Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Student Union café is oft trodden ground. The locale itself is colourful, a rectangle of a room with orange and purple vinyl under a white ceiling, and rather pleasant. The counter is all shiny metal, most definitely clean since Arthur can see his reflection in it, and the brews on offer are more varied than you might expect from other such cafés.

On principle alone Arthur should love this place. After all he loves tea. And coffee. And chai lattes with cinnamon heavily sprinkled on top.

What Arthur doesn't like though is noise. And people he doesn't know well lounging about in an attempt to look cool. While being noisy. And this place is encrusted with noise. The staff dining-room upstairs is silent, but he isn't allowed within its boundaries because Arthur isn't staff. He only knows about its perks because he once followed Lancelot, one of Mithian's mates, on his way there. On that occasion he was politely but firmly shown the door. His quest for quiet was, in short, put an end to.

So what is Arthur doing at the Student Union Café on this less than fine morn?

The answer, Arthur thinks as he queues for a mocaccino, is simple enough. He has shite friends. Shite friends that drive him out of his own flat. Shite friends that decide that home-made porn is the new Eldorado and that they will save themselves the expense of a filming studio by entirely dispensing with it. This in turn means that they've decided to requisition the living room – fifty percent of which is Arthur's – to do their shoot in.

“It's going to be our main set.”

“But, but--”

Gwaine, shoulder bumping him, said, “No, buts.”

Since Arthur doesn't fancy looking at Gwaine's arse as he goes about boinking his fellow actress, and since it's raining cats and dogs – or say rather an entire zoo – here he is. The Student Union Café – also known as The Hole from being a hole in the wall kind of place, more vulgar interpretations definitely connoting the nomenclature, too – is his last resort.

Having to shack up in here for quite a while, he spends two-fifty on the 'grandest' of mocaccinos, and makes for the nearest free table.

On the way there he sees him. And that's how it begins.

****

Merlin turns the page in an attempt to continue reading his Chemistry textbook. The problem is though that he can't concentrate on it properly because someone's looming over him. Basically, it's the thing you'd do if you were trying to read over someone's shoulders. It's annoying and concentration-killing. A presence there that you can't shake off. As if a mosquito was there that you couldn't quite catch. Something that you can't stop thinking about even though you should be focusing instead of producing off similes. It's something, in short, that's always put Merlin off so much he almost gets in a ranting mood when it happens.

The meaning of the sentence he's parsing remains impermeable, proof enough that his neurons have frozen, thus incapacitating him from studying, because of the intrusion on his privacy.

“Is that seat taken?” a modulated voice asks. It's a notch posh too.

Merlin blinks. The seat next to his and the one across from him are both free. And so are another ten or so that are scattered around the café. It's early yet and the press of people isn't so insistent that you'd have to share a table with a perfect stranger. Yet here the man is, asking if Merlin's table is free. There's little Merlin can say apart from, “Yeah, sure, it is.”

Because he's so evidently alone.

Besides, he's done nothing to stake a claim on the chair in question. He's draped no strategically placed jumper over its back to claim possession. His rucksack's on the floor instead of on the chair, so there's no impediment on that front either. The chair is up for grabs.

Despite having meant to study here in this place that is perfect for him without having his studies disrupted, Merlin says again, “Yeah, I suppose it is.”

The man eagerly takes his seat, putting his tray down. Merlin notices that he's got a bit of everything there. In fact, the man has ordered a piece of cake, a yoghurt, a salad, a wrap that's spilling out raisins and cous cous and what might be a drooping piece of shrimp. And he's also got the tallest cup of tea Merlin's ever seen.

Once he's comfy with his odds and ends, the man makes a big production of busting his plastic fork and knife out of the paper wrapping shrouding them. He noisily opens the plastic bowl containing the salad, sprinkles some oil on it, tosses it a bit with his fork, and then looks up to say, “Is that Chemistry you're studying?”

Merlin bites onto his lower lip. He's not here for conversation but the bloke isn't being obnoxious about interrupting, so Merlin says, “Um, yes, end of module in a month.”

Instead of eating his salad, the man says, “I've always hated Chemistry. It's incredibly boring. And soul sucking.”

Merlin frowns. “I happen to like it.”

“But there's nothing wrong with people who like Chemistry,” the man deadpans.

“Thank you,” Merlin spits, “Now I feel validated.”

The man opens his mouth, huffs as though he's got problems breathing, then says, “I didn't mean it like that.”

“It sounded a bit like that,” Merlin points out. “Like I have no soul. Like a Dementor passed by and squeezed me dry of my immortal soul and all because I like Chemistry.”

“You're one of those people who likes fantasy,” says the man, a displeased moue on his face. “I see.” He must also have realised that Merlin isn't wearing a happy camper expression because he immediately changes tack and says, “But that's all right too, I suppose.”

“Thank you for the condescension,” Merlin says, nose wrinkling. He knows he should go back to his textbook, but somehow he finds it hard to let the argument go. “You've basically just said I'm a soulless man with bad reading habits.”

“What no!” the man says, his cheeks pinking up in a way that makes Merlin almost feel bad about having complained. Almost. “No, that wasn't what I was trying to say at all... Somehow it all went wrong. Please, let's start from scratch. I'm Arthur.”

The man, Arthur, puts down his plastic cutlery and extends a hand to him.

Merlin is in two minds about shaking it. On the one hand the man sounds as though he's bullshitting him. Who'd insult someone twice in a row without meaning it? On the other, well, despite his obnoxious turn of phrase, Arthur's had the decency to blush. Nicely.

Merlin's really about to decide, no quandary to mire him in its clutches about this very topic, when Will sweeps in. He bends down over Merlin's table and slings an arm across Merlin's shoulder to say, “Come on, mate, the flat's all quiet now.”

“Are you sure?” Merlin turns his head to ask. “Cause it wasn't the last time I was in there.”

“Promise,” says Will, packing up for Merlin. “Everything's quiet now.”

Before he's done speaking, Will has practically pulled Merlin up, shouldered his rucksack and pushed Merlin towards the jingling door.

Short of resisting by making a scene, Merlin can do little but follow.

Still he gives Arthur a wave goodbye. The man might be less than good at striking up a conversation, but he deserves acknowledgement.

****

Arthur looks in the mirror and eyes his shirt warily. He turns this way and that, faces the mirror again, and pops open the top two buttons. He looks like a pimp out of Miami Vice. Not the impression he wants to make.

He stomps to his wardrobe and contemplates its contents with a new found air of distaste.

“I need new clothes,” he exclaims, just as Mithian walks in.

“Why are you wailing about clothes?”

“Because I have none.” Arthur pouts.

Mithian arches an eyebrow at the array of Arthur's clothes displayed inside Arthur's wardrobe. “It doesn't look like that to me.”

Arthur has to concede; it's not a question of quality or quantity. His clothes are good, durable, elegant. And he has more than a few changes. Quite a few actually. What he lacks isn't clothes per se. What he doesn't own is stylish stuff. “I need different clothes.”

“You want to go shopping?” Mithian asks.

Arthur shakes his head. Not really. Shopping is the bane of his existence. He has no patience for it. “No. I just need different clothes.”

Mithian taps her lip. “What kind of different?” she asks. Thankfully, she's not taking the piss as Gwaine would if he were here to hear this.

Arthur has an idea of what he wants. He wants something that would make an impact, something still casual, but that would look effortlessly perfect. Put together but laid back at the same time. The kinds of thing models on the covers of magazines manage to pull off. That, without the twit attitude.

He can't say that to Mithian though. Partly because he's always campaigned against people who think too much about their appearance and partly because it's too embarrassing.

“Something nice,” Arthur says. “Something...” He hates all the words the fashion world has resorted to to compound Arthur's meaning. “Young and classy but with a touch of... the normal about it.”

“You've met someone, haven't you?” Mithian asks. “That's what all the fuss is about. That or Gwaine's driven you into an early twenties mid-life crisis, which he might achieve, but I thought you weren't one to listen to him.”

“And I'm not,” Arthur says, slamming the wardrobe door shut.

Arms folded across her chest, Mithian says, “Then it's the other thing.”

Pity Arthur hasn't got another door to slam.

*****

Merlin's head is ducked against the chilly wind; he's clutching his text books tightly to his chest with one arm, his brand new issue of Empire magazine shielding his head from the big, fat raindrops that are coming down from the sky.

By the time he manages to get into the Student Union Café, his magazine is a goner, of course. But he counts it a small loss. Better that than having to listen to Professor Oldman's lectures while suffering from a clogged and runny nose. So it's without too heavy a heart that he bins his magazine – the pages are all stuck together anyway and all colour has washed off the glossy print – and turns to the till to order the massive dose of caffeine needed to plough through the last ten chapters of his Organic Chemistry textbook.

When he turns round it's to find that all seats have been taken. With the outpour outside it's not as if it's a surprise. People do tend to flock indoors when the weather's like that. It's just that Merlin intensely dislikes having to sip at his drink while he keeps standing and watching out for errant elbows that might cause him to spill the contents of his Styrofoam.

He's settling for fighting for the possession of an out of the way corner where he might drink his fill in peace when a pair of hands shoots up. The hands wave. They seem to be waving at him specifically. Merlin follows their movement with his eyes and finds that they belong to the Arthur bloke he met here the other day.

Arthur flails his hands more, then winks at the seat next to him. And, true enough, buried under the man's coat, scarf and jumper, there's a perfectly viable chair.

Merlin thinks about the offer a moment, then he thinks about Arthur and how, despite his words the other time, he's probably redeemable. He reflects on how Arthur's smiling – maybe a tad too much-- and on how there's a cosy seat waiting for him. Merlin trots over with a smile on his lips.

Arthur says, “Truce? I promise I'll be respectful of Chemistry from now on.”

Merlin secures his beverage on the table, unwinds his scarf from around his neck and gets himself seated. “As long as you don't imply it's soul sucking, I think we'll be on safe ground.”

Arthur smiles as if he belongs in the loony bin. “I'll respect you and your love of Chemistry, promise. I'll love it even.”

“Love is not required to share a coffee.”

Arthur ducks his head and takes a bite out of the cereal bar he's bought himself. He shrugs his shoulders too, which prompts Merlin to say, “I haven't seen you around often. Are you new? Transferred in or something?”

Arthur looks benignly at him, as if Merlin'd just praised him. “No, not new. Just new to the café. I've... I've started coming round because my flatmate is a bit of a handful.”

“So you come here to study too,” Merlin concludes. “Like me.”

Arthur looks surprised at that. Now that Merlin comes to think about it he's got no books with him and he doesn't have notes or anything of the sort either.

“I was...” Arthur says, “scoping out the place to find out whether I could study here, yeah.”

“And what do you think?” Merlin asks after having taken a sip of his excellent coffee. “Does it qualify?”

“Do you come here often?” Arthur asks. “I mean if, you do, you could tell me if the place suits the purpose.”

Merlin slurps at his coffee for a second or so, just so that he can gather his thoughts and explain why this is just the perfect place to study. “Well, I do come regularly and I find it lovely here. I mean I could go to the library. I know that's where you're supposed to go when you want to do some cramming.”

He scrunches up his nose at the thought of the campus library. It's light, modern and airy, a feat of modern construction, housing zillions of books in perfectly orderly rows. He should like it.

“The library is too silent,” he says though. “I can't concentrate properly if the sound of a page turning seems as loud as thunder by comparison. It's just... My mind wonders and I pay more attention to not humming, tapping my pencil against my desk, or just moving on to the next page without everybody knowing about it.”

Merlin smiles sheepishly, suspecting this would make no sense to anybody but him. “That's why I come here. If I'm lucky – even though sometimes I'm not – the background noise is just a buzz. The nice kind where you know the rest of the world is still there. That it's not been wiped out by some sort of post-apocalyptic disaster à la 28 Days Later. But the chatter isn't so loud that you can't concentrate.”

Arthur is sitting there with his elbows propped on the table, a rather addled expression on his face that's causing Merlin to believe he must not have been paying attention to Merlin's poetic outburst on the subject of the café, when he startles. “Oh, so that's what I did the other time. I was bothering you.”

Merlin should say yes. Because that's what Arthur did or would have done had he had more time to. But he can't bring himself to say that. It would be really harsh of him to. He fumbles for the right words instead. “Uh, no, I was trying to concentrate, but I guess I wouldn't have been able to put in much more effort anyway. You'll remember that my friend Will came and tore me away from my Chemistry cramming.”

Arthur's face goes a little funny at that. His lips give a twitch and a splotch of colour, like he's drunk spiked coffee, forms on his cheeks. “Will, right, yeah, Will.”

Merlin tries to help Arthur feel more comfortable. “So, see, not your fault.”

“But Will's.”

Merlin has a feeling Arthur still believes he's wholly responsible for the derailment of his study session. His face bears the traces of how uncomfortable he is with the subject. His cheeks are still mostly red and his mouth is now pinched.

Merlin can't say that Arthur's innocent of all derailment. He was partly guilty of it. And Merlin was fairly grumpy about it at the time. At least at an internal monologue level. But now he wants to chase that notion off Arthur's head.

Because Arthur's been nice offering him a seat and he's been definitely less git-ish so far. So he says, “Let Will bear the burden of the terrible guilt involved in not allowing me to cram and just enjoy the morning.”

Arthur laughs.

Merlin does the same until Arthur sobers and eyes Merlin's textbook. “I'm doing it again, aren't I?” he asks.

Merlin passes a hand across top of the cover of his Organic Chemistry text book as he if wants to smooth out all any earmarks it might display and shakes his head. “No, I--”

Arthur pulls his cup closer, but doesn't drink form it. He juggles it from hand to hand rather. “I'll be quiet, promise. But not so quiet you'll think the Zombiepocalypse has begun.”

Merlin's burst of laughter comes out of left field, is short, but powerful enough to let him gasping for breath. “You're odd.”

“You began it.”

Merlin nods his head because that is kind of true, though he wasn't as specific as all that. “Then I'm for the loony bin too.”

Arthur gives him a grin, then says, “We make a matched pair then, don't we?”

There's a smile tugging at Merlin's lips. “Maybe, perhaps.”

Arthur sobers. “Do get on with your revising though. Or if you fail your exam you'll think me the guilty party.”

“I wouldn't do that,” Merlin says but even so he opens his book and settles into doing what he's come here to do.

*****

Arthur has a lesson at ten. He wakes at six.

When he pads into the kitchen barefoot and patting at his grumbling stomach, he finds Gwaine doing yoga on the counter. Arthur can't name the position but it looks painful. And the kind of thing a slob with filthy habits would do. Gwaine's got to get his feet off the surface Arthur occasionally eats off. Like now. Because that's more than mildly disgusting.

“Oh my God,” says Gwaine. “You're terminally ill.”

Arthur pushes Gwaine off the counter (though Gwaine's like a cat and straightens without accident). “There's nothing strange about me being up,” he protests gruffly.

Gwaine palms Arthur's forehead. “You're not in the grips of a fever!”

“I told you, there's nothing odd about me being up as early as you.”

“There's everything wrong, mate.”

“You say that as if it was something like...”

“Christmas in July?” asks Gwaine, waggling an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing up?”

“I thought I'd revise before my ten o'clock lesson,” Arthur says, sticking his chest out, as if presenting a wider front will make him sound more authoritative.

“Uh. You usually don't. You usually know all that shit beforehand.”

Arthur starts the electric kettle. “First of all that shit is called Econometrics--”

“Whatever.”

The kettle starts bubbling. “And secondly, you've made this place off limits so I'm going to take my books to the Student Union's café.”

“You're going to The Hole?”

“Yes,” Arthur says, attending to the kettle now that it's automatically turned itself off. “I am.”

“You've always said it's noisy.”

Arthur pours steaming water in his favourite I heart Costa Rica mug and dumps a teabag in it. “It is. But not quite as noisy as our brand new film set.”

“Oh.” Gwaine waves that away. “It's actually not all that noisy.”

“It's still live porn, Gwaine.”

“You do have sex from time to time, don't you, Arthur?” Gwaine’s hip nudges him. “One would hope so, you know.”

Arthur spits saliva he's spluttering so much. “What the hell, Gwaine! TMI. And there's a difference between having sex and being a hanger-on on a porno set.”

“You do watch porn,” Gwaine says. “I snooped into your laptop.”

Arthur gets Gwaine in a head-lock before Gwaine can spit out more of his nonsense. “Shut up and never touch my laptop again.”

They end up rolling on the floor.

****

Merlin looks up from his textbook to see Arthur bending over his table. He's shoving something at him. It's plasticky and rectangular but Arthur's being too quick pushing it his way for him to see what it is. Not unless he does some refocusing.

So Merlin holds his chair back and fixes his gaze on the object Arthur's offering him. It's... “A set of pencils?”

“Highlighter pencils,” Arthur brags. He sits down opposite Merlin and continues explaining. “I thought... I thought it'd help you focus more.”

Merlin kind of hates stark colours but somehow he can't bring himself to say as much as that. Not when Arthur is exemplifying the virtues of his gift by opening his Macroeconomics book-- if Merlin read that blink and you miss it flash of a title correctly – going to a specific page he must have been poring over at home, and drawing a bright circle around a chart.

“See,” he says, “so the relevant bits stick out.”

Merlin can't say that they don't. Because they most definitely do. They most decidedly stick out. In a way Merlin thought he did away with when he was around ten. And is headache inducing. But he knows Arthur's intentions are good and that he's suggested this method because he wants to help. The way he's smiling as if he's struck gold and discovered America before Columbus – or the Vikings – ever did tells Merlin that. So Merlin accepts his gift.

Merlin makes a big production of underlining the last three lines on page 212 and is rewarded with a bright, proud smile from Arthur. Well, that particular brand of Arthur smile is worth butchering his book for, he thinks. “Thank you,” he says, warmed by the thought Arthur's trying to lend a hand. “It was a nice thing to do for someone you weren't sure you'd meet again.”

Arthur lifts a shoulder. “You said you were a regular so I thought that I'd end up seeing you around one of these days.”

“I am,” Merlin says. “But before that morning we actually talked we were kind of strangers.”

Arthur ignores Merlin's reference to their not being more than drifting acquaintances. “Faux pas morning,” Arthur supplies instead. “When I said you were soulless and you quoted Death Omens at you.”

“It was Harry Potter actually,” Merlin says. “And, yeah, that morning, and there was the next one but I was sure you being there twice was still a coincidence, that you hadn't decided that this was a suitable place for you to study yet, so I thought we wouldn't...” Merlin trails off and begins again. “Anyway it's nice of you to have come up with this.” Merlin holds up his set of highlighter pencils.

“I wanted to be forgiven for the put down on your favourite subject,” says Arthur. “And I'm going to be here quite often.” Arthur lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I told you I had problems with my flat, didn't I? The truth is my flatmate is shooting a homemade porno.”

At first heat crawls all over Merlin's cheeks, then he thinks the sentence over and says, “Pull the other one.”

Arthur puts his hand on his heart, looking for all he's worth like a boy scout. (He's got the boyish haircut, the sparkling eyes, and the earnest expression that make the impression more than passable.) “I swear it's true,” he says. “If you knew my flatmate, Gwaine, you wouldn't doubt me.”

“Why? Has he got porn written all over him?” Merlin deadpans.

“More like he's the type to hit on everything that moves.”

“Oh,” Merlin says, less than impressed. “I think I know the type.”

“Um, no, he's not that bad really. He's a good bloke deep down. He's just got... He's very outgoing.”

“He sounds like someone I'd like to know then,” Merlin says, reviewing his preconceptions.

“No, believe me,” Arthur tells him. “He's isn't your type. The type of friend you'd like to have around.”

Merlin laughs, a little taken aback. “How would you know?”

“Call it a sixth sense,” Arthur says in a high-pitched tone that only slowly gets back to normal. “And my sixth sense's never wrong. You're better off without him. You'd never have a quiet moment again.”

Merlin considers that. Will's already a handful and maybe Arthur's right. Another Will type friend would be overkill. Or maybe he isn't. Still he shares a titbit of knowledge because he happens to like the conversation. “I'm used to whirlwinds. My flatmate is never quiet either. Just like yours.”

Arthur leans forward, his elbows sliding on the vinyl surface of the table. “Example? Not much can beat home-made porn.”

The conspiratorial tone makes Merlin grin. He leans forward too, their heads close together. “Will is having a table tennis tournament in our living room.”

“Table tennis?” Arthur squawks.

Merlin nods wisely. “A tourney.”

“That's why you study in here,” Arthur says in a Eureka tone.

“Not really,” Merlin says, still hunched over the table, too close to Arthur but not willing to back off. “See, if it's not tourneys then it's something else.”

“I can understand the misfortune of having loud flatmates. There's no one more sympathetic than me,” says Arthur, lips stretched in a smile. “So we're stuck studying here.”

“Yep.” Merlin taps his fingers on the table. “Except for Sundays.”

“Naturally. Sunday's closed.”

“Though I have a particularly challenging anatomy lesson on Monday mornings,” Merlin says, “and I always end up doing work for it on the Friday because I know that I can't study at home on Sundays.”

Arthur frowns. “Can't you get into a truce with your flatmate?”

“Truce?” Merlin coughs up laughter. “We're not at war.”

“A parley, at least.” Arthur grins happily.

“I suppose I should wave a white flag and require the discussions take place in a neutral zone,” Merlin says.

Arthur nods eloquently. “Most assuredly, and don't forget, to have everything signed. In triplicate. As my father says, verbal agreements have no value.”

Merlin scrubs a hand down this face. “God, red alert, is your dad a lawyer?”

Arthur gives him a tight smile. “A corporate one.”

“You're the son of a corporate shark!” Merlin makes sure his tone is not offensive, even though he doesn't like the profession, because he doesn't want Arthur to be hurt by the invective.

“But I'm more of a dolphin.” Arthur puts a hand on his heart as if his heart is the garantor of his goodness. “I swear!”

Merlin buries his face in his hands at Arthur's silly face. He can't take it in without giving way to a powerful burst of laughter. “How so?”

Arthur takes him in stride. “I'm much more amiable than a shark, very intuitive, and also very playful.”

“Playful?” Merlin's lips dance uncontrollably. “That sounds a good word to describe a puppy.”

“I'm just as dependable as one,” Arthur tells him, “but I'm sure you can think of that word in so many other contexts too.”

Before Merlin can bona fide blush, his mobile starts buzzing from inside his pocket. He apologises to Arthur and checks the incoming text. It says:

broken pane while having ultimate tourney. Owner was in courtyard: saw everything. Hurry. Mediating geek needed.

Merlin grunts, almost feeling the need to stomp all over his mobile. He doesn't because it cost him dear money and because he'd rather save his strength to punch Will in the face.

“Something's happened,” Arthur says. “Your face's saying it all, really.”

“Yeah,” Merlin says, hesitating only for a moment before admitting to the truth. “My flatmate broke a window. The owner knows. So I sort of have to go make sure the latter doesn't kill the former.” Merlin pauses to parody an evil smile (he's seen Glenn Close play Cruella De Vil often enough to replicate her looks. “Because that honour's very much reserved to me.”

“I see.” Arthur's shoulders droop. Merlin hopes he hasn't just made a bad impression on him by channelling deranged Disney characters. “You have to go. Probably need to save your friend's arse.”

“Most definitely,” Merlin agrees, happy that Arthur's got it and that he's not thinking that was an excuse to cut their convo short.

Merlin needn't fear though because Arthur smiles up at him as if he's not fazed at all but rather as if an idea's struck him. He roots into his pockets, finds a visiting card and pushes it across the table and at Merlin. “That's my phone number.” Arthur stutters those words out then fires one more volley. “As I said, my father's a lawyer and he can get you out of any dispute.”

Merlin takes the card dubiously and scans it quickly: it lists Arthur's home and mobile number. Not his dad's. “But isn't your dad a corporate lawyer?” Merlin asks, wearing a frown. “What interest could he possibly have in a quarrel over a broken window?”

“He's very good at litigation,” Arthur assures him.

Still staring at the card, Merlin asks, “I would never be able to afford him and I'm sure he wouldn't help for free.”

“Who? My father?” Arthur tosses a hand about in denial. “He's very philanthropic. He'd take up your cause in a blink.”

“Because I belong to the oppressed masses?”

Arthur says quietly, “No, because you're my friend.”

Merlin bows his head, clutches at the visiting card and worries at his lip.

“Unless...”

Merlin's head snaps up. “No, I didn't mean to deny that. I think we are or getting there at least.”

“Good.” Arthur beams at him. “Then keep my number.”

Merlin makes a show of securing it in the one pocket of his jacket that does have a button.

Arthur tilts his head in acceptance, Merlin bobs his head, and then he's out because he has a quarrel to reconcile.

****

Between lessons Arthur stops at the local branch of HMV and goes directly up to the sales assistant. “I need something a little peculiar,” he announces.

“You'll need to be more specific than that, sir,” the six-foot-something assistant says as he straightens from a crouch designed to get him as close as possible to the shelf he was rearranging.

Arthur tries not to antagonise the man, for he's as tall as the stalk in the Jack and the Beanstalk story and large to boot, and says, “Music, music to chill to.”

The sales assistant wipes at the knees of his trousers. “There's different genres. Which one would you prefer?”

Arthur's never listened to anything of the kind, to be quite honest. The track lists he listens to are made up of anthemic, blast from the past music or whatever's popular tune the radio's got on offer. He's never thought of himself as any kind of musical expert, there's nothing of the Avant-guarde about him, and he's most certainly fine with his ignorance. “Why, what kind of genres are we talking about?”

“Ambient, Trip-Hop, Nu Jazz, Ambient House, New Age, Smooth Electronica, Soft Tech, Downtempo, Chillwave...” the assistant quickly numbers them, sounding as though he's not quite done.

In fact, the man continues with his list, confusing Arthur more than a little. Before the sales assistant started ticking off genres, Arthur hadn't known there were so many. His basic differentiation system regarding music allows for Classic, Pop, Rock, Pop-rock and Techno categories. Every time Mithian mentions the existence of more of them he tunes her out, so he can be forgiven if he says in a pleading and lost tone, “Is there any way I can listen to samples?”

The sales assistant lets out a big sigh.

“Because it's really, really important,” Arthur says to butter him up. “I mean something vital hinges on the right choice of music here.”

“Come with me,” the sales assistant says, “I'll show you to the samples corner but I can't guarantee you'll find something to fit your needs.”

Arthur puts up both hands. “That's all the help I ask.”

It's unprecedented because he's a quick shopper but it takes Arthur fifty seven minutes to decide on his purchase.

****

Merlin makes it to the Student Union Café, which he refuses to bastardise as The Hole, half expecting to find Arthur there. He gets there humming random songs under his breath but when he finds Arthur's not there all that chirpiness dies within him.

He makes sure not to let that stop him from adhering to his plans, so Merlin buys himself a drink, finds a table and opens his notepad, but he's still less buzzed than he was earlier.

It scarcely makes sense. He isn't super social, and he's always liked studying by himself. Will, for example, needs to wander off and have a chat with Merlin or his friends on the phone between a chapter and the next. Merlin just isn't built like that. But he was looking forward to meeting Arthur all the same and the fact he hasn't is bringing him down a little.

He tries to concentrate on his notes, and manages for the most part, but can't help darting a look to the door every now and then. As he does, he doodles in the corner of his hitherto relatively pristine notepad, caricaturing his lecturers, and then for a lark, Arthur.

He's doing Arthur's fringe, making it flutter in an imaginary breeze, birds flipping around his head, when the man himself walks in and plonks down right opposite Merlin. “Hello,” he says with a grin, pushing a packet towards him.

Merlin slams his notepad shut and grabs at the thing that's being sent his way. Arthur notices both actions but Merlin stops him from asking about his doodling with a big smile and the words, “What's this?”

Chuckling, Arthur says, “Something mysterious.”

Merlin plays along. “Something mysterious that I have to see?”

“Something mysterious that's for you.”

Merlin's the one to huff a short laugh now. “Another present? Arthur, I never asked for--”

Putting a palm up, Arthur says, “I know. “But I wanted to. Open it, please.”

Arthur ducks his head encouragingly, like he's pushing him to do it with the power of his mind or something, so Merlin does, tearing the wrapping paper apart like he used to do on Christmas mornings as a kid. He hasn't had the pleasure of doing this in a long time, most of the presents he gets nowadays being pre-concerted. Things he needs that his mum, Gaius, or a friend get him when his birthday rolls around. That makes him that much more passionate about surprises.

Merlin's eyes widen when he takes in his present. It's a Sound of the Earth: Ocean waves CD. Merlin doesn't know what to make of it beyond the obvious, but he's happy Arthur gave it to him.

Arthur resettles in his chair. “You like it?”

“Um,” Merlin says. “Of course, I do. I like nature. I love nature.”

Arthur's happy expression falters. “You don't like it.” He swipes a hand across the table as if to clear it from crumbs that aren't there, his eyes following the movement and not meeting Merlin's.

“I do!” Merlin says, not wanting Arthur to think he isn't grateful Arthur thought to surprise him with this in the first place.

Arthur goes off on a tangent as though he's still wary of having made a mistake. “I bought it for your Sundays.”

“My Sundays?” Merlin asks, nonplussed.

“Yeah,” Arthur says. “You said that you have an important lesson on Mondays and that your friend Will's loud. So I thought. You can listen to that to tune him out.” Arthur turns the CD upside down. “See, it's basically tracks mimicking sea sounds with a few instrumentals thrown in. It won't distract you but you won't be able to hear Will if he's having the Grand Slam of table tennis either.”

Merlin can't help beaming at Arthur. “That's-- That's perfect,” he says, so touched he can barely swallow around the lump in his throat. “Now my study sessions will be uninterrupted!” he says enthusiastically so Arthur will know that Merlin's happy with his present.

“But you're still coming here, aren't you?” Arthur asks as if the thought's just occurred to him. “On other days? Days that aren't Sundays?”

Merlin feels a fluttering in his belly he cannot control. “Of course I am,” he says. “I'm getting used to studying with you.” He eyes his notepad, which contains a page of doodles, and feels a little bit like he may have lied as far as the studying bit is concerned, when he realises that he's shifted Arthur's attention onto it.

Arthur snags Merlin's notepad, flips at the pages and obviously lands on the last one, the one Merlin was doodling on. His smile when he sees what Merlin's drawn is supernova-like. Although Merlin should be happy that Arthur isn't angry at him for sort of caricaturing him, he isn't relieved at the positive reaction either.

Not at all. Arthur knowing is too embarrassing for words. He tries to get his notepad back but Arthur just turns to the side, shielding it. “Wow, that's so brilliant and life-like and is that me?” Arthur squints. “Why have you drawn me like that: with birds circling my head and perching on my shoulder?”

This time Merlin blushes. He stammers out the answer.

“Pardon,” Arthur says. “I'm not sure I heard what you said.”

Merlin spells it out in a rush. “I drew you as if you were some kind of Disney Prince Charming.”

“Oh god,” Arthur's says, realisation dawning. “I'm Snow White. I mean the boy version of Snow White!”

“I--”

“You drew me as a princess,” says Arthur. “You really share thoughts on an astral plane with my friend Gwaine.”

“It's just that you're so quintessentially princess-y.”

Arthur tilts his head and pulls faces at him. He strikes the silliest expression ever and that sets Merlin laughing as he tries to explain the intent behind his stupid piece of artwork. He has a hard time keeping serious. “You see,” he says, pointing at his drawing and then raising his eyebrows. “You've got the fluffy blond hair....”

“Fluffy?” Arthur mock groans. “Now I've got to shave my head or I'll never live that down.”

“No!” Merlin says, “Your hair's pretty as it is and I'm sure it would get birds all chirpy if they could make it out from high up.”

Arthur perks up. “You think it's pretty.”

“Wrong adjective choice but it’s certainly... shiny,” Merlin says.

“Now you sound like a magpie.”

“Now, now,” Merlin says, “If I were I bird I'm sure I'd have the decency to be a merlin.”

“I'm sure you would.”

They try studying after that but the littlest thing sets them off laughing so that two hours in they've scarcely turned a page in favour of talking about, well, everything.

Merlin tells Arthur about why he's chosen to go for Medicine, about his love of drawing everything under the sun, his love of upbeat music, (“Oh, god, then I really chose the wrong present. I'll take it back.” “Don't you dare!”), and his passion for coffee. “Any brew, really.”

“Addict.”

“At least it's just coffee.”

“Addict.”

Arthur tells Merlin about his strict father, meeting his two friends Gwaine and Mithian for the first time ever, about his love for crunching numbers and how he defied his father, who wanted him to do law, about his uni course choice and his feeling more relaxed when things are “neat and ordered.”

“Then you'll probably hate me. I'm not neat in the least. Not at home and not anywhere else.”

“No,” Arthur says thoughtfully, and low enough that Merlin might have missed it if he hadn't been focusing on Arthur so. “I wouldn't hate you at all.”

****

“I need your help,” Arthur says abruptly.

Mithian and Gwaine look at him from where they're sitting on the sofa. Gwaine's wearing his usual, rather bored, 'tell me something new' expression while Mithian is eagerly curious, her head tilted to the side in a 'tell me more' way Arthur would consider dangerous on any other day.

Because he's a private person. And certain people of his acquaintance always press him for details about his life or want him to become more open and new agey. Something he most certainly isn't. He's a man of numbers for crying out loud. But he's out of his depths here and while he has this aim he's got to subject himself to a wee measure of moral prostitution to get some advice on how to get where he wants to be.

“You both know fairly artsy people, don't you?” he says. It's a rather clumsy opener but it will do for now.

And anyway he's sure that Gwaine knows a fair number of would-be artists in the biblical sense but that's still a connection. However tenuous that may be given that most people who end up in Gwaine's bed aren't keen to return when they find out that Gwaine's Gwaine. A.K.A. a little fickle, unless he's in business mode or doing porn. But Mithian... Mithian is a definite possibility.

“Depends what you mean,” Gwaine says, winking.

Arthur groans.

“I know some artists, yeah?” Mithian admits.

“Okay,” Arthur says, standing before them with his hand on his hips. “That's a starter, I suppose. I googled some and I found out that there's a Comics Exhibition at the Arts Centre and... It's sold out. It's a two day thing and it's sold out.”

“So?” Gwaine says.

Mithian's eyebrows echo Gwaine's question.

“I really need to get at least two tickets.”

“For something that's sold out?” Gwaine guffaws. “Not likely. And since when do you like comics? I've never seen you reading one. Hell, I don't think I've ever seen you reading anything that was pie chart free.”

Mithian smiles. “I think I know why he's interested,” she says.

“Mithian.” Arthur has just delivered that in a loud, prolonged whine.

Gwaine nudges Mithian with his elbow. “If you tell me I'll collaborate.”

“Wait,” Arthur says, gesticulating madly, “You said there was nothing to be done.”

“That was before I thought there was some juicy material here.”

“Mithian!” Arthur screeches.

“I'm sorry,” Mithian says, “I didn't mean to sic him on you.”

“But you have.”

Gwaine looks disgruntled when he says, “Look, I'm still here.”

Arthur ignores him and directs his pleading to Mithian because she's rational and getting through to Gwaine when he's in this kind of mood is impossible. “I was wondering if any of your friends had tickets for that exhibition and if they had if they were willing to sell.” Mithian is about to answer so Arthur hurries to clear up a certain point with her. “I'd pay them double, triple the amount, if they were willing to give up their tickets.”

Gwaine whistles. “That's symptom number one of someone wanting to get laid. Doing stupid shit. Believe me, I know.”

Arthur pointedly cocks his head at Mithian, an eyebrow up.

“I don't know,” she says. “I'd have to ask around.”

“Yes!” Arthur says. Then he remembers he ought to have been politer since he's practically begging here and adds a heartfelt (more or less), “Please.”

He's on his best manners.

Mithian laughs and Gwaine says, “You've got it bad, mate, very bad.”

Mithian ignores Gwaine's needling and dives for their phone while shooting a glare at Gwaine. “I'm going to need silence to make a round of calls.”

“Since when do you need silence? I thought you were used to us!” Gwaine says.

It's Mithian's turn to effectively tune Gwaine out as Arthur's been doing, day in day out, for the past three years of his life. “But I'm warning you, Arthur, it's not a sure thing. In case I can't get you anything just think about getting tickets for the Comics Museum up in London. They tell me it's cheap.”

Arthur pouts. “But I've been told this exhibition is so much cooler.” The person he'd spoken to after doing a fair amount of googling said that it would be the 'real thing', something an aficionado with some talent would love.

Mithian sighs and dials a number by heart.

Gwaine saunters off, but he's chanting, “Arthur and a mysterious artist sitting in a tree.”

“He's not an artist,” Arthur call after him.

Which is when Gwaine turns around and crows, “Ha, ha! Gotcha.”

****

“Hey, Merlin,” Will says as Merlin inches closer to the door, “The sun's shining for once. Why don't we skip uni and take the day off? We could go somewhere nice and just, you know, muck around?” He casts the window a longing glance. “Maybe the park's an idea.”

Merlin adjusts his rucksack. “Uh,” he says, awkwardly balancing on the balls of his feet since he overextended himself to get to the handle. “I was going to the Café.”

“To study?” Will questions. “On a day like this? It's a shit idea, mate. Having the sun out in November like this is such a statistically rare thing that we should get our arses into gear and go to the park before it's too late.”

Merlin smiles at the apocalyptic tone. “I really meant to go today.”

“To The Hole?” Will asks. “You know they call it that because...”

“Because people have a tendency to be glib and think they're funny?”

“No,” Will says, “Because it's not really that great of a place.”

Merlin shrugs. “Doesn't much matter.” Merlin indulges in a severe once over of his shoes. They could do with a jump in the washing machine. “It's just got the perfect balance in noise level. I don't need it not to.... The Hole.”

“There's something you're not saying,” Will says, studying him as if he were a botched experiment. “I'm positive.”

“I'll leave you to suss it out then, Sherlock,” Merlin says, “But I really, really have to go now.”

Merlin manages to turn the handle and slip out before Will can probe more. He doesn't really want Will to and knows enough of his friend to dread the grilling Will would subject him to if he suspected that Merlin himself is thinking he's acting peculiarly.

As he takes the stairs down two at a time, Merlin bestows a quick glance on his watch. Crap, if he doesn't get a move on Merlin won't get to the café in time for Arthur coming back from that stupid lesson he talked about the other time. And then he will have to go do his own tutorial and won't get to give Arthur his present.

It's a silly thing but Arthur has so far given him two presents and Merlin had thought it would be remiss of him to give nothing in return so yesterday he bought a little nothing for him too.

He doesn't mean anything by it but he wants Arthur to have it.

It's just fair.

He runs full pelt down the pavement to make it in time, almost cursing the nice weather because that means it's hot and he's sweating enough to evaporate in the sun. But still he pushes it, lengthening his stride till he almost can't skid to a halt. Not even when he's practically reached the Café's entrance and bumped right into Arthur, their chests colliding painfully, until Merlin almost bounces off him.

“Merlin!” Arthur says with a smile even though he's patting his torso as though he is, in fact, in some amount of pain. “I was hoping to see you.”

Even though he's panting hard, Merlin breaks into a smile. His stomach does a little unreasonable flip and he says, “Yeah, me too.”

“Really?” Arthur beams.

“Really.”

Someone behind them clears their throat. “Excuse me, but that's an entrance.”

Merlin's head whips around and realises that they are indeed blocking it. They both apologise at the same time and step aside, Arthur grabbing him by the elbow to let the prospective customer pass.

Because of the way Arthur grabbed him they're standing pretty close now, Arthur's back to the ornamental plant that graces the café’s entrance, Merlin pressed to his chest and very much in his space.

Merlin's first consideration is that this is far more pleasant than running smack into Arthur. His second one is that Arthur smells nice, his aftershave all woodsy and musky, in a delectable way. Not like Merlin's, which comes out of a big bottle bought at the supermarket, a fragrance that makes him sneeze nine times out of ten.

Merlin's second consideration regards how he's at a loss for what to do. Merlin's fairly sure he wanted to say something but, because he’s in such close quarters with Arthur, his thoughts have got scrambled. In short, he can't remember, for the life of him, what it was he wanted to say.

Thankfully, Arthur seems to not be as discombobulated as Merlin feels because he says something that's quite sensible. “Well, since I was looking for you and I've found you, how about going inside to have a chat?”

Merlin dips his head to check his watch.

Arthur's lips get a down tilt. “You've got to go.”

Merlin's head snaps up. “Uh, no, no I've got some twenty minutes or thereabouts before I need to be elsewhere.”

“Long enough for a coffee?” Arthur asks.

“Enough for a coffee.” Merlin smiles.

Merlin gets an espresso just so he can drink it quick and not waste it. Arthur orders an odd concoction with tons of cinnamon sprinkled on top. They sit at their usual table, which is somehow free, despite the crowd, and put their drinks down, looking at each other mutely for a few long seconds.

They both start talking at the same time. (Which is not awkward at all.)

Merlin says, “I wanted to see you to... well,” just as Arthur goes off to say, “I'm so glad we bumped into each other because I needed to--”

Laughing they stop at once, Arthur asking him to go first, Merlin doing the same. They end up settling the issue by way of Rock, Paper, Scissors. The verdict's that Merlin has to go first. Which he does, both grateful that he can get this off his chest, and a little nervous about being first.

He rummages in the rucksack that he's left on the table next to his espresso and comes up with a badly wrapped packet. He's really put his all into it; it's just that he's not good at ornamentation. Or at prettifying things. He's got a long list of botched Christmas presents in his past to testify to that.

“Here,” he says, pushing his wonky package at Arthur. “It's a stupid...”

Arthur doesn't exactly let him finish. “You have a present for me?”

“You had two for me,” Merlin points out. “It seemed... It's not really serious.”

Arthur unwraps his present rather eagerly, a glint in his eyes that Merlin hopes is not dictated by expectation, and bursts out laughing when he sees what it is that Merlin's got him.

“An abacus?” he says, grinning ahead. “An abacus.”

Hoping the grin is not a cover up for disappointment, Merlin says, “Yeah, you're doing Economy, you said you like crunching numbers, and well, that abacus is sort of cute. I saw it passing by a flea market and oh God I've just told you I bought you an used present on the cheap.”

Arthur shakes his head, lips still firmly curved up. (Good sign, phew.) “No, I-- I love it. Apart from Gwaine and Mithian people are always giving me serious, weighty presents. My father always insists on giving me useful things. My family in general goes for 'representational' presents. Mostly fancy stuff I don't really need or like. And... well, this is... This is me. I guess.”

Arthur's smile grows exponentially.

Merlin thinks he might be going a bit red. “This is certainly not fancy but I'm glad you liked it.”

“I did. I do.”

That brings out Merlin's smile again like nothing else has done this morning. “I'm very glad. I thought I'd botched it.” He checks the time on his mobile screen and rises. “And I'm glad we're more even now, but I'm afraid I've got to run. Professor's Oldman rage face is not something to be recklessly courted.”

Arthur extends his arm over the table and makes a grab for Merlin's hand. “Wait,” he says, letting go almost immediately. “I have... I have something for you too.”

“But you've given me so much already,” Merlin says, stopping in his tracks even though this will make him late.

Arthur's messenger bag is bulging. And when he opens it a square packet ripples out. Arthur grabs it and pushes it in Merlin's general direction. It's square – despite the wrapper's attempts to defy geometry – and solid and Merlin immediately surmises it's a book. “You shouldn't have,” Merlin says. “This is the third in a row.”

“It's nothing big,” Arthur tells him. “Not in itself. Though...” Arthur's words seem to get caught in his throat the way Merlin's do when he's facing a menacing authority figure. Merlin doesn't get why that should be since he's never thought of himself as threatening before, so he decides to put Arthur
out of his misery. He tears at the wrapping to unveil what looks at first glance like a large binder. Merlin smiles and says, “What--”

That's when he understands that it's not a binder. It's a....

Arthur says it for him, “Sketch book. Since you're doodling on notepads. And you're quite good,
your sketches should have a place of honour.”

Merlin warms at the praise. He mostly doodles for fun but can't help feeling a little bit elated at the thought Arthur thinks well of his skills. It doesn't matter if they're not actually that developed and that an expert would say he's quite talentless. All that matters is that Arthur likes his stuff. He almost feels tempted to draw series of cartoon sketches starring Arthur just so as to thank him properly.

But Arthur clears his throat and Merlin remembers himself enough to thank him verbally.

“No, no.” Arthur waves that aside. “I, um, was clearing my throat because...” He does some more gargling, which would be funny if Merlin weren't feeling all moved and mushy. “I wanted to bring your attention to something else.”

“Uh? Okay?” That sounded formal.

“Flip the pages,” Arthur says, hands flailing about as he indicates the sketchbook.

At Arthur's invitation Merlin does flip through them though he can see already that they're all blank,
to the extent that he can't quite see the point to Arthur's request. He starts to when two little print outs slip out. They drop to the floor but Merlin's quick to pick them up.

When he does he understands what they are. “They're tickets.”

Arthur nods his head and colours a little, just a visible splash across his nose, then starts talking. “I suppose at this point I should say that.... That I should be wholly honest.”

Merlin brow puckers in thought. “What, you stole the tickets?”

“Um, no?” Arthur says. “No criminal action was involved. I just thought you'd like to go. It's a comics exhibition and it's here. Not far from the campus. I reckoned you'd like it and this way you won't have to travel all the way up to London to see things you're interested in. And... It's going to save you some money because we all know train fares are crazy these days, even with discounts.”

“Train discounts?” Merlin asks, eyebrows pulling together. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No, actually, no.”

“All right,” Merlin prompts, “so what was it you were trying to say?”

Arthur tugs Merlin down to get him sitting again. Merlin lets himself be manhandled. He has the impression this is going to be long. He wastes just a single moment thinking he'll be sitting his lecture out, he's already so late, but then forgets about it and focuses entirely on Arthur because Arthur's so flustered. “It's more about the café.”

“The café?” Merlin can't see what trains, comic exhibitions and the café have got to do with one
another. Well, he can connect the first two the way Arthur did but the rest of the conversation is not all that transparent to him. “I'm not sure I'm getting this right.”

“The café,” Arthur says with more emphasis. “Me being here at all.”

“Is this supposed to be helping me understand?” Merlin tilts his head this way and that.

“Yes!” Arthur declares proudly. “I hope so. I mean... I first came here because my flatmate is being impossible.”

“Yeah,” says Merlin. “You told me about Gwaine.” He's snickered about that quite a lot recently.

“And that's the reason I come here.”

“You already said that.”

Arthur scrubs a hand through his hair, his fringe falling back into place the moment he's done. “Yeah, I suppose,” he says. “This is harder than I thought it would be.” Arthur takes a big breath and at this point Merlin wants to shake him a little because Arthur's not getting to the point but he's made it clear that the point's important. Merlin doesn't enjoy being kept on tenterhooks. With a soft smile, Merlin says, “Try and explain.”

Arthur splays both hands on the table, swallows, and bobs his head. “I was trying to point out a difference though I clearly did it backwards.”

“A difference.”

Arthur pushes his lips together. He hums. “Yes, between the reason why I first came here...”

“Which was Gwaine.” Now that's easily guessed Merlin thinks. “And?”

“The reason why I kept coming,” Arthur says. It sounds very meaningful. “Is that I saw you there that first time. And I thought you were different.”

Merlin gulps, hoping Arthur's use of the word 'different' has a positive connotation. Arthur doesn't seem to notice Merlin's little qualm because he ploughs on faster than before even though his tone gets more posh as he does. “You looked like a regular, perfectly acclimated and all that, and I did want to see you again. So the logical conclusion was to try and see if you'd be here a second time. And though it's true I could only study here for as long as Gwaine was being porno-Spielberg, it's also true that I kept coming for you. And then you were there and we talked.”

Merlin's smiling like a demented thing by now. “So, basically, you wanted to see me.”

“I also do like coffee immensely,” Arthur adds. “But, yes, I did want to see you.”

“It's okay,” Merlin says. “Because it's been fun seeing you.”

Arthur holds his head up higher at that, shoulders rising from a partial slouch. “So I can't say that I kept coming solely for the coffee.” Arthur straightens his shoulders some more. “I did it for you. And since we've been talking... I was even more tempted.” He puts his palm up. “I understand I should have played it differently, told you how interested I was, but it was not as if I had a battle plan or antyhing. It was just... I did what made me happy. Coming here. Seeing you. But now I'm pretty certain I want a date with you.”

The last bit comes out garbled but Merlin's caught the words all the same. “That's why there's two tickets?”

Arthur jerks a little in his seat. “It's a present. Of course you can go with whomever you'd like. They're yours and not a way to pressure you--”

Now that he's got that fact down Merlin doesn't hesitate to interrupt Arthur. “I don't want to go with somebody else,” he says, a smile inching wider on his face.

“You can also go alone,” Arthur offers. “It can be very... educational.”

“I want to go with you.”

“Thank fuck,” Arthur says and they both burst out laughing.

****

Arthur's pouring himself a dose of home-made coffee when Gwaine saunters in looking like the cat that's eaten the canary. That's probably because he's back from some hot date or other. Gwaine always looks like that when he is.

“That's the what?” Gwaine asks. “Your fourth? Fifth? You're going to overdose.”

“It's my third and there's no such thing as too much coffee,” Arthur says.

“There is when you start fidgeting like the Energizer Bunny and your eyes start popping out,” Gwaine points out.

Arthur grabs the back of a pan to see his reflection. “My eyes aren't popping out.”

Gwaine doesn't reply to that. “You're all wound up. And on a coffee high. I'm wondering why.”

Arthur puts the pan back down on the range and takes a sip of his warm, bracing coffee. “I'm not wound up.”

“You most definitely are,” Gwaine says, shedding and hanging his jacket. “And it can't be for a test or exam because it's Friday evening. So....” Gwaine's mouth opens and then he starts sniggering. “You're going out on a date. I see. All that talk about your mysterious artist who likes comics led somewhere.”

“For the last time,” says Arthur, “he's not an artist. He is a gifted med student.”

“A gifted med student you're hoping to boink,” said Gwaine, sprawling across the sofa as he looked for the remote.

“Oh, shut up,” Arthur says, finishing his coffee.

“So you don't want to bring him back here for a glorious weekend shag?”

Arthur can't say that he hasn't pictured doing exactly that. He's been harbouring similar hopes for the past five days. But he can't bring himself to say as much to Gwaine. “Not as such,” he says.

“Well, if you do and you're minded to tape your exploits I'd be willing to sell the vids along those I made, expand the repertoire, if you will.” Gwaine crosses his arms behind his head. “What do you say?”

Arthur puts his mug in the sink to rinse. “I say that I have to go.” He marches to the door, his footfall purposefully heavy and intimidating, and picks up his jacket. “And forget about getting a public spectacle.”

Even though he wasted a few minutes nipping Gwaine's wet dreams in the bud, Arthur's still a bit early for his and Merlin's date. By an hour or so. Maybe an hour and twenty minutes. As he and Merlin made arrangements for the date, Arthur had thought it best not to offer to pick Merlin up or have Merlin pick him up. So he'd look casual and cool. Now he's starting to regret that choice.

The bench he's sitting on is pretty comfy, he has a view of the exhibition centre entrance, and the weather is mild enough that he's not freezing his arse off. Still he has nothing better to do than twiddle his thumbs and displace chunks of gravel with the tip of his shoe.

He could try to watch people but since but he doesn't particularly want to scare anyone into thinking he's a creepy voyeur cum stalker, he doesn't.

He could try navel gazing, but he thinks that if he stops to analyse what he's doing and how he's going about it, he'll just be second guessing himself. And if he does, he'll start sounding idiotic and Merlin won't like him. Now Arthur can be suave when he wants to. It's just that Merlin's different and he doesn't think he's pulled it off so well with him. For whatever reason.

It's just that Merlin makes him stupid. Not that that's bad. The kind of feeling Merlin gives him is new and exciting. It's like a spark and it's brilliant. He'd just like not too project too much of that so that Merlin can like him. So that he can preserve some aura of coolness.

“Hello, Arthur,” Merlin startles him. He plonks down next to him and adds, “I'm so glad I'm not the only one who's come tremendously early.”

“Finished all courses at two,” Arthur says with a shrug.

“I was terribly impatient,” Merlin admits, stretching his legs out. “I know I shouldn't say it and that it'll make me sound like an excitable loser, but I was.”

Arthur takes a big breath. Oxygen is never overrated. It can make you brave. Braver. “I wasn't completely unfazed either.”

“I really hope you're not,” Merlin tells him, lengthening the penultimate letter. “You having felt a little bit of a thrill at the thought of coming here would help me feel less stupid about it all. It wouldn't have to be a huge thrill. I could do with a moderately sized one.”

Arthur looks at his shoes. “I've already made a fool of myself once inviting you out the way I did, but I suppose that a feint heart never won fair...” Arthur fumbles for words, “Boy.”

Elbowing him, Merlin says, “You were going to say maiden.”

“You're too hairy for a maiden,” Arthur deadpans and just when he thinks that he's blown it, that he offended Merlin by picking at his appearance – not that Merlin's monkey-hairy – Merlin snorts loudly, shaken by laughter. That lifts off Arthur's doubts and the awkwardness seep away.

“Undoubtedly,” Merlin says the moment he recovers from his laughing bout. “That's why I was protesting the comparison. I'd rather be the knight in shining armour.”

“Oh, but I want that part.”

Merlin scoots closer to him. “We could both go questing.”

“All right,” Arthur says, inching his hand closer to Merlin's and covering it with his. “What shall be our first quest?”

“The exhibition,” Merlin tells him, going a step further and linking their fingers. “That's our first quest.”

Arthur follows Merlin into the exhibition centre and though he can't say he's a fan of comics he's immediately swept off his feet by Merlin's enthusiasm. Merlin takes to dragging him here and there, displaying in depth knowledge of each item showcased.

As it turns out, Merlin's particularly fond of the Felix the Cat display, showing Arthur a strip series, highligting said cartoon character. “Poor Felix,” says Merlin. “He was practically killed off by Mickey Mouse and the talkies.”

“Wait, doesn't Felix ever talk?” Arthur asks. Admittedly he's a little out of his depth but he thought he might have seen the cartoon once or twice.

“Actually, yes,” Merlin says. “You're remembering it right! But then again it wasn't as popular as Mickey who got to talk first.” Merlin gives him one theatrical sigh.

Arthur laughs. “I suppose you like Felix better.”

“I've always rooted for the underdog,” Merlin confesses with a wink.

They move on to the next exhibit, Merlin excitedly pointing it out to him, explaining the ins and outs that have gone into the design of Dennis the Menace through the years. Different illustrators have done him in their own way, rising above different artistic challenges. Apparently getting Dennis to smile was a big one.

“Look at how his face is drawn,” Merlin tells him when Arthur looks confused.

Arthur looks but he can't say he understands yet, though Merlin most certainly does. Merlin gets in a convoluted explanation about moving the mouth about and to the side to get a smile effect and Arthur is just lost.

But that doesn't really matter because he can see he's done the right thing finding those tickets for Merlin. He can see that Merlin's happy to share his love for this stuff with him – however much a great part of it is lost on Arthur– and can't help but feel encouraged, thinking that Merlin might like him just as much as Arthur likes Merlin, and that they might work out.

“I've got some pretty old numbers that go back to the sixties,” Merlin tells him as if it's something he's shy about.

“Really?” Those must be valuable.

“I've always been rather fond of Dennis,” Merlin says in a soft, warm voice that does things to Arthur. “I always figured I'd be one of the softies Dennis terrorised.”

“Why?”

“Some people don't have a tough aura,” Merlin explains. “People like me. They're bound to find their Dennis.”

“I'm sorry,” Arthur says, meaning it. It's strange that he should feel moved by Merlin's allusion to a less than happy past when that seems to have been buried years before. But he does. “That shouldn't--”

“Oh no,” Merlin hurries to say. “I always laughed at the real Dennises. But this strip... It made me see things from the other side. And how it might not be so rosy for the other guy too, the bully. Dennis often got his come-uppance and was a bit of a misfit. I figured that was true of real people acting like him. That's what I liked this comic strip so much. More than others. It taught me things.”

“I see.” Arthur takes a closer look at the comic strip display and starts seeing things in it that weren't as apparent before.

“I'm boring you,” Merlin says, his hands stopping mid movement. “I knew it. I'm boring you.”

“No,” Arthur says, loudly enough for some other visitors to hear and turn around. “I was thinking about what you said. Appreciating it. I'm the opposite of bored.”

“We can do something else,” Merlin says. “Something that you love.”

“I'm loving this right now,” Arthur says, giving Merlin a long meaningful glance. “I can't say that there isn't one thing I'd love doing more--”

Merlin's face falls.

“But that's just because I'd love for us to be alone and I know it's too early but--”

Arthur finds his head taken between Merlin's hand and his lips touched by Merlin's. He hasn't had time to connect the dots yet but what registers is how his heartbeat goes crazy and a sense of well-being mixed with excitement fills him till he thinks he could burst with it. The kiss is neither chaste – there's a hint of tongue brushing against is – nor so involved as to make of them a spectacle.

It's still enough to make Arthur's legs feel a bit jittery though. And it's not just the surprise of it. “I didn't think you...”

“What?” Merlin asks, still incredibly close. “That I'd like you? I went on a date with you.”

“Yeah but I didn't think you'd--” Arthur makes fish noises. “I thought I'd have to court you.”

“As nice as that sounds,” Merlin says, smiling, “you don't need to court me. I think I like you enough to not need any of that.”

Arthur scrunches his nose up. “You only think?”

“Let's say that I have very good vibes about you,” Merlin says with a hint of gentle laughter to his tone. “And I've had them for a while now. That's why I wouldn't mind either if we did something else.” Merlin's eyebrow climbs. “Maybe at your place.”

Arthur suddenly remembers Gwaine's taunts. “No, we can't.” Arthur doesn't trust Gwaine when it comes to certain things. He'd be invasive at the very least.

Merlin takes a step back, his mouth defaulting to a grim line. “I suppose I went too fast.”

Cursing Gwaine seems like the best approach ever, but Arthur had rather make Merlin see how things stand than phone Gwaine to hurl insults at him. Even if they are deserved. So he grabs Merlin by the arm and hastens to explain. “I shot that down because my flatmate is an invasive idiot with strange ideas about what's private and what's not.”

“Oh.” Merlin exhales, a hand on his heart. “I thought I'd blown my chances.”

“You most definitely haven't.”

“But we can't go to mine either,” Merlin says. “Will's having a Wii-fit competition at mine.” Merlin pulls a face. “He's called it: The Survival of The Fittest.”

“It seems we're fucked.”

“It seems we're not going to be at all.”

Arthur laughs a tad desperately.

*****

Merlin has a very old and very battered car that he's got parked some four hundred yards from his flat and which has been there for the best part of a year since it refuses to start. It's the car he's come over from Ealdor with and it's now so unserviceable that he's left it to rust in the open. Selling it wouldn't have fetched anything and fixing it enough for it to be able to chug about would have been a waste of money.

Now Merlin waves the keys in front of Arthur.

“In there?” Arthur asks. He doesn't look too happy about it, which in turns makes Merlin second guess himself a little.

“It's either my old car or your place.”

“It's rusty,” says Arthur. “Are you sure we won't be catching tetanus if we...”

Merlin backs Arthur up against the car, both hands on the bonnet either side of him. “It's not rusty inside, I promise.”

Arthur's brow furrows but when Merlin kisses him for the second time that day, all slow and sweet, the lines disappear. Arthur moans, kissing back with little sucks on Merlin's tongue, and pulls him closer by palming his arse. “I can get behind this,” he says, lips bitten red, cock stiffening in his trousers just like Merlin's.

“I was hoping I could persuade you.”

“You've persuaded me.”

Their lips meet once more, opening quickly to tongues. One of Arthur's hands wanders over Merlin's chest, kneading a shoulder, their hips brushing as they try to sidle as close to one another as possible.

Merlin has to drag himself away to stop from pushing things too far. “I'm okay with semi-public sex
but this is very public sex.” He tilts his head towards the car.

Arthur draws a wet trail with his tongue along Merlin's cheek, breathing heavily. “Okay, all right, open that bloody car.”

Merlin does, as eager as Arthur is. He lets Arthur in first, telling him to climb in. Arthur follows his instruction so fast Merlin might have suspected him of having super powers though that's clearly not the case.

Arthur rolls the front seat back, Merlin straddling him, even though he's got the wheel digging in his back. “Maybe we should move this to the back seat,” says Merlin when not even the suggestive position helps him recover his ardour.

“It's tiny back there and cramped,” Arthur says, putting his hands at Merlin's hip.

“It's cramped in front too.”

Arthur lifts a shoulder in a shrug and pulls Merlin down and on top of him. “Maybe,” he whispers against his mouth, “if we keep very close.”

Merlin chuckles softly against Arthur's mouth, pushing their hips closer, warmth seeping under his skin. “I like 'very close’.” He takes Arthur's mouth again.

Arthur's hand sneaks under Merlin's tee, palming the small of his back, and drifting upwards.

Merlin exhales against Arthur's open mouth, his own cock filling against Arthur's. They both make small noises as they grind against each other. It's bloody perfect, Merlin thinks, thanking serendipitous meetings and coffee places. As he trails his mouth up Arthur's neck, biting at his jaw, Arthur rolls his eyes back and bucks against him.

This in turn propels Merlin upwards so that he both brains himself against the car's roof and slams his back right into the steering wheel.

It hurts singularly badly and there's more: somehow Merlin's just blasted the horn. The sudden sound in the night attracts a wandering policeman's attention. Said policeman knocks on the window with his baton and mouths sternly, “Move it.”

Merlin can only nod dumbly at the officer. The officer himself quirks up an eyebrow and Merlin quickly manages to scramble off Arthur. That's when they get a nod from the officer, who stays for a second to check they're behaving, and then walks away.

“That was awkward,” Merlin says.

“Very,” Arthur agrees. His chest is gently shaking with laughter. He scrubs a hand down his face, eyes on the roof. “And embarrassing.”

Merlin's little smile at Arthur's reaction fades. “I suppose that was a mood killer.”

“God no,” Arthur says. “I'm very still very much in the mood. I just propose we move it.”

“But--”

“To a hotel,” Arthur pre-empts him. “Just for tonight.”

The next hour is a bit of a blur Merlin is so tense and so, admittedly, gagging for it. He merely finds himself hoping Arthur's as far gone as he is otherwise this would add to the embarrassment factor occasioned by their being spotted going at it by a disapproving bobby.

The walk to the hotel is effected in less than half an hour, but then they have to queue to check in – conference in town – and between that and being handed the key some time passes.

“I'm going to get Gwaine to refund me,” Arthur mutters as he swipes the key at the sensor. “It's the principle of the thing.”

When Arthur has the door unlocked, Merlin pulls him close and kisses him, not wanting to hear a word more about Gwaine, Will, or officers of the law.

Merlin just cradles his face and just goes to town, pouring all his eagerness into it. Arthur returns Merlin's kiss, rendering Merlin breathless with it, one of his hands snaking up Merlin's back, the other steadying him.

They continue necking and mouthing at each other, hands roving over bodies for as long as they can stand it. Then their clothes start to get in the way. Or at least Merlin's feel like they are.

He tugs at Arthur's shirt so that it slips out of his jeans and starts undoing it button by button. The first thing he does when he uncovers Arthur's torso is to kiss his shoulder, nose at the skin he finds, moving from clavicle to neck till Arthur goes rigid with need.

Then it's Arthur's turn to undress Merlin and Merlin's to react.

In a short while they find each other naked, both darting glances at the other before they re-converge by the bed for some playful kissing and shoving.

With a light push, Merlin gets Arthur to lie on his back. “Finally,” he says, “I'm afraid I was suffering from blue balls all the way to here.” Merlin eases himself on top of Arthur, stroking his hair back.

“But now you have me here-”

“Yes, I do,” Merlin says before smiling into Arthur's mouth, Arthur's hot body pressed against his cooler one.

Feeling both breathless and thrilled, Merlin places a hand behind Arthur's head and guides him forward so he can meet his lips. Arthur's tongue slides into his mouth as he tightens his hold around Merlin's waist. In a moment they're tumbling into a kiss that is sheer perfection.

A little thrill spins through Merlin as Arthur's firm, muscular body meets his. They share a sigh; Merlin shifts his hips and their cocks press close together. Arthur's hips move in an arch to graze his just as Merlin thrusts forwards to create some more friction. It's brilliant and heady, little electric shocks sizzling up Merlin' back.

Merlin's fantasies are already spinning out of control, as he says, “Tell me you have condoms.”

Arthur hips freeze mid-motion. “Tell me that's a rhetorical question.”

Merlin bites and sucks at Arthur's neck. “Afraid not. I didn't think this would happen.”

Arthur's bursts out laughing. “That's tragic because I was sure we'd have to go through a lengthy courtship, the stages of which I might have planned. They included sex on the fourth, marvellous date.”

“Am I going to be a victim of my own easy virtue?”

Arthur buries a chuckle against his shoulder, reaches down with his hand and says, “No, I think I can see a way out of this.”

Merlin rolls his eyes at Arthur's stupid line as Arthur takes both their cocks together in hand, stroking them together so that Merlin loses a bit of his self-control and the urge to laugh goes on the wings of his strained breath.

Their cock-heads slip and slide against each other in a delicious, frisson inducing way that brings Merlin closer and closer to climbing the high to orgasm. Merlin answers Arthur's fondling with a lift of his hips, Arthur pressing his heel on the back of Merlin's leg as their bodies rise and fall in their own rhythm.

As he pumps his fist, encompassing them both, Arthur's mouth tugs at Merlin's earlobe.

It's so good Merlin can only go with the flow, let his head fall back and his eyelids droop at the sight of a flushed, heavily breathing Arthur. Heat blasts through him. “I'm pretty close,” he says, voice somehow having gone ragged.

Arthur answers him in similar tones, saying, “How close?”

“Specifically?”

“Great sex vocab you have there.”

“Idiot,” Merlin puffs out.

Arthur clamps down harder on them, Merlin moving his hand in order to join in. Arthur's other hand is palming his bum, pushing Merlin closer even while Arthur nips at his shoulder, worrying the skin. That and Arthur's callouses dragging across his skin push him over the edge, until he's pulsing come and blanking out, only caught up enough with the goings on to know that Arthur has followed him.

When they've both come down and are a bit cleaner, Arthur squeezes him in his arms, stretching under him. “Well, considering that the evening was about to take a wrong turn, I think we did pretty well.”

“Only pretty well?”

Arthur bites on his earlobe, breath fanning across Merlin's neck. “Well, I'd have to practice more to be sure of my verdict.”

“Oh but you are a confirmed numbskull, aren't you?”

“What?” Arthur says. “Practice makes perfect.”

*****

Merlin's sitting on his coffee table, textbook spread across his knees; Arthur's on the sofa, doing some studying of his own, when a key turns in the lock and Will waltzes in.

He looks from Arthur to Merlin then proceeds to gape. “But-- but.”

Arthur tosses Will a bunch of keys which Will makes a grab for. He looks at them sceptically. “What's this?”

“The keys to Arthur's flat,” Merlin says, “you can have your ultimate mini-golf tourney at his. Ringing up your friends about a change of venue should be easy.”

“But I had everything set up here!” Will says.

“No worries,” Arthur tells Will, “I've already moved your things. My friend Gwaine will help you rig them up at mine. He's a party man he'll be happy to have people over.”

“But-- But--”

“We have to study, Will,” says Merlin with a sheepish smile. “Really, we can't always do it at the Café.”

Will's gaze sweeps from Arthur to Merlin. “I don't believe you for one moment. You just want to have sex with blond git over there.”

“Will, I have an end of module test in three days,” says Merlin.

Arthur lifts his textbook so Will can see the cover. “Advanced Econometrics.”

“I still don't believe you.”

Merlin pouts. “Will, this is important.”

“Honestly,” Arthur adds.

Will considers them for a minute, then shrugs his shoulders and says, “I'll go get my stuff.”

With a bit of stomping he goes fetch the boxes containing his mini golf gear, gives Arthur and Merlin a withering look, and says, “I'll be back tomorrow and I'll be sleeping on Prince Git's bed tonight.”

Arthur's mouth moves in a huffed objection but before any proper word can come out, Will's gone.

Merlin puts his textbook by, smiles and says, “Come on, coast clear, give us a kiss.”

Arthur's petulant little moue vanishes. He moves from off the sofa, crouches by the coffee table, pulls Merlin down to him, cradling his face the while, and opens his mouth in a spine melting kiss.

“Wow,” says Merlin. “This is way better than the café.”

The End.