Summary: He can’t mean what Merlin thinks he means—right? It’s just Merlin’s imagination running away with him, too many nerves this morning, a lack of sleep, the disorientation of being in such an unfamiliar place, or something, that’s it. Merlin edges slightly, subtly back toward the door, but the boy sees his movement and grins even wider like it’s some secret joke, laughs, “Oh, relax,” and strolls forward to easily follow his steps, lingering even closer than before. “I’m not some deranged lunatic,” the boy says, but the very lascivious gleam in his eye ruins it by definitely, definitely claiming otherwise.