Chap 3
technically it's still Wednesday for 2 minutes, so I kept my promise!
ETA: fancy new banner by maybelater__! squeeeeeeeee!
Title: Heartbreak, Secret Friends, and Stupid Doodles (3/?)
Beta: rufflefeather and maybelater__
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (eventually), Gwen/Lance
Rating: PG this chap, maybe PG-13 later on
Warnings: a couple curse words, a little (legal) drunkenness
Word Count: approx 6,500 this chp, (15,800 overall so far)
Summary: Modern uni AU: Merlin has a secret crush on Arthur, who has no idea who he is. When Arthur has a bad break up, Merlin takes it upon himself to cheer him up. Secretly, of course.
A/N: I practically re-wrote this entire chapter because the first draft was just so blah. But I was saved by the amazing and patient help of rufflefeather (who pulled through despite being on vacation!) and maybelater__ (who kindly volunteered to help in her absence) with her grammar-fu mastery. they seriously saved this from being total shit, so they deserve major credit. they are the TAG TEAM OF AWESOME.
Past chapters:
Chapter 1 (with further notes and credits)
Chapter 2
oh, and also, check out the soundtrack!
[ETA]: I feel so spoiled! there are more gorgeous banners made my ontinia! go check them out at the new Masterpost. (and keep an eye out for them on the upcoming chapters)
Merlin had started out determined to enjoy his weekend and keep himself distracted. So of course Friday night slid into the wee hours of Saturday at an excruciatingly slow pace. He swore time was standing still, just to mock him, because every time he opened his eyes minutes had passed instead of hours.
Merlin never wished for a weekend to pass so quickly before. Every other uni student in the country reveled in the weekly rituals of gluttony and debauchery, hoping it would never end. Yet Merlin found himself yearning for Monday morning so he could be in economics class. If he hadn’t realized it before, that alone would have been unequivocal proof that he was a lovesick fool.
He was so screwed.
Normally, Merlin loved the weekends just as much as any other sane person. He would loiter in his favorite book store and read the graphic novels he couldn’t afford to buy until the employees started giving him suspicious looks. Then, he might challenge Gwen and Lance to an all-you-can-eat Chinese food extravaganza. The restaurant owners trembled in fear when they saw Lance come in because the boy could pack away more food than seemed physically possible. Gwen and Merlin would look on with a mix of awe and disgust. Needless to say, Lance always won, but the impossible challenge was part of the fun. (And Gwen encouraged any opportunity to fatten Merlin up a bit. She and his mother were definitely in cahoots.)
But now it was only Saturday morning and Merlin was moping about in his dorm room trying to decide if he should bother to get dressed or just give up and stay in bed. He didn’t feel like doing anything other than maybe having an old school Transformers marathon. He hadn’t done that in a couple weeks.
He was about to pop in the first DVD when his mobile rang, the shrill tones of Lady Gaga piercing his brain. He knew it was Gwen without looking. She had selected that ringtone for herself, reasoning that since Merlin disliked it so much he would pick up right away just to make it stop. What she hadn’t considered was how much it embarrassed him every single time it rang in public (it practically shouted his sexuality to everyone in a 50 yard radius, even though he really wasn’t a trashy pop kind of gay boy).
“Stop moping and come out with me,” Gwen said before he even had a chance to say hello.
He sighed. “I am not moping, Gwen, why would you think that?” Though his whiny tone betrayed him, and he knew she heard it too.
“Because I know you too well, dear. Right now you’re probably still in your pajamas, grumbling and sighing dramatically, planning an all-day DVD marathon.”
“Transformers,” he agreed grudgingly. She did know him too well.
“Look, sweetie, you can stay in bed all day and pine-- no, don’t even deny that,” she preempted him. “Or you can come out with me, have a super fun time, and get your mind off of Arthur for a while.”
Merlin had to admit that did sound better than being left alone with his thoughts all day. It would kill some time, at the very least. If he had a whole weekend to waste he may as well have the pleasure of Gwen’s company.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, though he already knew it was a done deal, whatever she answered.
“Shoe shopping,” she said, all bubbly and excited like she had just suggested a party and not thinly veiled torture.
Merlin didn’t bother to hide his loud groan. “Gwen, you know shoes and I don’t get along! Have you forgotten about the Great Stiletto Debacle of 2008? Do you remember how disastrously that turned out?”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she chided, not losing any of her enthusiasm despite Merlin’s obvious distress. “It was just a little scratch, honestly.”
“The scar on my foot would beg to differ, Gwen. Scar. Scratches don’t leave scars.” He could hear her muffled giggling. Obviously, she had no sympathy for his trauma.
“I’ll buy you curry,” she said, in that sing-song voice one would used when trying to bribe a misbehaving dog with a biscuit. Damn, she really knew his weaknesses. He wondered if there was anything she couldn’t get him to do with the right push.
He gave another groan which she seemed to take that as a sign of crumbling resistance. “Besides, it will help take your mind off of Arthur. You know how numb your mind goes in the presence of fashion,” she added matter-of-factly.
That was true; his shoe-induced misery was guaranteed to take his mind off of the Secret Arthur Cheer-Up Plan (okay, he liked giving things official-sounding titles, though Gwen complained that he always made them too long). Well, it would work for a few hours, anyway. Either way, it was better than watching his alarm clock blink and hurling abuses at it.
“...Give me half an hour,” he sighed. Her victory squeal was so loud that he had to pull the phone away from his ear and hang up. Fine, he decided, he would soldier through a few hours of torture for Gwen’s sake.
After that he would only have one more day to kill until class.
…He really was pathetic.
****
Without realizing it, Merlin had started to measure time in notes. There was no longer Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday; there was Note Day 1, Note Day 2, or No-Note-Day-That-Doesn’t-Matter-Why-Aren’t-You-Over-Yet (or ‘off days’, for short). They all seemed to go by in a blur, little else registering besides the most recent exchange. And, of course, the carefully cataloged reactions.
Merlin felt like one of those wildlife observers who followed prides of lions around the savanna and studied their behavioral patterns. By now he was getting good at predicting Arthur’s reactions. He knew what kind of joke would make him smile, or how to get him to giggle in a decidedly undignified fashion. He could probably host his own damn show on the BBC (he was sure it would be a hit, since Arthur was definitely more fun to look at than lions). So what did his degree in literature matter when he could have a PhD in The Expressions and Reactions of Arthur Pendragon in his Natural Habitat? (Okay, he might have to work on the title. But the principle still stood.)
Merlin could barely remember anything else about the past couple days after his shoe-induced coma. It had rained one day, he thought, maybe even two (he vaguely remembered Gwen wearing her wellies with the little yellow ducks that he might secretly covet). They had gone for pizza one night (it was a Note Day, so it must have been Monday). He had vague recollections of doing homework, though probably very poorly. (That would probably catch up with him later. He was going to get lectures from both Gwen and his mother when he finally got his midterm grades, and he didn’t think they would be placated by his PhD idea.)
It seemed the only thing that could temporarily break him out of his Arthur-induced daze was a new episode of Doctor Who, because, well, duh, Matt Smith. Maybe Merlin did have a thing for strong jaw lines.
But what he remembered most vividly were the notes.
Monday Note Day 1 went something like this:
Which had earned a huffed chuckle and head shake from Arthur, who apparently did not know about the amazing lives of mollusks.
To which Arthur had replied:
Merlin wasn’t buying his disparaging tone- he was pretty sure Arthur was impressed with his wisdom, much as he tried to hide it.
Then Wednesday Note Day 2 had continued with:
Which Merlin thought was a sensible answer. He earned several gruff chuckles for that one, and a smile that looked suspiciously fond.
Merlin expected another snarky reply, but what he received was:
Which Merlin was currently staring at, curled up in a plush library chair, eyes refusing to correctly process the information before them. He was definitely reading it wrong, wasn’t he? Or at the very least misinterpreting it. Because it sounded like…it sounded like Arthur was trying to flirt with him. Which was utterly ridiculous. Arthur had no idea who he was. He would never…
Merlin had to stop thinking about it, because his traitorous brain was leading him down all kinds of dangerous paths. Images of pizza dates, holding hands in the cinema, and snuggling together on the couch watching Top Gear repeats (because Arthur seemed like the kind of manly bloke who would like Top Gear) swirled through his head at dizzying speeds. His brain seemed to like this possibility very much, and was swiftly trying to convince Merlin that it was not only plausible, but true.
No. He had to stop. Because that’s not what Arthur meant. It was a joke, obviously. Maybe even sarcastic, like the rest of the notes had been so far. His rational mind told him to forget about it, to laugh it off, to continue on as he had been. But that damn irrational, schmoopy, romantic part of his mind was winning the civil war raging inside his head.
Merlin sighed and folded up the note, returning it to his pocket where it couldn’t mock him quite so loudly. This called for an expert second opinion.
He pulled out his phone and shot Gwen a text: Ice cream emergency. Stat.
Her reply came within seconds: pint or gallon sized emergency?
That was why he loved her.
****
Arthur found himself looking forward to mornings he had economics class. It was a bit absurd, no one actually liked economics, not even the people who specialized in it. But every morning when he showed up that little note would be waiting on his desk, greeting him like an old friend.
It was starting to get a bit pathetic. Arthur felt like a teenage girl in one of those horrid romance movies Morgana tried to make him watch in high school. If he were going to be stuck in a romantic comedy, couldn’t he at least be the dashing male lead? Was that too much to ask? Instead he was the naïve girl falling for a total stranger.
Well, he wouldn’t say falling for. That was way too cheesy, and he was definitely not a girl. But he had to admit, he felt some sort of weird connection with his mystery pen pal. They knew exactly how to make him smile, how to make him laugh. Hell, he’d had friends for years he didn’t get him like that. That meant something, didn’t it?
It should have been a little creepy that a stranger could know him so well. They could be a stalker for all he knew, planning to lure him into a false sense of security with cutesy notes, then pounce when he least suspected it, kidnapping him and hiding him in a secluded basement so they could dress him up and play house and keep him down there for years and years until he forgot him own name and answered only to Mr. Snookums. Okay, so maybe he watched too many horror movies, but it could totally happen.
Only this didn’t feel creepy. It felt comforting and exciting and altogether intriguing. Arthur might have been able to downplay his interest before and pretend it wasn’t affecting him even if Gwaine teased him about ‘dopey smiles’ and Leon was keeping a closer eye on him than usual. They were just overreacting.
But then today he’d found himself flirting. With someone he didn’t know. Through a note, for God’s sake. So much for playing it cool. He was totally and utterly lost, and he knew it. It was time to take action before this could get even more out of hand. What he needed was some impartial advice.
Since Leon was already convinced the ‘Mystery Doodler’ (which he thought sounded like a cool Scooby Doo villain name) was a crazy stalking weirdo, it was no use going to him for help. He would no doubt remind Arthur of horror movie scenarios involving smashed ankles and boiling bunnies and warn him to steer clear. In Secret Leon Language that might mean ‘I care about you, mate,’ but it wasn’t exactly productive right now.
That left Lance. Surely, an expert on all things emotional and romantic would be able to give some sound advice on the subject. Hell, Lance had probably been in a crazy situation like this before. Arthur had no doubt he had his share of secret admirers and borderline stalkers. He couldn’t even blame them, really.
****
They met up that night to grab a pizza off-campus (not that Arthur was paranoid, but this didn’t seem like a conversation for the crowded cafeteria, where anyone might stop by). Lance greeted him warmly, with a smile that grew even larger when he saw the extra large sausage pizza Arthur had ordered.
Arthur didn’t know how to broach the topic, but Lance seemed to know what was on his mind (was Arthur that transparent, or did his friends just know him too well? He sincerely hoped it was the latter).
“How are things going with your mystery paramour?” Lance asked without preamble. Arthur almost choked on his pizza. Leave it to Lance to make him sound like a romance novel hero (which was ridiculous, because if anyone were to star in a bodice-ripper it would most definitely be Lance. He was the kind of guy to have paramours.).
“Uh, well,” Arthur fumbled articulately. He sighed, wiping his hands on a napkin and leaning back, settling himself in for a long talk. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, since that seemed the simplest place to start.
“What is the problem? Are you not getting along?” Lance asked, polishing off another slice (Arthur calculated it to be his sixth). He wiped his hands and followed Arthur’s lead, leaning his forearms on the table and examining Arthur carefully.
“No, actually, it’s the opposite.” Lance wrinkled his brow in confusion and Arthur let out a sigh. Was he crazy for thinking getting along with someone was a problem? Apparently so.
“So you like them?” Lance asked, getting to the heart of the matter as usual. He looked both concerned and pleased, and Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“Yeah, I think so. But I don’t even know them. I mean, they could be...anyone,” he finished lamely, waving his arms in an encompassing gesture. He didn’t want to tell Lance about his stalker theory, because it sounded crazy even in his own head, so there was no way he was admitting it out loud.
“It’s true,” Lance nodded sagely. “You don’t know much about them. Except that they are kind and obviously care for you. That sounds like a firm foundation for friendship to me.” He was watching Arthur carefully, like he was waiting for a reaction. It was a little unnerving.
Arthur tried not to blush when Lance mentioned friendship. He was not ready to admit that his own thoughts had already strayed far beyond that point. He wasn’t sure when he had started to think about the person behind the notes, imagining who they might be, what they might look like. Of course his imagination preferred to paint his mystery friend as a beautiful but shy girl who turned out to be everything he had always been looking for (okay, so he had watched a lot of Morgana’s cheesy movies back in the day. The girl knew how to threaten.). It wasn’t that far-fetched, was it? Was he crazy for even considering it?
But instead he said, “Sometimes I feel like I have some kind of connection with them, like they know me, better even than some of my friends. Which sounds crazy, I know, but I can’t help feeling like...”
“It’s destiny?” Lance filled in, sending Arthur into a fit of sputtering laughter. Maybe Lance was the author of those romance novels, as well as the dashing hero. It was just so ridiculous, and he said it with a completely straight face. He had joined in the laughter, but Arthur could detect a slight blush creeping up Lance’s tanned neck. He guessed that his friend had probably been thinking of his own girlfriend in that moment rather than Arthur’s situation.
“Well, maybe not destiny,” Lance amended, once Arthur had settled back down. “But maybe this was meant to be, in a way. Maybe all of this happened for a reason.” His jovial smile was gone, replaced by a concerned frown. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but then it sunk in.
Vivian.
The thought shocked Arthur like an unexpected slap to the face. She had been the last thing on his mind lately. He actually hadn’t even thought of her in days. Which was crazy, because only a few short weeks ago he had been ready to drink himself into a coma at the mention of her name. Now all that remained was a feeling of regret for what might have been. The surge of overwhelming pain was gone, dulled to a slight twinge somewhere in the back of his mind. It was almost strange how quickly it had passed; his heartbreak had been as violent as his love, but then it faded, like a spell had been lifted. ...Or something like that (Lance-the-secret-romance-novelist could probably come up with a dozen suitable metaphors).
Lance was talking again, but Arthur was hardly listening, his mind lagging as it tried to plow through the mass of thoughts and feelings he had been ignoring for so long.
“...When one door closes, another door opens,” he thought he heard, though that was probably wrong, because he didn’t think that phrase had anything to do with romance.
“Arthur,” Lance said, calling his attention back to the present with a sharp snap that Arthur could almost feel physically. He focused his gaze back on Lance, who was hovering close, concern creasing his brow. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.
Arthur nodded, shaking his head a few times to clear away his thoughts. “Yeah, fine,” he replied, though he knew Lance wasn’t buying it. “I just...haven’t thought about...her in a while. It’s weird, almost. She used to be all I could think about, but now...”
“Now you’ve moved on,” Lance supplied with a small smile. Arthur nodded. It was a strange thought, one he would have found impossible a few weeks ago, yet it was true.
Lance clapped him on the shoulder gently. “That’s good, mate. I’m happy for you. It’s best to move on with your life.” Lance would have made an excellent counselor, Arthur thought. It was a shame he was studying music and not psychology. Arthur could just picture him with lovesick patients pouring their hearts out, Lance calmly and kindly talking them through it. He had done it so many times for their friends, he was practically a professional already.
“Still,” Lance continued, “it might be best to take it slow, give yourself time. Hearts take time to mend, even after the visible wounds have faded.” This time Arthur was sure he had ripped that from a novel (possibly one he had written himself). But it was still sound advice.
Arthur had a lot to think about. He knew he wasn’t completely recovered from the break-up yet, even if the pain had faded (which was largely due to his pen pal, another point in their favor). The thought of opening himself up to further disappointment or rejection was hard to swallow right now. He had to weigh the possible risk with the possible gain (sometimes his business background came in handy).
Lance let him be for a while, finishing off the last slice of pizza and ordering another one to go (for his girlfriend, he explained, though Arthur had a sneaking suspicion he would probably end up eating half of it).
They parted ways with a gruff hug and reminders to be ready for the football match this weekend.
Arthur headed back to campus feeling a bit dazed. He had hoped Lance would help him sort this mess out, to reach some kind of decision. But now it seemed more complicated than ever.
He hadn’t really considered what he wanted from this situation. Sure, he’d been nursing a few sappy daydreams, but the reality wasn’t quite so rosy. He would be an idiot to put his heart on the line again when it was still on the mend. There were no guarantee that this would turn out to be anything, and yet he was getting his hopes so high.
Despite his many qualms, he knew he still wanted to meet the mysterious person who had become such a friend to him already. Whatever became of it he at least owed them an honest thanks and an offer of friendship. He knew with absolute certainty that he wanted this person in his life, for more than 5 minutes three mornings a week, more than just in his mind and on a slip of paper.
“Fuck,” Arthur swore aloud, pushing a hand through his hair in frustration. He was definitely over-thinking this. Since when did he get so bogged down in feelings and self-doubt? Arthur was a man of action. When Arthur was attracted to someone he went for it. If it didn’t work out, he shrugged it off and moved on. He wasn’t some preteen with his first crush. He was a mature, confident adult.
So the circumstances may be slightly different than he was used to. Whatever. He was Arthur Pendragon, dammit. He imagined what Morgana would say. Probably “Man up, Pendragon.” (Of course she could never actually know about this, but thinking of her stern decisiveness helped.)
Right, that decided it. The time for talking was over. Now was the time for action.
****
“So...” Gwen coaxed, poking Merlin with her toes from across the couch. They were stretched out together in her suite’s common room, enjoying their ice cream straight from the containers with the biggest spoons they could find.
When Gwen had received Merlin’s text she figured it had something to do with the Secret Arthur Plan, or whatever official title he had given it (they were always too long to remember). But she had let it be for now, allowing Merlin to wallow in his ice cream until he felt like talking. That, along with some Pride and Prejudice, seemed to have broken him out of his deer-in-the-headlights daze.
Merlin grabbed Gwen’s foot and tickled it lightly, causing her to squirm and shriek. He knew how much she hated that, but it made them both smile and loosened the last of the tension hanging between them.
Merlin sighed, dragging his latest note from his pocket. This is how these conversations always went lately (it felt like it had been going on for years and not just a few weeks): Merlin would show her the note without explanation, leaving it up to her to decipher what it meant, and how Merlin felt about it. Though that wasn’t very hard, since the boy was an open book, especially to those who knew him well.
She looked at the note and back at Merlin. She could understand instantly what he was feeling. He was curled into himself miserably, bottom lip pouting exactly the way it had when he was 10 and she refused to play knights and dragons with him (he always made her be the knight, when she wanted to be a princess).
She re-read the note. It was definitely...flirty. She didn’t know Arthur all that well, but she knew he tended to be playful, at least with girls. He was charming when he wanted to be. But she didn’t know what he could mean by this. He probably didn’t mean anything serious, this kind of teasing was second nature to him.
Poor Merlin would likely jump on this as a sign of mutual feelings. She sighed softly. She wanted it to be true just as much as he did, but she couldn’t give him false hope. As far as she knew Arthur had never dated a guy. He was playful and teasing with his male friends, including Lance, but it was different from flirting.
Merlin was watching her, waiting for a reaction.
“It’s...I think it’s a good sign,” she offered weakly, and she knew it wasn’t convincing. Merlin just groaned and hugged a pillow to his chest.
“When I read it I thought...well, I thought he was flirting with me,” Merlin admitted, face partially hidden behind the cushion. It made Gwen’s heart break a little. If it wouldn’t give Merlin away, she would find Arthur right now and beat him up for carelessly playing with her best friend’s emotions. She had supported Merlin in this little project of his, but now she was starting to think it might have been a bad idea. Merlin could get himself seriously hurt. If that happened she would beat up Arthur, kicking him square in the groin, and see how much he flirted then.
Merlin didn’t need to know any of this, of course, he wouldn’t like the thought of Gwen being mad at anyone on his behalf. Instead, she placed a comforting hand on the closest part of his leg she could reach and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“It does sound flirty, but that’s just what Arthur’s like, Merlin. Not that it doesn’t mean you’re not special or anything,” she added hastily, seeing his crestfallen face. “Just...just don’t read too much into it, okay? It’s a good sign, anyway, that he feels he can joke with you like that. It just might not mean anything...more,” she finished lamely.
He nodded at her, she wasn’t sure if in understanding or agreement. He seemed to accept her words though she was sure they weren’t what he wanted to hear. She badly wanted to be able to tell him everything was going to work out and there would be rainbows and flowers and unicorns (Merlin loved unicorns, dear boy), just to see him smile. But she was his best friend, and sometimes it was her duty to be the unpleasant voice of reason.
She grabbed the discarded ice cream from the coffee table and handed it back to Merlin. He accepted it with a sigh, and they went back to watching Mr. Darcy be a gorgeous prat (maybe this wasn’t the best movie for a lovesick Merlin after all but he didn’t seem to mind). When all else failed they could temporarily numb their sadness with ice cream.
****
Merlin slumped into class Friday morning, feeling nervous and worn out. He had agonized over Arthur’s last note for the past two days, trying to settle on a suitable reply. Gwen’s assessment had been hard to hear, but he knew it was true. He was reading too much into this, because it’s what he wanted to believe. He had to step back a little and remember not to get too swept up in his daydreams.
In the end he had decided not to reply directly to that note, instead dropping that line of conversation and choosing something neutral. He didn’t want to seem like he was purposely avoiding the topic, but Arthur had probably forgotten already anyway. It’s not like he really expected an answer, right?
Merlin watched as Arthur read today’s note. He smiled a little, but it was pale compared to his usual reaction. He seemed tense this morning, on edge. Merlin couldn’t help but feel like maybe he had made the wrong choice or had come to the wrong conclusion. And that made him miserable. For once, he didn’t want to sit through class and watch Arthur, he wanted to go back to his room and curl up in his bed and forget about his stupid daydreams and Arthur’s stupid gorgeous smile.
For a little while, anyway.
****
Arthur was so nervous about leaving his reply note this morning that he almost forgot about the one waiting for him. He opened it up with less enthusiasm than usual.
He chuckled, but it felt dry in his throat. It was a pretty good one, actually. Leon would probably find it hysterical (he was beginning to think the Mystery Doodler and Leon would get along famously, another thought that made his chest ache with hope).
The weight of what he was about to do was sitting heavy on his mind. He was realizing now that his next action might risk all of this. He was so sure that his pen pal would agree to his proposal, but what if they didn’t? What if Arthur was pushing too much and they cut ties altogether? This could possibly be the last note he would ever receive. It shouldn’t bother him nearly as much as it did, the rational part of his mind told him. But that didn’t stop his breath from hitching painfully.
He was restless through class, foot tapping nervously, fingers drumming against his desk. He couldn’t wait for the professor to finish his tedious lecture so he could drop his note and flee like the coward he obviously was. If he didn’t do it soon he was going to lose his nerve and forget the whole thing, continuing on in this weird uncertain limbo for the rest of the damn term, or until he snapped. Whichever came first.
Finally, the professor wrapped it up and Arthur had his things packed and ready to go in a matter of seconds. He dropped the note and made a dash for the door, not daring to look back just in case someone was watching him.
As he walked across the quad Arthur finally came to a devastating realization: today was Friday. He wouldn’t have class again until Monday. He had a whole weekend of waiting and uncertainty ahead of him.
Shit.
****
Gwen and Lance took Merlin to the pub that night. It seemed like the only thing they could do in this situation. He was babbling incoherently about Arthur and the notes, and while Lance was fairly certain he knew what this was about, Gwen was completely lost. They thought maybe a couple pints would help calm Merlin down and loosen him up enough to talk in full sentences, in a pitch actually audible to humans.
That plan had worked well initially. After one beer Merlin was feeling calm enough to take out the most recent note and pass it between them.
Well, that explained why he was freaking out. Gwen remembered how nervous he had been the other night when he suspected Arthur’s note might be flirty, but this was undeniable: Arthur was definitely interested in some way. Gwen couldn’t really blame Merlin for being a bit overwhelmed (well, ‘a bit’ might be too generous, since Merlin was currently having some kind of minor emotional breakdown on his bar stool).
“He’s going to hate me,” Merlin was moaning, forehead resting against the cool table top, face flushed from a combination of alcohol and mortification. Gwen carded her fingers through his hair in a way he usually found comforting.
“Of course he isn’t, sweetheart, why would you think that? You two will get on brilliantly.”
“No we won’t,” Merlin moped, raising his head to take another few gulps of lager, then letting it fall back with a dull thunk. “Arthur is…Arthur. He’s so cool and confident and bloody gorgeous, and he’ll take one look at me and wonder why he wasted all this time. He’ll hate me!” Merlin moaned with increased fervor. He took another deep drink and Gwen thought maybe it was time to cut him off. He had passed the point of loose and tipsy, and now the alcohol was just sinking him deeper into this morose mood.
“Merlin,” Lance chided, subtly pulling the glass out of his reach. “Arthur is a good man. I think it’s only fair that you give him a chance. He might be just as nervous about this as you are, you know.”
Merlin just scoffed. Arthur, nervous? It was ridiculous. Arthur could have anyone he wanted with a snap of his fingers (like The Fonz, Merlin thought hazily, trying to muster up an impression that left Gwen looking at him like he’d finally lost it).
He knew Lance was right, that he should be fair and give Arthur a chance. But just because Arthur’s intentions might be good, that didn’t mean this wouldn’t end in a Hindenberg-esque catastrophe. Maybe he was blowing this out of proportion, but right now he felt volatile, like a hydrogen explosion waiting to rip apart his comfortable, complacent life and leave it all a fiery wreck.
“I think it’s about time we got you home, my friend,” Lance said, throwing another one of his pointed looks at Gwen, which Merlin couldn’t even attempt to translate in this state. He thought it meant something like ‘why are we friends with a loser like this?’ But knowing Lance he probably used a kinder phrase like ‘unfortunate soul’ instead of ‘loser’. Even in his silent-eyebrow-language Lance would be a perfect gentleman.
Lance and Gwen pulled him up, each twining an arm under his shoulders to support him. Merlin wanted to protest that he could walk on his own, but his feet seemed to have other ideas, tripping over themselves in their hurry to prove him wrong. Of course. His mind had already rebelled against him, now his feet were jumping ship. He was one big mess. Next thing he knew his penis would be betraying him by deciding it liked girls. The way his life was going today, he wouldn’t even be surprised.
They managed to stumble the short distance back to campus without Merlin pulling all three of them down to the hard pavement. He tried to convince them several times to just leave him to rot on the sidewalk, but they had persisted in dragging him along. Maybe they weren’t going to stop being his friends after all. Or maybe they were just looking for the right spot to dump him so no one would find his body.
The last thing Merlin remembered was Gwen tucking him into his bed, laying out several bottles of water and some aspirin on his desk, and kissing him on the forehead the way his mother used to. He wanted to tell Gwen that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that if she wanted he would forget all about stupid bloody Arthur and marry her after all, since maybe his penis was going to decide it liked women anyway.
This felt like an important thing to tell her, but it came out sounding more like “uuuuuuuugh Arthur, blaaaaaaaargh.” He hoped she understood.
****
Merlin woke up feeling like there was a wild Euro rave going on behind his eyeballs, complete with giant sub-woofers and strobe lights. His tongue felt fuzzy, his limbs were heavy, and he could barely roll himself over to grope around for the bottle of water on his desk. (Even more difficult to do since he was determined not to open his eyes ever again. Or at least until the pulsing drum beats faded.).
He remembered everything about last night, which, for once, made him feel even worse, because he remembered exactly what an brat he had been to his friends. They had tried to cheer him up and he had moped and whined and complained the whole time. And they still brought him home and took care of him, without giving into the obvious temptation to leave him in the road. He felt disgusted with himself.
And he still remembered the cause of his distress. He reached in his pocket, still wearing his clothes from the night before, and dug out the note that had sent him into such a tailspin of woe.
Arthur wanted to meet him. Arthur. Wanted. To. Meet. Him.
It was a disastrously bad idea. Even worse than that time in high school when his best mate Will had dared him to shave his head. He had looked like a bloody idiot for months.
And this would be exactly the same. Arthur might think he wanted to meet him, but he had no idea what he was getting himself into. He would meet Merlin, realize that he was a nerdy loser who had nothing in common with him at all, and then Merlin would be forced to transfer schools to avoid eternal embarrassment and unrequited heartache. Even then, future students would tell epic stories of him, the Loser Guy Who Was Rejected By The Prince. He would become a campus legend, and a cautionary tale to all social upstarts.
Okay, maybe he should calm down and try to think about this rationally, before he launched into any more self-pitying rants. Though that was hard to do with his head still pounding. He popped the aspirin Gwen had laid out (really, the woman was genuine Mother Teresa material) and waited for it to kick in, focusing on breathing without hyperventilating at the mere thought of Arthur.
It was his own fault. He was the one who started this in the first place. He could have left it at that first note, content that he had cheered Arthur up, and then let it be, but he had gotten greedy. He wanted more contact, wanted Arthur to notice him, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what this was all about? Even though he tried to tell himself that it was just about being nice and selfless and helping Arthur, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted just that little bit of connection with Arthur, even if it could never be more.
Which it couldn’t. Because Arthur was popular. Because Arthur was normal. Because Arthur was straight.
And maybe that was at the root of it. Because if he met Arthur, even if by some miracle they actually got along, all they could ever be was friends. And Merlin wanted so much more than that. His vapid daydreams had been replaced by a deep longing. The more Merlin watched him, the more he got to know Arthur’s personality through their little game, the more he couldn’t resist. Being Arthur’s friend without the possibility of ever having more would be pure torture.
Merlin had two choices, then: meet Arthur, possibly become his friend, then live in constant agony; or, be a total coward, continue the way things were, and still live his life pining for someone he could never have.
Buggering hell. This wasn’t a decision he could make without several cups of tea and strawberry smothered waffles. He pulled out his phone and texted Gwen through half-closed eyes. After last night the least he could do was treat them to breakfast. He glanced at his clock: 1 pm. Okay, brunch then.
He had until Monday to make his decision. Suddenly, the weekend seemed much too short.
TBC
thanks so much to everyone who has left comments and encouragements so far. you guys fucking rock my world, seriously. you kept me going even when this chapter felt impossible.
ETA: Chapter 4
p.s. since I obviously fail at image editing (though I finally switched from mspaint to gimp, bwahaha), would anyone be interested in making me some kind of banner for this story? it's my first multi-chap, and that would make it feel so cool and official.
and would win you my eternal love and gratitude, of course.
ETA: fancy new banner by maybelater__! squeeeeeeeee!
Title: Heartbreak, Secret Friends, and Stupid Doodles (3/?)
Beta: rufflefeather and maybelater__
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin (eventually), Gwen/Lance
Rating: PG this chap, maybe PG-13 later on
Warnings: a couple curse words, a little (legal) drunkenness
Word Count: approx 6,500 this chp, (15,800 overall so far)
Summary: Modern uni AU: Merlin has a secret crush on Arthur, who has no idea who he is. When Arthur has a bad break up, Merlin takes it upon himself to cheer him up. Secretly, of course.
A/N: I practically re-wrote this entire chapter because the first draft was just so blah. But I was saved by the amazing and patient help of rufflefeather (who pulled through despite being on vacation!) and maybelater__ (who kindly volunteered to help in her absence) with her grammar-fu mastery. they seriously saved this from being total shit, so they deserve major credit. they are the TAG TEAM OF AWESOME.
Past chapters:
Chapter 1 (with further notes and credits)
Chapter 2
oh, and also, check out the soundtrack!
[ETA]: I feel so spoiled! there are more gorgeous banners made my ontinia! go check them out at the new Masterpost. (and keep an eye out for them on the upcoming chapters)
Merlin had started out determined to enjoy his weekend and keep himself distracted. So of course Friday night slid into the wee hours of Saturday at an excruciatingly slow pace. He swore time was standing still, just to mock him, because every time he opened his eyes minutes had passed instead of hours.
Merlin never wished for a weekend to pass so quickly before. Every other uni student in the country reveled in the weekly rituals of gluttony and debauchery, hoping it would never end. Yet Merlin found himself yearning for Monday morning so he could be in economics class. If he hadn’t realized it before, that alone would have been unequivocal proof that he was a lovesick fool.
He was so screwed.
Normally, Merlin loved the weekends just as much as any other sane person. He would loiter in his favorite book store and read the graphic novels he couldn’t afford to buy until the employees started giving him suspicious looks. Then, he might challenge Gwen and Lance to an all-you-can-eat Chinese food extravaganza. The restaurant owners trembled in fear when they saw Lance come in because the boy could pack away more food than seemed physically possible. Gwen and Merlin would look on with a mix of awe and disgust. Needless to say, Lance always won, but the impossible challenge was part of the fun. (And Gwen encouraged any opportunity to fatten Merlin up a bit. She and his mother were definitely in cahoots.)
But now it was only Saturday morning and Merlin was moping about in his dorm room trying to decide if he should bother to get dressed or just give up and stay in bed. He didn’t feel like doing anything other than maybe having an old school Transformers marathon. He hadn’t done that in a couple weeks.
He was about to pop in the first DVD when his mobile rang, the shrill tones of Lady Gaga piercing his brain. He knew it was Gwen without looking. She had selected that ringtone for herself, reasoning that since Merlin disliked it so much he would pick up right away just to make it stop. What she hadn’t considered was how much it embarrassed him every single time it rang in public (it practically shouted his sexuality to everyone in a 50 yard radius, even though he really wasn’t a trashy pop kind of gay boy).
“Stop moping and come out with me,” Gwen said before he even had a chance to say hello.
He sighed. “I am not moping, Gwen, why would you think that?” Though his whiny tone betrayed him, and he knew she heard it too.
“Because I know you too well, dear. Right now you’re probably still in your pajamas, grumbling and sighing dramatically, planning an all-day DVD marathon.”
“Transformers,” he agreed grudgingly. She did know him too well.
“Look, sweetie, you can stay in bed all day and pine-- no, don’t even deny that,” she preempted him. “Or you can come out with me, have a super fun time, and get your mind off of Arthur for a while.”
Merlin had to admit that did sound better than being left alone with his thoughts all day. It would kill some time, at the very least. If he had a whole weekend to waste he may as well have the pleasure of Gwen’s company.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, though he already knew it was a done deal, whatever she answered.
“Shoe shopping,” she said, all bubbly and excited like she had just suggested a party and not thinly veiled torture.
Merlin didn’t bother to hide his loud groan. “Gwen, you know shoes and I don’t get along! Have you forgotten about the Great Stiletto Debacle of 2008? Do you remember how disastrously that turned out?”
“Don’t be such a baby,” she chided, not losing any of her enthusiasm despite Merlin’s obvious distress. “It was just a little scratch, honestly.”
“The scar on my foot would beg to differ, Gwen. Scar. Scratches don’t leave scars.” He could hear her muffled giggling. Obviously, she had no sympathy for his trauma.
“I’ll buy you curry,” she said, in that sing-song voice one would used when trying to bribe a misbehaving dog with a biscuit. Damn, she really knew his weaknesses. He wondered if there was anything she couldn’t get him to do with the right push.
He gave another groan which she seemed to take that as a sign of crumbling resistance. “Besides, it will help take your mind off of Arthur. You know how numb your mind goes in the presence of fashion,” she added matter-of-factly.
That was true; his shoe-induced misery was guaranteed to take his mind off of the Secret Arthur Cheer-Up Plan (okay, he liked giving things official-sounding titles, though Gwen complained that he always made them too long). Well, it would work for a few hours, anyway. Either way, it was better than watching his alarm clock blink and hurling abuses at it.
“...Give me half an hour,” he sighed. Her victory squeal was so loud that he had to pull the phone away from his ear and hang up. Fine, he decided, he would soldier through a few hours of torture for Gwen’s sake.
After that he would only have one more day to kill until class.
…He really was pathetic.
****
Without realizing it, Merlin had started to measure time in notes. There was no longer Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday; there was Note Day 1, Note Day 2, or No-Note-Day-That-Doesn’t-Matter-Why-Aren’t-You-Over-Yet (or ‘off days’, for short). They all seemed to go by in a blur, little else registering besides the most recent exchange. And, of course, the carefully cataloged reactions.
Merlin felt like one of those wildlife observers who followed prides of lions around the savanna and studied their behavioral patterns. By now he was getting good at predicting Arthur’s reactions. He knew what kind of joke would make him smile, or how to get him to giggle in a decidedly undignified fashion. He could probably host his own damn show on the BBC (he was sure it would be a hit, since Arthur was definitely more fun to look at than lions). So what did his degree in literature matter when he could have a PhD in The Expressions and Reactions of Arthur Pendragon in his Natural Habitat? (Okay, he might have to work on the title. But the principle still stood.)
Merlin could barely remember anything else about the past couple days after his shoe-induced coma. It had rained one day, he thought, maybe even two (he vaguely remembered Gwen wearing her wellies with the little yellow ducks that he might secretly covet). They had gone for pizza one night (it was a Note Day, so it must have been Monday). He had vague recollections of doing homework, though probably very poorly. (That would probably catch up with him later. He was going to get lectures from both Gwen and his mother when he finally got his midterm grades, and he didn’t think they would be placated by his PhD idea.)
It seemed the only thing that could temporarily break him out of his Arthur-induced daze was a new episode of Doctor Who, because, well, duh, Matt Smith. Maybe Merlin did have a thing for strong jaw lines.
But what he remembered most vividly were the notes.
Monday Note Day 1 went something like this:
Which had earned a huffed chuckle and head shake from Arthur, who apparently did not know about the amazing lives of mollusks.
To which Arthur had replied:
Merlin wasn’t buying his disparaging tone- he was pretty sure Arthur was impressed with his wisdom, much as he tried to hide it.
Then Wednesday Note Day 2 had continued with:
Which Merlin thought was a sensible answer. He earned several gruff chuckles for that one, and a smile that looked suspiciously fond.
Merlin expected another snarky reply, but what he received was:
Which Merlin was currently staring at, curled up in a plush library chair, eyes refusing to correctly process the information before them. He was definitely reading it wrong, wasn’t he? Or at the very least misinterpreting it. Because it sounded like…it sounded like Arthur was trying to flirt with him. Which was utterly ridiculous. Arthur had no idea who he was. He would never…
Merlin had to stop thinking about it, because his traitorous brain was leading him down all kinds of dangerous paths. Images of pizza dates, holding hands in the cinema, and snuggling together on the couch watching Top Gear repeats (because Arthur seemed like the kind of manly bloke who would like Top Gear) swirled through his head at dizzying speeds. His brain seemed to like this possibility very much, and was swiftly trying to convince Merlin that it was not only plausible, but true.
No. He had to stop. Because that’s not what Arthur meant. It was a joke, obviously. Maybe even sarcastic, like the rest of the notes had been so far. His rational mind told him to forget about it, to laugh it off, to continue on as he had been. But that damn irrational, schmoopy, romantic part of his mind was winning the civil war raging inside his head.
Merlin sighed and folded up the note, returning it to his pocket where it couldn’t mock him quite so loudly. This called for an expert second opinion.
He pulled out his phone and shot Gwen a text: Ice cream emergency. Stat.
Her reply came within seconds: pint or gallon sized emergency?
That was why he loved her.
****
Arthur found himself looking forward to mornings he had economics class. It was a bit absurd, no one actually liked economics, not even the people who specialized in it. But every morning when he showed up that little note would be waiting on his desk, greeting him like an old friend.
It was starting to get a bit pathetic. Arthur felt like a teenage girl in one of those horrid romance movies Morgana tried to make him watch in high school. If he were going to be stuck in a romantic comedy, couldn’t he at least be the dashing male lead? Was that too much to ask? Instead he was the naïve girl falling for a total stranger.
Well, he wouldn’t say falling for. That was way too cheesy, and he was definitely not a girl. But he had to admit, he felt some sort of weird connection with his mystery pen pal. They knew exactly how to make him smile, how to make him laugh. Hell, he’d had friends for years he didn’t get him like that. That meant something, didn’t it?
It should have been a little creepy that a stranger could know him so well. They could be a stalker for all he knew, planning to lure him into a false sense of security with cutesy notes, then pounce when he least suspected it, kidnapping him and hiding him in a secluded basement so they could dress him up and play house and keep him down there for years and years until he forgot him own name and answered only to Mr. Snookums. Okay, so maybe he watched too many horror movies, but it could totally happen.
Only this didn’t feel creepy. It felt comforting and exciting and altogether intriguing. Arthur might have been able to downplay his interest before and pretend it wasn’t affecting him even if Gwaine teased him about ‘dopey smiles’ and Leon was keeping a closer eye on him than usual. They were just overreacting.
But then today he’d found himself flirting. With someone he didn’t know. Through a note, for God’s sake. So much for playing it cool. He was totally and utterly lost, and he knew it. It was time to take action before this could get even more out of hand. What he needed was some impartial advice.
Since Leon was already convinced the ‘Mystery Doodler’ (which he thought sounded like a cool Scooby Doo villain name) was a crazy stalking weirdo, it was no use going to him for help. He would no doubt remind Arthur of horror movie scenarios involving smashed ankles and boiling bunnies and warn him to steer clear. In Secret Leon Language that might mean ‘I care about you, mate,’ but it wasn’t exactly productive right now.
That left Lance. Surely, an expert on all things emotional and romantic would be able to give some sound advice on the subject. Hell, Lance had probably been in a crazy situation like this before. Arthur had no doubt he had his share of secret admirers and borderline stalkers. He couldn’t even blame them, really.
****
They met up that night to grab a pizza off-campus (not that Arthur was paranoid, but this didn’t seem like a conversation for the crowded cafeteria, where anyone might stop by). Lance greeted him warmly, with a smile that grew even larger when he saw the extra large sausage pizza Arthur had ordered.
Arthur didn’t know how to broach the topic, but Lance seemed to know what was on his mind (was Arthur that transparent, or did his friends just know him too well? He sincerely hoped it was the latter).
“How are things going with your mystery paramour?” Lance asked without preamble. Arthur almost choked on his pizza. Leave it to Lance to make him sound like a romance novel hero (which was ridiculous, because if anyone were to star in a bodice-ripper it would most definitely be Lance. He was the kind of guy to have paramours.).
“Uh, well,” Arthur fumbled articulately. He sighed, wiping his hands on a napkin and leaning back, settling himself in for a long talk. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, since that seemed the simplest place to start.
“What is the problem? Are you not getting along?” Lance asked, polishing off another slice (Arthur calculated it to be his sixth). He wiped his hands and followed Arthur’s lead, leaning his forearms on the table and examining Arthur carefully.
“No, actually, it’s the opposite.” Lance wrinkled his brow in confusion and Arthur let out a sigh. Was he crazy for thinking getting along with someone was a problem? Apparently so.
“So you like them?” Lance asked, getting to the heart of the matter as usual. He looked both concerned and pleased, and Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“Yeah, I think so. But I don’t even know them. I mean, they could be...anyone,” he finished lamely, waving his arms in an encompassing gesture. He didn’t want to tell Lance about his stalker theory, because it sounded crazy even in his own head, so there was no way he was admitting it out loud.
“It’s true,” Lance nodded sagely. “You don’t know much about them. Except that they are kind and obviously care for you. That sounds like a firm foundation for friendship to me.” He was watching Arthur carefully, like he was waiting for a reaction. It was a little unnerving.
Arthur tried not to blush when Lance mentioned friendship. He was not ready to admit that his own thoughts had already strayed far beyond that point. He wasn’t sure when he had started to think about the person behind the notes, imagining who they might be, what they might look like. Of course his imagination preferred to paint his mystery friend as a beautiful but shy girl who turned out to be everything he had always been looking for (okay, so he had watched a lot of Morgana’s cheesy movies back in the day. The girl knew how to threaten.). It wasn’t that far-fetched, was it? Was he crazy for even considering it?
But instead he said, “Sometimes I feel like I have some kind of connection with them, like they know me, better even than some of my friends. Which sounds crazy, I know, but I can’t help feeling like...”
“It’s destiny?” Lance filled in, sending Arthur into a fit of sputtering laughter. Maybe Lance was the author of those romance novels, as well as the dashing hero. It was just so ridiculous, and he said it with a completely straight face. He had joined in the laughter, but Arthur could detect a slight blush creeping up Lance’s tanned neck. He guessed that his friend had probably been thinking of his own girlfriend in that moment rather than Arthur’s situation.
“Well, maybe not destiny,” Lance amended, once Arthur had settled back down. “But maybe this was meant to be, in a way. Maybe all of this happened for a reason.” His jovial smile was gone, replaced by a concerned frown. Arthur wasn’t sure what he was referring to, but then it sunk in.
Vivian.
The thought shocked Arthur like an unexpected slap to the face. She had been the last thing on his mind lately. He actually hadn’t even thought of her in days. Which was crazy, because only a few short weeks ago he had been ready to drink himself into a coma at the mention of her name. Now all that remained was a feeling of regret for what might have been. The surge of overwhelming pain was gone, dulled to a slight twinge somewhere in the back of his mind. It was almost strange how quickly it had passed; his heartbreak had been as violent as his love, but then it faded, like a spell had been lifted. ...Or something like that (Lance-the-secret-romance-novelist could probably come up with a dozen suitable metaphors).
Lance was talking again, but Arthur was hardly listening, his mind lagging as it tried to plow through the mass of thoughts and feelings he had been ignoring for so long.
“...When one door closes, another door opens,” he thought he heard, though that was probably wrong, because he didn’t think that phrase had anything to do with romance.
“Arthur,” Lance said, calling his attention back to the present with a sharp snap that Arthur could almost feel physically. He focused his gaze back on Lance, who was hovering close, concern creasing his brow. “Are you alright?” he asked gently.
Arthur nodded, shaking his head a few times to clear away his thoughts. “Yeah, fine,” he replied, though he knew Lance wasn’t buying it. “I just...haven’t thought about...her in a while. It’s weird, almost. She used to be all I could think about, but now...”
“Now you’ve moved on,” Lance supplied with a small smile. Arthur nodded. It was a strange thought, one he would have found impossible a few weeks ago, yet it was true.
Lance clapped him on the shoulder gently. “That’s good, mate. I’m happy for you. It’s best to move on with your life.” Lance would have made an excellent counselor, Arthur thought. It was a shame he was studying music and not psychology. Arthur could just picture him with lovesick patients pouring their hearts out, Lance calmly and kindly talking them through it. He had done it so many times for their friends, he was practically a professional already.
“Still,” Lance continued, “it might be best to take it slow, give yourself time. Hearts take time to mend, even after the visible wounds have faded.” This time Arthur was sure he had ripped that from a novel (possibly one he had written himself). But it was still sound advice.
Arthur had a lot to think about. He knew he wasn’t completely recovered from the break-up yet, even if the pain had faded (which was largely due to his pen pal, another point in their favor). The thought of opening himself up to further disappointment or rejection was hard to swallow right now. He had to weigh the possible risk with the possible gain (sometimes his business background came in handy).
Lance let him be for a while, finishing off the last slice of pizza and ordering another one to go (for his girlfriend, he explained, though Arthur had a sneaking suspicion he would probably end up eating half of it).
They parted ways with a gruff hug and reminders to be ready for the football match this weekend.
Arthur headed back to campus feeling a bit dazed. He had hoped Lance would help him sort this mess out, to reach some kind of decision. But now it seemed more complicated than ever.
He hadn’t really considered what he wanted from this situation. Sure, he’d been nursing a few sappy daydreams, but the reality wasn’t quite so rosy. He would be an idiot to put his heart on the line again when it was still on the mend. There were no guarantee that this would turn out to be anything, and yet he was getting his hopes so high.
Despite his many qualms, he knew he still wanted to meet the mysterious person who had become such a friend to him already. Whatever became of it he at least owed them an honest thanks and an offer of friendship. He knew with absolute certainty that he wanted this person in his life, for more than 5 minutes three mornings a week, more than just in his mind and on a slip of paper.
“Fuck,” Arthur swore aloud, pushing a hand through his hair in frustration. He was definitely over-thinking this. Since when did he get so bogged down in feelings and self-doubt? Arthur was a man of action. When Arthur was attracted to someone he went for it. If it didn’t work out, he shrugged it off and moved on. He wasn’t some preteen with his first crush. He was a mature, confident adult.
So the circumstances may be slightly different than he was used to. Whatever. He was Arthur Pendragon, dammit. He imagined what Morgana would say. Probably “Man up, Pendragon.” (Of course she could never actually know about this, but thinking of her stern decisiveness helped.)
Right, that decided it. The time for talking was over. Now was the time for action.
****
“So...” Gwen coaxed, poking Merlin with her toes from across the couch. They were stretched out together in her suite’s common room, enjoying their ice cream straight from the containers with the biggest spoons they could find.
When Gwen had received Merlin’s text she figured it had something to do with the Secret Arthur Plan, or whatever official title he had given it (they were always too long to remember). But she had let it be for now, allowing Merlin to wallow in his ice cream until he felt like talking. That, along with some Pride and Prejudice, seemed to have broken him out of his deer-in-the-headlights daze.
Merlin grabbed Gwen’s foot and tickled it lightly, causing her to squirm and shriek. He knew how much she hated that, but it made them both smile and loosened the last of the tension hanging between them.
Merlin sighed, dragging his latest note from his pocket. This is how these conversations always went lately (it felt like it had been going on for years and not just a few weeks): Merlin would show her the note without explanation, leaving it up to her to decipher what it meant, and how Merlin felt about it. Though that wasn’t very hard, since the boy was an open book, especially to those who knew him well.
She looked at the note and back at Merlin. She could understand instantly what he was feeling. He was curled into himself miserably, bottom lip pouting exactly the way it had when he was 10 and she refused to play knights and dragons with him (he always made her be the knight, when she wanted to be a princess).
She re-read the note. It was definitely...flirty. She didn’t know Arthur all that well, but she knew he tended to be playful, at least with girls. He was charming when he wanted to be. But she didn’t know what he could mean by this. He probably didn’t mean anything serious, this kind of teasing was second nature to him.
Poor Merlin would likely jump on this as a sign of mutual feelings. She sighed softly. She wanted it to be true just as much as he did, but she couldn’t give him false hope. As far as she knew Arthur had never dated a guy. He was playful and teasing with his male friends, including Lance, but it was different from flirting.
Merlin was watching her, waiting for a reaction.
“It’s...I think it’s a good sign,” she offered weakly, and she knew it wasn’t convincing. Merlin just groaned and hugged a pillow to his chest.
“When I read it I thought...well, I thought he was flirting with me,” Merlin admitted, face partially hidden behind the cushion. It made Gwen’s heart break a little. If it wouldn’t give Merlin away, she would find Arthur right now and beat him up for carelessly playing with her best friend’s emotions. She had supported Merlin in this little project of his, but now she was starting to think it might have been a bad idea. Merlin could get himself seriously hurt. If that happened she would beat up Arthur, kicking him square in the groin, and see how much he flirted then.
Merlin didn’t need to know any of this, of course, he wouldn’t like the thought of Gwen being mad at anyone on his behalf. Instead, she placed a comforting hand on the closest part of his leg she could reach and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“It does sound flirty, but that’s just what Arthur’s like, Merlin. Not that it doesn’t mean you’re not special or anything,” she added hastily, seeing his crestfallen face. “Just...just don’t read too much into it, okay? It’s a good sign, anyway, that he feels he can joke with you like that. It just might not mean anything...more,” she finished lamely.
He nodded at her, she wasn’t sure if in understanding or agreement. He seemed to accept her words though she was sure they weren’t what he wanted to hear. She badly wanted to be able to tell him everything was going to work out and there would be rainbows and flowers and unicorns (Merlin loved unicorns, dear boy), just to see him smile. But she was his best friend, and sometimes it was her duty to be the unpleasant voice of reason.
She grabbed the discarded ice cream from the coffee table and handed it back to Merlin. He accepted it with a sigh, and they went back to watching Mr. Darcy be a gorgeous prat (maybe this wasn’t the best movie for a lovesick Merlin after all but he didn’t seem to mind). When all else failed they could temporarily numb their sadness with ice cream.
****
Merlin slumped into class Friday morning, feeling nervous and worn out. He had agonized over Arthur’s last note for the past two days, trying to settle on a suitable reply. Gwen’s assessment had been hard to hear, but he knew it was true. He was reading too much into this, because it’s what he wanted to believe. He had to step back a little and remember not to get too swept up in his daydreams.
In the end he had decided not to reply directly to that note, instead dropping that line of conversation and choosing something neutral. He didn’t want to seem like he was purposely avoiding the topic, but Arthur had probably forgotten already anyway. It’s not like he really expected an answer, right?
Merlin watched as Arthur read today’s note. He smiled a little, but it was pale compared to his usual reaction. He seemed tense this morning, on edge. Merlin couldn’t help but feel like maybe he had made the wrong choice or had come to the wrong conclusion. And that made him miserable. For once, he didn’t want to sit through class and watch Arthur, he wanted to go back to his room and curl up in his bed and forget about his stupid daydreams and Arthur’s stupid gorgeous smile.
For a little while, anyway.
****
Arthur was so nervous about leaving his reply note this morning that he almost forgot about the one waiting for him. He opened it up with less enthusiasm than usual.
He chuckled, but it felt dry in his throat. It was a pretty good one, actually. Leon would probably find it hysterical (he was beginning to think the Mystery Doodler and Leon would get along famously, another thought that made his chest ache with hope).
The weight of what he was about to do was sitting heavy on his mind. He was realizing now that his next action might risk all of this. He was so sure that his pen pal would agree to his proposal, but what if they didn’t? What if Arthur was pushing too much and they cut ties altogether? This could possibly be the last note he would ever receive. It shouldn’t bother him nearly as much as it did, the rational part of his mind told him. But that didn’t stop his breath from hitching painfully.
He was restless through class, foot tapping nervously, fingers drumming against his desk. He couldn’t wait for the professor to finish his tedious lecture so he could drop his note and flee like the coward he obviously was. If he didn’t do it soon he was going to lose his nerve and forget the whole thing, continuing on in this weird uncertain limbo for the rest of the damn term, or until he snapped. Whichever came first.
Finally, the professor wrapped it up and Arthur had his things packed and ready to go in a matter of seconds. He dropped the note and made a dash for the door, not daring to look back just in case someone was watching him.
As he walked across the quad Arthur finally came to a devastating realization: today was Friday. He wouldn’t have class again until Monday. He had a whole weekend of waiting and uncertainty ahead of him.
Shit.
****
Gwen and Lance took Merlin to the pub that night. It seemed like the only thing they could do in this situation. He was babbling incoherently about Arthur and the notes, and while Lance was fairly certain he knew what this was about, Gwen was completely lost. They thought maybe a couple pints would help calm Merlin down and loosen him up enough to talk in full sentences, in a pitch actually audible to humans.
That plan had worked well initially. After one beer Merlin was feeling calm enough to take out the most recent note and pass it between them.
Well, that explained why he was freaking out. Gwen remembered how nervous he had been the other night when he suspected Arthur’s note might be flirty, but this was undeniable: Arthur was definitely interested in some way. Gwen couldn’t really blame Merlin for being a bit overwhelmed (well, ‘a bit’ might be too generous, since Merlin was currently having some kind of minor emotional breakdown on his bar stool).
“He’s going to hate me,” Merlin was moaning, forehead resting against the cool table top, face flushed from a combination of alcohol and mortification. Gwen carded her fingers through his hair in a way he usually found comforting.
“Of course he isn’t, sweetheart, why would you think that? You two will get on brilliantly.”
“No we won’t,” Merlin moped, raising his head to take another few gulps of lager, then letting it fall back with a dull thunk. “Arthur is…Arthur. He’s so cool and confident and bloody gorgeous, and he’ll take one look at me and wonder why he wasted all this time. He’ll hate me!” Merlin moaned with increased fervor. He took another deep drink and Gwen thought maybe it was time to cut him off. He had passed the point of loose and tipsy, and now the alcohol was just sinking him deeper into this morose mood.
“Merlin,” Lance chided, subtly pulling the glass out of his reach. “Arthur is a good man. I think it’s only fair that you give him a chance. He might be just as nervous about this as you are, you know.”
Merlin just scoffed. Arthur, nervous? It was ridiculous. Arthur could have anyone he wanted with a snap of his fingers (like The Fonz, Merlin thought hazily, trying to muster up an impression that left Gwen looking at him like he’d finally lost it).
He knew Lance was right, that he should be fair and give Arthur a chance. But just because Arthur’s intentions might be good, that didn’t mean this wouldn’t end in a Hindenberg-esque catastrophe. Maybe he was blowing this out of proportion, but right now he felt volatile, like a hydrogen explosion waiting to rip apart his comfortable, complacent life and leave it all a fiery wreck.
“I think it’s about time we got you home, my friend,” Lance said, throwing another one of his pointed looks at Gwen, which Merlin couldn’t even attempt to translate in this state. He thought it meant something like ‘why are we friends with a loser like this?’ But knowing Lance he probably used a kinder phrase like ‘unfortunate soul’ instead of ‘loser’. Even in his silent-eyebrow-language Lance would be a perfect gentleman.
Lance and Gwen pulled him up, each twining an arm under his shoulders to support him. Merlin wanted to protest that he could walk on his own, but his feet seemed to have other ideas, tripping over themselves in their hurry to prove him wrong. Of course. His mind had already rebelled against him, now his feet were jumping ship. He was one big mess. Next thing he knew his penis would be betraying him by deciding it liked girls. The way his life was going today, he wouldn’t even be surprised.
They managed to stumble the short distance back to campus without Merlin pulling all three of them down to the hard pavement. He tried to convince them several times to just leave him to rot on the sidewalk, but they had persisted in dragging him along. Maybe they weren’t going to stop being his friends after all. Or maybe they were just looking for the right spot to dump him so no one would find his body.
The last thing Merlin remembered was Gwen tucking him into his bed, laying out several bottles of water and some aspirin on his desk, and kissing him on the forehead the way his mother used to. He wanted to tell Gwen that she was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and that if she wanted he would forget all about stupid bloody Arthur and marry her after all, since maybe his penis was going to decide it liked women anyway.
This felt like an important thing to tell her, but it came out sounding more like “uuuuuuuugh Arthur, blaaaaaaaargh.” He hoped she understood.
****
Merlin woke up feeling like there was a wild Euro rave going on behind his eyeballs, complete with giant sub-woofers and strobe lights. His tongue felt fuzzy, his limbs were heavy, and he could barely roll himself over to grope around for the bottle of water on his desk. (Even more difficult to do since he was determined not to open his eyes ever again. Or at least until the pulsing drum beats faded.).
He remembered everything about last night, which, for once, made him feel even worse, because he remembered exactly what an brat he had been to his friends. They had tried to cheer him up and he had moped and whined and complained the whole time. And they still brought him home and took care of him, without giving into the obvious temptation to leave him in the road. He felt disgusted with himself.
And he still remembered the cause of his distress. He reached in his pocket, still wearing his clothes from the night before, and dug out the note that had sent him into such a tailspin of woe.
Arthur wanted to meet him. Arthur. Wanted. To. Meet. Him.
It was a disastrously bad idea. Even worse than that time in high school when his best mate Will had dared him to shave his head. He had looked like a bloody idiot for months.
And this would be exactly the same. Arthur might think he wanted to meet him, but he had no idea what he was getting himself into. He would meet Merlin, realize that he was a nerdy loser who had nothing in common with him at all, and then Merlin would be forced to transfer schools to avoid eternal embarrassment and unrequited heartache. Even then, future students would tell epic stories of him, the Loser Guy Who Was Rejected By The Prince. He would become a campus legend, and a cautionary tale to all social upstarts.
Okay, maybe he should calm down and try to think about this rationally, before he launched into any more self-pitying rants. Though that was hard to do with his head still pounding. He popped the aspirin Gwen had laid out (really, the woman was genuine Mother Teresa material) and waited for it to kick in, focusing on breathing without hyperventilating at the mere thought of Arthur.
It was his own fault. He was the one who started this in the first place. He could have left it at that first note, content that he had cheered Arthur up, and then let it be, but he had gotten greedy. He wanted more contact, wanted Arthur to notice him, didn’t he? Wasn’t that what this was all about? Even though he tried to tell himself that it was just about being nice and selfless and helping Arthur, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted just that little bit of connection with Arthur, even if it could never be more.
Which it couldn’t. Because Arthur was popular. Because Arthur was normal. Because Arthur was straight.
And maybe that was at the root of it. Because if he met Arthur, even if by some miracle they actually got along, all they could ever be was friends. And Merlin wanted so much more than that. His vapid daydreams had been replaced by a deep longing. The more Merlin watched him, the more he got to know Arthur’s personality through their little game, the more he couldn’t resist. Being Arthur’s friend without the possibility of ever having more would be pure torture.
Merlin had two choices, then: meet Arthur, possibly become his friend, then live in constant agony; or, be a total coward, continue the way things were, and still live his life pining for someone he could never have.
Buggering hell. This wasn’t a decision he could make without several cups of tea and strawberry smothered waffles. He pulled out his phone and texted Gwen through half-closed eyes. After last night the least he could do was treat them to breakfast. He glanced at his clock: 1 pm. Okay, brunch then.
He had until Monday to make his decision. Suddenly, the weekend seemed much too short.
TBC
thanks so much to everyone who has left comments and encouragements so far. you guys fucking rock my world, seriously. you kept me going even when this chapter felt impossible.
ETA: Chapter 4
p.s. since I obviously fail at image editing (though I finally switched from mspaint to gimp, bwahaha), would anyone be interested in making me some kind of banner for this story? it's my first multi-chap, and that would make it feel so cool and official.
and would win you my eternal love and gratitude, of course.