Willow

Merlin hadn't loved Arthur when they met.

It was though a mutual friend's party, an occasion Merlin can't remember now. But they bickered over a beer, debating over something Merlin can't decide. It ended with him splashing his drink in Arthur's face and storming off.

Merlin still hadn't loved Arthur when they met for a second time.

This time they were out on a double date – Arthur and Gwen, Merlin and Lance – at a restaurant Arthur hated and Merlin loved. This time they became friends, even exchanged numbers, but they never texted each other.

Merlin didn't love Arthur the third time, either.

They had met while Merlin was at work, when Arthur had asked, "Why don't you ever text me?" and Merlin at retorted, "I dunno, why don't you ever text me?" Arthur just frowned and said he would get right on that.

And he did. They began texting every day.

It took a year before Merlin decided he was in love with Arthur.

The conversation had started with Merlin calling Arthur to complain about how he had writer's block, and could use some inspiration.

He could hear Arthur hum on the other end before saying, "Love. Definitely love."

"But I'm not in love," sighed Merlin.

"Then just pretend. Pretend someone gives you the butterflies, or whatever girlish feelings you write about."

Merlin had thought long and hard, visualizing love, thinking long and hard about that fluttering feeling you'd get in your chest. But he got nothing. And so he thought about Arthur, and how he must feel for Gwen, his now fiancée. He pictured those years of dedication he'd given to her, his faithfulness, his love. And then he pretended to be Gwen, and pictured loving him back, so thoroughly, so devoutly, and how benevolent of a feeling it must be to be in love, to be engaged, to have such the perfect life.

And then he felt something he didn't expect. He felt jealous.

Never once did Merlin write about Arthur. Instead, he'd feign love to Lance, or to Gwaine, or even Percival and Leon. And Arthur was right—his love poetry got him publishers, it got him a book, and most of all, it made him a best seller. But he never loved a single person he wrote love poems to. He only loved Arthur, who was now married to Gwen, and planning on having children.

"Gwaine, we need to talk," said Merlin, "And I mean really talk."

Gwaine frowned, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him close.

"I think—" he stopped and pulled away, pushing the other's hands back at his sides. "I think we should break up."

He looked at Merlin, dumbfounded and wide-eyed. "What?"

With a sigh, Merlin repeated, "I think we should break up. I'm sorry. It's nothing you did, it's all me, I mean it."

"Wow, Lance wasn't kidding, you really are a heartbreaker." Gwaine chuckled awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. "I thought what we had was…I hate to sound cliché, but I thought it was special. I thought I could be the 'one', you know? And all that poetry you said you wrote for me…I thought that—Well, I wouldn't be the first, would I?"

"Gwaine, really, it has nothing to do with you." Merlin took hold of his hands, holding them firmly in his, as if this could convey the message further.

"It's Arthur, isn't it?"

"W-what?" Now Merlin was left looking dumbfounded and wide-eyed.

"Don't play dumb, we all know you like him."

Merlin let go of Gwaine's hands and simply looked down at his feet. "Arthur's married."

"Does that really mean anything?"

No, Merlin decided, it didn't.

Merlin had met up with Arthur that day. They met in a coffee shop, and by the time Merlin showed up, Arthur was already sipping coffee, with another cup sitting in front of me. He assumed it was for him, probably his favorite, which Arthur knew by heart, because he was always ordering him coffee. Arthur smiled at him, waving him over, and he went over to him with his heart in his throat.

He sat down and took the coffee, drinking it without even asking if it was for him.

"God," said Arthur, "You look like a mess. What's wrong? Did you and Gwaine have a fight?"

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he answered, "We broke up, actually."

And then Arthur's eyes took on this tender, loving look, and Merlin remembered why he was so in love. Because Arthur was gentle, even if he was a prat. And he was understanding, even if he was dense. And most of all, he was tender. When Arthur placed his hand over Merlin's, he felt his heart flutter, like in his poetry, and his heart soar like a bird, and god, did he love Arthur. "It's okay, Merlin. You don't need him. You'll find the right person eventually." And then Merlin felt like crying, because he had already found the right person, except, that person was with someone else.

Arthur must've assumed he was getting teary because of Gwaine, because he tsked, and said, "Don't cry, Merlin. It's just a guy. There's plenty more."

In his wildest fantasies, he would've confessed right there, and in his wildest fantasies, Arthur would've accepted his feelings. But he knew that, in reality, he'd decline, saying he was married, and in love with Gwen. So he said nothing, and just smiled at him.

"That's the spirit!" said Arthur, leaning back with a crooked smile that Merlin adored, "You'll get over it eventually."

Merlin pulled away and drank his coffee, mumbling against the lid, "I'll be okay."

And he would be. He'd loved Arthur for how long now? He'd felt all the hurt already. There was nothing that could catch him off guard now.

When Merlin had told Arthur he'd be okay, what he didn't expect was that Gwen would announce her pregnancy, and that she and Arthur would be raising a baby together. At this news, Merlin fell apart.

He stopped writing. He stopped dating. His publishers eventually dropped him. And he had officially gained the title of Heartbreaker.

Three years, three months, and two weeks after Merlin had met Arthur, and he was pitifully, dutifully, and horrifyingly in love with him. This would be fine, if Arthur were not married with a child.

He had still not written a single thing about Arthur. He had still not said a thing about his feelings to Arthur. Though he had plans to change this. He had plans, plans to tell Arthur how he felt, and how he wanted to be with him for so long now. He planned to tell Arthur about the butterflies he gets in his tummy whenever he's near, and how he stayed up at night thinking of all the hearts he'd break, if it meant having Arthur.

He invited Arthur over, telling him it was urgent, and that it was private. When he arrived, he sat him down on the sofa, and let his feelings pour out. He told him all the things he could possibly write about, all his secret feelings, all his personal thoughts. He told him about the butterflies and the crying. And when he was done, he took a deep breath, and looked Arthur straight in the eyes, and waited for his response.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. I'm married—I have a child. Even if I did feel the same way, I couldn't just leave Gwen with the baby."

"I know," said Merlin. He felt tears in his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.

He left after that, and Merlin hid himself in his bed sheets and wept like a willow. A thousand words rang through his head, all of which the poetry he should've written for Arthur.

He spoke to Arthur once after that, over the phone, when Gwen wasn't home.

"It's cruel to be with someone when you're in love with someone else," he had told him.

Merlin smiled to himself and replied, "Well someone lock me up and throw away the key."

"Merlin—"

"You were my best friend since for three years now. I couldn't help but fall in love with you. All those feelings—all those I wrote about—I may have written it for someone I didn't love, but it was you who gave me the feelings."

Arthur hung up the phone, and Merlin didn't bother trying to reach him again. He knew that was what Arthur would've wanted.

His only regret was not getting to see their second child, which Gwen had announced a month later.