hi guys, it's me maia, and i'm back on my bullshit!

i started rewatching merlin again (literally... today) and i realized how much i missed my kiddos and thought i'd give another arwen fic a shot.

maybe i'll make this a multi-chapter, maybe i'll leave it a one-shot. who knows! we'll see. that's the fun of it, anyway.

either way, enjoy?

There was a man living across the hall. A handsome man, at that.

Gwen had only been living in her new apartment for two weeks, and she had noticed that, every morning at 8 a.m., he would open his front door – almost always without a shirt on, and with his plaid pajama pants riding low on one hip, and with toast in his mouth - and grab whatever was waiting, leaned up against the door. Sometimes it was a package. Sometimes it was a briefcase. Sometimes it was a letter. And then every evening at 10 p.m., he would have someone deliver food right to his door. It was often Chinese food, or curry, or roasted chicken. She could smell it through the door. Everyone probably could.

A week in, she bumped into him when she was coming home from work and he was leaving. Which ended up being rather embarrassing – he was in a full suit, his blazer immaculately pressed and his white dress shirt so crisp, so white, it was almost blinding, and Gwen was in her waitress uniform, her hair messy from the wind and rain outside. (She had to sell her car. He probably parked his in the basement garage. Maybe he had a teleportation machine hidden somewhere.)

He bumped into her shoulder, sending her stumbling into the wall. She hadn't been paying attention – she was practically asleep on her feet from the overnight shift. He managed to catch her by the waist before any further harm was done.

"Sorry about that," he said, his grip strong.

"Oh, no problem, it's my fault," Gwen replied, waving a hand in his direction, stifling a yawn.

"It's really not," the man laughed. His hands were still warm on her waist. She looked down at them in surprise – he did, too, and then he abruptly pulled away, laughing awkwardly.

"Well, I should – I need to – "

"Yes, I – should – I have to – "

Gwen smiled at him, dazed.

"Bye," she said softly, brushing past him.

"Bye," he replied with a chuckle, turning on his heel and striding quickly down the hallway.

She saw him again a few days later, though it was no accident. One morning, she looked through the peephole of her front door to see him standing there, his face tilted away but his profile clear under the florescent lights of the hallway. When he turned back to the door, she ducked as quickly as she could – then cursed under her breath.

He knocked again.

Smoothing her shirt as she stood up, she reached a hesitant hand to the door.

"Ah," he said, smiling as he saw her. He had pulled a grey t-shirt on over his pants, but it did little to disguise the fact he had only recently woken up. "Good morning."

"Good morning?" Gwen responded, her words a question but a smile still on her face.

"I brought you this," he said then, holding a travel cup out to her. "You looked a little tired the other day. I thought you could use a pick-me-up."

Gwen furrowed her eyebrows, taking it from him. It was still hot, and she danced her fingers up and down until she had rested them entirely on the cardboard sleeve.

"Thank you," she told him.

"Ah, it's no problem," he said, and there was something in his voice that sounded like reassurance. "I make too much every morning, anyway. I thought it would be better to treat you than to throw it out."

Gwen looked down at the lid, trying to hide how desperately her smile wanted to grow.

"Anyway, I'll… let you get back to your… morning," he continued awkwardly after a long pause. "I'll see you around, though, yeah?"

She nodded before she even realized she was going to. "See you," she replied, turning on her heel and slowly walking back into her apartment.

Both of their doors were almost closed when each of them flung them back open.

"I, uh – I didn't catch your name," he said with a laugh, cocking his head when he realized the hilarity of the situation.

"Guinevere," she said, then shook her head and added, "but… call me Gwen."

"Guinevere it is," the man said cheekily, wiggling an eyebrow at her.

"And your name…?"

"Arthur," the man replied.

"Arthur," Gwen repeated under her breath. "Well, thank you for the coffee… Arthur."

"My pleasure, Guinevere," Arthur said, slipping back into his apartment.

When Gwen shut the door behind herself, she leaned her bum against it and pressed a hand to her face, giggling like a school girl. Men, she told herself. Always trouble. She forced herself to stop laughing as she brought the cup to her lips – and it tasted like how coffee was supposed to taste, rich and creamy and energizing. It was a welcome change compared to the stale brew she normally made, or bought from the cheap fast food restaurant down the street.

Shaking herself from her trance, she placed the coffee cup down on her kitchen counter. It seemed as though she completely forgot she worked in thirty minutes, and she did not want to be late.

Every morning after that, for the next four days, there was a note slipped under her door and another coffee cup on her doorstep. And each morning, her name was scribbled on the cup in stark black permanent marker – the catch being that, each morning, it was spelt incorrectly. The first morning it was "Gwenhyver" (which wasn't as far off as it could have been); the second morning it was "Gouinyiveere", which… well, was much worse; the third morning it was "gyueniveiere", which wasn't even capitalized; and the fourth morning it was a question mark and a smiley face, and a cookie tied artfully in plastic wrap beside it. It was chocolate chip. And tasted homemade.

That night, she baked a cake. Before she took it out of the oven, she resigned herself to her bedroom to find an outfit. The first one she tried was a lavender blouse with a pair of cream pants – and then she cursed herself under her breath for thinking wearing a blouse for a casual visit was appropriate. The next was a grey t-shirt dress, which was far too casual and much too… open. The last is what she settled on – blue jeans, a grey turtleneck, and a clip holding her hair away from her face.

She decorated the cake with a thin layer of chocolate icing before grabbing her keys, stuffing them into her pocket, and reaching for the door handle. At the last second, however, she hesitated. What if he didn't like chocolate cake? What if he had a woman over, or his friends? What if he was sleeping?

She almost changed her mind. Almost. Then she looked through the peephole and saw the light glowing from underneath his front door and took the cake in unsteady and uncertain hands before she could stop herself. Before she knew it, she was knocking on his front door with the tip of her foot.

"You're earl – oh," Arthur said when he opened the door, just as surprised to see Gwen standing there as she was to see him looking so… unshaven. His hair was mussed at the hairline, his the sleeves of his navy t-shirt were pulled up over his shoulders, and there was a hole in his right sock. "Guinevere! I, erm – I didn't –"

He sighed, then, running a hand through his hair.

"Can you give me a moment?" he said suddenly.

Gwen nodded, then opened her mouth to speak. "Yeah, yeah, of course," she replied, waving her hand at him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The door then slammed rather loudly in her face, and it was several moments before it opened again, a slightly more clean Arthur standing in its place.

"Come in," he told her with a smile, holding his hand out to beckon her into the apartment.

It was… well, rather average. She didn't know what she expected, really – it wasn't as thought the rooms changed from apartment to apartment. But she expected something more… fanciful. Frivolous was perhaps the right word. A leather couch was pushed against the right wall of his living room – across from it was a large, flat-screen TV balancing rather precariously on a white wood and glass end table. There were a few plants around the room, a few posters for movies and sports teams, and a table with only two chairs.

It was rather lonely.

"Sorry about the… back there," Arthur told her, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and pointing to some non-existent object.

"Oh, no worries," Gwen replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I… it's a rather unexpected visit, I'm sure."

"Unexpected, yes," Arthur said, smiling softly. "Not unwanted."

Gwen blushed.

"Well, let me – let me take that," he said next, flustered. He seemed to have surprised even himself with his last comment, and looked as though he was trying to distract her from it. "It's beautiful, thank you. How did you know chocolate was my favourite?"

"Lucky guess," Gwen replied, secretly pleased.

She followed him hesitantly into the kitchen, glancing around at the dirty dishes piled high on the counters and the stack of red solo cups in the sink. Arthur cleared away a dirty plate with his elbow and slid the cake onto the countertop. "Ignore the mess," he told her, resting his hands on his hips. "I haven't had my cleaner over in a few weeks. He's on vacation, the…"

He caught her gaze and smiled.

"Sit?"

The two of them sat down on the couch. Gwen sat down first, smoothing down her shirt, tucking herself into the corner against the sofa's arm – it was clear that Arthur wanted to sit there, but he moved to sit on the middle cushion, instead, clasping his hands and letting them dangle in between his legs.

"So, Guinevere," he began, leaning back. "You're a… waitress?"

Gwen nodded. "I just graduated, with a degree in business," she told him. "But I… I'm afraid I don't really have much money to do anything else just yet."

"Oh, I understand that," Arthur replied, though Gwen doubted a man with a personal cleaner would understand. "The… the graduating part, I mean. I got a degree in business, too. Did we go to the same university?"

"I don't think so," Gwen said. "I think I would remember… your face. And your terrible spelling."

Arthur laughed, bringing an arm up to rest on the back of the couch and crossing one leg over the other. "That's actually embarrassing, because I'm a really good speller," he said. "I… this is going to sound absolutely absurd, but it was really fun trying to spell your name all of those different ways. You should have seen me giggling the other day, like some school-aged child, sitting on my counter with a marker."

"I can imagine," Gwen told him. "I would like to play the same trick on you, but I'm afraid 'Arthur' isn't really that hard to spell."

"How do you know I don't spell it differently, hmm?" Arthur teased, arching an eyebrow at her. "How do you know I don't spell it… A-A-R-T-U-H-E-R-E-R?"

"Because it took you that long to spell it like that?" Gwen answered. The two laughed.

"That's a fair point."

The lamp in the corner was buzzing. The evening wind outside hugged the glass of the windows, and suddenly… it was strange. She had just walked into this man's apartment with no issue, no hesitation. Anything could've happened.

But now she was sitting here, smiling, gnawing on the corner of her thumbnail, trying not to focus on how close he was sitting to her.

"So… cake?" she offered.

"I was… I was thinking perhaps you could join me for dinner," he replied. "I always order too much food, anyway, and… well, it can get rather lonely sometimes."

He motioned towards the two chairs at the dining table.

"Sounds good to me," Gwen said. "What are we having?"

"Pasta with sausage and mushrooms," he announced. "It's good, trust me. But it's rather filling…"

She raised an eyebrow at him. He looked down at her jeans.

"You might want to… change your pants."

And she did, returning a few minutes later in a pair of yoga pants. Arthur seemed to be caught off-guard when he opened the front door again – he stared at her hips for several moments before welcoming her back in, the tips of his ears red.

Dinner was filling, as he promised, and the company was even better. Though conversation was quiet and awkward, at first, they soon were recounting stories of their college experiences and laughing over tales from their childhood that seemed to come out… organically. Too organically for someone whose existence she was only made aware of only a few short weeks ago. When dinner was finished, Gwen helped clear the plates into the kitchen with Arthur. After dumping their dishes into the sink, she turned to the other counter to grab a few other bowls that were begging to be washed – and before she could move again, she felt something brush against her bum.

Oh.

… Oh.

She turned around quickly, her eyes wide – Arthur looked down at his hand then back up at Gwen, blushing, biting his lip. "I – I, erm, I didn't mean to – I just accidentally – "

"No, I – it's okay, I was – don't worry about – "

Silence fell over the two of them, and then they both started to laugh.

"Sorry."

"It's no problem."

"I didn't –"

"It's fine."

"So… cake?" Arthur offered.

"Yes, please," Gwen replied breathlessly, dazed as she had been only a week earlier when he grabbed her in the hallway.

He cut the cake while she returned to the couch, tucking herself into the corner seat and grabbing the remote to start flipping through the channels. As one guessed, however, there was little to watch on Tuesday night at 11:30 besides soul-crushing national news, decade-old reruns of game shows that didn't even exist anymore, and children's cartoons about crafts and why racism is bad.

Gwen turned to a music channel and waited patiently for Arthur to return to the couch.

They spoke quietly while they ate. Gwen was beginning to feel the adrenaline from the evening's events wearing off, and her eyes fluttered more with each moment passing. Arthur seemed to be tired, too – every few moments he would stare off into the distance, his eyes glazed over, his head drooping against the back of the couch.

At one point, Gwen smiled at Arthur.

"You have a…" She motioned towards her own mouth.

"A what?" Arthur asked, frowning, reaching up to his lips. He just smeared the chocolate icing more, however. Gwen laughed.

"You have icing."

"Where? Here?" Arthur pointed down at the icing smeared on his paper plate.

"No," Gwen replied.

"Here?" Arthur pressed a finger against his forehead. She laughed again.

"No," she insisted.

"I don't believe you, then, Guinevere," he said, grinning at her.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen rested the plate down on the coffee table and leaned across the cushion. If she thought he was handsome before, he was even more so now. His stubble was golden, as were his eyelashes, and his eyes shone a heavy, deep blue in the yellow glow of the lamp across the room. She could not see his lips, however, for they were covered in a layer of chocolate icing.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Gwen had swiped a thumb across his mouth. Slowly, tantalizingly, the pad of her finger grazed the pink skin of his lips, which she could see now that the chocolate was gone. What was the most surprising was that the whole time Arthur watched her – he stared into her eyes, not even taking a moment to blink, barely evening taking a breath.

And then Gwen pulled away, blushing.

"Sorry, I just - I'm quite tired, it's been a long day, and – "

"No, I totally – that's understandable, I just – I'm messy, I'm dirty, I – this happens a lot –"

The two of them laughed.

"I should be… heading home."

"Of course," Arthur said, springing to his feet. "I'll… I'll walk you home."

Gwen giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she moved passed him. She could hear him walking behind her, footsteps gentle on the carpet, and they hurried to move in front of her when they reached the door.

"My lady," he told her, opening it. She bowed her head slightly as she moved through the doorway.

"My lord," she replied, smiling.

It was only two or three feet to her own front door, then, and when they reached it they both hurried to grab the doorknob. It was a moment before Arthur let go. His hand was warm. He was warm, Gwen realized. She could feel it radiating off of him in waves, and his cheeks were rosy pink.

"This is me," she told him.

"Yes, I… I know," he told her.

"Goodnight?" she offered up, more of a question than a statement. Arthur looked like he wasn't going to leave. She didn't know if she wanted him to. Although he would only be a few meters away like always, if that was any sort of comfort. As long as they were both at home, they were never too far from each other.

"Goodnight, Guinevere," Arthur said slowly, grabbing her hand in his own and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Sleep well."

"You… too?" Gwen replied, hesitantly pulling her hand from his grasp. And with that he nodded, turning on his heel and quickly disappearing through the door to his apartment.

She fell asleep quickly that night, unconscious almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. When she stumbled out of bed the next morning, her eyesight thick and fuzzy with exhaustion, she stopped in front of her door to see a note on the tile.

Guyniveer (See? I'm getting the hang of it),

Thanks for dinner last night. And cake. (Mainly cake).

Same time next Tuesday, maybe? Or sooner? Hopefully sooner?

Yours,

Arthur P.

PS: As much as I love doing this, it may be easier to just text. Or call. My phone number is 226-3568.

Blushing, Gwen opened the door to find a coffee cup waiting for her as always, and a plate of leftover chocolate cake.

author's note: bonus point to whoever figures out what arthur's phone number really means ;)