It's been nearly a year since I dropped from the face of the Earth, and there are a million things that have happened in my life. I wrote this little piece at my new workplace during my night shift, and there's no beta for me other than Grammarly to help me work through this.
Enjoy this little thing as I try to get out of my writing block. Reviews are helpful for my currently depressed life!
Written for the Land of Myth Coffee Melee fill.
By the time the phone rings for the twenty-fourth time, Arthur Pendragon wants nothing more than to crawl up in a blanket and sleep for the rest of his life. But unfortunately, that is not an option for him.
By the time the receiver is placed back on the phone, Arthur sees tiny worms swimming in his field of vision when he closes his eyes. Hmm.. Maybe if he watches one of those little wiggly worms long enough, it will do a backflip and Arthur may be entertained enough to not get back to sleep.
Actually, there really is no reason for him not to go back to sleep. Hmm.. sleep may actually do him some good.
Someone slams a hand on his desk, and Arthur does not jump from his very comfortable chair, anyone who says otherwise is a bold-faced liar, and no one is supposed to listen to them.
"You really shouldn't be sleeping on the job, Arthur." Brilliant blue eyes look down at him, and Arthur is very annoyed that he is disturbed from watching the tiny wiggly worms entertaining him behind his closed eyelids.
"If you paid attention long enough, Merlin, you would have known that I do not, in fact, sleep on the job."
Merlin, the utter clotpole that he is, looks like he is barely holding back his laughter, with a sparkle on his eye, and a smirk at the corner of his lips. How he has so much energy in the dead of the night is a wonder to Arthur. So for the sake of his sanity, he decides not to question it. Instead, he reaches for the mug of warm, refreshing tea on his desk that was sitting on a pretty tea coaster that Mogana gave him as a Christmas gift once upon a time.
And he immediately spits out—whatever that was— in disgust. "What. the hell. Is this?"
Merlin, the idiot, just chuckles, and sits on the desk of the nearest vacant cubicle, –even if there is a perfectly comfortable chair (with wheels!) near him— "That, Arthur, is the bitter nectar of productivity!"
Arthur just gags, and places the mug at the edge of the table, barely knowing what is going on with his life. "Productivity?! That tasted like literal charcoal in my mouth!"
"Woke you right up didn't it?"
Arthur prefers to not dignify it with an answer, too busy trying to recover his tongue from the bitter aftertaste of the bitter nectar of productivity.
"What—," a shudder runs through Arthur's spine. "What did you do to my tea?" Arthur splutters and Merlin does what he does best and gives a shit-eating grin from ear to ear.
"Don't worry about it," he says, and he swings his legs on the table that is barely holding his weight, like a child. Arthur is too traumatised by the taste of the bitter nectar of productivity to reprimand the adult child sitting on the table swinging his legs.
"Merlin! I swear to god—"
"You don't want to summon the Dragon here, do you? Keep your voice down!"
—Which is a very valid point, if Arthur thinks about it long enough. Arthur does not want to see the dragon breathing down his neck and surveying his work like Arthur is on his probation period. So he does the next best thing that comes to his mind instead of shouting at Merlin and potentially summoning their dragon of a supervisor.
"Merlin, where is the tea I made this morning?" Arthur's voice is barely audible among the other sounds in the building, but it sounds more lethal compared to his previous attempt. But the idiot just laughs, and Arthur wants nothing more than to wipe it off from his face.
"You call that tea?" Merlin says, and Arthur just barely puts off throwing the bitter nectar of productivity at the younger man's face. But Merlin finally gets off that flimsy table and moves on to throw an arm around Arthur's shoulders instead. "You– have terrible taste! That thing was stone cold! Did you even boil the water? How you ever managed to stay awake is a wonder!"
"It wouldn't have been cold if this place wasn't like we're in the middle of a snowstorm!"
"I don't control the weather, you clotpole!"
"You're the one in charge of the A/C remote!"
"You're the one who can't handle a bit of cold!"
By the end of it, Arthur is seething. He is annoyed that Merlin annoyed him out of his only mode of entertainment of watching the squiggly worms behind his eyelids, that Merlin got a hold of his tea, and that his stupid phone hasn't stopped ringing since the start of this shift.
"Alright, that's enough!" Arthur says and Merlin hasn't wiped off that smug smile yet. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Arthur plucks the mug that once held his tea and now holds the bitter nectar of productivity. "You — are going to make me a good tea. Nothing of this— this charcoal coffee! I need good tea, and you're going to make me. Here–" he says, placing the mug carefully on Merlin's hands, the dark liquid inside it sloshing dangerously inside it.
"Don't—" he continues, but is quickly interrupted once again by the ringing tone of the phone that he has quickly come to dislike. Arthur sighs in frustration as he reaches for the receiver, but not before he shoots Merlin a well-deserved glare. "Don't break it!" Arthur mouths and Merlin just winks at him with a smirk and gives him a mock bow before leaving Arthur to answer the call of customer service.
"That was my favourite mug," Arthur says to no one in particular but quickly realises he has said them to the receiver, and to an innocent unsuspecting customer.
Sometimes Merlin makes life harder than it's supposed to be.
By the time Arthur puts the receiver back to its rightful place after answering two more calls from the customers who asked too many questions, and leans back on his seat, deathly tired of life itself, his favourite mug appears in his vision, filled to the brim with liquid that Arthur knows not to be the tea he asked for.
The heavenly aroma of the coffee hit him first before his vision focused on swirls of milky hearts adorning the surface.
"What's this?" Arthur summons enough energy to ask the man leaning on his desk with the mug in hand, whose brilliant blue eyes are sparkling with amusement. Of course, Arthur knows enough to discern coffee from tea, and the aroma of the liquid itself makes the fog clear from his mind. But Arthur makes it a point to not mention it to Merlin.
He just wants the tea that he asked for, please and thank you.
"Something that's better than tea." Merlin says in the same tone he said 'bitter nectar of productivity' moments before. "Pretty sure this will keep you awake for a Oolong time." The grin on his face never wavers. Arthur is too tired to reach out and smack the man on the back of his head and the heavenly aroma of the freshly brewed coffee in front of him looks very inviting.
So Arthur carefully reaches for the mug, once again mesmerised by the flavourful smell of the coffee. Beside him, Merlin is silent and Arthur makes it a point to not to meet his eyes.
Mindful of the heat, he takes one long sip from the mug waiting for the watered-down taste of coffee to fill his senses. But when the flavour hits his tongue, Arthur's eyes widen in surprise.
It must be sorcery; there is no other possible explanation. The warm, nutty flavour explodes in his mouth like fireworks, and suddenly, Arthur is standing at the edge of a forest, watching as villages dance to a piece of homely music. A healthy bonfire bends and cracks, seemingly echoing the music. It is dark, the moon is at its zenith, and Arthur can feel the bitter taste of charcoal at the edges of his tongue.
It tastes like the old times, with Merlin at his side, and a familiar weight of a sword at his side.
It tastes like home, like the distillation of a thousand sepia moments.
It tastes like Camelot.
When Arthur opens his eyes, it takes him a moment to come back to his senses. He feels the leather chair digging at his skin, the warmth of the mug of coffee nipping at his fingertips. Brilliant blue eyes meet his own and Merlin is looking at him, smiling like an idiot with a knowing glint in his eye.
"How is it?" Merlin asks excitedly like the child he is, and a thousand different thoughts are swirling around Arthur's mind. But none that he can explain.
An involuntary smile stretches across his lips, while Arthur tries his best to conceal it under the cover of the mug.
"Shut up, Merlin!"
Before Merlin can say anything, the annoying ringing tone of the telephone echoes in the office, once again leaving Arthur to answer the call of the Customer Service.
Dialogue:
1) "Alright, that's enough."
2) "You have terrible taste."
3) "It's the bitter nectar of productivity."
4) "That was my favorite mug."
Narration:
1) It must be sorcery; there was no other plausible explanation.
2) It tasted like home, like the distillation of a thousand sepia moments.
3) Desperate times called for desperate measures.
4) The fog cleared from his mind.