Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Arthur had been perfectly content to spend his summer loafing around the house uselessly, going to the occasional house party where he’d pretend to enjoy bad beer—not because he really wants to, but because he feels like he’s supposed to want to—and pestering Morgana about whoever she ends up dating. Uther, however, had quickly made it clear that he found his plans (or lack thereof) less than acceptable.

So this morning, not more than a week after school had let out for the summer, he’d gotten out of bed at a fucking ungodly hour of the morning and forced himself to grit his teeth into a smile and nod dutifully as his dad poured himself a coffee and talked about how a summer job would be good for him - teach him some responsibility, or discipline, or some bullshit like that. Then, he bustled out the door without so much as a proper goodbye, leaving Arthur to walk to the public library down the street for his first day of work. It was the first place to call him back after an embarrassing number of interviews, and yeah, it was only part time hours and just barely minimum wage, but so was fucking everything, and it wasn’t like it actually mattered at all, right? So he’d accepted the offer immediately, if only to get his dad off his back.

Arthur drags his feet across the sidewalk as he walks, the buzz of people using their lawnmowers way too early—no doubt waking up countless irate teens—and the smell of freshly cut grass wafting out from behind more than one of the houses he walks by. There’s not a cloud in the sky, the sun is ridiculously bright, and he looks up to watch its rays filter down through the green canopy of towering oak trees that line the street. Even with their shade, it’s swelteringly hot. A bead of sweat trails its way down his neck, creeping down the back of the only button down shirt he owns, and he hates the fact that he’s wearing this and stiff khakis instead of shorts, but professionalism, or whatever. He looks back down just in time to narrowly avoid stepping on a line of ants rapidly marching across the concrete and into a crack in the sidewalk where a few blades of grass and a single dandelion have stubbornly pushed their way up. Arthur stands there for a long, drawn out moment, watching the last of their orderly row disappear beneath the ground. He almost envies their purposefulness. 

It's a few minutes before nine when Arthur arrives at the library, its beige brick walls yellowed with age and the garden out front blooming brightly, just the same as they always are. When he enters, the person who hired him is nowhere in sight, which is less than ideal. But then the bespectacled woman who’s been a constant fixture at the circulation desk ever since he was checking out Robert Munsch books as a kid, sees him looking lost and gracefully steps in, asking if he’s the new summer student. When Arthur nods yes and tells her his name, she introduces herself as Barbara—he feels supremely embarrassed that he’d never bothered to learn her name in all his years of coming here—and shows him where to sign in each shift. Then she hands him a staff ID badge and a key card and instructs him to go look for someone named Merlin to start his training.

“He’ll show you everything you need to know dear,” she says, smiling kindly at him in a way that reminds him of his grandmother. “You can’t miss him, he’s the only other young man in here today with a staff badge, alright? Black hair, about your height, think I saw him in the non-fiction section a moment ago.” 

And she waves him off and turns to a frazzled patron who needs help logging into one of the computers, leaving Arthur to fend for himself. But as he soon finds out, this Merlin person is more elusive than Morgana when their horrendously bigoted extended family visit during the holidays, and Arthur ends up doing an entire circuit of all three floors of the library, avoiding the scrutinizing glances of other employees who are no doubt wondering why the new guy isn’t getting anything done.

After one last desperate walkthrough of the young adult section, without seeing a single person matching Barbara’s description, Arthur wanders back downstairs to a lounge area littered with cozy armchairs and houseplants, where a single elderly man in a tweed suit is seated reading a newspaper. Beams of sunlight shine in through a wall made up almost entirely of windowpanes, their rays criss-crossing onto the floor and, as he learns, heating up the steely-gray metal rows of magazine stands until they’re warm to the touch.

He picks up a copy of some obnoxiously colourful sports magazine that he’d gotten a monthly subscription to when he was a kid and flips through the pages, squinting against the sun. He hasn’t read an issue in years, probably stopped sometime after he made the football team in freshman year, and now here he is, entering senior year this coming fall and adamantly refusing to join the team again, no matter what Uther says about recruiters and scholarships. He’s never bothered to cancel the subscription, the thought hasn’t even crossed his mind until this moment, and so magazines still come in the mail, month after month, and pile up unread by the dozens in his room, a flagrant symbol of every interest of his that staled before he ever fully committed to it. 

It’s not that Arthur doesn’t know what he wants in life, it’s that everything he has ever wanted has always eventually gone cold and left a dull metallic taste in his mouth. Every expensive hobby he’s carelessly slapped onto his dad’s credit card, every subject in school he thought he might eventually major in, every girl he’s ever kissed, all of it. It all inevitably goes flat like the half-drunk bottles of shitty off-brand soda sitting forgotten on the bottom shelf of his fridge.

He closes the magazine, the glossy image of Cristiano Ronaldo on the cover smiling up at him tauntingly, and turns to place it back on the magazine stand, smiling politely at a girl—warm, kind eyes, a smattering of freckles across tawny brown cheeks, and really quite pretty—who’s just entered the aisle. She returns the smile, says “Excuse me”, and brushes past him, laptop clutched to her chest with wrists clad in jangling bracelets and dark curls trailing out from a messy bun atop her head. He gets a whiff of vanilla and lavender as she walks by and thinks vaguely to himself that she’s the type of girl that he’d probably try to talk to if he was at a party, egged on by friends hoping to see him strike out for their own entertainment.

She’s stopped at the end of the aisle and is astutely studying a knitting magazine, sneaking glances back at him every now and again, and he thinks that maybe he still ought to try to talk to her now, though nobody’s watching. But then he thinks about it, thinks about the whole tired thing, about introducing himself and asking her name and dancing around the subject of her phone number until the perfect moment, and he just can’t muster up the will. So he puts the magazine back down, making a mental note to cancel the subscription as soon as he gets home, and heads back towards the non-fiction section.

The dense thicket of shelves provides a much needed escape from the open space in the middle of the library, where a handful of people are milling about. There’s a lone student taking over an entire table, multiple charging wires from a laptop, a phone, and who knows what other devices, snaking around him and plugged into the extension bar by his feet, sitting buried in a pile of notes and from the utterly miserable look on his face, probably already regretting the decision to enrol in summer classes. Looking at him, for a moment, Arthur is almost glad that he’s here working- it's preferable to cramming for a test, at least. A couple of young parents are heading upstairs, probably to some children’s event, and the excited babbling of their toddlers as they clamber clumsily up the stairs is one of the only noises in the library that stands out from the low hum of occasional whispers and shuffling chairs. 

But the kids eventually disappear into a room, the glass walls of which are plastered with endearingly crude crayon drawings, and then it’s quiet again, awfully, stiflingly quiet. Arthur can’t stand it. He’s wandered aimlessly so far around the non-fiction section that he’s almost back at the circulation desk again, still with no sight of the guy, Merlin, who’s supposed to be helping him figure out whatever the fuck he’s supposed to be doing. He thinks about telling Barbara he can’t find him, but from the glimpse of her he catches between rows of books, she’s still dealing with a handful of clueless patrons, so he turns and weaves back through the shelves until he reaches the furthest back wall.

A long window overlooks the historic main street, their little town’s pride and joy, and Arthur wistfully remembers summers spent trekking to the controversial Baskin Robbins that sprung up there a few years ago. It was a huge commercial eyesore, according to concerned parental advisory boards, but there it still was, tucked in joyfully between quaint local shops and immaculately tasteful pastel-painted businesses. Facing the window, there’s a row of desks with partitions in between each seat, all unsurprisingly covered in pen scrawls and carved expletives, as they’ve always been, and this is where Arthur used to find himself on the rare occasion he came here to actually study, back when he had to keep up his grades or risk getting kicked off the team.

There’s also a nondescript door there, almost blending into a small patch of wall that separates the row of desks from a handful of private study rooms, that he’s never really paid any attention to, mostly because of the “staff only” sign on it. Arthur is about to walk past it and continue his search for the ever so evasive Merlin—he’s beginning to wonder if Barbara is fucking with him—because really, there’s only so much time he can waste before he has to actually start working, when it occurs to him that he is staff now. So he pulls his key card from his pocket, taps it against the electronic pad next to the handle, which lights up green and lets out a pathetic little beep that sounds as lifeless and defeated as Arthur feels, and opens the door to find a set of stairs descending into what looks like a basement or storage area of some kind.

The door clicks shut behind him as he enters and makes his way downstairs, blinking rapidly to adjust to the suddenly harsh fluorescent lighting after spending most of his morning standing under the inescapable natural light that flooded the main floor. As he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he finds himself in an overwhelming huge room filled with rows upon rows of rickety wooden shelves, laden with thick sheets of dust, forgotten books, and cardboard boxes, stretching across the floor like a mahogany tidal wave. Metal carts, some empty and some not, are strewn around piles of boxes and stacks of chairs and foldable tables. The air is cool and Arthur shivers, the layout and concrete floors suddenly reminding him of the eerie parking garage at his dad’s office. It’s been years since he’d been there, but he still remembers fuzzy childhood memories of crying while he waited for Uther in the car, hastily wiping the tears away when he saw him approaching. 

And then, Arthur realizes that under the hum of white noise coming through the air vents, he hears someone actually humming, and he doesn’t recognize the song at all, but he can somehow still tell that it’s mildly offkey. He turns to the source of the noise and to his right, at the far end of room where the row of shelves ends, he spots someone sitting on the floor with their back to him, facing the wall where a single tiny rectangular window at the very top—it must be street level, because he can see feet passing by on sidewalk outside of it—lets in a dismal patch of sunshine. The person is leaning against a box with their head ducked, so all Arthur can see is the slope of their shoulders under a plain black shirt, the pale skin of their neck creeping up to a head of messy black hair, and- oh. This was probably Merlin. 

“Hey,” Arthur says, walking towards him.

Probably-Merlin doesn’t look up, just continues humming in that offbeat way of his and tapping his foot against the floor. As Arthur approaches, he sees that he has earbuds in, the cord twisting its way down inside his shirt, and is engrossed in a heavy leather-bound book propped up in his lap. 

“Merlin, right?” he tries again, now standing right behind the box he’s leaning against.

When Arthur doesn’t get a response, he sighs and bends down slightly to tap him on the shoulder. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t see it coming, it’s a perfectly reasonable reaction, but he’s still startled when the guy jerks away from his touch, jumps to his feet and whirls around, brandishing the book like a weapon—and from the heft of it, probably a fairly fucking effective one too—in his hand. That’s when Arthur gets his first proper look at him. He’s slightly taller than him but much lankier, all lean lines and sharp angles, especially in the cut of his jaw and cheekbones, and looks to be around Arthur's age. Maybe a year or two older judging from the indiscernible tattoo on pale skin he can see peeking out from under the sleeve of his shirt, which is much bolder from the front, emblazoned with what looks like a graphic for some band he’s never heard of. Arthur immediately feels overdressed and wishes, not for the first time, that he wasn’t wearing these fucking khakis. 

“Jesus Christ,” the guy says, all the tension melting out of his body and blue eyes narrowing in a puzzling mixture of relief and annoyance when he takes in Arthur standing haplessly in front of him. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Well, I tried calling you, but-”

“How did you even get down here?” He pulls out one earbud and strides past him, looking up the staircase and then eyeing Arthur suspiciously.  “It’s staff only, you need a key card to get in.”

Arthur holds up his key card in response, then points at his staff badge stiffly, not sure he likes the way he was just cut off, and the guy’s eyes widen again. 

“Oh. Ohhh. You’re the new guy, right? Fuck me, they told me I’d be training someone today but I completely forgot, my bad. I’m Merlin.” He grins at him and his face shifts into something so disarmingly open and friendly, especially in contrast to the wary look he’d had before, that Arthur is taken aback for a moment.

“I’m Arthur.” Arthur isn’t sure if he should extend a handshake or not. It’s his first day on the job and they’re co-workers, so it feels like the proper thing to do, but given all the cursing, Merlin doesn’t seem like the formal type, and he'd probably feel a bit silly shaking another teenager’s hand like they were at some distinguished business meeting. So he just crosses his arms in front of his chest and adds, a tad reproachfully, “I’ve been looking for you for ages.”

Merlin has the decency to look sheepish. “Ah, yeah, sorry ‘bout that. It’s like the Twilight Zone down here.”

“What were you even doing?”

“Well, I was meant to be sorting through all of that.” Merlin gestures to an empty cardboard box partly hidden in the shadow of a shelf, piles of important looking documents scattered around it. “But I got distracted by-” 

“By that monstrosity you nearly clubbed me over the head with,” Arthur says, nodding at the book in Merlin’s hand. 

“Exactly,” Merlin says cheerfully, like he couldn’t care less if he’d actually done it. “So, d’you wanna, uh, help me put all this shit away, I guess? Then I can show you around or something.” He scuffs the toe of his sneakers against the box of papers.

“Yeah, sure.” Arthur nods slowly and in the back of his head, notes that Barbara had a uniquely lenient understanding of what 'showing you everything you need to know' meant. 

They both sit down in front of the box, the cold of the concrete floor creeping through the knees of his pants, and Arthur begins to leaf through the papers. They seem to be old pamphlets and info-sheets for various events the library held in past years, so he lines them up in as neat piles as he can manage and begins sorting them by event. Merlin taps at his phone for a few minutes before joining in, sighing exasperatedly as he surveys the mess. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be, like, organizing these?” Arthur asks as Merlin starts shoving random papers back into the box at lightning speed, but amazingly, not crinkling any of them in his rush either.

“Yeah, and it was pure fucking torture, but now I have an excuse to not.”

“What excuse?”

There's a brief pause.

“You, obviously.” Merlin says the words slowly, like he’s wondering if Arthur is a bit dense.

And Arthur bristles at that, because he definitely doesn’t like the condescending undercurrent in his tone, but Merlin looks up to meet his gaze and there’s no malice there, just the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards with a playful, teasing smile, and then Arthur can’t help it- he smiles back.

Chapter Text

Merlin rides his bike to work on most days. Whenever their shifts start at the same time, he’ll usually still be locking it up at the bike rack when Arthur arrives, his constant tangle of earbud wires in danger of getting caught in the ever-present broken spoke on his wheel. Once in a while though, Merlin just mysteriously shows up—almost always at the last minute too—with iced coffee or a half eaten sesame seed bagel, rushing to sign in before the clock strikes nine. Whenever that happens, he always disappears into the waiting car of a circulating group of people Arthur assumes are his friends at the end of his shift, flashing white teeth in a parting grin and throwing out a hasty goodbye as he leaves. 

On Arthur’s first day of work, after spending most of his shift trying and failing to remain professional as Merlin gives him the grand tour of every nook and cranny of the library he deems significant (“That’s where porn guy sits,” he says, pointing at a table in a remote corner. “And over there, that's the staff room - there’s usually leftover food from events in there, but it’s first come first serve and Barb is a fucking menace, so keep an eye out for that”), one of those people happens to be the pretty girl he’d seen in the magazine aisle earlier. Arthur notices her waving at Merlin from the open driver’s seat window of a beaten up Prius across the parking lot, a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head of dark curls, as they walk out together at the end of their shift. 

“I think your ride’s here,” Arthur says, cutting into Merlin’s emphatic declaration that honestly, all they really did all day was “put away books and fuck around.”

Merlin squints into the distance, raising one hand to shield his eyes against the last rays of late afternoon sun, and waves back when he spots the girl. 

“One minute!” he yells across the parking lot towards the car, the sound of his voice startling a nearby group of sparrows into flight, adding an enthusiastic, “Thank you, love you!” when she pulls a disgruntled face. 

The girl makes a flippant gesture at him in response, but Arthur sees the warmth in her reluctant smile even through the windshield, and she settles back into her seat to wait, pulling her sunglasses down to cover her eyes. 

“Your girlfriend?” Arthur asks.

Merlin chuckles and shakes his head.

“Just a friend,” he says, looking at him like there’s some part of the joke he’s missing. “Anyways, like I was saying, there’s really nothing to stress about. Not that I think you’d want to, but you could literally just read all day and I doubt anybody would give a shit-” 

“Hang on, why don’t you think I’d want to?”

“Want to read all day? Dunno, you don’t really seem the type.”

“The reading type?” Arthur asks, wondering if his indignation is apparent in his voice.

Merlin looks him up and down, the hint of a smile on his face. “Nah, you’re giving me indisputable jock energy.”

“Bit early for judgment, isn’t it?” 

“Well, am I wrong?”

Arthur frowns petulantly. “I used to play football,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t read.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Merlin raises his hands in resignation. “Asshole assumption on my part.” 

“Try to reserve your judgment for porn guy in the future,” Arthur says. “God knows he deserves it.” 

“You catch on quick.” Merlin gives him a brief smile, seemingly pleased that Arthur’s using his wildly inappropriate nicknames for regulars, before the look on his face shifts into one of realization. “Oh shit, I knew I recognized you from somewhere! You were on the football team over at Camelot Academy, weren’t you?”

Arthur feels a small part of him that’s still the slightest bit invested in his time on the team glow with pride at the recognition, before he beats it back into the corner of his mind. “Yeah, I was. How’d you know?”

“My friend Percy plays for Avalon High! I went to like, one game as a show of support and I’m pretty sure it was against you guys.” He pauses, then adds, with no small amount of glee, “If I recall correctly, we absolutely destroyed you.”

“It’s not like you were playing,” Arthur snaps. “No need to sound so satisfied.”

Merlin shrugs. “Only time I have school pride is when we’re getting one over on you prep school boys.”

Arthur doesn’t have a comeback to that assessment of his school, because, well, it was pretty accurate, so he just sighs and asks, “So, you’re at Avalon High then?” 

“Just graduated last week, actually.”

“Y’know, if you hadn’t just called me a prep school boy, I might’ve congratulated you.”

“Shame. I'm devastated, honestly.” The sardonic slant to Merlin’s tone makes it clear that he really couldn’t care less.

Arthur stifles a laugh, then opens his mouth to respond in kind, but the jarring sound of a car honking cuts him off. They both look towards the source of the noise and the girl, Merlin’s friend, seems to have worn her patience out. She honks the horn again, tapping at an invisible watch on her wrist. 

“Ah, shit. I’d better go.” Merlin starts walking backwards towards the car. “I’d say nice meeting you, but considering the jumpscare you gave me earlier-” 

“Considering the fact that you just insinuated that I don’t read, I’d say we’re even,” Arthur says, still the slightest bit miffed. 

“Fine, call it even then. See you next shift, yeah?” Merlin grins unrepentantly, then turns to jog towards his ride. 

“Yeah, see you.” 

Arthur watches Merlin bound into the passenger seat of the car and launch himself at the girl in something that’s as close to a hug as he can get in the cramped space, the sound of their laughter echoing out through the open windows. Then he turns and trudges in the opposite direction towards the well-worn path that’ll take him home, absentmindedly noting that the waves of heat simmering off the asphalt don’t feel nearly half as suffocating as they had this morning. 

“Fuck.” Merlin stops his endless tirade on how much of a mess the juvenile fiction section always is and looks down at a text alert on his phone, precariously balancing a stack of books in one arm.

“Jesus, what now? Picture book section not up to your standards either?” Arthur grabs a couple of books off of his pile before it comes collapsing down. 

Technically, his “training period” ended a few shifts ago, but nobody really seems to mind if he keeps shadowing Merlin, whose relentless stream of commentary makes the day go by in a pleasant blur of song recommendations, mildly insulting jokes about his supposedly terrible shelving technique, and stories about the library’s zaniest (and creepiest) regulars, so Arthur hasn’t stopped. They’re currently working on putting a cart of recent returns away together in the mercifully empty children’s room, taking a brief escape from the stifling quiet of the main area. 

“Very funny. My ride just bailed on me, actually.” Merlin pockets his phone and looks up at the ceiling, where the sounds of an evening torrent of summer rain drumming down on the rooftop had started a few minutes ago. “Perfect timing too.”

“I can drive you,” Arthur hears himself saying without thinking as he slots a well worn copy of some medieval fantasy novel into its place on the shelf.

Merlin looks at him in confusion, raising one eyebrow. “Didn’t you walk here?” 

“Well yeah, but I live like, thirty seconds away,” Arthur says. “We can sprint over, grab my car, then I can drive you home.”

“Surprisingly kind offer,” Merlin starts, a curious smile in the corners of his mouth, “but it’s fine, really. I can probably catch the bus-”

“Don’t be all noble, Merlin,” Arthur finishes shelving his stack and grabs the rest of the books from Merlin, who is looking at him in a way that makes him wonder why he’d even opened his mouth in the first place. “It really doesn’t suit you.”

“Everything suits me, asshole,” Merlin says in that maddeningly cheerful way of his, and he heads off to the next row of shelves to put the last couple books away, narrowly avoiding rolling the book cart over Arthur’s foot as he goes. 

And Arthur really wishes he could argue, but the truth of the matter is that he’s right. Not in terms of what he wears, though Merlin does tend to dress like Arthur's favourite of Morgana’s numerous ex-boyfriends, but in the sense that everybody seemed to absolutely adore him, no matter what he did. From what he’d seen in his short time working here so far, there wasn’t a single aggravated patron arguing about overdue library fees that Merlin couldn’t placate and not once had any of the staff ever called him out for being late - one infuriatingly infectious smile and they were all wrapped around his finger, no exceptions. Even Arthur found that he didn’t really mind the way Merlin gently poked fun at how much of a supposed jock he was or the fact that his school was known for being full of snobby rich kids, though he’d probably take offense if the jabs came out of anyone else’s mouth. And of course, Arthur always shot right back with whatever petty comment came to mind first—Merlin always took it like a champ, resolutely pursing his lips together in unsuccessful attempts to stifle his laughter—just on principle, but honestly? It was really fucking hard to come up with stuff to make fun of Merlin about when everything about him was so goddamn likeable.  

“You coming?” Merlin leans against the door of the children’s room to hold it open, fingers tapping out the beat of whatever song was currently blaring through his constant one earbud on the handle of the book cart. “We gotta clean the staff room before closing time.”

“Heard from Barb that there’s leftover brownies in there today,” Arthur says as he heads towards the exit and falls in step with Merlin as they walk towards the staff room.

Merlin lets out a deeply appreciative, much too loud noise and starts pushing the cart faster. A nearby woman immersed in a stack of LSAT prep books shifts her gaze up at the sound and gives them a dirty look, causing Merlin to unashamedly mouth “oops” at Arthur and push the cart even faster than before. 

They reach the staff room without any further incidents, and with only fifteen minutes left until closing time, there’s nobody else in the room, so Merlin manages to convince Arthur that they should just hide out in here until they hear the five minute warning over the intercom. After a brief but spirited scuffle over who gets the single leftover brownie remaining on a platter that’s clearly already been ravaged, which Merlin surprisingly wins, Arthur decides to broach the subject of Merlin’s ride home again.

“So, was that a yes before? Or are you still planning on waiting for the bus in the rain?”

“Hm.” Merlin poses in exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Think I saw an umbrella in the lost and found I can potentially steal, so there’s another option, actually.”

“Stop messing around,” Arthur says, shoving him lightly. “It’s not a problem, seriously.”

Merlin shoves him back halfheartedly, then looks out at the sheets of heavy rain streaking down the windows and sighs in resignation. “I hate to admit it, but chivalry suits you.” 

Arthur frowns at the seemingly random comment. “I’m not being chival- wait, is that a yes?”

“Yes Arthur, I’ll do you the honour of allowing you to drive me home,” Merlin says imperiously, then snickers and adds, “That’s my impression of you Camelot Academy kids, in case you didn’t realize.” 

“Hilarious,” Arthur deadpans. “You’re welcome, by the way. Dick.” 

Merlin smiles at him, breaks off half of the remaining brownie, and presents it to Arthur with a flourish, bowing his head in mocking subservience. 

“Your compensation, good sir. Please accept this meager offering, lest I forever be in your debt. I know it’s not much, especially in the face of your undying generosity, but-”

“So fucking melodramatic,” Arthur says, snatching the brownie out of his hand and struggling to keep his face impassive despite Merlin's antics.

Merlin shrugs and hops back to perch himself on the table, still smiling as he swings his legs back and forth, feinting a kick at Arthur. “Nah, just part of my charm.”

And despite the gloominess of the rainclouds gathered outside and the fact that they’re definitely going to get soaked to the bone, no matter how close his house is, Arthur finds himself selfishly glad that Merlin’s would-be ride, whoever they might be, ended up ditching him today.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Merlin does end up stealing the umbrella from the lost and found, but since they keep yanking it from side to side, both of them claiming the other was hogging the shelter, they end up thoroughly soaked anyway. Arthur can’t find it in himself to be annoyed though, not even when Merlin accidentally shoves him right into a ankle-deep puddle and he has to make the rest of the trek home with unpleasantly wet socks.

Merlin’s still apologizing through stifled laughter when they approach his driveway, but then his gaze reaches the front of the house, and he stops.

“What’s Morgana doing here?” he asks, pushing his sopping hair out of his eyes and peering at the front door.

Arthur follows his gaze, his heart sinking, and there she is. Sitting outside and reading a book in the minimal shelter their front porch gave her, not a care in the world as she lounged back, wrapped up in a blanket - because who gives a fuck if rain was pouring down like bullets! If Morgana wanted to read outside, she was going to read outside, even if it was just to spite anybody who told her she couldn’t. 

“She’s my older sister,” Arthur says, jerking the umbrella back to his side with a little more force than necessary. “Or half-sister, I guess. You know each other?”

“Seriously?!” Merlin’s face splits into a huge grin and instead of answering his question, he dashes out from under the umbrella and towards the porch, hands shielding his face from the rain as best he could. “Morgana! Hey, Morgana!”

Morgana looks up from her book, irritation written all across her face at the interruption. But it doesn’t last long, because when she sees Merlin darting up the steps and towards her, she flings her book down onto a side table and stands up with a look of sheer delight, the blanket falling down around her to reveal comfy sweatpants and a cozy sweater. Morgana never looked delighted.

“Merlin? Merlin Emrys? No fucking way that’s you.”

“Live and in the flesh!" Merlin greets her with a hug and they immediately lapse into conversation, the voices difficult to make out through the sound of rain and wind whirling around them. 

Arthur walks faster. 

When he joins them on the porch, closing the umbrella and shaking it off somewhat purposefully in Morgana’s direction—she ignores him, of course—he’s just in time to hear her ask Merlin how he knows Arthur.

“He works at the library too,” Arthur says, a little peeved with how neither of them had acknowledged his arrival. “How do you know each other?” 

“Ah, we met at a party. Must’ve been, what?” Merlin tilts his head, brows scrunched in concentration. “Last year, was it?”

“Last summer, right after exams,” Morgana clarifies, then shoves Merlin lightly, her lips pursed in mock anger. “Then you disappeared off the face of the earth, what happened?” 

Merlin shrugs. “We don’t exactly run in the same circles, do we?”

“Could’ve texted me,” she shoots back.

“Don’t think I got your number in all of the chaos, actually.”

“Fair enough.” Morgana nods reluctantly, then the light of sudden realization enters her eyes. “Holy shit, I still have your shirt from that night!”

“The flannel? Green and black?” Merlin asks, his face lighting up when she nods yes. “Jesus Christ, I‘ve been looking for that for ages! Don’t tell me you’ve had it this whole time?”

His shirt? Arthur, who’d already been feeling quite left out, feels his stomach drop, though he’s not quite sure why. The only reason Morgana’s would have his shirt was… no fucking way. Is that how they really knew each other, a random hook-up at some party? He shakes the thought out of his head. Nope. Too weird to think about. 

“You sticking around for a bit?” Morgana is asking when Arthur forcibly brings his attention back to the conversation. “I can run upstairs and grab it right now.”

“I’m just driving him home,” Arthur says quickly.

“Gimme one sec.” She hurries through the front door without another word, the screen door slamming shut behind her. 

Merlin stares after her, seemingly lost in thought, then he turns to Arthur. “I can’t believe you guys are related.”

“Neither can I, sometimes,” Arthur says, all too aware of the fact that he sounds awkward and uncomfortable. 

“Actually, now that I think about it, I can kind of see it.” He’s studying Arthur’s face intensely, a scrutinizing look in his eyes. “You two have some similarities.”

“Name one.”

“You’re both stubborn just for the sake of it, for starters.”

Arthur scowls, opening his mouth to respond, but then Morgana is already back in the doorway, a long-sleeved flannel shirt in her hands.

“Ugh, thank you so much.” Merlin reverently scoops the shirt into his hands, holds it to his chest for a moment, then flings it over his shoulder. “My closet is complete once again.”

“Not that it was ever lacking.” Morgana leans against the doorway, her keen gaze darting back and forth between Merlin and Arthur. “You two taking off, then?”

“Yup.” Arthur turns to leave, hoping Merlin follows suit. For some reason, Morgana’s presence was annoying him more than it usually did.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he hears her say to Merlin as they exchange goodbyes—and phone numbers—and he feels his shoulders hunch together in irritation.

Then the door finally swings shut, Morgana gone back inside to do whatever it is Morgana does all day, and he and Merlin step out from under the porch awning and towards his car, which is parked at the curb. Merlin is positively buoyant, chattering away about what a coincidence it was that Morgana happened to be his sister and how they should all hang out sometime—as if—while they get into the car. Arthur doesn’t exactly share his happiness at this turn of events, but he tries to nod and hum along in agreement as Merlin talks nonetheless, focusing his attention on trying to get rid of the uneasy feeling that settles in his stomach as he drives into the gloom.

Merlin is surprisingly good at giving directions—despite the fact that he does so at a rapid fire speed—so they make it to his house easily, with only one or two wrong turns. When Merlin pokes fun at his driving skills, Arthur responds by chalking up the mistakes to poor visibility from the rain, though a voice in the back of his head tells him it’s partly because he’s still distracted from the night’s earlier revelations with Morgana.

When he pulls up to the tiny, three story apartment block where Merlin lives, which is about a ten minute drive to the part of town his father always wrinkles his nose at, Merlin is excessively thankful, despite Arthur’s attempts to brush the favour off. It was just a ride home, wasn’t it? He gave his friends rides all the time. No big deal. 

“Oh, and tell Morgana thanks again for the shirt,” Merlin says as he’s parking. “Nice of her to wash it, too. Last time I saw this thing, it was covered in blood.”

“Sorry?” Arthur jerks the wheel the slightest bit and narrowly misses hitting the bins to his right. He hurriedly shifts the car into park, then turns in his seat to look at a bemused Merlin. “Did you say blood?”

“Uh, yeah?” The look of confusion on his face shifts into one of understanding. “Ohhh. She must not have told you about this.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure I want to know, at this point.”

Merlin sighs, then scratches the back of his neck absentmindedly, gnawing on his bottom lip as he does. When he finally speaks, the story spills out in one long rush of words, like he’s embarrassed that whatever he says next is going to drastically shift Arthur’s opinion of him.

“So basically, I, er, got in a fight? At the party, I mean, where I met her. This guy was being an absolute douchebag about- well nevermind what about, and she sort of came to my defense and, uh, punched him in the face?" He pauses, sneaks one worried glance at Arthur, then continues on in a hurry. "It was quite a first impression, to be honest, but it must’ve been quite a punch too, because she sort of ended up, um, breaking her hand. Or fracturing it, I think, I don’t know. So I was using this shirt on my split lip after, but then I gave it to her to use as a sling when I drove her to the hospital, because, well, she clearly needed it more. Anyways, long story short, I’m the reason she spent last summer with her hand in a cast. Please don’t kill me.”

“I knew she didn't just trip!” Arthur exclaims, the tension that had been ballooning in his chest quickly deflating into a sweet relief that he couldn't quite pinpoint the reason for. Morgana had refused to tell him what really happened when she came home with her hand in a cast one day last summer, though she had somehow managed to convince Uther that she had simply tripped down some stairs. “Holy shit, that’s one mystery solved, I guess. Why would I kill you though?”

“‘Cause it’s my fault your sister got seriously injured?”

Arthur shrugs lightly. “You didn’t force her to punch anyone. I mean, no one can force her to do anything she doesn't want to do."

“Wow.” Merlin slumps back in his seat, then starts undoing his seatbelt as he speaks. “That went much better than I thought it would.” 

“I’m a reasonable guy,” Arthur says, then after a pause, adding, “Honestly, I’m just relieved you guys didn’t hook up.”

Merlin chokes on nothing, the seatbelt slipping from his hand and nearly hitting him in the face as it zips back up into place. “Oh God. Is that what you thought?” 

“Kind of.” 

“Definitely not,” he says, shaking his head violently and unwittingly sending raindrops flying from his hair with the force of the movement. “I mean, she’s great, but… yeah, no. Just a violent altercation and a panicked ride to the hospital, that’s it.” 

“Good to know.” Arthur’s not sure what to say next, so he reaches into the back seat and gently tosses the umbrella from the lost and found into Merlin’s lap. “Don’t forget your stolen merchandise, you menace.”

“I’m gonna return it!” Merlin protests, a sense of relief in his smile as he unlocks the door and steps out.

Arthur hums noncommittally. “Fighting, theft, what's next? I’m starting to think you might be a bad influence.” 

Merlin laughs, his eyes crinkling as he slams the door shut, and gives him the middle finger through the window. Then he turns and runs to the front door of the apartment complex, head ducked against the wind and his soaked shirt clinging to the frame of his back. Once he gets there, he turns and waves one last time, struggles to fit his keys in the lock, and eventually disappears inside, leaving Arthur to drive home alone with about a million questions running through his mind.

“I know how you really broke your hand,” Arthur says in a sing-song voice, standing in the entrance of Morgana’s bedroom. He’s just taken a long, hot shower, and seeing as getting out of those wet clothes had put him in quite a good mood, he’s decided to take a minute out of his day to pester her for more details.

There’s murder in her eyes when she glares at him, but she gestures for him to come in and shut the door anyways.

“Merlin told you, I’m assuming?”

“Uh-huh. Fighting, Morgana, really? Really?”

“Shut up,” she hisses, throwing a pillow at him. He deflects it easily, sending it bouncing off harmlessly onto the floor. “Besides, it’s not like that asshole didn’t deserve it.”

“I'm not surprised about you, but I didn’t really take Merlin for the fighting type,” Arthur says, leaning against the wall and trying to look as disinterested as possible. “What exactly happened?”

She sighs, then reluctantly sits up and crosses her arms. “Merlin and his friends sort of gate-crashed a Camelot Academy party, which was sort of a jerk move, but relatively harmless, in my opinion. They weren't bothering anybody, just kinda doing their own thing, y'know? But this one guy, this absolute troll of a human, was being absolutely disgusting towards them, just spouting the most vile, homophobic, garbage I’ve ever heard-”

“Homophobic?” Arthur interjects, a strange feeling fluttering through his veins as he realizes what Morgana is about to say.

“Uh, yeah.” She looks at him like he’s grown another head. “Merlin’s gay.”

“Oh.” He pauses, taking the confirmation in. "Was he... with someone?"

"Why?" She narrows her eyes at him. "Does it matter?"

"Just wondering, jeez."

She narrows her eyes even further, then eventually continues. “Anyways, I don’t even remember who ended up throwing the first punch, but it kind of spiralled into a shit-show. End of story.”

“That seems… justified,” Arthur says after a moment, suddenly eager to escape the laser-focused intuition of Morgana’s stare. 

“Yeah, you think?” Morgana scoffs, then finally stops staring at him and returns her attention to her book, a clear dismissal. “You must've had a game or something the next morning, otherwise I’m sure you would’ve been right there with me.” 

There’s a slightly threatening edge to her voice, which Arthur thinks is a bit unnecessary since he probably would’ve gotten involved even without her prompting, had he been there.

‘Right.” He opens the door to leave, steps out, then quickly adds, “Anyways, I wouldn’t have broken my hand on the first punch if it was me. Sort of pathetic, no?” 

Arthur snaps it shut before she can respond, smiling in satisfaction when he hears the thud of another thrown pillow against the already closed door. Then, he turns to meander off to his room and go to sleep, strangely content with the turn of events the day had taken.