Arthur/Merlin - If You Want Closure In Your Relationship... [Part 4]
Title: If You Want Closure in Your Relationship (start with your legs)
Author: tsumetaikaze
Chapter: 4 of 5
Fandom/Pairing: Merlin [Arthur/Merlin, Lance/Gwen, past Gwaine/Merlin, side Leon/Morgana, side Gwaine/Anything Willing]
Genre: Fluffy romance with a healthy dash of snarky humour, and a drop of semi-productive angst
Rating: R
Warnings: mild anxiety disorder (mostly humorous - explained in notes), waffling, too many words in general, attempts at being cultured and knowing what I’m talking about, boysecks.
Word Count: 52,000+ WHY IS IT SO LONG?
Summary: Merlin discovers he likes art but shelves a lot of strange books in between, and Arthur interrupts his down time by smiling - Merlin tries to find a way around it but it doesn’t really work out as planned, and there might be a little too much alcohol involved. Lance recites poetry along the way, maybe Morgana has a point and Gwen was right after all, and everyone knows Gaius is always right. Except when it came to the therapy. No one was right about the therapy.
[Part 1] - [Part 2] - [Part 3]
Turns out that Merlin’s notion of having a nice quiet lunch next door with Gwen could not have been more incorrect if he’d tried, because Morgana got wind of Arthur’s plans to join them and invited herself along as well. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but Morgana decided that if they were going to have lunch together, then they were going to have lunch together. So she adopts a Russian accent, makes up some bullshit story to Geoffrey about visiting cousins and sick relatives, bats her eyelashes more than is probably necessary and ends up scoring them an hour and a half lunch break.
Gwen panics about whether that’s extortion or manipulation or something, is declared not allowed to speak until they’re in the restaurant by Morgana, and Arthur just shakes his head like this happens all the time and follows them out.
Lunch is full of looks from Gwen and Morgana, insinuating eyebrows, and polite lamenting that Lance isn’t here to join them. Personally, Merlin's over the moon that Lance isn’t here, because the man has an uncanny knack for being able to tell what both Merlin and Arthur are thinking at any given time, and while he can’t vouch for Arthur’s train of thought, Merlin’s has derailed somewhere between Arthur’s throat and his hair and is unable to concentrate on much else.
He doesn’t need Morgana’s smirk from across the table to tell him that he’s ogling Arthur like a piece of meat and not the person everyone’s sure he is deep down, but that’s okay, because Merlin’s come to terms with his attraction and has never really had much shame when it comes to staring. Arthur doesn’t have much going for him in the way of personality anyway, at least nothing he can discern, so Merlin reasons that he’s there to be looked at and doesn’t feel bad about being horrifically shallow.
Well, at least he can feel reassured that he doesn’t like the bastard.
They still share eye rolls whenever Gwen accidentally insults the waitress in a way that only becomes insulting once she apologises for it, they still kick each other under the table when one pokes fun at the other, and they still team up to guilt-trip Morgana when she flirts shamelessly with the doorman, but Merlin doesn’t like him.
Perhaps it’s not so easy to tell the difference though, because while Merlin is entirely convinced that Arthur sold his soul for his looks (and he is totally, utterly fine with that, to be honest), he may or may not arrive at Gwen’s for dinner after their second date (a friendly lunch on Merlin’s day off, between friends) with a never-ending smile on his face and laughter still on his lips.
He’s - well, he’s had a good time. They talked, for starters. It wasn’t all ‘I like long walks on the beach at sunset’, but more ‘I like going through old bookshops and picking out all the medieval art books’, and that’s probably more up Merlin’s street anyway. It got a little ‘My father is an overbearing tyrant’ and ‘Mine left when I was negative five months’ there for a while, but they diverted from that track early on and spent far too much time laughing at the doddering old lady who runs the bookshop and hands out sweets.
And Merlin said sorry. He looked Arthur in the eye, took a breath, and apologised.
“For what?” Arthur asked, eyebrows creasing.
Merlin stared at him, scrunched his napkin in his fist over and over and refused to break eye contact as the silence stretched. “I was out of line, unreasonable, and selfish,” he said finally. Then - “And really, really rude,” he added, wrinkling his nose at himself in distaste.
Arthur just stared at him, eventually gave a simple nod and a “Yes,” and that was that.
There was no discussion, no delving into the deeper issues at hand, or getting right to the root of the problem and talking it out - which Merlin doesn’t think he would have been able to handle anyway, not after all those therapy sessions making him feel like an awful person but not really knowing why. But in a way, Merlin’s not sure it really matters so much anymore. They ‘got off on the wrong foot’, as Arthur initially described, and now it’s in the past and they are their own sort of fine. Merlin still has his Fridays, he still eats with Morgana and gossips like an old woman (“Leon’s just so strong when he -“ “What is it with you women and thinking I want to know the details!”), and Arthur understands Merlin’s need for structure and routine and a place to clear his head and/or have panic attacks on his own. They’ve reached the point where it’s all pretty much okay. But while Merlin knows that the real nitty gritty discussion about feelings and whatever will crop up eventually (and when it does it will be spectacularly uncomfortable), for now he is perfectly content with staring at Arthur’s hands as they fly over the keypad to punch in Merlin’s number, eyeing his throat when he swallows, marvelling at the way the weakening sunlight refracts off his hair, and following the line of that jaw whenever he turns to look out the window.
And he knows, for once in this whole big mess, that he has definitely done the right thing.
“You just missed Gwaine,” Gwen is saying as he walks in the door, setting out plates. “He just popped in to - what are you so happy about then?”
Merlin stalls, realising that he hasn’t even told Gwen about their first date yet, and now he’s onto their sort-of-third and she’s really not going to be happy with him.
“Is he coming back?” he says instead, figuring that if he has to tell all then he might as well kill two birds with one stone.
She narrows her eyes. “No. What’s happened?”
Merlin looks to the ceiling for a moment, sighing in a very put-upon way, and drops his keys on the dresser as he continues into the wide open plan area. “Nothing,” he says dismissively. “Just had a good day.”
Lance’s head pops up over the kitchen bench from where he’s been rooting through the cupboards, and says with a chuckle, “What, did Arthur get run over properly this time?”
Merlin blinks, surprised for a moment, before countering it with an innocent, clueless smile. “No, what? Where did that come from?”
“You were with him today, weren’t you?”
“Er, I -“
“He mentioned something last night when he dropped round at mine.” Lance is frowning now, thoughtful, then he winks. “Still talks about you all the time, it’s hard to remember what day he said what.”
And doesn’t that give Merlin a jolt of something that makes him want to punch the lady therapist in the face.
Suddenly there’s a clattering of china and a tiny, restrained squeal and Gwen is pushing him onto a kitchen stool as she takes a seat on the one next to him, her eyes wide and there’s a breathless, windswept quality about her that makes her look almost wild. “Tell me everything,” is all she says, and Merlin feels a sense of doom settle all around him.
He feels very, very trapped, and knows for certain that it isn’t his mind making things up this time. His eyes dart between his two friends, one trying and failing to hide his curiosity and the other not even bothering to pretend she cares about the meaning of the word privacy, and the smile that just won’t budge still doesn’t let up. He’s not doing himself any favours, he knows that, and Gwen’s going to read too much into absolutely everything because of it, right down to why he wore blue today instead of black or rainbow, so there’s just no helping it, really.
“You two are too nosy for your own good,” he mutters through his teeth, looking determinedly at the bench top.
He doesn’t need to be looking to see Gwen’s eyes light up and that playful grin spread wide as she pokes him in the ribs. “So something did happen!”
“Nothing happened, all right? We just had lunch.”
“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” Gwen smirks under her breath, but Merlin chooses to ignore her in favour of paying attention to Lance’s only slightly less suggestive, “Was it a late lunch then? Because it’s barely gone six and you’ve only just come back...” His voice has that horrible knowing quality about it and Merlin hates it.
“It was a standard lunch at the standard time in a standard café.” He pauses, then, “and we may have talked for hours which would explain why I’m late.”
“And that dorky grin,” Gwen adds.
“I do not have -“
“Yes you do,” she interrupts, raising her eyebrows at his indignant glare.
Lance chuckles, and Merlin sulks. “I hate you both.”
“We are awful, aren’t we?” Gwen beams. “Now, what was so fascinating that you missed pre-dinner snacks?”
Merlin shrugs, looking at his hands now, and plays with his fingers. “Nothing. Everything. God that’s -“
“Frightfully sappy,” Lance supplies, and Merlin can’t help but breathe out a laugh.
“Still don’t think he’s a good guy,” he says sternly, raising a hand to point an accusing finger at Lance. “I’ve come to the conclusion that he sold his soul in exchange for his good looks.”
Gwen’s laughter peals throughout the flat and she covers her mouth with her hand, eyes shining in a way that says ‘oh you are hopeless’ in a bewildered sort of fashion, but in the background Lance is quietly asking, “You talked? About - you know - his family and all?”
The weight behind that question is almost tangible, and Merlin shifts on the stool, pushing his index finger against his thumb absently. “It came up, but - not one for deep and meaningfuls, Arthur and I.”
Lance nods slowly and Merlin isn’t stupid enough to miss what he’s trying to imply, so he makes a joke about how he was so distracted by the light bouncing off Arthur’s hair and the hypnotising hum of his voice that he just couldn’t bear to part from such a masterpiece, so how about the cheese and biscuits, then? They’re both rolling their eyes and telling him to stop being so gay, when he can’t help but retort, “Oh come off it, I guarantee I’m not the only one of you to think it.”
Gwen sighs wistfully, leaning against his shoulder and staring off into the far reaches of the high kitchen cupboards. “Oh, well… That hair, yes.”
“And the jaw,” Merlin adds.
“Gosh, the arms.”
“And - oh and that neck.”
“Neck? Arse, more like. You can’t possibly tell me you haven’t been looking.”
“Oh please. I’m human, Guinevere, not superman.”
“And I know how girly you get whenever he smiles.”
“And that laugh is -“
“Pity about the teeth.”
“I like his teeth,” Merlin says a little too quickly, and he is suddenly very aware of how much he is blushing and how intently both Lance and Gwen are staring at him. There’s a couple of second’s heavy silence, when all of a sudden Gwen’s eyes are almost bulging out of their sockets, her hand is on her mouth and she’s not doing a very good job at smothering the mother of all evil grins. “You…” she starts, muffled through her fingers. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
She moves her hand to rest against her own cheek and says, stunned, “You like his teeth.”
“Er. I… might.”
“You like his teeth. You like - you like him.”
Merlin stares. And stares. And blinks a few times, then clears his throat. “I’m sorry?”
“You like him!” She’s practically squealing now. “In that - you like him like that. Oh my gosh, Merlin, you -“
“I do not like him ‘like that’! My brain is just undergoing chemical and hormonal transformations because it wants me to have sex with him!” He clamps his mouth shut, ears on fire, eyes wide and brain trying to invent a way to eat his words but drawing up blanks.
“You mean you want to have sex with him,” Gwen smirks.
“No!” Merlin insists, desperate. “My brain does!”
“I’ve heard my fair share of excuses, Merlin - oh but yours takes the cake.”
And then Lance is bursting into raucous laughter, long and loud, and slapping a palm down on the bench top as he gasps, “Gwen said you - said you thought he was fit, but - oh this is brilliant, mate!”
And Merlin looks on with a gradually horrified expression, as Gwen complains, “You never tell me anything anymore, you big prude,” and Lance won’t stop grinning - and he wonders exactly what he has just done.
*~*
Merlin doesn’t see Arthur for the next few days, and while a tiny part of him has reverted back to that irrational fear of blondes in suits, a much larger part is rejoicing that he isn’t rostered on with Gwen at all for the rest of the week either, so he can have his meltdown in peace.
He has decided to forget her accusations, pretend they were never uttered in his presence, and resume life as per usual. He does well, and has completely convinced himself that Gwen is just reliving her hysterical teenage years and therefore not in her right state of mind, until Friday comes around and he finds himself sitting in front of the Primavera, wondering what it would be like if Arthur were to come down that staircase, sit beside him, and perhaps press a thigh against his own.
He barely has time to try and focus on the painting and push the phantom feelings away, remember that Arthur intruding is the reason for his temporary bout of certified insanity, before Morgana is sweeping into the room and giving him a concerned once-over.
“You look like you’re having a breakdown.”
Merlin jolts, his leg starts twitching a little, and he scratches his head. “Something like that.”
She creases her designer eyebrows, tilts her head, then extends a soft hand out to him for contemplation. It takes him a while, knowing that he’s about to jump in the deep end, but he reaches out with a tiny hitch to his breath.
She smiles at him as he gets to his feet, and winks and says, “Come on, you. We’ll have a deep and meaningful Gwen will be positively green over.”
“It won’t involve therapy again, will it?”
She laughs, leading him up the stairs, and promises him nothing of the sort.
Merlin tries to clear his head as they sit down in the cloudy sunshine, he does. He attempts to explain how he feels, but the fact is he doesn’t know, and he’s having trouble coming to terms with that. He’s waffling, of that at least he’s certain, and he even stumbles back to saying ‘like’ or ‘you know’ every second word like a teenager who’s drunk so much their loss of brain cells is audible. But eventually, eventually he gets somewhere. Somewhere that Morgana understands, at least, because when he’s finished bumbling his way through their first date and his panic attack in the bathroom, through the third where they really did have a great time, and then onto Gwen’s accusations, he can’t stop the desperation creeping into his voice and she reaches over the table to hold his hands in both of hers.
He stops making concertina folds in the empty sugar packets and sighs, unintentionally forlorn and helpless and frustrated, and everything he feels but isn’t willing to show.
“The first step is admitting you have a problem,” Morgana says, with a tiny, hidden smirk that reminds him so much of Arthur that it hurts just a little bit.
“Not helping,” he gripes.
She sighs and squeezes his hands, pursing her lips for the briefest of seconds. “I’m not saying having feelings for Arthur is a problem, Merlin, really. The only problem is that you seem to think it’s a problem.”
“And the fact that he said he wants to be friends, is socially incapacitated, would probably only stoke his ego with the information if he knew, and is basically a bastard who honestly, as a genuine person I don’t like all that much. Morgana, how is this not a problem?”
“If you would listen to me, maybe you’d see.”
He tries to pull his hand away, lets out a breath of frustration and jerks his knee up and down when all she does is grip tighter, and lowers his gaze to sulk at the table. Taking it as the surrender it is, she continues.
“I’m sure everyone has told you time and time again that Arthur is a good person. Confused, maybe, but on the whole good. You know he is, otherwise you wouldn’t have started to tolerate him in the capacity you do now. If you honestly believed him to be a terrible man you would never have agreed to have coffee with him, you would never have agreed to the countless date-like scenarios you two have found yourselves in recently, and you would not be having your little emotional - whatever - at the moment.” She creases her brow and looks at him intently, eyes boring into his and compelling him to see reason. “Don’t you understand? You know, you really know, that you fancy him. You complain and you moan and you groan but when it all boils down, you care about Arthur a lot. It makes no difference how you feel about him on the surface - I believe you one hundred percent when you tell me that he drives you completely mental - but underneath you care more than you know.”
Merlin’s stopped breathing at some point there, and when her look turns slightly desperate he lets it out, tearing his eyes away to squint in the glare coming through the window. His knee stops shaking and he stops tensing his hands as he goes completely still, and wills himself to be calm about this, and really listen to what Morgana, his friend, is trying to tell him.
“You’re okay, Merlin. This is all okay,” she’s telling him, and he has to believe her.
Because if he doesn’t, if he really is just setting himself up for heartbreak and disaster and everything his anxiety makes him believe, then he doesn’t know how he’ll come out of it. He does care for Arthur, he knows it. Somehow he became friends with a madman and ended up falling for him - if not head over heels then at least head over knees - and he has to believe that’s okay.
“I’m just…” he tries, and Morgana gives his hands another encouraging squeeze. “I don’t like him the way a friend would. I could probably never have a laugh with him over the football or spend hours talking on the phone because we just don’t - we don’t work that way. But I care about him in that…” He sighs, finally tugs away his hands and pushes his head into them, elbows on the table’s edge. “I’ve skipped the part where we learn to be friends and jumped right into wanting to cook him dinner and play with his hair and - and shag his brains out.”
“Didn’t need that mental image.”
“Oh god I am so sorry -“
“It’s fine, trust me. I understand.”
Merlin rolls his eyes, face hot. “And I didn’t need that mental image.”
Morgana gives him a cheeky grin and a, “But Leon’s just so -“
“Not going to be impressed when he finds out how much your last pair of shoes cost.”
She glares. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Let me have my emotionally traumatising moment and you can have your credit card debt.”
“So sorry, do continue.”
He smiles a small, breakthrough smile and leans back in his seat, arms stretched out before him and back to toying with the sugar packet. He lets the silence wash over him for a moment, not sure what else to say. There’s nothing he can say, really. Morgana understands in a way Gwen won’t, simply because she knows Arthur better than anyone and knows exactly what it is Merlin is having a hard time coming to terms with, whereas Gwen has only seen Arthur’s charming do-gooder side and won’t see anything else.
Gwen is so determined to see the good in everyone that she can’t understand why he and Arthur are so opposed on almost every count, that every time Merlin complains about him she looks pained and confused like she’s not sure where he’s coming from. Arthur doesn’t understand why Merlin would want to potter around in a dingy library and shelve books when he could do so much more and earn so much more, and Merlin can’t understand why Arthur works for his father simply because ‘he’s my father’.
Where Morgana sees it as honestly jarring personality traits that will take work and consideration and care, Gwen just sees Merlin with an anxiety disorder and distrust for the upper classes rendering him blind to something that could be. Where Gwen will hold his hands and say to him, “Arthur is a decent person, Merlin, you’ve got to stop being so unreasonably terrified,” Morgana will hold his hands and say to him, “Arthur’s a selfish arse, you’re at opposite ends of the scale and that’s just the way it is. Life sucks. Work with it.”
He must look woeful, because there’s the lightest touch of a hand on his back and a quiet voice in his ear saying, “Something to cheer you up, sir,” and a small jam biscuit with a smiley face on it being placed in front of him on a crisp, white saucer.
He looks up as the brusque waitress slinks away, weaving between the tables until she’s back behind the counter and allowing him the shortest of nods. He gives a nod of his own in reply, looks down at the biscuit before him and can’t help but smile up at Morgana.
“Is it okay? All… this?”
She smiles that wide, honest smile that doesn’t happen very often but when it does is a thing to be remembered, and reaches across to lay a warm hand over his. “Of course it is.”
He looks at her, really looks, and lifts his eyebrows to convey as much meaning as he can. “But is it okay?”
She opens her mouth, closes it again, and he pinpoints the exact moment where she realises what he’s implying. She places her hands in her lap and straightens in her seat. “I am not about to -“
“Morgana,” Merlin insists, conscious of the time slipping away before he has to start his afternoon shift, and knowing how long it can take to pry something out of her.
She purses her lips, remains closed off for several seconds longer, before letting her lips quirk minutely. “It’s okay,” she confirms.
And as a familiar voice floats into the café and Merlin looks across to see Arthur waving some paper around in some poor soul’s face, he can’t help but go all warm and sappy and girly inside when Arthur’s eyes meet his across the room and gives him a wide, sudden smile.
It’s okay.
*~*
“Gwaine, you lazy sod, hurry up! I’ve already been up an hour, ridden the tube and got here in time to get your sorry arse out of bed. ”
There’s a thud, a loud curse, and a series of footsteps punctuated by the sound of boxes being booted out the way by a disgruntled Gwaine.
“All right, all right, keep your hair on.”
Merlin folds his arms, giving his friend a look that clearly reads ‘this is my unimpressed face’ as he waits. “If you don’t hurry up all the good ones will be gone.”
“The good ones are always gone,” Gwaine grunts, shrugging into a windcheater to ward off the morning’s chill. “Doesn’t make a difference how bloody early we get there.”
“Probably because your version of early and mine are seven hundred worlds apart, now move it.”
“Yes, sir!”
Merlin claps a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder as they head out of the tiny, decrepit townhouse that Gwaine has scored himself under what Merlin is sure is questionable circumstances (“Family inheritance!” “What family inheritance?”), and looks dubiously at the overgrown garden as they head down the path. “You ever going to do anything with this? House like this would be worth a fortune.”
Gwaine scoffs. “A house is a house, mate. My plan is to earn enough money to pay someone to do it up. I don’t care much what it looks like, but Mum would have a fit if she saw it now, so best respect the dead and blah blah. Eventually.”
“Of course.” A short silence. “You still haven’t got a job, have you?”
“Nope.”
“Or finished moving in.”
“Negative.”
“Got the electricity going yet?”
Gwaine laughs and shrugs, “Candles and barbecues and the family inheritance all the way, mate.”
“That ‘inheritance’ didn’t get you very far, did it?”
“Got me around the world and a house to come home to, that’s all I care about.”
“You are hopeless,” Merlin sighs.
“That I am, but it’s why you all love me and will help if I’m ever in a pickle, right?”
Merlin rolls his eyes nudges and Gwaine to the side as they walk, causing him to stumble onto the road for a moment before righting himself. “Of course,” he sighs. “You big leech.”
Gwaine just grins that carefree, fun-loving grin and strolls along with his hands in his pockets, hair lifting in the cool breeze and whistling as they walk. Merlin watches him out of the corner of his eye and wonders at the real reason he’s been neglecting to confide in him the past couple of week’s events - then realises that it’s of absolutely no consequence to Gwaine whether he does or doesn’t know. They’re blokes, after all. Keep things inside, all that. A friendship based more on what they don’t say than what they do, and that’s perfectly fine.
Merlin pushes his fringe out of his eyes as the wind catches it when they round a corner onto the riverbank, and notes, not for the first time in recent months, that he really needs a haircut.
There are people milling about beneath the arches already, rows and rows of tables covered in any book you could ever think of, and Merlin picks up his pace. He hasn’t been here since his mum visited last Christmas, and he’s hoping to find some old sixties cookbooks for Gwen’s birthday. Maybe a book on wedding cakes to scare Lance.
They get stuck in right away, approaching the first table in a long, long line and laughing at the little oddities they find. Before long Merlin notices that Gwaine already has three books - two on bartending, and one on business management, and after wondering how lost he is in his own world not to notice Gwaine buying them while standing right beside each other, Merlin smiles to himself. Suddenly he knows what Gwaine will be doing for the next several years, if not where he’ll be doing it, and vows to help him every step of the way.
“What are you gawking at?” Gwaine asks, waving a hand in his face.
“Nothing,” Merlin grins, then adds in a low, conspiratorial voice, “I know your plans.”
Gwaine glances down at yet another bartender’s handbook and snorts with amusement. “Brilliant! Then you know you’ll be my test subject. Thanks, mate.”
Merlin suddenly finds something very interesting in another direction, and sidles away without a word. He’ll help him, but he thinks compromising his liver might be a step too far. He ignores Gwaine laughing in the background and keeps walking down the row, asking sellers if they have what he’s looking for. It’s at least an hour later, as he’s flicking through a possible present for Gwen and wondering if he should maybe buy a renovator’s handbook for Gwaine as well when he hears an all-too-familiar voice send his heart into overdrive.
“If I’m not going to pay twelve pounds then it’s hardly likely I’m going to pay fifteen, is it now?”
A weedy, suspicious voice retorts, “Ten pounds then,” as Merlin smiles to himself in amused disbelief. Rich wanker.
“Don’t be absurd - look at it. It’s falling apart! It’s certainly not worth ten. I’ll -“
“Why do you want it so much, then?”
Merlin turns just in time to see Arthur roll his eyes. “I’ve run out of kindling. Five pounds.”
“Eight.”
“Five.”
“Done.”
“Thank god.”
“You cheap bastard,” Merlin says in his ear.
Arthur whirls around faster than Merlin can track, and in a matter of seconds has his forearm pressed against throat and his free hand raised, palm out, ready to grab anything coming his way. His eyes are fierce in the split second it takes for him to realise that it’s Merlin exclaiming, “Jesus,” and therefore completely harmless, and he lowers his guard to ruffle Merlin’s hair.
“I need all my pennies to support Morgana’s shopping habit, seeing as she won’t earn any herself.”
Merlin raises an eyebrow and tries to duck away from Arthur’s hand, still reeling. “She works harder than you, I’ll bet.”
Arthur actually laughs. “Outwitting the stocks is the only thing capable of covering the cost of her last outing, believe you me.” He waves the book in Merlin’s line of vision before tucking it under his arm. “I’ll save up any way I can.”
“And then spend shocking amounts of money on that suit, no doubt.”
“This tie alone was ninety pounds.”
Merlin just shakes his head, not trusting himself to say anything not involving burning outrage, and notices Arthur looking curiously at the book in his hand. He says, “Gwen,” by way of explanation and rolls his eyes along with Arthur at the thought of girls, honestly, and adds a little, they’re almost as bad as you on the end of his own.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks, starting back towards the stall he’d left Gwaine at earlier, rooting through books on how to make cocktails that will knock your socks off.
“I do like to leave the gallery from time to time, you know,” Arthur retorts.
“Well yes - I meant what are you doing here?”
“Buying books?”
Merlin mock-glares. “You are impossible.”
Arthur just starts up that sideways smile and elaborates, “So sorry. I am here to buy old art books from this second hand book market that is currently taking place, and to rob these poor, penniless stall-holders of every honest pound in their pockets.”
Merlin frowns, opts to ignore that last remark, and wishes he could ignore that playful smirk as easily. It is hopelessly distracting, and all efforts are fruitless. “Art books?” is all he manages, in a futile attempt to keep the conversation going on any sensible track that isn’t ‘you’re pretty when you smile’.
Arthur gives him that ‘are you truly an idiot?’ look as they stop behind a couple of people in line for the stallholder, and says, “Yes, art. It may have escaped your notice, Merlin, but it is in my job description to source art for exhibitions. For the art gallery. That I work for.”
Merlin’s trying not to smile too much when he realises that he does a lot of that around Arthur, and suddenly feels like he should be a lot more concerned about that than he is. “Can’t you just buy new books with the oodles of money you earn?”
Arthur sniffs and wrinkles his nose in a way that Merlin instantly files away under Adorable Things Arthur Does, Seemingly Without Realising. “Modern art is full of glorified wanking material for impoverished art students whose only commendable quality is the sheer force of their hope. Why would I buy that trash?”
Merlin pauses at that, reluctantly thoughtful, and settles with a simple, “Pfft - and Morgana says you don’t even like art…”
“Morgana says a lot of things, most of them lies.”
There’s a brief moment where Merlin prays that ‘It’s okay’ isn’t one of those supposed lies because he would really, desperately, sincerely hope for it to be a very solid truth right now, before he composes himself with a stern talking to about it not being conducive to suddenly realise why this could all go spectacularly wrong while Arthur is standing in front of him. “I still don’t see how buying that old book is sourcing exhibition material.”
Arthur sighs, his expression reading something like ‘stop humouring me, you frustrating sod’, and says, “Well clearly I’m not - were you naturally born this thick? Is it a gift? Or do you put it on to make me want to claw my eyes out?”
Merlin’s grin is wide and sincerely unapologetic as he sings, “It’s all for you, Arthur.”
“Oh how kind.”
“When you’re done with your little - doing whatever it is that gets you off, I’d like to say my farewells.”
The voice comes directly from Merlin’s right and they both spin their heads to find the source - it being a thoroughly amused Gwaine carrying a green bag full of books with either the words ‘cocktail’, ‘bar-tending’, or ‘do it yourself’ somewhere in the title. He’s looking between their twin baffled expressions, and interrupts before Merlin can stutter out a mortified statement brimming with denial.
“I’ll still see you later on, right?”
Merlin closes his mouth and nods, fully aware that his face is heating up because Gwaine knows. He knows and all Merlin can do is be thankful that he’s almost as macho as Arthur and will therefore offer him a conciliatory slap on the back and that’s as far as the conversation will go.
“Good man. Do you want to join, Arthur? Just proving to Merlin that I can cook like a master now because the ungrateful whelp won’t believe me, nothing special, but you’re welcome if you like.”
Arthur laughs, says, “Merlin will be eating his words, I don’t doubt, but no I think I’ll pass. I have a breakfast meeting tomorrow morning.”
Gwaine makes a disgusted ‘but it’s Sunday’ face and offers his condolences, before pulling Merlin into a rough one-armed hug and whispering gruffly into his ear, “You be careful, you hear?”
Merlin doesn’t really have anything to say to that, so he just returns the brief hug, lifts his hand in farewell as Gwaine turns away and does the same. Arthur is watching him leave without a word, and the thoughtful crease of his brow makes Merlin itch to know what he’s thinking because it’s an expression not seen very often. Before he can form the words to ask, however, Arthur is looking down at the kid with a mop of curly hair in front of them in line. He’s clutching a battered, worn-out copy of Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in one hand, and counting out coins painfully slow on the display table with the other.
Merlin wonders how long this has been going for, and judging by the forced grin on the old seller’s lined face, just the wrong side of too long.
Arthur seems to think so too, because suddenly he’s leaning over the boy’s head and saying loudly, “One pound fifty? Really? Hardly worth one pound alone, that rag.”
Merlin clutches the back of his jacket in a panic and pulls him back to a respectful distance, eyes wide with shock. “Arthur!” he hisses. “You can’t go round telling children that what they’re buying is a worthless rag.”
“But it is.”
“I can afford it, sir, really!” They both look down at the high, pleading voice. “I’ve saved my pocket money this week and -“
“That’s all you’ve got?”
“Arthur.” Merlin pushes one palm against his eyes, exhales loudly, and groans, “Leave the poor kid alone.”
“It’s all I’ve got, sir.” The boy’s voice has dropped and adopted a heart-wrenching quality to it, and Merlin feels instantly guilty for everything he has ever done wrong. “I’d really like the others, too…”
“Can’t you just carry on like a normal child until you get your way and your parents buy it for you?” Arthur asks, so honestly surprised that Merlin can’t help but drag a hand down his face and sigh.
“Already tried that, sir. Ma says I have to pay for them all myself.”
Merlin barks out a depreciative laugh and Arthur puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, crouching down to his level. “You shouldn’t be wasting your savings on silly books, kid.”
“They’re not just books -“
“Silly books.”
“- they’ll be his childhood.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re just books, Merlin.” Arthur doesn’t even look up at him, just holds his hand up for silence as the old lady behind the stall takes a breath of protest and Merlin mutters quietly, “You just don’t get it” - and looks back to the wide-eyed boy. “You should be investing,” he says. “You should go back home and tell your mother that you want to open up a bank account to keep all your savings in. She’ll be proud as anything.”
Merlin’s brain decides it’s had enough, so he says shortly, “I’ll be over there,” and walks off in a vague leftward direction.
Arthur completely ignores him, which is probably for the best, so he busies himself by flicking through what appear to be crocheting manuals mixed with potato classifications, and restrains from looking over his shoulder when there’s a loud shout of delight followed by a, “Thank you, sir! You’re the best!”
Grumbling under his breath about how it’s impossible for Arthur’s head to get any bigger anyway, he puts down The Potatoes of Bolivia by Their Breeding, Value and Evolutionary Relationships when the boy runs past with a bulging paper bag tucked into his chest. He looks across at Arthur, who is pocketing his wallet and looking - well, a little disgusted.
Merlin strolls over, finally pays the old lady for Gwen’s books and raises his eyebrows without a word.
“Shut up,” Arthur says. “At least he understands the value of saving now.”
Merlin simply swipes Arthur’s book into the bag he’s just been given, takes a brave step forward and loops his arm through Arthur’s as an inexplicable warmth flows through him. “You big softie,” he grins quietly.
Arthur lets a tiny smile escape at that, somehow still managing to look offended at the same time, and Merlin wonders if this can be counted as a fourth, if rather impromptu, date.
“Come on,” Arthur huffs, squaring his shoulders and picking up the pace. “We’ve still got all that to dig through. No time to waste.”
And Merlin can’t wipe that bloody smile off his face as the hours slip by, the sun passing high overhead so that no one can decide if they need their jacket on or off. Arthur fights Merlin’s wallet-waving at the coffee stand and the sandwich bar and they argue loudly over how girly Arthur’s coffee order is. Merlin finds a few Russian texts he knows Gaius has been keeping his eye out for, and buys himself a couple of reference books along with some nonsense novels to pass the time. He gets Things Rich Kids Have, But You Never Will waved in his face and laughed at like a three year-old for it, and Merlin stops talking to him for an hour. He breaks the silence when he laughs at the way Arthur’s face lights up over some long-dead artist’s biography that Merlin has never heard of (“Do you realise how influential this man was in shaping today’s art history education?” “Er - very?” “You uncultured waste of space”), and is rendered speechless when Arthur sweeps his fringe back, searches his eyes and declares, “Goodness, there really is nothing resembling intelligence in there,” after a snappy argument about the importance of story-telling. Merlin is quite frankly too busy trying not to jump Arthur’s bones to be properly offended, but still manages to shut Arthur up by saying, “So why did you buy that boy the box set?”, and counts it as a win.
Late afternoon sees them shrugging their jackets on once and for all in the weak afternoon sun, sitting at the window bench of a bar, and finally enjoying a bit of silence. Merlin’s having a few simultaneous battles with himself, wondering if he’s sitting too close or too far away - is it obvious? Has Arthur noticed the staring? Or the intermittently-shaky hands? Should he be talking right now - is he making it awkward? But then if he does talk he’ll probably say something stupid which would make it awkward and -
“Stop thinking so loud.”
Merlin bites his lip. “Sorry.”
Arthur’s looking at him again, Merlin knows it, but he can’t bring himself to meet his gaze. It’s the same look he was given after their first date, the quietly calculating one, trying to pull Merlin apart piece by piece but unable to quite work out where to start. Merlin doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know what to make of much at the moment, because Arthur bought a little boy the box set of Harry Potter, and that means Merlin has fallen so far he’s not sure he’ll ever get back up. Perhaps if he keeps telling himself that it was only bought in a fit of trying to teach the kid to invest his bloody pocket money then maybe he’ll be okay, but Arthur’s still looking at him like that and it’s not helping the situation, so he stares out the window.
“So, er… you and Gwaine, huh?” Arthur asks at length, hesitant.
Merlin raises an eyebrow and glances sidelong at him. “Me and Gwaine what?”
Arthur clears his throat. “Are you - well, are you - you know. Together.”
Merlin’s lips twitch as he repeats, “Are we together together, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I see.”
Merlin laughs and sucks in a breath, nodding. “Used to be, yes, but he could never settle down properly and when everything blew up with his family, and I -“ he cuts himself off, then finishes with a shrug, “He left. We’re friends again now, doesn’t matter.”
Arthur nods slowly, flicking the coaster between his fingers on the tabletop, and says eventually, “Was it hard?”
“What, him leaving?”
He nods again, and Merlin tilts his head, not sure where this is going but his instincts telling him he should give Arthur what he wants. “Not as hard as it should have been, I guess. We were never planning ahead for anything so there was nothing lost there, and we were great friends before we were together so I suppose we always knew that if it didn’t work, we could go back to that.”
“It’s never that easy.”
Merlin gives a self-depreciating laugh and looks at Arthur properly. “No, it’s always rougher than you remember it being, and I remember it being pretty rough. But he’s here now, no matter where he buggered off to in the meantime, so I suppose that’s all that matters.”
Arthur is silent, and long moments pass until he finally says quietly, “He loved you, you know.”
Merlin pauses. “I know.”
Arthur says nothing, and the silence between them has such a weight behind it that Merlin isn’t sure what will happen if he breaks it. He’s itching to remove it, to say something light-hearted and joking but he has to remember that Gwaine isn’t only his friend anymore, and Arthur cares about him too. Mistakes were made, he’s sure Arthur is aware of that, and circumstances arose that were unavoidable, but the past is the past and Merlin has a burning desire to make sure Arthur knows that Merlin has well and truly moved on.
He really isn’t sure how he ended up here, in a bar with Arthur Pendragon, after a day along Southbank among nattering old women, crotchety old men and smelly books, and just wanting to hug him. Hug him close and tell him how he feels but at the same time run so far away from it all. Preferably back to his mum’s house.
“It’s in the past, regardless,” he says eventually, looking square into Arthur’s eyes and willing his message across. “Gwaine is just a friend. I don’t love him anymore, not like that.”
“Good,” is all Arthur says, but it’s so quiet Merlin isn’t sure if he’s heard it right.
---
[Part 4b]