Title: Forget It
Rating: T
Word Count: 850
Characters/Pairing: Gwaine/Lancelot
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Spoilers: Lancelot du Lac and Darkest Hour Part 2
Warnings: Angst.
Forget the days of crying. Forget the days he had to force himself out of bed, just because he realized he had a duty and he was sure he could hear the scolding voice in the back of his telling him to get up. Of course it was his too. Forget the days he had to put on a fucking mask so people would get off his back, even though he was good at fooling them. He was good at fooling most of them.
What is the appropriate amount of grief? How can you grieve for a lover, but make it look like a friend? How do you not give yourself away?
These are the things that kept him up at night, eyes red and tears falling silently. He looked like a vulnerable mess, but he almost wanted someone to come in on him, curled up on his bed, hugging a pillow, and holding one of his shirts. It didn't smell like him anymore. It could have been anyone's.
But he'd still show up to training and patrol. He'd still be his happy-go-lucky self for everyone else, because they didn't know about the two of them. He considered telling everyone when they got back from the island—one man short. He'd be exiled…again. Not that it would hurt as much as it had in the past, though he suspected that Arthur would be better than that.
Forget the relationship; the days spent rolling around in the grass and those hazy, drunk kisses. Forget about the way he'd look at him and scold him when he was too mischievous. Forget that he did it all with love and adoration in his beautiful brown eyes. Forget that even though he told every single one of his secrets, he'd always be mysterious.
Forget that he was resigned to never love another person.
He was ready to forget, getting to the point where he was ready to move on. Things were changing in Camelot. There was an atypical marriage and he had all sorts of new responsibilities. He was prepared to forget, and then it happened.
He walked into the castle dressed in all black, like nothing happened or he hadn't died. And his heart fell all the way to his toes. He thought he was going to be sick and perhaps this was some sort of delayed hysteria. But he was there in front of him.
Everyone immediately convened over in the hall. Plates and dishes were put on the table, right in front of him—right at the head of the table. No one objected when he slid into the seat at his right, just to be next to him.
They were always covert and quite good at their hiding game in front of others. He didn't think much of it when there was no meaningful glance. He was surprised when he didn't have any of that love or adoration in his eyes when he said his name. He was surprised that he didn't give him one single sly glance while he explained to Arthur where he'd been and who he'd been with.
So he busied himself with stuffing things in his mouth, while the one person he'd been waiting for continued to ignore him. Maybe his feelings cooled while he was away. Maybe he just didn't love him as much as he did before he disappeared, but that wasn't fair. If he had the option to not love him anymore, why didn't he get the same opportunity? He would have loved to give up the nights of crying and patrolling the forest, feeling tired and drained. He would have loved to forget.
After dinner was nearly complete, he said he wished to retire for the night. Naturally, he thought he come home with him. Merlin offered his bed and he accepted.
Mostly everyone had cleared out, but he hung around the door, waiting for him to stop talking to Merlin. Finally, Merlin excused himself to set up Arthur's bed and it was just them in the room.
Forget the times he wanted him to come back.
Forget the heartache and hopeless nights.
Forget it all, because he's back and they'd go back to the way it used to be.
Remember the chaste kisses and the not-so-chaste kisses.
Remember the nights they got so drunk they could only cuddle on his bed.
Remember the times he said he loved him and his eyes would just soften a little.
"Lancelot," he said. His smile was so wide and waited for that affectionate smile back.
But he was met with a cold and empty glance, a flicker of recognition and a tight smile. The frown was already starting to fall on his face.
"Gwaine," he replied with a cordial nod of his head and he walked right past him and down the hall.
That was it. No embrace. No kiss. No nothing. Just him and the silence of the hall. He'd have to start all over again.
Forget it all, because he's back, but he didn't come back to me.