My first time in this fandom. Not quite the grand entrance I'd planned, but this wouldn't leave me alone. Enjoy this very short story!
They met in the usual way. Merlin's clumsiness somehow got the better of him.
This time around, Arthur couldn't say that he was particularly impressed. A gangly ginger with muddy brown eyes and severe hemophobia wasn't exactly the form he would have chosen for the great King of Albion. However, he couldn't just off himself because he felt inadequate. In his defense, he made delicious brownies and could carry a tune, which was a nice change for once.
As he made his way across campus, Arthur came to the firm conclusion that he hated his biology class. What did biology have to do with being a Communications major anyway? His professor despised him, so much so Arthur could have sworn he was Mordred reincarnated, the class was boring, and now he had a lab to make up after being stuck in bed with the flu.
He shivered as he walked into the classroom, wondering if the temperature ever rose above a frigid 55 degrees. The lab station was already set up, the professor hovering around the room like a vulture. Arthur shuddered and set down his bag. As he straightened, a smaller body jostled him from the left, letting out a pained grunt.
"Watch it," Arthur snapped, glaring at the offender.
"Sorry, my elbow just got the …"
The guy trailed off, hazel eyes flicking up to search Arthur's face intently. It took little more than a moment for them to simultaneously brighten and soften, a combination that made Arthur reel.
"Arthur," the stranger whispered, hands reaching up as if to touch him.
Somewhere in Arthur's mind, a piece fell into place with a resounding thud. Arthur felt very confused all of a sudden. There was no way in hell this stocky blond, who was wearing a rugby shirt of all things, was Merlin. It wasn't even remotely plausible. His eyes said differently. Though they weren't the blue Arthur remembered from centuries ago, the qualities they carried were identical. They gazed at Arthur with a kind of awe and devotion that only Merlin possessed.
The stranger who may or may not have been Merlin suddenly winced and turned his arm over. A nasty looking gash ran down about half of his forearm, probably acquired in his collision with the table.
"I've had worse I suppose," the maybe Merlin quipped, flashing Arthur an achingly familiar smile.
Arthur watched as blood dripped from the wound and onto the floor, feeling overwhelmed and a bit nauseous.
"You always were an idiot," he said, swallowing thickly.
He passed out with Merlin's laugh, which was always, always the same, ringing in his ears.