Merlin got ready well before time and clattered downstairs to supervise the catering staff, because that is the responsible adult thing to do and has got nothing to with the test platter promised by the caterer as a means of quality control. He found Mrs Baxter hovering outside the kitchen door, looking positively distraught; her kitchen had been taken over by strangers and she could do nothing about it. Merlin sat her down in the breakfast room adjoining the kitchen and fetched her a cup of tea. He sat with her, saying soothing things and it worked for a while, until one of the catering staff delivered the test platter to Merlin. Mrs Baxter gave a scoff that belied her usual good nature and huffed out of the breakfast room. Merlin shrugged and dug into the platter heaped with sample of the dishes he had ordered for the occasion.

Merlin made his way through the various dishes with the sort of concentration he reserved for art and of course, food. Everything tasted fine, including things that organic and vegetarian and generally healthy. As he was chewing through some fish dish, he heard the sound of laughter coming from the hallway. Merlin picked up his plate and went out of the breakfast room, shouldering his way out of the door with his back first. He turned once he was outside the door and found Gwaine in the living room, talking to Baxter.

Merlin's breath caught. He mouth hung open, probably displaying the half chewed food in it.

Maybe it was the lighting in the room, maybe it was the tuxedo Gwaine wore, making him look like a gentleman of the old school…new school…

Merlin was getting confused and his eyes went wide with disbelief, perhaps with the acknowledgement that Gwaine du Bois, his best friend, was simply gorgeous.

Of course Merlin had known Gwaine was gorgeous. It was so blatantly obvious that it sometimes can be a little annoying; the rest of humanity struggles with bed head, but Gwaine had never had nothing more than the perfect tresses he had. Even his bed head was gorgeous and this was confirmed by Arthur himself once, his expression halfway between disgust and awe. Gwaine was gorgeous with or without a beard, adding more to the list of advantages God had bestowed upon him.

Of course, Merlin prefers Gwaine with a beard; he does not know why but…

Oh God.

Merlin did a mental double take as he wondered since when he preferred Gwaine with a beard?

The fact that he preferred a man was never an issue because…well, Merlin really did not think it should be an issue. He was an artist and he had always had an appreciation and admiration for men and women. In fact, he thinks his group of friends are the single most best looking bunch of people he has ever laid eyes on. Of course, Merlin had to admit he was pretty easy on the eyes as well, but the point is, if he had admired his friends' looks, it was basically for the aesthetic values of it. Like Morgana's eyes, Guinevere's limbs, Arthur's jaw line and Lance's everything ('Perfectly perfect and don't argue with me. I know I am right and you know I am right,' as Morgana loved to point out). Merlin had never had any preference for how he would want any one of them to be, he just took them as they are.

And now Merlin found himself feeling something he has never felt before. There was Gwaine, standing at the hallway, talking to Baxter about something and here Merlin was, wishing that he was next to him, listening to him speak, drinking in the Irish accent and laughter tinted voice. The distance between seemed too far and Merlin found himself frowning at Baxter, wondering what was it the butler was saying to Gwaine that he has the latter's complete attention. It must have something earth-shattering because here Merlin was, standing for the last five minutes or so and Gwaine has yet to notice him.

That has never happened before. Merlin had gotten used to having Gwaine's attention on him at all times. In fact, Merlin does not mind. He has never minded. Gwaine kept Merlin functioning normally; like moving him when the queue he is in is moving, throwing a blanket over him when he falls asleep on the sofa or picking out the olives from the slice of pizza before handing it to Merlin. Of course, Lance and Arthur or Morgana and Guinevere would do the same as well, but for the majority of the time, it was only ever Gwaine.

And no, Gwaine was not Merlin's child minder. Gwaine was…

Merlin's train of thoughts was interrupted when the doorbell rang. Baxter excused himself and went out of the living room. Merlin found himself approaching Gwaine. And found himself rather nervous as he did so.

It was as if he had never seen Gwaine before.

Or…

It was as if he was seeing Gwaine for the first time.

"Merlin." Gwaine's greeting was one filled with his usual cheer. Merlin's insides did something of a flip-flop so intense that he was afraid he was going to throw up. He swallowed the fish he had been chewing on and off since coming out of the breakfast room. Gwaine turned to him, a grin in place; the grin that has charmed many women and a fair score of men as well…

Merlin felt something…an unnamed emotion that could might as well indigestion…in the region near his tummy, but before it could take hold, Gwaine stepped up to Merlin and started adjusting his bowtie. Of course, Gwaine looked as if he had a whole army of designers dressing him up; he was perfectly turned out, looking as if he could conquer worlds with his disarming grin and affable manners. He probably could, Merlin thought, trying not to squirm so much as Gwaine's fingers brushed against the skin of his neck.

Merlin was again surprised when he felt himself flinching at Gwaine's touch. It has never happened before; Gwaine was a bit more touchy-feely than the rest of them, save for maybe Morgana and Merlin was used to that. But now, he did not want to.

Actually, he wanted to prolong the contact of Gwaine's touch on his skin, but he did not want to as well.

It was as if he was asking for a little too much, afraid that the longer Gwaine keep on touching him, the less happy Merlin would be when Gwaine did not.

Gwaine finished with the bowtie and removed his hand from Merlin's collar. Merlin frowned when he realized that Gwaine's hand was no longer in contact with his person. He did not know what was worse; having Gwaine touch him, not having Gwaine touch him or this profound confusion as to why it suddenly matters so much as to what Gwaine does…

Like why it should matter when Gwaine smacked his lips as he eyed the food on the plate Merlin was holding.

And should it really matter that Gwaine picked he food from the fork in Merlin's hand with his mouth?

And should it really matter, the way he smiled and his eyes twinkled with mischief?

Why should all these things matter when it something that Merlin was used to all this while?

Why should it matter when this, whatever this was, was nothing new between them?

It was not until Gwaine moved away from him that Merlin realized he had been holding his breath. Well, more as if he had forgotten how to breathe really, but still.

Merlin stood where he was, against his will that was rebelling against the physical distance forming between him and Gwaine. It was if he needed to be near Gwaine…

Which was crazy. And weird. And freaky.

Because Gwaine was Gwaine. And Merlin was Merlin and they were the best mates there ever was.

Merlin almost hummed at the thought of how lucky it was that Gwaine was his best friend. It's a pretty solid bond, and nothing can come between them…

Like that huge, hulking man who just walked into the living room with Lance and greeted Gwaine in a way that seemed much too…familiar than just the usual camaraderie Gwaine shares with the men he, Arthur and Lance play football with. Lance gave Merlin a salute and a smile and returned the way he came, heading towards a pretty blond woman who was waiting for him at the door way, her fingers twisting around the drawstrings of the little pouch she carried. Merlin wondered who she was. And it did not escape Merlin's notice that Lance looked a bit tired, perhaps he was still recovering from his journey to New York. Merlin found about the journey on Monday morning when he wondered out loud where Lance was as he paced Gwaine's office while he waited for Gwaine to finish a brief he had been working on just before making Gwaine buy him second breakfast. Lance had returned to London on Monday evening, and managed to meet them up for a hasty lunch the next day. He did not elaborate much on what happened in New York. Merlin and Gwaine guessed that it could not be any good, simply because Uther Pendragon was involved in the equation.

The sound of laughter diverted Merlin's attention back to the newcomer, quite possibly the most tallest man Merlin had ever seen (and that is saying something because Merlin hangs out with some pretty tall people and he is no midget himself either), was very friendly with Gwaine. Too friendly. In fact they looked as if there were getting on like a house on fire.

A bitter coil, something akin to nausea, followed closely by irritation, with anger just adding a little heat to it, unwound itself within Merlin. The tall guy had his hand on Gwaine's arm and was leaning forward…honestly, there was no need to lean in that close; Gwaine sure as hell was not whispering and there was no other noise in the room to interfere with whatever he was saying. And whatever it was that Gwaine said, it must have been one hilarious thing because the tall guy threw back his head and laughed heartily. He smiled at Gwaine, shaking his head as he said something and Merlin saw that Mr Tall-But-With-No-Concept-Of-Personal-Space had alarmingly clear blue eyes and dimples.

Dimples. How can he compete with dimples?

A thought, which, naturally, caused Merlin to do another double take, for he was not sure when it became a competition.

It here implying being the sole recipient of Gwaine's attention.

Mr Tall straightened up and threw back his head, laughing. Merlin could not help to see that his shirt and coat were pulled taut across his chest and shoulders in a most alluring way...

Merlin could not help feeling he was losing...

One of the catering staff came in and relieved Merlin of the plate he had been holding, halting all depressing thoughts; halting it, not making it stop or dissipate entirely. Merlin mumbled a thank you and could not say more than that as he struggled to rearrange the expressions on his face from something less nasty than the one he was sure he was sporting at that moment because Gwaine beckoned Merlin to him. Merlin obliged and took up his rightful place next to Gwaine.

"Merlin, I'd like you to meet Percival Thatcher. He and I went to uni together…"

There was more to that introduction but it was all Merlin heard.

Percival Thatcher. Tall, muscled, dimpled and with an easy smile.

Merlin recognized him then.

Percival Thatcher.

The man Gwaine dated back in uni.

The bitter coil near the region of Merlin's suddenly had a more comprehensible definition.

Jealousy.

=X=