Merlin: eyes I've met in dreams
my first merlin fic, after all the lurking in merlin fandom. written for this picture prompt for symphonied. merry christmas, bb. ♥
eyes I've met in dreams
merlin: merlin/arthur
pg, 2250 words
modern!au. in his waking hours, Arthur is the heir to Pendragon ImmunoGen, one of the biggest biotech companies in the world. in his dreams, he's just a masters student.
i.
When Arthur is fifteen, he meets a boy.
His name is Merlin, and he's a bit of a impossibility, dropping into Arthur's life with all the grace of a whirlwind and destroying any organization and structure Arthur has worked to preserve. If he's honest, Arthur can't say he minds: Merlin is loud and insistent and doesn't know when to be quiet, but something about his earnest smiles send Arthur's breath hitching in his chest and his heart stuttering into double-time.
The only other person who knows about Merlin is Morgana.
She laughs the first time she finds out, shaking her head at him in a way he doesn't understand. "So when do I get to meet this friend of yours?" she asks.
Arthur shrugs, noncommittal, and Morgana gives him one of her looks.
"Don't think I can't tell that you're not telling me something, Arthur," she says.
There's plenty Arthur hasn't told her. He hasn't told her about the way Merlin is different - the way he can make things happen, how his eyes can turn to molten gold at will. He doesn't tell her about that time Merlin pulled him into Arthur's dorm room and pressed him into the wall, or how Arthur discovers that day that Merlin's kisses are like every other part of him - clumsy and wild and sweet.
Most importantly, Arthur doesn't tell her that he's only seen Merlin in dreams.
Having uncannily realistic dreams isn't something that's new to Arthur. It's been a part of his life for as long as he can remember. While other children ran to their parents' room in the middle of the night, frightened by hazy monsters in disjointed nightmares, Arthur's dreams have always been unnaturally clear and real. When Arthur dreams, there aren't any leaps in logic or things that later seems impossible. Everything is connected, if not logical, and afterward, Arthur always remembers every detail.
It's like life continues and events are unfolding even when he is sleeping. Maybe it is all just in his head; maybe it is not.
ii.
Arthur is six, the first time he tells his father about his dreams.
In his childish naivety, he'd believed that dreams like this were normal, that everyone had them. He hadn't known any better, and so hadn't realized something was wrong until he'd found himself at a therapist's office.
Arthur hadn't liked the therapist very much. She'd insisted that he tell her more about the people he dreamed about, then tried to prescribe him medicine. Before long, he quickly figured out that it was simplest if he simply claimed that he didn't remember his dreams anymore.
Uther, too relieved that his son was apparently back to normal, never questioned Arthur about it again. Arthur learns never to give him reason to.
iii.
In his waking hours, Arthur is the heir to Pendragon ImmunoGen, one of the biggest biotech companies in the world. "Heir" sounds old-fashioned and outdated, but the truth is, that's exactly what he is. Uther Pendragon had built up an empire out of nothing, and as the only son, it's Arthur's job to take over when his father retires. He studies business and computer science in university and spends his summers interning at his father's company. Since graduating last year, Arthur's worked at the company full-time.
In his dreams, Arthur is a masters student. His focus is Medieval and Renaissance Literary Studies, and he will reluctantly admit that he has a slight obsession with romantic poetry. He's written multiple essays during his undergrad career on exactly why he thinks William Blake is the greatest poet ever, which always horrifies Merlin because Merlin is certain that no one can outdo John Keats. Merlin is also, obviously, deluded. Arthur's pretty sure that Merlin used to have a poster of Keats on his bedroom wall as a kid, which means any point Merlin makes is automatically invalid.
His father is an absent figure in his life, and Arthur doesn't really hear from him outside of Christmas holidays. He spends his summers with Merlin, roadtripping across the country, and they go everywhere Arthur's car can take them. It means eating at unhealthy diners and cramming themselves in the backseat when they can't find a motel, and sometimes, Arthur gets to watch as Merlin shapes clouds and constellations into dragons and unicorns. Most of the year is spent in the tiny on-campus apartment they share. Merlin stops Arthur from freaking out too much about his thesis and living on an iv drip of caffeine, and Arthur is there to open the door when Merlin locks himself out again for the sixth time. It works out.
It doesn't bother Arthur too much that he's essentially living two lives each day. Maybe it would be unusual for anyone else, but he's grown used to it over the years.
Occasionally, he wonders if Merlin exists in real life too. For years, he'd even researched to see if he could find anything, but he couldn't exactly ask for Uther's help, and all he'd ended up with were dead ends. Arthur hadn't given up, exactly, but eventually had to admit defeat. He'd learned already by then that world was simply too big for someone without any contacts or connections.
iv.
He's at a Christmas business party, one of those formal, awkward ones where every other biotech company has representatives attending. He's the inevitable center of attention, being the son of the CEO of the largest one yet. It doesn't help that Morgana, as his date, has decided to wear the most flimsy dress in the world, the plunging back drawing all sorts of admiring glances. Arthur has the odd urge to give her his jacket or something, but he knows that Morgana would just laugh at him if he tried.
The evening is more or less like every other company party he's attended, and Arthur leaves with a small, generic-looking package in his hands - a result of the annual Secret Santa-styled gift exchange. The daughter of one of their sponsors had originally organized it, and it had become a tradition of sorts over the years. Tossing it carelessly into the backseat of his car, he waits until Morgana has gotten in as well before pulling out of the parking lot.
"You should at least open it, you know," Morgana says disapprovingly. "Gwen always goes to a lot of trouble to organize the gift exchange."
"I do open it," Arthur replies with a shrug. He does - at some point, anyway. Usually months later, but it's not like it means anything. The gifts are always uselessly extravagant items, designed to show off the wealth of the giver. One year, he'd gotten the most expensive Swiss chocolates money could buy; another year, imported tea from Japan that Arthur never actually drank. "But if you're so insistent, you can open it now."
He can almost hear Morgana's eyeroll, and is a little surprised to hear her tearing into the wrapping paper - he hadn't expected her to actually bother with it. There's a short silence.
"Well?" Arthur asks lightly. "What is it this year? Cufflinks? Pens? Paperweights made from gold?"
"It's - a book," Morgana says, sounding puzzled. "Life and Works of William Blake."
Arthur freezes. "What?"
"Why on earth would someone send you this? You don't even read poetry," Morgana continues, not sensing his shock. At least, not until Arthur pulls over suddenly on the side of the street in a death-defying move, ignoring the honking from behind him.
"Give me the book," he says, ignoring Morgana's swearing at being thrown off-balance.
The volume is a familiar weight in his hands, even though he's technically never held it before. Arthur remembers it clearly though - has spent hours pouring over the book that had eventually become his main reference for his masters thesis. There was no way someone had just randomly decided to give him this.
"Arthur?"
"Who is this from?" he asks, voice sounding strange to his own ears.
"There's no card, but the tag says M. Emrys."
Merlin. It had to be. He turns to Morgana, suddenly desperate. "Do you know him? Where can I find him?"
"No, I don't - I've never heard of him. Arthur, what's going on? Who is it?"
Arthur thinks about explaining, just for a second, but even he realizes how crazy he would sound. "It's nothing," he says instead. "I just. I really need to find him."
Morgana looks at him for a second, eyes unreadable. Arthur doesn't know what she sees, but she finally nods. "I'll ask Gwen for you," she says. "She would know most of the people involved in the exchange."
"Thanks," Arthur says, looking away. He knows that Morgana won't leave the unanswered questions for long, but he can deal with all that later.
He has to be certain first.
v.
When he finally meets Merlin in his waking hours, Arthur is twenty-four.
It turns out that M. Emrys is a childhood friend of Gwen's. He's a grad student who has nothing at all to do with the biotech industry, and he'd only been part of the gift exchange because Gwen needed a date for the party. All attendees participated by default, to make sure the numbers would work out correctly.
Arthur is also scheduled to meet him for coffee in an hour, and right now he's nervously pulling at his outfit, wondering if he's overdressed. Would Merlin remember him? Would Arthur come off as crazy? Was it even Merlin, for god's sake?
He arrives at the cafe fifteen minutes early. It's horrifically crowded, the lineup snaking around the tables, and Arthur is wondering how he's going to find an empty table at this rate when he realizes that there's already a familiar figure sitting by the window.
Throat dry, he walks closer, knowing with every step that this is it. He would recognize that lanky figure anywhere.
"Excuse me," he says finally, carefully, when he's close enough. His knees feel like jello, but his voice comes out steadier than he'd expected, and he stretches out his hand. "I'm Arthur Pendragon. Do you -"
The figure turns in his seat, and Arthur has to stop because his throat is dry and he's forgotten everything he was going to say. His heart is pounding out a staccato against his ribcage and some part of him is still disbelieving that this is really happening.
"Hi Arthur," Merlin says, seemingly not nervous at all, and his smile is bright with recognition. His hair is messy, longer than Arthur remembers it, and his eyes catch the daylight as he grins. "I'm Merlin, but you know that already." Rather than shake Arthur's hand, he pushes a second white cup Arthur hadn't originally noticed into it instead. "Here, sit down! Have a drink."
Arthur numbly takes it and obeys. Not knowing what to say, he brings the cup to his lips.
The first sip warms him to the core, and he closes his eyes for a second. Earl Grey latte, his favourite - made exactly the way he likes it with soy milk instead of regular 2%.
"So, Arthur," Merlin says carefully, and Arthur thinks that maybe he was wrong after all about the other man not being nervous. There's a slight inflection to Merlin's voice, the one that's always there when he's uncertain and thinking of saying something possibly inappropriate. "I was just wondering."
Taking another sip, Arthur feels a sudden rush of relief. Dream or not, this is still Merlin, and Arthur knows him better than anyone. He has nothing to be afraid of. "Yes?"
Merlin pauses again, then leaps blindly forward the way he always does with everything. "How do you feel about John Keats?"
Arthur stops dead for a second, taken aback - and then he can't control the wide grin that breaks out on his own face. "I don't know, Merlin," he says, taking a chance and stretching out the name like he'd always done when he's teasing. "He's okay, I suppose. He's got nothing on Blake though."
"Hey," Merlin sputters, definitely not expecting the unreserved answer, and his indignation is so comical that Arthur wants to laugh. "Keats is just so much better, okay. In every way."
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. "I don't know, you'll have to try and convince me, Merlin," he says with a shrug. "Although I realize that might be a difficult task for you."
"God, you're still such a prat," Merlin mutters under his breath, but his eyes are amused, and his hair catches the sunlight as he takes a sip of his own drink, turning certain strands a golden brown. He's gorgeous, and Arthur thinks about quantifying this moment, giving it a name so he can come back to it again and again in the future. Then he laughs at himself, because maybe there isn't a word for this yet, for old friends who've just met, and maybe that's exactly the point.
Merlin looks up then, catches him watching, and Arthur would be embarrassed, except Merlin smiles - one of those brilliant, dazzling smiles of his - and Arthur thinks in that moment that he doesn't need a name for this. Everything's going to be just fine.
(Am I dreaming? Arthur asks later, curled up again in Merlin's too-small bed. Merlin just laughs in response, then stretches, pillowing his head on Arthur's bare chest.
His breath is warm against the hollow of Arthur's throat.)
082010 - 122410
eyes I've met in dreams
merlin: merlin/arthur
pg, 2250 words
modern!au. in his waking hours, Arthur is the heir to Pendragon ImmunoGen, one of the biggest biotech companies in the world. in his dreams, he's just a masters student.
i.
When Arthur is fifteen, he meets a boy.
His name is Merlin, and he's a bit of a impossibility, dropping into Arthur's life with all the grace of a whirlwind and destroying any organization and structure Arthur has worked to preserve. If he's honest, Arthur can't say he minds: Merlin is loud and insistent and doesn't know when to be quiet, but something about his earnest smiles send Arthur's breath hitching in his chest and his heart stuttering into double-time.
The only other person who knows about Merlin is Morgana.
She laughs the first time she finds out, shaking her head at him in a way he doesn't understand. "So when do I get to meet this friend of yours?" she asks.
Arthur shrugs, noncommittal, and Morgana gives him one of her looks.
"Don't think I can't tell that you're not telling me something, Arthur," she says.
There's plenty Arthur hasn't told her. He hasn't told her about the way Merlin is different - the way he can make things happen, how his eyes can turn to molten gold at will. He doesn't tell her about that time Merlin pulled him into Arthur's dorm room and pressed him into the wall, or how Arthur discovers that day that Merlin's kisses are like every other part of him - clumsy and wild and sweet.
Most importantly, Arthur doesn't tell her that he's only seen Merlin in dreams.
Having uncannily realistic dreams isn't something that's new to Arthur. It's been a part of his life for as long as he can remember. While other children ran to their parents' room in the middle of the night, frightened by hazy monsters in disjointed nightmares, Arthur's dreams have always been unnaturally clear and real. When Arthur dreams, there aren't any leaps in logic or things that later seems impossible. Everything is connected, if not logical, and afterward, Arthur always remembers every detail.
It's like life continues and events are unfolding even when he is sleeping. Maybe it is all just in his head; maybe it is not.
ii.
Arthur is six, the first time he tells his father about his dreams.
In his childish naivety, he'd believed that dreams like this were normal, that everyone had them. He hadn't known any better, and so hadn't realized something was wrong until he'd found himself at a therapist's office.
Arthur hadn't liked the therapist very much. She'd insisted that he tell her more about the people he dreamed about, then tried to prescribe him medicine. Before long, he quickly figured out that it was simplest if he simply claimed that he didn't remember his dreams anymore.
Uther, too relieved that his son was apparently back to normal, never questioned Arthur about it again. Arthur learns never to give him reason to.
iii.
In his waking hours, Arthur is the heir to Pendragon ImmunoGen, one of the biggest biotech companies in the world. "Heir" sounds old-fashioned and outdated, but the truth is, that's exactly what he is. Uther Pendragon had built up an empire out of nothing, and as the only son, it's Arthur's job to take over when his father retires. He studies business and computer science in university and spends his summers interning at his father's company. Since graduating last year, Arthur's worked at the company full-time.
In his dreams, Arthur is a masters student. His focus is Medieval and Renaissance Literary Studies, and he will reluctantly admit that he has a slight obsession with romantic poetry. He's written multiple essays during his undergrad career on exactly why he thinks William Blake is the greatest poet ever, which always horrifies Merlin because Merlin is certain that no one can outdo John Keats. Merlin is also, obviously, deluded. Arthur's pretty sure that Merlin used to have a poster of Keats on his bedroom wall as a kid, which means any point Merlin makes is automatically invalid.
His father is an absent figure in his life, and Arthur doesn't really hear from him outside of Christmas holidays. He spends his summers with Merlin, roadtripping across the country, and they go everywhere Arthur's car can take them. It means eating at unhealthy diners and cramming themselves in the backseat when they can't find a motel, and sometimes, Arthur gets to watch as Merlin shapes clouds and constellations into dragons and unicorns. Most of the year is spent in the tiny on-campus apartment they share. Merlin stops Arthur from freaking out too much about his thesis and living on an iv drip of caffeine, and Arthur is there to open the door when Merlin locks himself out again for the sixth time. It works out.
It doesn't bother Arthur too much that he's essentially living two lives each day. Maybe it would be unusual for anyone else, but he's grown used to it over the years.
Occasionally, he wonders if Merlin exists in real life too. For years, he'd even researched to see if he could find anything, but he couldn't exactly ask for Uther's help, and all he'd ended up with were dead ends. Arthur hadn't given up, exactly, but eventually had to admit defeat. He'd learned already by then that world was simply too big for someone without any contacts or connections.
iv.
He's at a Christmas business party, one of those formal, awkward ones where every other biotech company has representatives attending. He's the inevitable center of attention, being the son of the CEO of the largest one yet. It doesn't help that Morgana, as his date, has decided to wear the most flimsy dress in the world, the plunging back drawing all sorts of admiring glances. Arthur has the odd urge to give her his jacket or something, but he knows that Morgana would just laugh at him if he tried.
The evening is more or less like every other company party he's attended, and Arthur leaves with a small, generic-looking package in his hands - a result of the annual Secret Santa-styled gift exchange. The daughter of one of their sponsors had originally organized it, and it had become a tradition of sorts over the years. Tossing it carelessly into the backseat of his car, he waits until Morgana has gotten in as well before pulling out of the parking lot.
"You should at least open it, you know," Morgana says disapprovingly. "Gwen always goes to a lot of trouble to organize the gift exchange."
"I do open it," Arthur replies with a shrug. He does - at some point, anyway. Usually months later, but it's not like it means anything. The gifts are always uselessly extravagant items, designed to show off the wealth of the giver. One year, he'd gotten the most expensive Swiss chocolates money could buy; another year, imported tea from Japan that Arthur never actually drank. "But if you're so insistent, you can open it now."
He can almost hear Morgana's eyeroll, and is a little surprised to hear her tearing into the wrapping paper - he hadn't expected her to actually bother with it. There's a short silence.
"Well?" Arthur asks lightly. "What is it this year? Cufflinks? Pens? Paperweights made from gold?"
"It's - a book," Morgana says, sounding puzzled. "Life and Works of William Blake."
Arthur freezes. "What?"
"Why on earth would someone send you this? You don't even read poetry," Morgana continues, not sensing his shock. At least, not until Arthur pulls over suddenly on the side of the street in a death-defying move, ignoring the honking from behind him.
"Give me the book," he says, ignoring Morgana's swearing at being thrown off-balance.
The volume is a familiar weight in his hands, even though he's technically never held it before. Arthur remembers it clearly though - has spent hours pouring over the book that had eventually become his main reference for his masters thesis. There was no way someone had just randomly decided to give him this.
"Arthur?"
"Who is this from?" he asks, voice sounding strange to his own ears.
"There's no card, but the tag says M. Emrys."
Merlin. It had to be. He turns to Morgana, suddenly desperate. "Do you know him? Where can I find him?"
"No, I don't - I've never heard of him. Arthur, what's going on? Who is it?"
Arthur thinks about explaining, just for a second, but even he realizes how crazy he would sound. "It's nothing," he says instead. "I just. I really need to find him."
Morgana looks at him for a second, eyes unreadable. Arthur doesn't know what she sees, but she finally nods. "I'll ask Gwen for you," she says. "She would know most of the people involved in the exchange."
"Thanks," Arthur says, looking away. He knows that Morgana won't leave the unanswered questions for long, but he can deal with all that later.
He has to be certain first.
v.
When he finally meets Merlin in his waking hours, Arthur is twenty-four.
It turns out that M. Emrys is a childhood friend of Gwen's. He's a grad student who has nothing at all to do with the biotech industry, and he'd only been part of the gift exchange because Gwen needed a date for the party. All attendees participated by default, to make sure the numbers would work out correctly.
Arthur is also scheduled to meet him for coffee in an hour, and right now he's nervously pulling at his outfit, wondering if he's overdressed. Would Merlin remember him? Would Arthur come off as crazy? Was it even Merlin, for god's sake?
He arrives at the cafe fifteen minutes early. It's horrifically crowded, the lineup snaking around the tables, and Arthur is wondering how he's going to find an empty table at this rate when he realizes that there's already a familiar figure sitting by the window.
Throat dry, he walks closer, knowing with every step that this is it. He would recognize that lanky figure anywhere.
"Excuse me," he says finally, carefully, when he's close enough. His knees feel like jello, but his voice comes out steadier than he'd expected, and he stretches out his hand. "I'm Arthur Pendragon. Do you -"
The figure turns in his seat, and Arthur has to stop because his throat is dry and he's forgotten everything he was going to say. His heart is pounding out a staccato against his ribcage and some part of him is still disbelieving that this is really happening.
"Hi Arthur," Merlin says, seemingly not nervous at all, and his smile is bright with recognition. His hair is messy, longer than Arthur remembers it, and his eyes catch the daylight as he grins. "I'm Merlin, but you know that already." Rather than shake Arthur's hand, he pushes a second white cup Arthur hadn't originally noticed into it instead. "Here, sit down! Have a drink."
Arthur numbly takes it and obeys. Not knowing what to say, he brings the cup to his lips.
The first sip warms him to the core, and he closes his eyes for a second. Earl Grey latte, his favourite - made exactly the way he likes it with soy milk instead of regular 2%.
"So, Arthur," Merlin says carefully, and Arthur thinks that maybe he was wrong after all about the other man not being nervous. There's a slight inflection to Merlin's voice, the one that's always there when he's uncertain and thinking of saying something possibly inappropriate. "I was just wondering."
Taking another sip, Arthur feels a sudden rush of relief. Dream or not, this is still Merlin, and Arthur knows him better than anyone. He has nothing to be afraid of. "Yes?"
Merlin pauses again, then leaps blindly forward the way he always does with everything. "How do you feel about John Keats?"
Arthur stops dead for a second, taken aback - and then he can't control the wide grin that breaks out on his own face. "I don't know, Merlin," he says, taking a chance and stretching out the name like he'd always done when he's teasing. "He's okay, I suppose. He's got nothing on Blake though."
"Hey," Merlin sputters, definitely not expecting the unreserved answer, and his indignation is so comical that Arthur wants to laugh. "Keats is just so much better, okay. In every way."
Arthur raises an eyebrow at him. "I don't know, you'll have to try and convince me, Merlin," he says with a shrug. "Although I realize that might be a difficult task for you."
"God, you're still such a prat," Merlin mutters under his breath, but his eyes are amused, and his hair catches the sunlight as he takes a sip of his own drink, turning certain strands a golden brown. He's gorgeous, and Arthur thinks about quantifying this moment, giving it a name so he can come back to it again and again in the future. Then he laughs at himself, because maybe there isn't a word for this yet, for old friends who've just met, and maybe that's exactly the point.
Merlin looks up then, catches him watching, and Arthur would be embarrassed, except Merlin smiles - one of those brilliant, dazzling smiles of his - and Arthur thinks in that moment that he doesn't need a name for this. Everything's going to be just fine.
(Am I dreaming? Arthur asks later, curled up again in Merlin's too-small bed. Merlin just laughs in response, then stretches, pillowing his head on Arthur's bare chest.
His breath is warm against the hollow of Arthur's throat.)
082010 - 122410