[FIC] Read All About It - Part I (Arthur/Merlin; PG)
Author: Anon
Title: Read All About It
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur is an antiques shop owner who spends most of his time worrying about how he’s going to stay in business. Until world-famous actor Merlin Emrys comes crashing into his shop and somehow Arthur ends up with a fake boyfriend.
Warnings (if any): None.
Total Word Count/Length: 14,178
Original prompt number: 123 - Submitted by fuckyeah
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Beta(s): Many thanks to the brilliant Anon.
( Read on AO3 )
The ‘ding’ of the shop bell rouses Arthur from his numbers-induced coma. He jumps to his feet and, with one last forlorn look at his accounts - which lie scattered across the table mocking him - he hurries from the little back room that he likes to pretend is an office. The antiques business is far from booming and he can’t afford to miss a customer.
He steps out to the shop floor just in time to see a tall man with a mess of black hair crashing into one of the bookshelves in the middle of the shop, sending the shelf toppling and the books flying. Arthur watches the books hit the ground and winces, thinking about how much this could cost him if any of them are damaged.
The man seems panicked. Arthur can’t see his face, but his flailing makes it pretty obvious. He’s trying to right the shelf and fumbling with the books, managing to make the mess ten times worse in the process. After one particularly unsuccessful attempt to rectify the situation, the man trips over a stray hardback which, as far as Arthur can tell, seems to be about dragons, and ends up sprawled amongst the mess of books on the floor.
“You idiot!” Arthur yells, as he grabs the man by the arm and pulls him to his feet.
It’s not until they’re standing toe to toe that Arthur realises who the man is. Merlin Emrys, international superstar and the youngest man ever to win an Oscar for Best Leading Actor. A fact that Arthur will swear he only knows through Gwen’s penchant for reading dreadful celebrity gossip magazines.
He realises how close he and Merlin are standing and hurriedly takes a step backwards. He doesn’t stop glaring though; he isn’t so star struck that he’s forgotten the destruction Merlin has caused in his shop.
Merlin looks slightly flustered but, to Arthur’s surprise, he’s also doing his own fair share of glaring.
“It’s not like I meant to do it!” He says petulantly.
Arthur stares incredulously at Merlin, wondering how he has the nerve to wreck Arthur’s shop and then act like he’s the wronged party.
“That doesn’t matter!” Arthur shouts. “Do you have any idea how much money I’ll lose if those books are damaged?”
He bends down and inspects the mess on the floor, hoping that the worst of the damage is a few bent pages, and that the books are still fit for sale.
“I’m sorry, alright. It was an accident.”
Despite still appearing vaguely annoyed, Merlin does seem genuinely apologetic. Arthur takes a deep breath and stands so they’re face to face once more. He’s still furious, but the books all appear to be intact so he’s got no real reason to argue with Merlin.
Apparently, that’s not going to stop him, because instead of the polite but angry request to leave he’d intended to say, what actually comes out of his mouth is in an incredibly sarcastic tone. “So are you here to buy something, or…?”
Arthur frowns, wondering at his temporary loss of control over his own mouth.
“Yes, actually.” Merlin says. He stands up straighter and looks Arthur in the eye, apparently having taken his words as some sort of challenge - which Arthur can admit they probably were. “I came in here to look for something.”
“And what would that be?” Arthur asks, matching Merlin’s tone and stance.
Merlin deflates slightly and quickly looks around the shop. Arthur watches in amusement as Merlin’s gaze travels around the room, trying to find something he could have been searching for, before landing on the mess of books still scattered on the floor.
“A book!” Merlin exclaims, looking pleased with himself. “I was looking for a book.”
Merlin appears smug, but Arthur’s not about to lose whatever odd little game it is they’re playing.
“Which book?”
Arthur sees Merlin’s pleased grin fade, and smirks.
“Um…”
Arthur takes a moment to think that it’s probably a good thing that Merlin gets scripts given to him, or else he might never manage to say anything worthwhile at all. He looks so clueless that Arthur might have found it endearing, under normal circumstances.
However, these are not normal circumstances. Merlin had, quite literally, crashed into his shop, causing chaos in the process, and Arthur does not let damage to his shop go unpunished. So, instead of offering Merlin a lifeline, as he might have done otherwise (he’s not completely unreasonable, after all), Arthur continues to smirk at Merlin, who is looking more and more flustered by the second.
“Well?” Arthur says, after Merlin’s silence reaches the point where it’s more annoying than amusing.
“Um, Harry Potter?” Merlin offers eventually.
Arthur stares at him incredulously, before pointedly looking around the shop, making sure his gaze ligers obviously on the paintings, mirrors, and statues, as well as other odds and ends (including a sword that Arthur is very proud of) which are most definitely not from any recent century. Then he turns back to Merlin.
“It may have escaped your notice,” he says slowly, as he’s beginning to question Merlin’s intelligence. “But this is an antiques shop. We do not sell Harry Potter. Or any other sort of popular culture, for that matter.”
He tries to sound as disgusted as possible when he says ‘popular culture’. He also makes sure to look down his nose at Merlin as he says it. Which he’ll admit is slightly difficult, seeing as Merlin is taller than him. He likes to think that it’s effective all the same. Merlin, on the other hand, looks indignant.
“Harry Potter is brilliant.” He says, looking affronted at the mere idea that Arthur might think otherwise.
Privately, Arthur agrees, but he’s not about to tell that to Merlin. Or to confess that he has all seven books and all eight films upstairs in his flat. So he chooses to play the stuffy antiques shop owner instead.
“That’s the problem with you people. You all succumb to mass delusions and cease to appreciate the classics.” He makes sure to give Merlin his haughtiest look, one he’s learnt from his father - so he knows it’s effective.
“It’s not a delusion!” Merlin splutters.
Arthur resists the urge to laugh.
“It’s quite sad, actually.” He says, mainly because he wants to see the look on Merlin’s face. “No one understands true literature anymore.”
When Merlin pulls an expression of utter outrage, he decides it was worth it.
He can also tell from the determined look in Merlin’s eye that he’s not going to back down easily. Neither is Arthur for that matter. He’s very invested in his role of ‘stuffy antiques shop owner’. He’s sure that, if Merlin knew what Arthur was doing, he’d be suitably impressed by his commitment to the part.
Eventually, their argument reaches the point where Arthur doesn’t really think it can be called an argument anymore. It’s more name-calling than anything else. About the same time Arthur realises this, he also realises that he’s quite enjoying himself. He throws another insult at Merlin (‘uncultured baboon’ - which he’s rather proud of) and thinks that he could happily do this all day.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance. Because, right after Merlin calls Arthur an elitist clotpole, he inexplicably dives behind the bookshelf he knocked onto the floor when he tumbled into the shop.
Arthur gapes at him, but then, considering how much he’s observed about Merlin already, wonders why he’s surprised.
“I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m hiding from the paparazzi, they’ve been following me all day. There’s one outside the shop right now.” Merlin whispers. Which is ridiculous when Arthur stops to think about it; he very much doubts that any paparazzi lurking outside have supersonic hearing abilities.
Arthur glances towards the shop's front window and, sure enough, sees a suspicious looking man peering inside the shop.
He turns back to Merlin. “And you thought my shop was the best place to hide from stalkers with professional cameras?”
“No, but it happened to be the only place open.” Merlin says, still whispering. “Really, who keeps their shop open until seven in the evening?”
“It’s called running a business. Lots of places do it, Merlin.” Arthur snaps back. For some inexplicable reason he finds himself whispering as well. He needs to get Merlin out of here quickly; clearly, his special brand of stupidity is contagious.
“Not on this street, they don’t. Trust me, I checked.”
Merlin’s got him there. Arthur knows most of the shops on this street closed over an hour ago, but he’s been staying open late these past few weeks in the hopes of some late-night shoppers coming by. It’s slightly desperate, he knows, but he hasn’t got any other way of improving business.
“Yes, well, I’m just that dedicated to providing a service to the public.”
“Selling antiques is a service?”
“I’m giving the public an element of culture, that’s invaluable.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your best to put a price on it.” Merlin mutters, indicating one of the prices marked on the shelf by his thigh. “Fifty quid for a book? That’s ridiculous”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s an antique, Merlin. You know, because this is an antiques shop.”
“I still say it’s over-priced.” He says, eying the books around him speculatively, as if he’ll suddenly be able to understand antique pricing by the power of sight alone.
“Would you have me starve? Wait, don’t answer that.” Arthur hastily amends when he sees the contemplative look on Merlin’s face. “Anyway, if you’d care to get off the floor, I was actually just about to close up.”
That’s a lie, but Merlin doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh, do you need me to leave? It’s just…they’re probably still out there.” Merlin says. His eyes widen and he looks mildly terrified.
Arthur’s not convinced that having your photograph taken is a cause for fear, but Merlin’s staring at him in a way that makes Arthur feel like he’d be sending Merlin to his death if he kicked him out now.
“Fine.” He says, because apparently he really does have a heart, despite what certain people like to claim. “There’s a back room through that door there. Go wait while I shut the shop, and then you can hide out in my flat upstairs until your stalkers give up and go home.”
“Thank you!” Merlin beams.
He jumps to his feet and pulls Arthur into a brief and slightly manic hug. Then he scampers off to the back room, leaving Arthur standing in the middle of the shop, in front of a mess of books, wondering what exactly he’s just got himself into.
When Arthur wakes the following morning, he half believes he had dreamt the night before as a result of overexposure to Gwen’s trashy magazines. However, when he enters the living room and sees the many empty beer cans scattered across his coffee table, he realises that he most definitely was not dreaming. He’d invited a film star up to his flat and then proceeded to cosy up for a chat.
Wondering what on Earth he was thinking, he quickly shoves the cans into the bin, before getting dressed and rushing to open the shop.
He trips over the mess of books on the floor on his way to unlock the shop door and curses Merlin for his clumsiness and for taking up the time Arthur should have used to clean up this mess. He wishes he had time before opening the shop, but he really can’t afford to risk losing any business he might get from an early opening.
As soon as he’s unlocked the door and flipped the sign to open, he sets to work righting the damage Merlin had done yesterday, wondering how it’s possible for one man to make such a mess.
He doesn’t look up until the bell above the door chimes and sees Merlin entering the shop.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, realising a second later that he probably sounds like an arse, before deciding he doesn’t care because Merlin owes him for last night.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Merlin says, looking nervous.
“Oh, do tell.” Arthur says, curious despite himself. He’d discovered last night that Merlin wasn’t completely horrible company (shop-wrecking and time-wasting aside), but he wasn’t sure they’d got on well enough for Merlin to be craving his presence again less than twenty-four hours later.
“Well, you remember what I said last night?” Merlin asks.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that. As I recall, I had a hard time getting you to shut up.”
Merlin glares, but obliges. “The thing about the paparazzi and my agent?”
“Oh.” Arthur says, remembering with sudden clarity exactly what Merlin had said.
They were sat on Arthur’s sofa, drinking the cheap beer Arthur had found at the back of his fridge.
Merlin had spotted the Harry Potter DVDs on Arthur’s shelf and had spent a good ten minutes laughing, then another ten gloating.
Then, deciding he was tired of being mocked, Arthur had made the mistake of asking why the paparazzi were so determined to follow Merlin, and had earned himself a rant from Merlin against anyone who so much as provided ink for a tabloid or trashy magazine.
“It’s like they have nothing better to do than make stuff up about me!” Merlin was saying. “Just because I’m single, they think I’m tragically lonely. Could they get any more ridiculous? I happen to like being single.”
That was a point Arthur could agree on.
“Here, here.” He had said, raising his can of beer in a gesture of support. “Gwen’s always trying to set me up. She doesn’t believe me when I say I don’t need a boyfriend.”
“My agents the same! She keeps nagging me about how much good press it’d get me. It’s ludicrous is what it is.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Arthur had said.
He had caught Merlin looking speculatively at him then.
“What?” He had asked apprehensively.
“We should date each other.” Merlin had announced, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“What?” Arthur had asked, choking on his beer.
“It’s perfect, we both don’t want boyfriends, but we both have people who want us to have them. So we should just be each other's boyfriends.” Merlin seemed incredibly proud of his solution; however, Arthur wasn’t entirely convinced.
“I think your logic’s slightly flawed, Merlin.”
Merlin had thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He’d agreed eventually, and dropped the subject.
Except that, apparently, he hadn’t dropped the subject and was now bringing it up again.
“You asked me to be your boyfriend.” Arthur says, never one to beat around the bush.
Merlin flushes.
“Well, yes.” He says. “Will you?”
“What?!” Arthur asks incredulously.
“Not my actual boyfriend.” Merlin hastily clarifies. “We’d be pretending. Just for the press, and your friends, if you like.”
“You want me to be your fake boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I said, no, I will not be your fake boyfriend.” Arthur says, almost laughing at how ridiculous that sentence sounds. “It’s an idiotic idea; we’d be found out in an instant.”
Merlin looks affronted. “Give me some credit. I am an actor, after all.”
“Well, I’m not, and I have no desire to be the fake boyfriend of one either.” Arthur says stubbornly.
Merlin looks disappointed, as if he’d actually expected Arthur to say yes.
“Are you sure? Just think about it, the press would love it. ‘Nation’s Sweetheart Dates Hole in the Wall Antiques Shop Owner.’”
Merlin makes a motion with his hands as if he’s trying to paint the imaginary headlines in the air. Arthur rolls his eyes.
“My shop is not a hole in the wall, Merlin.” He says.
Merlin has the good grace to look abashed, so Arthur lets it go. He might be proud of his shop, but that doesn’t mean it’s not tiny. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.
“Who says you’re the nation’s sweetheart anyway?” Arthur asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the absurd phrase.
Merlin grins, looking smug. “You did.”
“Oh.” Is all Arthur can think to say, as he remembers that - to his shame - he had indeed uttered those words last night.
Arthur feels his own lips twitching in response to Merlin’s somewhat manic grin. He tries to fight it, but he knows he’s lost when he sees Merlin’s smile widen.
“I’m still not going to be your fake boyfriend.” He says, feeling the need to clarify it before Merlin gets the wrong idea.
“Why not?” Merlin asks, as if Arthur’s the one being unreasonable.
Before Arthur can respond, Merlin goes for a different tactic, the one that had worked so well on Arthur last night. He plays the pity card.
“Please.” He says, softly. “It would just be until my newest film comes out, and I really need some good publicity.”
“No. I saw how those paparazzi were stalking you last night, I don’t want that. I like my privacy and I’m perfectly happy the way I am.” Arthur says, and wonders why he feels so guilty when he sees Merlin’s face fall.
“Just think about it, this would be good for you too.” Merlin says, a little desperately.
“How?”
“Well, it’d stop your friend Gwen pestering you about finding a boyfriend. And...” Merlin hesitates, as if he’s not sure he should say whatever’s about to come out of his mouth next, but continues anyway. “A celebrity boyfriend would be good for business.”
Arthur wonders why Merlin looks so nervous about that last part, it’s a fairly obvious assumption, and one that’s probably correct. So, he can’t work out why Merlin looks so guilty. Not until he sees Merlin’s eyes flicker over Arthur’s shoulder to the back room, where he’d left Merlin alone, with all of his accounts still scattered across the table.
“You looked at my accounts!” He shouts.
“I’m sorry!” Merlin says. “They were just there and I didn’t realise what they were at first.”
“Get out.” Arthur says, with forced calm. If he’s honest, he’s more annoyed with himself than he is with Merlin. Not to mention embarrassed at the thought of someone as rich as Merlin seeing the terrible state his finances are in. But yelling at Merlin is much easier than admitting that, so yell at Merlin he does.
Merlin looks stricken, but moves to obey. Not before pulling out a scrap of paper and pressing it into Arthur’s hands.
“That’s my number, call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Arthur calls after Merlin’s retreating back.
He pockets the phone number anyway.
Arthur still hasn’t fully processed Merlin’s unusual visit, not to mention his even more unusual request, an hour later when Gwen arrives for her shift.
He gives her a distracted smile from where he’s crouched on the floor, finally placing the books that Merlin had knocked over yesterday back on their shelves. He’s a little bit disgusted that it took him this long to get round to it, when he normally prides himself on maintaining order in his shop. But then, Merlin is incredibly distracting. And there he goes again, thinking about Merlin. He just won’t get out of Arthur’s head. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like Arthur had even considered Merlin’s request, not for a second.
“Arthur?” Gwen calls from across the shop.
She looks slightly concerned and Arthur realises he’s frozen in the same position he was in when Gwen entered the shop, his hand half-way to returning a book to the shelf. He quickly puts the book in its place and moves to join Gwen where she’s standing by the counter.
As he approaches, he sees a glossy magazine resting on the surface. He has to stifle a laugh when he sees just who’s gracing the cover today.
A photograph of Merlin takes up almost the entire front page. In the picture he looks harried and the wind is blowing his hair in all different directions, making him look (in Arthur’s opinion at least) utterly ridiculous. He does look miserable, though, and Arthur almost feels sorry for him. Then he reminds himself that Merlin is an annoying idiot who makes a mess of Arthur’s shop and has no respect for his privacy and it goes away- well, mostly anyway.
MERLIN: ALONE AND LONELY?
The magazine’s headline reads. Arthur snorts; considering what Merlin had told him last night, he’s almost certain that’s not the case. Merlin probably looks upset because he’s being relentlessly followed by a photographer, something the magazine would obviously never print; it’s not nearly juicy enough. It does prove a point though; these magazines will print any old nonsense if they think it will sell. Another reason to stay well clear of Merlin’s insane plan.
Gwen misinterprets his snort and blushes. “Leave it alone. It’s my one vice.”
It takes Arthur a second to work out what she means, and then he decides that playing along is a far better alternative to telling her what actually happened, partly for the sake of his hearing. Gwen is usually the epitome of quiet composure but when pressed, her squeals can reach earth-shattering levels and he fears for his eardrums if he tells her that her favourite actor asked Arthur to pretend to be his boyfriend.
“Your one vice?” He teases.
“Shut up!” She grabs the magazine from the counter and hits Arthur with it gently; she’s far too kind to consider actually hurting him. “If we’re listing vices, I could stand here all day and list yours. Or, I could call Morgana and have her do it for me.”
Arthur takes a step backwards, throwing his hands up in defeat.
“No need to be cruel. I surrender unto you, milady.” He says, giving her a mock bow.
Gwen laughs and hits him with the magazine again.
“Get up.”
“Only if you agree to rid my high class antiques store of that rubbish you call a magazine.”
“It’s not rubbish! It’s relaxing.” Gwen says indignantly, as if they haven’t had this same discussion a thousand times before.
“Whatever you say, Gwen.”
She rolls her eyes at him, before they land once again on the mess of books still lying on the floor.
“Now, can you tell me why there’s a pile of books on the floor?” She asks, with the tone she always uses when she can sense Arthur’s got himself into trouble.
“Oh, a customer just tripped, that’s all.” Arthur replies, moving in front of the mess as if he can hide from view, which is a rather useless move, considering Gwen’s already seen it.
“Hmm.” Gwen says, narrowing her eyes at him.
Arthur worries that perhaps his half-truth wasn’t as convincing as he’d thought it was, but Gwen drops the subject, much to Arthur’s relief. However, the next thing she does makes Arthur incredibly nervous - she steps forwards and takes one of Arthur’s hands in both of her own.
“Arthur, I have something to tell you.” She says, no longer teasing.
Arthur pales, a hundred and one dreadful scenarios running through his head.
Gwen takes a deep breath.
“I’m pregnant!” She exclaims, practically jumping for joy as she does so.
He stares at her, speechless for a moment, before leaps forwards enfolding her in a hug.
“Congratulations! I’m so pleased for you.”
He can feel her smiling and smiles in return. However, when he pulls back, he sees her biting her bottom lip and wringing her hands nervously.
“What’s wrong? You’re happy, aren’t you?” He asks.
Gwen laughs, nervously. “Of course I am. Lance and I have wanted this for years.”
“Then why do you look as if someone just kicked a puppy?”
Gwen hesitates, wringing her hands together. “It’s just, I know business here hasn’t been exactly brilliant lately, and with the baby coming, well, Lance and I, we’re going to need to be secure, you know, financially.”
“Oh.” Arthur says, because really, what else can he say?
“I love working here, Arthur, I really do, I mean I didn’t at first, you were a bit of an arse actually, but you’re sort of a puppy underneath it all and now I really do love this job and I need to know I’m not going to lose it any time soon.”
Arthur frowns, he can tell Gwen’s serious, he can’t remember the last time he heard Gwen ramble like this and he knows she only rambles when she’s worried. The problem is, he can’t give Gwen the kind of security she’s asking for. He simply doesn’t know how long the shop can remain in business for. The situation is pretty dire.
He looks at Gwen, who appears to be on the verge of tears and knows he can’t tell her that. He can’t let her down. He thinks of what Merlin had said earlier.
A celebrity boyfriend would be good for business.
Arthur reaches into his pocket, where the scrap of paper with Merlin’s phone number written on it rests. He takes a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, Gwen. I promise you, your job is safe.”
Later that night, Arthur forces himself to dial Merlin’s number. Merlin picks up after the third ring.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“It’s your fake boyfriend.” Arthur replies.
Arthur dresses in his best suit for his first ‘date’ with Merlin. They’d been texting for the last couple of days, trying to come to some sort of agreement about where their first official sighting as a couple should be. Eventually, they had decided on a dinner date, with Merlin suggesting they go somewhere high-profile to ensure they’d be spotted.
Arthur hadn’t realised exactly what Merlin meant by high-profile, until he looked the restaurant up online. The Albion was famous not only for its ‘outstanding dining experience’, but also for its celebrity clientele. There were dozens of pictures of the restaurant online, and in almost every one there was an actor dressed in a designer suit, or an actress wearing jewels worth more than the contents of Arthur’s shop.
So, once he’s done with business for the day, Arthur makes sure he looks appropriately smart and is ready with plenty of time to spare. He sits himself down behind the counter in his shop, a book in hand, waiting for Merlin to arrive, presumably in a suit that costs more than Arthur makes in a year.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Arthur asks Merlin as soon as he enters the shop.
Merlin looks down at himself in confusion. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit that’s far too big around the shoulders and, in place of a tie, he has some sort of scarf wrapped around his neck.
“What’s wrong with this?” He asks, seeming genuinely startled that Arthur could find fault with his outfit.
Arthur looks at him incredulously, he’s about to tell Merlin exactly wrong with it, but then he takes in the bewildered expression on Merlin’s face and just shakes his head, smiling.
“Nothing, you look lovely.”
Merlin glares and Arthur knows he doesn’t believe him.
“Did you bring me flowers?” Arthur asks, hoping distraction techniques will work, Merlin seems like someone who has the attention span of a small child.
It turns out Arthur is right as Merlin pales instantly. “Was I supposed to?”
“Well, this is a date after all.” Arthur deadpans.
Merlin looks horrified for a moment, as if he’s broken some crucial dating rule. Then he sees the way Arthur can’t keep his smirk in check and begrudgingly starts to grin.
“You are truly the master of wit.” Merlin says.
“Shut up, Merlin.”
Merlin ignores him, in favour of changing the subject.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to anyway.”
“You’re learning.” Merlin says, then continues, ignoring Arthur’s eye roll. “What changed your mind?”
Arthur wants to look away, to avoid meeting Merlin’s eyes when he admits this, but he refuses to appear weak. He could always lie of course, say that the idea of fame and fortune had begun to appeal to him, but he thinks that somehow Merlin would see through that.
He has to take a deep breath before he can speak, admitting his failures is a rare occurrence for him. He hopes Merlin appreciates the privilege of being witness to such an event.
“As much as I hate to admit it, what you saw in my accounts was right. The shop’s failing.”
“I’m sorry.” Merlin says.
Arthur snorts. “Why? It’s hardly your fault.”
“No, I mean for looking at your accounts. I should never have done that.”
“It’s fine.” Arthur says, and almost laughs at the disbelieving expression on Merlin’s face. “No, really it is.”
He’s had a lot of time to think this over during the last few days and he’d come to the conclusion that holding a grudge was not the best way to go about pretending to be someone’s boyfriend. Despite what Morgana believed, Arthur was perfectly capable of being mature and reasonable, if the situation calls for it.
“Shall we go then?” Arthur asks. He may have decided to go along with this, but that doesn’t mean he wants to spend more time than necessary doing so.
Merlin seems to disagree. “I think we need to talk first.”
“Breaking up with me already?”
Merlin laughs, although it’s slightly strained. Arthur thinks Merlin’s probably already longing for the day when he really can ‘break up’ with Arthur.
“No, I just thought we should work a couple of things out.”
“Oh? Like what?” Arthur asks warily.
“Well, like your friend, Gwen. You said she tries to set you up, so are we pretending for her benefit as well?”
Arthur is slightly surprised that Merlin remembers such an offhand comment, nevertheless, he thinks about the question seriously. Can he really lie to Gwen? Under normal circumstances, if he was just doing this for himself, he wouldn’t even consider it. But Gwen is the reason he’s doing this, and she’s not stupid; if Arthur tells her the truth she’ll realise in an instant that he’s doing this for her.
“Yes, but not because of that. Believe it or not, I’m not the sort of person that enjoys the idea of lying to people.”
“And I am?” Merlin asked, looking offended.
“You’re an actor.” Arthur replies, and watches as Merlin tries to fight a grin, something he seems to be doing often. Arthur decides it must be due to his natural charm.
“So, are you going to tell me why we’re lying to your friend, if not to avoid well-meaning, but awkward, matchmaking attempts?”
As Arthur tells Merlin the whole story, something he’s actually surprised at himself for, he watches Merlin’s facial expressions shift, he can’t identify all of the emotions there, but he’s almost certain surprise is one of them, and possibly admiration.
“She’d be horrified if she knew I was doing this for her.” Arthur concludes.
In a display of incredible timing, Gwen enters the shop as soon as Arthur finishes his sentence.
“Arthur, did I leave my-” Gwen stops just inside the door, staring at Merlin.
For a moment, everyone in the shop freezes. They stare at each other silently, each hoping they don’t have to be the one to break the silence.
Eventually Arthur decides that Merlin is clearly a coward, and that Gwen deserves sympathy due to the shock she must be feeling. So he speaks first.
“Gwen, I’d like you to meet Merlin.” And because Arthur doesn’t do things by halves, he takes a deep breath, puts his arm around Merlin’s waist, and adds, “My boyfriend.”
Arthur expects dinner with Merlin to be an awkward affair. They barely know each other and have absolutely nothing in common. One, slightly alcohol fuelled, chat on a sofa is not the basis for a successful fake relationship.
For a while, Arthur seems to be proved right. Merlin still looks slightly shell-shocked at Gwen’s reaction, which had involved scarily high pitched noises, an unhealthily amount of flailing and yelling at Arthur about wasted attempts to set him up, and unnecessary worrying about him being perpetually single.
Arthur admits that it had been rather frightening, but still maintains that, if anyone has the right to be dumbstruck, it’s him. He’s sure Merlin must be used to it, but the stares of passers-by - complete strangers - unnerve him. He puts on a brave face and smiles at the people who are not so subtly pointing camera phones at them, and if he leaves his arm around Merlin’s waist, keeping him close, the entire time they’re outside, well, it’s all part of the act obviously.
Merlin’s smirk says he knows differently, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he casually remarks that the camera phones will most likely turn into professional paparazzi by the end of the night. Arthur almost decides there and then that this isn’t worth it. He has to forcibly remind himself that Gwen needs him to do this, in order to make himself enter the restaurant.
The Maître d' seats them right in the centre of the restaurant and Arthur feels a bit like he’s on display. He and Merlin seem to have lost the ability to meet each other’s eyes, which doesn’t make Arthur feel any less uncomfortable.
Desperate for something to distract him, he takes in his surroundings, noting the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, which he knows are probably worth more money than he’s ever seen, as well as the carefully arranged table furnishings, complete with artfully folded napkins.
When he’s run out of things that could convincingly be called a distraction he looks back to Merlin, who has managed to create a swan out of his napkin which, whilst impressive, is not why they’re here. He finds it unnerving, this awkward silence they’ve forced upon themselves; it seems unnatural somehow. They’d had no trouble talking in Arthur’s shop and in his flat. In fact, Arthur had started to wonder if Merlin actually knew how to stop talking. Now Arthur’s sure he’d do anything to get Merlin to start talking.
“So, you like this then?” He blurts out, and immediately fists his hands in the table cloth to stop himself clapping a hand over his mouth.
Merlin’s brows furrow. “Like what?”
Well, Arthur thinks, in for a penny, in for a pound. If he’s going to make himself sound like an arse, he might as well do it properly.
“The fame, the fortune, the adoring fans.” He says, with a wave in the direction of the door, which is meant to indicate the general public, but probably just makes him look slightly deranged. He quickly lowers his hand when he catches the other diners giving him suspicious looks.
Merlin frowns, his brow creasing slightly in confusion.
“Is that what you think of me?” He asks.
Arthur shrugs. “You’re the one who wanted a fake boyfriend to make yourself look better.”
Merlin’s nostrils flare and he looks truly angry. He also looks a little disappointed, which Arthur doesn’t understand. He watches Merlin take a deep breath, visibly composing himself before he replies.
“I wanted a fake boyfriend,” he hisses, “so that the media would stop harassing me, which you knew because I was hiding from the paparazzi in your shop!”
Arthur stares at the table and wonders if it’s possible to be dumped by your fake boyfriend on your first date. He wants to apologise, he really does, but the past couple of days have done enough damage to his pride and he’s not sure he can face it. Besides, Merlin asked him to do this, he’s the one that wanted Arthur. Now that Merlin’s got him, he can take him or leave him, arrogance and foot-in-mouth syndrome and all.
Fortunately for Arthur, Merlin continues, saving him the embarrassment of saying something offensive, again. “I don’t do this for the fame. I love my fans, yes. But I act because I enjoy it, not because I want my picture in the papers and on the internet.”
“I can understand that.” Arthur says.
He has the sense to take a lifeline when it’s offered to him.
“No, really.” He adds when Merlin looks at him sceptically. “It’s like my shop, it might not make me rich, but I enjoy it, so I can put up with everything else, because I’m doing what I want to do.”
Merlin beams at him. “Exactly.”
Arthur mentally pats himself on the back for not being rude for a whole five minutes. Morgana would be proud.
Merlin grins slyly at him, and Arthur’s learnt enough to know that means trouble.
“What about you?” Merlin asks, widening his eyes with faux-innocence.
“What about me?” Arthur asks cautiously, he’s certainly not fooled by Merlin’s act. He’s beginning to suspect that Merlin loses all acting ability when he’s not in front of a camera.
“You don’t like the idea of fame and fortune? You’ve no desire to have adoring fans of your own? I can imagine you like being the centre of attention. You seem like the sort of arrogant prat who’d want people to fawn over him constantly.”
“I’ll have you know-” Arthur starts indignantly, but then he catches Merlin’s eye and sees the amusement there and huffs out a rueful laugh.
He balls up his napkin and throws it across the table at Merlin, who ducks just in time. The napkin flies over his head and lands in the soup of the woman on the next table over. They manage to keep a straight face for all of ten seconds, before they both burst out laughing. They don’t stop until the Maître d' comes over to announce that he’ll be forced to ask them to leave if they don’t calm down.
“That was your fault.” Arthur hisses as soon as the Maître d' has moved away.
He can feel his face flaming and knows he’s probably the same colour as the tomato soup his napkin had landed in.
“You’re the one who threw the napkin.” Merlin says.
He looks like he’s struggling not to laugh again and Arthur mentally prepares himself to be thrown out of the restaurant.
“You provoked me!” Arthur says, forgetting to lower his voice in his outrage and earning annoyed looks from the other diners and a warning glare from the Maître d.
“You deserved it.”
“Did not.” Arthur says, knowing he’s being immature but not caring one bit. Apparently, Merlin brings out the worst in him. He even throws in a pout for good measure.
Merlin seems unimpressed. “What are you, five?”
“Merlin.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
Merlin pretends to consider it, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“Nah I don’t think I will.” He says, after a minute, grinning and looking proud of himself.
Arthur doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or annoyed to have the Merlin who’d first stumbled into his shop back. When Merlin calls him a prat and spills red wine across the table, he decides that he’s most definitely annoyed. And if he happens to smile at that particular scene, well, the outraged look on the waiter’s face had been particularly funny.
By the time they leave the restaurant, Arthur is prepared to admit that Merlin’s company isn’t entirely unpleasant. He tells Merlin this, receiving a playful shove for his troubles. He shoves Merlin back and when they stumble out of the restaurant doors they both doubled over with laughter, completely lost to the outside world. So much so, that they’re not prepared for the sea of camera lenses that are waiting for them on the pavement.
Merlin sobers immediately, pulling Arthur close to his side and whispering to him, his mouth only a hair’s breadth away from Arthur’s ear.
“Don’t look at them, just smile and focus on the car.”
Arthur glances over the heads of the gathered paparazzi. He can see the car Merlin’s driver (Arthur is still ridiculously relieved that Merlin has a driver, Merlin is far too clumsy to be entrusted with a car) had brought them here in. He focuses on that and tries to block out the people around him, who are shoving cameras in his face and asking highly inappropriate questions.
“This is insane.” Arthur hisses to Merlin, when they’ve eventually waded through the throng and made it to the car.
“Welcome to my world.” Merlin replies, before kissing Arthur soundly on the lips.
“Sorry.” He whispers as he pulls back, although he doesn’t look it. If anything, he looks extremely pleased with himself. He’s already starting to climb into the car, when he adds, “Had to give them something, didn’t I?”
Arthur tries not to gape too obviously as he follows Merlin into the car.
Arthur’s mobile rings far too early on Sunday morning. He groans when he realises the Jaws theme tune is blasting from the speakers, which can only mean one thing: Morgana. He rolls over and grabs his phone from the nightstand.
“What do you want Morgana?”
“I want you to tell me why I’m reading about you and your celebrity boyfriend in The Sun of all places, instead of hearing it from you.”
“You read The Sun? I thought you had higher standards than that, Morgana.”
“Don’t change the subject, Arthur.” Morgana snaps.
She really does sound upset, or as close to upset as she ever gets. Arthur sighs; Morgana has always been incredibly skilled at making him feel guilty.
“I should have told you.” He says and Morgana, knowing Arthur as well as she does, takes that for the apology it is.
“You can make it up to me by bringing him to dinner at Gwen and Lance’s this weekend.” She says, sounding smug and Arthur knows he’s been tricked.
“I hate you.” He says casually.
“Great.” Morgana replies cheerily. “So we’ll see you and Merlin on Saturday, then. Seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”
Morgana disconnects the call.
Arthur stares at his phone helplessly, before deciding that it’s far too early to be dealing with this. He throws the phone on his nightstand and goes back to sleep.
It’s surprisingly easy, getting Merlin to agree to go to dinner at Gwen and Lance’s. There are no diva tantrums or complaints about spending time with the public. Although, by now Arthur probably should have realised not to expect those things from Merlin. Merlin’s spending the day at Arthur’s shop; his latest film is in the editing stages, so he’s got plenty of time to waste, and they’ve decided they should be seen together as often as possible if they want this to work.
Neither of them has mentioned the kiss. In fact, Merlin seems to have forgotten it entirely. Arthur though he would have at least mentioned the fact that it was featured at least once in any tabloid or magazine worth its salt, accompanied by a slew of increasing lewd headlines. Arthur himself is far too confused to bring it up. Part of him wants to ask what it means but the more rational part of him knows the answer would be nothing. It was for the benefit of the paparazzi, nothing more, but that doesn’t explain why it felt like something more to Arthur.
He catches Merlin looking at him curiously and realises he’s been staring at nothing for the past five minutes. Mentally shaking himself, he decides that he’s clearly overthinking this, it’s part of what he signed up for after all. Admittedly, it’s a more unexpected part, but still one that doesn’t change anything.
“So, how would you feel about spending your Saturday evening with me, a pregnant shop assistant, her police officer husband, and a lesbian romance novelist?” He asks, deciding Merlin should be aware of exactly what he’s in for if he agrees.
Merlin looks at him as if he’s gone mad. “Excuse me?”
“Or in other words, Gwen, her husband, Lance, and my sister, Morgana.”
“You have a sister?” Merlin asks, looking up from where he’s inspecting one an enormous lump of crystal.
“Yeah, she’s a harpy.”
“Oh. Well,” Merlin starts, and Arthur braces himself for a polite refusal. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Really?” Arthur asks, looking up from the paperwork he’d been trying to organise in surprise.
“Yeah, it sounds like fun. And I’d love to meet your harpy of a sister, if she’s anything like you I can understand why you call her that.”
He grins cheekily at Arthur, who grabs one of the old cushions on display and whacks him with it. At that moment, a group of teenage girls walk in and start squealing. Arthur and Merlin freeze where they’re stood.
“Hi.” Merlin waves awkwardly.
The girls squeal some more.
By the time they arrive at Gwen’s house on Saturday evening (at seven o’clock exactly, [dash] Arthur knows better than to ignore Morgana’s instructions, even if Merlin had done his best to make them late) Merlin has spent three more days at the shop and Arthur’s sold more in the last week than he has in the last three months combined.
Even the squealing girls had purchased something, leaving with a necklace each, but only after several photos with Merlin and (to his surprise) Arthur.
Arthur still hasn’t reached the point where he’s willing to admit that he actually likes Merlin, but he won’t deny that Merlin’s presence in his shop wasn’t entirely a burden.
Arthur rings the bell and mere seconds later the door swings open, which makes Arthur slightly concerned that Gwen has been waiting behind it for her chance to pounce on them. He tells himself that Gwen is far too mature to do such a thing, except Morgana is here and she’s always been a terrible influence on Gwen.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have too long to ponder it, as Gwen is ushering them inside.
“Merlin!” Gwen exclaims, leading them into the living room as soon as they’re both through the door. “It’s so nice to finally meet you properly.”
She narrows her eyes at Arthur in a way that tells him he’s most definitely not forgiven for keeping secrets, and for pushing said secret out the door almost as soon as Gwen saw him.
“And you Gwen.” Merlin replies, handing her the bottle of non-alcoholic champagne he’d brought (much to Arthur’s relief, as he has a tendency to forget social niceties when he’s stressed). He gives Gwen a boyish grin that Arthur can tell has already wormed its way into her heart. “Arthur has told me so many wonderful things about you.”
Arthur throws Merlin a grateful look. He appreciates his efforts to return him to Gwen’s good graces, even though he knows there’s little chance of success. Gwen may be one of the kindest people Arthur knows but she’s also one of the best at holding a grudge.
“Well, I dread to think what he’s told you about me.” Morgana says, rising from the sofa in order to kiss Merlin’s cheek.
Merlin looks vaguely stunned, which doesn’t surprise Arthur. Most people lose the ability of speech the first time they meet Morgana, usually due to sheer intimidation. To his credit, Merlin recovers quickly. He gives Morgana the grin he gave Gwen, and it seems to have the same effect, which does surprise Arthur.
“He told me you’re absolutely delightful.” Merlin lies, but even with his acting skills, he still can’t quite pull it off.
“Of course he did.” Morgana says, giving Arthur a smirk that promises revenge.
Arthur swallows nervously and hurriedly pulls Merlin away to introduce him to Lance.
Unfortunately for Arthur, Merlin barely has time to shake Lance’s hand, before Morgana is quite literally sinking her claws into him.
“Come along Merlin.” She says, nodding her head to where Gwen is still clutching the bottle Merlin had given her. “You can help us with the drinks.”
Merlin doesn’t get a chance to do more than throw a helpless look in Arthur’s direction, before he’s being quickly and efficiently bustled into the kitchen by Morgana with - an admittedly more sheepish looking - Gwen trailing behind her.
Arthur stares after him helplessly.
“Cheer up, mate.” Lance says, clapping him on the shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Arthur considers it. “They might eat him.”
Lace snorts. “Unlikely.”
He does pause though and seems to be giving the matter some serious thought.
“Although, Gwen’s cravings have been rather odd lately.” He says, eventually. He actually looks slightly concerned. “But I think your main concern is him dying of alcohol poisoning.”
“I think he’s fine. The champagne’s non-alcoholic.” Arthur says.
He’s still vaguely surprised that Merlin was thoughtful enough to buy something Gwen could drink. In fact, it seems Merlin has a habit of surprising him. He’ll have to do something about that.
“Arthur.” Lance says slowly. “Your champagne might have been non-alcoholic. But how well do you know your sister?”
“Oh shit.”
Several hours later, and Arthur is cursing himself for letting Morgana outsmart him. He’s half-carrying, half-dragging an inebriated Merlin from Gwen’s house. Muttering under his breath about meddling witches and their tendency towards alcohol as he does so.
For some unfathomable reason (Arthur is lost as to why anyone would actively seek out Morgana’s presence) Merlin seems determined to stay. When they finally make it outside Merlin slumps against Arthur, who looks around for the sleek black car that brought them here. He’s found he rather likes travelling in style.
“Where’s Gilli?” He asks when the car is nowhere to be seen.
Merlin mumbles something incomprehensible into Arthur’s shoulder.
“What?”
Merlin lifts his head up, looking at Arthur with bleary eyes.
“Gave him the rest of the night off.” He says, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
Arthur is not so pleased.
“How on earth am I meant to get you home now?” He asks.
Merlin just shrugs and leans back against Arthur.
“Oh for...” Arthur stops and takes a deep breath. “Fine. Since I have absolutely no desire to drag your drunken arse to wherever it is you live - and you should probably tell me that, by the way, it’s only fair - we can go to my place. It shouldn’t take us too long to walk there, I don’t know why you bothered picking me up in the first place.”
“Had to keep the act up, didn’t I?” Merlin tells Arthur’s chest.
“Idiot.” Arthur mutters as he starts to guide Merlin to his flat.
When they finally get there he dumps Merlin unceremoniously on the sofa, intending to leave him there and let him suffer for it in the morning. He lasts for all of five minutes before he gives into the guilt and goes to find a blanket to cover Merlin. He removes Merlin’s shoes as well, only because he doesn’t want footprints on his sofa of course, and if he tucks the blanket around Merlin, it’s only so that he doesn’t have to listen to Merlin’s complaints about being cold the next morning.
Part II
Title: Read All About It
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG
Summary: Arthur is an antiques shop owner who spends most of his time worrying about how he’s going to stay in business. Until world-famous actor Merlin Emrys comes crashing into his shop and somehow Arthur ends up with a fake boyfriend.
Warnings (if any): None.
Total Word Count/Length: 14,178
Original prompt number: 123 - Submitted by fuckyeah
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Beta(s): Many thanks to the brilliant Anon.
( Read on AO3 )
The ‘ding’ of the shop bell rouses Arthur from his numbers-induced coma. He jumps to his feet and, with one last forlorn look at his accounts - which lie scattered across the table mocking him - he hurries from the little back room that he likes to pretend is an office. The antiques business is far from booming and he can’t afford to miss a customer.
He steps out to the shop floor just in time to see a tall man with a mess of black hair crashing into one of the bookshelves in the middle of the shop, sending the shelf toppling and the books flying. Arthur watches the books hit the ground and winces, thinking about how much this could cost him if any of them are damaged.
The man seems panicked. Arthur can’t see his face, but his flailing makes it pretty obvious. He’s trying to right the shelf and fumbling with the books, managing to make the mess ten times worse in the process. After one particularly unsuccessful attempt to rectify the situation, the man trips over a stray hardback which, as far as Arthur can tell, seems to be about dragons, and ends up sprawled amongst the mess of books on the floor.
“You idiot!” Arthur yells, as he grabs the man by the arm and pulls him to his feet.
It’s not until they’re standing toe to toe that Arthur realises who the man is. Merlin Emrys, international superstar and the youngest man ever to win an Oscar for Best Leading Actor. A fact that Arthur will swear he only knows through Gwen’s penchant for reading dreadful celebrity gossip magazines.
He realises how close he and Merlin are standing and hurriedly takes a step backwards. He doesn’t stop glaring though; he isn’t so star struck that he’s forgotten the destruction Merlin has caused in his shop.
Merlin looks slightly flustered but, to Arthur’s surprise, he’s also doing his own fair share of glaring.
“It’s not like I meant to do it!” He says petulantly.
Arthur stares incredulously at Merlin, wondering how he has the nerve to wreck Arthur’s shop and then act like he’s the wronged party.
“That doesn’t matter!” Arthur shouts. “Do you have any idea how much money I’ll lose if those books are damaged?”
He bends down and inspects the mess on the floor, hoping that the worst of the damage is a few bent pages, and that the books are still fit for sale.
“I’m sorry, alright. It was an accident.”
Despite still appearing vaguely annoyed, Merlin does seem genuinely apologetic. Arthur takes a deep breath and stands so they’re face to face once more. He’s still furious, but the books all appear to be intact so he’s got no real reason to argue with Merlin.
Apparently, that’s not going to stop him, because instead of the polite but angry request to leave he’d intended to say, what actually comes out of his mouth is in an incredibly sarcastic tone. “So are you here to buy something, or…?”
Arthur frowns, wondering at his temporary loss of control over his own mouth.
“Yes, actually.” Merlin says. He stands up straighter and looks Arthur in the eye, apparently having taken his words as some sort of challenge - which Arthur can admit they probably were. “I came in here to look for something.”
“And what would that be?” Arthur asks, matching Merlin’s tone and stance.
Merlin deflates slightly and quickly looks around the shop. Arthur watches in amusement as Merlin’s gaze travels around the room, trying to find something he could have been searching for, before landing on the mess of books still scattered on the floor.
“A book!” Merlin exclaims, looking pleased with himself. “I was looking for a book.”
Merlin appears smug, but Arthur’s not about to lose whatever odd little game it is they’re playing.
“Which book?”
Arthur sees Merlin’s pleased grin fade, and smirks.
“Um…”
Arthur takes a moment to think that it’s probably a good thing that Merlin gets scripts given to him, or else he might never manage to say anything worthwhile at all. He looks so clueless that Arthur might have found it endearing, under normal circumstances.
However, these are not normal circumstances. Merlin had, quite literally, crashed into his shop, causing chaos in the process, and Arthur does not let damage to his shop go unpunished. So, instead of offering Merlin a lifeline, as he might have done otherwise (he’s not completely unreasonable, after all), Arthur continues to smirk at Merlin, who is looking more and more flustered by the second.
“Well?” Arthur says, after Merlin’s silence reaches the point where it’s more annoying than amusing.
“Um, Harry Potter?” Merlin offers eventually.
Arthur stares at him incredulously, before pointedly looking around the shop, making sure his gaze ligers obviously on the paintings, mirrors, and statues, as well as other odds and ends (including a sword that Arthur is very proud of) which are most definitely not from any recent century. Then he turns back to Merlin.
“It may have escaped your notice,” he says slowly, as he’s beginning to question Merlin’s intelligence. “But this is an antiques shop. We do not sell Harry Potter. Or any other sort of popular culture, for that matter.”
He tries to sound as disgusted as possible when he says ‘popular culture’. He also makes sure to look down his nose at Merlin as he says it. Which he’ll admit is slightly difficult, seeing as Merlin is taller than him. He likes to think that it’s effective all the same. Merlin, on the other hand, looks indignant.
“Harry Potter is brilliant.” He says, looking affronted at the mere idea that Arthur might think otherwise.
Privately, Arthur agrees, but he’s not about to tell that to Merlin. Or to confess that he has all seven books and all eight films upstairs in his flat. So he chooses to play the stuffy antiques shop owner instead.
“That’s the problem with you people. You all succumb to mass delusions and cease to appreciate the classics.” He makes sure to give Merlin his haughtiest look, one he’s learnt from his father - so he knows it’s effective.
“It’s not a delusion!” Merlin splutters.
Arthur resists the urge to laugh.
“It’s quite sad, actually.” He says, mainly because he wants to see the look on Merlin’s face. “No one understands true literature anymore.”
When Merlin pulls an expression of utter outrage, he decides it was worth it.
He can also tell from the determined look in Merlin’s eye that he’s not going to back down easily. Neither is Arthur for that matter. He’s very invested in his role of ‘stuffy antiques shop owner’. He’s sure that, if Merlin knew what Arthur was doing, he’d be suitably impressed by his commitment to the part.
Eventually, their argument reaches the point where Arthur doesn’t really think it can be called an argument anymore. It’s more name-calling than anything else. About the same time Arthur realises this, he also realises that he’s quite enjoying himself. He throws another insult at Merlin (‘uncultured baboon’ - which he’s rather proud of) and thinks that he could happily do this all day.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance. Because, right after Merlin calls Arthur an elitist clotpole, he inexplicably dives behind the bookshelf he knocked onto the floor when he tumbled into the shop.
Arthur gapes at him, but then, considering how much he’s observed about Merlin already, wonders why he’s surprised.
“I’m sure I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m hiding from the paparazzi, they’ve been following me all day. There’s one outside the shop right now.” Merlin whispers. Which is ridiculous when Arthur stops to think about it; he very much doubts that any paparazzi lurking outside have supersonic hearing abilities.
Arthur glances towards the shop's front window and, sure enough, sees a suspicious looking man peering inside the shop.
He turns back to Merlin. “And you thought my shop was the best place to hide from stalkers with professional cameras?”
“No, but it happened to be the only place open.” Merlin says, still whispering. “Really, who keeps their shop open until seven in the evening?”
“It’s called running a business. Lots of places do it, Merlin.” Arthur snaps back. For some inexplicable reason he finds himself whispering as well. He needs to get Merlin out of here quickly; clearly, his special brand of stupidity is contagious.
“Not on this street, they don’t. Trust me, I checked.”
Merlin’s got him there. Arthur knows most of the shops on this street closed over an hour ago, but he’s been staying open late these past few weeks in the hopes of some late-night shoppers coming by. It’s slightly desperate, he knows, but he hasn’t got any other way of improving business.
“Yes, well, I’m just that dedicated to providing a service to the public.”
“Selling antiques is a service?”
“I’m giving the public an element of culture, that’s invaluable.”
“I’m sure you’ll do your best to put a price on it.” Merlin mutters, indicating one of the prices marked on the shelf by his thigh. “Fifty quid for a book? That’s ridiculous”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “It’s an antique, Merlin. You know, because this is an antiques shop.”
“I still say it’s over-priced.” He says, eying the books around him speculatively, as if he’ll suddenly be able to understand antique pricing by the power of sight alone.
“Would you have me starve? Wait, don’t answer that.” Arthur hastily amends when he sees the contemplative look on Merlin’s face. “Anyway, if you’d care to get off the floor, I was actually just about to close up.”
That’s a lie, but Merlin doesn’t need to know that.
“Oh, do you need me to leave? It’s just…they’re probably still out there.” Merlin says. His eyes widen and he looks mildly terrified.
Arthur’s not convinced that having your photograph taken is a cause for fear, but Merlin’s staring at him in a way that makes Arthur feel like he’d be sending Merlin to his death if he kicked him out now.
“Fine.” He says, because apparently he really does have a heart, despite what certain people like to claim. “There’s a back room through that door there. Go wait while I shut the shop, and then you can hide out in my flat upstairs until your stalkers give up and go home.”
“Thank you!” Merlin beams.
He jumps to his feet and pulls Arthur into a brief and slightly manic hug. Then he scampers off to the back room, leaving Arthur standing in the middle of the shop, in front of a mess of books, wondering what exactly he’s just got himself into.
When Arthur wakes the following morning, he half believes he had dreamt the night before as a result of overexposure to Gwen’s trashy magazines. However, when he enters the living room and sees the many empty beer cans scattered across his coffee table, he realises that he most definitely was not dreaming. He’d invited a film star up to his flat and then proceeded to cosy up for a chat.
Wondering what on Earth he was thinking, he quickly shoves the cans into the bin, before getting dressed and rushing to open the shop.
He trips over the mess of books on the floor on his way to unlock the shop door and curses Merlin for his clumsiness and for taking up the time Arthur should have used to clean up this mess. He wishes he had time before opening the shop, but he really can’t afford to risk losing any business he might get from an early opening.
As soon as he’s unlocked the door and flipped the sign to open, he sets to work righting the damage Merlin had done yesterday, wondering how it’s possible for one man to make such a mess.
He doesn’t look up until the bell above the door chimes and sees Merlin entering the shop.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, realising a second later that he probably sounds like an arse, before deciding he doesn’t care because Merlin owes him for last night.
“I wanted to talk to you.” Merlin says, looking nervous.
“Oh, do tell.” Arthur says, curious despite himself. He’d discovered last night that Merlin wasn’t completely horrible company (shop-wrecking and time-wasting aside), but he wasn’t sure they’d got on well enough for Merlin to be craving his presence again less than twenty-four hours later.
“Well, you remember what I said last night?” Merlin asks.
“You’ll have to be more specific than that. As I recall, I had a hard time getting you to shut up.”
Merlin glares, but obliges. “The thing about the paparazzi and my agent?”
“Oh.” Arthur says, remembering with sudden clarity exactly what Merlin had said.
They were sat on Arthur’s sofa, drinking the cheap beer Arthur had found at the back of his fridge.
Merlin had spotted the Harry Potter DVDs on Arthur’s shelf and had spent a good ten minutes laughing, then another ten gloating.
Then, deciding he was tired of being mocked, Arthur had made the mistake of asking why the paparazzi were so determined to follow Merlin, and had earned himself a rant from Merlin against anyone who so much as provided ink for a tabloid or trashy magazine.
“It’s like they have nothing better to do than make stuff up about me!” Merlin was saying. “Just because I’m single, they think I’m tragically lonely. Could they get any more ridiculous? I happen to like being single.”
That was a point Arthur could agree on.
“Here, here.” He had said, raising his can of beer in a gesture of support. “Gwen’s always trying to set me up. She doesn’t believe me when I say I don’t need a boyfriend.”
“My agents the same! She keeps nagging me about how much good press it’d get me. It’s ludicrous is what it is.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Arthur had said.
He had caught Merlin looking speculatively at him then.
“What?” He had asked apprehensively.
“We should date each other.” Merlin had announced, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“What?” Arthur had asked, choking on his beer.
“It’s perfect, we both don’t want boyfriends, but we both have people who want us to have them. So we should just be each other's boyfriends.” Merlin seemed incredibly proud of his solution; however, Arthur wasn’t entirely convinced.
“I think your logic’s slightly flawed, Merlin.”
Merlin had thought about it for a moment.
“Yeah, I suppose it is.” He’d agreed eventually, and dropped the subject.
Except that, apparently, he hadn’t dropped the subject and was now bringing it up again.
“You asked me to be your boyfriend.” Arthur says, never one to beat around the bush.
Merlin flushes.
“Well, yes.” He says. “Will you?”
“What?!” Arthur asks incredulously.
“Not my actual boyfriend.” Merlin hastily clarifies. “We’d be pretending. Just for the press, and your friends, if you like.”
“You want me to be your fake boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I said, no, I will not be your fake boyfriend.” Arthur says, almost laughing at how ridiculous that sentence sounds. “It’s an idiotic idea; we’d be found out in an instant.”
Merlin looks affronted. “Give me some credit. I am an actor, after all.”
“Well, I’m not, and I have no desire to be the fake boyfriend of one either.” Arthur says stubbornly.
Merlin looks disappointed, as if he’d actually expected Arthur to say yes.
“Are you sure? Just think about it, the press would love it. ‘Nation’s Sweetheart Dates Hole in the Wall Antiques Shop Owner.’”
Merlin makes a motion with his hands as if he’s trying to paint the imaginary headlines in the air. Arthur rolls his eyes.
“My shop is not a hole in the wall, Merlin.” He says.
Merlin has the good grace to look abashed, so Arthur lets it go. He might be proud of his shop, but that doesn’t mean it’s not tiny. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud.
“Who says you’re the nation’s sweetheart anyway?” Arthur asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the absurd phrase.
Merlin grins, looking smug. “You did.”
“Oh.” Is all Arthur can think to say, as he remembers that - to his shame - he had indeed uttered those words last night.
Arthur feels his own lips twitching in response to Merlin’s somewhat manic grin. He tries to fight it, but he knows he’s lost when he sees Merlin’s smile widen.
“I’m still not going to be your fake boyfriend.” He says, feeling the need to clarify it before Merlin gets the wrong idea.
“Why not?” Merlin asks, as if Arthur’s the one being unreasonable.
Before Arthur can respond, Merlin goes for a different tactic, the one that had worked so well on Arthur last night. He plays the pity card.
“Please.” He says, softly. “It would just be until my newest film comes out, and I really need some good publicity.”
“No. I saw how those paparazzi were stalking you last night, I don’t want that. I like my privacy and I’m perfectly happy the way I am.” Arthur says, and wonders why he feels so guilty when he sees Merlin’s face fall.
“Just think about it, this would be good for you too.” Merlin says, a little desperately.
“How?”
“Well, it’d stop your friend Gwen pestering you about finding a boyfriend. And...” Merlin hesitates, as if he’s not sure he should say whatever’s about to come out of his mouth next, but continues anyway. “A celebrity boyfriend would be good for business.”
Arthur wonders why Merlin looks so nervous about that last part, it’s a fairly obvious assumption, and one that’s probably correct. So, he can’t work out why Merlin looks so guilty. Not until he sees Merlin’s eyes flicker over Arthur’s shoulder to the back room, where he’d left Merlin alone, with all of his accounts still scattered across the table.
“You looked at my accounts!” He shouts.
“I’m sorry!” Merlin says. “They were just there and I didn’t realise what they were at first.”
“Get out.” Arthur says, with forced calm. If he’s honest, he’s more annoyed with himself than he is with Merlin. Not to mention embarrassed at the thought of someone as rich as Merlin seeing the terrible state his finances are in. But yelling at Merlin is much easier than admitting that, so yell at Merlin he does.
Merlin looks stricken, but moves to obey. Not before pulling out a scrap of paper and pressing it into Arthur’s hands.
“That’s my number, call me if you change your mind.”
“I won’t.” Arthur calls after Merlin’s retreating back.
He pockets the phone number anyway.
Arthur still hasn’t fully processed Merlin’s unusual visit, not to mention his even more unusual request, an hour later when Gwen arrives for her shift.
He gives her a distracted smile from where he’s crouched on the floor, finally placing the books that Merlin had knocked over yesterday back on their shelves. He’s a little bit disgusted that it took him this long to get round to it, when he normally prides himself on maintaining order in his shop. But then, Merlin is incredibly distracting. And there he goes again, thinking about Merlin. He just won’t get out of Arthur’s head. Which is ridiculous, because it’s not like Arthur had even considered Merlin’s request, not for a second.
“Arthur?” Gwen calls from across the shop.
She looks slightly concerned and Arthur realises he’s frozen in the same position he was in when Gwen entered the shop, his hand half-way to returning a book to the shelf. He quickly puts the book in its place and moves to join Gwen where she’s standing by the counter.
As he approaches, he sees a glossy magazine resting on the surface. He has to stifle a laugh when he sees just who’s gracing the cover today.
A photograph of Merlin takes up almost the entire front page. In the picture he looks harried and the wind is blowing his hair in all different directions, making him look (in Arthur’s opinion at least) utterly ridiculous. He does look miserable, though, and Arthur almost feels sorry for him. Then he reminds himself that Merlin is an annoying idiot who makes a mess of Arthur’s shop and has no respect for his privacy and it goes away- well, mostly anyway.
MERLIN: ALONE AND LONELY?
The magazine’s headline reads. Arthur snorts; considering what Merlin had told him last night, he’s almost certain that’s not the case. Merlin probably looks upset because he’s being relentlessly followed by a photographer, something the magazine would obviously never print; it’s not nearly juicy enough. It does prove a point though; these magazines will print any old nonsense if they think it will sell. Another reason to stay well clear of Merlin’s insane plan.
Gwen misinterprets his snort and blushes. “Leave it alone. It’s my one vice.”
It takes Arthur a second to work out what she means, and then he decides that playing along is a far better alternative to telling her what actually happened, partly for the sake of his hearing. Gwen is usually the epitome of quiet composure but when pressed, her squeals can reach earth-shattering levels and he fears for his eardrums if he tells her that her favourite actor asked Arthur to pretend to be his boyfriend.
“Your one vice?” He teases.
“Shut up!” She grabs the magazine from the counter and hits Arthur with it gently; she’s far too kind to consider actually hurting him. “If we’re listing vices, I could stand here all day and list yours. Or, I could call Morgana and have her do it for me.”
Arthur takes a step backwards, throwing his hands up in defeat.
“No need to be cruel. I surrender unto you, milady.” He says, giving her a mock bow.
Gwen laughs and hits him with the magazine again.
“Get up.”
“Only if you agree to rid my high class antiques store of that rubbish you call a magazine.”
“It’s not rubbish! It’s relaxing.” Gwen says indignantly, as if they haven’t had this same discussion a thousand times before.
“Whatever you say, Gwen.”
She rolls her eyes at him, before they land once again on the mess of books still lying on the floor.
“Now, can you tell me why there’s a pile of books on the floor?” She asks, with the tone she always uses when she can sense Arthur’s got himself into trouble.
“Oh, a customer just tripped, that’s all.” Arthur replies, moving in front of the mess as if he can hide from view, which is a rather useless move, considering Gwen’s already seen it.
“Hmm.” Gwen says, narrowing her eyes at him.
Arthur worries that perhaps his half-truth wasn’t as convincing as he’d thought it was, but Gwen drops the subject, much to Arthur’s relief. However, the next thing she does makes Arthur incredibly nervous - she steps forwards and takes one of Arthur’s hands in both of her own.
“Arthur, I have something to tell you.” She says, no longer teasing.
Arthur pales, a hundred and one dreadful scenarios running through his head.
Gwen takes a deep breath.
“I’m pregnant!” She exclaims, practically jumping for joy as she does so.
He stares at her, speechless for a moment, before leaps forwards enfolding her in a hug.
“Congratulations! I’m so pleased for you.”
He can feel her smiling and smiles in return. However, when he pulls back, he sees her biting her bottom lip and wringing her hands nervously.
“What’s wrong? You’re happy, aren’t you?” He asks.
Gwen laughs, nervously. “Of course I am. Lance and I have wanted this for years.”
“Then why do you look as if someone just kicked a puppy?”
Gwen hesitates, wringing her hands together. “It’s just, I know business here hasn’t been exactly brilliant lately, and with the baby coming, well, Lance and I, we’re going to need to be secure, you know, financially.”
“Oh.” Arthur says, because really, what else can he say?
“I love working here, Arthur, I really do, I mean I didn’t at first, you were a bit of an arse actually, but you’re sort of a puppy underneath it all and now I really do love this job and I need to know I’m not going to lose it any time soon.”
Arthur frowns, he can tell Gwen’s serious, he can’t remember the last time he heard Gwen ramble like this and he knows she only rambles when she’s worried. The problem is, he can’t give Gwen the kind of security she’s asking for. He simply doesn’t know how long the shop can remain in business for. The situation is pretty dire.
He looks at Gwen, who appears to be on the verge of tears and knows he can’t tell her that. He can’t let her down. He thinks of what Merlin had said earlier.
A celebrity boyfriend would be good for business.
Arthur reaches into his pocket, where the scrap of paper with Merlin’s phone number written on it rests. He takes a deep breath.
“Don’t worry, Gwen. I promise you, your job is safe.”
Later that night, Arthur forces himself to dial Merlin’s number. Merlin picks up after the third ring.
“Hello? Who’s this?”
“It’s your fake boyfriend.” Arthur replies.
Arthur dresses in his best suit for his first ‘date’ with Merlin. They’d been texting for the last couple of days, trying to come to some sort of agreement about where their first official sighting as a couple should be. Eventually, they had decided on a dinner date, with Merlin suggesting they go somewhere high-profile to ensure they’d be spotted.
Arthur hadn’t realised exactly what Merlin meant by high-profile, until he looked the restaurant up online. The Albion was famous not only for its ‘outstanding dining experience’, but also for its celebrity clientele. There were dozens of pictures of the restaurant online, and in almost every one there was an actor dressed in a designer suit, or an actress wearing jewels worth more than the contents of Arthur’s shop.
So, once he’s done with business for the day, Arthur makes sure he looks appropriately smart and is ready with plenty of time to spare. He sits himself down behind the counter in his shop, a book in hand, waiting for Merlin to arrive, presumably in a suit that costs more than Arthur makes in a year.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Arthur asks Merlin as soon as he enters the shop.
Merlin looks down at himself in confusion. He’s wearing an ill-fitting suit that’s far too big around the shoulders and, in place of a tie, he has some sort of scarf wrapped around his neck.
“What’s wrong with this?” He asks, seeming genuinely startled that Arthur could find fault with his outfit.
Arthur looks at him incredulously, he’s about to tell Merlin exactly wrong with it, but then he takes in the bewildered expression on Merlin’s face and just shakes his head, smiling.
“Nothing, you look lovely.”
Merlin glares and Arthur knows he doesn’t believe him.
“Did you bring me flowers?” Arthur asks, hoping distraction techniques will work, Merlin seems like someone who has the attention span of a small child.
It turns out Arthur is right as Merlin pales instantly. “Was I supposed to?”
“Well, this is a date after all.” Arthur deadpans.
Merlin looks horrified for a moment, as if he’s broken some crucial dating rule. Then he sees the way Arthur can’t keep his smirk in check and begrudgingly starts to grin.
“You are truly the master of wit.” Merlin says.
“Shut up, Merlin.”
Merlin ignores him, in favour of changing the subject.
“Can I ask you something?”
“I have a feeling you’re going to anyway.”
“You’re learning.” Merlin says, then continues, ignoring Arthur’s eye roll. “What changed your mind?”
Arthur wants to look away, to avoid meeting Merlin’s eyes when he admits this, but he refuses to appear weak. He could always lie of course, say that the idea of fame and fortune had begun to appeal to him, but he thinks that somehow Merlin would see through that.
He has to take a deep breath before he can speak, admitting his failures is a rare occurrence for him. He hopes Merlin appreciates the privilege of being witness to such an event.
“As much as I hate to admit it, what you saw in my accounts was right. The shop’s failing.”
“I’m sorry.” Merlin says.
Arthur snorts. “Why? It’s hardly your fault.”
“No, I mean for looking at your accounts. I should never have done that.”
“It’s fine.” Arthur says, and almost laughs at the disbelieving expression on Merlin’s face. “No, really it is.”
He’s had a lot of time to think this over during the last few days and he’d come to the conclusion that holding a grudge was not the best way to go about pretending to be someone’s boyfriend. Despite what Morgana believed, Arthur was perfectly capable of being mature and reasonable, if the situation calls for it.
“Shall we go then?” Arthur asks. He may have decided to go along with this, but that doesn’t mean he wants to spend more time than necessary doing so.
Merlin seems to disagree. “I think we need to talk first.”
“Breaking up with me already?”
Merlin laughs, although it’s slightly strained. Arthur thinks Merlin’s probably already longing for the day when he really can ‘break up’ with Arthur.
“No, I just thought we should work a couple of things out.”
“Oh? Like what?” Arthur asks warily.
“Well, like your friend, Gwen. You said she tries to set you up, so are we pretending for her benefit as well?”
Arthur is slightly surprised that Merlin remembers such an offhand comment, nevertheless, he thinks about the question seriously. Can he really lie to Gwen? Under normal circumstances, if he was just doing this for himself, he wouldn’t even consider it. But Gwen is the reason he’s doing this, and she’s not stupid; if Arthur tells her the truth she’ll realise in an instant that he’s doing this for her.
“Yes, but not because of that. Believe it or not, I’m not the sort of person that enjoys the idea of lying to people.”
“And I am?” Merlin asked, looking offended.
“You’re an actor.” Arthur replies, and watches as Merlin tries to fight a grin, something he seems to be doing often. Arthur decides it must be due to his natural charm.
“So, are you going to tell me why we’re lying to your friend, if not to avoid well-meaning, but awkward, matchmaking attempts?”
As Arthur tells Merlin the whole story, something he’s actually surprised at himself for, he watches Merlin’s facial expressions shift, he can’t identify all of the emotions there, but he’s almost certain surprise is one of them, and possibly admiration.
“She’d be horrified if she knew I was doing this for her.” Arthur concludes.
In a display of incredible timing, Gwen enters the shop as soon as Arthur finishes his sentence.
“Arthur, did I leave my-” Gwen stops just inside the door, staring at Merlin.
For a moment, everyone in the shop freezes. They stare at each other silently, each hoping they don’t have to be the one to break the silence.
Eventually Arthur decides that Merlin is clearly a coward, and that Gwen deserves sympathy due to the shock she must be feeling. So he speaks first.
“Gwen, I’d like you to meet Merlin.” And because Arthur doesn’t do things by halves, he takes a deep breath, puts his arm around Merlin’s waist, and adds, “My boyfriend.”
Arthur expects dinner with Merlin to be an awkward affair. They barely know each other and have absolutely nothing in common. One, slightly alcohol fuelled, chat on a sofa is not the basis for a successful fake relationship.
For a while, Arthur seems to be proved right. Merlin still looks slightly shell-shocked at Gwen’s reaction, which had involved scarily high pitched noises, an unhealthily amount of flailing and yelling at Arthur about wasted attempts to set him up, and unnecessary worrying about him being perpetually single.
Arthur admits that it had been rather frightening, but still maintains that, if anyone has the right to be dumbstruck, it’s him. He’s sure Merlin must be used to it, but the stares of passers-by - complete strangers - unnerve him. He puts on a brave face and smiles at the people who are not so subtly pointing camera phones at them, and if he leaves his arm around Merlin’s waist, keeping him close, the entire time they’re outside, well, it’s all part of the act obviously.
Merlin’s smirk says he knows differently, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he casually remarks that the camera phones will most likely turn into professional paparazzi by the end of the night. Arthur almost decides there and then that this isn’t worth it. He has to forcibly remind himself that Gwen needs him to do this, in order to make himself enter the restaurant.
The Maître d' seats them right in the centre of the restaurant and Arthur feels a bit like he’s on display. He and Merlin seem to have lost the ability to meet each other’s eyes, which doesn’t make Arthur feel any less uncomfortable.
Desperate for something to distract him, he takes in his surroundings, noting the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, which he knows are probably worth more money than he’s ever seen, as well as the carefully arranged table furnishings, complete with artfully folded napkins.
When he’s run out of things that could convincingly be called a distraction he looks back to Merlin, who has managed to create a swan out of his napkin which, whilst impressive, is not why they’re here. He finds it unnerving, this awkward silence they’ve forced upon themselves; it seems unnatural somehow. They’d had no trouble talking in Arthur’s shop and in his flat. In fact, Arthur had started to wonder if Merlin actually knew how to stop talking. Now Arthur’s sure he’d do anything to get Merlin to start talking.
“So, you like this then?” He blurts out, and immediately fists his hands in the table cloth to stop himself clapping a hand over his mouth.
Merlin’s brows furrow. “Like what?”
Well, Arthur thinks, in for a penny, in for a pound. If he’s going to make himself sound like an arse, he might as well do it properly.
“The fame, the fortune, the adoring fans.” He says, with a wave in the direction of the door, which is meant to indicate the general public, but probably just makes him look slightly deranged. He quickly lowers his hand when he catches the other diners giving him suspicious looks.
Merlin frowns, his brow creasing slightly in confusion.
“Is that what you think of me?” He asks.
Arthur shrugs. “You’re the one who wanted a fake boyfriend to make yourself look better.”
Merlin’s nostrils flare and he looks truly angry. He also looks a little disappointed, which Arthur doesn’t understand. He watches Merlin take a deep breath, visibly composing himself before he replies.
“I wanted a fake boyfriend,” he hisses, “so that the media would stop harassing me, which you knew because I was hiding from the paparazzi in your shop!”
Arthur stares at the table and wonders if it’s possible to be dumped by your fake boyfriend on your first date. He wants to apologise, he really does, but the past couple of days have done enough damage to his pride and he’s not sure he can face it. Besides, Merlin asked him to do this, he’s the one that wanted Arthur. Now that Merlin’s got him, he can take him or leave him, arrogance and foot-in-mouth syndrome and all.
Fortunately for Arthur, Merlin continues, saving him the embarrassment of saying something offensive, again. “I don’t do this for the fame. I love my fans, yes. But I act because I enjoy it, not because I want my picture in the papers and on the internet.”
“I can understand that.” Arthur says.
He has the sense to take a lifeline when it’s offered to him.
“No, really.” He adds when Merlin looks at him sceptically. “It’s like my shop, it might not make me rich, but I enjoy it, so I can put up with everything else, because I’m doing what I want to do.”
Merlin beams at him. “Exactly.”
Arthur mentally pats himself on the back for not being rude for a whole five minutes. Morgana would be proud.
Merlin grins slyly at him, and Arthur’s learnt enough to know that means trouble.
“What about you?” Merlin asks, widening his eyes with faux-innocence.
“What about me?” Arthur asks cautiously, he’s certainly not fooled by Merlin’s act. He’s beginning to suspect that Merlin loses all acting ability when he’s not in front of a camera.
“You don’t like the idea of fame and fortune? You’ve no desire to have adoring fans of your own? I can imagine you like being the centre of attention. You seem like the sort of arrogant prat who’d want people to fawn over him constantly.”
“I’ll have you know-” Arthur starts indignantly, but then he catches Merlin’s eye and sees the amusement there and huffs out a rueful laugh.
He balls up his napkin and throws it across the table at Merlin, who ducks just in time. The napkin flies over his head and lands in the soup of the woman on the next table over. They manage to keep a straight face for all of ten seconds, before they both burst out laughing. They don’t stop until the Maître d' comes over to announce that he’ll be forced to ask them to leave if they don’t calm down.
“That was your fault.” Arthur hisses as soon as the Maître d' has moved away.
He can feel his face flaming and knows he’s probably the same colour as the tomato soup his napkin had landed in.
“You’re the one who threw the napkin.” Merlin says.
He looks like he’s struggling not to laugh again and Arthur mentally prepares himself to be thrown out of the restaurant.
“You provoked me!” Arthur says, forgetting to lower his voice in his outrage and earning annoyed looks from the other diners and a warning glare from the Maître d.
“You deserved it.”
“Did not.” Arthur says, knowing he’s being immature but not caring one bit. Apparently, Merlin brings out the worst in him. He even throws in a pout for good measure.
Merlin seems unimpressed. “What are you, five?”
“Merlin.”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
Merlin pretends to consider it, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“Nah I don’t think I will.” He says, after a minute, grinning and looking proud of himself.
Arthur doesn’t know whether he’s relieved or annoyed to have the Merlin who’d first stumbled into his shop back. When Merlin calls him a prat and spills red wine across the table, he decides that he’s most definitely annoyed. And if he happens to smile at that particular scene, well, the outraged look on the waiter’s face had been particularly funny.
By the time they leave the restaurant, Arthur is prepared to admit that Merlin’s company isn’t entirely unpleasant. He tells Merlin this, receiving a playful shove for his troubles. He shoves Merlin back and when they stumble out of the restaurant doors they both doubled over with laughter, completely lost to the outside world. So much so, that they’re not prepared for the sea of camera lenses that are waiting for them on the pavement.
Merlin sobers immediately, pulling Arthur close to his side and whispering to him, his mouth only a hair’s breadth away from Arthur’s ear.
“Don’t look at them, just smile and focus on the car.”
Arthur glances over the heads of the gathered paparazzi. He can see the car Merlin’s driver (Arthur is still ridiculously relieved that Merlin has a driver, Merlin is far too clumsy to be entrusted with a car) had brought them here in. He focuses on that and tries to block out the people around him, who are shoving cameras in his face and asking highly inappropriate questions.
“This is insane.” Arthur hisses to Merlin, when they’ve eventually waded through the throng and made it to the car.
“Welcome to my world.” Merlin replies, before kissing Arthur soundly on the lips.
“Sorry.” He whispers as he pulls back, although he doesn’t look it. If anything, he looks extremely pleased with himself. He’s already starting to climb into the car, when he adds, “Had to give them something, didn’t I?”
Arthur tries not to gape too obviously as he follows Merlin into the car.
Arthur’s mobile rings far too early on Sunday morning. He groans when he realises the Jaws theme tune is blasting from the speakers, which can only mean one thing: Morgana. He rolls over and grabs his phone from the nightstand.
“What do you want Morgana?”
“I want you to tell me why I’m reading about you and your celebrity boyfriend in The Sun of all places, instead of hearing it from you.”
“You read The Sun? I thought you had higher standards than that, Morgana.”
“Don’t change the subject, Arthur.” Morgana snaps.
She really does sound upset, or as close to upset as she ever gets. Arthur sighs; Morgana has always been incredibly skilled at making him feel guilty.
“I should have told you.” He says and Morgana, knowing Arthur as well as she does, takes that for the apology it is.
“You can make it up to me by bringing him to dinner at Gwen and Lance’s this weekend.” She says, sounding smug and Arthur knows he’s been tricked.
“I hate you.” He says casually.
“Great.” Morgana replies cheerily. “So we’ll see you and Merlin on Saturday, then. Seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”
Morgana disconnects the call.
Arthur stares at his phone helplessly, before deciding that it’s far too early to be dealing with this. He throws the phone on his nightstand and goes back to sleep.
It’s surprisingly easy, getting Merlin to agree to go to dinner at Gwen and Lance’s. There are no diva tantrums or complaints about spending time with the public. Although, by now Arthur probably should have realised not to expect those things from Merlin. Merlin’s spending the day at Arthur’s shop; his latest film is in the editing stages, so he’s got plenty of time to waste, and they’ve decided they should be seen together as often as possible if they want this to work.
Neither of them has mentioned the kiss. In fact, Merlin seems to have forgotten it entirely. Arthur though he would have at least mentioned the fact that it was featured at least once in any tabloid or magazine worth its salt, accompanied by a slew of increasing lewd headlines. Arthur himself is far too confused to bring it up. Part of him wants to ask what it means but the more rational part of him knows the answer would be nothing. It was for the benefit of the paparazzi, nothing more, but that doesn’t explain why it felt like something more to Arthur.
He catches Merlin looking at him curiously and realises he’s been staring at nothing for the past five minutes. Mentally shaking himself, he decides that he’s clearly overthinking this, it’s part of what he signed up for after all. Admittedly, it’s a more unexpected part, but still one that doesn’t change anything.
“So, how would you feel about spending your Saturday evening with me, a pregnant shop assistant, her police officer husband, and a lesbian romance novelist?” He asks, deciding Merlin should be aware of exactly what he’s in for if he agrees.
Merlin looks at him as if he’s gone mad. “Excuse me?”
“Or in other words, Gwen, her husband, Lance, and my sister, Morgana.”
“You have a sister?” Merlin asks, looking up from where he’s inspecting one an enormous lump of crystal.
“Yeah, she’s a harpy.”
“Oh. Well,” Merlin starts, and Arthur braces himself for a polite refusal. “Sure, I’d love to.”
“Really?” Arthur asks, looking up from the paperwork he’d been trying to organise in surprise.
“Yeah, it sounds like fun. And I’d love to meet your harpy of a sister, if she’s anything like you I can understand why you call her that.”
He grins cheekily at Arthur, who grabs one of the old cushions on display and whacks him with it. At that moment, a group of teenage girls walk in and start squealing. Arthur and Merlin freeze where they’re stood.
“Hi.” Merlin waves awkwardly.
The girls squeal some more.
By the time they arrive at Gwen’s house on Saturday evening (at seven o’clock exactly, [dash] Arthur knows better than to ignore Morgana’s instructions, even if Merlin had done his best to make them late) Merlin has spent three more days at the shop and Arthur’s sold more in the last week than he has in the last three months combined.
Even the squealing girls had purchased something, leaving with a necklace each, but only after several photos with Merlin and (to his surprise) Arthur.
Arthur still hasn’t reached the point where he’s willing to admit that he actually likes Merlin, but he won’t deny that Merlin’s presence in his shop wasn’t entirely a burden.
Arthur rings the bell and mere seconds later the door swings open, which makes Arthur slightly concerned that Gwen has been waiting behind it for her chance to pounce on them. He tells himself that Gwen is far too mature to do such a thing, except Morgana is here and she’s always been a terrible influence on Gwen.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have too long to ponder it, as Gwen is ushering them inside.
“Merlin!” Gwen exclaims, leading them into the living room as soon as they’re both through the door. “It’s so nice to finally meet you properly.”
She narrows her eyes at Arthur in a way that tells him he’s most definitely not forgiven for keeping secrets, and for pushing said secret out the door almost as soon as Gwen saw him.
“And you Gwen.” Merlin replies, handing her the bottle of non-alcoholic champagne he’d brought (much to Arthur’s relief, as he has a tendency to forget social niceties when he’s stressed). He gives Gwen a boyish grin that Arthur can tell has already wormed its way into her heart. “Arthur has told me so many wonderful things about you.”
Arthur throws Merlin a grateful look. He appreciates his efforts to return him to Gwen’s good graces, even though he knows there’s little chance of success. Gwen may be one of the kindest people Arthur knows but she’s also one of the best at holding a grudge.
“Well, I dread to think what he’s told you about me.” Morgana says, rising from the sofa in order to kiss Merlin’s cheek.
Merlin looks vaguely stunned, which doesn’t surprise Arthur. Most people lose the ability of speech the first time they meet Morgana, usually due to sheer intimidation. To his credit, Merlin recovers quickly. He gives Morgana the grin he gave Gwen, and it seems to have the same effect, which does surprise Arthur.
“He told me you’re absolutely delightful.” Merlin lies, but even with his acting skills, he still can’t quite pull it off.
“Of course he did.” Morgana says, giving Arthur a smirk that promises revenge.
Arthur swallows nervously and hurriedly pulls Merlin away to introduce him to Lance.
Unfortunately for Arthur, Merlin barely has time to shake Lance’s hand, before Morgana is quite literally sinking her claws into him.
“Come along Merlin.” She says, nodding her head to where Gwen is still clutching the bottle Merlin had given her. “You can help us with the drinks.”
Merlin doesn’t get a chance to do more than throw a helpless look in Arthur’s direction, before he’s being quickly and efficiently bustled into the kitchen by Morgana with - an admittedly more sheepish looking - Gwen trailing behind her.
Arthur stares after him helplessly.
“Cheer up, mate.” Lance says, clapping him on the shoulder. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
Arthur considers it. “They might eat him.”
Lace snorts. “Unlikely.”
He does pause though and seems to be giving the matter some serious thought.
“Although, Gwen’s cravings have been rather odd lately.” He says, eventually. He actually looks slightly concerned. “But I think your main concern is him dying of alcohol poisoning.”
“I think he’s fine. The champagne’s non-alcoholic.” Arthur says.
He’s still vaguely surprised that Merlin was thoughtful enough to buy something Gwen could drink. In fact, it seems Merlin has a habit of surprising him. He’ll have to do something about that.
“Arthur.” Lance says slowly. “Your champagne might have been non-alcoholic. But how well do you know your sister?”
“Oh shit.”
Several hours later, and Arthur is cursing himself for letting Morgana outsmart him. He’s half-carrying, half-dragging an inebriated Merlin from Gwen’s house. Muttering under his breath about meddling witches and their tendency towards alcohol as he does so.
For some unfathomable reason (Arthur is lost as to why anyone would actively seek out Morgana’s presence) Merlin seems determined to stay. When they finally make it outside Merlin slumps against Arthur, who looks around for the sleek black car that brought them here. He’s found he rather likes travelling in style.
“Where’s Gilli?” He asks when the car is nowhere to be seen.
Merlin mumbles something incomprehensible into Arthur’s shoulder.
“What?”
Merlin lifts his head up, looking at Arthur with bleary eyes.
“Gave him the rest of the night off.” He says, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
Arthur is not so pleased.
“How on earth am I meant to get you home now?” He asks.
Merlin just shrugs and leans back against Arthur.
“Oh for...” Arthur stops and takes a deep breath. “Fine. Since I have absolutely no desire to drag your drunken arse to wherever it is you live - and you should probably tell me that, by the way, it’s only fair - we can go to my place. It shouldn’t take us too long to walk there, I don’t know why you bothered picking me up in the first place.”
“Had to keep the act up, didn’t I?” Merlin tells Arthur’s chest.
“Idiot.” Arthur mutters as he starts to guide Merlin to his flat.
When they finally get there he dumps Merlin unceremoniously on the sofa, intending to leave him there and let him suffer for it in the morning. He lasts for all of five minutes before he gives into the guilt and goes to find a blanket to cover Merlin. He removes Merlin’s shoes as well, only because he doesn’t want footprints on his sofa of course, and if he tucks the blanket around Merlin, it’s only so that he doesn’t have to listen to Merlin’s complaints about being cold the next morning.
Part II