(love, or) A Feeling Like It (four)
All of a Sudden - Telekinesis!
The next week or so go by like a musical montage in one of those sappy romantic comedies that he secretly liked whenever Morgana took him when Leon had enough balls to decline her offer -and consequently, sex in any horizontal or vertical place afterwards when everything is muffled by the sounds of cheesy romance.
All the mornings Merlin isn’t in the shelter of Arthur’s expensive sheets, Arthur’s in Merlin’s kiddie sheets, which he promptly made fun of when Merlin was too busy attacking his neck and collarbone with little nibbles and bites. Their breakfast consists usually consists of simple pancakes or waffles with tea and biscuits with a side of an early morning blowjob.
Merlin likes the mornings the best because he can look sideways and look at Arthur, in all his tousled perfection, knowing that when Arthur wakes up, Merlin will be the first thing he sees. He also likes it the best because they laze around a bit. They purposely wake up a bit early to have a sense of laziness before their work schedule kicks in. They watch telly for a bit and cuddle, usually with Merlin’s head on Arthur’s chest or Arthur lying, like a cat, on Merlin’s lap or maybe they’ll sit on the couch and read for a bit.
Then they get properly dressed and leave their shelter into the shit world that doesn’t include their significant others in any other form than the perky text message or the two-minute phone call. Every moment they’re not at work, however, they spend with each other.
They have somehow developed the same wave length to organize their lunch breaks at the same time and they manage to find, after a few moments of arguing and then laughing and then arguing about laughing after their arguments, a place in the middle of him and him. It’s a small little bistro and, after a while, they’ve been recognized already.
They’ve opened a tab with this small little bistro and its sweet-smelling coffee that tastes bitter (an oxymoron Merlin happily accepts) and the cooing waitresses that have already labelled them the cutest couple that have ever graced their chrome finish, dim lights and brown and red tables. Sometimes, they go to the park, on their designated bench, and just be a couple of saps wrapped in each other like there’s no other world.
In the evenings when they’re back home, they’re tired and they usually fall asleep in each other’s arms for a few hours until one of them kicks the other from slumber. When they wake up, they’re basically like a bunch of randy teenagers that have just realized they missed each other.
Then there Merlin is, in this plane of time, in this map of their lives now, nestled comfortably between the crossroads of Arthur’s back, an ivory road that leads anywhere and everywhere at the same time. He’s reading, he is, but he hasn’t even bothered to put on anything. With him being a gay sapiosexual, Arthur reading whilst naked is probably the hottest thing he’s seen.
So he kisses his shoulder blades, all the while keeping his hand on the small of his back. Arthur pays him no attention whatsoever, completely engrossed in his reading. Merlin’s left hand travels download, through the valley of Arthur’s back and landing on the soft, round world of Arthur’s magnificent bum. He can feel the tense rising up in Arthur’s shoulder as Merlin sucks his own finger and slowly begins to insert it into Arthur’s hole.
“Keep reading, it’s alright,” he says softly as he slides the finger out before plunging it in back that makes Arthur release a small whimper. “I want you to come just from my fingers alone. Can you do that?”
“Nghhh,” is all Arthur can manage at the moment. Merlin can only imagine that the words in his book mean nothing anymore because Arthur is basically rutting against the bed to get some friction.
“Read me something,” Merlin says before repositioning himself so that he’s sitting in front of Arthur’s glorious arse with better access.
“H-having begun to feel, people’s desire,” Arthur reads with an emphasis on the word desire as Merlin enters a second finger, then, slowly, a third, “to feel grew.”
Merlin twists his wrist that makes Arthur cry out but he keeps reading, making points with the most important words, “They wanted to feel more, feel deeper, despite how it sometimes hurt. People became addicted to feeling.”
A probing tongue in his arse is all Arthur needs to come undone before him, ruining his own sheets with his come. He sighs in relief, abandoning the book and turning around, grabbing Merlin by the hips and changing their positions so Arthur was on top of him, arms on either side of him.
“I hate you,” Arthur says. It should be menacing but it can’t be because Merlin’s cock is hard and it needs attention as it rises up and barely skim the stomach of his boyfriend.
“No, you don’t,” Merlin smirks.
“Smooth one, are you?”
“I like to think so, yes.”
“Are we in that point of our relationship where we can’t stand to be away from each other? Because I’m already there so you better catch up,” Arthur kisses his nose before dropping down from his position to lie, half on the bed, half on Merlin.
“Well, if you’re so miserable without me, you should take me into your work tomorrow.” He brings his hand up to stroke Arthur’s hair.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ve never really known what it is that you do in the first place and we have an off-day at the office tomorrow. Why not?”
“Yeah, okay, we’ll do that. It’ll be ‘Bring your Boyfriend to Work’ Day,” Arthur laughs then reaches across to wrap his wonderful hands around Merlin’s aching cock, swiping the pre-cum at the head.
And, suddenly, Merlin’s overwhelmed all over again and he can’t help but say, “I’m in love with this moment.”
The dreams come back. Not to say that they weren’t there before but they came in flashes, small dips in the pool of his mind but, now, this was an entire lake that came in huge waves into him.
Everything looks clearer from here. Here is a balcony of a big castle, overlooking a stone courtyard with a few people crossing it. The castle is huge; Merlin realizes as he turns back and sees the scale of this place. The carved gargoyles decorating each tower and the smaller but no less intricate buildings built around it.
They always say that dreams borrow from real life so it’s not much of a surprise that, through the doors that enter the balcony, there’s a man he recognizes very much. It’s Arthur. Only he’s not wearing his customary t-shirt and slacks but a regal kind of attire.
Red robes flow behind him like a majestic waterfall and there’s a crown upon his head. It’s not like one of those crowns you see the Queen wearing, where you have to wonder if the height of the jewels might make him tip over, no it’s like a simple wedding band on his tousle of blonde hair. Whoever Arthur is in this dream, he’s certainly not the ruler.
But, regardless, the way he holds himself, it’s like how he does in real life, too. Like there’s always something to say, something to do, whether it’s his job or not. This Arthur, this dream Arthur, probably has a lot on his mind because his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks deep in concentration.
This is the furthest he’s gone in his dream, the clearest he’s gotten, and there’s some kind of irony in the fact that, despite all of that, he spends his time here, like he does in real life, with Arthur.
Part of him wants to touch him, this Arthur that’s different but the same than his, and ask to tell him what’s wrong. He feels this kind of attachment to this Arthur, the kind you get when you find yourself liking someone from afar who is more accomplished and will never look at you the same way.
Then he wakes up and everything is gone. The cement and the brick and the castle and stones. And his dream Arthur is replaced by the one who’s standing at the edge of the bed, dressed to impress, who then crawls over him, not caring about the wrinkles and creases it will give his outfit and kisses him.
Then Merlin guesses that this Arthur is way better.
If he was a contestant on a game show, the kind where the spotlight follows you annoyingly as you take your place at your station and the host resembles Regis Philbin but more youthful and with more chance of marrying more than four times but will never get children, and he was asked what his boyfriend did for a living, he wouldn’t have answered this.
No, if he was given the option of whether his boyfriend was either a teacher, a spy or an escort, he would look straight to the audience watching and answer spy and lock that answer. So, really, he would lose the opportunity of winning a couple hundred pounds with that answer.
Because, as Merlin gets out of the car and sees where he is, he says, like a complete dunce, “This is a school.”
Arthur laughs and wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “Yes, my love, it’s a school.”
“You work at a school? This one in particular? This one?” Merlin asks, not really believing it.
“Work is an understatement. I’ve been running this place for months now, ever since I got back from the States,” Arthur shrugs and leads them inside.
Merlin’s heard of this place, the way neighbours hear about the wife cheating on the husband with another woman -with more talk than substance- but he doesn’t have a name behind the school. Camelot, he knows that’s the name but he didn’t have a single idea that Arthur was in charge of it.
Camelot’s a big school, sometimes it’s more likely to be compared to a church than an actual school. It has that big, looming quality some churches have but it’s sort of welcoming. The school banners from the previous year haven’t been totally put down so there’s a tinge of school spirit around and the trees are lush and they seem like they’re from a painted picture.
Arthur opens the big doors leading inside with a majestic gesture and says, “Merlin Emrys, welcome to the Camelot Academy.”
“Bugger,” Merlin silently curses as he sees the extent of this place. He’s not surprised. Private schools always look expensive, hence why they’re called private. He’s only seen the inside of one private school when he and Will went to one after school. They contemplated begging their mothers to study here instead but thought better of it when they realized this was one of those ‘healthy diet’ schools.
“So,” Merlin says, turning to Arthur once again, “You run a school. Who do you think you are? Professor X?”
“Hardly. The only mutants in this school are the ones with super allergies,” Arthur locks the door behind them.
Somehow, it’s so comfortable here, even if they’re alone. The students are on summer break but it figures that Arthur would be working now. He heard that teachers sometimes have the same amount of workload they put on the kids.
“Wait, are you the headmaster?” Merlin asks, because he cannot imagine Arthur sitting behind a big desk in an even bigger room, with one of those carpets that portray odd animals that don’t look like animals at all and having to put on a stern face whenever naughty children are being sent to him.
“No, I’m not. Just overseeing this, like an administrator of sorts. And I teach, yeah, English Studies,” Arthur nods at him like it’s just another Q&A where the answers are formal and the interviewer isn’t his boyfriend.
“You teach? English?”
“I know it’s not the sort of job you’ve imagined me doing-”
“I think you just got, like, a hundred times hotter.”
“Really now?” Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise of being interrupted. “I never pegged you for those role-playing types. Kinky, eh?”
“Mm, maybe,” Merlin smirks as Arthur wraps his warm arms around his waist. “But, seriously, you’re a teacher?”
“Yeah, I have been for years. You know what? Let me show you my office,” Arthur stops himself but starts holding his hand, leading him through the long hallways of the private school that seem to have no end, past the lockers stacked up upon each other like Merlin’s books.
Merlin takes the time to appreciate the beauty of the Camelot Academy. He wouldn’t have wanted to go here if he was a kid, he figures that the public school system was always better to him, made him who he was because he wasn’t -and isn’t- like the others. But there’s still this awe he feels when he sees a private school. The way they always seem to shine and bristle with the brightest of colours and minds.
Arthur stops in front of a big oak door, which should seem professional from the wood and the sheen on it but there are marks around the edges and in the walls near it, vandalized by some young youth who thought it would be fun. But, inside, it’s a mix-match of everything professional and everything against it.
On one hand, there are towering bookshelves on either side of them, with books he’s heard of and books he doesn’t know shit about, arranged by genre, from historical fiction to philosophy to everything in between. And there’s a wooden desk in the middle of the room, with a lamp shining over papers with the customary phone and fax machine and computer that are pretty much mandatory in offices like these.
But, on the other hand, there are also posters on some surfaces of the walls, well, one poster -The Beatles, generically- the rest are blown-up pictures of small kids, crowding together for a group picture. They look happy, with their matching uniforms and arms around each other, and annoyed at the same time, like they will always be wondering if today will be taco day in the cafeteria. They look like a childhood memory, as far as Merlin’s concerned. There’s also a shelves for a myriad of CDs and DVDs and even a small TV in the corner of the room.
“Welcome to my humble academic abode,” Arthur waves his hands like he’s presenting the start of a magic show.
“It’s great. It’s like a home here.”
“Well, I occasionally sleep on the table. We’ve all done that at least five times in our lives, yeah?”
“I can’t get over the fact that you teach,” Merlin walks over the bookshelves, but, really, it’s always the first thing he does in everything anyways. “How’d that come around?”
“I taught back in the States and I was kind of happy there. It was this brand new life, these brand new people, away from Camelot. There was this kind of romanticism in me that wanted to believe that I could stay there forever and just throw away the family business. Because I always did believe that staying here was my father’s idea.”
“But you came back.”
“When I got the call that my dad was leaving Camelot, retiring, I knew I had to.”
And then Arthur smiles, the kind of smile that’s trapped in between every happiness and every sadness and every regret. “Whether I liked it or not, Camelot was, is and always will be my life. So, yeah, I came back. Because this is my family’s place and I have a responsibility.”
“You ever think you could be something else?”
When they were all kids, people would always ask them what they wanted to be when they all grew up because they still had so long to go. But, now, with a stretch of a mile behind them and a shorter distance in front, this is the question they ask, instead. Because they’ve all become something and it’s just the question on whether or not it’s the something they wanted to be back in grade school.
Arthur looks at him, with this stare he can’t quite interpret. And there’s a scary moment there, as if Merlin’s scared that if he can’t read Arthur in this moment, will he succeed in any other?
“I went to school here, of course I did, and I know every secret in the walls and the floors. I used to think the surfaces of the school could talk to me if I asked them questions, like ask if Nick was really making out with Carly in the hallways. I used to press my ears against the wall and try to listen if it would tell me any secrets.
“One day, I was just lying on the floor after hours, waiting for my father to finish up, and one of the teachers stopped me and told me to see him in the office. I thought he was going to give me a scolding, tell me not be so weird and unconventional, cos what if someone else had seen? You are not the image Camelot wants to see. But, no, he sat me down, gave me tea and, when I told him honestly, what I was doing, he said I should keep looking.
“’Keep looking for secrets, keep looking for answers then you might find your own’, he said, and then he gave me a compilation of Shakespeare’s works and sent me off. Only it was his copy, where he wrote stuff in between the lines, thoughts that would get me to ace the class at the end of the year. So, no, I don’t think I could be something else.”
“Ever tried?” Merlin asks. He hopes it doesn’t seem insensitive because he doesn’t want Arthur to change because there’s a passion in his eyes he hasn’t seen before and he loves it. He feels like it’s so overwhelming that it can paint his skin with it.
“Oh, yes,” Arthur laughs, relieving his memories without Merlin, “but, like I said, Camelot is my life. I couldn’t change that by going away and now I can’t do it simply because I don’t want to.”
Merlin wants to say that because he’s been in a steady relationship for a month now -they celebrated their anniversary by staying in and telling no one and doing what bunnies did- that he doesn’t need to wake up in the dead of night, start writing and lose himself in the characters he’s built and the world that seems so, so, unremarkably real in the past moments. That he doesn’t need to think over words that once made him feel that he wasn’t alone because he’s not alone now, because his bed is never empty of sweet nothings and the rustling of sheets. He wants to say that but, if he does, it would be a complete and utter lie.
Just because he’s Arthur’s doesn’t mean he stopped being his own, after all.
So he still gets up before the day does, wear a couple of things that are two sizes too big -the way he likes it- and go to his laptop, or maybe bring it to bed. The only difference is that, now, he starts his day with a kiss to any vicinity of Arthur he can manage to touch without waking his boyfriend up.
Arthur’s quite the deep sleeper and Merlin’s quite the deep writer, tapping on keyboard manically, so it really is meant to be, this relationship.
He doesn’t stop because he simply cannot. When he’s asleep, the dreams are coming in full-force, in Technicolor and in HD, forcing him to see it through. They say that the human dream lasts as long as three seconds but it doesn’t seem like this. It seems like an entire lifetime is being compressed into his tiny head and the only way to function is to put it in words.
He’s sitting in Arthur’s bed now, chewing on a gummy, cross-legged, trying to get the words across, from his brain to the cold, artificial light of his laptop. But the figure next to him stirs.
Merlin blinks and realizes that he’s in the presence of real morning already and it’s completely justified for his boyfriend to start stretching and moan appreciatively in the comfort. Then he looks sideways to Merlin. Merlin knows because he always gets this odd kind of feeling in his stomach whenever Arthur looks at him.
“Stop it,” Merlin looks at him. “You’re distracting me.”
“With what, exactly?” Arthur asks, inching closer to him.
“Your face, it’s distracting.”
“How is my face distracting?”
“It’s all perfect and stuff.”
Arthur laughs then kisses him on his nose, telling him how perfect he thinks Merlin’s face is through the language that’s being said by his lips. He leaves the bed because he knows how important writing is to Merlin and, really, that’s the best thing anyone could be to him: to be supportive and accepting of weird parts of him.
He should really tell Arthur about his magic and the intensity of his dreams that have been growing. Growing since they first got together. Maybe his powers were connected to his emotions and the height and depth of whatever it was he felt. Looking back, his most powerful moments were when he was angry or scared or just feeling too much.
Saving Arthur from the car, now, that was instinctive. He wasn’t scared then, not that he wasn’t scared that Arthur could die, it was just like he was out of himself and the person that replaced him was someone who only had apathy running through him, someone who cared for nothing except for Arthur’s safety.
It was just like he was being overloaded with feelings and had nowhere to put them except into his hands and shoot them.
If this theory’s right, that his powers and, in turn, his dreams, are connected to his emotional depth, then he can probably blame Arthur for every little magical outburst he’s had. It’s not as if he’s having that fear that Arthur will leave and that makes his powers come out; it’s not as if he’s so confused as to why Arthur stays with him until blue light comes dripping from his fingers. No, it’s as if he feels so much happiness and, dare he say it, love in moments that occupy just him and Arthur.
He should really tell Arthur.
It’s funny how his relationship with Arthur can be charted through the steps of Gwen and Lance’s own engagement. The day of their engagement party was the day after Arthur came down from the States, revealing himself to be a soon-to-be lead role in the story of Merlin’s life. The rest were all little moments, sneak peeks, including this one.
This one, that sees Merlin and Arthur wrapped around each other in the cold night, legs walking in the same pace towards the club, swaying like they’re drunk already but they really aren’t. He’s pretty sure Gwen and Lance are already inside, maybe with Gwaine, too, but Morgana and Leon, who are behind them, are taking their own sweet time dragging their feet.
Karaoke, it was said, is going to be a joint party because Lance and Gwen are nauseating like that. Lance are Gwen are that in love with each other that they’ll never be bored with each other or even take control of their own respective pre-wedding parties.
Lance and Gwen are like the quintessential high school sweethearts, who walk together in the hallways, arms linking and too close to each other. They’ll text each other in class and make out like they’re in heat against the lockers. They have the kind of relationship that makes others think that they won’t last.
But they’re also like that high school couple that will last. They’re part of that small, 2% of people who will always be together. They’re the kind who truly believes that love is all they need and, truth is, for them, it is.
Merlin wishes he could be that secure because he has too many issues to keep him from actually being secure. But, right now, he’s in Arthur’s arms and he feels pretty safe.
The club isn’t really like a club. It isn’t as run-down as he made it out to be in his head but it’s actually quite high class. The room they’re in sort of looks like a private strip room, sure, but one that’s probably gonna occupy a high-end call girl or something.
There are red loveseats that Morgana and Leon plop on, that Gwen and Lance are already sitting on, that Gwaine and Elena are jumping on because any Almighty power knows that they don’t need alcohol to act like five-year-olds. Elena jumps down when she sees Arthur and Merlin because she’s kinder than way.
“Hullo, loves,” she kisses them both on the cheek.
“Hey, El, I haven’t seen you in a while,” Arthur says. “Still doing the vet thing?”
“Still being an arrogant prat?” Elena puts her hands on her hips, looking quite like a den mother and all of their friends are nothing but insolent Boy Scouts.
“Always, but, hey, at least I found someone to succumb to my charm,” Arthur says this as his arm wraps around Merlin’s waist, as if screaming out “he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s all mine and no one can touch him,” like a nine-year-old. Merlin can feel his blush reach to his heart, where it’s secretly glowing.
“I didn’t know I was a possession, Penn,” Merlin whispers to him.
“You like it,” Arthur says he wraps an arm around his waist. “And I like that you’re my boyfriend. I like that you’re mine.”
Merlin laughs at this, the ones that make Arthur think of slow, languid mornings where all they can do is stay in bed and laugh at odd things. “You make my life sound like a Taylor Swift song.”
“There’s a reason she’s on the lists, Merlin.” Arthur looks strangely proud at this, like he’s, for some godforsaken reason, Taylor Swift’s fanboy or something. Then the look disappears when he kisses Merlin’s nose.
“So what are up to now, boys and girls?” Gwaine asks the others.
“I thought the intentions were clear. We’re gonna paint the town red,” Gwen says absent-mindedly.
“Gryffindor colour!” Leon says excitedly.
“GA GA GRYFFINDORRRR!” Arthur, Leon and Gwaine yell out like it’s a dirty version of a fight song.
“Fuck, no, go away, Ravenclaw represent,” Elena raises her hand up in proud and uses it to give her fellow Ravenclaw, Merlin, a high-five.
“And here I though we’re all friends with each other, despite our Hogwarts houses,” Gwen says to all of them, passing them microphones.
“Of course you’d say that, love, you’re a Hufflepuff,” Morgana smiles.
Merlin remembers when all of them went out for drinks after they saw the Deathly Hallows Part One trailer and then just started screaming out spells at the bar until a few of the kids from the nearby uni joined in. they all joined them at their table and one of the guys -Merlin can’t even remember who- asked what house they were in.
Morgana slammed down her drink on the table and yelled, “Slytherin, bitches!” when Merlin proudly leaned back in his seat and said with utter confidence that the geeks were going to inherit the earth. They’re all ridiculous, his friends, but, hey, if anyone wants an example of house unity, they’re it.
“What’re we singing, anyhow?” Gwaine asks, scooting up next to Elena on the couch who smacks him on the arm, just because she can.
Lance shrugs. “Sophie’s choice.”
(Club Can’t Handle Me - Flo Rida ft. David Guetta)
They argue on whether or not to sing Justin Bieber just because they can and all of their reputations as cool people aren’t regarded in this room. The girls want to sing Diana Ross but some of the guys want Frank and to belt out that they did it their way. But then they surf the menu and Gwaine accidentally clicks a button.
Long story short, the club can’t handle any of them right now.
Lance finds this button on the wall and it switches off all the lights and a disco ball comes from the wall and they decide to put it on because they’re all idiots. The girls start dancing and Gwaine just starts looking like he’s having a seizure with his arms and legs which sets Elena laughing and sets of an entire chain of laughter.
“I love everyone in this bar!” he shouts and grabs Elena by the waist and twirls her around.
“Oh my god, go away, you twat,” El starts smacking him but Merlin knows she’s secretly enjoying this. They might pride themselves at being the rational ones in the group but, truth is; Ravenclaws just want to have fun.
“The club can’t handle me right nowwwww,” Merlin starts singing, waving his arms.
“For fuck’s sake, control your man!” Morgana tells Arthur.
“What? It’s not my fault that my man is too boss for this club,” Arthur smiles at him and swings him around and kisses him full on the mouth. With the lights flashing and the music playing, he’s sure they could’ve been mistaken for two guys who just found each other on the dance floor and is going to be heading to the bathroom to do dirty things now kthxbai.
“Whatever,” he hears Gwen over the music, “I’m calling the bagpipe solo for their wedding.”
“Merlin Emrys, you are inexplicable to me,” Arthur says into his ear so he can hear him properly. “I don’t know whether I should fuck you or feed you your favourite biscuits. Then I see you like this and I realize I should definitely fuck you first.”
“Good choice,” Merlin smirks at his general direction.
The song ends and they’re all exhausted from moving their limbs but that doesn’t stop Leon and Gwen from choosing Katy Perry next. Soon enough, they’re all with their significant others and are serenading -with an off-key sort of tone, except Gwen who has a pretty nice voice- that they’re each other’s teenage dream.
“I’m gonna head out for a bit,” Merlin says to anyone who wants to listen.
“But, M, don’t you wanna know how I wanna run away and never look back?” Arthur asks him.
“Ah, but you forget, sometimes you sing in your sleep and I’ve heard every variation of this song from you,” Merlin laughs.
It’s to be expected, of course, that when he leaves the building, Arthur follows him.
“I like it out here,” Merlin says.
“What? In the moonlight?” Arthur steps toward him, his feet lazily walking. “You’re a bit odd in the head, aren’t you?”
“I thought we all were,” Merlin laughs, deep in his throat, like it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. But, no, it’s not, it’s just the truth.
“Dance with me,” Arthur says but he already has his arms around him before Merlin can even say yes.
A hand is at the small of his back and a warm body is pressing up against him, in contrast to the cold night. Suddenly, he’s sixteen all over again and he’s in a crowded hall where balloons hang from the ceiling and the theme is set in the eighties. He doesn’t know why he’s here, only that Will pushed him into going.
He’s not having much fun, unlike the others. Youth Group is playing and he can hear the gliding feet on the dance floor and the soft murmuring exchanged between partners. They all celebrate as he, the lone wolf that’s been studied from afar but never approached up close, wraps his around his plastic cup. He wonders if they’ll recycle everything before night ends.
His sixteen-year-old self is alone and lonely and gay in only the sexual aspect of the word. Merlin, the twenty-four year-old, projects his thoughts so this sad, solemn teenager in his memories, who reads because he likes feeling like he isn’t actually alone, gets what he deserves.
A faceless stranger will take his hand and ask him to dance so that he’ll know that somewhere along the road, it’ll be real and it gets better.
It gets better, as Merlin breathes in the scent of his boyfriend -boyfriend because this is real- infinitely better.
“Where were you when I was growing up?” he asks.
Arthur laughs and Merlin can feel it against his chest. “Waiting for you.”
No butterflies now -which is kind of odd because they usually come whenever Arthur says things like this- as if Merlin knows Arthur’s been waiting for him just as long as he has (forever? He doesn’t know but it sure feels like it).
(Dancing in the Moonlight - Toploader)
Out of nowhere, there’s a familiar kind of song around the air that reminds him of romantic comedies. Merlin pulls himself away from Arthur a bit to see Gwaine holding his iPhone in his hand playing Toploader like this is the 21st century setting of Say Anything.
Arthur throws his head back in laughter, all the while Gwaine is yelling out, “Who says our life can’t have its own soundtrack?”
Almost immediately, the rest of their gang -and he means everyone, not even Gwen and Lance have opted to stay inside the karaoke house. They all randomly pair up like they’re children at an organized dance where the chaperones look on so as to not let the wrong kids mix or something. In a moment or two, Merlin finds himself pulled away from Arthur and into Elena’s arms, who’s laughing like a kid.
“Come on, Merlin,” Elena twirls him around until he’s sure he’s not on solid ground anymore.
“Oh God, I wish I could marry all of you,” Gwen says and it is greeted with a chorus of agreement, especially from Gwaine, who suggests polyamory for all of them.
“Dancing in the moonlight!” Leon and Gwaine yell out in time with the song. “Everybody’s feeling warm and bright!”
“You’re all lunatics!” Morgana manages to say in between her choking with laughter.
Arthur always figured Gwen would be the one pacing in her room, straightening her dress until no wrinkle would be seen from space then, somewhere along the line, escape to the bathroom where her lilac-coloured bridesmaids would fan her, pat her back and tell her that she and Lance were made for each other.
But, no, it’s Lance who’s freaking out and hyperventilating and, what’s more, Elyan’s in the room -acting as the best man- which sends Lance into a kind of worried frenzy. “What if I’m not treating your sister right? Are you going to kill me? Of course you are!” Lance is saying.
He’s probably just worried because all of them know that Elyan’s not really capable of killing Lance because he’s his ‘brother’ for years now -“despite the fact that he’s fucking my sister but, whatever, that’s moot point,” Elyan said. And the poor boy’s just standing being shaken around by Lance, looking worried for his own mental health.
The other men in the room -Leon, Gwaine and himself- try to calm Lance down but it’s hard because Lance asking himself if his own intentions are honourable. And it’s like he’s talking to a crazy person.
Merlin’s in Gwen’s room (Gwaine made a joke, saying, “Guess we know who wears the pants in the relationship,” to which Arthur stingily responded -because he hated labelling people in a relationship-, “Shut up, we’re not getting into that. And we both wear pants.”) and Arthur sincerely hopes he’s having a better time. They can’t seriously expect them to get a wedding over with if both the bride and groom are melting down.
“We need to do something,” Leon comes forward to say to Arthur. “We’re expected soon and I don’t know about you but I’m not eager to tell a crowd of wishful relatives that their dears aren’t getting married today.”
“We always have food to tide them over,” Arthur shrugs.
“And what if they’re not all as foodsexual as we are?” Leon asks. Okay, they need to do something.
As if reading their thoughts, Gwaine steps forward and shakes his best friend like a salt container. “Listen, Lance, mate, you love Gwen, don’t you?” he asks insistently.
“’Course I do,” Lance nods.
“So do you really, and I mean really, wanna break her heart by not going through with this? She’s been planning this for months and she’s been in love with you for all of eternity. She wants you and she wants you to do this. And you can. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Cos you have the power of love! You have the power of fucking love that shoots rainbows and hope out of its ass and it is wonderful. Isn’t it wonderful? Because you’ve felt it. Isn’t it fucking wonderful?”
Arthur looks at Lance now, how his face genuinely starts lighting up at the sound of the weirdest pep talk ever. Jesus, if there’s one thing that he’s sure about, he’s going to talk any kind of insecurities with his significant other before they have this damn wedding.
Not that Arthur really believed in the institution of marriage. Sure, it was nice to have a constant in life but he never really believed he would get that kind of constant. Does that mean he’ll never consider it? No, because he can’t help but feel this kind of hope that someone could change his life like that.
The door to the room opens slightly for Merlin’s head to poke through. His boyfriend beckons him closer and Merlin asks, “You guys ready?”
Arthur looks back at Lance, almost back to his normal, sunshiny self and answers, “Yeah, just about.”
His eyes survey Merlin, his hair in all its messy glory -because Merlin never really wanted to clean up for any kind of occasion- all of him, wrapped in a nicely-fitted black suit. He looks nice, a bit uncomfortable because he’s probably used to clothes two sizes too big for him. But, either way, he looks handsome.
“No, don’t give me that look,” Merlin narrows his eyebrows.
“What look?” Arthur asks innocently.
“That ‘I wanna sex you up’ look. We agreed we’d keep it in our pants for the ceremony. Gwen and Lance deserve at least that.”
“Can I at least kiss you?” he steps forward and, suddenly, there’s no distance between them and he knows Merlin can’t say no. he doesn’t say no but the sly bastard kisses him lightly then runs off scampering like a woodland creature.
“You’re whipped,” Gwaine taunts.
“There are worse things to be,” Arthur smiles. “Just ask Lance.”
Lance is standing up now and Gwaine has taken to straightening his tie and suit as he breathes deeply, going through some sort of mantra in his head. He’s not surprised; the man does yoga after all.
“Okay, I think I’m good to go,” Lance breathes out in a puff that reminds Arthur of a fairytale character.
Soon (he doesn’t know how time passes in love) they’re standing at the end of the aisle, all the guys, waiting for Gwen to pass through those doors. He looks at Lance, who is pretty much the perfect combination of nerves and excitement. He looks so happy, like he’s getting something he’s always wanted. He probably is.
In romantic movies that involve the main characters being in a wedding as support, one of the guys from the groom’s side will always share a knowing look to one of the bridesmaids. Arthur guesses he’s lucky because he doesn’t need to look at the other side, he just needs to outstretch his hand just so and his fingers will touch Merlin’s. That’s more than enough.
The wedding isn’t in a church, it’s in a building owned by one of Lance’s friends who’s an architect. It’s sort of unfinished, as the windows are nothing more than a few pieces of glasses taped to the wall but it’s open and clear and beautiful. The floors are a gentle wood and you can see it peek through the red carpet of the aisle. The seats are those comfortable sort of chairs people set out for parties.
That’s Gwen and Lance for you, it’s always comfort over class.
The song starts and the doors open. He sees Morgana come through as the maid-of-honour, smiling mischievously at everyone, then Elena, then one of Gwen’s friends from uni -Lucy something, if he’s not mistaken- all of them dressed in a soft blue like from a nice dream. Then, there she is, there Gwen is, dressed in white.
Arthur remembers when he first met Gwen, it was during a fresher meeting and she was the girl who everyone wanted to be friends was because she smiled at everyone. Years later, Gwen would tell him that it wasn’t her fault people gravitated towards her because she told him she never stopped smiling. She smiled at strangers because she lived with the hope that they won’t be strangers after she smiled.
And, now, she’s getting married. And Arthur is so proud. Sure, he wasn’t there when she met Lance or when their relationship first bloomed but he’s here now.
She clasps her hands with Lance’s and looks at him in the eyes. That’s a look of love if he’s ever seen one. He truly believes that their relationship is going to last forever. They’ll truly grow old together and have everything almost everyone dreams of. Their love is what love songs are made of.
The one marrying them is the City Clerk; because they’re not very religious (Lance once told him that the religion he can connect with is probably Paganism or Buddhism).
“Okay, so, I’ve been asked by the bride and groom to recite a line from the great Dr. Suess,” the clerk smiles at both of them. “We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them in mutual weirdness and call it love.”
Merlin tugs on his fingers just to let him know he sees the resemblance between that quote and their own relationship, too.
Tenderly - Santo and Johnny
The reception is in a different part of the building, which is completely finished. The dance floor is full of people while Arthur is just sitting by the tables, waiting for Merlin. There’s an upbeat song playing on the stereo and Gwen has her skirt hiked up a bit so she can move freely with Morgana. He can see Lance watching from the corner of his eye and smiles.
“Here,” Merlin says and gives him a cheese plate from the table and some grape juice.
“You read my mind, didn’t you?” Arthur asks.
“I have a habit of crawling into the minds of people I love and dig out their inner most thoughts and bring it to the surface,” Merlin says, smiling at him and putting a piece of cheese in his mouth. “Or something along those lines because you’re not the first to say it which I’ll take as a compliment.”
“It’s a writer thing, I’m convinced of it,” he says.
He looks at Merlin and he’s suddenly convinced that he’s feeling that feeling Norwegians call Forelsket. It’s the feeling, that sort of euphoria one feels when one is first falling in love. He’s never really been in love before; he’s had thoughts of it, this way and that and mistaken it for a person he knew on the street. But he really thinks this is love.
No one really knows what love is, no one has been able to put it in words others could understand but maybe love’s not supposed to be understood. Maybe it’s like fingerprints; it’s different for everyone.
So why can’t love be Merlin’s hair when he wakes up, the way it sticks up this way and that and makes him look like a four-year-old; why can’t it be the way Merlin peruses his books and always reads the first and last sentence even if it’s spoils him because he cares about they get to the ending? Why can’t love be the feel of Merlin under his body, the way his body writhes just so that makes everything go into short-circuit; his laugh and how he makes Arthur laugh more than anyone else; the spark in him that he thought was only imaginary; all the feelings he makes him feel that he thought wasn’t possible to feel?
Why can’t love be the way they’re so codependent on each other it’s almost scary; the way Merlin knows what he’s thinking and vice versa; the way they don’t even have to try?
Why can’t love be Merlin?
There’s no one objecting him, no reason to say that it can’t be so he can only come to the conclusion that love is Merlin. Merlin is love. He can no longer see the word love without seeing a flash of Merlin’s face and he doesn’t want to spell love as love anymore, he wants to spell it with Merlin’s words because that’s what matters.
“What?” Merlin asks, snapping him out of his daze.
“Nothing, my turtle, my duck,” Arthur smiles at him.
“Oh, shut up about the durtle already.”
“Hey, Merlin?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Did you know ducks mate for life?”
Merlin looks up to him, his eyes wide with questions Arthur knows he knows the answer to already.
“Dance with me?” Arthur asks. But he’s already standing, not really giving a fuck to whether or not Merlin really wants it. Merlin accepts, however, stands up and links arms with him.
The band is playing some slow, instrumental song so he has an excuse to wrap his arm around Merlin and be closer to him, if there’s any closer between them. His other hand is intertwined with Merlin and he deliberately brushes his finger against Merlin’s hand.
They’re so close to each other now, it’s like they’ve never known any other reality without the other in it. Right then, Arthur wishes he could pinpoint the exact moment Merlin became the center of his universe because he wants to replay it over and over again, make the right choices over and over again, just to be in this moment and all the moments after over and over again. Merlin just makes the universe work.
“I love you right up to the moon,” Merlin says into his ear and Arthur laughs.
“Oh, that’s far! That is very, very far!” Arthur responds just the same.
He pulls Merlin away just so, so that he can lean in and kiss him softly. A kiss made out of children’s books and fairytales and small moments that make up a big one. “I love you to the moon -and back!”
Arthur desperately wants Merlin to ask. Just ask, Merlin, ask me how much I love you. Because I love you as long as the answer to that question.
“Here, lunch,” Arthur says, putting a plate of sandwiches on the table next to him.
Merlin looks up from his laptop -how long has it been?- and smiles at Arthur, like he’s guilty of missing a meal. He’s pretty sure he missed breakfast, as well but he’s not exactly sure. The dining table is a complete mess, a makeshift office for him and Arthur.
He can’t tell which papers are his or if the cup of coffee he’s drinking is actually is but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s not like Arthur spits in his coffee like a five-year-old or anything and even if he does he’s had worse things of Arthur’s in his mouth. Well, not exactly worse per se.
Arthur’s wearing his ‘teacher glasses’ the ones that make him see through yearly reports and admissions records and there’s always a shiver Merlin feels whenever he does. He’s been wearing them a lot lately, what with the admissions for Camelot coming in and things he had to sort from last year. He often said that he had no idea how easy he had it when he was a student.
“Come on, eat,” Arthur nudges him.
“You have to eat, too. We can’t be one of those couples who are too busy to eat and then we’ll be too busy for each other. Think about our future, Arthur,” Merlin says the last sentence with enough drama that people will be wondering why he’s not the next Sean Bean.
Arthur laughs a little and puts his chair close to Merlin. He barely takes one bite of a sandwich before he’s laying his head on the table in exhaustion. “I’m beat,” he says.
“Beat as in the tired beat or are you making a reference to the Beats generation?” Merlin asks.
“Merlinnnn.”
“Right, sorry,” he gently starts stroking Arthur’s hair and brushing the pad of his thumb against his ear.
“I can’t believe it’s July, what am I going to do when it’s September? I don’t hate kids, certainly not my kids but I hate the work they give me. Fuck everything with a shoe, dammit.”
“Wait, did you say it’s July?”
“Yeah, it’s the 21st.”
“Oh.”
“What?” Arthur turned his head to look at him.
“Nothing, it’s just, I’ve got to do something. Something personal.”
“Merlin, what is it?” Arthur properly looks at him now and he can’t not tell him the truth. Or else he’d be thinking that Merlin had some medical problem and he was going to see the doctor or, worse, he was cheating.
“You know when it’s your birthday and people seem to be extra nice to you just because it’s your birthday? And they wish you and they give you presents and you get all this special treatment just for getting born on that day. You just wanna milk it all, you ask your mum for books because you know she’ll give them to you and you ask your friends to borrow some stuff because you know it’s your birthday and they’ll give it to you.”
“M, is there a point to this?”
“The point is that you wanna take out the best of that day because you don’t know if that treatment will carry on the next day. I’m taking out the best of our relationship because I don’t know how long it will last.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur cocks his head sideways and looks at him like he’s an abandoned puppy. “You and me, Merlin, it’s not an annual thing. It’s here to stay and so am I. I am all in.”
“Okay,” Merlin says because who can look into Arthur’s sincere eyes and not divulge everything? “21st July is the anniversary of my father leaving. I know a lot of people don’t really celebrate stuff like that but my father leaving started a time when it was just me and my mum, just the two of us.”
“So, this is sort of a ‘it was the best of times, it was the worst of times’ story?” Arthur asks.
“Pretty much,” Merlin nods but he doesn’t tell him that, when his father left, that was also the time his powers came to him. Little infant Merlin started levitating things when his mother gave it to him and his mother tried to remain calm about everything, saying it was a ‘gift’.
This proves, even more, his theory about the relation of his magic to his heightened state of emotions. He must’ve felt the anguish and sadness from his mother that triggered his first set of powers. He cares too much, that’s why these powers are here, truth be told.
“There’s this restaurant we used to go to, when I was a kid. After my mum died, I continued the tradition of going there to celebrate when our lives with each other started,” Merlin says. “If you want, we could there. Together.”
“I’d like that very much,” Arthur nods.
They pack up their stuff and leave in Arthur’s car. All the while, Merlin is just having this fear of letting Arthur into his childhood. He knows everything there is to know about Merlin (save the magic, of course, but that’s another topic for another time) but his childhood is different. It’s like a whole other part of him and he doesn’t know if Arthur will like it as much as he likes him now.
The restaurant is as same as ever, it’s kind of a call-back to the older days, when no one had a phone or an iPhone for that matter or any kind of electronic device that disabled them from talking to the people they loved. A few years ago, the workers here noticed the pattern Merlin kept up and, every year, they reserved a spot for him in the corner.
And, rest assured, there the spot is, ready for him.
He feels childish, keeping memories like this but, the thing is, if it weren’t for memories, then what would there be? The past moulds the present just as the present moulds the future. They’re all connected and if that means he can justify his action, then that’s just a plus.
He orders his usual and Arthur orders a burger of some sort. Merlin feels happy here. It’s not bad, living in a memory with an aspect of your present life. It’s kind of odd and peculiar but in the way that your insides sort of melt at the comfort.
“Oh, look who’s here,” one of the regular workers come up to fill their empty glasses. It’s Caitlin, the sweet-mouthed ginger who’s in uni and looking for the extra cash.
“Hey, Caitlin,” Merlin smiles at her because she’s a good kid. Weird sense of humour (to match his) and smarter than people take her for.
“Who’s this?” she eyes up Arthur, who smiles politely at her.
“My boyfriend,” Merlin answers.
“Ah,” Caitlin says. “You should consider yourself lucky; he never really brings other people here. Well maybe Will but I always figure the two of ‘em came in a combo, huh?”
“Oh, I consider myself very lucky,” Arthur answers her. She smiles at him, as if she can see how happy he is, how true he thinks that statement is.
Arthur reaches over and starts holding Merlin’s hand.
“You know,” Merlin says, “my old house is near here. I dunno if it’s still empty, might’ve been sold off. We haven’t lived there in ages.”
“Well, it sounds like it’s a worth a shot,” Arthur says.
The house isn’t empty but it’s there. There’s a mailbox and a new porch, indicating someone else’s ownership so there goes the plan of sneaking into it, seeing if the floorboard still creaked from him storing candy and comic books in there and whether or not the carving he and his mum made when he was six is still there (“this piece of wood belongs to M and H”) but, still, it’s there.
The structure looks the same, the same homely outlook with a different sheet of paint. The grass, the fences, the way the house grows bigger when you look at it more and more. There were so many memories made in this house, and, now, so many of them can just remain memories.
They can’t be relived; they can’t be heard or seen again because his family is gone. Because his mother’s dead and Merlin doesn’t remember his father’s face and all this family ever was, it was in this house and he regrets selling it, even if it’s what his mum wanted. Everything is nothing but pictures now, and, even then, it doesn’t bring back what he wants it to bring back.
“We shouldn’t have done this,” Arthur says because he can see him crying.
He wants to say that it’s okay but his emotions are taking over, over his hands and arms and heart and -oh no. he knows what this means and he doesn’t want this to happen. No, this can’t happen now.
But it is, it is happening. Things are floating away from their original position and his magic is flowing through him, like it did when he was a kid. And he can’t bare to look at Arthur’s face so he runs.
The next week or so go by like a musical montage in one of those sappy romantic comedies that he secretly liked whenever Morgana took him when Leon had enough balls to decline her offer -and consequently, sex in any horizontal or vertical place afterwards when everything is muffled by the sounds of cheesy romance.
All the mornings Merlin isn’t in the shelter of Arthur’s expensive sheets, Arthur’s in Merlin’s kiddie sheets, which he promptly made fun of when Merlin was too busy attacking his neck and collarbone with little nibbles and bites. Their breakfast consists usually consists of simple pancakes or waffles with tea and biscuits with a side of an early morning blowjob.
Merlin likes the mornings the best because he can look sideways and look at Arthur, in all his tousled perfection, knowing that when Arthur wakes up, Merlin will be the first thing he sees. He also likes it the best because they laze around a bit. They purposely wake up a bit early to have a sense of laziness before their work schedule kicks in. They watch telly for a bit and cuddle, usually with Merlin’s head on Arthur’s chest or Arthur lying, like a cat, on Merlin’s lap or maybe they’ll sit on the couch and read for a bit.
Then they get properly dressed and leave their shelter into the shit world that doesn’t include their significant others in any other form than the perky text message or the two-minute phone call. Every moment they’re not at work, however, they spend with each other.
They have somehow developed the same wave length to organize their lunch breaks at the same time and they manage to find, after a few moments of arguing and then laughing and then arguing about laughing after their arguments, a place in the middle of him and him. It’s a small little bistro and, after a while, they’ve been recognized already.
They’ve opened a tab with this small little bistro and its sweet-smelling coffee that tastes bitter (an oxymoron Merlin happily accepts) and the cooing waitresses that have already labelled them the cutest couple that have ever graced their chrome finish, dim lights and brown and red tables. Sometimes, they go to the park, on their designated bench, and just be a couple of saps wrapped in each other like there’s no other world.
In the evenings when they’re back home, they’re tired and they usually fall asleep in each other’s arms for a few hours until one of them kicks the other from slumber. When they wake up, they’re basically like a bunch of randy teenagers that have just realized they missed each other.
Then there Merlin is, in this plane of time, in this map of their lives now, nestled comfortably between the crossroads of Arthur’s back, an ivory road that leads anywhere and everywhere at the same time. He’s reading, he is, but he hasn’t even bothered to put on anything. With him being a gay sapiosexual, Arthur reading whilst naked is probably the hottest thing he’s seen.
So he kisses his shoulder blades, all the while keeping his hand on the small of his back. Arthur pays him no attention whatsoever, completely engrossed in his reading. Merlin’s left hand travels download, through the valley of Arthur’s back and landing on the soft, round world of Arthur’s magnificent bum. He can feel the tense rising up in Arthur’s shoulder as Merlin sucks his own finger and slowly begins to insert it into Arthur’s hole.
“Keep reading, it’s alright,” he says softly as he slides the finger out before plunging it in back that makes Arthur release a small whimper. “I want you to come just from my fingers alone. Can you do that?”
“Nghhh,” is all Arthur can manage at the moment. Merlin can only imagine that the words in his book mean nothing anymore because Arthur is basically rutting against the bed to get some friction.
“Read me something,” Merlin says before repositioning himself so that he’s sitting in front of Arthur’s glorious arse with better access.
“H-having begun to feel, people’s desire,” Arthur reads with an emphasis on the word desire as Merlin enters a second finger, then, slowly, a third, “to feel grew.”
Merlin twists his wrist that makes Arthur cry out but he keeps reading, making points with the most important words, “They wanted to feel more, feel deeper, despite how it sometimes hurt. People became addicted to feeling.”
A probing tongue in his arse is all Arthur needs to come undone before him, ruining his own sheets with his come. He sighs in relief, abandoning the book and turning around, grabbing Merlin by the hips and changing their positions so Arthur was on top of him, arms on either side of him.
“I hate you,” Arthur says. It should be menacing but it can’t be because Merlin’s cock is hard and it needs attention as it rises up and barely skim the stomach of his boyfriend.
“No, you don’t,” Merlin smirks.
“Smooth one, are you?”
“I like to think so, yes.”
“Are we in that point of our relationship where we can’t stand to be away from each other? Because I’m already there so you better catch up,” Arthur kisses his nose before dropping down from his position to lie, half on the bed, half on Merlin.
“Well, if you’re so miserable without me, you should take me into your work tomorrow.” He brings his hand up to stroke Arthur’s hair.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ve never really known what it is that you do in the first place and we have an off-day at the office tomorrow. Why not?”
“Yeah, okay, we’ll do that. It’ll be ‘Bring your Boyfriend to Work’ Day,” Arthur laughs then reaches across to wrap his wonderful hands around Merlin’s aching cock, swiping the pre-cum at the head.
And, suddenly, Merlin’s overwhelmed all over again and he can’t help but say, “I’m in love with this moment.”
The dreams come back. Not to say that they weren’t there before but they came in flashes, small dips in the pool of his mind but, now, this was an entire lake that came in huge waves into him.
Everything looks clearer from here. Here is a balcony of a big castle, overlooking a stone courtyard with a few people crossing it. The castle is huge; Merlin realizes as he turns back and sees the scale of this place. The carved gargoyles decorating each tower and the smaller but no less intricate buildings built around it.
They always say that dreams borrow from real life so it’s not much of a surprise that, through the doors that enter the balcony, there’s a man he recognizes very much. It’s Arthur. Only he’s not wearing his customary t-shirt and slacks but a regal kind of attire.
Red robes flow behind him like a majestic waterfall and there’s a crown upon his head. It’s not like one of those crowns you see the Queen wearing, where you have to wonder if the height of the jewels might make him tip over, no it’s like a simple wedding band on his tousle of blonde hair. Whoever Arthur is in this dream, he’s certainly not the ruler.
But, regardless, the way he holds himself, it’s like how he does in real life, too. Like there’s always something to say, something to do, whether it’s his job or not. This Arthur, this dream Arthur, probably has a lot on his mind because his eyebrows are furrowed and he looks deep in concentration.
This is the furthest he’s gone in his dream, the clearest he’s gotten, and there’s some kind of irony in the fact that, despite all of that, he spends his time here, like he does in real life, with Arthur.
Part of him wants to touch him, this Arthur that’s different but the same than his, and ask to tell him what’s wrong. He feels this kind of attachment to this Arthur, the kind you get when you find yourself liking someone from afar who is more accomplished and will never look at you the same way.
Then he wakes up and everything is gone. The cement and the brick and the castle and stones. And his dream Arthur is replaced by the one who’s standing at the edge of the bed, dressed to impress, who then crawls over him, not caring about the wrinkles and creases it will give his outfit and kisses him.
Then Merlin guesses that this Arthur is way better.
If he was a contestant on a game show, the kind where the spotlight follows you annoyingly as you take your place at your station and the host resembles Regis Philbin but more youthful and with more chance of marrying more than four times but will never get children, and he was asked what his boyfriend did for a living, he wouldn’t have answered this.
No, if he was given the option of whether his boyfriend was either a teacher, a spy or an escort, he would look straight to the audience watching and answer spy and lock that answer. So, really, he would lose the opportunity of winning a couple hundred pounds with that answer.
Because, as Merlin gets out of the car and sees where he is, he says, like a complete dunce, “This is a school.”
Arthur laughs and wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. “Yes, my love, it’s a school.”
“You work at a school? This one in particular? This one?” Merlin asks, not really believing it.
“Work is an understatement. I’ve been running this place for months now, ever since I got back from the States,” Arthur shrugs and leads them inside.
Merlin’s heard of this place, the way neighbours hear about the wife cheating on the husband with another woman -with more talk than substance- but he doesn’t have a name behind the school. Camelot, he knows that’s the name but he didn’t have a single idea that Arthur was in charge of it.
Camelot’s a big school, sometimes it’s more likely to be compared to a church than an actual school. It has that big, looming quality some churches have but it’s sort of welcoming. The school banners from the previous year haven’t been totally put down so there’s a tinge of school spirit around and the trees are lush and they seem like they’re from a painted picture.
Arthur opens the big doors leading inside with a majestic gesture and says, “Merlin Emrys, welcome to the Camelot Academy.”
“Bugger,” Merlin silently curses as he sees the extent of this place. He’s not surprised. Private schools always look expensive, hence why they’re called private. He’s only seen the inside of one private school when he and Will went to one after school. They contemplated begging their mothers to study here instead but thought better of it when they realized this was one of those ‘healthy diet’ schools.
“So,” Merlin says, turning to Arthur once again, “You run a school. Who do you think you are? Professor X?”
“Hardly. The only mutants in this school are the ones with super allergies,” Arthur locks the door behind them.
Somehow, it’s so comfortable here, even if they’re alone. The students are on summer break but it figures that Arthur would be working now. He heard that teachers sometimes have the same amount of workload they put on the kids.
“Wait, are you the headmaster?” Merlin asks, because he cannot imagine Arthur sitting behind a big desk in an even bigger room, with one of those carpets that portray odd animals that don’t look like animals at all and having to put on a stern face whenever naughty children are being sent to him.
“No, I’m not. Just overseeing this, like an administrator of sorts. And I teach, yeah, English Studies,” Arthur nods at him like it’s just another Q&A where the answers are formal and the interviewer isn’t his boyfriend.
“You teach? English?”
“I know it’s not the sort of job you’ve imagined me doing-”
“I think you just got, like, a hundred times hotter.”
“Really now?” Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise of being interrupted. “I never pegged you for those role-playing types. Kinky, eh?”
“Mm, maybe,” Merlin smirks as Arthur wraps his warm arms around his waist. “But, seriously, you’re a teacher?”
“Yeah, I have been for years. You know what? Let me show you my office,” Arthur stops himself but starts holding his hand, leading him through the long hallways of the private school that seem to have no end, past the lockers stacked up upon each other like Merlin’s books.
Merlin takes the time to appreciate the beauty of the Camelot Academy. He wouldn’t have wanted to go here if he was a kid, he figures that the public school system was always better to him, made him who he was because he wasn’t -and isn’t- like the others. But there’s still this awe he feels when he sees a private school. The way they always seem to shine and bristle with the brightest of colours and minds.
Arthur stops in front of a big oak door, which should seem professional from the wood and the sheen on it but there are marks around the edges and in the walls near it, vandalized by some young youth who thought it would be fun. But, inside, it’s a mix-match of everything professional and everything against it.
On one hand, there are towering bookshelves on either side of them, with books he’s heard of and books he doesn’t know shit about, arranged by genre, from historical fiction to philosophy to everything in between. And there’s a wooden desk in the middle of the room, with a lamp shining over papers with the customary phone and fax machine and computer that are pretty much mandatory in offices like these.
But, on the other hand, there are also posters on some surfaces of the walls, well, one poster -The Beatles, generically- the rest are blown-up pictures of small kids, crowding together for a group picture. They look happy, with their matching uniforms and arms around each other, and annoyed at the same time, like they will always be wondering if today will be taco day in the cafeteria. They look like a childhood memory, as far as Merlin’s concerned. There’s also a shelves for a myriad of CDs and DVDs and even a small TV in the corner of the room.
“Welcome to my humble academic abode,” Arthur waves his hands like he’s presenting the start of a magic show.
“It’s great. It’s like a home here.”
“Well, I occasionally sleep on the table. We’ve all done that at least five times in our lives, yeah?”
“I can’t get over the fact that you teach,” Merlin walks over the bookshelves, but, really, it’s always the first thing he does in everything anyways. “How’d that come around?”
“I taught back in the States and I was kind of happy there. It was this brand new life, these brand new people, away from Camelot. There was this kind of romanticism in me that wanted to believe that I could stay there forever and just throw away the family business. Because I always did believe that staying here was my father’s idea.”
“But you came back.”
“When I got the call that my dad was leaving Camelot, retiring, I knew I had to.”
And then Arthur smiles, the kind of smile that’s trapped in between every happiness and every sadness and every regret. “Whether I liked it or not, Camelot was, is and always will be my life. So, yeah, I came back. Because this is my family’s place and I have a responsibility.”
“You ever think you could be something else?”
When they were all kids, people would always ask them what they wanted to be when they all grew up because they still had so long to go. But, now, with a stretch of a mile behind them and a shorter distance in front, this is the question they ask, instead. Because they’ve all become something and it’s just the question on whether or not it’s the something they wanted to be back in grade school.
Arthur looks at him, with this stare he can’t quite interpret. And there’s a scary moment there, as if Merlin’s scared that if he can’t read Arthur in this moment, will he succeed in any other?
“I went to school here, of course I did, and I know every secret in the walls and the floors. I used to think the surfaces of the school could talk to me if I asked them questions, like ask if Nick was really making out with Carly in the hallways. I used to press my ears against the wall and try to listen if it would tell me any secrets.
“One day, I was just lying on the floor after hours, waiting for my father to finish up, and one of the teachers stopped me and told me to see him in the office. I thought he was going to give me a scolding, tell me not be so weird and unconventional, cos what if someone else had seen? You are not the image Camelot wants to see. But, no, he sat me down, gave me tea and, when I told him honestly, what I was doing, he said I should keep looking.
“’Keep looking for secrets, keep looking for answers then you might find your own’, he said, and then he gave me a compilation of Shakespeare’s works and sent me off. Only it was his copy, where he wrote stuff in between the lines, thoughts that would get me to ace the class at the end of the year. So, no, I don’t think I could be something else.”
“Ever tried?” Merlin asks. He hopes it doesn’t seem insensitive because he doesn’t want Arthur to change because there’s a passion in his eyes he hasn’t seen before and he loves it. He feels like it’s so overwhelming that it can paint his skin with it.
“Oh, yes,” Arthur laughs, relieving his memories without Merlin, “but, like I said, Camelot is my life. I couldn’t change that by going away and now I can’t do it simply because I don’t want to.”
Merlin wants to say that because he’s been in a steady relationship for a month now -they celebrated their anniversary by staying in and telling no one and doing what bunnies did- that he doesn’t need to wake up in the dead of night, start writing and lose himself in the characters he’s built and the world that seems so, so, unremarkably real in the past moments. That he doesn’t need to think over words that once made him feel that he wasn’t alone because he’s not alone now, because his bed is never empty of sweet nothings and the rustling of sheets. He wants to say that but, if he does, it would be a complete and utter lie.
Just because he’s Arthur’s doesn’t mean he stopped being his own, after all.
So he still gets up before the day does, wear a couple of things that are two sizes too big -the way he likes it- and go to his laptop, or maybe bring it to bed. The only difference is that, now, he starts his day with a kiss to any vicinity of Arthur he can manage to touch without waking his boyfriend up.
Arthur’s quite the deep sleeper and Merlin’s quite the deep writer, tapping on keyboard manically, so it really is meant to be, this relationship.
He doesn’t stop because he simply cannot. When he’s asleep, the dreams are coming in full-force, in Technicolor and in HD, forcing him to see it through. They say that the human dream lasts as long as three seconds but it doesn’t seem like this. It seems like an entire lifetime is being compressed into his tiny head and the only way to function is to put it in words.
He’s sitting in Arthur’s bed now, chewing on a gummy, cross-legged, trying to get the words across, from his brain to the cold, artificial light of his laptop. But the figure next to him stirs.
Merlin blinks and realizes that he’s in the presence of real morning already and it’s completely justified for his boyfriend to start stretching and moan appreciatively in the comfort. Then he looks sideways to Merlin. Merlin knows because he always gets this odd kind of feeling in his stomach whenever Arthur looks at him.
“Stop it,” Merlin looks at him. “You’re distracting me.”
“With what, exactly?” Arthur asks, inching closer to him.
“Your face, it’s distracting.”
“How is my face distracting?”
“It’s all perfect and stuff.”
Arthur laughs then kisses him on his nose, telling him how perfect he thinks Merlin’s face is through the language that’s being said by his lips. He leaves the bed because he knows how important writing is to Merlin and, really, that’s the best thing anyone could be to him: to be supportive and accepting of weird parts of him.
He should really tell Arthur about his magic and the intensity of his dreams that have been growing. Growing since they first got together. Maybe his powers were connected to his emotions and the height and depth of whatever it was he felt. Looking back, his most powerful moments were when he was angry or scared or just feeling too much.
Saving Arthur from the car, now, that was instinctive. He wasn’t scared then, not that he wasn’t scared that Arthur could die, it was just like he was out of himself and the person that replaced him was someone who only had apathy running through him, someone who cared for nothing except for Arthur’s safety.
It was just like he was being overloaded with feelings and had nowhere to put them except into his hands and shoot them.
If this theory’s right, that his powers and, in turn, his dreams, are connected to his emotional depth, then he can probably blame Arthur for every little magical outburst he’s had. It’s not as if he’s having that fear that Arthur will leave and that makes his powers come out; it’s not as if he’s so confused as to why Arthur stays with him until blue light comes dripping from his fingers. No, it’s as if he feels so much happiness and, dare he say it, love in moments that occupy just him and Arthur.
He should really tell Arthur.
It’s funny how his relationship with Arthur can be charted through the steps of Gwen and Lance’s own engagement. The day of their engagement party was the day after Arthur came down from the States, revealing himself to be a soon-to-be lead role in the story of Merlin’s life. The rest were all little moments, sneak peeks, including this one.
This one, that sees Merlin and Arthur wrapped around each other in the cold night, legs walking in the same pace towards the club, swaying like they’re drunk already but they really aren’t. He’s pretty sure Gwen and Lance are already inside, maybe with Gwaine, too, but Morgana and Leon, who are behind them, are taking their own sweet time dragging their feet.
Karaoke, it was said, is going to be a joint party because Lance and Gwen are nauseating like that. Lance are Gwen are that in love with each other that they’ll never be bored with each other or even take control of their own respective pre-wedding parties.
Lance and Gwen are like the quintessential high school sweethearts, who walk together in the hallways, arms linking and too close to each other. They’ll text each other in class and make out like they’re in heat against the lockers. They have the kind of relationship that makes others think that they won’t last.
But they’re also like that high school couple that will last. They’re part of that small, 2% of people who will always be together. They’re the kind who truly believes that love is all they need and, truth is, for them, it is.
Merlin wishes he could be that secure because he has too many issues to keep him from actually being secure. But, right now, he’s in Arthur’s arms and he feels pretty safe.
The club isn’t really like a club. It isn’t as run-down as he made it out to be in his head but it’s actually quite high class. The room they’re in sort of looks like a private strip room, sure, but one that’s probably gonna occupy a high-end call girl or something.
There are red loveseats that Morgana and Leon plop on, that Gwen and Lance are already sitting on, that Gwaine and Elena are jumping on because any Almighty power knows that they don’t need alcohol to act like five-year-olds. Elena jumps down when she sees Arthur and Merlin because she’s kinder than way.
“Hullo, loves,” she kisses them both on the cheek.
“Hey, El, I haven’t seen you in a while,” Arthur says. “Still doing the vet thing?”
“Still being an arrogant prat?” Elena puts her hands on her hips, looking quite like a den mother and all of their friends are nothing but insolent Boy Scouts.
“Always, but, hey, at least I found someone to succumb to my charm,” Arthur says this as his arm wraps around Merlin’s waist, as if screaming out “he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s all mine and no one can touch him,” like a nine-year-old. Merlin can feel his blush reach to his heart, where it’s secretly glowing.
“I didn’t know I was a possession, Penn,” Merlin whispers to him.
“You like it,” Arthur says he wraps an arm around his waist. “And I like that you’re my boyfriend. I like that you’re mine.”
Merlin laughs at this, the ones that make Arthur think of slow, languid mornings where all they can do is stay in bed and laugh at odd things. “You make my life sound like a Taylor Swift song.”
“There’s a reason she’s on the lists, Merlin.” Arthur looks strangely proud at this, like he’s, for some godforsaken reason, Taylor Swift’s fanboy or something. Then the look disappears when he kisses Merlin’s nose.
“So what are up to now, boys and girls?” Gwaine asks the others.
“I thought the intentions were clear. We’re gonna paint the town red,” Gwen says absent-mindedly.
“Gryffindor colour!” Leon says excitedly.
“GA GA GRYFFINDORRRR!” Arthur, Leon and Gwaine yell out like it’s a dirty version of a fight song.
“Fuck, no, go away, Ravenclaw represent,” Elena raises her hand up in proud and uses it to give her fellow Ravenclaw, Merlin, a high-five.
“And here I though we’re all friends with each other, despite our Hogwarts houses,” Gwen says to all of them, passing them microphones.
“Of course you’d say that, love, you’re a Hufflepuff,” Morgana smiles.
Merlin remembers when all of them went out for drinks after they saw the Deathly Hallows Part One trailer and then just started screaming out spells at the bar until a few of the kids from the nearby uni joined in. they all joined them at their table and one of the guys -Merlin can’t even remember who- asked what house they were in.
Morgana slammed down her drink on the table and yelled, “Slytherin, bitches!” when Merlin proudly leaned back in his seat and said with utter confidence that the geeks were going to inherit the earth. They’re all ridiculous, his friends, but, hey, if anyone wants an example of house unity, they’re it.
“What’re we singing, anyhow?” Gwaine asks, scooting up next to Elena on the couch who smacks him on the arm, just because she can.
Lance shrugs. “Sophie’s choice.”
(Club Can’t Handle Me - Flo Rida ft. David Guetta)
They argue on whether or not to sing Justin Bieber just because they can and all of their reputations as cool people aren’t regarded in this room. The girls want to sing Diana Ross but some of the guys want Frank and to belt out that they did it their way. But then they surf the menu and Gwaine accidentally clicks a button.
Long story short, the club can’t handle any of them right now.
Lance finds this button on the wall and it switches off all the lights and a disco ball comes from the wall and they decide to put it on because they’re all idiots. The girls start dancing and Gwaine just starts looking like he’s having a seizure with his arms and legs which sets Elena laughing and sets of an entire chain of laughter.
“I love everyone in this bar!” he shouts and grabs Elena by the waist and twirls her around.
“Oh my god, go away, you twat,” El starts smacking him but Merlin knows she’s secretly enjoying this. They might pride themselves at being the rational ones in the group but, truth is; Ravenclaws just want to have fun.
“The club can’t handle me right nowwwww,” Merlin starts singing, waving his arms.
“For fuck’s sake, control your man!” Morgana tells Arthur.
“What? It’s not my fault that my man is too boss for this club,” Arthur smiles at him and swings him around and kisses him full on the mouth. With the lights flashing and the music playing, he’s sure they could’ve been mistaken for two guys who just found each other on the dance floor and is going to be heading to the bathroom to do dirty things now kthxbai.
“Whatever,” he hears Gwen over the music, “I’m calling the bagpipe solo for their wedding.”
“Merlin Emrys, you are inexplicable to me,” Arthur says into his ear so he can hear him properly. “I don’t know whether I should fuck you or feed you your favourite biscuits. Then I see you like this and I realize I should definitely fuck you first.”
“Good choice,” Merlin smirks at his general direction.
The song ends and they’re all exhausted from moving their limbs but that doesn’t stop Leon and Gwen from choosing Katy Perry next. Soon enough, they’re all with their significant others and are serenading -with an off-key sort of tone, except Gwen who has a pretty nice voice- that they’re each other’s teenage dream.
“I’m gonna head out for a bit,” Merlin says to anyone who wants to listen.
“But, M, don’t you wanna know how I wanna run away and never look back?” Arthur asks him.
“Ah, but you forget, sometimes you sing in your sleep and I’ve heard every variation of this song from you,” Merlin laughs.
It’s to be expected, of course, that when he leaves the building, Arthur follows him.
“I like it out here,” Merlin says.
“What? In the moonlight?” Arthur steps toward him, his feet lazily walking. “You’re a bit odd in the head, aren’t you?”
“I thought we all were,” Merlin laughs, deep in his throat, like it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever heard. But, no, it’s not, it’s just the truth.
“Dance with me,” Arthur says but he already has his arms around him before Merlin can even say yes.
A hand is at the small of his back and a warm body is pressing up against him, in contrast to the cold night. Suddenly, he’s sixteen all over again and he’s in a crowded hall where balloons hang from the ceiling and the theme is set in the eighties. He doesn’t know why he’s here, only that Will pushed him into going.
He’s not having much fun, unlike the others. Youth Group is playing and he can hear the gliding feet on the dance floor and the soft murmuring exchanged between partners. They all celebrate as he, the lone wolf that’s been studied from afar but never approached up close, wraps his around his plastic cup. He wonders if they’ll recycle everything before night ends.
His sixteen-year-old self is alone and lonely and gay in only the sexual aspect of the word. Merlin, the twenty-four year-old, projects his thoughts so this sad, solemn teenager in his memories, who reads because he likes feeling like he isn’t actually alone, gets what he deserves.
A faceless stranger will take his hand and ask him to dance so that he’ll know that somewhere along the road, it’ll be real and it gets better.
It gets better, as Merlin breathes in the scent of his boyfriend -boyfriend because this is real- infinitely better.
“Where were you when I was growing up?” he asks.
Arthur laughs and Merlin can feel it against his chest. “Waiting for you.”
No butterflies now -which is kind of odd because they usually come whenever Arthur says things like this- as if Merlin knows Arthur’s been waiting for him just as long as he has (forever? He doesn’t know but it sure feels like it).
(Dancing in the Moonlight - Toploader)
Out of nowhere, there’s a familiar kind of song around the air that reminds him of romantic comedies. Merlin pulls himself away from Arthur a bit to see Gwaine holding his iPhone in his hand playing Toploader like this is the 21st century setting of Say Anything.
Arthur throws his head back in laughter, all the while Gwaine is yelling out, “Who says our life can’t have its own soundtrack?”
Almost immediately, the rest of their gang -and he means everyone, not even Gwen and Lance have opted to stay inside the karaoke house. They all randomly pair up like they’re children at an organized dance where the chaperones look on so as to not let the wrong kids mix or something. In a moment or two, Merlin finds himself pulled away from Arthur and into Elena’s arms, who’s laughing like a kid.
“Come on, Merlin,” Elena twirls him around until he’s sure he’s not on solid ground anymore.
“Oh God, I wish I could marry all of you,” Gwen says and it is greeted with a chorus of agreement, especially from Gwaine, who suggests polyamory for all of them.
“Dancing in the moonlight!” Leon and Gwaine yell out in time with the song. “Everybody’s feeling warm and bright!”
“You’re all lunatics!” Morgana manages to say in between her choking with laughter.
Arthur always figured Gwen would be the one pacing in her room, straightening her dress until no wrinkle would be seen from space then, somewhere along the line, escape to the bathroom where her lilac-coloured bridesmaids would fan her, pat her back and tell her that she and Lance were made for each other.
But, no, it’s Lance who’s freaking out and hyperventilating and, what’s more, Elyan’s in the room -acting as the best man- which sends Lance into a kind of worried frenzy. “What if I’m not treating your sister right? Are you going to kill me? Of course you are!” Lance is saying.
He’s probably just worried because all of them know that Elyan’s not really capable of killing Lance because he’s his ‘brother’ for years now -“despite the fact that he’s fucking my sister but, whatever, that’s moot point,” Elyan said. And the poor boy’s just standing being shaken around by Lance, looking worried for his own mental health.
The other men in the room -Leon, Gwaine and himself- try to calm Lance down but it’s hard because Lance asking himself if his own intentions are honourable. And it’s like he’s talking to a crazy person.
Merlin’s in Gwen’s room (Gwaine made a joke, saying, “Guess we know who wears the pants in the relationship,” to which Arthur stingily responded -because he hated labelling people in a relationship-, “Shut up, we’re not getting into that. And we both wear pants.”) and Arthur sincerely hopes he’s having a better time. They can’t seriously expect them to get a wedding over with if both the bride and groom are melting down.
“We need to do something,” Leon comes forward to say to Arthur. “We’re expected soon and I don’t know about you but I’m not eager to tell a crowd of wishful relatives that their dears aren’t getting married today.”
“We always have food to tide them over,” Arthur shrugs.
“And what if they’re not all as foodsexual as we are?” Leon asks. Okay, they need to do something.
As if reading their thoughts, Gwaine steps forward and shakes his best friend like a salt container. “Listen, Lance, mate, you love Gwen, don’t you?” he asks insistently.
“’Course I do,” Lance nods.
“So do you really, and I mean really, wanna break her heart by not going through with this? She’s been planning this for months and she’s been in love with you for all of eternity. She wants you and she wants you to do this. And you can. Do you know why?”
“No.”
“Cos you have the power of love! You have the power of fucking love that shoots rainbows and hope out of its ass and it is wonderful. Isn’t it wonderful? Because you’ve felt it. Isn’t it fucking wonderful?”
Arthur looks at Lance now, how his face genuinely starts lighting up at the sound of the weirdest pep talk ever. Jesus, if there’s one thing that he’s sure about, he’s going to talk any kind of insecurities with his significant other before they have this damn wedding.
Not that Arthur really believed in the institution of marriage. Sure, it was nice to have a constant in life but he never really believed he would get that kind of constant. Does that mean he’ll never consider it? No, because he can’t help but feel this kind of hope that someone could change his life like that.
The door to the room opens slightly for Merlin’s head to poke through. His boyfriend beckons him closer and Merlin asks, “You guys ready?”
Arthur looks back at Lance, almost back to his normal, sunshiny self and answers, “Yeah, just about.”
His eyes survey Merlin, his hair in all its messy glory -because Merlin never really wanted to clean up for any kind of occasion- all of him, wrapped in a nicely-fitted black suit. He looks nice, a bit uncomfortable because he’s probably used to clothes two sizes too big for him. But, either way, he looks handsome.
“No, don’t give me that look,” Merlin narrows his eyebrows.
“What look?” Arthur asks innocently.
“That ‘I wanna sex you up’ look. We agreed we’d keep it in our pants for the ceremony. Gwen and Lance deserve at least that.”
“Can I at least kiss you?” he steps forward and, suddenly, there’s no distance between them and he knows Merlin can’t say no. he doesn’t say no but the sly bastard kisses him lightly then runs off scampering like a woodland creature.
“You’re whipped,” Gwaine taunts.
“There are worse things to be,” Arthur smiles. “Just ask Lance.”
Lance is standing up now and Gwaine has taken to straightening his tie and suit as he breathes deeply, going through some sort of mantra in his head. He’s not surprised; the man does yoga after all.
“Okay, I think I’m good to go,” Lance breathes out in a puff that reminds Arthur of a fairytale character.
Soon (he doesn’t know how time passes in love) they’re standing at the end of the aisle, all the guys, waiting for Gwen to pass through those doors. He looks at Lance, who is pretty much the perfect combination of nerves and excitement. He looks so happy, like he’s getting something he’s always wanted. He probably is.
In romantic movies that involve the main characters being in a wedding as support, one of the guys from the groom’s side will always share a knowing look to one of the bridesmaids. Arthur guesses he’s lucky because he doesn’t need to look at the other side, he just needs to outstretch his hand just so and his fingers will touch Merlin’s. That’s more than enough.
The wedding isn’t in a church, it’s in a building owned by one of Lance’s friends who’s an architect. It’s sort of unfinished, as the windows are nothing more than a few pieces of glasses taped to the wall but it’s open and clear and beautiful. The floors are a gentle wood and you can see it peek through the red carpet of the aisle. The seats are those comfortable sort of chairs people set out for parties.
That’s Gwen and Lance for you, it’s always comfort over class.
The song starts and the doors open. He sees Morgana come through as the maid-of-honour, smiling mischievously at everyone, then Elena, then one of Gwen’s friends from uni -Lucy something, if he’s not mistaken- all of them dressed in a soft blue like from a nice dream. Then, there she is, there Gwen is, dressed in white.
Arthur remembers when he first met Gwen, it was during a fresher meeting and she was the girl who everyone wanted to be friends was because she smiled at everyone. Years later, Gwen would tell him that it wasn’t her fault people gravitated towards her because she told him she never stopped smiling. She smiled at strangers because she lived with the hope that they won’t be strangers after she smiled.
And, now, she’s getting married. And Arthur is so proud. Sure, he wasn’t there when she met Lance or when their relationship first bloomed but he’s here now.
She clasps her hands with Lance’s and looks at him in the eyes. That’s a look of love if he’s ever seen one. He truly believes that their relationship is going to last forever. They’ll truly grow old together and have everything almost everyone dreams of. Their love is what love songs are made of.
The one marrying them is the City Clerk; because they’re not very religious (Lance once told him that the religion he can connect with is probably Paganism or Buddhism).
“Okay, so, I’ve been asked by the bride and groom to recite a line from the great Dr. Suess,” the clerk smiles at both of them. “We're all a little weird, and life's a little weird, and when we find someone whose weirdness is compatible with ours, we join up with them in mutual weirdness and call it love.”
Merlin tugs on his fingers just to let him know he sees the resemblance between that quote and their own relationship, too.
Tenderly - Santo and Johnny
The reception is in a different part of the building, which is completely finished. The dance floor is full of people while Arthur is just sitting by the tables, waiting for Merlin. There’s an upbeat song playing on the stereo and Gwen has her skirt hiked up a bit so she can move freely with Morgana. He can see Lance watching from the corner of his eye and smiles.
“Here,” Merlin says and gives him a cheese plate from the table and some grape juice.
“You read my mind, didn’t you?” Arthur asks.
“I have a habit of crawling into the minds of people I love and dig out their inner most thoughts and bring it to the surface,” Merlin says, smiling at him and putting a piece of cheese in his mouth. “Or something along those lines because you’re not the first to say it which I’ll take as a compliment.”
“It’s a writer thing, I’m convinced of it,” he says.
He looks at Merlin and he’s suddenly convinced that he’s feeling that feeling Norwegians call Forelsket. It’s the feeling, that sort of euphoria one feels when one is first falling in love. He’s never really been in love before; he’s had thoughts of it, this way and that and mistaken it for a person he knew on the street. But he really thinks this is love.
No one really knows what love is, no one has been able to put it in words others could understand but maybe love’s not supposed to be understood. Maybe it’s like fingerprints; it’s different for everyone.
So why can’t love be Merlin’s hair when he wakes up, the way it sticks up this way and that and makes him look like a four-year-old; why can’t it be the way Merlin peruses his books and always reads the first and last sentence even if it’s spoils him because he cares about they get to the ending? Why can’t love be the feel of Merlin under his body, the way his body writhes just so that makes everything go into short-circuit; his laugh and how he makes Arthur laugh more than anyone else; the spark in him that he thought was only imaginary; all the feelings he makes him feel that he thought wasn’t possible to feel?
Why can’t love be the way they’re so codependent on each other it’s almost scary; the way Merlin knows what he’s thinking and vice versa; the way they don’t even have to try?
Why can’t love be Merlin?
There’s no one objecting him, no reason to say that it can’t be so he can only come to the conclusion that love is Merlin. Merlin is love. He can no longer see the word love without seeing a flash of Merlin’s face and he doesn’t want to spell love as love anymore, he wants to spell it with Merlin’s words because that’s what matters.
“What?” Merlin asks, snapping him out of his daze.
“Nothing, my turtle, my duck,” Arthur smiles at him.
“Oh, shut up about the durtle already.”
“Hey, Merlin?”
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Did you know ducks mate for life?”
Merlin looks up to him, his eyes wide with questions Arthur knows he knows the answer to already.
“Dance with me?” Arthur asks. But he’s already standing, not really giving a fuck to whether or not Merlin really wants it. Merlin accepts, however, stands up and links arms with him.
The band is playing some slow, instrumental song so he has an excuse to wrap his arm around Merlin and be closer to him, if there’s any closer between them. His other hand is intertwined with Merlin and he deliberately brushes his finger against Merlin’s hand.
They’re so close to each other now, it’s like they’ve never known any other reality without the other in it. Right then, Arthur wishes he could pinpoint the exact moment Merlin became the center of his universe because he wants to replay it over and over again, make the right choices over and over again, just to be in this moment and all the moments after over and over again. Merlin just makes the universe work.
“I love you right up to the moon,” Merlin says into his ear and Arthur laughs.
“Oh, that’s far! That is very, very far!” Arthur responds just the same.
He pulls Merlin away just so, so that he can lean in and kiss him softly. A kiss made out of children’s books and fairytales and small moments that make up a big one. “I love you to the moon -and back!”
Arthur desperately wants Merlin to ask. Just ask, Merlin, ask me how much I love you. Because I love you as long as the answer to that question.
“Here, lunch,” Arthur says, putting a plate of sandwiches on the table next to him.
Merlin looks up from his laptop -how long has it been?- and smiles at Arthur, like he’s guilty of missing a meal. He’s pretty sure he missed breakfast, as well but he’s not exactly sure. The dining table is a complete mess, a makeshift office for him and Arthur.
He can’t tell which papers are his or if the cup of coffee he’s drinking is actually is but he can’t bring himself to care. It’s not like Arthur spits in his coffee like a five-year-old or anything and even if he does he’s had worse things of Arthur’s in his mouth. Well, not exactly worse per se.
Arthur’s wearing his ‘teacher glasses’ the ones that make him see through yearly reports and admissions records and there’s always a shiver Merlin feels whenever he does. He’s been wearing them a lot lately, what with the admissions for Camelot coming in and things he had to sort from last year. He often said that he had no idea how easy he had it when he was a student.
“Come on, eat,” Arthur nudges him.
“You have to eat, too. We can’t be one of those couples who are too busy to eat and then we’ll be too busy for each other. Think about our future, Arthur,” Merlin says the last sentence with enough drama that people will be wondering why he’s not the next Sean Bean.
Arthur laughs a little and puts his chair close to Merlin. He barely takes one bite of a sandwich before he’s laying his head on the table in exhaustion. “I’m beat,” he says.
“Beat as in the tired beat or are you making a reference to the Beats generation?” Merlin asks.
“Merlinnnn.”
“Right, sorry,” he gently starts stroking Arthur’s hair and brushing the pad of his thumb against his ear.
“I can’t believe it’s July, what am I going to do when it’s September? I don’t hate kids, certainly not my kids but I hate the work they give me. Fuck everything with a shoe, dammit.”
“Wait, did you say it’s July?”
“Yeah, it’s the 21st.”
“Oh.”
“What?” Arthur turned his head to look at him.
“Nothing, it’s just, I’ve got to do something. Something personal.”
“Merlin, what is it?” Arthur properly looks at him now and he can’t not tell him the truth. Or else he’d be thinking that Merlin had some medical problem and he was going to see the doctor or, worse, he was cheating.
“You know when it’s your birthday and people seem to be extra nice to you just because it’s your birthday? And they wish you and they give you presents and you get all this special treatment just for getting born on that day. You just wanna milk it all, you ask your mum for books because you know she’ll give them to you and you ask your friends to borrow some stuff because you know it’s your birthday and they’ll give it to you.”
“M, is there a point to this?”
“The point is that you wanna take out the best of that day because you don’t know if that treatment will carry on the next day. I’m taking out the best of our relationship because I don’t know how long it will last.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur cocks his head sideways and looks at him like he’s an abandoned puppy. “You and me, Merlin, it’s not an annual thing. It’s here to stay and so am I. I am all in.”
“Okay,” Merlin says because who can look into Arthur’s sincere eyes and not divulge everything? “21st July is the anniversary of my father leaving. I know a lot of people don’t really celebrate stuff like that but my father leaving started a time when it was just me and my mum, just the two of us.”
“So, this is sort of a ‘it was the best of times, it was the worst of times’ story?” Arthur asks.
“Pretty much,” Merlin nods but he doesn’t tell him that, when his father left, that was also the time his powers came to him. Little infant Merlin started levitating things when his mother gave it to him and his mother tried to remain calm about everything, saying it was a ‘gift’.
This proves, even more, his theory about the relation of his magic to his heightened state of emotions. He must’ve felt the anguish and sadness from his mother that triggered his first set of powers. He cares too much, that’s why these powers are here, truth be told.
“There’s this restaurant we used to go to, when I was a kid. After my mum died, I continued the tradition of going there to celebrate when our lives with each other started,” Merlin says. “If you want, we could there. Together.”
“I’d like that very much,” Arthur nods.
They pack up their stuff and leave in Arthur’s car. All the while, Merlin is just having this fear of letting Arthur into his childhood. He knows everything there is to know about Merlin (save the magic, of course, but that’s another topic for another time) but his childhood is different. It’s like a whole other part of him and he doesn’t know if Arthur will like it as much as he likes him now.
The restaurant is as same as ever, it’s kind of a call-back to the older days, when no one had a phone or an iPhone for that matter or any kind of electronic device that disabled them from talking to the people they loved. A few years ago, the workers here noticed the pattern Merlin kept up and, every year, they reserved a spot for him in the corner.
And, rest assured, there the spot is, ready for him.
He feels childish, keeping memories like this but, the thing is, if it weren’t for memories, then what would there be? The past moulds the present just as the present moulds the future. They’re all connected and if that means he can justify his action, then that’s just a plus.
He orders his usual and Arthur orders a burger of some sort. Merlin feels happy here. It’s not bad, living in a memory with an aspect of your present life. It’s kind of odd and peculiar but in the way that your insides sort of melt at the comfort.
“Oh, look who’s here,” one of the regular workers come up to fill their empty glasses. It’s Caitlin, the sweet-mouthed ginger who’s in uni and looking for the extra cash.
“Hey, Caitlin,” Merlin smiles at her because she’s a good kid. Weird sense of humour (to match his) and smarter than people take her for.
“Who’s this?” she eyes up Arthur, who smiles politely at her.
“My boyfriend,” Merlin answers.
“Ah,” Caitlin says. “You should consider yourself lucky; he never really brings other people here. Well maybe Will but I always figure the two of ‘em came in a combo, huh?”
“Oh, I consider myself very lucky,” Arthur answers her. She smiles at him, as if she can see how happy he is, how true he thinks that statement is.
Arthur reaches over and starts holding Merlin’s hand.
“You know,” Merlin says, “my old house is near here. I dunno if it’s still empty, might’ve been sold off. We haven’t lived there in ages.”
“Well, it sounds like it’s a worth a shot,” Arthur says.
The house isn’t empty but it’s there. There’s a mailbox and a new porch, indicating someone else’s ownership so there goes the plan of sneaking into it, seeing if the floorboard still creaked from him storing candy and comic books in there and whether or not the carving he and his mum made when he was six is still there (“this piece of wood belongs to M and H”) but, still, it’s there.
The structure looks the same, the same homely outlook with a different sheet of paint. The grass, the fences, the way the house grows bigger when you look at it more and more. There were so many memories made in this house, and, now, so many of them can just remain memories.
They can’t be relived; they can’t be heard or seen again because his family is gone. Because his mother’s dead and Merlin doesn’t remember his father’s face and all this family ever was, it was in this house and he regrets selling it, even if it’s what his mum wanted. Everything is nothing but pictures now, and, even then, it doesn’t bring back what he wants it to bring back.
“We shouldn’t have done this,” Arthur says because he can see him crying.
He wants to say that it’s okay but his emotions are taking over, over his hands and arms and heart and -oh no. he knows what this means and he doesn’t want this to happen. No, this can’t happen now.
But it is, it is happening. Things are floating away from their original position and his magic is flowing through him, like it did when he was a kid. And he can’t bare to look at Arthur’s face so he runs.