He doesn't like lying. It's the one thing that keeps him up at night. It's what's carving dark circles under his eyes and makes him nervous around Arthur. Arthur. He groans and closes his eyes at the thought of his 'master', the now familiar pang of lying to one of the most important people in his life swinging through.
Finally, the sun's rays start peaking into the room and he swings his legs over the side of the bed, his feet warm on t he cold floor. Another restless night and he knows he can't last much longer without some real rest. Shaking his head and running a hand over his face, he sighs. It shouldn't be this hard.
Arthur comments on the circles. Again. And, again he lies. He gives an excuse that no one would believe, and Arthur definitely doesn't. But, he lets it pass, just nodding his head, his eyes asking him to tell the truth. He wants to. But, he can't.
Gwen's worried look (one of the many he keeps getting) forces him to smile and repeatedly reassure her that he's fine. That nothing's wrong. He tries for a larger, brighter smile and knows he's failing. Lying is slowly killing him.
Arthur's room is finally cleaned, his armour put away, and now he's left to his own devices. Sitting in his room, not bothering with a candle, he thinks about how his whole life is filled with and protected by lies. Lies about his power. Lies about himself. About his feelings. Especially the lie that no one knows he's telling. That Arthur doesn't know he's telling.
That's the one that's causing sleepless nights and a loss of appetite. Why he hesitates to help his master. His prince. His friend. He knows it's not right. He knows that. And yet...it persists. This feeling he gets whenever he sees Arthur. Knots and jumbled thoughts.
Gaius tries talking to him, but all that he's managed to collect are half finished sentences that he brushes off. As much as he loves Gaius as the father he's never had, he knows he had to figure this one out for himself.
Finally (finally), sleep lets him pass. (It's only taken a couple of months) and he's woken up, gradually. Fingers removing his boots. His jacket's already off, he can see its blurred outline next to the bed.
'Gaius?" he manages to get out, unable to make out who's helping him.
"He's asleep. Didn't want to wake him up," comes that oh-so familiar voice.
"Arthur?" now he's awake, his heart beating a little faster and he wants to, no, needs to get up. He's the servant (as Arthur's pointed out. Several times.)
"Lay down you oaf," Arthur orders and he has no choice but to listen. Arthur does that, makes people listen.
"I was wondering when you were finally going to drop off. Of course, I' was kind of hoping you would be riding a horse or at sword practice," Arthur tells him, standing by the bed. He can almost make out the smile that he knows is on his face.
"You really know how to make someone feel appreciated. You know that?" he says.
"It's my job as a royal brat. I'm good at it," Arthur replies cheekily, Arthur's tone doing something to his stomach. He turns away and Arthur sighs, "Merlin. I didn't mean..." but he gets cut off.
It's a mistake. He knows that. His head is screaming for him to stop, that he's officially gone mental. That this is madness and he should start apologizing profusely. Then it shuts up when Arthur's hand, weaves its way, slowly, through the hair at the base of his neck, pushing him in closer.
They break apart, breathing slightly laboured and it's silent. Until Arthur, a grin like he hasn't had before breaking over his face, says, "Remember, you're still the servant."