Archive of Our Own

“...Arrogant, supercilious, conceited prat,” the man says, his blue eyes shining. His lips are pink and he’s waving a bloody blue WKD around with one hand and Arthur would have been laughing in his face if it wasn’t for the fact that the twat Gwen’s dragged to the pub is talking about him. Arthur scowls and in front of the dark headed twat Morgana’s been pawning over all evening, his half sister looks up at him and smirks, her green eyes glinting something dangerous and Arthur scowls a little deeper. The twat stiffens suddenly.
“He’s right behind me isn’t he?” he asks, vaguely.

Gwen nods, looking sympathetic and Arthur feels a sharp sense of superiority as Twat turns to look up at him.

“Are you finished?” he asks, expecting Twat to blush and settle down. However, he’s wrong and Twat narrows his gaze as he looks up at Arthur.

“Ready to apologise?” Twat asks stiffly and for a moment Arthur can’t believe what he’s hearing; he scoffs, ignoring Morgana’s gleeful burst of laughter and suddenly intent on showing the Twat just where he fell on Life’s ladder: some six or so rungs below Arthur to begin with, if not a dozen or so more.

“Apologise? Apologise?” he finds himself saying. “You were the one who just called me a prat!”

Twat’s eyes flash and there’s something in that, something that sparks up in Arthur that he’s never really felt before. Something vital, but so rare he barely pays it any attention against the affront he’s feeling about the sad looking idiot in skinny jeans he’s supposed to be getting along with. If Gwen is to be believed.

Getting along seems to be the last thing on Twat’s mind as he glares, his eyes flashing as he spits his words back at Arthur. And it’s funny, really, that this affronting little man is who changes Arthur’s world.

“After you sat there for ten minutes insulting everything I do!”

“I hardly call painting something worth doing,” Arthur sneers, because really, if this is all to do with his throwaway comment ten minutes ago, then the idiot deserves to be laughed at. Instead, Twat’s expression tightens and there’s something wounded in the lilt of his still-angry voice as he starts up again, but not really enough to make Arthur stop.
“Of course you wouldn’t, you Philistine!” Twat mocks. “Naturally art to you is a tax write off or the biggest number on your bank balance. You wouldn’t have the first idea about actually creating something beautiful that someone will appreciate. That someone does appreciate.”

Arthur doesn’t hit people. He doesn’t. But right then he really wants to because Morgana is looking absolutely delighted and Twat is looking furious. But there’s also something else there, something... sad that has nothing to do with the reason they’re all at the pub anyway and it’s enough to make Arthur more uncomfortable than the fact he can’t really think of a reply that doesn’t sound petty and childish. But there’s a small sense of courtesy and resounding pride, lurking somewhere under Arthur’s annoyance and somewhat beer-dulled senses, that holds his tongue. It’s the same part of his brain that remembers Gwen’s face creased in sympathy and concern as she mentioned to him after class that she didn’t want to leave her friend on his own because he’d only been back three days, after taking a month off to take care of his mum. She’d gone up over the weekend to help him through the funeral, but he was back and avoiding the topic and she was worried.

Morgana had been insistent they take his mind off things. Arthur had agreed to tag along because Morgana had kicked him under the table. But mostly because Gwen had looked so damn sad sitting across from him and he’d had a strange moment of being rather annoyed with Gwen’s friend (whose name he’d missed at the beginning because he’d been entranced by how Gwen’s curls seemed to tighten under the brief shaft of sunlight tapering through the window). He’d felt a little bad a moment later, because he really shouldn’t have been annoyed at someone whose mother had died just because it was making Gwen’s eyes crease and her lips tighten, making her look so forlorn he’d wanted to wrap her in his arms and – and well, that’s when Morgana had kicked him.

Still, it all comes back to him in a moment of clarity under the buzz of too many pints and his left over anger and he momentarily feels ashamed of himself as he sneers down at Twat.

“Well, if that’s what you really think,” he says, feeling stupid and really, that reply should have been filed under the ‘Weak’ heading, along with his three other responses he’s somewhat glad he didn’t say. But he wonders briefly whether Twat has noticed he’s actively throwing in the towel as he stalks away, but when he throws his glance back, Twat is looking at Morgana who is beaming as she tells Merlin (Merlin! What kind of name is Merlin? ) that she’s never letting him go, ever. Twat’s shoulders aren’t quite as slumped as they were at the beginning of the night, however, and despite the fact it was purely incidental that he had any part of that minute distraction, Arthur feels rather proud of himself as he heads back to the bar.

And this is how it starts.

* Morgana is good on her word to Merlin, and the next time Arthur carefully stumbles across his half-sister and Gwen at the campus café, Merlin the Twat is slumped in (Arthur’s) third chair and there’s barely room for him. It doesn’t set Arthur’s mood off to the best start.

He’s spent the entirety of his last tutorial trying to think up a suitable excuse for wandering halfway across the campus to stumble across Gwen and Morgana, and Twat’s presence throws him off. The damn café they cosy up in is in the back of the Arts and Humanities block and Arthur’s economics building is much too far away to simply wave it off. Especially because Morgana is well aware of how much he likes Gwen and persistently calls him on it. He still manages to squeeze in at the table between Gwen and Morgana, but Twat’s expression is displeased and Arthur knows the two girls moved their chairs apart to avoid Arthur having to get any closer to Merlin than necessary. Not that he wanted to sit next to Twat anyway.

“Hello, Arthur,” Morgana says pointedly as Arthur pushes a little closer to the table and accidentally elbows her. Twat is looking away and Gwen is biting her lip as she’s watching him. Arthur tries not to pout. He really needs to figure out what Twat has on Gwen other than sympathy, because if there’s anything else then Arthur really doesn’t stand a chance with her and that’s not on.

Twat is tall, painfully skinny and pale with black hair, the complete opposite of Arthur’s broad muscled frame. He’s worked hard to look as good as he does and he knows he looks good. He’s blond and handsome whereas Twat looks fey, like the pictures in Morgana’s folk-lore texts. If that’s Gwen’s type, then he’s done for. Arthur’s mood drops a little more.
“Hello, Morgana,” he replies, a little more sour than he intends.

“Gwen,” he says, turning to her and smiling. Gwen looks back to him and smiles and Arthur’s annoyance involuntarily lifts a little.

He has to force his tongue to say ‘Merlin’ and not ‘Twat’ when he says hello. Twat just nods. He has a full mug of hot chocolate in front of him that he’s clearly just poked at idly, while Morgana and Gwen’s empty cups prove they’ve obviously been here since Morgana’s last class.

Arthur tuts and looks back to the girls.

“Anyone want anything to eat? I’m famished.”

“Merlin?” Gwen asks and Twat looks back at them, like his mind’s wandered. Arthur tries not to snort.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Gwen frowns and looks back at Arthur.

“I’m all right, Arthur. Thank you.”

Morgana’s mouth is curled in an I-know-what-you’re-doing grin and Arthur just raises an expectant eyebrow.

“No thank you, dear brother,” she says after a moment, tone reeking of derision. Arthur scowls and gets up. He’s asked, which clearly means he needs to go and get something for himself otherwise Morgana will keep hounding him.

He sticks to a sandwich and a bottle of water and it doesn’t take him long at all because the café is always fairly empty considering the time, which is why the girls like it. He makes it back to his seat fairly quickly only to find that Twat’s seat is empty.

“Where’s Big Ears?” he asks and immediately both Gwen and Morgana frown at him and he feels a little ashamed of himself.
“He’s heading back to the art rooms.”

“Isn’t he in your class, I thought you were done?”

“We are,” Gwen says and Arthur feels a modicum of pride that he bloody well remembered correctly where Gwen knows Twat from.
“Merlin majors in Fine Art, but he doesn’t have any classes this afternoon. He’s hiding,” Morgana says, shuffling her chair around the table a little more.
“Did I chase him off?” Arthur asks and Gwen colours a little. “I can go – ”

“No, Arthur, it’s okay. He wants to be alone for a while. Painting helps him think,” Gwen says. She looks and sounds so damn sad and that strange annoyance at Twat is back again.
“He’s having a bad time of it,” she says after a beat of silence and when Arthur glances at Morgana, his half sister is wearing a similar downcast expression and idly twisting her fingers. Arthur doesn’t think he’s ever seen her look like that before.

“Am I making it worse?” he asks, feeling suddenly insecure. After all, last time he made Twat angry for twenty minutes and this time he couldn’t withstand five minutes in Arthur’s company. Morgana and Gwen have a deep seated affection for the skinny twat that clearly goes beyond one term in art classes together, but even after two years of university and two years of paying incredible attention to near on everything Gwen says (much to Morgana’s chagrin and simultaneous amusement, and his own half-conscious embarrassment), he has had no idea Merlin-Twat had existed until four days prior. It all seems to make everything feel a little lopsided, not entirely because it’s clear that despite his best intentions, Gwen has friends - and therefore interests - beyond what Arthur has managed to uncover.

“No,” Gwen hurries to say on one side of the table, as Arthur shifts uncomfortably, just as Morgana says, “Yes,” on the other.

Arthur slumps in his seat and Gwen looks flustered and upset, looking between Morgana and Arthur.
“It’s not you, Arthur,” Gwen says and Morgana snorts.

“It’s what you said,” Morgana says with her gaze narrowed a little.

“What I said?” Arthur asks, looking at his sister; her expression softens.

“The other night. You had a go at him for painting. Said it was worthless.”

“So?” he replies and watches Morgana roll her eyes; he can pretty much hear her inner monologue calling him an idiot. But really, isn’t this all a little much for someone Arthur didn’t know this time last week? He insults people all the time and Morgana certainly doesn’t care about them anywhere near as much.

“So, Arthur,” Morgana says with the painful air of explaining something simple to someone thick. He’s heard that tone more than once. “Merlin was painting when his mother collapsed. They couldn’t get in touch with him right away because when he starts he goes off into his own little world and the roof could fall on his head and he wouldn’t know.”
The three of them fall quiet for a moment, and then, softly, Gwen starts speaking and Arthur sort of wishes she wouldn’t because he’s starting to get this lurching feeling in his stomach that’s disconcertingly similar to how he felt when he realised he couldn’t talk to his father without disappointing him. It makes him squirm.

“He feels guilty, Arthur, his mum was sick for a while. Off and on for the last five years. Merlin thought she was in remission; it’s the only reason he’s at uni. He never would have left her if he knew. He feels guilty because she used money he thinks she should have been using for treatment to fund his tuition, and because he was here when she got really ill again. It was only when she collapsed and had to be admitted that Merlin found out. The hospital had to call him,” Gwen paused then, looking sombre. “But she wanted him to be here. He knows that. But it’s hard. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s been painting so long…it helps. Sometimes it helps.”

“Sometimes it makes things worse,” Morgana says as sombre as Gwen, and Arthur decides there definitely must be something about this Merlin he’s missing because no one gets Morgana to talk like that.

No one.

Its three weeks after Arthur first meets Merlin that he serves to understand Gwen and Morgana’s affection for Merlin-Twat. Arthur’s not even chasing (stalking, Arthur, stalking) Gwen when he comes across him. In all fact, he doesn’t expect to find anyone around because it’s nearly ten at night. Gwen, Morgana and Merlin all have classes in the Arts and Humanities Block, and while that may be where Arthur is, he doesn’t expect Merlin to still be in the studio so late. It’s not like the art department have huge, horrible essays they have to complete week in and out. Arthur knows for a fact that Gwen only has five submissions for her creative writing subject all semester and one of those is split into two, a short story and a review of the writing process. He’s simply curious when he walks past the studio window and sees a familiar twig out of the corner of his eye as he’s heading back to his car, that he parked in the Humanities car park for reasons not at all Gwen related.

Arthur knows which rooms are the studios in the Arts block because Gwen told him how they had to replace the windows last semester and she had no idea how large the panes of glass were until she watched them being refitted. Arthur suspected it had more to do with the five minute conversation afterwards she’d had with Morgana over the fit blokes who’d been installing the windows.

The lengths he went to, honestly.

Still, he had to give Gwen something, because the windows are huge and clearly meant to flood the rooms full of natural light. The light going on in the end room is completely fluorescent as he’s walking by and he would have dismissed it completely if he didn’t recognise the black mop of hair and the careworn jumper he catches sight of out of the corner of his eye.

Considering the size and prestige of Camelot University, it could be anyone, but by the luck of averages or Murphy or something – eight points of connection, Arthur recognises Merlin-Twat sitting in front of a large canvas almost like he’s the artwork. Arthur can’t quite make out what’s on the canvas from his distance, but Twat is curled up in on himself, his arms wrapped around his torso. He’s staring resolutely straight up at the canvas and there’s a solemn desperation about the small figure that makes Arthur uncomfortable as he stands in the shade of the Arts building.

He doesn’t like it.

He feels like he’s intruding and tries to leave as quickly as he’d come. It’s not the first time he’s seen Merlin in the last few weeks, but given the nature of their past interactions he hasn’t taken to spending enough time around him that either of them run the risk of opening their mouths. But given their memorable past encounters Merlin is now one of the two dozen or so people Arthur recognises around campus instead of a blank face lost in the masses.

Still, while each glance Arthur’s spared Merlin in the last few weeks has done little to permeate the view that, while Merlin-Twat may have lost his mother a short number of weeks ago in comparison to the years Arthur’s been counting off, the slumped vision behind the large glass panes is very much the image of a man who is not coping. And really, that’s not okay. How dare that Twat allow himself to be vulnerable when he thought no one was looking, because dammit, Arthur’s been content with his open dislike of Merlin up until now, and he hates nothing more than having to rethink his view on people.

“I saw Merlin last night,” he says the following morning and Gwen’s reaction is immediate. Her eyes crinkle and her mouth curves down and Arthur immediately wishes he hadn’t brought it up. In fact, he’s still not exactly sure why it’s bothered him enough to bring up. Or why it served to bother him for most of the night before. If anything, he should be more annoyed at being bothered, but really he’s only a little bit bothered he’s bothered. Arthur shifts in his seat, uneasy and with no idea what he’s doing.
“In the studio,” he clarifies and she sighs.

“I wondered where he was,” she says, sadly. “He keeps wandering off and I never know if I should let him be or not. I wish he’d just accept my offer to move in.” She’s frowning and melancholic. He doesn’t like it.

“Why would he need to move in?” he asks, trying to stamp down the rearing burst of jealousy deep in his chest. Merlin isn’t competition. He can’t be, not in the way that he should be worried about. He’s Merlin-Twat. He’s just a magnet to Gwen’s mothering instincts, there’s no attraction. There can’t be.

“He’s on his own at the flat right now,” Gwen replies, eyes downcast. “And on top of it he’s still trying to sort everything out with his mum’s estate. She tried to leave him as much as she could, paid for his tuition in advance, but she had to sell the house to pay for her care a few years ago which Merlin didn’t know about and now he’s left forking out money left, right and centre for all the private treatment she had and then there’s the funeral. He won’t say it, but I know he’s having trouble meeting rent and bills. He’s too damn proud to say anything.”

Arthur frowns and idly turns his coffee cup a quarter circle before looking up at her.

“End of semester’s coming up soon. Maybe a break will do him good?” It’s a thin attempt at comfort and he knows it, but Gwen’s a sweetheart, she won’t hold his horrific empathy and sympathy skills against him. Not like Morgana.

“Maybe. Hopefully,” Gwen says. She emits a long sigh before forcing a smile.

“Thank you for the coffee, Arthur. I’m sorry I’ve been so scatter brained lately,” she says, standing up and her smile turns gentle and genuine and a part of Arthur starts crowing and he has to force himself not to grin like an idiot because that smile makes him forget everything about Merlin-Twat and all the drama around it. She looks beautiful, a little tired, but beautiful. Her hair is pulled back and there’s a loose curl and he wants to tuck it behind her ear, but he doesn’t get the chance before she offers him a small wave and weaves back through the tables, heading for her Art History class.

After that there really isn’t much time for useless worrying over Merlin Twat. Arthur has his own assessments starting to let their pressure be known, and given it’s his third and final year, the pressure weighs heavier than usual to get that First his father is expecting. He spends an inordinate amount of time in the library, his brain buzzing with numbers and reports and the last cutting requirements administered from his father at their last family meeting-passing-as-dinner. Even Gwen starts to suffer under the weight of the impending end of term, and the days Arthur picks her up for coffee before classes drop down significantly and when they happen their conversation barely goes much beyond complaining about library time and their professors. A fortnight goes by and by the end of it, it feels like whenever he talks to anyone, be it Gwen and Morgana or even Leon and even stranger still – Bedivere, they talk (or grunt, articulate words become a rarity on anything other than paper) about little else but their studying woes. It’s something that Arthur can sort of agree with, because he has exams coming up as well. He has twice as many as both Gwen and Morgana do, which gives him a little justification for how rude and frustrating he becomes (if Morgana is to believed). Especially given that Morgana blames her series of final essays for her increase in scathing repertoire.

It all becomes a bit of a mess, so when he runs into Twat on his own again, it’s very much a surprise and it takes him a moment to recognise who he’s pulling out of the grasp of a bunch of six foot tall wanna-be-boulders. What’s more, is that it takes Arthur almost more effort to stop Merlin from trying to jump back into the fray than it took Arthur to pull him out of it.

The thin twat is still fuming, chest heaving a few moments later when the jeering fades out of earshot and all of a sudden it’s just Arthur and Merlin standing under the shadows of the Computer Arts building. Merlin continues to breathe hard as he slumps down on the low wall, each breath coming in short sharp gasps emphasised by the trembling running through him. He’s pale and his eyes are wide and bloodshot, and there’s a red mark on his cheekbone that’s going to turn into a nasty bruise. His bottom lip is stained red, split in one corner and when he raises one shaking hand to his lips to wipe away the blood, his knuckles are split as well.
He managed to get a punch in.

It’s almost a shock.

“What on earth?” Arthur says instead and Merlin’s gaze narrows.

“What?” Merlin says, low and gravelly, like a challenge. Arthur takes a step forward. Merlin just eyes him.

“Jesus, Merlin,” Arthur swears instead and Merlin suddenly looks away. Still, it’s not completely dark under there, the path around the corner is well lit and they’re not in the alcove that leads down to the Animation Decks yet either, and Arthur can see how Merlin’s eyes glisten and how in the quiet that follows, when he can’t think of anything to say, tears wash over and start to slide down the other boy’s cheek. Merlin swipes at them as soon as they fall.

“They were going to punch your head in,” Arthur says as a distraction, glancing up the alley where the group had dispersed. When he looks back all he can really see is the red mark on Merlin’s face.

“Looks like they already tried.”

“What of it?” Merlin replies, chin tilted up and defensive, his body quivering.

“Next time I’ll leave them to it, shall I? I must say I’m interested in seeing how someone as scrawny as you beats off four guys twice your size,” he says before he can help himself. Merlin’s expression tightens and he looks away again, biting his lip like he’s trying to hold something back. It’s this restraint that forces Arthur’s curiosity.

“What happened?” he asks, a little more demanding than he probably should be, but then again, Merlin doesn’t really look the type to get caught up in brawls and it’s better than sounding defensive, which was the other option.

“They followed me,” Merlin says quietly, closing his eyes as he speaks. He hangs his head, leaning forward with his hands on either side of the wall to brace himself. Arthur keeps his distance, a few steps back, just watching because he’s never been very good with emotions. He’s had to deal with his own by himself for nearly fifteen years now. There was no point taking anything to his father and he and Morgana were never the sharing type. Arthur knows he’s emotionally stunted. He doesn’t know how to comfort himself, let alone other people. He stands his ground though, he doesn’t leave and after a moment, Merlin tips his head back up, opens his eyes, and looks at Arthur.

“They said she’d have been ashamed of me,” Merlin says quietly, then. Arthur looks at him as the other young man keeps talking, making sure he doesn’t blink so as to not make Merlin stop talking. It’s the only thing he can offer him.

“She should have been. Wasting it all away. Stupid Merlin with his head in the clouds,” he laughs, but his voice sounds broken and bitter and Arthur has never had the urge to comfort another man before, let alone wrap his arms around one. He doesn’t know Merlin enough to even contemplate giving in, but he crosses the few steps between them and sits down next to him. He thinks it’s a fair compromise, but Merlin is probably the type to have appreciated a hug; after all, he’s friends with Gwen.
It’s all Arthur can offer, though.

Neither of them talk for a while and Arthur counts the minutes Merlin sits stiff and still, but he doesn’t pressure the other man, he just waits and watches how white his hands are as he wraps them around himself.

Then Merlin opens his eyes and he looks straight at Arthur. His eyes are red and glassy and his mouth is a tight line.

Arthur looks him in the eye as he speaks, and tries not to let how desperate Merlin’s expression is get to him too much. It makes him squirm.

He’s not so sure how well it works.

“My car’s half a block away. Think you can walk?”

He doesn’t know how bad Merlin’s injuries are, if something happened that he wasn’t there to see, but Merlin nods and stands and he doesn’t say a thing as Arthur leads him back to the car. He gets in the passenger seat and wraps his arms back around himself and he doesn’t tell Arthur where to go. He says nothing at all and Arthur debates whether or not he should take Merlin to Gwen and Morgana’s during the time it takes him to pull out of the university car park, and by then he’s made up his mind.

Gwen has her Creative Writing final work due in the morning and Morgana has an exam if his mental calendar works at all.

“You can come and kip at mine tonight. If you don’t want to be on your own,” he says and Merlin turns to look at him, his eyes are wide and searching and Arthur’s never really felt so exposed in that moment. It’s like Merlin’s staring straight through all his posturing and right into him – his past, present, future – and it’s disconcerting to say the least.
“Thank you,” he croaks and that’s decided.

He sleeps in the spare room and Arthur doesn’t know when he decides to offer Merlin to stay and take it indefinitely, only that he does.