Christmas in July! Part 1!
Arthur had protested quite a lot, putting on a good show of resisting, before he allowed Gwen and Morgana to pull him out to the Uni courtyard. There was some ridiculous snowman building contest, and the girls had whined at him that they needed some muscle power to push the considerably large snowball across the lawn to gather more snow.
And as much as he had complained about how juvenile and time-wasting it was, he found himself having just a bit of fun. The sun was out, making the snow seem particularly bright and white. The other team was behind, as Arthur was currently rolling up the head, while they were still on the torso.
Morgana told him it wasn’t a race, but more about the finished product. Arthur had scoffed and said, ‘everything is a race.’
In the end they lost anyways. It seemed they had been competing against some freak of nature art students, who had sculpted a life like Santa face onto the snowman. The ‘impartial’ judge was one of the Modern Art History professors, and Arthur called shenanigans.
He challenged the other team to a rematch, via snowball fight, because that’s what manly men do in the snow. And it was pretty epic, as far as snowball fights go. And Arthur, being naturally competitive, found himself targeting one specific person on the other ‘team.’ (Team used loosely, since it basically devolved into everybody hitting everybody).
His new found nemesis looked like the epitome of the clichéd art student. He wore a floppy knit had with flaps that covered his ears, a pea coat splattered with what looked like clay, and a scarf that looked too thin and artfully done up to actually keep warmth out.
Long after mostly everybody gave up, Arthur and his mystery partner were still going at it. They had even gone as far as setting up forts and stockpiling snowballs. Arthur was inwardly giving rousing speeches to his ‘troops,’ which now only consisted of Gwen
“Come on, Arthur, give it up. It’s cold,” Gwen pleaded.
“Never give up!” Arthur shouted, launching a volley of snowballs over the other fort.
“Fine, you can keep going, but I’m going inside and getting some coa-coa, you nutter.”
“You’ll leave your general to fight alone! Coward!” Arthur cried. Gwen just rolled her eyes and dropped the snowball she had been holding and stood up.
She pulled a tissue from her pocket and waved it about, “We surrender!”
Arthur glared at her, “Traitor.”
“I’m doing you a world of good. See you inside,” Gwen said, marching away. Arthur stood up to face his nemesis.
They met in the middle, regarding each other shrewdly.
Up close Arthur noticed his opponent was actually quite attractive. He had very blue eyes behind his fogged up glasses, and his nose was cutely red.
His enemy extended his mittened hand, “Truce?”
Arthur eyed it for a long moment, before reaching out to shake it and nodding, “Truce.”
“I’m Merlin.”
“Arthur. Good fight.”
---
Merlin wasn’t even aware that the University had a ‘winter sports’ club. It seemed a pretty useless club. But Arthur and his step-sister were in the club, since they had been skiing since before they could walk, Merlin was sure. He wasn’t sure what it was about rich people, but they all seemed to ski. Like they were born with a gene that made them want to strap giant fiberglass poles to their feet and hurtle down a hill at frightening speeds.
Merlin didn’t see the appeal of it, but he went on this stupid ski trip with Morgana, Gwen, and Arthur anyways. They all became pretty close friends quickly. Except he and Arthur. Arthur was the all around sporty jock-type that Merlin was destined to be hopelessly attracted to but permanently out of reach. And plus, he was kind of a prat.
But Arthur was a necessary nuisance if he wanted to hang out with Morgana and Gwen.
The four of them all shared a small cabin together somewhere in the mountains, in the middle of nowhere, and it felt like a bad set up for a horrible horror movie. Merlin had been doing a lot of moping the first week, since he didn’t ski nor snowboard. He’d only been sledding, and that had been on significantly smaller hills, not mountains.
But they managed to get him out on a calm day. They strapped him into a pair of rented skis, and Morgana offered to hold his hand on the first run down.
He had scoffed and refused, because Arthur was laughing at him, and that was how he ended up with a twisted ankle after hitting a rock.
He was curled up in a blanket on the old worn out sofa, pouting and holding ice to his ankle when Arthur came in.
“Alright, Merlin?”
Merlin didn’t answer, just glared at Arthur.
“Hey, don’t be mad at me. It wasn’t my fault you wanted to show off.”
“It is all your fault, you prat.”
Arthur laughed, shoving Merlin’s feet out of the way, making Merlin hiss in pain at the manhandling of his ankle.
“Oops, sorry,” Arthur didn’t sound very apologetic as he held out a mug to Merlin, “I brought you coa-coa.”
Merlin felt oddly touched, and it was foolish of him to get his hopes up. He sniffed, accepting the mug from Arthur and smiling shyly, “Thanks.”
---
“I hate the mall during Christmastime,” Arthur ground out through grit teeth as he was rudely bumped into for the bajillionth time.
Merlin rolled his eyes, “Well, we wouldn’t have to be here while it’s so crowded if somebody had thought to do their Christmas shopping ahead of time.”
“How much longer?” Arthur absolutely did not whine.
“You sound like a little kid, Arthur. We’ve still got presents to pick up for your dad and step-mum,” Merlin said, checking the list Morgana had given him. She said Arthur couldn’t be trusted to go shopping by himself because everybody would end up getting gift cards to Starbucks, and she believed gifts should be personal.
“Can’t we just get them-”
“No we cannot get them gift cards, Arthur.”
“Fine. We can get dad a nose hair trimmer and Catrina a tooth brush, because her breath always reeks.”
“Aren’t you sweet,” Merlin said dryly. “How about you go get your dad something, and I’ll go pick something out for your step-mum, and we’ll meet back by the Mall-Santa in fifteen minutes.”
“Fine.”
They met up fifteen minutes later, Arthur carrying two wrapped gifts, and Merlin carrying a big black bag. He eyed Arthur’s gifts curiously.
“I got one for Catrina, too,” he explained.
“Oh. It’s not a toothbrush, is it?”
Arthur laughed, “No.”
“Oh. You can give her two then,” Merlin shrugged.
“Right. Can we leave now?”
“Yes, fine. I don’t see why you don’t like it. All the kids staring up at the lights, waiting to see Santa, the couples holding hands and kissing under the mistletoe, in the middle of the mall. I think it’s all very sweet.”
“You’re such a girl Merlin,” Arthur snorted. Merlin had gone quiet. “Is that what you want?”
Merlin sighed, “Yeah, a little, maybe.”
---
“Happy Christmakkah, Merlin!” Morgana chortled, holding out a shiny green gift bag to Merlin.
“Christmakkah?” Arthur asked.
“Yeah, my dad’s Jewish, so when I went over his house during the holidays, we’d celebrate Hanukkah,” Merlin explained.
“How come I didn’t know your were half-Jewish?” Arthur asked.
“You can’t be half-Jewish, Arthur. Judaism is a religion, not a race,” Gwen corrected, shoving her religious studies major in Arthur’s face.
“Whatever. How come I didn’t know?” Arthur asked.
Merlin shrugged. “You never asked.”
Arthur felt left out. Gwen and Morgana had known. He hadn’t.
“Don’t pout, Arthur. You’ll get wrinkles,” Merlin teased, then pulled out a large bag, handing out his gifts.
“I’m not pouting,” Arthur pouted, then tore the wrapping off his gift. “A watch?”
“Yeah. It’s a special watch though, it’s got a spy camera right here,” Merlin turned the watch to show Arthur, “Because you told me how you wanted to be a spy when you were little.”
Arthur was surprised Merlin remembered him telling him that. He was touched, and his gift felt inadequate compared to this. It was a hastily bought ‘Sculpture for Dummies’ book.
Merlin acted like it was the best thing in the world, though.
---
Arthur had made a hasty retreat from the Christmas party, making up some lame excuse about too much eggnog.
He returned to the party at the wee hours of the morning, and the party was all but dead. There were a few stragglers, too drunk to drive home or already asleep.
Merlin was still there, fiddling with puzzle Gwen had got him. He looked up when Arthur came in.
Arthur dug into his pocket and pulled out a badly wrapped bundle. Merlin unwrapped it, pulling out a stolen sprig of mistletoe.
“Arthur?”
“Happy Christmas, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, then kissed him.