He's looking at me with that… look.
Why did this happen?
He should've let me…
Where did it go wrong?
I'm scared…
I'm scared…
I'm so tired… so hungry…
He's exhausted – how did I miss this for so long? How did Gaius miss this?
Just let me go. It's not like it matters.
What do I do?
I feel so lost…
I feel so lost…
.
.
.
You sit in front of Merlin, who is cold and shivering and huddling in his blanket in front of a crackling fire. Both of you have no idea where to start. You place a hot beverage on the table and slowly push it to your manservant.
Merlin declines.
So you shove it into his grip and notice that Merlin's wrist bones are jutting out. Uncannily so. You lift your eyes up to the heavens.
"Merlin… what happened?"
You're angry and hurt and upset and almost offended that Merlin would try to leave without at least telling you or even taking you with him.
"For there is no Arthur without Merlin."
.
.
.
I want to tell him everything.
Please, tell me everything.
But it's not safe.
I promise I won't hurt you.
It's not the right time.
Can't you see?
But…
I need you.
I need him.
To Live.
To be me.
To be me.
.
.
.
It's not easy seeing Merlin choke up, swallow his whole throat and hear him say that he is perfectly fine. It's even harder to corner him in his chair and demand an answer as the words of dread seethe from your mouth like hot water. It drips onto your manservant and he winces at the venom.
You remember seeing him thrashing against you, screaming at you to just let him go… let him die.
And you ached.
Your heart pinched and squirmed with discomfort as the helpless sobs etched their way into your memory. You know. Surely, you must know that his cries will haunt you for the rest of your life.
Hot tears swim in your eyes, almost traitorously, as Merlin's voice cracks under pressure in front of you.
And you ache.
Your eyes are heavy and you feel like giving up almost so you can just rest for now. But you don't – but you won't.
.
.
.
Please speak to me.
Please say something.
Don't hate me.
How could you do this to yourself?
I would die if you hated me.
I feel like I'm dying…
Don't cry for me…
Don't cry – be strong.
.
.
.
"I'm sorry…" Merlin finally whispers to you. You know he's not apologizing for his behavior. There must be a reasonable justification for the… - you dare not speak it – incident. You're not quite sure why he's saying sorry. You almost want to smack him. Almost.
"No…" You whisper back, your eyes captivated by the empty sea beyond his eyes – blackened by the want and lust for permanent relief. For…
Death.
You want to shudder. You have seen death. You have caused it. But knowing that your other half would want to do it makes you feel sick.
And you ache more.
Your heart drops down into your stomach and you feel the acid devour it whole. You wish to feel numb as Merlin takes a sip of the drink and closes his eyes to relish it.
It's a very simple drink. Cheap – inexpensive.
Yet he treasures it.
And you ache.
.
.
.
I wish you would eat some more.
I want to leave.
You look tired…
Just let me go. Let me resume what was unfinished. Please.
Sleep in my bed tonight?
I beg of you. Let me.
I can't sleep knowing you're having these thoughts…
I'm a lost cause. You know it.
I want to protect you.
.
.
.
"I'm sorry." You whisper back. And Merlin looks up, confused and heartbroken. "I know there are things you can't tell me. And I bloody hate it. But I trust you. You tell me when you're ready."
Merlin nods, flabbergasted. He thinks that's all, and he moves to stand up. But no way are you letting that happen.
So you place a hand on his chest and push him gently to the chair, and a look of dread, a look of utter dismay, crosses over his features.
And you ache some more.
You can barely breathe as Merlin begins to tear up once again. His voice cracks, his hand comes over his face and pulls down, as if trying to ride the look of anguish and replace it with the feignedly placed demeanor of happiness. Like nothing is wrong.
Everything. is wrong.
You feel slightly angry when a goofy grin stretches over his fact, and you feel like screaming it apart with your tears. To tell him, just… tell me. Please!
You sit across from him again, but this time you act like a friend, not a prince. You look at him in the eyes, place your hand gently on his shaking leg and squeeze.
"Merlin."
.
.
.
Stop. Please. You have no idea what you're about to hear.
I won't let this go.
I care about you.
I care about you.
I'm doing this for your own good.
I'm doing this for your own good.
I need you to understand.
Please understand, Merlin. I need you.
But…
You're my best friend.
I can't live like this much longer.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
.
.
.
This hole you feel opens wider in your stomach and sucks in everything until you feel empty and lifeless. You wonder where your heart has gone. Where your soul has gone.
You want just one thing from him.
"I know you won't tell me everything. But at least tell me what was going through your head when you – when you…" You breathe in deeply.
And you ache.
Merlin dead pans and you feel your world shift. The ground beneath you is pulled roughly and whips away with the whirlwind of grievance and agony. Because he says,
"It's all just... too much, Arthur. No one would really care if I… if I-"
You thank whoever is watching over you that you're sitting down, because you feel your knees wobble and tremble and soon tears are making their way to your eyes, rushing as if they're excited to humiliate you.
"M-Merlin." You stutter. And choke. And sob. And whimper. "I-I would care – I …"
You daren't speak it. You cannot.
"How could you think such lies?" You whisper, looking away from the stunned look that is shot in your direction. His look of surprise pierces through your flesh; you thought he knew how you felt about him; you never believed he would be bewildered from the obviousness of your adoration for the boy.
So you ache.
Merlin shakes his head and tears tumble down his cheeks. You have to look to the heavens once more or you too will lose control. You must stay strong for him.
You slowly walk over and pull him into your chest – this time hugging him for real instead of restraining him from…
And when he returns your embrace, you feel your heart and soul return. Deep down you always knew he held it. He always will. He is your other half.
.
.
.
Thank you…
I wish I could help you.
You have no idea.
I'm always here.
I love you.
I love you.