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The chill in the air was palpable, reflecting the chill Merlin felt inside, had felt inside for a millennia. London's winters were always cold, but it was always offset by the liveliness of the city, the lights strung across streets, the people bustling around in thick coats. It was only a few weeks before Christmas, and the mood - if you can call it that, was everywhere. Tinsel in storefronts, wreaths on doors, and lights in windows. Merlin always looked in people's windows. He knew it was a useless habit - but he had long given up breaking useless habits, and the smallest chance that Arthur might be out there kept him looking.
Merlin had been walking for so long he had managed to wander into the suburbs of London. He did this far more often than he'd like to admit. The walks were relaxing, in a way. The chill in the air made him feel comfortable in a strange way, and the endless wandering made him feel like he was doing something, looking for someone.
As he walked up a quiet street, he noticed a glow coming from one house. It was a nice house, like every house in this part of London. There were roses on the windowsill, framed by the golden glow coming from a chandelier suspended over a dinner table. It was the type of scene Arthur would appreciate, he thought. A group of friends, sitting around a likely overpriced table in a definitely overpriced house, laughing, enjoying a hearty meal and what was probably some of the most snobbish wine one could find in London.
The people around the table were far too engrossed in their conversations to take notice of a man staring into their window from across the street, a distantly wistful look in his eyes that made him look on the edge of tears. Merlin only wished that one of the windows he looked in would have Arthur's eyes looking back at him.
Merlin got back to his home around midnight. The darkness had become too oppressive, even for Merlin, who had become accustomed to the shadows. The walk back had reminded him of Camelot, strangely enough. Even after all these years those ten years were still vivid in his mind, while the centuries since sometimes felt like a fever dream that had blurred together. He had remembered one particular evening, when Arthur had insisted (or rather Gwaine had convinced Arthur), to spend a night at the Tavern. Merlin, of course, had copped endless jokes about his familiarity with the place, had even had to deal with Gwaine flirting with him, imitating what Arthur and the Knights clearly assumed was why Merlin spent so much time in the Tavern.
Merlin could still remember the quietly furious look in Arthur's eyes at the idea.
The walk back from the Tavern had been cold - very cold. Merlin remembered being distantly surprised there wasn't a light dusting of snow covering the paths. He still remembered the look Arthur had given him walking back to the citadel. During a period of silence, Arthur had looked over at him, quietly assessing, head tilted, eyebrows furrowed slightly, but the look was gone before Merlin could question him about it. He had lain awake that night, worried that he hadn't been as friendly with the other patrons as he should've been, worried that Arthur suspected something.
Now he thinks Arthur had realised something. Something Merlin had realised long before that night.
-
It was Christmas Eve, and Merlin was in the centre of London, searching for a Christmas present. He didn't actually have anyone to give it to, but he had always bought Arthur a present. He didn't know if it was hope, delusion, or something else entirely. Maybe he was addicted to the if-only.
Eventually, Merlin walked out of a small tourist shop with a miniature Excalibur. He knew it was tacky, but he was long past trying to buy functional presents. As he made the walk back to his home, he couldn't help but look at every person he walked past. Something in his brain was just wired to search for Arthur.
Merlin woke the next morning, as late as ever. In fact it was barely still morning, only being a little while before noon. He rolled out of bed with a groan. He didn't really have a typical plan for Christmas day. To him it was the same as any other day, only with nothing open. So it was that evening, that Merlin did what he did most nights, and set out for a walk through the cold night.
London seemed like it was Christmas party after Christmas party, though ‘party’ might not be the best word. Every street Merlin had walked down so far had at least one family enjoying massive roast dinners under twinkling lights. Merlin's feet had taken him to a shabbier part of London tonight. It was an area with lots of sharehouses and students, but the Christmas cheer was as alive as ever. It only served to make Merlin feel more lonely. He had never truly celebrated something like that with people that were close to him. What he would give to share a roast dinner on Christmas with Arthur.
As Merlin was ruminating in his misery and loneliness, he glanced up at the house he was walking past, and stopped. Sitting at the table, staring at him in a state of shock, was someone who looked very much like Arthur Pendragon.
Strange. Merlin was sure he remembered getting out of bed today.
As Merlin started pinching himself, he noticed the dream-Arthur stand abruptly, startling the other people at the table. Housemates, Merlin distantly assumes.
Merlin was still feeling slightly dazed when the front door opened, and the scarily-real-Arthur came jogging out, with a coat around his shoulders and another in his hands.
“Merlin?” the dream asked tentatively.
Merlin nodded dumbly, trying to wake himself up. He couldn't do this again. He hated these dreams. He never wanted to leave once they started, because Arthur was here, but they only made the pain more real, more recent, more…
Merlin's thoughts were cut off when a coat was thrown around him, and the air was squeezed out of him. He instinctively put his arms around the other person, before realising it was Arthur. Arthur who was supposed to be dead. Arthur who was apparently clutching onto Merlin for dear life. Arthur whose tears were seemingly soaking into the coat Merlin had somehow gotten. Strange.
As Merlin's thoughts slowly caught up to the reality of the situation, he reached into his trousers pockets, pulling out the small bundle of wrapping paper.
“I, er, got this for you. It's stupid, but yea. Happy Christmas, Arthur,” he said.
Arthur pulled away from Merlin, and took the gift, quickly unwrapping it, pulling out the mini version of his own sword. His brow creased in confusion for a moment before he let out a teary laugh.
“Why did you get this though? Surely you didn't…”
“I always got you a present at Christmas. Every year.”
Arthur’s eyes softened. “Come here you idiot,” he said, crushing Merlin into another hug.
Merlin placed his forehead on Arthur's shoulder, sinking into the hug, and despite the way Arthur was squeezing him, he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in what felt like a long time.