Coffee and Cigarettes
A/N: My first serious Merthur story. This is an AU, set in present day- I was watching My Best Friend's Wedding for the millionth time and imagining Merthur in its stead, and this story happened. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Merthur is just- omg, they render me speechless.
Now that I've gushed, please realize that this story wasn't beta'd or brit-picked, so I apologize for any incorrect terminology. Also, this story was titled after Michelle Featherstone's song, which was somehow fitting.
Reviews make me happy. So review. :)
Onwards!
Part 1
[ I must quit you. ]
In retrospect, Merlin sees that he should have realized that something went horribly wrong when Morgana cancelled on their long-standing dinner appointment and sent Gwen in her stead.
Not that it is unusual for Morgana to cancel- while it isn't exactly commonplace, Morgana has a busy and unpredictable social life. But since she usually chooses the time and place for their once-a-month dinner appointments, assuring that they are convenient for her and assuming they are convenient for Merlin, she almost always shows up. Still, emergencies happen, and so Merlin dismisses Morgana's succint text without much thought, grateful to have some company so as not to be reduced to Chinese takeout again.
At half-past seven, dressed in a crisp navy shirt and dark slacks- Morgana doesn't choose restaurants where one can wander in with jeans- Merlin makes his appearance. He is led to the wine room- predictably- and there is Gwen, her back to him, alternately buttering and munching on bread. Surely, Merlin should have taken notice of that- it is common knowledge that Gwen only gorges on bread when she is very, very nervous. But Merlin's head is still suffering the after-effects of an especially excruciating exam, as well as a mind-boggling voicemail -
("Well, Merlin Emrys, would you say you were averaging thirty days to return a call?")
- he only just recieved; and so this, too, goes unnoticed by him.
Merlin approaches the clueless Gwen, who looks rather lovely in a cream colored dress a few shades lighter than her skin. He leans forward and whispers in her ear: "Did you dress up for me?"
"Merlin!" Gwen gives a start, then turns and smiles and stands, abandoning her bread and extending her arms. "It's been a while, you prat."
Merlin rolls his eyes and steps into her embrace. "Two weeks, Gwen! Don't exaggerate."
"Well, yes, I suppose you're right- medical school can't be easy." Gwen seems to sense his mental distress and her hand pats his cheek. "How're you doing?"
"Let's not talk about school right now," says Merlin, quickly leading her to her seat. "I haven't had a break in... well, since the last time I saw you."
Gwen winces. "Poor dear."
"Indeed," says Merlin, reveling in the sympathy. "I'm famished. Let's order."
A few minutes later, they sit sipping their wine and talking and laughing- although Merlin does most of the talking, for Gwen is gorging on bread and trying her hardest to look attentive. Merlin, starved from human contact since exams started a few weeks prior, is content to speak enough for the both of them. But then the bread basket is emptied, and Gwen asks for another, and Merlin has single-handedly burned through a handful of topics.
"How's Lance, then?" Merlin asks, lifting his wine glass.
"Oh- fine," Gwen answers, her face lighting up, her finger absentmindedly fingering her wedding band, as she always does when her husband turns up in a conversation. Merlin notices this and smiles. "We're wonderful, really. Nothing new, though."
"Good," Merlin says, and when he reaches for the freshly served bread plate and begins to butter a slice, Gwen's eyes narrow in suspicion.
"What is it?" Gwen demands.
"What?" Merlin keeps his eyes trained on the bread, though a smile starts to tug at his mouth.
"Well- whatever it is you've got to tell me, you pillock!" She reaches across the table and slaps his arm. "Is it- I mean..." And her eyes are bright and eager and hopeful, and that can only mean one thing.
"It's nothing major," Merlin says, and Gwen raises a brow, disbelieving. "It's just a voicemail I got today. From Arthur."
Gwen's face falls, and Merlin can't understand for the life of him why.
"What is it?" Merlin demands, feeling anger begin to swell inside him.
"It's nothing," says Gwen, and now she is the one avoiding his gaze. "I don't know. I mean, it's over between you, Merlin. I was hoping..."
"I know it's over," says Merlin hotly. "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I've recieved the memo?"
"Calm down, Merlin," says Gwen, her eyes cool. "I only mean that's it's been over between the two of you for years, and I was hoping you'd moved on. Found someone else."
"I have moved on," Merlin states, his voice a little too loud and his hands moving too quickly. "I don't need someone else to do that. I'm too busy to be with someone, anyway. I don't have time."
And it is bitter, somehow, to say these words aloud- too busy to be with someone, don't have time- because they are a feeble defense, and yet they are the problem in the first place, and he remembers saying those words to Arthur as they sat at the foot of their bed, hands clasped together while making decisions that were too big for them.
"I know," says Gwen, and her voice is small. "I'm sorry."
The swell of anger within Merlin quickly deflates. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up like that. I just didn't... I mean, it's good what we have, right?" His smile begs for confirmation of this thought, and Gwen is not hard-hearted enough to deny him. "How many ex-es do you know actually stay friends?"
"Not many," answers Gwen, truthfully, and bites back the rest of the statement: for a reason. "You're right. What you and Arthur have definitely is... special."
Merlin lets the topic rest as their plates arrive, and he does not notice Gwen reach for the bread in the center of the table as though it is her salvation.
"So." Gwen swallows a thick mouthful of bread and chases it with wine. Her tone is uncertain, as though she isn't sure if she should ask. "The voicemail?"
"Right," says Merlin, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips at the memory of it. "It was typical- he's in another city, calling at some ungodly hour, telling me about a bunch of things that I really didn't need to know. Thing is, he said to call back, and he... sounded desperate to talk to me."
"Desperate to talk?" Gwen shifts in her chair, averts her eyes.
"Yeah... but that's nothing unusual. I am his best friend, after all."
"Yeah," Gwen mumbls, watching Merlin, and wondering when the whole exquisite tragedy of the thing will finally be over.
"Thing is, I remembered something." And here, Merlin flushes. "Arthur mentioned once that we'd go to Ireland together for my twenty-sixth birthday. He was pretty adamant about it. I figured he'd forgotten, but... I'm turning twenty six in two weeks."
And his face is so bright, then, his cheeks rosy and his eyes downcast as though recalling something sacred and private and exquisite, something that he really wants but is too shy to ask for, like a child asking his parents for a particularly expensive Christmas present.
"Oh, fuck," says Gwen, startling Merlin into looking at her. She stands and wrings her hands, exasperated. "Fuck. I can't. Merlin, listen- call Arthur. Call him right away. And then call me, alright? Lance is working late tonight, so feel free to come over."
Merlin stares at her, gaping slightly.
"Well, you could come over anyway, with or without Lance... I don't know why I said that. And by the way, I don't agree with all this- the way Arthur chose to do it, and then me... damn you, Morgana. Listen." And here she clasps his forearm and forces his gaze to hers, and Merlin swallows at the intensity he finds there. "It'll be alright."
It is moments after Gwen walks out of the wine room, her final, sympathetic glance imprinted in his mind's eye, when Merlin notices that Gwen hasn't touched her food.
"Well, Merlin Emrys, would you say you were averaging thirty days to return a call?"
There is a slight, exasperated sigh, then a silence where Merlin can almost hear Arthur frowning, then a short bark of laughter, because the pompous git always laughs at his own jokes.
"Anyway, it's... I don't know, three in the morning or something... I'm in Madrid, by the way. Did you know? If you'd respond to any of my messages, then I'd know you know." Again, that frustrated sound, which is always exaggerated because Arthur likes to fancy himself frustrated with Merlin, even when he isn't.
"Regardless. I've been trying to get ahold of you because there's something of vital importance that I must discuss with you." Here, a surprised chuckle. "That sounds dramatic, but it kind of is fucking important, and it involves you.. so call me when you can, alright? Stop being a pillock and avoiding my calls. Idiot."
Merlin lays his phone on the bed and settles himself beside it, boneless. His finger hovers over the screen of his phone, tempted to replay the message; but he already memorized it, and replaying it would be pointless, anyway, because he is already repeating it in his mind.
He was sure the "thing of vital importance" that involved Merlin also involved Ireland; it all fit together, his upcoming birthday and Arthur's sudden urgency. Surely Arthur's sole worry is to get Merlin's approval before it became too late to get tickets. Merlin remembers with the utmost clarity that night in-
("Where would you like to go?" Arthur's breath, warm against his neck. "What's your favorite place?")
-Moscow, during the winter break of his third year at uni, in which they practiced the life they had planned out for themselves. They were sitting in a small pub, freezing their arses off despite being wrapped in a blanket, when Arthur-
("Where? Tell me.")
-asked. And Merlin answered, and Arthur swore that he'd take him there for his twenty-sixth birthday, because Arthur was turning twenty six that year, and Merlin teased him by saying that he wouldn't remember, and it was only typical of Arthur to prove him wrong.
But Gwen's behavior at the restaurant burst this happy bubble of an idea. She seemed to know what Arthur was calling about, and she wasn't happy about it. Merlin tries to hazard a guess for why Gwen would be displeased with the Ireland trip, besides the obvious self-destructiveness that is written all over it. And he decides that must be it; Gwen isn't an avid supporter of his unhealthy pining over Arthur, regardless of how much he denies it.
But that can't be it either, because Merlin knows that Gwen loves him, and she knows that this trip to Ireland, with Arthur, would make him insanely happy, and so she'd wish it for him. Of course she would.
So it has to be something else.
"Fuck," says Merlin, and he presses 1 before he can think, and three beats pass before Arthur's voice fills his ears.
"Hello?"
"Up-and-at-'em," Merlin says, his voice a weak strain of wretched nervousness, but then Arthur is laughing and Merlin knows that he-
("'Rise and shine?'" Arthur's voice; tinged with the dregs of sleep, strained under the pressure of keeping it steady while Merlin slowly dragged his fingertips, feather-light, up his stomach, the muscles quivering underneath. "Merlin- ah! You need some new material.")
-remembers.
"Merlin," says Arthur, and Merlin's breath hitches at the way Arthur drawls his name. "What's it take to get you to return a call?"
"Sorry," Merlin says, sheepish, and he suddenly can't remember why he held off calling back at all, because Arthur's voice is wonderful, and this is wonderful, and he doesn't want it to stop.
"Will I have to start calling you Dr. Emrys soon?"
"In a couple months, sure." Merlin's face hurts from smiling.
"School must be going well, then."
"Yeah, yeah." But he doesn't want to discuss school, because he loves the lilt of Arthur's voice just now and he can't guarantee Arthur won't get sullen or even angry if they continue to pursue the topic. "And how's the writing going?"
"Fucking fantastic," says Arthur, tone pompous and self-assured, and it occurs to Merlin that Arthur is probably happy. Legitimately happy. He has everything he ever wanted.
"So..." Merlin's heart beats in his ears. "What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Right! Yeah, good thing we got the small talk out of the way." Arthur sounds excited, and Merlin feels his body tense, perching at the end of his bed like a bow about to release an arrow.
But suddenly he is scared, agonizingly so, because what if it isn't Ireland? What if it is something else? Something terrible? And so, although he knows it is pathetic, he cuts Arthur off.
"Wait," says he. "Before you say. Um. Do you, uh, remember... that night in Moscow?"
( "I promise I'll take you there, Merlin." Voice suddenly serious, fingertip tilting up his chin. "You don't have to ask twice. Not with me." )
Merlin hears Arthur inhale. "Yeah. I remember."
Merlin smiles, and Arthur chuckles deep in his throat, a low sound meant only for Merlin.
"We froze our bums off, didn't we?" says Arthur, and the chuckle is still in his voice. "Moscow in December."
"Yeah." Despite the topic, Merlin feels warm inside. He stands and begins to pace. "Alright. Tell me."
"Alright," says Arthur. "Well. This is pretty exciting. Uh... well, I met someone."
Merlin gapes; and he's suddenly glad that they aren't having this conversation face to face. He struggles to maintain his casual tone of voice, and answers a little too quickly and far too breathlessly: "Really?"
"Yeah," Arthur says, and he is breathless too. "She's amazing. I mean.. I've really never met anyone like her. She's so funny and down-to-earth and creative and kind... God. She's great, Merlin."
Merlin swallows on a dry throat. Arthur goes on, heedless. "She's from a rich family, and you know how I've always felt about that- but, you know, she's made me see how unfair I've been. I mean, I'm always judging people who come from money, calling them vapid tools and pricks and whatnot, and I'm forgetting that I turned out alright." He paused. "She's got me talking to my father again."
For a reason he can not place, Merlin suddenly feels sure he is going to cry. Only practice ensures that his voice betrays nothing, despite being a bit too thick. "That sounds great. You must be... happy."
"I am. Especially that I'm talking to my father. Everything's good between us now... hell, he's even coming to the wedding."
Merlin's knees buckle and there is a wild second where he is grateful to be standing in front of the bed, except he isn't, and so he falls to the ground in an undignified heap, his flailing arm hitting the night-table and knocking the lamp over on its side.
"Merlin? What's that, you alright?"
"Yeah." It takes all of Merlin's strength to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, fine. Um, just reorganizing the pots and pans in the uh, kitchen. Uh. Wedding?"
"You always did make up the worst excuses," Arthur chuckles. "You're a terrible liar, Merlin. That time when you claimed you were in my bed because you were searching for woodworms..."
And Merlin's mouth falls open, because he can't believe that Arthur-
( "I wanted to see you again." Sudden vulnerability, cheekbones tinged with a blush. "I wanted to- to touch you." )
-remembers, and he can't believe that he is mentioning it now, while telling him that he is getting married.
"Wedding?" Merlin repeats, because it's all his throat can manage.
"Yeah," and now Arthur's voice is quiet and mirthless, giving way to a trembling solemnity. "Merlin. I'm getting married on Sunday."
Merlin folds himself and rests his head on his knees, and he reteaches himself how to breathe, and he tries to tell himself that his world isn't falling apart.
"Wow." He speaks when he feels he can. "That's... sudden."
"I know. Barking mad, isn't it?"
"Yeah," says Merlin, chuckling a little breathlessly because he is glad Arthur thinks so. It is barking mad. "I mean, marriage... that's big, I mean, isn't it soon?"
"No." And just like that, Arthur is angry, all bristles and self-righteousness. "Just because you just heard about it, Merlin, doesn't mean I haven't thought about it for a while."
Merlin nods, then remembers that Arthur can't see him and uses his words. "Right."
His voice breaks off unevenly, and Arthur apparently picks up on it because his voice softens. "Listen. I need you to fly in tomorrow. Everyone's coming in Friday or Saturday, but I need you here earlier, because I just can't do it without you."
Merlin bites his lip, and doesn't trust himself to speak.
"Come on, Merlin." Arthur's voice is both entreating and presumptuous, in a way only he can manage. "This is huge. And I'm scared. I'm fucking scared."
For a moment, all they could hear is breathing. Then: "Please, Merlin. I need you to hold my hand through this."
Merlin knows what he is going to say, because there isn't any other option, no other tangible reality he can see unfolding; although he tries to tell himself that he does it because Arthur begged, and because he is a true friend.
"Alright. I'll come."
"I can't believe you knew and you didn't tell me!"
Merlin stands in the middle of his living room, arms planted at his hips, glaring down at the guilty troupe on his couch. Earlier, while he was replaying Arthur's voicemail and wondering as to what it meant- Merlin thinks he'll forever refer to the period as Blissful Ignorance- he was also screening Gwen's calls. Apparently, she grew worried when he ignored her calls one too many times, and she pushed Lance into her car and drove over. Morgana had somehow tagged along- Merlin isn't clear on the details.
Now, Gwen's eyebrows are drawn together in distress, Lance is looking at him with an expression of immaculate pity, and Morgana is staring at the wall with slightly bulging eyes that suggested extreme anger.
Merlin nearly trembles with suppressed emotion. He licks his lips and tries again. "I can't believe it."
"I'm sorry, Merlin!" Gwen's wrung her hands in her lap, Lance reaching over to cover her hands with his.
"We are sorry, mate," Lance echoes. "We definitely wanted to tell you. But we thought it would be best if it came from Arthur."
Merlin huffs. "Morgana? What's your excuse?"
After a pointed moment, Morgana turns her gaze to Merlin. "I didn't quite feel like talking about a subject that was so distasteful to me."
"Wait." Merlin blinks. "You mean- you don't, like- approve?"
"Of course I don't!" Morgana snaps. "Meeting some picture-perfect girl in Spain and proposing right away and tucking himself into her picture-perfect life and picture-perfect family so as to hide from his own insecurities and fucked up life, the idiot. I mean, doesn't he know that it won't work? Doesn't he know what a mistake he's making?"
Gwen winces. Lance doesn't look at all surprised. But, surprisingly enough, Merlin feels the muscles in his body relax; he finds Morgana's tirade refreshing.
"Yeah." Merlin runs a hand through his crop of black hair, and suddenly he needs to sit, and somehow Lance knows and fetches him a chair. He settles into it slowly. "Yeah. A mistake."
Now Morgana's eyes are just as sympathetic as Lance's. "Shit. I shouldn't have said all that. Are you alright, love?"
"No." Merlin chuckles at the inaccuracy of the thought, of him being alright, of being anything remotely close. "Oh, fuck. Arthur's getting married."
He bends over and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to stem the desperation that swells there. He is vaguely conscious of someone rubbing soothing circles into his shoulders, but it feels far away, because Arthur is getting married- married married married married married.
"I have never been so disgusted with a word," he mumbles, and he pulls his hands away from his eyes and blinks, and Gwen, bending over him, looks like she, too, is on the verge of tears.
"It'll be fine, Merlin," she soothes, but to Merlin the words are empty. "You'll find someone else, just like he did. It'll pass. It'll be fine."
"I'm flying over there tomorrow," is all Merlin thinks to say. "He wants me there early. He- he says that he can't do it without me. He says that he wants me to hold his hand through it."
"God," Morgana spits, and Lance shakes his head with vague disapproval.
"Yeah." Merlin laughs wryly. "I mean, why doesn't he just put a gun to my head? It'll be faster."
"You shouldn't go," Gwen says, but weakly and without much conviction, because even as she says it she knows that Merlin already made up his mind to go. After all, Arthur needs him, and when Arthur needs him nothing else is nearly as important- not even his own happiness, nor his own sanity.
"He's going," Morgana says dismissively, stating what they are all thinking. "But you know what you've got to do, right?"
And then Morgana looks at him, lifting a perfectly shaped brow pointedly, and Merlin reads it in her eyes.
"Yeah." And then it all becomes obvious, and all the anger and sadness lifts, and his eyes light up at the clarity he attained. "I've got to show Arthur that he's making a mistake. I've got to remind him who he really loves."
"No." Gwen covers her hands with her mouth, horrified. "No, Merlin, don't."
"Not your best idea, Merlin." Lance shakes his head. "That's... it's unfair what Arthur did to you and all, and maybe he's making a mistake, but if he is, he should figure that out himself."
But Merlin isn't listening, because the idea has already planted itself in his head- and Merlin is unshakable when he decides on a course of action. This is the solution, surely. Arthur still loves him. Merlin knows that, and not in a self-deluded sort of way. If Arthur doesn't love him, he won't have constantly called over the years at the ungodliest of hours, voice brimming with eagerness to tell him of the highlights of his day. He won't have called Merlin every time he had a spectacular meal. Distance would have pushed them apart, and it hasn't- so yes, maybe Arthur is making a mistake, and Merlin doesn't know why, but he will find out why and put an end to it.
As though sensing his thoughts, Morgana grins approvingly at him, earning herself a glare from Gwen.
"I'm coming with you," Morgana declares. "I was going to show up on Saturday night- maybe even Sunday morning, just to spite Arthur- but if we're doing this, then I definitely want to go early. That is... if you'll have me."
Morgana lets the statement hang in the air, but Merlin quickly nods his approval. Already the entire venture seemed less daunting with the thought of Morgana's company; ironically enough.
"Don't break up an engaged couple!" Gwen pleads. "It's- it's cruel, Merlin!"
"Gwen." Merlin looks up at her, and Gwen stops short when she catches the expression in his eyes. "Don't you think that we should be together? You... you used to think so."
Gwen says nothing, looking down guiltily. Merlin continues. "You think that it's only me who's pining over him, but you haven't been as close to him as I have these past few years. You haven't talked to him like I did. You didn't see that he wasn't able to move on, either. You didn't hear him mention things that used to happen when we were together, and remember them perfectly, and throw them into the conversation as though it was the most natural thing in the world because he thought about it all the time, and... you didn't see that he didn't have a single serious relationship since we broke it off. And yeah, maybe he's got one now- but maybe that's only because I've waited too long, I've been too proud to tell him that I made a stupid decision when I was twenty-two years old. But this is my chance, and I've got to tell him, because in a few days it'll be too late."
Merlin takes a deep breath when he's finished, then ducks his head, cheeks flaming with his sudden confession. When nobody says anything and it is inevitable for him to look up, he sees that Gwen's eyes are sparkling with tears and her hands are clasped over her chest.
"Alright." When Gwen finally speaks, it is as though in defeat. "Alright. God. I don't agree, but... I can't say anything to that."
"Just give me your blessing, Gwen Smith," Merlin says, feeling the edge of a smile tug at his mouth, and Gwen moves forward and hugs him.
"God." Her eyes seem to melt, and she reaches up and cups his cheek. "I hope nobody gets hurt."
Merlin tries to smile reassuringly and find that he can't, and Gwen nods because she understands, and then she and Lance are moving for the door.
"Call me, alright?" Merlin nods mutely at Gwen's request. "Lance, I'll be in the car..."
The door shuts loudly after Gwen, and Lance squeezes Merlin's shoulder and looks him in the eye. "I don't doubt what you're doing, alright? Although it's wrong, I know how you feel about Arthur. And I believe you when you say he feels the same way about you."
Now Merlin smiles, because that sort of trust, coming from Lance, means a lot. "Thanks."
"Just be careful," Lance says, his dark eyes even more solemn than usual. "And remember, we'll be there Saturday. If you need anything till then... call me."
"Thank you." Merlin is suddenly flushed with gratitude at Lancelot's reliability, Gwen's sympathy, Morgana's support. He knows without a doubt that he can count on Lance in a tight spot, and that Lance would do everything in his power for him. Gwen, whose very nature protests against what Merlin intends to do, still wanted what would make him happy. And Morgana- Morgana, the crazy bitch, is going to help him get Arthur back.
"Morgana?" Lance is saying. "Need a lift home?"
"I'll take a cab, thanks."
Lance nods and gives Merlin's shoulder a final squeeze, and then it is just Merlin and Morgana in the apartment.
"Come on, Emrys," calls Morgana, and Merlin notices with slight alarm that she is moving towards the bedroom.
"Uh. What are you doing?"
She notices his expression and grins wickedly. "Helping you pack, of course."
Somehow, this does not reassure Merlin.
"What? As though I'd let you pack yourself? You may be gay, Merlin, but you're not nearly as fabulous as me." Morgana plants her hands on her hips."No. We're going into battle."
Merlin is itching for the drag of a cigarrette as he disembarks the plane. Smoking isn't a habit he often indulges in, but he considers today very much an exception. He hardly slept the night before- watching Morgana examine, criticize, and eventually stuff an obscene number of clothes into a suitcase gave him an incurable migraine. Then he was left alone, and he realized the worth of distraction, and there was no hope for sleep.
When he met Morgana in the airport, he was both immensely glad to see her- considering how detrimental his own company was- and incredibly annoyed at how impeccable she looked. She was dressed mainly in emerald, a long cardigan that stuck to her form with a scarf and a purse and numerous accessories to match. The picture of loveliness, from the delicate gold earrings to the heeled boots, and Merlin thought it was quite unfair, considering she left his flat around two in the morning and still had to pack the two large suitcases that stood beside her. Her makeup was full and fresh, and she pursed her ruby-red lips as her eyes turned over Merlin behind her sunglasses.
Merlin squirmed under her scrutiny. He was wearing dark jeans, very much frayed at the feet-
("You've scuffed them," said Arthur, incredulous gaze on the feet of the jeans Merlin had bought only the week before. "What did you do to 'em, drag 'em through the mud? Idiot." And Arthur's full mouth was curving suggestively, and said jeans already felt too tight. "At this point, I think they'd look better off than on...")
- and a navy blue shirt underneath his signature dark tan jacket and, of course, the scarlet neckerchief.
"Did you have to wear the neckerchief?" Morgana winced.
"I doubt he'd recognize me without it," Merlin mumbled, moving ahead before Morgana could pursue the line of questioning.
On the plane, Morgana spent a good half hour attempting to drag Merlin into a conversation about how they would go about convincing Arthur that Merlin was the one for him.
"Come on, Merlin," she kept saying. "We need to formulate a plan of attack."
And that was just one of her many catch-phrases. Others were "casual proximity", "suggestive movements," "nocturnal walks", "an abundance of whipped cream", "professional hypnosis", and her personal favorite: "unprecedented nudity."
When Merlin's lack of response began to irritate and then bore Morgana, she sought company in the many magazines stashed in her purse. Merlin thought he would revel in the silence, but he found it just as oppressive; all he could think of was how Arthur was getting married, and how close all of it was, suddenly, with him coasting on a plane.
And now Merlin lounges by the conveyor belt as he watches Morgana talk to a few men in rapid Spanish, trying to get their bags delivered to their hotel, and Merlin coasts on a whole other line of worry. He thinks about how he hasn't seen Arthur for a year. Yes, they spoke on the phone, and often- but not so often in the last few months, though that is mostly Merlin's fault. Regardless, a year is a long time, and Merlin finds himself wondering if Arthur changed. Maybe he doesn't dress the same way, walk the same way-
("Your arse is always perfectly round when you walk, you know that? Just like a girl's." Mouth falling open in outrage, suppressed sniggers. "I'm serious! You walk with this little sway in your hips, and your arse sticks right out, right there in my face... perfectly fuckable, though, I've got to say. Maybe if you wore low-waist jeans. That might help.")
- talk the same way. Maybe he doesn't eat the same foods. Maybe he got an obscene haircut. Maybe he changed, Merlin, and Arthur won't recognize him; that panicky thought lodges disgustingly in his throat, and Merlin tugs at his neckerchief for reassurance.
"All done," Morgana sighs, stopping in front of him. "We can- you know. We can head out, now, where they're waiting for us."
Merlin nods and follows Morgana, his limbs like lead. They walk for an interminable time, and Merlin vaguely wonders how long it would be before the anticipation literally killed him.
"Don't fret."
Merlin stops in his tracks; Morgana didn't even turn. "I'm not fretting," he says, incensed.
Now she turns, crossing the few paces to where he stands, pausing for a moment to push her sunglasses into her hair.
"You look wonderful." Morgana smiles in a way that Merlin didn't know she could manage, full of tenderness. "You look just like... you."
Her fingers brush against his neckerchief. Merlin feels a blush creep into his cheeks. "Thank you, Morgana."
"Don't be nervous, love," she says, and Merlin has to swallow the lump of affection he suddenly feels for her. He wanted to thank her, but Arthur is close and he isn't sure he can talk. Morgana seems to already know this because she is walking ahead.
Suddenly, Morgana stops and turns back to look at him. "I've got to go to the loo."
Merlin's eyes automatically narrow into thin points of scrutiny. "No you don't."
Morgana nods, the movement exaggerated. "Yes. I do. Why don't you go ahead and meet Arthur, and I'll, uh.. catch up with you in a moment."
Merlin starts to protest, but Morgana is already walking away at a clipped pace. He sighs, though some part of him is grateful for what she did; now when he first sets eyes on Arthur, he'll be alone, and their reactions will be untainted by anything or anyone else.
He moves forward, swallowing his heartbeat. The crowd grows thicker with every step he takes. Parents and children and husbands and wives and friends greet each other, and the sounds of reunion fill his ears, making him feel apprehensive. He takes a few more steps and stops, hanging his head and taking a huge gulp of air, and he is just about to turn back and wait for Morgana in front of the women's bathroom because the pressure is just too much and he can't-
Arthur.
There he is, all golden skin and blue eyes and straight posture, the line of his shoulders proud and bold. He is standing inconspicuously in the midst of the thick crowd, but to Merlin he sticks out like a sore thumb. Merlin stands still for a moment, mouth slightly agape, because how did he ever miss him?
It's clear that Arthur didn't notice him yet. His eyes ae questing, his head moving from side to side. Merlin suddenly feels something inside him lift, a great weight that was there for years, since Arthur left; and he knows that since then, he wasn't living. Not really.
And then Arthur catches sight of him. Merlin watches his expression change; his lips parting, his eyes widening by the slightest margin, as he takes stock of Merlin for the first time in years. Then he smiles, the corners of his eyes turning up and his endearingly crooked front teeth making their first appearance.
Merlin smiles too. And then he laughs, and so does Arthur, and they stand like that for a moment, separated by leagues of strangers that can't interrupt their connection.
Someone pushes into Merlin from behind, making him stumble, and when Merlin looks up Arthur is laughing harder. Merlin grins, sheepish, his cheeks heating.
They walk towards each other, almost gravitating, but it's too slow for Merlin and so he murmurs "fuck it" and starts to run. Arthur stands still for a moment, his brows lifting, before grinning and starting to run too.
Their momentum picks up and they crash together, unable to stop, and when their chests bump the touch is electric. At least, it is to Merlin; but as they right themselves he studies Arthur's face, and he is grinning easily.
"Merlin," says he, an exhale. Then, more firmly: "Merlin. You idiot."
Merlin feels the edges of his mouth tremble. "Clotpole."
And then Arthur looks affected, his casual smile faltering -
("You'll always be my clotpole." Sudden giggling, stifled by a pillow. "I'm serious! It's a made-up word, so you're the only clotpole in the world. And you're mine.")
- for a moment before returning in its full glory. "Wow. You haven't changed at all, have you?"
Merlin watches Arthur's eyes fall, roving over him, and he wills himself not to blush under the scrutiny. He sees Arthur's eyes pause at the neck, at his throat goddamn it, and then Arthur's eyes snap back to his.
"No. You haven't changed at all."
"You have," Merlin blurts out before he can stop himself. He curses his lack of a filter and tries to sound more casual. "I mean. You've cut your hair."
Arthur reaches up to touch at his hair self-consciously. "Well. Yes. I mean, one does cut their hair once every... oh God, don't be stupid."
Merlin is stifling a smile at Arthur's serious response, and now they are both smiling ridiculously, and then Arthur is waving him over and Merlin hesitates, but then walks into the familiar crook of Arthur's arm.
"Here." Arthur's arm remains in contact with the line of Merlin's shoulders for about two seconds, of which Merlin is very acutely aware. He then gestures vaguely with his hand. "My fiance's here. She's over there, waiting for me to find you... she hates crowds."
"Ah." All the familiarity and pulsing joy Merlin found in their reunion immediately evaporates. He racks his brain for an excuse not to meet her immediately; he needs some time to re-adjust to the idea, at least a minute. "Um. Er. Oh! I ought to wait for Morgana. She was in the loo, probably messing with her makeup, wait I'll text her..."
For a split second, Arthur looks confused. "Oh! Right, Morgana. Odd, I'd forgotten she was coming with you."
Merlin tries not to feel a somewhat jittery validation at that. Arthur goes on. "Alright. You text Morgana, and wait right here. I'll bring her."
Merlin nods, his fingers already flying furiously over the buttons. When he looks up, Arthur happens to turn back, as though checking that Merlin isn't disobeying orders, and he mouths: Don't move. Merlin nods his understanding and watches Arthur walk away; and he is unashamedly pleased to notice that Arthur's arse is as round as ever.
Morgana appears by his side moments later, thankfully before Arthur's fiance's arrival. She tugs on Merlin's arm and begs for details, eyes alight. "How was it?"
"Good. I mean, I can't say much." To be honest, Merlin isn't at all sure what transpired between them.
"What do you mean?" Morgana hisses, obviously exasperated. "Can't you tell if he's still- you know- into you? God, and you're supposed to be intuitive!"
"Morgana, calm down," Merlin whispers, just as viciously, for he caught sight of Arthur's head in the crowd. "We talked for all of five minutes. And let's not forget he's engaged. Anyway. He's coming. And her."
Morgana gives a slight shake of her head, her curls settling automatically over her shoulders in a way that seems artfully engineered instead of accidental. Merlin's eyebrows rise, then he sighs and decides not to pin sense to anything Morgana does.
Arthur appears before them moments later, extending a wary hand to Morgana; but Morgana pulls him towards her and presses a kiss to his cheek.
"Uh. Wow. Great to see you too, Morgana." He leans back and examines her. "You look lovely."
"You sound surprised, prat." Morgana quirks a brow, then searches the horizon behind Arthur's shoulders. "Well. Where is she?"
"Be nice," Arthur warns, and something turns over in Merlin's stomach, because he remembers when Arthur used to sound so protective while talking about him. "She's right here. Um. Darling?"
As though materializing from mist, a girl appears by Arthur's side. No- a woman, Merlin quickly corrects himself; her small size is deceiving She is ivory and chocolate, her summer dress white against her pale skin, her lustrous hair a deep brown. Her eyes are of the same color, large and doe-like. Her perfect rosebud mouth curves into a smile, and Merlin can immediately tell it is genuine because of the way it reaches her eyes. Suddenly, Merlin feels his gut twist, and he hates himself because he already knows that this is a girl he'd usually like; probably be friends with. And fuck, Merlin can tell already why Arthur has fallen for her, because he can feel the start of it himself.
He needs a cigarette.
"Merlin. Morgana." Arthur's voice is full of pride and grandoise as he spoke, a tone entirely unfitting for an airport, but Arthur gets away with it like he always does. "I'd like to introduce my fiance, Mithian."
Morgana reacts first, for which Merlin is grateful. Her smile is stage-like as she extends her hands to Mithian. "It's wonderful to meet you, Mithian. Arthur's told me so much about you."
Behind Mithian, Arthur's eyes widen in both alarm and warning, but Morgana, of course, ignores him.
"Did he?" Mithian reaches forward and grasps Morgana's hands with her own, seeming not at all fazed- though why should she be? She doesn't know Morgana. "I've heard quite a bit about you too."
Morgana's smile widens. "Oh? Then I think we'll have some fun."
"I'm sure we will." Mithian releases Morgana's hands, and suddenly Merlin has no escape. Determined not to look the fool, he takes a step forward and extends his hand first.
"Hullo. I'm Merlin." He tries to smile, but even he realizes that he probably looks constipated. "You're, uh, you're even more lovely than Arthur let on."
Mithian seems infinitely pleased at this. She takes his hand and shakes it, firmly, and Merlin is surprised at the strength of her grip. "Oh- thank you, Merlin. That means a lot, coming from you."
Merlin isn't sure what implications are hidden in that statement, but decides to ignore it for the time being. "Right. Nice to meet you."
"I'm so glad to finally meet you both," Mithian gushes, and behind her Arthur looks incredibly relieved, as though he was expecting something to go horribly wrong. Merlin can definitely see where he was coming from. "I mean, Arthur's sister and Arthur's best friend... you're both so important to him, and all I've been hearing is Merlin this and Morgana that. Well. Mostly Merlin, I have to admit."
She winks and laughs at that, the sound as clear as a bell, and Morgana pretends to be outraged while Arthur feebly tries to protest, but Merlin barely takes notice of it all. Best friend? Is that all Mithian knows him as? Is that all he is to Arthur?
Arthur seems to notice Merlin's expression; his flow in the conversation falters, his smile falling. "Um. You know what, we should go."
Merlin nods quickly, walking ahead of them, and Morgana rushes forward and falls into step with him. Mithian looks up at Arthur curiously, but Arthur avoids her gaze. As they walk towards the exit, following Merlin and Morgana, Arthur tries to ignore the way Morgana's hand kept rubbing soothing circles on Merlin's forearm.
On the way to the hotel, nobody talks much. The car is a convertible and the air is light and sweet, and Merlin feels a slight stab of regret that he isn't able to enjoy scenic Spain. He is slightly mollified by taking notice of the fact that Madrid resembles any other city, more or less, excepting the clumps of rosebushes that serve as median barriers on the highway. Merlin never thought he'd ever see such an amount of rosebushes in his life.
In the front seat, Mithian is silent, her face turned to the wind, a slight smile tilting her lips. Her delicate profile is directly facing Merlin, and he tries not to hate her for how lovable she is. But to this Merlin has already acknowledged defeat, because it is not in his nature to hate anyone- especially someone like her, someone who seems honest and sweet, and someone who Arthur so obviously loves.
Arthur, who is driving, glances frequently in the rear-view mirror and tries not to take notice of the fact that Morgana's hand is resting on Merlin's knee.
They arrive at the hotel after a vague block of time, and Merlin barely hears Mithian explain that the wedding will be in Malaga, but that they have time to enjoy the city tonight if they aren't too tired from the trip. Morgana takes one look at Merlin and answers for him, saying that they are indeed tired, and quickly ushers Merlin into the lobby.
Minutes later, the two stand in the balcony of Morgana's room, smoking. Merlin was surprised when Morgana handed him cigarettes, but he realizes that he must get used to the fact that Morgana is quite disturbingly attuned to his needs.
"Uh, Morgana?"
A slow exhale of smoke. "Yes?"
"Do you have extra-sensory perception?"
"Why, yes," says Morgana, with a completely straight face. "Didn't you know?"
Merlin chuckles and drags at his cigarette. "Yeah."
"Good thing I got a smoking room," Morgana says. "Although it's a shame about the tour. I can tell that Mithian is a good host."
Merlin looks at Morgana. "You serious?"
A short bark of laughter. "No."
They smoke silently for a few minutes before Morgana speaks again. "Yes, actually. I was serious. She seems like a good host."
Merlin says nothing.
"I mean, don't get me wrong, it's obviously her only redeemable quality."
At that, Merlin laughs, a dry and mirthless sound. "We're fucked."
"No. We're not." Morgana drops her cigarette and grinds it with her boot, using her free hands to grasp Merlin's shoulders and turn him towards her. "You're perfectly fine. I hate her, alright?"
Merlin takes another drag of his cigarette and tries to control the shaking of his hand. "You shouldn't hate her. I don't."
Morgana gives a snort. "Well I do. Perfectly lovable people like that disgust me."
"You're pretty good at that self-deceptive shit, Morgana," Merlin commends. "How long does it take until you actually start to believe it?"
Morgana rolls her eyes. "Don't try turning this on me, Merlin. I'm probably one of the least confused people in the entire world."
Merlin chooses to let it go, mourning the loss of his quickly disappearing cigarette. Out of the blue, he materializes a thought. "I wish she wasn't. One of those perfectly lovable people, I mean. This would be so much easier if she was just... a bitch."
Morgana shakes her head. "No, Merlin. Trust me, you wouldn't want a bitch. Take it from one. If we were dealing with a bitch here, this would be so much harder. She'd be conniving, too. She'd try to keep him. "
Merlin turns to look at her, interested in this theory. Morgana is stroking her chin, thinking. "No, this will be easier. It's always easier with the nice ones. Once she sees how you feel about him, she won't stand a chance. Hell, she might even give him to you out of pity."
Merlin's cigarette drops from his fingers, falling into the depths of Madrid that lies sprawled beneath them. Morgana's mouth falls open when she realizes what she said.
"Oh." To Merlin, she sounds remorseful, but he can't know for sure because he can't afford to look at her. "Oh no, sweetheart. Look, I didn't mean it. Not like that."
"I think I need some sleep," Merlin states flatly, turning his back and walking through the glass doors, leaving a stricken Morgana behind.
Hours later, Merlin is flat on his back, staring blankly at the void of the ceiling. He was able to sleep for about two hours, after much tossing and turning and pacing through the tight confines of the room. When he woke up, he tried desperately to return to the realm of sleep, but it wasn't written in the cards and so Merlin had made a small trip to a nearby shop and purchased cigarettes. He smoked through half the pack, and he is now tempted to smoke another, but his mouth tastes like ash and he knows deep down that he isn't much of a smoker, anyway.
On the nighttable, his phone buzzes, clattering against the wood. Merlin's eyes shift to it but he does not budge. He knows for a fact that it's Gwen- she, Lance, and Gwaine had all texted him multiple times, and Gwen had even called. He'd responded to the three of them noncommitally, just to stave off their worry, but he doesn't have much energy or desire to deal with Gwen's fretting at the moment.
His mind is full of nothing and everything, of Arthur and Mithian and Morgana's lips forming the word pity. He groans and tilts his head back. He can see in his mind's eye Gwen's reaction; she'd tut-tut in disapproval, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him up and telling him to change his clothes and to stop wallowing, her hands fisted at her hips and her voice authoritative. Merlin figures he might as well listen to her; it can't get any worse, and the distraction might prove helpful.
Minutes later, he disembarks the elevator and almost bumps into Arthur, and he thinks that he never regretted a decision so much.
"Oh!" Merlin flushes to his toes and curses Imaginary Gwen for doing this to him.
"Merlin. Glad I ran into you, mate." Arthur steps back, allowing Merlin to move out of the elevator. "I was just about to knock on Morgana's door, actually. Mithian's having a bath, but soon as she's done I figured we could all go out for dinner and drinks."
Merlin is vaguely startled at the suggestion of dinner; he assumed that it was near midnight, at least. "Yeah. Yeah, that sounds swell."
"Great." Arthur's eyes settle on Merlin, almost considering. "Well. Since you're here, do you want to go for a walk, maybe? Catch up? I can just text Morgana."
Merlin can't think of a way out of it and isn't sure he wants a way out, and so he finds himself nodding. "Yeah. Let's go."
Arthur smiles and leads the way into the warm night, Merlin trailing slightly behind. They walk in silence for a bit. Merlin can feel Arthur's eyes on him and keeps his gaze to the ground, feeling slightly off-balance.
"You don't look like you got much sleep," Arthur finally says.
Merlin looks up. "I slept for a few hours."
"No, you didn't. How many times do I have to tell you, Merlin?" Arthur sounds fondly exasperated. "You aren't too good at lying. At least not lying to me."
Merlin's stomach flips. "What are you talking about? I did sleep for a- well, for a bit."
Arthur shakes his head, still smiling. "Your eyes don't lie. They look tired."
Merlin hangs his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets, fearing they'll somehow betray him- maybe back Arthur into a wall and kiss him into oblivion. "I am. Tired."
Arthur's expression grows sober. "Oh. Would you rather I call off dinner, then?"
Yes, Merlin is tempted to say- but underneath the concern in Arthur's eyes, concern for me, he thinks jubilantly, is dissapointment, as though he really wanted this dinner to happen and is upset at the prospect of its cancellation.
And so Merlin sighs in defeat and forces his shoulders to bob up then down in a shrug. "Nah. I'm not that tired. Dinner sounds good."
"Alright. Good. Mithian was really excited for it- it was her idea."
Merlin exhales, perhaps a bit too loudly. "She seems nice. Mithian."
Arthur quirks a brow. "Nice?"
"A little fucking fantastic, maybe," Merlin relents, his mouth quirking even as something in his chest clenches.
"Yeah. She is." Arthur gets this faraway look in his eye, as though he is looking at something beyond the both of them, and Merlin blinks and steels his nerves because he knows it doesn't involve him. Not at all.
He breathes out shakily and the question escapes him before he can hold it back. "Does she know you're gay?"
Arthur's step falters, and for a wild moment Merlin thinks he'll trip and he starts to reach out, but it's Arthur and Arthur doesn't trip and sure enough, a second later Arthur has righted his balance. He looks at Merlin with something angry and incredulous in his eyes. "What?"
Merlin shrugs, suddenly audacious. "She called me your friend. Does she know you're gay?"
"I'm not gay," Arthur says automatically.
Now Merlin stares at him incredulously, then barks an astounded laugh. "God. What is this, fucking high school? Did you actually just say that you're not gay?"
Arthur's jaw grows steely in a way Merlin knows, in a way that suggests that Arthur truly means what he's about to say. "I'm not some self-deluded teenager, Merlin. And I'm not a coward either. I know exactly what I am. And I think you do too, but you won't admit it. I've always swung both ways. I mean, do you actually think I'd marry someone I wasn't sexually attracted to?"
Merlin rolls his eyes. "You just said you're not gay. That's self-delusion if I've ever seen it."
Arthur frowns. "I'd say the same thing if you called me straight."
Merlin shakes his head, disbelieving. "Wow."
Arthur flares up again. "What? I don't subscribe to any labels, alright?"
After a moment, Merlin shrugs. "Fine. You still didn't answer my question, though."
"What question?"
Though Merlin knows that Arthur remembers perfectly, he repeats the question anyway. "Does Mithian know?"
Arthur sighs, looking suddenly bone-weary. "She knows about you, Merlin."
Merlin frowns, suddenly disappointed in himself for making Arthur sound like that. "I'm sorry."
Arthur shrugs. "It's alright. Like I said, you haven't changed."
Merlin swallows and Arthur must have caught the expression in Merlin's eyes, because he immediately punches him in the shoulder and tries to turn the whole thing into a joke. "Yeah. Still the same prating fool."
It comes out sounding like a compliment, and Merlin smiles as he rubs his shoulder. "Sure. Whatever you say, clotpole."
They continue walking and their smiles naturally fade away, and then Arthur asks: "How's school?"
Merlin realizes what he's doing; it's retaliation for mentioning Mithian, for that uncomfortable question. He chooses his next words carefully. "It's just as I expected it to be."
A muscle in Arthur's jaw clenches. But his voice, when he speaks, is carefully light. "I'm glad, Merlin. It's what you've always wanted."
His words are a slap. Merlin pauses in his steps, and Arthur reluctantly turns to look at him, gaze hooded. "That's..." And he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know what he can say, because he forgot how cruel Arthur can be.
Arthur shrugs, the twist of his mouth vicious. "What? I'm happy for you."
"That's... wow. Wow, Arthur. Fucking precious, coming from you."
"Excuse me?"
Merlin clenches his teeth and counts to ten, reminding himself of his end goal. "I'm... let's not do this. We haven't seen each other in a year, and... you're getting married in a few days. I don't want to fight."
For a moment, Arthur seems frozen; then he nods, the muscles in his shoulders relaxing. "Right. I don't, either. I- sorry." He ducks his head, suddenly sheepish.
Merlin feels his mouth stretch into an impossibly wide smile. "Did you just apologize to me? Did you just say you're sorry?"
"Don't be stupid, Merlin," Arthur says, promptly turning and walking away.
When they reach the hotel, Arthur boards the elevator to fetch Mithian. Merlin settles himself into an armchair, content to wait for his return, but the armchair is just too comfortable and his head lolls back and his eyes are just about to-
"Merlin?"
His head snaps forward too quickly. "Ow! Ah... oh, hey, Mithian."
"I'm sorry!" Mithian's pretty face is scrunched up in concern. "I'm sorry. Were you napping?"
"No." Merlin reaches up to massage the back of his neck. "I was on a walk, with- with Arthur. He just went up to fetch you."
"Oh- well he'll be back in a minute, then." She settles into the armchair beside him, and Merlin watches her cross her dainty feet at the ankle. "I'm glad we have a moment all to ourselves."
"Why?" Merlin asks warily, then realizes how it sounds. "I mean, not that..."
Mithian waves a hand dismissively. "I'd just really like to get to know you. I mean, you're Arthur's best friend, and not only that... you were together for four years. That's a long time- I've never been with anyone that long."
Merlin's brow furrows; he feels both confused and uncomfortable. "Right..."
"In short, you're very important to him. And if I'm to be Arthur's wife, I'd like to know someone who was so... intimate with him." She ducks her head, her cheeks turn rosy. "I'd like to be friends."
Merlin swallows, entirely out of his depth. "Yeah. Yeah, sure."
Her smile, then, is as bright as the sun. "I'm glad. Really glad. Now I can go with you tomorrow for your fitting. That is, unless you mind, of course...?"
Inwardly, Merlin sighs and wonders if there's any point in attempting to follow the conversation. "Fitting?"
"Oh. I thought Arthur might've told you. We have a very busy schedule tomorrow- driving up to Malaga, then we'll get you and Morgana fitted for your clothes-"
"I have a tux," Merlin interrupts.
Mithian shrugs, looking suddenly helpless. "I'm sorry, I thought for sure Arthur would've told you. You weren't supposed to bring one, the tuxes are going to be a bit... specific..."
Merlin nods, as though this makes all the sense in the world. Mithian goes on, looking relieved. "Then you get to meet my family and my friends. I'm afraid this is going to be a very strenuous, four-day type of wedding. My parents have a ton of events lined up."
"Sounds lovely," says Merlin, and Mithian laughs at the obvious sarcasm.
"I'm sorry. I still hope you find it fun. Do you know when the rest of your friends are coming?"
"I'm not sure," Merlin answers truthfully.
Mithian's smile does not waver. "Well. The more the merrier."
"They'll like you."
"I hope so," says Mithian, biting her lip. "And Morgana? Do you think I made a favorable impression on Morgana?"
She looks so vulnerable that Merlin can't say anything except: "She loved you."
Mithian's eyes are shrewd. "It's kind of you to say so, Merlin. But I know Morgana constitutes, um... a tough crowd."
Merlin can't help but chuckle. "Pretty accurate."
"There you are!"
The two turn at Arthur's voice- and Merlin quickly turns back, ears red, knowing he was not the person Arthur was addressing and embarrased at having thought he was. Sure enough, Arthur stops in front of Mithian's chair and extends a hand, helping her out of it. Morgana trails behind, her eyes resting on Merlin and staying there.
Arthur suggests they leave, and Merlin finds himself walking beside Morgana. She grasps his arm as soon as Arthur and Mithian aren't looking, her eyes begging forgiveness.
"Come on," she whispers. "Please."
Merlin holds her gaze for a moment, then lets his lips curve. Morgana answers with a smile of her own, then a relieved laugh, then she leans forward and presses a kiss to his cheek.
"You know I'm on your side, Emrys," she whispers as she pulls away.
In that moment, Merlin's gaze happens to drift sideways, and he catches Arthur looking back, at them. Merlin quickly returns his attention to Morgana, telling her he wasn't angry with her, and Morgana seems appeased- and as they board the cab Mithian successfully hailed, all Merlin can think about is Arthur's expression. He talks and laughs and expresses how hungry he is, but fixed in his mind's eye is Arthur- lips pressed together into a thin line, jaw squared, eyes like coal. There was heat in his gaze, stemming from anger or something else that Merlin won't let himself consider. Morgana spouts useless trivia about Spain and Merlin goes over the image of Arthur with a finely toothed comb, wanting to put a name to that thing in Arthur's eyes, and it is only when they pull up in front of the restaurant that it comes to him.
Jealousy.
Any jealousy, real or imagined, is gone as Merlin tries to stomach his gambas ajillo. Arthur has spent the duration of the dinner fawning over Mithian, trying to hold her hand and pressing random kisses to her jaw and her hairline. He's barely touched his food, and neither has Merlin, because again, he's forgotten how cruel Arthur can be.
"God." Morgana's nose wrinkles in disgust when Arthur tries to press a kiss to Mithian's lips just as she tries to spoon some rice into her mouth, and the end result is rather messy. "Will you stop, Arthur? Please. I'm trying to eat."
Arthur glares at Morgana then glances at Mithian, as though expecting to find his fiance offended; but Mithian seems to be on Morgana's side, and she carefully gathers the fallen rice into a pile on the tablecloth. "She's right. You're- you're acting a little strange, Arthur," says Mithian, not unkindly, and Merlin doesn't think she knows how to be unkind.
"Sorry." Arthur looks down, looking so uncharacteristically sheepish, and Merlin feels a sudden stab of affection for him.
Arthur rises sharply from his chair. "Sorry. I'll, uh, go to the loo."
Before Mithian can protest, and Merlin can see that she wanted to, Arthur is halfway across the restaurant. Mithian stares after him, worry written across her face.
"What's with him?" says Morgana.
"I'm not sure," answers Mithian, frowning. "I guess it's just been a long day. He's barely been himself."
"Hmm... I wonder why," says Morgana, wearing an almost comical expression of total innocence, and Merlin tries not to yelp when she elbows him sharply.
He glares at Morgana as soon as Mithian is preoccupied with her food, but Morgana is shameless, grinning behind her wineglass.
Minutes pass. When a quarter of an hour passes and Arthur still hasn't returned- Merlin knows because he checks his watch every other minute- Mithian abandons all pretenses of casualty.
"Merlin?" Mithian's brow is furrowed with worry. "Will you go check on him?"
"Uh," says Merlin, quite articulately, but Mithian's eyes are entreating and Morgana is nodding fervently behind her wineglass and Merlin finds it incredibly ironic that they both want the same thing of him.
"Alright. Fine." He rises from his chair and takes a few steps, pausing impulsively to squeeze Mithian's shoulder reassuringly.
"Fuck," he mutters to himself as he navigates through the tables, eyes searching for any sign of the restroom. "Why do I have to be so fucking nice?"
Merlin walks across the perimiter of the restaurant once, cannot locate the restroom, and is about to resign himself to using his mediocre knowledge of Spanish to ask where it is when he hears Arthur calling his name.
"Merlin!"
Merlin whirls and finds Arthur sitting at the bar- or, rather, slouching over the counter. In front of him, three empty shot glasses are lined, and Arthur is reaching for the fourth when Merlin grabs his wrist.
"No." And Merlin's ears are red because he knows this is the first time he's touched Arthur's hand in ages, and the thin skin of his wrist is soft under the pad of his thumb, and the curve of it is familiar.
Impossibly, inexplicably- Merlin hears Arthur draw in a breath, almost a hiss. He looks up and finds Arthur's eyes wide, pupils dilated, staring at where Merlin touches him as though staring at a burn.
Arthur's eyes snap to Merlin's. "Don't touch me."
Something dislodges in Merlin's chest. "Oh," he says softly, blinking back the sudden tears that spring to his eyes. "Oh. Fuck."
"No, Merlin-"
Merlin is aware of Arthur protesting, but he doesn't care, and he is turning away to get the hell out of there when Arthur's hand stops him, grabbing his forearm and pulling, then cradling, because Arthur's always known exactly when he has Merlin where he wants him.
"Look. I don't know how to do this," says Arthur. Merlin can't look at Arthur's face so he looks at his chest, but fuck that isn't any better, because the first two buttons of his shirt have come undone and Merlin wants to press his lips there.
"I've never gotten married before. And you- it's fucking hard." Merlin closes his eyes for a moment, nearly coming undone at his choice of words. Arthur, oblivious, continues. "Don't take anything I do- or say- the wrong way. I don't mean any of it. I just.. I just don't know how and- fuck, Merlin, look at me."
And then Arthur's fingers are crossing the bridge of his shoulders, grazing the sensitive skin at the juncture between collarbone and throat, and Merlin tries not to shake as his fingers go further, climbing up the back of his neck and then curling around it, tickling the short hairs there in a way that is oh so familiar.
From there, Arthur's thumb comes around to tilt Merlin's chin up, and their eyes meet before Arthur's gaze drops to Merlin's throat, which is working frantically because Merlin forgot how big Arthur's hands were, all the skin they could cover at once.
"Merlin." Arthur says it like he doesn't realize he's saying it, a breath. Then he seems to collect himself, his eyes returning to Merlin's and his voice turning pointed. "Merlin. Will you... be my best man?"
Merlin's voice is a croak. "What?"
"Please. Listen, I'm not drunk- I don't want you to think I asked you while I was drunk," Arthur says vehemently. "Please. I- you are my best man."
Merlin swallows; fuck, the implications. "I... we should go back. Mithian's worried."
At the mention of Mithian, Arthur's eyes cloud over. Still, he does not budge. "Is that a yes?"
Merlin hesitates, then nods sharply, then turns away and walks as quickly as he can, unable to look at Arthur for a second longer.
At the table, Mithian asks Merlin about Arthur, and for an answer he gestures vaguely behind him, not trusting himself to speak. Sure enough, Arthur settles himself into his chair a second later. Merlin is aware of Mithian leaning over Arthur to whisper something in his ear, and he's aware of Arthur nodding tightly, and aware of Morgana's eyes on him, wide and questioning and concerned.
"Yes!" Mithian smiles as she pulls away from Arthur. "I'm so happy, Merlin. We're honored to have you as best man."
Morgana chokes. Merlin reaches over and pounds her on the back, handing her a glass of water, which Morgana accepts gratefully. When she can speak, she turns stunned eyes to Merlin. "Best man?"
"What?" Mithian looks from Morgana to Merlin, obviously worried. "That's good, right? Morgana?"
With an almost frightening ease, Morgana settles back into her smiling facade. "But of course." And then she adds: "Merlin deserves it."
The words are a stab at her brother, which he immediately recognizes and returns with a glare.
"Oh, good," Mithian says in a relieved breath. "Because I've got a similar proposition for you, Morgana."
The facade falls away, and Morgana looks vaguely terrified as she says, "Please don't make me maid of honor."
Mithian laughs. "No. My best friend's got that spot reserved since we were about ten years old, I'm afraid... no, I'd like you to be a bridesmaid."
Morgana's jaw falls open. Mithian goes on. "You're Arthur's sister. It makes sense."
Merlin watches Morgana awkwardly piece her act back together and gracefully accept, to which Mithian looks eternally grateful.
"This makes everything so perfect," Mithian gushes. Merlin and Morgana exchange a glance and wonder when exactly would be an appropriate time to ask to leave.
Eventually, Merlin claims he's got to visit the restroom, and Morgana excuses herself with a smoking break, and the two meet outside. They exchange mutually terrified glances.
"A bridesmaid?" Morgana squeaks, incredulous.
Merlin barely hears her. His mind is swimming. You are my best man.
He listens to Morgana curse as she digs around in her purse, and when he finally looks at her she sports a lit cigarette. She looks at back at him, and her sigh is tinged with smoke.
"Fuck," says Morgana. "This is going to be a long weekend."
A/N: Will be continued! Please review.