The Wrong Trouser-Leg of Time - 2/2

[kathkin]

Arthur saw Lance again for lunch the following Monday, found him grinning from ear to ear at their usual table in the sandwich bar.

“Arthur!” he said when he saw him approaching, leaping to his feet. “Arthur, you’re a wonder.”

“What did I do?” said Arthur, scanning the menu behind the counter.

“I went out with Gwen on Saturday,” said Lance. “You were right, Arthur. I don’t know how you knew, but you were right. It was lovely. Gwen’s lovely.” He sat down again, still smiling.

“I’m glad I could help,” he said, settling himself in his seat.

So he was already in a good mood by the time he got home and found that Merlin had come back from the library earlier than usual, and was now singing to himself in the kitchen as he baked a cake. He stopped in the doorway, feet half on carpet and half on tiles, and just breathed in the scent.

“I don’t remember the last time someone baked for me,” he said, dreamy.

Merlin smiled and offered him a mixing bowl smeared with raw cake mix.

“I’m good, thanks,” said Arthur. Then, “What is it?”

“Chocolate carrot cake,” said Merlin, licking at a wooden spoon in a way that did funny things to Arthur’s insides. “It’s in the oven.”

Arthur pulled a face. “Chocolate carrot cake?”

“You’ll love it,” said Merlin. “Trust me.”

“I don’t think so,” said Arthur. “I don’t like normal carrot cake.”

“Oh, I know,” said Merlin. “But you pulled the exact same face the first time I made it for you, but you loved it. You said it was your favourite cake you’d ever had.” He stopped licking and frowned, little crinkles between his eyebrows. Arthur wanted to smooth them out. Instead, he walked into the room properly and poked at the new stack of books on the table.

“What’s this?” he said.

“New research material,” said Merlin. “I went to the sci-fi and fantasy section in the Central Library, then I went to the DVD rental place. Got everything I could find.”

Arthur lifted the copy of Sliding Doors, raised his eyebrows at the Star Trek underneath.

“You really thing this’ll help?” he said.

Merlin shrugged. “Worth a look,” he said. “Plus it’s less dull.” He went back to licking his spoon. Arthur swallowed.

The doorbell rang. He didn’t think he’d ever been so relieved. “I’ll get that, shall I?” he said.

It was Morgana, every bit as glamorous and spiky and irritable as he remembered.

“Evening, Arthur,” she said.

“Hi,” he said, leaning against the doorframe as casually as he could manage.

“Something up?”

“I just came to give this back to Merlin,” she said, holding up a book. It was gone again before Arthur could register the title. Only that there was a sword on the cover.

“Alright, then,” he said, holding his hand out for it.

“Not going to invite me in?” she said.

There was a brief silence, like a battle of wills, then he sighed and opened the door for her. She marched straight past him, into the kitchen.

“Is that chocolate carrot cake I smell?” she said.

“What else?” said Merlin. “It’ll be done soon. I should start on the icing.”

Morgana hummed in response, set her book down on the table, and sifted through Merlin’s new research pile.

“What’s this?” she said.

“Oh, that,” said Merlin, getting down a clean mixing bowl. “We’re researching parallel universes.”

Morgana giggled. “Space-time continuum still fucking with you, Arthur?”

He held up his hands, opened his mouth to reply, but Merlin got there first. “It’s not funny, Morgana.”

“You believe him?” said Morgana.

Merlin turned to face her, wooden spoon in one hand. “Look,” he said. “Morgana. Arthur is my husband, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you think I know my own husband when I see him?”

Morgana folded her arms and stared long and hard at Arthur. “He looks like your husband to me.”

“Well, try talking to him,” said Merlin.

“Hey!” said Arthur. “I’m not that bad. Am I?”

“It’s not that,” said Merlin. “It’s just that you’re not him. You’re Arthur, but you’re not the right Arthur.” He turned away and began to empty a pot of cream cheese into the bowl, movements brisk, sharp. Arthur took a hesitant step forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. Merlin shrugged him off.

Silence.

“How’s the research going, then?” said Morgana after a moment or two.

“Not well,” said Arthur. “There’s not really books on this. It’s all just the theory. And something about string, I don’t know.”

“So you’re moving onto fiction?” she said, eyebrows arching upwards.

“I just figured,” said Merlin, fetching a whisk from a drawer. “If you want to look up methods of moving from into parallel universes. Might be our best bet.”

“You probably just want to go back the same way you came, you know,” said Morgana, frowning down at the pile.

“That would be great advice,” said Arthur. “If I knew how I came here. Which I don’t.”

The timer on the oven chirruped. Merlin dashed over, all flailing limbs, half into his oven gloves. Arthur smiled. “It’s not all bad, though,” he said, mostly to himself. “I think I got lucky, to be honest.”

He could see Merlin smiling, even though his head was turned away. He could see it in his posture, the way he held himself. He sat back in his chair and found that everything had changed without his noticing.

“You can stay for dinner if you like,” said Merlin as he turned the cake out. “I’m making risotto.”

*

Later that night - much later, after Morgana had left and after they had watched the first of the DVDs Merlin had rented, after they had brushed their teeth and said good-night and got into bed - Arthur woke up, stared at the ceiling.

Merlin was lying next to him, sprawled on his front, limbs splayed out, like a giant gangly starfish. His pyjama top had ridden up, revealing a streak of pale skin, and Arthur went to pull it back down, but somehow he ended up just resting a hand there instead, stroking fondly. Was Merlin that soft all over, he wondered? The time they’d - you know, he’d been too caught up in the intensity of it to pay attention.

He was startled out of his thoughts when Merlin rolled over with a sleepy mumble, right over, snuggling up against him. For a moment, Arthur thought he must have woken up, but no. He was still fast asleep.

He hesitated for a moment, then looped an arm around Merlin’s waist, and pulled him still closer. He could always pretend he’d been asleep if they woke up like this, he supposed.

Merlin smelled of organic all-natural shampoo and toothpaste and chocolate carrot cake. It felt new and familiar all at once. He let his eyes fall close and just breathed it in.

*

They spent the next week working their way through the stack of DVDs and books. It was more interesting than the physics, at least, and easier to understand. Merlin took it completely seriously, poring over them every night, trying to find some grain of truth in all the fantasy and pseudo-science, glasses hooked over his nose or dangling from one finger.

Arthur was less engrossed in the task. He didn’t think they were going to find anything. He wasn’t sure he wanted them to find anything. But Merlin seemed so hopeful, he didn’t dare say anything to dissuade him.

But then on Friday night, just when it was starting to feel like routine, Merlin flung the book he was reading at the wall with a cry of rage and despair so sudden that Arthur had to take a moment to get his breath back.

By the time his head had stopped reeling, Merlin was curled up on the sofa, hands over his face, glasses dangling from between his fingers. Arthur crawled over, sat as close as he dared. “Merlin, what -”

“We’re not going to find anything,” said Merlin. “There’s no way back, is there?” He took a deep breath, took his hands away from his face. He had tears in his eyes. The sight made Arthur’s stomach plummet to the floor.

“Don’t say that,” he said, more gently than he’d thought possible. He ran a hand up and down Merlin’s back.

“I’m not going to get my Arthur back,” said Merlin, with grim certainty. “Don’t try and tell me I’ll get him back. You know I’m right. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Arthur could think of nothing to say to that. After a moment, Merlin slithered away from him, fetched the book, and stood clasping it awkwardly to his chest in the middle of the room. “Forget it,” he said. “Forget I said anything. We should keep on going.” Arthur nodded and reached for his own book. “It’s just,” said Merlin. “It’s just I’d understand. If we don’t find anything. If you didn’t want to stay here. With me.”

Arthur gaped at him. Merlin stared back. The moment seemed to freeze, the room cold. Then he stood up, decisive, and tugged the book out of Merlin’s grasp.

“I don’t want to go,” he said. “If you don’t think I’ve been trying hard enough to find a way back. It’s because I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t understand,” said Merlin.

“You’re amazing,” said Arthur. “You’re amazing, and wonderful, and everything, alright? I don’t want to go back to my life. I know it’s selfish, I shouldn’t just leave him there, but I couldn’t stand it, not after this. I want to stay here. I want to stay with you. I want to be him, alright? I want his life. I want a house in the country with a big garden and a swing, and I want Buster and Daffodil, and I want to have a dog, and I want you, God damn it. I want you. I think I’m falling in love with you. You sleep like a starfish and you sing in the shower and you smell good all the time, and you fixed me, alright? I want to be with you.”

Merlin closed his eyes, turned his face away, blinking away the tears. Then he reached out, tentative, took Arthur’s hand, and said:

“I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. “Bummer.”

“We could get fish,” said Merlin.

“Fish are good too,” said Arthur, squeezing his hand. He put the book down on the coffee table. “We don’t have to give up, though. If you don’t want to. If you want him back -”

Merlin’s lips brushed his, just gentle, at first, testing, then kissing him properly, and it was as if the room had frozen again.

*

They fell into bed in a messy, laughing tangle, Merlin’s long legs falling open around his waist, t-shirt rucked up around his navel, hands reached for the button of Arthur’s jeans. Arthur buried his face in his neck and just breathed.

His shirt slipped off and vanished into a corner somewhere, and then Merlin’s hands were stroking up and down his chest, tracing the contours of him.

“Am I the same?” he said.

“Almost,” said Merlin. “I think he worked out a bit more.” Past tense, Arthur noticed with a little shiver. Merlin paused, stared up at him. “This is nice,” he said. “It feels sort of like a fresh start. Like we’re starting over.” His breath hitched as Arthur’s hands slid up under his shirt - he really was soft all over, it was amazing - then he flinched, laughing.

“Ticklish?” said Arthur.

“Very,” said Merlin, taking hold of his wrist and guiding him to somewhere less sensitive. Arthur took hold of the hem of his shirt again, pulled it off, nudging Merlin’s arms above his head.

“What do you want me to do?” said Arthur. “What do you usually do?”

“I don’t mind,” said Merlin, working the zip of Arthur’s jeans down. “Anything. Everything.” His hands dipped inside, stroking down Arthur’s thighs, and oh bloody hell. He kicked off his jeans, leaned down, and kissed Merlin, desperate, like a lifeline.

“Oh God,” said Merlin, when they broke apart. “I missed this so much. Missed you.” He closed his eyes, let his head fall back, let Arthur strip his jeans off.

“What do you want?” said Arthur, kissing him again. “Tell me what you want.”

Merlin licked his lips, then sat up, pushing Arthur’s arms away, reaching for the bedside table. A packet of condoms, half a bottle of lube. When Merlin slicked his own fingers into himself, Arthur thought his heart might stop.

He made himself wait a good thirty seconds - one, two, three, four - before tugging Merlin’s hand away, reaching for the condoms, lining himself up. Merlin had done this before, he was relaxed, flexible, legs looping up around to tug Arthur in deeper.

One long smooth thrust.

Merlin was quieter than he expected. He hardly stopped talking most of the time, but now he just let his head fall back, eyelids fluttering, and gasped for air. When Arthur pulled back and thrust again, he moaned and pushed back, rolling his hips up, up, squeezing Arthur tight.

“Jesus - Christ,” Arthur gasped out. “So good.” Merlin moaned again as if in reply, spread out across the pillows, hair damp against his forehead, and Arthur was lost, it was like falling, like everything was beginning and ending all at once.

*

Afterwards - quite a long time afterwards, actually, Arthur felt a swell of pride at that - they lay tangled, damp sheets sticking to their skin. Arthur waited till Merlin’s breath slowed, then said,

“I’m not him.”

“I know,” said Merlin. “And I don’t know if - maybe this is cheating, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d mind. If he knew.”

Arthur knew what he wanted to ask, but he wasn’t sure he dared. “Are you doing this because I’m almost him, or just because you want me?” The question hung between them for a heart-stopping moment.

“I don’t know,” said Merlin. “But I know what I want. At least, I think I do.” He ran a hand up and down Arthur’s stomach. “I think we’ll be okay, though.” He settled down, head on Arthur’s chest, eyes slipping closed. “If you want I can make pancakes tomorrow. It’ll be fun.”

That was the last Arthur heard from him. He was asleep, soft breath tickling Arthur’s skin. The last thing he thought before he joined Merlin was that he really had got lucky with this, whatever this was.

*

Arthur woke up the next morning with the sun on his face. He rolled over and reached out, feeling for Merlin, then frowned, opened his eyes.

The bed was cold and empty. The first thing he thought was that it was all wrong, faced the wrong way, the sheets were stripy rather than plain red, the window was in the wrong wall, but - no. He was in his old bedroom.

It took a moment or two for it to sink in. He sat and rubbed his eyes, blinking at the familiar surroundings, then felt a flare of panic in his gut and threw himself at the door. “Merlin?” he called. “Merlin, are you there?”

The kitchen was empty, scrupulously tidy. The fridge was full of ready-meals, little cardboard boxes and plastic trays. The living room was cold and dark, phone books spread across the coffee table. There was a notepad and pen, a neat list in his own handwriting, then an angry, frustrating scrawl. He sank to his knees, one hand resting on the paper.

Well. He had his Merlin back now, at least. The other Arthur. That was something, wasn’t it?

“It’s not fair,” he choked out, and he was talking to himself, this was bad, this was very much not good. “It’s not - stupid fucking universe.” He turned his head to the heavens - or the ceiling, anyway - and called out to whoever might be listening.

“Will you stop fucking around? It’s not funny! What is this, how you get your kicks?”

Silence. His chest was heaving. He stood up, slowly, and looked at the notes.

There was the address of their flat, him and Merlin, the phone number, and a little cross. Merlin’s mother. Will. All had crosses. Then a list of numbers, all the Merlins in the phone book - there were really that many, no wonder he’d had trouble - but nothing but more crosses, then finally the angry scrawl. The pen was still lying where he must have thrown it.

This, he realised, this was what they’d been trying to achieve all along. He ripped the page out, screwed it into a ball, and walked away, legs shaking.

It wasn’t easy, breakfasting on stale cornflakes when you knew that somewhere there were Merlin’s celebratory pancakes. Merlin made good pancakes. Merlin made good everything.

It took him half an hour to unscrew the paper in desperation. The rest of the day to work his way down the list, though any other likely-looking numbers in the phone book. He got snapped at more than once. Some of them seemed to think they were being called up just so their name could be commented on.

Then he called Morgana.

“Afternoon,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“You sound more like yourself,” she said. “I haven’t heard for you in days. Look, I’m sorry I said you were acting crazy, but really, you were very rude.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Are you done with the whole space-time continuum thing, then?” she said, in a tone that said you better be.

“I think,” he said, “it’d be more accurate to say that it’s done with me.” Then, “You doing anything tonight? I want some company.”

“Oh, I can’t,” she said. “I’ve got a thing. Me and some girls from work. Maybe tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. She hung up the phone with a breezy good-bye. He wondered fleetingly why she hadn’t picked up on his misery, but maybe he didn’t sound that different to her.

Later on, he put a chicken tikka ready meal in the microwave, stood back and watched it spin round and round and round.

*

Monday morning, on his way into work, he said, “Morning, Sophie,” to the secretary, purely by habit. She looked up, startled, raised her eyebrows, then said,

“Good morning, Mr. Pendragon,” with just a hint of sarcasm. Little enough to deny if he called her on it. He paused, breaking his stride, and squeezed his eyes shut.

The intern in the lift gave him barely a mumble in response, then started trying to edge away from him, eyes flicking back and forth nervously. It was suddenly more than Arthur could take.

“Oh, will you stop looking so fucking scared all the time!” he cried. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

The intern stared at him, mouth hanging open. Exactly that, Arthur supposed. He took

a step back, a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was very rude. I apologise.”

The surprise on the intern’s face was kind of delightful. “It’s just… do you ever have one of those days where it feels like the entire space-time continuum is trying to fuck you over as much as possible?”

“I can’t say I’ve ever had a day like that, sir,” said the intern, each word more hesitant than the next. The lifts doors opened with a ding.

“Then you’re a very lucky man,” said Arthur, patting him on the shoulder. “Nice tie.” He strode away, intern staring after him, baffled.

The slight good mood he had gained was broken as soon as he sat down at his desk. There was a single terse email from Uther, a few questions about work. Nothing personal. Not even his name. He stared at it, eyes burning, suddenly missing his father very much.

The blond girl, Vivian, looked at him as she walked past, and she must have noticed, she must have done, he might actually have been crying by now, as much as that shamed him, but she said nothing.

*

A month went by.

He saw Morgana and Gwen. Gave the vaguest answers he could to their questions about his behaviour, let himself be gently mocked - who’s even called Merlin, I mean really - and chastised. He exchanged emails with his father. He went to lunch with Lance. He wanked off to every porn magazine he had, then surfed the internet for clips with skinny dark-haired young men, but he couldn’t find one with the right ears.

He chased after every likely-looking man he saw on the street. He went round to the university and demanded to know where he could find Merlin Emrys. He was forcibly removed from the university admissions office. He wandered around the city, great looping circles, looking for something, anything at all, but there was nothing.

Eventually, all he could do was crawl into his lonely bed at the end of the day, stare up at the ceiling, and pray that it would happen again.

After four weeks of that, he could stand it no longer, and he did his best to put the whole incident out of his mind. Threw himself into his work.

*

It was getting to be September, and he was running very late. He dashed down the stairs, half-in, half-out of his suit jacket, dashed back up for his briefcase, then raced out again, into the street, straight into a woman walking her dog. He gasped out an apology, slowed down to a walk. He needed coffee very very badly. There was a café not far from his office, he could stop there, and then it would still be hot when he got in. They might even have something he could buy for breakfast as well. He stumbled away down the street, clinging to that small comfort.

The café was small and grubby and cramped and loud. He found himself edging between tables to get to the counter, skidding on the floor from time to time. He was starting to regret his decision. There was a Starbucks just down the street, he should have gone there instead.

By the time he had shouted his order three times just to be heard over the din (also, he wasn’t sure the staff really spoke English), his mood was positively foul. He hurried away between the tables, eyes on the door, blessed cool air and space, even if only for a few minutes before he got to the office.

It was only moments before he tripped, foot catching on something that felt like some kind of tripwire, as if someone were doing it on purpose, God damn it. He crashed to the floor, coffee spilling out in a great brown puddle.

“Oh, for the love of God,” he moaned, pulling himself up onto his elbows, the bustle of the café resuming around him after a momentary shocked, curious pause.

And just, just when he was thinking that the universe really did hate him, a hand was clutching at his shoulder, helping him up, and a voice was saying, “I’m so sorry, that was totally my fault, I shouldn’t have left my bag there…”

Dark hair. Blue eyes. Completely ridiculous ears. Black chunky glasses sitting crooked on his nose. Everything else just faded away. “It’s you!” Arthur exclaimed, leaping to his feet.

“Um, hi?” said Merlin, adjusting his glasses.

“My name’s Arthur,” said Arthur. “Hello.”

“Okay?” said Merlin. “Look, I’m sorry about your coffee, I’ll pay for another one if you like…” He had a few books and a notepad and pen spread across the table, haphazard. No laptop. What had happened to his laptop? His clothes looked even rattier than Arthur remembered as well. One of his shoes seemed to be coming apart at the toe.

“I don’t care,” said Arthur. “It’s fine. It’s better than fine. It’s great. It’s… it’s fine.”

“Okay, good,” said Merlin. “Cause I really can’t afford that.” He turned back to his notes. Arthur caught his shoulder.

“What’s your name?” he said, because he had to ask, even if he already knew.

“None of your business,” said Merlin.

“I told you mine,” said Arthur. “Come on.”

“Look,” Merlin snapped, turning back to face him. “I’m kind of busy here, alright? So can you just go away and leave me alone?”

“No,” said Arthur, then, “Oh, Lord. I’m meant to be at work -” he checked his watch. “- ten minutes ago. Right. Better make this quick.” He took a deep breath. “Go out with me.”

Merlin stared. “What.”

“Go out with me,” said Arthur. “On a date. Tonight. Or tomorrow, tomorrow’s good too. Or any day this week, really, I’m not doing anything.”

Merlin sighed, took off his glasses. “Look,” he said. “I’m sure this works for you most of the time, I don’t know, but I’m just not interested, alright?”

“Yes, you are!” Arthur exclaimed. “You just don’t know it yet. Promise. If you go out with me, you won’t regret it. I guarantee it.”

Merlin turned back to his notes. “It doesn’t matter how long you stand there for,” he said. “I’m not going to shag you. Please go away.”

“You’re right,” said Arthur. “This is stupid. I’m making an idiot of myself. I’ll come in again.”

He turned, walked away a few steps, then spun around and darted back. “Hello,” he said, “I’m Arthur. You’re gorgeous. Please go out with me.”

Merlin blinked at him. Then, joy of joys, he began to laugh. “You’re very strange,” he said.

“You’re wonderful,” said Arthur.

“You don’t even know me,” said Merlin. He began to suck on one leg of his glasses again, thoughtful.

“You’re thinking about it, though,” said Arthur. “I can tell. Come on. One date. It’ll be amazing. I promise. If it’s not amazing, I’ll, I dunno, give you your money back.”

Merlin looked around, his glasses still in his mouth, as if expecting an answer to appear somewhere. On the menu, perhaps.

“Those glasses make you look like a sexy beast,” said Arthur. Merlin took them out of his mouth and stared at them

“You think?” he said. “I’d have switched them years ago, I just couldn’t afford new frames.”

Arthur dug around in his pocket for a business card. “Alright,” he said. “Here is a card. With my number.” He thrust it at Merlin. “I have to get to work. Promise me you’ll call me, yeah? You won’t regret it.”

Merlin took the card, squinted at it, put his glasses back on. “Why are you so sure,” he said. “You’re really not my type.”

“Well, my type is women, to be honest,” said Arthur. “I just have this feeling. Like you and I would be amazing.” He check his watch again. Shit shit shit. “I have to go. Please call me.” He cupped his hands together, pleading, then stumbled out of the café, head reeling.

*

It was two days before the phone rang. He had spent most of the evenings sitting on the sofa, staring at it, willing it to ring, but when it actually happened, he was in the kitchen, heating up a can of baked beans.

“Hello?” he said, then, “Guy from the café?”

“Um, speaking?” said Merlin’s voice. “Hi. Arthur, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, thank God,” said Arthur. “I didn’t think you were going to call.”

“Well, this is kind of insane,” said Merlin. “I just met you. You don’t even know my name.”

“Tell me your name, then,” said Arthur.

A pause. The line crackled. “Merlin,” he said. “I’m Merlin.”

Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Merlin,” he said. “That’s a great name. That’s the best name ever, actually.”

“Most people just laugh,” said Merlin, doubt and relief all at once.

“Well, most people are stupid,” said Arthur. He switched the phone to the other side, rushed to turn off the cooker. “Anyway. We’re going out.”

“I didn’t say that,” said Merlin. “Maybe I just called to tell you no.”

“We’re going to go out,” Arthur repeated. “I’ll buy you dinner.”

“See,” said Merlin. “I have this horrible feeling you’re a nutter, but your business card looks legit, and I checked out the company. And I can’t really afford to pass up a free meal right now.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur. “Thank you so much. How about Chinese? Do you like Chinese?”

“I love it,” said Merlin. “Actually.”

“Right,” said Arthur. “Chinese it is. Tomorrow night? You free tomorrow?”

“I’m not doing anything tomorrow,” said Merlin slowly.

“Right,” said Arthur. “Great. Seven o’clock, alright? I know a really great place.”

*

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He looked like he felt out of place. He looked like he was still wearing the same tatty clothes. He had the same rucksack with him, definitely.

“You okay?” said Arthur, once they’d ordered.

“I’m fine,” said Merlin. “Just tired. I came straight from the library. It’s cheaper than getting the bus where and back.”

“Where do you live?” said Arthur.

“Outside the city,” said Merlin. “With my mum.” He slumped down a little in his chair. “I used to have a flat nearby but I couldn’t pay the rent.”

Arthur wanted to offer to help. He really did. He must have done, in that other world, he must have made sure Merlin was alright, but he couldn’t now, not on a first date.

Instead, he just said, “You’re a student?”

“I’m working on my PhD,” said Merlin. He toyed with his chopsticks. “Medieval poetry.”

“Sounds fascinating,” said Arthur. He smiled.

*

Merlin was quiet through most of the rest of the meal, quieter still once they got outside. Arthur wanted to take his hand, but he didn’t dare. They ambled along, Arthur chatting away, Merlin muttering responses, then came to an abrupt halt in the little pool of light beneath a streetlamp.

“The bus stop’s just down there,” said Merlin, nodding down the street. “Last bus is in about five minutes, I should catch it.”

“Can I see you again?” said Arthur.

Merlin tugged his hands further into the pockets of his hoodie and sighed. “Look,” he said. “Look. You seem really friendly, and you’re certainly enthusiastic, and I really appreciate the meal, that was great, but I just don’t see this working out. We don’t have anything in common, and well,” he gulped, “well, I need to focus right now. My thesis just isn’t coming together, I don’t think I can afford to get distracted, and I -”

Arthur held up a hand, silenced him. “Please,” he said. “Just trust me, alright? We’d work. We would be amazing.”

“You don’t know that,” said Merlin, firm, a little sad.

“Yes, I do,” said Arthur. “And I can tell you how I know, if you like.”

“Go on, then,” said Merlin.

“Alright,” said Arthur. He’d been hoping it wouldn’t come to this. “I’ll tell you. But two conditions, yeah?” Merlin nodded. “First, you have to promise not to interrupt me till I’m done, cause this is going to sound completely mad, but you’ve got to hear me out. And second, you have to promise to just suspend your disbelief for a few minutes, yeah?”

“Right,” said Merlin. “I can do that.”

Arthur took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “About a month ago, the space-time continuum started to fuck with me.”

“The space-time -”

“The space-time continuum, yeah,” said Arthur. “I woke up one morning and I’d switched places with myself from an alternate universe. Just like that,” he snapped his fingers by way of demonstration. Merlin frowned at him, looking as if he rather wanted to started edging away. Or possibly run like hell. “So, I woke up in this other universe, and that’s where I met you.”

“In another universe,” said Merlin flatly.

“Right,” said Arthur. “And - well, this is where it gets really crazy, to bear with me.”

“It gets crazier?” said Merlin. Arthur ignored him.

“We were together,” he said. “We were - well, we were married.”

“Married,” said Merlin.

Arthur nodded. “Right. We were married. We had a wedding album and everything, you showed it to me. And it was amazing, right? You were amazing. It was like, my life - that life, that other life - it was pretty much perfect, and it was all because of you. And we worked, we really did. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy. But then just when I realised I didn’t want it to end, we switched back, me and the other Arthur, and, well, I thought I was never going to see you again, but I did, I found you, and you know what?”

“What?” said Merlin.

“I’ve never been so glad I didn’t go to Starbucks,” said Arthur. Merlin was silent. He had on his I call bullshit face. “You don’t believe me.”

Merlin shook his head. “I should go wait for my bus,” he said. “Good night,” He turned to walk away, but Arthur stopped him.

“Wait,” he said. “I can prove it, alright? I will prove it to you.”

Merlin gave the bus stop a longing look, then screwed his eyes shut for a moment. “Alright,” he said. “Go on.”

Arthur let go of him, stepped back and collected his thoughts. “Okay. Your mother’s name is Hunith. You like yoghurt on your cereal instead of milk. You sing Disney songs in the shower. You never sit still. You sleep like a starfish. You had a pet rat when you were a kid, and her name was Rosebud. Your best friend’s name is Will, you’ve know him since you were both three and he pushed you in the paddling pool at playgroup, and he’s still the person you go to when you’re miserable. You don’t like beer, but you love cider, even the really cheap shit. You keep a toy rabbit with one ear in your underwear drawer, his name’s Stanley, your Dad gave him to you when you were a baby, before he left. You make a really amazing chocolate carrot cake that shouldn’t work but does. You make packed lunches with little pasta salads in. You love to cook. You’re allergic to tomatoes and dogs and nickel, which is why you don’t wear a watch, you can’t find one that doesn’t give you a rash.” He took a deep breath. “When you order in Chinese food you almost always get egg fried rice and either sweet and sour pork or chow mein. You like tagliatelle because it looks like ribbons. You don’t believe in God, but if you did you think he’d look like Morgan Freeman, like in Bruce Almighty.” He was running out of steam. “Um. You only ever use organic all-natural shampoo. You smell really good all the time. You recycle everything you can, and you made me recycle as well, even though I couldn’t see the point. Your thesis is on Arthurian literature, and your favourite poet is Chrétien de Troyes, especially the poem with the knight and the lion. You hate air freshener because you think it makes the flat smell like a dentist or something. And you like it when - no, wait. Scratch that. You’re very ticklish.” Merlin gaped at him. “Just under the ribs.” Arthur gestured. “But you don’t like being tickled.”

Merlin tilted his head to one side. “That,” he said. “That was… how did you…”

“I told you,” said Arthur. “I was married to you. For three weeks. And all that, everything I just said, I think it’s all wonderful. I think I’m half in love with you already. And I thought, I used to think that the universe was just trying to fuck me over, but now I’m wondering if it was just making things how they were supposed to be.”

There was a long pause. Then, “Beowulf,” said Merlin.

“I’m sorry?” said Arthur.

“My thesis,” said Merlin. “It’s on Beowulf. I thought about doing Arthurian lit, but I thought it would be kind of silly. I mean, I’m called Merlin, I’d just look ridiculous.”

Arthur stepped forward, took him by the shoulders. “Merlin, you never look ridiculous. You’re just all-round wonderful. And I’m just sorry I don’t know what to do. I mean I got you to fall in love with me once, but I don’t know what I did, so I don’t know how to do it again, but it can’t be that hard, right?” Merlin didn’t answer.

“Come on. We’d be amazing. I promise.”

“Either you’re telling the truth,” said Merlin, “or you’re a really diligent stalker.”

“If it helps, when I woke up with you and you said we were married, I thought you were some sort of stalker as well,” said Arthur. “But I was wrong!” He smiled.

Somewhere down the street, there was a rumbling of an engine. “That’s the last bus,” said Merlin. “S’leaving.”

“You can stay at mine,” said Arthur. “I won’t try anything. Promise.”

Merlin pulled his indecisive face. His actually indecisive face, not the one he pulled when he was pretending to make you fell better before saying no.

“I don’t know what else to say,” said Arthur quietly. “I just - oh, look.” He leaned forward and kissed Merlin gently. Merlin made a surprised sound, flinched away, then relented, melted into it. And it worked, somehow. It shouldn’t have done, they’d only just met and they were standing under a streetlamp on the corner along from the bus stop, but it worked. When they broke apart, Merlin was even a little breathless.

“Beowulf isn’t really working,” he said. “I could… switch back to Arthurian literature. Maybe.”

Arthur reached into the pockets of his hoodie, drew out his hands and held onto them tight. “I’d like that,” he said. “I’d like that a lot.” He kissed Merlin again, just briefly this time, then wrapped his arms around him, buried his face in his hair, and breathed in.

*

The proposal with the doves and the fountain went a little better this time around, if only because Arthur took care to do it on a dry day, but Merlin got caught up in the library and didn’t get there on schedule. By the time he showed up, on his way home through the park, it was starting to get dark, so Arthur ended up proposing in the pub down the street instead. Which was a step up from the hospital, at least.

And they all lived awesome ever after.

Sequel/Prequel: A Tale of Two Arthurs