Afternoon light stretched shadows across the floor of Merlin's tiny living space. Rumpled dirty clothes and his only pair of shoes disturbed the otherwise clean, peaceful feel of the room. Gaius could gripe until he was blue in the face, but tidiness had never been his strong point. Merlin lay on his bed, the old magic text forgotten next to him, and considered his life in Camelot. Most things, he decided, were at least tolerable. He should work harder to be happy, to find his place, to have Arthur truly notice him. Putting his socks away could be a start.