Part Two - Midwestern Running
Master Post | Part One
----
He meets Morgan for lunch at the small local eatery that serves pie with every meal. It’s a student favorite, the restaurant split in the middle by some invisible force that keeps the flat-chested, obnoxious middle schoolers on one side and the cool, mature high schoolers on the other. A week from now, once school starts, this place will be virtually empty during the day, replaced by elderly folk and the euchre club while the students are trapped indoors.
Morgan has already commandeered a booth, and Arthur must navigate between some sort of a retro radio fan club (the nineties) that has swarmed three separate tables and brought a boom box, and the theatre and drama club (equally as weird) to reach her. Arthur distrusts any sort of organization that chooses to meet during the summer besides-of course-cross country. On the table she spreads out a fan of rosters and running routes and a little doodle of last year’s state champion plaque that went to those bastards at Stanley High. Before he can even sit down, she shoves papers in his hands.
“These are all the routes I’ve mapped out for us to run in the fall, listed in chronological order by distance in both miles and kilometers.” Most of the routes are familiar, but the last three Arthur doesn’t recognize, and they’re listed out of order. They cover ground around Orenda Lake, the old Wakanda Trail that runs along the river. It’s hardly wide enough to fit two people, and the branches and vines make it treacherous at best.
“I don’t know, Morgan,” he says with a frown. “Do you really think these last few are safe?”
“Oh,” she says, flipping her ponytail. “Those aren’t included in the official list. Those are just for you and Merlin.”
Arthur freezes, his fingers curling tightly around the edges of the paper. “What?” he asks. He planned to keep Morgan in the dark about his daily schedule with Merlin.
“Honestly, Arthur. You think I didn’t know? du Lac told me right after he spoke to you, that I should look out for him in the fall. Anyway, I figured he would be more... enthused about running with you if you took him someplace interesting.”
“Interesting. What’s interesting about a muddy pond full of guppies?”
“Maybe not interesting to you, you twit. Not all of us are douches who spend our free time in front of the mirror primping. Merlin is interested in wildlife. He says he would like to study ecology someday.”
“Well aren’t you special, holding out your hand to every charity case,” he snaps. “These trails aren’t very safe for running unless you want the both of us to come limping in with sprained ankles. Besides, I’m not here to talk to Merlin about his feelings; it’s not a date. I’m just here to get him off his ass.” He doesn’t want to admit that no, he didn’t know Merlin likes something as ridiculous and precious as nature. He hadn’t even considered that Merlin might have plans after high school. For so long, Merlin has built a reputation in Arthur’s mind as one of the losers to be left behind in Tadita after graduation-what Arthur always fears will happen to himself if he doesn’t get out on scholarship. “We’re doing fine, Morgan.”
“Well excuse me,” she retorts. “I just thought you’d like some help, but I guess you and Merlin have been getting along better than expected. Maybe you’ve even started to like him. Might do you some good to hang out with people in possession of actual brains.”
Arthur feels his face flush. Morgan has always been able to get underneath his skin even when she’s trying to be helpful. And Arthur doesn’t want her help, doesn’t need it. He has the Merlin thing under control. “Lay off,” he says, gathering his bag. “You forget that the friends you keep insulting are on the same team as you. I think we’re done here, yeah?”
He stalks out of the diner, trailing his track bag behind him. He storms off to the Camaro, slamming the door shut after he clambers in and shoves the key into the starter. After starting the ignition, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel.
Things with Merlin, he decides, have been going too well. So well, in fact, that for the third weekend in a row, Arthur has blown off spending the evening with Zach in favor of a few late night runs with Merlin, trying to get him to smile that same fond grin Merlin spares him at seemingly random occasions with no rhyme or reason. And spending every day out on the road can’t help. Of course Morgan would know about the runs, and if she or anyone sees them together at any moment when Arthur is dragging Merlin down to the beach-or pushing him into the park fountain-or sitting in lawn chairs in the shop with Arnold Palmers-or laughing-or-
No. It’s just not right that half of Arthur’s summer has gone to waste trying to get some nobody loser to graduate at the cost of his freedom and his friends, and he’s had enough. When he gets home, he fishes his phone from the bottom of his track bag and flips through his texts, skipping one from Merlin before reading one from Zach.
Zach 2:14:26 PM
where u been. movie 2nite party at leahs after
Okay, he thinks. This is good; this what he wants. He has one week left of freedom to spend however he chooses and he’ll spend it with his friends.
And if Merlin sends him a text that says, ‘no running tonight. friend over, sorry’ Arthur ignores that fact that he feels less guilty-as if it somehow makes a difference that Merlin is busy anyway.
----
Arthur’s grand night out begins sitting in the parking lot at the cheap-o movie theatre that plays reels already released on DVD. They pass around a bottle of vodka, laughing and telling jokes before stumbling into the theatre-not drunk enough yet to be noticeable but pleasantly buzzed. They sit in one long row at the front, craning their necks so they can see every pore of Matthew McConaughey’s face. Zach makes fun by throwing popcorn at the screen: thirty points for nostril shots, fifty if he hits a nipple. As the alcohol thrums in Arthur’s veins, he panics mid-throw to consider McConaughey’s chest. Is it attractive? he thinks. Oh god, do I like-no, no I absolutely do not like-and then Leah leans over, presses a hand against his thigh in the unsubtle daring way adolescence allows and says, “Are you coming over tonight?”
“Yeah-yeah,” he slurs, momentarily distracted by the sudden heat through his jeans.
He hears Zach mutter a quiet “shit” beside them, and through his peripherals Arthur can see Ashley-Zach’s on-and-off-again girlfriend, palming him through his crotch, sucking indelicately along his throat even while he fishes in the popcorn bucket for more.
When Leah doesn’t remove her hand from Arthur’s thigh, Arthur reaches over, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and the other hand palming her jaw. He hesitates briefly, studying the thick outline of eyeliner and mascara on her face, inhaling the overpowering floral smell of perfume before drawing her up in a wet kiss, blocking out the harsh sounds Zach makes beside him.
Leah’s mouth feels sticky with a trace flavor of Skittles that he must explore, tilting her head back to plunder her mouth. He groans when she takes his lower lip between her teeth, his hips shifting under the invisible weight of lust. This-this is what he wants, and it’s so good when she laughs into his mouth, tugging a little on his hair.
When they leave the theatre, Arthur’s a little drunk on vodka and making out and the feel of Leah’s small waist in his hands. The four of them pile into the Camaro, Ashley and Zach pressed against each other in the back, passing the vodka bottle back and forth. Arthur has enough sense to keep away from it while driving, but still feels intoxicated and aroused. They drive around aimlessly for awhile, yelling along to the radio, pausing at stoplights and intersections to French messily and wetly. Leah wants to ride around the lake, thinks it might be romantic, and Arthur acquiesces, if only she will kiss him again, run her hand along his inseam while he drives.
Then Zach sees it-them-first on the south end of Orenda Lake, two vague shadows tucked together on the bank. He presses his hands against the car window and yells, “Arthur! Stop the car! Stop the car!” And at first Arthur has no idea what he’s talking about, thinks that there’s an opossum on the road or a deer until Zach yells, “Shit! It’s that guy! From English who cuts class all the time!”
Arthur tenses then, fingers clenching around the wheel as he mutters, “What are you talking about?” even though he sees them now, two figures on the bank, the taller one-the lankier one-undeniably familiar to Arthur from their summer spent together. He has to slam hard on his brakes when Zach shoves his car door open mid-drive, the passengers’ bodies lurching forward against the restraints.
In the backseat, Ashley laughs and says, “What are you doing, Zach? Get in the car,” without any real sincerity. She begins to unbuckle her seatbelt and follow him.
“Guys!” Arthur yells. “Come on, get back in the ca-Leah, come on, put your seatbelt back on.”
Zach pokes his head in the window and says, “Arthuuuuur. Let’s go have some fun. Aren’t they having fun over there?”
Arthur looks at Merlin and the stranger, both aware of the presence of the Camaro and people piling out of it. They’re too far away for him to see their expressions, but he can see the proximity of their bodies, both leaned up against the trunk of a tree. “Get back in the car,” Arthur repeats, a little quieter and less sure of himself.
“Come on ladies!” Zach hollers. “Let’s leave Arthur in the car. We’re going to have fun without him!” He swings his arms over Ashley and Leah’s shoulders and makes the descent towards the bank. Arthur stumbles out after them with a sick feeling settling in his gut. He eyes up the stranger and wishes he could leave except for the fact that Zach would never get home in his state.
Merlin pushes off the tree at their approach and stands defensively, feet shoulder-width apart and his hands over his chest. “Can I help you?” he asks.
Behind him, the other boy relaxes coolly against the tree and snorts, “Good one, Merlin. No wonder you get beat up.”
“Shut up, Will,” Merlin says tensely, watching the intruders carefully.
“Merlin?” Zach cackles, swaying a little. “Ladies, this queer’s name is Merlin!” The girls laugh. Arthur freezes at the top of the bank.
“Hey!” the boy-Will-snaps, straightening up. “Lay off of him.”
“Ooooooh. Merlin, it looks like I offended your boyfriend!”
“I said knock it off!”
“Will, stop it,” Merlin orders. “Can’t you tell he’s drunk? He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
Will relents a little. “Do you know any of these people?”
Merlin glances furtively at Arthur some distance away and shakes his head. “No. I mean, we go to school together and stuff.”
Zach snorts and breaks away from the girls, coming up to jab Merlin in the sternum. “Nice, Merlin. Very e-lo-quent. All that pot you smoke does you a lot of good.”
“Fuck you,” Merlin bites. He doesn’t back away from Zach’s advances, and Arthur’s pulse picks up speed, watching their altercation.
“I bet you wish you could, don’t you?” Zach snarls lowly.
“That’s it,” Will snaps, coming from behind Merlin to push Zach away. “Get out of here, you dick.”
“Do you call me a dick because you want me, faggot?”
Ashley simpers a little and tugs on Zach’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go. I’m getting bored.”
“No,” Zach refuses, stumbling drunkenly. “No, these guys are bothering me, so I don’t think I’m going to go.”
“Fine, stay here. We’ll go.” Will hooks his hand under Merlin’s elbow and starts to steer him towards the road. The casual touch causes something to press heavily against Arthur’s sternum and he turns away as they try to pass him.
Zach storms up the embankment and latches onto Will’s ankle. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he yells. “Did I say you could leave?” He jerks on his leg and pulls him into the dirt, and instinctively, Will yanks Merlin with him. Arthur’s less than an arm’s length away and reaches forward and catches him around the ribs to stop him from crashing against the ground. Without thinking, he hauls Merlin backwards, drawing his back tight to his torso as their friends fight.
Will lets go and immediately attacks Zach, ramming his fist into his gut, but he’s not as strong as Zach either, who grabs him around his middle and spins him to the ground. Merlin tries to run down the bank as Zach rounds on Will, but Arthur refuses to let go, holding him tight by the waist.
“Let me go,” Merlin snaps, bracing his hands against Arthur’s forearms.
Arthur struggles to hang onto him, surprised by his strength. “Merlin, no-Merlin, don’t go down there!”
“Just let go of me!”
Will drags Zach to the ground to wrestle, and they watch, Arthur a little buzzed still and pressed tight against the heat of Merlin’s body. He can feel his blood thrumming through his veins, smell the salt and soap of Merlin’s skin and realizes that he’s hard just from holding him so close. He drops his arms so quickly that Merlin stumbles when there’s nothing to push against. He sprints down the bank just in time to watch Zach shove Will into the lake.
There’s a moment of dead silence as they watch the water ripple, a moment where nobody moves in shock. And then Will resurfaces, gasping for air as Merlin rushes to pull him out of the lake.
“Let’s get out of here.” Leah runs towards the car. Ashley and Zach turn around too, but Arthur stays a moment longer, watching Merlin reach out to grasp his friend’s hand in his own.
Then he runs faster than he ever has before.
----
The summer ends on a muggy, sweltering day, but Arthur doesn’t have it in him to complain. For the past few days, Merlin has refused to show up to run when Gaius arrives for work, and he doubts today will be any different. He sits with one foot on the bumper of the Camaro, an oil stick in one hand and a rag in the other, staring out at the road for a sign of Gaius’s approaching Buick.
Uther slides out from under a pick-up truck on his dolly, and chucks a dirty cloth at his son’s head. “Can you stop hovering around the garage?” he barks, a little strung out from the heat. When Arthur only grunts in response, Uther mutters, “It’s like this kid you’re moping over is a girl.”
And maybe Arthur should respond by saying, “Dad, he’s my responsibility. I told Coach I’d help him out,” or with something crass and masculine about tits and Merlin’s lack thereof. Instead, he stammers for an excuse and ends up shrugging, made weak by the summer heat. Uther scrutinizes him and Arthur blushes, but it’s not enough to make him leave the shop until Gaius arrives sans one passenger.
He exits the shop and walks through the house aimlessly, opening the refrigerator, the cupboards, filling a glass of water under the tap that he takes two sips of before dumping it out. When he lies down on his bed, he thinks guiltily of two things: the warmth of Merlin’s body against his own and the angry betrayal on his face.
----
The following morning, the first day of school starts out deceptively fine. Teachers hand out syllabi and discuss them for the entire period, reluctant to actually begin teaching. As seniors, they get to skip the stupid yearbook photos because of senior pictures, and Arthur spends that time strutting about the school, compiling a list of strange and bizarre things to collect over the course of the year to sneak into Morgan’s locker.
For lunch, it’s nice enough outside that the students are excused to eat on the lawn. Arthur meets up with Zach to swap class schedules under a tree for their half hour break, and the rest of the time they leer at the girls in their class wearing tight shorts. It’s been a good morning and Arthur expects it to carry on throughout the afternoon.
Of course, Arthur doesn’t expect to run into Merlin in the cafeteria when they dump their trays. He looks the same as ever, though Arthur doesn’t know what he expected to change over the past week. The only real difference is the scowl he gives Zach before maneuvering around them to dump his food out.
Bad idea, Arthur thinks. Zach sees it, decides to retaliate by chucking his apple core at him, and when Merlin tries to walk away, he grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him back.
“Zach, knock it off,” Arthur says, trying to intervene, but something hard sets in Merlin’s eyes as he breaks free of Zach’s grip, and before Arthur can stop it, Merlin’s shoving his hands into Zach’s chest.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snarls.
Zach laughs like a jackal-viciously-as he stalks towards Merlin. “My problem? What’s your problem, Emrys? Why’d you give me that look?”
“Like you don’t know, asshole.”
Zach feigns mock hurt for a moment. “But I didn’t do anything to you,” he pouts. “Ohh, but you must be talking about your boyfriend. That’s right. Well, pushing him in the lake didn’t hurt him, I suppose, since he’s already a wet rag.”
Arthur watches Merlin’s face contort into several various degrees of anger and silently prays that this is the moment Merlin learns to just walk away from a fight. “Fuck,” he mutters when Merlin winds his fist back. It connects solidly with Zach’s mouth.
Zach looks genuinely surprised as he stumbles under the force and brings his wrist to his cut lip, but Zach loves surprises, loves it when people cause shit for him so he can wreck the living hell out of them. He recovers quickly and just before Arthur can rein him in, slams his hand into Merlin’s eye, sprawling him out on a nearby table before leaping onto him with his fists.
The fight doesn’t last long, not with a developing crowd around them chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Arthur gets pushed back by several spectators just as the student liaison officer rips Zach off of Merlin, and in seconds they’re both whisked away, leaving him trapped in a booing circle of students.
----
Three days later, Coach du Lac pulls Arthur into his classroom after English. His desk sits at the back of the room, the walls covered with a calendar, a Whitman poem, and a series of pictures from all of his seasons of coaching. On his desk bounces a Shakespeare bobble-head that boasts ‘Quill Included!’
“Ah, Pendragon,” du Lac says cheerfully, though Arthur knows his perpetual enthusiasm can be deceptive after having sat through four years of pep-talks given through clenched, gritted smiles. du Lac folds his hands against his stomach and leans back in his chair, gesturing Arthur to sit. “How is your captaincy going?”
“Fine,” Arthur responds, and for the most part it’s not a lie. Morgan and he have come to a silent agreement that she takes care of the administrative details and plays bad cop to his heroic and charismatic good cop. Together they’ve somehow kept the team running, mainly powered by Morgan’s sheer insanity.
“And Merlin?” du Lac asks. “How are things with him? Of course I’ve heard about the mishap with Zachary.”
Arthur flushes a little and bows his head. For all his optimism, du Lac has never once demanded anything less of him than perfection, both on and off the road. He thinks of the way Merlin’s lip curled before he threw his punch and says, “Things aren’t going well, Coach.”
“I didn’t think so,” du Lac responds, but it’s without the disappointment Arthur expects. Instead, the coach looks resigned to the situation. “To be honest, I was a little hesitant when Ms. Smith suggested I put him on the team to boost his motivation,” he says. “And he is fast-surprisingly-but… I know you did your best with him, and I don’t think I could have asked anyone else to do a better job, but I’ve asked him to step down. It’d be better for the team morale.”
He stands and walks to the front of his desk next to Arthur, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know you might be disappointed, but you’re still scholarship material. Universities are hunting for runners who are both talented and a leader, and don’t think you’re not just because of this. Lesser men wouldn’t have even tried had I asked.”
Arthur shifts uncomfortably under du Lac’s gaze and says, “Thanks, Coach,” hoping he looks both appropriately disappointed but also reassured. In reality, Arthur leaves the classroom overwhelmed with relief, free from the burden of having to socialize with their class’s biggest reject. And inwardly if he grimaces, he straightens his shoulders and prepares to take charge of the rest of the cross country season.
That is, until he catches sight of Merlin carrying his lunch from the cafeteria to the detention room for his in school suspension. With a single look, all of Arthur’s relief unravels and he blanches. His eyes dart around in search of an exit route and he winds up veering to the opposite of the hallway in a weak attempt at avoidance while determinedly staring at his shoes. He is so engrossed in pointedly not looking at Merlin’s black eye that he steers himself smack dab into the corner of Morgan’s open locker.
“Oh fuck!” he shouts in surprise.
Morgan appears from the other side of the locker door, and when she realizes it’s Arthur, she punches him in the arm. “I can’t believe you!” she shrieks.
“Fuck, Morgan, my eye! I just rammed my eye into the corner of your-”
“YOU ARTHUR PENDRAGON, ARE AN ABSOLUTE COWARD!” she continues. “You didn’t even have the decency to apologize for getting him kicked off the team!”
A few passersby slow down to stare at them, and a gaggle of sophomore girls snigger into their folders as they continue down the hall. “What? Morgan? I didn’t-how did you know already that he-my fucking eye hurts! And I wasn’t the one who told him to throw fists. The idiot did it all on his own!”
“Well you didn’t stand up for him either when Zach was making all those accusations.”
“What is it you would have had me do, Morgan? Merlin is not my responsibility.”
And that pisses her off, her bangs whipping across her face as she takes two forceful steps forward, jabbing a hard finger into his sternum. “Look, Pendragon,” she spits. “It’s your responsibility as a captain to make sure your team functions together. What sane person would follow a two-faced jerk off like you who only has the guts to be nice to someone when no else is watching. You’re spineless and wretched! But, at least you look cool, right?”
She slams her locker door shut and stalks off, leaving Arthur speechless in the hallway with a throbbing eye. The underclassmen forgo any discretion and openly gawk at him.
That night, Arthur slaps a bag of frozen peas on his face and lies down at 8:30. Practice had been a loveless affair spent avoiding Morgan’s death glares and Zach’s gloating about the black eye he’d whopped Merlin. Several rumors began about Arthur’s own black eye, saying that he too got in a fight with Merlin when really the only time he had seen him was his brief appearance from the cafeteria back to detention. The entire team run was ruined by the tension between him and Morgan who managed to avoid each other while still running side-by-side.
Arthur’s swollen eye keeps him awake. He gingerly pokes at it before wincing and reaches for the frozen peas on the nightstand, wondering if this is somehow Morgan’s idea of karmic justice. She wanted him to think about Merlin, and now he can’t sleep and has no choice but to do so as his head throbs in slow, expanding pulses.
It’s the expression on Merlin’s face that Arthur replays over in his mind-that brief nanosecond where Merlin paused and looked right at him. In that breath, Arthur had the chance to step above his pride and defend Merlin. He didn’t even have to admit to their friendship to call the fight off. But even after the fact, Arthur still struggles to find the words he could have said that would have made Zach back down. That night at the lake, Merlin had taken all of Zach’s abuse passively, but he came to his friend’s defense immediately in the cafeteria when Will wasn’t even there to hear it.
Merlin had mentioned Will once by name some time after he had shared with Arthur the brief details of his mother. “He tries to visit every summer. He’s where I’m from,” he said, as if he doesn’t live here, run these streets, sleep every night here in the same bed that sometimes Arthur catches himself imagining when he’s alone. Arthur can’t remember why Will ever came up in the conversation to begin with, the name Will a fleeting detail amongst the growing mass of information Arthur collects about Merlin.
If Merlin moved in with Gaius when he was ten, that means he’s lived in Tadita for nearly eight years, Arthur realizes. He tries to recall a memory of a smaller, younger Merlin but comes up empty. Eight years and Arthur never noticed him until they were forced together. He had a vague awareness of him but never looked him head on, only from the corner of his eye when they passed each other in the parking lot-Arthur going to practice, Merlin going down to the creek probably. Eight years and Arthur struggles to recalls something more than just a shadow.
“Do you know any of these people?” Will had asked that night on the riverbank, and Merlin had looked right at Arthur, right in his eyes.
“No,” he said.
No, Arthur echoes in his head. No, we are not friends. No. No.
It pains him to admit that maybe Morgan wasn’t wrong. It’s his responsibility as captain to ensure his team is happy. To keep Merlin happy-if they were friends.
In the kitchen, he hears his father stack the clean dishes and put them away. The sound of the television flickers out and muffled footsteps pad down the hallway past his bedroom. When Uther shuts the door to his room, Arthur leaps out of bed and grabs his keys and his running shoes and heads for the garage.
In his father’s records, kept on outdated carbon copy, Arthur finds Gaius’ address: 1014 Lakeland Drive. It’s a good ten miles south of Tadita on the opposite end of Orenda Lake. Arthur stares forlornly at the Camaro, cursing its fickle transmission-which he then profusely apologizes for. It’s better this way, he tells himself. It’s symbolic or some crazy shit that he needs to run ten miles in the dark to get to Merlin’s just to say he’s sorry. Or something.
Arthur didn’t come in third in the men’s state championship his junior year without being incredibly fast, and he always believes that endurance is essential to running shorter distances. Ten mile runs are not foreign to him, but ten mile runs in the dark after shitty five mile group runs are, and he can’t see jack shit. By the time he covers half the distance, his legs feel like heavy jello. He walks the last five miles and it takes him over an hour. By the time he reaches Lakeland Drive, he is exhausted and hungry, shivering from the cooling sweat on his skin.
Lakeland looks less like a road than it does a wide gravel path covered sparsely with trees. Gaius’ house sits at the end of a driveway that Arthur swears is another mile long. At the base of the steps sits a pile of wood with a chopping axe. The empty husks of several abandoned cars rust on the lawn, and a fly light flickers.
Arthur rings the buzzer twice, shifts his weight back and forth on his feet, and peers through the dirty windows until a light flickers on upstairs. From his angle below, Arthur can’t tell who it is he woke up, but slowly the lights come on through the house as the person travels down the steps. The door makes a clunking sound when unlocked, and a familiar and slightly more disheveled head of hair appears.
“… Arthur?” Merlin says, voice still thick with sleep.
--
“Um, hi. Merlin. Um-“
“Fuck, what happened to your face?” Merlin swings the door further open, and suddenly they stand in front of each other, Arthur in sneakers and his sleep shirt damp with sweat, and Merlin in loose pajama bottoms with matching black eyes.
“I, uh, nothing,” Arthur stammers.
“Did you get into a fight?”
“Well, sort of?” he shrugs. And then amends foolishly, “No, I… not really. I just ran into Morgan’s locker, but it’s as if she wanted it to happen, so…”
Merlin drags his hand across his face and then through his hair as he leans his entire weight against the doorframe. “Right. So, why are you here?” he asks.
And Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, certainly not an ovation of joy from Merlin, but also not this cool collected person before him behaving as if nothing has happened between them, as Merlin’s mere existence before him dares Arthur to choose between apologizing or just sweeping it all under the rug. They could go back to normal so easily, he realizes. He could return to his clique of running friends and Merlin could sleep his days away in detention and never graduate, and they would never have to speak again.
But Arthur-who is sick and tired of being called a coward, and feeling like a coward and waking up from half-farcical half-maybe dreams of nosing along the slope of Merlin’s throat-doesn’t want to turn around and walk home because his legs hurt and he ran ten miles to get here.
“If you… If Zach apologizes for those things he said and Coach says it’s all right, will you come back on the team?” he asks, peering into the shadows of Gaius’ house. Merlin presses his lips together and makes a move to shut the door, but Arthur slaps his hand against it, his fingers perilously close to Merlin’s. He starts babbling, “I mean, you’re good, yeah? And-and it doesn’t matter whatever anyone says because all that matters is that you have legs and whatnot that carry you forward, right? So you should come back, um, to the team.”
Merlin huffs and shakes his head, but he looks a little amused and less likely to close the door. “That’s the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”
And Arthur briefly feels something swell in his chest, like-god forbid-he might cry. “I’m not good at this though, and I’m starting to get that, but you’ve got to help me out so I don’t fuck up anymore.” He inhales sharply, adding, “And-and-I’m sorry, okay? Like fuck, I am here and I am sorry.”
It’s an inadequate apology, Arthur knows, and he’s ready to turn around and walk home when Merlin stares at him stupidly for a good fifteen seconds. Then he starts to laugh.
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“Because-you!” Merlin says, covering one hand with his mouth. Arthur feels his face grow hot, and thinks that, okay, maybe he deserves it, but does he really have to rub it in? He turns to go, ready to admit defeat when Merlin’s hand clamps tightly around his wrist.
“Hey, wait. Arthur I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, come here,” he says, drawing him into his house. Arthur follows stupidly, confused and aware of Merlin’s cold fingers on his skin, and despite everything Merlin still laughs. “I appreciate it, I do. But was it really that hard to say?”
“Yes,” Arthur whispers, stunned. “It really was.”
And Merlin chuckles more, shakes his head and says, “Okay, okay. Come on. You’re all damp. How’d you get here?”
“I ran.”
“You ran. That’s… That’s ridiculous. You-you ran-of course you ran, you nut. You won’t be able to move tomorrow, you know.”
“I know.”
“We have to be quiet,” Merlin whispers even though he’s been the one talking the most. He holds fast to Arthur’s wrist and leads him up the stairs, turning the lights off behind them one by one until the hall is lit by a single dim glow from Merlin’s doorway. “Gaius is asleep. Only you would come out to the boonies in the middle of the night to say you’re sorry.”
And in a fit of utter honesty, Arthur folds his hand around Merlin’s wrist in return and says, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Merlin breathes for a moment-just breathes so that Arthur can see his chest rise and fall steadily. “Okay,” he says in all seriousness this time. “You’re cold and damp and you should probably stay the night, and-” He swallows and shuffles them into his room. “You’ll get chills if you keep your shirt on, and if I’m right about this-if it’s okay…”
Arthur’s breath hitches when Merlin lets go of his wrist, ghosting his fingers over and under the fabric of Arthur’s shirt. He’s careful not to touch skin to skin until Arthur sighs, brings his hands to settle on Merlin’s elbows and says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are absolutely right. I-please. You can-you can touch me.”
Merlin lets out a quiet, shaky breath, and pulls the shirt over Arthur’s head. He chucks the garment carelessly behind him in what he probably thinks is a cool gesture. Arthur stifles his laughter but finds it endearing all the same, and then that’s it. Game over. Because he stops thinking when Merlin rests his hands against his torso, warm and heavy on his sides, leaning over him slightly. Arthur tilts his chin up and lets Merlin press their mouths together, and a fission of heat settles in his spine where Merlin’s fingers curl on his waist. Then he opens his mouth, leaning forward for more pressure and wet heat, drawing his hands up Merlin’s sides and over his shoulders, tangling his fingers in the short strands of hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck as they kiss.
Merlin pulls him towards the bed, a small twin sized affair that groans under their combined weight, and it’s so easy for Arthur to crawl over that lean body in the dark-if only to save space, he thinks-in the quiet where no one else can see them do this, see Merlin slide his knees apart as Arthur sinks against his body. Merlin skims his hands over the smooth skin drawn tight across Arthur’s shoulder and down his biceps, curling into the muscle. The heat of their stomachs pressed against each other is so hot that Arthur feels his organs expanding inside, filling every spare crevice in his body and outward until he has no other choice but to press down into Merlin until every inch of their bare skin is touching.
Merlin’s hips shift near-imperceptibly in search of more friction and Arthur can feel the outline of his erection through his running shorts. He freezes when Merlin skims his fingers down his back, dipping beneath the waistband, and suddenly Arthur grows uncomfortably embarrassed. He retreats, drawing up and away from the circle of heat to sit at the edge of the bed.
Merlin doesn’t press Arthur, but instead quietly wraps his long fingers around Arthur’s wrist. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “Come here.”
Self-consciously, Arthur lets himself be dragged back down to the mattress, lying by Merlin’s side with a hand’s length between them. Merlin smoothes his hand up and down Arthur’s arm and murmurs, “You’re probably tired, huh? All that running,” and Arthur’s swept with gratitude that Merlin isn’t pushing for more. “Let’s sleep.”
Arthur wants to touch him, but finds his entire body nearly immobile. He traces with one finger the outline of Merlin’s eyes, his nose, his mouth, bringing it up to sweep the ridges of his ear. Merlin shivers and settles into the covers as Arthur keeps this one point of contact, and they stare at each other for minutes until Merlin’s eyes slowly drift shut.
As Merlin sleeps, Arthur tentatively palms his whole hand over Merlin’s shoulder, still unused to being able to admit that he wants this, let alone that he has it. He brings his hand to rub Merlin’s scalp-sleep warm and soft under his touch-and is acutely aware of the hitch in Merlin’s breathing. Arthur strains to keep his eyes open, memorizing the moment in fear that Merlin’s affection will disappear upon waking to realize how gutless Arthur truly is. He settles against his side, closing the valley of their bodies in wonderment, counting the breaths and minutes, multiplying them to span hours and days in his imagination.
In the morning, Arthur wakes early, much like he does any other day, pressed against Merlin. He does not lie still for long and scoots off the mattress and in search of clothes. Merlin grumbles at his shuffling but smiles warmly up at him. In the light, Arthur studies Merlin’s room more carefully, the small dresser and closet door that doesn’t quite shut all the way, a picture of his mom holding him when he was just a toddler. He dresses, borrowing a fresh (and despairingly flannel) shirt, and Merlin bursts out laughing from the bed when Arthur tries to pull on a pair of Merlin’s jeans, sucking in his gut and hopping on one foot to pull them up.
The noise rouses a sleepy Gaius who opens the door in a nightcap and gown. Thankfully, Arthur has clothed himself but still blushes furiously while Merlin-still in bed-explains calmly that Arthur came over last night for a late night run and they didn’t want to wake him up. Gaius studies them for a long few moments before sighing exasperatedly. “Call your father,” he says to Arthur and shuffles out.
Gaius drives him home that afternoon, claiming he has work left to do in the shop. Merlin catches Arthur in a brief chaste kiss that has Arthur’s entire face flush hot, and Arthur extracts himself from Merlin, but not before failing at smothering the smile on his face.
When they arrive at Arthur’s house, Gaius stays in the garage but doesn’t do any work so far as Arthur can tell. Instead he stands over the desk shoved in one corner of the garage talking in low conspiring tones with Uther. Arthur flees when they glance at him no less than five times and flops down on his bed, his heart thudding in its cage.
----
On Monday he doesn’t see Merlin before lunch. It’s not unusual since they have no classes together, and Arthur isn’t even sure if Merlin’s given up skipping altogether. Still, his absence leaves something sour in Arthur’s gut, making him jump whenever he sees a brown head of hair, a lanky boy. He almost expects everyone he passes to see it on his face, this excitement and foolish nervousness, and at first he thinks they’ll clap him on the back, share in his happiness, but soon he imagines them instead pointing, whispering at him. His joy dwindles into something cold and heavy in his limbs.
By lunch his excitement has devolved into dread. He sits between Morgan and Zach, stabbing at his pears. Across from him, Leah makes eyes at him that he ignores, slouching into his seat until she stalks off.
Zach nudges him and says, “What the fuck, dude. She’s totally into you.”
And Arthur thinks, this is it, the moment he can tell Zach everything from the beginning of the summer. You know how you pushed that Will kid into the lake, called them faggots? Well apparently I’m one too, he rehearses in his mind before chucking his fork on to his tray.
Between third and fourth period, Coach du Lac stops him in the hall and says, “Hey Pendragon, I’ve given it some thought and I want Merlin to stay on the team. I know that altercation was as much Zach’s fault, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep one on but not the other.”
“Great,” Arthur says, but doesn’t mean it, and turns to walk to class where he sits and counts threads in his jeans.
Merlin shows up to the team run after school and is greeted by people murmuring around him. Zach asks Morgan what he’s doing at practice, and when she doesn’t have an answer for him, Arthur shrugs and says, “I don’t know.” He spares Merlin a shy glance where he stands apart from the rest of the runners, but turns away to lead the front of the pack without saying hello.
He runs them around Orenda Lake on a road they usually don’t use for team runs, but it’s a place he and Merlin frequented over the summer. It’s narrow and quiet except for the inane chatter and they end up filing down in pairs to fit on the shoulder of the road. Merlin runs at the back of the pack even though he kept pace with Arthur all summer, and Arthur tries not to seek him out. He ends up turning to look over his shoulder so many times that Morgan punches him and says, “Why don’t you just run with him already?” and Arthur forces himself to swallow away the weight in his chest and stare straight ahead for the rest of practice.
Afterwards, Merlin grabs his belongings from the locker room and bolts right away as the others head for the showers. Arthur barely sees him leave and mutters a quick, “I forgot something outside,” to Zach before chasing after him.
He catches him just outside the building doors and shouts his name. Merlin glances over his shoulder but continues walking, and Arthur has to loop his arm around him and physically turn him around to get him stop moving. Once he has his attention, Arthur says nothing, staring blankly at him, suddenly aware of their proximity to each other and the school where anyone could see them. He’s still a little light-headed from their weekend, Merlin’s closeness making him stupid with want and confusion. “Um, I’m glad you’re back on the team again,” he says lamely.
Merlin frowns and half-heartedly says, “Thanks.”
Arthur lets out a frustrated noise before trying to shuffle closer, not really sure of what he wants-a touch, something-but Merlin stops him by pressing a hand to his chest and keeps him an arm’s length away. “Look, I get it,” he says. “About… us-this. The team. I’ll stay on and run and all, but you don’t have to-we don’t-you know.”
“Merlin-”
He looks at Arthur determinedly and shakes his head. “No, look, if you’re going to be like this when there are other people around… I mean, we weren’t even ever friends. So I’ll just keep running and you can get the pat on the back for helping the dumb loser out, and everything else can be like it was before, okay? If it’s going to make you uncomfortable and you won’t be able to… to even look at me… I mean, is it because I’m a guy or because I’m the social retard?”
“I-It’s not like that,” Arthur starts but gives up and instead reaches out for Merlin’s wrist to pull him in. Merlin moves closer, with caution, but then settles into the loose embrace. Arthur can feel his own pulse race, acutely aware of how out in the open they are even as he struggles for something to say. He wants to draw him tighter to his body, press him to his chest, but his hands freeze on his shoulders, immobile.
Behind them the building door swings up, and Zach wanders out, calling, “Arthur?”
Without thinking, Arthur retracts, dropping his arms, hyper aware and tense. Merlin hovers for a moment with a blank, confused expression before curling his hands into fists at his sides. A flicker of anger passes over his face before he closes off and backs away.
Zach jogs up to them. “You left all your stuff inside, man,” he says, and then eyes Merlin. “Is he bothering you?”
Arthur shakes his head and brushes him off. “I’ll be right in. I just had to…” He gestures lamely in Merlin’s direction.
Merlin retreats another few steps without looking at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice,” he says in a tone that Arthur can’t interpret, and walks away. There’s something final in the set of his shoulders as he leaves that prevents Arthur from calling out, rooted in silence until Zach drags him back inside.
----
Arthur grows used to the heaviness in his chest when he sees Merlin at practice, learns to bury the guilt. It’s better this way, he tells himself, certain that anything with Merlin would be more trouble than it’s worth. He sometimes even forgets anything happened until he catches sight of him in the lunchroom or in the halls. On runs, Merlin continues to ride mid-pack, and the team grows accustomed to his presence without acknowledging him. For Merlin’s part, he doesn’t want to be acknowledged and tries not to engage with anyone beyond what’s necessary, ignoring Arthur whenever they’re in the same vicinity.
Arthur divides his time between running, school, and filling out college applications. He falls asleep twice on his open pre-calc book and spends so many minutes of his day not looking at Merlin that it wears him down. Ms. Smith calls him into her office, sits him down, and tells him she’s concerned for his well-being.
“You look like a zombie,” she says bluntly, a few short curls falling as she leans forward to study him. “I mean-not a zombie because obviously you aren’t dead. I meant mentally, um, unwell. Exhausted! I meant exhausted.” She puts a hand over her mouth and takes a deep breath, as if recalling all of her training to use on herself. “I mean, are you sure you’re doing okay?”
Arthur mumbles some excuse about it always being like this during cross country. He doesn’t admit that his workload is heavier or the bit about screwing up his chance at a real relationship. She frowns at him, not quite believing.
“If you’re sure,” she says.
Arthur stands up to go, but she stops him with a hand on his arm. “One more thing.” She presses an envelope into his hand. “I wrote up a letter of recommendation for you. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for helping Merlin out. Mr. du Lac says he’s doing well on the team, and he hasn’t been in detention for three weeks. I think it’s a record. Of course, his attendance is patchy at best, but we can’t have everything.”
Arthur laughs weakly, overcome with a sudden flash of pride and fondness for Merlin. He thanks her shakily and leaves, and when he finds the envelope shoved at the bottom of his backpack that night, he holds it in his hands without opening it before shoving it in his desk drawer.
----
Part Three
----
He meets Morgan for lunch at the small local eatery that serves pie with every meal. It’s a student favorite, the restaurant split in the middle by some invisible force that keeps the flat-chested, obnoxious middle schoolers on one side and the cool, mature high schoolers on the other. A week from now, once school starts, this place will be virtually empty during the day, replaced by elderly folk and the euchre club while the students are trapped indoors.
Morgan has already commandeered a booth, and Arthur must navigate between some sort of a retro radio fan club (the nineties) that has swarmed three separate tables and brought a boom box, and the theatre and drama club (equally as weird) to reach her. Arthur distrusts any sort of organization that chooses to meet during the summer besides-of course-cross country. On the table she spreads out a fan of rosters and running routes and a little doodle of last year’s state champion plaque that went to those bastards at Stanley High. Before he can even sit down, she shoves papers in his hands.
“These are all the routes I’ve mapped out for us to run in the fall, listed in chronological order by distance in both miles and kilometers.” Most of the routes are familiar, but the last three Arthur doesn’t recognize, and they’re listed out of order. They cover ground around Orenda Lake, the old Wakanda Trail that runs along the river. It’s hardly wide enough to fit two people, and the branches and vines make it treacherous at best.
“I don’t know, Morgan,” he says with a frown. “Do you really think these last few are safe?”
“Oh,” she says, flipping her ponytail. “Those aren’t included in the official list. Those are just for you and Merlin.”
Arthur freezes, his fingers curling tightly around the edges of the paper. “What?” he asks. He planned to keep Morgan in the dark about his daily schedule with Merlin.
“Honestly, Arthur. You think I didn’t know? du Lac told me right after he spoke to you, that I should look out for him in the fall. Anyway, I figured he would be more... enthused about running with you if you took him someplace interesting.”
“Interesting. What’s interesting about a muddy pond full of guppies?”
“Maybe not interesting to you, you twit. Not all of us are douches who spend our free time in front of the mirror primping. Merlin is interested in wildlife. He says he would like to study ecology someday.”
“Well aren’t you special, holding out your hand to every charity case,” he snaps. “These trails aren’t very safe for running unless you want the both of us to come limping in with sprained ankles. Besides, I’m not here to talk to Merlin about his feelings; it’s not a date. I’m just here to get him off his ass.” He doesn’t want to admit that no, he didn’t know Merlin likes something as ridiculous and precious as nature. He hadn’t even considered that Merlin might have plans after high school. For so long, Merlin has built a reputation in Arthur’s mind as one of the losers to be left behind in Tadita after graduation-what Arthur always fears will happen to himself if he doesn’t get out on scholarship. “We’re doing fine, Morgan.”
“Well excuse me,” she retorts. “I just thought you’d like some help, but I guess you and Merlin have been getting along better than expected. Maybe you’ve even started to like him. Might do you some good to hang out with people in possession of actual brains.”
Arthur feels his face flush. Morgan has always been able to get underneath his skin even when she’s trying to be helpful. And Arthur doesn’t want her help, doesn’t need it. He has the Merlin thing under control. “Lay off,” he says, gathering his bag. “You forget that the friends you keep insulting are on the same team as you. I think we’re done here, yeah?”
He stalks out of the diner, trailing his track bag behind him. He storms off to the Camaro, slamming the door shut after he clambers in and shoves the key into the starter. After starting the ignition, he rests his forehead on the steering wheel.
Things with Merlin, he decides, have been going too well. So well, in fact, that for the third weekend in a row, Arthur has blown off spending the evening with Zach in favor of a few late night runs with Merlin, trying to get him to smile that same fond grin Merlin spares him at seemingly random occasions with no rhyme or reason. And spending every day out on the road can’t help. Of course Morgan would know about the runs, and if she or anyone sees them together at any moment when Arthur is dragging Merlin down to the beach-or pushing him into the park fountain-or sitting in lawn chairs in the shop with Arnold Palmers-or laughing-or-
No. It’s just not right that half of Arthur’s summer has gone to waste trying to get some nobody loser to graduate at the cost of his freedom and his friends, and he’s had enough. When he gets home, he fishes his phone from the bottom of his track bag and flips through his texts, skipping one from Merlin before reading one from Zach.
Zach 2:14:26 PM
where u been. movie 2nite party at leahs after
Okay, he thinks. This is good; this what he wants. He has one week left of freedom to spend however he chooses and he’ll spend it with his friends.
And if Merlin sends him a text that says, ‘no running tonight. friend over, sorry’ Arthur ignores that fact that he feels less guilty-as if it somehow makes a difference that Merlin is busy anyway.
----
Arthur’s grand night out begins sitting in the parking lot at the cheap-o movie theatre that plays reels already released on DVD. They pass around a bottle of vodka, laughing and telling jokes before stumbling into the theatre-not drunk enough yet to be noticeable but pleasantly buzzed. They sit in one long row at the front, craning their necks so they can see every pore of Matthew McConaughey’s face. Zach makes fun by throwing popcorn at the screen: thirty points for nostril shots, fifty if he hits a nipple. As the alcohol thrums in Arthur’s veins, he panics mid-throw to consider McConaughey’s chest. Is it attractive? he thinks. Oh god, do I like-no, no I absolutely do not like-and then Leah leans over, presses a hand against his thigh in the unsubtle daring way adolescence allows and says, “Are you coming over tonight?”
“Yeah-yeah,” he slurs, momentarily distracted by the sudden heat through his jeans.
He hears Zach mutter a quiet “shit” beside them, and through his peripherals Arthur can see Ashley-Zach’s on-and-off-again girlfriend, palming him through his crotch, sucking indelicately along his throat even while he fishes in the popcorn bucket for more.
When Leah doesn’t remove her hand from Arthur’s thigh, Arthur reaches over, wrapping one arm around her shoulder and the other hand palming her jaw. He hesitates briefly, studying the thick outline of eyeliner and mascara on her face, inhaling the overpowering floral smell of perfume before drawing her up in a wet kiss, blocking out the harsh sounds Zach makes beside him.
Leah’s mouth feels sticky with a trace flavor of Skittles that he must explore, tilting her head back to plunder her mouth. He groans when she takes his lower lip between her teeth, his hips shifting under the invisible weight of lust. This-this is what he wants, and it’s so good when she laughs into his mouth, tugging a little on his hair.
When they leave the theatre, Arthur’s a little drunk on vodka and making out and the feel of Leah’s small waist in his hands. The four of them pile into the Camaro, Ashley and Zach pressed against each other in the back, passing the vodka bottle back and forth. Arthur has enough sense to keep away from it while driving, but still feels intoxicated and aroused. They drive around aimlessly for awhile, yelling along to the radio, pausing at stoplights and intersections to French messily and wetly. Leah wants to ride around the lake, thinks it might be romantic, and Arthur acquiesces, if only she will kiss him again, run her hand along his inseam while he drives.
Then Zach sees it-them-first on the south end of Orenda Lake, two vague shadows tucked together on the bank. He presses his hands against the car window and yells, “Arthur! Stop the car! Stop the car!” And at first Arthur has no idea what he’s talking about, thinks that there’s an opossum on the road or a deer until Zach yells, “Shit! It’s that guy! From English who cuts class all the time!”
Arthur tenses then, fingers clenching around the wheel as he mutters, “What are you talking about?” even though he sees them now, two figures on the bank, the taller one-the lankier one-undeniably familiar to Arthur from their summer spent together. He has to slam hard on his brakes when Zach shoves his car door open mid-drive, the passengers’ bodies lurching forward against the restraints.
In the backseat, Ashley laughs and says, “What are you doing, Zach? Get in the car,” without any real sincerity. She begins to unbuckle her seatbelt and follow him.
“Guys!” Arthur yells. “Come on, get back in the ca-Leah, come on, put your seatbelt back on.”
Zach pokes his head in the window and says, “Arthuuuuur. Let’s go have some fun. Aren’t they having fun over there?”
Arthur looks at Merlin and the stranger, both aware of the presence of the Camaro and people piling out of it. They’re too far away for him to see their expressions, but he can see the proximity of their bodies, both leaned up against the trunk of a tree. “Get back in the car,” Arthur repeats, a little quieter and less sure of himself.
“Come on ladies!” Zach hollers. “Let’s leave Arthur in the car. We’re going to have fun without him!” He swings his arms over Ashley and Leah’s shoulders and makes the descent towards the bank. Arthur stumbles out after them with a sick feeling settling in his gut. He eyes up the stranger and wishes he could leave except for the fact that Zach would never get home in his state.
Merlin pushes off the tree at their approach and stands defensively, feet shoulder-width apart and his hands over his chest. “Can I help you?” he asks.
Behind him, the other boy relaxes coolly against the tree and snorts, “Good one, Merlin. No wonder you get beat up.”
“Shut up, Will,” Merlin says tensely, watching the intruders carefully.
“Merlin?” Zach cackles, swaying a little. “Ladies, this queer’s name is Merlin!” The girls laugh. Arthur freezes at the top of the bank.
“Hey!” the boy-Will-snaps, straightening up. “Lay off of him.”
“Ooooooh. Merlin, it looks like I offended your boyfriend!”
“I said knock it off!”
“Will, stop it,” Merlin orders. “Can’t you tell he’s drunk? He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
Will relents a little. “Do you know any of these people?”
Merlin glances furtively at Arthur some distance away and shakes his head. “No. I mean, we go to school together and stuff.”
Zach snorts and breaks away from the girls, coming up to jab Merlin in the sternum. “Nice, Merlin. Very e-lo-quent. All that pot you smoke does you a lot of good.”
“Fuck you,” Merlin bites. He doesn’t back away from Zach’s advances, and Arthur’s pulse picks up speed, watching their altercation.
“I bet you wish you could, don’t you?” Zach snarls lowly.
“That’s it,” Will snaps, coming from behind Merlin to push Zach away. “Get out of here, you dick.”
“Do you call me a dick because you want me, faggot?”
Ashley simpers a little and tugs on Zach’s wrist. “Come on, let’s go. I’m getting bored.”
“No,” Zach refuses, stumbling drunkenly. “No, these guys are bothering me, so I don’t think I’m going to go.”
“Fine, stay here. We’ll go.” Will hooks his hand under Merlin’s elbow and starts to steer him towards the road. The casual touch causes something to press heavily against Arthur’s sternum and he turns away as they try to pass him.
Zach storms up the embankment and latches onto Will’s ankle. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he yells. “Did I say you could leave?” He jerks on his leg and pulls him into the dirt, and instinctively, Will yanks Merlin with him. Arthur’s less than an arm’s length away and reaches forward and catches him around the ribs to stop him from crashing against the ground. Without thinking, he hauls Merlin backwards, drawing his back tight to his torso as their friends fight.
Will lets go and immediately attacks Zach, ramming his fist into his gut, but he’s not as strong as Zach either, who grabs him around his middle and spins him to the ground. Merlin tries to run down the bank as Zach rounds on Will, but Arthur refuses to let go, holding him tight by the waist.
“Let me go,” Merlin snaps, bracing his hands against Arthur’s forearms.
Arthur struggles to hang onto him, surprised by his strength. “Merlin, no-Merlin, don’t go down there!”
“Just let go of me!”
Will drags Zach to the ground to wrestle, and they watch, Arthur a little buzzed still and pressed tight against the heat of Merlin’s body. He can feel his blood thrumming through his veins, smell the salt and soap of Merlin’s skin and realizes that he’s hard just from holding him so close. He drops his arms so quickly that Merlin stumbles when there’s nothing to push against. He sprints down the bank just in time to watch Zach shove Will into the lake.
There’s a moment of dead silence as they watch the water ripple, a moment where nobody moves in shock. And then Will resurfaces, gasping for air as Merlin rushes to pull him out of the lake.
“Let’s get out of here.” Leah runs towards the car. Ashley and Zach turn around too, but Arthur stays a moment longer, watching Merlin reach out to grasp his friend’s hand in his own.
Then he runs faster than he ever has before.
----
The summer ends on a muggy, sweltering day, but Arthur doesn’t have it in him to complain. For the past few days, Merlin has refused to show up to run when Gaius arrives for work, and he doubts today will be any different. He sits with one foot on the bumper of the Camaro, an oil stick in one hand and a rag in the other, staring out at the road for a sign of Gaius’s approaching Buick.
Uther slides out from under a pick-up truck on his dolly, and chucks a dirty cloth at his son’s head. “Can you stop hovering around the garage?” he barks, a little strung out from the heat. When Arthur only grunts in response, Uther mutters, “It’s like this kid you’re moping over is a girl.”
And maybe Arthur should respond by saying, “Dad, he’s my responsibility. I told Coach I’d help him out,” or with something crass and masculine about tits and Merlin’s lack thereof. Instead, he stammers for an excuse and ends up shrugging, made weak by the summer heat. Uther scrutinizes him and Arthur blushes, but it’s not enough to make him leave the shop until Gaius arrives sans one passenger.
He exits the shop and walks through the house aimlessly, opening the refrigerator, the cupboards, filling a glass of water under the tap that he takes two sips of before dumping it out. When he lies down on his bed, he thinks guiltily of two things: the warmth of Merlin’s body against his own and the angry betrayal on his face.
----
The following morning, the first day of school starts out deceptively fine. Teachers hand out syllabi and discuss them for the entire period, reluctant to actually begin teaching. As seniors, they get to skip the stupid yearbook photos because of senior pictures, and Arthur spends that time strutting about the school, compiling a list of strange and bizarre things to collect over the course of the year to sneak into Morgan’s locker.
For lunch, it’s nice enough outside that the students are excused to eat on the lawn. Arthur meets up with Zach to swap class schedules under a tree for their half hour break, and the rest of the time they leer at the girls in their class wearing tight shorts. It’s been a good morning and Arthur expects it to carry on throughout the afternoon.
Of course, Arthur doesn’t expect to run into Merlin in the cafeteria when they dump their trays. He looks the same as ever, though Arthur doesn’t know what he expected to change over the past week. The only real difference is the scowl he gives Zach before maneuvering around them to dump his food out.
Bad idea, Arthur thinks. Zach sees it, decides to retaliate by chucking his apple core at him, and when Merlin tries to walk away, he grabs him by the shoulder and hauls him back.
“Zach, knock it off,” Arthur says, trying to intervene, but something hard sets in Merlin’s eyes as he breaks free of Zach’s grip, and before Arthur can stop it, Merlin’s shoving his hands into Zach’s chest.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he snarls.
Zach laughs like a jackal-viciously-as he stalks towards Merlin. “My problem? What’s your problem, Emrys? Why’d you give me that look?”
“Like you don’t know, asshole.”
Zach feigns mock hurt for a moment. “But I didn’t do anything to you,” he pouts. “Ohh, but you must be talking about your boyfriend. That’s right. Well, pushing him in the lake didn’t hurt him, I suppose, since he’s already a wet rag.”
Arthur watches Merlin’s face contort into several various degrees of anger and silently prays that this is the moment Merlin learns to just walk away from a fight. “Fuck,” he mutters when Merlin winds his fist back. It connects solidly with Zach’s mouth.
Zach looks genuinely surprised as he stumbles under the force and brings his wrist to his cut lip, but Zach loves surprises, loves it when people cause shit for him so he can wreck the living hell out of them. He recovers quickly and just before Arthur can rein him in, slams his hand into Merlin’s eye, sprawling him out on a nearby table before leaping onto him with his fists.
The fight doesn’t last long, not with a developing crowd around them chanting, “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” Arthur gets pushed back by several spectators just as the student liaison officer rips Zach off of Merlin, and in seconds they’re both whisked away, leaving him trapped in a booing circle of students.
----
Three days later, Coach du Lac pulls Arthur into his classroom after English. His desk sits at the back of the room, the walls covered with a calendar, a Whitman poem, and a series of pictures from all of his seasons of coaching. On his desk bounces a Shakespeare bobble-head that boasts ‘Quill Included!’
“Ah, Pendragon,” du Lac says cheerfully, though Arthur knows his perpetual enthusiasm can be deceptive after having sat through four years of pep-talks given through clenched, gritted smiles. du Lac folds his hands against his stomach and leans back in his chair, gesturing Arthur to sit. “How is your captaincy going?”
“Fine,” Arthur responds, and for the most part it’s not a lie. Morgan and he have come to a silent agreement that she takes care of the administrative details and plays bad cop to his heroic and charismatic good cop. Together they’ve somehow kept the team running, mainly powered by Morgan’s sheer insanity.
“And Merlin?” du Lac asks. “How are things with him? Of course I’ve heard about the mishap with Zachary.”
Arthur flushes a little and bows his head. For all his optimism, du Lac has never once demanded anything less of him than perfection, both on and off the road. He thinks of the way Merlin’s lip curled before he threw his punch and says, “Things aren’t going well, Coach.”
“I didn’t think so,” du Lac responds, but it’s without the disappointment Arthur expects. Instead, the coach looks resigned to the situation. “To be honest, I was a little hesitant when Ms. Smith suggested I put him on the team to boost his motivation,” he says. “And he is fast-surprisingly-but… I know you did your best with him, and I don’t think I could have asked anyone else to do a better job, but I’ve asked him to step down. It’d be better for the team morale.”
He stands and walks to the front of his desk next to Arthur, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know you might be disappointed, but you’re still scholarship material. Universities are hunting for runners who are both talented and a leader, and don’t think you’re not just because of this. Lesser men wouldn’t have even tried had I asked.”
Arthur shifts uncomfortably under du Lac’s gaze and says, “Thanks, Coach,” hoping he looks both appropriately disappointed but also reassured. In reality, Arthur leaves the classroom overwhelmed with relief, free from the burden of having to socialize with their class’s biggest reject. And inwardly if he grimaces, he straightens his shoulders and prepares to take charge of the rest of the cross country season.
That is, until he catches sight of Merlin carrying his lunch from the cafeteria to the detention room for his in school suspension. With a single look, all of Arthur’s relief unravels and he blanches. His eyes dart around in search of an exit route and he winds up veering to the opposite of the hallway in a weak attempt at avoidance while determinedly staring at his shoes. He is so engrossed in pointedly not looking at Merlin’s black eye that he steers himself smack dab into the corner of Morgan’s open locker.
“Oh fuck!” he shouts in surprise.
Morgan appears from the other side of the locker door, and when she realizes it’s Arthur, she punches him in the arm. “I can’t believe you!” she shrieks.
“Fuck, Morgan, my eye! I just rammed my eye into the corner of your-”
“YOU ARTHUR PENDRAGON, ARE AN ABSOLUTE COWARD!” she continues. “You didn’t even have the decency to apologize for getting him kicked off the team!”
A few passersby slow down to stare at them, and a gaggle of sophomore girls snigger into their folders as they continue down the hall. “What? Morgan? I didn’t-how did you know already that he-my fucking eye hurts! And I wasn’t the one who told him to throw fists. The idiot did it all on his own!”
“Well you didn’t stand up for him either when Zach was making all those accusations.”
“What is it you would have had me do, Morgan? Merlin is not my responsibility.”
And that pisses her off, her bangs whipping across her face as she takes two forceful steps forward, jabbing a hard finger into his sternum. “Look, Pendragon,” she spits. “It’s your responsibility as a captain to make sure your team functions together. What sane person would follow a two-faced jerk off like you who only has the guts to be nice to someone when no else is watching. You’re spineless and wretched! But, at least you look cool, right?”
She slams her locker door shut and stalks off, leaving Arthur speechless in the hallway with a throbbing eye. The underclassmen forgo any discretion and openly gawk at him.
That night, Arthur slaps a bag of frozen peas on his face and lies down at 8:30. Practice had been a loveless affair spent avoiding Morgan’s death glares and Zach’s gloating about the black eye he’d whopped Merlin. Several rumors began about Arthur’s own black eye, saying that he too got in a fight with Merlin when really the only time he had seen him was his brief appearance from the cafeteria back to detention. The entire team run was ruined by the tension between him and Morgan who managed to avoid each other while still running side-by-side.
Arthur’s swollen eye keeps him awake. He gingerly pokes at it before wincing and reaches for the frozen peas on the nightstand, wondering if this is somehow Morgan’s idea of karmic justice. She wanted him to think about Merlin, and now he can’t sleep and has no choice but to do so as his head throbs in slow, expanding pulses.
It’s the expression on Merlin’s face that Arthur replays over in his mind-that brief nanosecond where Merlin paused and looked right at him. In that breath, Arthur had the chance to step above his pride and defend Merlin. He didn’t even have to admit to their friendship to call the fight off. But even after the fact, Arthur still struggles to find the words he could have said that would have made Zach back down. That night at the lake, Merlin had taken all of Zach’s abuse passively, but he came to his friend’s defense immediately in the cafeteria when Will wasn’t even there to hear it.
Merlin had mentioned Will once by name some time after he had shared with Arthur the brief details of his mother. “He tries to visit every summer. He’s where I’m from,” he said, as if he doesn’t live here, run these streets, sleep every night here in the same bed that sometimes Arthur catches himself imagining when he’s alone. Arthur can’t remember why Will ever came up in the conversation to begin with, the name Will a fleeting detail amongst the growing mass of information Arthur collects about Merlin.
If Merlin moved in with Gaius when he was ten, that means he’s lived in Tadita for nearly eight years, Arthur realizes. He tries to recall a memory of a smaller, younger Merlin but comes up empty. Eight years and Arthur never noticed him until they were forced together. He had a vague awareness of him but never looked him head on, only from the corner of his eye when they passed each other in the parking lot-Arthur going to practice, Merlin going down to the creek probably. Eight years and Arthur struggles to recalls something more than just a shadow.
“Do you know any of these people?” Will had asked that night on the riverbank, and Merlin had looked right at Arthur, right in his eyes.
“No,” he said.
No, Arthur echoes in his head. No, we are not friends. No. No.
It pains him to admit that maybe Morgan wasn’t wrong. It’s his responsibility as captain to ensure his team is happy. To keep Merlin happy-if they were friends.
In the kitchen, he hears his father stack the clean dishes and put them away. The sound of the television flickers out and muffled footsteps pad down the hallway past his bedroom. When Uther shuts the door to his room, Arthur leaps out of bed and grabs his keys and his running shoes and heads for the garage.
In his father’s records, kept on outdated carbon copy, Arthur finds Gaius’ address: 1014 Lakeland Drive. It’s a good ten miles south of Tadita on the opposite end of Orenda Lake. Arthur stares forlornly at the Camaro, cursing its fickle transmission-which he then profusely apologizes for. It’s better this way, he tells himself. It’s symbolic or some crazy shit that he needs to run ten miles in the dark to get to Merlin’s just to say he’s sorry. Or something.
Arthur didn’t come in third in the men’s state championship his junior year without being incredibly fast, and he always believes that endurance is essential to running shorter distances. Ten mile runs are not foreign to him, but ten mile runs in the dark after shitty five mile group runs are, and he can’t see jack shit. By the time he covers half the distance, his legs feel like heavy jello. He walks the last five miles and it takes him over an hour. By the time he reaches Lakeland Drive, he is exhausted and hungry, shivering from the cooling sweat on his skin.
Lakeland looks less like a road than it does a wide gravel path covered sparsely with trees. Gaius’ house sits at the end of a driveway that Arthur swears is another mile long. At the base of the steps sits a pile of wood with a chopping axe. The empty husks of several abandoned cars rust on the lawn, and a fly light flickers.
Arthur rings the buzzer twice, shifts his weight back and forth on his feet, and peers through the dirty windows until a light flickers on upstairs. From his angle below, Arthur can’t tell who it is he woke up, but slowly the lights come on through the house as the person travels down the steps. The door makes a clunking sound when unlocked, and a familiar and slightly more disheveled head of hair appears.
“… Arthur?” Merlin says, voice still thick with sleep.
--
“Um, hi. Merlin. Um-“
“Fuck, what happened to your face?” Merlin swings the door further open, and suddenly they stand in front of each other, Arthur in sneakers and his sleep shirt damp with sweat, and Merlin in loose pajama bottoms with matching black eyes.
“I, uh, nothing,” Arthur stammers.
“Did you get into a fight?”
“Well, sort of?” he shrugs. And then amends foolishly, “No, I… not really. I just ran into Morgan’s locker, but it’s as if she wanted it to happen, so…”
Merlin drags his hand across his face and then through his hair as he leans his entire weight against the doorframe. “Right. So, why are you here?” he asks.
And Arthur isn’t sure what he expected, certainly not an ovation of joy from Merlin, but also not this cool collected person before him behaving as if nothing has happened between them, as Merlin’s mere existence before him dares Arthur to choose between apologizing or just sweeping it all under the rug. They could go back to normal so easily, he realizes. He could return to his clique of running friends and Merlin could sleep his days away in detention and never graduate, and they would never have to speak again.
But Arthur-who is sick and tired of being called a coward, and feeling like a coward and waking up from half-farcical half-maybe dreams of nosing along the slope of Merlin’s throat-doesn’t want to turn around and walk home because his legs hurt and he ran ten miles to get here.
“If you… If Zach apologizes for those things he said and Coach says it’s all right, will you come back on the team?” he asks, peering into the shadows of Gaius’ house. Merlin presses his lips together and makes a move to shut the door, but Arthur slaps his hand against it, his fingers perilously close to Merlin’s. He starts babbling, “I mean, you’re good, yeah? And-and it doesn’t matter whatever anyone says because all that matters is that you have legs and whatnot that carry you forward, right? So you should come back, um, to the team.”
Merlin huffs and shakes his head, but he looks a little amused and less likely to close the door. “That’s the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard. I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”
And Arthur briefly feels something swell in his chest, like-god forbid-he might cry. “I’m not good at this though, and I’m starting to get that, but you’ve got to help me out so I don’t fuck up anymore.” He inhales sharply, adding, “And-and-I’m sorry, okay? Like fuck, I am here and I am sorry.”
It’s an inadequate apology, Arthur knows, and he’s ready to turn around and walk home when Merlin stares at him stupidly for a good fifteen seconds. Then he starts to laugh.
“What? Why are you laughing?”
“Because-you!” Merlin says, covering one hand with his mouth. Arthur feels his face grow hot, and thinks that, okay, maybe he deserves it, but does he really have to rub it in? He turns to go, ready to admit defeat when Merlin’s hand clamps tightly around his wrist.
“Hey, wait. Arthur I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, come here,” he says, drawing him into his house. Arthur follows stupidly, confused and aware of Merlin’s cold fingers on his skin, and despite everything Merlin still laughs. “I appreciate it, I do. But was it really that hard to say?”
“Yes,” Arthur whispers, stunned. “It really was.”
And Merlin chuckles more, shakes his head and says, “Okay, okay. Come on. You’re all damp. How’d you get here?”
“I ran.”
“You ran. That’s… That’s ridiculous. You-you ran-of course you ran, you nut. You won’t be able to move tomorrow, you know.”
“I know.”
“We have to be quiet,” Merlin whispers even though he’s been the one talking the most. He holds fast to Arthur’s wrist and leads him up the stairs, turning the lights off behind them one by one until the hall is lit by a single dim glow from Merlin’s doorway. “Gaius is asleep. Only you would come out to the boonies in the middle of the night to say you’re sorry.”
And in a fit of utter honesty, Arthur folds his hand around Merlin’s wrist in return and says, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Merlin breathes for a moment-just breathes so that Arthur can see his chest rise and fall steadily. “Okay,” he says in all seriousness this time. “You’re cold and damp and you should probably stay the night, and-” He swallows and shuffles them into his room. “You’ll get chills if you keep your shirt on, and if I’m right about this-if it’s okay…”
Arthur’s breath hitches when Merlin lets go of his wrist, ghosting his fingers over and under the fabric of Arthur’s shirt. He’s careful not to touch skin to skin until Arthur sighs, brings his hands to settle on Merlin’s elbows and says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are absolutely right. I-please. You can-you can touch me.”
Merlin lets out a quiet, shaky breath, and pulls the shirt over Arthur’s head. He chucks the garment carelessly behind him in what he probably thinks is a cool gesture. Arthur stifles his laughter but finds it endearing all the same, and then that’s it. Game over. Because he stops thinking when Merlin rests his hands against his torso, warm and heavy on his sides, leaning over him slightly. Arthur tilts his chin up and lets Merlin press their mouths together, and a fission of heat settles in his spine where Merlin’s fingers curl on his waist. Then he opens his mouth, leaning forward for more pressure and wet heat, drawing his hands up Merlin’s sides and over his shoulders, tangling his fingers in the short strands of hair at the nape of Merlin’s neck as they kiss.
Merlin pulls him towards the bed, a small twin sized affair that groans under their combined weight, and it’s so easy for Arthur to crawl over that lean body in the dark-if only to save space, he thinks-in the quiet where no one else can see them do this, see Merlin slide his knees apart as Arthur sinks against his body. Merlin skims his hands over the smooth skin drawn tight across Arthur’s shoulder and down his biceps, curling into the muscle. The heat of their stomachs pressed against each other is so hot that Arthur feels his organs expanding inside, filling every spare crevice in his body and outward until he has no other choice but to press down into Merlin until every inch of their bare skin is touching.
Merlin’s hips shift near-imperceptibly in search of more friction and Arthur can feel the outline of his erection through his running shorts. He freezes when Merlin skims his fingers down his back, dipping beneath the waistband, and suddenly Arthur grows uncomfortably embarrassed. He retreats, drawing up and away from the circle of heat to sit at the edge of the bed.
Merlin doesn’t press Arthur, but instead quietly wraps his long fingers around Arthur’s wrist. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “Come here.”
Self-consciously, Arthur lets himself be dragged back down to the mattress, lying by Merlin’s side with a hand’s length between them. Merlin smoothes his hand up and down Arthur’s arm and murmurs, “You’re probably tired, huh? All that running,” and Arthur’s swept with gratitude that Merlin isn’t pushing for more. “Let’s sleep.”
Arthur wants to touch him, but finds his entire body nearly immobile. He traces with one finger the outline of Merlin’s eyes, his nose, his mouth, bringing it up to sweep the ridges of his ear. Merlin shivers and settles into the covers as Arthur keeps this one point of contact, and they stare at each other for minutes until Merlin’s eyes slowly drift shut.
As Merlin sleeps, Arthur tentatively palms his whole hand over Merlin’s shoulder, still unused to being able to admit that he wants this, let alone that he has it. He brings his hand to rub Merlin’s scalp-sleep warm and soft under his touch-and is acutely aware of the hitch in Merlin’s breathing. Arthur strains to keep his eyes open, memorizing the moment in fear that Merlin’s affection will disappear upon waking to realize how gutless Arthur truly is. He settles against his side, closing the valley of their bodies in wonderment, counting the breaths and minutes, multiplying them to span hours and days in his imagination.
In the morning, Arthur wakes early, much like he does any other day, pressed against Merlin. He does not lie still for long and scoots off the mattress and in search of clothes. Merlin grumbles at his shuffling but smiles warmly up at him. In the light, Arthur studies Merlin’s room more carefully, the small dresser and closet door that doesn’t quite shut all the way, a picture of his mom holding him when he was just a toddler. He dresses, borrowing a fresh (and despairingly flannel) shirt, and Merlin bursts out laughing from the bed when Arthur tries to pull on a pair of Merlin’s jeans, sucking in his gut and hopping on one foot to pull them up.
The noise rouses a sleepy Gaius who opens the door in a nightcap and gown. Thankfully, Arthur has clothed himself but still blushes furiously while Merlin-still in bed-explains calmly that Arthur came over last night for a late night run and they didn’t want to wake him up. Gaius studies them for a long few moments before sighing exasperatedly. “Call your father,” he says to Arthur and shuffles out.
Gaius drives him home that afternoon, claiming he has work left to do in the shop. Merlin catches Arthur in a brief chaste kiss that has Arthur’s entire face flush hot, and Arthur extracts himself from Merlin, but not before failing at smothering the smile on his face.
When they arrive at Arthur’s house, Gaius stays in the garage but doesn’t do any work so far as Arthur can tell. Instead he stands over the desk shoved in one corner of the garage talking in low conspiring tones with Uther. Arthur flees when they glance at him no less than five times and flops down on his bed, his heart thudding in its cage.
----
On Monday he doesn’t see Merlin before lunch. It’s not unusual since they have no classes together, and Arthur isn’t even sure if Merlin’s given up skipping altogether. Still, his absence leaves something sour in Arthur’s gut, making him jump whenever he sees a brown head of hair, a lanky boy. He almost expects everyone he passes to see it on his face, this excitement and foolish nervousness, and at first he thinks they’ll clap him on the back, share in his happiness, but soon he imagines them instead pointing, whispering at him. His joy dwindles into something cold and heavy in his limbs.
By lunch his excitement has devolved into dread. He sits between Morgan and Zach, stabbing at his pears. Across from him, Leah makes eyes at him that he ignores, slouching into his seat until she stalks off.
Zach nudges him and says, “What the fuck, dude. She’s totally into you.”
And Arthur thinks, this is it, the moment he can tell Zach everything from the beginning of the summer. You know how you pushed that Will kid into the lake, called them faggots? Well apparently I’m one too, he rehearses in his mind before chucking his fork on to his tray.
Between third and fourth period, Coach du Lac stops him in the hall and says, “Hey Pendragon, I’ve given it some thought and I want Merlin to stay on the team. I know that altercation was as much Zach’s fault, and it wouldn’t be fair to keep one on but not the other.”
“Great,” Arthur says, but doesn’t mean it, and turns to walk to class where he sits and counts threads in his jeans.
Merlin shows up to the team run after school and is greeted by people murmuring around him. Zach asks Morgan what he’s doing at practice, and when she doesn’t have an answer for him, Arthur shrugs and says, “I don’t know.” He spares Merlin a shy glance where he stands apart from the rest of the runners, but turns away to lead the front of the pack without saying hello.
He runs them around Orenda Lake on a road they usually don’t use for team runs, but it’s a place he and Merlin frequented over the summer. It’s narrow and quiet except for the inane chatter and they end up filing down in pairs to fit on the shoulder of the road. Merlin runs at the back of the pack even though he kept pace with Arthur all summer, and Arthur tries not to seek him out. He ends up turning to look over his shoulder so many times that Morgan punches him and says, “Why don’t you just run with him already?” and Arthur forces himself to swallow away the weight in his chest and stare straight ahead for the rest of practice.
Afterwards, Merlin grabs his belongings from the locker room and bolts right away as the others head for the showers. Arthur barely sees him leave and mutters a quick, “I forgot something outside,” to Zach before chasing after him.
He catches him just outside the building doors and shouts his name. Merlin glances over his shoulder but continues walking, and Arthur has to loop his arm around him and physically turn him around to get him stop moving. Once he has his attention, Arthur says nothing, staring blankly at him, suddenly aware of their proximity to each other and the school where anyone could see them. He’s still a little light-headed from their weekend, Merlin’s closeness making him stupid with want and confusion. “Um, I’m glad you’re back on the team again,” he says lamely.
Merlin frowns and half-heartedly says, “Thanks.”
Arthur lets out a frustrated noise before trying to shuffle closer, not really sure of what he wants-a touch, something-but Merlin stops him by pressing a hand to his chest and keeps him an arm’s length away. “Look, I get it,” he says. “About… us-this. The team. I’ll stay on and run and all, but you don’t have to-we don’t-you know.”
“Merlin-”
He looks at Arthur determinedly and shakes his head. “No, look, if you’re going to be like this when there are other people around… I mean, we weren’t even ever friends. So I’ll just keep running and you can get the pat on the back for helping the dumb loser out, and everything else can be like it was before, okay? If it’s going to make you uncomfortable and you won’t be able to… to even look at me… I mean, is it because I’m a guy or because I’m the social retard?”
“I-It’s not like that,” Arthur starts but gives up and instead reaches out for Merlin’s wrist to pull him in. Merlin moves closer, with caution, but then settles into the loose embrace. Arthur can feel his own pulse race, acutely aware of how out in the open they are even as he struggles for something to say. He wants to draw him tighter to his body, press him to his chest, but his hands freeze on his shoulders, immobile.
Behind them the building door swings up, and Zach wanders out, calling, “Arthur?”
Without thinking, Arthur retracts, dropping his arms, hyper aware and tense. Merlin hovers for a moment with a blank, confused expression before curling his hands into fists at his sides. A flicker of anger passes over his face before he closes off and backs away.
Zach jogs up to them. “You left all your stuff inside, man,” he says, and then eyes Merlin. “Is he bothering you?”
Arthur shakes his head and brushes him off. “I’ll be right in. I just had to…” He gestures lamely in Merlin’s direction.
Merlin retreats another few steps without looking at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow at practice,” he says in a tone that Arthur can’t interpret, and walks away. There’s something final in the set of his shoulders as he leaves that prevents Arthur from calling out, rooted in silence until Zach drags him back inside.
----
Arthur grows used to the heaviness in his chest when he sees Merlin at practice, learns to bury the guilt. It’s better this way, he tells himself, certain that anything with Merlin would be more trouble than it’s worth. He sometimes even forgets anything happened until he catches sight of him in the lunchroom or in the halls. On runs, Merlin continues to ride mid-pack, and the team grows accustomed to his presence without acknowledging him. For Merlin’s part, he doesn’t want to be acknowledged and tries not to engage with anyone beyond what’s necessary, ignoring Arthur whenever they’re in the same vicinity.
Arthur divides his time between running, school, and filling out college applications. He falls asleep twice on his open pre-calc book and spends so many minutes of his day not looking at Merlin that it wears him down. Ms. Smith calls him into her office, sits him down, and tells him she’s concerned for his well-being.
“You look like a zombie,” she says bluntly, a few short curls falling as she leans forward to study him. “I mean-not a zombie because obviously you aren’t dead. I meant mentally, um, unwell. Exhausted! I meant exhausted.” She puts a hand over her mouth and takes a deep breath, as if recalling all of her training to use on herself. “I mean, are you sure you’re doing okay?”
Arthur mumbles some excuse about it always being like this during cross country. He doesn’t admit that his workload is heavier or the bit about screwing up his chance at a real relationship. She frowns at him, not quite believing.
“If you’re sure,” she says.
Arthur stands up to go, but she stops him with a hand on his arm. “One more thing.” She presses an envelope into his hand. “I wrote up a letter of recommendation for you. I’ve been meaning to say thank you for helping Merlin out. Mr. du Lac says he’s doing well on the team, and he hasn’t been in detention for three weeks. I think it’s a record. Of course, his attendance is patchy at best, but we can’t have everything.”
Arthur laughs weakly, overcome with a sudden flash of pride and fondness for Merlin. He thanks her shakily and leaves, and when he finds the envelope shoved at the bottom of his backpack that night, he holds it in his hands without opening it before shoving it in his desk drawer.
----
Part Three