Score / Merthur

Old Stone Walls

Merlin was beginning to regret bringing his own water bottle.  It seemed it was a ward. It stood on the grass beside him, his hand hesitant to touch it. He'd caught Arthur frown at it once, when he unpacked it, and now his fingertips feared its touch would burn.

Merlin's focus was slipping.

He held his camera in his lap. He was trying to remember Arthur's face without looking through its lens. He knew enough: the blond, the blue, the smile. The laugh that was light itself. The teasing, the taunting—

No.

The haunting.

He knew nothing. Nothing at all. He knew Arthur's face. He'd stared at it — glared at it — enough. But a face is not a person. What did he know of Arthur, except for his talent of getting under other people's skin? He was forgetting every conversation they'd ever had. He was beginning to believe they'd had none at all. How many times had the team gone out together? How many times had they shared the same air — the pitch, the beach, the bar? How many times had he even looked at him?

He tried now. Without the camera, he couldn't raise his eyes in Arthur's direction. To look — to just look — suddenly seemed far too intimate.

There was something very humbling about realising you might not entirely hate someone. It was not an experience Merlin was enjoying.

~~~

"Oi."

Arthur turned to see Gwaine jogging towards him.

"You trying to scare him off or something?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really? So you're not thinking up new ways to terrorise my housemate?"

"I do not," Arthur scoffed, "terrorise him."

"Sure. So he's just allergic to you."

"Oi."

Gwaine laughed.

"Seriously though. Has he ever—," he gave an aimless gesture.  The words seemed to fall away from him.

"Has he ever...?"

"It's fine, forget it."

Gwaine shrugged, "whatever you say, cap'in. As long as you stop staring over there and start focusing over here."

This time, Arthur managed a grin. "You know you can't tell me what to do."

"Someone ought to."

~~~

The pub was absolutely packed. Navigating a summer evening during tourist season was expected to be difficult. This seemed closer to impossible. They should call it quits. Go home and get some sleep. But the delicate descent of the sun was too beautiful to ignore.

"New plan," Arthur called. "We get drinks to go and walk up to the field by the cliffs."

Gwen pulled a face. "Is that safe?"

"Perfectly. It's not as low as the cliff path. There's a fence that separates it. Hand on my heart, I promise I'd never take you someone dangerous."

"Alright, alright," she was smiling now, "I believe you."

"Morgana, however, I would gladly help over the fence and cliff if needed."

The effect was instantaneous. The team burst into laughter, including Morgana, despite her protests that she'd be in her grave before she ever accepted Arthur's help with anything. The biggest miracle was that Morgause hadn't punched him. That had only happened once. Before she'd joined the team, she'd overheard — or rather, misheard — Arthur and Morgana's banter, and had punched him so hard in the arm that there'd been a bruise for weeks.