggerated care.

“As real as all the lasagna my dad forced on you.” Arthur grinned.

He always knew how to lighten the mood — always knew just what to say. Merlin adored that. He adored a lot about Arthur.

Once the last plate was shelved, Arthur turned to him, eyes soft and shining with something that looked a lot like pride.

Merlin reached up, gently cupping Arthur’s chin, pulling him into a kiss — short, but charged with meaning. He’d started this whole kissing thing, after all.

“Sleep with me. In my room,” Arthur said, no hesitation, drunk on affection.

It had been so long since Merlin had shared a bed with someone he loved romantically.

Too many nights without the warmth of a comforting embrace had chipped away at his self-worth.

“Sure,” he said, easily. “Just lend me some pajamas.”

Being with Arthur always warmed his heart. The man effortlessly drew out Merlin’s best self. And no matter how much he tried to fight it — Merlin couldn't not be better around him.

More relaxed now, he followed Arthur through the house. The décor was neutral, lived-in, sprinkled with plants and framed photos.

Lots of windows too — some facing the garden, others the flowerbeds Uther maintained.

Mordred had been right, some of the plants looked exactly like the ones that once lived at home — now thriving under Freya's mom care.

Merlin had a knack for killing anything alive. Mordred and one lucky goldfish were his only long-term survivors.

“I hope you don’t mind joggers. My shorts would be too big on you. You can change while I brush my teeth.”

Merlin didn’t miss the little flash of excitement in Arthur’s eyes before he slipped into the bathroom.

Even something as simple as staying the night clearly meant a lot to him.

Merlin changed, neatly hanging his clothes on the hanger Arthur had left out.

Arthur’s clothes smelled like him — soap and home. A scent Merlin didn’t get to experience often, but had memorized all the same.

Arthur was a full-sensory experience. Especially when he was being an absolute pain in the ass.

“There’s a new toothbrush on the sink. Let me know if you need anything,” Arthur called.

He slipped under the covers, instinctively taking the middle of the bed — like a giant, spoiled baby.

Brushing his teeth in an unfamiliar bathroom stirred up memories. Old sleepovers. Freya’s parents’ house. That kind of intimacy — being in someone’s home like this — it meant something.

Merlin placed his toothbrush in the same cup as Arthur’s.

The same sight that had once gutted him now felt like hope.

He walked back to the bedroom. The bed loomed in front of him — another step in their relationship.

Just... climb in? That’s it?

Despite being a popular kid in school, Merlin had little dating experience. Two long-term girlfriends had robbed him of any casual romance phase.

He snapped out of it when a pillow smacked him in the face.

“Stop being a dork and get in bed,” Arthur grumbled.

Merlin obeyed like a well-trained dog. How could he resist a pouty, bossy man that cute?

He slipped under the covers, hissing at the cold sheets, turning his back to Arthur — who was glaring, adorably, with a frown.

For his own sanity, Merlin had to stop thinking everything Arthur did was cute.

“You’re supposed to cuddle the person you like when you sleep together for the first time. Or at least look at them. Or kiss them ‘til you pass out.”

“Sure. If the person you like doesn’t wake up looking like a soggy chick covered in drool.”

Merlin grinned, recalling a sleep-deprived Arthur barely functioning after an all-night Mario Kart session.

“I meant what I said to my father,” Arthur whispered, voice suddenly shy.

“What part?” Merlin asked, equally quiet, not wanting to disturb the magic of the moment.

“About wanting you in the family.”

Arthur’s hands fiddled with the blanket edge, nerves showing.

Merlin placed a hand on his hip, letting his fingers rest against warm, soft skin.

A comfortable silence settled between them.

“You don’t realize it, but you’re an amazing dad,” Merlin said gently.

Arthur’s fingers tangled in his curls, and their legs shifted into a more natural tangle beneath the sheets.

“I just want to be his Arthur. Your Arthur too… if you’ll let me.”

Few words. But they hit Merlin right in the chest.

Arthur meant home. Safety. And above all — like any true knight — Arthur meant hope.

Merlin’s hand slid down further, fingertips tracing circles over taut skin, his desire rekindling with each inch.

Arthur was stunning — beautiful and sweet and devastatingly irresistible.

“Arthur…”

“Merlin…”

Their lips met again.

Kisses thick with longing, hands exploring what words hadn’t yet touched.

Merlin bit Arthur’s lip gently, savoring the little gasps and reactions — selfishly wanting to hoard them all.

Arthur clung to him, pulling them into a deeper kiss.

Their tongues danced, breathless and honest, parting only when oxygen became a necessity.

“I love you,” Arthur whispered, eyes locked on his.

And Merlin — heart full, future wide open — whispered back “I love you too. I’ve loved you for a while.”

Chapter Text

It had been a long time since Merlin had slept as soundly as he had the night before.

Arthur's arms hadn’t left his body for a second, and every time he tried to move away to change positions, a sleepy whimper from the blond would ruin his plans.

Just like he’d mentioned the night before, when he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the therapist’s drooling face and his messy hair forming a halo of golden strands around it.

Waking up with Arthur could become one of his favorite moments of the day.

With a heavy heart, the dark-haired man pulled away from the embrace not before leaving a small kiss on the blond’s cheek, appreciating the calmness on his face for half a dozen seconds.

His magical moment was interrupted when his bladder reminded him why he had woken up.

The room felt noticeably warmer than the night before, but he still picked up a T-shirt from the floor and slid the cool fabric over his torso.

His trip to the bathroom didn’t last long, just enough to empty his bladder and clean up enough to be presentable for his son and almost-father-in-law.

Weekends were for lazing around, even if he was in someone else's house.

Making as little noise as possible, he left his host’s room hoping the man could rest a few more hours especially after falling asleep horribly late the night before.

Arthur’s kitchen was lively, with Uther tossing eggs into the air and skillfully catching them in his pan.

There was no doubt where the blond had gotten his pancake-juggling skills.

“Want another toast?” the old man asked, looking at Mordred, who was finishing the last of his second toast with a smile so wide it barely fit on his face. Uther’s show was clearly entertaining him.

“Yes please, Sir Mr. Uther.” The little one brought a steaming mug to his lips, which Merlin guessed must be milk or hot chocolate.

“Good morning, Merlin. There are mugs in the cupboard and coffee on the table. Eat something before Arthur wakes up and drags you both around the city.” Uther pointed to each location with his pan in a way that vaguely reminded Merlin of Gordon Ramsay.

Both men could be quite intimidating, yet with a soft heart when it came to children.

“Good morning, Mr. Uther. Good morning, son.” He greeted, slightly surprised by the sleepiness in his voice, eight hours of solid rest hadn’t saved him from sounding like some kind of sleep zombie.

Merlin grabbed a large red mug and began filling it with coffee, watching how the black slowly consumed the red of the cup.

He hadn’t noticed the heat-reactive stencil covering the mug, so he drank in total ignorance of the “Idiot #1” written on the ceramic.

Each sip woke his brain and brought him back to the bitter reality of adult life.

Now that Arthur was more or less officially his partner, many things were going to change.

Not just in his routine but in his home as well—there were still many boxes that needed to be donated after being reviewed by his ex in-laws.

Apparently, weekends would now include family outings again, just like when Freya was with them.

Freya...

Merlin hadn’t thought about her directly in a few days, and realizing that filled his heart with guilt.

He still missed her—but not as a woman, wife, or mother. He missed her as a confidant and friend.

The night before, he had definitely not honored the memory of his late wife by being shameless with his son’s therapist.

Though now, Arthur was no longer Mordred’s therapist. In fact, Mordred’s sessions with Percival were due to begin in a few days.

That memory hit him square in the face.

Merlin had forgotten to tell Mordred that, for Arthur to become his second father, he could no longer be his therapist.

It had been a difficult conversation for both adults.

Merlin remembered Arthur’s worried face, asking him to slowly explain to Mordred that they needed to keep both relationships separate so he could start getting used to seeing Arthur as a father and not a therapist.

As if his thoughts had summoned him, the blond walked into the kitchen clean, groomed, and wearing a fresh outfit.

He looked so good moments after waking up that Merlin and his sleepy face died of envy.

“Good morning, little dragon,” Arthur greeted, ruffling Mordred’s hair, who frowned at the gesture.

Lately, his son had entered that childhood stage where he rejected affection under the excuse of being a big boy.

“Are you excited for Thursday?” he asked, following the same steps Merlin had earlier.

“Good morning, Dad.” He greeted Uther with a clink of mugs in a coffee toast before turning to Merlin, letting his lips brush his in a small morning kiss that the sleepy Merlin didn’t fully register.

Arthur’s mug read “Pussy Slayer” with a ridiculous photo of a sword-wielding cat.

“Good morning, love. Nice mug.” Arthur’s tone put Merlin on alert, prompting him to turn his mug around and read the bold letters mocking him.

Merlin was a very lucky guy.

“What’s on Thursday?” Mordred asked, his little voice full of curiosity and hope that Thursday would bring fun.

His chocolate mustache made him look quite funny.

“You’re going to meet your new therapist, right? Percival.” Mordred’s face twisted into a panicked grimace, and Arthur looked at Merlin for answers.

All the attention in the kitchen fell on him.

Uther looked at him questioningly, Mordred with fear, and finally Arthur with disappointment.

Each look hurt more than the last.

“The kids at school were right...” Mordred’s whisper cut through the kitchen’s silence—even Uther, who had been joking for most of breakfast, was now quiet.

“They were right. You’re going to leave me.” His little voice rose, his hand pointing accusingly at Arthur.

“Little dragon, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Could you just—” Arthur was abruptly cut off by Mordred.

“You’re going to leave me alone.” Mordred repeated, holding back tears. “I hate you, Arthur.”

Arthur froze in place, visibly shaken by the words.

Mordred ran out through the patio door at a concerning speed.

None of the adults had fully processed what they’d just heard.

Merlin didn’t even want to imagine how his little one was feeling.

For the first time in a long while, it was his fault.

And for the first time in a long while, he wished his ex-wife were alive to comfort him.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I forgot to tell him.” Arthur’s face now bore an expression quite similar to Mordred’s moments earlier, distorting his handsome features into something devastating.

Disappointment, fear, and distrust twisted into a grimace.

Merlin ran off in search of his son.

A child with unresolved emotions and no supervision could cause an accident.

Merlin wasn’t ready to lose anyone else—not after finding what he considered the new love of his life.

Mordred hadn’t gotten very far, as he didn’t know the neighborhood where Arthur lived very well.

He was curled up beside Merlin’s car, using the body of the vehicle to hide from any visitors.

The dark-haired man knelt down to his son’s level, staying silent. The little one hugged himself as tears streamed freely down his cheeks.

“I want to go home, Dad.” Mordred whispered, using his fists to wipe his cheeks.

It hurt to see his son pretend to be strong.

“There are things I couldn’t explain to you, son, but Arthur isn’t bad.” Merlin tried to reach out to touch his son’s head, but the boy pulled away with a grimace of displeasure.

That was his gesture with Arthur. Only Arthur could mess up Mordred’s hair without earning a death threat.

“I don’t want to hear more lies, Dad. No more lies and no more Arthur.” The man sighed bitterly.

His happiness hadn’t lasted long.

Naturally, men tended to be stubborn, but Arthur’s stubbornness reached astronomical levels.

The blond had refused to respond to any of the messages Merlin had left him.

They had both agreed that the dark-haired man would start talking to Mordred, precisely to avoid future problems in their carefully constructed family.

Holding Merlin’s shirt in his hands had triggered a nervous breakdown.

The piece of fabric wasn’t to blame, but as he picked up the soft cloth that still smelled like the man, a wave of painful memories overwhelmed him.

Years of studying had taught him how to handle other people’s emotions and feelings, almost never his own.

Arthur knew Merlin wasn’t perfect, and it was totally valid for him to forget things, but forgetting agreements was something completely unacceptable to the therapist.

Arthur still hadn’t fully processed the look of anguish Mordred had given him.

It wasn’t fair—especially after all the effort the therapist had made to choose someone who could take care of his son with the same dedication he did.

Maybe that’s why it hurt so much: he had reached the point where he considered Mordred his own son, and seeing the rejection on his face had shattered his heart into a million pieces.

And even if it was a selfish thought, it hurt even more because Arthur wanted to be recognized by that little family. He wanted his efforts to be validated by both of them.

The blond had had three meetings with Percival in the previous weeks to organize the guidelines he had left pending for Mordred.

Arthur had arrived in a rush at Percival’s office, carrying a couple of folders related to Mordred’s case study.

“Good afternoon, Arthur,” Percival had said, standing up.

From his conversations with Vivian, he knew the man was tall, but his height still managed to surprise him.

“Good afternoon, Percival. It’s good to see you again.” Arthur couldn’t hide his smile as he placed Mordred’s files on the table. As Percival flipped through the pages, many memories of his progress with the boy came flooding back.

Percival was Vivian’s cousin. The man was about ten years older than both of them, so even though their families were close, they’d never had the chance to build deep bonds.

Although his therapy focus was more on adolescents, Percival knew very well how to handle social adaptability issues—which had been one of Uther’s suggestions.

The old man was quite concerned about how Mordred’s life would change once it became common knowledge that he had two dads.

Percival was also happily married.

All those qualities made him the perfect candidate to be Mordred’s new therapist.

“From what you’ve told me, you’ve done all the heavy lifting, but I have one question, Arthur.” Percival had patiently addressed all his questions and suggestions.

The man was receptive and cautious in how he handled information but without censoring important concepts.

“Of course. I’m all ears.”

“Was our conversation today from professional to professional or...?” Arthur had been clear in stating that the reason he couldn’t continue Mordred’s therapy was due to a conflict of interest, but even so, the older man didn’t want to be invasive or presumptuous about the relationship.

“Today was from father to therapist. I’m entrusting you with one of the most precious people in my life.”

The sound of his phone pulled him from his thoughts. He answered without checking the caller ID—given the time, it had to be something important.

“Hi?”

“Arthur, you can’t just cut me out of your life, we—”

It was Merlin. He sounded tired, likely not having a good day with Mordred, though if Arthur allowed himself a bit of immaturity and unprofessionalism…

This was Merlin’s own fault for not sticking to their agreements.

“I’m not cutting you out of my life. I’m just letting you deal with the mess you created.” The words escaped his lips without thinking, and Merlin made no effort to hide the gasp of surprise on the other end.

Even if it wasn’t Arthur’s intention, he was sure those words had hurt him.

“I was just trying to protect my son from more pain.”

“It’s bold of you to suggest that keeping him away from me is protecting him from pain.” Arthur paused before continuing, the urge to cry making it harder to speak.

“You were the one pretending everything was fine. Because of you, Mordred hates me.”

“I pretended because you acted like we were one big happy family. You acted like this was all a fantasy without consequences. Forgive me for not accepting more of your pity.”

Arthur had never heard Merlin’s voice with those shades of sarcasm.

Being a therapist meant recognizing that people could say hurtful things when frustrated, but that didn’t make the words hurt any less.

These words were especially painful—his intentions had always been the most noble.

Even the payment checks Merlin had given him were still in his nightstand drawer, inside a folder labeled “For my boy’s future”.

“I did what I did out of love. I loved being there for you two. I loved being there for Mordred… for you. But clearly, that doesn’t matter to you.”

His voice cracked toward the end of the sentence. Arthur didn’t want to hear another word of that conversation.

“Your pity doesn’t matter to me, Arthur. It never did, so please stop acting like you're part of my family.” The blond let out a choked sob before hurling his phone away at the peak of his nervous breakdown.

Because of the distance, he didn’t hear Merlin’s repeated apologies and desperate pleas for forgiveness.

A couple of heavy tears rolled down his cheeks.

He wasn’t a teenager anymore, crying over a breakup.

But even without the title, Merlin had been much more than just a boyfriend.

Arthur grabbed the pillow Merlin had used to sleep on a few nights before—the same one he’d hidden on his chair to avoid reliving all the painful memories of the past few days.

The man began twisting and punching the soft cushion, deeply disappointed, angry, and above all… heartbroken.

Deep down, Arthur wished that pillow were his own face.

The therapist hated himself for still caring so much about the mental state of the man who had broken his heart

Chapter Text

Percival was nothing like Arthur, and Mordred hated him for that.

His office had no toys or colorful walls; instead, there was a mannequin in the middle, a pair of boxing gloves, and a couple of boring chairs.

Although there were some things Mordred didn’t quite understand.

There wasn’t a pretty girl like Vivian making him wait while coloring. Instead, there was a man with a big nose and long hair named Gwaine.

Gwaine was Percival’s husband and took care of cleaning the office, doing the paperwork, and watering the plants.

“Good morning, Mordred. How are you?” The older man stood while arranging some things in the office.

“I don’t want to be here,” Mordred said bluntly, crossing his arms and staying motionless near the door.

“Arthur told me how you feel.” Percival knelt to the boy’s level, analyzing each of his reactions with gentle eyes.

When Mordred squirmed uncomfortably at the mention of the blond’s name, Percival knew he had hit the mark.

“Arthur told me you’re angry, and being angry is okay. We feel lots of emotions,” Percival assured once Mordred’s eyes returned to his face.

According to Arthur’s notes, Mordred always paid more attention when his feelings were validated.

“But anger is…” The man turned around to grab a pair of boxing gloves from his desk.

Percival handed them to Mordred.

The gloves were black and quite heavy. They were likely new, because unlike another pair Mordred had seen in the room, these had no signs of use.

“Anger is like this pair of gloves. They’re heavy, but they protect you when you hit something hard.”

Percival stood up, standing next to the mannequin in the middle of his office.

Mordred followed him silently, putting on the gloves and giving the dummy a punch.

Percival was right; his arm felt heavier, but it didn’t hurt when his hand hit the mannequin.

With the blond in mind, Mordred threw several more punches at the dummy until his arms grew tired.

Percival simply watched him, patient, waiting for Mordred to respond.

He didn’t like silence, and Arthur knew that. When they were together, the blond rarely stopped talking.

“I don’t want to talk about Arthur.”

“We don’t have to talk about him, but we do need to talk about what you have right here.” Percival tapped the mannequin’s chest a few times.

The man was much more physically reserved, while Arthur had been full of hugs.

“When you’re angry, words come out like the punches you just gave that dummy. What would happen if that dummy were me?”

Percival asked very obvious questions — that annoyed Mordred.

His eyes landed on the mannequin. Its silicone body was already somewhat old, so his punches had left small dents in its torso.

“You’d be hurt.”

“The mannequin doesn’t cry, doesn’t feel, doesn’t listen, doesn’t leave. People do, and—”

Mordred cut him off, wrinkling his nose and doing everything he could to hold back tears.

“I know. I know people leave.”

“Arthur told me what you said. Do you think he’ll forget you just because he’s not your therapist anymore?”

Mordred punched the mannequin again.

“...No,” he answered in a whisper, looking up to see the man, who gave him a sly smile.

“Then why did you say you hate him?”

Mordred didn’t know. He didn’t know why he had said that. He only knew he was scared.

He was terrified and missed Arthur.

He hated Arthur for making his heart hurt, but he hated Percival even more for making him think about it.

“Because it hurts and he doesn’t get it!” Mordred shouted, his voice breaking as he threw another flurry of punches at the mannequin.

Percival stopped him a few seconds later.

Inside the gloves, his hands were sweaty, and his cheeks were red from the effort and anger.

He didn’t want to stop; he wanted to keep hitting the mannequin.

“Mordred, punches aren’t for the people we love. Neither are the words that hurt. Do you want to learn how to let out anger without hurting anyone?”

“I want to,” Mordred confirmed.

After stopping, exhaustion hit him all at once. Even with the office air conditioning, he could feel his curls damp with sweat.

“Good. Wanting to get better is the first step toward change.”

Gwaine opened the door, bringing in a pitcher of cold water and a stone in his other hand.

“What’s that?” Mordred couldn’t help but ask, eyeing the stone with wide eyes.

“This is Rupert. Rupert and Peter are our pets,” Gwaine said, placing the stone next to another similar one.

“They’re not just pets, they’re a memento,” Percival corrected, giving his husband a look Mordred could only describe as scolding.

“What’s a memento?” the boy asked, unable to hold back. Sometimes, Percival used weird words like Arthur.

Maybe the muscular man was a real therapist, and not just a very bad impersonator.

“A memento is something that helps you remember, Mordred. Once, I was very angry with Perci and threw a rock at him because he said something that hurt me,” Gwaine explained, sitting in the chair Percival should’ve been in.

“That happened a few weeks before our wedding. When you’re hurting and act from pain, you only create more pain, Mordred.” Gwaine went on, smiling as he looked at both stones.

“Then we sat down and talked, and we realized that by being hurt, we made the other feel worse. It’s not worth ruining love or friendship just because something hurts,” Percival concluded, placing both stones on a shelf.

Those two men were weird.

“You know something, Mordred? Arthur told me he misses you. I’m pretty sure you miss him too,” Gwaine said as he stood up to sneak out of the office.

If that was true, then why had Mordred stopped seeing and hearing anything about Arthur?

Even when he stayed up late, he never again heard his dad’s phone conversations with the blond.

Mordred poured himself a glass of water, drinking it quickly until his brain hurt from the cold.

The water had calmed the anger in his heart a little.

He would never admit that Gwaine’s words had touched something deep inside him.

Even a month after his first session with Percival, those words still echoed deep in his heart.

“Mordred, I need you to pay more attention in class.” Guinevere, his teacher, had knelt to speak to him.

Mordred was more distracted than usual.

The truth was, Mordred no longer wanted to go to school.

Lately, things with some of his classmates had been tense, to put it mildly.

“It’s recess time, little one. Go eat and have fun with your friends.”

“Can I stay in the classroom?” Mordred asked, putting on the face that always made his dad say yes.

Well, almost always. It hadn’t worked when he asked his dad to bring Arthur back.

“You can’t, sweetheart. I need to go to the teachers’ lounge to talk about boring stuff and drink boring coffee.”

When the sun hit her face, his teacher’s eyes looked very pretty.

Resigned, Mordred picked up his lunchbox and slowly walked to the courtyard, dragging out the walk to one of the tables.

“Gonna eat lunch with your ghost mommy again?” As if having an ugly name wasn’t enough, his arch-nemesis also had a horrible personality.

Cenred was one of his classmates. The boy was mean; Mordred had nothing good to say about him.

Cenred’s days revolved around making Guinevere’s classes hard with his dumb questions or nonsense rambling and ruining Mordred’s day with out-of-place comments directed at him or his friend Sefa.

Sefa, unlike Cenred, was one of Mordred’s few friends, and for some reason Mordred still didn’t understand, they always ended up picking on her under the excuse that she was “special.”

Wasn’t being special supposed to be a good thing?

Mordred sat in silence, ignoring Cenred’s words, just like Arthur had taught him long ago.

His head was a bucket, and it was better to fill it with love, not with Cenred’s hate.

“You don’t talk about your other dad anymore. I bet he left because you’re a crybaby.”

That was a lie. Arthur hadn’t abandoned him. Gwaine had told him that Arthur always called after the sessions to check on Mordred.

Also, the King of Nowhere was still in his room, hidden away from where his dad could see it — so he wouldn’t give it back to Arthur.

The puppet was Arthur’s favorite, so at some point, he’d have to come get it.

Mordred clenched his fists tightly, his hands trembling with anger. Even if Cenred’s words meant nothing to him, they still hurt.

“Hey, look! Mordred’s gonna cry like a little girl!”

On the other hand, Percival had taught him that punches weren’t for the people he loved because they could get hurt.

He definitely didn’t love Cenred. He hated him for being annoying, rude, and for making Gwen upset.

Mordred stood up and walked until he was face to face with Cenred, who wasn’t used to people standing up to him.

It was going to hurt, and his dad would punish him later.

“Gonna kiss me like your fairy dads do?”

Mordred didn’t wait for another comment. He punched Cenred in the face.

Both boys froze after the impact.

A cry filled the air, but Mordred’s eyes were dry.

In front of him, Cenred’s friends had run off to call the teachers, and on the ground, Cenred was crying from the punch he’d taken.

“Who’s the crybaby now?” Having the power and control after being bullied for so long felt good, but the idea of making someone else cry wasn’t so pleasant.

“Mordred! To the principal’s office.” Gwen shouted from across the yard.

Anger and the thought of disappointing her quickly overshadowed his brief moment of triumph.

Mordred hadn’t thought Gwen’s face could look so angry, and even if that were possible, that expression should be directed at Cenred, who always bothered her — not at him, for standing up for himself.

Since Arthur had stopped being his therapist, a lot of things had become unfair.

“Mordred, what you just did is very wrong,” Gwen said once she gave the office his info so they could call his dad.

“It wasn’t wrong. Cenred always bullied me and I told all the adults but but but—” Seeing the disappointment on everyone’s faces just made Mordred even angrier.

In movies, people always got happy when the good guy punched the bad guy.

“But?” Gwen prompted, her tone a little softer and gentler now.

“But everyone says Cenred is trouble, so I just have to put up with it.” Mordred crossed his arms, full of indignation.

His cheeks were red with embarrassment, and he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

He had more important things to worry about, like the fact that next week he wouldn’t be allowed outings with his dad or to play his favorite video games.

“Mordred, your father is on his way,” the secretary said once she came out of her ugly office.

Great. Now he had to explain to his dad that he’d been bullied at school.

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe he actually said that.” Vivian sat in her chair filing her nails, trying to fix their shape.

For a whole month, Vivian had been listening to Arthur’s whining about his last conversation with Merlin.

Both blondes were outraged by the diligent absence of the dark-haired one.

“And I can’t believe a whole month has passed. We’re on zero contact, Viv. At this point, I’m starting to think it really meant nothing to him.” Arthur took a sip of his coffee; the liquid burned his tongue, leaving him in an even worse mood than he already was.

Though Arthur’s mood hadn’t been especially “good” since he had “broken up” with Merlin.

“I also can’t believe you said that to him. You’re both acting like teenagers and forgetting the main point. Everything you do affects Mordred.” The woman began pointing at him with her nail file, gesturing with her hands before starting to paint her manicure.

The polish was a very pretty amber color, though it had a very strong smell—strong enough to distract Arthur from his initial thoughts.

Why did Vivian always have to point out what Arthur did wrong?

The therapist started fiddling with the edge of his shirt, trying to distract himself from the woman’s words.

Vivian was absolutely right, especially since the blond’s thoughtlessness mainly affected a third party who had nothing to do with his father’s irresponsibility and selfishness.

Though it wasn’t exclusively the dark-haired man’s fault, since Arthur hadn’t made any effort to change his reality.

Just thinking about the man made the therapist’s mood worsen.

The rational part of the blond knew Merlin hadn’t meant those words intentionally and that they were primarily a reflection of feelings he didn’t know how to process.

Specifically, it was a reflection of Merlin’s fear that his feelings were false and a way to feel completely valid after all.

However, the emotional part of Arthur remained deeply depressed and affected by the dark-haired man’s words.

He knew his actions never reflected pity; from the very start, everything he did was with deep love and care.

No second intentions, no expectation of repayment for his time or effort.

Arthur wanted and deserved a proper apology but doubted it would fix the situation.

One call had been enough to destroy some parts of his trust in the man.

Arthur had never voiced his insecurities aloud; he never told Merlin about his fear of not being enough, nor that he feared never being seen as someone special in the lives of both men.

The therapist feared abandonment and was terrified of never fitting into the battered family unit.

Arthur wasn’t Freya and didn’t intend to nor would he ever occupy her place.

But covering someone else’s needs without losing yourself was complicated and exhausting work.

“I hate that we have two empty slots between your Tuesday sessions. I’m out of nail polish colors to change, and I can’t stand looking at your face for so many hours in a row.” Vivian’s complaints caught his attention.

The woman had started cleaning the sides of her fingers with a toothpick and cotton to refine her manicure’s edges.

“Sorry, I’m not a thinking person right now.” Apologizing for his behavior was the easy way out, though he didn’t really mean it.

For a few seconds, the therapist wanted to turn off his head, or better yet, his heart.

Arthur started rearranging the stuffed animals in his office as a way to keep busy. A busy mind thinks less.

The shelf where the King of Nowhere had once been was now occupied by a dragon puppet he’d bought on eBay that had only arrived the week before.

To be honest, Arthur had hesitated about whether to take the doll’s place or not, finally deciding that, for now, the puppet belonged to Mordred.

Waiting for his beloved doll to return was a vain hope.

The vibration in his pocket alerted him to an incoming call.

Since the incident with Merlin, he made sure to check the caller ID twice before answering.

It was an unknown contact but didn’t seem like one of the strange telemarketing numbers that usually called him.

“Hello?” he asked, hearing typing on the other end.

Seconds passed until the tired voice of a woman answered.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Pendragon. Your son had a minor incident at school and is temporarily suspended. We are expecting you at the office urgently.”

His son…

Arthur hadn’t expected that the next news about Mordred would come from his school, much less an emergency.

The blond hadn’t realized when he started nervously tapping his foot against the floor. Even less when the air began to escape his lungs.

With every passing second, the tightness in his chest grew.

Mordred, his son, needed someone—and Arthur was still the emergency contact.

“Vivian, Mordred had an emergency. Cancel my appointments this afternoon.” The blond demanded, grabbing his car keys from the desk drawer.

His body moved mechanically around the office with just enough care not to knock anything over.

The trembling in his hands didn’t make it easier.

“Is Mordred okay? Arthur, let me know if you need anything or if I can help.” Vivian’s face was full of worry, and the therapist appreciated it.

Over all this time, she had developed a great fondness for the boy.

Arthur could swear he ran one or two red lights on his way to Mordred’s school; the idea of arriving late to an important moment, a need, or even a crisis made him even more nervous.

He crossed the reception door feeling sweat trickling down the back of his neck, making a grimace of disgust at the sensation.

“Good afternoon, I’m Arthur Pendragon. You requested my presence to discuss a matter concerning my son, Mordred Emrys. Third year, Key Stage 2.”

The secretary was quite kind when she received him, assuring him everything was fine and that Mordred hadn’t been hurt.

The woman seemed more worried about Arthur’s state than the child’s.

Though that didn’t make him feel any calmer.

All of Arthur’s feelings were still tangled and stuck in his throat.

He shouldn’t be happy about an emergency, not when sweet Mordred was in trouble.

But being recognized as an important part of that family was healing, it was what his heart had always sought.

Being the one Mordred turned to even when the boy had said he hated him was a huge step.

Even if it meant Arthur had to be the adult in the situation once again.

The therapist would have to swallow his pride again to confront Merlin and once and for all bring normalcy back to his little one.

To be the family Merlin had denied but that they still were.

The image of Mordred with crossed arms, clinging to Guinevere’s side, broke his heart.

The boy frowned, clutching his backpack as if it was the only real thing in the room.

The secretary pushed him into the office, inviting him to sit down.

Arthur knew the woman probably didn’t want to deal with him, but this was a rather peculiar way to treat a student’s parent.

She went to the other side of the hallway, standing next to Guinevere while offering her hand to the boy, who politely declined her touch.

Mordred was a big kid and could walk on his own.

Also, the secretary scared him.

“Little one, your father is here,” the secretary said, beginning to lead him to the meeting room.

Mordred hoped to have a little more time to think, though, as he remembered, the trip from his house to school was a bit longer.

Maybe his father was so angry he had managed to arrive earlier.

Guinevere accompanied him down the hall with a sad smile; she couldn’t help him talk to the principal.

However, she promised to make the reports gentler so Mordred wouldn’t be severely punished; after all, the attack was justified.

His hands began to shake and sweat as the child recognized the figure in front of him.

What was Arthur doing there?

Arthur wasn’t… no, Arthur was his father.

If the man was there, that meant Mordred was still special to him.

But that also meant he’d have to see the disappointment on his face when he saw Mordred had taken such a violent path.

His eyes began to sting with tears that didn’t dare to fall down his cheeks.

If he cried, maybe Arthur would leave—this time for good—just like Cenred had threatened.

Their gazes met for a second.

Far from the anger Mordred expected, Arthur’s eyes overflowed with concern.

The boy wanted many things: to run into the blond’s arms, to flee from his presence, to yell many things at him, to ask him to come back home.

Every day without Arthur had been a hard day.

Mr. Uther’s words about mothers came back to his mind.

Just like other families needed something only mothers could give, his family needed something only Arthur had.

His home wasn’t the same without the blond’s silly laughter, and his days weren’t the same without men tousling his curls.

Even his father was sad when Arthur wasn’t around the house or calling at night.

Without meaning to, tears started flowing freely.

Mordred didn’t know why; he only knew he felt a lot.

“Son, are you okay?” Arthur had hurriedly risen from his chair.

That was the first time the man called him son.

The therapist’s knees touched the floor carefully, lowering to Mordred’s level looking for any visible signs of physical harm.

Arthur’s warm fingers checked his hands, caressed his cheeks, and lifted his bangs in the middle of the search.

The tears grew stronger when Arthur’s arms wrapped around him in a tight hug that left him breathless.

He had missed Arthur so much.

“I’m okay, Dad.” The boy managed to answer, feeling his throat burn from the effort to speak through tears.

It took them several minutes to recover.

Visibly, Arthur was also affected by their reunion; the man stayed close to his body and held his gaze longer than usual.

After the hug, Mordred hadn’t let go of the man’s hand for a moment, too terrified at the thought of being alone again.

“Mr. Pendragon, we called you today to discuss some inappropriate behavior Mordred had during recess.”

The woman’s voice was monotonous as she recounted what had happened earlier and corrected small errors in her digital report.

Clearly, she didn’t want to be there.

The little boy guessed her job must be very boring, just finding parents and telling them what their kids had done wrong.

“I understand Mordred’s behavior wasn’t appropriate for the school environment, but I don’t think only my son should be punished.

Especially since he’s been relentlessly bullied by the classmate who was hit.”

Arthur squeezed his hand gently, reminding him he was there.

The man had come back just to defend him, even if Mordred had been bad.

Again, Gwaine had been right: Arthur really loved him.

“No attack against your son was reported, Mr. Pendragon.” The woman replied, stopping typing on her computer for a few seconds, switching her gaze between the two men in front of her.

They didn’t look much alike, at most only their eyes.

Maybe Mordred was adopted, and that’s why he got bullied.

Mordred had started playing with the straps of his backpack under the expectant gaze of both adults.

Why didn’t the lady know that Cenred was a problem child like all the adults said?

“Cenred said bad things about my mom, about me having two dads, and about my friends. When I told other teachers, they just said Cenred is a troublemaker and I should ignore him.”

Confessing those things hadn’t been easy, not when Arthur was there.

Mordred wasn’t a tattletale or a coward. But he wasn’t a liar either, and covering up or denying the bad things someone else did was a very ugly kind of lying.

The woman went back to typing on her computer, stopping after a few seconds.

“We will call Cenred’s parents to have a conversation about his behavior. Sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Pendragon.”

Had it been that easy?

Mordred couldn’t believe his whole situation with Cenred had ended just like that.

He expected a scolding from Arthur, a suspension from classes for a month, or even having to apologize to Cenred.

The last one would have been the worst punishment.

“How about we go to my house and I make you some food, little dragon?” Mordred had completely forgotten his snack after Cenred started bothering him.

His stomach, with its strange noises, reminded him he had to eat.

Arthur let out a small chuckle when he heard that, and Mordred answered with a bigger one, filling the hallway with their laughter like he used to do at home.

The blond was like a motorhome—wherever he was, there was a little bit of home in him.

“Please.” Mordred asked with a smile.

For the first time in a long while, his heart felt peaceful again.

The man stopped in the middle of the hall to write something on his phone, and without any shame, Mordred started spying on what Arthur was doing.

From where he stood, he read his father’s name and below a note saying they’d had an emergency.

Blah blah blah Mordred emergency lunch at my place, back at night.

That was the best way he could sum up that message.

If Arthur still loved him, that meant he still loved his dad too—and they could still be a family.

Right?

Chapter Text

With Freya’s death, the kitchen had become a battlefield for Merlin.

During the first months, any meal preparation turned into his personal hell.

The forgotten portion at the bottom of the pot always sparked a chain of bittersweet memories reminding him how alone he was.

Merlin never imagined that situation would torment him again, but somehow Arthur had made it possible.

Friday nights were their shared nights “Men’s pajama parties,” as Mordred had nicknamed them.

Arthur hadn’t been home in a month, but the man still lingered in many corners of the house.

The blonde’s favorite brand of beer at the back of the fridge, his toothbrush in the bathroom.

His perfume on the dresser and his mug in the cupboard.

During that month without the man, his home had undergone many upheavals; even from afar, he wanted to show the man how he was changing, improving for him.

Taking Freya’s things out hadn’t been easy.

For a week, Mordred stayed with Hunith while Merlin packed all her belongings.

In three days, their entire life together was boxed up, organized and labeled in the living room.

Their whole life with her lined up in cardboard boxes ready to be donated, to live new lives.

On the fourth day, Merlin invited Freya’s parents to choose which things would be donated and which would stay with them.

For the dark-haired man, it was very painful to keep those memories.

Especially when he couldn’t wish for a lost future as his chance to create a real one slipped through his fingers.

Freya’s parents left with only a small bag full of her belongings: a couple of mugs, her favorite earrings, and her graduation ring.

Merlin didn’t understand how or why everyone else seemed to get over her absence so quickly.

The poor boxes paid the price of his frustration.

The tape had been applied with more force than necessary, leaving some sides misshapen.

On the fifth day, Merlin spent hours doubting the boxes whether it was really worth detaching from such memories, especially for someone who might never return.

“Improving for someone else is improving without real purpose. Don’t make Mordred heal for you, nor yourself for him. Improve because you want to be the best version of yourself.” The blond’s words flooded his mind.

The sixth day was for rearranging the furniture and changing some decor.

Family photos were replaced by natural landscapes, and several plants had been swapped for discreet ornaments Merlin had bought at a garage sale.

Maybe that way Mordred wouldn’t notice the abrupt change.

The only thing Merlin had kept was the cactus plush that now rested among his son’s toys.

Arthur’s hoodie had become his new emotional attachment object.

The whistle of the kettle pulled him from his thoughts.

Merlin opened the cupboard, the four abandoned mugs clinking as he opened the cabinet.

His hand unconsciously went to the orange one with little dragons drawn all over it.

Using it in secret wouldn’t hurt anyone, and Mordred wasn’t around to tattletale to the blond if they ever saw each other again.

The man put a couple of ginger tea bags inside the mug before filling it just over halfway with water.

Merlin missed Arthur.

His drafts were full of ideas, half-written messages on how he would apologize to the blond.

Some messages were full of nonsense, others were excuses for his behavior, and there was even one that said only, “I know I’m an idiot and did horrible things, forgive me and come home.”

None of them really captured the regret he felt.

It wasn’t just missing him because he wasn’t there of course not. The feeling went beyond that, to the idea that life was more enjoyable with the man’s company.

Arthur gave meaning to his broken family.

Merlin was usually quite hard on himself, that unpleasant trait had led him to peculiar moments in life.

Right now, it was what separated him from his whole happy family.

Maybe some of Merlin’s apology drafts were capable of showing all that contained love he had for the blond.

But the feeling that he didn’t deserve forgiveness stopped him from seeing that.

The warm tea slid down his throat, its strong, spicy flavor anchoring his thoughts to the present.

Soon it would be lunchtime, so it would be good to start cooking shortly.

A peculiar notification on his phone caught his attention.

They called me from Mordred’s school about a small altercation. He’s suspended for the rest of the day, so I brought him here for lunch. I’ll take him back in the afternoon. We need to talk.

Merlin’s chest tightened with anguish.

The trembling in his hands made it hard to reread the message.

What had happened to his son?

:

“Where’s Grandpa?” Mordred’s little voice filled the kitchen, reaching the patio where Uther watered his flower beds.

The blond watched him drop his backpack on the couch like he himself used to do years ago every day.

Seeing Mordred arrive daily while waiting for lunch to be served as the spoiled little kid he was seemed like a nice reality Arthur would enjoy living.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time, little one.” The old man greeted enthusiastically; the grandfather almost daily asked insistently about the boy’s whereabouts.

He had even asked to sort things out quickly with Merlin because he was dying to show Mordred the new plants he had bought.

The domestic scene melted Arthur’s heart.

Mordred always fit into every scene in his life so naturally that it was impossible to deny that the little boy was his son.

Maybe not by blood, but in his heart and deep in his soul there was no doubt about their connection.

“I was mad at Arthur, so I didn’t want to come. But when I wasn’t mad at him anymore, Dad told me Arthur was mad at him and didn’t want to see him.” The blond’s jaw tightened at the comment.

His fingers gripped the tomato he was washing harder than necessary, making a small dent on one side.

Did that count as parental alienation?

“That’s not a lie, but we were dying to see you again.” Uther pinched the boy’s cheek for a few seconds before beginning to explain about his edible plants.

Arthur started checking the fridge and cupboard, studying possibilities for lunch.

The time originally dedicated to the Emrys family had served as time to refine his cooking skills and pick up some hobbies he had forgotten.

In a month, he had added four new recipes to his repertoire: pudding, garlic bread, beef stew, and chicken parmigiana.

Though with the limited options in his cupboard, lunch would be pasta bolognese with garlic bread.

None of those dishes were Merlin’s favorites, of course not. Arthur had only decided to learn them because the chef teaching seemed quite charismatic.

“Son, we’re going to buy dessert. We’ll be back in a bit.” Uther’s voice filled the room just as the tomato sauce began to boil.

“Bye, Dad. I love you.” Mordred said goodbye with a smile.

Arthur was definitely crying because of the onion; it had nothing to do with his heart beating faster.

His almost perfect family.

Twenty minutes later, the table was set.

It was full of steaming pots and a freshly made jug of lemonade.

The sound of the doorbell made him move to the entrance. Maybe his father had forgotten the keys; old age was slowly starting to play with the man even though he wasn’t yet 60.

Arthur opened the door, hearing the hinges creak; the humidity in the air hadn’t been kind to some parts of the house.

“Good afternoon, Arthur, sorry, and also sorry for coming unannounced, but I was very worried about Mordred.” Merlin’s words shot out of his mouth.

It took the therapist a couple of seconds to truly process what he’d heard.

Merlin was in front of him.

The same Merlin as always but somehow different.

A month had broadened the man’s frame; that new look suited him quite well, even.

His beard had grown a little, just enough to give him that tired look Arthur had first known him with.

He wore simple clothes, the kind you wear around the house, but the worry on his face added seriousness.

“But I’m okay, Dad.” Mordred’s curly head appeared at the entrance of the residence, a few meters behind him Uther followed with both arms full of bags.

Apparently, the boy had taken advantage of having a grandfather with a generous pension.

From a distance, Arthur could see several sweet and salty snacks in the bags.

“I can see that, son.” Merlin’s face was visibly calmer, his brow relaxed and posture lost tension.

At least both still prioritized Mordred’s care.

“Shall we all have lunch together?” The little one asked excitedly.

The last family lunch had been before his “accident.”

Both adults remained silent.

Arthur’s hands fidgeted anxiously with his keys while Merlin shifted from one foot to the other as if moving would solve all the problems in his life.

“Yes, let’s all have lunch together.” Uther decided, leading the way inside his home, followed by a chattering Mordred talking about how hungry he was.

The old man had been one of the most affected by “the tantrum,” as he had affectionately nicknamed the argument between the two men.

Because it was a relationship without a woman involved, Uther had expected much less drama.

However, he had made it his mission to advise his son; lack of communication destroyed relationships.

And unintentionally, the Emrys family had made a space in his heart, so he was willing to force a truce between the two adults.

Uncomfortably, the couple moved to the table.

There was so much to say, and somehow, silence reigned in the middle of the kitchen.

Forks clinked against plates as their food ran out.

The brave one on this occasion was Mordred.

“Why haven’t we had more pajama parties, Dad?” The little one’s eyes interrogated Arthur.

The bite of pasta got stuck in his throat. The question caught him completely off guard.

All eyes turned to the blond, waiting for his answer, but his gaze searched Merlin’s.

The dark-haired man gave a small nod.

Mordred deserved to know the truth.

“Your father and I said hurtful things; we needed time to think and apologize.” They hadn’t reached the forgiveness part yet, but he hoped they soon would.

“Son, you wanted Arthur to be your dad, right?” The curly head nodded repeatedly.

“Arthur wanted the same, but the rules say Arthur can’t be your dad and your therapist at the same time.” Merlin continued, his voice serious but full of love.

Every few seconds, the dark-haired man glanced up, seeking approval from the therapist.

“So your dad and I had to decide what would make you happier. We should have discussed it with you, Mordred, but —”

“But your parents are silly and always want to kiss, so they decided you should have a new therapist.” Uther concluded, hiding a smile behind his glass of lemonade.

Merlin’s eyes comically widened at that insult.

Arthur imitated his expression with greater drama, putting his hand on his chest as the greatest physical display of indignation he could offer.

“So that’s why I’m seeing Perci now?”

Even though his question was directed at his father, Uther took the opportunity to intervene again.

“You have the intelligence of a Pendragon; that’s exactly why you have someone else now.”

“Does that mean you still love me and Dad?” The little one’s face turned to Arthur a second time.

His eyes shone with hope, and an expectant smile appeared on his lips.

How could Arthur stop loving that little family?

“Nothing will make me stop loving you, son.” Merlin tensed for a second hearing the words come from the blond’s lips.

How much had he lost because of his selfishness?

Not only had he denied himself such simple, beautiful moments with the man he loved, but he had also stolen from his son the chance to live with a complete family again.

Although there was no room for regrets in his heart.

Merlin was genuinely happy to see one of his dreams fulfilled before his eyes.

Mordred was happy again, and that made him feel fulfilled as a father.

The afternoon passed exceptionally quickly.

Uther and Mordred were cuddled on the sofa watching The Lion King after dinner.

The volume was loud enough to reach the porch where the remaining adults shared a beer.

In the past, they had shared many beers but in completely different situations.

During football games eating some cheap delivery, during Friday dinners to lighten the mood.

But that night, the beer lacked coincidence. Both men had left the familiarity of Merlin’s house.

The dark-haired man took a sip from his bottle.

Arthur preferred bitter, full-bodied beers.

Merlin preferred light ones with medium acidity but had gradually grown to like the blond’s.

“Thanks, I hadn’t seen Mordred smile like that in a long time.” The words came from the depths of his heart, full of honesty he hadn’t allowed himself in days.

“Don’t say it like that; it’s not a burden for me to make him happy.” Arthur’s voice was loaded with his natural stubbornness.

He wasn’t hostile toward Merlin, but he still felt a pang in his chest every time he saw him.

Did Merlin still love him?

Had he ever even loved him?

“I know it’s not a burden, but I’m very grateful to you for staying in our lives.” Arthur was afraid of abandonment; he would never use his own fears to hurt someone else.

“There are many things we don’t know about each other, Merlin.” The dark-haired man shifted uncomfortably on the stairs, his eyes fixed on the blond’s profile.

The low lighting made beautiful crests on his face; up close, the man looked like a fairy tale prince.

It was a shame Arthur didn’t know how far he’d go for him.

“Even if it’s impossible to know everything about you, I’m sure I’ll love every part you show me.” The dark-haired man’s voice didn’t waver as he said those words.

Arthur wanted to believe that lie, the idea of someone loving even his insecurities.

“You’re very cheesy.” Instead, he joked to avoid the line.

Another sip of beer slid down his throat, refreshing like the breeze brushing his cheeks.

Autumn wouldn’t take long to arrive.

“How was she?”

Merlin’s heart skipped a beat hearing that question.

His eyes searched for any sign of doubt, hesitation, or even discomfort.

The blond’s face was like an open book, pure curiosity, even turning to face the dark-haired man.

His fingers tightened around the bottle, a sigh escaped his lips.

Despite having been so connected to his memories, Merlin hadn’t thought about her in quite some time.

“Freya was… She was many things. She was one of the kindest people I’ve known, very creative too, though a bit silly. Even though I’ve always preferred mature people because I tend to be the clown in the room, she made things work between us.”

His voice was laden with melancholy; Arthur could feel it.

Merlin would never stop loving her, and that love somehow reflected in his own relationship with the man.

A voice in his head verbalized his greatest fear. Does Merlin love me for who I am, or for the pieces of her he sees in me?

“I remember my favorite thing about her was her laugh, though I can’t recall how it sounded anymore. Freya wasn’t always my lover, you know?”

The therapist’s eyes were glued to the label on his bottle, tracing the colorful reliefs as if they hid the secrets of the universe.

“I realized I don’t miss her, I just miss having her as a confidante. After all, she was my friend; many times, she knew things about me that I myself could never see.”

Arthur listened to every story, but his mind kept wandering to those uncomfortable thoughts.

This wasn’t the right time to express his fears and expectations about a relationship that wasn’t even established; he and Merlin were nothing but themselves.

“I’m worried about things in our future.” The words escaped his lips.

The dark-haired man was now listening attentively, calm and interested in his words.

Far from what Arthur expected, there was no passive-aggressiveness on his part. Merlin wasn’t defensive.

“I know you need, and I must be, the rock in this relationship, but ”

“Stop.” Merlin cut him gently. “I don’t need anything more than for you to be yourself, Arthur. If you think my love is conditional and I’ll only give it if you meet some unrealistic standard, you’re only confirming my hypothesis that you’re a big clotpole.”

The blond’s gaze returned to his beer; only one last sip remained, and they hadn’t even reached the hard part of their conversation.

“I’m scared. Scared of losing you both again Mordred… you.” His voice cracked as his eyes fixed on the grass beside him.

His insecurities made him feel surrounded by lions in the middle of a coliseum.

Merlin remained silent, respecting Arthur’s time, his attention filling the blond.

“I’m afraid I’ll never be genuinely important to you; especially when… you’re all I have now.” His words came out choked.

A couple of tears slid down his cheeks, staining his pants; two round drops were followed by another pair that soon became a river.

Merlin’s chest tightened with rage at himself. It was unforgivable how he had used Arthur’s own insecurities against him, even not knowing them.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Merlin whispered, his hand reaching for the blond’s, wrapping their fingers, sharing again the warmth he’d so longed for.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Arthur interrupted, shaking his head. “I know you didn’t say it with that intention, but I’m afraid things won’t be the same as before.”

“I don’t want things to be like before.” The blond squeezed his hand; panic grew inside him at what those words implied.

“Look at me, my love.” The nickname slipped out so naturally he didn’t even consider it a mistake.

One hand went to the man’s chin, the other pressed his hand insistently.

If this was his last chance, he wouldn’t waste it.

When Arthur’s eyes met his, the pained reflection in his expression squeezed his heart but gave him the confidence to speak again.

“You taught me that feeling scared isn’t bad, darling. You’ve taught me more than that. But now I want you to learn something from me.”

This was one of those rare moments where Merlin considered himself full of the great wisdom of age.

His voice was low and firm, pulling them into a private world even as they sat on the porch in view of any passerby.

“When something changes, it doesn’t mean we’ve lost something. We need to change, Arthur. I don’t want to be the man I was before, the man who hurt you,”

Merlin paused, his voice breaking under the expectation imposed by his own heart.

Arthur deserved much more than a coward who couldn’t face his feelings.

“But to know that, we needed this. We needed to be apart. If I had never lost you, I’d never see how much I love you… how much I need you.”

Arthur felt something loosen inside him, a knot he hadn’t even realized he carried finally untied.

Maybe Merlin had loved Freya. Maybe part of him always would.

Looking into Merlin’s eyes filled with love and honesty gave him all the certainty he needed.

Merlin loved him because he was Arthur, even if that meant being flawed, jealous,and imperfect.

Merlin took his moment of realization to seal their truths with a kiss.

Their lips barely met, calming their cravings for each other.

Slow, sure, and coexisting with love.

Soon enough a new beer bottle rested between them.

Arthur took a sip right after snatching it from the dark-haired man’s hands.

“You know? Later we could take this reconciliation thing somewhere more private.” Merlin said with his characteristic smile.

The blond punched his shoulder before scrunching his nose, it was incredible how the man still had energy to joke after opening his heart.

“We’re not having reconciliation sex, Merlin.”

“You say that like you could stop me.”

Arthur’s arm curled around Merlin’s neck before starting to punish his head, rubbing his knuckles against the dark-haired man’s skull.

“Gods, I missed you so much.” The therapist whispered while laughing, hearing the man’s yells of pain between his arms.

Chapter Text

Arthur’s bed was a tangle of limbs, his arms resting lazily around Merlin, who lay on his chest, listening intently to every heartbeat.

The clock struck 4 A.M., and neither of them had any real intention of sleeping.

The therapist’s gaze was fixed firmly on the dark-haired man’s face, refusing to feel any shame in openly admiring him.

Merlin was beautiful, though he rarely admitted it.

There was something in his features that made him unique, undeniably striking. Perhaps it was the way his short beard framed the sides of his face, or how his nose stood out as one of his most masculine traits from any angle.

Merlin’s long, refined fingers traced soft strokes along Arthur’s bicep, keeping his posture comfortable.

A sigh escaped his lips, finally relaxed and in the place he most wanted to be.

He barely tilted his head, just enough to lift his gaze and meet Arthur’s eyes. Feeling drunk on affection at how those blue orbs reflected so much tenderness, devoted only to him, Merlin — so flawed, so incomplete — gathered the courage to move closer.

“You know, Arthur? Earlier you were right.” Merlin bit his lower lip nervously as he spoke, breaking the silence of their comfortable bubble with a bold strike of honesty. “There are so many things we don’t know about each other.”

It was a truth he didn’t want to admit. Doubts filled his mind, making him wonder if their ignorance weakened their bond or made him a bad lover.

Arthur’s heart sped in his ribcage as his laughter filled the room. Knowing that the man wanted him, wanted to know him, washed over him with such certainty of affection that he was left speechless.

“That’s something we can easily change, Merlin,” the blond murmured between chuckles, raising his free hand to brush back black curls in a fond gesture. “I know we probably won’t sleep tonight. I’m too happy to close my eyes and realize this was all just a beautiful dream.”

Those words drew a flicker of sadness over Arthur’s face, and Merlin couldn’t bear to see that reflected in the man he loved.

Merlin tapped his shoulder playfully, earning a confused look. “Don’t be silly. Even dreams couldn’t be as perfect as having you in my arms again.”

Arthur pulled a face before returning the jab.

“Cheesy,” he complained, though his arms only tightened around Merlin’s body, enjoying his warmth and steady breathing against his skin.

Even if he was cheesy, cocky, a Tottenham fan, a little slow, and cruel when he wanted to be Arthur loved Merlin with all his heart.

“Is there something you’ve always wanted to know about me?” Arthur asked, stretching a hand to turn on the nightstand lamp, bathing them in warm light that let them truly see each other in the dark.

“Actually, yes. Why is Uther so insistent on being your chauffeur?” Merlin’s lashes fluttered as he spoke and listened, like butterfly wings distracting Arthur momentarily from his thoughts.

“That’s a funny story actually. I had a car accident when I was 19.” The therapist murmured with a crooked, almost uncomfortable smile.

“Hey, there’s nothing funny about being in a car crash.” Merlin scolded, concern flooding his voice even if it had happened nearly ten years ago.

The memory of losing someone dear behind the wheel was still raw enough that Merlin’s voice rose with unease at Arthur’s casual tone.

“Nothing happened to me. Just a broken arm and a lot of glass cuts. That’s why I have all these scars on my arms and chest.”

Merlin’s warm fingers brushed over each mark his near-sightedness could make out. Few had left raised lines, so he guessed many cuts had been shallow.

They remained in silence for a while, Arthur deciding to give him space to calm his restless heart.

“Dad… he... well, made me promise that no matter how far apart we were, I should always wait for him. If either of us hum… died on the road, we couldn’t abandon each other.”

The weight of the subject kept them quiet for several minutes, sharing only caresses as a way of consoling one another and pushing away the thought of losing someone precious again.

“Is there something you’ve always wanted to know about me?” It was Merlin’s turn to ask.

“Plenty. For starters what do you do for work? You always seem to have a lot of free time.” Arthur teased, fingers diving back into the dark curls, watching how they twined around his hands.

“I’m a video game programmer. I get a lot of free time because my contract is project-based, not hourly. As long as I finish by the deadline, I’m good.” He allowed himself a little brag, pressing two small kisses to Arthur’s chest.

“I can’t tell you too many details because it’s confidential, but let’s just say… I get a little magical help, so I’m very efficient.” Merlin spoke with pride, though his smile slowly faded as Arthur’s words continued.

“I didn’t know you were a nerd, Merlin.”

As revenge for that insult, Merlin bit down on his chest, making Arthur squeal and squirm in pain.

It took them several seconds to settle again, their limbs rearranging until they lay face-to-face, legs tangled, arms devoted to small caresses.

“There’s still something I want to know, Arthur.” Merlin’s voice dropped, filled with expectation.

Arthur loved seeing that dreamy look on his face. His gaze shone when it brimmed with hope and longing.

“When will you take me on a date?”

In the first second of silence, Arthur looked doubtful, fingers pressing into Merlin’s back in small massages.
In the second, his brows furrowed as he did calculations.
By the third and fourth, he was scattering kisses all over Merlin’s face.

“Mr. Emrys, would you like to go on a date with me two weeks from now?” Arthur asked, bringing Merlin’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

“Mr. Pendragon, it would be an honor to accompany you as your date.” Merlin’s smile crinkled his eyes, happiness shining in all the right places.

As the first hours of sunlight arrived, birds began to sing, filling the room with the rhythmic calls of wrens and robins.

Merlin had managed a short nap in Arthur’s arms. The blond had never stopped showering him with affection and soft touches, making up for all the lost days during their night of confessions.

“Good morning, Snow White.” Arthur murmured as Merlin stirred against his chest just like a cat.

“Good morning, Prince Charming.” Merlin replied in the same mocking tone, pulling him into a kiss.

Arthur’s kisses tasted like glory, especially after so long with nothing but memories of him in both head and heart.

“Prince Charming isn’t Snow White’s prince,” Arthur whispered, lips instinctively pouting — a pout Merlin kissed diligently.

“Just like you. You’re not my boyfriend. Not yet.” With those words, Merlin slipped from Arthur’s arms, leaving the sheets behind and carrying his nakedness to the bathroom to start his day.

“You’re cruel, Merlin,” Arthur shouted, tossing a pillow that smacked the bathroom door.

In his rush, Merlin had no time to savor the spectacle of Arthur frowning and pouting first thing in the morning, frustrated at not getting his way.

When the water began to run, the therapist decided it was wise to get out of bed.

He dressed in fresh pajamas, absolutely unwilling to do any training after a sleepless night.

Taking advantage of the absence of obstacles — Merlin — he changed the sheets for a clean, crisp set.

He knocked lightly on the bathroom door, earning a startled shout.

“Take your time. You can grab whatever you want from the wardrobe.”

With that reassurance, Arthur left the room with a smile, welcoming a new era of peace with his family.

“Good morning, Dad.” Mordred greeted from the hallway, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s door.

The little voice startled Arthur, who was not unfamiliar with being watched so attentively by the youngest Emrys, but having him back struck him straight in the heart.

“Good morning, son.” Arthur ruffled Mordred’s hair, earning a giggle.

It felt so good to be loved and accepted by such a beautiful family. Genuine love really could change his days and, in time, his life.

The boy’s gaze was more than attentive; Arthur squinted, trying to read what he was holding back.

“I need your help, Dad,” Mordred confessed as they reached the kitchen. Uther had gone out to buy fresh bread, as he always did on Saturdays.

Given his grandson’s presence, Arthur was fairly sure his father would bring back some pastries to spoil him. Retirement suited Uther. Indulgent, happy in his role as grandparent.

“Of course, little dragon. What do you need help with?”

Arthur moved around the kitchen gracefully, juggling a few utensils to make the boy laugh.

“There’s going to be a parent-and-child talent show. I want you to go with me, we can do a puppet show.”

Up close, Mordred shared many of Merlin’s traits especially when embarrassed.

Father and son both fidgeted with their hands, eyes lowered, smiling in that awkward, endearing way. Mordred looked adorable, while Merlin usually looked constipated or sarcastic.

“Of course I’ll go with you. I just need to write it down in my schedule.” Arthur’s cheeks stretched into a grin as he put water on to boil for coffee and hot chocolate.

“Good morning, family,” Merlin greeted as he entered the kitchen.

His chest was covered by Arsenal’s distinctive red, his legs in Arthur’s sweatpants.

Every piece of clothing screamed Arthur, though the size difference showed in how the fabric hung loose where it usually clung to its owner’s frame.

Merlin's hands pinched his son’s cheeks before sliding to his partner’s hips, pressing a kiss to his shoulder in greeting.

“We’re having a family meeting with Mordred. We’ve got to make a nice little stage for our school project.” Arthur announced while preparing his coffee.

Writing a new script for their puppet show, however, was bound to be no easy task.

Chapter Text

The little stage in the school lobby was a burst of primary colors, letters, and children’s laughter.

All the kids sat in rows beside their parents and special guests, enjoying musical numbers, jokes, and drawings on stage while munching on freshly popped corn.

A round of applause swept through the hall, signaling that his turn would be next.

Sefa — Mordred’s best friend — and her father had somehow managed to bring in a dove, which flew straight into Guinevere’s arms as though she were a storybook princess, winning delighted giggles from the children and even a few parents.

The curtain fell for a brief moment, giving Arthur just enough time to set up the improvised puppet theater Merlin had crafted for them.

It was a modest yet magnificent cardboard castle, the result of an entire week’s work.

For the last three days, the family had devoted themselves entirely to perfecting the show, practicing their lines and polishing every detail of the castle.

Merlin had filled each tower with tiny flags bearing the crest of the King of Nowhere, and he had even recreated the stage’s shifting backdrop mechanism to allow the scenery to change mid-play.

Behind the cardboard castle, the sound of children’s chatter and laughter was muffled or perhaps their own hearts were simply pounding too loudly to pay attention to the audience through the haze of nerves.

Arthur stood up, daring to peek through the curtain at the children gathered in front of the stage. Further back, a beaming Merlin already had his digital camera pointed straight at him.

The look of deep love and expectation on Merlin’s face made Arthur’s heart skip a beat. To be able to share such a sweet, special moment with his family was yet another simple but undeniable sign of how much they loved him, and how badly they wanted him to belong.

“Ready, little dragon?” Arthur asked gently once he returned to Mordred’s side, placing the puppet in his son’s hand before settling the golden crown that the boy had craft himself for the play.

Determination shone on Mordred’s face as he slid his hand into the dragon puppet. Though tense with nerves, he nodded a couple of times, his eyes fixed on Arthur. “And what if I forget my lines?”

“Then the King of Nowhere will have to steal all your lines. Though, I think you know he doesn’t mind being the center of attention,” Arthur reassured him with a grin. “Remember, our dragon, Kilgharrah, is very gentle. He knows you’re doing your best.”

The opening song they had chosen filled the stage, and with a shared nod, father and son moved into position.

“Showtime,” Arthur whispered, coaxing a smile from Mordred.

The trumpet fanfare announcing the king blared just as the curtain opened.

The King of Nowhere appeared on stage, his ridiculously blond hair gleaming under the spotlights as he nervously flailed his arms, searching all around.

“Ha!” Arthur’s high-pitched laugh echoed through the hall. From where he stood, he could see Gwen’s nostalgic smile as she watched, and Merlin’s bright, encouraging expression. Their joy swept his nerves away completely.

“I am the King of Nowhere!” the puppet proclaimed, thumping its chest. “But my kingdom is Nowhere to be found. Has anyone seen my kingdom? I seem to have lost it!” The puppet brought its hands dramatically to its face in anguish.

The puppet’s exaggerated despair drew laughter from the audience, and Arthur made it shuffle across the stage, looking pitiful and lost.

On the other side, a timid voice emerged. Mordred’s Kilgharrah poked his head out from behind the cardboard castle. “I think it’s right where you left it.”

The king spun around in exaggerated shock, his mouth dropping open before shouting, “A DRAGOON! Do you know the way to Nowhere, great and wise beast?”

The dragon shuffled forward, head bowed, wings drooping, his voice weary. “I don’t know the way anywhere. I’m lost. My fire has grown weak, my wings feel heavy, and…” Mordred faltered nervously, his little hands trembling inside the puppet. “I think… I think my heart is hurt.”

The king’s pompous manner melted at those words. His arms reached out, patting all over the dragon in search of visible wounds. “A wounded heart is a VERY serious problem.”

The blond puppet leaned far out from the stage, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. “I am the king! I think I know how to fix this... WITH A SONG!” His voice rang with conviction as he broke into an off-key rendition of Yes Sir, I Can Boogie , drawing laughter from the audience—and from Mordred—while the puppet did its best impression of the dance.

When the song ended, the dragon shook his head. “No… that’s not it.”

“Then a feast! A grand banquet in your honor!” the king proclaimed, producing an apple from his pocket.

“I’m not hungry,” the dragon replied, Mordred’s little voice growing steadier as he lost his shyness, carried away by the story they had rehearsed so many times.

The king fell silent for a few seconds, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You know something?” The puppet’s lively tone softened, more like Arthur’s real voice now. “Maybe I don’t know the way back to my kingdom, and maybe I don’t know how to fix a dragon’s fire…”

The king gave the dragon a gentle pat on one of his felt legs.

“But I do know this: a wounded heart doesn’t always need to be fixed. Sometimes, all it needs is a friend who cares, someone to listen, someone who stays.” The king leaned close, pulling the dragon into a clumsy half-embrace.

“Healing isn’t about big actions. It’s about being together, about waiting, and most importantly…” The king turned, pointing at each child in the audience as though speaking directly to their hearts. “It’s about understanding that you don’t need to be fixed to be loved.”

At those words, the dragon returned the embrace, his felt paws wrapping around the lanky blond puppet. “You don’t need to know how to heal a dragon. You just need to keep him company while he heals himself.”

The curtains began to descend just as the spotlights dimmed and applause thundered across the theater.

Behind the cardboard castle, Mordred had shed every trace of timidity, his whole face lit up with joy. Seeing him that happy was more than enough to make Arthur feel utterly blissful.

“We did it! You saw it, right, Arthur? Dad was smiling.” The boy’s excitement was contagious as he flung himself into Arthur’s arms, squeezing him in a fierce, love-filled hug.

“Of course he was, son. I saw it with my own eyes.” Arthur’s chest rose and fell with a joy he had once thought impossible. When they finally let go, they began carefully placing their puppets into the carrying box they had prepared.

“You know, Dad?” Mordred called his attention as he gently laid Kilgharrah inside. His eyes met Arthur’s, brimming with affection and trust.

“I don’t know how to heal a dragon,” he admitted, echoing the last line of the play as a mischievous little grin spread across his face. “But I do know how to heal a Pendragon.”

Arthur froze, his hands trembling slightly as his gaze locked on his son.

This incredible, perceptive child—the one who had seen through the lonely king hidden beneath his playful, carefree façade.

The gentle boy who had forgiven him, even after his heart was broken, and had welcomed him into that vast, loving heart as his father.

A laugh of pure astonishment burst from Arthur’s chest. Overcome with love, he swept the boy up into another embrace, warm, tight, and comforting, just like the one they had shared on the day they were reunited.

“Yes, Mordred. You definitely do,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into the curls atop his son’s head, earning a delighted giggle in return.

Chapter Text

By the time the presentations wrapped up, families had slowly trickled out, leaving the auditorium emptier by the minute as the teachers started packing away the decorations.

After ten solid minutes of people asking for photos with Arthur, Mordred, and their respective puppets, the father finally had a moment alone with his two stars.

“You were wonderful, son,” Merlin said, his arms squeezing Mordred tight against his chest.

After all their tireless work, the result had been magnificently adorable.

He quickly swiped away a couple of tears that had escaped, moved by the beautiful performance his son had given.

“We did it. We’re a team, Dad,” the boy corrected, stretching out one arm to invite the therapist into their hug.

Arthur had used those brief seconds of reunion to snap a few pictures of his small family, pride swelling so deep in his chest it nearly overflowed at being included in the special moments of his special people.

The blond couldn’t possibly refuse, wrapping his arms around both of them and even pressing a kiss into each of their heads of curly hair.

“We need to celebrate… My mum invited us for dinner. She made her famous beef casserole,” Merlin said, his voice pulling them from their warm family bubble.

“Oh! Well, since we all came in my car, I can just drop you off. I just need to leave the puppets at the office, and we can go.”

“Stop right there, you idiot. I said she invited us. All of us,” the dark-haired man emphasised, pointing a finger at the blond a couple of times with a shy smile.

He hadn’t expected his mother to meet Arthur properly so soon, especially after the chaotic phone call before the whole dreaded ‘therapy crisis.’

“Are you sure, Merlin? I really don’t mind just dropping you two off. We’ve had plenty of fun already, and maybe you want some time to…” There was an awkward pause where the therapist scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at the men in front of him. “You know. To think things through properly. Before our date.”

Mordred raised an eyebrow at the blond’s insecurity. This kind of hesitant behaviour was quite unlike the man, who was usually the epitome of boldness.

“Dad, are you scared of Grandma?” The question was met with several seconds of silence.

Despite his lips being pressed tightly together in an effort to keep his composure, a graceful little laugh escaped the oldest Emrys’s lips.

Arthur Pendragon, the man who, when he wanted, could wield the sharpest or most precise words on the face of the earth, was scared of Hunith—Sweet Hunith, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“There’s nothing wrong with being scared of your mother-in-law. It’s expected behaviour,” the blond excused, without directly denying the accusation.

“Your duties as honorary dad include coming to things with grandma,” Mordred scolded, earning a look of pure betrayal from the therapist.

“I love you, Mordred, but you are not helping right now, buddy.” The therapist’s fingers ruffled his son’s hair in a stubborn but loving gesture that drew an affectionate chuckle from Merlin.

“Let’s get to the car before my future date bolts to avoid facing the dreaded Hunith Emrys.”

:

After an awkward car ride where Arthur had left the windows down, letting the wind mess up everyone’s hair, the family finally stood outside Mrs Emrys’s house.

Since the blond’s arms were full of a sleepy Mordred, the dark-haired man rang the doorbell, tilting his head in confusion at the person who opened the door.

Balinor Ambrosius, his father—who was normally off travelling in some deep jungle, savanna, or desert, researching reptiles for Oxford University’s biology department—was standing there, in his home, on no special family occasion.

“Dad?” Merlin’s voice was full of disbelief.

“Dad?” Arthur repeated with the same tone, looking between the two men. In his arms, Mordred grinned widely at the lizard perched on his grandfather’s shoulder.

“Give us a moment, Mr Balinor,” the blond said, before closing the door, leaving a very confused Ambrosius on the other side.

“Why didn’t you tell me Balinor is your dad? I thought you didn’t have a dad,” Arthur accused, already pacing in small circles on the cramped doorstep.

“You know my dad?” Merlin shot back, just as confused, and he swore that if he weren’t holding a happily dozing Mordred being coddled by his honorary father, he’d be shaking Merlin by the shoulders.

Arthur stopped dead, staring directly into the dark-haired man’s eyes as if he’d insulted his late mother.

“Do I know Balinor Ambrosius? Your father was my childhood idol. I loved his science shows… I even named my puppet Kilgharrah after the lizard that starred in his show.” The elder pursed his lips.

He’d always thought the name of his dad’s ugly iguana was ‘Popsicle.’

“I’m hungry,” Mordred reminded them in a drowsy whisper, effectively calling a temporary truce.

“We’ll talk about this later, love. After dinner,” the dark-haired man promised, leaving a soft stroke on his almost-boyfriend’s back with a half-smile, wishing never to have another disagreement with the blond.

“C’mon. Mordred’s hungry.” A similar smile settled on the therapist’s lips, making the elder Emrys’s heart beat faster with a tender, hopeful warmth.

He loved Arthur. He loved him far too much.

:

Dinner had been wonderful. As Mordred predicted, Arthur was delighted with Hunith’s famous casserole. Though it seemed impossible, he’d fully surrendered his heart to the Emrys family the moment the taste of Balinor’s brownies touched his lips.

Merlin’s father had been generous enough to give Arthur a mini-interview, clarifying a few things about his life during “The Modern Dragonlord” show and how he’d even worked alongside Chris and Martin Kratt on some field projects.

“He seems quite used to it,” Hunith noted, watching sweetly as Mordred had fallen asleep in Arthur's arms.

A tender sigh escaped Merlin’s lips, memories flooding back like a waterfall as he watched Arthur settle Mordred on the sofa with such care.

“He is… When Mordred had nightmares, he was the only one who could calm him. His hugs have that effect, though. He’s the kind of person who makes you feel safe.” Balinor narrowed his eyes, watching the two young men before glancing at his wife.

After so many years of marriage, they’d mastered the art of having entire conversations with just their eyebrows and eye movements, from which Merlin could only conclude it was about him and Arthur, given how his mother’s gaze kept flicking between them.

“You see, love, Merlin’s started seeing someone, but… well, he should be the one to explain,” Hunith concluded as Arthur returned to the table, looking at the Emrys-Ambrosius family with the innocence of a man who’d just missed a debate about his relationship with the love of his life.

“Has he now?” Balinor’s voice failed to convey any real surprise. It was patently, ridiculously obvious how his son was head over heels for the blond, from the way he sought his touch to the utterly genuine smiles he gave him.

“I have, Father. Arthur and I have been… seeing each other for a while. He’s been genuinely committed to me and to Mordred for the past year, so…” Merlin’s words died in his throat.

He couldn’t find the words for how, why, or when his feelings for Arthur had started. Every step had felt earned, genuine, and right, despite the blurry lines their relationship had crossed.

The warmth of Arthur’s palm enveloped his fingers on the table, squeezing the dark-haired man’s hand affectionately, his silent way of saying, "I’m here, don’t be afraid", even though his own fingers were trembling under the weight of his in-laws’ gaze.

“I was Mordred’s therapist for a time, and, well… things just happened. Before I knew it, I was in Merlin’s kitchen making hotcakes after a night of nightmares, and it felt… good. When Mordred called me ‘Dad’ for the first time, it felt good. It felt like that was my place in the world. That I was finally the man I’d fought to be since I was a boy.”

Hunith’s smile had softened the atmosphere; the low kitchen light caught the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. She regretted ever having doubted the man her son had chosen.

“I know from the outside it must look like I used Mordred to get closer to Merlin. I know I crossed too many lines, but—” The blond’s speech was cut short as Merlin’s palm covered his mouth.

“Stop right there, Pendragon. If you’d used Mordred, you wouldn’t have been there for him or for me during our worst moments. If you’d used him, you wouldn’t have referred him to Percival, even when it meant risking never seeing us again.” Merlin’s brow was furrowed in displeasure, his other hand lacing their fingers together.

“You wouldn’t have stopped me when I tried to rush things, and you wouldn’t have put our son’s well-being above your own wants or mine.” Suddenly shy under the focused attention of all the adults, Merlin’s cheeks flushed. He set his jaw firmly. “Just don’t talk like that again, you clotpole. Don’t you ever speak badly of yourself again.”

“Manners,” Hunith chided gently upon hearing the insult, using the moment to gather the dishes and take them to the kitchen.

“Sorry, Mum.”

Balinor’s laughter, full of pure affection, stole the moment, filling the small kitchen with a familial warmth they’d all missed dearly. “I’m amazed how much you’ve grown, son. You sound just like your mother,” he acknowledged, pushing his long hair back.

His eyes crinkled into crescent moons, just like Merlin’s did when he smiled. Arthur found himself wondering if age would treat his partner just as well.

“Now you, son,” Balinor said, his dark eyes settling on the blond, who suddenly felt very small under the man’s gaze. “You remind me of myself when Hunith was pregnant. But somehow, you’ve managed to do it all so much better. When Hunith was pregnant, I had to choose between my career and being there for her every step of the way. Having a family means making sacrifices, Arthur.” The years had layered his voice with a gentle nostalgia, his tone soft, not threatening, but comforting.

“But you must never sacrifice yourself. I just want to be sure you’re thinking of your own happiness, too. Being part of a family, this family, is beautiful and honourable, but it’s also demanding.” Unintentionally, Ambrosius’s gaze drifted to the boy sleeping in the living room.

“You can’t give everything until you’re empty. If Merlin and Mordred say you’re a sweet and honest man, then it’s on you to earn that place. Not as a boyfriend, not as a father, but as a man who deserves to be happy in his own right.” The therapist remained thoughtful. Merlin’s hand had left his mouth, but he still had much to ponder.

Balinor had been the first to advocate for Arthur’s happiness without making him doubt his feelings; on the contrary, he’d encouraged him to chase what felt right.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you lovebirds, I’m going to see what’s taking my beautiful wife so long.” The couple exchanged a glance, sharing a smile.

Arthur’s smile didn’t bode well, especially as it was the same horrible— Merlin adored it—expression he wore when he was scheming.

“It’s really funny that your dad calls you that.”

“Don’t you dare, prat.” Merlin’s threatening gesture wasn’t nearly effective enough to shut the blond up.

“It’s funny he calls you that because your name is literally a love-bird.”

The dark-haired man’s face went completely blank for a second before he punched Arthur’s arm.

“You teach me every day that idiocy knows no limits, Pendragon.”

Chapter Text

Mordred was going to kill Arthur.

"Dad, I get that you need my opinion on whether ivory is better than bone, but for your own wedding, I'd love it if you could just make a decision yourself." Mordred crossed his arms, his voice a mix of exhaustion and indignation.

In the other fitting room, Merlin was doing up the last buttons on his jacket.

Buying a suit last time had been a million times easier, but Mr. My-Great-Grandfather-Was-a-Duke couldn't be satisfied with anything off the rack. The man was even considering a cape to look more stylized.

If it were up to Merlin, he'd get married in his pyjamas, or at least in slippers. Dress shoes were, without a doubt, an invention of the devil.

"You should've thought of that before agreeing to be my best man," Arthur shot back, already slipping back into the fitting room to try on the next option.

"I think I need a different color. The white makes me look fat." Merlin stepped out and faced the mirror. The black waistcoat hugged his torso, keeping the shirt tidy. It wasn't bad, but the white jacket over it just didn't feel right. Or maybe it was the way the trousers hung on his legs.

He probably looked fine. Arthur would love it no matter what; his pre-wedding jitters were just messing with his head.

Merlin knew his son wouldn't use exactly the word fat to describe him. It's just that since moving in with Arthur, their lives had adapted to the blond's... energetic lifestyle, and their bodies had followed suit.

"Don't say that, love. You're not fat." His fiancé's voice came from the doorway, a shock of blond hair peeking in. "You can only wear white to your own wedding. Stop overthinking it and try a different waistcoat or jacket." Arthur's tone was soft, reassuring.

"Dad's right," Mordred conceded, already sifting through the racks, getting lost in a forest of waistcoats, pocket squares, and jackets in every color and fabric.

A wave of joy, warm and nostalgic, swelled in Merlin's chest. He was so proud of how far they'd come, of how much they'd all grown and changed.

He'd been fighting back tears since they walked in the shop.

The sight of his son—so grown up, picking out his own suit for the wedding—filled his heart with a fierce mix of pride, fear, and overwhelming love.

This was the same boy who had cried in his arms as a baby, who clung to his leg on the first day of school, terrified of being left behind. Now he was a healthy teenager, all acne and attitude.

Where had the time gone?

"Of course I'm fat, Arthur. I've gained thirty pounds since we moved in together," Merlin complained, critically eyeing the changes in his body—thicker arms, fuller legs, a softer middle.

The truth was, he was getting older. And he was doing it with the man he loved, which made him happier than he'd ever been. He hadn't had a truly bad day since the day they moved together.

It happened four months after they became boyfriends.

Mordred was fast asleep in the back of Arthur's car. They'd spontaneously decided to spend the weekend at the beach, using the excuse that Arthur "needed to maintain his tan to stay attractive to the not-so-single parents."

They both knew if they'd planned a real vacation, Mordred would have pestered them relentlessly for days. Spontaneity was easier.

Though infinitely more exhausting. By sunset, Merlin was completely drained.

"Love... Mordred's finishing the school year soon," Arthur began, his voice unusually tender. "With everything that's happened since he started seeing Percival, the school stuff, even the things with me... I think a change would be good for him." Arthur didn't often use pet names, so this was serious. It reminded Merlin of the time a sweet-talkin' Arthur had resulted in three broken windows during a ball game with Mordred.

Merlin hummed in agreement, too tired to form words after a day spent slathering two chaotic summer gremlins in sunscreen, keeping them hydrated, and feeding them.

Thanks to the sun and his curled-up nap, Mordred now resembled a steamed shrimp more than the pale kid who'd left the house that morning.

"A change would be good, yeah. Have you looked at other schools nearby?" It sounded reasonable so far, which meant the other shoe was about to drop.

"Something like that..." Merlin's eyes drifted to his partner. Arthur's shoulders were tense, his hands fidgeting. He was nervous. When it came to big decisions, Arthur had a habit of overthinking, and it always showed.

One of Merlin's hands found its way to Arthur's denim-clad thigh, giving it a comforting stroke. It was his silent way of saying, I'm here. It's okay.

From the very start of their "non-relationship," they'd developed their own language.

It began with shared looks, graduated to back pats that lasted a little too long, then leaning on each other's shoulders while pretending nothing was happening, and eventually, stealing kisses in unexpected places just to make the other smile.

Living together as a family had made them rub off on each other, Merlin noticed with some chagrin.

The first time he saw it was after a brutal day at work. His boss was unhappy with a project—a common occurrence, as the old man never knew what he wanted.

Merlin's bad mood was a physical thing. Every muscle was tight, and his head throbbed.

Usually, Mordred steered clear when he was like this, but that day, the boy walked right up to him and ruffled his hair, an affectionate gesture he'd seen Arthur do a hundred times.

The last thing Merlin wanted to do was prove Arthur right about anything, but he had to admit, the head ruffles did seem to have a magical effect.

His mood lifted considerably for the rest of the day.

Another time, he found Arthur awake at midnight in his poorly lit study, sitting in the exact same spot where Merlin always coded, hunched in the same terrible posture.

If they both sat like that, they'd need yoga classes before they were too old to bend over.

"Sweetheart, come to bed," he'd said, his voice thick with sleep.

"One second, almost done." And if Arthur had picked up all his habits, that second meant at least half an hour.

Bit by bit, his family had adopted these little rituals of love.

They had slipped into each other's lives so seamlessly that Merlin never noticed the exact moment the missing piece of their family clicked into place, bringing him a peace he'd thought was lost, making him rethink his whole life.

Love, undoubtedly, had its own way of working and changing people.

If Arthur believed a decision would make their lives better, Merlin wasn't about to stop him.

He looked up, meeting a pair of expectant blond eyebrows. Arthur's face was a picture of nervous uncertainty.

He wanted to kiss him.

"Yes." It came out like a question, but his answer for Arthur was always yes, even when he didn't know the question.

Somehow, Arthur had become his safe place. Even though he was an idiot, a spoiled brat, a clotpole who never noticed what was right in front of him.

Put like that, he sounded disgustingly in love.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you Merlin?" And Merlin loved him for it, for the way he could literally and figuratively read his mind.

"Not a single word." Merlin grinned, his dimples on full display, cheeks aching with the force of his smile.

In response, Arthur's eyes softened, the setting sun making them shine like liquid gold.

"Move in with me. You and Mordred. I can drive him to and from school. You wouldn't have to keep such an exhausting schedule." Arthur's warm, rough hands cradled his face, his thumbs stroking the tired skin under Merlin's eyes.

Instinctively, Merlin leaned into the touch, letting himself be cherished, allowing himself to bask in Arthur's closeness.

He was so damn in love with this sweet, thoughtful man.

"I don't want to force you into anything... especially because I know that house was your special place with Freya. Her history is in those walls." And there he was. the insecure, nervous man hiding behind the cheerful, carefree facade.

How could a man who said ridiculously spoiled things like, "There should be a special lane for dads driving kids; we don't have the same adrenaline as moms," also be this incredibly sweet?

Arthur's eyes were fixed elsewhere, unable to meet his gaze, and it made Merlin's heart melt.

If Arthur had just looked at him, he'd have seen the answer right away.

"But you could rent the house out. That money could start Mordred's university fund. My father and I... well, he's my son, the only grandson. We've been putting a set amount into a savings account for him every month."

From the first time Arthur had called Mordred 'his son,' Merlin knew he was gone. Arthur, with his own two hands, had built him a new home, a place to live and grow.

He'd hit the jackpot the day he met Arthur Pendragon.

"Of course we'll move in with you, Dollophead."

And now, nearly eight years later, on the verge of marrying him, Merlin could say with absolute certainty that nothing in his heart had changed.

"Are you done scrutinizing your imaginary fat, Dad?" Mordred's voice pulled him from his trip down memory lane, forcing him to look at the pile of jackets and waistcoats still waiting.

"I'm definitely fatter, Mordred. The waistcoats didn't fit like this before," he retorted, marching back into the fitting room to take off the failed ensemble.

"They didn't fit like that because you were twenty. Now you're fortysomething, and you've probably gained a little. You're as lazy as Aithusa in the mornings." He wouldn't be so lazy if Arthur didn't keep him up half the night.

Some things had definitely changed over the years.

Meeting Arthur Pendragon and his seemingly endless stamina had been a curse.

"I think I've earned the right to be lazy. You don't have to put up with Arthur's snoring all night." A sound of indignation came from the other fitting room, which Merlin ignored with a smile.

"Right." Was all Mordred said before turning his attention back to the racks. The sheer number of options was overwhelming.

At least finding a suit that fit wasn't a concern; Arthur had insisted they get everything tailored after they bought it. Some of that old-world nobility still clung to him. He was undeniably refined, but to Mordred's teenage sensibilities, it was all a bit... too much.

Don't get him wrong, Mordred loved both his parents, but sometimes Arthur was just too much.

Over time, Arthur had secured the top spot as his favorite adult, a title he'd held despite Hunith's best efforts to reclaim it. Mordred doubted that would ever change; after all, Arthur was the only one with decent skiing skills, and those trips were some of his favorite memories.

Though Kara was becoming a serious contender for the title. She'd won him over quickly, though he couldn't pinpoint why.

His grandfather had once told him that love works in mysterious ways, and that he didn't know why he loved Ygraine either. Sure, she was beautiful, and that made his heart race, but it wasn't why he married her.

"She was a source of good things, beautiful things. Sweet like no other, Ygraine had kindness in every pore, in every corner of her being. To name just one thing I love about her would be to dishonor her memory." Uther's words had struck a deep chord.

It was the first time the man had spoken about his wife in front of him, and Mordred felt honored to receive love advice from his grandfather.

It was their special way of bonding.

Anyway, putting his girlfriend at the top of his list felt a bit egotistical. Maybe he needed a second list, just for the people his heart had chosen without his brain getting involved.

But that was a thought for another day, especially when the stuffy air of the suit shop was making him dwell on the more... trying aspects of the two clowns he called parents.

His parents were obnoxiously loud lovers. Just having them in the same room usually meant noise. But when it came to expressing love for him, they took it to another level.

It was a constant stream of "Bye, love you!", "Love you, drive safe!", "Thanks, love you!" shouted across the house, making it impossible to get more than two hours of quiet in the Emrys-Pendragon household.

Arthur was also weirdly controlling.

Twice a month, he'd practically kick his fiancé out of the house, insisting they both needed "friend time" outside the family.

Sometimes, Mordred was the one evicted. On the good days, Uther got kicked out, too, and they'd spend the afternoon together while the old man grumbled about how his misfit friends didn't deserve all his free time.

So, golf with Uther became a monthly tradition.

Mordred would never admit it—he didn't want to hurt the old man's feelings—but the main reason he loved those outings were the clubhouse sandwiches.

After the whole Cenred incident, his parents, both of them, had become ridiculously paranoid.

It was probably the only trait of theirs that genuinely annoyed him, though he had to admit, their paranoia had saved him from many awkward conversations.

If anyone in the family was having a bad day, the therapist in Arthur would kick in, and he'd start subtly—or not so subtly—probing for issues Mordred didn't even know he had.

His father, on the other hand, preferred a more vengeful approach.

He once planted counterfeit money in Mordred's backpack, with Uther's help, to catch the kid who was stealing his lunch money. Arthur's lecture had been epic, but the scheme worked.

That same paranoia had also saved him from his father and grandparents' wrath more than once, so he was secretly grateful for it.

Though it had almost backfired when it came to making them a real family.

It happened about a year ago, on a Friday, he thinks.

He and his father were curled up on the sofa, a purring Aithusa demanding pets in their laps.

The room was lit only by the TV, playing Pacific Rim for what felt like the millionth time that month.

When Mordred latched onto something, he didn't let go.

The triumphant theme of Gipsy Danger filled the room as the pilots prepared to launch, and Mordred's excitement peaked as if it were his first viewing.

"I've always thought Charlie Hunnam looks like Dad," he commented, tracking the actor's movements on screen without pausing his petting of the cat.

"I don't know what you're on about. Charlie Hunnam's quite ugly," his father retorted through a mouthful of popcorn.

The smell of butter made his own stomach rumble.

"Trust me, Dad, that's the point." He could tell his father was fighting a smile.

The movie played on until the fight between Mako and Raleigh, when Mordred finally decided to get more popcorn.

He reluctantly paused the film, shoved his feet into the dinosaur slippers Grandpa Balinor had given him for his thirteenth birthday—which were only now starting to feel snug—and padded carefully to the kitchen so as not to wake the cat or his grandfather.

A couple of minutes later, he was back on the couch, a bag of hot popcorn in his arms, sinking into the blankets that had gone cold in his absence.

He was about to unpause the movie when his father's obnoxious notification sound, a lightsaber clash from Star Wars that Merlin insisted was cool, echoed in the quiet room.

A late-night notification when Arthur was out drinking with his friends and Aunt Morgana was around could mean anything.

He watched his father reach for his phone and play the video Morgana had sent with the caption, "He is not fun."

The video was a shaky close-up of Arthur, sprawled disgracefully over Leon and Lancelot's coffee table. The two men alternated between looking fondly at each other and at Arthur with a mix of pity and amusement.

Mordred knew they were a couple. It was obvious from the way they looked at each other. He had a theory Morgana knew, too, but they all played along to let Gwen and Arthur believe they had straight friends.

The music dipped as the camera focused on his father, who was slurring something incoherently, drowned out by the laughter of Aunt Gwen, who was presumably holding the camera.

"What's that, Artie?" Gwen's voice was slurred as she shoved the camera lens right in his face.

The phone's flash highlighted Arthur's red eyes and runny nose. He was a mess. But over his shoulder, Mordred heard his father's unmistakable, lovestruck sigh.

Love did weird things to people. He himself thought Kara was cute even when she laughed so hard she turned bright red.

The camera angle shifted, focusing for a second on a small velvet box. Arthur's shot glass tipped over onto Leon's carpet, and he started pointing an accusatory finger at the camera.

"You don't get it... you don't get it 'cause you've been with Gwen for..." Arthur's face scrunched up as he tried and failed to calculate how long his sister and Gwen had been together. "...For your whole life! You don't know how hard it is to ask the love of your life to marry you!"

A sympathetic coo came from Gwen, who started rubbing his shoulders.

"You don't know how hard it is to ask your son to be your son!" The words were a drunken mumble, but the meaning came through loud and clear.

Slowly, his father put the phone down on the coffee table next to the half-empty popcorn bag, a huge, unreserved smile on his face. Mordred felt the same way.

It wasn't how he expected to find out about the engagement and not that his father would ever say no, but it was sweet, in its own strange way. That, even drunk off his face, Arthur was thinking of them.

Not that Mordred knew much about being drunk. The only stories he heard were with Grandpa Balinor, but that was a tale for another time.

There were very few people in the world he loved as much as he loved Arthur. The man had been a cornerstone of his life, especially his childhood, and was in most of his happiest memories.

"Arthur Emrys sounds terrible, for the record," Mordred offered, unpausing the movie and stuffing his cheeks with warm popcorn.

"Merlin Pendragon isn't much better."

"You don't know what you're talking about, old man. Merlin Pendragon is straight drip."

Now, those same teary, snot-filled face was looking back at him as Arthur adjusted his tie.

His suit was a simple three-piece in graphite grey, with a green tie featuring a subtle spiral pattern.

"You've grown up so much, son." The raw vulnerability in Arthur's voice hit Mordred right in the heart, making his own eyes prickle.

But he wasn't going to cry. Besides, if no one saw it, it didn't count.

His rebellious teen years had changed him. He was mouthier now, and less physically affectionate than the cuddly kid he'd been.

But some childhood habits died hard, and hugging his parents was one of them.

He pulled the blond into a tight hug, feeling Arthur tremble with nerves, trying to stifle his sniffles. When another set of arms wrapped around them both, pulling them against a familiar chest, the tears he'd been holding back escaped, wetting his cheeks.

"I love you, Dads," he whispered, his voice shaky. He felt his father's beard tickle his forehead as Merlin kissed his hair.

They held each other for a long moment, and Mordred took the opportunity to wipe his tears on both their shirts. No evidence, no crime.

"If you two don't pick a suit, there's not going to be a wedding." His voice cracked. Definitely puberty. Not tears.

A week after the infamous video, the family was having one of Arthur's mandatory "family enrichment nights."

His parents were cuddled on one end of the sofa, hidden under an ugly red blanket, shielding them from the (affectionate) disgusted looks from Mordred and Uther. He was at the other end with Aithusa in his lap, munching on a bag of nachos.

The kitten had arrived months ago, just when he was planning to ask for a pet to cure his "loneliness" and keep Uther company.

Speaking of Uther, the old man was on the other sofa, blankets piled on his shoulders, engrossed in Jackie Chan delivering precise blows in The Tuxedo.

Watching the furniture get destroyed brought back memories.

After all, his father had to transfer a generous sum to Lancelot for a new coffee table and rug. Arthur hadn't over-indulged since.

"Dad, can you show me that video from Aunt Morgana again?" Mordred asked with an angelic smile. His father handed over the phone without a second thought.

Arthur clearly needed a push to make it official, and Mordred was happy to give it.

"What video?" Arthur frowned as the scene from Leon's living room filled the screen.

A kaleidoscope of emotions flashed across the therapist's face: shame, anger, disappointment, fear, happiness, discomfort. You name it, he felt it.

A heavy silence fell. Even Uther, who usually changed the subject to spare Mordred, looked amused and expectant.

The movie was forgotten. The drone of the ceiling fan was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room—at least to Arthur.

"I'll do it. But you are not taking my last name. Last time that happened, my wife died." His father's voice was flat, all drama stripped away. Beside him, Arthur's face was filled with pure horror.

That joke had made Mordred's entire week.

"Dad, you're an idiot and a sap, but I'm not gonna lie, Mordred Pendragon sounds fucking good," he said, aiming a tight, laughter-concealing smile at the therapist.

Another beat of silence passed before Arthur's face returned to its usual dopey expression.

"Watch your tone, young man. You've just used up your weekly insult quota," he declared, once the emotional storm had passed and he'd accepted that, legally, they would finally be a family.

The next day, without a word or a grand gesture, Mordred spotted the glint of new rings on his parents' fingers.

"I know I probably shouldn't tell you this. It must be weird... hearing about your ex-husband's new wedding from the great beyond." He rested his head against the cool stone, watching autumn leaves dance in the wind.

"But helping plan this wedding was so hard. I don't know how you and Dad did it back then... though I guess it was easier than marrying someone this vain." A wave of nostalgia washed over him as he fiddled with the puppet in his lap.

The King of Nowhere was worn and faded, his plush body proof of how well-loved he'd been.

"Aunt Morgana paid me off to pick the invitation colors. She threatened to tell Kara I still had this guy if I didn't choose green and blue." The memory of the cash tucked under his schoolbooks made him smile.

He'd use it for a gift for Kara, and maybe some new headphones to fuel his secret Sabrina Carpenter obsession.

"Honestly, I wanted green and purple. Gwen and Vivian look great in purple. But Morgana was dead set on blue, and Arthur seemed to prefer it, too." The King of Nowhere was still a constant in his life, a comfort on lonely days.

Having the real king just a few doors down the hall, filling the quiet moments, had helped him come out of his shell.

The doll was falling apart at the seams, his color was faded, and he was missing a chunk of hair. His eyes and teeth had been replaced multiple times, and Aithusa had mauled his family crest. He needed a full restoration to be kingly again.

Life had been too busy for repairs.

"For my best man speech, I'm thinking of giving the King back. I'll tell Arthur that since I have the real one now, this guy deserves a vacation. At least 'til I leave for college." He wasn't worried about his future; the trust fund his grandfather started could cover four degrees and a used car.

"Gotta fix him up first, though. Don't want Dad thinking he's going bald. What do you think?" He picked up the brush he'd brought, cleaning the dirt from its bristles before gently sweeping it over the bronze letters on his mother's headstone.

Having a new family didn't mean he'd forgotten the old one.

It just meant he had another chance to love, and to do it better this time.

"Sorry I haven't visited sooner. I promise I'll come back after the honeymoon and tell you all about it." He gave the stone a final smile and began to gather his things.

He stood, a familiar melancholy settling in his chest as he straightened the bouquet of flowers.

His other hand held the king tightly, drawing comfort from the soft felt, even now.

He still had to fix the doll and finish his speech.

But just like the first time he'd held it, a sense of warmth and safety bloomed in his chest.

And Mordred knew, as long as he carried this feeling of belonging, this sense of home, he could face anything.

"See you soon, Mom. I love you." He called out, his eyes on the headstone one last time before turning towards the cemetery gate, looking for Uther, who'd been visiting his own wife.

They still had a lot to do.