It started with fire. Just a small one at first, in a neighbouring home. No one was inside, thankfully, but the sight of someone's home burning to the ground made Arthur feel ill. He looked at all the people, stood staring in the street, with panicked eyes. He wasn't to know that the family [husband, wife and three young children] were on holiday in Sweden. It took him almost thirty minutes, and the gentle voice of a policewoman, to calm him down.

He did not return home that night. Arthur walked on shaky legs until he reached the bridge. Tall and dark, Blackfriars Bridge seemed distant and unfamiliar. Arthur stopped walking and looked up at it with tired eyes. It was almost 3am, and the crowded London streets were only just beginning to empty; drunken men stumbled past him, their arms slung around the shoulders of their friends, singing happy tunes and laughing far too loudly. Arthur perched himself on a bench by the river and stared into the deep, black water, ignoring the sounds of the city that surrounded him. His gaze rested on the reflection of the moon, big and round, as blinding as the sun. He thought of his life, and the way he was living it. The way he seemed to screw everything up; he was eighteen years old, soon-to-be nineteen, he had been kicked out of college a mere two weeks in for having relations with his English teacher. Then, there was the argument with his father. It was over nothing, really, a silly misunderstanding about some missing money. But Arthur got the blame, as he usually did, and after a few angry words, he was thrown out on the street to fend for himself.

Arthur looked up, to the other side of the river. All around him, people were buzzing. It was the week before Christmas, and Arthur knew it would be spent alone, drinking all the beer that he could get his hands on and then switching to the red wine that was carelessly hidden in the back of his wardrobe. He expected no gifts, had received no cards, he'd hung no decorations in the small flat he shared with his best friend, Cooper, a three year old husky that he'd found abandoned on the street.

Arthur got to his feet and looked up at the bridge one last time, before turning and heading for his favourite pub, The Camelot Inn. It was small, and often crowded, with no more than three people that Arthur found bearable to talk to. Two of whom worked there, pulling pints and selling packets of ready salted crisps to drunken business men.

Pushing through the doors, Arthur looked around to find that there were only a handful of people sat inside. The regulars, Gwaine and Percy [recently engaged, the wedding is set for July], a man that Arthur had recently come to know as Leon, and another man that Arthur had never seen before. He sat in the corner, looking tired and sad, staring into his full pint of beer as if it was his lost love. Arthur walked swiftly over to the bar, shaking off his jacket and throwing it down on the stool beside him. He smiled as Gwen walked over to him, her dark hair falling down in front of her chocolate brown eyes.

'Evening, Arthur,' she smiled, lifting an empty glass from under the bar. 'Not out partying with your friends?' Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes, his smile growing wider.

'You seem to forget that I have none.' He reminded her, glancing back over his shoulder as a roar of laughter erupted from Gwaine and Percival's table.

'Oh, I'm sure that's not true.' Gwen tried. Arthur turned back to her, the smile gone from his face.

'Hmm?'

'Nothing.' Gwen giggled, sliding a pint of beer towards Arthur. Gwen's eyes flickered from Arthur to the happy couple, and her smile softened.

'Did you hear about the engagement?' she questioned. Arthur laughed into his glass.

'Who hasn't heard? I'm pretty sure the entire town known by now.' He says, causing Gwen to laugh.

'They're happy,' she says, thoughtfully. 'It's nice.' Arthur looks up at his friend, smiling.

'Jealous?'

'Wh- me? No…' A small blush creeps up on Gwen, and she bows her head, wiping the counter with an old rag. Arthur chuckled and spins around, taking his beer with him, grinning wider when he sees Percy place a small kiss on Gwaine's cheek

'Hey,' he calls out. 'Is the lovin' just for you two, or can anyone join in?' He takes a big gulp of his beer as Percival looks over to him, blushing.

'Shut it, Penny,' he mocks, motioning him over to the table. Arthur laughs loudly as he heads for the table.

In the corner of the pub, Merlin no longer gazes into his beer. His eyes are now fixed on the handsome blonde man that was gracefully moving across the room. He sighed inwardly, forcing a sip of his beer down his throat. His intention was to get mind-numbingly drunk, a goal which even his mother doubted he'd ever achieve. It wasn't that he didn't like to go out, he did, when it was just him and his mother. But the thought of being in a tightly-packed nightclub with strangers pressing against him sickened him. He had never really been a people person, in face he hated people most of the time; all they did was make him feel worthless and awkward. He had convinced himself earlier that evening to go out dancing with his cousin, Lancelot. It didn't go to plan, however, because as soon as he set foot through the door of the club, he felt his chest grow tight and his palms grow sweaty, and before he knew it he was throwing up on some poor strangers shoes, which in turn landed him a punch in the ribs.

He'd abandoned Lance a few minutes later, after spotting him grinding against some blonde Barbie doll. Now, here he was, sitting alone in a pub, staring longingly into a tumbler of beer. He had been, at least, until the handsome blonde gentleman had walked through the door. Now he sat staring longingly at him, wondering what on earth would possess a man of such beauty to notice him, a tall, too-skinny loser who looks like he's never set foot in the sun. He sighed loudly, blushing as the man of his thoughts suddenly turned and looked back at him. Merlin's eyes quickly returned to his beer, though he did not feel the man's eyes leave him. Chancing a glance upwards, he was oddly disappointed that he was no longer looking at him, and had returned to his conversation with his friends.

Great, he thought, sadly. How could this night possibly get any worse.