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Arthur isn't gay. Merlin knows this, but he lets Arthur kiss him anyway, because it's cold outside the club and his lips taste sweet like alcohol. Arthur's arms are wrapped around him and for now Merlin has an anchor to stop him floating away. He lets Arthur kiss him against the wall, and he lets Arthur kiss him on the taxi ride back to Merlin's flat where he lives alone.
It's cold outside Merlin's flat, and even though Merlin is always cold he still shivers. He can't find his key, and his fingers refuse to cooperate.
He lets Arthur put his hand in his pocket and pretends that Arthur just wants to be close to him.
When Arthur finds the key tangled in his earphones, Merlin watches his hands, deft even when drunk, slide the key into place and unlock the door to Merlin's rented accommodation. He can't call it his home, not yet, even though he's lived there for three years. It's never warm enough and the windows are small. The walls are grey and the ceiling is an off white. He hates it.
He would redecorate it, honestly he would, but he doesn't have enough money. Tonight is Arthur's birthday, and for the first time in months he went out. He isn't the type to get drunk, normally, but tonight he is. Tonight he is on his sofa pretending to watch the static on his television while his best friend mouths gently at his neck, and maybe he should stop him, but he knows that if Arthur remembers this tomorrow he'll pretend that he won't, and Merlin will pretend that he isn't in love with him.
Merlin's memories are jumbled in his mind. He knows that 1 + 2 = 3, but he can't remember what age he was when he met Arthur. Perhaps he was 5, or perhaps 6. Hunith didn't have much money when Merlin was little. That's why she took care of Arthur during weekdays when he was 6, or when he was 7. Merlin isn't sure.
When he was little, he knew that Arthur was his friend, and in the back garden of Hunith's tiny house they would play knights until Arthur's father picked him up and the happiness faded from Arthur's face. Arthur made Merlin be the princess most of the time, while Arthur was a brave knight. Arthur would rescue him from the sheets on the washing line, the dragons of their minds, and sometimes the princess married the knight with the innocence that disappears after childhood.
One day, Merlin remembers, Uther arrived in time to see the marriage ceremony.
"Look, daddy! Merlin is my princess!"
Uther watched his son with a stony expression. When Arthur came again, he didn't want to play at marrying Merlin again.
Right now, Arthur is still kissing the thin skin of Merlin's neck. They both fall asleep, and when Merlin wakes up to Arthur mumbling his name, it is still dark and they aren't as drunk. Arthur's head is on Merlin's shoulder, and he can feel a small damp patch where Arthur has drooled on him.
"Merlin?"
"Hmm?"
"M'not gay, Merlin."
"I know, Arthur. I know."
Merlin knows that he shouldn't have let Arthur kiss him. He knows this, but it still hurts.
***
When Merlin wakes up, Arthur has let himself out already, gone home to his house on the other side of town. Merlin checks his phone. Arthur has sent him a text. He can't remember what happened last night, he says, but thanks Merlin for a good time.
Merlin remembers what happened last night. He knows Arthur does too, the same way he knows exactly the way to jiggle the door handle of his bathroom door when it gets stuck. Merlin knows, but he isn't surprised.
He doesn't have to work today. He'd booked the week off, planned to do something fun with Arthur. He doesn't want to speak to anyone right now.
Merlin tries to hoover the floor. The sound of the vacuum cleaner is loud, shocking in the emptiness. He turns it off and lifts a brush instead. He sweeps the floor methodically, in lines, in rhythm. The soft sweeps soothe his jagged thoughts. They numb his headache.
After this he dusts, cleans the bathroom, the kitchen. His flat smells sterile and alien. It is not his, still. He runs out of things to clean. He sits on the sofa where Arthur slept on his shoulder last night. It doesn't seem real. He can hear the blood rush through his head with every beat of his heart, feel it, and he wishes he hadn't drunk so much last night.
It's quiet, and in the absence of noise the air seems to hum. Merlin feels like he is waiting for something, for a disaster to crash through his walls and envelope his life in its drama, but nothing happens. He sits alone, unmoving, and doesn't think. He isn't sure how long he sits there.
Eventually, he switches on the television, changes the channel from the static of last night. Someone, the news tells him, has killed a lot of people. He isn't sure where, or why. He doesn't care much. He switches channels. A daughter shouts at her mother. Again, he flicks to another channel, than another, and then frantically he is searching for something, anything to occupy his mind and he stabs the button again and again and again but there is nothing.
His phone rings, startling him out of his frenzied search. It's Arthur. Arthur wants to know if Merlin will be in later, because his father is visiting and oh god he needs to get away from that man, he can't stick another minute with him.
Merlin says sure, of course he can come over, and then they say their goodbyes. Merlin sets out some DVDs for them to watch. He waits.
***
When Merlin opens the door to let Arthur in, he can see his friend crinkle his nostrils at the sharp smell of bleach. Arthur doesn't comment on it, but makes idle conversation. He saw Gwen, his ex, today, in a coffee shop, and she is doing well. Merlin is glad. He liked Gwen. They still talk, sometimes. It's a funny story, Gwen and Arthur. Gwen ended up leaving Arthur for his sister Morgana.
Uther found out recently that Morgana is a lesbian, Arthur says. He isn't pleased. Merlin isn't surprised. Uther, like many rich old white men, is very closed minded. Arthur looks uncomfortable when talking about his father's views. He knows that Merlin is gay. He makes sure to tell Merlin how stupid he thinks Uther's views are. Merlin already knows that Arthur is fine with him being gay, but appreciates the thought nevertheless.
They watch a movie together, and Arthur sleeps in the spare room. It's no different than any other night they share together. Merlin still feels numb.
***
In the morning, Merlin wakes to the homely smell of bacon frying. He stumbles to the bathroom and cleans his teeth, splashing his face with cold water and trying in vain to flatten his hair.
"Oi, Merlin. Are you up yet? Breakfast's ready!"
Merlin lets a grin slip onto his face as he hears Arthur bellow from the tiny kitchen.
He tries, as he sees Arthur cooking in nothing but his white boxers, to suppress the slow, heady swirl of arousal deep in his stomach. It doesn’t work. This is how it could be, some day, every day, if Arthur didn’t say “I’m not gay” and Merlin stopped pretending to believe it.
Arthur serves him breakfast with a smile, and ruffles his hair as he walks by in the tiny kitchen. These wordless affections are the very ones that dig their claws into Merlin; he loves and hates them at the very same time. They dig a little bit deeper into his hope every time, refusing to allow him to let go of his tiny glimmering hope that Arthur could love him.
His mornings are usually cold, routine, boring, but Arthur fills the room with light and warmth. He reminds Merlin of a puppy, sometimes, overflowing as he is with boundless energy, bounding through life. He is like the sun, and Merlin is hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend.
***
Arthur stays at Merlin’s that night again. They lounge together on the sofa, limbs tangled in a lazy mess of comfort.
They’re watching a romantic comedy. Merlin has no idea as to what the plot is, because Arthur is driving him crazy. He’s staring, and he isn’t obvious – every so often their eyes meet, and his gaze lingers until Merlin looks away.
After a while, Merlin feels Arthur shift closer to him. He can feel his breathing, the movement of his chest against him, and it’s taking all of Merlin’s self control not to grab Arthur’s face and kiss him.
Arthur shifts again, and now Merlin can feel his gaze burning hot on the side of his face. He turns to meet his eyes, to say something, he isn’t sure what yet but he’ll figure it out, and Arthur’s hand cups his cheek.
Merlin’s mouth falls open with shock, and before he knows it Arthur’s lips are pressed against his, opening and falling closed again. They fit together like puzzle pieces, falling into rhythm as though they’d kissed one million times already.
They break apart to gasp for breath, forehead resting against forehead.
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
“I think I’m gay.”
Merlin snorts with laughter, and pulls Arthur into another kiss. He can feel the other man’s smile against his lips, his teeth against the sensitive skin.
“I know, Arthur. I know.”