Wedding date, Modern AU.

"Help."

"Don't tell me you've been kidnapped," Arthur groaned, voice all in his throat. The doughy crinkling of his blankets confirmed he was still in bed. "It's too early for kidnappings."

Oops. She hadn't considered the time. "No. I'm standing in Debenhams holding monogrammed cheese knives and I don't know what I'm doing with my life."

"Don't do it Gwen," he droned. "There's so much to live for."

"I just realized I don't have any cheese knives. I never even considered having my own cheese knives, and here I am buying them for someone who should have been marrying me."

"Mn."

She knew he was hardly listening, but somehow it helped to say the words anyway.

"Nobody told me I was supposed to have these when I became an adult."

He sighed. "Drop the knives. Get him a strap-on and tell him to go fuck himself."

She shook her head, Arthur's voice finally helping her snap out of it. "I don't think that's how strap-ons work."

"Why are you even buying the bugger anything? Isn't attending his engagement party enough?"

"I have no idea," she glanced down one aisle at the enticing gleam of posh countertop appliances, finding it abandoned apart from the odd worker restocking shelves. Espresso machines were definitely not in the budget. "But I don't want to be the one who doesn't bring a gift."

"It's half nine, Guinevere."

"So?" Gwen finds her feet again and begins to wander the next aisle of utensils, picking up odds and ends and putting them back down when she realized she'd no idea of their use.

How small a gift could she get away with, without being petty? She eyes a toothpick dispenser and imagines the postage and stationery for the thank you note would cost more. Satisfying as it was, the thought alone put her at her limit for passive aggression.

It'd have to be the cheese knives. Elegant, functional, and appropriate for most occasions.

On the other end of the line, Arthur draws in a deep breath and laughs as he blows it out. "Shouldn't you be sleeping in like normal people do on Saturdays?"

His voice strains as he stretches, the floor creaking under his weight as he shuffles across his bedroom. If it weren't inadvisable to do so, she could almost picture him in his underwear, running a hand through his sleep rumpled hair.

"I can't sleep in. I've got too much to do."

The telltale suction of his fridge door opening is all the warning she gets before she hears him gulping something down.

"You're disgusting, you know that?" She scoffs. "Can't you just drink out of a glass like a civilized human being?"

"Mm," he grunts again, but there's a grin creeping into his voice. "Probably. Except we're not roommates anymore so you can't stop me. Maybe you should pick one up for me while you're out."

"I'll talk to you later," Gwen rolls her eyes when she finds herself in front of the check stand without remembering how she'd got there.

"Gwen." His voice stops her hanging up.

"Hmm?"

"Meet me at the Sun."

"Okay."

"""

"How'd it go last night?"

Across the table from her, Arthur winces and opts for stuffing his face with a bite of sausage.

Gwen laughs. "It can't have been that bad. What did she say that put you off?"

His shoulders heave and he sets his fork down. "Nothing. In fact, the conversation was great. It was just like talking to one of my mates."

"What's the problem, then?"

"Exactly that."

"Oh, come on. Merlin and I saw her profile pictures; we know she's gorgeous. You can't tell me you aren't attracted to her."

Arthur shrugs. "I can acknowledge she's attractive without being attracted to her."

"That makes zero sense."

"What I mean is she's a friend, and anything more than that would be...weird. We both had a bad feeling going into the date anyway." His eyes fall to her phone on the table between them as it lights up with a new text message. "Like you and Merlin. You get on perfectly but obviously nothing would ever happen."

"You really think so?" she arches a brow, then turns her attention back to the text she'd just received.

"What do you mean really?" Arthur frowns, stabbing his fork at another bite. "You don't actually think Merlin likes you, do you?"

She shrugs. "No, but that doesn't mean I've never liked him."

"Wait, what? You and Merlin? When was this?"

"Eh, years ago," she waved a dismissive hand.

"Really, Guinevere. He'd make an awful boyfriend!"

"You would know."

"Shut up."

She laughs. "You wouldn't last long. In fact, I think you'd be the worse boyfriend."

"And just how do you figure that? I could be the best you ever had."

"I didn't mean for me," her fingers freeze over her phone as she looks up, re-examining him. "I meant for Merlin."

The defensiveness drains out of him, the worry on his face replaced by his usual careless expression.

"I meant... You in general. Neither of you deserves me, anyway," he jokes.

Gwen hums to herself, eyeing him. "We may have the opportunity to test that out."

"Oh?"

She waves her phone. "Merlin just confirmed he can't make it. It's going to be dreadful and I need a date to stave off the pitiful looks."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a natural saleswoman?"

"I know it doesn't sound great, but you'd be with me. We'll drink and make fun of snobby people."

Arthur looks dubious. They were, of course, his people. "Will there be food?"

"There's bound to be."

"Will I have to dress up?"

She gives him a look over, as if she hadn't noticed his outfit before. For some reason, unshowered and unshaven as he is, his dark jeans and t-shirt look more presentable on him than they would on anyone else. That was Arthur, though: effortless. "Nicer than this, but you don't need a tuxedo or anything."

"Would this gathering have anything to do with a set of cheese knives?"

"What gave it away?" She sighed. "Yes, it's the engagement party."

"I still can't believe he invited you. It's a bit cruel and unusual if you ask me."

"It might be, if Lance and I hadn't each bluffed our way into an uncomfortable friendship." Not for the first time, she lamented her insistence that they could still be friends, despite everything.

"Can't you just send him the bloody cheese knives and tell him you're going to be on holiday?"

"It's next weekend and I've already RSVPed. Plus one."

"Ah." Arthur runs an index finger along his lips as he often does when he's reading between the lines. His gaze drops to his plate, and he uses his last piece of toast to gather what remains of his breakfast. "So, how jealous are we aiming for?"

It was no use denying it. The man had the nerve to invite her in the first place. Unchecked, this was likely to become an elaborate game of chicken.

"Just a little."

"""

The party is annoyingly tasteful; mostly annoying because it is exactly as she would have planned it, had it been for her and Lance.

So there is that thought out of the way.

"Wait up," Arthur emerges from the car, smoothing his tie down.

Gwen glances back and pauses for a moment to appreciate him. The man has shown up for her, and he looks...good.

More destructive thoughts. Do not ogle your best friend.

Gwen's attraction to Arthur is like the obnoxious engine light in her car that she ignores because she can't bear the consequences of confronting it.

The fact is he is completely dateable, and completely off limits.

There were moments-each cataloged meticulously in her memory-when she thought the attraction might be mutual. And in those moments, she imagined it would be so easy to cross the threshold, to fall into bed with him, and to do the whole his-and-hers routine. But the idea that it wouldn't last longer than their unblemished friendship would is enough to sour her fantasy.

Besides, he'd want to pay for everything and she'd resent him for it. He'd never learn to do the bloody dishes, and she is sure he'd be disappointed in her subpar capacity for poncy social engagements.

Yes, she'd already hashed the whole imaginary relationship out in her mind to its inevitable conclusion, and each simulation ended the same: with Gwen, still single, but also short an amazing, frustrating, Arthur-shaped best friend.

Now if only her logical brain could speak to her heart, her pulse, her sex drive about why she shouldn't care what he looks like in a suit.

His touch at her lower back derails her thoughts and she shakes herself out of it, allowing him to guide her forward through the entrance.

Of course, Lance has chosen her favorite flowers to adorn the venue. She likes to think Lance had a direct say in the decorations because it makes her feel better about being annoyed at the situation.

These ones are perfect, he'd likely said. Gwen will surely notice them.

"Arthur?"

It's her, Lance's fiance, floating toward them, demure and lovely as all of the pictures she'd seen.

"Bloody hell," Arthur said through teeth gritted into a smile.

"I had no idea-I mean, do you know Lance?"

"He's...er, only through Guinevere, here," Arthur said, shoving Gwen in front of him a bit.

"Hello," Gwen waved awkwardly. "Lovely to meet you finally."

"Oh, you too," she frowned as if trying to remember something. "Guinevere, is it?"

Gwen nodded. Who could blame her? Apparently three years was hardly a footnote in Lance's book. "Er, congratulations!" she said belatedly, with probably too much enthusiasm.

"Thank you, we're so delighted you could come. Enjoy yourselves," she looked between them, and then turned to greet another guest.

"What was that all-?"

"Come on," Arthur's knees close behind her scooted her onward. "We're going to the bar."

"""

"I don't understand. How could that be your ex?"

Arthur sighed. "Do you remember that summer I went away?"

"Yeah?"

"And I met someone-"

Gwen's eyes widened. "Wait, she's the Cornish hen?"

"I wish you guys wouldn't have called her that. I never said she was Cornish. I said we met while I was in Cornwall." Then, he rolled his eyes at himself. "Nevermind, why do I even care anymore?"

"She's pretty," Gwen arched a brow, taking a sip of her drink as they both glanced over the bride-to-be. "Really pretty."

Arthur shrugged as if to say, of course she is.

"Wait a minute," Gwen said as she watched him watch her. She set her drink down, tugging his arm with a little force to get him out of Lalaland. "You don't still…?"

"Oh, please," he said with a little too much annoyance. "That was ages ago. Of course I'm not…"

"Do you want to leave?"

"What? No, I'm fine. I'm here for you, remember? We're meant to get drunk and eat all of their expensive catering."

"Right," Gwen laughed. Yet neither of them felt particularly disposed toward their drinks at the moment. "I know I brought you here because of Lance. But, you know, I could be here for you too."

He gave her a meaningful look. A look which said, I know what you're suggesting and I'm above it.

So they stood in their corner for a few minutes, watching the crowd mingle. Watching all of the happy couple's friends-equally, off puttingly happy couples-congratulating each other on their successes.

And then, with a heavy sigh and another glance around the room, Arthur picked up his drink and took a healthy sip.

"Sod it," he said, setting it down and grabbing her hand to pull her over to the dance area.

"What's the plan?"

"Do we need one?" He raised a brow, yanking her flush to him. "Put your arms around my neck and let's dance."

Gwen didn't need to be told twice.