Work Text:
Arthur's room was in that comfortable late-afternoon twilight, when the sun no longer came through the windows but the fireplace hadn't yet been lit. Arthur was sitting on the bed — not reclining like a king in his chambers, but actually sitting, legs crossed, book open on his lap, the relaxed posture of someone who isn't being watched.
Merlin walked in without knocking — he never knocked.
"Hey, Arthur."
Arthur didn't even look up. "What?"
Merlin threw himself into the chair next to the bed. The distance was small, but it existed. He leaned back, crossed his arms, and waited. Arthur kept reading.
"I heard some nobles saying you've started talking weird since I got here."
Arthur turned the page. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Merlin tilted his head. "Which phrase did you pick up from me?"
Arthur closed the book — but didn't put it down. He rested it on his lap, his fingers still marking the page where he'd stopped. He thought for a second.
"I swear."
Merlin raised an eyebrow. "I swear?"
It wasn't in a teasing tone. It was in a confused one.
"Yeah. Like..." Arthur looked away toward the window, as if replaying the scene. "Sometimes I'm training with the knights, and out of nowhere one of them says something, and I just..." He paused. His hand made a vague gesture in the air — a small flourish, almost imperceptible. "Oh my god, I swear."
The "I swear" came out drawn, with a little lilt at the end. The intonation was exactly Merlin's when he was complaining about something silly.
Merlin didn't laugh. He just watched, a small smile at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, that one's mine."
"Right." Arthur turned his attention back to the book, but didn't open it. He kept his fingers on the cover, drumming slowly. "And the worst part is, after I say it, they just stare at me like '???' Then to make it worse, I also go..."
He raised his hand again, with more emphasis.
"Ugh, I can't even."
The "can't even" came out with a certain flair — and Merlin finally laughed, low, almost a grumble.
"You do the combo. 'I swear, I can't even.'"
"It's automatic," Arthur said, and didn't sound embarrassed. Just factual. "One thing leads to another."
The silence lasted a few seconds. The book remained closed on Arthur's lap. Merlin stayed leaned back in the chair, his hands now resting on the wooden arms.
"There's another one," Arthur continued, as if taking inventory. "Slay girl."
Merlin tilted his head, considering, then corrected. "You're missing the emphasis."
Arthur repeated, adjusting — the "Slay" longer, almost sung, the "Girl" slowing at the end.
"Better." Merlin shook his head, a bigger smile now. "But still not perfect."
"No way I'm perfecting that. I already sound too much like you for my liking," Arthur scoffed and leaned back against the pillows, the book forgotten in his lap. "The thing is, sometimes the... how do I say it?"
"The more gay dialect?" Merlin teased.
"That one." Arthur pointed at him without raising his hand. "The gay dialect. It conveys certain things better than the... normal dialect."
"Heterosexual."
"Yeah. Heterosexual is boring. 'Oh, cool,' 'oh, I liked that'..." He made a face. "It's so emotionless."
"Awesome," Merlin added, in the same monotone. "Great."
"Exactly. But saying 'Slay girl'..." He did the gesture again — small, but dramatic. "It's so much better. It has so much more feeling."
Merlin didn't say anything. He just watched. There was something in the way Arthur talked about it — not like someone who was mimicking, but like someone who had genuinely adopted that style of speech.
"What else?" Merlin asked.
Arthur thought. His fingers drummed on the book's cover.
"This one's more yours. It's not universal."
"They're all mine. You picked up all my speech patterns."
"Yeah, but this one..." Arthur paused. "This one I've only heard from you. Like, even Gwen hasn't used this one, and she picks up a lot of your lingo."
Merlin waited.
"Like, some days you wake up and just go 'ugh, I'm not serving cunt today'"
Merlin laughed — a loud laugh. "I knew it was going to be that one."
"It's very specific."
"Yeah." Merlin crossed his arms, settling better into the chair. "It's just that some days you wake up and you're really not feeling yourself. It's not sadness, not tiredness. It's just... not serving cunt."
Arthur nodded, as if that made sense. "My father gives me weird looks when I say these things."
"I imagine so."
"He always has that look like 'who are you and what have you done with my son.'" Arthur imitated — forehead furrowed, chin raised. Merlin laughed.
"There's another one," Merlin said. "This one's yours."
"Which?"
"Shade."
Arthur smiled. "Oh my god, yes."
"You always just randomly go 'Sorry girl, shade.'"
Arthur raised his hand, correcting. "No. I don't say 'Sorey girl, shade.' I say 'Oh, shade.'"
The "shade" came out in a higher, almost indignant tone. Merlin shook his head, laughing quietly.
"What are you say?"
"Shade."
They said it together, burst out laughing, stopped, looked at each other, and started laughing again.
"Sometimes you're just cruel, you know?" Arthur said, eyes watering from laughter. "Nothing else defines it."
Merlin nodded, trying to wipe his watery eyes while his cheeks burned from smiling.
"There's your catchphrase too," Merlin said, after a while.
Arthur already knew. He tilted his head, his mouth curving.
"Oh, yas queen."
"And the variation."
"Oh, bad bitch."
They said them one after the other, not in unison. Like a call and response.
"You know," Arthur commented, eyes on the ceiling now, "sometimes I wake up, look at myself in the mirror, and all I can say is 'oh, slay queen.'"
Merlin snorted, covering his eyes to keep from laughing. "I know. I've witnessed that glorious moment."
"You were brushing your teeth behind me and literally choked laughing."
"Because you can't just say that out of nowhere, Arthur!"
"Of course I can," Arthur said, and there was something different in his tone now — teasing and amused. "I'm the prince, in case you've forgotten."
They laughed together a bit more, then fell silent, breathing together. The silence that followed was longer. The light outside had shifted, the gold giving way to gray. Soon they'd need to light the candles.
Merlin looked at Arthur. Arthur was looking at the closed book in his lap, his fingers still now.
"Any others?" Merlin asked, curious.
Arthur thought. Then shook his head.
"For now, just these."
"Well, you still have time to learn more."
"I know."
It wasn't said like a threat or a promise. It was said like a fact. The way Arthur spoke was no longer just Arthur's way. It had pieces of Merlin in it — commas, intonations, words he would never have said before. And it didn't seem like he was trying. It was just happening.
Merlin got up from the chair. Stretched his arms above his head, his back cracking.
"I'm heading to my room. It's getting cold."
"Stay."
Merlin turned, an eyebrow raised.
"Please," Arthur repeated, and it wasn't an order. "You can spend the night or leave later, but stay for now."
Merlin stayed. He didn't sit on the bed — he sat in the chair again. The same distance. The same space between them.
Arthur opened the book. He didn't read. He kept his eyes on the pages, his fingers on the edge of the paper.
"You could read with me if you want," he said, quietly, as if testing out an offer at reduced volume.
Merlin didn't answer. He just stayed there, in the chair, looking at the unlit fireplace.
And for a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Then Merlin suddenly stood up, took off his boots, took off his jacket, and climbed onto the bed, sitting down next to his prince under the covers and moving close to read the book with him.
"The Iliad?" Merlin scoffed. Arthur huffed and blushed.
"I like the story. I don't see anything wrong with that."
Merlin smiled and rested his head on his prince's shoulder. They spent hours like that in silence before both fell asleep.