Chapter Text
Merlin wakes up with his face plastered against a worn out sofa cushion. His head pounds with the memory of alcohol and last night's party, but it’s not the worst hangover he’s ever had. He blinks against the dull yellow lighting of the small room, weak beams of overcast sun dart through the askew blinds.
In front of him there’s a beat up CRT TV stacked up on some crates with a Playstation 2 plugged into it. The controllers are tangled in a bundle on the floor.
Yup, he’d recognize this place anywhere. The ‘Lad Pad,’ as Gwaine called it.
There’s the faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the surrounding fabrics and the grease of takeout food hangs in the air. Merlin presses his temple further into the threadbare upholstery of the cushion— it’s the perfect kind of worn, so beat up that it just makes the fabric all the more soft.
The roar of a heavy body snoring draws his attention to his upper right where, sure enough, Percy’s passed out on the very sofa Merlin stole all the cushions from. The poor guy’s head is crammed up against the armrest, neck tilted at an awkward angle. A large mass of fabric drapes across his torso and it takes Merlin a moment to realize the lump is actually Gwaine. A small chuckle escapes Merlin’s lips as he watches the rise and fall of the two’s chests. The display reminds him of how newly born puppies or kittens snuggle up and lay on top of each other, without a care in the world.
When Merlin tilts his head back, he spots a hand dangling over the edge of the mismatched loveseat behind him. So, Elyan made it back with them too.
He’s not sure when Gwaine, Percy, and Lance’s flat became the unofficial crashing spot after nights out, but now it felt second nature to wake up here on a bleary Saturday morning. That only left one person unaccounted for…
“Morning,” a low, smooth voice greets Merlin from across the tiny living room. Merlin gets a crick in his neck from looking up so fast.
“Lance,” Merlin smiles, propping himself up on his elbow to get a better look at his friend.
Despite the early hours of the morning, Lance was all perfectly tousled brunette hair and tasteful stubble as usual. It felt like the guy was effortlessly handsome, but Merlin knew that wasn’t quite the truth. Lance was a well kept man who put in effort to keep up his appearance and it showed. Not all of them could pull off the freshly rolled out of bed, haven’t-showered-in-who-knows-how-long, grunge look Gwaine rocked most days. The fact that Lance was the only one who stayed in last night might also account for his tidy appearance this morning.
“You got in pretty late last night,” Lance says, an affectionate smile tugging on his lips— no judgment in his warm brown eyes. “How was the party?”
Merlin stretches a bit and yawns. In lack of a verbal answer he gives Lance a small thumbs-up. His brain struggles to boot-up despite his excitement to see Lance for the first time in what feels like days.
In response, Lance maneuvers effortlessly around the mess in the room and hands Merlin a mug with a missing handle— knowing the fate of dishware in this flat, Merlin reckons this is one of the only clean cups in the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee wafts up to Merlin’s nose and he takes in a deep inhale.
If he didn’t know that Lance was already in a long-term committed relationship, Merlin would probably propose to the man then and there. He’s a catch. Instead, Merlin simply thanks him and takes a sip.
“You got work today?” Merlin asks, rubbing at his eyes. His fingers come away with flakey black pigment. Shit. He didn’t wipe off his eyeliner before passing out last night.
“I’ve got the opening shift,” Lance says with a yawn. The bottom of his henley rises up a bit as he stretches.
“Hungry?” Lance asks, drinking from his own mug with one hand, the other opening a kitchen cabinet.
“Starving,” Merlin practically groans, getting up from his makeshift bed of sofa cushions and heads to join Lance in the small kitchenette.
The two operate in close proximity with surprising ease. Merlin makes toast while Lance cooks up a large helping of eggs. The sizzle of the skillet along with the crackling of the heated oil wakes Merlin up. The coffee helps too.
Merlin wasn’t usually much of a coffee drinker— he much preferred tea or an energy drink when he really needed to stay awake for a shift, but his sluggish brain does not complain. In fact it welcomes in the slightly bitter, acidic taste of the beverage.
Once they finish cooking, the smell of melted butter and scrambled eggs doused in hot sauce wafts into the living room and lures the hungover party goers back to life. Percy’s head pops up first and when he goes to stand Gwaine slides off his lap and onto the floor. Thud. Gwaine doesn’t wake up until his cheek makes contact with the carpet. He grunts a little, but doesn’t seem too bothered. Instead, he springs up to his feet after pulling off a rather impressive barrel roll.
The two’s desire for food seems to outweigh the pounding in their heads; Lance just grins at his flatmates and serves them each up a decent sized portion of food.
Merlin notes, from over his own breakfast, that Percy grabs an extra plate. Before Merlin can scold him for already getting seconds, Percy brings the dish over to the living room. He places it down on the coffee table before waking Elyan up by gently cupping his face and giving a soft pat. Elyan stirs slowly, but makes a content hum before sitting up and accepting the offered plate.
“Thanks,” he mutters, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Percy looks at him, fondly. And Merlin’s chest cinches a little at the gesture.
With a piece of perfectly buttered toast in possession and a fine amount of eggs, Merlin sits himself down on the carpet right in front of the coffee table. Before he can even settle, Gwaine plops down beside him and bumps a knee into Merlin’s own. Merlin just responds with a small grunt, too hungry to scold Gwaine and they both tucker into their plates.
“Alright boys,” Lance says after a bit, peeking into the living room with his work shirt on. “I’m heading out. Don’t get into too much trouble.”
“Okay, dad,” Gwaine says through a mouthful of eggs. Merlin gags at the sight and smacks the back of his head.
This doesn’t seem to bother Gwaine as he keeps munching away, a goofy smile on his face. Both Percy and Elyan give Lance a more proper farewell. Merlin manages a wave in between bites.
After he’s finished his plate, Merlin stands up and stretches. He takes a brief moment before asking, “Can I use your bathroom?”
“You don’t even need to ask, mate,” Percy answers.
“Yeah,” Gwaine says, mouth full again, “you practically live here.”
“I do not,” Merlin protests.
Percy just shrugs and makes a waving ‘go ahead’ motion and Merlin skitters off to the bathroom.
When he manages to find the lightswitch, he flips it and watches in mild horror as his disheveled reflection materializes before him. Oh boy.
His undereyes are smeared with the remnants of his black eyeliner that just accentuates the dark bags there. He tilts his chin up, observing the rising stubble. He’ll need to shave soon. His fingers run down his jaw and he winces a bit at the sight of his throat. The long expanse of his neck is painted in crimson splotches that fade into a plum purple with a subtle hint of yellow at the edges.
The marks really stand out against his pale skin— even with the slight tan he’s gotten from the summer sun. It’s a stark contrast and impossible to miss.
Great.
He gives himself a tight lipped smile (more of a grimace) in the mirror. Wearing high collared shirts in this heat would suck, but might be necessary if he wanted to show up to work without risking total mortification.
Merlin owned more makeup than the average guy, but that still didn’t mean he owned anything that could possibly cover this up. Maybe he could buy some from a corner shop or ask Gwen for advice?
Letting Arthur lay siege to his neck had seemed like a great idea in the moment, but now he was cursing Arthur and the entire Pendragon bloodline.
He reaches into his back pocket to worm his phone out of the tight confines of the denim. The brick shaped device sits in his palm, the screen black—he must have turned it off some time last night. Hopefully, it still had a charge.
After holding the power button down for a bit, he slides the keypad open with one hand and quickly goes to check his recent messages.
There’s a couple unread ones.
One’s from Gwen saying she got home safe. Thank goodness. The rest seem to be sent by Gwaine last night asking where Merlin was when he disappeared during the party. Well, that’s no longer a mystery.
He clicks on Gwen’s number and starts to type out a quick message.
First he lets her know he and the boys made it home safe– making sure to mention Elyan was with them. Then he types and retypes his next sentence and eventually settles on: ‘need ur help.’
Before hitting send he tacks on a quick, ‘not serious btw’ for good measure.
A little bit later, as he’s wiping the smudged eyeliner from his face, the bathroom countertop vibrates from the force of his phone.
He picks it up.
The latest message reads: ‘call me?’
Great. Excellent.
He wastes no time and clicks on Gwen’s contact and rings her. The call goes through after a few seconds.
“Gwen,” he says into the line, “I have a problem.”
“Good morning to you, too,” Gwen’s voice chirps from the other side, a slight mirth to her tone.
“Sorry,” he apologizes.
“Just teasing,” Gwen says with a chuckle, “how are you?”
“Well, besides feeling dead to the world…just fine, thank you.”
That gets a true laugh from Gwen.
“How about you?” he asks, not bothering to fight a grin from taking over his own lips.
“I’m alright. I didn't drink too much last night. Not as much as you. Certainly not as much as Gwaine.”
“I would hope not.”
“So, what’s the matter?”
“My neck looks like it’s been mauled."
“Oh dear.”
“I want to cover the evidence with something but I’m not sure what...” He pauses, then raises his voice a little in frustration, “All I own is black eyeliner, Gwen!”
“I see. Well, you’re going to need—”
She starts listing off products and brand names Merlin’s never even heard of before. He vaguely registers words like ‘cream,’ ‘powder,’ ‘coverage,’ and ‘formula.’ His head spins a bit but he eventually catches on. He’s going to need a concealer or foundation at the very least.
“I would offer you one of mine,” Gwen says, “but I don’t think I have quite your shade…”
Merlin’s about to say she’s done enough and he totally understands when she adds on: “But, I can ask Morgana if she has something.”
Merlin almost falls to his knees, pure gratitude and adoration coursing through his body. He could kiss Gwen— if she wasn’t with Lancelot, of course.
“Gwen, you’re a life saver,” he almost sobs into the phone. Emphasis on almost because he’s not that dramatic. “You’re a literal Angel.”
Okay, maybe he is that dramatic.
They agree to meet at the sun-glass kiosk between the music shop and the smoothie stand where Gwen works. She even offers to teach him some ‘color correction’ tips after they both clock out at the end of the day.
“You’re a saint,” he says, the praise involuntarily leaving his lips.
“Not a saint,” Gwen replies, “just a girl.”
Merlin’s about to ask her ‘What’s the difference?’ when she cuts him off, beating him to the next quip.
“Besides, don't saints have to be dead or something?” she asks, bemused.
“Well, they’d make an exception for you of course,” Merlin states, “because you’re just that saintly.”
“You’re a riot,” Gwen chuckles, “Those bruises must be pretty bad, huh?”
“You have no idea.”
“So, who's the lucky gal?” Gwen asks, but then quickly adds on, “Or guy?”
“Just some stranger. Didn’t quite catch their name,” Merlin lies, gnawing on his lower lip. Telling Gwen about this particular development in his and Arthur’s dynamic wasn’t something he wanted to do quite yet. “And if Gwaine tells you otherwise—”
“It’s alright, Merlin,” Gwen reassures. Merlin lets out a long sigh he didn’t realize he was holding in. He could always count on Gwen not to pry.
“Did you see Lance this morning?” Gwen asks, changing the subject.
“He headed out just a bit ago.”
“He usually calls me— oh!” Gwen’s cut off by a sudden beeping. “That’s the other line.”
“Go on, then,” Merlin says with a small smile, “Don’t keep him waiting.”
Gwen thanks him quickly before hanging up. Merlin doesn’t take offense at the speed of the action.
“Ah, young love,” Merlin sighs as he puts his phone down.
A pounding on the bathroom door draws his attention.
“Merlin! Are you done yet?” Percy calls through the door, “I have to pee!”
“Me too!” a second voice adds– which Merlin quickly identifies as Gwaine.
“Whoops. My bad!” Merlin says, tacking on an apology as he adjusts his hair one last time in the mirror. He needs to re-straighten his fringe when he gets home.
He swings the door open and startles a bit as two bodies tumble into him. Percy and Gwaine must have been leaning all their weight against the door, the impatient bastards.
The two tussle for a bit before one finally gives in and lets the other go first. Gwaine slumps against the doorframe and mopes. Merlin catches his eyes slipping shut, a faint snoring emanating from his lips.
Merlin feels a bit jealous. He’d love to doze off again too, but he had a shift later today. He didn’t need to show up as early as Lance, but still he has to make it back home at some point to get ready. Who knows how long it would take him to put together an outfit that would cover all his hickies.
“What the hell happened to your neck?” Elyan asks from over his plate of eggs.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Merlin sighs, hanging his head low.
It was going to be a long day.
~~~
Merlin checks his watch and waits for the minute hand to hit its mark. Right at the hour change, his lanyard is up and over his head before he’s even out of the shop.
“I’m taking my 15, Gaius!” he yells over his shoulder, like an after thought.
“Mer—!” He catches the start of his manager‘s shout before entering the bright overhead light of the shopping complex. The white tiles really help turn the blinding fluorescents into something cosmic.
It’s almost like crossing a threshold into a new world. The Dragon’s Den music shop has dim mood lighting— it’s not as intense as some of the trendy clothing stores these days, but Merlin’s glad about that. He likes to be able to see his hands while working. Thank you very much.
The Camelot Mall looks like pretty much any other shopping center. It has stiff benches to sit on, the occasional statement greenery, an uncomfortably hard floor, and a central fountain to really boast about.
Its one unique selling point is its vaguely medieval theming and the accompanying red and gold color scheme. It even has lion statues at the main entrance and similar motifs hidden throughout the building.
There were certainly worse places to work. Camelot Mall is at least easy to commute to. So, Merlin would really like to keep his job. That’s why his heart stops a little when he spots a familiar head of golden blond hair from across the atrium.
He’d almost made it to the sun-glass kiosk, but instead of finding Gwen he found Arthur first. Just his luck.
To cover the whole situation on his neck, he’d shown up to work in the highest collar shirt he owned along with an old thick, studied choker. It was from his intense punk rocker phase in secondary school. His style had mellowed out significantly since then, but the necklace wasn’t completely out of place with his black nail polish and ripped jeans.
Today of all days Merlin was thankful for the lax dressing policy at his job. Gaius didn’t care what he wore as long as he sold and sorted CDs.
Merlin scratches at the skin chafing under the choker now as his eyes lock on to Arthur.
Arthur’s in a deep navy polo with an open white collar. The color really suits him and brings out the blue in his eyes and damn him. Merlin curses. Arthur looked so normal while Merlin had to practically change his entire wardrobe this morning.
He’s so ticked off by the unfairness of it all that he almost misses the way Arthur’s staring at him. At some point, practically mid-step, Arthur had stopped moving and was just looking straight at Merlin. For 5…10 seconds now.
Arthur doesn’t move, just sort of stands there coffee cup in hand as he stares Merlin down— like an animal caught on trail cam footage.
Merlin’s too far away to say or do anything about it and yelling would be weird. His skin crawls a bit under the attention, his whole body suddenly feeling hot.
Then, after what feels like forever, Arthur finally looks away.
Merlin almost walks into a tall potted plant. Shit.
He recovers just in time to see Arthur hightailing it in the opposite direction he was headed.
Weird.
But, Merlin only has about 5 minutes to get himself to the sun-glass kiosk with enough time left to talk to Gwen. He was on a tight schedule that did not allow for long periods of time to question and dissect the odd behavior of Arthur Pendragon— no matter how bizarre that behavior was.
Merlin is sure this encounter will haunt him in the late hours of the night. Replay out on the ceiling of his bedroom when he would much rather be sleeping. That’s just how these sorts of things went for him.
~~~
By the time lunch rolls around, Merlin is exhausted. His limbs feel heavy, mind groggy. It wasn’t necessarily a busy day at the shop, but the fact he was out late last night and slept on sofa cushions on the floor was starting to get to him. The constant worrying over what his bizarre interaction with Arthur early meant didn’t help.
Was Arthur pissed? Angry? Upset? Embarrassed?
Why did Merlin care?
It feels like half-chewed licorice is lodged in his upper chest, making his entire body ache. Just a glaring, overwhelming sense of wrongness that he can’t quite place.
All he knows is the thought of seeing Arthur right now makes him want to throw up a little or slowly pass away. It was just too bloody awkward.
When Merlin reaches the very table that started their feud in the first place, he pauses before sitting down. Instead he scans the food court carefully, scouting the area for any signs of a pompous blond asshole.
There’s no sign of Arthur.
Which is odd, considering the fact he knows Arthur is working today— he saw him earlier for Christ's sake. (And maybe Merlin has most of Arthur’s work scheduled memorized, too. For purely tactical reasons. To better ‘know his enemy’ and all that…)
Merlin lowers himself slowly onto a chair. Somehow, this particular table never gets sticky, and today the overhead atrium window casts the white, round surface in a perfect halo glow. It’s secluded from the rest of the food court by large leafy greenery and catches the optimal breeze from the building’s AC system. Objectively speaking, it’s the perfect table. Which is exactly why Arthur was so reluctant to give it up in the first place. This was the type of prime lunch spot you went to war for.
There was no way Arthur would give up so easily.
Minutes go by. Nothing.
Merlin picks at his lunch with an uneasy feeling in his stomach.
Was this a peace offering?
Whatever it was, Merlin manages to finish his food without incident, but despite having the table all to himself—the very thing he’s wanted since first meeting Arthur— he doesn’t feel very victorious at all. Instead, he feels more like a man awaiting his death sentence, dining in the gallows.
Merlin isn’t dramatic at all.