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i.
Sitting on the marble steps at the school entrance Merlin breathes out a small breath, a cloud of white smoke mingling with the cold winter air.
The cigarette shakes slightly between his trembling fingers and he hates himself for letting his emotions overpower him this much. He hates that he’s so transparent that other people can easily see through him, and he hates Arthur for fucking with him and fucking things up.
The bell rings, signalling the end to the last class of the day, and Merlin hurries to finish his fag before people begin stomping down the hall and out of the door.
After a last drag, he drops the cigarette to the floor and crushes it under his foot, killing the last sparkles of orange. He throws the strap of his backpack over his shoulder, stands up, and moves away from the doorway, trying to scurry off before anyone can see him. If any teacher catches sight of him they'll ring his mum and let her know he's skipped the last lecture.
He just couldn’t do it. Go in, sit in class, two desks behind Arthur, having to avoid not crossing gazes with him, not accidentally looking at the back of his neck, at his hairline, feigning the sound of his voice when he speaks up doesn't break him inside.
Someone bumps against his shoulder, makes the lighter Merlin was fiddling with slip from his grasp and fall down, skid across the floor when the guy kicks it in the direction of the door. Without a glance and a weak apology the bloke pushes past him and dashes off, unfazed, leaving Merlin to retrace his steps and crouch down to retrieve it.
"Dick," he mumbles under his breath, moody and anxious, because people are everywhere now around him and all he wanted was to slip under the radar.
As luck would have it, a pair of very familiar worn-out trainers appear right before him.
He swallows, his heart hammering hard against his chest.
He’s ditched class to avoid seeing Arthur and yet here he is. It’s like Merlin can’t fucking escape from him, it's as though no matter how hard tries to put some distance between them, Arthur always ends up sneaking past Merlin's barriers. When he’s not hogging Merlin’s thoughts, he’s in the same room, making the air choke him and his skin itch. Altering Merlin's magic, making it almost break free.
When he pushes to his feet, schooling his features takes the biggest effort. He averts looking at Arthur’s face, let alone meeting his eyes, but Arthur takes a step closer, and Arthur’s friends— Merlin’s friends, their friends— stand behind him, watching with caution, sympathy. It makes him feel sick. And alone.
“Where have you been?” Arthur asks, voice low and rough. “You weren’t in class.”
Merlin’s magic bubbles inside him. He wants to cry out in frustration when it tries to reach out to Arthur, calling to him, missing him. This is the first conversation they have had since it all ended nine days ago. Although it somehow feels longer than that, it feels like ages ago. Not being with Arthur makes time pass by differently, so agonisingly slow it's making Merlin want to tear his hair out in frustration, because it's making the pain last longer.
“Are you okay?” Arthur asks hesitantly and Merlin’s eyes sting. He pulls away when Arthur attempts to touch his arm. He doesn’t have any right anymore.
“I’m fine,” he lies. The false worry in Arthur's scrunched up face is too much, his concern shouldn't mean anything anymore, and yet it still gets to Merlin. “Just stay away from me.”
Arthur sucks in a silent breath in response to Merlin's coldness. Before his magic can protest again or Arthur can say a word to cloud Merlin's judgement, Merlin turns his back on him like Arthur did, and quickly stalks off, running away.
ii.
His mum’s warning words echo in his head, reminding him how naïve he was for hoping, for trusting so blindly.
He just needs a call. But his mobile never rings, not after a day, a week, a month.
She’s there when Merlin’s falling apart. His mum and Will. Always Will, but not Arthur.
Merlin’s cross with him for not being as broken and lost as he feels. He's cross, even when he’s the one pushing Arthur away all the time.
iii.
“Bloody hell, look at what the fucker's done to you,” Will grouses, shaking his head, hands curled into fists as he paces up and down Merlin’s room. Merlin can see how close he is to punching the wall or kicking the desk. “You’re a mess, you’re hurting, M.”
“I’m fine, Will, it’s over now. I’m over it,” he hears himself say for the millionth time, voice monotonous, emotionless.
“You’re fucking not, mate. Why’d you have to get hung up on him in the first place?” Will asks him. “He’s such a bastard, like his father.”
The bulb of the bedside lamp clicks and shatters and Will glances at him for the first time. “Sorry,” he says, softer, realising he’s making Merlin uncomfortable.
He’s furious with Arthur, but he can’t stand hearing Will comparing Arthur to his father, not even when he’s proven to be like Uther, after all.
Merlin smiles up at him, though. A small, sad smile, and Will sighs, plops down on the bed beside Merlin and pulls him into an embrace. It’s rare when they do this, but Merlin is grateful for the gesture nonetheless.
He loves him fiercely. Loves Will because he’s always attuned to Merlin’s moods. Giddy when Merlin’s giddy or upset when he senses Merlin is, too. He gets mad when Merlin doesn’t allow himself to be, both at silly and not so silly matters, and then jokes and comforts him, knowing when he has to stop bitching about and when Merlin needs his space or silence.
Or when he needs this.
Because Will’s always been there and Merlin knows he’s never going to fail him or leave him like the rest of the people do.
iv.
Merlin has to endure going to class and seeing him daily, but he handles it okay. Or that’s what he tells himself. Because it’s easier to pretend.
He tries to forget four years of friendship and ten months of pure happiness and all the things they did together. But most of all, Merlin tries to erase from his head their last conversation, Uther’s maniac shouts and hands shoving him out of his house and Arthur’s life for good.
He remembers everything else. All the lazy afternoons at Arthur’s, eating greasy pizza and playing shitty video games, half-naked and tangled in each other. Hacking around afteerwards, necking and getting each other off, snogging for hours. Studying together when necessary, sharing notes, and pointers and kisses in between. He remembers Arthur's gentle caresses when no one watched and his fond insults when everyone listened. Those evenings making out in Arthur's fancy car, trapped under a rainstorm, or stealing his father’s drinks and getting pissed in Arthur’s bedroom, trying to be quiet when things got to heated and they hid and moved together under the sheets. Their failed attempts at cooking in the morning when Uther was out on a business trip, Arthur's lingering kisses under the doorway when it was time for Merlin to get home but neither wanted to let go.
But what he can’t stop thinking about is the memory of Arthur telling him how good it felt being with him, how he could feel his magic around him, touching him, and how he never wanted to be apart from him and miss any of it. How his magic was as special as Merlin himself and he loved him for it.
He can't stop thinking about it, and yet it feels like a wonderful dream he's just woken up from.
v.
Merlin is drunk and past caring.
Apparently, so is Arthur.
He doesn’t know how he’s ended up here, he just wanted to party and forget about the drama for a while. Gwaine’s birthday seemed like the best option because Gwaine’s always got loads of alcohol and crazy-good music, has a fucking mansion you can get lost in it if you want to escape the throng, and the hottest friends to make out with.
Merlin’s plans have gone to shit, somehow, at some point.
He’s tried the door handle, but it’s locked from the outside. He feels sick, dizzy and angry, because he knows this has been their friends’ idea but they have no right to force Merlin to talk to Arthur and pretend they care about their happiness, about Merlin's. They can’t decide when it’s time to fix things or make pace. They can’t decide when it’s time for them to stop hurting or to stop hurting each other. They can’t decide for them shit.
“Say something,” Arthur breaks the silence a few minutes later, when Merlin's given up on the handle. His voice sounds small and a bit slurred, low from the place across the room where he sits, leaning against the wall sideways.
“I hate you,” Merlin replies brokenly. And the pounding music from downstairs sounds like a tentative tendril of noise that Merlin tries to focus on, so he won’t lose his temper, wishing he could magic himself away. But he long ago learnt that, in times like these, when he's in no control of his emotions, he's unable to be in control of his magic.
Arthur is silent for a moment, but then he sighs. “You don’t really mean that,” he replies, but he sounds vacillating, his bravado and self-confidence gone.
Merlin doesn’t answer he does, because deep down he doesn’t really hate Arthur. How can he, when he had the time of his life with him, when a part of who he is it's still with Arthur. There might be resentment and frustration within him, misery, but not hate, no matter how much he's tried to muster up the feeling.
“And you never truly loved me. We all lie.” He lets his back hit the wall and slips down to the floor in defeat. There’s no getting out of here and since they are locked in the room for an indeterminate amount of time, he might as well say all the things he never got a chance to get off his chest after he and Arthur ended. “You just— had fun with me because we were mates, we were close. You told me how much you wanted me, but— but you used me, all along . . . Of course it was fucking easy for you to let go.”
Arthur's face scrunches up, all hard lines and creases, and the tone of his voice is much less gentle as he speaks now. “How can you say that? God, you have no idea. You don’t know shit, Merlin.”
“Yeah.” Merlin snorts sarcastically. A small part of him wants to hurt Arthur like Arthur hurt him. Not deeply, not permanently, but just a little, just so he knows how Merlin feels— felt. “Because you never told me shit. I can do magic, but I can’t read minds.”
As soon as Merlin says it, Arthur tenses in front of him. “Don’t bring that up.”
Merlin wants to laugh, but his throat is closed up and it's already hard enough to speak. So he only slumps a little bit lower down the wall and lets his eyelids drop closed. “Why? You gonna dump me again because of it?”
“Stop it, Merlin. You’re not— you're not like this.”
Merlin snorts again. “You made me like this. You did this.”
Arthur stands up and Merlin feels relieved knowing Arthur is going to leave him alone. His head is pounding, his eyes are filling with unshed tears and his hands feel cold and shaky. But Arthur doesn’t leave. Of course he doesn’t, because he can’t. The door is locked.
Surprisingly, Merlin finds Arthur's coming closer and sitting in front of him, kneeling between Merlin’s open legs and forcing Merlin to look at him with a hand on his chin. Merlin clenches his jaw at the touch and he wants to turns his head to the side and look away, slap Arthur's hand off him, but he can't because his magic flares up at the touch and doesn't let him move an inch.
“Look at me,” Arthur says, in that arrogant voice of his, but different. Pained. Only that can't be, so Merlin doesn’t. He doesn’t want to. “Merlin, look at me.” Arthur shakes him and Merlin foces his magic to subside and places his hands on Arthur’s arms to stop him.
And it's only when he finally meets Arthur’s eyes that he feels like sobbing his heart out in front of him for the first time since they broke up.
“I never lied, I never hid anything from you, I was always honest, and yeah, I loved you and I acted like an arse letting you go. And I regret it every day.”
Merlin knows Arthur’s telling the truth, he feels it deep down in his bones. He could always feel it when they were together; how open Arthur was with him, in his own way. It’s just that it’s been much easier to deny it, to push it out of his mind, try to ignore those memories.
He's sobering up now, and maybe it's because Arthur's always calmed him, or because looking into his blue eyes has always been soothing. But even though Merlin’s body trembles a little, he feels much lighter with Arthur’s hands touching him and his magic has stopped wrestling against him.
“If you had loved me—“ Merlin swallows as soon as he says the words, but he forces himself to continue, to go on and say it all, because he deserves to stop being haunted by memories and dreams can never have again. And Arthur has to hear it all, it's the least he can do, listen. “If you had ever fucking loved me, you should have fought for me and not let your father dictate whether you could or couldn’t see me again. You— let him throw me out of your house without blinking an eyelid, Arthur.” He stares into Arthur’s eyes for a moment. “Do you have any idea how that made me feel? You did nothing to stop him, didn’t even ask me how I was later. Didn’t fucking ring. You just allowed your father to break us apart because of my magic.”
“I was scared he would hurt you,” Arthur tells him quietly, his hands skating down Merlin’s face to cup his neck, bringing their faces closer. “I’m sorry. That’s all I could think about. You didn’t see him after you left. He was so enraged that a sorcerer had been breathing his same air, staying in his house for years. That you had managed to— deceive me into sleeping with you and it had all escaped his notice. He went wild, you have no idea. I had to stay away from you, even if all I wanted was to go find you. But I was so afraid, Merlin. I'd never seen him like that, he just wouldn’t see sense.”
Merlin wants to resist when Arthur’s thumbs start to caress his cheekbones, when Arthur’s voice starts to go soft and crack in a way that Merlin knows is unusual and means helplessness, regret, sadness, resignation. His heart still beats furiously at the gentleness of Arthur’s touch, and he still wants Arthur so bad it pains him. Merlin believes him. Because he knows Uther's abhorrence for magic, and especially, because he knows how far Arthur'd go to protect him.
“He was watching me all the time, had George following me to school, making sure I went straight home after, making sure you were gone from my life. He lost it when he realised we'd been friends for so long even after discovering you had magic. He didn’t understand how I could stand being around you knowing your magic could kill me, like it killed my mother. But he never understood that you’d never hurt me.”
Merlin sighs and hangs his head down, completely overwhelmed by the warmth in Arthur's voice, his proximity.
“I just want to be with you,” Arthur murmurs in a whisper, touching their foreheads together, his hands holding a bit too tightly to Merlin's neck, too desperately. “It’s been hell without you these past months. Sometimes it feels like my bed sheets or clothes still smell of you and that’s killing me, Merlin.”
Merlin clutches the fabric of Arthur’s t-shirt between his fingers to ground himself and keep Arthur within reach, keep him there, right where he is kneeling on the hard floor before him. He’s missed him so much, the feel of him, the sight of him, his touch. “Nothing has changed, Arthur, has it? Your father still doesn’t want me near you. That’s never going to change because I can’t change the way I am and I never would, not for him.”
“I would never want you to change the way you are. Just— fuck my father,” Arthur says hotly, as if it were that simple. “He liked you before, before he knew. We can make him see. He can’t be that heartless, I can't stand the idea that he can be that heartless.”
“Arthur . . .” Merlin shakes his head no. He’s not so sure they can convince Uther, he's a stubborn man and Merlin's not important enough in his life to change his views on a issue he's so strongly against. “I want you," he says quickly, almost reluctantly, because he doesn't want to give Arthur his heart again when things are the same. "But nothing's—“
“We’ll figure it out, I'll move out next year for uni, we can rent a flat together or something, ” Arthur cuts him off, thumbs stroking his neck relentlessly. “Can we— can we try again? You're a wreck and— and so am I.”
Merlin feels like the most reasonable thing to say is no. No, because they have no guarantee this will work out. Because Uther hasn’t changed his mind, everything's the same it was months ago, and because it’s going to be fucking difficult and rough to get through. But he can’t say no. Everything about Arthur right now, from his rigid posture, his vulnerable voice and his oddly trembling hands, to the hope in his watery eyes, makes it impossible. And everything about Merlin, his mind, his heart and his magic, his entire body, scream yes and I need you and right now.
So he nods and then closes the small gap between their mouths. He breathes a ‘yeah’ against those lips he’s missed so much, and not a beat after, Arthur’s body goes slack in Merlin's arms as the tension leaks out of him, and he clings at Merlin's neck and kisses him so tenderly, so intensely. And with so much love. Merlin knows that it won't be easy, far from it, but Uther can only control Arthur's life for so long. If they stick together, if they don't let anyone break them apart, Merlin knows they can make it. He'll fight for Arthur, always, and now he knows Arthur's willing to fight his own blood, his only family, for him, too.
It may be rough, but the promise of a future with Arthur beside him is good enough for Merlin to run head first into whatever hell Uther, or anyone else, has got planned for them without a care in the world.
So that's what he'll do. That's what he does.
the end.