Babel
fandom: Merlin
rating: R/M
word count: ~7.8k
category: slash, pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
characters: Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, briefly Gwen, Morgana, Gwaine, Elyan, mentions of others
genre: angst, college AU, modern AU, hurt/comfort
warnings: permanent injury and living with permanent injury, depression, sexual content
disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
summary: Some things, Arthur forgets. Some things, he can't stop remembering.
part 1 of The Walls of My Town Come Crumbling Down series
also on AO3
a/n: First and foremost, WHAT THE FUCK, LJ.
The title of both the story and the series is from Mumford and Sons' song Babel.
Written for the uni_merlin fest here on LJ.
I am cheating a bit about the university AU thing, but I maintain that since most of the story (and its most important parts) happens at the time when Arthur and Merlin are at university, it fits the category. The university is set in Cambridge, but is obviously fictional (although partially based on Trinity college in Cambridge). Since I am me and I left everything for literally last minute, I didn't get to write everything I wanted, hence the series.
The prompt I picked was number... 75? Not sure, either way it was about SCI!Arthur who hasn't had a relationship since he got injured. Like I said, I didn't get to write everything I wanted (hey, I got 8k in under 4h, I'm proud xD), or make it as detailed as I wanted, but I hope OP (whoever you are) is satisfied, and hey, look, I'm making you a series! :D
I didn't have time to read this through and I am aware there are some mistakes, but quite honestly, I can't be bothered to look for them now and fix them, sorry xD
Anyway, yeah, I think that's it.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Babel
There are many things Arthur doesn’t remember, like his first word or how he became friends with Leon; he’s long forgotten about that C he got on his first test in high school and he no longer knows what Tanya’s lipgloss tasted like when he kissed her for the first time in his life; there are vacations he doesn’t recall taking and photos that prove he was some place he’d swear he’s never seen; plenty of nights out with his friends are never coming back to his memory and he never ever remembers birthdays unless someone reminds him at least 14 times in days leading up to them. Some things he doesn’t remember because of the circumstances, some were so long ago he’s not even sure if they’re lost memories or his imagination and some he just doesn’t want to remember; some things he wishes he could bring back, some he hopes will come back and some he just doesn’t care about.
But if there is one thing he wishes he couldn’t remember, it’s the one thing he can’t forget.
~*~
He shivered as he stepped out of the club - for days now, the weather had been cold, no rain or snow, just biting air that was painful to breathe. His fingers itched to light the last cigarette from the pack in his pocket, but he resisted; he didn’t want his mother to know he had picked up smoking. He shuffled his feet, shoved his fists deeper into his hoodie and nodded to the repetitive beat from the club that easily carried over the silent parking lot. He briefly entertained the idea of making up an excuse for his mother, but she wasn’t an idiot, she knew what was going on with him and he didn’t want to insult her by pretending he could explain where he was.
He heard the practical family Mercedes his mother preferred before he saw it, he zipped up his hoodie and shoved his cigarette pack into his jeans pocket with his phone, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice it. The car pulled up in front of him and the door opened. Arthur slid into the seat next to his mother, not quite having the courage to look at her, and not having the death wish to speak. She shifted gears and sped away from the club.
Arthur tried not to fidget, but there was something about his mother that made him want to be the good, obedient son; his father had the exact opposite effect on him and his friends, well, he’d rather die than let them see this side of him, but with his mother, he just wanted her to be able to look at him and be proud.
“Your father was still at work when I left, so if he sees us coming back, you came along to help me take the cello to Kate,“ she said as she took the next left turn.
“Okay,“ was all he could manage in reply; he wanted to thank her, but he couldn’t force it out, knowing it would be more offensive than not saying anything. His throat closed up and he suddenly felt like crying, not for any particular reason other than the sudden realization of just how much the distance between them had grown over the last few years. He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he could say at a time like that - apologize, argue, distract? It all seemed wrong.
“You don’t need to make up excuses for me, Arthur,“ she sighed, taking another turn. The road ahead of them was dark, but empty; Arthur knew not to pick clubs close to home where his neighbours might see him, or popular places where his father’s friends’ children might hang out, he had been defying his father long enough to know how to do it right, but that usually meant a longer trip there and back. Usually, it wasn’t a problem, but that particular night he wished he had planned better, had someone who’d help him get home; that way he wouldn’t be in this stupid car, having to hear the anger and disappointment in his mother’s voice and fight himself not to cry, like some pampered, silver-spoon 11-year-old he refused to be anymore.
He turned his head just enough to be able to see his mother from the corner of his eye and her eyes were fixed on the road in front of them, but even so, he could see that she was frowning, blinking faster than usual and he knew he’d hurt her more than she would ever let on. He was just about to apologize, when she beat him to it.
“No, you don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to say a few words and make yourself feel better, you don’t get to carry on like this and think it’s okay because you apologized!“ she hissed at him, glaring his way sideways.
He stared at her face as she bit her lip and shook her head, started to say more and he suddenly thought that she looked like an angel, blonde hair and blue eyes and a strangely radiant glow about her. But then he realized that the light wasn’t in his head, it was real and it was getting brighter fast. For a second it was like he was frozen in time, his mind was blank for a moment and then it started racing, thanking whatever gods were out there for the fact that it was the middle of the night and there was nobody in the streets so it didn’t matter that his mother was looking at him instead of the road, and it didn’t matter that the light seemed to scare her, that her eyes were wide open and she was screaming something and she looked so scared and he didn’t understand for a while.
Then it hit him.
Literally.
~*~
Arthur's long made his peace with the fact that he will probably forever have nightmares about the car crash and he's long given up on trying not to think about it almost every single second when his brain is not otherwise occupied. Everyone tells him that he should move on, get on with his life already, it's been so many years after all; what they don't understand is that he has moved on, he's moved on as much as one can after something like that, and he can't let go. It's not like he wants to be like this, it's not like he wants to wake Gwen up every other night because he's thrashing so hard he kicks her out of bed, it's not like he wants not to be able to drive his own children to school because he's afraid of what might happen; no, he'd much rather be normal, thank you very much. But it's not as easy as just willing it away. No, for Arthur, this is as good as it gets and it makes him extraordinarily angry when others refuse to accept that, when they try to explain to him what he's doing wrong and why he should listen to their advice. But they don't understand, they don't know what it's like. And they never will. So it's Arthur's not so humble opinion that they should shut the fuck up and let him live the way he's learnt to.
As far as he's concerned, people trying to help him only makes it worse, it makes him feel like they're criticizing him for something he can't fix, something that has become so ingrained into his routine and his life that it's practically a part of who he is, a crucial bit of his identity; and then all he can do is think about other ways he could possibly deal, most of which he's already tried and found inadequate, but then that makes him think about that night more and remember it more clearly which, in turn, ups his anxiety and has him escaping even further into his coping mechanisms, and then he's back to square one and it starts all over again, like a vicious circle he can't escape.
So far, he's only ever found one person who could make him feel better.
~*~
There were many reasons why Arthur hated going back to university every September, not the least of which was the rain that seemed to love greeting students in Cambridge every year; this was why he was pleasantly surprised to look up at his housing building bathed in sunlight. His driver took his bags and his suitcase out of the trunk and brought them to him.
“Where shall I take these, sire?” he asked, sounding like the classically trained British butler that he was (and giving Arthur a strong urge to facepalm - he already wasn't the most popular person around, he didn't need everyone to know that his father insisted the Pendragon family be treated quite literally like royalty).
“Turn right as soon as you enter, down to the end of the hallway, room 4-83,” he replied. He watched the servant leave but didn't follow him. For a few moments, he wanted to just be there and take in the beginning of the new school year, listening in on conversations and watching students rush by; he wanted to be like any other student, if only for a little while, but it actually just made him feel like even more of an outsider. He sat there as the entire campus unfolded around him, snippets of lives floating to his ears and in front of his eyes: there were older students, like him, who already knew where they were going, were already meeting with old friends, talking about classes; there were new students, confused and asking for directions, usually alone, but sometimes in small groups of three or four; there were students who travelled there on their own, easily recognizable because they strutted around like they owned the world just because they were adult enough not to need someone to hold their hand; there were those who took the university bus from London, foreigners mixed in with locals, easy to see because they were sticking together; there were those who were brought there by their families, they were scattered around unevenly, surrounded by similar-looking faces and pets, they were hugging their parents and siblings, saying their goodbyes. They were the ones Arthur envied most.
And then there was him. Old enough to get there on their own, but not capable of doing so, too rich to take the bus and with a family who could come to see him off, but didn't care enough to actually do it. He stood out like a sore thumb, one of the richest, most famous people on the entire campus, known as poor kid, remember that accident a few years back? that was him, the only disabled person at his university and one of only three paraplegics in Cambridge altogether. Return students waved at him or smiled that sympathetic smile he hated - he didn't have many friends precisely because most people were more interested in him out of pity than any other reason, and he didn't want friendships based on that; new students gave him sad looks and never asked him where their rooms were, sometimes avoiding him in quite obvious ways. He didn't really blame them, he supposed they just didn't quite know how to treat him.
His father's servant, whom he hadn't noticed walking out, startled him out of his thoughts with a, “Do you need me to help you inside, sir?”
“No,” he answered, having cleared his throat twice to find his voice as he hadn't spoken in hours, ever since the argument he had with his father that morning. That was one of the things he wouldn't miss - he found that he didn't talk much when he was at home unless it was to fight with his father, so one of the things he was looking forward to were the nights he would spent hanging out with his few good friends. Those nights were his only reprieve from the guilt that followed him around every waking moment, guilt that was only magnified by his father's presence or obvious influence.
“As you wish,” the butler said, backing away. “Good day, sir.”
Arthur responded with a hand raised in goodbye and waited until the car was out of sight. Then he lowered both his hands to the wheels of his chair and started rolling them towards the ramp (one of the few at the university, which was only partially modified to accommodate students with disabilities, but even so, the best Arthur could find that offered education of the quality deemed acceptable by his father, who was, in part, responsible for the improved accessibility). He sighed as the wheels of the chair hit the ramp - somehow, he'd learnt to associate that moment with the true beginning of the new school year, and now it was all finally there, the long days of classes, late nights of studying, precious evenings with his small group of friends. It was made even better by the fact that it was a sure escape from his father's constant accusing stare.
There was the sound of something heavy being dropped to the ground, followed by quick footsteps and a shout of, “Wait, I'll help you!” somewhere to his right.
“No need, I'm fine!” Arthur yelled back with an eyeroll - every once in a while, someone would see him for the first time and assume he needed a hand, which he more or less politely refused, usually coldly enough for them to stop talking to him altogether.
Which was why, seconds later, he was as close to jumping out of his chair as a paralyzed person could be when he felt his chair move seemingly on its own. He twisted his head so he could see behind himself and his eyes were met with an unfamiliar head of a pointy and pale face, huge ears sticking out at an odd angle, a mop of black wavy hair in dire need of a cut and, finally, a pair of piercingly blue eyes. The face was smiling at him widely, revealing almost perfect white teeth.
Arthur disliked the guy on sight. Anyone that cheerful on their first day of university was insane. And anyone who thought they could wheel Arthur around without his permission as they pleased deserved to die a painful death.
“Let go of me!” Arthur shouted, batting at the guy's hands ineffectively since he could barely reach them. “I told you I didn't need your help, now back off!”
The guy let go of the chair handles so suddenly, Arthur didn't have time to stop the char from rolling backwards, but, luckily, the guy but his leg on one of the breaks at the back. Arthur was momentarily impressed by his observation skills, but then he remembered that he was actually quite pissed.
“All right, mate, sorry,” the guy apologized, lifting his hands placatingly, looking actually genuinely sorry. Arthur wasn't having any of it, though, he was about to set off on a lecture about how people couldn't jerk him around and how he was perfectly fine without help, okay, when the guy slowly put his hands back down on the handles, saying, “I'm not kidnapping you, I just wanna help you up to the entrance because quite frankly, that ramp looks about 15 degrees too steep.”
The ramp was actually 16 degrees off, which Arthur knew because his father had made the campus issue an official apology about it two years ago, so Arthur felt he was appropriately too stunned to react as the mystery guy started pushing the chair up the ramp.
“It's not my first year here, you know, I can use that ramp,” Arthur scoffed belatedly.
The guy turn the chair a bit to the side so Arthur could look at him better; he was smiling honestly, without any hidden and misplaced sympathy or pity as far as Arthur could register, as he replied, “Right, but wasn't that easier?”
“No,” Arthur just answered stubbornly. “I don't need your help, and I don't want it. You've done your good deed for the day, now scoot off, I don't want you around me, you're creepy.”
The guy's smile disappeared and he rolled his eyes. “Well, that's gonna be a bit tough, 'cause I believe I'm your new roommate. They assigned me to you because I have some medical training and experience in nursing and patient care and your father insisted on better housing conditions for you.”
Arthur frowned. He didn't know that. More to the point, what the hell was his father thinking, sticking him with some cheery, annoying little twat like this?
“The name's Merlin, by the way,” the kid said, turning around on his heel and walking away to get his bag from where he'd dropped it earlier. Arthur was pretty sure he heard him mumbling, “Failed to mention you were a prat.”
~*~
Arthur still remembers their first encounter fondly. Sure, they didn't get off to the best start, but the memory still makes him smile. Most memories revolving around Merlin do. After all, Arthur can easily and honestly say that the two years he spent with Merlin at his side were the best years of his life.
~*~
As it turned out, Merlin was right. Arthur's father had insisted on better conditions for Arthur, so the university had offered a nurse being housed with him, but his father had declined, not wanting Arthur with some random old cat lady. Arthur wasn't sure this solution was preferable.
For the first few days Merlin followed Arthur's example and kept their contact to strictly business, not even helping unless explicitly asked to, but as it turned out, Merlin wasn't very good at obeying.
It all started one morning when Merlin was drinking his tea and reading a book and Arthur couldn't reach his coffee, so Merlin handed it to him without even looking up from his book and Arthur grudgingly thanked him. For some reason Merlin seemed to take that as his cue to try being friendly to Arthur again. As soon as they were both awake enough to know how to spell their names and therefore check their schedules and options for electives on the university website, Merlin started talking about how excited he was to be there and how he never thought he'd manage to get in to such a prestigious school, especially on a scholarship, but his mother turned out to know one of the lecturers so he helped secure the position, and some such, Arthur tuned out after a while.
“So, what are you studying? They told me we wouldn't have many classes in common, and that our schedules shouldn't clash too much, but that was all,” Merlin asked sometimes after Arthur had already logged out of his university account and switched to playing online games to pass time.
“Bio-engineering and medical biology,” he answered, trying to sound as disinterested in the conversation as possible.
“Oh, that sounds cool. I picked applied linguistics,” Merlin replied, even though Arthur was fairly certain he hadn't asked.
He finished up the pancake orders before he actually picked up on Merlin's answer and reacted. “Wait, what? I thought you were a medicine student!”
“Hm? No,” Merlin laughed, “I couldn't possibly do that, too much pressure and too many sick people.”
“So, how come I'm stuck with you and not some future nurse or something?” Arthur asked, pausing the game to be able to stare at Merlin in demand of explanation.
“Told you, experience taking care of others,” Merlin answered, not looking at Arthur, but through the window. He didn't sound like he was about to elaborate and Arthur could take the hint, so he dropped it, but he filed the topic away for later mentally.
Then he realized that he was planning for future conversations with Merlin. He wondered where that came from, so far the kid was more of a nuisance than an interest.
*
It seemed, however, that only Arthur thought so. One by one, his friends came by to visit him and they all met Merlin and were all instantly friends with him too. Arthur felt inordinately jealous, like Merlin was somehow stealing his friends on purpose, and then he felt silly because of that, but that didn't stop him from being angry at Merlin when his friends left.
“How did you get such polite friends?” Merlin teased as they got ready for bed. Arthur had noted that Merlin was tired some three hours before, but Merlin found himself some inane thing to do instead of going to bed, like Arthur hoped he would. But the minute Arthur started getting ready for bed, so did Merlin. Arthur didn't know why, but even that annoyed him. He didn't dignify Merlin's question with an answer.
*
So, while Arthur could take a hint, Merlin apparently couldn't. He kept talking and asking Arthur random things, kept helping when Arthur didn't ask and even called Arthur's friends over without checking with Arthur first. It was like having an incredibly annoying shadow. Arthur was actually looking forward to classes beginning. And by the time they did, Arthur had already learnt that Merlin liked independent movies, where almost nothing is said and everything needs to be inferred from stunning cinematography and in-depth analysis of characters, books that were weirdly constructed or had confusing plots and needed t be read with care and thought in order to even be understood, music that Arthur (or, he suspected, anyone else ever) had never heard of, that Merlin's mother was extremely supportive of his getting a degree even though she didn't share his passion for learning or for languages, that Merlin spoke fluent Spanish and Latin (did that even count? People didn't speak Latin anymore, did they?), that he always wanted to travel to Asia and that he loved Disney cartoons. He knew so much random crap about Merlin, that he was beginning to worry he would never be able to learn another new thing ever again in his life, because his entire memory storage was overloaded with Merlin (he reminded himself memory didn't work that way, but it was still a rational fear). Sometimes he would catch himself wondering why he even remembered anything from Merlin's monologues, after all, he didn't care about the guy.
When Merlin helped him to a staff elevator in his building, pushed his chair down the hall to his classroom and wished him good luck on his first day, Arthur just said, “Yeah, thanks, you too.” Somehow, it didn't annoy him that Merlin cheerfully skipped off, waving over his shoulder before taking the stairs two at the time to get to his class in time, it made him smile. For the first time in a long while, he felt like there was someone there who knew how to handle him, how to help without being patronizing, how to sympathize without pitying him. He felt almost normal.
*
Merlin talked. A lot. Like, seriously, a lot. But Arthur was beginning to notice, as time went by, that there were topics Merlin avoided too. Merlin rarely spoke about his family in detail, and he only ever spoke of his mother. Whenever he was talking about his past, he never mentioned the last couple of years, always brought back memories from his childhood instead. He never explained how he got medical training or experience. He never mentioned any friends, and when he talked on the phone, it was exclusively to his mother. Arthur didn't ask about any of it. He could understand that sometimes people just needed to keep some things to themselves, at least until they didn't need to anymore. He could relate to that.
So Merlin talked about his lectures and his lecturers, he waxed euphoric about a few of his electives that he couldn't choose between, he talked about food while he cooked and complained about politics every time he came back from the store. Arthur still mainly feigned disinterest, but he found that he didn't mind listening to Merlin as much now as he did in the beginning. He'd come to the conclusion not long before that, that Merlin was actually a lot like some of his other friends - he had a similar taste to Morgana's, similar opinions like Gwen, and he could talk about as much as Gwaine. And somewhere along the line, Arthur started listening. And he didn't hate what he heard.
*
By the time Christmas rolled around, Merlin was Arthur's friend. Arthur himself wasn't sure how it happened, but he'd started talking back to Merlin and Merlin would get so excited and so into their conversations, that it kind of, somehow, dragged Arthur into them as well.
Arthur suspected that a huge part of why he actually did enjoy Merlin's company was the fact that, after that incident on the day they met, Merlin never insisted on helping Arthur, never even offered help in so many words; it was like that first day was a test for them, like after it Merlin knew better - now, Merlin treated Arthur like any other person, no regard for his disability whatsoever. Arthur had missed that, he'd missed people disagreeing with him openly, he'd missed people not walking on eggshells around him and he'd missed people giving him an opportunity to be himself, not himself-in-a-wheelchair.
And now he also missed the near-constant sound of Merlin's voice and their talks, because they'd both gone home for the holidays and Arthur's home was not a good place to be at that time.
*
Merlin was already in their room when Arthur got there. Arthur was kind of hoping he'd have the time to settle in before he had to see Merlin because holidays with his father had this effect on him, where he wanted to go on a murder spree or off himself and be done with it (their holidays, birthdays and the days somehow importantly related to Arthur's mother now mainly consisted of alcohol, shouting and pointing fingers; Arthur didn't enjoy them much, especially when all the fingers seemed to pointing at him, including his own) and he didn't particularly feel like listening to how perfectly Merlin's few weeks at home went, but he found himself also not wanting to tell Merlin off. Merlin, too, had an effect on him, usually the one where he left Arthur feeling torn between hugging him and slapping him. Arthur was ashamed to admit that he secretly enjoyed it.
“Hey,” Merlin greeted him, smiling ear to giant ear.
“Hi,” Arthur replied, unable to stop a small smile spreading on his face.
For a second, Merlin looked like he was taking air to start one of his magnificent rants, or like he was going to ask about Arhtur's holidays, but then his head turned to the side just a little bit and his smile grew less ecstatic and more sort of fond and he only said, “Wanna watch Nightmare Before Christmas? I brought it from home.”
Arthur was confused by the change of pace in the conversation, but was no less grateful for it and gladly agreed. He didn't protest and Merlin got up from the bed and helped him out of his chair and under his covers. Merlin grabbed his laptop and the charger and sat next to Arthur on the bed. Their legs were touching, Arthur could see it, but he couldn't feel it through the thick blankets and something cold and unpleasant spread through his chest, but then Merlin put the laptop on their joined legs, hiding them from view, started the movie and snuggled closer, putting a surprisingly warm hand on Arthur's upper arm, and Arthur forgot all about his would-be panic attack.
*
“Classes don't start for another week,” Merlin commented as he scrolled down a page on his laptop.
“Yeah?” Arthur called from the kitchen where he was preparing breakfast. “Why?”
“Who cares?” Merlin replied with a short laugh, walking into the kitchen.
“Good point,” Arthur agreed, putting two pieces of toast on Merlin's plate.
“Thank you,” Merlin said with a smile, taking the plate from Arthur's hand. Their fingers brushed, like so many times before, but unlike those times, Arthur felt something like a mild electrical current going through his body from the point of contact, and he knew Merlin felt it too, because he couldn't stop looking into Merlin's eyes.
That's when Arthur began wondering when he went from being friends with Merlin to kind of, maybe falling a little bit in love.
*
“I can't be in love with him!” Arthur despaired to Morgana, Gwen, Gwaine and Elyan at the cafe near his housing building the next day. “And would you all please stop saying in love it makes me feel like some 12-year-old girl.”
“Sure you can, and that's because you're being one,” Morgana replied nonchalantly. Arthur shot her a glare. “Oh, fine, we'll stop,” she agreed with an eyeroll.
“So, what are you gonna do?” Gwaine asked, biting into an apple.
“What do you mean, what am I gonna do?” Arthur replied, hoping he didn't sound as panicked as he felt. He wasn't sure what he was freaking out about so much, surely Merlin wasn't into him, surely there was nothing to do about it (Arthur hoped that was the case, but he suspected it wasn't, from the way Merlin smiled at him sometimes and from how observant he was - and yes, Arthur had to admit, Merlin was very observant, much more so than anyone else he knew -, from how they worked together so well and how in sync they seemed to be all the bloody time, but he still hoped because he wasn't sure how to do a proper relationship now, like this, like damaged goods).
“Just ask him out, he's not gonna be horrible about it even if he's not into you,” Morgana piped in before Gwaine could say anything else. “Seriously, did you, like, sell your soul for that apple, it's fucking February, they cost your weight in gold in the campus store and they're shit anyway.”
Gwaine grinned at Morgana (who maturely stuck her tongue out at him) before adding, “Dude, he's totally into you, a blind person could see it. You could see it,” he pointed an accusing finger at Arthur, “and that's saying something.”
“Children, behave,” Gwen chastised them before Arthur could be properly outraged at Gwaine's implication.
“Maybe you should figure out what you want to do,” Elyan offered sagely taking a sip of his chai. Arthur wanted to kiss him and poke him at the same time, because, really, talk about useless advice that happens to be good at the same time.
*
“Okay, Arthur, seriously, I have a test tomorrow and you're making me so jittery, I can't focus,” Merlin finally snapped some weeks later, lifting his head from the stack of papers messily spread out over his bed to look at Arthur who was sitting in his chair just inside the sleeping room, just sort of... loitering. “Normally, I'd let you go through all the stages of brooding, I would, you know that, but, like, I don't need the added stress of you staring holes through my skull right now, so spill it already.”
Arthur stared at Merlin's frowning face, the bags under his eyes, the way his bottom lip was bleeding in the left corner because Merlin had been biting it so hard. Time seemed to slow down and Arthur felt like he had tunnel vision and all he could see was just Merlin, Merlin's face and eyes and lips and hands; then the room started spinning a little and Arthur got dizzy, and then it set in, the feeling of being everywhere at the same time, but not being able to do anything, the odd sensation of everything he was feeling being magnified and at the same time being completely inconsequential, and then through it all there was a pair of warm hands on his shoulders and a calm quiet voice.
“Whoa, there, okay, calm down, just... Breathe normally, okay, in and out,” Merlin was saying, Arthur could feel Merlin's warm breath on his face and smell the peanut butter from earlier in it, he could feel Merlin's fingers digging in almost painfully into his muscles, could feel Merlin's hands trembling just the slightest bit, so he focused on that, he tried not to think of anything other than Merlin's hands on his shoulders, the feeling of warmth seeping through his clothing, like an anchor to the real world. “Okay, that's better, good.” Merlin sighed loudly as he let his hands drop from Arthur's shoulders down to his hands, never losing contact; his whole body relaxed and he let his head drop to lie on Arthur's thigh.
Arthur could barely feel it. His eyes were focusing again and the room slowly became clear. Arthur gave Merlin's hands a little squeeze and Merlin squeezed back, but didn't move like Arthur expected him to. Instead, he stayed like that for a few long minutes, nuzzling at Arthur's leg before lifting his head to look up.
“You scared me for a second there,” he said.
“Yeah, I wasn't planning on that,” Arthur replied in a tone as teasing as he could manage it.
“Sorry I snapped at you,” Merlin said instead of replying.
“Well I was, what did you call it, brooding, which is, I understand, annoying.”
Merlin didn't react to that, just continued looking at Arthur's face until Arthur had to look away. He came into the room with his mind set to telling Merlin that he was in love with him, but now he wasn't ready anymore.
“At the risk of pissing you off,” Merlin started, pulling on Arthur's right hand like it was a horse's rein, “it's okay, Arthur, I get it, you're not ready for a relationship yet.”
Arthur would have expected to be pissed off, because if there was one thing he hated most, it was people who told him it was okay and they understood, when they had no clue, but he wasn't, partly because he knew Merlin didn't mean it like that because Merlin wasn't like other people, and partly because he was too busy being disappointed. Ultimately, that was what made his mind.
“No, you're wrong. I am ready.”
*
Not much changed after that, they still lived together, and Merlin still helped him in the most unobtrusive ways anyone had ever helped him, and they still went out with Arthur's friends, and they still teased each other senseless, and Merlin still treated him like any other person. Only now, there was more touching, and there was kissing (there was a lot of kissing, in the morning and in the evening, between lectures and late at night in one of their beds; Arthur could kiss Merlin forever and be happy, he enjoyed it that much - Morgana made sure to point out how pathetic he was every time they saw each other), and there was more and more unashamed nudity and Arthur couldn't remember being happier.
He opted to ignore the few nights when Merlin tried to take it further than kissing and Arthur freaked out and pushed Merlin away, quite literally, until Merlin fell off the bed.
*
With summer holidays fast approaching, Arthur tried to spend as much time with Merlin as he could. So one Friday, he randomly decided to skip a lesson he wasn't required to attend and didn't feel he had to since he'd already passed the subject. He was looking forward to cuddling up on his bed with Merlin in his arms, but when he walked into their room, it was dark and Merlin was on the phone, talking quietly through tears. Arthur had never seen Merlin cry before and he panicked so much, he spun the wheels of his chair too hard and bumped into the bed in front of him. Merlin jumped a little, but relaxed again when he saw Arthur there.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. Merlin showed no indication of ending the conversation, but he moved away from the window and sat down in Arthur's lap. Arthur's kissed Merlin's temple and wrapped his arms around him as well as he could. Merlin continued crying quietly into Arthur's shoulder, but there was no urgency of shock after hearing bad news and Merlin seemed resigned more than distressed, so Arthur let him finish the conversation before asking anything.
“What happened?”
Merlin wiped at his eyes with his hand. “Nothing,” he said calmly, “it was my mom. Today's the anniversary of my dad's death.” He said it like it was the simples, most common thing, like there was nothing wrong with that, and Arthur wished he could be like that.
“Your dad's death?” he asked instead of voicing that.
“Yeah, he... He had cancer two years ago, aggressive, treatment more likely to fail than do any good. He decided to stay at home,” Merlin explained.
“Oooh,” Arthur said as realization dawned on him.
“Yeah, that's how I got my nursing experience,” Merlin replied with a smile.
“I'm so sorry,” Arthur said, not sure what else there was to say.
“It's okay, I'm not... We had a great relationship, I have no regrets over anything.”
Arthur was glad for that. He often wondered what it would be like to be so calm, to be able to let go because there had never been anything to hold on to. He stroked Merlin's hair and Merlin leaned into it, closing his eyes and relaxing, letting Arthur's arms alone support him sitting upright. Arthur noted how good it felt to be needed again, instead of being the one needing.
“So. Your mom, right?” Merlin asked after a while.
“Yeah,” Arthur replied, having long given up on trying to figure out how Merlin knew so many things about him long before Arthur shared them. “Car accident.”
“Same one?”
“Yeah.”
It was easier talking to Merlin than a therapist, because Arthur trusted Merlin. It was easier talking to Merlin than his father because Merlin didn't blame him. It was easier talking to Merlin than to talking to his other friends because Merlin could related. It was easier talking to Merlin, so Arthur talked, for the first time ever.
*
The summer holiday after that was the worst one Arthur had had in years. He missed Merlin like h missed walking, only more acutely, and he spent as much time as he could online and on the phone getting as much contact as he could, but he never told his father. He didn't care to know his father's reaction.
So, when September came once again, and Arthur was driven back to the ornate Camelot University building, and his driver took his bags to his housing unit and Arthur wheeled up the too steep ramp and down the hallway to find Merlin waiting for him, he was more than a little excited.
Merlin seemed to be of the same mind, as he kneeled in front of Arhtur's wheelchair as soon as Arthur was in the room and kissed Arthur until neither of them could breathe. Arthur laughed into the kiss, calling Merlin eager, but in reality, that was the exact thing he had been planning on doing. Merlin slapped him on the arm and lifted him out of his chair, practically dragged him to the bed and lay on top of him, continuing to kiss him senseless. Arthur somehow figured that Merlin wasn't keen on spending so much time apart either.
It was going exactly as Arthur had hoped it would until he felt Merlin's hands running down his now naked torso to his belt and undoing it. He squeezed Merlin's hips to stop him, but Merlin seemed to misunderstand that for encouragement and unzipped Arthur's jeans before Arthur could unglue their mouths to say, “Wait, stop, don't.”
Merlin did, albeit reluctantly, and Arthur was just leaning in for a kiss again, when Merlin started talking. “You know, I can tell that everything's fine with you down there,” he commented, underlining his point by rubbing his thigh over Arthur's erection.
Arthur felt it, but barely. He knew that it'd feel better if there weren't layers of clothing between them, he knew, logically, that he could have sex, but thinking about that made him so nervous he wanted to vomit - he didn't know how to do it with his body the way it was now, he didn't want to let Merlin down, and if there were actually problems with his physical ability to have sex, he didn't really want to know.
“Arthur, come on, please,” Merlin whined, now rubbing himself on Arthur's hip. Arthur's pulse sped up. “I know you can feel that,” Merlin pointed out as his hands started moving over Arthur's chest again. “Why won't you just...”
“What if something goes wrong?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Nothing's gonna go wrong,” Merlin replied kissing a grin into the side of Arthur's neck. Arthur knew he'd already lost the fight, and Merlin seemed to know too. “I did research, don't worry.”
“Research?” Arthur asked, simultaneously intrigued by the thought and a little creeped out.
“Mmmhm,” was all that he got in return. Merlin's hands were already working Arthur's jeans down his hips and Merlin was sliding down Arthur's body with them. For one panicked moment, Arthur wanted to drag Merlin back up and keep him there, not wanting him to see his legs, the scars on them or how thin they'd become, but Merlin was already taking off his jeans and throwing them over the side of the bed, too far for Arthur to reach.
Arthur waited for the disgust or the pity to set in as he watched Merlin's eyes follow the long lines of his legs, but it never came. Merlin just spread Arthur's legs and set about meticulously kissing every inch of every scar on Arthur's body. When he was done, he took off his own jeans and underwear and lay back on top of Arthur. Arthur could feel Merlin's erection poking in the hip still, and had the strong urge to smother Merlin in grateful kisses, so he did. He thought he'd cleverly masked it as passion until Merlin kissed his way to Arthur's ear to whisper, “See, everything's fine.”
*
“It wasn't your fault, you know that, right?” Merlin asked, rubbing circles into Arthur's back the morning after they come back from their winter holidays.
“She was there because of me.”
“The truck didn't hit your car because of you,” Merlin countered.
Arthur took another sip of his tea. His father had somehow found out about his relationship with Merlin and had been exceptionally brutal that winter.
“Arthur, your father is wrong. Okay, it wasn't your fault,” Merlin insisted. Arthur didn't respond. “Arthur, look at me,” Merlin pleaded. Arthur turned his head to the left. Merlin was dead serious as he carefully intoned, with the certainty of someone saying that two plus two equals 4, “You did not kill your mother.”
For the first time in his life, Arthur thought that maybe one day he could believe that too.
*
The last year of university was harsh on Arthur, they had more exams and tests and lectures than ever before, but he was somehow managing to keep up, to maintain good grades, and to still have somewhat of a social life. Merlin was just in the middle of explaining why their having sex was partially responsible for Arthur's ability to do so many things when he raised himself on his knees, reached down between his legs to steady Arthur's cock and slid down onto it with a loud moan. His head was bowed and Arthur watched a drop of sweat run down his nose like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He wished he could move his hips up, push into Merlin, deeper, harder, but he pushed the thought away and just enjoyed the moment.
“Lost my track of thought,” Merlin panted as he started to move up and then back down slowly.
“I have an exam tomorrow,” Arthur replied to something entirely different.
“Hey,” Merlin suddenly said, looking at Arthur with a mischievous smile, “I never asked, why bio-engineering? Somehow that doesn't strike me as something your dad would approve of.”
“He doesn't,” Arthur answered in between two strokes, “but I wanted it.”
“That much?” Merlin asked teasingly, his movements speeding up. He slid down hard and rolled his hips in a circle with a happy sigh on his lips. The hands he was bracing agains Arthur's chest started roaming around, pinching Arthur's nipple here, tickling over his ribs there.
“One day,” Arthur replied, urging Merlin to start moving again with his hands, “I will be able to fix this,” he continued waving on hand over his body, “fix me.”
Merlin laughed, confusing Arthur to no end, before starting a pace that was sure to be killing his thighs. He leaned forward, brushing their noses together, an oddly gentle gesture for such a moment, and said, “You're not broken.”
*
“So.”
“So.”
“I hope I get a decent roommate next year,” Merlin tried to joke, but Arthur could tell he wasn't unaffected by this.
“You'd better not sleep with him too,” he warned, also failing at sounding cheerful.
“This is not over, right?” Merlin asked, dropping the act. Arthur leaned in and kissed him in reply. “Good, just checking,” Merlin said, hugging Arthur.
Arthur couldn't bring himself to talk. He just hugged Merlin back as tightly as he could. Neither of them moved when the rain started drizzling.
“You should probably go,” Merlin whispered an indefinite time later.
“Probably.”
Neither of them was willing to move for some time, though. Eventually, Merlin stood up from Arthur's lap, straightened Arthur's shirt and tie, and bent down to kiss him again.
“I'll talk to you soon,” he said, more of a question than a statement.
“Of course,” Arthur replied, mildly offended that Merlin was doubting him.
“Bye,” Merlin said quietly, so Arthur could barely hear it over the rain that was starting to fall harder now.
“Bye,” he replied, matching Merlin's barely audible tone, like saying it louder would somehow make it even worse, would somehow prove that things were changing now that Arthur wasn't coming back in September.
Merlin stood near the car as Arthur pulled himself onto the back seat and the driver packed his chair into the trunk. Arthur watched out the window as Merlin hugged himself and blew on his fingers for warmth, but Merlin never showed any indication of even thinking of leaving. When the car started, Merlin raised a hand and waved and Arthur waved back through the slightly tinted glass, not knowing if Merlin could see him. When the driver passed Merlin on their way out, Arthur could no longer tell if Merlin's face was wet from rain or tears.
~*~
He hasn't spoken to Merlin since then. He's never regretted that. Until right now.
rating: R/M
word count: ~7.8k
category: slash, pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
characters: Arthur Pendragon, Merlin, briefly Gwen, Morgana, Gwaine, Elyan, mentions of others
genre: angst, college AU, modern AU, hurt/comfort
warnings: permanent injury and living with permanent injury, depression, sexual content
disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
summary: Some things, Arthur forgets. Some things, he can't stop remembering.
part 1 of The Walls of My Town Come Crumbling Down series
also on AO3
a/n: First and foremost, WHAT THE FUCK, LJ.
The title of both the story and the series is from Mumford and Sons' song Babel.
Written for the uni_merlin fest here on LJ.
I am cheating a bit about the university AU thing, but I maintain that since most of the story (and its most important parts) happens at the time when Arthur and Merlin are at university, it fits the category. The university is set in Cambridge, but is obviously fictional (although partially based on Trinity college in Cambridge). Since I am me and I left everything for literally last minute, I didn't get to write everything I wanted, hence the series.
The prompt I picked was number... 75? Not sure, either way it was about SCI!Arthur who hasn't had a relationship since he got injured. Like I said, I didn't get to write everything I wanted (hey, I got 8k in under 4h, I'm proud xD), or make it as detailed as I wanted, but I hope OP (whoever you are) is satisfied, and hey, look, I'm making you a series! :D
I didn't have time to read this through and I am aware there are some mistakes, but quite honestly, I can't be bothered to look for them now and fix them, sorry xD
Anyway, yeah, I think that's it.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Babel
There are many things Arthur doesn’t remember, like his first word or how he became friends with Leon; he’s long forgotten about that C he got on his first test in high school and he no longer knows what Tanya’s lipgloss tasted like when he kissed her for the first time in his life; there are vacations he doesn’t recall taking and photos that prove he was some place he’d swear he’s never seen; plenty of nights out with his friends are never coming back to his memory and he never ever remembers birthdays unless someone reminds him at least 14 times in days leading up to them. Some things he doesn’t remember because of the circumstances, some were so long ago he’s not even sure if they’re lost memories or his imagination and some he just doesn’t want to remember; some things he wishes he could bring back, some he hopes will come back and some he just doesn’t care about.
But if there is one thing he wishes he couldn’t remember, it’s the one thing he can’t forget.
~*~
He shivered as he stepped out of the club - for days now, the weather had been cold, no rain or snow, just biting air that was painful to breathe. His fingers itched to light the last cigarette from the pack in his pocket, but he resisted; he didn’t want his mother to know he had picked up smoking. He shuffled his feet, shoved his fists deeper into his hoodie and nodded to the repetitive beat from the club that easily carried over the silent parking lot. He briefly entertained the idea of making up an excuse for his mother, but she wasn’t an idiot, she knew what was going on with him and he didn’t want to insult her by pretending he could explain where he was.
He heard the practical family Mercedes his mother preferred before he saw it, he zipped up his hoodie and shoved his cigarette pack into his jeans pocket with his phone, hoping his mother wouldn’t notice it. The car pulled up in front of him and the door opened. Arthur slid into the seat next to his mother, not quite having the courage to look at her, and not having the death wish to speak. She shifted gears and sped away from the club.
Arthur tried not to fidget, but there was something about his mother that made him want to be the good, obedient son; his father had the exact opposite effect on him and his friends, well, he’d rather die than let them see this side of him, but with his mother, he just wanted her to be able to look at him and be proud.
“Your father was still at work when I left, so if he sees us coming back, you came along to help me take the cello to Kate,“ she said as she took the next left turn.
“Okay,“ was all he could manage in reply; he wanted to thank her, but he couldn’t force it out, knowing it would be more offensive than not saying anything. His throat closed up and he suddenly felt like crying, not for any particular reason other than the sudden realization of just how much the distance between them had grown over the last few years. He opened his mouth to say something, but he wasn’t entirely sure what he could say at a time like that - apologize, argue, distract? It all seemed wrong.
“You don’t need to make up excuses for me, Arthur,“ she sighed, taking another turn. The road ahead of them was dark, but empty; Arthur knew not to pick clubs close to home where his neighbours might see him, or popular places where his father’s friends’ children might hang out, he had been defying his father long enough to know how to do it right, but that usually meant a longer trip there and back. Usually, it wasn’t a problem, but that particular night he wished he had planned better, had someone who’d help him get home; that way he wouldn’t be in this stupid car, having to hear the anger and disappointment in his mother’s voice and fight himself not to cry, like some pampered, silver-spoon 11-year-old he refused to be anymore.
He turned his head just enough to be able to see his mother from the corner of his eye and her eyes were fixed on the road in front of them, but even so, he could see that she was frowning, blinking faster than usual and he knew he’d hurt her more than she would ever let on. He was just about to apologize, when she beat him to it.
“No, you don’t get to apologize, you don’t get to say a few words and make yourself feel better, you don’t get to carry on like this and think it’s okay because you apologized!“ she hissed at him, glaring his way sideways.
He stared at her face as she bit her lip and shook her head, started to say more and he suddenly thought that she looked like an angel, blonde hair and blue eyes and a strangely radiant glow about her. But then he realized that the light wasn’t in his head, it was real and it was getting brighter fast. For a second it was like he was frozen in time, his mind was blank for a moment and then it started racing, thanking whatever gods were out there for the fact that it was the middle of the night and there was nobody in the streets so it didn’t matter that his mother was looking at him instead of the road, and it didn’t matter that the light seemed to scare her, that her eyes were wide open and she was screaming something and she looked so scared and he didn’t understand for a while.
Then it hit him.
Literally.
~*~
Arthur's long made his peace with the fact that he will probably forever have nightmares about the car crash and he's long given up on trying not to think about it almost every single second when his brain is not otherwise occupied. Everyone tells him that he should move on, get on with his life already, it's been so many years after all; what they don't understand is that he has moved on, he's moved on as much as one can after something like that, and he can't let go. It's not like he wants to be like this, it's not like he wants to wake Gwen up every other night because he's thrashing so hard he kicks her out of bed, it's not like he wants not to be able to drive his own children to school because he's afraid of what might happen; no, he'd much rather be normal, thank you very much. But it's not as easy as just willing it away. No, for Arthur, this is as good as it gets and it makes him extraordinarily angry when others refuse to accept that, when they try to explain to him what he's doing wrong and why he should listen to their advice. But they don't understand, they don't know what it's like. And they never will. So it's Arthur's not so humble opinion that they should shut the fuck up and let him live the way he's learnt to.
As far as he's concerned, people trying to help him only makes it worse, it makes him feel like they're criticizing him for something he can't fix, something that has become so ingrained into his routine and his life that it's practically a part of who he is, a crucial bit of his identity; and then all he can do is think about other ways he could possibly deal, most of which he's already tried and found inadequate, but then that makes him think about that night more and remember it more clearly which, in turn, ups his anxiety and has him escaping even further into his coping mechanisms, and then he's back to square one and it starts all over again, like a vicious circle he can't escape.
So far, he's only ever found one person who could make him feel better.
~*~
There were many reasons why Arthur hated going back to university every September, not the least of which was the rain that seemed to love greeting students in Cambridge every year; this was why he was pleasantly surprised to look up at his housing building bathed in sunlight. His driver took his bags and his suitcase out of the trunk and brought them to him.
“Where shall I take these, sire?” he asked, sounding like the classically trained British butler that he was (and giving Arthur a strong urge to facepalm - he already wasn't the most popular person around, he didn't need everyone to know that his father insisted the Pendragon family be treated quite literally like royalty).
“Turn right as soon as you enter, down to the end of the hallway, room 4-83,” he replied. He watched the servant leave but didn't follow him. For a few moments, he wanted to just be there and take in the beginning of the new school year, listening in on conversations and watching students rush by; he wanted to be like any other student, if only for a little while, but it actually just made him feel like even more of an outsider. He sat there as the entire campus unfolded around him, snippets of lives floating to his ears and in front of his eyes: there were older students, like him, who already knew where they were going, were already meeting with old friends, talking about classes; there were new students, confused and asking for directions, usually alone, but sometimes in small groups of three or four; there were students who travelled there on their own, easily recognizable because they strutted around like they owned the world just because they were adult enough not to need someone to hold their hand; there were those who took the university bus from London, foreigners mixed in with locals, easy to see because they were sticking together; there were those who were brought there by their families, they were scattered around unevenly, surrounded by similar-looking faces and pets, they were hugging their parents and siblings, saying their goodbyes. They were the ones Arthur envied most.
And then there was him. Old enough to get there on their own, but not capable of doing so, too rich to take the bus and with a family who could come to see him off, but didn't care enough to actually do it. He stood out like a sore thumb, one of the richest, most famous people on the entire campus, known as poor kid, remember that accident a few years back? that was him, the only disabled person at his university and one of only three paraplegics in Cambridge altogether. Return students waved at him or smiled that sympathetic smile he hated - he didn't have many friends precisely because most people were more interested in him out of pity than any other reason, and he didn't want friendships based on that; new students gave him sad looks and never asked him where their rooms were, sometimes avoiding him in quite obvious ways. He didn't really blame them, he supposed they just didn't quite know how to treat him.
His father's servant, whom he hadn't noticed walking out, startled him out of his thoughts with a, “Do you need me to help you inside, sir?”
“No,” he answered, having cleared his throat twice to find his voice as he hadn't spoken in hours, ever since the argument he had with his father that morning. That was one of the things he wouldn't miss - he found that he didn't talk much when he was at home unless it was to fight with his father, so one of the things he was looking forward to were the nights he would spent hanging out with his few good friends. Those nights were his only reprieve from the guilt that followed him around every waking moment, guilt that was only magnified by his father's presence or obvious influence.
“As you wish,” the butler said, backing away. “Good day, sir.”
Arthur responded with a hand raised in goodbye and waited until the car was out of sight. Then he lowered both his hands to the wheels of his chair and started rolling them towards the ramp (one of the few at the university, which was only partially modified to accommodate students with disabilities, but even so, the best Arthur could find that offered education of the quality deemed acceptable by his father, who was, in part, responsible for the improved accessibility). He sighed as the wheels of the chair hit the ramp - somehow, he'd learnt to associate that moment with the true beginning of the new school year, and now it was all finally there, the long days of classes, late nights of studying, precious evenings with his small group of friends. It was made even better by the fact that it was a sure escape from his father's constant accusing stare.
There was the sound of something heavy being dropped to the ground, followed by quick footsteps and a shout of, “Wait, I'll help you!” somewhere to his right.
“No need, I'm fine!” Arthur yelled back with an eyeroll - every once in a while, someone would see him for the first time and assume he needed a hand, which he more or less politely refused, usually coldly enough for them to stop talking to him altogether.
Which was why, seconds later, he was as close to jumping out of his chair as a paralyzed person could be when he felt his chair move seemingly on its own. He twisted his head so he could see behind himself and his eyes were met with an unfamiliar head of a pointy and pale face, huge ears sticking out at an odd angle, a mop of black wavy hair in dire need of a cut and, finally, a pair of piercingly blue eyes. The face was smiling at him widely, revealing almost perfect white teeth.
Arthur disliked the guy on sight. Anyone that cheerful on their first day of university was insane. And anyone who thought they could wheel Arthur around without his permission as they pleased deserved to die a painful death.
“Let go of me!” Arthur shouted, batting at the guy's hands ineffectively since he could barely reach them. “I told you I didn't need your help, now back off!”
The guy let go of the chair handles so suddenly, Arthur didn't have time to stop the char from rolling backwards, but, luckily, the guy but his leg on one of the breaks at the back. Arthur was momentarily impressed by his observation skills, but then he remembered that he was actually quite pissed.
“All right, mate, sorry,” the guy apologized, lifting his hands placatingly, looking actually genuinely sorry. Arthur wasn't having any of it, though, he was about to set off on a lecture about how people couldn't jerk him around and how he was perfectly fine without help, okay, when the guy slowly put his hands back down on the handles, saying, “I'm not kidnapping you, I just wanna help you up to the entrance because quite frankly, that ramp looks about 15 degrees too steep.”
The ramp was actually 16 degrees off, which Arthur knew because his father had made the campus issue an official apology about it two years ago, so Arthur felt he was appropriately too stunned to react as the mystery guy started pushing the chair up the ramp.
“It's not my first year here, you know, I can use that ramp,” Arthur scoffed belatedly.
The guy turn the chair a bit to the side so Arthur could look at him better; he was smiling honestly, without any hidden and misplaced sympathy or pity as far as Arthur could register, as he replied, “Right, but wasn't that easier?”
“No,” Arthur just answered stubbornly. “I don't need your help, and I don't want it. You've done your good deed for the day, now scoot off, I don't want you around me, you're creepy.”
The guy's smile disappeared and he rolled his eyes. “Well, that's gonna be a bit tough, 'cause I believe I'm your new roommate. They assigned me to you because I have some medical training and experience in nursing and patient care and your father insisted on better housing conditions for you.”
Arthur frowned. He didn't know that. More to the point, what the hell was his father thinking, sticking him with some cheery, annoying little twat like this?
“The name's Merlin, by the way,” the kid said, turning around on his heel and walking away to get his bag from where he'd dropped it earlier. Arthur was pretty sure he heard him mumbling, “Failed to mention you were a prat.”
~*~
Arthur still remembers their first encounter fondly. Sure, they didn't get off to the best start, but the memory still makes him smile. Most memories revolving around Merlin do. After all, Arthur can easily and honestly say that the two years he spent with Merlin at his side were the best years of his life.
~*~
As it turned out, Merlin was right. Arthur's father had insisted on better conditions for Arthur, so the university had offered a nurse being housed with him, but his father had declined, not wanting Arthur with some random old cat lady. Arthur wasn't sure this solution was preferable.
For the first few days Merlin followed Arthur's example and kept their contact to strictly business, not even helping unless explicitly asked to, but as it turned out, Merlin wasn't very good at obeying.
It all started one morning when Merlin was drinking his tea and reading a book and Arthur couldn't reach his coffee, so Merlin handed it to him without even looking up from his book and Arthur grudgingly thanked him. For some reason Merlin seemed to take that as his cue to try being friendly to Arthur again. As soon as they were both awake enough to know how to spell their names and therefore check their schedules and options for electives on the university website, Merlin started talking about how excited he was to be there and how he never thought he'd manage to get in to such a prestigious school, especially on a scholarship, but his mother turned out to know one of the lecturers so he helped secure the position, and some such, Arthur tuned out after a while.
“So, what are you studying? They told me we wouldn't have many classes in common, and that our schedules shouldn't clash too much, but that was all,” Merlin asked sometimes after Arthur had already logged out of his university account and switched to playing online games to pass time.
“Bio-engineering and medical biology,” he answered, trying to sound as disinterested in the conversation as possible.
“Oh, that sounds cool. I picked applied linguistics,” Merlin replied, even though Arthur was fairly certain he hadn't asked.
He finished up the pancake orders before he actually picked up on Merlin's answer and reacted. “Wait, what? I thought you were a medicine student!”
“Hm? No,” Merlin laughed, “I couldn't possibly do that, too much pressure and too many sick people.”
“So, how come I'm stuck with you and not some future nurse or something?” Arthur asked, pausing the game to be able to stare at Merlin in demand of explanation.
“Told you, experience taking care of others,” Merlin answered, not looking at Arthur, but through the window. He didn't sound like he was about to elaborate and Arthur could take the hint, so he dropped it, but he filed the topic away for later mentally.
Then he realized that he was planning for future conversations with Merlin. He wondered where that came from, so far the kid was more of a nuisance than an interest.
*
It seemed, however, that only Arthur thought so. One by one, his friends came by to visit him and they all met Merlin and were all instantly friends with him too. Arthur felt inordinately jealous, like Merlin was somehow stealing his friends on purpose, and then he felt silly because of that, but that didn't stop him from being angry at Merlin when his friends left.
“How did you get such polite friends?” Merlin teased as they got ready for bed. Arthur had noted that Merlin was tired some three hours before, but Merlin found himself some inane thing to do instead of going to bed, like Arthur hoped he would. But the minute Arthur started getting ready for bed, so did Merlin. Arthur didn't know why, but even that annoyed him. He didn't dignify Merlin's question with an answer.
*
So, while Arthur could take a hint, Merlin apparently couldn't. He kept talking and asking Arthur random things, kept helping when Arthur didn't ask and even called Arthur's friends over without checking with Arthur first. It was like having an incredibly annoying shadow. Arthur was actually looking forward to classes beginning. And by the time they did, Arthur had already learnt that Merlin liked independent movies, where almost nothing is said and everything needs to be inferred from stunning cinematography and in-depth analysis of characters, books that were weirdly constructed or had confusing plots and needed t be read with care and thought in order to even be understood, music that Arthur (or, he suspected, anyone else ever) had never heard of, that Merlin's mother was extremely supportive of his getting a degree even though she didn't share his passion for learning or for languages, that Merlin spoke fluent Spanish and Latin (did that even count? People didn't speak Latin anymore, did they?), that he always wanted to travel to Asia and that he loved Disney cartoons. He knew so much random crap about Merlin, that he was beginning to worry he would never be able to learn another new thing ever again in his life, because his entire memory storage was overloaded with Merlin (he reminded himself memory didn't work that way, but it was still a rational fear). Sometimes he would catch himself wondering why he even remembered anything from Merlin's monologues, after all, he didn't care about the guy.
When Merlin helped him to a staff elevator in his building, pushed his chair down the hall to his classroom and wished him good luck on his first day, Arthur just said, “Yeah, thanks, you too.” Somehow, it didn't annoy him that Merlin cheerfully skipped off, waving over his shoulder before taking the stairs two at the time to get to his class in time, it made him smile. For the first time in a long while, he felt like there was someone there who knew how to handle him, how to help without being patronizing, how to sympathize without pitying him. He felt almost normal.
*
Merlin talked. A lot. Like, seriously, a lot. But Arthur was beginning to notice, as time went by, that there were topics Merlin avoided too. Merlin rarely spoke about his family in detail, and he only ever spoke of his mother. Whenever he was talking about his past, he never mentioned the last couple of years, always brought back memories from his childhood instead. He never explained how he got medical training or experience. He never mentioned any friends, and when he talked on the phone, it was exclusively to his mother. Arthur didn't ask about any of it. He could understand that sometimes people just needed to keep some things to themselves, at least until they didn't need to anymore. He could relate to that.
So Merlin talked about his lectures and his lecturers, he waxed euphoric about a few of his electives that he couldn't choose between, he talked about food while he cooked and complained about politics every time he came back from the store. Arthur still mainly feigned disinterest, but he found that he didn't mind listening to Merlin as much now as he did in the beginning. He'd come to the conclusion not long before that, that Merlin was actually a lot like some of his other friends - he had a similar taste to Morgana's, similar opinions like Gwen, and he could talk about as much as Gwaine. And somewhere along the line, Arthur started listening. And he didn't hate what he heard.
*
By the time Christmas rolled around, Merlin was Arthur's friend. Arthur himself wasn't sure how it happened, but he'd started talking back to Merlin and Merlin would get so excited and so into their conversations, that it kind of, somehow, dragged Arthur into them as well.
Arthur suspected that a huge part of why he actually did enjoy Merlin's company was the fact that, after that incident on the day they met, Merlin never insisted on helping Arthur, never even offered help in so many words; it was like that first day was a test for them, like after it Merlin knew better - now, Merlin treated Arthur like any other person, no regard for his disability whatsoever. Arthur had missed that, he'd missed people disagreeing with him openly, he'd missed people not walking on eggshells around him and he'd missed people giving him an opportunity to be himself, not himself-in-a-wheelchair.
And now he also missed the near-constant sound of Merlin's voice and their talks, because they'd both gone home for the holidays and Arthur's home was not a good place to be at that time.
*
Merlin was already in their room when Arthur got there. Arthur was kind of hoping he'd have the time to settle in before he had to see Merlin because holidays with his father had this effect on him, where he wanted to go on a murder spree or off himself and be done with it (their holidays, birthdays and the days somehow importantly related to Arthur's mother now mainly consisted of alcohol, shouting and pointing fingers; Arthur didn't enjoy them much, especially when all the fingers seemed to pointing at him, including his own) and he didn't particularly feel like listening to how perfectly Merlin's few weeks at home went, but he found himself also not wanting to tell Merlin off. Merlin, too, had an effect on him, usually the one where he left Arthur feeling torn between hugging him and slapping him. Arthur was ashamed to admit that he secretly enjoyed it.
“Hey,” Merlin greeted him, smiling ear to giant ear.
“Hi,” Arthur replied, unable to stop a small smile spreading on his face.
For a second, Merlin looked like he was taking air to start one of his magnificent rants, or like he was going to ask about Arhtur's holidays, but then his head turned to the side just a little bit and his smile grew less ecstatic and more sort of fond and he only said, “Wanna watch Nightmare Before Christmas? I brought it from home.”
Arthur was confused by the change of pace in the conversation, but was no less grateful for it and gladly agreed. He didn't protest and Merlin got up from the bed and helped him out of his chair and under his covers. Merlin grabbed his laptop and the charger and sat next to Arthur on the bed. Their legs were touching, Arthur could see it, but he couldn't feel it through the thick blankets and something cold and unpleasant spread through his chest, but then Merlin put the laptop on their joined legs, hiding them from view, started the movie and snuggled closer, putting a surprisingly warm hand on Arthur's upper arm, and Arthur forgot all about his would-be panic attack.
*
“Classes don't start for another week,” Merlin commented as he scrolled down a page on his laptop.
“Yeah?” Arthur called from the kitchen where he was preparing breakfast. “Why?”
“Who cares?” Merlin replied with a short laugh, walking into the kitchen.
“Good point,” Arthur agreed, putting two pieces of toast on Merlin's plate.
“Thank you,” Merlin said with a smile, taking the plate from Arthur's hand. Their fingers brushed, like so many times before, but unlike those times, Arthur felt something like a mild electrical current going through his body from the point of contact, and he knew Merlin felt it too, because he couldn't stop looking into Merlin's eyes.
That's when Arthur began wondering when he went from being friends with Merlin to kind of, maybe falling a little bit in love.
*
“I can't be in love with him!” Arthur despaired to Morgana, Gwen, Gwaine and Elyan at the cafe near his housing building the next day. “And would you all please stop saying in love it makes me feel like some 12-year-old girl.”
“Sure you can, and that's because you're being one,” Morgana replied nonchalantly. Arthur shot her a glare. “Oh, fine, we'll stop,” she agreed with an eyeroll.
“So, what are you gonna do?” Gwaine asked, biting into an apple.
“What do you mean, what am I gonna do?” Arthur replied, hoping he didn't sound as panicked as he felt. He wasn't sure what he was freaking out about so much, surely Merlin wasn't into him, surely there was nothing to do about it (Arthur hoped that was the case, but he suspected it wasn't, from the way Merlin smiled at him sometimes and from how observant he was - and yes, Arthur had to admit, Merlin was very observant, much more so than anyone else he knew -, from how they worked together so well and how in sync they seemed to be all the bloody time, but he still hoped because he wasn't sure how to do a proper relationship now, like this, like damaged goods).
“Just ask him out, he's not gonna be horrible about it even if he's not into you,” Morgana piped in before Gwaine could say anything else. “Seriously, did you, like, sell your soul for that apple, it's fucking February, they cost your weight in gold in the campus store and they're shit anyway.”
Gwaine grinned at Morgana (who maturely stuck her tongue out at him) before adding, “Dude, he's totally into you, a blind person could see it. You could see it,” he pointed an accusing finger at Arthur, “and that's saying something.”
“Children, behave,” Gwen chastised them before Arthur could be properly outraged at Gwaine's implication.
“Maybe you should figure out what you want to do,” Elyan offered sagely taking a sip of his chai. Arthur wanted to kiss him and poke him at the same time, because, really, talk about useless advice that happens to be good at the same time.
*
“Okay, Arthur, seriously, I have a test tomorrow and you're making me so jittery, I can't focus,” Merlin finally snapped some weeks later, lifting his head from the stack of papers messily spread out over his bed to look at Arthur who was sitting in his chair just inside the sleeping room, just sort of... loitering. “Normally, I'd let you go through all the stages of brooding, I would, you know that, but, like, I don't need the added stress of you staring holes through my skull right now, so spill it already.”
Arthur stared at Merlin's frowning face, the bags under his eyes, the way his bottom lip was bleeding in the left corner because Merlin had been biting it so hard. Time seemed to slow down and Arthur felt like he had tunnel vision and all he could see was just Merlin, Merlin's face and eyes and lips and hands; then the room started spinning a little and Arthur got dizzy, and then it set in, the feeling of being everywhere at the same time, but not being able to do anything, the odd sensation of everything he was feeling being magnified and at the same time being completely inconsequential, and then through it all there was a pair of warm hands on his shoulders and a calm quiet voice.
“Whoa, there, okay, calm down, just... Breathe normally, okay, in and out,” Merlin was saying, Arthur could feel Merlin's warm breath on his face and smell the peanut butter from earlier in it, he could feel Merlin's fingers digging in almost painfully into his muscles, could feel Merlin's hands trembling just the slightest bit, so he focused on that, he tried not to think of anything other than Merlin's hands on his shoulders, the feeling of warmth seeping through his clothing, like an anchor to the real world. “Okay, that's better, good.” Merlin sighed loudly as he let his hands drop from Arthur's shoulders down to his hands, never losing contact; his whole body relaxed and he let his head drop to lie on Arthur's thigh.
Arthur could barely feel it. His eyes were focusing again and the room slowly became clear. Arthur gave Merlin's hands a little squeeze and Merlin squeezed back, but didn't move like Arthur expected him to. Instead, he stayed like that for a few long minutes, nuzzling at Arthur's leg before lifting his head to look up.
“You scared me for a second there,” he said.
“Yeah, I wasn't planning on that,” Arthur replied in a tone as teasing as he could manage it.
“Sorry I snapped at you,” Merlin said instead of replying.
“Well I was, what did you call it, brooding, which is, I understand, annoying.”
Merlin didn't react to that, just continued looking at Arthur's face until Arthur had to look away. He came into the room with his mind set to telling Merlin that he was in love with him, but now he wasn't ready anymore.
“At the risk of pissing you off,” Merlin started, pulling on Arthur's right hand like it was a horse's rein, “it's okay, Arthur, I get it, you're not ready for a relationship yet.”
Arthur would have expected to be pissed off, because if there was one thing he hated most, it was people who told him it was okay and they understood, when they had no clue, but he wasn't, partly because he knew Merlin didn't mean it like that because Merlin wasn't like other people, and partly because he was too busy being disappointed. Ultimately, that was what made his mind.
“No, you're wrong. I am ready.”
*
Not much changed after that, they still lived together, and Merlin still helped him in the most unobtrusive ways anyone had ever helped him, and they still went out with Arthur's friends, and they still teased each other senseless, and Merlin still treated him like any other person. Only now, there was more touching, and there was kissing (there was a lot of kissing, in the morning and in the evening, between lectures and late at night in one of their beds; Arthur could kiss Merlin forever and be happy, he enjoyed it that much - Morgana made sure to point out how pathetic he was every time they saw each other), and there was more and more unashamed nudity and Arthur couldn't remember being happier.
He opted to ignore the few nights when Merlin tried to take it further than kissing and Arthur freaked out and pushed Merlin away, quite literally, until Merlin fell off the bed.
*
With summer holidays fast approaching, Arthur tried to spend as much time with Merlin as he could. So one Friday, he randomly decided to skip a lesson he wasn't required to attend and didn't feel he had to since he'd already passed the subject. He was looking forward to cuddling up on his bed with Merlin in his arms, but when he walked into their room, it was dark and Merlin was on the phone, talking quietly through tears. Arthur had never seen Merlin cry before and he panicked so much, he spun the wheels of his chair too hard and bumped into the bed in front of him. Merlin jumped a little, but relaxed again when he saw Arthur there.
Arthur raised his eyebrows. Merlin showed no indication of ending the conversation, but he moved away from the window and sat down in Arthur's lap. Arthur's kissed Merlin's temple and wrapped his arms around him as well as he could. Merlin continued crying quietly into Arthur's shoulder, but there was no urgency of shock after hearing bad news and Merlin seemed resigned more than distressed, so Arthur let him finish the conversation before asking anything.
“What happened?”
Merlin wiped at his eyes with his hand. “Nothing,” he said calmly, “it was my mom. Today's the anniversary of my dad's death.” He said it like it was the simples, most common thing, like there was nothing wrong with that, and Arthur wished he could be like that.
“Your dad's death?” he asked instead of voicing that.
“Yeah, he... He had cancer two years ago, aggressive, treatment more likely to fail than do any good. He decided to stay at home,” Merlin explained.
“Oooh,” Arthur said as realization dawned on him.
“Yeah, that's how I got my nursing experience,” Merlin replied with a smile.
“I'm so sorry,” Arthur said, not sure what else there was to say.
“It's okay, I'm not... We had a great relationship, I have no regrets over anything.”
Arthur was glad for that. He often wondered what it would be like to be so calm, to be able to let go because there had never been anything to hold on to. He stroked Merlin's hair and Merlin leaned into it, closing his eyes and relaxing, letting Arthur's arms alone support him sitting upright. Arthur noted how good it felt to be needed again, instead of being the one needing.
“So. Your mom, right?” Merlin asked after a while.
“Yeah,” Arthur replied, having long given up on trying to figure out how Merlin knew so many things about him long before Arthur shared them. “Car accident.”
“Same one?”
“Yeah.”
It was easier talking to Merlin than a therapist, because Arthur trusted Merlin. It was easier talking to Merlin than his father because Merlin didn't blame him. It was easier talking to Merlin than to talking to his other friends because Merlin could related. It was easier talking to Merlin, so Arthur talked, for the first time ever.
*
The summer holiday after that was the worst one Arthur had had in years. He missed Merlin like h missed walking, only more acutely, and he spent as much time as he could online and on the phone getting as much contact as he could, but he never told his father. He didn't care to know his father's reaction.
So, when September came once again, and Arthur was driven back to the ornate Camelot University building, and his driver took his bags to his housing unit and Arthur wheeled up the too steep ramp and down the hallway to find Merlin waiting for him, he was more than a little excited.
Merlin seemed to be of the same mind, as he kneeled in front of Arhtur's wheelchair as soon as Arthur was in the room and kissed Arthur until neither of them could breathe. Arthur laughed into the kiss, calling Merlin eager, but in reality, that was the exact thing he had been planning on doing. Merlin slapped him on the arm and lifted him out of his chair, practically dragged him to the bed and lay on top of him, continuing to kiss him senseless. Arthur somehow figured that Merlin wasn't keen on spending so much time apart either.
It was going exactly as Arthur had hoped it would until he felt Merlin's hands running down his now naked torso to his belt and undoing it. He squeezed Merlin's hips to stop him, but Merlin seemed to misunderstand that for encouragement and unzipped Arthur's jeans before Arthur could unglue their mouths to say, “Wait, stop, don't.”
Merlin did, albeit reluctantly, and Arthur was just leaning in for a kiss again, when Merlin started talking. “You know, I can tell that everything's fine with you down there,” he commented, underlining his point by rubbing his thigh over Arthur's erection.
Arthur felt it, but barely. He knew that it'd feel better if there weren't layers of clothing between them, he knew, logically, that he could have sex, but thinking about that made him so nervous he wanted to vomit - he didn't know how to do it with his body the way it was now, he didn't want to let Merlin down, and if there were actually problems with his physical ability to have sex, he didn't really want to know.
“Arthur, come on, please,” Merlin whined, now rubbing himself on Arthur's hip. Arthur's pulse sped up. “I know you can feel that,” Merlin pointed out as his hands started moving over Arthur's chest again. “Why won't you just...”
“What if something goes wrong?” Arthur asked quietly.
“Nothing's gonna go wrong,” Merlin replied kissing a grin into the side of Arthur's neck. Arthur knew he'd already lost the fight, and Merlin seemed to know too. “I did research, don't worry.”
“Research?” Arthur asked, simultaneously intrigued by the thought and a little creeped out.
“Mmmhm,” was all that he got in return. Merlin's hands were already working Arthur's jeans down his hips and Merlin was sliding down Arthur's body with them. For one panicked moment, Arthur wanted to drag Merlin back up and keep him there, not wanting him to see his legs, the scars on them or how thin they'd become, but Merlin was already taking off his jeans and throwing them over the side of the bed, too far for Arthur to reach.
Arthur waited for the disgust or the pity to set in as he watched Merlin's eyes follow the long lines of his legs, but it never came. Merlin just spread Arthur's legs and set about meticulously kissing every inch of every scar on Arthur's body. When he was done, he took off his own jeans and underwear and lay back on top of Arthur. Arthur could feel Merlin's erection poking in the hip still, and had the strong urge to smother Merlin in grateful kisses, so he did. He thought he'd cleverly masked it as passion until Merlin kissed his way to Arthur's ear to whisper, “See, everything's fine.”
*
“It wasn't your fault, you know that, right?” Merlin asked, rubbing circles into Arthur's back the morning after they come back from their winter holidays.
“She was there because of me.”
“The truck didn't hit your car because of you,” Merlin countered.
Arthur took another sip of his tea. His father had somehow found out about his relationship with Merlin and had been exceptionally brutal that winter.
“Arthur, your father is wrong. Okay, it wasn't your fault,” Merlin insisted. Arthur didn't respond. “Arthur, look at me,” Merlin pleaded. Arthur turned his head to the left. Merlin was dead serious as he carefully intoned, with the certainty of someone saying that two plus two equals 4, “You did not kill your mother.”
For the first time in his life, Arthur thought that maybe one day he could believe that too.
*
The last year of university was harsh on Arthur, they had more exams and tests and lectures than ever before, but he was somehow managing to keep up, to maintain good grades, and to still have somewhat of a social life. Merlin was just in the middle of explaining why their having sex was partially responsible for Arthur's ability to do so many things when he raised himself on his knees, reached down between his legs to steady Arthur's cock and slid down onto it with a loud moan. His head was bowed and Arthur watched a drop of sweat run down his nose like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He wished he could move his hips up, push into Merlin, deeper, harder, but he pushed the thought away and just enjoyed the moment.
“Lost my track of thought,” Merlin panted as he started to move up and then back down slowly.
“I have an exam tomorrow,” Arthur replied to something entirely different.
“Hey,” Merlin suddenly said, looking at Arthur with a mischievous smile, “I never asked, why bio-engineering? Somehow that doesn't strike me as something your dad would approve of.”
“He doesn't,” Arthur answered in between two strokes, “but I wanted it.”
“That much?” Merlin asked teasingly, his movements speeding up. He slid down hard and rolled his hips in a circle with a happy sigh on his lips. The hands he was bracing agains Arthur's chest started roaming around, pinching Arthur's nipple here, tickling over his ribs there.
“One day,” Arthur replied, urging Merlin to start moving again with his hands, “I will be able to fix this,” he continued waving on hand over his body, “fix me.”
Merlin laughed, confusing Arthur to no end, before starting a pace that was sure to be killing his thighs. He leaned forward, brushing their noses together, an oddly gentle gesture for such a moment, and said, “You're not broken.”
*
“So.”
“So.”
“I hope I get a decent roommate next year,” Merlin tried to joke, but Arthur could tell he wasn't unaffected by this.
“You'd better not sleep with him too,” he warned, also failing at sounding cheerful.
“This is not over, right?” Merlin asked, dropping the act. Arthur leaned in and kissed him in reply. “Good, just checking,” Merlin said, hugging Arthur.
Arthur couldn't bring himself to talk. He just hugged Merlin back as tightly as he could. Neither of them moved when the rain started drizzling.
“You should probably go,” Merlin whispered an indefinite time later.
“Probably.”
Neither of them was willing to move for some time, though. Eventually, Merlin stood up from Arthur's lap, straightened Arthur's shirt and tie, and bent down to kiss him again.
“I'll talk to you soon,” he said, more of a question than a statement.
“Of course,” Arthur replied, mildly offended that Merlin was doubting him.
“Bye,” Merlin said quietly, so Arthur could barely hear it over the rain that was starting to fall harder now.
“Bye,” he replied, matching Merlin's barely audible tone, like saying it louder would somehow make it even worse, would somehow prove that things were changing now that Arthur wasn't coming back in September.
Merlin stood near the car as Arthur pulled himself onto the back seat and the driver packed his chair into the trunk. Arthur watched out the window as Merlin hugged himself and blew on his fingers for warmth, but Merlin never showed any indication of even thinking of leaving. When the car started, Merlin raised a hand and waved and Arthur waved back through the slightly tinted glass, not knowing if Merlin could see him. When the driver passed Merlin on their way out, Arthur could no longer tell if Merlin's face was wet from rain or tears.
~*~
He hasn't spoken to Merlin since then. He's never regretted that. Until right now.