(
"You agreed to what!? Why would you do that!? For fuck's sakes, Arthur!"
"What? What, Merlin? Should I just turn down clients left and right!?"
"No, but you could fucking turn the clients down you don't want to represent and then tell Uther to fuck the right off when he disagrees!"
)
The door slammed behind Arthur, rattling the picture frames and bookshelves. Merlin heard Arthur's thundering steps descending the stairs. A moment later, the creaking of the entrance door opening and closing sounded, barely audible through the rainstorm outside.
And then there was silence.
Merlin was left stood alone in their shared apartment, huffing and heaving, his breath coming out in short, angry puffs. The mug of tea in his hand had long since cooled, and his knuckles had gone white from how tight he was gripping it. Nearby a puddle of tea had soaked into the floor from when Merlin had gestured wildly at his boyfriend. It had probably stained the wood by now.
Anger bubbled and curled in Merlin's stomach, amplifying and thriving from his and Arthur's cutting words and scathing insult these last few hours.
The anger grew into fury, growing into rage. It built louder and larger, up into a crescendo, until its white noise roaring in Merlin's ears was all he could hear.
In a fit of raw emotion, Merlin screamed bloody murder. His throat hurt, having yelled plenty in the fight with Arthur. Then, tightening his grip on the mug even more, he hurled it across the living room and into the wall. It hit just beside the photograph of him and Arthur at the Christmas fair two years past, a flash-frozen moment from a much simpler time. The mug shattered on impact.
And that was what finally snapped Merlin out of it.
"No," Merlin croaked.
He crossed the living room and went to sit down by the broken shards. But, true to form, a fragment immediately bit into the ball of Merlin's palm the moment he had supported his weight on it. He hissed and wrenched his hand back, making him fall on his arse and making the cut much longer and deeper.
Any other time, Merlin would probably have felt anger or annoyance or, depending on the day, even have found amusement in his unending clumsiness. As it was, the hours of verbal sparring with his boyfriend had just left him feeling empty.
He bandaged the wound haphazardly with a greasy cloth left on the coffee table. That had also been a part of the fight. It might even have been what the fight originally had been about when it had only been a spat or a tiff. Merlin had forgotten to cast it in with the laundry last night after he'd eaten dinner, dead on his feet after a hellish shift in the A&E.
He gingerly grabbed the largest shard left of the mug – the bottom part of the handle along with about a third of the base – and cradled it, mourning its loss.
It wasn't a unique mug or even particularly pretty.
It was a gaudy green colour but for the handle, which was bright orange. After innumerable and repeated uses, the paint had begun to fade and chip at places. The designers might've gone for a garden-like theme, with the handle supposedly standing in for a flower. If that was the case, they failed miserably; the colour mismatched something horribly, and the splash of orange could in no way be mistaken for a flower.
Merlin had bought it on a whim at Tesco while running for groceries during grade ten. Or it might've been eleven. A long time ago, regardless. Merlin couldn't remember what had brought on the whim, but he had followed it and ended up with the mug. Somehow, it had become his go-to mug: it had prepared him for exams and dates, and had brought him through sixth form, university, and medical school. One memorable time at university, when his roommates had used up all the bowls without cleaning up after themselves, he'd even used the mug instead for ice cream. It was after Cenred – the bellend that he was – had cheated on him and then blamed it on Merlin for being absentminded and noncommittal. What a cock.
But the point was this: the mug had been in Merlin's life longer than even Arthur, and now it lay shattered on the floor.
Because of Merlin.
God. What a mess he was.
What a mess they were.
Merlin and Arthur had always argued a lot in their relationship. They'd always had good banter, enjoying working each other up with jibes and small punches. Usually, it ended with them tangled naked in sheets, having the most amazing sex. Before they'd gotten together, it had left them both majorly sexually frustrated and nursing the worst case of blue balls – which had only led to more sniping and arguing.
In other words, it was part of the rhyme and rhythm of their relationship.
Lately, though, the arguments hadn't been banter. Instead, they had been more malicious, had turned nasty and intense and unhealthy. They always began small – a comment made, a sound uttered, or a look shot – but then they would repeatedly evolve into the same old disagreements and screaming matches.
Over and over and over again.
(
"I don't know why you put up with him! He always criticises you, he always puts you down, and you always end up broken-hearted when he doesn't react in the way you want him to! He never will! Why can't you understand that!?"
"Christ, Merlin! What do you want me to do!? He is the only family I have left!"
"Well, fuck me, Arthur! Maybe I thought you considered me family as well after seven years!"
)
They'd met back in sixth form. Merlin had transferred as Ealdor's upper secondary education had long since shut down due to a lack of students. Thus, Merlin moved to Camelot and moved in with his Uncle Gaius. They'd only known each other peripherally, their social circles somewhat overlapping. They hadn't quite liked each other then, their banter being more fighting than jibing.
Then they'd both been accepted into Avalon university, the only ones in their social circles to be so. So it happened, without even meaning to, that they'd gravitated toward each other. Familiarity, the devil you know, and all that jazz. Before Merlin had blinked, Arthur had become his closest friend, far more intimate than any he'd had before.
It was only in the summer before their last year that they'd gotten together. Alcohol had been involved, and so had Gwaine. The morning after had been mortifying. It wasn't as if Merlin had never seen Arthur naked before. Still, it was quite another thing to wake up with a hangover, with his best mate's limp cock nestled between his slick cheeks as said mate snored into Merlin's ear.
Merlin had fled before Arthur had awoken. Arthur being Arthur, however, had tracked him down within hours. Then, in his own articulate way – mostly insulting Merlin and the whole situation – he confessed his feelings.
They'd quickly returned to Arthur's flat and hadn't been seen for a week.
That they'd started out friends was a blessing in some regards. Before they knew how the other moaned with pleasure, Merlin and Arthur trusted each other, come hell or high water. They weren't always great at communicating, but they didn't have to: a glance, and they'd always been able to read the other. Arthur made sure Merlin hadn't forgotten to eat or sleep or function as a human being during the worst part of medical school, and Merlin had taken care of Arthur when he had been sick with the flu, when he had been nothing but sweat and vomit and just utter grossness.
On the other hand, Merlin and Arthur entirely skipped part of the unfamiliar excitement of a new relationship. No, it wasn't that they hadn't been excited when they finally had gotten together, and they'd explored each other's bodies and kinks and-. Yeah. But other than that, there hadn't been much new to discover. They knew each other out and in, knew all their deepest shames and darkest skeletons in the closet.
This also meant they knew which punches to throw when they wanted to hurt the other.
(
"Why do you even care!? It's not like I can come crying to you when you're never here!"
"Seriously? Seriously!? You're using my work hours against me!? Again!? It's never been a secret how much work and studying would take up my daily life!
"Exactly! You've never prioritised our relationship! There's always a test, there's always an exam, there's always a case that's all the more important!"
)
Merlin ran out the door and down the stairways, two steps at a time. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Please don't be too late. Please don't have left. It had only been a few minutes. Certainly, Arthur couldn't have gotten too far. Certainly, Arthur hadn't given up on them yet.
Ripping the entrance door open, Merlin was met with a face full of rain. He immediately began shivering – Arthur had always been the warm one of the two of them – and regretted forgetting his windbreaker in the middle of October. But what was a little water and a smidge of cold compared to love?
He ran down the last few steps to the pavement and frantically began looking around. Damn it, he could barely see an arm's length in front of him, the water bucketing down in heavy sheets. How in the world was he going to find-.
The glow of a fag across the road caught Merlin's eyes.
Merlin squinted, trying to make out the figure. He released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding when he made out Arthur's blonde crow's nest of a hairdo. He was standing under one of the oaks lining the street, mouthing a fag. Merlin didn't know Arthur had begun smoking again. For all he knew, this was the one that had finally broken his smoke-free streak. Then again, maybe not. It had been weeks, if not months since they'd really talked.
"Arthur!" Merlin called through the rain, his raw voice cracking.
Arthur's head snapped up, their eyes meeting. Time seemed to slow down as they were simply stood in the pouring rain, staring at each other. A car passed between them, splashing water every which way, and then another drove by. Then they were left alone again.
For a moment, for a frightful spell, Merlin believed Arthur would put out his cigarette against the tree, step out from under the oak, and leave. Just decide that he'd had enough, and that Merlin- that they weren't worth it anymore. And he did, in fact, put out his cigarette against the tree, and Arthur did indeed step out from under the oak and into the pouring rain, but he didn't leave. Instead of turning and walking down the street, walking away from Merlin, and them, and seven years in heaven and hell – instead, Arthur threw caution to the wind and stepped out onto the road.
Before Merlin knew it, Arthur's arms were wrapped tightly around him, his face firmly pressed into Merlin's shoulder, and his whole chest shuddering with his rapid breathing.
Merlin returned the hug without hesitation. He embraced his boyfriend something fiercely, holding on and never wanting to let go. God, why were they like this? Merlin was not going to let this amazing man slip through his fingers; even with all the hurting and the fighting and the screaming, life without Arthur was an impossibility.
"I'm sorry," murmured Merlin into Arthur's hair. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."
Arthur tightened his arms around Merlin. "Me too. God, Merlin, I'm just-. I'm just so sorry." He leaned back and planted a kiss on Merlin's forehead. "I just-."
"Yeah." Merlin sadly smiled. "Me too."
(
"Give me one example, then, Arthur!"
"You want an example? I'll give you a fucking example! How about when you cancelled last minute on the Christmas Bash last year? Do you know how humiliating it was to show up alone to that dinner!? To have to explain repeatedly that my boyfriend couldn't be arsed to prioritise me for once!?"
"Oh, cry me a fucking river! Mordred was out sick, and we were short-staffed! It wasn't like I had much choice in the matter!"
"No, you never seem to have a choice in the matter! It's just how things are – the way things always are!"
"Why would you even want me there!? Uther hates my guts, and he would just spend all the time sneering at me and insulting me under his breath! He always does that! And do you refute him!? Do you stand up for me!? No!"
)
"What?"
It was the first thing Arthur said after they got out of the street and back in their apartment. They were both soaking wet, and Merlin couldn't feel his toes. Arthur had only just draped his coat over the radiator to dry when he spotted the broken remains of Merlin's mug.
Merlin felt his ears flush, shame curling in his stomach. "I'm sorry. I got mad."
"But-. I don't-. Merlin, isn't that your-," Arthur stuttered three unfinished sentences before freezing. Merlin followed his eyes, and-. Ah. The blood. Arthur looked him up and down, zeroing in on his hand. "You're injured."
"I slipped."
"Merlin."
Merlin sighed and presented his badly bandaged hand. The cloth was already soaked; the rain had mixed with the blood, giving it a diluted red colour.
Arthur let out a harsh breath of air, which another night might've been an exasperated chuckle. "Only you, Merlin," Arthur fondly said. Merlin's heart hurt at the emotion. He'd feared he would never see Arthur direct it at him again.
Slowly undressing the wound, Arthur's brow furrowed. Merlin winced as the cloth stuck to the cut and winced again as Arthur prodded it. Fresh blood started oozing. It was not exactly just the scratch Merlin had dismissed it as.
"Come on," Arthur prompted and led Merlin into the kitchen.
Merlin hefted himself up on the kitchen counter, wincing as the practised move put pressure on the wound and smeared a streak of blood on the counter. He was usually sat here in the morning with a cuppa and a piece of toast, either before or after going to the hospital. It was just by the window; something about looking out over their small community as it woke up intensely resonated with Merlin. Arthur rummaged in one of the cupboards for their first aid kit and brought it out with a bottle of spirit. He made a wordless motion, and Merlin put his hand in his boyfriend's, palm up. Then Arthur began meticulously cleaning Merlin's cut.
The silence between them was fragile and tense, only broken momentarily by Merlin's hisses. Arthur said nothing, but his eyes flew to Merlin's, full of concern, worry, and love each time. When it happened, Merlin smiled gently, and Arthur smiled softly in return, and Arthur continued his work.
Eventually, though, one of them had to break the silence. That one was Merlin.
"Things can't go on like this," Merlin said.
Arthur didn't respond nor act as if he had heard Merlin. Merlin knew he had, though. This was just Arthur needing time for processing.
Finishing swapping the cut, Arthur wiped it off with a serviette and brought out the dressings. He slowly bandaged the cut. Then he quietly agreed, "No. They can't." He finished tying the bandage and looked up at Merlin again. His eyes were watery, full of tears and fears and hurt and heartbreak. Finally, he brokenly asked, "Do you want us to break up?"
"No," came Merlin's answer without pause.
Arthur let out a shuddering breath. It almost seemed like he buckled in on himself. Then the tears silently began rolling down his cheeks. Uther had long since beaten sobs, wails, and sniffles out of his son, but Arthur could still very much cry.
Feeling his own tears start to well up again, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck and brought him in for a hug. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's waist and planted his face in his chest, and Merlin felt his shirt dampen. Merlin closed his eyes, let his own tears silently roll down his cheeks, and snuggled into Arthur's hair.
(
"And don't think I haven't heard those late-night phone calls in the kitchen! It's Gwaine, isn't it!?"
"Oh, for the love of-. Really!? You're bothered by me talking on the phone!?"
"You're not even denying it!"
"There's nothing to deny! Yes! I'm talking on the phone with Gwaine after I've had a horrible shift at the hospital! He gets it! He is a nurse, and he has had the very same shifts! I would talk to you, but you're fucking impossible to wake up when I need to talk, and God forbid I do wake you up because all you do is whine and moan at me for needing you at such an hour!"
)
Arthur went to clean up Merlin's mug while Merlin packed away the first aid kit and wiped down the counter with spirit. Afterwards, they end up snuggling on their settee, both grabbing each other, desperate for contact, and both drained and exhausted.
"We're a proper mess, aren't we?" Arthur stated more than asked, chuckling morosely. Merlin hummed in agreement. "What now?"
Merlin sighed heavily. "Therapy, I think. Couple's as well as individual. For us both."
Arthur's body stiffened minutely, and looking up, Merlin saw the sour look on his boyfriend's face. Merlin knew Arthur didn't like the idea of therapy; Merlin had suggested it in the past, individual that, for Arthur to sort out his feelings about his father. It had always led to an argument. For a moment, Merlin's body prepared for the same outcome once again.
Instead, Arthur grunted in defeat and said, "Yeah, alright. Therapy."
Merlin nodded and gave Arthur a sad smile. He knew this wasn't easy for Arthur. Not that this was easy for Merlin, but Arthur had always been the more emotionally constipated of the two, curtsey of Uther. Their years together had eased a lot of that trauma – because as much as Arthur denied it, Merlin was confident: it was trauma – but he still had a lot of odd hang-ups. It wasn't as if Merlin communicated his feelings flawlessly, but he didn't lock them up in his mind and threw away the key.
Merlin sat up and cupped Arthur's cheek, caressing his cheekbone. Arthur leant into it, kissing Merlin's wrist. Then he reached up and cradled Merlin's head; he brought Merlin down, pressing their lips together for several long moments.
"You know I love you, don't you?" Arthur asked.
"I do," Merlin answered. "And I love you too. I'm sorry for pushing you about Uther. I know it isn't easy for you."
"It isn't. Thank you," said Arthur. "And I'm sorry for letting him get into my head. I do see you as my family as well. More than I see him, in fact." They lay down on the couch again. Arthur snuggled and pressed a kiss into the crown of Merlin's hair. "And I'm sorry for throwing your work hours back at you. And for bitching at you talking with Gwaine. I should be the one you talk to, but I'm too impossible when I'm awoken. I'll work on that."
"Thank you," Merlin murmured into Arthur's chest. "Maybe I can cut back some. Be more at home. Or maybe shuffle some shifts around, so I'm home more when you are. It might take some time, but-."
"No. No, please don't do that," Arthur cut him off. "You're an amazing doctor, and you will do amazing things. You love what you do – you're so passionate about it."
"I love you more," Merlin declared. "Life without medicine would be hard, but life without you would be impossible. Don't kid yourself, Arthur; if it came down to you or medicine, it wouldn't even be a fight – you would win, hands down."
Arthur's eyes shone with tenderness, and he smiled gently. "I wouldn't ask that of you," he told Merlin. "We can figure out something later. Something that works for both of us. You're not the only one with long work hours; you shouldn't be the only one making sacrifices."
Merlin hummed in agreement. He hesitated for a moment but then asked, "Arthur?"
"Yeah?"
Merlin sat up again so he could look him in the eyes. Arthur had bags under his, and Merlin was sure he didn't look much better. Merlin grabbed Arthur's hands, squeezing them. He then asked, "Please don't storm off from the apartment anymore. It hurts too much." Merlin's eyes began to sting with tears again. Arthur reached up and gently wiped them away. He kissed his palm and pressed it first on Merlin's left cheek and then on his right. Merlin huffed a small laugh and then continued, "I understand you need to breathe and get away from me after we fight. I really do. But each time you storm out that door, I fear so much that you won't return. So, please, don't leave anymore. Go to another room. Lock the door. Don't talk to me for hours, even days – just don't leave. I promise I won't follow after you, and I'll give you your space. Just-. Please don't leave me."
"Okay," Arthur readily agreed. "I won't."
Merlin let out a shaky breath. "Thank you."
Arthur tugged on Merlin's arm, and Merlin lay down again, resting his head on Arthur's chest. Arthur told him, "I won't leave you. You're stuck with me. Like that fungus last winter."
Merlin snorted. "Prat."
They weren't okay, and they weren't going to be okay for a while. They would fight again, and it would most likely be the same fights as before. Hopefully, though, Arthur wouldn't storm out of their apartment anymore. Hopefully, the therapist could give them some tools to stop the arguments before they became fights.
They would get through this, however. This Merlin believed with every fibre of his being. They were going to be okay because Arthur was stubborn. They were going to be okay because Merlin didn't know when to give up. They were going to be okay because they both loved each other something impossibly fiercely, and they wanted them to be okay.
Neither was ready to give up. Both were ready to put in the work to make this relationship last.
They weren't okay, but they were going to be.