Part Three - Midwestern Running
Master Post | Part One | Part Two
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The team travels to Delamont High School for their first meet. Eight schools come to compete in the hot fall sun, and the starting field swarms with runners and spectators. The freshmen huddle together, and Morgan runs around shrilling crazily whenever she gets reunited with an old running friend from other schools.
Merlin dons his track sweats to keep his muscles warm, pulling the hood over his head and peering out of it at the mass of people. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking, if he’s excited or not for his first race. Arthur watches him from the corner of his eye, only half-partaking in some running jargon with the guys.
Eventually he breaks away from his friends, compelled to Merlin like metal to a magnet. He stops beside him, careful to keep the space between them. “Are you nervous?” he asks casually.
Merlin looks at him with a neutral, unreadable expression, and Arthur can’t tell if his presence is welcome or not. Merlin shrugs, “I don’t think so. As long as I finish.”
Arthur shares an uncomfortable chuckle with him, and it almost feels normal, like they might be two acquaintances and nothing more. “You’ll be great,” Arthur says too cheerily, and then tentatively squeezes Merlin’s shoulder.
Merlin smiles sardonically but doesn’t shy from the touch. “Thanks, I’m sure I won’t die or anything.” They share an uncomfortable moment together as the girls’ teams start lining up for the race, and then Merlin excuses himself to the water cooler.
It’s still early enough in the season that it’s muggy and hot outside. Arthur cherishes morning runs before the earth has time to soak up the sun’s heat, but the boys’ race starts during the hottest part of the day. He can feel the sweat at his back causing his shirt to cling to his skin. He shucks off his sweats and jogs up and down a small stretch to warm his muscles, keeping half of his attention on the competition around him and half on Merlin who has plopped himself down on the bleachers lazily.
When the boys are called to the start line, Merlin casually pulls off his sweat pants and sweatshirt and saunters to the back of Tadita High’s runners. Arthur jumps up and down. As captain and the team’s fastest runner, he stands at the front of the line with Zach and a couple of other guys on either side of him. This year, du Lac began coaching the four fastest runners into running as a group with Arthur in the middle and the others surrounding him to help hold a position in the lead pack. They strategized wind drafting on their long runs when Coach took them out onto flat country roads, dirt and grit and the smell of manure kicking up their nostrils. Arthur looks behind him past twenty Tadita High jerseys until he spots at the very end, Merlin, who’s only real coaching was, “Keep up the good work. Make sure you’re hydrated,” from du Lac, and the brief, informal summer Arthur shared with him. When the gun fires, Arthur isn’t even ready and stumbles through his first two steps.
The team adapts to a new vigorous schedule of races, traveling weekends on little sleep and too much pizza to come home to a pile of homework before crashing. Zach takes to drinking Monster energy drinks in the morning. Morgan sleeps in the dim corners of the library during lunch. By the time they recover from one race, it’s time to travel to another.
Arthur finishes in the top ten of every meet and du Lac starts introducing him to scouts who shake his hand and tell him they can’t wait to see him run at state. Arthur promises them a show.
To everyone else’s surprise, du Lac also starts pulling Merlin aside for these informal meetings too. “This is Merlin Emrys. It’s his first year running, and we’re very fortunate at Tadita High to have him,” he says before a race a few weeks before state. “For the last four races, he’s finished in the top 20 so you can imagine what he’ll be like with more experience under his belt.”
The scouts eye him, shake his hand, and Arthur watches him flush under the attention. He stands a little taller and walks away with a happy smile on his face that carries Arthur for the rest of the day. For the boys’ course, he kills the race, nabbing his first first-place finish of the season. Not far behind him, Merlin comes in seventh.
It’s a great day all around and everyone is in high spirits. The boys’ team takes second and the girls’ take first. Afterward, they go out for Italian, assailing the entire restaurant staff by being boisterous, starving teenagers, led by Zach in the quest for breadsticks. Arthur even manages to trap Merlin in a booth alongside the usual crowd-Zach silently tolerating him and Morgan waggling her eyebrows at Arthur unsubtly.
Merlin-high from his fast race-enjoys the conversation more, smiling and laughing. He doesn’t shy away when Arthur finds reasons to reach around him for the ketchup, steal the tomatoes off his side salad even though Arthur hates tomatoes. It’s casual and not uncomfortable and leaves Arthur more flushed and happy than any first place finish could, using the close quarters of the booth as an excuse to lean a little into Merlin’s warmth without drawing too much attention. For the first time in a long time, the weight in Arthur’s chest eases. Tonight he is just a boy at the center of the universe, driven by his teenaged urgency to touch and draw affection from those around him. He swings his arm around Merlin’s shoulder and jostles him closer, laughing loudly in his ear, and holds him there, fitted against his side for a second too long before letting him go.
Later on the bus ride home, Zach pokes Arthur awake in the back seat and jerks his head towards the front where Merlin sits, his head pillowed into his jacket. “What’s the deal with you and him?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” Arthur responds, his fingers digging into the material of his wind pants.
“Yeah. You do. You asked him to sit with us. It’s like you couldn’t keep your hands off of him.”
“Whatever, dude.” Arthur fumbles for something to hold onto and clutches tightly to his iPod. He makes a show of putting in his earbuds.
“No, not whatever,” Zach says, elbowing him. “I was sitting right there. Do you like him or something?”
Arthur splutters, growing hot. “What? No-I-no!”
Zach leans forward, gets right up in Arthur’s face, and says lowly, “Do you like… him?”
Is he that obvious? Arthur asks himself. Do other people see him looking? Arthur tries to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly. “Look, man. I’m captain of the team, right? Merlin’s part of that team and nobody talks to him. He’s fast… and he’s nice? Not really rude or anything-well sometimes, but-we shouldn’t write him off.”
Zach rolls his eyes and says, “Whatever dude,” folding his arms over his chest. He dismisses the conversation by relaxing into the seat, and in a few minutes he’s fast asleep. Arthur sits in the quiet, embarrassed and angry at himself. Even then, he can’t help but glance to the front where he can make out the dark shape of Merlin’s head cradled against the window.
Morgan pops up from the seat in front of them, checks briefly to make sure Zach is actually asleep, and turns to Arthur. She reaches over the back of the seat and yanks out his earbuds. “I don’t care, you know. It’s actually sort of nice to see you act like a human. I didn’t realize you could be decent to someone.”
Arthur shifts and stares at the ceiling, pointedly ignoring her. “Go away, Morgan. Don’t you have anything better to do besides eavesdropping?”
“Nope. You were so happy this summer,” she says fondly, a little wistfully. She turns to look at Merlin and tells Arthur, “You should do what makes you happy.”
He looks nervously around him at the people either sleeping or plugged into their iPods. “It’s not that easy. Just leave off.”
Morgan frowns at him and puts her headphones back into her ears. “It must be so hard for you,” she says, “caring about your petty high school reputation so much.” She turns around and slumps back in her seat. He scowls and kicks the back of her seat twice before drawing his knees up to his chest for the rest of the ride home.
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This is how the season ends:
Coach du Lac drives his top runners down to Camp Wilson where the state championships are held annually. He ends up taking three girls and three boys. The rest of the team rides down on a bus as spectators along with some friends and family. No one is surprised when Arthur and Morgan make it to finals, but even du Lac expresses some amount of shock at seeing Merlin on the roster along with two sophomores.
Gaius and Uther drop off Arthur and Merlin at the high school before carpooling themselves down to Camp Wilson. Arthur, a seasoned pro, takes only a light duffel bag with him, but Gaius tries to dump two suitcases onto Merlin who scowls and looks around desperately as they make a scene. He ruffles Merlin’s hair and tries to tell him how proud he is, and Merlin turns beet red, slowly backing away from the car with a pained smile on his face. When they leave, Arthur laughs and teases Merlin, pretends to coddle him a little as an excuse to brush against him and later helps him sort through all of his belongings until it fits into one bag.
They pile into the back seat, bringing Morgan with them while the underclassmen sit in front, and for four hours they endure Morgan’s cat-like wailing to her iPod. They engage themselves in a game of Would You Rather (“…eat horse dung or vomit?” “…wrestle an alligator or a venomous snake?” “…make out with a buffoon or Morgan’s grandma-ow!”) and then are lulled to sleep by the low hum of the tires on the freeway. Arthur wakes to a mouthful of hair and a stutter in his heart. Morgan smirks knowingly at him from her seat by the window.
Arthur revels in the fragile camaraderie he has developed with Merlin in the last two weeks. It’s paper-thin but still solid, something he can run his fingers over if he dares to. He’s careful not to call it a friendship. They are only two people who sometimes appear in the same place at the same time. It’s not everything Arthur wants it to be, but it’s something he feels less inclined to hide away from everyone else.
It’s a cloudy, windy day at the end of October. They squint into the wind and dirt that flies into their face, shielding themselves with their hoodies drawn over their eyes. Arthur feels the tight knot of apprehension tangle in his stomach when he looks at the competition. They all seem to be taller and leaner than he is, faster than the year before.
At the boys’ starting line, a crowd of red and gold appears bearing Tadita High sweatshirts. Morgan waves cheerfully at them, but she stays clumped with the other runners and away from the spectators. Even her usually peppy mood is dampened by nerves.
Uther tries hailing Arthur three times from the sidelines, but he pretends not to see it. Instead, he wanders closer to Merlin who has drawn into himself, staring out at the starting field. “Come on,” Arthur says to him. “Let’s go warm up.”
Merlin tags along with with reluctance, half-heartedly jogging in a loop around the starting field. Arthur leads them down part of the race course that bends through the woods which cut the wind, and they stop to stretch out their muscles. They can hear the chatter from the field, but can’t see anyone. It’s pleasant, almost as if they were on a summer run together.
“Fifteen minutes to start,” the announcer says, his voice booming in the open space. Merlin suggests they head back to the starting line. Arthur walks close to Merlin, presses their arms together so he can feel his body heat all the way back. He ignores the calls as their teammates cheer when they reappear and instead focuses on the warmth of the boy next to him.
Merlin is equally silent. Arthur wants to wish him good luck, but ends up simply resting his hand between his shoulder blades. They strip off their sweats, shivering in the sharp wind, and the officials separate them based on PR times.
“Five minutes to start,” the announcer says. Arthur loses sight of Merlin, hears the wind whipping in his ears. Other boys surround him, jogging in place, rubbing their arms up and down. He toes the white chalk line, peers out at his father’s stony face. A sort of tranquility settles over him as he waits, at the beginning of the end-his last year, his last season, his last race as a boy.
“Thirty seconds to start,” the announcer says. The field grows eerily quiet, and Arthur can taste metal in his mouth, feels all the runners lean forward like hounds, eager for the bait. He imagines his mother like this, what it must have felt like, if she would have been cowed by the wind.
“Ten seconds to start.” He wonders if his father had smiled then, what it sounded like to hear him cheer instead of his intense silence at every meet.
The starter lifts the gun. “On your mark.” Arthur thinks of Merlin, leaning forward, how he looked that first day so sullen and pale in the summer heat.
“Ready-”
The runners inhale a collective breath and the pistol fires. They kick forward, each boy on their own jockeying for position. Arthur files behind five boys, drafting behind them to save energy. They take the first corner that runs along the side of the woods that he and Merlin had wandered through, and then turn into a corn field. The stalks are as high as their heads, withering in the autumn chill. They whisper huskily in the wind as Arthur chases passed them.
The course loops around the field and back through a path in the woods that narrows and forces them to run single file. The runners break into two packs, and Arthur is clumped with about fifteen boys that he cannot see. He focuses putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the weightlessness of sprinting. The wind batters against his face, and he dares to press closer to the boys in front of him without tripping over their feet. The path is treacherous. Though the volunteers and staff went through and cleared the course beforehand, the wind knocks down new branches and twigs. The stormy sky makes it difficult to see where the dips and crevices are and Arthur nearly trips twice, cursing under his breath as he stumbles to regain balance.
Some of the spectators have moved to cheer them on at the exit of the woods. He passes Morgan and Zach in a blur waving little red and gold banners. Gaius tries to run with them for a few yards with his camera, all the while yelling, “Go Arthur! Go Merlin!” before exhausting himself. Arthur thinks Merlin must be close behind but loses that train of the thought the minute they hit the stream.
There’s no time to hesitate. The boys push through the water that comes up to their knees. It slows them down, the sand shifting unsteadily under the force of their feet, and when they emerge, their socks and shoes are laden with water. Several people trip behind, toppling into the faster current, and the pack separates again until the leaders dwindle down to six runners, their shoes squelching uncomfortably in a chorus of uncomfortable steps.
“Fuck me,” one boy says, and they half-laugh half-pant, whooping as they break away from the others.
For all the training, the two months of school and the summer before that, plus the dreaming and cutting out newspaper articles, and the collection of photos of Igraine on the wall, it’s the shortest sixteen minutes of Arthur’s life. Five minutes from the finish line, a drafter trips over the front runner’s feet while trying to pass on a narrow path. Arthur is five people deep and manages to react in time to avoid the pile up, but just barely. The whole front pack clogs enough to let the second group behind them catch up, and the two fallen runners lose their place in the lead even though they scramble to their feet.
Arthur’s adrenaline soars as he sprints forward, turning around the edge of the forest and back into the field where they started. He can see the orange cones and the finish line carrel decked with colorful flags. His legs kick underneath, his stride lengthening and quickening as du Lac runs frantically alongside the path yelling, “Go! Go! Faster!” his perfectly coifed hair in absolute disarray.
In his periphery, the shadow of another runner closes in on Arthur. His arms pump faster, his whole body careening forward against the wind, separating himself from the other boy. The flags are within reaching distance, and he physically puts out his arm and wraps his fist around the finish-line tape, ripping through it with the momentum of his body.
And then the sound hits him, the cheering and the bullhorns and cowbells. He feels a little lightheaded from the panting as his feet slow down, and he wants to scream but finds no voice, just throws his arms up over his head in relief and victory. Morgan jumps over the carrel fence yelling, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” and sprints-
-right past Arthur to throw her arms around… Merlin?
Arthur whips his head around, still gasping for air to look behind him. Merlin stands, smiling a little dopily, his head thrown back as he laughs, wrapping his arms around Morgan’s waist. Sweat drips from his hairline and down his throat, the neckline of his t-shirt drenched. He reaches a hand out and Arthur comes to him in a daze, tripping over his tired feet.
“…Wha?” Arthur pants, letting Merlin’s arm fall around his neck.
“I was right behind you! I could almost touch you I was so close!” Merlin yells over the noise, grinning with wild happiness. He shakes Arthur’s shoulder, and Morgan leads them in jumping up and down in a circle. Arthur hops up and down loosely, still uncomprehending until Coach du Lac runs over with an ecstatic grin on his face.
“I can’t believe it! You-you won!” he says to Arthur, hugging him. The entire Tadita High team hurtles over the carrel as the officials try to hold them back. They swamp around them in a mosh pit of hugging and tumbling.
And amidst the frantic celebrating, du Lac turns to Merlin and wraps him in a suffocating bear hug. “And you,” he says above the crowd. “You surprised us all.”
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Coach du Lac allows the runners to ride home on the bus instead of the van. Arthur and Merlin get pulled in every direction and hardly have a moment together, but Arthur is so happy he can’t even be bothered by it. Anything he says or does or sees is followed by him thinking, ‘I won!’ in the bright neon letters of his mind. But it’s the thought of Merlin coming in second, making the all-state team that fills him from the inside out.
To the great reluctance of all the parents, Leah hosts a celebratory party at her lake house, though she doesn’t tell any of the parents that her family is out of town. Arthur suggests driving Merlin out there, suffers a lecture about drunk driving from Uther as Gaius looks on and an embarrassing moment when Gaius pulls Merlin in a hug and almost cries. Merlin scrambles into the Camaro in a panic and doesn’t think to ask if the transmission will break down again until they’re halfway to their destination.
(Arthur has his own moment with his father earlier in the privacy of his room while he dumps his belongings on the floor. Uther stands in the doorway watching his son, his hands loose and awkward at his sides. They make small talk about the course, commenting on Arthur’s muddy socks, and then Uther makes an aborted gesture of a hug that turns into a handshake. “She would have been so proud of you,” he says, and then amends with great effort, “I am proud of you.”)
Leah plies them with alcohol as soon as they show up. Zach immediately tackles Arthur and says to Merlin, “Sorry there’s no pot, bro,” in a not unkind way before pulling Arthur away and towards the girls. Merlin stands awkwardly with a beer by the wall.
The party is much like the bus ride home, everyone clambering for Arthur’s attention. The only difference is the music that thrums so loudly Arthur can feel it in floorboards. They keep passing him drinks: shit beer and fruity cocktails that he sips out of and sets down again before someone’s handing him another. Leah begs him to dance, which he agrees to reluctantly, and he spends the majority of the night on her living room floor between girls, buzzing on whatever is in his hand at the moment.
Somewhere along the way, Morgan sidles up to him, lets him put his hands on her waist-if only for a moment. They dance close but not too close, separated by their childhood spent together and a history of animosity. She hands him a glass of water and gives him a knowing look. “Isn’t there someone you should be talking to right now?”
Arthur whips his head around, trying to see above the heads in the crowd. “Where is he?” he shouts.
She looks behind her towards the porch before mouthing, “Outside.”
Arthur lifts his plastic cup to her before snaking through the dancers. He grabs his coat off the rack on the way out. On the porch, a couple makes out in the dark away from the living room. Arthur ignores them and makes his way to the door where he can see Merlin sitting on the steps leading towards the dock.
It’s peaceful outside, only the faintest thrum, thrum of the beat bleeding through the walls. Later, Arthur will remember this moment being the salient point of his senior year, not making the all-state cross country team or the first place finish. The biting air sobers him up as he opens his coat, and when he reaches Merlin he drapes it casually over his shoulders.
Merlin looks up at him and scoots over so Arthur can sit. “Hey,” he says, taking in Arthur’s flushed face. “You’re kind of drunk. Does this mean I get to drive the Camaro back?”
Arthur snorts. “I’m not that drunk. I’m sobering up at least. Why don’t you come inside and dance?”
“Does it look like I can dance?” Merlin jokes, exhaustion wearing thin around the corners of his mouth.
Arthur shrugs a little and shifts so he can see Merlin’s face properly. “We could go in and dance? Together, I mean.” The brisk air emboldens him, and he reaches out and lays his hand over Merlin’s between their bodies.
Merlin lets out a short, sharp exhale of air. He lets Arthur’s hand stay but doesn’t turn his palm up to meet Arthur’s fingers. Instead, he stares out at the lake blankly for a moment, his breath coming out in cool puffs. “What is it that you think we’re doing, Arthur?” he asks finally.
Arthur frowns and tightens his fingers over Merlin’s. “I-I don’t really know.”
“I know you don’t,” Merlin says with resignation. “You’re sweet. You have a good heart-I can see it. You just let other people get in the way of it.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“I know. I know, Arthur, and I’m grateful for that. But where do you think this will end up? You’re smart. You get good enough grades and are a champion. You’re popular. I’m still on the verge of flunking out and this running thing doesn’t change any of that, just proves that I’m fast.”
Merlin leans forward, presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth and holds himself there, breathing against his skin. Arthur tangles his fingers a little desperately in Merlin’s shirt, his mind reeling. “You’re going to be great, Arthur,” Merlin whispers. “And I want to thank you for giving me the best summer. So thank you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur breathes, bringing his hands to smooth over his jaw. He kisses him properly, and Merlin allows him for a moment before pulling away.
“Thank you, Arthur. But it’s time to end this.”
Merlin pulls away and stands, sliding the coat off of his shoulders before tucking it around Arthur. He looks at him fondly once more before traipsing away and back into the house.
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In the end, Morgan finds him shivering on the steps, still a little drunk. She pulls his keys out of his pocket, and he lets her drive him and the Camaro home. They lie on his bed, his head resting in her lap, while she runs her fingers over his hair until he falls asleep.
Arthur doesn’t see Merlin at school. They have no classes together, and now that cross country’s over, no one’s obligated to come to practice, though a skeleton crew of diehard members still meets up throughout the winter to take on the icy roads. Sometimes he hears others talk about him. They saw him in such-and-such class, he got detention for mouthing off to so-and-so, and Arthur swallows the jealousy he feels knowing that others have seen him, spoken to him.
Sometimes if Gaius hasn’t left by the time Arthur gets home from school, he asks after Merlin (How is he? Does he still run? What are his plans after school? He’s well. He runs. Lord knows what that boy wants to do), but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth afterwards, so he just stops asking questions, tries to bury the ache for good.
It helps that in April, he finds out that he’s been awarded a partial scholarship to Washington State with work study in addition. Morgan gets accepted into Pacific University, a private school in Oregon where her father lives, and they make plans for a road trip over the summer to tour the entire West Coast. Then he has the ACTs and AP exams, and when someone remarks on how surprised they were to hear that Merlin Emrys kid is actually graduating, Arthur only pauses for a moment before passing on.
Through it all, Arthur runs.
In the summer, he wakes up one morning and pulls on his shorts, contemplates putting on a shirt, and fishes his running shoes from the closet. He pours himself a glass of milk, eats a slice of toast, and heads onto the trail.
It’s a bright but cool morning around Orenda Lake. He jogs the Wakanda Trail around the south bank, a good ten miles outside of town and listens to the loon calls, the steady rhythm of his footfalls and breathing. It’s a beautiful day, he thinks plainly. He’s grown to love this path, the peacefulness and the solitude. It’s good for the days when he just wants to be himself, when he doesn’t want to worry about packing all of his belongings and moving halfway across the country. As he runs along the dirt path, he muses over what shitty music Morgan might want to sing along to on their road trip, devising ways to secretly sabotage her iPod.
Something ahead of him catches his sight and derails his thoughts. He pauses when he sees a flash of white in the woods further up the trail, and it’s accompanied with a familiar ache, now receding, and a certain fondness too. Arthur’s certain the figure hasn’t caught sight of him yet, and so he spares a few seconds of quiet to watch the speck of brown hair bob up and down, pale legs stretching in front of that lanky body with ease.
Arthur lets this feeling go, the tightness in his chest. He remembers what his silence cost him, but also everything he’s gained, and so he carries it with him and resumes his run with the promise to be faster, to be stronger and better with every step.
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End.
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Soundtrack + art
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The team travels to Delamont High School for their first meet. Eight schools come to compete in the hot fall sun, and the starting field swarms with runners and spectators. The freshmen huddle together, and Morgan runs around shrilling crazily whenever she gets reunited with an old running friend from other schools.
Merlin dons his track sweats to keep his muscles warm, pulling the hood over his head and peering out of it at the mass of people. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking, if he’s excited or not for his first race. Arthur watches him from the corner of his eye, only half-partaking in some running jargon with the guys.
Eventually he breaks away from his friends, compelled to Merlin like metal to a magnet. He stops beside him, careful to keep the space between them. “Are you nervous?” he asks casually.
Merlin looks at him with a neutral, unreadable expression, and Arthur can’t tell if his presence is welcome or not. Merlin shrugs, “I don’t think so. As long as I finish.”
Arthur shares an uncomfortable chuckle with him, and it almost feels normal, like they might be two acquaintances and nothing more. “You’ll be great,” Arthur says too cheerily, and then tentatively squeezes Merlin’s shoulder.
Merlin smiles sardonically but doesn’t shy from the touch. “Thanks, I’m sure I won’t die or anything.” They share an uncomfortable moment together as the girls’ teams start lining up for the race, and then Merlin excuses himself to the water cooler.
It’s still early enough in the season that it’s muggy and hot outside. Arthur cherishes morning runs before the earth has time to soak up the sun’s heat, but the boys’ race starts during the hottest part of the day. He can feel the sweat at his back causing his shirt to cling to his skin. He shucks off his sweats and jogs up and down a small stretch to warm his muscles, keeping half of his attention on the competition around him and half on Merlin who has plopped himself down on the bleachers lazily.
When the boys are called to the start line, Merlin casually pulls off his sweat pants and sweatshirt and saunters to the back of Tadita High’s runners. Arthur jumps up and down. As captain and the team’s fastest runner, he stands at the front of the line with Zach and a couple of other guys on either side of him. This year, du Lac began coaching the four fastest runners into running as a group with Arthur in the middle and the others surrounding him to help hold a position in the lead pack. They strategized wind drafting on their long runs when Coach took them out onto flat country roads, dirt and grit and the smell of manure kicking up their nostrils. Arthur looks behind him past twenty Tadita High jerseys until he spots at the very end, Merlin, who’s only real coaching was, “Keep up the good work. Make sure you’re hydrated,” from du Lac, and the brief, informal summer Arthur shared with him. When the gun fires, Arthur isn’t even ready and stumbles through his first two steps.
The team adapts to a new vigorous schedule of races, traveling weekends on little sleep and too much pizza to come home to a pile of homework before crashing. Zach takes to drinking Monster energy drinks in the morning. Morgan sleeps in the dim corners of the library during lunch. By the time they recover from one race, it’s time to travel to another.
Arthur finishes in the top ten of every meet and du Lac starts introducing him to scouts who shake his hand and tell him they can’t wait to see him run at state. Arthur promises them a show.
To everyone else’s surprise, du Lac also starts pulling Merlin aside for these informal meetings too. “This is Merlin Emrys. It’s his first year running, and we’re very fortunate at Tadita High to have him,” he says before a race a few weeks before state. “For the last four races, he’s finished in the top 20 so you can imagine what he’ll be like with more experience under his belt.”
The scouts eye him, shake his hand, and Arthur watches him flush under the attention. He stands a little taller and walks away with a happy smile on his face that carries Arthur for the rest of the day. For the boys’ course, he kills the race, nabbing his first first-place finish of the season. Not far behind him, Merlin comes in seventh.
It’s a great day all around and everyone is in high spirits. The boys’ team takes second and the girls’ take first. Afterward, they go out for Italian, assailing the entire restaurant staff by being boisterous, starving teenagers, led by Zach in the quest for breadsticks. Arthur even manages to trap Merlin in a booth alongside the usual crowd-Zach silently tolerating him and Morgan waggling her eyebrows at Arthur unsubtly.
Merlin-high from his fast race-enjoys the conversation more, smiling and laughing. He doesn’t shy away when Arthur finds reasons to reach around him for the ketchup, steal the tomatoes off his side salad even though Arthur hates tomatoes. It’s casual and not uncomfortable and leaves Arthur more flushed and happy than any first place finish could, using the close quarters of the booth as an excuse to lean a little into Merlin’s warmth without drawing too much attention. For the first time in a long time, the weight in Arthur’s chest eases. Tonight he is just a boy at the center of the universe, driven by his teenaged urgency to touch and draw affection from those around him. He swings his arm around Merlin’s shoulder and jostles him closer, laughing loudly in his ear, and holds him there, fitted against his side for a second too long before letting him go.
Later on the bus ride home, Zach pokes Arthur awake in the back seat and jerks his head towards the front where Merlin sits, his head pillowed into his jacket. “What’s the deal with you and him?” he asks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man,” Arthur responds, his fingers digging into the material of his wind pants.
“Yeah. You do. You asked him to sit with us. It’s like you couldn’t keep your hands off of him.”
“Whatever, dude.” Arthur fumbles for something to hold onto and clutches tightly to his iPod. He makes a show of putting in his earbuds.
“No, not whatever,” Zach says, elbowing him. “I was sitting right there. Do you like him or something?”
Arthur splutters, growing hot. “What? No-I-no!”
Zach leans forward, gets right up in Arthur’s face, and says lowly, “Do you like… him?”
Is he that obvious? Arthur asks himself. Do other people see him looking? Arthur tries to play it cool, shrugging nonchalantly. “Look, man. I’m captain of the team, right? Merlin’s part of that team and nobody talks to him. He’s fast… and he’s nice? Not really rude or anything-well sometimes, but-we shouldn’t write him off.”
Zach rolls his eyes and says, “Whatever dude,” folding his arms over his chest. He dismisses the conversation by relaxing into the seat, and in a few minutes he’s fast asleep. Arthur sits in the quiet, embarrassed and angry at himself. Even then, he can’t help but glance to the front where he can make out the dark shape of Merlin’s head cradled against the window.
Morgan pops up from the seat in front of them, checks briefly to make sure Zach is actually asleep, and turns to Arthur. She reaches over the back of the seat and yanks out his earbuds. “I don’t care, you know. It’s actually sort of nice to see you act like a human. I didn’t realize you could be decent to someone.”
Arthur shifts and stares at the ceiling, pointedly ignoring her. “Go away, Morgan. Don’t you have anything better to do besides eavesdropping?”
“Nope. You were so happy this summer,” she says fondly, a little wistfully. She turns to look at Merlin and tells Arthur, “You should do what makes you happy.”
He looks nervously around him at the people either sleeping or plugged into their iPods. “It’s not that easy. Just leave off.”
Morgan frowns at him and puts her headphones back into her ears. “It must be so hard for you,” she says, “caring about your petty high school reputation so much.” She turns around and slumps back in her seat. He scowls and kicks the back of her seat twice before drawing his knees up to his chest for the rest of the ride home.
----
This is how the season ends:
Coach du Lac drives his top runners down to Camp Wilson where the state championships are held annually. He ends up taking three girls and three boys. The rest of the team rides down on a bus as spectators along with some friends and family. No one is surprised when Arthur and Morgan make it to finals, but even du Lac expresses some amount of shock at seeing Merlin on the roster along with two sophomores.
Gaius and Uther drop off Arthur and Merlin at the high school before carpooling themselves down to Camp Wilson. Arthur, a seasoned pro, takes only a light duffel bag with him, but Gaius tries to dump two suitcases onto Merlin who scowls and looks around desperately as they make a scene. He ruffles Merlin’s hair and tries to tell him how proud he is, and Merlin turns beet red, slowly backing away from the car with a pained smile on his face. When they leave, Arthur laughs and teases Merlin, pretends to coddle him a little as an excuse to brush against him and later helps him sort through all of his belongings until it fits into one bag.
They pile into the back seat, bringing Morgan with them while the underclassmen sit in front, and for four hours they endure Morgan’s cat-like wailing to her iPod. They engage themselves in a game of Would You Rather (“…eat horse dung or vomit?” “…wrestle an alligator or a venomous snake?” “…make out with a buffoon or Morgan’s grandma-ow!”) and then are lulled to sleep by the low hum of the tires on the freeway. Arthur wakes to a mouthful of hair and a stutter in his heart. Morgan smirks knowingly at him from her seat by the window.
Arthur revels in the fragile camaraderie he has developed with Merlin in the last two weeks. It’s paper-thin but still solid, something he can run his fingers over if he dares to. He’s careful not to call it a friendship. They are only two people who sometimes appear in the same place at the same time. It’s not everything Arthur wants it to be, but it’s something he feels less inclined to hide away from everyone else.
It’s a cloudy, windy day at the end of October. They squint into the wind and dirt that flies into their face, shielding themselves with their hoodies drawn over their eyes. Arthur feels the tight knot of apprehension tangle in his stomach when he looks at the competition. They all seem to be taller and leaner than he is, faster than the year before.
At the boys’ starting line, a crowd of red and gold appears bearing Tadita High sweatshirts. Morgan waves cheerfully at them, but she stays clumped with the other runners and away from the spectators. Even her usually peppy mood is dampened by nerves.
Uther tries hailing Arthur three times from the sidelines, but he pretends not to see it. Instead, he wanders closer to Merlin who has drawn into himself, staring out at the starting field. “Come on,” Arthur says to him. “Let’s go warm up.”
Merlin tags along with with reluctance, half-heartedly jogging in a loop around the starting field. Arthur leads them down part of the race course that bends through the woods which cut the wind, and they stop to stretch out their muscles. They can hear the chatter from the field, but can’t see anyone. It’s pleasant, almost as if they were on a summer run together.
“Fifteen minutes to start,” the announcer says, his voice booming in the open space. Merlin suggests they head back to the starting line. Arthur walks close to Merlin, presses their arms together so he can feel his body heat all the way back. He ignores the calls as their teammates cheer when they reappear and instead focuses on the warmth of the boy next to him.
Merlin is equally silent. Arthur wants to wish him good luck, but ends up simply resting his hand between his shoulder blades. They strip off their sweats, shivering in the sharp wind, and the officials separate them based on PR times.
“Five minutes to start,” the announcer says. Arthur loses sight of Merlin, hears the wind whipping in his ears. Other boys surround him, jogging in place, rubbing their arms up and down. He toes the white chalk line, peers out at his father’s stony face. A sort of tranquility settles over him as he waits, at the beginning of the end-his last year, his last season, his last race as a boy.
“Thirty seconds to start,” the announcer says. The field grows eerily quiet, and Arthur can taste metal in his mouth, feels all the runners lean forward like hounds, eager for the bait. He imagines his mother like this, what it must have felt like, if she would have been cowed by the wind.
“Ten seconds to start.” He wonders if his father had smiled then, what it sounded like to hear him cheer instead of his intense silence at every meet.
The starter lifts the gun. “On your mark.” Arthur thinks of Merlin, leaning forward, how he looked that first day so sullen and pale in the summer heat.
“Ready-”
The runners inhale a collective breath and the pistol fires. They kick forward, each boy on their own jockeying for position. Arthur files behind five boys, drafting behind them to save energy. They take the first corner that runs along the side of the woods that he and Merlin had wandered through, and then turn into a corn field. The stalks are as high as their heads, withering in the autumn chill. They whisper huskily in the wind as Arthur chases passed them.
The course loops around the field and back through a path in the woods that narrows and forces them to run single file. The runners break into two packs, and Arthur is clumped with about fifteen boys that he cannot see. He focuses putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the weightlessness of sprinting. The wind batters against his face, and he dares to press closer to the boys in front of him without tripping over their feet. The path is treacherous. Though the volunteers and staff went through and cleared the course beforehand, the wind knocks down new branches and twigs. The stormy sky makes it difficult to see where the dips and crevices are and Arthur nearly trips twice, cursing under his breath as he stumbles to regain balance.
Some of the spectators have moved to cheer them on at the exit of the woods. He passes Morgan and Zach in a blur waving little red and gold banners. Gaius tries to run with them for a few yards with his camera, all the while yelling, “Go Arthur! Go Merlin!” before exhausting himself. Arthur thinks Merlin must be close behind but loses that train of the thought the minute they hit the stream.
There’s no time to hesitate. The boys push through the water that comes up to their knees. It slows them down, the sand shifting unsteadily under the force of their feet, and when they emerge, their socks and shoes are laden with water. Several people trip behind, toppling into the faster current, and the pack separates again until the leaders dwindle down to six runners, their shoes squelching uncomfortably in a chorus of uncomfortable steps.
“Fuck me,” one boy says, and they half-laugh half-pant, whooping as they break away from the others.
For all the training, the two months of school and the summer before that, plus the dreaming and cutting out newspaper articles, and the collection of photos of Igraine on the wall, it’s the shortest sixteen minutes of Arthur’s life. Five minutes from the finish line, a drafter trips over the front runner’s feet while trying to pass on a narrow path. Arthur is five people deep and manages to react in time to avoid the pile up, but just barely. The whole front pack clogs enough to let the second group behind them catch up, and the two fallen runners lose their place in the lead even though they scramble to their feet.
Arthur’s adrenaline soars as he sprints forward, turning around the edge of the forest and back into the field where they started. He can see the orange cones and the finish line carrel decked with colorful flags. His legs kick underneath, his stride lengthening and quickening as du Lac runs frantically alongside the path yelling, “Go! Go! Faster!” his perfectly coifed hair in absolute disarray.
In his periphery, the shadow of another runner closes in on Arthur. His arms pump faster, his whole body careening forward against the wind, separating himself from the other boy. The flags are within reaching distance, and he physically puts out his arm and wraps his fist around the finish-line tape, ripping through it with the momentum of his body.
And then the sound hits him, the cheering and the bullhorns and cowbells. He feels a little lightheaded from the panting as his feet slow down, and he wants to scream but finds no voice, just throws his arms up over his head in relief and victory. Morgan jumps over the carrel fence yelling, “Oh my god! Oh my god!” and sprints-
-right past Arthur to throw her arms around… Merlin?
Arthur whips his head around, still gasping for air to look behind him. Merlin stands, smiling a little dopily, his head thrown back as he laughs, wrapping his arms around Morgan’s waist. Sweat drips from his hairline and down his throat, the neckline of his t-shirt drenched. He reaches a hand out and Arthur comes to him in a daze, tripping over his tired feet.
“…Wha?” Arthur pants, letting Merlin’s arm fall around his neck.
“I was right behind you! I could almost touch you I was so close!” Merlin yells over the noise, grinning with wild happiness. He shakes Arthur’s shoulder, and Morgan leads them in jumping up and down in a circle. Arthur hops up and down loosely, still uncomprehending until Coach du Lac runs over with an ecstatic grin on his face.
“I can’t believe it! You-you won!” he says to Arthur, hugging him. The entire Tadita High team hurtles over the carrel as the officials try to hold them back. They swamp around them in a mosh pit of hugging and tumbling.
And amidst the frantic celebrating, du Lac turns to Merlin and wraps him in a suffocating bear hug. “And you,” he says above the crowd. “You surprised us all.”
----
Coach du Lac allows the runners to ride home on the bus instead of the van. Arthur and Merlin get pulled in every direction and hardly have a moment together, but Arthur is so happy he can’t even be bothered by it. Anything he says or does or sees is followed by him thinking, ‘I won!’ in the bright neon letters of his mind. But it’s the thought of Merlin coming in second, making the all-state team that fills him from the inside out.
To the great reluctance of all the parents, Leah hosts a celebratory party at her lake house, though she doesn’t tell any of the parents that her family is out of town. Arthur suggests driving Merlin out there, suffers a lecture about drunk driving from Uther as Gaius looks on and an embarrassing moment when Gaius pulls Merlin in a hug and almost cries. Merlin scrambles into the Camaro in a panic and doesn’t think to ask if the transmission will break down again until they’re halfway to their destination.
(Arthur has his own moment with his father earlier in the privacy of his room while he dumps his belongings on the floor. Uther stands in the doorway watching his son, his hands loose and awkward at his sides. They make small talk about the course, commenting on Arthur’s muddy socks, and then Uther makes an aborted gesture of a hug that turns into a handshake. “She would have been so proud of you,” he says, and then amends with great effort, “I am proud of you.”)
Leah plies them with alcohol as soon as they show up. Zach immediately tackles Arthur and says to Merlin, “Sorry there’s no pot, bro,” in a not unkind way before pulling Arthur away and towards the girls. Merlin stands awkwardly with a beer by the wall.
The party is much like the bus ride home, everyone clambering for Arthur’s attention. The only difference is the music that thrums so loudly Arthur can feel it in floorboards. They keep passing him drinks: shit beer and fruity cocktails that he sips out of and sets down again before someone’s handing him another. Leah begs him to dance, which he agrees to reluctantly, and he spends the majority of the night on her living room floor between girls, buzzing on whatever is in his hand at the moment.
Somewhere along the way, Morgan sidles up to him, lets him put his hands on her waist-if only for a moment. They dance close but not too close, separated by their childhood spent together and a history of animosity. She hands him a glass of water and gives him a knowing look. “Isn’t there someone you should be talking to right now?”
Arthur whips his head around, trying to see above the heads in the crowd. “Where is he?” he shouts.
She looks behind her towards the porch before mouthing, “Outside.”
Arthur lifts his plastic cup to her before snaking through the dancers. He grabs his coat off the rack on the way out. On the porch, a couple makes out in the dark away from the living room. Arthur ignores them and makes his way to the door where he can see Merlin sitting on the steps leading towards the dock.
It’s peaceful outside, only the faintest thrum, thrum of the beat bleeding through the walls. Later, Arthur will remember this moment being the salient point of his senior year, not making the all-state cross country team or the first place finish. The biting air sobers him up as he opens his coat, and when he reaches Merlin he drapes it casually over his shoulders.
Merlin looks up at him and scoots over so Arthur can sit. “Hey,” he says, taking in Arthur’s flushed face. “You’re kind of drunk. Does this mean I get to drive the Camaro back?”
Arthur snorts. “I’m not that drunk. I’m sobering up at least. Why don’t you come inside and dance?”
“Does it look like I can dance?” Merlin jokes, exhaustion wearing thin around the corners of his mouth.
Arthur shrugs a little and shifts so he can see Merlin’s face properly. “We could go in and dance? Together, I mean.” The brisk air emboldens him, and he reaches out and lays his hand over Merlin’s between their bodies.
Merlin lets out a short, sharp exhale of air. He lets Arthur’s hand stay but doesn’t turn his palm up to meet Arthur’s fingers. Instead, he stares out at the lake blankly for a moment, his breath coming out in cool puffs. “What is it that you think we’re doing, Arthur?” he asks finally.
Arthur frowns and tightens his fingers over Merlin’s. “I-I don’t really know.”
“I know you don’t,” Merlin says with resignation. “You’re sweet. You have a good heart-I can see it. You just let other people get in the way of it.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“I know. I know, Arthur, and I’m grateful for that. But where do you think this will end up? You’re smart. You get good enough grades and are a champion. You’re popular. I’m still on the verge of flunking out and this running thing doesn’t change any of that, just proves that I’m fast.”
Merlin leans forward, presses a chaste kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth and holds himself there, breathing against his skin. Arthur tangles his fingers a little desperately in Merlin’s shirt, his mind reeling. “You’re going to be great, Arthur,” Merlin whispers. “And I want to thank you for giving me the best summer. So thank you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur breathes, bringing his hands to smooth over his jaw. He kisses him properly, and Merlin allows him for a moment before pulling away.
“Thank you, Arthur. But it’s time to end this.”
Merlin pulls away and stands, sliding the coat off of his shoulders before tucking it around Arthur. He looks at him fondly once more before traipsing away and back into the house.
----
In the end, Morgan finds him shivering on the steps, still a little drunk. She pulls his keys out of his pocket, and he lets her drive him and the Camaro home. They lie on his bed, his head resting in her lap, while she runs her fingers over his hair until he falls asleep.
Arthur doesn’t see Merlin at school. They have no classes together, and now that cross country’s over, no one’s obligated to come to practice, though a skeleton crew of diehard members still meets up throughout the winter to take on the icy roads. Sometimes he hears others talk about him. They saw him in such-and-such class, he got detention for mouthing off to so-and-so, and Arthur swallows the jealousy he feels knowing that others have seen him, spoken to him.
Sometimes if Gaius hasn’t left by the time Arthur gets home from school, he asks after Merlin (How is he? Does he still run? What are his plans after school? He’s well. He runs. Lord knows what that boy wants to do), but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth afterwards, so he just stops asking questions, tries to bury the ache for good.
It helps that in April, he finds out that he’s been awarded a partial scholarship to Washington State with work study in addition. Morgan gets accepted into Pacific University, a private school in Oregon where her father lives, and they make plans for a road trip over the summer to tour the entire West Coast. Then he has the ACTs and AP exams, and when someone remarks on how surprised they were to hear that Merlin Emrys kid is actually graduating, Arthur only pauses for a moment before passing on.
Through it all, Arthur runs.
In the summer, he wakes up one morning and pulls on his shorts, contemplates putting on a shirt, and fishes his running shoes from the closet. He pours himself a glass of milk, eats a slice of toast, and heads onto the trail.
It’s a bright but cool morning around Orenda Lake. He jogs the Wakanda Trail around the south bank, a good ten miles outside of town and listens to the loon calls, the steady rhythm of his footfalls and breathing. It’s a beautiful day, he thinks plainly. He’s grown to love this path, the peacefulness and the solitude. It’s good for the days when he just wants to be himself, when he doesn’t want to worry about packing all of his belongings and moving halfway across the country. As he runs along the dirt path, he muses over what shitty music Morgan might want to sing along to on their road trip, devising ways to secretly sabotage her iPod.
Something ahead of him catches his sight and derails his thoughts. He pauses when he sees a flash of white in the woods further up the trail, and it’s accompanied with a familiar ache, now receding, and a certain fondness too. Arthur’s certain the figure hasn’t caught sight of him yet, and so he spares a few seconds of quiet to watch the speck of brown hair bob up and down, pale legs stretching in front of that lanky body with ease.
Arthur lets this feeling go, the tightness in his chest. He remembers what his silence cost him, but also everything he’s gained, and so he carries it with him and resumes his run with the promise to be faster, to be stronger and better with every step.
----
End.
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Soundtrack + art