Title: Hunger
Author: EachPeachPearPlum
Rating: T
Warnings: Language, as ever. Angsting in a most excessive fashion. Alcohol induced stupidity.
Disclaimer: What actually happens if I decide to claim, rather than disclaim? I'm not, but...well, curiosity is good, right?
Notes: Peach has failed dismally at almost everything she has set out to do this week, from writing this to writing essays to replying to reviews. She would vow to do better, but she isn't fond of lying, so instead she just apologises for all that, and for the fact that it is almost Friday where she is, rather than Wednesday/Thursday morning. She also extends her gratitude to Bertie for the anonymous review, and to everyone who is reading this without commenting. As always, anything you have to say is welcome, and the next update will (hopefully) be a nice punctual Wednesday afternoon. Until then, Peach bids you adieu. And hopes you forgive her for the shortness, and for her peculiar wish to speak in the third person (what can she say? It's late, and she hasn't been getting a whole lot of sleep lately).
Hunger - Chapter Seven
Merlin, when he has finished his unnaturally huge plate of food and refused the suggestion of a second helping (Gwaine trying to make him eat he can understand, but Leon? That's just weird), doesn't really have anywhere to go. Lancelot as good as told him he wasn't allowed to return to his own room, and he cannot continue to stay with Gwaine.
At the same time, though, he can't just take his belongings and find somewhere to stay until Lancelot recovers. At the very least, Gwaine deserves an explanation (even if he already knows, which he must because why else would he have wanted to leave Merlin in the dark?).
He goes to Gwaine's room to wait, because he owes him that much. He owes him honesty and apologies and anything he can do to make up for the pain he must have caused him. He just has to hope that ending things now will hurt Gwaine less in the long run than continuing it. Merlin doesn't love Gwaine, can't love him, and even if he could, destiny, Albion, Arthur would still come first. He stacks his belongings in a pile at the foot of the bed, remembering the day Gwaine told him he might as well just keep his clothes there, rather than sneaking back to his own room every morning to change. It had been so easy to say yes, even without loving Gwaine, because he cared for him – still does, even, or why else would he be doing what he is about to do? – and because this was something that was Merlin's alone. His secret, theirs and no one else's, and this, unlike all the other secrets Merlin keeps, was harmless. No one was being hurt by it.
Or so he thought.
X
Eventually, Gwaine arrives, snapping Merlin from his guilty reverie. He shuts the door behind him and slumps against it, his whole body screaming defeat. "Merlin," he says gently.
"Hello, Gwaine." Merlin knows he sounds just as gentle, and just as sad. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, Merlin. Sorry won't change anything."
"No," Merlin agrees. "But that doesn't mean I'm not." He stands, wanting to go to Gwaine and hug him, holding him the way he's always held Merlin when he was the one wearing that face. It would be a false comfort, with the conversation they are about to have, so Merlin just ends up stationary in the middle of the room.
"So is this it?" Gwaine asks, not sounding anywhere near as bitter as Merlin thinks he should do. "Is this when you tell me that you can't be with me anymore, because you love him and not me?"
Those aren't the words Merlin was planning to say; he was going to be more cautious about it, slower and steadier and – he hopes – kinder. But they convey his intent, if not all the emotion that goes with it. He stays silent.
"There's no way I could convince you this isn't necessary, is there?"
"No," Merlin replies, though there probably is. "And if you really do care, you won't try." It is a terrible thing to say, because, in all the time he has known Gwaine, Merlin has never once had reason to question whether Gwaine cares for him, and he certainly doesn't have reason now. But Merlin has been selfish so long that a few minutes more won't really do any further damage, and he can't listen to Gwaine present the many justifications he will have for them staying together. He doesn't want to leave Gwaine, because it will hurt himself almost as much as it will hurt Gwaine, but he has to.
"Please, Gwaine, don't make this any harder than it has to be. You're a good man; you deserve someone who can feel for you what you feel for me. You deserve to be loved, and I can't be that person." Merlin can feel his eyes tearing up and wills himself not to cry. Of all the unforgivable things he has done, crying now, making Gwaine comfort him – and he will, of course, because Gwaine so clearly has no sense of personal well-being where Merlin is concerned – would be worse than most of them.
"I don't want that person, whoever the hell they are." Gwaine steps away from the door and paces towards Merlin, the mask he's wearing too strong for Merlin to read anything more than the tiniest flickers of emotion he's letting through. He doesn't seem angry, though, only sad, and all the variant emotions that go with it. "I knew, Merlin, the first time I kissed you. I knew how you felt, how I felt. If I wanted someone who could love me back, I wouldn't have started this."
"You will, eventually. You'll get over me. You'll find someone else, if you look, if you leave me for long enough to try."
"Like you'll get over Arthur, right?"
Merlin could argue that this is something different, that what he feels for Arthur is different to what Gwaine feels for him, that it is more permanent, less likely to be forgotten. Gwaine will only ask why if he does so, and Merlin really doesn't think he could say. He just has to hope it is.
"Will you be happier with me gone, Merlin?" Gwaine asks, changing track, Merlin assumes, when it becomes clear that Merlin isn't going to reply to his remark about Arthur. "Will it make you happy to end things between us?"
Merlin's heart lift at the question, because all he has to do to convince Gwaine that this is for the best is to lie, and do so believably. This is a task made easier by the fact that he genuinely does believe it to be for the best. Not because he will be happier, but because he's sure Gwaine will be, given time. "Yes," he says, voice sounding steady to his own ears, and he's fairly certain his face is calm and confident, as much as it can be. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Gwaine, I promise. But I will be happier." Saying anything more will only make it obvious that he is lying; all he can do is wait to see if Gwaine buys it.
For a long moment, Merlin is sure he won't, is sure Gwaine knows him well enough to see through this. He doesn't know when during their conversation Gwaine stopped looking at him, but he turns back now, gaze intense and searching for a sign that this isn't the truth. Merlin does all he can not to provide one.
"Okay," Gwaine says finally. "If you're happy, then it's-" he doesn't finish the sentence, turning his back and putting a hand to his forehead. Merlin doesn't try to get him to look at him, because he knows Gwaine has given up on controlling his facial expressions, and he doesn't want to see what he looks like right now, no matter how cowardly that might be.
Still, he can't stay standing there watching Gwaine's misery any longer. He walks forward and reaches out, puts a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "I'm so sor-"
"I swear, Merlin, if you say you're sorry one more time..." The words are angry; the tone is not. "Just go, Merlin. Please, just..."
Merlin wants to obey, he really does, because the defeated slump of Gwaine's shoulders is doing terrible things to his insides and if he doesn't leave quickly he will change his mind. If it was only his mind that was in charge here, that wouldn't be so bad, but changing his mind about leaving Gwaine will not change how he feels. Merlin can stay, but he still won't love Gwaine, and regardless of how well he intends to treat him, it will be weeks – if not days – before he returns to old habits. He wants to leave, because he wants to do the right thing, but he doesn't know where to go. "I don't have anywhere else to go," he says, only realising when Gwaine turns to look at him that he should have left without saying anything; if Gwaine's posture had hurt him, it is nothing compared to how his expression makes Merlin feel.
"Lancelot's," Gwaine answers. "If he's in your room, he can't..." Merlin would laugh, if it weren't so far from funny; an inability to finish sentences has always been much more his thing than Gwaine's. Gwaine, who has always been so certain, who has always known exactly what to say, and Merlin has brought him to this.
He goes.
X
Gwaine knows Merlin doesn't want to hurt him, because Merlin never wants to hurt anyone. It shouldn't hurt, anyway; he's known all along that it would come to this, that Merlin wouldn't stay with him once he knew. He's had two days to prepare himself for this conversation (even if he spent half that time worrying about whether or not Merlin was going to survive long enough for them to have it), and it still feels like his heart is shrivelling up to the size of a fruit stone, like he has just taken a knife, an arrow, an axe for someone he doesn't even like.
He has spent years hearing and scorning the cliché of a person's world ending when they are left by the one they love, and now...now he is fucking living it.
There is a list of things Gwaine will not allow himself to do. He will not beg. He will not cry. He will not argue when Merlin tells him that this is the right thing to do. He will not let the angry, instinctual part of his brain take over, the part that will want to hurt Merlin as much as Merlin is hurting him.
But he can't stop himself from asking. He knows that Merlin will say yes, because he knows that Merlin knows his own happiness far outweighs Gwaine's in terms of importance. He knows Merlin will say yes, but he doesn't know if Merlin will be lying when he does so.
And then he realises how much of a mistake asking that question is, because he thinks Merlin lies to him, but he just isn't sure. All he knows is that he wants Merlin to be lying, so that he can fight back, present all the reasons for them to stay together that Merlin has asked him not to give. And because he wants it, he can't let himself accept anything he sees in Merlin's face or hears in his voice. He wants it to be a lie, so he can't trust the instinct that tells him it is.
"Okay," he says. "If you're happy, then it's-"
But it isn't. It isn't fucking okay. It's not all fine and dandy, and he can't make himself say that it is. For the first time in months, Merlin's happiness isn't enough, and Gwaine doesn't really know how to deal with it.
Merlin starts to apologise, again, and Gwaine just wants him gone before he snaps completely. He hasn't told Merlin that he's going home, or said any of the other things he should have said, and yet, when he calls Merlin's name just as the other man lays his hand on the door handle, he can only say those three words that Merlin already knows, the words that are too insignificant to have caused so much unhappiness, too simple to convey emotions so complex.
"I love you," he tells him, and even though he has never said it to anyone before he knows that isn't how it is supposed to sound. I love you is supposed to sound joyful, alive, synonymous with hopes and dreams and promises of forever. I love you is supposed to sound good, is supposed to be brimming with happiness and light and Gwaine never realised until he said it to Merlin just how damnably romantic he actually is. Because it won't fix anything, won't change Merlin's mind or heart, and yet he cannot let Merlin leave without saying it, just once, even though it sounds broken, apologetic, drenched in the knowledge that he is not Arthur and thus not enough.
Merlin doesn't turn around, doesn't say anything; a brief second of absolute stillness is the only thing that tells Gwaine he has been heard. Merlin goes, as Gwaine asked him to, shutting the door behind him, shutting Gwaine in his room alone.
Alone.
It is what Gwaine asked for, and not what he wants. Nor is it what he needs, but it's what he is.
The end of the week, his mental deadline for departure, is suddenly so very much too far away. He wants out, and he wants out now.
To hell with packing and permission. To hell with responsible and obedient.
To bloody fucking bastardly buggering hell with sober.
X
Beer.
Beer is his friend.
Beer makes everything just a little bit out of focus, just a little bit further away.
Beer doesn't abandon him as soon as it finds out how he feels for it.
He needs another drink.
X
Gwaine cannot understand just how wrong he has been lately, how he could be so stupid. He doesn't need Merlin. He doesn't need anyone.
He just needs beer.
Beer is his friend.
X
Bonnie is not Gwaine's friend. Nor is Beatrice, or whatever the other one is called.
"I think you've had enough now," she says.
Bitch.
A hand connects, really kind of sort of painfully, with Gwaine's left cheek, and the sting does something to lessen the fuzziness in his head. Fuck. That was out loud, wasn't it?
"Yes, Sir Gwaine, and so was that. I think it's best you leave now, before my father comes over."
Well, that's just fine, isn't it? It's not like there aren't other places Gwaine can go to for a drink. See if he ever comes here again.
X
Except the next place won't give him drinks, either.
No, okay, they give him one, two, three drinks (it might be more, but his vision is very definitely doubled and possibly tripled, so he isn't entirely sure). But they don't give him enough.
And then when he asks for (demands) another, they drag him out. Or someone does. Two someones.
So he maybe swung the first punch, but he didn't make everyone else join in. It's not Gwaine's fault.
"Look, you," one of the someones shouts at him. "I don't know who you are, but I don't expect to see you in here again. No one here deserves your anger."
With that, they let him go, suddenly and violently; Gwaine staggers, barely managing to avoid landing in the muddy puddle outside the door. He still ends up with his arse hitting the floor pretty damn hard, but he is neither wet nor filthy so it's more of a victory than experience has lead him to expect.
Besides, there is definitely someone who deserves his anger.
X
Merlin does not sleep well.
Of course, he wasn't really expecting to.
Lancelot's room is just so quiet, really. Quiet and unfamiliar. The sheets smell like Lance (and it isn't that Lancelot stinks, but his smell isn't the one Merlin is used to), and Merlin can't seem to get warm, despite how well wrapped in them he is.
Objectively, he has always known that he is cold, his hands and feet in particular. Until he moved in with Gwaine, it was never really an issue, except for the rare occasions he ended up sleeping head to toe with Arthur when they'd get stuck camping unexpectedly for one reason or another. And then Gwaine, who complained every time Merlin's icy toes brushed against him, but never moved away, who would warm Merlin's hands with his own after whining about their temperature, who would hold Merlin closer and tighter whenever he shivered.
Now he is sleeping alone, in a bed that is not his own, with cold toes and no one to warm them on, no soft breath in his ear, no arms wrapped around him, no legs draped over his.
Or, technically, he isn't. He is not sleeping. Merlin is cold, alone, and very much awake.
He tosses and turns for more hours than there should be in a night, finally giving up shortly before sunrise. It is far too early to wake Arthur (or anyone, for that matter), but lying in bed any longer is truly pointless, so he gets up, dressing in some of the clothes he took with him on leaving Gwaine's room.
The kitchens, Merlin thinks, will be open, bustling and busy, and seeing as he has no desire to eat in the mess hall (chances are, Gwaine will be there) he can go to the kitchens for breakfast, then collect something for Arthur when he is done. It isn't like Arthur doesn't yell whenever Merlin wakes him; at least with him shouting, Merlin can pretend something is still normal.
Besides, in the absence of magic and sleep, he's going to need all the extra time he can get.
Arthur does not seem to agree with him, or even understand, if his irritation is anything to go by. He doesn't comment on how visibly tired Merlin appears (and, having seen his reflection, Merlin knows just how terrible he looks), or on the absence of quips when Merlin wakes him, serves his breakfast and sets about tidying his room.
Merlin doesn't notice Arthur's impatient stare, though he imagines that by the time he says, "Merlin, hurry up," the staring has gone on for several minutes. He finishes tucking in the corners of Arthur's sheets in an almost vaguely neat way, then follows him from the room.
It is far harder to help Arthur into his armour than it has been for years. Merlin's hands do not seem willing to work in cohesion with his brain; he knows how to put on each piece of armour, how to fasten them together, and yet the information seems to get lost somewhere between his brain and his hands because nothing is doing what it is supposed to. Arthur allows him more than a couple of minutes of useless fumbling before pushing him away gently. "Go sit down, Merlin," he tells him, not unkindly. "I can finish this myself, and you're clearly too tired to begin training today."
Merlin does, because disobedience would take far too much thought (and the fact that he hadn't noticed the second set of armour lying next to Arthur's until Arthur had pointed it out to him sort of suggests that the prince isn't wrong). Gwen isn't there today, so Merlin sits alone and almost dozes, his back against the fence surrounding the field, until Lance shakes his shoulder gently. Even so, Merlin starts, and Lance takes a quick step back.
"Sorry, I was – did you sleep at all last night, Merlin?"
Merlin rubs his eyes, squinting blearily up at him. "I don't think so, no. Did you want something?"
"I was wondering if you knew where Gwaine is." At Merlin's frown, he elaborates. "He is not here, Merlin. He was not at breakfast, either, so I checked your – his room, I mean, and he was not there."
"Gwaine's not here?" Merlin looks at the field behind Lancelot to find that, yes, Gwaine is not present. "Where...?"
Lancelot shakes his head. "That is what I was asking you. Really, Merlin, wake up. Why did you not sleep, anyway?"
"I slept in your room. Or didn't, rather. Gwaine and I..." Finishing that sentence is too painful (and would make things sound like a mutual decision, which it in no way was, Merlin knows), so Merlin just stops, leaving Lancelot to work it out.
And he does, all of it. "You broke up? No, that is not what it was. You left him. Did you even let him explain?" Merlin hears the disapproval in his voice, just the faintest whisper of it, and wonders just how hard Lancelot is working to keep the rest of his opinions hidden, and why. This is Lancelot, first to point out and condemn any hint of unfairness, and yet he is trying to hide what he really thinks of Merlin's latest crappy treatment of Gwaine. "I'm sure you thought it was for the best," Lancelot adds, as some peculiar sort of apology, the fact that he doesn't even believe his own words audible in every syllable.
Merlin winces, too tired to be defensive, too sad to explain that he had to end it, that it wouldn't be fair to continue relying on Gwaine, and that if he had to hear Gwaine fight his decision, he wouldn't have been able to walk away. He just sits silently, absorbing Lancelot's unspoken displeasure with him, accepting it as the punishment he deserves, because he knows no one else is going to treat him as he deserves to be treated.
He waits, trying not to waver under the weight of the disdain Lancelot probably thinks Merlin hasn't noticed, until he hears Arthur shouting. "Sir Lancelot, we're waiting for you. Since you saw fit to ignore the advice given to you with regards to your own health, it would be appreciated if you would do what you are supposed to. Leave my servant alone, please."
"But I-" Lancelot begins, only to but cut off by Arthur.
"Now. No buts. You can talk later."
Lancelot obeys, shooting Merlin a look that states very clearly that he will be doing just that, at the earliest possible opportunity. Merlin can't even bring himself to worry about it.
He closes his eyes as the ring of steel on steel resumes, occasionally punctuated by a grunt or cry, and thinks that perhaps he actually manages to fall asleep for a short while; the next time he is definitely aware of his surroundings, training is over, the light shining through his eyelids is blocked slightly and he can hear Leon, Lancelot and Arthur talking in hushed voices.
