When Merlin pulls up to Morgana’s house, Arthur is already waiting for him under the large tree in the front garden. Merlin lets himself look for a few seconds – Arthur’s familiar shape, the line of his back bold and demanding attention – before turning back to the dashboard and killing the engine. He takes a minute to gather himself. Closes his eyes and draws in three steadying breaths before grabbing a large shopping bag from the backseat and tumbling out of the car. Arthur spares Merlin a quick glance as he comes up, then looks back down at the phone in his hand. A shopping bag also sits by his feet. “You’re late,” Arthur murmurs, then, before Merlin can answer, continues, “Got your half of the list done?” Merlin had been expecting no less than this kind of disinterest, but it is terrible all the same, and he allows himself a moment of self-pity before mentally shaking himself. “Yeah,” he says, trying to mimic Arthur’s casual tone. “Had to get Gwen and Lance a joint gift, but I don’t think they’ll mind.” He doesn’t say it, but it hangs between them anyway: he had run out of money. The expenses he had incurred earlier this month by living at a B&B before finding a cheap flat close to his job had dwindled his account down to just barely enough to buy his half of the presents. The corner of Arthur’s mouth twists up meanly, fleeting but long enough for Merlin to see. “They’ll take what they can get, I’m sure,” Arthur says, tucking his phone into his pocket and bending down to gather his bag. He straightens and begins making his way to the front door without looking back. Merlin waits a few beats then follows. Arthur is already ringing the doorbell when Merlin comes up beside him. A giant wreath hangs on the door. “I’m only doing this because of Gwen and Morgana,” Arthur suddenly says, looking straight ahead. “As soon as Christmas is over, I’m telling them the truth.” “I know,” Merlin says. The phone conversation three nights ago had made the terms perfectly clear after all. “Just don’t want any false expectations here,” Arthur says coolly, shifting the bag in his arms. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Merlin says sharply. “You won’t be the only one suffering tonight.” “Who’s suffering?” Arthur shoots back. “Darling, you wish I cared that much.” Merlin bites his lip but refuses to look down. He hadn’t forgotten how devastatingly cruel Arthur could be, but it shakes him all the same. The door swings open then, revealing Gwen’s smiling face and Morgana’s slightly scowling one. “Gwen and I were just talking about how we shouldn’t even let you in,” Morgana announces. “This isn’t even fashionably late, boys. This is just late.” “Sorry, Morgana,” Arthur sighs, voice already warmer than it was seconds ago. “Spent too much time trying to coordinate our outfits.” “Too many reds and blues,” Merlin pipes up, pasting a smile on his face. “You are the worst homosexuals ever,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes. There is a pause. Merlin shifts his bag from one hand to the other. “You both look good though,” Gwen offers, moving aside to let them in. “Looking good yourself, ladies,” Arthur says, stepping over the threshold first and giving both of them a kiss on the cheek. Merlin follows him through the door. “All right, Merlin?” Gwen asks, closing the door and coming forward to hug him. “Haven’t heard from you in a couple weeks.” “No, I’m fine,” Merlin says, mustering false cheer, returning the hug and then putting his bag down. “Just busy with deadlines at work.” “Poor dear,” Morgana coos at him, her annoyance already deflated. “Hang up your coats and then come to the kitchen and have some wine. I expect both of you to be wonderfully drunk by the end of the night.” She leaves them and makes her way back down the hallway. Gwen stays behind, watching Merlin and Arthur with a small smile. Arthur hangs his coat in the small closet next to the door, then pauses to glance at Gwen before coming over to Merlin and helping him with his. Merlin holds himself stiffly as Arthur slides his coat off his arms, both of them careful not to touch. “I’ll take care of the presents,” Arthur says once he’s hung Merlin’s coat and picked up their bags. “You go ahead to the kitchen with Gwen and enjoy yourself.” Arthur is looking Merlin in the eye for the first time, but the calculated boredom in his expression makes Merlin quickly fix his gaze on the mirror behind Arthur’s head. “Yeah, thanks,” he says, words sounding clumsy on his tongue. Arthur pauses for a moment, then moves out of the line of his sight. “You two are so sweet,” Gwen says when Arthur’s left them to locate the tree. Merlin smiles weakly at her and steels himself for a long night. * The kitchen is packed with people when Merlin gets there. He spots Lance immediately, apron tied about his waist and slicing vegetables at the island. Next to him, Morgana peers into a large pot, ladle in her hand. A quick scan of the room also shows Leon and Will D., seated with a small group at a table in the back, and Sophia and Vivian, wineglasses already in hand. The rest of the faces are only vaguely familiar as Morgana’s coworkers and university friends. Merlin says his hellos before pouring himself half a glass of white wine and standing by as Gwen shows Lance the right way to slice onions. “How are you, Merlin?” Lance asks after he’s let Gwen take over, his eyes still wet. “Where’s Arthur?” “Taking care of the gifts,” Merlin says, allowing himself a smile as Lance wipes a hand over his eyes and winces. “You guys get us something good?” Lance teases. “Um,” Merlin fumbles, thinking of the orchid in the small ceramic vase that he had wrapped messily with tissue paper. “Not as good as last year’s maybe, but I think—” “You mean you couldn’t figure out how to trump a honeymoon trip to Brazil,” Lance says, rolling his eyes before smiling widely at him. “That was Arthur’s idea,” Merlin offers, but it comes out strange, his voice reedy. “You know,” Lance goes on, oblivious, “after that present, you could technically give us nothing for the next ten years, and we wouldn’t have any right to complain.” “Then I know what I’m getting you next Christmas,” Merlin drawls, heartened by Lance’s laughter. They talk for several minutes about nonprofit work and Gwen and new music before Gwen calls Lance back to her. Merlin hovers by their side for a moment, awkward, before making his way over to an empty stool and sitting down. A little later, Arthur comes into the kitchen, stopping at the threshold and scanning the room until he finds Merlin. Their eyes meet for a moment before Arthur quickly looks away. He takes his time then pouring himself a glass of wine and saying his hellos. He lingers by Sophia and Vivian in particular, smiling and laughing loudly, and Merlin knows that he’s angled his body especially so that he can be seen. It is juvenile but carefully cruel all the same, and Merlin forces his eyes away and stares down at the lights reflected in his wine. A few minutes later, he feels Arthur settle in next to him. “I forgot to mention earlier,” Arthur says when Merlin looks up at him, his expression utterly bored as he stares down at his drink. “What?” Merlin asks shortly when he doesn’t continue. Arthur glances at him before looking back down. “I found some of your books in my closet,” he goes on, absently twirling his glass. “Come pick them up, or they’re going out with the rubbish next week.” “Post them to me,” Merlin answers. “I’ll pay you later.” “I said: come pick them up, or they go out,” Arthur repeats slowly, voice cold even as his expression remains calm. Sometimes, Arthur is so much like his father. “Why are you making this so difficult?” Merlin demands, fighting to keep his voice low. “You know neither of those is an option for me.” “Be grateful I’m even giving you an option,” Arthur says, unfazed, still not looking at him. “Trust me when I say I have no compunctions about throwing your shit out with last week’s takeaway.” “Fine,” Merlin hisses softly, setting his glass on the ledge. “Leave the key under the doormat, and I’ll come on one of my afternoons off.” His pride protests shrilly, but he suspects that some of his mother’s old favorites may be among the books left behind, forgotten when he had moved out of Arthur’s flat in a whirlwind of boxes and bags and anger and heartache. “And rob me of the pleasure of watching you crawl around on your knees?” Arthur says, a vicious smile twisting his mouth. “I think not.” Merlin bites his lip as a wave of hot rage swells inside his chest. Across the room, Gwen glances in their direction, so he curls his nails into his palm and carefully pushes down the urge to be violent. "After I get my books, I don’t ever want to see you again,” he says after a minute, speaking only when he knows his voice will be steady. “I mean it.” “Finally, something we can agree on,” Arthur says lightly and lifts his hand to wave at Gwen. * Arthur spends the next half-hour making small talk and exchanging business cards with some of Morgana’s coworkers. Merlin stands by and gives polite smiles, gripping the neck of his glass tightly every time Arthur introduces him with a hand to the elbow, the touch deliberately impersonal. It’s a small mercy when Vivian drags them both to the living room, where a loud game of charades is underway. “We need your help,” Vivian whines, wine heavy on her breath. “We need to win this round.” Will D. is standing at the center of a small circle of people when they arrive. He walks forward stiffly, hands clasping an imaginary object in front of him. “‘Bride of Frankenstein,’” Leon calls o...
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