Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keep on dreaming, don't stop giving, fight those demons

Sell your soul, not your whole self

Pendragon rubbed his temples—yesterday's party to celebrate the start of the school year had taken its toll. He hadn't overindulged in alcohol, but a sleepless night full of pointless conversation had left its mark. Arthur would have enjoyed the soft bed and quiet of his room more, but he knew that attending the party was what was expected of him.

Now, standing frozen on the staircase landing, Arthur watched a freshman with some irritation. He was stuffing his blazer into his backpack like a schoolboy, creating an unruly lump. There was no dress code at the university, so Arthur couldn't even imagine why he was making such an effort. Meanwhile, the guy threw on some awful brown suede jacket and a disgusting red scarf and hopped down the stairs.

Suddenly, he tripped over his own feet, flailing his arms helplessly in the air. “At least grab the railing,” Arthur thought, grabbing him by the shoulder and bringing him back to his feet. Once he was sure the guy was standing firmly, Pendragon let him go.

The guy looked up at him and smiled. As if he hadn’t just been on the verge of a stupid death. As if he was going to save himself with some kind of magic.

“Thank you,” he said.

And added out of the blue:

“I'm Merlin.”

“You could have cracked your head open, Merlin, and the university would have had to pay compensation to your family for injuring your head at your place of study. But you know that, since you're here. So watch your step."

“Well, I didn't hurt myself,” Merlin replied carelessly, “thanks for saving my life, and cut the lecture.”

“I'm not so sure about that. Do you know who you're talking to?”

Stupid question. He's the president's son, everyone here knows him.

“Nope,” he said, and Arthur couldn't tell from his face whether he was lying.

So Merlin was either remarkably fearless or a lunatic.

“But I'm starting to think it's the arrogant asshole.”

Seems like the former. Or both. Pendragon had to make an effort not to let his eye roll at such insolence.

“Arthur Pendragon, Merlin. Nice to meet you... Although, forget it. Not very nice.”

Merlin shrugged as if he didn't understand what Arthur was talking about. But he looked a little guilty. At the same time, there was something attentive and keen in his gaze. Arthur left the guy alone — he still had one lecture to attend, and this Merlin probably had to go to the introductory ceremony for newcomers. Did he know it was in another building?

Pendragon smiled at the thought, but decided not to help him. Let him figure it out for himself. On his first day here, he himself had gotten lost in the maze of corridors and confused by the scattering of buildings, but now he felt at home, even better than at home. More free.

Arthur left the dormitory building and smelled the approaching rain — it was not uncommon here. It also rained frequently in their city in the fall. When Arthur opened the door to the lecture hall, he felt a dozen pairs of eyes on him. Pendragon was used to this attention — he smiled at the girls, shook hands with the guys, and looked around for free tables. The room was flooded with daylight, grayish from the clouds gathering in the sky.

Gwen saw him and waved her hand, inviting him to sit next to her. Most of his classmates were already in the lecture hall — they were mainly chatting about their vacations spent with their parents in their hometowns or at resorts, discussing subjects for the new academic year, and gossiping about teachers. Of course, the topic turned to the freshmen — whom they themselves had been a few years ago — and some of the guys' conversations about new girls made his ears burn. Once upon a time, he had been the subject of gossip himself. In their first year, he and Gwen had had a short-lived romance that never turned into anything serious.

The teacher, Gaius, greeted the students. The old man was surprisingly pleased today, did not scold them, and did not even assign a mountain of reading. Arthur mentally thanked the old woman who had made him happy — at least, that was his assumption. Thoughts about the teacher's intimate life were not the most pleasant, and he tried to concentrate on his studies.

The first day of school after the break wasn't so bad. He returned to his usual routine, to his public persona — he was the president's son, he had to keep up appearances. He had to be an example, inspiring respect rather than envy in others. He had to be a true leader.

He had to engage in the conversations that everyone was having and build the necessary connections — promising students were already thinking about their future businesses, careers, and possible nominations for all kinds of important positions. Arthur needed to understand all of this, and he did. In the future, it is quite likely that he will work with these people and run the country.

After two more lectures and lunch, Arthur finally met with the team. On his first day, he became interested in the fencing club. Many universities had impressive football clubs that often competed with each other. But fencing... Of course, there was a club—it couldn't not be at such a prestigious university. The club's coach was only there in name and hardly ever showed up, and the members did not shine with skill or enthusiasm.

Then Arthur came up with a plan and signed up to participate in university-wide sporting events. There, he not only performed well, but also watched the others closely. He invited the most talented ones, mostly from his year or a year older, to join the fencing club, which he practically led.

Leon nodded to him in a friendly manner — he was a friend of the family and had learned fencing from the same coach. The boys occasionally competed or trained together. Lance greeted him politely, still feeling out of place. He had joined later than the others, at the end of last year.

The others followed Leon and Lance, and the usual banter began, with questions about technique and whether they would be participating in competitions...

“Don't talk my ears off! Where's Gwaine again?” Arthur said, looking around.

Gwaine was strong, almost as good as he was, but what an irresponsible guy he was! He couldn't pass up a single skirt, but he passed up too many drinks... His father held an important position in the government, but he didn't pay enough attention to his son. In a way, Arthur was no stranger to this, so he didn't push too hard. But being late on the first day, when newcomers might show up...

Speaking of newcomers, it was time to get started. Pendragon had strict conditions — to get into the club, you had to stand up to him for a minute. The main thing was to stay on your feet and not step outside the designated area. It sounds easy, but those who had seen Arthur in action could confirm that this task was not for everyone. Pendragon didn't want to waste his time on those who had no potential. He called over the first guy and, waiting for the signal, attacked.

The guy didn't have much experience, couldn't take a punch well, but dodged pretty well. “He probably played a different sport,” Arthur guessed. Pendragon continued to press until his opponent began to retreat to the edge of the ring. Arthur increased the force of his swings, seeing that the newcomer was already exhausted. At one point, the guy stepped back in an attempt to dodge, stepping outside the ring. This did not stop Arthur, and he continued his measured but aggressive swings.

“Don't you think he's had enough?” came a familiar mocking voice.

Pendragon glanced at the timer and saw that the minute was up. Gwaine stood in the doorway.

“Would you like to explain yourself, Gwaine? Where have you been?”

“I had to see someone off,” the guy smiled, “there are so many lost freshmen on campus on the first day,” he raised his eyebrows.

At that moment, Arthur noticed... Merlin.

“What is he doing here?”

“Do you know each other?” Gwaine asked in surprise.

“Unfortunately,” Arthur and Merlin replied simultaneously. Arthur heard his teammates chuckle and frowned. Merlin again!

“Arthur,” he heard an uncertain voice call out, and remembered the loser.

“Try again next year,” Arthur said, patting him on the shoulder.

“But...” the guy started, but was interrupted.

“Come on, don't be such a jerk. He tried,” Merlin said. Of course, who else!

“Say that again?” Arthur narrowed his eyes.

He wasn't going to be aggressive, he wasn't going to — let this weirdo just take back his words.

“You heard everything,” the guy replied with a smirk.

"I decide who gets into the club, Merlin. If you want to prove you're right, go ahead and fight me. If you win, I'll let him into the club," Arthur nodded to the guy, who was now watching the scene in confusion.

“Deal,” said Merlin.

And again that hideously fearless smile!

“This is a stupid idea, my friend,” Gwaine stopped him, putting his hand on his shoulder.

Arthur threw him a protective vest and handed him a sword. Pendragon looked his opponent over carefully — he seemed frail, but you couldn't really tell under his loose clothing. Judging by his grip, he didn't hold a sword in his hands. Why did he volunteer? Arthur began his attack, Merlin blocked his blows. It's true that he wasn't completely hopeless, but he was no match for Arthur. When Pendragon raised his arm for another blow, Merlin suddenly said:

“Did you know that a sword is a phallic symbol?”

His teammates chuckled quietly.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, taken aback by the silly remark.

“Oh, I'm sure you know,” a crooked smile spread across his face.

Merlin knew his preferences and hinted that he would reveal them if he did not yield? Not a bad plan. At that moment, Merlin raised his weapon, aiming at Arthur's stomach. Pendragon dodged and immediately counterattacked. With his final blow, he forced Merlin to collapse. On the court, his body reacted faster than he could think. Words could not throw him off balance.

“Not a bad try, Merlin,” he said, looking at the guy.

To his credit, he didn't gasp for breath and got to his feet without waiting for Arthur's hand — which he had no intention of offering. Pendragon pulled him by the shirt and asked quietly,

“What nonsense is this?”

Arthur looked into the guy's eyes.

“Bluff,” Merlin exhaled.

Arthur raised his eyebrows and let him go.

“Do you always grab strangers like that?” Merlin complained, rubbing his shoulder.

“Only when they stick their noses where they don't belong,” Arthur explained with a smirk.

“You're an ass,” Merlin said and disappeared behind the door.

The failed rookie rushed after him, apparently to praise his hero.

Arthur shook his head in dissatisfaction and told his teammates to line up for pair training. He kept Gwaine for himself — he needed to let off some steam, and he was sure the lad wouldn't break under the pressure. Besides, he had some questions.

“So, Gwaine. Why did you bring him here?”

“Merlin Wyllt, the new guy?” asked Gwaine, getting into position to strike. “I was showing him around campus. He's from a really remote village, you know. Our campus is like New York to him.”

“Why the sudden charity?” Pendragon asked, parrying the attack.

Gwaine thought about it. That was not a good sign. The last time he thought about something, he was almost expelled from college. It turned out the administration isn't too keen on pranks. They were all forced to wash the walls...

“He's a good guy,” Gwaine replied simply.

Pendragon nodded, accepting this answer with a little wariness. It was rare to hear praise from Gwaine. Or rather, Arthur would prefer to hear fewer inappropriate compliments like "she's a real hotty". But such simple and honest words were news.

“I don't want you to be late for training. Not even for good guys.”

“What about good girls?” Gwaine asked with a smirk.

Pendragon rolled his eyes mentally. Now he was recognizing Gwaine.

While Gwaine continued to spout his horny nonsense and tell him about parties that Arthur definitely had no desire to go to, the allotted time was up. After that, they changed sparring partners, Arthur helped a couple of people with their technique, dealt with more newcomers, and, before he knew it, practice was over. 

"See you all on Wednesday. Don't be late."

Pendragon glanced out the window—the sky was darkening, and it would rain any minute. It wasn't far to the dormitory building, and he could have run there, but he always carried a dark red umbrella with a small emblem of the family crest on the handle. He did not suffer from delusions of grandeur like his father and did not feel the need to brand everything with his crest. But it reminded him of home, and a little of his mother, which was pleasant. Arthur had heard that she loved dragons and other creatures — when he was little, they had an old iguana that his mother had taken in before she died. The first heavy raindrops fell to the ground.

At moments like this, he remembered Jill, their gardener. Arthur often ran away to get lost in the garden and watch the woman dig in the ground and tend to the plants, while she complained about the rain bending the foxglove flowers. Jill always had a story for him. She said that foxes put the flowers on their paws so they wouldn't get wet in the morning dew. He didn't think that was possible; at least, he had never seen foxes wearing gloves.

“Your mother planted these flowers,” Jill said once. Arthur held his breath. No one talked about her, as if she didn't exist, and that upset him. “What was she like?” he asked quietly. He had tried to ask his father the same question a hundred times, but he never answered, so Arthur stopped trying. “She was kind. She would want you to be kind too.” “I will be,” Arthur replied. “I promise.” The rain grew heavier, almost obscuring the outlines of the houses behind the wall of water.

Pendragon quickened his pace and ducked into the right building, where he quickly made his way to his room, turned the key as usual, pushed the door... and froze.

“Are you kidding me?” Arthur asked, looking at the guy he already knew.

“No, I'm Merlin. Close the door, there's a draught in the hallway. And tell me, why is everything covered with your stuff? Where am I supposed to put mine?” he asked, standing in the middle of the room, wet as a mouse.

"What stuff? I live alone. I always have. They must have mixed something up. Come on, don't just stand there, go to the front desk and double-check your room number. There's no way they put you in my room," Arthur rubbed his face.

“They're already closed, I'll go see them tomorrow. But here's the number, see for yourself,” the guy handed him the room key.

“I don't care what number is on your key. Get lost, Merlin,” the guy was getting on his nerves.

“Where am I supposed to go, you royal asshole? You're such a snob-,” Merlin began to say, but sneezed.

He pulled off his damp scarf, threw it over the back of a chair, and fell silent, sniffing. Arthur's heart softened a little, and he gathered his things from the second bed and threw them into the closet. The room also had a large window with a windowsill and a desk — for some reason, only one. Arthur liked it here—at night, when he couldn't sleep, he would open the curtains, allowing the moonlight to flood the room. The window overlooked the lawn, where students sometimes had picnics in the summer. And on the windowsill were pots, which Merlin was now staring at.

“Thanks,” Merlin said grumpily.

Water dripped from his dark hair, rolling down the back of his ridiculous blue sweater. He looked like a wet bird.

“Tomorrow,” Arthur told him, “the first thing you'll do is go to the administration office.”

Arthur changed into his home clothes and sat down wearily on the bed. He closed his eyes, the warm light from the ceiling lamp shining through his eyelids. In the morning, before classes, he would have to go to the library — there he could study in peace and quiet. “Until recently, the room was quiet too,” Arthur thought regretfully. He heard the guy shuffling across the floor, noticing his movements out of the corner of his eye. He was probably hanging up his collection of silly sweaters and eye-catching shirts.

Frankly speaking, the neighbor wouldn't bother him much. Pendragon didn't spend much time here before — his father taught him to separate his work space from his sleeping space. Besides, he was completely alone in the room. He didn't talk to anyone much in the library either, but...

“Arthur,” Merlin called, and Pendragon realized that the lad had probably been waiting for his answer for some time. “Are you asleep?”

He looked up at him. He must have really looked exhausted, because Merlin asked the question without such sharpness.

“Where's the bathroom on this floor?”

“Let's go,” he nodded toward the exit.

Merlin took the keys from the nightstand.

“You don't need them there,” Arthur smiled.

The guy stopped abruptly:

“You're not going to kick me out into the hallway and then lock yourself in the room, are you?” His face showed genuine concern.

“No, but it's becoming more tempting by the second,” Pendragon replied with a smile, and Merlin couldn't help but chuckle.

They stepped into the dark hallway.

Chapter Text

Combat, I'm ready for combat
I say I don't want that, but what if I do?
'Cause cruelty wins in the movies
I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches
I almost said to you

The morning was surprisingly cold, and the wind pierced to the bone. Arthur regretted leaving the house wearing only a sweatshirt. Something with a hood would have been useful now. Or a scarf. A scarf... At that moment, he cursed Merlin, who had turned up unannounced and forced him out of his warm bed.

The administration, of course, said there was no mistake. After Merlin returned with this news, Arthur went to deal with them personally. He rarely used his position in such cases, but it could work.

“It's thanks to you, Mr. Pendragon,” an elderly woman with glasses said to him with a smile.

“Me?” Perhaps his tone was a little sharp.

He had hardly done anything to make Merlin want to stay in the same room with him! Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Yes. The situation has been difficult for the past two years. Having you as a student here has brought in more students than we've ever had before. It just so happens that all the rooms... I'd like to help, but... I'm sorry, really," the woman said haltingly. She pursed her lips and even looked seriously sad.

Oh, so it wasn't about Merlin. Of course not.

“It's okay,” Arthur assured her, “thank you for your help.”

“Well?” Merlin asked him when he returned, “did you charm the old lady?”

Pendragon spread his arms:

“No luck... I'm stuck with you.”

Arthur could have called his father, and the problem would most likely have been solved—someone would have squeezed into a room with one more person. But he didn't want to call his father, and neither would it have been fair.

“I'm the one stuck with you, you twat. Your socks are everywhere again!” Merlin complained.

Merlin made him doubt his own moral principles.

“And I tripped over your book this morning. Why is it on the floor anyway?” Arthur pointed out.

“I must have been reading it in bed. And fell asleep. And dropped it,” Merlin replied, completely serious.

“Surprising,” Arthur said, his face showing no surprise at all.

“Get used to it,” Merlin grinned.

Arthur threw something at him. A sock, it seemed.

“I'm starting to understand how this happens,” the guy said, looking around at the mess in the room.

Over the next couple of weeks, Arthur realized that Merlin was a pretty good roommate—when he wasn't in the room. Except he was only ever in class or in the office of Gaius, who was either his grandfather, his uncle, or something else—Arthur didn't really want to get into his family tree. When he was in the room, though, he was often unbearable.

And he was in the room a lot — apparently, he didn't go to parties, maybe he didn't want to, or maybe he just wasn't invited, so he hung around here. Not only that, Merlin was always trying to chat, and Arthur wanted silence. He was used to silence. Sometimes, though, Merlin's chatter had a calming effect, but most of the time it was annoying.

In the morning, Merlin pulled back the curtains as usual, allowing the light to blind Arthur, who had just opened his eyes. His neighbor always got up impossibly early. Apparently, it was a country habit, like feeding the roosters, milking the cows, or whatever else they did there... Moreover, Merlin didn't know how to be quiet, constantly tripping over something. Arthur pulled the blanket over his eyes, hoping to sleep a little longer, but Merlin dropped some bottles with a crash. Arthur sat up in bed.

'Merlin,' he began discontentedly, his gaze darting to the floor. 'Wait, did you spill the remains of this stuff on my shirt?'

Why is it on the floor in the first place? Didn't they teach you to pick up your things?"

“The staff took care of that! What's your excuse?' he asked, nodding towards the cans of energy drink now scattered across the floor.

A hundred answers swirled in his head, but he decided to take the path of least resistance and sighed, rolling his eyes.

“You’ll have to wash it, you know?” Arthur asked, staring at him disapprovingly.

"I knew you didn't know how to use the washing machine!" said Merlin, dodging the notebook flying at him. 'What kind of bad habit is it to throw things around?'

He picked up his bag of laundry.

"Come on . Be grateful I didn't send you to the dry cleaners.”

‘You’re an unbearable ass,’ Merlin said as he walked out of the door.

He got a little lost in the hallways, but finally made it to the laundry room. A beautiful young woman was sitting on a chair, buried in a textbook. She looked familiar to him and, of course, he complained to her about Pendragon. He couldn't say he was a brilliant judge of character, but she didn't look like she was in his fan club, which he informed her of as he loaded the washing machine.

“Actually, I dated him. No, I'm not kidding,” she said, anticipating Merlin's question.

“Oh.”

“It's in the past,” she reassured him. “So, you're Arthur's new neighbor?”

Merlin nodded, still thinking about his mistake.

“Yes, he can be... difficult,” the girl said.

“By difficult, do you mean a complete jerk?”

She laughed and wiped her palms on her light-colored jeans.

“Not many people are willing to say that to his face. That's good. Arthur needs someone like that.”

“Great. I'll gladly take the responsibility to insult him.”

The girl's eyebrows rose in surprise and approval at the same time.

“I'm Gwen,” she introduced herself.

“Nice to meet you, Gwen. I'm Merlin. Well, Gwen, I agreed to have breakfast with Lance, so I have to go. But I hope we'll see each other soon.”

“Are you friends with Lance?” she asked, a glimmer of hope flashing in her eyes.

“Oh,” Merlin smiled knowingly, “shall I introduce you?”

Gwen nervously tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear and twirled a gold bracelet on her wrist.

“It might be awkward,” the girl began, but Merlin interrupted her.

“No, no. I'm sure Lance will be happy to have company. Come on,” he said, taking her by the hand and pulling her along.

Merlin was wonderfully childlike, and this gesture evoked a warmth rarely shown between people here. Not out of malice, but simply out of habit, out of what was customary, because this social game was their whole life. Merlin's friendliness toward her brought back memories, and her lips stretched into a sad half-smile.

Placing the food on a tray, Merlin spotted the right table. Arthur, a couple of girls from his class, a guy from the club, and Lance were sitting there. The girls were casually discussing their fathers' business, and the new guy, whose name he couldn't remember, was asking Arthur for the fencing coach's contact details. Merlin squeezed himself into the table and sat Gwen down next to him.

“Are we such good friends now that we eat lunch together?” Arthur asked sarcastically.

“I'm not here for you. Lance,” he said, extending his hand to Arthur's teammate, while Pendragon frowned in confusion. What could Merlin and Lancelot possibly have in common?

The guys started talking about something of their own. Arthur responded when necessary, but his thoughts were far away. Gwen looked at him awkwardly, and he smiled.

Their relationship began when Arthur broke away from his parents' nest.

It was practically the first time he had ever made a choice for himself, and he had chosen her. Guinevere was surprisingly understanding and willing to keep their relationship secret—rumors spread, of course, but without confirmation, they didn't get out of hand and didn't reach his father. Arthur didn't want Gwen to have to hear his harsh words directed at her.

They had to try to understand that it wasn't working. Now he felt no heaviness in his heart — he had let go of their relationship and wished her happiness. Arthur was sure that Gwen wanted the same for him.

Deep down, Arthur was even glad about it — his father would not have approved of his choice and would have given him a hard time. He was constantly trying to set him up with the daughters of his influential friends, and there was nothing wrong with them, but Arthur wanted something real, not a forced intimacy with a stranger.

“Arthur,” one of the girls said to him, "my father is hosting a charity event next Friday. He sent an invitation to your father, but of course he's too busy... We'd be delighted if you could come," she smiled.

“Thank you, Margaret,” he struggled to remember her name, "I'm sure my father appreciated your invitation, but he has urgent business to attend to. I'm sorry, but I'll be busy next Friday too".

“Oh,” Margaret replied, "that's a pity. I hope you'll be able to attend the auction or the winter ball.

“I'll try to", he assured her.

Of course, Arthur attended such events, but only those that were incredibly important and planned well in advance. At such evenings, he enjoyed the buffet the most. The rest was requests, flirting, hypocrisy... In short, everything he had encountered at university, but multiplied by two. Arthur wished politics could be possible without all that.

He decided to spend the rest of the time before class in his room. He had often come in after dark during the last week, so in the light of day, his gaze was drawn to the houseplants. Arthur had bought them in his freshman year, but he was always too busy, and the poor plants withered one after another. Now they didn't look dead at all. 

Pendragon snorted. Had Merlin been watering his flowers? What a weirdo. He thought he had even seen Merlin talking to one of the plants. That poor ficus in the big pot, what did he call it... His train of thought was interrupted by a call from his father. That rarely promised anything good. Sighing, he picked up the phone.

“Yes?”

His father had an opinion on everything. Uther believed he could dictate how he should live, who he should be friends with, and what career he should choose. At times, Arthur couldn't stand him, but he couldn't stand himself even more for still caring about what he had to say.

Now Uther felt he was losing control—Arthur was further away than ever before. And so he pressed as hard as he could. Arthur tried to interject his opinion, but it all sounded like excuses. It was difficult for Arthur to argue—he lived off his father's money, and he had no other parent.

“You are Arthur Pendragon. Do not disappoint me,” said his father.

“I thought I was your son. Can't I just be your son, at least sometimes?” Arthur thought . His father loved him. But how could he love him and make him feel so terrible at the same time? His father continued to speak, but Arthur couldn't find the strength to analyze his words. He was overwhelmed by his feelings.

He could stand up to his father. He could contradict him. But his angry words still affected him, even though he thought he had long since stopped caring. He rubbed his nose, ignoring his teary eyes. Arthur knew it wasn't true, but at moments like this, he felt as if his own father didn't love him. And that was a very painful and lonely thought.

When he turned away from the window, he saw Merlin sitting on the bed, looking at his phone. Fear gripped his soul. When had Merlin learned to sneak up so quietly? Or had he been so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed? Either way, he didn't look like he was going to feel sorry for him.

Without looking at his neighbor, Pendragon threw his club gear into his bag and left for class. He tried to concentrate on his studies, but his thoughts kept returning to the conversation with his father. Could he have said something differently? Could he have acted differently?

He always felt better at the club. Arthur didn't analyze too much why it was so important to him. In a sense, it was part of his normal life — throughout his childhood and adolescence, he had tutors in many subjects, but it was fencing that he loved. In those moments, as now, he could forget everything for a moment.

Fencing was an outdated hobby; his father, out of sheer snobbery, had decided to teach him, just like horse riding. He thought it was prestigious or something like that. But Arthur was grateful for it. The feel of the sword in his hands, the familiar movements — it gave him peace and confidence in his abilities. Especially in unfamiliar surroundings. His father tried as best he could to teach him to “switch it up,” Arthur thought, wanting to give him something to take his mind off things. At least, that's what he wanted to believe.

Pendragon showed the newcomers the usual movements, unaware that Merlin was watching him at that moment — he had come to check on Gwaine.

“Where's your coach?” Merlin asked. “Do you even have one?”

“Yeah. But he's more involved in organizational stuff,” Gwaine replied reluctantly. “He can get people together, write up a training plan, supervise. Basically, he's a manager.”

“But not a leader?” Merlin clarified.

Gwaine shook his head.

“As much as I hate to admit it, our princess is a good leader. Inspires people and all that. Helps them become better, brings them together. And that’s despite the fact that fencing is more of an individual sport than a team one,” he chuckled.

Merlin could see it in Arthur. Sure, he could be annoying, but over the past few weeks, he'd realized there was more to him than just a pompous jerk or a spoiled daddy's boy. Despite his outward sharpness, Arthur tried to do the right thing. He took his responsibilities seriously, even when he was tired; he knew there were people who depended on him. There was something noble about him. But there was something more. Merlin saw in him the despair and resignation that were familiar to him.

After returning the borrowed textbook to Gwaine, Merlin trudged back to his room. Arthur's room was not what he had expected to see on his first day here. It was just like the others, no more and no less, without its own refrigerator or bathroom. He noticed that, apart from the clothes, there were no signs that anyone lived there. There were no photos on the walls (only one on his desk), no mementos, nothing that wasn't a necessity.

Although there was something... Merlin walked over to the pots — the smaller ones were on the windowsill, and another large one was next to the nightstand between their beds. He frowned at the ficus in the larger pot and, taking a bottle of water from his bag, moistened the soil.

“That's better, isn't it, Kilgarrah?” he asked the plant, stroking its large leaves.

Merlin opened the window, letting air and sunlight into the room. The plants looked happy.

“You're welcome,” Merlin said to them.

He sat down right on the floor—too lazy to take off his worn-out sneakers—and turned on the music in his headphones. He needed to study a little, and then buy a couple of things for Gaius. He had helped him settle in here. When Gaius helped him with advice, stood up for him, or treated him to lunch in his office, he made him feel at home in a strange place. At home, though, Merlin couldn't find a purpose for himself. But here, he felt that his existence had meaning.

When Arthur returned, the lights were already off and Merlin was in bed. He felt relieved that he wouldn't have to talk to him — after classes and training, Arthur was exhausted. His head touched the pillow, but he didn't feel relaxed. Instead, he began to think. There was no training tomorrow — he could work on the project that was due on Friday.

His father's voice echoed in his head, and Arthur wanted to bang his head against the wall. But Merlin stirred noisily in bed, muttering something indistinct, as if he were having a nightmare. Pendragon turned away toward the wall, pulling the blanket up higher. A couple of minutes later, he heard:

“Arthur. Are you asleep?”

Now. Now he'll ask about his father. It's better to keep quiet.

“No,” he said against his will.

He heard Merlin rustling the blanket and sat up in bed. In the moonlight, he could see Merlin sitting mirror-image to him, his legs bent at the knees and his back against the wall.

“Me too,” Merlin said, as if it weren't obvious.

Although, if he were talking in his sleep, Arthur wouldn't have been too surprised.

“It's not like sleeping at home here. It's so quiet,” he continued.

“Tell that to the guy who lives with Gwaine. Or the ones in the rooms next to him. They'd give anything for a minute of silence.”

Merlin laughed.

“He's nice.”

“Gwaine's nice? That's not the word I'd use to describe him...”

“He showed me around campus,” Merlin objected.

“Maybe he just wanted to get you into his bed.”

In the darkness of the room, he saw Merlin shrug.

“Do you miss it?” Arthur asked suddenly.

He didn't know what had come over him. He rarely felt the urge to have frank conversations. But Merlin wasn't the least bit surprised by the question.

"Home? Sometimes. Everyone knew each other and helped each other. We had a small garden, and our neighbor had a cow and chickens. My mother made me strawberry tea, and my friend and I spent the whole summer outside, swimming in the cold pond, playing with his dog... We had a simple life".

Here, on the contrary, everything was confusing — labyrinths of corridors, multiple campuses, their own rules and traditions, and other people. People who talked about things far from his mind.

“And you?” Merlin asked.

“I don't know,” Arthur said honestly.

The garden, Arthur thought. Foxglove. Jill. His horse.

“Some parts of it.”

Merlin nodded.

“The servants?” he asked, unable to resist.

A pillow flew at him.

As he fell asleep, Arthur thought about how there was something about Merlin that made him wonder. He didn't fit into the usual picture of his life, but Arthur concluded that his neighbor wasn't so unbearable. At least, that's what Arthur thought until he saw what had happened to his shirt the next day.

“Merlin. What happened to it?”

The white shirt now had a bluish tint. It was as if someone had washed it with...

“I suppose this,” he said, pulling at the edge of the blue long-sleeved shirt he was now wearing.

“And it's me who doesn't know how to use a washing machine? Is there anything you're good at, Merlin?”

Merlin looked at him sheepishly, apparently thinking of the best possible answer.

“But now it matches your eyes!” he said without a hint of guilt.

Perhaps Arthur should have been glad that Merlin hadn't washed his shirt with his red scarf, dyeing it pink.

“Wonderful. You never cease to amaze me, Merlin.”

“Trying my best,” Merlin replied and disappeared behind the door before Pendragon had a chance to throw something at him.

Pendragon looked at the damaged item in his hands. With no thought given to it, he put on the shirt. Before he realised it, he was smiling.

Chapter Text

I got all these feelings that I'm masking

Can I lay it on you? That's what I'm asking

During training, Arthur caught a glimpse of his roommate, who had unexpectedly become friends with Lance and Gwaine and now often visited their club or sat at their table during lunch. The nature of this friendship was unclear to him, but a worse picture unfolded in his own room. Gwen was sitting on Merlin's bed, buried in a textbook, while the lad himself was sitting next to her, working on something on his laptop. Pendragon noticed that they were sharing a pair of headphones.

“Sorry to interrupt your idyll, but how did Gwen get into the men's dormitory?”

Not that he hadn't done the same thing a dozen times himself...

“Oh,” said Merlin, “I made friends with the concierge. He helped me.”

“Right. Why did I even ask?”

Gwen looked up from her reading and said,

“Arthur, can I talk to you for a minute?”

The girl nodded toward the hallway. He already knew what she wanted to ask.

When they returned to the room, Merlin looked at them with an inscrutable expression but said nothing. Gwen, in an attempt to lighten the mood, suggested they go to the coffee shop where Lance worked. It seemed that Merlin's introduction had worked, and they were now talking. Merlin pulled his usual brown jacket and blue scarf from the chair.

“They have berry tarts today, your favorite. Are you coming with us?” she asked, looking at Arthur.

“Lance makes the best coffee!” You'll love it,“ added Merlin.

Arthur agreed, without really knowing why. In the coffee shop, Merlin told stories from his village while Gwen chatted with Lance.

”...we grabbed the apricots, and suddenly our neighbor came out of his house and pointed a gun at us!"

Arthur listened half-heartedly and enjoyed his coffee. He had to give Lance credit, he really was quite good at it. The last time he had drunk coffee like this was at home, made by one of their housekeepers, an elderly woman. More than a year had passed, he wondered if she still worked for his father...

“Arthur,” Merlin called to him, “it's time to go back.”

His presence nearby felt like something that went without saying.

Leaving Gwen with Lance, they trudged back. As the day unfolded, the sun's rays emerged from behind the clouds, only to be swiftly obscured once more. Merlin was still talking nonsense, then called Arthur names again, for which Arthur gave him a hard shove in the shoulder. Of course, Merlin pushed back, then took off running, and they ended up racing each other back to the room.

Stopping at the door, panting and leaning against the wall, they began to laugh. Arthur glanced at his roommate's face — a sunbeam danced across it, shining in his eyes. His gaze sparkled with joy, and Arthur couldn't help but smile when he looked at him.

Exchanging glances, two guys realized that the last hurdle—the door—was still ahead of them, and, pushing each other, they reached for the keyhole. The door was unlocked, and pushing it open, they stumbled into the room, still laughing. Immediately, they stilled.

“Father,” Arthur said, straightening up and freezing.

He stood with his back to them, his hands clasped behind his back, looking out the window.

“Mr. President,” Merlin said uncertainly.

Uther turned away from the window and looked at the boys.

“Arthur, Merlin,” he greeted them, and Arthur was surprised that he knew his roommate’s name.

'Arthur, as you know, there's going to be a charity auction soon. I can't go, but it's important that you're there. Some very important people will be in attendance. I hope you understand.”

Of course Arthur knew. Their university was one of the founders of the auction and presented items donated by various famous alumni. Mostly, these were works of art.

”Yes, Father."

Uther looked at him silently, as if he wanted to say something else.

“I'm going too,” Merlin said suddenly. “Gaius got me an invitation, saying it would be good for my career. But I think he just doesn't want to go himself.”

Arthur looked at him in a way that urged him to be quiet. His father did not like idle chatter, and Arthur himself preferred to share as few details with him as possible. But Merlin was not bothered by anything. Fortunately, his father ignored his words.

“Everything must go smoothly at the auction, do you understand, Arthur?” Uther said in his usual stern tone.

He nodded.

“I have business to attend to,” said Uther, leaving them.

Arthur did not look sad, but something in his face betrayed tension. Merlin realized it was better not to ask.

“This will be my first auction,” he said instead.

“You're not likely to enjoy it,” Arthur snorted. “A bunch of important people will be pretending to care about art, whales, Amur tigers, or sick children. In reality, of course, that's not why they're there.”

“If you don't like it there, why go?” Merlin asked anyway.

For a second, Arthur's eyes flashed with irritation, even anger:

“Merlin,” he began in his usual quick-tempered manner, but suddenly exhaled and his gaze softened.

Arthur couldn't be angry. It was a sincere question; Merlin had never lived that kind of life, he couldn't know what it was like. His world was completely different. In some ways, Arthur even envied him.

“I have responsibilities,” he replied simply.

Grabbing his bag, he left the room. He hoped that the lectures would distract him from the unpleasant encounter, but instead, his mood only worsened. At training, Arthur was sullen and inattentive, thinking about the upcoming event.

“You need to relax, buddy,” Gwaine told him. “Find a girl, have some fun. We can hit the bar tomorrow.”

Everything came easily to Gwaine. Pendragon waved his teammate away:

“I'm not quite in the mood for that".

Formally part of the rich and famous youth, Arthur did not go to bars. The president's son could not be seen drunk in some shithole — and the bars Gwaine frequented could only be described as such — or in inappropriate company. Of course, he sometimes broke this rule and went to student parties. However, this was more out of a sense of duty — simply studying with people and not spending time with them outside of class, it was difficult to count on further friendship and cooperation.

Despite their outward carefreeness, most of the students came from wealthy and influential families whose history began long before the university was founded, and some of the buildings here bore their surnames. His father wanted him to study here — their family did not belong to the old aristocracy, his grandfather had achieved everything himself, and his company had passed to his father.

His father held an influential position, but he would not hold it forever. Therefore, Arthur's education was an investment, a well-thought-out strategic move. This thought made Pendragon smile sadly — what in his life had not been a strategic move? How many decisions had been his own?

The past week had made him think back to Gwaine's remark. Maybe he should have taken a break after the auction. He couldn't remember the last time he had done something he really enjoyed — except for fencing, of course. Perhaps he could visit Jill at her cottage—her joints were failing her, and she had had to leave her job that year.

His father had immediately hired a new person to look after his mother's flowers, but it wasn't the same. He tended to them as he would any other flowers. He didn't know whose flowers they were. Although, these flowers were no longer the same ones his mother had planted — unfortunately, their life cycle was not that long. But new ones grew from their seeds.

Pendragon returned to more pressing matters. Before his long-awaited rest, he still had to endure the auction. Arthur glanced at his roommate. For the auction, Merlin had found a decent dark blue shirt made of rich fabric (of course, he didn't bother to tuck it in), black trousers, and shoes of the same shade. The only thing that stood out from his model student appearance was the brown shoulder bag he never parted with.

“You look,” Arthur began, and Merlin looked at him suspiciously, “less ridiculous than usual.”

“And you're as much of a dollophead as ever,” Merlin said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and adjusted his red tie—it seemed to be preventing him from breathing. The jacket restricted his movements, and Pendragon wondered if he could get away with just a shirt too. Probably not.

"Let's get going," he said. "Or driving, really".

“Driving? By what?” Merlin asked sullenly.

“A car, Merlin. A means of transportation,” Pendragon replied, locking their room.

He knew that many students left their doors open—the local contingent wasn't particularly prone to theft—but he had a habit of remaining cautious.

“I can't believe they trust you with a car,” Merlin said as they descended the stairs.

Arthur pursed his lips:

"They don't really trust me. I mean, I have a license, but it's not customary for us to drive, and it's not safe. My father says that if I hit someone, there will be a big scandal".

“But this time my father won't be there, so I let the driver go,” Arthur added cheerfully, while Merlin's eyes widened in surprise.

“Don't worry,” he patted Merlin on the shoulder, “I'll drive carefully.”

Merlin had recently passed his driving test himself — it had been a stressful experience, and his instructor had been a complete jerk. He had to drive around the city, but it wasn't a pleasant experience — it turned out that people weren't in a hurry to follow the rules, cutting him off, blocking his way... Arthur's reason for being cheerful was unclear to him. If he could delegate the driving, he would have done so immediately.

“What's that?” Merlin asked incredulously, looking at the car — a presidential armored Cadillac.

“Believe me, I'm not thrilled about it myself, but it's a formal event, so we'll have to. Those are the rules. For personal use, I have that Jeep over there,“ he pointed to a parking space nearby.

Merlin looked at the second car unimpressed as Arthur unlocked the doors of the Cadillac.

”Compensating?" he asked with a smirk, glancing at the massive Jeep.

“Want to check?” Arthur raised his eyebrows, looking him straight in the eye.

Merlin quickly shook his head, making Pendragon laugh. He opened the door and awkwardly climbed into the passenger seat. He had never cared about cars, but Arthur seemed to like them. He began to think about what else Arthur liked. Fencing and sports in general, and also, it seemed, houseplants and gardening — although this fondness was not mutual...

But what else? Did Arthur enjoy his speciality? What about his circle of friends? Did he even have any? He didn't know. Judging by the discomfort he had observed in Arthur today, he was not entirely happy with what was happening.

And yet, Arthur didn't show it too much. No one else would have noticed it — what problems could the president's son have? Too much lady attention and money? Merlin himself did not have much love for the ruling class. And at times, Arthur was uncompromising — which was to be expected, given his position. But Merlin could see the doubts that plagued him. And that made him believe that Arthur was a good person.

“You managed to get us here without killing us,” he patted him on the shoulder in an attempt to cheer him up.

“I'm glad you enjoyed my taxi driving skills,” Arthur nodded jokingly, accepting the praise.

“We don't have to stay the whole evening,” Merlin said suddenly.

Arthur looked at him in amazement:

“Sometimes you surprise me, Merlin.”

When they entered the exhibition hall, Merlin's breath caught in his throat. There were so many people in the hall, and their eyes were now fixed on them. He glanced at Arthur, who, of course, looked completely at ease. As the son of the president and a well-known businessman, he had been accustomed to public attention since childhood. And Merlin had examined him enough to understand that his calmness at that moment was not feigned. Attention was not something Arthur liked or disliked, but rather something that was self-evident, a part of his life and personality.

“Arthur,” a gray-haired woman greeted him.

Within a minute, people were rushing toward Arthur.

“Mrs. Morris,” he smiled warmly at her, “how are you? How is Mr. Morris's health?”

Did Arthur really remember all these people?

“I'll see what's here,” Merlin said into the void (because Arthur was no longer listening to him).

While he kept a step behind him, Arthur made his way through the hall, greeting guests as if it were his party. Gaius briefly instructed him on etiquette—Merlin didn't listen too closely, but he was sure that these rules did not apply to Pendragon. Everyone approached him first—from young men and women their own age to very elderly people he thought he had seen on TV. And they all wanted something from Arthur—a piece of his attention, his position, his money...

Merlin passed the time contemplating intricate vases, antique musical instruments, and worn books that probably cost a fortune. Some of the exhibits were interesting, but so far, apart from him and a couple of admirers, no one was paying any attention to them. The art objects would interest them later, when they could be purchased for a couple of bills. Impressive bills. Or a check... Merlin didn't know the rules of auctions very well.

He walked over to the snack table and took a skewer with strawberries and some mysterious cheese. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arthur approaching him. He took a glass of champagne and took a sip.

“You're driving!” Merlin scolded him.

“One glass won't hurt, Merlin. But you're right,” he said, putting down his drink.

While Merlin was marveling at the acknowledgment of his own correctness, Arthur continued:

"The auction is about to start, which means I'll be almost free. Everyone will be preoccupied with old trinkets".

“Why would anyone want them?” Merlin asked, his eyes suddenly fixed on the floor tiles.

They were so clean and smooth that they reflected the chandelier, its intricate patterns and intertwining lights like a mirror. Just thinking about how they must have been washed made his back ache.

“To throw a party in honor of acquiring a rare item and flaunt your importance to all those present,” Pendragon replied.

It took Merlin a second to comprehend his words. He laughed, but then suddenly realized that Arthur was serious and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Well, some people really do like art. They're in the minority here, though. At least this money will go to a good cause,” Arthur explained.

“Are you going to buy something too?”

“Yes,” Arthur said with a smirk that didn't bode well, “I've got my eye on something.”

Arthur had indeed found something. A hideous red hat with feathers was perched on Merlin's head, which Pendragon had purchased at the last auction for what Merlin considered a ridiculous amount of money. Merlin looked up at him, his gaze full of both amazement and disapproval.

“Who did it belong to?”

“A nobleman,” Arthur assured Merlin, barely suppressing his laughter.

“And it suits you, Mr...?” said the woman who had been watching the scene.

“Oh,” he looked at the woman, whom he had not noticed before, “Merlin, just Merlin.”

She smiled at him and immediately lost interest, turning to Pendragon.

“Now that the auction is over, perhaps we can discuss the project I mentioned last time?” She took Arthur by the forearm, leading him a little further away. “It's a pity your father couldn't be here...”

Merlin watched them, sipping a non-alcoholic cocktail. It was the same as at the beginning of the party — everyone wanted to exchange a few words with Arthur, the bolder ones inviting him somewhere, and some even going overboard with their business proposals. Arthur's favor promised them the president's favor, which meant fewer problems with the law and more influence. At least, that's what Merlin assumed — it was difficult for him to say anything for sure without any experience in this area. Arthur took everything with a degree of acceptance, although Merlin could see that he was not happy with the lucrative conversations of strangers.

When Arthur broke free from the clutches of his “ benevolent” friends, it was already late evening outside. In the car, he took off his tie, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, and opened the window. Merlin shivered a little from the cool night air, but Arthur's jacket immediately fell onto his lap, warming him. Pendragon had plugged his phone into the speaker and started playing one of his favorite band's albums. He started the car and drove faster than on the way there.

“Oh, I love this song!”

“Do you listen to Avalon?” Arthur asked in surprise.

“I've been a fan for a long time,” Merlin said, closing his eyes and beginning to hum.

The wind played with the dark strands of his hair, and the street lights overpowered the moonlight high in the sky, falling in a scattering of shades on his cheekbones.

“Hungry?” Arthur asked when the song ended. They were approaching the city center and needed to decide on a route.

“I'm starving,” he admitted.

“Didn't you enjoy the gourmet snacks?” Arthur smiled, seeing the embarrassment in the guy's eyes.

“Me neither,” he reassured Merlin, “how about pizza?”

Merlin had never turned down pizza:

“I know a good place.”

After ordering pizza at the drive-through window, Arthur drove them to the restaurant parking lot. He got out of the car and placed the pizza on the hood. The red light from the sign flooded the parking lot and reflected off the wet pavement. Music and the chirping of cash registers could be heard from the cafe.

“Help yourself,” Arthur offered, leaning against the car.

“Thank you,” Merlin replied sincerely.

He remembered how he and his friend Will, when they were still children, had spent the night together on a camping trip. It was a sultry summer, with crickets chirping all around and the smell of smoke from the campfire. The sky far from the city was clear and high; like an astronomical atlas, you could read the constellations in it. They 'd lain in the tent together, not worrying about anything in the world. Now it was a cold, almost November night, but for some reason Merlin felt as warm as he had that July.