Chapter Text
From the moment Merlin opened his eyes, he knew his day was going to be like shit. He feels calm, rested, even relieved, he can practically hear the birds singing, although why would they be in the city of skyscrapers with terrible air quality? He looked at his alarm clock again, it read 12:00 a.m.
“It's late!” He immediately removes his sheets and runs to get dressed.
Shit, shit, shit. How could it happen?! He smells one of his armpits… Well, he can spare the shower today. As he put on his tie, he tripped over the manuscripts he had brought home to advance. At least they are the ones Leon had asked him to keep an eye on. He’s flexible with the annotations.
“Ouch!” He screams as he hits his little toe on the leg of the table. He sits on the chair he hadn’t fixed, breaking it and throwing more papers. Including the Knicks tickets.
“For the love of…!” He places the tickets in his backpack and run to the street.
The bricklayers are working, so he has to avoid several obstacles to not get any dust on himself. The boss hates sloppy presentations. He passes in front of the fire station, and he dodges more cars to get to the Merry Bean Coffee Shop. He is momentarily relieved until he looks inside.
It's full! There are too many people with suits, briefcases and backpacks waiting to be served. He stands in line sweating. What is he even going to tell the boss? He should call Percival so he can tell their boss that Merlin was hit by a car. No! Even better: he’s already dead.
“Merlin, hi,” Jacob greets him from the bar with a wide smile. He runs to his side while the others complain. He reaches him without doubt. “Here you go, these are your milkshakes.”
“You just saved my butt. Thanks,” he smiles at him with relief.
He crosses the streets as fast as his non-sporty shoes allow him till he reaches the subway station. He’s trying to calm down, he knows that this part of the journey is out of his control. He breathes deeply. One, two, three. One two three. One, two, three… Couldn't this train be any slower?!
A couple of stations later he gets out without caring if he bumps into someone. He doesn't stop running. Not even when he’s crossing the busy street. Not even when he sees the doors of Avalon Publishing House. He can’t take it as a win, though. He slides across the marble floor until he reaches the elevator doors.
“Hey!” Two men exclaim when he bumps into them.
“Sorry! Are you okay? Yeah?” Neither of them answer him.
They are upset and decide to ignore him. Fine. He goes down to his section, calmer and not sweating, although still at an accelerated pace.
“You almost didn't make it,” Lucy, the receptionist, says with a tone filled with worry.
“Horrible morning, thank you Miss Obvious.” He answers sarcastically.
It all goes to hell the moment he turns around. The delivery boy, Patrick, gets in his way and they collide. The boss's special drink spills all over them.
“Ah!” The boy screams.
“What did you do?!” Merlin hears whispers all around him. Uhs are echoed around, as well as he’s dead and no way to save him.
“I'm so sorry,” the boy whispers as he turns pale before running away.
Merlin throws his things on the desk and heads to Percival's. He was clearly finishing his bagel with jam. He doesn't notice his friend until he’s practically on top of him.
“Take off your shirt,” Merlin demands without warning.
“Seriously?” Percival asks with his mouth full. How does he not understand the harshness of the situation?!
“The Knicks game. Friday. Two tickets for your shirt,” Merlin practically sees his eyes lighting up. “You have five seconds.”
Percival stands up to take his shirt off with oddly agility. It’s a good thing that his desk is the closest to Merlin’s. That way no one looks in their direction. He doesn't blame them, who would want to meet eyes with the devil himself.
They exchange shirts. Merlin is one size too small, but as long as the boss doesn’t see him, there won't be a problem. The elevator doors ring again, but what catches his attention is the sound of an incoming message over the office group chat: He is here.
In a millisecond, chaos is unleashed in the office. Merlin waits for him in his office to greet him with the new drink. Through the glass door he can see everything. Some people stop eating, others pretend that they are taking calls or working on their computer. They all look distressed but productive.
There is someone who didn't see the message and crossed paths with him. Robert. He quickly moves to the wall and looks away from the boss. Clearly he is hoping not to suffer the wrath of Arthur Pendragon. The boss. Wise choice. As soon as he is clear, he immediately runs away.
“Good morning boss. You have a conference in 30 minutes.” Arthur Pendragon walks in without looking up from his phone. Merlin grabs the briefcase while his boss takes his drink, as usual. He zigzags among the manuscripts scattered around the floor and sits down on his desk.
“Yes, about summer books. I know.”
“Employee meeting at 9:20.”
“Did you call…? What's her name? The one with the ugly hands,” he says as he makes gestures with his hands. He seriously needs to go over the list of authors that they deal with directly.
“Janet, yes,” Merlin begins to arrange the manuscripts that he must review next. Sadly, his stomach growls. Damn! He didn’t eat breakfast. Well, too bad.
“Her! Janet,” Arthur steps aside. It gives Merlin the opportunity to finish putting the manuscripts in a pile. Those are the last revisions of the three books that will come out next week.
“Yeah. I called and told her that if I don't have her manuscript on time there will be no publication,” Arthur begins to review the newly bound books. “By the way, your immigration lawyer called. He said it’s imperative…”
“Yes, yes, yes, yes. Cancel the conference. Move it for tomorrow and let the immigration lawyer wait,” he discharges some papers, puts post-its on others. All in 3 seconds. Merlin’s always surprised by how fast he is, and how good is at taking care of more than one problem at the same time. Anyway, he writes down what Arthur tells him. “Oh, and call the legal team. Roger Wells will be changing publishers soon,” Merlin looks up stunned.
“Oh my… What happened?! He is one of our house’ authors!”
“If I want the whole office to know before the directors, I'll tell you.” Such a dickhead. His gaze must have been more intense than he thought because Arthur looked at him directly.
His eyes are like the sky on a sunny day, a deep blue that seems infinite. The first time Merlin saw them, it felt like he could get lost in them, like he was looking into the endless horizon, there was so much life in them.
They didn't know each other, but at that moment Arthur cared for him. It felt like fate had brought them together… And Arthur seemed to believe the same. But that was a long time ago. And as things turned out, he shouldn't have saved his ass that time. Now, those sky blue eyes look steely, unyielding, and totally cold.
“You don’t know how to keep a secret even if your life depends on it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Merlin asked indignantly.
Arthur Pendragon turns towards one of his computer screens. Merlin wants to protest, tell him that he has been faithful and even saved his life. But as soon as he takes a step he remembers the Taylor Swift incident.
When the office Christmas party ended two years ago, the boss apparently went to finish celebrating at a bar that was near and still open. The bartender called Merlin because Mr. Pendragon was so drunk that he didn't remember where he left his wallet. Of course he eventually found it but he hadn't any money left, so Merlin picked him up and paid the bill.
When he arrived, his boss was singing That’s When by Taylor Swift at the top of his lungs. Obviously he had to record it. And to be honest, he only showed the video to Percival. He has no idea how it ended up in everyone's phones. Anyway, he takes his notes and leaves.
“Ah…” He brings his attention back to his boss, only to discover that he’s looking at him, and he seems incredibly upset. “Who is Jacob?” Merlin can feel how his soul leaves his body. “And why does he want me to call him?” He turns the cup for Merlin to see the name, a phone number, and some hearts written on it.
“Well…” Merlin clears his throat. “Actually, that was originally my cup.” He clings to his notebook like it was a shield.
“And I'm drinking yours because…”
“Because I spilled yours.” No dancing around. He makes an affirmative gesture devoid of all kindness and takes a sip. His expression doesn't change.
“So, you drink this? Lactose-free milk chocolate with half a cup of vanilla ice cream and hazelnut cream?”
“I do,” he responds immediately. “It's like Christmas in a cup.”
“Is that a coincidence?”
“Weird, right? Well, the truth is…” Thank God the phone rings. “I wouldn’t possibly drink the same beverage that you drink just in case yours spilled. That would be pathetic.” He smiles briefly and answers the phone. “Morning, Mr. Pendragon’s Office.”
“Hi there, this is Mordred.”
“Ah, hi, Mordred.” He looks at the boss. Although he is doing other things, he makes a gesture that gives him chills.
“… I can go to the…”
“In fact, we’re headed to your office now.”
“Oh, really? Great, I'll wait for you here.”
“Yes,” he says something else but Merlin already hangs up on him. “Why are we headed to his office?” His boss just makes a face. Shit.
Merlin leaves the office and discreetly announces in the chat: The dog is without leash. He barely hears how the message reaches everyone and they take action. Some simply leave under the excuse of consulting in other areas, others find their monitors super interesting. The boss walks fast as he’s adjusting his perfectly tie knot. Merlin quickly catches up to stand next to him.
“Did you finish the manuscript I gave you?” He asks before anything else happens.
“I read a few pages. I wasn't impressed.” A slap on the face would have hurt less.
“Can I say something?”
“No.”
“I’ve read thousands of manuscripts and this is the only one I’ve given you,” he explains his reasons quickly, Mordred's office is not that far. “There’s an incredible novel. The kind of novels we published…” To his dismay, Percival walks near them. With his dirty shirt.
“Ah… wrong.” The boss sees him and knows it. Merlin knows he knows it. “And I do think you order the same drink as me just in case you spill, which is, in fact, pathetic.”
“Or impressive.” Oh, there goes his dignity right to the toilet.
“I’d be impressed if you didn't spill it in the first place. And don't forget that you're just a prop in here.”
“Won’t say a word.” Merlin replies sadly as he opens the door.
That is what bothers him the most. Mr. Pendragon won't let him explain. Merlin knows he’s clumsy, but he’s not that stupid. Why does he still care? He’s learned that Arthur Pendragon doesn’t care even if he explains it to him with dollar signs.
He clears his throat and enters Mordred's office. He doesn't seem to be working. The manuscripts are stacked in a corner, untouched. Everything is clean, there are no post-it, notes or marked calendars. Merlin doubts that he even has appointments with his authors, including Roger Wells.
“Ah! Our fearless leader and his servant. Come in. It's your office,” Mordred greets them with a fake smile. Another reason to hate him, the disdain towards Merlin is quite obvious, but he is used to it by now. For a moment Merlin sees Mr. Pendragon tense, but he immediately relaxes. He probably made that up.
“Wow, beautiful bookshelf,” he points to the furniture behind Merlin. “Is it new?” Merlin sees his boss carefully observing the object. What’s he up to?
“It is English neoclassical, from the 17th century, but yes, it is new in my office.” Mordred says proudly.
“Funny,” the boss whispers. Merlin has a bad feeling about this. He's smiling, but his smiles are never warm, they never reach his eyes. He always saves them for…
“Mordred, you're fired.”
“Wow,” it’s the only thing that comes out of Merlin’s mouth.