And, oh, God, he would miss Arthur when he moved out. He would miss Arthur’s tidiness, of course, and his cooking, and his precision of movement. Arthur’s fluffy golden hair and his cheekbones, the angle of his jaw. He would even miss Arthur’s Dennis Bergkamp mug, the one with the chipped handle, which had a photo of Dennis on it that bore an uncanny resemblance to Arthur himself. But most of all he would miss their companionship, the daily back and forth that banished Merlin’s many cares and made his heart sing and his veins fizz.

“You have to have a bad day first. And I know for a fact that today you had slept in until eleven, had sex twice, and got take-out from your favorite restaurant.” “But if I had a bad day,” Arthur persisted, as was his way, “and I put the jumper on, you’d have to be nice to me? No questions asked?” “You can’t take advantage of the Elephant Jumper like that,” Merlin complained, hiding a smile as Arthur pulled the jumper on over his head. He beamed at Merlin a bit ridiculously, looking absolutely ludicrous in purple and orange, but Merlin was rather certain that Arthur had never looked better to him. Heart thumping a bit harder than it had been a moment before, Merlin leaned in for a kiss.

“Read that one,” Merlin said, jabbing a shaky finger at one dog-eared page. “The one where Arthur is all alone and Merlin is his only friend in the whole world.” Arthur caught himself before he could accuse Merlin of projecting. He tended to forget, with the way Merlin presented himself, that the kid was just that – a kid. A sick little kid who’d been blown off for Arthur’s girlfriend, for some dumb concert that Arthur couldn’t even recall the name of at this point, and Arthur really could not have felt worse about that if he’d tried.

Before Arthur left for dinner with the king, the three of them snacked on cookies and hot cocoa. Merlin liked to dip his cookies in the cocoa, which left behind clumps of icing and sprinkles floating in his mug. Arthur made some snarky comments about his atrocious manners and how he could never invite Merlin to a formal dinner of any kind. Merlin wasn’t offended; he felt surprisingly content despite having spent most of the day in the prince’s dubious company. For his part, Arthur agreed that the homemade cookies were uncommonly good, almost worth the price of having to spend the day with Merlin. Merlin counted that as a victory.

The sun is on Merlin’s face and the wind’s in his hair, there’s a spray of salt water on his lips and it’s amazing. He can’t help smiling, and after a few minutes he starts to feel sheepish for being so difficult about it. He looks at Arthur, perched on the side of the boat ahead of him, wanting to thank him, or apologise, or something, but the words die on his lips. Arthur is fucking gorgeous out here, all blond hair and blue eyes in the sunlight, and Merlin feels his heart break inside his chest, because Arthur’s skin and clothes are bone dry, despite the sea’s spray, and his hair rests motionless against his head, like there’s no wind at all and he’s never looked less real than he does right now.

Day 12 Father refused to remove the peasant and give me a proper manservant. This is proof that Father is a very poor king. I will be much better. He should think about abdicating. When I am king I shall make it law for all servants to wash twice a day, clothes and all. I shall never insist any of my many handsome sons suffer an incompetent manservant just because they happened to save said sons from possible death.

“And he never vanished again. And the lonely boy was never lonely again.” “Yeah,” Merlin says, “that’s right. Not going anywhere, lovely.” “I was… so, so lonely,” Arthur whispers, already almost asleep. “I know. I knew from the time you tried to beat Gwaine up for stealing me.” “So lonely,” Arthur murmurs again. “Not anymore,” Merlin says.