"Asshole." Arthur snarled softly.
They padded into the kitchen, Arthur wincing at the hard wood under his toes. He'd forgotten how the cold permeated into the floorboards, and suddenly he wished he'd remembered to pack a pair of slippers. At the very least an icepick, so he could take a better stab at thawing his glacier of a father.
"Come on boney," He said, mussing Merlin's already hopeless hair. "Let's see what greens I can find you to eat."
Merlin rubbed into the touch like a house-cat, placing the stack of dirty breakfast dishes into a stainless steel sink. "You have two fridges?" he announced, turning circles in the open kitchen.
"We have lots of things. Four cars, eight bedrooms, a pool, a whole mansion of meaningless possessions and endless hostility—"
"And floral still life's?" He quipped, regarding a painting of lilies hung to the right the kitchen island. "Didn't take your Father for an art connoisseur," he scratched his neck adding, "More of a head hunter—"
"He isn't. That's my mother's painting."
The revelation made Merlin's eyes sparkle. He nosed closer to the canvas. "Lovely," he concluded, settling on a bar stool at the island. "Was she formally trained?"
Arthur sifted through the first fridge. "Two year degree in Fine Arts, but she gave it up for my father when they got married. Like a fool in love."
"I think I can sympathize…"
He tore the cap off a Tropicana juice with his teeth. "Are you joking? What the hell's romantic about that—"
Merlin frowned, looking ashamed he'd opened his mouth, and Arthur swallowed his guilt with a gulp of orange juice straight from the carton. He hated being short with Merlin. It made him feel like a prick. Reminded him that if he didn't keep his flaring temper in check, he'd morph into his father—the last person he wanted to be.
"What I meant is, being lovers means being equals," he corrected. "One partner shouldn't sacrifice everything for the other. I'll never let you jeopardize your future for me again, Merlin."
The first fridge turned up empty, so Arthur searched the second, putting the only veggies he could find on the granite counter top as a peace offering. If Merlin wasn't in the mood for celery and two carrots, well, that was his problem.
"I'm sorry about your Mother," Merlin said, biting the tip off a wilting carrot. "I didn't mean to bring up a difficult subject..."
"Her name was Ygraine, and don't be," Arthur shrugged. "It's not like I remember her. She had me two months early, died from complications with preeclampsia. Shouldn't have me to begin with, she never very healthy from what I've heard. But my father wanted kids, and well, you've seen how he is. Uther gets what Uther wants and to hell with everyone else…"
Merlin's voice dropped a notch. "Arthur, don't say that—"
He subtly ignored Merlin. He didn't want to hurt him, but neither could he handle the pity etched on his boyfriend's face. He'd gotten enough pity in his childhood from friends and relatives with living mothers. Mothers who packed them sandwiches for lunch. Mothers they'd known and loved. Arthur had a brief taste of that the seven years Morgan's mom was married to Uther. But even at five it didn't escape his notice that Morgan got twice as many cookies as him at snack time. That his stepmother read stories and sung songs to her "real" child before bedtime, instead of locking her in a dark bedroom alone, as Arthur was.
He looked up at the painting. It was delicate, eerie in its soft beauty, just like the black and white photo of Ygraine on her wedding day Uther kept at his nightstand. She looked like a child bride in the picture. A smile touching her lips as she stared kindly at whomever had taken the photo. Arthur had seen the photo and her paintings a thousand times, yet he never tired of looking at either.
"Talk to me," Merlin pressed. He reached for Arthur's hand across the counter, his voice thick with concern. "Please."
Arthur shook his old memories aside, saying more to himself then Merlin,
"My father threw away most of my mom's belongings after she died; Morgan's mom, purged the rest. But I guess he couldn't bear to get rid of her paintings. I used to look at them for hours, then one day I decided to take it up myself. It's laughable looking back; I was ham-fisted, far better with a baseball bat then a paintbrush. But I was convinced learning to paint would help me understand the person she was. I never have, but in a way it's helped me understand myself—"
He let go of Merlin's fingers. Leaned over the counter top and fiddled with the leafy stalk of the carrot in Merlin's mouth. "You could say going to art school saved me—"
The edges of Merlin's eyes crinkled, the curiosity in them unmistakable. "How so?" he asked between bites.
Arthur tugged the half eaten vegetable from Merlin's mouth, sadness cast aside, and urge rising in his belly to take its place. He leaned in, nibbling tentatively at Merlin's lips as if he were a main course. Merlin's eyes went half lidded, after a moment he pulled back, his Adams apple bobbing in his throat.
Arthur chuckled. "Well, I never would have been this happy if I hadn't gone to California and met—"
"Met whom?"
A young woman was coming in from the sliding door to the patio. She was clad in an open plum coat and black leggings that accentuated her slim calves. At her throat dangled a solitary diamond necklace, a present from her sweet sixteenth, jet-black hair dribbling in a loose boho braid. Arthur immediately recognized his half sister Morgan by her superfluous amount of cleavage, and lips that held a mischievous arch—just fishing for trouble.
"Oh, don't let me interrupt you, do go on—" she teased, kicking the snow off her boots.
"Didn't realize Uther unlocked your kennel this early, Morgan," Arthur barked. "What's the matter, water bowl run dry?"
Morgan peered into the kitchen, checking to see that all the doors were shut. She unzipped her boots and replied. "I spent the night Mom's."
"That code for Accolon's place?"
"Accolon and I are old news-"
"Get back to me in a week. You two are as on again off again as a pair of rabbits." Arthur grinned.
The look on her face could have shot bullets. Arthur was only too happy when Morgan passed out of firing range, slipping onto a stool next to Merlin.
"As far as daddy is concerned, I'm not home yet. If either of you breathes a word to him, I swear I'll—"
Merlin choked nervously on his carrot.
Like a puma fixed on a crippled doe, Morgan turned. "Is this the friend from California dad said you were bringing?" She smirked. "Doesn't look like the usual meat-heads you hang out with, Arthur. Kinda cute actually, in a dorky way—"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Leave him be Morgan….."
Merlin dropped his carrot and offered his hand. "I'm Merlin," he stammered. "Emrys."
"Merlin? The name's familiar. Hey, you're Gwen's roommate right? I've seen pictures of you two together on Facebook. So that means your Arthur's—"
"Roommate by default," Arthur replied. When Morgan raised a questioning eyebrow he added, "My social network in California isn't what it used to be. I'm working on it."
"You and Gwen go to fashion classes together, don't you Merlin?" She looked Merlin up and down like a cut of meat, rolled her tongue across her front teeth and said, "Fashion. Huh. So Merlin, are you—"
Arthur cursed inwardly. Hadn't he heard that line before? Said it himself only a few months ago? In some ways his powers of deduction and Morgan's were eerily similar. Even if he'd rather burn at the stake then ever admit it. He inserted himself in-between them, with the pretext of handing an apple to Merlin. "Would I have invited him down for the weekend if he was?"
It wasn't a lie, more a like a trick. Morgan knew him as the Arthur of infamous keg nights, the Arthur who'd broken her friend's hearts with a single wink. He prayed that she could still see him that way—at least, for a few more days.
"So, what's the vacation plan, boys?" She asked, Arthur's reply satisfying her curiosity—at least for the moment. "Get smashed at the local bars?"
"Basically," Arthur replied, heading back to the fridge. "This is my obligatory visit home, you're required to have one when you move away. I figure Merlin and I can tour South Bend, hit the bars, shovel snow, get frostbite, all that exciting shit."
"Tour South Bend? That'll take all of five minutes. But I can help with the bar part. I'm meeting a few friends tonight at the Linebacker, you two can tag along. Call up your buddies. That is if Arthur promises not to rebound with any of my other friends—"
Arthur slammed the fridge shut, a half-eaten Kraft single dangling in his mouth. "Let it go, Morgs—"
"I'm still pissed at you," she cut.
"Come on! You ripped me a new asshole over the phone. Let's move on—"
Morgan threaded her fingers together, considering. "Fine," she sighed, cradling her chin. "I'll play nice, only because I never see you anymore—"
Arthur swallowed what was left of his processed cheese. "You need a designated driver for tonight. That it?"
She sulked like a toddler with her hand caught in the cookie jar. "Come on, just do it Arthur. We can take dad's truck-"
"If I agree, will you promise not to hug me?"
"Ewwww, gross. I'd prefer bonding with liquor," Morgan grinned. "Nothing says Pendragon family reunion, dear brother, like the stench of alcohol."
