Archive of Our Own

What started as a pleasant breeze turned within minutes into an overcast sky and pouring rain, sending even the toughest Londoners rushing for shelter. 

As he ran, Merlin had to squint until all he could see were the red heels of the woman running ahead of him. She stumbled and she got splashed on, but it only made her laugh and grab tighter onto the man she was with. They made it to the door of the bus just as it started moving; the man helped her climb first, then jogged up and got on himself. 

Merlin gave one last push, already losing hope of catching the bus, when the man turned and extended a hand out to him.  

Helpful. Merlin grinned, grabbing it and hauling himself inside. 

“Cheers, mate,” he said. 

The man grinned back and clapped him on the shoulder. “No worries.” 

He then climbed up to the aisle, where the woman waited for him with a fond smile, and Merlin followed. The man took her hand again, and one by one, the three of them tapped in.  

“That came out of nowhere,” the man commented conversationally as they pushed into the horde of bodies damp as their own selves. 

Merlin chuckled. “Good old London.” 

The pair secured a pole to lean on, while Merlin caught hold of a hanging grab handle just behind them. He had to admit, they made a charming couple. They were lost in their own little world, heads bent together, chatting in low voices. In such close quarters, Merlin couldn’t help but overhear their conversation. 

“This isn’t how I wanted the evening to end,” the man said to the woman, smiling apologetically. 

She laughed softly. “Come on, Lance, as if rain isn’t the most romantic thing to happen on a date.” 

“Not when it ruins your dress.” Lance looked down at the side of her dress that was soaking and a little muddy. 

The woman glanced at him through her lashes, then stood on her toes to whisper something in Lance’s ear. 

Whatever it was, it made him laugh in surprise. “Gwen!”  

She merely shrugged in response. Lance brought a hand up to move a wet lock of Gwen’s hair off her forehead; Gwen beamed at him with stars in her eyes. 

Merlin knew that look very well—the look of utter besottedness, of helpless affection. He’d seen it on Antony and Cleopatra, Edward and Wallis, and countless other, more ordinary faces. He’d been the cause every time. 

However, these two were unmarked, which was the entire reason for his visit. Merlin understood, to an extent, some people’s choice to not wait for their soulmarks to appear before looking for love. But it was never easy breaking up couples, especially the ones that seemed genuinely happy together.  

So it was with dread that he opened his soulsight. All material was washed away, leaving the souls of the humans bare around him. Among the swarm of light and energy, he focused on the two in front of him. Where Lance was placid, Gwen was vibrant. Where she was just, he was noble. Both were kind and brave and, fortunately, the textbook example of soulmates.  

Pleased, Merlin blessed them with their soulmarks. 

By the time the couple made to get off, the rain had slowed to a drizzle. Still, Lance removed his coat and draped it over Gwen’s shoulders, leaving his arm around her. Smiling, she tucked herself into his side and pulled his arm tighter.  

It was then, Merlin watched eagerly, that they spotted the mark on Lance’s wrist, and after a few stunned moments, searched frantically for its match on Gwen. 

The bus started moving again, and Merlin had to strain his neck to watch from the window the exact moment they found it, on her inner arm. Immediately, Gwen jumped into Lance’s arms, and they kissed, framed by raindrops glowing with headlights.  

Now that, Gwen would have to agree, was the most romantic thing that could happen on a date.  

Merlin smiled, his free hand coming up to his own wrist. A pair well made always soothed the aching want in his own chest.

Even as it poured in London, Dublin was enjoying a dry, albeit cold evening. People enjoyed the weekend inside or flocked to pubs and bars for a good time. Among the latter, Merlin sat tucked in a corner of one of the cosier places with his hands wrapped around a hot whiskey. 

Even as Lance and Gwen found the love they had dreamt of, Gwaine climbed on his stool and announced his very differing opinions to all and sundry, reeling nearly all of the patrons into an open discussion. 

“Alright, let’s do the maths here. There are billions of people—” 

“Don’t you mean million?” 

“It’s billion, you muppet.” 

“—on the planet! Eligible people, that is. And let’s say I have 45 more years, give or take. That’s— how many— that’s a lot of nights, is what I’m saying.” 

“Sixteen thousand.” 

“Sixteen thousand nights! And billions of potential lovers.” Gwaine spread his arms. “You see where I’m going with this, eh?” 

The crowd had started chuckling, and Merlin would be lying if he said he wasn’t amused as well. Gwaine was quite a showman. His shirt was as loose as his black jeans were tight, half the buttons undone. He missed no opportunity to flip his hair. All eyes were on him, and with good reason. Even when he wasn’t playing up, he was nice to look at. 

“I mean, why would I want to spend the rest of my life with a single person, when I could be getting a different dick every night?” 

That elicited louder responses, laughter and head shakes, until an older man slammed his glass down on his table. 

“The problem with you weans,” he thundered, “is that you think you always know better. Better than the gods! There’s more to a soulmatch than just sex. There’s love, a real connection. There’s peace in your heart, lad. Get all the dicks or cunts you like, you wouldn’t want anybody else once you’ve met your soulmate.” 

Gwaine lost quite a few supporters to that little speech, but he chuckled, unconvinced. “Come on, old chap, it’s the twenty-first century. Don’t tell me you believe in all that Emrys-soulmate-soulmark crap.” 

“Aye, I do.” The man’s tone gentled, just a tad, before hardening again when he looked back at Gwaine. “And so will you when you find yours.” 

“How do you explain the marks, then?” Merlin piped up, swerving the conversation. 

Gwaine turned and leaned towards him conspiratorially; Merlin feared that he would topple over. “Here’s an idea: the marks don’t prove the existence of soulmates, the concept of soulmates was invented to explain the marks. It’s just what people back in the day did”—he threw a grin towards the old man—“isn’t it?” 

While someone pointed out the lack of conclusive research on the phenomenon, Merlin ducked his head and took a long sip of his drink to hide his smile. “Interesting.” 

Gwaine grinned proudly. “I choose who I’m going to be with, and for how long. If it happens to be somebody with the same mark as mine, well. It’s just a little drawing.” 

He had got it all wrong, but he was far from alone, far from the first. Non-believers had always existed; they advocated for free will and shunned ancient knowledge. Personally, Merlin had never begrudged them their happiness, if they found it. Sooner or later they all realise the insignificance of it, and come around. 

But that was beyond Merlin’s concerns at the moment. 

He opened his soulsight, knowing exactly who to match Gwaine with—Elyan, a hiker from up North with similar views. They both would have a lot to learn from each other. It was, afterall, people like them who needed soulmates the most.

It was the kind of day that filled everyone with good spirits, clear and bright; the Albionian was sun-washed from the tall windows and aroma-filled from freshly ground coffee and baked goods; and Merlin was horribly indecisive. 

His go-to was flat white, but something about the day was making him feel adventurous. Hazelnut mocha sounded promising, and so did cinnamon latte and just plain hot chocolate. Then again, he could point at a random menu item and still get the best thing he’d have all day. The coffeehouse never disappointed. 

Merlin still hadn’t decided what to order when the barista turned her practised smile to him. “Welcome to The Albionian, what can I get for you?”  

One of the many tiny banes of his life, Merlin had realised, was not being able to get personalised recommendations in an age where the world worked on them. “What do you reco—” 

A hand slammed on the counter beside Merlin. “A doppio for takeaway. Make it quick.” 

Startled, Merlin followed the suit-clad arm up to the face of the man. The golden light flattered his profile—his blond hair, sky blue eyes, skin—so terrifically that Merlin had to double check that he was, in fact, just a man. One of the Mother’s finer creations for sure, but nothing more.  

The man turned away, tapping twice on his airpods and taking out his phone, not acknowledging anyone else. It was that entitlement that solidified Merlin’s indignation. 

“Oi! Do you mind—” 

“Yes, sir.” The barista hastened away and started preparing the man’s order. 

“Hey, what the hell!” Merlin protested. “You can’t just— do you need help finding the start of the fucking queue? Excuse me, asshole, I’m talking to you.” 

But the man never got off the phone, didn’t even spare him a glance. Incensed, Merlin turned to the barista. “Surely you were trained better than to serve queue jumpers?” 

“I’m so sorry”—she gave him an awkward smile—“it’s going to take just a minute.” 

It wasn’t about that minute; Merlin had no lack of minutes. “Alright, why don’t I speak to your manager in the meantime?” 

“Sir,” she said in a soft voice, “I don’t think the manager can help you.” 

“And whyever not?” 

She nodded to the man. “He is Arthur Pendragon, CEO of our chain and son of the owner.” 

Well, then. Merlin turned his glare onto him. “Not a very good CEO, is he, if he jumps the queue of his own customers?” 

Being insulted finally got Arthur’s attention off his phone. Merlin watched as sudden tension travelled up Arthur’s spine, gripped his shoulders and settled in his jaw. Everyone was watching them; Arthur couldn’t be stupid enough to ruin his image in front of so many patrons. Merlin raised his chin to graciously accept his apology. 

Except, Arthur turned back to the barista and said, “These two orders are on me.” 

“What?” Merlin nearly laughed in disbelief. The nerve of this man! 

While Arthur collected his drink (quick, just as asked) and paid enough for five, Merlin turned to the bloke waiting behind him, expecting him to have joined him by now. 

The boy glanced up from his phone, shrugged, and went back to typing. “It’s free coffee, mate.” 

Unbelievable. Arthur seemed satisfied with his handling of the matter, but Merlin was not. Far from it.  

“A free coffee won’t win me,” he snarled as Arthur turned to leave. 

Arthur’s gaze snapped to him, sharp, and Merlin met it unflinchingly. Owning the place did not give anybody the right to be rude; he’d thought it was a well-established rule. Yet there was only a mild irritation in those eyes, and no further reaction. 

Arthur strode to the door, and was nearly out when Merlin remembered that even the assholes got soulmarks. He opened his soulsight, and Arthur stunned him once again. He was courageous and caring and everything the opposite of what he’d just exhibited. Merlin didn’t understand how it worked, how someone with such a great soul could act like such a jerk. 

Merlin gave him his mark, and a matching one to the strong and brave Mithian. She deserved better, but only someone like her could put up with someone like Arthur.

The only thing bigger than eternity was the world of literature. It stretched alike into the past and the future, in entirely different universes, in directions both good and bad. It was unconquerable. 

Yet Merlin kept trying, one book at a time, whenever the mood struck. It was from an old bookshop that he mounted his attack today, looking for a weak spot in the fiction section. Human fantasies were endlessly fascinating. 

“Oh. It’s you,” came a dry voice from the other side of the bookcase, and Merlin’s head snapped up. He sensed no gods around, and never in his nearly three millennia had a mortal ever said those words to him; not once. 

His gaze landed on Arthur Pendragon. 

Merlin did not generally remember the people he met; mortals came in and out of existence in the blink of an eye. Seldom was there someone nice enough, or awful enough, to leave an impression. But the incident with Arthur was still fresh in Merlin’s mind, and the man himself, peeking from between the books, was no less striking in a dark turtleneck than that day in a crisp suit.  

Arthur was going on about not wanting to jump the queue that day and being late for something important. About how his employees were good, hard-working people who didn’t deserve retribution for his mistakes. That he hoped Merlin enjoyed the coffee at least. 

Had he been a normal person, Merlin would’ve accepted the apology. Had he been a sensible deity, he would’ve disappeared. Seeing as he was neither, though, he blurted, “You can see me?” 

Arthur paused, blinked. “Sorry?” 

“You— you can see me?” Merlin rushed to the other side of the case. “You remember me?” 

Arthur had taken two steps back, bewildered, and was holding up a book in front of himself like a shield. “Are you alright?” 

But this was impossible! This simply wasn’t how the world worked. “Show me your mark,” Merlin demanded, taking another step forward. 

“What?” Arthur frowned in suspicion. 

“Your—” Merlin made some wild, vague gestures at him, blind to the attention he was starting to attract. “Don’t you have a— you’ve got your soulmark, haven’t you?” 

At that, Arthur’s face lost all emotions entirely. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business.” 

He put the book in his hands back at its place, turned on his heels and left. 

But Merlin was frozen to the spot, dumbfounded. It felt like the sun had risen from the wrong direction. Like he’d been suddenly dropped into one of those alternate universes and nothing here made sense. 

He couldn’t say how long he stood there, snapping out of it only when a lady asked him to move out of the way. Hurriedly, Merlin plucked a random book from the shelf and headed towards the counter. 

Only to come face to face with Arthur again.  

There was a moment of awkwardness, neither of them making a move. Then Arthur gestured for Merlin to go first, this time, and Merlin did. Even as he paid, he felt himself still reeling from the interaction earlier. Arthur standing just behind him was a confirmation that it hadn’t merely been a vivid daydream. 

“Did you get yours?” 

Merlin startled, turned to Arthur. “What?” 

Arthur looked even more like he was dealing with an idiot, and like he absolutely did not want to be. “Did you get your mark? I wondered if that might be why you were asking.” 

Understanding. More than Merlin had initially given him credit for. 

“Oh. No, no.” Merlin shook his head, resisting the urge to reach for his wrist. “Nevermind that.” 

Arthur didn’t speak again, nor did Merlin give him a chance, almost forgetting his book in his haste to get out of there. 

But he paused at the door, watching as Arthur made his purchase. Something had gone very wrong during the match, but what it was, Merlin would figure out later. For now, he opened his sight and looked for another mate for Arthur. His compatibility with Percy wasn’t as high as the first match, but they were both good people. It should work out. 

It should work.

The Pinner house was identical to the house on its left, to the one on its right, and to every other house in the street—two storeys of exposed red bricks, bay windows and a faded white door. There were a few shrubs lining the little front lawn, dandelions and daisies popping up where they pleased, and thick ivy climbing the walls beside the door. 

Against the havoc in Merlin’s head, it was all disturbingly normal. 

He stomped up the gravel walkway and rapped on the front door of the house. It added to his annoyance that it wasn’t open, like they didn’t know he was coming. He was about to knock again when the door swung open, revealing the Maiden’s beautiful face.  

“Emrys,” she greeted him with a smile. Her sage green eyes, despite being fixed on him, were far away. “Just in time for some tea. Come in.” 

She took his arm and led him inside the house, which was not normal, at least by normal standards. At first glance, every inch of space was covered by mismatched furniture, colourful cushions and thick rugs. Pots upon pots of plants that had no business growing in this region, this season. Uncountable seashells and figurines, old records and board games. But as soon as he focused too much on one item, the others changed shape and colour, turned into something else. The room was always transforming, piece by piece, and watching it happen was maddening. 

Merlin had to walk gingerly around the holy chaos, yet nothing seemed to be under the Maiden’s feet. She walked him to the heavy wooden dining table with floral carving, and sat him down in one of the chairs. 

“I’ll only be a minute,” she told him, patting him on the head like he was her favourite pet, and went into the kitchen to join the Mother and the Crone.  

Merlin watched the three of them while they prepared the tea. They were all in their favourite white; the Mother’s long blonde curls were pinned back, the Crone’s dark locks in thin braids. There was no need for chatter, not the audible kind. They moved fluidly around each other, one picking up right where the other left off, as if—no, because they were one. The one almighty power in its three forms. Making tea. 

It was a lot more than a minute before the women joined him with four steaming cups, not that he could complain. 

“How nice of you to come visit, Emrys,” the Mother said as they all settled into seats across from him—three, where there were definitely just two before. 

“Thank you for having me, Mother,” Merlin accepted a cup—jasmine, very light—with a grateful smile. He took a delicate sip, then put the cup down. “So… what’s going on?” 

“Oh, just the usual,” the Maiden said. “We were discussing whether or not we have enough spaghetti for dinner.” 

Merlin was shaking his head before she had finished speaking. “No, no, what— is something happening?” 

“Lots.” The Crone tilted her head. “What are you referring to?” 

He ground his teeth. These three had a long list of annoying habits; testing patience and pretending not to know everything about everything were definitely at the top. No matter how great of a god you were, it was incredibly hard to get any information out of them—they could talk for hours without uttering a single useful word. Merlin was a minor deity, but he had hoped if the apocalypse was nigh, he’d at least qualify for a warning. 

“You know what.” Somehow Merlin managed not to sound petulant. “I met a mortal today.” 

“As per your duty.” the Maiden nodded.  

“For the second time.” 

“Possible.” The Mother shrugged. 

“And he remembered me!” 

“Did he, now?” the Crone said casually. 

“Yes! Which is not supposed to happen, is it?” Merlin cried, letting out all the hysteria he’d been suppressing. “Once I mark the mortals, they never see me again, not unless I initiate contact. And even then, they never remember me. So why could he? Could I not give him a mark?” 

All three of them fell quiet, gazes going distant, and Merlin had known them long enough to know that this was a sign of something major. Whether it was good or bad, however, he couldn’t make out from their deliberately blank faces. 

“What’s happening?” he prompted again when he saw no answer coming. “Is the veil not working? Are my powers failing? Please, just— anything. Anything you can tell me. I’m not asking you about the fate of the world. This concerns me directly, and I deserve to know, don’t—” 

“Emrys,” the three of them chided together, the rumbling voice of the Triple Goddess. 

Merlin shut up. 

“There is nothing to tell,” the Crone said coolly. A dismal. 

“Rest assured,” the Maiden added with a placating smile. Merlin knew it was her subtle way of hinting that everything was fine. She was the only one who was not cold-blooded. Most of the time. 

Merlin smiled back at her. Not because he was assured, but because there was little else he could do.  

At least he learned one thing from them today: he did not qualify for any apocalypse warnings.

The next time it happened, Merlin was less taken aback. Fractionally. 

At a small flower shop, he had just established that it wasn’t his powers that were failing. The girls outside were still squealing over how pretty their friend’s mark was, and Merlin was all but melting against the display shelves with relief of having retained his godhood. Sauntered in Arthur, once again in all his dressed-up glory. 

“Ah, if it isn’t Invisible Free Coffee Bloke.” 

“What?” Merlin said, then grimaced. They had such enlightening conversations, truly. Here was the one mortal he could talk to, and all he was doing was disgracing the gods. 

Going by his expression, Arthur had also deemed him too simple for a bit of wit. “Never got your name.” 

Right. That was something you had to do.  

Merlin’s interactions with mortals never lasted long enough to share his name. He was about to tell him, about to say ‘Emrys’, but there was a fair chance that Arthur would recognise it. He would recognise it and think him completely bonkers for calling himself the god of soulmates.  

So he used the name his mother gave him, the one he still clung onto. “Merlin.” 

“Merlin,” Arthur said, each syllable rolling off his tongue carefully.  

The simple sound was a revelation he hadn’t expected. It sent him back centuries in time, stripped away all his divinity. When was the last time he’d heard it? In his last moments, from his mother’s lips. No, that wasn’t right. In Emrys’ first moments, from the Mother’s mouth. 

When would the next be? 

“Well, Merlin,” Arthur said, and Merlin forced himself to breathe, “we have to stop meeting like this, or I’ll be inclined to think you’re stalking me.” 

If their last meetings had gone differently, Merlin would say Arthur was joking with him. 

“I could say the same about you,” he replied carefully. Arthur chuckled at that, and it made Merlin smile. Made him relax. This was just a mortal. “Somebody’s in a good mood today.” 

Arthur puffed out his chest importantly, looking around. “Well, they should be if it’s their birthday.” 

Merlin’s smile grew. He nodded at the array of flowers in front of them. “Treating yourself then?” 

“No, these are for my mother,” Arthur quietened. “Today also happens to be her death anniversary.” 

“Oh.” Oh, shit. There went his suave streak. “I’m so sorry.” 

Arthur shrugged, caressing a buttercup. “It’s been a long time.” 

Just like that, awkwardness reigned over them once again. Merlin studied the display, searching for an excuse to leave, or an excuse to stay. Thankfully, the florist came to their rescue just in time and Arthur placed his order—a small bouquet of paperwhites. 

“Her favourite?” Merlin asked softly. 

“So I’ve assumed.” Arthur did not elaborate, and Merlin did not prod. They watched the florist wrap the flowers in a white paper and tie up the arrangement with a lovely green ribbon.

“Well, then, Merlin. Guess I’ll be seeing you.” 

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, distracted by the reminder that mortals had a life outside of soulmarks. A great part of it, in fact. It struck him right as Arthur stepped out of the shop. “Arthur!” 

Arthur turned, one eyebrow raised.  Only after holding out the red carnation did Merlin realise that it was neither the most normal way to wish someone a happy birthday, nor very smart if he wanted Arthur to forget him. 

Their eyes flicked between the flower and each other’s faces. As bad as offering the flower was, Merlin knew taking it back would be worse manners. 

So he winced, but did not withdraw his hand. “Happy birthday.” 

Arthur stared at him for a few long moments. “You’re strange, you know that?” he said, and oh dear Mother, how would he forget Merlin if he kept looking at him like that? But he finally took it. “Thank you.” 

They would be seeing each other again, if Merlin didn’t figure this out soon. Could it be the fault of his anger the first time, and his shock the second, that the matches had failed? After all, his powers had worked fine on the girl just now. He made another attempt, this time with complete concentration. Should he succeed, Elena would make a good friend, if not a lover, to Arthur. 

All Merlin could do was wait and see.

As a rule, unmarked people were drawn to nightclubs like bees to honey. The places provided a quick, easy fix to their needs.  

They also provided a nice way to study said people. Which was why Merlin sat at the bar, watching them drink and dance. Not everyone here was going to leave with a mark, obviously, but he had found a couple of matches tonight. 

A glass clinked on the bartop beside him. “Hello, stranger.” 

He turned to find Arthur climbing on the next stool, and a tingle of excitement ran up his spine. Rumpled hair, loose tie, and rolled up sleeves was a good look on him. More skin exposed to him than ever before, yet no mark in sight. 

Merlin sighed internally, smiled. “Hey yourself.” 

Arthur tilted his head. “Do you live around here?” 

“Awfully bold of you.” Merlin narrowed his eyes in exaggerated suspicion. “Are you asking for stalking purposes?” 

“Who knows?” Arthur answered with a mischievous look. “It’s just… how come I keep running into you? Never saw you around before, but now you’re everywhere.” 

“Such is the nature of my job.” Being at multiple places at once was one of his complementary powers. How else was he supposed to meet so many people and give marks to them all? 

“Right. And what is it that you do?” 

Now that was a very good question. “I am a professional matchmaker,” Merlin said slowly, making up the words as he went. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “A professional matchmaker.” 

“Mhmm.” That was a real job, wasn’t it? 

“What does that entail?”  

“Er, you know.” Merlin waved his hands around. “Finding potential partners for my clients, introducing them, setting up dates—that sort of thing.” 

“Shouldn’t be getting a lot of clients, then? People have soulmarks for this.” 

Merlin chuckled. Soulmatches were glorious when they went right, but nothing involving humans was easy. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t believe in soulmates, or lose them too soon, or”—he ducked his head slightly—“have trouble finding them.” 

Arthur hummed in thought. “Fair.” They sipped their drinks in silence for a while. “So is this a business visit, or…?” 

“Recreational.” 

“By yourself?” 

Merlin shrugged. He was always by himself. “What about you? Looking for a match?” 

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “Just a few after work drinks.” 

He nodded in the direction of a booth, where a small group of similarly dressed people laughed and chatted over beers. A couple of them waved Arthur over. 

“You can join us if you want,” Arthur offered, climbing off his stool.  

Merlin would’ve loved to, if it wouldn’t be suspicious when none of them remembered him come tomorrow. Except Arthur, most likely. 

“How are you going to introduce me?” Merlin deflected, smirking. “‘Everyone, meet Merlin, the bloke who put me in my place.’” 

Arthur huffed indignantly. “It was hardly that!” 

“Oh, it definitely was that.” 

“If I hadn’t been on that call—” 

“The barista told me how you mistreat your employees. Said it was good that I stood up to you.” 

“What?! Why would she say that? I do not mistreat—” Catching Merlin’s silent laughter, Arthur cut himself off and shoved Merlin’s shoulder. “Shut up, Merlin.” 

There was a grin tugging at Arthur’s lips now, but his distress had been genuine, and told Merlin all about the type of boss he was. It was another point in his favour. 

Merlin smiled, jerking his head towards Arthur’s friends. “Go on, then.” 

Arthur raised his glass to him and dipped his head, walking off. Merlin watched the entire group turn to him as he reached them and settled down. They all hung onto his every word, sought his attention for themselves. It was plain that he was adored. 

Merlin opened his soulsight, looking for someone to match Arthur with. There was no shortage of possible mates, and he was sure there was no blunder on his part as he paired Sophia and Arthur. Yet he did not feel confident of success, not anymore. 

Then Arthur caught his gaze, and Merlin decided he’d stayed there long enough.

He wondered why he was still surprised to see Arthur jogging in a park one Sunday morning. It wasn’t the exercise—that physique had to come from somewhere, after all. Nor could it be that they were meeting again; Merlin didn’t understand what game the Triple Goddess was playing here, but she was toying with him for sure.  

Arthur didn’t spot him straight away, hidden in the shadows of an oak as Merlin was, knees pulled up and face half-buried in a book. His hair flopped up and down as he jogged, heavy with perspiration. Once again, he had on those damned airpods. His long-sleeved T-shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and chest. He also wore a pair of shorts, the muscles of his legs clenching and unclenching under the expanse of skin with every step.  

His decidedly unmarked skin, Merlin noted after plentiful examination. 

He bit the inside of his cheek and raised the book higher in front of himself. And if he refused to play along with the Goddess, what then? 

The tentative hope of having eluded Arthur that two pages of peaceful reading had given him was dashed when Merlin looked up and found Arthur mere yards away, approaching. There was no point in turning a blind eye now, so he didn’t. 

Arthur spread his arms. “Everywhere, see?” 

Merlin shrugged, lips quirking up in spite of himself. “Maybe I am stalking you.”  

Arthur gave a soft snort and dropped to the ground. He spread himself across the grass, not five feet from Merlin, and closed his eyes. His chest heaved as he let the cool air soothe the burn in his muscles. Refraining from engaging further, Merlin returned to his book. 

“You’re not actually reading Aurora Tate.” Merlin looked up at the comment; Arthur pointed with his chin. “That book. It’s the one you bought that day, isn’t it?”

It indeed was. Frowning, Merlin closed it to inspect the cover. The writing had room for improvement, the plot cliché, but overall it wasn’t bad enough to warrant the derision in Arthur’s voice. “What’s wrong with Tate?” 

Arthur laughed, his mouth forming words that he fought down. In the end, he simply shook his head and raised his hands in surrender. “Nothing.” 

“There’s something.” Merlin was hooked. Was there some human world lore associated with this piece? Because if so— “Go on, tell me.” 

“No offence to the author. Or the reader,” Arthur added, raising himself on an elbow. “But that is a corny, young-adult romance. This girl is so desperate for her soulmate she goes across the country looking for him—” 

“Sounds like you’ve read it.” 

“I haven’t. I only know because a friend of mine talks about it constantly.” Merlin hummed, pretending not to buy it. Arthur didn’t rise to the bait. “As I was saying, just when she gets over her obsession and falls in love with someone else, it turns out that guy is her soulmate!”  

Merlin tilted his head. That sounded like a perfect happy ending to him, although spoiled now. “Not really seeing the problem here.” 

“The problem is, what were all those life lessons, all that character development for, if she only got to live it for a grand total of one minute?” Arthur had thought about this. “Stories like these reinforce the idea that if you haven’t found your mate or at least got your mark by a certain age, you’re— it’s treated like a great misfortune or a failing on your part. As if there’s a test of maturity you must pass to be worthy of unconditional love. Come on, Merlin, out of all the titles there were to choose from.” 

Arthur had thought about this a lot, and was now compelling Merlin to do the same. He crossed his legs and sat forward. “Well, for starters, just because she found her soulmate does not mean she would forget everything she learnt during her journey! And second, people don’t— do they really think of soulmarks that way?” 

Arthur shot him a strange look, as if he didn’t understand how Merlin could’ve missed it. “Plenty of them do.” 

He hadn’t intended for it, but in retrospect, Merlin could see how this notion had formed. Could see the consequences of it in the man in front of him. “You haven’t found your soulmate yet, have you.” 

Arthur looked away for a moment, and it was answer enough, had Merlin needed one. “Have you?” he countered. 

Merlin’s eyes flicked to his wrist and back up. He chewed on his lip, humming in denial. 

“Even so,” Arthur said after a pause, “I don’t see the point in chasing it like that. It’ll happen when it’ll happen.” 

“Maybe,” Merlin replied, knowing someone like Arthur couldn’t afford the wait. It could get long. “Although personally, I’m with Tate on this one.” 

“Oh, Goddess, of course you are a hopeless romantic,” Arthur rolled his eyes, flopping back down. “A bloody matchmaker, with some sort of obsession with soulmarks.” 

Though Merlin cringed a little inside—evidently his bout of lunacy hadn’t been forgotten—he couldn’t help but grin at Arthur’s teasing, who grinned back. 

Arthur shut his eyes again, and Merlin went back to reading. But repeatedly, he could make it no further than a paragraph before his gaze was drawn back to Arthur. And with no good reason, unlike before. The flush of exertion had receded from his face. He was rotating his feet, clockwise, counter-clockwise, in no definite pattern. A content smile sat on his lips. 

Merlin made himself look away, look around, get it together. 

Kids were chasing each other across the park, and so were a pair of small butterflies over a patch of wildflowers. A triad of elderly friends walked the track, deep in discussion. On a picnic table sat a young couple, working quietly on separate laptops and sharing a large coffee, their legs hooked at the ankles. 

It was everywhere, companionship, and in that moment, it inexplicably knocked the breath out of him. 

No, no, it wasn’t that it was everywhere; it had always been everywhere. It was because now it was here, laying within reach, with the sun on his brow and grass blades between his fingers. 

They weren’t close enough for it, and yet Merlin felt a warmth that, he had reason to believe, came from Arthur. From being recognised, and recognising. From discussing book tropes, so blessedly mundane, and soulmarks, for once as a simple recipient of them. It felt natural, satisfying… human.  

It shouldn’t. 

Merlin excused himself soon after, leaving Arthur with another mark and no better hope of a match.

“Well, well, well,” came Arthur’s smug voice when he found Merlin in the Albionian again. “Look who’s back.” 

Merlin’s heart jumped. Nothing, it seemed, could quell the excitement of meeting Arthur. Anytime Merlin was in London, he looked forward to running into him. 

He was no closer to finding out why Arthur was the only exception to the norm, despite so much time, so many tries. But as soon as Arthur was in sight, all that worry vanished. The encounter became an end in itself, the company his sole focus of attention. 

Perhaps looking forward was an understatement. His eyes now sought out that increasingly familiar face in crowds. His ears strained for a witty remark or the sound of his own name before he caught himself. He made mental notes of things he wanted to ask about, incidents he wanted to share, and jokes he knew would be appreciated.  

“Never said that I wouldn’t be. The coffee is too good,” Merlin admitted, turning to him. 

“Hmm.” Arthur grew smugger; Merlin could tell no matter how hard Arthur bit back his smile. “But I’d heard you had some pretty bad experiences at this place.” 

“Oh, yes. Had a run-in with their boss once, turns out he’s a bit of a pompous prat.” 

“Still think I’m arrogant?” Arthur asked, looking away, and there was a note of insecurity in his voice. 

Merlin paused, considered. “No,” he allowed, “more of a… supercilious buffoon.” 

Arthur’s gaze snapped back to him, surprised, as though he had expected Merlin to be nicer. Merlin thought of him far more flatteringly, but he wouldn’t admit it to him.  

Some, if not all of that sincerity, must’ve been visible on his face, which reduced Arthur’s hurt to a huff. “Just for that, no more wonderful coffee for you.” 

And yet, before Merlin could protest the injustice of it, Arthur went and bought him a cup. 

“Arthur!” Merlin groaned. “I’ve told you, free coffee won’t win me.” 

He hummed. “Maybe one won’t.” 

The implication made Merlin splutter out a laugh. “No, you can’t— you absolute prat, you won’t bribe me into changing my mind.” 

Except Arthur could, and he knew it. “Shut up and drink your coffee, Merlin.” 

Merlin had known, on a rational level, that he was lonely. The momentary interactions with mortals did next to nothing to alleviate it, and he only ever met the other deities once in a blue moon. Arthur’s unexpected friendship had brought that loneliness into sharp relief, but also soothed it. Merlin hadn’t realised how big the void inside him had grown until Arthur started filling it, inch by inch. Hadn’t realised he’d been craving until he got to indulge. 

It occurred to him once, and since then often, to wonder whether it was Arthur in particular or just the prolonged presence of another that was affecting him so strongly. He might not understand this anomaly, even dread it at times, but either way, he would relish in it as long as it lasted.  

Besides, there had been no apocalypse yet, so.

That was not to say that the gravity of the situation did not hit him with equal severity. 

It was on Arthur’s insistence that they graduated from chance encounters to planned meet-ups. He’d asked for Merlin’s phone one day—which Merlin was sure would be the point the Goddess intervened and put an end to this; instead, he’d found a cool weight in his pocket that hadn’t been there before—and thumbed his number into it. Merlin had to take a rain check on some plans, if only to keep up the pretence of a job, but mostly he gave into Arthur’s pull with little resistance. 

Their rendezvous points included museums, pubs, and more often than not, the Albionian branch nearest to Arthur’s office building, where Merlin was treated to as many free coffees as he liked. Merlin teased Arthur, Arthur retaliated more and more frequently with horseplay, and they couldn’t quite stop smiling.

The trouble lay in Arthur’s questions—and he kept asking questions, general, innocent ones, but those that forced Merlin to weave himself tighter into his web of lies. With every conversation, Merlin added another piece to a life he didn’t have. It was a little sad how easy it was to do; he lacked no inspiration, having witnessed eras of the city and generations of its people go by, and his wistful imagination ran wild at the drop of a hat. 

Merlin whined to Arthur about his fake job, shared anecdotes about the people he met, told him of his made-up old friends and how they didn’t see each other enough. He borrowed incidents from strangers’ lives, from college parties to friends’ weddings. The one time he nearly got hit by a car, the stray kitten he’d once saved. His favourite Thai place and the gym he never went back to. 

But sometimes he would slip, and say something true. Something that had been true a long, long time ago. Merlin told Arthur that he lived with his mother on the outskirts of the city. That he’d never seen his father, it had always been just the two of them. 

How could he not, when he was rewarded with getting to know Arthur? 

Merlin had forgotten how many intricate details of a person got overlooked with his sight. Arthur, he got to know deliciously slowly. He liked to notice the way Arthur chose and enunciated his words, and gesticulated sometimes. Merlin picked the precious bits of him scattered in everyday conversations—his rather strong opinions on the monarchy and modern advertisement techniques. Things that worried him, excited him, upset him. 

Sometimes Arthur shared voluntarily. He talked to Merlin about his parents once—they had been soulmates; his mother had died in childbirth and losing her had completely crushed his father—but they never revisited that topic.  

What Arthur liked to talk about were his business and various side projects, his dreams and aspirations. He was dedicated to the Albionian, the company his father had built from scratch, but to him profit of the company was a means to an end. His real goal was to help as many people as he could, in all the ways he could. It was delightful to see all the little things that made Arthur the man Merlin’s sight had shown him to be. 

Merlin concluded, sitting in a movie theatre, that it was Arthur.  

It was the longest that he’d ever stayed at one place among the mortals. He could almost pretend that he was one of them, simply enjoying three hours away from their busy lives. To his left, Arthur was explaining the context and the references in the movie in low whispers, words that meant nothing to Merlin. A few people had given them annoyed looks, but Arthur had ignored them, scandalised that Merlin didn’t know the legendary feats of John Wick, and determined to remedy it. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t Arthur’s words Merlin was paying attention to. It was all the different ways Arthur’s face glowed in all the multicoloured lights of the screen. It was the shape of his eyes, the glares that he shot towards the man who kept using his phone. It was each time he licked his lips before starting to speak. It was the pokes and nudges he kept giving Merlin to get his attention, and his breath that occasionally licked Merlin’s ear. 

It was most definitely Arthur who was affecting him. This fluke in his fate wouldn’t have been the same, had it happened with anyone other than Arthur. 

They both seemed to realise it at the same time, how close their faces were, that Merlin had been shamelessly gazing. Arthur trailed off mid-whisper, his eyes flicking down to Merlin’s mouth. Involuntarily, Merlin did the same. It would be so easy, so very natural to— 

And then he sprang back. 

Merlin stared unseeingly at the screen, clutching the arms of the seat. What the fuck was he doing? He could pretend all he wanted, but this sweet little life story he was playing at would never come true. It would shatter as soon as Arthur left. Even after knowing better than to fall for a dream, here he was, yearning for yet another impossible thing. 

They were both in their heads for the rest of the movie. And when they parted, Merlin had never been so conflicted about using his powers, about fulfilling his duties. Should it work, it would mean never meeting Arthur again. Arthur forgetting about him, settling down with someone who could be with him in ways Merlin couldn’t. 

Which was how it was supposed to be, but… 

Merlin was realising why the gods didn’t mingle with mortals. He was too weak, and this had gone on too long. Now he was in a free fall, waiting to crash.

He wasn’t sure what he expected to happen next, but Arthur calling to casually invite him to an art exhibit not a week later was not high on the list. It seemed like Arthur was determined not to let that moment cast the current one in awkwardness. Merlin gladly played along. 

They roamed the exhibit, acting as they generally would and steadfastly ignoring the elephant in the room. It worked wonders too; Merlin was just shy of forgetting something inapt had ever occurred. He let himself enjoy, and when Arthur asked him to come over to his flat for a drink, Merlin had no defensible reason left to say no. 

Arthur beamed when Merlin accepted, which effectively put paid to all his remaining hesitation and potential unease. They walked to his apartment, shoulders brushing. Shed their jackets in the hallway, grabbed a couple of beers and stepped out onto the balcony. They were still discussing the pieces and themes from the exhibit, a fairly normal conversation. And yet, now that they were alone, the atmosphere felt charged. It felt as though there was an elastic stretched taut between them; Merlin would either break it or be forced to let go, either way hurting Arthur. 

Inevitably, they ran out of things to say about colour choices and possible interpretations. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Arthur said after several minutes of quiet, scratching the label of his beer. “I’ve always been so sure I’d meet my soulmate. I’ve rowed with people who tried setting me up with someone.” 

Merlin’s smile grew heavy. “Arthur.” 

“But I’m nearing thirty,” he continued, “and I’m thinking maybe everyone was right. I don’t think they’re coming. I don’t care if they do, anymore, I—” 

And wasn’t Arthur losing faith the most painful thing he’d ever heard? “Arthur.” 

“Merlin.” Arthur turned to him, and the look in his eyes— Merlin knew that look very well. It was the look of longing, of resigned heartbreak. He’d seen it on too many faces; he’d been the cause a lot of times.  

Never had he hated it more. 

“I need to tell you something,” Arthur said, taking Merlin’s hand and keeping his gaze trained on it. “I should’ve told you this before, and I’m sorry I didn’t, but— it doesn’t matter either way.” Then he looked up, met Merlin’s eyes. “I have a soulmark.” 

The four words brought the world and Merlin’s heart to a halt.  

“What?” he breathed. 

“I know you don’t,” Arthur went on, “and that you’re waiting for it, for your soulmate. But Merlin”—he stepped closer, like he couldn’t bear the distance—“I can’t imagine liking anyone more than I like—” 

But Merlin was barely listening. “No, that’s not possible.” He shook his head. “You can’t have a— but I haven’t—” 

“I do, I’ve had it for as long as I can remember,” Arthur said, sounding sheepish. “But maybe if we can work around—” 

“Show me,” Merlin demanded. “Show me your mark.” 

“I feel like you aren’t listening to what I’m trying to say,” Arthur tried to joke weakly. Haltingly, he pulled up his shirt from the side, revealing his hip bone, and Merlin’s heart lurched to his throat. “Very cliche, I know—”

The next instant, Merlin found himself in front of the Goddess’ residence, and rushed to the door on shaky legs. It was open this time, and the Triple Goddess sat on the couch, clearly waiting for him to arrive. Merlin stumbled inside, over to them, and collapsed at their feet. 

“I found him,” he choked out. “He’s— Arthur— I found him.” 

That was the last coherent sentence out of him, before he broke down into sobs and gibberish. Arthur’s mark was burned into the backs of his eyes—a pair of outstretched dragon wings, sitting just above his hip bone. It was the same design that used to adorn Merlin’s wrist, back when he was a mortal. It was their mark.

They were soulmates. 

It took some long minutes and the Maiden’s gentle hand on his shoulder to calm him down. She smiled at him. “You found him.” 

Finally. Merlin chuckled wetly, wiping the tears and snot off his face. 

“I am happy for you, Emrys,” the Mother said, and when Merlin kept staring at her expectantly, she added, “Anything else you wanted to share?” 

Of course. Why would they make anything easy for him? “My mark,” he croaked out, cleared his throat and tried again. “Mother, may I have my mark back now?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Your mark.” 

Merlin nodded eagerly, thrusting out his wrist. “The one I lost when you took me into service. I need to— I would like to show it to Arthur.” 

Arthur needed to know that Merlin hadn’t failed. That they both could have everything they wanted. 

“Emrys.” Her smile dropped, something like pity filling her eyes. “There is no match between you, if that’s what you’re hoping for. You are a god, while he is a mere mortal.” 

Blood drained from his face. “No, no, please. There must be some way we can— Mother, please. One last blessing, is all I ask. You’ve been so kind, so generous to me, Mother, and I’ve devoted everything I had to you—” 

“Do you think me a fool, child?” the Crone snapped. “Tell me, has not your service to me been selfish? A way for you to extend your time among the mortals, for a chance to find your mate?” 

Merlin hung his head, cheeks burning. 

“But we… Arthur—” 

“Arthur can find someone easily enough,” the Mother said. “And before long, he will be gone. Do not worry about him.” 

Her tone was soothing, although her words were anything but. Arthur wouldn’t want to find someone. He might deny it all he wanted, but he was a hopeless romantic as well. He had waited all his life for his soulmate, for Merlin. Just as Merlin had waited for him. And the last thing Merlin wanted was to think about him being gone; as it was, they had precious few years left that they could spend together. 

“If we are not to be, then why did you give him my mark? Why did you have us meet? Again and again and again!” he cried, frustration bubbling at the unfairness of it all. 

The Crone glared at the Maiden, who just shrugged. “Such is the way soulmarks work, I’m afraid.” 

“Anything,” Merlin turned to her, the only one he knew to have a lick of sympathy for him. “Please, I’ll do anything for my mark.” 

The Mother grew stern. “Marks are for mortals.” 

“Then make me one!”  

Merlin felt as weak with the admission as the Goddess looked shocked. Maybe they had been wrong, maybe he’d never been cut out to be a god. At his core, he’d always been a human. He would always be human.

“Make me one,” he begged, slumped and exhausted, the fight leaving him. “I’m tired. I’m sorry. I do not want to be a god anymore.” 

The Crone remained impassive. “You do not get to abuse your gift, and simply throw it away once it has served your purpose.” 

“What my sisters are trying to say,” the Maiden said more gently, “is that you were chosen for a reason, Emrys, and the work you do is vital. Don’t you think?” 

As Merlin processed her words, he was unable to help the blooming hope. “And if I find you someone?” he asked. “I will find someone worthy of your blessing, better than me. Emrys doesn’t have to stop existing. I beg you, just… he is my soulmate. I have waited centuries for him, I admit it. Please, let me be with Arthur.” 

The Mother gave a heavy sigh and sat forward. “You do realise that the reason you’re here in the first place is because your days as a mortal are long over? There is no life for you to return to.”

It was something he could see no way around. He had breathed his last; the only thing sustaining him now was the Goddess’ power. He possessed nothing he could stake for a chance with Arthur; and with the Goddess, if he gave nothing, he got nothing.  

Merlin couldn’t even give them an answer. The Maiden turned to face the Mother, and so did the Crone. Their faces gave no sign of the ensuing discussion, which seemed to go on forever, but when they turned back to him, there was the slightest hint of a smile on the Maiden’s lips. 

“Until the winter solstice,” she declared. “That’s all the time we can give you on Earth. Should you fail in your quest, you will have lost not only your godhood, but also your life.” 

Death, true and ultimate. Merlin swallowed, nodded. “I understand.” 

“And this is your final choice?” the Crone asked, disappointment leaking from her eyes. 

He did not hesitate. “Yes.” 

“Very well,” The Triple Goddess said, drawing to their full heights. Their eyes, all focused on him, turned golden.

Merlin’s death had been slow; of being revived he remembered nothing. Rebirthed was quick and painful. His body strained as the holy power left him, and he feared he might disintegrate.

Then it was over. His head spun and his breaths weren’t quite filling his lungs. He felt cold and heavy, and there was a tingle under his skin. When he dared raise his eyes, the room seemed to be uncharacteristically frozen. The Goddess looked like any ordinary women.

Merlin brought up his hand, and nearly started crying again. It had been impossibly long since he’d seen it—a pair of dragon wings wrapped around his wrist, identical to Arthur’s. He cradled it close to his chest. 

“Thank you,” he said, grateful and sincere beyond words. “Thank you so much.”

They seemed to understand anyway. The Maiden gave him a lovely smile. “Goodbye, Merlin.”

The Crone got up and left. 

Merlin looked to the Mother; she was watching him. For a minute they stared at each other. 

“Er, you might have to”—he made a magic gesture—“you know. Can’t do it myself now.” 

“Oh, right. Of course,” the Mother said. Her eyes glowed golden once more, and everything turned blinding white.

Merlin returned to the same spot from where he’d left—Arthur’s balcony. Except Arthur wasn’t here now. 

There was a crash from inside, and Merlin turned to find Arthur brandishing a beer bottle at him.

“What the fuck!” His hair was mussed up like he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyes were crazed. It was completely understandable. “Don’t— don’t move. Stay away from me.” 

Merlin held up his hands in surrender. “Arthur, calm down. It’s me, it’s just me.”

“You— you disappeared!”

“I know, I panicked, I’m sorry. But I swear I can explain.”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “You can explain.”

“Yes. Put down the—” Merlin walked to him carefully, plucked the bottle out of his hand and put it away. “Sweet Maiden, you could’ve hurt someone.”

Arthur didn’t look like he was listening. He placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, gingerly at first, then squeezed and shook him, as if to test if he was really there. His breathing started to calm. “Fuck’s sake, Merlin, I thought I’d gone mad. Thought I’d dreamt you up.” 

“Arthur—” 

But Arthur pulled away, pointed a finger at him. “No, no, no. Explain.”

So Merlin did. He told him the story of a boy, born to a single mother, born with the rare blessing of the Maiden’s mark on his wrist. Told him of the boy's fondness for the mark, of his excitement to meet his soulmate. Told him about his despair when he had to leave the world before his mark had fulfilled its purpose.

But the Goddess was gracious to him, Merlin continued, because she gave him the rarest of gifts, even rarer than the mark—godhood. The Goddess was kind, and the boy was greedy with hope. He agreed, not knowing it would mean losing his mark, roaming the world like a spirit with unfinished business.

It was a long, long wait before anything worthwhile happened. Long enough for him to have lost hope tens of times over. Long enough for the blessing to seem a curse—giving to others, for evermore, the one thing he couldn’t have.

The Crone must’ve liked the poeticness of it.

Halfway through the tale, Arthur had staggered to the couch and plopped down. He studied Merlin, processing everything he’d just heard. “So you’re Emrys.” 

“Was,” Merlin corrected. Just your Merlin now.

“Right. You were.” Arthur nodded to himself, dropping his eyes to his fidgeting fingers. 

Merlin walked to Arthur, kneeled between his legs and sought his gaze. “You’re taking this better than I expected.” 

“I just saw you disappear and appear out of thin fucking air,” Arthur deadpanned. “It’s not like I have an option.”

Merlin breathed out a laugh, ducking his head. “That’s fair.”

“Explains a lot, actually,” Arthur said, half talking to himself. “I could’ve sworn your eyes glowed sometimes. And why nobody seemed to remember you.” His eyes sharpened, focusing on Merlin. “How you were stalking me.”

Merlin chuckled again. “That wasn’t me, that was just…” he turned his hand, presenting his wrist. “This.” 

Arthur’s mouth went slack. He brought up his own hand and swiped a thumb over the mark, almost reverent. Merlin watched, as intently as he could, the same scene he used to imagine all those years ago finally, finally playing out in real life. 

Arthur’s other hand finding his cheek made Merlin look up. “Fucking hell,” he whispered, awed. “You were a god.”

Fora moment, he leaned down as if to kiss Merlin, and Merlin got on his knees to receive it, but Arthur paused midway.

“But then what about everyone else? If you’re here, who will give people their soulmarks?”

Merlin sat back down, and told him of the arrangement as well. There was a little over a month till the solstice. It wasn’t much, and human limitations became more and more apparent the longer he thought about it. But Merlin had some potential candidates in mind. He knew the Goddess’ type.

“Oh.” Arthur was, unsurprisingly, not too enthused, but he made a valiant effort to hide it. “Well, we’ll find someone. Wouldn’t want to be the reason no one—”

“Bloody hell, Arthur,” Merlin said, not wanting to think about the chances and consequences of failure at the moment. About anything that wasn’t Arthur. “Would you shut up and kiss me, already? Because if I have to wait another second, by the Mother, I will—”

Arthur let out a startled laugh that ended against Merlin’s lips, as he leaned down and did as he was bid. Merlin arched up into the kiss, and tried his best not to break it while clumsily clambering up to Arthur’s lap. He wanted everything he’d longed for in his arms, closer and closer until they were one.

But Arthur pulled away, all too soon. “I’ll make it up to you,” he said, eyes wide and sincere, “I promise. I’ll be worth the wait.”

“Oh, love.” Merlin cupped Arthur’s cheek, felt something in his chest come alive after a long, long time. “You already are.”