Chapter Sixteen
Merlin and Gwaine had fallen into a sort of easy routine. Gwaine would, surprisingly, get up first; usually around noon. He would wash, and, if it was a travelling day, pack the bags. Around three, he would wake Merlin up and breakfast with him. They would then saddle up the horses and see how far they could get before nightfall. They never stayed more than two nights in the same place, even if they wanted to. Gwaine had a knack for losing the good graces of innkeepers.
Merlin had sunk into a sullen depression, which Gwaine was doing his most to fix. Most nights he would drink himself to sleep without saying much to Gwaine at all.
On around the fifth night of their travels Gwaine turned to Merlin and said, "You know you can talk to me - er - about anything, right, Merlin? It might help to, you know, talk."
Merlin simply looked away intently for a while before turning back to Gwaine and mumbling, "I'm good, thanks."
On this particular day, it had been a little less than three weeks since Merlin had found Gwaine. Despite trying his best, Gwaine hadn't succeeded in shaking Merlin out of his slump, which seemed particularly volatile that afternoon. As they settled in for the night, they were confronted with the problem of having to share a bed. After much bickering and Merlin insisting he had to sleep on the floor, they had agreed to share. After a few hours, and more than a few drinks, they had both gotten into bed. Gwaine, frustrated, stared at the ceiling looking for the right words.
"Merlin," he sat up.
"Mph," Merlin replied, halfheartedly.
"Sit up. We need to talk."
"What is it?" Merlin asked, worried.
"It's you!" Gwaine was exasperated. "I know how hurt you must be with the Arthur business, but you need to cheer up. It's not healthy, the way you've been acting, and I'm not sure what to do anymore."
"Gwaine, this is not your problem to fix." Merlin said earnestly. "This is for me to work through and me alone."
"But it doesn't have to be, Merlin. You deserve to be happy." And with that, Gwaine slid his hand around the back of Merlin's neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Gwaine's beard scratched Merlin's face, and he tasted like a strange combination of the different drinks they had enjoyed, but none of it bothered Merlin, and he lost himself there. The kiss was rough and needy, but it filled a part of the hole in Merlin which he hadn't yet realized the extent of.