Chapter Text
Small crowds of people filtered in through the doors and Arthur felt his hand tighten instinctively around Merlin’s. He was glad for the comfort, for the reassuring squeezes he felt in his fingers as Merlin pressed their shoulders tightly together.
It wasn’t awfully loud, but there was a lot of people that Arthur, of course, didn’t recognise. He didn’t know why he scanned the sea of faces so intently, but he did, smiling as brightly as he could each time he made eye contact with someone. It wasn’t hard, however. All of Merlin’s friends were beautiful, all unique and interesting and welcoming to him as they brushed past, clasping a greeting hand on their shoulders as they shuffled through the dimly lit room.
Merlin tugged at Arthur’s hand, pulling him towards the kitchen where strange music was coming from. He couldn’t pinpoint where, but a deep, rhythmic noise was rumbling through the scatters of conversations, making its way to Arthur’s ears in a way that wasn’t completely unpleasant, but like Merlin had said, entirely foreign to him. Also unfamiliar were the strange balls of firelight that seemed to cling to the very peaks of the walls, dipping up and down and emanating a warm, steady glow that felt reminiscent of Merlin’s magic. It wasn’t, of course – Arthur had already asked a million times to see it again, and each time Merlin had dismissed him out of hand. It would have gotten him down, if Merlin hadn’t been so wonderful about it, promising more later.
And that wasn’t the only wonderful thing about Merlin. While they had been getting dressed for the party after their shower, Merlin spent some time fixing himself in the mirror, and once he finally turned back to Arthur, he found that he had done something dazzling to his eyes. Lining the usual bright blue of Merlin’s eyes was a stark smear of black, edging his lashes and accentuating the round curve of his irises. Even in the lamplight of his room, Arthur could see just how beautiful it made him. It was fascinating. He was captivating.
Arthur had wanted to reach out a hand and touch, but when he got close with a curious fingertip, Merlin had swatted him away, rolling those gorgeous eyes and muttering something that fell short of Arthur’s ears. He felt entranced, even now, having not ever seen Merlin so…so striking before. He had gotten so used to seeing Merlin every day, in the same clothes, doing the same thing, that Arthur had grown accustomed to him. He had failed to appreciate Merlin’s sheer attractiveness back in Camelot, and now it hit him in the face like a battering ram, almost knocking the wind out of him where he stood. It was a considerable effort not to simply watch Merlin, to focus all his attention on him and his beauty instead of the guests that kept appearing.
He'd wanted to let Merlin know how truly handsome he looked, though he could not find the adequate words. And even if he did, Arthur doubted he would take him seriously, just like he had not when Arthur had complimented Merlin’s moustache from that box of photographs. He thought he would have taken it to heart, given it a real consideration, but Merlin dismissed him as if he were poking fun, but that was far from the case.
Arthur supposed that maybe he was simply unused to seeing Merlin out of his ordinary schedule of working and his typical servants’ clothes, but still he could not shake off the hand that gripped him with a fascination that he had not felt before, especially not with Merlin. It was all he could do to drag his gaze away from him now, and regard the pair of guests that had just spoken to him, though he did so begrudgingly.
“Arthur,” Merlin nudged his side, dropping his hand and replacing the cool grasp of his fingers with something even colder. When Arthur looked down, he realised it was a glass bottle of something. “This is Mei and Jackson: they’re friends from university.”
Arthur felt disgruntled by the lost presence of Merlin’s hand, but tried to shrug off the feeling, sending a trying smile to his acquaintances, a cheery man and woman who seemed to sway on their feet already. “Nice to meet you, I’m Arthur.”
The girl, Mei, giggled. “I thought so, Merlin always told me about his dashing Ken doll of a friend.”
Arthur laughed though he did not know at what, and dared a sideways glance to Merlin who was, conveniently, looking the other way. Around them, the party grew louder, and Arthur inched a step closer to Merlin’s side. As he and Mei continued a back and forth conversation, Arthur noted the way Merlin did not join in, but briefly squeezed his eyes shut, as if suffering with a sudden headache. Arthur was just about to excuse himself to check if Merlin was okay when a slow, soothing warmth bloomed from within Arthur’s chest, and he felt the effects of Merlin’s magic spread throughout him like an ink blot on a page.
At the fresh wave of calm that now overcame Arthur, he extended a grateful hand, searching for Merlin’s fingers but instead finding the small curve of his waist. Arthur reached an arm around Merlin’s hips and squeezed an appreciative hand at the pointy jut of a hipbone, feeling Merlin twitch at the sudden movement, but slowly relax into it.
As the conversation continued, more people came and went, though Arthur did not feel a single prick of anxiety pierce his heart. Instead, he felt cool and calm and almost cheery thanks to the drink that Merlin had planted into his palm. It was bitter but easy to drink, and reminded Arthur of mead, though it felt stronger than the watered-down stuff he’d drunk at feasts. He swigged deeply from the bottle and found it surprisingly empty, and he excused himself with a quiet murmur into Merlin’s ear and a brief smile to their company to go find himself another.
He walked windingly through the seemingly growing crowd of people, and found himself eventually in the kitchen and in front of a small group of three, all who had just opened another of the glass bottles each. At Arthur’s presence, someone handed him theirs, and reached for another for themself, and he smiled appreciatively, tipping his glass towards them in thanks.
Turning on his heel, Arthur made for Merlin again, but found him lost within the sea of friends. Though, this notion did not panic Arthur the way it might have a few minutes ago, still feeling contentedly calm thanks to the slow thrum of Merlin’s magic. Instead of continuing his search for Merlin, Arthur found himself leaning against the table and busying himself with periodic sips of his drink. He surveyed the group of people, watching their smiles bloom as they likely caught up with each other and their lives. Every so often, he would glance around to try spot Merlin, but could not. He wondered what he might be doing, who he might be talking to, how he might be feeling. Arthur hoped he was having a good time, though not much more than half an hour could have passed, and pondered distantly how long events like these might last, and what the end goal was.
Though, suddenly, Arthur was dragged from his thoughts at a noise that made its way to his ear over the hum of the music.
“Hey!” An unfamiliar voice caught Arthur’s attention. He looked up from the glass bottle in his hand and saw a face he recognised from the first group of people who arrived.
“Hello,” Arthur replied, a tight but trying smile pulled across his lips, and the woman smiled back at him.
“Could you give this to your boyfriend? I can’t seem to find him.” She said brightly, giving Arthur a handful of folded fabric. The print was a deep red and black tartan that Arthur had often admired from afar, appreciating distantly the attires of knights from the more northern planes. However, this print seemed different, a bit muddled and like it had been cut up and sewn back together rather sluggishly. Then another, strange thought bloomed across his mind.
“Boyfriend?”
“Yeah,” she beamed back. “Merlin?”
Arthur’s brain felt foggy as he thought back to Merlin’s lank, slender figure as he stood over the sink earlier. Yes, he may be skinny, Arthur pondered, but Merlin looked far from his boyhood. His features were too pronounced, too bold and uniform to resemble that of a boy – even when Arthur had first met Merlin, he was just about growing into his face, adopting the manliness that came with it well. To call him a boy now just seemed a bit wrong.
“Merlin is a man?” Arthur said, perpetually confused. He said it earnestly, but the woman gave him a cheerful laugh, as if he had made some brilliant joke.
“He’s not a boy-friend, he’s a man – he’s my man-friend.” Arthur said back, cringing at the way it sounded in his ears.
The woman, it seemed, was completely oblivious to Arthur’s befuddlement and kept that bright, happy smile on her face. She patted Arthur on the shoulder somewhat weakly and shook her head, mumbling something about how he ought to slow down. Arthur didn’t have time to ask her about what, before she held out the pile of fabric to him again. He gave it a strange look but took it, nonetheless.
“Tell him I said thanks for letting me borrow it.” She winked at him, causing Arthur to splutter at the sheer confidence she held. “I washed it especially.”
Before Arthur could ask her what it was, she vanished into the crowd of people.
Feeling perplexed, Arthur sat still for a moment, turning over the fabric in his hands and regarding it with a curious eye. He couldn’t tell what it was – maybe some clothing? – though Arthur could not be sure. All of the garments Merlin had bought for him were unusual to him despite their apparent simplicity, and they were nothing in comparison to some of the outfits that the party guests were wearing.
When he pushed away from the table, Arthur found that he swayed slightly on his feet. Behind him, the group from earlier had cleared away, and Arthur spotted the selection of glasses once more, finishing off the last few sips of his drink with a sharp intake of breath at the bitterness, and made for the kitchen once more. He discarded his empty glass to the side and reached for another one, though it was slightly lukewarm whereas the previous had been more chilled. He wondered briefly if that had anything to do with Merlin’s perpetual chill, but thought it unlikely, shaking his head and selecting a glass.
Once in his hand, Arthur looked down at his drink and frowned absentmindedly. The top of the bottle was covered with a piece of metal like that of a misshapen coin, and no matter how hard he pressed at it, he could not release it. For a short moment, he wondered if it was anything like Excalibur, and if the modern world was perhaps filled with things that only some people might access. This deepened his frown until something flashed out of the corner of his eye.
“Here you go,” Alice said, holding out a strange, metal contraption that looked horrifyingly capable of inflicting some type of terrible torture on someone. Arthur instinctively shied away from it, the shiny metal poking violently in every which direction. He looked up at her and she smiled, laughter softly hiding her eyes from view.
“Are you that drunk already? Can’t even open your own beer.” She shook her head, grabbing the glass from Arthur’s hand and popping off the metallic coin. She smiled brighter and handed it back to him, haphazardly throwing the metal device onto the side.
“Thank you.” He said, smiling softly at her. “That’s very kind of you.”
Alice was quiet for a moment, and Arthur worried that she hadn’t heard him. He opened his mouth to repeat his gratitude, but she did the same. “I just want-”
“That was-”
“Oh, I’m sorry-” she stammered, eyes slightly glazed and a silly smile on her face.
Arthur shook his head. “No, you first.”
She smiled deeper, but there was an edge to her expression that made it seem like she was preparing herself for something. It took another moment of silence for her to find her words, and when she did, her eyeline was pointed downwards, as if embarrassed. “I just wanted to say that- that I’m sorry if I’ve come across a bit harsh.”
Though Arthur couldn’t exactly decipher her expression, he knew her apology was heartfelt, albeit entirely misplaced, for he had no idea what she was talking about. He stuttered to give a response, opening and shutting his mouth in confusion like a fish out of water. Finally, he strung some words together: “I don’t know what you would have to apologise for?”
Alice shrugged. “I’ve poked fun at you a bit, and- and I know I’ve been pestering Merlin about you two.” She winced, shaking her head. “It was all meant in good nature, I hope you know that.”
Arthur, feeling slightly worse for wear at the hand of his drink, dismissed her apology with a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it – I don’t really know what you’re saying half the time, so it can hardly bother me much.”
He worried for a moment that he’d exposed himself somewhat, and a quick, sharp pang of fear dragged itself down his back until Alice laughed at him and nodded in understanding. “Right, I forget you’re not really from here; Merlin did say you didn’t know much about English culture.”
“Merlin also thinks I’m an idiot,” Arthur laughed. “So, take what he says lightly.”
Alice laughed back, taking a swig from her drink. When she swallowed, her face was grave once more. “I mean it though: I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m very protective over Merlin.” She paused and seemed to reminisce about something. “He’s not the most open guy ever, not very vulnerable, that sort of thing. I was worried when you turned up that…that you would leave just as quickly and hurt him. He’s…he’s sensitive to that sort of thing.”
Arthur grimaced despite his trying not to, a wave of guilt washing over him and staining his cheeks a shameful colour of pink. He nodded slowly at Alice’s words, but despite the sadness in them, something warm bloomed in Arthur’s chest at the prospect of Merlin’s friends caring about him so. He couldn’t find the caution in Alice’s words or actions any level of off putting or disgruntling; instead, a deeply rooted sense of gratitude found Arthur instead.
“I’m glad you care about him so much.” Arthur’s voice may have sounded monotonous for all of the work he was putting into not getting choked up. “He needs people like you to love him.”
Alice smiled at this, any measure of sadness quickly dissipating. “You know, I was a bit surprised when I first met you. You two didn’t seem all that likely of a pair.” Arthur laughed in agreement. “But now I can see how much you love him, too. You make him happy.”
Arthur’s heart stuttered in his chest at the sincerity in Alice’s voice, and he found his shame transforming into a bashful blush. “I feel bad that I haven’t been here for him for so long.” Something melancholic drifted over his chest. “I- I don’t want him to resent me for it.”
“He doesn’t.” Alice’s voice was steely. “Me and Merlin, we’re used to being alone. It’s nice for both of us to have that person to rely on, someone we know will always be there, always love us, no matter what.”
Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to correct Alice’s comparison of her relationship with Sophie to his with Merlin’s. Maybe it didn’t matter that she did, Arthur thought. All of the important parts were there, he supposed: love and companionship. Maybe that’s all anyone needed.
Arthur’s heart urged him to dwell on that notion, but his wonderings were interrupted by the shrill exclamations of Sophie as she found Alice’s side and joined their conversation, slinging an arm around Alice’s waist. Arthur smiled wistfully at the action, tipping his glass in her direction as a greeting.
“We were just talking about you,” Alice sang, her gaze intent.
“All bad things I hope,” Sophie laughed, kissing her on the cheek.
“How long have you two been lovers?” Arthur asked.
Sophie beamed, squeezing Alice at her side. “Four years in April.”
“Four years?” Arthur exclaimed, alcohol pulling at the edges of his composure and making him entirely dramatic. If Merlin were here, Arthur thought, he would have said that he’s always dramatic, alcohol or not. “That sounds so wonderful. You must really love each other.”
“She’s perfect,” Alice and Sophie said both at the same time, erupting into peals of laughter at their simultaneity. After their giggles died down, Sophie asked, “How long have you and Merlin been together?”
Arthur wanted to scrunch his brows in confusion at the wording of her question, but he remembered Merlin’s lecture about concealing his real identity, so he schooled his expression into as much neutrality as he could manage. “We first met when Merlin was seventeen, and I was nineteen, so around nine years.”
Arthur wasn’t expecting the look of utter shock that overcame both Sophie and Alice’s faces at his words, their jaws almost hitting the floor with their disbelief. “Nine years? You’ve been together nine years?”
Arthur felt as if he were missing something big, something obvious with the sheer incredulity in their expressions and Sophie’s high-pitched tone, and he shuffled somewhat uncomfortably on his feet. “Uhm, yes? I’m twenty-eight, Merlin is twenty-six, so that’s nine years.”
“Wow,” Alice said after she managed to close her mouth enough to speak. “I never knew.”
Arthur laughed confusedly and shrugged. “Well,”
“I mean, he would mention you all the time, but I never knew you were together the whole time.”
Arthur hoped the dim lighting in the room managed to obscure his hesitant expression, and he took another long drink to settle the nerves that seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Well, I…I’ve been away for a while, so…”
“Huh,” Sophie seemed satisfied enough with his answer, but there was something suspicious in the way Alice tilted her head in question. It couldn’t linger for long, though, as the music playing in the background seemed to change and Sophie cheered, dragging her lover away with her and into the crowd of people, leaving Arthur entirely discombobulated.
To shake this momentary daze he found himself in, Arthur drained the contents of his drink and discarded it to the side, feeling brave enough to reach for another and use the not-torture-device to open it himself, just like Alice had.
With this new drink in his hand and disappearing rapidly, Arthur found the minutes passing in what felt like seconds, or perhaps it was hours in minutes? He didn’t know, but he also found that he didn’t entirely mind it, relishing in the warm buzz that the alcohol had settled beneath his skin. He took to finishing off yet another drink before he grew bored and set off for finding Merlin.
After a scrambling few minutes (seconds?) through the din of the party, Arthur finally spotted Merlin across the room, talking animatedly with someone he didn’t recognise. Arthur supposed, on the troubling walk towards his manservant, that he should stop trying to recognise people, because it wasn’t doing him any good since he never found the faces familiar.
When Arthur finally reached Merlin, it was all he could do to not stumble completely into him. “What did you put in this?” He slurred, staggering towards Merlin’s position leaning against a cupboard. “It’s like, ten times stronger than the stuff from the kitchens.”
When he finally reached Merlin’s side, he lost his footing, tripping where he stood and almost collapsing into Merlin’s arm. Ever the unhelpful prat, Merlin barely extended a hand to set him to rights, instead grasping briefly at his arm, then promptly shrugging him off again. Arthur frowned at the distance between them, and found himself swaying so precariously on his feet that he had to reach for Merlin again so as not to fall completely to the floor and embarrass himself.
Merlin acknowledged his presence with a look that Arthur couldn’t decipher, no matter how hard he tried. “How many have you had?”
Arthur tried remembering and counting on his fingers, but he came up short, shrugging. Merlin’s brooding expression seemed to hold for a moment more until it cracked, and a reluctant grin stretched across his cheeks, almost as if he had found Arthur’s bumbling charming. Unlikely, he thought, as he caught Merlin rolling his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time these past few days.
Whoever Merlin had been conversing with offered Arthur a tight-lipped smile and patted Merlin on the shoulder, bidding them farewell and also disappearing into the swarms of people, just like Alice and Sophie had. Now, with his acquaintance gone, Merlin turned slightly to face Arthur and stood next to him so that their shoulders pressed together, sending him a complicated look.
“Are you okay?”
Arthur blinked slowly, almost like a frog, and nodded smilingly. “I’m wonderful. You?”
“Of course you’re wonderful,” Merlin laughed, sipping his drink and holding out another opened glass for Arthur questioningly. “I’ve missed you tonight.”
Arthur took the drink gratefully, feeling his fingers brush Merlin’s at the exchange. “I’ve been speaking to all your friends: do you truly know so many people?” Merlin nodded and opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly the memory of a partygoer sprung into Arthur’s mind, and he gasped with realisation.
“Oh, Merlin! That reminds me: what’s a- oh, what did she say?” Arthur stumbled over his words, pressing his fingers to his forehead to remember. Distantly, the music sounded in the background, but he paid it no heed. He scrambled for a moment or two to remember what that woman with the fabric had said to him, clicking his fingers when he finally did.
“Ah, yes! A boyfriend! What is a boyfriend?”
Merlin seemed to choke on his drink, spluttering and holding his hand up to his mouth. His eyes closed in laughter and his shoulders shook against Arthur’s gently, all traces of that strange, vague expression gone. “Why do you ask?”
Arthur paid his laughter no mind. “Someone came up to me and said, ‘can you give this to your boyfriend,’ and then handed me something…though I can’t remember where I put it…”
Merlin’s mirthfulness seemed to dissipate, and Arthur felt conflicted as to whether he preferred this new sincerity or the previous sound of his laughter. “Who said that?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur replied, scanning the room for the mysterious woman, but to no avail. “She said to ‘give this to your boyfriend Merlin,’ and to say, ‘thank you for letting me borrow it,’ also, she that cleaned it.”
A strange look overcame Merlin’s face yet again, and he parted his lips, but no words came out. He looked up at Arthur, his expression unreadable. “She said ‘boyfriend?’ Definitely?”
“I’m certain of it.” Arthur nodded dizzily, and Merlin’s uneasy look deepened. “Which is something I do not understand, either! I said to her: you are a man, not a boy! What is she doing calling you a child?”
Merlin stared blankly at Arthur before another joyful bout of laughter escaped him. Merlin rubbed a hand over his face and took a gulp of his drink, turning to face Arthur, who felt entirely whiplashed at the range of emotions Merlin had shown in this short interaction.
“Of course you did,” Merlin laughed, but Arthur’s frown only deepened.
“Well? What is it then?”
“A boyfriend…” Merlin began, piquing Arthur’s interest like a dog noticing a distant squirrel. “Well, being someone’s boyfriend…”
“Come on, Merlin, out with it.”
“It’s like courting,” Merlin said. “Sort of.”
Arthur’s stomach lurched and a look of disbelief clouded his face, eyebrows scrunching and lips parting. “Courting?”
“If you are someone’s boyfriend, then you are…you’re their lover.”
“Lover?” Arthur all but shrieked, though the music was loud enough to dampen the volume of his voice as he hissed back, “Lover?”
Merlin’s cheeks seemed flushed, and Arthur couldn’t help but feel the same. He fidgeted uncomfortably on his feet and didn’t really know where to look. Merlin pressed his glass to his cheek and gave him an apologetic look.
“Why do they think we’re lovers?”
Merlin sent Arthur an incredulous look, his eyebrows raised to his hairline and a small, teasing smile across his lips. “Arthur, come on.”
“What?”
“I mean, can you blame them?” Merlin said with his usual, ‘I told you so,’ look across his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Merlin paused for a long second, his eyebrows making a permanent home in the middle of his forehead. “Arthur, come on, don’t be stupid. You turned up out of nowhere, clinging to me like a lost puppy. You walk around shirtless, like, all the time-”
“But it’s so hot!” Arthur protested. “What else am I meant to do?”
“I help you shower,” Merlin said, holding out an accusatory hand to Arthur who simply scoffed in response.
“We share a bed!” Arthur opened his mouth to give his rebuttal, but Merlin carried on. “You call me ‘sweetheart’, and I call you ‘my love’!”
“But you said that’s what friends do?” Arthur’s protest was hardly heard.
“And also, I’m gay,” Merlin said finally, huffing a sigh and dropping his pointed finger that had found its way to Arthur’s chest.
Arthur paused for a moment and tilted his head questioningly. “Gay? I don’t-”
“Like, homosexual…?” Merlin offered, but Arthur’s confusion deepened.
“Like…like, I prefer men.”
Arthur didn’t say anything back for what felt like an eternity. His brows were furrowed beneath his fringe, and he had a perplexed look on his face. After a while, he nodded his head and drew his attention back to Merlin, head swimming, but with the alcohol or information, he didn’t know.
“Oh…really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s what it’s called? Gay?” Arthur’s voice was curious.
“Yeah, sometimes.” Merlin nodded, his shoulders slightly tense. “It’s not so important what it’s called, though.”
“Huh,” Arthur replied, mind whirring, but with what, he couldn’t place.
Merlin looked uneasy for a beat, then it vanished. “What?”
“Nothing,” his voice felt far away. “I just…I wouldn’t have- I didn’t know.”
Merlin’s stare was heavy and oppressive, feeling as if it was pinning Arthur against the wall. He narrowed his eyes, then just as quickly, broke out into an airy laugh.
“What?”
“You really aren’t that perceptive, are you?”
“What?” Arthur retorted, feeling shaken from his daze and scoffing.
“There still isn’t much going on in that head of yours, is there, Arthur?” Merlin chided. “You’re surprised I have friends, that I have chest hair, and that I have relationships with men. Is there anything you do know?”
Arthur gave him a shocked look, bringing up his hand and clipping Merlin around the ears, trying to hide a laugh. “The cheek! You know, I may not be king anymore, but you don’t have to be so- so insolent.”
“Oh, I was insolent before.” Merlin laughed, dodging another swipe from Arthur’s hand.
Arthur was quiet for a short breath, then: “So, they think we’re lovers? That we’re,” he paused, swallowing. “That we’re in love?”
He nodded, and Arthur groaned dramatically. Merlin sent him a frustrated look. “Don’t sound too happy about it.”
“Well, why would I? It’s not true!”
“Not to them it isn’t!” Merlin’s tone was fraught, but there was a small smile pulling at his lips. “God, you’ll never get rid of that prince’s ego, will you?”
“Hang on!” Arthur rebuked, his splayed hands spilling some beer from his glass.
Merlin’s teasing expression was familiar and welcome for a short moment, until his gaze left Arthur’s face and panned out to the crowd. He looked as if he made eye contact with someone and shook his head.
“They think we’re fighting,” Merlin whispered, leaning ever so slightly closer to Arthur’s body. Their shoulders pressed, body heat exchanging and sending a surge of feeling down each other’s arms.
“We are fighting?” Arthur said plainly, and Merlin sent him a frustrated look.
“I don’t want them asking questions,” Merlin shuffled closer.
“Wouldn’t that be exactly what we’d want right now?” Arthur grumbled. “Maybe clear some things up?”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, his breath stuttering. “What?”
Merlin leaned in, slowly, and tilted his head towards Arthur’s ear. “I’m going to the toi- lavatory,” he whispered. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Arthur wanted to nod his agreement, but before he could, he felt the soft, warm pressure of Merlin’s lips against his cheek. He kissed him lightly, and probably for only a short second, but the action sent sparks up Arthur’s spine, and a deep heat bloomed where Merlin’s lips touched, mingling with his alcohol blush. When he broke away, Merlin leaned back to his ear. “Behave, my love.”
And then, he was gone, weaving through the dense crowd and disappearing behind a door, leaving Arthur impossibly confused and inexplicably breathless.
His heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he pressed a hand there, feeling the pressure of it push through to his skin. The drink in Arthur’s hand was a distant coolness against his palm, and he took a swig to dampen his…whatever he was feeling right now.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, back turned to the crowd and hand rubbing small circles over the strange tunic Merlin insisted he wore, but he was snapped out of his trance when Merlin returned, bumping into his shoulder and sending even more shockwaves through his body.
“You okay?”
Arthur could only send him a tight smile and a curt nod.
“Are you feeling it a bit?” Merlin said, nodding towards the almost empty glass in Arthur’s clammy hand. He looked down at it and forgot how to speak for a short moment.
“A bit,” he admitted. “Everyone keeps asking me that, actually.”
Merlin laughed lightly, and Arthur noticed the way his striking eyes shone in the peculiar firelight that was strung across the walls. It cast a warm glow across the pale planes of his cheeks, catching his cheekbones and carving across his eyebrows. Even now, in the dimness of the party, the modern world was so much brighter than Camelot had ever been in the evenings. It would have been impossible for Merlin to shrink back into the shadows, to hide away in the background like he so often did – had to – now, the lights seeming to transform him into a beacon, a bright, warm presence. It was a welcome change that made Arthur reach out and touch.
Merlin had been saying something, but Arthur couldn’t remember what it was, glass discarded, and hand extended curiously towards his face. Arthur’s fingers brushed against the dip of Merlin’s cheekbones, dragging slowly across his warm skin, relishing in the feeling of it – the realness of it.
His Merlin, stood beside him, smiling and laughing and joking, just like he always had. Incredulity swamped Arthur’s chest, a slightly dumbfounded expression taking over, pushing out a half-surprised, half-elated noise from his mouth that he would have put down to the drink, if he had the composure to do so.
He couldn’t drag his mind away from his daze to notice what Merlin was doing or saying or looking like. Arthur’s hand had a mind of its own, brushing slow, intentional lines across each centimetre of Merlin’s face, fingers memorising the curves and dips and lines until there was nowhere left untouched, undiscovered.
Arthur’s hand left Merlin’s face only to find home in his artfully un-styled hair, intertwining his fingers in the curls at his temple and pushing his slight fringe away from his forehead. Arthur took a step closer, encroaching on Merlin’s space and situating himself so their chests were as good as pressed against each other. Their feet slotted together as Arthur’s nails dragged lightly against Merlin’s scalp, scratching gently.
Arthur was enthralled, but a small, low noise pulled him from his trance. And, as if coming back to after a blow to the head, Arthur regained his attention, eyes focussing more sharply on Merlin and noting the way his eyes were closed. A small, pleased smile was dancing at Merlin’s lips, and he tipped his head back somewhat like a dog being scratched behind the ear.
Arthur’s hand came to rest at the junction between Merlin’s neck and shoulder, and he gripped him there, as if worrying that Merlin may disappear. Slowly, finally, Merlin opened his eyes. They shone captivatingly, deep and dark and endless. Each time Merlin wordlessly blinked, Arthur held his breath, aching to see his eyes open once more.
“Arthur-”
“Gods, I’ve missed you.”
Arthur sounded choked up, he realised absently, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care, not when Merlin was stood there, warm and beautiful and smiling and so very real. “I’ve missed you so much.”