Chapter Text
The tallest towers of Cambridge University hovered over the lawn like long forgotten friends. Shorter than the last time he walked these grounds, perhaps because he remembered there being far fewer surrounding buildings, but mysterious as ever, with all their old secrets waiting for the warlock to rediscover.
The green expanse was covered with families, their pitiful emotions rang into the sunlit air. A high-pitched sob broke his thoughts, and he turned to see a curly haired first year latching both arms around his parent’s shoulders, smooshing them together into a blubbering mess of sadness that would undoubtedly be forgotten the moment they drove away. Merlin rolled his eyes and hiked his duffel bag higher onto his shoulder before resuming his walk to the entrance of King’s college. The energy near the grand doors seemed more charged with nervous students and fewer reminiscing parents, or maybe it was the intense pull of magic that had him nearly tripping over each step. He pushed through the luggage wielding limbs half by his own will and half by the nostalgic mythical force he couldn’t quite place.
Even if his feet had him stumbling toward the housing check-in like his life depended on it, he could care less about fulfilling whatever pointless task the Old Religion sent him here for. He used to count the days, then the years, but now he resorted to a rough estimate of centuries spent alone, chasing down an invisible spark in every corner of the world with no considerable rewards. He’d lost hope for Arthur and for Albion a long time ago.
And now he was just pissed. Pissed that the gods would force him back to this god awful country. They always seemed considerate enough to send him anywhere but England, like an ex who mutually dreaded seeing the other in public. The very building he was about to enter might as well have housed the round table if it stood 1,500 years ago! In fact, Merlin’s educated guess said the legendary table lived and died within a few hundred meters of this exact location. His heart lurched at the memories he couldn’t stop from rising to fill his ears and eyes. Arthur glancing at Merlin over the company of a council meeting, sparing him an eyeroll when an advisor was ten minutes deep in a trade agreement with no business being over five sentences. And Guinevere, her laughing eyes from another corner of the throne room as the two servants stifled giggles at the King who tended to jerk sporadically in his light sleep during such meetings. Everyone in that room had been buried for hundreds of years. This was just cruel, he thought as moisture prickled behind his eyes.
Along the stretch of foldable tables, each with a line of buzzing students in front, he found the table labeled “freshman” and walked to take his place behind a nervous looking family. Just seeing the stretch of jumpy teenagers in front of him was enough to invoke second thoughts about coming here at all. The goal was to appease the gods with minimal effort and feel the familiar magical pull subside within a few weeks of classes starting. Then he could slip away undetected to the next hell hole. At this point, the warlock had perfected the craft of living under the radar. The most important rule was to keep one’s head down and avoid the scene of drunken undergrads in each strange new place. All his friendship and romantic endeavors were doomed to end when the other moved on, always leaving Merlin grasping for unreachable memories. He didn’t bother trying anymore.
“Ambrose,” he spoke absentmindedly to the dark-haired woman who immediately clacked away on her keyboard. Her eyes stayed glued on the white computer light, “Peterhouse, 72”. Merlin squeezed a tight smile and nodded before hauling off to the right and past the line of tables. Merlin had his fair share of first days and then some, an expected side effect of eternal youth, but they never got any easier to stomach.
He made his way with a quick pace to his assigned dorm in the second to last building on the quaint corridor of residence halls. He’d always appreciated the Old English architecture worn by each building on campus. The edges of the streets held piles of fallen summer leaves and a low hum of wind graced the air. The warlock took a deep breath of fall aroma and when he opened his eyes, something stronger than magic pulled his vision across the street. A man walking opposite his direction escaped his peripheral vision before he could do a double take. His feet forgot how to walk and suddenly he was frozen on the sidewalk, jaw on the concrete. That was the King of Camelot. The Once and Future King. Merlin’s late master walking on a sidewalk in Cambridge and holding an iphone 3 inches from his face. Merlin turned around to watch him recede for no more than a second before he launched into a sprint down the sidewalk back in his original direction.
He reached the correct building in no time after his brief running fit and stormed up three flights of stairs. He threw his duffel bag across the floor of his dorm room and slammed the door against his back. A sob left him before he could catch a breath in his bubbly lungs. He hadn’t seen that face in, wait… give or take 1,000 years ago, but it felt like eternally longer. Well, sudden onset delusions gave him all the more reason to stay cooped up in his room. He set up his side of the dorm with just the bare necessities, the way he had been doing for over a millenia. The other half of the tiny room was untouched apart from a collection of bags that smelled lightly of booze. The warlock fought the urge to snoop while he had the room to himself.
He settled onto his squeaky mattress for the night to watch some crap telly and pass out in the wee hours of the morning. The door knob suddenly slammed into the wall, almost certain to leave a mark of chipped paint, and the silhouette of the bravest knight of Camelot appeared in the doorway. Well, second bravest. The man rushed to slam the door shut and shoved his bodyweight against it while shooting Merlin a pained smirk. “Little help here?” The man scoffed through his toothy smile. Merlin blinked a few times before his muscles reacted. He sprung from the bed and slid to the door, crashing his outstretched hands against the flimsy wood. The whole wall rattled from the drunken fists and incoherent yelling on the other side and suddenly a thin ray of hallway light infiltrated the room’s floor and angry voices tore through the quiet. The carpet slipped from the grips of both their shoes, and Merlin decided they might need some extra force to stall the invaders. He dropped his head, pretending to strain with the push, and whispered quietly. The door knocked back and surprised thumps sounded out in the hallway. The yelling ceased. Merlin glanced up at the man through nervous gritted teeth. The man narrowed his eyes and sharpened the flirtatious smile on his lips. A laugh escaped Merlin’s chest. “You’re pretty strong,” the outlaw mused.
“You’re welcome.” Merlin quipped after a silent moment of staring at the man’s face. He couldn’t very well tell this strange new man he was once a knight of Camelot with a formidable reputation in every tavern in the five kingdoms. Though that last bit hadn’t seemed to change. He still smelled like alcohol, a sweetness under his skin he could never run out of, and just a little bit like dirt.
The man side-stepped him on his way back to the bed/cave/corner where his laptop screen was still open on the mess of blankets and pillows. “Gwaine.” He grabbed Merlin’s hand and half of his wrist for an enthusiastic handshake. “Merlin.” Merlin tried not to smile as his eyes traced the man’s every feature, the quirk of his lips when he talked to someone he thought was attractive, the slight stubble that kept his hugs scruffy against your cheeks, the unruly chocolate hair that lingered on his brow. Merlin stepped back and scoffed away his concentration. “Does that happen to you a lot? Being chased by an angry mob?”
The mattress of the opposite bed thumped when Gwaine jumped to sit, jostling the pile of luggage he didn’t seem too keen to unpack. “Wrong place, wrong time, wrong drink!” He poked around at the various bags which amounted to a surprisingly small volume before turning to face the other bed again. Merlin felt him staring and doing that all-knowing smirk. He gulped, there was no way he could win this battle of ignoring Gwaine. “What?” He sighed, packing as much exasperation into his tone as possible. Merlin was already getting a pretty good sense of what kind of roommate Gwaine would be.
“I was going to ask if you’re hungry,” the warlock straightened in response, “the dining hall is doing a welcome dinner for free if you want to come with,” The thought of leaving the building was repulsive, clueless freshmen and parents still littered the campus and Merlin was already in a bad mood. Free food was enticing though, and he did have a somewhat friend to go with now.
“Fine, we’ll just eat and leave then,” he slid off the bed and into his sneakers and followed Gwaine out. “You’re moody.” the brunette taunted as he held the door open.
*****
The sun was well on its way to set, a chilly purple settling over the horizon. The pair zig zagged over the pavement to chase the warm rays of summer sun still in the air and reached the dining hall in a few minutes of silent walking. But Gwaine definitely hadn’t missed the peculiar glances Merlin kept sliding him.
The building was crowded and full of an excitement that made Merlin want to hurl. The pair got in the back of a long line for the buffet style serving, Gwaine leaning against the counter and whistling off into space. He really did have that same air about him that seemed to put off medieval nobles and trust fund college kids alike. In fact, the guy behind them took a step closer, still with his back turned and scoffed over his shoulder, just in time to catch Gwaine groaning loudly and rolling his eyes. He turned to shove his pointer finger in Gwaine’s direction. The guy was wearing a Cambridge jumper over a white button up that hit his chin every time he opened his mouth, “Oi, I recognize you.” Merlin took a step back, hoping to unassociate from the moron standing next to him who decided to provoke the man further. “Yeah, you’re that prick from the bar last night.” The circle of guys around said prick perked at the insult and slowly turned to face them. The prick grumbled something too soft to make out, but threatening enough considering the tight fists at his sides.
Suddenly Merlin was between them, hands outstretched to keep them apart. “Alright, whatever happened, it’s certainly not this important.” Gwaine’s eyes twinkled in response and he fell back, nodding politely. The other guy shot him one last scowl before turning back to the entitled bunch.
“Arse.” Gwaine muttered under his breath. “Hey,” The warlock scolded through a chuckle, “What did you do to him anyway?” They were now shoveling large portions of mashed potatoes onto their plates. “Took him 3 rounds to realize I was hustling him in pool.”
Merlin risked an amused side smile, “so you…”
“So he,” Gwaine was quick to correct, “refused to pay up.”
“Ah, I see.” Merlin nodded sarcastically.
“I’m telling you, those rich kids think they can treat everyone like personal servants.” Merlin swallowed back another hearty laugh. Beyond his slight annoyance, Merlin was just glad Gwaine was a part whatever this adventure had in store. He missed him more than he realized.
They moved through the buffet style line, thoughtfully contemplating how much food they could fit on a single plate without drawing suspicion. When they reached the end of the line, Gwaine dumped his plate onto Merlin’s spare hand and gestured toward the bathroom with a stupid smile, leaving Merlin alone in the rush. He turned around himself before starting for the only empty table among them in the sea of hungry students.
He approached only to notice a man’s legs, or rather, entire body, sprawled across two stacks of four chairs each, taking up the sides of the only two remaining tables. Obnoxious, but effective. Merlin elected to ignore the hauntingly gorgeous blond locs on obnoxious man’s head for fear his delusions were getting the best of him. Fatal mistake.
“Hey mate, could you spare a couple of tho-” Merlin’s jaw hit the floor for the second time that day. There he was again, all condescending ocean eyes staring down the warlock like some incompetent servant.
“Actually, I can’t, mate.” The blonde’s lips quirked at Merlin’s obviously stunned appearance. Nevermind, Arthur obviously didn’t recognize him, and Merlin was never one to pass up the opportunity to put the once and future king in his place.
“My apologies, I didn't realize your enormous arse needed all 8 chairs,” he taunted.
“I’m fighting fit!” The chairs teetered as he sat up and anger covered his face. Merlin didn’t at all miss how Arthur’s neck muscles jutted out when his jaw sharpened before a fight. “Don’t you know who I am?” Arthur seethed.
Merlin rolled his eyes, of course he had to be an arrogant prat in this lifetime as well. “Oh let me guess, the Chancellor’s son, eh?”
“Seems you’re not a complete idiot,” his face was more manic looking now, like he was about to personally chain Merlin’s wrists to the stocks and leave him there for weeks. The warlock swallowed and stepped back.
“Well that explains what such a dense prat is doing at Cambridge.” Oh great. Best to stop talking now Melin, he thought a moment too late. Arthur’s face reddened, “You take that back!”
“Or what, you’ll give me detention?” Merlin’s mouth spoke again before he realized his words, and Arthur was on the ground in seconds. The expression on his face wasn’t threatening, though. It was dazed over like gossamer, as if he couldn’t believe someone dared speak to him that way. Like he suddenly lost every instinct in his body to punch the stupid grin off the man’s face.
Gwaine came between them in the nick of time, though Merlin knew Arthur wasn’t really going to hurt him, just put him in a headlock or something equally childish. “Looks like it’s my turn to save you,” Gwaine whispered to Merlin, making Arthur’s nose scrunch in disgust.
The brunette turned to Arthur, looking him up and down, which only made his chiseled face contort further in disdain. Gwaine lowered his arm slightly, “calm down, princess.” Arthur fumed and lunged forward, missing Gwaine’s firm hand.
“What’s your name?” Arthur stepped closer to Merlin, arms crossed over his chest, and tone indicating he was well aware of the certain effects his condescending smile had on people.
“Merlin,” he near squeaked.
“Do you know how to walk on your knees, Merlin?” His endearing halitosis could be smelled from the far too few inches between them.
“Oh not this again,” Merlin scoffed before he could stop himself, and in a sudden whirl of deja vu and centuries of suppressed feelings, Merlin found his forearm twisted behind his back, rendering him immobile. Unless he used magic to pants Arthur in the middle of this dining hall. No, too risky. He’d definitely pocket that idea, though.
“What did you say?” Arthur squeezed the warlock’s arm further into its unnatural position.
“Ow, Arthur, stop!” Yikes. Another jolt against his spine.
“How did you know my name?” Arthur growled, his voice dropping with caution. Merlin hoped his rising heartbeat wasn’t too noticeable against Arthur’s sturdy frame.
“Lucky guess?” For a moment Arthur’s arms remained tense in their hold while his breath steadied close to Merlin’s ear. He tried to think of something to say. The warlock felt the grip around his wrist soften and the circulation swelled back into his hand. He turned to face Arthur with a wary half smile. Arthur's eyes were already intently observing him.
Shuffling footsteps came to a halt around them, and Merlin looked to see the “prick from the bar” with the same posse closing in around him and Gwaine. Wonderful! The man’s eyes were freaking Merlin out, and he felt Gwaine’s elbow in his side like a warning bell, though the circle of pissed trust fund kids didn’t seem too eager to let them walk away so easily.
“Wait…” Arthur stepped back, eyes still fixed on Merlin, “he may be an idiot, but he is a brave one.” Merlin’s lips pursed to fight the oncoming smile that always appeared when he found himself pitifully entranced by the prince. After too many seconds of staring, Gwaine cleared his throat and looked at Merlin over the set of broad shoulders in between them. Merlin found the strength to pull his gaze away from Arthur and turned on his heel to book it out the door.
He risked one look back, just a tiny glance that surely no one could hold against him, only to meet Arthur’s unrelenting glare from across the room like a bullseye. He whipped his head back to the exit. There was no denying it now, the Old Religion had not sent him here by accident. The warlock kicked himself internally for not reading up on Cambridge, the Pendradon name, literally anything that would have prepared himself for the most important moment in his life.
“A little fresh air can’t hurt,” Gwaine was smiling brightly with his arm propping the door open. Under the darkening sky, the air was much colder than it should have been for this time of year. They found a little corner in the crevice of two walls that blocked the harshest of the wind. Gwaine was about three bites in when he lowered his plate and folded his hands to contentedly stare at Merlin scarfing down a ham sandwich.
“Do you wanna get out of here?”
“I’ve only just started eating,” Merlin huffed. Gwaine lowered his eyes at the warlock, “If you stay here you’ll miss the opportunity to see my favorite place on campus!” Gwaine thought he was being slick, but Merlin knew better than to think the functioning alcoholic had anywhere other than a bar in mind. He dropped the sad remains of the sandwich on his plate.
“Let’s make this quick.” The brunette beamed and leaped to his feet before pulling Merlin up next to him. Nearly dragging the poor warlock down the street, Gwaine skipped off in the direction of The Falling Sun, a refuge for great sorcerers and dollopheads alike.
*****
Two hefty glasses slammed on the counter in front of them, bubbles already pooling down the sides. “To our good health and fortune this semester,” Gwaine shone under the low light and knocked his glass into Merlin’s. The warlock’s long swig did little to hide his reluctant grin. This guy had a big enough ego already, enough to rival even Arthur. Oh yeah, he was talking to Arthur a minute ago. If he wanted to, he could run back into the dining hall, throw every person in the way against the walls till he reached him, and finally take that golden face in his hands. He could plead before his King, force visions into his head and will him to remember. He could burn every building on campus down and leave only the two of them standing. But Arthur would never know of the life he once lived. And as if Merlin hadn’t suffered enough, this lifetime put him and Arthur so impossibly close, his destiny carrying on a few streets over with nothing for Merlin to do but watch from a distance. The long years he spent bargaining with fate were rapidly unspiraling.
The warlock slumped over the counter, willing his tears to stay behind his eyes and not splash in the brown liquid. Maybe if he aimed well enough, a tear would land perfectly on the rim and slide down the glass, camoufled as an inconspicuous droplet of condensation instead of the pitiful display of Merlin’s emotional incompetence that it was.
“Cheer up, Merlin!” Gwaine planted his palms on the counter and sprung from his seat. Before Merlin could lift his head and protest, his friend was waving over the bartender, “A round of shots, m’lady!” The woman giggled behind the counter and tucked her hair before reaching for a bottle.
“Gwaine…” his plea was lost in the thumping bass from the speakers. Each pulse of the music made his chest squeeze and all he could do was stare intently into the glass with the posture of his elderly alter ego.
“C’mon, we’ve only just met, you can’t hate me that badly,” Gwiane teased with a bit too much sadness lacing the humor in his voice. “Don’t underestimate me,” Merlin deflected. The least he could do for the one person stopping him from locking himself in his dorm for the next ten years, or at least until Arthur moved to a land far away, was put on a happy face for one night.
The warlock reluctantly took the shot, and each one Gwaine presented thereafter, and as the hour dragged on his sadness turned into anger. Anger that fueled several passionately lipsynced breakup songs performed as duets by the two roommates. After putting Beyonce herself to shame with their rendition of Single Ladies, Merlin had an epiphany. This 21st century Arthur may have the same face and eyes and stupidly fit body as he did in medieval times, but he wasn’t the same man who took Merlin’s heart with him to an early grave. No, Merlin’s heart was buried at the bottom of a small pond somewhere in England where no one could ever hold it again.
Merlin laughed and threw his head back in the imaginary wind blowing over the dance floor. “Fuck you, clotpole!” He yelled up to where the heavens broke through the ceiling and he swore Arthur’s spirit could hear him. “Yeah, fuck you!” Gwaine laughed with a finger to the skies and clapped Merlin’s back. And the warlock was too tipsy to feel embarrassed.
“Hey Merlin,” Gwaine nudged the heel of his glass into Merlin’s shoulder, “Mic’s empty…” Unfortunately for the all powerful warlock, it was exactly the time of night (and number of drinks) that Merlin was most susceptible to suggestions from the likes of Gwaine. The mic was looking rather lonely up there... With one last determined look at his companion, he took off weaving through the sea of people who’d be alive for a fraction of the time he’d spend on earth. The blue light washed him with a feeling of invincibility, and Gwaine thought he looked rather attractive in this lighting and newfound confidence. A few scattered jeers for the skinny guy on the stage preceded the first notes of Since U Been Gone. Then Merlin was up there and singing for the whole lot. He had literally never done anything like this before. And he’d done a lot of things. It was like suddenly every face from the bar to the foot of the stage lived in Merlin’s imagination.
By the time he reached the chorus, every pair of sneakers was jumping along with the beat and sending various beverages flying out of their cups. Merlin was no performer, but the lights were just bright enough to shroud the details of the crowd in shadows and convince his drunken mind that no one was watching too closely.
Then like being shot with an enemy arrow, Merlin’s eyes locked on one face. The worst possible person he could have found in the crowd. His brain still hadn’t processed the fact that Arthur was watching him sing Kelly Clarkson very badly when the pompous arse smirked and ran his eyes over Merlin’s body as if the show wasn’t humiliating enough. He suddenly felt very sick and the lights burned his eyes from every angle. The stairs were just a few uncoordinated stumbles away, and he bee-lined for the bathroom the second his feet hit the sticky floor, leaving his audience to a few gasps and concerned whispers.
Dry heaving in the bathroom of a college bar is not an ideal first night. Definitely not as good as the night he had planned which involved lying motionless on his mattress till he developed bedsores. He collected his erratic breath just in time for the door of the bathroom to swing open, sending music pounding through the tiled floor Merlin huddled on. Two or three sets of feet shuffled in, laughter filling the previously quiet small room. He craned his neck to see under the stall door. White tennis shoes kept tripping over themselves until a blue sneaker lunged for them and white tennis shoes stumbled back into the door which rattled violently around Merlin. Loud hollers of laughter echoed as white tennis shoes found their footing against the door.
Just like that, the nausea drained his aching body, and he was on his feet nearly breaking the door off his hinges to get out of the stuffy white room as fast as he could. Gwaine must have seen what happened, he stood with his glass at his side, fruitlessly scanning the crowd. His face was concerned when Merlin reached him.
“Tequila?” The warlock asked, brightening his expression unsettlingly fast while still gulping in oxygen. That earned him a brief sideways smile before Gwiane grabbed him by his long sleeve and waved down a bartender. The liquid he hoped would permanently delete his memory of the last 3 minutes of his life sloshed over the tiny glasses with the woman’s careless pouring. She dashed off at the exasperated call of some guys on the other side of the bar. Gwaine’s eyes brightened, “Bottoms up!”
With four empty shot glasses between them on the counter, Merlin felt removed enough to stealthily scan the floor. A hollering row of girls lined the stage, giving their most enthusiastic shouts to the three now huddled around the karaoke mic. The crowd up front was still bouncing in unison. Their voices carried to accompany the subtly tapping feet and rhythm-counting fingers of patrons hanging close to the walls. So far, no sun-kissed blondes caught his attention.
“You okay, mate?” Merlin snapped his head back from his frantic surveying of the premises. Gwaine’s face looked at the very least, profoundly confused. Merlin realized this must be strange for his new roommate. They’d only just met and Merlin was already acting like a kooky old wizard. He knew he could trust this man with his life, though Gwaine didn’t know so much as a fragment of his true identity.
He wiped a bead of sweat from the burning skin above his brow and faced Gwaine with a plastered smile. It seemed to relieve the lines of worry around his brown eyes, but something far worse appeared beyond the swoosh of chocolate hair. Arthur might have been the only person in the bar at that instant. He was swaying with the distant beat while his head nodded robotically to the chatter of the girl at his side. He could only see the side of his face, but his expression resembled that of a young prince itching to get out of his seat at a royal feast. Merlin hated how he noticed the closeness of their hips, how their hands nearly brushed with each movement.
He chalked it up to magic, the way his feet sprung from their idling right in Arthur’s direction. The words he wanted to say were still unknown to himself, but he’d think of something good. He swatted Gwaine’s reach away from his shoulder and didn’t register the urges from behind him once his companion realized who he intended to pick a fight with.
Merlin went for the best opener he could think of at the moment, an aggressive shove to the dollophead’s arm which annoyingly fit both of Merlin’s hands on just the bicep. Arthur’s eyes blew wide with fury and his jaw twitched in an effort to not commit manslaughter as he shifted to face Merlin. The girl was shooting him an impressive side eye. This part wasn’t as tactfully planned out in Merlin’s scheme to get Arthur’s attention.
The words of a thousand years tumbled from his mouth the second he dared look Arthur in the eye, “You are a terrible person! You have no idea how much other people do for you and still just act like the… the arrogant clotpole you are!” Merlin was quite proud of his speech though his hand gesturing was a little erratic and certainly betrayed his state of mind. Arthur’s furious face scrunched with confusion, “You don’t even know me!”
The warlock stepped forward to antagonize him further. “Don’t I?” He mocked. The flush rose in his cheeks, but he felt not even the high priestesses had the power to shoot his confidence right now.
“You don’t! We met earlier today!” Arthur cried. It was hard to tell if Arthur was seeing Merlin as an escaped mental patient or as a vision from the crystal cave itself. A shove came from behind and Merlin lost his footing only to be caught by two strong hands on his shoulders.
“You really don’t know when to quit,” the voice from behind was doused in bloodthirst and Merlin knew it immediately. He should have known Arthur’s swarm of entitled prats would be close by. He jerked out of Arthur’s hold, the tingling warmth fading from his skin just long enough to dredge up all the memories of those battle worn hands driving him around the palace, claiming their engraved place on Merlin’s shoulders.
The sensation left his mind completely empty, apart from an overwhelming sorrow he thought he’d defeated years ago. Centuries of loneliness caused solely by the man standing before him surged to his hands and before he could stop it, his heavy fist swung at Arthur’s face. He missed, of course. The supernatural fighting abilities must have also been reincarnated because suddenly he was stumbling backward and clenching his stomach. Unknown hands, probably the same circle of assholes from before, shoved his back aggressively and he lost the air in his lungs. Shouting voices overhead became static, the music reduced to a sickening thrum in his stomach. His stomach… oh god. Merlin’s stomach was now on Arthur’s shoes. He didn’t really feel better, but at least it couldn’t get any worse!
The noise around them ceased. He heard Arthur scoff above him. The deep breath he took to ground himself only served to fill his nose with the stench of too many drinks and bile from the puddle on the floor. Then his eyes were at Arthur's, his body hauled up by the corner of his shirt clutched in the man’s tight fist. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Arthur so enraged. His automatic response to the prince’s temper tantrums took over.
“Sorry, sire!” Merlin explained between frightened giggles. Arthur’s manic smile fell away and his jaw softened. His eyes took all the time they needed to study every inch of Merlin’s face. They couldn’t have found much as Arthur’s brow was still furrowed and mouth hanging slightly open as it did when he couldn’t think of what to say. He pulled his eyes away for a moment then seemingly made up his mind.
“You’re strange.” Arthur said matter-of-factly. Merlin swallowed and shifted his feet so as not to be completely suspended in the air by Arthur’s grasp, “You’re not angry with me?” The pinch against his collarbone was replaced by a firm but harmless punch.
“Well you did ruin my shoes…” Merlin grimaced, but his nervous smile grew at the familiar inflection in Arthur’s voice. He looked expectantly at the blonde whose face was now schooled to mere irritation, “just stop… making people want to throttle you.” The warlock chuckled, the first genuine laugh he’d had in a while, and nodded curtly to Arthur who stood looking at Merlin, as if waiting for him to reveal some life-changing secret. “There’s something about you, Merlin. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Gwaine stepped to stand beside him with all his eternal pep, “We’ll just be going, then!”
The rest of Merlin’s surroundings returned to him, and he glanced over his shoulder to acknowledge the unhappy bunch. He exchanged a knowing look with Gwaine and went to wriggle past Arthur and, in Merlin’s opinion, the frankly unattractive girl he’d been talking to. He didn’t look back this time, but like Uther Pendragon hates magic, Merlin was sure he could feel Arthur’s gaze following him out to the street.
The night hit him with a sobering wind. All noise died when the door fell closed behind them and only the rustle of trees and two sets of quiet breathing remained. Gwaine’s scattered footsteps did little to reassure him that they would find their way back to the dorm tonight.
“Do you know him or something?” Gwaine asked, crossing his arms over his chest for warmth. Merlin’s eyebrows shot up and he whipped his head toward Gwaine too quickly, “hmm? Oh, the bloke in there? No, no I didn’t, er, I don’t know him.” His companion’s expression didn't seem convinced. Merlin wandered left to crunch a particularly crispy looking leaf under his shoe. “Probably just some Trinity arse, right?” He hoped he could stave off his friend’s investigation, which in Gwaine’s defense was perfectly reasonable given Merlin’s unwarranted tendency to piss off the poor stranger he’d only met that day.
“Yeah, probably,” Gwaine chuckled, letting his arm fall around Merlin’s shoulders. “You’re quite a fighter, Merlin!” They spent the rest of the walk huddling together for balance with their heads thrown back in laughter.