Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The store was too bright.

Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, reflecting off endless mirrors that lined the columns and walls, throwing back a hundred different angles of Merlin: his dark hair sticking up in the wrong places, the frayed sleeves of his school jumper too short on his wrists, how he hovered near Arthur but never quite beside him. The floor beneath his shoes was polished so well that each step squeaked, and every rack he passed seemed to exhale the quiet rustle of expensive fabric sliding against itself.

Arthur moved through the place like he belonged there.

His steps were confident, unhurried, shoulders relaxed as he thumbed through blazers and shirts, the hangers clicking softly as he flipped one garment after another. His hair caught the light in a way that made it look almost gold, and when he stopped to inspect a sleeve or a button, there was a small, pleased furrow to his brow that made Merlin’s chest feel warm, despite the cool, recycled air.

Arthur grew up in places like this, Merlin knew. The kind of shops where you didn’t have to glance at price tags, where you knew the difference between a notch lapel and a peak lapel, where you learned to stand still while a tailor pinned chalk lines along your shoulders, marking where fabric would be taken in to fit just right. Arthur had mentioned, off-handedly, that his father used to take him to these shops when he was small, suits for family weddings or parties Merlin couldn’t imagine being invited to, places where Arthur learned how to spot a good seam, how to flick dust off a jacket with a single, practiced brush of his hand.

Merlin didn’t know any of that. Not really.

He knew how to patch the elbows of his old jumpers with fabric scraps his mum found at the charity shop. He knew how to iron his school shirt so it didn’t look too wrinkled on Monday mornings. He knew how to stretch shoes for another year before they’d finally give out.

Arthur glanced back at him, eyes bright, a grin playing at his lips. “Come on, Merlin. We’ve got to look our best for the dance, yeah?”

The dance. That was why they were here.

The end-of-term school dance, the one Gwen and Freya had been buzzing about for weeks, the one Merlin hadn’t even planned to go to until Arthur leaned across the lunch table, grinning, and asked if Merlin would go with him. Just like that. Like it was nothing.

Like it was everything.

(Granted, they’d been dating for two years now but still—Arthur just had that incredibly endearing quality about him that continued to give Merlin butterflies.)

Now here they were, in a shop that smelled of clean air and warm fabric, of something Merlin couldn’t name but felt impossibly out of reach. Arthur had already pulled a few shirts off the racks, inspecting them in the light, flicking the collars with practiced precision, checking cuffs and seams like he was appraising art.

Merlin trailed behind him, fingers brushing the edges of blazers as he passed, the soft wool and cotton blends slipping under his touch, each sleeve and collar whispering expensive, expensive, expensive as they swayed gently on their hangers.

“Here, feel this,” Arthur said, pulling Merlin closer by the wrist and pressing a sleeve into his hand. The fabric was soft, heavier than Merlin expected. “Wool blend, but not the itchy kind,” Arthur explained, eyes bright as he looked back at Merlin for approval.

Merlin managed a small nod. “Nice,” he said, though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to be feeling for.

Arthur beamed, undeterred, flipping the sleeve over to check a tiny tag near the cuff. “Not bad. Half-canvas, too.”

“Half... what?”

Arthur laughed, the sound warm and light in the fluorescent glow of the shop. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, slinging an arm around Merlin’s shoulders briefly before letting go to paw through the next rack.

Merlin began looking through a rack of trousers, trying to figure out what a flat front slim cut was, when the white tag brushed against his hand. He turned it over to read the price. £74. That was almost an entire week’s worth of wages at the cafe where he worked part-time.

Arthur suddenly turned back to Merlin, holding up a pale blue button-down against his chest. “What do you think?” he asked, eyes sparkling with that eager, bright look that made it hard for Merlin to breathe. “Does it bring out my eyes or is it too much?”

Merlin blinked. “Everything brings out your eyes,” he mumbled before he could stop himself.

Arthur’s grin turned mischievous. “You think so?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, trying to hide the way his ears were turning red. “You know so.”

Arthur laughed, tucking the shirt over his arm. He reached for a tie next, a deep burgundy that made his skin look warmer. “What about this one?”

“It’s... red?” Merlin offered weakly.

Arthur snorted. “Burgundy. Goes better with charcoal. Or maybe navy, depending on the shoes.”

Merlin’s eyes drifted down to Arthur’s trainers, the ones he wore everyday to school, scuffed but expensive, and then to the tags hanging off the suits on the closest rack. £275, £320, £410. He swallowed, shifting his weight.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice, still in his world of colour palettes and lapels and half-canvases. “Or maybe something with a subtle pattern? What do you think?”

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded again.

“You’re useless, you know that?” But he was still smiling, laying the tie over his arm carefully before turning back to the rack. Arthur eyed his empty hands. “You’re going to need something too, Merlin.”

Merlin’s stomach tightened, his eyes darting to the row of neatly hung suits, each tag a small, white warning. “I’ve got a shirt already,” he said quickly, fingers worrying at the seam of his jumper.

Arthur glanced back at him, head tilted, blond fringe falling into his eyes. “A shirt. For the dance.”

Merlin shrugged, trying to look casual, even though the air felt too sharp in his lungs. “It’s dark blue.” Right now it was the only button-down shirt he had that still fit him, besides his black shirts for school, of course. Arthur deserved better than for Merlin to wear his school shirt to the dance.

Arthur’s mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile too wide. “We’ll find you something else too. Something better.”

Merlin didn’t answer, letting his gaze drift to the rows of ties hanging like bright flags, the silk catching the light in a way that made them look almost alive. He reached out, fingers brushing against a green one—forest green, deep and warm—before pulling his hand back quickly, stuffing it into his pocket.

Arthur didn’t notice. He was already moving on, flipping through more shirts with the same careful attention, the same comfort in this place that Merlin could only watch with a strange mix of awe and discomfort.

Merlin glanced at the price tags, the numbers blurring slightly, his chest tightening with each one he saw.

Arthur turned back again, holding up a sleek grey shirt with a pleased look on his face. “Now this one,” he said, “this will be perfect for me, do you think?”

Merlin managed a small smile, the weight in his chest pressing down, heavy and silent.

The dance was coming. The dance with Arthur, who was perfect and bright and belonged in places like this, who looked right under these lights.

And Merlin, in his patched jumpers and too-short sleeves, wasn’t sure how to make himself belong here too.

********

Arthur moved on to browse blazers, humming softly as he flipped through the racks, while Merlin tried to busy himself at a rack of shirts nearby, pretending to look like he knew what he was doing.

He ran his fingers over the collars, reading the tiny embroidered tags:

Oxford Cut. Slim Fit. Spread Collar. Herringbone. Poplin.

It all sounded like another language.

He peeked at the price tag dangling from a plain white shirt.

£69.

He let out a breath, stepping back like the fabric had burned him. Seventy quid for a shirt. He could buy a few weeks’ worth of groceries for him and Mum with that money, if he stacked coupons. 

Arthur glanced over, smiling. “That would look good on you, you know.”

Merlin startled. “What?”

“That white one you’re looking at. Would go well with your eyes. And your hair,” Arthur added, eyes softening as they flicked to Merlin’s hair with an affectionate look that made Merlin’s stomach do a flip.

Merlin shrugged quickly, letting his hand drop from the fabric. “Nah. Not really my style.”

Arthur tilted his head, that confused wrinkle between his eyebrows forming. “You’d look good in white.”

Merlin’s cheeks flushed. “Too plain,” he lied.

Arthur blinked, then nodded easily, moving along the row until he found a pale blue shirt similar to one draped over Arthur’s arm. He held it up to Merlin’s chest. “What about this? Blue’s good on you. Shows off your—” Arthur paused, cheeks pinking faintly, “—your... you know.”

Merlin’s throat felt tight. He couldn’t look at the price tag, but the fabric was crisp and fine under Arthur’s hands, and that was enough for Merlin to know it was out of reach.

“Too bright,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur frowned. “You don’t like blue?”

“Not that blue.”

Arthur put it back, grabbing another one in a soft grey, turning to Merlin with a hopeful look. “Grey, then?”

Merlin forced a laugh, shaking his head. “Bit dull, isn’t it?”

Arthur stared at him, baffled. “You just said blue was too bright.”

Merlin shrugged again, stepping back, pretending to browse a different rack of blazers, heart thudding, hands clammy.

Arthur’s voice followed him. “You’re being difficult.”

“I’m being honest,” Merlin shot back, too sharply, but Arthur just huffed a small laugh.

“Fine,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes with exaggerated drama before smirking, “you’re allowed to have some taste, I suppose.”

Arthur moved on, picking up ties and folding pocket squares, debating with himself about which colours clashed, tossing occasional glances over at Merlin, who was flicking through a rack of blazers with deliberate slowness.

Merlin tugged one out, reading the label:

Two-Button Wool Jacket, Slim Fit, Notch Lapel, Double Vented.

It might as well have said You Don’t Belong Here.

He checked the tag.

£180.

Merlin’s stomach sank. He carefully put it back, glancing around to see if anyone noticed him touching it, like he might be caught for something. Thankfully there weren’t too many shoppers in the store this late. Arthur had picked Merlin up after footie practice and it was about seven.

Arthur was holding a pair of shoes now, testing the weight in his hands, looking pleased.

Merlin kept moving down the racks, pulling another blazer free, dark green this time. The colour was actually nice, deep and foresty, something that reminded him of crisp leaves underfoot, of home, of Ealdor. It was a beautiful blazer. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it might look like on him.

Then he checked the price tag.

His chest seized. He pushed the blazer back onto the rack, the hanger rattling a little too loudly.

“Merlin,” Arthur called from the next aisle, “come here a second.”

Merlin forced himself over, stuffing his hands into his pockets, his shoulders tight around his ears.

Arthur was holding up two ties against a dark red shirt, looking between them, tongue poking out as he concentrated. “Which one?”

“They’re both good,” Merlin mumbled.

Arthur let out an exaggerated sigh, looking at him with mock betrayal. “You’re not very helpful.”

Merlin managed a weak smile, but it fell quickly as Arthur turned back to the mirror, testing the ties again.

A pang shot through Merlin’s chest, sudden and sharp.

Arthur was happy. Comfortable. In his element, making choices about colours and styles and cuts, able to imagine himself wearing these clothes, owning them, stepping into them like they were made for him.

Merlin felt like an impostor just standing here.

And Arthur didn’t even realise it. Didn’t see how Merlin was shrinking smaller and smaller every time he looked at a price tag, every time he tried to imagine himself in one of these jackets or shirts and felt the impossibility of it settling like a weight on his ribs. He couldn’t afford any of it.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, smiling brightly. His arms were full of trousers and blazers, shirts and ties. He looked at Merlin expectantly. “Right, fitting rooms?”

Merlin blinked, looking down at his empty hands. He’d been so focused on Arthur, on keeping his face blank, on staring at the prices, that he hadn’t picked up a single thing.

Arthur noticed the same thing and frowned, confused. “You didn’t find anything you like?”

Merlin’s eyes darted around wildly, landing on the nearest rack. “Oh, I was just looking at these blazers,” he said quickly, reaching out and grabbing the first one he touched, a black one, not even checking the size.

Arthur’s face cleared, nodding. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

They headed toward the fitting rooms, Arthur still talking about whether the patterned shirt was too bold, or if grey would be better with the navy jacket, or if he should risk a striped tie.

Merlin tried to listen, he really did, but the words buzzed in his ears, fading in and out as his eyes caught on another price tag—£389—and then another—£445—and his stomach twisted so tightly he thought he might be sick. This was all too much. But Arthur was expecting him to shop here and buy a suit for the dance. He couldn’t do it, but how could he let Arthur down, either?

The fitting room hallway smelled like clean carpet and expensive fabric softener, the kind that made Merlin’s nose itch. The overhead lights were harsh, washing everything out in clinical brightness as Arthur dumped his stack of shirts and ties over his arm, humming under his breath.

Arthur gestured toward a cubicle, clearly intending to follow Merlin inside.

Merlin’s eyes widened. “I’ll just—I’ll get another one,” he stammered, stepping back.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Merlin, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, you in your underwear.”

Merlin’s face flushed hot. “It’s different here,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

Arthur’s smirk softened into confusion, but he nodded, turning to go into his own fitting room. “Fine, but at least come out and show me, yeah?”

Merlin nodded, clutching the blazer in his hands, slipping into the small cubicle next to Arthur’s.

He stood there for a moment, breathing in the faint scent of starch and cologne clinging to the fabric around him, the low murmur of Arthur’s humming on the other side of the door grounding him as he pressed the blazer to his chest.

Slowly, he slipped out of his jumper, folding it carefully and placing it on the bench, then pulled the blazer over his old t-shirt.

The fabric slid over his shoulders, heavy and stiff, the sleeves immediately falling over his hands, hiding his fingers completely. He tugged at them, trying to push them back, but the cuffs swallowed his wrists no matter what he did.

The shoulders drooped pitifully, the blazer hanging off him like he was a child trying to play dress-up in his father’s clothes. He turned to the mirror, his breath catching in his throat.

It was laughable, really. The blazer was so big it made him look like a scarecrow, drowning in expensive fabric he couldn’t afford, never would be able to afford, no matter how many shifts he picked up, no matter how many meals he skipped. The sad thing was he had saved up for today. A measly fifty quid.

He pulled the lapels together, trying to see if he could make it work, but the fabric gaped and folded awkwardly, bunching in places that made him look even scrawnier than he already felt.

A voice floated over the top of the cubicle. “Merlin?”

Merlin’s head jerked up, eyes wide, caught.

“You coming out?” Arthur’s voice was soft, curious. 

Merlin swallowed, his throat dry. “No,” he croaked, louder than he meant to.

There was a pause.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, and the amusement was gone now, replaced with gentle confusion. “Come on, I want to see.”

Merlin’s hands twisted in the fabric, his chest tightening. “It doesn’t fit.”

Another pause.

“Let me see,” Arthur said again.

Merlin’s eyes burned as he turned away from the mirror, struggling out of the blazer, the heavy fabric slipping from his shoulders and onto the bench with a soft thump. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the tears not to fall.

“I said no,” Merlin tried again, his voice shaking.

Arthur was quiet for a moment, then let out a small sigh. “All right. You okay?”

“Mm-hmm, fine.” Merlin stayed there, frozen, waiting, listening to Arthur move around in the next cubicle, the quiet rustle of fabric, the occasional soft curse when a sleeve got stuck or a button didn’t close properly.

Then, Arthur’s voice came again. “Merlin?”

“What?”

“Can you hand me that tie? The navy one. I left it on the hook outside.”

Merlin blinked, sniffing hard before opening the door a crack, peeking out. Arthur’s arm was sticking out of his room, waving around.

Merlin stepped out, reaching for the tie draped over the hook on the wall. He handed it over wordlessly.

Arthur’s hand closed around his wrist, warm and steady, stopping him from retreating back into his cubicle. He opened the door fully so that they could face each other. Arthur was wearing a grey suit, shirt buttoned only halfway, the navy tie Merlin handed him now draped around his neck.

“Hey,” Arthur said softly. “You didn’t show me what you picked.”

Merlin’s eyes darted to the side, where the go-back rack was. “It didn’t fit,” he mumbled again.

Arthur didn’t let go. “What did you try on?”

Merlin’s chest was tight, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. “It was nothing.”

Arthur let out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Merlin. Come on, I know shopping isn’t your favorite but you’ve got to help me out here.”

Merlin’s jaw tightened. He pulled away, walking over to the go-back rack where he’d dumped the blazer, grabbing it with shaking hands. He turned, holding it out to Arthur like it was something dirty he needed to get rid of.

Arthur’s brows furrowed as he took the blazer, checking the tag.

A small laugh escaped his lips, warm and surprised. “Merlin, this is a 46R.”

Merlin’s face flushed red. “So?”

Arthur looked up, his eyes soft, lips curling into a smile that revealed his wonky tooth. “So, you’re, what, a 36 at most? Maybe a 38 if you wanted room for your jumper.”

Merlin scowled, crossing his arms. “Well, sorry for not knowing how to read suit sizes.”

Arthur chuckled again, shaking his head as he hung the blazer over his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“Can I go now?” Merlin muttered, shifting from foot to foot, his trainers squeaking against the polished floor.

Arthur stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hey.”

“What?” Merlin snapped, but it came out too weak, too tired.

Arthur’s hand came up, brushing against Merlin’s arm, warm and grounding. “We’ll find something that fits, yeah? I’ll help.”

Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught, sticking in his throat as Arthur’s blue eyes looked at him with that frustrating, earnest affection that made it impossible to say no.

He dropped his gaze, shoulders slumping. “Fine.”

Arthur’s smile returned, warm and real. “Good. Now, give me a second and I’ll show you what I picked out, okay?”

********

Merlin waited, shifting from foot to foot, pressing his fingernails into his palms.

Then Arthur stepped out of his cubicle, and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.

Arthur was now wearing a navy suit over a pale blue shirt, the collar crisp, the tie loose around his neck, hair messy from pulling shirts over his head, cheeks flushed pink.

He looked—perfect.

Arthur was adjusting the sleeves, tugging at the cuffs, frowning a little as he looked down. “Is it too much?” he asked, glancing up at Merlin with those bright blue eyes.

Merlin swallowed, and he didn’t have to force his smile. “You look—fantastic. It’s perfect.”

Arthur’s face broke into a grin, the uncertainty melting away. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Merlin echoed, but the word felt like a stone in his mouth. Because standing next to him at the dance, Merlin would feel like a buffoon. He was too skinny, had too little muscle. Whereas Arthur was naturally handsome, was an athlete, was strong.

They spent a bit longer in the fitting room as Arthur tried on different ties, checking the mirror, asking Merlin for opinions. Merlin answered, but his voice was quiet, his smile thin.

Arthur was gorgeous, moving easily through the rows of clothes as they left the fitting rooms,  teasing Merlin about his lack of opinions, about how serious he was being. Arthur’s pile had dwindled considerably to just one shirt, one pair of trousers, one blazer, and two ties he was still deciding between. He’d decided he would wear the dress shoes he had at home. 

“Do you think I should get cufflinks, or is that too much?” Arthur asked, looking back at Merlin with a soft smile.

Merlin opened his mouth, closed it, then shrugged. “Whatever you want,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur’s smile faltered, just for a moment, confusion flickering across his face before he turned back.

Merlin’s chest was tight, his heart pounding, and he felt the first prickle of tears behind his eyes. He didn’t belong here. Did he even belong with Arthur?

“Mmm, nah. I suppose I have the cufflinks my dad gave me. Right, that’s me sorted then. Your turn.”

Merlin blinked. “My what?”

Arthur turned to him, a single eyebrow raised, the expression that usually meant he was about to start an argument for the sake of it. “Your turn. We’re not leaving here until you find something.”

Merlin swallowed, shoving his hands into his pockets, fingers worrying at a loose thread in the lining. “I told you, I’m fine with what I’ve got.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, adjusting the pile over his arm. “With that old button-down of yours? You’re going to look nice for this dance, love, even if it kills me.”

They moved back to the racks, Arthur leading the way, his hand brushing against Merlin’s wrist occasionally as he pulled him along. Merlin could feel the softness of the fabric as they passed, brushed accidentally by a sleeve, a hanging tie slipping from its place and catching on his elbow, the faint hush of fabric against fabric like a whisper in the heavy air.

Arthur’s fingers skimmed over a rack of shirts, the fabric shifting under his touch as he hummed under his breath, picking out a purple one, holding it up to Merlin’s chest. “You know, you should wear more purple.”

Merlin glanced at it, taking in the fine colour, the small, perfect buttons, the stitched seams that made it look like it was made for whoever wore it. He tried not to look at the tag, but it swung there, taunting him.

£78.

“I’m not really a fan,” Merlin said, forcing a casual shrug.

Arthur rolled his eyes again but didn’t push it, putting the shirt back carefully and moving to the next rack. “What about this one?” he asked, pulling a soft blue that matched Arthur’s own eyes so precisely that Merlin felt a pang in his chest.

“Too... blue.”

Arthur snorted. “Too blue?”

“Yes.”

“You’re being ridiculous. Since when have you ever been so picky about blues?”

Merlin clenched his jaw, looking away, pretending to check a rack of trousers, fingers brushing over the fabric, soft under his hands, but each tag was a blow: £65, £89, £120.

Arthur, oblivious, moved on to blazers, his excitement evident in the way he pulled one free, turned it, inspected the lining, the seams, the cut. “What about a grey blazer? It would go with everything.”

Merlin shrugged again, his mouth dry. “Grey’s boring.”

Arthur sighed, exasperated but smiling. “You’re boring.”

Merlin gave a ghost of a smile, but it felt like it would crack if he held it too long.

Arthur reached for another one, a soft navy with sleek black buttons. “This is sharp,” he said, pulling it from the rack, holding it up to Merlin’s shoulders as if testing it.

Merlin flinched away. “Too dark.”

Arthur lowered it, looking at him curiously. “Do you even know what you like?”

Merlin’s mouth opened, then closed again. His hands twisted in the fabric of his jumper, eyes darting to the racks around them, the mirrors reflecting endless versions of himself looking out of place and small in the bright, pristine store.

Arthur’s gaze softened, the confusion easing into something gentler as he studied Merlin. “Merlin.”

Merlin shook his head, dropping his gaze to the floor, biting his lip.

Arthur stepped closer, speaking softly. “Why don’t you tell me what you like so I can help you?”

Merlin’s heart pounded, the words fighting to stay buried, but they slipped out, small and thin before he even knew it. “The green one.”

Arthur blinked. “What?”

Merlin swallowed, lifting his eyes just enough to glance at the blazer a few racks down, dark forest green, deep and warm and the exact colour of the woods he spent his childhood exploring, the kind of green that made him feel like he could breathe, even here, even now.

“The green one,” Merlin repeated, softer.

Arthur’s face broke into a grin, bright and delighted, like Merlin had just handed him a gift. “The green one. Then that’s the one we’re trying.”

Before Merlin could protest, Arthur was already moving, slipping the green blazer off the rack, inspecting it quickly. “What size are you?” Arthur asked, flipping the blazer to check the tag.

Merlin hesitated. “I... I don’t know.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, clearly trying not to look smug. “All right, arms up.”

“What?”

“Arms up, Merlin.”

Merlin scowled but lifted his arms slightly, and Arthur stepped in, measuring the width of Merlin’s shoulders with his hands, warm and steady, pressing lightly against the tops of Merlin’s arms. Merlin’s breath hitched, heat rushing to his face.

Arthur stepped back, checking the tag again. “You’re about a 36 Long, maybe a 38 if you want it a bit looser. Let’s see... ah, here.”

He found the right size, slipping it from the hanger, presenting it to Merlin. “Try it.”

Merlin took it, fingers shaking as he touched the soft fabric. It felt heavier than it should, like it was weighted with everything he couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t have.

Arthur watched, eyes bright and expectant as Merlin slipped his jumper off and put the blazer on. The fabric settled perfectly over his shoulders, and the sleeves ended just at his wrists, the colour so rich it made Merlin’s pale skin and dark hair look intentional, like he belonged in it.

Arthur’s breath caught, just for a moment. “Bloody hell, Merlin.”

Merlin shifted, uncomfortable under Arthur’s apprising gaze, tugging at the sleeves, trying to hide the way his chest felt too tight. “It’s fine.”

“It’s more than fine,” Arthur said, stepping closer to lay his hands atop Merlin’s shoulders, studying him with a soft smile that made Merlin’s stomach flip. “With a white button-down, black trousers, and what would you say to matching pocket squares? I mean Merlin, that was made for you. You look—”

“Don’t,” Merlin cut in, voice sharp.

Arthur blinked, surprised. “What?”

Merlin’s eyes darted to the tag, hanging off the sleeve, glaring white against the green fabric. It was too good to be true. Far, far too good to be true.

£260.

His breath stuttered, his hands going to the tag like he could hide it, but it was too late, Arthur’s eyes followed, and Merlin could see the exact moment the price registered on Arthur’s face.

The world felt like it was spinning, the lights too bright, the air too thin, the green of the blazer closing in around him like it was suffocating.

“I can’t—” Merlin’s voice cracked, too loud in the quiet corner of the store. “Arthur, I can’t.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed, confusion shifting into something softer, something that looked too much like pity, and Merlin couldn’t stand it.

“Merlin—”

“I can’t afford this,” Merlin said, suddenly pulling at the blazer, trying to shrug it off, but his hands were shaking too badly, the fabric catching.

Arthur stepped forward, hands gentle as he helped Merlin slip the blazer off, folding it carefully over his arm. “Hey. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Merlin bit out, his eyes burning, blinking furiously as he looked away, anywhere but at Arthur’s face. “You don’t get it.”

“Then tell me,” Arthur said softly.

Merlin shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, the world swimming, the smell of the fabric and the expensive air and Arthur’s cologne making it all worse, all too much.

“I’m trying to understand,” Arthur said, his voice low, steady, yet still warm, and it made Merlin’s chest ache. “Don’t shut me out.”

And finally, Merlin let the words tumble out.

“It’s just—” Merlin’s voice shook, and he let out a short, bitter laugh. “I don’t belong here, Arthur.”

Arthur blinked, confusion flickering again. “What are you talking about?”

Tears blurred his vision as he met Arthur’s gaze.

“Look around,” Merlin said, voice rising. “You’re here, looking perfect, talking about cufflinks and pocket squares and all these stupid suits, and I—” He gestured to himself, “I’m just me. And I don’t even know what half the words you’re saying mean.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been saving up all month,” Merlin continued, his voice shaking, “working extra shifts, skipping lunch to save a few quid, and it’s still not enough. I thought I could get something nice, just once, to not look like a complete idiot next to you, but everything here costs more than what Mum and I spend on food in a month, Arthur.”

Arthur took a breath, opening his mouth, but Merlin kept going, the words spilling out.

“I don’t want people to look at you at the dance and then look at me and wonder what the hell you’re doing with someone like me. I don’t want to be the reason people talk about you behind your back, because I’m not good enough, because I can’t even afford a stupid tie that doesn’t look like it came from a charity shop.”

The last word broke, a sob catching in his throat as he pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, trying to stop the tears that were spilling down his cheeks.

Arthur stood there, silent, the sounds of the shop fading around them, the world narrowing to the small space between them.

Merlin’s breath came in ragged gasps, his shoulders shaking, tears dripping onto the floor.

Then Arthur stepped forward, closing the distance, his hands coming up to gently pull Merlin’s hands away from his face, rubbing down his wrists, his forearms.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice soft but firm, like he was saying something important, something that needed to be heard.

Merlin tried to look away, but Arthur tilted his chin up, forcing their eyes to meet.

“I don’t care about the suits,” Arthur said. “I don’t care about the stupid ties or the shoes or any of it.”

“Yes you do. That’s why we’re here.” 

“I don’t care,” Arthur said again. 

“Everyone else will,” Merlin whispered, voice small and broken.

Arthur’s eyes softened, his thumbs brushing the tears from Merlin’s cheeks, his hands warm and steady. Without speaking, he took Merlin’s hand and led them somewhere more private, back into a fitting room cubicle.

“Let them,” Arthur said as he closed the door to their room. “Let them see me with you. Let them see how fucking lucky I am to have you.”

Merlin’s breath hitched, his eyes searching Arthur’s face, looking for any sign of pity, but all he saw was fierce, stubborn love.

Arthur let out a breath, a small, crooked smile pulling at his lips. “We’ll figure it out. We can check the charity shops, or you can borrow one of my suits. I’ll have the chest and waist taken in for you. We’ll sort it.”

Merlin let out a shaky laugh, a tear slipping down his cheek as he shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Arthur’s smile widened. “Yeah, but you love me.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but a soft, real smile broke through, warmth blooming in his chest, melting the tightness that had been choking him all day.

“Yeah,” Merlin whispered. “I do.”

Arthur grinned, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Merlin’s forehead, his breath warm against his skin.

“Good,” Arthur said, pulling back just enough to look into Merlin’s eyes, his thumbs brushing away the last of the tears. “Because I love you too.”

Merlin’s heart stuttered, and he let out a soft, breathless laugh, leaning forward to press his forehead against Arthur’s, closing his eyes as Arthur’s hands slid down to hold his shoulders, grounding him, steady and warm.

For a moment, the world was quiet, the noises of the shop fading away, leaving only the sound of their breathing. The steady beat of Merlin’s heart finally slowed as he let himself feel the warmth of Arthur’s arms around him.

Arthur pulled him in for a proper hug, then. He cleared his throat, speaking into Merlin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have taken us here to shop.”

“It’s okay.”

“Well I should’ve checked with you. I know the prices are mad but I just…this is where I’ve always gone for nice clothes. I didn’t really think about it.”

Merlin settled his hand on Arthur’s nape, slowly stroking. “It’s okay, Arthur. I knew you were a posh prat when I met you.”

Arthur breathed out a laugh and settled his arms further around Merlin, mumbling something about love.

And for the first time that day, Merlin let himself believe that maybe he was enough on his own.

********

Though Arthur refused at first, Merlin assured him it was okay to buy the suit that he’d found—the gorgeous navy one—because even though that sort of shop wasn’t Merlin’s cup of tea it was clearly Arthur’s. 

As Arthur left the till he held the bag up for Merlin to see, a wild grin on his face. Merlin made a joke about how his seventeen year old boyfriend is actually seventy at heart, happier at this posh store than at Gwaine’s Easter holidays party where there was an inordinate amount of booze. 

They left the store together, stepping out into the crisp evening air, the sky tinted with the fading glow of the city lights. Arthur slung an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, pulling him close, pressing a kiss to the side of his head without thinking about it.

“Let’s get chips,” Arthur said.

“Chips?” Merlin echoed.

“Yeah. Best way to end a tragic shopping trip,” Arthur declared, steering them down the street.

“It wasn’t tragic,” Merlin protested, but Arthur just chuckled.

“You didn’t see how much money I just spent, Merlin. That was tragic.”

“Are you sure? You don’t really seem that shaken up about it.”

Arthur only responded by ruffling Merlin’s hair.

They found a chip shop, the warm smell of vinegar and salt wrapping around them like a blanket, and Arthur paid before Merlin could protest, grabbing a steaming paper parcel and leading Merlin to a bench outside.

Arthur flicked a chip at Merlin, smirking. “Oi, eat.”

Merlin shoved his shoulder, making Arthur laugh, their breath misting in the cold air as they shared the chips, Arthur’s arm still draped around Merlin’s shoulders.

Merlin looked at Arthur, at the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the way he looked at Merlin like he was something worth seeing, worth keeping, worth loving, and something inside Merlin loosened.

Maybe this is enough, Merlin thought. Arthur’s arm around him, the warmth of his laughter, the way he says his name like it matters. Maybe that’s all he needs.

Arthur looked down at him, eyes soft. “You’re coming to that dance with me,” he said firmly. “And everyone’s going to see how lucky I am.”

Merlin ducked his head, cheeks warm, but he was smiling now, really smiling, the kind that made Arthur’s eyes soften even more.

“Yeah,” Merlin said quietly, leaning into Arthur’s side, letting himself be held, letting himself belong. “Okay.”

They sat there, sharing chips under the glow of the streetlights, their laughter mingling with the soft hush of the city, the world feeling a little less heavy, a little less sharp, and for that moment, everything was exactly as it should be.

********

It was a few days later, and Merlin and Arthur had just finished dinner. They were at Merlin’s house, and Hunith was working late that night, giving them rare time alone. After clearing up the table and washing the dishes, Arthur went to fetch something. 

When he came back, he had a certain shopping bag in his hand. Merlin gave him a questioning look, and that’s when Arthur pulled the blazer out.

Merlin froze, fingers hovering at his lips, eyes snapping to the deep forest green fabric hanging from Arthur’s hands like something out of a dream—or a nightmare.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, stepping back like the blazer was something dangerous. “What is that?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, casual, leaning against the edge of Merlin’s kitchen table like it was nothing. “It’s a blazer, Merlin.”

“I know it’s a blazer,” Merlin hissed, eyes wide, heart starting to thump hard enough he could hear it in his ears. “Why—why do you have that?”

Arthur shrugged, trying to hide his grin. “Because it’s yours.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. “No,” he said immediately, shaking his head, hands up like he could ward off the words themselves. “Arthur, no. No, you didn’t—”

Arthur tilted his head, blond fringe falling into his eyes. “Merlin, I did.”

“Arthur, it’s—it’s so expensive,” Merlin sputtered, hands going to his hair, clutching it as he tried to make sense of it. “You can’t just—you can’t just buy me things like that!”

Arthur’s eyes softened, but his voice was steady, frustratingly calm. “I can, and I did.”

Merlin’s chest ached, his eyes burning. “Arthur, it’s not fair,” he said, voice cracking as he dropped his hands. “I can’t pay you back, I can’t—I can’t afford to buy you anything like that in return.”

Arthur set the blazer carefully over the back of a chair, stepping forward until he was close enough that Merlin could see that lovely softness in his eyes. “Merlin, I don’t want you to pay me back.”

Merlin shook his head, jaw clenched. “That’s not how this works—”

“It’s exactly how this works,” Arthur interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. “I wanted to get it for you. Because you deserve it. Because you loved it and you were scared to reach for it.”

Merlin’s breath caught, his throat tight, unable to look away. “Only because I couldn’t pay for it.”

Arthur cracked a small smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Well I did. Besides, I used my dad’s reward account. Got a discount.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. “Arthur—”

“Twenty percent off,” Arthur said, leaning in conspiratorially, “and free tailoring if you ever need it.”

Merlin looked at him plainly and it was then that Arthur’s face faltered. “You’ll take it, won’t you? Please, I really want you to have it.”

Merlin let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sob, his shoulders slumping. “You’re ridiculous.”

Arthur’s smile softened at that familiar statement. “And you’re worth it.” Arthur picked up the blazer again, holding it out. “Let me put it on you.”

Merlin slipped his hoodie off, now in an old Bright Eyes tee. Arthur held the blazer open, and Merlin slipped his arms through the sleeves, the fabric heavy and soft as it settled over his shoulders.

Arthur adjusted the lapels, smoothing them down, his fingers lingering for a moment on Merlin’s chest, right over his pounding heart. “Perfect,” Arthur whispered, stepping back to take him in.

Merlin looked down at himself, the green so deep it almost glowed in the warm light, fitting perfectly, making him look like he belonged somewhere other than the shadows. His throat closed, a lump he couldn’t swallow past, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

When he looked back up, Arthur was watching him with a softness that made Merlin’s chest ache. “Granted, it’ll look better with a button-down and trousers, but—oh.”

Merlin had launched himself forward, arms wrapping tightly around Arthur, burying his face in Arthur’s shoulder, warm and real.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispered, voice breaking.

Arthur’s arms came up around him, pulling him in close, one hand rubbing gentle circles on Merlin’s back. “Of course, Merlin,” Arthur murmured, pressing his face into Merlin’s hair. “You look wonderful.”

Merlin let out a wet, shaky laugh, clutching Arthur tighter, letting himself breathe and reminding himself that it was okay to be cared for, to be wanted.

Arthur’s hand slid down to squeeze Merlin’s side, warm and steady. “Ready to be the best-looking couple at the dance?”

Merlin pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes bright and teary, a bright smile on his lips. “You’re such a prat.”

Arthur grinned. “Your prat.”

“You’re a sop.” Merlin rolled his eyes, but he didn’t let go, and Arthur didn’t either.

Chapter Text

The parking lot was frosty, the glow of streetlights pooling on the wet pavement. Merlin tugged at the sleeves of his forest green blazer, grounding himself in the softness of the fabric. Beneath it, he wore a crisp white dress shirt and well-fitting black trousers he’d found at Primark with Arthur two days ago, on sale enough that even his wallet hadn’t protested.

Around his neck, a dark green tie lay flat against his chest, the same shade as the blazer. It wasn’t his—it was Arthur’s, pressed into Merlin’s hands that morning with a simple, “It’ll match.” Merlin had stood there blinking, tie in hand, while Arthur smirked like it was no big deal.

Arthur leaned against the passenger door of his dad’s car, hair neat but already threatening to flop into his eyes. He was dressed in a navy suit that fit him perfectly, sharp shoulders and slim trousers, paired with a pale blue tie Merlin remembered helping him choose, side by side at the rack while Arthur had asked, “Blue or silver?” and Merlin, after a moment’s thought, had said softly, “Blue. It brings out your eyes.”

Now, under the glow of the streetlight, it did.

Arthur glanced at him, eyes bright. “You ready?”

Merlin took a slow breath, letting the cold air settle in his lungs. “Yeah,” he said, surprising himself with how true it felt. “I think I am.”

Arthur’s lips curved into a warm, easy smile. “Good. Because I’d look like an idiot going in alone.”

Merlin huffed, rolling his eyes. “You’d look like an idiot regardless.”

Arthur chuckled, pushing himself off the car and stepping closer, reaching out to straighten Merlin’s borrowed tie, knuckles brushing against Merlin’s throat and making him shiver.

“You look good,” Arthur said, quiet and certain.

Merlin flushed, shifting on his feet before meeting Arthur’s eyes. “You do too, you know.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said, taking in the sharp cut of Arthur’s suit, the way the tie made his eyes look stupidly bright, the way Arthur somehow looked confident and soft at the same time. “You look…really good.”

Arthur’s grin softened, eyes going warm. “Thanks,” he said, and for a moment, neither of them moved, the world shrinking to the two of them, the only sound that of the low thud of music seeping from the gym.

Then Arthur tilted his head toward the entrance. “Ready to show them how it’s done?”

Merlin snorted. “If by that you mean embarrass ourselves, then yeah.”

Arthur took Merlin’s hand confidently, easily. “That’s the spirit.”

********

The gym was warm, fairy lights strung across the ceiling like a soft galaxy, pulsing gently above heads and shimmering off dresses and polished shoes. The DJ was tucked in the corner, playing a pop song that people were nervously bobbing to, testing the dance floor.

Merlin paused near the door, scanning the crowd of classmates, clutching at the soft fabric of the blazer Arthur had gifted him, letting it anchor him in the moment.

Arthur nudged him gently, leaning in. “Don’t tell me you’re freezing up on me now.”

Merlin shot him a look, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Shut up.”

“Oi, it’s the power couple!” came Gwaine’s voice, loud and bright, before he crashed into them, wearing a maroon velvet blazer over a chaotic floral shirt, grinning like a maniac. “Merlin, you aren’t wearing jeans!”

Merlin elbowed him. “You look like a toddler let loose in a charity shop.”

“And you,” Gwaine continued, turning to Arthur, “look like you’re about to give a TED Talk.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. “Get lost, Gwaine.”

Gwaine saluted with a fizzy drink in hand before spotting Elyan and trotting off to bother him, leaving Merlin and Arthur laughing.

A swirl of silver appeared, and Gwen arrived, dragging Lance by the hand. She looked Merlin up and down, eyes bright. “Merlin, that colour on you is perfect.”

Merlin’s cheeks warmed. “Thanks, Gwen.”

Freya and Leon appeared next, Freya’s black dress shimmering with a green sash that caught the fairy lights. She stepped up to Merlin and gave him a hug. “You look wonderful.”

Merlin’s throat tightened as he managed, “You too.”

Freya kissed his cheek. “Don’t hide tonight, okay?”

Leon leaned in from behind Freya, offering a thumbs up with an awkward grin. “She’s right.”

“Uh, and what about me?” Arthur asked, a smile showing through his bravado.

Freya giggled. “You look wonderful too, Arthur.” 

Leon flashed him another thumbs up. “You look…absolutely hideous, mate.” 

Arthur only rolled his eyes, grinning, as Freya waved and dragged Leon off to dance.

Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin’s, squeezing gently. “See? Told you the blazer was made for you.”

Merlin glanced at him, Arthur’s eyes soft and bright under the fairy lights, and felt something warm and solid in his chest. “Yeah,” he whispered, so only Arthur could hear. “I guess you were right.”

********

They mingled, laughter threading through small circles of friends, Gwaine making everyone groan with bad jokes, Gwen complimenting Freya’s hair, Lance trading playful jabs with Leon about who would last longer on the dance floor.

Arthur stayed close, fingers brushing Merlin’s wrist, arm occasionally slinging over his shoulder, grounding him. Every so often, Merlin found Arthur watching him with that soft, stupidly fond look, and Merlin would look away, but not before Arthur caught his eye and grinned.

When the DJ announced a slow song, Gwen smirked across the floor at Merlin, mouthing, “Go.”

Merlin sighed, about to protest, but Arthur was already there, hand outstretched, eyes dancing. “Dance with me?”

Merlin stared at him, heat rising to his cheeks. “You’re ridiculous.”

Arthur’s grin widened. “And the sky is blue.”

Merlin huffed but slipped his hand into Arthur’s, letting Arthur pull him into the center of the floor. One of Arthur’s hands settled warm on Merlin’s waist, the other holding his hand, and they began to sway, the world softening around them.

“You look really good tonight,” Merlin said quietly, the words falling out before he could stop them.

Arthur’s eyes softened, the edges of his grin turning gentle. “You’ve already said that.”

“Yeah, well,” Merlin muttered, ducking his head before looking back up, “you deserve to hear it again.”

Arthur’s thumb brushed against Merlin’s waist, and for a moment, it felt like the music was just for them, like there was nobody else here.

“You’re okay?” Arthur murmured.

Merlin looked around, the crowd, the lights, the music, Arthur’s bright blue eyes, and nodded. “Yeah,” he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. “I’m good.”

Arthur leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, the world soft and warm around them. “Good,” he whispered. “You’re mine, you know.”

Merlin’s heart fluttered, and he rolled his eyes, but his smile didn’t fade. “Yeah,” he said, tightening his grip on Arthur’s hand. “Someone’s got to be stuck with you.”

Arthur chuckled, pulling him closer, the song playing around them as they swayed together under the lights, surrounded by friends, laughter, and the warmth of something that felt a lot like home.