The most frustrating and uncomfortable thing of all was that Camelot was still the same. The streets were the same, the houses were the same, the privet hedges were still privet and the brick houses were still brick. He'd never disliked any of it before, but just as much as Camelot had stayed the same, Arthur had changed. After two years in Buenos Aires, the cold respectability and restraint of the mowed lawns and tidy porches only served to remind him of all the things that had made up his life in the mean time. The heat, the blue petals of the trees in autumn. Well, down there October was spring, technically. In his mind there was music, even the rain was warm, the air smelled of alcohol and sweat and something sweet, and there was the touch of skin, a blinding smile, and a very nearly perfect boy whose face was plastered all around the periphery of every thought, fading to become a bitter ghost. And there were tears and fear and shouting, running, there was the feeling of being just a little bit too late. There were late night confessions and stories and secrets enough to make his brain go mad, and how could he be the same after all that? How could he go back to Camelot now, and pretend he was the same? The Arthur that had left the city two years ago had been absolutely vile, and he was ashamed to even think about him. The thought of going back to that school for his final year, to be among people who had known him as that person…

Not to mention his old friends. Ideally, they'd have grown up and changed as well. For teenagers, two years can be a lifetime. But no, they were much the same, only bigger and ruder. And they expected him to be the Arthur Pendragon they knew and loved as well. As his back was slapped and he was welcomed back to his customary lunch table with a roar, he smiled broadly and happily and wondered whether perhaps they had changed to be more disgusting, or if they always had been and he just hadn't noticed because he was one of them. And he wasn't anymore, he really wasn't. He couldn't take all the posturing, the stupid, inane conversation. He visibly recoiled as they leered at some poor girl's breasts and proceeded to comment loudly. They passed a younger girl in the corridor, and several of Arthur's "friends" made sure she got to hear all about how fat and ugly she was. He backed away a little, not saying anything, but not fully able to pretend he was okay with it, and got a round of jokes thrown in his face wondering what was wrong with him and what happened. He always used to be game for a laugh, didn't he?

The final straw broke his back as some poor soul entered the room to the gang's absolute delight, and they yelled out, one boy throwing an empty crisp packet at the newly arrived target, the others calling out insults. The most predominant one was the word "faggot," and Arthur's insides turned in uncomfortable ways with every utterance of the word until he had to excuse himself and leave, on the brink of vomiting. Before he got out of the room entirely, though, he met the eyes of the victim his now completely decidedly EX-friends had singled out. His heart sank down to join his unruly insides. Of course.

It was the only thing that was missing, really, in order to make this catastrophe complete. With that one look, he'd fallen absolutely helplessly for the one person in the world who had the most reason to hate him.

Because of course it was him the gang had pounced on; nothing had changed, after all. He had already concluded as much.

But oh, Merlin must have changed. Surely. He recognised him immediately, but he'd never been that tall, his face hadn't been so sharp, his eyes just couldn't have been that blue, and Arthur had certainly never wanted to kiss him before. Had he looked as he used to, all normal and a little bit goofy, Arthur would still have felt contrite and guilty. But, although he still had the ears that had earned him so many nicknames, Merlin was gorgeous, and Arthur was doomed. Especially because Merlin only saw the Arthur of the past. He looked at him, for that split second that had charmed Arthur irrevocably, with all the hatred and bitterness that technically he supposed he deserved. After years and years of name calling, teasing, shoving, sometimes downright beatings, and a range of items thrown from the back of the class when an oblivious teacher turned his or her back, well, Arthur deserved much worse punishments than a look. But the look was enough.

It kept him sleepless for weeks. All the faces of the people he had laughed at, prodded at, victimised. He'd seen the other side to it now, all too closely and clearly. He wanted to just forget and to move on and live his life as if he'd always been a decent human being. But the truth was that he hadn't. And whenever he closed his eyes, the looks of accusation were there, fiercer every time. Chief among them, of curse, was Merlin's. He had, after all, been the recipient of the most abuse over the years, and as cruel fate would have it he was also the only one Arthur had any sort of additional motive to seek forgiveness from than pure regret. Every time their paths crossed, Arthur's crush deepened, and every time it was more and more obvious that it would lead nowhere. That he was not friends with his old crowd anymore was not difficult to notice, but distancing himself from the bullies did not mean he had any immediate friends among the victims. Arthur was alone, but he didn't mind that so much - the last few months in Argentina, he had been equally solitary. He had needed it.

He didn't mind solitude any more than he'd mind any other sort of company that wasn't Merlin.

One month was as long as it took him to take any functioning action towards resolving anything at all. He had tried to get into contact with Merlin, to at least apologise and… And he didn't know, he had no idea what he planned to do, what he expected. It didn't really matter, since it seemed Merlin had a knack for being elusive. There was always a crowd in which he was swept away, Arthur would see him on the other side of the room, but when he got there he had disappeared. Or the gang of Arthur's ex-friends would interrupt and chase Merlin away again. Or Merlin's friend Will, who'd once beaten Arthur with a stick in spite of being about half his size, as punishment for calling his best friend an idiot one too many times, would give him a death glare that could curdle granite, and he'd quite simply be scared off.

Not that he'd ever admit that.

Finally, he caved and took the shortcut to wait behind the big tree by the football field, where he knew Merlin had to pass to get home after school. Unless, of course, he had moved in the course of the two years when Arthur had been away, but then, as he kept discovering, nothing had changed. So he'd probably be there.

The tree was a pine with a good, thick trunk that caved in on one side making an excellent hiding place. It was possible to hide at least one more person behind it with Arthur, and when they were younger, it had easily covered five kids up to no good. His feet shifted in the mud and he tried to distract himself from the memories of those days, waiting here with company, giggling and spitting, by following the trail of big, red-and-black ants marching steadily up and down the trunk carrying bits of leaves or pine needles to a nest somewhere between the roots and out of sight, perpetually in construction. The air was crisper than it ever was in Buenos Aires, making it clear where he was even if he closed his eyes. No escape. It smelled faintly of milk.

He waited for a few minutes before he heard footsteps on the gravel, and peeked through the branches to see the figure that habitually made his heart skip a beat. He jumped down from his hiding place and landed softly in front of Merlin.

Merlin's first reaction was to take an apprehensive step back, his face alarmed. It cut deeply into Arthur, because he knew why being surprised in this particular spot affected Merlin like that, indeed he himself was to blame for a lot of it. When it was clear that Arthur was alone, though, Merlin's expression turned from fear to curiosity, some apprehension still evident in his soft, pale features.

"Arthur?" he asked hesitantly, as if he wasn't entirely sure that's who it was.

Arthur swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Hi," he croaked out.

"What are you..?"

"I'm sorry for jumping out on you like this, but I need to talk to you."

Well, at least his voice had decided to function again. Merlin looked slightly perplexed by the sudden outburst.

"I mean, I… I just, I'm. I owe you a pretty big apology," Arthur continued weakly. Merlin's face turned serious and business-like.

"You do," he said, and Arthur couldn't quite figure out whether it was a statement or a question.

"Yes, well, I… I know I did and said some fairly inexcusable things. There isn't anything that could justify the things that we, that I, did to you, and put you through and I'm, sorry. I'm very very sorry, Merlin."

This was horrible. If only Merlin's face hadn't been so still, so inscrutable, but it was still, grave and almost expressionless, not giving Arthur any indication that his apology had even been heard.

"If it makes it any better, I, I have nightmares about it, all the things I did, and not just to you. It's eating me from the inside, and I know it's no more than I deserve, Hell, I deserve worse than that, but I dunno, I wanted you to know that I… I regret it. A lot."

Arthur felt as if he was going to fall apart right there, with his thoughts and feelings spilling bare out of him and Merlin's complete lack of a reaction, and that was when Will saw fit to appear, rounding the corner. When he caught sight of Arthur, he frowned and sped up his pace, and within seconds he was by Merlin's side. But when he took a threatening step towards Arthur, Merlin held an arm out to stop him. Will looked from Merlin's arm to his face, and then back to Arthur, his entire being emanating suspicion.

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

"Arthur's apologising," Merlin said, and suddenly Arthur was glad of Will's appearance, because in speaking at least some emotion was betrayed - disbelief and caution, mostly, as if Merlin didn't quite believe what was happening or know how to react to it.

"Apologising?" Will spluttered with scorn, and it was evident that he knew exactly how he wanted to react.

"Listen here, Pendragon," he said venomously, "If you think that after seven years of knocking this kid about, you can just come out of the blue, asking forgiveness…"

"I'm not asking for forgiveness!" Arthur desperately defended himself, the words directed at Merlin, not Will.

"I don't deserve your forgiveness and I'm not after it, really, I'm not."

"Then what… What exactly do you want, Arthur?" Merlin asked, his brow slightly furrowed now.

"I… I'm - I don't…"

Arthur couldn't find a single word to explain his intention. He wanted to apologise because that's what you do when you realise you've been a total pillock. Isn't it? But of course, it was more than that, he'd been a downright monster, and it was Merlin, and there was no putting all the guilt and love and despair that was ravaging his mind into any coherent sentence. A notion occurred to him on a near-subconscious level, and he immediately dismissed it because it was ridiculous, it was social suicide and he would most likely end up ridiculed, but then he rebutted those arguments with the mere fact that if anyone deserved to ridicule him, it was this damned boy.

So he reached out determinedly to grab Merlin by the shoulder and drag him close, planting a kiss square on his lips.

In the corner of his eye, Arthur was aware of Will stepping forward at first, almost as a reflex, reacting to the sudden movement to protect his friend when enemies drew near. When Arthur's non-violent intentions became clear, though, he jumped back in surprise with a subdued "Whoa."

This little awareness of his surroundings was still there, but mostly Arthur was concentrated on savouring this moment and making it last for as long as he could get away with, because he knew it was very likely to be the only time he would ever get to kiss Merlin.

The lips that Arthur was pressing his own against parted in surprise, to draw breath in a gasp or to make some outcry, he wasn't sure, because neither happened. It just made it easier to fit his own mouth over Merlin's, pressing their lips together and, with the courage of adrenaline, allowing his tongue to audaciously graze Merlin's lower lip. Merlin's mouth soft and a little bit sticky, and tasted of some sort of fruit; Arthur wasn't sure whether it was apple or pear. It was wonderful, and the best of all was, Merlin didn't seem to mind, he didn't pull away, instead he returned the pressure, and Arthur felt a hand gently squeezing his shoulder, Merlin's arm resting against his own. He took it as encouragement to let the kiss last a little longer, get a little sweeter, before he pulled away and those endless seconds were ended. Arthur was out of breath, and for a moment, he and Merlin just stood there, looking into each other's eyes. Arthur would have been content to stay like that forever.

"That's what you're doing?" Merlin asked, breaking the spell, "That's why you apologised? Because you… Fancy me?"

"What? No!" Arthur hastily insisted. He noticed that Merlin's hand was no longer on his shoulder, and so he promptly retracted his own.

"I mean, yes. Yes, I do, but that's got nothing to do with it! Well, it's connected, but I don't… I didn't…" he sighed at his own ineptitude. "Me apologising for being a bastard and me sort of fancying you are two completely separate and individual consequences of… Growing up a bit." He tried to smile. "Just a little bit. Look, I know I'll always be the guy who made your life hell for years, but can't I… Can't I also be the guy who…"

Yet again, words failed him. He knew what he wanted to say, but it was as if any explanation was hanging just out of his reach.

"Who'd do anything," he settled for, staring at his own feet, though whether his voice was even audible when he squeezed the words out, he wasn't sure.

"You're right," Merlin said slowly, pensively. Arthur's head jerked back up to face him.

"You don't deserve my forgiveness. And you won't have it. I won't ever forgive you."

Arthur nodded, as Merlin and Will, whose presence Arthur had almost but not quite managed to forget, walked around him. He remained still as they moved, breathing and staying upright challenging enough at that moment. He felt utterly crushed and he wanted to cry, but oddly fulfilled to at least have it over with. And it had gone better than expected.

"Arthur," he heard Merlin's voice call out behind him, and he turned around, new hope igniting.

"I'll," Merlin said, and then stopped, contemplative, as if he had trouble choosing words as well.

"I'll see you around, yeah?"

Arthur took the peace offering for all it was worth and grinned gratefully.

"Yeah," he answered, his voice thick.

Merlin turned around, and Will gave Arthur a curt nod, a grudging approval. Arthur returned the gesture, his heart warming with the triumph.

Yes, definitely better than expected.

And better than he'd ever deserved.