[fic] 40 Days and 40 Fights, 1/3
Feb. 18th, 2011 02:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
da_ya_riTitle: 40 Days and 40 Fights
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~26k (why so longgg /o\)
Beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kura_tan
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (with background Leon/Morgana)
Warnings: homophobia, elements of bullying, violence & slight gore, maybe underage depending on where you live (Arthur, Merlin & Leon are 17, Morgana is 21)
Summary: High school AU. In which Arthur is (a) the best captain that the volleyball team has seen in ages, (b) too handsome for his own good, and also (c) decidedly not gay; although Merlin agrees with the first two, he's willing to bet that (c) is open for discussion.
A/N: Happy (belated) birthday,hanako_yume!! I hope you like your present, despite its length and the unsurprising fact that I'm now nervous as hell about it. \o/ I love volleyball to bits and so of course I had to eventually include it in fic, regardless of how much kura_tan laughed at me (thank you so much for the epic speedy beta ♥)! I think I'm a fairly decent setter, but a horrible blocker—although I'm tall, boo—and an even worse server. That said, I borrowed the title from the song by Badly Drawn Boy—no copyright infringement intended!—and the song Morgana is listening to at some point is Like You Like An Arsonist by Paris Texas, aka the most awesome band to ever have awesome'd. ♥ And I played around with the timeline a bit, but I hope that the tense makes it clear which sections take place in the present and which are essentially flashbacks. Um. Enjoy reading (hopefully)!
Despite the pain in his swelled-shut eye and the prickling rush of heat that shoots straight down to his toes, it only takes Arthur about three seconds to push Merlin away.
***
(40 days earlier)
In the midst of all the gossip about why in hell Arthur Pendragon, captain of Avalon High's volleyball team, had broken up with head cheerleader Sophia Tirmawr, no one really noticed Merlin at first.
Which would have been stupid, anyway—the rumor mill had more juicy specimen to tear apart than the scrawny new kid with the well-worn clothes, slightly befuddled smile and enormous ears. Arthur and Sophia were far more interesting subjects to gossip about, after all, especially with the way Sophia was making a spectacle of herself. She kept bursting into bouts of fake tears whenever Arthur walked past her in the hallways, and reminisced loudly over how Arthur had called it off in the middle of their romantic vacation, and stared at him from across the classrooms with a dramatically wobbly lower lip until one of her friends put a comforting hand on her arm. Arthur strongly suspected that she only did it so that the gaggle of friends/admirers/parasites that constantly surrounded her had something to do.
Even Arthur didn't really notice Merlin at first. One day, shortly after the summer break, his Biology teacher introduced him to the class, saying that Merlin Emrys had transferred from another school and that she hoped they'd collectively take him under their wing and help him accommodate during the next few weeks. Merlin smiled through her speech, a little awkwardly, and Arthur had to give it to him—he didn't look nervous. He had his hands stuffed loosely into his pockets, but the set of his shoulders seemed relaxed and easy. Only the minute shifting of his weight from foot to foot betrayed his agitation.
Arthur only looked up at him when Mrs. Lake directed Merlin to an empty seat in the first row, and Merlin headed for the chair right in front of Arthur's. His hair was black, sticking up messily in a way that didn't look like he'd spent hours on it in front of a mirror in the morning, but rather like he'd been running his hands through it one too many times. He was a bit pale, but when he turned his back on them and sat down, Arthur saw that his rather large ears had gone red at the tips, supposedly from well-concealed embarrassment.
From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see that Lance looked intrigued, and he couldn't help smiling—he already knew who would be offering to show Merlin around the school grounds after class. Lance was like that, friendly and protective towards anyone who looked like they might need it. It was part of the reason why Arthur was sometimes glad that Lance wasn't in his team, and a significantly larger part of the reason why he was also Arthur's best friend.
On Arthur's other side, Owain took one look at the slightly frayed neckline of Merlin's shirt, grinned widely, and began to lob spitballs at the back of Merlin's head.
Lance sighed when the first glob of chewed paper landed in Merlin's unruly hair, and gave Owain an annoyed look. Arthur lowered his gaze back to the textbook, his mind already a few hours ahead of time, and tried to figure out the best way of informing their coach that their back row would need a lot of work after the long summer break.
When Merlin got up at the end of class, he calmly combed the bits of paper out of his hair, not looking annoyed in the least. A propos of nothing, Arthur got the feeling that Merlin had had a lot of practice not getting annoyed at this sort of thing, and he took care to swipe Owain with his bag when he got up, just a little.
Owain didn't seem to notice anything. But Merlin briefly looked back over his shoulder when he'd reached the doorway, and tossed Arthur a quick smile. It was little more than a brief curve of his lips, but it made Arthur blink in surprise at the warmth of it, and for some reason he found himself almost smiling back.
"Fag," Owain muttered under his breath, too low for Merlin to hear. Lance frowned and opened his mouth, and Arthur shouldered past both of them, not really intent on listening to the bickering match that was most likely to start.
***
A week later, Arthur found out that Owain had been right.
Merlin joined the LGBT club at the start of his second week, but to Arthur's surprise, the rumor mill miraculously ignored even that. It had already ignored his tight-fitting jeans, and the fine, nearly unnoticeable smudge of eyeliner framing his eyes, so it probably wasn't enough of a surprise to warrant extensive gossiping. And Merlin was still shrouded in the safe anonymity of being new.
Not much happened, at first. A few of the artsy guys who had taken to sitting with Merlin for lunch started sitting somewhere else, but mostly, things stayed the same. Merlin still smiled at him occasionally. Owain lobbed his spitballs with more force than before, and his glares intensified each time Merlin refused to rise to the challenge. And it wasn't until Arthur found himself tossing a casual greeting over his shoulder when he passed Merlin in the hallway that he realized that Merlin's eyes were blue.
All in all, nothing changed after his coming out, until Merlin showed up to volleyball practice one day.
His unruly mop of hair was quite a nice change from Sophia's theatrically sobbing form sprawled across the stands, but Arthur still felt something uncomfortable clench low in his stomach when he caught sight of Merlin from the open door of the locker room. He bent down to check the fit of his knee pads, and when he straightened up again, his teammates had noticed Merlin as well.
"Dude," Owain said, to no one in particular, but the belligerence in his tone was unmistakable. He had stopped in the middle of pulling on his shirt. "What's the fag doing here?"
Next to Arthur, Leon rolled his eyes and rose from the bench. He was taller than all of them, and one of the best blockers Arthur had ever seen, but the look he gave Owain was placating. "He might want to join the team," he replied, diplomatically. "Isn't he new?"
Arthur nodded, but Owain just shook his head. "Probably there to ogle our asses," he spat, shrugging on his shirt with a jerky, angry movement, and directed another dark look out at the field.
To be fair, Merlin didn't look like he was planning to ogle anyone. He was pulling off an enormous pair of headphones, putting it on the seat beside him, and even from a distance, Arthur saw him gaze around the gym with interest. It had been raining all day, and the pitch outside was little more than a field of grassy puddles, and after a forlorn look at the net stretching soggily across the mud, their coach had declared that they'd just start the indoor season a little earlier than usual.
"He wouldn't lower himself to checking out your ass anyway," Pellinore said from the back of the room, grinning easily when Owain turned to glare at him. "Come on, mate, chill. First practice after the summer break, we have to show the coach we haven't forgotten how to play."
Owain didn't reply, but his movements didn't seem quite as erratic anymore when he bent down to tighten his shoelaces, and Arthur breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
The warm-ups mostly got everyone in line again, and even Owain had to stop glancing Merlin's way every so often, with the way the coach was drilling them. He just made an idle remark about how he hoped that this wouldn't turn out like that time when Morgana had marched onto the field after practice, her beautiful head held high, and asked Leon on a date without any preamble whatsoever. Arthur smiled at the memory—of course he'd seen the way Leon had been looking at his stepsister for months, but Morgana had never let on that she'd noticed as well.
Leon kindly asked Owain to shut up, however, and the conversation dwindled away into nothingness during the first game. It felt impossibly good to be in the court again, although they were just fooling around in two teams of three to get back into the swing of the game after the long break. The squeak of his shoes on the floor, the familiar sting to his wrists after each dig, the sweat running into his eyes—Arthur felt an elated grin break out across his face as he jogged through the backcourt for a serve. He had missed this.
They were all looking at him when he turned back around, Gareth and Gawain already milling towards the back of their field with their eyes glued to the ball in Arthur's hand. He grinned, wiping his sweaty fringe off of his forehead, and for some reason his eyes came to rest on Merlin, still sitting in the stands on the far side of the field. He was looking at Arthur too, his expression intrigued and somehow expectant, and Arthur took great care to avert his gaze again before he slowly began to slide his foot back.
The ball spun once when he threw it, lightly, but even after the summer break, the angle was perfect when the heel of his hand slammed into it. It shot across the gym in a blur of white, not even jostling the net, and Arthur saw Gareth lunge forward with a wild expression, diving to the floor with his fists already outstretched for a dig. Gawain practically jumped into the net, but it was too late—the ball had already touched down, bouncing off the floor twice as though to mock their efforts.
Arthur felt his grin widen as he jogged back into the field after their coach's whistle, accepting Owain's impressed look with an easy nod. Leon had been an unstoppable whirl of motion at the net, and Arthur gave him a clap on the shoulder and a few appreciative words when they rotated. Gawain and Pellinore had constantly been struggling to close their block on the other side, and they wore matching expressions of relief when Owain stepped up to take Leon's place.
Owain saw the look, of course, and hissed a playful threat at them when Arthur stepped towards the net as well. Leon caught the ball when a disgruntled-looking Gareth flung it at him, retreating for his own first serve of the day. Arthur kept his eyes on the others through the net, not looking back—and found his gaze drifting to Merlin again, who was still watching him, looking thoughtful and a little confused why Arthur had given up his position in the backcourt.
If Merlin didn't know the basic rules of volleyball, he couldn't be here because he wanted to join the team—and he still didn't seem like the kind of person who'd watch their practice just because he wanted to look his fill. Arthur refocused his gaze on the net in front of him, not listening to Pellinore's shout for Leon to get the hell on with it and stop prancing around like a pony, and Leon shouted back something about readjusting his stance.
Once again the ball shot across the field, but this time Gawain was faster. He passed it to Gareth with a triumphant expression, and Arthur made a mental note to compliment him on the neat dig later—Gawain was the newest addition to their team, he had only joined them half a year ago, and his confidence was still not up to par with his skill.
The ball spun high above their heads for a moment, giving Gareth plenty of time to get ready for one of his killer spikes. Arthur tensed, widening his stance and exchanging a quick, alarmed look with Owain. Then Gareth's fist connected with the ball, his face a sweaty grimace of intense concentration, and Arthur and Owain both jumped, hands already outstretched.
It skimmed Arthur's fingertips, briefly bending his middle finger backwards at a painful angle, but then it was gone just before Owain lost his balance and crashed into him. Arthur heard the muffled thump of Leon dropping to his knees, but then the ball slapped to the ground behind them and Owain groaned.
"Not bad," the coach said from the sidelines, appreciatively, and Arthur gave Owain a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Mercifully, Mr. Muirden seemed to be going easy on them because it was the first practice after the summer break—usually he'd have been shouting instructions already.
Arthur and Pellinore switched places after a while, and Pellinore gave him a feral grin when they passed each other at the net. His expression wasn't mocking at all, despite the teasing glint in his eyes, but Arthur still felt a slow tug at the bottom of his stomach, reminding him of the knot of tension that had settled there in the locker room.
"Seems like Owain's not the one who should be worried about his ass," Pellinore whispered, with a short jerk of his head towards where Merlin was still sitting. Arthur stared at him, thoroughly taken aback, but Pellinore just clapped him on the shoulder and went to join Leon at the net.
He couldn't keep his eyes from straying to Merlin again after that, and well, he had noticed that Merlin seemed to be looking at him whenever Arthur glanced his way. But it didn't have to mean anything, or at least not that. Merlin was just watching them practice with a slightly puzzled, muted sort of excitement—he might not have known the rules of the game, but he was still perceptive enough to see that they were good.
Arthur caught himself almost grinning at Merlin, and schooling his mouth back into a tightly-set line distracted him enough that he forgot to glance away when their gazes met again. Merlin just looked at him, with the same kind of calm that he had seemed to wear like a cloak on his first day. He didn't look like he'd been fantasizing about Arthur's ass, or anyone else's, for that matter. He simply watched, a silent, unobtrusive presence despite all of Owain's thinly-veiled glares, and Arthur settled for giving him a curt nod before resolutely turning back to his teammates.
An hour later, they were all sweaty and exhausted, even Arthur, who had spent the majority of the summer break channeling his frustration about Sophia into excessive use of the little gym in his father's basement. But he relished in the burn and pull of his tired muscles when he wiped a stray drop of sweat out of his eye, and judging by the half-grins the others were wearing, they enjoyed the feeling of the game having them back as well.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin get up, gaze firmly fixed on him. Briefly, Arthur thought about going over to him, asking him why he'd come to watch practice—he was the captain, after all, and he knew he should. But Owain was glaring at Merlin again, although Merlin didn't seem to notice, and the coach was calling for Arthur to join him in his office—doubtlessly to discuss the slight decline in their performance and ask him why the hell Owain had been so distracted in the beginning.
He jogged after Mr. Muirden, trying to focus his mind on the lecture that awaited him. It proved to be far more difficult than he'd have preferred.
***
When Arthur came out of the empty locker room twenty minutes later, the rest of the team had left already, and Merlin was leaning against the far wall. The ridiculous headphones were pulled down around his neck, and his posture was relaxed enough, although his hair was sticking up once more, like he'd been at it with his hands again.
He pushed off the wall when he saw Arthur, taking a hesitant step forward. His eyes seemed eager, and very blue in the dimly-lit hallway, and Arthur might have thought him bold if he hadn't noticed the slightly nervous shuffle of his feet.
"Hi," Merlin said, with a tentative smile. He looked breathless. Arthur wasn't sure how it was possible to look like you weren't getting enough air—he certainly wasn't panting or anything—but somehow it was. "I'm Merlin. Merlin Emrys."
Arthur looked down at the hand Merlin was holding out for a moment before gripping it. "Arthur Pendragon," he said, the words feeling oddly hacked-off and impolite in his mouth, even though he wasn't even trying to sound aloof.
Merlin nodded, his smile widening a little. The expression looked natural on his face, like he smiled a lot throughout an average day—which was true, as far as Arthur could tell. He'd seen Merlin hang out with other members of the LGBT club lately, with Morgana's best friend Gwen and some creepy sophomore kid called Mordred, and Merlin seemed happier now than he had during his first week.
Then Arthur wondered when his subconscious had stored that into his long-term memory, since he certainly didn't recall having spent any part of the past week actively looking out for Merlin, or some such nonsense. He shifted his weight, unconsciously mirroring Merlin's nervous motion from before, suddenly aware of how he was still uncomfortably sweaty, only just beginning to cool down. Arthur didn't like to use the showers next to the locker room; he usually drove home to use his own right after practice.
"So," Arthur said, struggling for a casual tone, and locked the door behind himself, although he made no move to venture out into the yard. "You want to join my team?"
Merlin laughed, a clear, jingling sound. "God, no," he replied, eyes twinkling with amusement. Arthur noticed, with some distress, that Merlin's cheeks got dimples when he smiled widely enough. "I'm crap at anything that involves running after a ball."
"I'll bet," Arthur answered, before he could stop himself, and bit his tongue when Merlin rolled his eyes, but he didn't seem angry. Arthur wondered if Merlin knew that he wasn't venturing out of the hallway because Leon—or Owain—might be waiting for him in the yard. The thought made him feel sick, somehow, although he wasn't quite sure why.
"So," Merlin echoed, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Up close, his coat looked even more threadbare than from afar, and certainly not waterproof. "Mr. Anhora told me to talk to you—I'm kind of lagging behind in algebra and he said you might be willing to help."
A rush of something undefinable pulled through Arthur's stomach, a mix of relief and something else—relief because Merlin hadn't come to practice to check out his ass after all. The other thing prickled a little and settled uncomfortably amidst the pleasant ache of tired muscles, and Arthur pushed it away before he could put a name to it.
"Sure," he replied, belatedly—he was quite good at maths, after all, although he barely got by in English—and tried for a smile as well. It must have worked, because Merlin didn't seem to notice how strange and unsteady the expression felt on Arthur's face. "I have volleyball practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I'm sure we'll work something out."
Merlin pulled his timetable out of his bag, and they settled for meeting in the library on Friday afternoon. Arthur couldn't help noticing that they had most of their classes together, and that his first impression of Merlin had been right, if the numerous art classes he'd stuffed into his schedule were anything to go by.
He thought of his own timetable, full of various business and science classes, and couldn't help thinking that Merlin's first impression of him was probably correct as well. The thought made him smile, until he remembered that there was no reason for Merlin to have formed any impression of him at all.
"Great, thanks," Merlin said in a rush when he stuffed his timetable back into his bag; Arthur thought he heard the sound of ripping paper, but didn't say anything. "Really, thank you—you have no idea how much of a relief that is. It was so depressing to have spent all summer studying to prepare for Avalon High and find that I'm still behind—"
Arthur nodded, making no move to interrupt Merlin's babbling. The fervent gratitude on his face had shocked him into silence a moment ago, along with the sooty sweep of his lashes across his pale cheeks, shadowy and hushed in the dim light.
No one was waiting for Arthur when they walked out into the yard. The rain had stopped some time ago, although the heavy, oppressive clouds hung low enough that Arthur suspected it might start again any moment. Merlin looked at him then, sidelong, a single glance that looked oddly secretive for the tiny smile nestled in the corners of his mouth.
Again, Arthur couldn't help thinking that Merlin knew that he'd stalled in the hallway to avoid being seen with him by any teammates who might have waited around, and despite the barest hint of teasing in Merlin's eyes, Arthur didn't feel like he was being made fun of.
It was that that worried him, made him bid Merlin a rather gruff goodbye and stride away towards the school's parking lot without waiting for a reply. Arthur needed to get home, after all—residual adrenalin was still zapping through his blood, tickling drops of sweat still sliding down his spine and making his shirt stick to his back.
His heart was pounding when he unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, although he wasn't quite sure why.
***
"How was practice?" his father asked him that evening, interrupting Arthur in the middle of making a sandwich, and it took Arthur a solid ten seconds to get over his shock at seeing Uther Pendragon emerge from his study before midnight.
"Fine," Arthur said after a beat, warily, and his father nodded, silently crossing the room to lean on the kitchen counter. He was still wearing his suit, but had loosened his tie, and Arthur thought that he looked as tired as he sometimes did after a long week, although it was only Tuesday.
He carefully didn't say anything, though, and picked a few leaves of salad out of the bowl next to him. Neither of them spoke as he cut up a tomato into neat slices, the chop-chop-chop of the knife the only sound breaking the silence. The grandfather clock in the dining room was ticking, some heirloom or other from a long deceased ancestor, and Arthur carefully rolled his aching shoulders, trying to arch the tension out of his muscles again.
Uther watched as Arthur took a bit of leftover cold chicken from the fridge, and only spoke when Arthur had set the bowl down on the kitchen counter. "How is Sophia?"
Arthur swallowed, and did his best to hide his flinch. "We, uh," he mumbled, pretending to be thoroughly preoccupied with squeezing mayonnaise onto the toasted slices of bread. "We— broke up last summer."
"Oh," his father said, surprised and a little dismayed, and Arthur almost laughed at the thoroughly unfamiliar sound of Uther Pendragon being at a loss for words. The noise stuck in his throat, though, because it was just another proof of how little attention Uther paid to his son these days—if he had been home for the summer break, for instance, he would have known about the breakup.
He didn't look particularly distracted now, though. He was fixing Arthur with a silent, unmoving stare that Arthur saw all the time, only never for so long, and never accompanied by silence. That look normally made him feel like he was being examined for flaws, but Arthur suspected that the feeling shimmering in his father's eyes was concern, and, well, he had no idea what to do with that. He wished, with a sudden, vicious desperation, that he'd called Lance for an impromptu evening of video games instead of going home, and turned back to his sandwich, trying to ignore the tight, panicky feeling in his chest.
"It was mutual," Arthur said, his mouth moving on its own accord. "We didn't really— it was nice in the beginning, but she just— we didn't understand each other anymore in the end."
His father raised his eyebrows, and Arthur silently cursed himself. He was rambling like he hadn't ever since that unfortunate incident with the neighbor's dog when he was ten. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop more words from tumbling out, and moved on to cursing Merlin in his stead—he'd given Arthur his weird babbling disease.
Arthur busied himself with finding just the perfect arrangement for the tomato slices on the mayonnaise, and banished the thought of Merlin from his mind. Uther was silent, but Arthur could practically feel him exude discomfort—his father seemed to be searching for something to say, something reassuring and manly like those claps to the shoulder that he was so fond of dealing out whenever he thought Arthur needed some sort of support. He didn't seem to find any words, though, and Arthur didn't speak either, and told himself that the faint sting of disappointment was purely his imagination.
The door opened suddenly, and Morgana swept in, fastening something silver and glittering to her left ear. Her hair was pinned up into a complicated pattern that allowed a few loose curls to pool on her bare shoulders—even Arthur's brief glance revealed that she looked stunningly beautiful. Uther's silent questioning gaze came to rest on her clinging black dress, and Arthur briefly marveled at the apparently benevolent mood he was in, seeing as he hadn't asked her to go change yet.
"I'm going out," she declared, after passing a short look between them and apparently deciding to take it upon herself to defuse the silence. "With Leon."
"Again?"
"Yes, Uther, again," Morgana said, with surprising patience. "He's my boyfriend, if you hadn't noticed."
Uther grumbled something under his breath about age differences that Arthur couldn't quite make out, but he dug around in his pocket for a moment before tossing something silver and black that Morgana caught effortlessly in mid-air.
"Drive safely," he said, a little gruffly, and pushed himself off of the kitchen counter. "And don't stay out too late, you've got a lecture tomorrow morning."
"I— the Cadillac?" Morgana said, mostly to herself, staring in disbelief at the car keys in her hand. Arthur stared too, and their gazes met for a brief moment, silently sharing the question of what Morgana had done to earn this.
Then her face broke out into a grin, the sort of smile that made her look achingly young and that she only rarely directed at anyone, and she twirled the car keys around her finger. "Thank you!" she called after Uther's retreating form, unfeigned gratitude in her voice, and Uther gave her a nod, the briefest of smiles twisting his mouth before the door closed behind him.
Arthur turned back to his sandwich, heaping an inordinate amount of salad onto the tomato slices. He could feel Morgana's gaze on him, but didn't turn to look at her, concentrating instead on the clawed, burning something that seemed to have come to life in his stomach just a second ago. Next time, he would just call Lance.
***
Merlin lets out a sharp gasp of pain when his back hits the wall, but right there and then, Arthur is beyond caring that his shove must have aggravated one of Merlin's other bruises. His heart is pounding hard enough to make him nauseous, his vision swimming and blurring in and out of focus like it only ever does when he's drunk.
There's something shaking in his chest, something that Merlin must have kicked loose and that's now stumbling around like a wayward sailor on a swaying deck, not knowing what to do with the freedom it's been given. Arthur staggers backwards until he can brace himself against the door with a shaking hand, feeling shapeless and unsteady and very much like he's going just a bit mad.
"What the— what the hell," he pants, all but spitting out the words, and for a moment he considers spitting for real. But there's a tiny part of his mind that protests vigorously as soon as the fleeting notion crosses his mind, the same part that recoiled in shock when Merlin cringed away from the wall with a pained grimace, and that now cries out at the thought of rinsing the taste of something electric and frightening from his mouth.
Arthur sucks in a deep breath through his nose, and the nausea subsides a little, though he feels no less dangerous. "Get out," he says, with what feels like the last bit of authoritative strength he has left. "If you know what's good for you, get the fuck out of this room."
Merlin just looks at him, though, with those infuriatingly calm blue eyes that show no trace of the dull ache that must still be pulsing through his shoulder. He takes a step closer, heedless of the tension humming through Arthur's frame and the white-knuckled, trembling clench of his fists, and cocks his head to the side like a curious bird. And then he says, "No."
***
(29 days earlier)
He met up with Merlin in the library on Friday afternoon, and belatedly realized that he'd be exposed to Morgana's glances for the entire duration of their studying session, since Morgana had kept her job at the school's library even after graduation. Arthur just grunted a moody reply to Merlin's cheerful greeting, and grabbed Merlin's arm, tugging him towards a desk in the back of the room where he could at least pretend that Morgana wasn't watching them with an expression of inexplicable glee.
Merlin seemed puzzled but didn't protest, and for that, Arthur was grateful.
After seeing Merlin's algebra notes for the first time, Arthur explained, exasperatedly, that Merlin would probably have made far better progress if he hadn't wasted his time doodling in the margins.
For some reason, Merlin flushed slightly at that, and stretched out his arm so his elbow conveniently covered the lower half of the page, which was filled with doodles as well. Arthur saw what might have been the upper half of a heart peeking out from underneath Merlin's sleeve, and just rolled his eyes, not caring whoever it was Merlin had a crush on already (because honestly, it was only their second week of classes).
He didn't say anything, although Merlin's unwavering gaze unsettled him a bit. It almost seemed like Merlin wanted him to ask, or to casually shove his arm out of the way so he could read whatever name or initials the little heart held. His eyes were such a brilliant blue that Arthur had a hard time looking down at Merlin's textbook, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Merlin finally lowered his gaze as well.
But a small grin was lurking in the corners of his mouth, and this time Arthur did feel like he was being mocked, just a little. What startled him, though, was that he didn't really mind.
They established a routine after that first Friday afternoon, and Arthur discovered that Merlin did indeed smile a lot, and that he had a quirky sense of humor that was easy to fall into step with. He also found out that Merlin seemed to be nervous a lot more than Arthur had previously thought, and that he was just rather good at hiding it. But there was always something that gave him away—a knee bouncing silently under the table when Arthur leaned closer to snatch the pen from Merlin's hand before he could commit the same mathematical crime for the third time. The way his hands never fidgeted but his feet often shuffled, scuffing his worn boots against the linoleum floor as though to compensate for the forced stillness of his slender artist's fingers.
And, most of all, the quickly-hidden blush that hastened to his face whenever Arthur laughed at something he'd said, or when Arthur leaned back to stretch the kinks out of his shoulders after having hunched over the desk for the better part of an hour.
Their Fridays lined up like neat little pearls on a carefully-crafted necklace, and sometimes when he was driving home, Arthur felt like he wasn't all that good at mathematics after all. It seemed like an equation that was placed right in front of him, factors being added and subtracted without his doing, and he could only stare as the sum seemed to drift further and further away.
Owain still called Merlin a fag, and various other names that grew louder each time. Arthur found himself looking over to where Merlin was sitting with Gwen and Mordred during lunch, and hoping that Owain would just get over it, whatever it was. He doubted Owain would, though, because Merlin still showed up for practice sometimes—just sitting quietly and unobtrusively, and certainly never ogling, but his presence was usually enough to set his teammate off.
And Mordred kept grinning at Owain whenever they passed each other in the hallway, an infuriating, cold twist of his mouth that never failed to provoke him into asking, loudly, whether the filthy faggot saw something he liked. Pellinore usually succeeded in pulling Owain away before Mordred could reply with something that'd most likely incense him even more, but it still grated on Arthur's nerves, and he resolved to have a serious talk with Owain about live and let live some time soon.
On a rainy Thursday morning, Arthur watched Merlin pull a sheet of paper from his locker—he didn't know who had put it there, but he was fairly sure it hadn't been Owain, since Owain couldn't draw to save his life. But Merlin just rolled his eyes at the crude picture of a dark-haired someone giving head to another stick figure, loudly criticizing the poor craftsmanship. He readily joined in when Mordred laughed, leaning casually against the locker next to Merlin's, and tossed the crumpled sheet of paper into the next dustbin.
If Merlin seemed to walk a little slower than usual for the rest of the day, or if he hunched his shoulders almost as though he wanted to disappear between them, Arthur was sure he was just imagining it.
One time, Arthur even met Merlin's mother—apparently she worked not far from the school grounds, and picked Merlin up whenever his last classes coincided with the end of her shift. Against his will, Arthur felt his eyebrow climbing towards his hairline as the banged-up green car pulled into the school's parking lot. It shot back down as soon as Hunith Emrys stepped out, though, with a hug for her son (who squirmed out of her grasp, mumbling embarrassed complaints) and an appraising glance towards Arthur.
"Call me Hunith, dear," was the first thing Merlin's mother said to him when Arthur introduced himself, awkwardly, and she shook his hand in a firm grip. Her hair was dark, graying just a little around the temples, and the laugh lines surrounding her face seemed to tell a story of days well spent in happiness, rather than of age. She reminded Arthur a little of one of his elementary school teachers, and he found himself relaxing.
Merlin explained that Arthur was helping him out with his algebra homework, and Hunith gave Arthur a smile he didn't think he'd ever quite seen. It made him feel like he had done something extraordinary just by existing, just by helping her son. It stirred something hidden in his chest, catching on a long-forgotten edge that bled an odd, jarring fissure of pain into his stomach.
He excused himself hastily, muttering something about a late afternoon class, and stumbled and nearly fell over his own feet in his haste to get away.
***
"I," Arthur shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls of the locker room, "am not," and he throws his other shoe at Merlin, not at all surprised when the other boy easily ducks out of the way, "gay!"
The purplish bruise on Merlin's cheek stands out even more in the dim light. Arthur can't stop feeling like he might throw up every time he looks at it, and the churning in his stomach makes him gaze wildly across the room in search of something heavier to throw.
"Good for you," Merlin says, his voice surprisingly even, although his breathing is not. "Then why did you kiss me back?"
***
(15 days earlier)
"Hi," Merlin said, startling Arthur out of the silent glare he'd been bestowing onto the paper in front of him for the past twenty minutes. "Can I sit here?"
"No," Arthur said firmly, and of course Merlin sat down, flopping his gangly limbs into the chair next to his and sliding the strap of his bag off of his shoulder. He sighed in relief when the bag hit the floor with a thump, and Arthur briefly contemplated making some unkind remark about how Merlin was too scrawny to carry around half of the library with him.
He remained silent, though, and went back to staring at the red F that had already burned an afterimage into his eyes. There was a clatter as Merlin put his headphones on the table, and a rustle of cloth when he rummaged around in his bag for whatever homework he had come here to finish. Arthur wasn't looking at him, but he could feel the moment Merlin saw the F and recognized Mr. Kilgharrah's handwriting.
Merlin stilled, and leaned over, scattering pens everywhere when his elbow bumped into Arthur's pencil case. Arthur leaned back when he felt the faint stir of Merlin's breath on his cheek, and huffed, trying to tug the neutral, aloof expression onto his face that he had also presented his teacher with earlier. It didn't work, though, and he let Merlin draw the sheets of paper out from under his forearm.
It wasn't like the fail grade was unusual, after all. Morgana had opened her mouth when Arthur had entered the library earlier, but the alarm had morphed into understanding as she'd recognized his English teacher's handwriting on the sheet of paper clutched in Arthur's hand. Literature had never been his strong suit—he was good at maths and science and business respectively, and even Uther had realized, after years of Arthur just barely getting by in English, that his bad grades weren't for a lack of trying.
'Shows promise', it said under the essays he turned in, 'good potential', as if Arthur were an undercooked roast that needed to be put back in the oven for a few more minutes. He appreciated Mr. Kilgharrah's attempts at softening the blow, but sometimes he wished his teacher would be a little more honest, just tell him exactly where he inevitably went wrong.
Merlin had turned back to the first page and was now reading the essay, not even twitching when Arthur made a protesting noise and tugged on the sheets of paper without any real intent. And Arthur's gaze caught on Merlin, despite the restless, frustrated itch under his skin—he noticed, not for the first time, the way Merlin drew his lower lip between his teeth in concentration, and the little focused line etched between his eyebrows.
He slowly let go of the paper and Merlin smiled distractedly, not even looking up at him. Arthur swallowed, and found himself staring at the shadowy space under Merlin's left cheekbone for some reason, where the skin was still slightly flushed from exposure to the cutting autumn wind. His mouth was very dry, his throat tight all of a sudden, and Arthur swallowed again, convulsively, feeling his stomach do a slow backflip in reaction, although to what, he didn't quite know.
The door banged open, shattering the quietude, and Morgana grumbled something about proper decorum in a library from the front of the room. Merlin raised his head in confusion, as though he'd been so deeply immersed in Arthur's essay that he'd forgotten where they were. Arthur blinked and shook himself out of his thoughts, self-consciously, clearing his throat to chase away the constriction lodged there.
"Arthur! There you are!" a familiar loud voice said, and Arthur looked up just in time to see Morgana glare at Owain, who came swaggering his way. Apparently Merlin had heard him too, because he looked up from Arthur's essay and turned around, giving Owain a curious look.
Out of nowhere, Owain froze. His grin froze, too. Arthur watched helplessly as his teammate's eyes drifted from him to Merlin and back again—Merlin, who was sitting up a little straighter and returned Owain's gaze with an unwavering stare.
There was a long silence, and then Owain smiled, although Arthur couldn't shake the impression of something nasty settling in the corner of his mouth. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, his voice inscrutable, and started to turn back to the way he'd come. "Just in case you've forgotten, practice starts in ten minutes. Captain."
Arthur opened his mouth, but Owain was already leaving, bounding up the steps to the door and dodging a girl carrying books. He shoved the door open with far more force than necessary, and it banged into the wall outside, causing the scattered students around them to look up as one. Morgana glared after him, beautiful in the sunlight even with the crease between her eyebrows, and although Arthur instinctively braced himself, she didn't turn her angry gaze to him.
Merlin's eyes had gone dark, his jaw a little too tight. Arthur stared at the tightness around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, and it made him hate a little, although if the feeling was for Owain or for Merlin or even for himself, he didn't know.
But Merlin didn't say anything, and neither did Arthur, and Arthur quickly gathered his pens and stuffed them back into his bag, inexplicably angry at the slow flush he felt spreading across his cheeks, a scratchy, prickling heat that was hard to ignore and even harder to tamper down.
He got up, and then just stood there for a few seconds, staring down at Merlin with his mind utterly devoid of any words at all. Near the front of the room, Morgana unfolded a newspaper with great fuss, the pages rustling loudly in the quietude as though she was pointedly not listening at all. Which would have been fine, since Arthur had no idea what to say anyway, but deep down, he still appreciated her effort.
Merlin just looked back at him, his eyes calm and oddly unhurried. Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it, and swallowed once more, and finally he just made a vague, clumsy gesture that could have been a wave. He wanted it to say, 'See you later', and, unrelatedly, 'Owain is an idiot', and somehow he thought that the tiny smile on Merlin's face meant that he understood.
Only when the library door swung shut did it occur to Arthur that Merlin had kept his essay.
***
Part 2
Fandom: Merlin BBC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~26k (why so longgg /o\)
Beta:
kura_tanPairing: Merlin/Arthur (with background Leon/Morgana)
Warnings: homophobia, elements of bullying, violence & slight gore, maybe underage depending on where you live (Arthur, Merlin & Leon are 17, Morgana is 21)
Summary: High school AU. In which Arthur is (a) the best captain that the volleyball team has seen in ages, (b) too handsome for his own good, and also (c) decidedly not gay; although Merlin agrees with the first two, he's willing to bet that (c) is open for discussion.
A/N: Happy (belated) birthday,
hanako_yume!! I hope you like your present, despite its length and the unsurprising fact that I'm now nervous as hell about it. \o/ I love volleyball to bits and so of course I had to eventually include it in fic, regardless of how much kura_tan laughed at me (thank you so much for the epic speedy beta ♥)! I think I'm a fairly decent setter, but a horrible blocker—although I'm tall, boo—and an even worse server. That said, I borrowed the title from the song by Badly Drawn Boy—no copyright infringement intended!—and the song Morgana is listening to at some point is Like You Like An Arsonist by Paris Texas, aka the most awesome band to ever have awesome'd. ♥ And I played around with the timeline a bit, but I hope that the tense makes it clear which sections take place in the present and which are essentially flashbacks. Um. Enjoy reading (hopefully)!Despite the pain in his swelled-shut eye and the prickling rush of heat that shoots straight down to his toes, it only takes Arthur about three seconds to push Merlin away.
(40 days earlier)
In the midst of all the gossip about why in hell Arthur Pendragon, captain of Avalon High's volleyball team, had broken up with head cheerleader Sophia Tirmawr, no one really noticed Merlin at first.
Which would have been stupid, anyway—the rumor mill had more juicy specimen to tear apart than the scrawny new kid with the well-worn clothes, slightly befuddled smile and enormous ears. Arthur and Sophia were far more interesting subjects to gossip about, after all, especially with the way Sophia was making a spectacle of herself. She kept bursting into bouts of fake tears whenever Arthur walked past her in the hallways, and reminisced loudly over how Arthur had called it off in the middle of their romantic vacation, and stared at him from across the classrooms with a dramatically wobbly lower lip until one of her friends put a comforting hand on her arm. Arthur strongly suspected that she only did it so that the gaggle of friends/admirers/parasites that constantly surrounded her had something to do.
Even Arthur didn't really notice Merlin at first. One day, shortly after the summer break, his Biology teacher introduced him to the class, saying that Merlin Emrys had transferred from another school and that she hoped they'd collectively take him under their wing and help him accommodate during the next few weeks. Merlin smiled through her speech, a little awkwardly, and Arthur had to give it to him—he didn't look nervous. He had his hands stuffed loosely into his pockets, but the set of his shoulders seemed relaxed and easy. Only the minute shifting of his weight from foot to foot betrayed his agitation.
Arthur only looked up at him when Mrs. Lake directed Merlin to an empty seat in the first row, and Merlin headed for the chair right in front of Arthur's. His hair was black, sticking up messily in a way that didn't look like he'd spent hours on it in front of a mirror in the morning, but rather like he'd been running his hands through it one too many times. He was a bit pale, but when he turned his back on them and sat down, Arthur saw that his rather large ears had gone red at the tips, supposedly from well-concealed embarrassment.
From the corner of his eye, Arthur could see that Lance looked intrigued, and he couldn't help smiling—he already knew who would be offering to show Merlin around the school grounds after class. Lance was like that, friendly and protective towards anyone who looked like they might need it. It was part of the reason why Arthur was sometimes glad that Lance wasn't in his team, and a significantly larger part of the reason why he was also Arthur's best friend.
On Arthur's other side, Owain took one look at the slightly frayed neckline of Merlin's shirt, grinned widely, and began to lob spitballs at the back of Merlin's head.
Lance sighed when the first glob of chewed paper landed in Merlin's unruly hair, and gave Owain an annoyed look. Arthur lowered his gaze back to the textbook, his mind already a few hours ahead of time, and tried to figure out the best way of informing their coach that their back row would need a lot of work after the long summer break.
When Merlin got up at the end of class, he calmly combed the bits of paper out of his hair, not looking annoyed in the least. A propos of nothing, Arthur got the feeling that Merlin had had a lot of practice not getting annoyed at this sort of thing, and he took care to swipe Owain with his bag when he got up, just a little.
Owain didn't seem to notice anything. But Merlin briefly looked back over his shoulder when he'd reached the doorway, and tossed Arthur a quick smile. It was little more than a brief curve of his lips, but it made Arthur blink in surprise at the warmth of it, and for some reason he found himself almost smiling back.
"Fag," Owain muttered under his breath, too low for Merlin to hear. Lance frowned and opened his mouth, and Arthur shouldered past both of them, not really intent on listening to the bickering match that was most likely to start.
A week later, Arthur found out that Owain had been right.
Merlin joined the LGBT club at the start of his second week, but to Arthur's surprise, the rumor mill miraculously ignored even that. It had already ignored his tight-fitting jeans, and the fine, nearly unnoticeable smudge of eyeliner framing his eyes, so it probably wasn't enough of a surprise to warrant extensive gossiping. And Merlin was still shrouded in the safe anonymity of being new.
Not much happened, at first. A few of the artsy guys who had taken to sitting with Merlin for lunch started sitting somewhere else, but mostly, things stayed the same. Merlin still smiled at him occasionally. Owain lobbed his spitballs with more force than before, and his glares intensified each time Merlin refused to rise to the challenge. And it wasn't until Arthur found himself tossing a casual greeting over his shoulder when he passed Merlin in the hallway that he realized that Merlin's eyes were blue.
All in all, nothing changed after his coming out, until Merlin showed up to volleyball practice one day.
His unruly mop of hair was quite a nice change from Sophia's theatrically sobbing form sprawled across the stands, but Arthur still felt something uncomfortable clench low in his stomach when he caught sight of Merlin from the open door of the locker room. He bent down to check the fit of his knee pads, and when he straightened up again, his teammates had noticed Merlin as well.
"Dude," Owain said, to no one in particular, but the belligerence in his tone was unmistakable. He had stopped in the middle of pulling on his shirt. "What's the fag doing here?"
Next to Arthur, Leon rolled his eyes and rose from the bench. He was taller than all of them, and one of the best blockers Arthur had ever seen, but the look he gave Owain was placating. "He might want to join the team," he replied, diplomatically. "Isn't he new?"
Arthur nodded, but Owain just shook his head. "Probably there to ogle our asses," he spat, shrugging on his shirt with a jerky, angry movement, and directed another dark look out at the field.
To be fair, Merlin didn't look like he was planning to ogle anyone. He was pulling off an enormous pair of headphones, putting it on the seat beside him, and even from a distance, Arthur saw him gaze around the gym with interest. It had been raining all day, and the pitch outside was little more than a field of grassy puddles, and after a forlorn look at the net stretching soggily across the mud, their coach had declared that they'd just start the indoor season a little earlier than usual.
"He wouldn't lower himself to checking out your ass anyway," Pellinore said from the back of the room, grinning easily when Owain turned to glare at him. "Come on, mate, chill. First practice after the summer break, we have to show the coach we haven't forgotten how to play."
Owain didn't reply, but his movements didn't seem quite as erratic anymore when he bent down to tighten his shoelaces, and Arthur breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
The warm-ups mostly got everyone in line again, and even Owain had to stop glancing Merlin's way every so often, with the way the coach was drilling them. He just made an idle remark about how he hoped that this wouldn't turn out like that time when Morgana had marched onto the field after practice, her beautiful head held high, and asked Leon on a date without any preamble whatsoever. Arthur smiled at the memory—of course he'd seen the way Leon had been looking at his stepsister for months, but Morgana had never let on that she'd noticed as well.
Leon kindly asked Owain to shut up, however, and the conversation dwindled away into nothingness during the first game. It felt impossibly good to be in the court again, although they were just fooling around in two teams of three to get back into the swing of the game after the long break. The squeak of his shoes on the floor, the familiar sting to his wrists after each dig, the sweat running into his eyes—Arthur felt an elated grin break out across his face as he jogged through the backcourt for a serve. He had missed this.
They were all looking at him when he turned back around, Gareth and Gawain already milling towards the back of their field with their eyes glued to the ball in Arthur's hand. He grinned, wiping his sweaty fringe off of his forehead, and for some reason his eyes came to rest on Merlin, still sitting in the stands on the far side of the field. He was looking at Arthur too, his expression intrigued and somehow expectant, and Arthur took great care to avert his gaze again before he slowly began to slide his foot back.
The ball spun once when he threw it, lightly, but even after the summer break, the angle was perfect when the heel of his hand slammed into it. It shot across the gym in a blur of white, not even jostling the net, and Arthur saw Gareth lunge forward with a wild expression, diving to the floor with his fists already outstretched for a dig. Gawain practically jumped into the net, but it was too late—the ball had already touched down, bouncing off the floor twice as though to mock their efforts.
Arthur felt his grin widen as he jogged back into the field after their coach's whistle, accepting Owain's impressed look with an easy nod. Leon had been an unstoppable whirl of motion at the net, and Arthur gave him a clap on the shoulder and a few appreciative words when they rotated. Gawain and Pellinore had constantly been struggling to close their block on the other side, and they wore matching expressions of relief when Owain stepped up to take Leon's place.
Owain saw the look, of course, and hissed a playful threat at them when Arthur stepped towards the net as well. Leon caught the ball when a disgruntled-looking Gareth flung it at him, retreating for his own first serve of the day. Arthur kept his eyes on the others through the net, not looking back—and found his gaze drifting to Merlin again, who was still watching him, looking thoughtful and a little confused why Arthur had given up his position in the backcourt.
If Merlin didn't know the basic rules of volleyball, he couldn't be here because he wanted to join the team—and he still didn't seem like the kind of person who'd watch their practice just because he wanted to look his fill. Arthur refocused his gaze on the net in front of him, not listening to Pellinore's shout for Leon to get the hell on with it and stop prancing around like a pony, and Leon shouted back something about readjusting his stance.
Once again the ball shot across the field, but this time Gawain was faster. He passed it to Gareth with a triumphant expression, and Arthur made a mental note to compliment him on the neat dig later—Gawain was the newest addition to their team, he had only joined them half a year ago, and his confidence was still not up to par with his skill.
The ball spun high above their heads for a moment, giving Gareth plenty of time to get ready for one of his killer spikes. Arthur tensed, widening his stance and exchanging a quick, alarmed look with Owain. Then Gareth's fist connected with the ball, his face a sweaty grimace of intense concentration, and Arthur and Owain both jumped, hands already outstretched.
It skimmed Arthur's fingertips, briefly bending his middle finger backwards at a painful angle, but then it was gone just before Owain lost his balance and crashed into him. Arthur heard the muffled thump of Leon dropping to his knees, but then the ball slapped to the ground behind them and Owain groaned.
"Not bad," the coach said from the sidelines, appreciatively, and Arthur gave Owain a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Mercifully, Mr. Muirden seemed to be going easy on them because it was the first practice after the summer break—usually he'd have been shouting instructions already.
Arthur and Pellinore switched places after a while, and Pellinore gave him a feral grin when they passed each other at the net. His expression wasn't mocking at all, despite the teasing glint in his eyes, but Arthur still felt a slow tug at the bottom of his stomach, reminding him of the knot of tension that had settled there in the locker room.
"Seems like Owain's not the one who should be worried about his ass," Pellinore whispered, with a short jerk of his head towards where Merlin was still sitting. Arthur stared at him, thoroughly taken aback, but Pellinore just clapped him on the shoulder and went to join Leon at the net.
He couldn't keep his eyes from straying to Merlin again after that, and well, he had noticed that Merlin seemed to be looking at him whenever Arthur glanced his way. But it didn't have to mean anything, or at least not that. Merlin was just watching them practice with a slightly puzzled, muted sort of excitement—he might not have known the rules of the game, but he was still perceptive enough to see that they were good.
Arthur caught himself almost grinning at Merlin, and schooling his mouth back into a tightly-set line distracted him enough that he forgot to glance away when their gazes met again. Merlin just looked at him, with the same kind of calm that he had seemed to wear like a cloak on his first day. He didn't look like he'd been fantasizing about Arthur's ass, or anyone else's, for that matter. He simply watched, a silent, unobtrusive presence despite all of Owain's thinly-veiled glares, and Arthur settled for giving him a curt nod before resolutely turning back to his teammates.
An hour later, they were all sweaty and exhausted, even Arthur, who had spent the majority of the summer break channeling his frustration about Sophia into excessive use of the little gym in his father's basement. But he relished in the burn and pull of his tired muscles when he wiped a stray drop of sweat out of his eye, and judging by the half-grins the others were wearing, they enjoyed the feeling of the game having them back as well.
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin get up, gaze firmly fixed on him. Briefly, Arthur thought about going over to him, asking him why he'd come to watch practice—he was the captain, after all, and he knew he should. But Owain was glaring at Merlin again, although Merlin didn't seem to notice, and the coach was calling for Arthur to join him in his office—doubtlessly to discuss the slight decline in their performance and ask him why the hell Owain had been so distracted in the beginning.
He jogged after Mr. Muirden, trying to focus his mind on the lecture that awaited him. It proved to be far more difficult than he'd have preferred.
When Arthur came out of the empty locker room twenty minutes later, the rest of the team had left already, and Merlin was leaning against the far wall. The ridiculous headphones were pulled down around his neck, and his posture was relaxed enough, although his hair was sticking up once more, like he'd been at it with his hands again.
He pushed off the wall when he saw Arthur, taking a hesitant step forward. His eyes seemed eager, and very blue in the dimly-lit hallway, and Arthur might have thought him bold if he hadn't noticed the slightly nervous shuffle of his feet.
"Hi," Merlin said, with a tentative smile. He looked breathless. Arthur wasn't sure how it was possible to look like you weren't getting enough air—he certainly wasn't panting or anything—but somehow it was. "I'm Merlin. Merlin Emrys."
Arthur looked down at the hand Merlin was holding out for a moment before gripping it. "Arthur Pendragon," he said, the words feeling oddly hacked-off and impolite in his mouth, even though he wasn't even trying to sound aloof.
Merlin nodded, his smile widening a little. The expression looked natural on his face, like he smiled a lot throughout an average day—which was true, as far as Arthur could tell. He'd seen Merlin hang out with other members of the LGBT club lately, with Morgana's best friend Gwen and some creepy sophomore kid called Mordred, and Merlin seemed happier now than he had during his first week.
Then Arthur wondered when his subconscious had stored that into his long-term memory, since he certainly didn't recall having spent any part of the past week actively looking out for Merlin, or some such nonsense. He shifted his weight, unconsciously mirroring Merlin's nervous motion from before, suddenly aware of how he was still uncomfortably sweaty, only just beginning to cool down. Arthur didn't like to use the showers next to the locker room; he usually drove home to use his own right after practice.
"So," Arthur said, struggling for a casual tone, and locked the door behind himself, although he made no move to venture out into the yard. "You want to join my team?"
Merlin laughed, a clear, jingling sound. "God, no," he replied, eyes twinkling with amusement. Arthur noticed, with some distress, that Merlin's cheeks got dimples when he smiled widely enough. "I'm crap at anything that involves running after a ball."
"I'll bet," Arthur answered, before he could stop himself, and bit his tongue when Merlin rolled his eyes, but he didn't seem angry. Arthur wondered if Merlin knew that he wasn't venturing out of the hallway because Leon—or Owain—might be waiting for him in the yard. The thought made him feel sick, somehow, although he wasn't quite sure why.
"So," Merlin echoed, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Up close, his coat looked even more threadbare than from afar, and certainly not waterproof. "Mr. Anhora told me to talk to you—I'm kind of lagging behind in algebra and he said you might be willing to help."
A rush of something undefinable pulled through Arthur's stomach, a mix of relief and something else—relief because Merlin hadn't come to practice to check out his ass after all. The other thing prickled a little and settled uncomfortably amidst the pleasant ache of tired muscles, and Arthur pushed it away before he could put a name to it.
"Sure," he replied, belatedly—he was quite good at maths, after all, although he barely got by in English—and tried for a smile as well. It must have worked, because Merlin didn't seem to notice how strange and unsteady the expression felt on Arthur's face. "I have volleyball practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but I'm sure we'll work something out."
Merlin pulled his timetable out of his bag, and they settled for meeting in the library on Friday afternoon. Arthur couldn't help noticing that they had most of their classes together, and that his first impression of Merlin had been right, if the numerous art classes he'd stuffed into his schedule were anything to go by.
He thought of his own timetable, full of various business and science classes, and couldn't help thinking that Merlin's first impression of him was probably correct as well. The thought made him smile, until he remembered that there was no reason for Merlin to have formed any impression of him at all.
"Great, thanks," Merlin said in a rush when he stuffed his timetable back into his bag; Arthur thought he heard the sound of ripping paper, but didn't say anything. "Really, thank you—you have no idea how much of a relief that is. It was so depressing to have spent all summer studying to prepare for Avalon High and find that I'm still behind—"
Arthur nodded, making no move to interrupt Merlin's babbling. The fervent gratitude on his face had shocked him into silence a moment ago, along with the sooty sweep of his lashes across his pale cheeks, shadowy and hushed in the dim light.
No one was waiting for Arthur when they walked out into the yard. The rain had stopped some time ago, although the heavy, oppressive clouds hung low enough that Arthur suspected it might start again any moment. Merlin looked at him then, sidelong, a single glance that looked oddly secretive for the tiny smile nestled in the corners of his mouth.
Again, Arthur couldn't help thinking that Merlin knew that he'd stalled in the hallway to avoid being seen with him by any teammates who might have waited around, and despite the barest hint of teasing in Merlin's eyes, Arthur didn't feel like he was being made fun of.
It was that that worried him, made him bid Merlin a rather gruff goodbye and stride away towards the school's parking lot without waiting for a reply. Arthur needed to get home, after all—residual adrenalin was still zapping through his blood, tickling drops of sweat still sliding down his spine and making his shirt stick to his back.
His heart was pounding when he unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat, although he wasn't quite sure why.
"How was practice?" his father asked him that evening, interrupting Arthur in the middle of making a sandwich, and it took Arthur a solid ten seconds to get over his shock at seeing Uther Pendragon emerge from his study before midnight.
"Fine," Arthur said after a beat, warily, and his father nodded, silently crossing the room to lean on the kitchen counter. He was still wearing his suit, but had loosened his tie, and Arthur thought that he looked as tired as he sometimes did after a long week, although it was only Tuesday.
He carefully didn't say anything, though, and picked a few leaves of salad out of the bowl next to him. Neither of them spoke as he cut up a tomato into neat slices, the chop-chop-chop of the knife the only sound breaking the silence. The grandfather clock in the dining room was ticking, some heirloom or other from a long deceased ancestor, and Arthur carefully rolled his aching shoulders, trying to arch the tension out of his muscles again.
Uther watched as Arthur took a bit of leftover cold chicken from the fridge, and only spoke when Arthur had set the bowl down on the kitchen counter. "How is Sophia?"
Arthur swallowed, and did his best to hide his flinch. "We, uh," he mumbled, pretending to be thoroughly preoccupied with squeezing mayonnaise onto the toasted slices of bread. "We— broke up last summer."
"Oh," his father said, surprised and a little dismayed, and Arthur almost laughed at the thoroughly unfamiliar sound of Uther Pendragon being at a loss for words. The noise stuck in his throat, though, because it was just another proof of how little attention Uther paid to his son these days—if he had been home for the summer break, for instance, he would have known about the breakup.
He didn't look particularly distracted now, though. He was fixing Arthur with a silent, unmoving stare that Arthur saw all the time, only never for so long, and never accompanied by silence. That look normally made him feel like he was being examined for flaws, but Arthur suspected that the feeling shimmering in his father's eyes was concern, and, well, he had no idea what to do with that. He wished, with a sudden, vicious desperation, that he'd called Lance for an impromptu evening of video games instead of going home, and turned back to his sandwich, trying to ignore the tight, panicky feeling in his chest.
"It was mutual," Arthur said, his mouth moving on its own accord. "We didn't really— it was nice in the beginning, but she just— we didn't understand each other anymore in the end."
His father raised his eyebrows, and Arthur silently cursed himself. He was rambling like he hadn't ever since that unfortunate incident with the neighbor's dog when he was ten. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop more words from tumbling out, and moved on to cursing Merlin in his stead—he'd given Arthur his weird babbling disease.
Arthur busied himself with finding just the perfect arrangement for the tomato slices on the mayonnaise, and banished the thought of Merlin from his mind. Uther was silent, but Arthur could practically feel him exude discomfort—his father seemed to be searching for something to say, something reassuring and manly like those claps to the shoulder that he was so fond of dealing out whenever he thought Arthur needed some sort of support. He didn't seem to find any words, though, and Arthur didn't speak either, and told himself that the faint sting of disappointment was purely his imagination.
The door opened suddenly, and Morgana swept in, fastening something silver and glittering to her left ear. Her hair was pinned up into a complicated pattern that allowed a few loose curls to pool on her bare shoulders—even Arthur's brief glance revealed that she looked stunningly beautiful. Uther's silent questioning gaze came to rest on her clinging black dress, and Arthur briefly marveled at the apparently benevolent mood he was in, seeing as he hadn't asked her to go change yet.
"I'm going out," she declared, after passing a short look between them and apparently deciding to take it upon herself to defuse the silence. "With Leon."
"Again?"
"Yes, Uther, again," Morgana said, with surprising patience. "He's my boyfriend, if you hadn't noticed."
Uther grumbled something under his breath about age differences that Arthur couldn't quite make out, but he dug around in his pocket for a moment before tossing something silver and black that Morgana caught effortlessly in mid-air.
"Drive safely," he said, a little gruffly, and pushed himself off of the kitchen counter. "And don't stay out too late, you've got a lecture tomorrow morning."
"I— the Cadillac?" Morgana said, mostly to herself, staring in disbelief at the car keys in her hand. Arthur stared too, and their gazes met for a brief moment, silently sharing the question of what Morgana had done to earn this.
Then her face broke out into a grin, the sort of smile that made her look achingly young and that she only rarely directed at anyone, and she twirled the car keys around her finger. "Thank you!" she called after Uther's retreating form, unfeigned gratitude in her voice, and Uther gave her a nod, the briefest of smiles twisting his mouth before the door closed behind him.
Arthur turned back to his sandwich, heaping an inordinate amount of salad onto the tomato slices. He could feel Morgana's gaze on him, but didn't turn to look at her, concentrating instead on the clawed, burning something that seemed to have come to life in his stomach just a second ago. Next time, he would just call Lance.
Merlin lets out a sharp gasp of pain when his back hits the wall, but right there and then, Arthur is beyond caring that his shove must have aggravated one of Merlin's other bruises. His heart is pounding hard enough to make him nauseous, his vision swimming and blurring in and out of focus like it only ever does when he's drunk.
There's something shaking in his chest, something that Merlin must have kicked loose and that's now stumbling around like a wayward sailor on a swaying deck, not knowing what to do with the freedom it's been given. Arthur staggers backwards until he can brace himself against the door with a shaking hand, feeling shapeless and unsteady and very much like he's going just a bit mad.
"What the— what the hell," he pants, all but spitting out the words, and for a moment he considers spitting for real. But there's a tiny part of his mind that protests vigorously as soon as the fleeting notion crosses his mind, the same part that recoiled in shock when Merlin cringed away from the wall with a pained grimace, and that now cries out at the thought of rinsing the taste of something electric and frightening from his mouth.
Arthur sucks in a deep breath through his nose, and the nausea subsides a little, though he feels no less dangerous. "Get out," he says, with what feels like the last bit of authoritative strength he has left. "If you know what's good for you, get the fuck out of this room."
Merlin just looks at him, though, with those infuriatingly calm blue eyes that show no trace of the dull ache that must still be pulsing through his shoulder. He takes a step closer, heedless of the tension humming through Arthur's frame and the white-knuckled, trembling clench of his fists, and cocks his head to the side like a curious bird. And then he says, "No."
(29 days earlier)
He met up with Merlin in the library on Friday afternoon, and belatedly realized that he'd be exposed to Morgana's glances for the entire duration of their studying session, since Morgana had kept her job at the school's library even after graduation. Arthur just grunted a moody reply to Merlin's cheerful greeting, and grabbed Merlin's arm, tugging him towards a desk in the back of the room where he could at least pretend that Morgana wasn't watching them with an expression of inexplicable glee.
Merlin seemed puzzled but didn't protest, and for that, Arthur was grateful.
After seeing Merlin's algebra notes for the first time, Arthur explained, exasperatedly, that Merlin would probably have made far better progress if he hadn't wasted his time doodling in the margins.
For some reason, Merlin flushed slightly at that, and stretched out his arm so his elbow conveniently covered the lower half of the page, which was filled with doodles as well. Arthur saw what might have been the upper half of a heart peeking out from underneath Merlin's sleeve, and just rolled his eyes, not caring whoever it was Merlin had a crush on already (because honestly, it was only their second week of classes).
He didn't say anything, although Merlin's unwavering gaze unsettled him a bit. It almost seemed like Merlin wanted him to ask, or to casually shove his arm out of the way so he could read whatever name or initials the little heart held. His eyes were such a brilliant blue that Arthur had a hard time looking down at Merlin's textbook, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Merlin finally lowered his gaze as well.
But a small grin was lurking in the corners of his mouth, and this time Arthur did feel like he was being mocked, just a little. What startled him, though, was that he didn't really mind.
They established a routine after that first Friday afternoon, and Arthur discovered that Merlin did indeed smile a lot, and that he had a quirky sense of humor that was easy to fall into step with. He also found out that Merlin seemed to be nervous a lot more than Arthur had previously thought, and that he was just rather good at hiding it. But there was always something that gave him away—a knee bouncing silently under the table when Arthur leaned closer to snatch the pen from Merlin's hand before he could commit the same mathematical crime for the third time. The way his hands never fidgeted but his feet often shuffled, scuffing his worn boots against the linoleum floor as though to compensate for the forced stillness of his slender artist's fingers.
And, most of all, the quickly-hidden blush that hastened to his face whenever Arthur laughed at something he'd said, or when Arthur leaned back to stretch the kinks out of his shoulders after having hunched over the desk for the better part of an hour.
Their Fridays lined up like neat little pearls on a carefully-crafted necklace, and sometimes when he was driving home, Arthur felt like he wasn't all that good at mathematics after all. It seemed like an equation that was placed right in front of him, factors being added and subtracted without his doing, and he could only stare as the sum seemed to drift further and further away.
Owain still called Merlin a fag, and various other names that grew louder each time. Arthur found himself looking over to where Merlin was sitting with Gwen and Mordred during lunch, and hoping that Owain would just get over it, whatever it was. He doubted Owain would, though, because Merlin still showed up for practice sometimes—just sitting quietly and unobtrusively, and certainly never ogling, but his presence was usually enough to set his teammate off.
And Mordred kept grinning at Owain whenever they passed each other in the hallway, an infuriating, cold twist of his mouth that never failed to provoke him into asking, loudly, whether the filthy faggot saw something he liked. Pellinore usually succeeded in pulling Owain away before Mordred could reply with something that'd most likely incense him even more, but it still grated on Arthur's nerves, and he resolved to have a serious talk with Owain about live and let live some time soon.
On a rainy Thursday morning, Arthur watched Merlin pull a sheet of paper from his locker—he didn't know who had put it there, but he was fairly sure it hadn't been Owain, since Owain couldn't draw to save his life. But Merlin just rolled his eyes at the crude picture of a dark-haired someone giving head to another stick figure, loudly criticizing the poor craftsmanship. He readily joined in when Mordred laughed, leaning casually against the locker next to Merlin's, and tossed the crumpled sheet of paper into the next dustbin.
If Merlin seemed to walk a little slower than usual for the rest of the day, or if he hunched his shoulders almost as though he wanted to disappear between them, Arthur was sure he was just imagining it.
One time, Arthur even met Merlin's mother—apparently she worked not far from the school grounds, and picked Merlin up whenever his last classes coincided with the end of her shift. Against his will, Arthur felt his eyebrow climbing towards his hairline as the banged-up green car pulled into the school's parking lot. It shot back down as soon as Hunith Emrys stepped out, though, with a hug for her son (who squirmed out of her grasp, mumbling embarrassed complaints) and an appraising glance towards Arthur.
"Call me Hunith, dear," was the first thing Merlin's mother said to him when Arthur introduced himself, awkwardly, and she shook his hand in a firm grip. Her hair was dark, graying just a little around the temples, and the laugh lines surrounding her face seemed to tell a story of days well spent in happiness, rather than of age. She reminded Arthur a little of one of his elementary school teachers, and he found himself relaxing.
Merlin explained that Arthur was helping him out with his algebra homework, and Hunith gave Arthur a smile he didn't think he'd ever quite seen. It made him feel like he had done something extraordinary just by existing, just by helping her son. It stirred something hidden in his chest, catching on a long-forgotten edge that bled an odd, jarring fissure of pain into his stomach.
He excused himself hastily, muttering something about a late afternoon class, and stumbled and nearly fell over his own feet in his haste to get away.
"I," Arthur shouts, his voice bouncing off the walls of the locker room, "am not," and he throws his other shoe at Merlin, not at all surprised when the other boy easily ducks out of the way, "gay!"
The purplish bruise on Merlin's cheek stands out even more in the dim light. Arthur can't stop feeling like he might throw up every time he looks at it, and the churning in his stomach makes him gaze wildly across the room in search of something heavier to throw.
"Good for you," Merlin says, his voice surprisingly even, although his breathing is not. "Then why did you kiss me back?"
(15 days earlier)
"Hi," Merlin said, startling Arthur out of the silent glare he'd been bestowing onto the paper in front of him for the past twenty minutes. "Can I sit here?"
"No," Arthur said firmly, and of course Merlin sat down, flopping his gangly limbs into the chair next to his and sliding the strap of his bag off of his shoulder. He sighed in relief when the bag hit the floor with a thump, and Arthur briefly contemplated making some unkind remark about how Merlin was too scrawny to carry around half of the library with him.
He remained silent, though, and went back to staring at the red F that had already burned an afterimage into his eyes. There was a clatter as Merlin put his headphones on the table, and a rustle of cloth when he rummaged around in his bag for whatever homework he had come here to finish. Arthur wasn't looking at him, but he could feel the moment Merlin saw the F and recognized Mr. Kilgharrah's handwriting.
Merlin stilled, and leaned over, scattering pens everywhere when his elbow bumped into Arthur's pencil case. Arthur leaned back when he felt the faint stir of Merlin's breath on his cheek, and huffed, trying to tug the neutral, aloof expression onto his face that he had also presented his teacher with earlier. It didn't work, though, and he let Merlin draw the sheets of paper out from under his forearm.
It wasn't like the fail grade was unusual, after all. Morgana had opened her mouth when Arthur had entered the library earlier, but the alarm had morphed into understanding as she'd recognized his English teacher's handwriting on the sheet of paper clutched in Arthur's hand. Literature had never been his strong suit—he was good at maths and science and business respectively, and even Uther had realized, after years of Arthur just barely getting by in English, that his bad grades weren't for a lack of trying.
'Shows promise', it said under the essays he turned in, 'good potential', as if Arthur were an undercooked roast that needed to be put back in the oven for a few more minutes. He appreciated Mr. Kilgharrah's attempts at softening the blow, but sometimes he wished his teacher would be a little more honest, just tell him exactly where he inevitably went wrong.
Merlin had turned back to the first page and was now reading the essay, not even twitching when Arthur made a protesting noise and tugged on the sheets of paper without any real intent. And Arthur's gaze caught on Merlin, despite the restless, frustrated itch under his skin—he noticed, not for the first time, the way Merlin drew his lower lip between his teeth in concentration, and the little focused line etched between his eyebrows.
He slowly let go of the paper and Merlin smiled distractedly, not even looking up at him. Arthur swallowed, and found himself staring at the shadowy space under Merlin's left cheekbone for some reason, where the skin was still slightly flushed from exposure to the cutting autumn wind. His mouth was very dry, his throat tight all of a sudden, and Arthur swallowed again, convulsively, feeling his stomach do a slow backflip in reaction, although to what, he didn't quite know.
The door banged open, shattering the quietude, and Morgana grumbled something about proper decorum in a library from the front of the room. Merlin raised his head in confusion, as though he'd been so deeply immersed in Arthur's essay that he'd forgotten where they were. Arthur blinked and shook himself out of his thoughts, self-consciously, clearing his throat to chase away the constriction lodged there.
"Arthur! There you are!" a familiar loud voice said, and Arthur looked up just in time to see Morgana glare at Owain, who came swaggering his way. Apparently Merlin had heard him too, because he looked up from Arthur's essay and turned around, giving Owain a curious look.
Out of nowhere, Owain froze. His grin froze, too. Arthur watched helplessly as his teammate's eyes drifted from him to Merlin and back again—Merlin, who was sitting up a little straighter and returned Owain's gaze with an unwavering stare.
There was a long silence, and then Owain smiled, although Arthur couldn't shake the impression of something nasty settling in the corner of his mouth. "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, his voice inscrutable, and started to turn back to the way he'd come. "Just in case you've forgotten, practice starts in ten minutes. Captain."
Arthur opened his mouth, but Owain was already leaving, bounding up the steps to the door and dodging a girl carrying books. He shoved the door open with far more force than necessary, and it banged into the wall outside, causing the scattered students around them to look up as one. Morgana glared after him, beautiful in the sunlight even with the crease between her eyebrows, and although Arthur instinctively braced himself, she didn't turn her angry gaze to him.
Merlin's eyes had gone dark, his jaw a little too tight. Arthur stared at the tightness around his eyes, the firm set of his mouth, and it made him hate a little, although if the feeling was for Owain or for Merlin or even for himself, he didn't know.
But Merlin didn't say anything, and neither did Arthur, and Arthur quickly gathered his pens and stuffed them back into his bag, inexplicably angry at the slow flush he felt spreading across his cheeks, a scratchy, prickling heat that was hard to ignore and even harder to tamper down.
He got up, and then just stood there for a few seconds, staring down at Merlin with his mind utterly devoid of any words at all. Near the front of the room, Morgana unfolded a newspaper with great fuss, the pages rustling loudly in the quietude as though she was pointedly not listening at all. Which would have been fine, since Arthur had no idea what to say anyway, but deep down, he still appreciated her effort.
Merlin just looked back at him, his eyes calm and oddly unhurried. Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it, and swallowed once more, and finally he just made a vague, clumsy gesture that could have been a wave. He wanted it to say, 'See you later', and, unrelatedly, 'Owain is an idiot', and somehow he thought that the tiny smile on Merlin's face meant that he understood.
Only when the library door swung shut did it occur to Arthur that Merlin had kept his essay.
Part 2
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Date: 2011-02-18 04:10 pm (UTC)I don't know when I'll be able to read it, because a friend is coming over for the weekend in ... 3 hours and I still have to clean my room and tidy up x__X But as soon as I have time (probably sunday afternoon) I will read it and leave a huuuuge big comment about how amazing it was (yep, I'm sure it will be!!) :3 Again, thank you very much!! (and thanks dear beta for being so quick *__*)
no subject
Date: 2011-02-19 12:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-03-13 11:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-06-17 05:03 pm (UTC)That violent, post-kiss encounter had my heart in my throat. This description is fantastic: There's something shaking in his chest, something that Merlin must have kicked loose and that's now stumbling around like a wayward sailor on a swaying deck, not knowing what to do with the freedom it's been given. Arthur staggers backwards until he can brace himself against the door with a shaking hand, feeling shapeless and unsteady and very much like he's going just a bit mad. It's like the very foundation of all things Arthur has been shattered, leaving him reeling emotionally. Already bruised Merlin not walking away from this coiled, dangerous situation had my heart racing in anticipation of what happens next. Arthur kissed him back, but he's not at all happy about that.
Owain's angry slurs and near violent dislike of Merlin is difficult to read and he's lurking everywhere, watching and judging. It's gripping.
no subject
Date: 2012-05-02 08:53 am (UTC)in other words, great story so far.