The Wrong Trouser-Leg of Time - 1/2

[kathkin]

His first thought upon waking up in a stranger’s bed was simply, bloody hell, how much did I drink last night? His second was that, come to think of it, he hadn’t even gone out last night.

All that was visible of the other occupant of the bed was a mop of dark hair on the pillow, a pale shoulder. Arthur gave silent thanks that she was still asleep and made a move to get up.

Then she rolled over with a sleepy mumble and his heart stopped. She was a he and he was blinking up at Arthur sleepily.

“You going somewhere?” he said, rubbing at his eyes.

Okay, okay. Sexuality freak-out later. Now he just had to get out. “Uh, yeah,” said Arthur. “I’ve got to get home. Sorry.”

The other man frowned, pushed himself up on his elbow. “What do you mean?”

“It was… a lot of fun… but now I’m going home. Bye.” He began to swing his legs out of the bed, but the man rose up and caught him by the shoulder, pressed a gentle kiss to his neck. Arthur shivered.

“You are home, silly,” he said. Was he smiling? It felt like he was smiling. And oh bollocks, he was crazy. Arthur had gone and slept with a complete nutter. He must have been even more desperate that he thought.

“Right,” he said, patting the man’s hand gently. Soothing. “You just go back to sleep, alright? I’m just… going to use the bathroom. Yeah.”

“Come back soon, yeah?” said the man. He lay down again with a sigh. Arthur waited till his eyes fluttered closed, then began to look for his clothes.

There was a pair of boxers on the floor, but he didn’t think they were his. Other than that, the room was mostly tidy. Arthur took a deep breath, prayed that his clothes hadn’t been stolen - it would not be the first time - and padded out into the hallway.

That, he decided later, was when things started to get really fucking weird. Cause right outside the door was a framed photo of him and the dark-haired man he’d just left in the bed, sitting next to each other on a beach. He tried not to panic. Why was it that only people who were completely insane ever wanted to have sex with him?

But then, a little further along the wall, was the same framed print that Morgana had given him for his last birthday, the really ugly one he’d only put up so she wouldn’t complain every time she came to visit. And over there by the door, that was quite definitely his umbrella stand. He’d had it for years. He stood awkwardly in his pyjamas for a moment, then ducked into the living room.

His DVDs, lined up on a shelf. His cushions spread across the sofa. His arm chair. The sofa… it wasn’t his, but it looked like something he’d pick out. The photos dotted around were all of him and that man, him and the man and Morgana, and Gwen, and Lance, and his other friends.

Either, he supposed, someone had robbed him and put all his stuff in this new flat, along with a load of stuff that really wasn’t his - the curtains were hideous, they really were, and there were three shelves of dull-looking books - or, well…

“I live here?” he said a few minutes later, back in the bedroom.

“Wha’?” said the man, staring up at him.

“Since when do I live here?” said Arthur.

“Since… about six years ago?” said the man. “When we moved in. Are you feeling alright, love?”

“I think I’m losing my mind,” said Arthur. He sank down onto the edge of the bed.

The man’s arms snaked around his shoulders. Fingers trailed through his hair.

“It’s Sunday,” he said. “You know how I feel about Sundays.”

“Do I?” said Arthur.

“Come back to bed,” he said. Soft lips tugged on Arthur’s ear. “Don’t need to be up for hours.”

I’m straight, Arthur wanted to say. And I’m pretty sure one of us is insane. And did I mention I’m straight? But in the end, all he said was, “Yeah, okay.”

Then everything was sweet and soft and gentle, and the other man seemed to know exactly where Arthur liked to be touched, just how long to spend teasing before tugging down his pyjama bottoms and taking him into his mouth, and Arthur hadn’t come so hard in years.

He fell asleep again afterwards with the man draped over his chest, making sleepy, contented noises. His last thought was just, well, that’s alright, then.

*

When Arthur woke up for the second time, the little clock next to the bed was just ticking round to half past eleven, and he was alone in the bed. He stumbled upright, rubbing his eyes, and took a peek around the curtains.

It was the right city, to his relief, just from completely the wrong angle. He was halfway across town from his own flat. There was a church bell chiming somewhere. That was new. He clutched at the curtains, suddenly dizzy, disoriented.

He took a few minutes to get his breath back, then headed back out into the hallway. There was a door open now, sunlight spilling through. He could hear footsteps, a gentle sizzling sound. Was that… bacon?

The dark-haired man was in the kitchen, wearing ratty jeans and a dark t-shirt, cooking bacon and eggs. “Oh, you up?” he said, nonchalant. “I’m making breakfast.”

“Right,” said Arthur. He steadied himself on the doorframe. That was his toaster, he thought, but every else seemed to be new. “Um. Okay. Okay.”

“These are the last two eggs. We'll have to buy more,” said the man.

“Okay,” said Arthur, inspiration striking. “Let’s… play a game.”

“What kind of game?” said the man, finally looking at him, brow crinkling into a frown. His eyes were very blue. Arthur hadn’t noticed before.

“I like to call it the ‘let’s pretend Arthur has amnesia’ game,” said Arthur. “It’s lots of fun, alright?”

“How does it work?” said the man.

“I pretend I have amnesia,” said Arthur, “and I ask you questions, and you answer them. So, I ask you who you are, say.”

The man blinked. Arthur gestured for him to speak. “Um,” he said, poking at the bacon. “I’m… Merlin. I’m your husband?”

“Husband,” said Arthur, stomach plummeting to the floor. “Right. Okay. So how long have we been married?”

“Four years and three months,” said Merlin, quickly, automatically. Then, “Arthur, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” said Arthur, crossing his arms. “It’s just a game.”

“You’re acting really weird this morning,” said Merlin. He poked at the bacon again, more viciously this time.

“It’s just I’m pretty sure one of us is completely insane,” Arthur blurted out.

“Oh, really?” said Merlin.

“I’m also pretty sure I’m straight,” said Arthur. “And I have no idea what’s going on.”

Merlin turned off the cooker briskly. “Breakfast’s done,” he said. “Will you stop fucking around, now, please?”

“I’m not fucking around!” said Arthur. “I’m just… I’m not your husband, alright? I don’t have a husband! I’m straight!”

He was panicking, that’s all. He hadn’t wanted to make that horrible hurt look cross Merlin’s face. He opened his mouth to apologise, to take it back, but no words came out.

“This isn’t funny, Arthur,” said Merlin. He threw down his spatula. “Look, I’m going out for a walk, alright? And maybe when I come back you can not be playing the amnesia game, alright?” He stormed out of the kitchen. A moment later, the front door slammed, and Arthur was left alone with a still-sizzling pan of bacon and eggs.

*

He couldn’t quite bring himself to eat the breakfast. He deposited it onto a plate and put it away in the fridge (and that was his favourite kind of cheese, his processed chicken slices, but none of the ready-meals that normally dominated his kitchen).

He wandered around the flat, investigated the living room, the bathroom, the box room. Found some of his own clothes in the bedroom. Opened all the curtains. Waited for Merlin to come back.

After an hour, he settled himself down on the sofa with the phone, and dialled the only number he could remember by heart, hoping it was still right in - wherever he was now.

It rang, at least. He counted the rings - one, two, three, four - until there was an answer.

“Hello?” said a blissfully familiar voice.

“Morgana,” he said, relief flooding through him. “Thank God.”

“Everything alright?” she said.

“I just - I need to ask you something,” he said. “This might sound kind of… insane.”

“Go on,” she said, amusement tingeing her voice.

He took a deep breath. “Am I married to a guy called Merlin?”

There was a short pause. “Well, yes,” she said. “At least you were last time I saw you. Is something wrong?”

“Morgana, I think the space-time continuum is fucking with me,” he said. “I swear to God, yesterday I was single and straight, and now I’m married to a man.”

Silence. “Arthur, are you serious?” she said.

“Dead serious,” he said.

“Well,” she said. “Did you hit your head or something? Maybe you lost your memory.”

“I dunno,” he said, feeling his head for lumps. “What’s the date?”

“Twenty-fifth of July,” she said, “2010.”

“Still the same year, then,” he said.

“Maybe you should go and see a doctor,” she said.

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” he insisted. “I just - look, I told Merlin I wasn’t his husband and I was straight and then he got all upset and said he was going out for a walk and that was an hour ago and he hasn’t come back yet. I’m worried I’ve gone and ruined everything or something.”

Another pause. “You probably brought back some bad memories,” she said. “When you two first got together, it was kind of awkward - you couldn’t make up your mind whether you were straight or not, you kept freaking out and pushing him away.”

Arthur groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he said. “He made me breakfast, Morgana. I don’t think anyone’s made me breakfast since I was a kid. I mean, my last girlfriend was - I don’t know, years, Morgana.”

“He’s probably gone to Will’s,” said Morgana. “Do you have the number? It should be in your mobile. Arthur, are you sure you don’t want to see a doctor about this?”

“It’s not memory loss, Morgana,” he snapped. “I remember everything. Just not the right everything, I guess. I think maybe we got… switched around. Or something.

“Right,” she said. “Well. It’s probably best you don’t call Merlin. He might want some space.”

“I don’t want to call Merlin,” said Arthur. “I want my life back. My proper life.”

Morgana hung up on him. He glared at the phone, then tossed it to the other end of the sofa, scowling to himself. He didn’t think Morgana had taken him very seriously, somehow.

*

It was evening by the time Merlin came back from his ‘walk’. Arthur had spent the day tidying up in the kitchen, taking a better look through Merlin’s stuff - because they were married, apparently, so why not? - and contemplating cooking. There were plenty of ingredients in the fridge. There was even flour and baking stuff in the cupboard. Arthur didn’t think he’d ever baked anything in his life. He wasn’t sure he’d ever cooked anything more complicated than pasta with baked beans and ketchup. But he felt like he should do something, to make it up to Merlin.

In the end, he decided to order in. He had just hung up the phone when he heard the front door opening. He reached the hallway just in time to see Merlin toeing off his converse.

“Hi,” he said. Merlin smiled weakly. “I’m sorry about earlier, okay? I just… I wasn’t thinking. I don’t know why I thought that’d be funny.”

“S’okay,” said Merlin.

“I ordered pizza,” he said. Merlin stared at him. “What?”

“I’m allergic to tomato,” said Merlin.

“What, seriously?” he said.

Merlin nodded, then laughed, breathless. “You did the same thing on our first date,” he said. “You took me to a pizza restaurant. I couldn’t decide whether to say anything or not. I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. You were so nervous about the whole thing.”

“I don’t get nervous,” said Arthur.

“You said that on our first date as well.” Merlin tilted his head to one side and gave Arthur a long, thoughtful look.

“I’m sorry, alright?” said Arthur. “I was just trying to… I dunno. Make it up to you for earlier. But I honestly don’t know what’s going on. I swear to God, yesterday I was single, and I lived on the other side of the city.”

Merlin took the phone. “If we’re ordering in, I’m having Chinese,” he said, then paused mid-dial. “You’re really not my husband, are you?”

Arthur shrugged. “I’m sorry -” Merlin pressed a finger to his lips, silenced him.

“You’re still Arthur, though,” he said. “You’re just… not him.” He took his finger away.

“I spoke to Morgana,” said Arthur. “So I’ve established that if either of us is insane, it’s me.”

“We can talk about this over dinner, yeah?” said Merlin. He finished dialling, put the phone to his ear.

*

“So,” Arthur said, twenty-minutes or so later. “I think the space-time continuum is fucking with us. Morgana thought I might just have lost my memory, but the dates match up. So I think this is a parallel universe or some shit like that.”

Merlin was crouched at the other end of sofa, awkward. “Right,” he said, fiddling with his chopsticks. “I guess it kind of makes sense in the way that it doesn’t.”

“Well, it’s either that or I’ve completely lost my mind,” said Arthur. “And I prefer my theory, personally.”

“You don’t seem crazy to me,” said Merlin. “You just… you’re like you were when we first met.”

“How did we meet?” said Arthur, around a mouthful of pizza.

“I was working in a café,” said Merlin. “You tripped over my laptop bag, then shouted at me for leaving my stuff on the floor.”

“That sounds… romantic,” said Arthur. Merlin smiled. “What was the name of the café?”

“The Richmond,” said Merlin. “It closed down a couple of months ago.”

“I remember,” said Arthur. “I went in there a few times. I don’t remember you, though. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep apologising,” said Merlin.

“I feel terrible,” said Arthur. “About what I said this morning. I had no idea. I was freaking out, alright? I couldn’t work out if I was going mad or if you were some crazy stalker or what, and I freaked out, and then I hurt your feelings. And, well -” He broke off and took another bite of pizza.

“And what?” said Merlin.

“It’s just,” said Arthur. “Your Arthur. Your husband. I think we might have just switched around or something. And that means, that means he woke up this morning on his own in my bed, in my flat, with my ready-meals and my collection of porn magazines and my life, and I just feel so bad for him.” Merlin shifted a little further down the sofa. “He’s probably even more confused than I am. I mean at least I had someone here to explain it all. It must feel like you’ve just… vanished.” Merlin’s hand rested on his shoulder, gave it a little squeeze.

“It’s not like you did it on purpose,” he said. “It just happened, right?”

Arthur took a deep breath. “I want to try and get my life back,” he said. “So you can get your Arthur back, yeah?”

Merlin set down his carton of dinner on the coffee table with a sigh, then slid his hand round to rest on the nape of Arthur’s neck, squinting down at his face. “You look exactly the same,” he said. His fingers brushed Arthur’s forehead. “Except my Arthur, he had a scar, just here. You - he was trying to set up this big proposal, with a fountain and doves and stuff, but then the ground was slippery and he fell and cracked his head open. Then he asked me to marry him in the hospital, while he was getting his head stitched up. And he was kind of concussed, so I wasn’t sure if he meant it or not, and I didn’t know if should just say yes or…”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. Merlin laughed too, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“So,” said Arthur. “Do I have the same job or what?”

“You still work in your Dad’s company,” said Merlin. “If that’s what you mean.”

“And what do you do?” said Arthur.

“I’m working on my PhD,” said Merlin.

“What’s it about?” said Arthur.

“Medieval poetry,” said Merlin. “Arthurian literature. It seemed appropriate. You thought it was hilarious when I told you. You said it was brilliant.” His hand slipped under Arthur’s shirt, tracing lines on his back. Arthur shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Right,” said Merlin, drawing back. “Sorry.”

“I’m straight,” said Arthur, rubbing at the back of his neck. It tingled a little. “I guess your Arthur isn’t, but I am.”

Merlin reached for his dinner again. “You seemed pretty into it this morning.”

“Well, you had your mouth - and you were - I couldn’t help it, alright?” Arthur choked out.

Merlin’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean, if I was pressuring you or something. I thought you were just being silly.”

“I thought I’d slept with another nutter,” said Arthur. “Also I thought you’d stolen my clothes.” Merlin raised his eyebrows. “What? It’s happened before.” His prodded his pizza. It was going cold. “My love-life lately has mostly just been one-nighters with girls from night clubs who are willing to sleep with me. Which is most girls in night clubs, to be honest. But I always end up with the nutters anyway. They just really like me or something, I dunno.”

“I’m not a nutter,” offered Merlin.

“You’re a man,” said Arthur.

“I just meant,” said Merlin. “I’m not a nutter, so there must be some other sane people who like you. In your universe. Or something.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” said Arthur. He slumped back against the sofa. “This just doesn’t feel real yet.”

Merlin frowned, then stood up and walked over to the bookcase. “Hang on,” he said, tugging something big and leather-bound out of the bottom shelf. “Here.” He held it out.

“What’s that?” said Arthur.

“Our wedding album,” said Merlin. “Take a look?”

Arthur set his pizza to one side. The pages creaked as he turned them. There they both were, Merlin and other-Arthur, in matching suits. Morgana and Gwen in bridesmaid dresses, Lance and a dark-haired man he didn’t recognise.

“That’s Will,” said Merlin. “He and Lance were both the Best Man.” He reached out and turned the page to a photo of a small army of children. “Those are my little cousins.” He turned the page again, and there was Arthur’s father, beaming out of the photo, looking actually happy, for once. Arthur traced the upraised edges of the picture.

“Was he really alright with this?” he said. “My father. We me - I mean, with him -”

“Arthur promised him he’d still get grandkids,” said Merlin. “Then he was fine with it.” Arthur winced. The idea was appalling.

“Grandkids?” he forced out.

“We talked about it a few times,” said Merlin. “We were going to adopt adorable Chinese babies and they’d call you Dad and me Daddy. And then you said we should name one Buster and the other one Daffodil, but I don’t think you were serious.” He shrank back against the sofa, hugging a pillow to his chest.

“We’re going to find a way to switch us back,” said Arthur firmly.

“I know,” said Merlin. “I just - it was silly, anyway. We were just joking around.”

Arthur closed the wedding album and traced the gold letters on the front with his fingers, letting his pizza go cold.

*

The problem was, everything was unspeakably awkward, and it was a one-bedroom flat.

“I can sleep on the sofa, if you like,” said Merlin, half into his pyjamas. He did not seem to be finding things nearly so awkward. Arthur was jealous.

“No, it’s your bed,” said Arthur. “Maybe I should -”

“I think we can manage to share,” said Merlin. He pulled the covers back. “Don’t worry. I won’t try anything.”

*

Merlin, Arthur learned, liked to have his cereal with yoghurt instead of milk, and he liked grapefruit juice. He hummed to himself as he pattered barefoot around the kitchen. He used organic all-natural shampoo, and he liked to sing in the shower. He took packed lunches with him to the university library most days, and he made one for Arthur as well, for him to take to the office. When he left, he kissed Arthur good-bye out of habit.

Arthur had been looking forward to going in to work. He had been hoping that that, at least, would be the same. But the differences became apparent the moment he stepped in the door.

“Good morning, Arthur,” said the secretary. Arthur started.

“Oh, um,” he said. “Good morning…” What was her name again? It was the same woman, he’d seen her just last Friday, but he didn’t think he’d ever ask. “Sophie?”

“Are you alright?” she said. “You look a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Just tired. Monday morning and all.” She smiled at him prettily and went back to typing, nails clicking on the keyboard.

In the lift, he met one of the interns, the one who he quite clearly remembered shouted at in the copy room last Friday, but all he did was smile pleasantly and wish him a good morning as if he really meant it.

It wasn’t until mid-morning, when someone arrived at his desk with a cup of coffee, that he realised what was different.

They all liked him. The people he worked with - the same people, even - had been tip-toeing around him constantly, as if he would explode at any moment. They were all nervous, with snide little glances and whispers when they thought he wasn’t looking. They were polite to his face, of course, but there was no feeling behind it. He certainly wasn’t on first-name terms with any of them. He’d always had a bit of a temper. It wasn’t his fault.

“Coffee, Mr. Pendragon?” said the girl, who was little and blond.

“Thank you,” he said. “Um. Valerie?”

She frowned a sweet little frown. “Vivian, Mr. Pendragon,” she said. “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Chamomile tea,” she said. “My grandmother swears by it.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll try that.”

She smiled and offered him the biscuit tin. He took two.

*

Lance texted him just before lunch, asking if he wanted to meet up, and that was normal, at least. Lance worked at the library down the road, and their lunch breaks were at the same time, most days.

They met up in their usual sandwich bar, made their usual orders, and for a few minutes, Arthur could pretend everything was normal.

But then Lance said, “How’s Merlin?” with a little smile, as if that were perfectly normal too.

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Uh. He’s fine.”

“How’s his thesis coming along?” said Lance. Their sandwiches arrived. Arthur accepted his with utmost gratitude.

“Good, I think,” said Arthur. “He’s working very hard.” That was true, he was pretty sure. Merlin had left even earlier than he had.

“He works too hard,” said Lance. “You two haven’t been out in ages. You should come out for a drink this week.” Arthur shrugged. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Maybe,” said Arthur. “Look, Lance - can I ask you a really weird question?”

“Go on,” said Lance.

“Since when does everyone like me?” asked Arthur.

Lance frowned. “What do you mean?” he said.

“People at work. I just - I dunno, they didn’t used to, and now they do. Everything’s changed and I only just noticed,” said Arthur.

“I know the feeling,” said Lance. “I don’t know. You’ve been a lot easier to get along with lately, if you don’t mind me saying. Since you met Merlin.”

“I thought that might be it,” said Arthur, staring down at his sandwich.

“You’re very lucky, you know,” said Lance. “What you two have. You just sort of… work. I wish I could find someone like that.”

Arthur frowned. “You’re single?” he said. Lance nodded slowly. “But what about - never mind.”

“What about what?” said Lance.

“I was just thinking of Gwen,” he said. Bloody hell. They were engaged in his universe, were they not even dating here?

“What about her?” said Lance with a little shrug.

“I just think you two would work is all,” said Arthur.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “I never really thought about it,” he said.

“You should talk to her,” said Arthur. Lance stared. He smiled and bit into his

sandwich.

*

Despite everything, he couldn’t help but think, as he walked back to his flat, that he’d had a good day. Better than he’d had in a while, certainly. Though getting halfway home before he remembered that he was in an alternate universe where he lived on the other side of the city put a slight damper on things.

The flat was still empty when he came in. He propped his briefcase against the umbrella stand, loosened his tie, and wandered into the living room. He was just about to sit down when there were footsteps outside, a yelp and a thud of someone losing their footing, then the sound of a key in the lock.

Merlin had a teetering stack of books in his arms, more stuffed into his tatty rucksack, and a pair of black chunky glasses slipping down his nose. “Hi,” he said, beaming at Arthur.

“Need some help there?” said Arthur. Merlin nodded and unloaded half the books.

“I, uh, raided the physics department,” he said. “Got everything I could find on parallel universes. Hopefully there’ll be something that’ll help.”

Arthur stared down at the books. They all looked fiendishly complicated. “I thought you were working on your thesis?”

“I can put it on hold for a while,” said Merlin. “We need to get this figured out.” He shifted the books about in his arms, adjusted his glasses, and teetered away into the kitchen to dump the books on the dining table.

“I’m not really sure where to start, though,” he said as Arthur followed him. “I had a look through some of them in the library and it’s mostly theory. I don’t think there’s really a precedent for this, somehow. But it’s worth a try, yeah?” He twisted round to look at Arthur. He’d taken his glasses off and was sucking thoughtfully on the tip of one leg. Arthur swallowed. His stomach seemed to have tied itself in a knot.

“I, uh,” he said. “I don’t really know.”

“Do you remember anything about the other night?” said Merlin, hooking his glasses back over his ears. “Did you dream or anything?”

“I don’t think so,” said Arthur. He set down his own books. The stack promptly collapsed. Merlin let out a breathless laugh

.

“I think,” he said. “I think it’d be best if I made dinner first. Then we can take a better look after, yeah?” Arthur nodded. Merlin whipped his glasses off again and went to the fridge. “I think I feel like pasta.”

“So,” said Arthur after a moment or two of rummaging. “So, I guess you’re the woman in this relationship, then?”

“How so?” said Merlin, distracted, head and shoulders in the fridge.

“Well, I’m clearly the breadwinner,” said Arthur. “You do the cooking. And apparently you bake.”

“You love my baking,” said Merlin, coming out of the fridge with his arms full of jars. “And you really are exactly like you were when I met you, you realise.”

“I’m… sorry?” said Arthur. “I guess.”

“No, it’s actually kind of sweet,” said Merlin, rushing to a cupboard. “Tagliatelle or penne?”

“Either,” said Arthur. “Both. Whatever. I don’t care.” He stacked the books up again, then went to fetch his briefcase. He had some stuff that would need filing at home.

“Tagliatelle, then,” said Merlin, filling the kettle. Then he turned and frowned at the contents of Arthur’s briefcase.

“What?” said Arthur.

“You didn’t eat your lunch,” said Merlin.

“Oh, right,” said Arthur. “Lance and me went out.”

“That’s okay,” said Merlin, turning away again.

“What now?” said Arthur. “You’re not my mother.”

“It’s nothing,” said Merlin. “It’s fine.” But he had that horrible hurt look on his face again.

*

It wouldn’t have been so bad except Arthur just kept doing it. He remarked on how horrible the curtains in the living room were, and it turned out they’d been a house-warming gift from Merlin’s mother. He found a ridiculous tie in his wardrobe, and was marvelling at his own terrible taste when Merlin said,

“I gave you that for our anniversary last year.”

“Oh,” said Arthur, pulling a face. “Really?”

“You said you liked it,” said Merlin.

There was a short pause. Then, “My tastes are probably different here. In this universe.”

“Right,” said Merlin, pulling on his t-shirt and darting out of the room.

He always seemed to be moving. He was like a great lanky ball of nervous energy.

Arthur was constantly wanting to tell him to settle down. The only time he was ever still was when he was asleep, draped across the bed at awkward angles that seemed to get more endearing by the day.

By the second weekend, Arthur was starting to think he had a inkling of what other-Arthur saw in him. He was flicking through one of the parallel universe books on Thursday evening when Merlin came out of the shower, draped in a towel, damp and clean all over. “We’re going to dinner with your father this weekend,” he said. “In case you weren’t.”

“Hmm?” said Arthur. Then, once it sank in, “Oh, wonderful.”

That hurt look briefly crossed Merlin’s face again. “I like your father. We do this every month or so. It’s nice.”

“I haven’t seen him in ages,” said Arthur. He stared down at a diagram, tried desperately to understand it, then gave up and closed the book.

“You not following it either?” said Merlin.

“Not so much,” said Arthur. “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere with this. It’s all theory.” There was nothing much about moving from one world to another. Not even conjecture. He groaned and pushed the book away.

Merlin rested a hand on his shoulder, leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “We’ll figure it out,” he said softly.

“You smell really good,” said Arthur, without thinking. Merlin laughed.

That was the beginning of it. Saturday night, they walked to his father’s house. At first, it seemed like everything was the same - the street, the little trees, the house, the shiny doorknocker - but then his father greeted them with a warm smile, a handshake, and even a hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said, sounding as if he really meant it. Then he waved them inside and offered him a drink.

The last time Arthur had had dinner with his father had been Uther’s last birthday. It had been the two of them and Morgana, and the whole affair had been positively excruciating. Morgana and Uther had been in one of their feuds. Uther had spent the whole meal asking them both increasingly pointed question and looking disdainful at their answers, before finally asking Arthur if he’d met anyone yet.

So far tonight, on the other hand, he had learned that his father had a secret passion for Arthurian literature, and found Merlin’s thesis absolutely fascinating. He spent half the meal discussing it, and the other half politely chatting about work and the weather and other ordinary topics. He even made jokes. Arthur didn’t even know his father had a sense of humour.

“Are you feeling alright, Arthur?” he said as they were finishing off their second course. “You’re very quiet.”

“Sorry,” said Arthur, after a brief pause. “It’s been a really long week, that’s all.”

“You mustn’t overwork yourself,” said his father. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you, Merlin?”

Merlin smiled his shy smile, the one that made Arthur want to wrap his arms around him and whisper - he was straight, damn it all.

*

Afterwards, when they were walking home, Merlin said, “I’ve been thinking maybe we should change our strategy. I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with the physics books. I have some other ideas I want to try.”

Arthur nodded, but rather than giving a proper answer, he found himself saying “You’re kind of amazing, you know.” It just seemed to flow out of him.

Merlin swivelled around to face him, walking backwards along the pavement. “What was that?”

“I said you’re amazing,” said Arthur. “Because… well, you are.” Merlin slowed to a halt a few paces away, smile spreading across his face. “It’s like, everything that was wrong with my life, you just fixed it all.”

“I didn’t do anything,” said Merlin.

“You must have done something,” said Arthur. “Merlin - the last time I saw my father was five months ago. He glared at me a lot, then asked me when I was going to get married. Other than that all I get is emails about work. And then in this world, with you, it’s like he’s actually my Dad. It’s like you fixed us.” Merlin had taken a few steps forward while he was speaking, he was scant inches away now. “And I think you must have fixed me too.”

“I love you,” said Merlin, softly, as if it might end any second.

“Yeah,” said Arthur with a little shrug. “I wish I could be him. For you.”

He could feel Merlin’s breath warm on his face, and for a couple of seconds his heart seemed to flutter, but then Merlin tugged his hand out of the pocket of his hoodie and wrapped it around Arthur’s.

“We should get home,” he said. “Yeah?”

Part Two