Arthur Rasa [Pendragon]

he played along and let him continue following him, but when that branch whacked him in the face it took all his soul not to burst out laughing in his face. turning to find him hanging out in the bush, peter locked eyes with him "you know you could've just asked" he answered. this guy wasn't a pirate, he was a dumbdumb in a bush. "not that you wanted to but you were. compelled to follow me by my charming good looks? that happens a lot" he grinned, hands on his hips. "the names peter. peter pan"

"That is not— I was not..." Arthur sputtered over his own words, stumbling as though his tongue had suddenly forgotten how to cooperate with him. He straightened himself up with what little dignity he could salvage, dusting imaginary dirt from his sleeves as if that alone could restore his composure. "Okay, you are good looking, but that is beside the point!" he finally blurted out in defeat.

Unfortunately, the second his eyes lifted back toward Peter, whatever confidence he had managed to gather immediately abandoned him again.

A violent blush spread across his face so quickly it almost looked painful. Fierce red climbed from the tips of his ears down his neck, deep enough to put lobsters to shame— though Arthur himself had never actually eaten lobster before. Tomatoes would not compare either. If anything, he looked moments away from bursting into flames entirely.

His hands awkwardly clasped behind his back as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, suddenly finding the ground incredibly fascinating.

"Hello, Peter Pan," he said at last, forcing himself to sound somewhat normal, though his voice still cracked traitorously in the middle of the sentence. "I am Arthur Rasa..." He hesitated, swallowing hard before continuing. "I, uhm..."

Arthur glanced away for only a moment before looking back at him with cautious curiosity. "I was wondering if Tina Bell was your girlfriend...?"

The argumentative part of her wanted to say that she was perfectly fine to walk home alone, she did it all the time, but now wasn't the time of place for that.

But she didn't.

Instead, she said: "Okay, good."

And a final "I love you", heard from both but barely received before the phone line went dead.

Tina tried not to think about it, so she turned her attention fully to Arthur instead. "I hope you're good at making beds," she stated, suddenly appearing as chipper as a holiday camp councillor. "Because I just got you a job. And somewhere to sleep."

“A JOB!!!!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, loud enough that two pedestrians turned to stare and an old woman across the road frowned at him. Before shame, manners, or logic could catch up, Arthur threw himself forward and wrapped Tina in a crushing hug right there outside the hotel entrance. “Thank you, thank you, thank youuuuuuu!” he babbled, nearly bouncing on his feet as he held onto her. “Thank you so much! Thank you!” He did not let go. Not immediately, anyway. He seemed so overwhelmed that the concept of releasing another human being after a socially acceptable number of seconds had completely left his brain. He just stood there hugging her in the middle of the pavement, grinning like someone who had won the lottery. His thoughts were spiraling wildly. He could buy food. Proper food. Enough food. He could pay for water whenever he was thirsty instead of stretching every coin until it screamed. He could buy clothes that actually fit him, instead of wearing things two sizes too small or too worn out to matter. Maybe even shoes without holes. Maybe soap. Maybe shampoo. Maybe something warm for winter. And maybe—just maybe—he could even go to the gym one day. Put some weight on. Build some strength. Stop looking so pale, frail, and hollow every time he caught sight of himself in a window. Maybe things were changing. Maybe life was finally giving him one good turn. Arthur finally loosened his grip and looked at Tina with shining eyes, his smile enormous and trembling with disbelief. People were still glancing at them as they passed, but he did not care in the slightest.

There was no way that was a serious question.

Tina took a moment to look at Arthur very closely. She was surprisingly good at reading people when it counted, despite what evidence might suggest. It came in handy when she needed to manipulate her way out of a situation. It also came in handy when she was feeling up to mischief.

Arthur showed no signs of asking his question as a joke, or to wind her up. That very much would have been something that she would have done.

Now, her concern was how she was going to train someone with the common sense of a pheasant on a country road, dawdling in front of an oncoming car.

"I meant don't stare at the guests," she replied when she was able to stop herself from saying what she really wanted to say. "Not look at the floor. You'll freak them out if you stare at them the way you were staring at the wall and then they won't come back. You still have to look at them. No one's gonna make you look at the floor."

She sighed, moving behind the desk to get a notebook, a pen, and a ring of keys.

"Anyway, we'll start with a tour of where you're allowed to go and where everything is."

“Alright, let’s go!” he said with renewed enthusiasm.

Truth be told, curiosity had already gotten the better of him. He wanted to see these themed hotel rooms people kept talking about. His own room had been plain and modest enough—dark wooden furniture, heavy curtains, neat corners, and a large mirror mounted against the wall that he did his best to avoid.

He had made the mistake of looking into it once.

What stared back at him had unsettled him more than he cared to admit: pale skin stretched too thin, sharp bones beneath it, shoulders narrower than he remembered, eyes sunken from exhaustion. Frail. Skinny. Almost ghostlike. He had stood there for several long moments wondering if he had always looked that way and simply never known. Outside of a wavering reflection in puddles or the shimmer of water, he had rarely seen himself clearly before. Not like that. Not with every hollow cheek and tired line made impossible to ignore. Since then, he preferred not to look.

So stepping into another room now, something brighter and grander, was a welcome distraction.

The moment they entered, Arthur’s eyes widened. The place was far larger than he expected, polished and extravagant in a way that made him feel as though he ought to wipe his shoes before daring to step farther inside. Then his gaze landed on the beds.

Huge.

Absolutely enormous.

He stopped dead in his tracks and gulped audibly. Those weren’t beds, they were ships with blankets. Mountains of mattress and linen. He was fairly certain one of them alone was bigger than every place he had slept in over the last month combined.

How in heaven’s name was he supposed to make those?

His mind immediately pictured himself wrestling with sheets the size of sails, getting tangled in blankets, disappearing beneath pillows, perhaps never to be seen again. He glanced from one bed to the other as if they might personally challenge him.

“That must be queen sized…” he muttered to himself, then shook his head quickly. “No—king size even.”

Arthur turned to Tina with a mixture of awe and dread written plainly across his face. He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, then pointed helplessly toward the monstrous bedding.

When he brought up Psychology class, she smiled. "Depends, if you saw a cute blonde with her hair up, in a polkadot shirt, then yes, that was me, but if you saw a blonde dressed down in sweatpants, nope, definitely not me..." Obviously she was joking, but depending on the day he'd gone, he may have caught her on one of her more "down" days, where she didn't feel like dressing up.

As his gaze drifted toward the newly formed couple, now standing a little closer than before and smiling in that shy, glowing sort of way, something warm and aching twisted in his chest. Envy, perhaps, though a soft kind of envy. Not bitter. More like longing. Maybe someday, he thought, he too would know what it felt like to have someone look at him like that. Maybe one day there would be a person who chose him without hesitation.

"Yeah, it was the polkadot shirt!" he exclaimed suddenly, the excitement bursting out of him before he could stop it.

The words rang louder than he intended, and his whole posture crumpled a little in embarrassment. His voice dropped at once, shoulders drawing inward as if to make himself smaller.

"Sorry... I need to learn how to use my inside voice."

His fingers slid to the edge of the table, resting there lightly. At his old place, if he got too loud, too cheerful, too noticeable, there had always been consequences waiting for him. A sharp hand slammed beside his own. A glare. A punishment. Nothing pleasant ever followed taking up too much space. Even now, long after, the memory lived in his bones.

Still, he tried to smile again, gentler this time.

"I do love people," he said, softer now, eyes dropping to his hands before lifting again. "The way they think, the way their minds work. Everyone carries around these little worlds inside of them, and I think that's beautiful."

He paused, warming to the thought as he spoke.

"And love... love sometimes just needs a hand. People get scared, or stubborn, or they misunderstand each other. Sometimes they need someone to point out what's right in front of them." He gave a small shrug, almost bashful. "So if I can help bring two people together... or help them let go and move on from someone who wasn't right for them... that seems like a dream job to me."

A brighter smile touched his lips then, sincere and hopeful.

Only now did he understand just how frozen he had been.

Well, it was miserable weather out there. Bitter, biting cold that slipped through worn clothes and settled in the bones. He had spent the night on a park bench until the wind became too much, then later curled up inside a discarded cardboard box he had found near an alley. It had smelled damp and old, but it blocked the wind well enough. Anything was better than nothing at all.

He kept his hands wrapped around the glass in front of him, even if it held nothing warm, just to hold onto the feeling of sitting somewhere safe.

“I… uhm… can’t afford anything but tap water, so if I got thirsty, I ordered just that,” he whispered softly. His voice was quiet enough that it nearly disappeared beneath the hum of the café. Shame tugged at every word, making him lower his gaze to the table. “So water is fine… I don’t really need much.”

That last part was said like something he had repeated to himself many times before. A practiced lie meant to make hunger easier and want feel smaller.

Arthur shifted in his seat, shoulders drawn in as though trying to take up less space. His fingers tightened around the glass before he glanced up again.

“Uhm… Toulouse, may I ask you something?”

He bit his lip, thinking over the question carefully before daring to speak it aloud. His brows furrowed with the effort, as if choosing the right words might somehow make them less embarrassing.

“Why are you willing to waste money on a stranger?” he asked at last, voice hesitant and fragile. “I-I’m grateful, of course. Truly grateful. But I wondered if… if you’d like something in return?”

He swallowed hard and hurried on before the silence could answer for him.

“I could clean something, maybe. Sweep floors, wash dishes, carry bags… I’m stronger than I look, I think.” A nervous, fleeting smile touched his lips before vanishing again. “Or I could just leave after, if that’s easier. I only mean… people usually expect something.”

The final sentence came out barely above a breath.

Sofia had never been to the Neverland Hotel --not inside it, at least. She liked the building, and would sometimes stop outside of it to admire the architecture: but she was usually far too busy to get distracted with such things, when there were groceries to buy and chores to get done.

That day, however, she had some free time. She had spent her morning reading at the park, had a light lunch at Third Street, and was now taking her bike down the street and mentally doing the math to know if she could head over to the Redwood Hollow Nature Reserve for a nice walk, before she needed to hurry and get back to the Orchard House to begin to prepare dinner. And this seemed like a good plan, when she noticed a young man, someone she didn't remember ever seeing before in town, coming out of a back door of the hotel, and taking out the trash.

"Um... Do you need any help?" Sofia offered, approaching him. It was obvious that he had way too many bags to throw out, and she knew it could give some trouble if the bags weren't strong enough.

“N-no, no, miss,” he stammered, clutching the bags a little tighter as if that alone might keep everything under control. “I cannot ask you to help—I wouldn’t want your dress to get dirty.”

There was a hint of stubborn pride in the way he said it, even if his voice betrayed him. Before she could insist, he hurried off toward the bin, determined to prove he could manage perfectly well on his own.

The first two bags went in without much trouble, landing with dull thuds. Arthur let out a quiet breath of relief, already thinking he had this handled. But as he hoisted the third bag, his grip slipped just slightly—just enough.

The fabric gave way with a loud rip.

For a split second, time seemed to pause. Then the contents spilled out in a cascade of grimy sheets and who-knows-what-else, draping over him like some foul-smelling avalanche. Dust and dirt clung to his clothes, his hair—his face.

Arthur froze, staring down at himself in disbelief.

He noticed the fidgeting, but didn't comment on it. The last thing Toulouse wanted to do was make him uncomfortable. This was suppose to be a gentle and friendly introduction. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he'd gone through something traumatic too, recently, though he supposed that being homeless was enough to cause all of this stress.

The story about the boy's last name was rather sad. Especially considering the meaning, but even still, Toulouse kept a friendly smile on his face while he spoke; a gesture of kindness. "That's okay, Arthur is just fine," he nodded. "That's your name, after all. Not a default one." Even if the man was an orphan, at one point, someone had loved him enough to give him a first name. "Come on, then. Follow me." Toulouse began to lead him down the street toward the Enchanted Rose Cafe, where they could get something warm to eat and drink, and get out of the cold for a bit.

Still, Arthur had managed. He was clever like that—quietly picking things up, teaching himself in bits and pieces. Math, especially, had always made sense to him. Numbers didn’t lie or disappear on you. They stayed where you put them.

“Yeah—” he started, then stumbled over himself, suddenly aware of how he must sound. “Yeah, it is my name. Good old Arthur.”

For once, he didn’t tack on the usual joke about it being a grandpa’s name. Didn’t shrink himself down before anyone else could. The words just… stood there, simple and unguarded.

He followed Toulouse toward the enchanted rose, hands tucked awkwardly into his sleeves. The sight of it stirred something faint in his memory, and then it clicked—he had been here before. This was where he met Misty.

A small, almost disbelieving thought crossed his mind: everyone he’d met in this town so far had been… kind. Not in a forced or polite way, but genuinely so. Each of them different, a little strange even, but warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

“Thank you, Toulouse,” he said quietly.

The moment he stepped fully inside the café, the warmth wrapped around him like a blanket. Only then did he realize just how cold he’d been; the sudden shift made his fingers sting, sharp and prickling as feeling rushed back into them. He winced slightly, flexing them before making his way over to the heater.

Check-outs always started early in the morning, so it wasn't out of the ordinary for her to be there to process those but she avoided it if she really could help it. Today though, she was here early for something much different and perhaps even more harrowing: training.

The only good thing about this was that she could finally get someone to change the beds for her without getting into trouble for it.

She spotted Arthur standing in the lobby long before he noticed her. He looked like a startled possum, ready to play dead.

Part of her considered just letting him wait there all day. She was exhausted and struggling very much with managing her facial expressions. Another night spent wide awake in an empty bed, with a distant husband on the cough downstairs, wasn't exactly helping with the 'pretend you're in a good mood' thing. It occurred to her though that if she did leave Arthur standing there, it absolutely would lead to another fight, more tears, and less sleep. Tina couldn't afford any of that.

So, she approached, tapping Arthur on the shoulder without saying a word. (She had to assert dominance somehow.)

When he jumped out of his skin she grimaced. No, she definitely didn't have the energy for this.

"Get used to it," she replied. "First rule of working in this hotel is always watch your back. Second rule is stop staring."

Instead, whatever thought he’d been forming completely evaporated.

His gaze dropped instantly to the floor, as if the tiles had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world, and in a much smaller voice than he intended, he murmured, “Yes, ma’am…”

It came out quiet. Obedient. A little too quick.

Arthur winced internally.

Great. Fantastic. First impression: human doormat.

He clasped his hands behind his back, trying to look at least somewhat put together, though the way his shoulders tensed betrayed him. Truth was, he had no idea what to expect from Tina as a mentor. He didn’t even know what a normal mentor was supposed to be like, let alone… whatever this situation was.

But she seemed nice. More than nice, actually.

She had helped him—really helped him. Got him a place to stay when he had nowhere else to go, handed him an opportunity he definitely hadn’t earned on his own, and now here he was, standing on his first day at a job that existed entirely because she believed he could do it.

That kind of thing stuck with a person.

If he was being honest with himself, there was a part of him that put her on a pedestal. Not in a weird way—well, maybe a little weird, but respectfully weird. To him, she was almost… untouchable. Like some sort of guiding force that had stepped into his life at just the right moment.

A goddess.

Arthur’s eyes widened slightly at his own thought, and he immediately shook his head, as if physically trying to dislodge it.

Absolutely not. Do not say that out loud. Under any circumstances.

Yeah, no—he was keeping that one to himself. The last thing he needed was to come across as creepy on day one. He was already doing a stellar job at embarrassing himself without adding that into the mix.

He shifted his weight awkwardly, glancing up for half a second before quickly looking away again. There was something he didn’t quite understand, though, and it nagged at him just enough that he couldn’t stay quiet.

“Uhm…” he started, voice hesitant, one hand lifting slightly as if he might gesture but then thinking better of it. “I have a question.”

He paused, swallowing, already half-regretting opening his mouth.

“How can I watch my back,” he continued slowly, trying to phrase it in a way that didn’t make him sound completely clueless, “if I can’t see anything above ground?”

The moment the question left his lips, he frowned faintly, realizing how it sounded.

“…That might’ve been a stupid question,” he added quickly under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck, equal parts uncertain and embarrassed, but still looking at her now—curious despite himself.

"I can't believe I'm gonna die in here." @happiestjameshook @arthurrasa

And obviously—obviously—they had to be taken.

That was just how things worked, right? Pretty people didn’t just walk around single. They gravitated toward each other, like magnets, like they were part of some exclusive, beautiful club Arthur had never been invited to. Just look at James. James had Tina—and, apparently, something else going on too, if the whispers Arthur had half-heard and half-invented were anything to go by. People like that didn’t stay alone.

So naturally, Arthur had filled in the blanks.

The boy from the bush—the one he had quite literally first seen while crouched in leaves like some kind of anxious woodland creature (and yes, maybe Terence had done it first, but Arthur refused to examine that too closely)—had to be involved with Tina somehow. Or with the other boy. Or both. Honestly, at this point, Arthur’s imagination had built such a tangled web of relationships that even he was getting lost in it.

Which was why—when the door to his workplace opened, and that boy walked in—Arthur’s brain very nearly short-circuited.

Because this wasn’t a distant admiration anymore..this wasn't watching him from behind a tree in a park, or noticing him half asleep while being on the streets. No, this was immediate. Real. Terrifying.

And then, as if his mere presence wasn’t enough to send Arthur into a full internal crisis, the boy calmly—casually—claimed that he was going to die here.

Arthur froze.

His mind skipped several steps, tripped over itself, and landed somewhere between panic and utter disbelief.

Die? Here? In his hotel?

Absolutely not.

No, no, no—there were rules to the universe, and Arthur was fairly certain that “beautiful boys collapsing dramatically in your workplace” was not supposed to be one of them. Someone like him wasn’t meant to die in a place like this—under Arthur’s watch, no less.

…Though, a small, traitorous part of his brain did whisper that having a ghost boyfriend might not be the worst thing in the world.

He shoved that thought away immediately, face heating. Because that was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. No one—ghost or otherwise—would fall in love with him. Not really. Not Arthur. Not awkward, overthinking, hiding-in-bushes or trees Arthur.

Still, that didn’t mean he was about to let this boy just… die.

Before he could overthink it—before he could talk himself out of it or spiral into another loop of self-doubt—Arthur was already moving, words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could keep up with them.

“Are you okay? Do you need water? Food? You—uh—I can take you to my room, I mean—not like that, just—so you can sit, and I’ll get you something to drink while you rest!”

He winced internally at himself, hands fidgeting, nerves buzzing under his skin. He was rambling. Of course he was rambling. This was exactly the kind of moment where he rambled.

But he didn’t stop.

Because if there was even the slightest chance that he could help—if there was even the smallest possibility that he could keep someone like him from slipping away right in front of him—then Arthur was going to try.

But James continued. It was, in fact, the answer she wanted to hear. (How could she have jumped to the worst conclusion when this wasn't about her?)

She fell quiet for a moment, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Arthur hadn't wandered off or, like, fell down a well or something.

(That would be awful because the reward of having someone to do the beds with her taken away by a freak accident would be terrible for her mental health.)

"Thank you..." Tina said finally, for once in her life sincere. "I love you."

It was James' next question that left her quiet again. There were many things she wanted to ask for in that moment. But it was getting dark, and cold, and she still had to walk Arthur back to the hotel and check him into a room. So she held her tongue.

"Um... Are you..." Why was she holding her tongue? "Are you at the-- the hotel right now?" That was the only way she could think of to ask for him to wait for her.

Yes, that had to be it. It would make sense. Otherwise, how could someone like her, seemingly just an employee, speak so freely to the owner of a place like this? Arthur couldn’t quite imagine a regular staff member getting away with that kind of closeness, let alone making requests in such an intimate tone. There had to be another explanation.

Still, he stayed where Tina had told him to sit.

The bench felt a little too firm beneath him, his posture rigid as he tried to make himself look smaller, less noticeable. His hands, however, betrayed him—fidgeting constantly, fingers twisting together, separating, then starting all over again. It was a nervous habit he couldn’t quite suppress, especially now, with the air feeling so charged.

He told himself not to listen in. Really, he did.

But the conversation nearby had a weight to it that made ignoring it nearly impossible. The tone was low, softened, intimate in a way that didn’t quite match the formal setting of a hotel owner. Every so often, a shift in voice or a pause would pull his attention back in despite his best efforts, and he’d quickly force his gaze elsewhere again, as though looking too long might somehow be rude.

Anna beamed as she watched Arthur take a bow. To Anna, Arthur seemed like a true gentleman. It was a nice trait to observe in a stranger compared to miserable, cranky customers Anna came across at work every now and then. Hearing Arthur say he slept in a graveyard made Anna gasp. "Wait, you did what?!" Anna exclaimed. "That sounds so dangerous; you truly are lucky to survive all that!"

There was a pause, Anna took in a deep breath and exhaled. "It's okay, I will tell you," she told him. Anna paused again, trying to think of the words to say. "When I was a teenager, my parents took a trip to the alps; they never came home," she started. "My parents went skiing, there was an accident, and they--" Anna's voice cracked. A single teardrop rolled down her cheek. "They passed away," she continued. Anna wiped away the tear. "It's been a long time and it still hurts. Going to therapy helped me cope and continue on with my life." She sighed and then softly smiled.

"Arthur, thank you for listening to my story," Anna said. "Besides my therapist, I truly don't talk to anyone else about what happened." The pair ended up reaching a wide, cement staircase leading up to a large building. The words 'ARENDELLE AMPHITHEATRE' decorated above the windows. She was surprised none of the letters fell after the storm. "Well, this is it!" Anna exclaimed, turning towards Arthur. "This is where I work! Now, we have to get up all of these stairs and I will lead the way to the snack counter to get you your food."

“Huge?” Arthur couldn’t picture it. The hotel in town was already quite large, so he wondered if the amphitheater was even bigger. “Wow, that sounds so amazing—and so professional too!” He smiled brightly as she talked about her job; it truly seemed incredible, the amphitheater.

“Oh, ice skating… I have seen someone do some tricks on TV when my adoptive dad and his son were sleeping. I had to be careful, though, not to wake them up, or I’d get punished for wasting electricity…” He looked down, as if he wanted to disappear. He often felt like he should disappear—that he was nothing but a burden.

“Oh, uh… the building was pretty sturdy. It was like a church building, so it was safe enough,” he whispered, hoping she wouldn’t feel troubled for him. He didn’t want his new potential friend to worry about him. Aside from Merlin, he didn’t have many friends near his age.

When the pause came, Arthur nodded. He felt an urge to wipe the tear away, but Anna had already done so. Instead, he took her hands in his and gave them a comforting squeeze. “I always wondered who my parents were—why they abandoned me. So I cannot fathom how hard it must have been to not only know your parents, but lose them as well. I am sorry for your loss.”

“I am happy therapy helped you. I hope to do the same—to help people,” he said, his voice, for the first time since speaking with Anna, carrying hope and certainty.

When they arrived, Arthur found himself wanting to tell Anna one more thing: You can always rely on me. Tell me stories about your parents—memories you want to share about you and your sister. I’ll listen, I promise.

Morgana Pendragon in Merlin, 4.03- The Wicked Day.