3

"Up to your old tricks again I see. Just make sure the drinks go down your throat and not on someone's face, alright Merlin?" Heath told him, tilting his chin in the direction of Merlin's booth as he slid over the second jug of the night. His friends were all drinking hard, Leon and Morgana

especially (they must have had trying days at their work, just like him). He slipped a fuzzy look of confusion at Heath, not bothering to respond to the cryptic remark, before carefully easing the tray into his hands. In all honesty, Merlin was getting to the stage past pleasant tipsiness, and he probably shouldn't be drinking any more unless he wanted to embarrass himself, or fall asleep at the pub.

 

 Which is why, when next to Lancelot's gorgeous dark (could induce spontaneous bodice-ripping) hair he spotted a very broad back topped with a head of blond hair that was so fluffy it begged to be tousled through and mussed up (like messing up the fur of a dog. Merlin loved dogs, but his mam was allergic), he was only able to conjure up a wobbly pout to shoot at Morgana as he set the jug down.

 

 Of course, the only spot left was the one next to Arthur Pendragon, his facebook stalkee.

 

 No wonder Morgana didn't want him to stay home! She had already planned to set him up. He shot a betrayed look at Lancelot, who smiled weakly and poured Merlin a pint from the pot, sliding it in front of the empty seat. He puffed out his cheeks at his roommate. No more drinks, his arse!

 

 Carefully, he sat himself down and exchanged a small smile with the blond man (and then a scowl at Lancelot). The man nodded regally back at him, which made him fumble to hide behind his beer. He took a large drink of it, sneaking a glance sideways in a way he hoped was really subtle. And yup, just as gorgeous as his facebook purported, no photoshop there. The black tee the blond wore was stretched tight over his broad chest, neck a tan expanse of skin as he took a drink. His were hands larger than Merlin's own around the glass, nails neat and trimmed. Merlin told himself he was only smearing the back of his hand over his mouth to get rid of the remnants of his beer.

 

 Three pair of eyes looked at them expectantly. Morgana's sharp nails tapped out an impatient tattoo against the table top.

 

 "Don't be a tit Arthur, introduce yourself to him!" Morgana hissed a moment latter, slapping the table loudly.

 

 "Oh, um, actually. I sort of already know?" Merlin told his drink. There was a bit of spluttering around the table (everyone must be on the wrong side of sober, clearly) as Merlin hesitantly extended his hand and raised his eyes, mustering up a smile. "Hello Arthur, I'm Merlin. I've seen your name come up in Morgana's feed on Facebook."

 

 He decided not to bring up their brief previous encounter, in case the other man didn't remember and thought he was weird for remembering that and possibly into him or something. Which, clearly, not possible, even if he had spent a good fifteen minutes clicking through the album titled 'Days on the Beach' (there was white sand wherever they had taken the photos, and Merlin had been entranced by the endless, glistening lean expanse of — um, white sand).

 

 "Oh?" Arthur's voice was rather strangled. He shook Merlin's hand quickly, heating up his cold fingers for only an instant before letting go, and then rubbing the the hand on his jeans. Like being in contact with Merlin's hand was diseased or something (not that Merlin was at all hurt by the action, not at all). "S'a bit stalkerish init?"

 

 Morgana and Leon glared at the blond, mouths gaping a little while Lancelot simply frowned.

 

 Arthur's rather strong cockney accent rattled Merlin, as did his words. He slowly lowered his hand and quietly returned it to his drink, feeling himself flush (he hoped everyone would think it was from the beer).

 

 "Arthur," Morgana ground out, warning. "This is why I don't take you anywhere."

 

 "Talk about pot calling kettle." Leon shook his head sadly, taking a gulp of his beer.

 

 Merlin rather appreciated their support, but in truth he did feel like a stalker (in that facebook sense) so he simply averted his gaze and emptied the rest of his pint in small sips. As if in apology, Arthur took his glass and refilled it (either that or he simply didn't want Merlin to talk. But Merlin was an optimist).

 

 "So," Merlin ventured, breaking the awkward silence that had descended on the table. "Going anywhere nice for the holidays?"

 

 Conversation and drink flowed easily after that. Well, for everyone but Merlin. He had been ready to drop at the start of the night, and downing that last pint had definitely been a mistake. He let the hum of conversation relax him, leaning his head back into the squeaky cushioning of the booth for support. He felt himself blinking languidly as Morgana bitched at length about some miserable bint called Nim, Arthur pitching in to correct her here and there. Then the topic rounded to bitching about their week at work, Leon especially disgruntled about taking some calls from the media he found distasteful. Merlin could feel himself resting his eyes longer and longer between blinks, until finally he was gently jostled awake by his pillow moving beneath his cheek.

 

 Merlin frowned slightly, kneading his face into the soft upholstery and nestling closer to the source of warmth. The pointed clearing of a throat jolted him all the way awake, neck snapping almost violently.

 

Oh no, he thought, mortification muffled through the haze of sleep. I fell asleep while my friends were talking to me.

 

 Which was horrible, because he liked them a lot and didn't want them to think he fell asleep because he thought they were boring or anything like that. Except that when he opened his mouth to apologise, a yawn came out instead. He massaged the cheek that had been resting on the pillow, trying valiantly to wake up some more. As the throat clearing continued, Merlin sought out the source of the noise and found it to be emitting from Arthur Pendragon's tight-lipped mouth, as the blond pointedly rolled his shoulder and straightened his (rather distracting) form-fitting black tee.

 

Oh dear, Merlin thought despondently. That was obviously not happening. Not that he thought anything would happen, or had been hoping to make a good impression or anything like that. He also was not thinking about how nice and warm Arthur's shoulder had been, or the heat coming off of his side, or anything to do with the blond at all.

 

 "Sorry Merlin," Morgana murmured, her face a guilty expression to his right. Poor Morgana, how was she to know Merlin was rubbish at this meeting attractive people thing?

 

 Well, except Merlin did tell her.

 

 "You really must have been tired. I shouldn't have made you come out."

 

 "It's all right Morgana." He yawned again. "I'm a big boy."

 

 "Time to go home Merlin," Lancelot said, getting up from his seat.

 

 "Okay," he replied obediently, rubbing his eye of sleep with the heel of his left palm. First that stupidity from the previous week, and then the stupidity from tonight. He was more than ready to go home.

 

 "See him home won't you Arthur?" Morgana ordered. "Us grown ups have to talk."

 

 "Har har," Arthur said, mouth twisting. Lancelot set himself back down, a rueful smile on his face, shrugging his shoulders at Merlin. Coward.

 

 "That's alright, don't trouble yourself, I'll be fine." Merlin fought down another yawn and stood up precariously.

 

 "What'r'ya sayin', drunkard," Arthur sighed, steadying him with a hand on his arm. He put the other on the small of Merlin's back, the heat of it scorching through the fabric of the coveralls. "Come on then. See you lot later, yeah?"

 

 Assent chorused from the three traitors, and they left the establishment. The bite of the cold outside woke Merlin up slightly, prompting him to wind his scarf over his neck a few more times.

 

 "Um, thanks for this, it's really nice, um, you didn't have to." Thankfully, Merlin's teeth chattered, cutting off his blathering. Arthur still hadn't taken his hand away from Merlin's back, and it was the only place on his whole body that really felt warm. "Blimey it's cold."

 

 "It wouldn't be so cold if you had more meat on your bones. You're incredibly bony," Arthur muttered. His palm pushed at Merlin's back, as if propelling him forward and away. Merlin stepped out of heated space around Arthur, stung. His rubbed his uncovered arms, uncomfortably aware of how gangly and spindly he was. He desperately sought for something to say, to change the subject.

 

 "So, um, Pendragon? That's an interesting name," Merlin offered. "Sounds a bit familiar."

 

 "Really?" Arthur said, drawling out the cockney so the word became five syllables instead of just two.

 

 "Yeah, like, the Pendragon banks?"

 

 Arthur sighed. "Oh yeah. S'my dad's. Hey, turning here." His skin seared where Arthur's arm came curling around his waist, catching Merlin as he stumbled at the abrupt movement.

 

 "Oh right. Thanks." Merlin should have been leading the way since it was his home he was returning to, but of course he didn't, and now he looked absent-minded and awkward. On top of that, in spite of the cold he was still on the verge of slumber. He had the sinking feeling that he was actually leaning closer and closer into Arthur's side. "So you work in a bank?"

 

 "No, s'my dad." Arthur's voice had a hint of bemusement in it. "'N you work inna shop?"

 

 "Um, yeah," Merlin mumbled. Arthur's hand had come to a comfortable rest on his hip, just on top of the bone. Merlin was decidedly not thinking about how nice it felt. "How'd you know that?"

 

 "Well, M-Morgana told me." Arthur stuttered. He must have been feeling the cold too. "Anyway, can't be much good if you're goin' 'round like that."

 

 Merlin suddenly felt wide awake.

 

 "Like what?"

 

 "Y'know. Just lookit them things, ain't hardly gonna keep you warm now init? 'N they're ratty 'round the edges." Arthur said evenly, fiddling with one of the 'ratty' threads on the strap of Merlin's left shoulder with his free hand to make his point. Merlin felt a pool of heat curl up unpleasantly in his stomach. "You look so cold."

 

 Well. That was definitely that. Maybe he was bit lacking in the muscles department, and maybe his hair wasn't all nice and fluffy looking (or combed half the time), but there was not one thing wrong about anything that Gwen and Freya crafted.

 

 Merlin shrugged both of Arthur's arms off of him. The hands hovered as Merlin stomped forwards a ways in front of the blond and whirled around to face him.

 

 "You," Merlin glared, incensed. Arthur's blue eyes blinked at him, utterly perplexed and looking lost. "You are an incredibly rude arse."

 

 He stomped down hard on Arthur's trainers (didn't Lance have a pair like that?) and stalked off home, furious.

 

 ---

 

 

 

 "Good song, Temper Trap's Sweet Disposition. Now, Penn was imparting some very interesting information during the break, which I think he should share to all the listeners, so out with it Penn."

 "What? No! No, it wasn't interesting at all. Extremely dull and banal DriveThru fans, you wouldn't want to hear about it."

 "Now now Penn. Documenting your exploits and all that. It's sharing time."

 "Well, um... DriveThru fans, this may surprise you somewhat, but at times I can be a little... insensitive."

 "Hallelujah."

 "Quiet Dust, I'm talking. Anyway DriveThru Fans, I might have... done something, in the realm of insensitivity. You see last night there was this guy—"

 "BG."

 "What?"

 "BG. Bar Guy. Get with the times Penn."

 "Uh huh. Anyway, last night, I may have quite possibly been slightly insensitive towards Bar Guy. Before you judge me though—"

 "I'm always judging you."

 "Before you judge me, can I just say that I wasn't completely to blame. I was completely distracted at the time."

 "Right."

 "I don't like your tone Dusty."

 "Pray tell us why you were— distracted then."

 "Well, he was extremely unkempt."

 "Unkempt. Really. What, are you OCD now?"

 "No! I was just, his scarf was all frayed at the ends, and his coveralls had these loose threads hanging from them, and his hair was extremely fluffy!"

 "So— you were distracted by his hair."

 "Wha— No! No, I was like, it was the cat in me, alright. Bar Guy had, like dangling pieces of string! My feline instincts were fully focused on pouncing on those pieces of string."

 "Are we going to get in trouble with the censors again?"

 "Not like that you dirty slag, honestly. I was just — preoccupied. With the threads. I had to touch them, okay, it was a horrid compulsion."

 "So basically, you were touching BG and his... threads."

 "He made me do it!"

 "Right. Something tells me he was unaware of your apparent feline heritage."

 "So I'm a tactile person. That's not a crime is it? I like touching things. Let's open the lines, DriveThru Fans, call and tell us when you couldn't help but touch something."

 "Yes, I'll give you Ellie Goulding's debut album Lights if your story involves some sort of hot appliance. Or, if you tell Penn this touching business of his has nothing to do with his feline ways or supposed tactile inclinations."

 "That's unfair Dust. Certainly even you can attest to how very tactile I am."

 "Please Penn. When was the last time you touched me without it being a manly pat on the shoulder or to cause me some form of physical pain?"

 "Yes, well. That's because it's you. Only your mother's willing to touch you without incentive."

 "That's not what your sister said last night."

 "..."

 "...Oh, bollocks."

 "What."

 "Oh, is that the time? Better get through another song before we get to your calls!"

 

 

 ---

 

 Morgana started choking on her latte.

 

 Merlin was immediately on his feet, patting her soothingly on the back. Morgana waved away his concern with a hacking cough and, with only a smidgen less grace than usual, accepted a napkin from a nervous looking waiter.

 

 "Went down the wrong way?" Merlin said sympathetically.

 

 "Um yes," Morgana wheezed, rubbing her throat. Merlin cautiously returned to his seat, and not because he was waiting for Morgana to go off on another coughing fit, but because sitting down meant more talking (read: interrogating). Earlier that day, Morgana had stormed in, automatic doors receding in her wake, and demanded Merlin accompany her on his tea break (why Morgana didn't have better things to do on a Monday was a question burning Merlin up inside, but he was hardly game enough to question her about it).

 

 She soon schooled herself into her normal dignified visage, and picked up her teacup nonchalantly.

 

 "Can't believe they're letting such indecency be put on the air for public consumption," Morgana said steadily. "I suppose you don't listen to it."

 

 "Um..." Merlin bought some time sipping at his own drink. He was afraid to give the wrong response. Though, while being grilled by Morgana, everything was basically the wrong answer wasn't it?

 

 "I do sometimes. Not much lately though." Because I am riddled with the shame of my outrageous conceit, he didn't say.

 

 "Can't blame you," Morgana said, sniffing daintily. "That Penn character is obviously a straight jacket shy of an insane asylum."

 

 Merlin cleared his throat, eyes shifting. "You don't think it's... romantic?" Then hurriedly waved his hands about. "Not that, I mean, it's just what all the girls are saying. On the street."

 

 "Merlin." Morgana elegantly laced her fingers together, resting her elbows on the table and leaned forward, gazing at him intently. "You think it's romantic? Being courted in public, pictures printed in the paper, being hounded by the press, people saying what they damn well please without consideration for anyone's feelings at all?"

 

 Merlin stared, a little incredulously. He wanted to point out that none of what Morgana had listed had actually happened, but she had sounded so profoundly bitter, her fingers twitching and back stiff, lips pressed firmly together and eyes still alarmingly intent on Merlin's own that he decided against it.

 

 "That's the horrible thing about fame these days," Morgana said breezily, as if she had not just pinned Merlin to his seat with her gaze, finally leaning into the backrest of her chair. "Nobody is newsworthy unless they've been caught cheating on their wife or been in an adult video."

 

 Merlin chuckled uneasily, feeling a bit like Godzilla had picked him up and shook him around while happily smashing Tokyo under his dinosaur feet. He didn't know that much about Morgana yet, but he had never seen her look so resentful, and then so resigned. It made him want to shoot toast at whoever could have done that to her. Instead, he searched for something to say to bring Morgana back out of her bad memories.

 

 "I don't know, I think it's a bit amazing actually. The whole Penn business I mean," Merlin said hurriedly, nervously twisting his teacup in his hand. "I mean, just look." He gestured out the window. Half the people walking by were dressed just like the people on his train ride back from Ealdor. "You could look at it like, I don't know, people following a fad I guess, but." Merlin shrugged. "It's inspiring, That this many people care about— are touched by this ridiculous Bar Guy business that they've written it all over their clothes. It's like, they're supporting Penn with their whole being or something. And he's really— I think he's really brave. He's putting himself out there in the public domain, without caring what everyone thinks. It's pretty... incredible..."

 

 Merlin trailed off, completely embarrassed. He'd just gone off on a long spiel that Morgana probably didn't care about. He didn't dare look at her in the face, feeling the flush spread through his entire body as he stirred the remnants of his tea into a whirlpool.

 

 After the most agonising moment of Merlin's life, Morgana finally responded.

 

 "Merlin."

 

 Her voice was stern, her face like stone. Merlin waited for her swift judgement on his outdated/obviously-from-the-country naive way of thinking, when her face broke out in a cheerful smirk.

 

 "You my dear, are far," she repeated with more emphasis, "far too good for my brother."

 

 Merlin blinked, smiling hesitantly.

 

 "Who?"

 

 ---

 

 Merlin returned from his tea break with Morgana in a much better mood than when he left.

 

 That all sort of came crashing down when Freya and Gwen beamed at him from the counter, holding a box of Truly Awful Things, smiling and batting their eyelashes doefully.

 

 "Girls," he sighed at them, resigned, letting them have at him. "You do realise I'm not a girl right?"

 

 "Oh Merlin, stop being such a grouch," Freya demanded, stepping back and eyeing his hair and wrists critically. "Gwen, I think we'll need to put a thicker belt over the skirt."

 

 "You said it wasn't a skirt!" Merlin protested at her retreating back. Gwen smiled at him, blatantly unsympathetic.

 

 "It's not," she lied. "And you look fetching."

 

 "All the boys will come to the yard," Freya cackled delightedly, brandishing another belt. She cinched it loosely over his hips (serves her right if it falls down, Merlin thought unkindly. His hips certainly weren't able to stop its descent if the belt was keen on meeting up with the floor). After Gwen and Freya hmmed and hawed for a few more minutes, they declared him fit for work and went on their evil, giggly way to the tea room, leaving him with express orders to stand in the front of the shop where he was clearly visible through the windows.

 

 After which, of course, Arthur Pendragon decided to come in.

 

 Merlin couldn't help pursing his lips. "Welcome," he ground out. "I'll be with you in a minute sir," and turned his back to the blond arse pointedly, returning to his conversation with his customer about their coveralls actually being out of stock at the moment, just missed it by half a day, but they should be back in stock by Wednesday and if they'd like to leave their details he would contact them straight away when they got in.

 

 When he had drawn out the conversation for as long as he was able, Merlin steeled himself, trying to remember all the nice things Morgana had told him about Arthur being contrite and apologetic about his behaviour the night he'd sort of walked Merlin home.

 

 ("He came home in a huff and sulked in a corner all night." Morgana had howled in laughter.

 

 "You live with him?" Merlin had asked curiously.

 

 "Our parents had an extremely messy divorce." Morgana had shrugged, as though it explained everything. It really didn't.)

 

 "Can I help you sir?" Merlin smiled stiffly, as the blond man stared blankly at him. "I'll need to remind you that exchanges and returns are not possible after seven days from the initial date of purchase."

 

 Arthur flinched, then tossed back defiantly, "Merlin, r'ya such a giant girl ya feel you hafta announce it wi' a pink headband 'n a jingly charm bracelet? Not that tha skirt ain't a dead giveaway."

 

 Merlin refused to give Arthur the satisfaction of seeing him hurt or angry. "If you need any help I'll be over there," he said, and walked determinedly over to the women's section, hanging up new dresses in the space where the coveralls had been. He focused very carefully on each item, making sure the folds were draping just so, and was definitely not aware of Morgana's (step? Half? Half adopted? Their family tree was very confusing without a flow chart) brother stalking around the store before coming to stand next to him five minutes later, eyes downcast.

 

 "...I shouldn' 'a said that," Arthur said mulishly. Merlin felt the situation not unlike being in primary school, but unable to stop himself.

 

 "Why not?" he bit out. "You've made it quite clear you don't think much of how I look, how I dress, or how I work for a store that isn't any good except to buy things from on a whim."

 

 "What!" Came the outraged hiss from Freya. Gwen, being observant and a great believer in pacifism, led Freya back into the tea room and shut the door behind them.

 

 "I didn' mean it the way it came out!" Arthur insisted. "Honest. I jus' had a bit ta drink 'n it came out all wrong." A pause. "'N just now I was all embarrassed 'cause I got made."

 

 Merlin cursed his inherent niceness and turned to face Arthur properly. The blond took this as a reconciliatory gesture and smiled at him earnestly, extending his arm to rest his hand on Merlin's shoulder, squeezing. "I didn' think ya remembered really."

 

 Merlin turned away slightly, smoothing out the next dress and biting his lip. "You're still rude."

 

 He shrugged, chuckling. The sound sent a jolt of heat straight to Merlin's stomach. "Yeah. M'sorry," Arthur said, sounding much more sincere this time. Merlin told himself that was the reason why he was conceding, nothing to do with how Arthur had slid his hesitant, warm palm to his back, underneath his left shoulder blade.

 

 "Alright. Apology accepted." He gave the blond a shy smile, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Arthur smiled at him even more brightly, red mouth revealing white teeth, and Merlin fumbled with the next dress out of the box. He rescued it and stared intently at the hanger, making sure it met the rack safely. "So, how did you know where I worked anyway? Morgana?"

 

 "...Yeah." Arthur said after a pause. "'N speakin' a work, I hafta leave but, I wanted ta come in 'n see ya—"

 

Merlin flushed. Arthur had probably not meant anything by that. He told his heart to stop skipping beats when it had no business doing anything of the sort.

 

 "—'N to give ya this, as 'n apology." Here, Arthur reached his free hand into the deep pocket of his coat, and pulled out long, silver scarf, covered in blue fleur de lis monograms. It looked insanely expensive.

 

 "I can't take that Arthur, the apology was enough." Merlin protested, hands flying up and waving about. Arthur simply unwound Merlin's current scarf and slid the cool, expensive fabric in its place. Merlin couldn't help the involuntary shudder as the cold cloth rubbed against his neck. He was horribly red, he could feel it.

 

 "Doesn't go with the pink headband," Arthur murmured, breath ghosting Merlin's flushing cheeks. "But it matches your eyes."

 

 Merlin was still too stunned with surprise to respond to Arthur's cheery farewell a minute later, could only watch as the blond left the store with a spring in his step and a curl to his mouth. He figured out how to close his gaping mouth a moment later, and came to his senses, noting he was rubbing the scarf between the pad of his thumb and forefinger. Arthur had been so close to Merlin's mouth, he had been sure...

 

 A wolf whistle sounded low from beside him.

 

 "That man is incredibly smooth," Gwen declared, impressed.

 

 "That man is incredibly rude, you mean," Freya muttered from his other side. "Was he insulting the shop Merlin? And he took your scarf as well!"

 

 He looked around him, slightly dazed, and he realised she was right. Why did Arthur do that? What was this scarf made of anyway? What kind of work necessitates leaving at three in the afternoon? Is rudeness somehow cancelled out by charm? Questions spun around dizzily in his mind, the utmost one being: why the hell hadn't he asked for a phone number?

 

 What actually came out was:

 

 "Where did you learn to whistle like that Gwen?"

 

 Well, it had been very impressive.

 

 ---

 

 

 

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 Merlin walked into work on Tuesday scowling, which had him immediately sent to the tea room with a rap on the knuckles and orders to make a new pot of tea. Gwen came in about three minutes after that with a new packet of biscuits.

 

 "Bad day?" Gwen rubbed his shoulder gently and took a seat beside him. Merlin bit savagely into an oreo (no milk).

 

 "Mam's pimping me out," he mumbled grudgingly, crunching noisily. "I had to call her up and not-shout at her to stop trying to fix me up. And also that she shouldn't be accepting dodgy invites from randy men of any age." He swallowed and wiped his hand over his mouth to clear it of crumbs, frustrated. "She didn't take it very well."

 

 Which was a tiny understatement, because she had started not-crying on the phone, telling him very unsteadily about how she worried for him and that she could take care of herself just fine, which had him not-apologizing profusely and, after giving that up, calling Gauis and asking him to console his mam because he is a horrid child and son and should never have left Ealdor.

 

 Gaius had told him to grow a pair, and then muttered about taking over some porridge before ringing off.

 

 "Oh," said Gwen, sounding surprised. She said after a pause, "is that all?"

 

 "What?" Merlin whipped his head from where it rested from the table, upset.

 

 "I didn't mean it like— of course it's horrible that you and your mother are having problems, I obviously wouldn't wish that on anybody. I mean, not that having problems with her is a small problem in any way, because it's healthy for parents and children to fight, you see—"

 

 "She means we thought you were upset because you found out you were Bar Guy and throwing a giant fit." Freya cut Gwen off, holding his laptop in one had and reaching down to cover Gwen's mouth with the other. "By the way, you are so totally get a raise for this Merlin."

 

 "Um, yes. To the former, I mean. And, congratulations on the latter?" Gwen agreed a little confusedly, when Freya removed her hand to sit on Merlin's other side.

 

 He looked at Freya blankly, and then swiveled his head slowly to stare at Gwen's once again earnest face. "What are you on about?" he asked slowly, like he did that time in the park, coaxing wild ducks from eating his precious circuits when he decided to take apart his electronic dictionary (he had been learning Japanese at the time).

 

 "Look, right here!" Freya almost squealed, tapping at the screen.

 

 ---

 

 

 

 ---

 

 "Um," Merlin looked at them both, confused. "I'm not sure which part of this is meant to convince me of being an internet phenomenon. I quite like Chai lattes."

 

 Gwen looked at him like he was a dear stray kitten she wanted to take home and cuddle. Freya looked like she wanted to smack him about the face. "Merlin, of course that's you! How can you deny such blatant evidence?"

 

 "Oh hold on," Gwen said distantly. "We've skipped a few pages. Here we go, right here Merlin."

 

 ---

 

 

 

 ---

 

 That wasn't possible.

 

 Merlin clicked on the links again and stared long and hard at the photos.

 

 "They're awful photos," Gwen murmured, rubbing his back. "But that's what you were wearing yesterday. You know. At least, what he managed to frame of your outfit with his atrocious photo taking skills."

 

 "The hungry hungry caterpillar was on my shirt yesterday." Merlin said, bewildered. His mind, normally extremely adept at handling information, seemed to have frozen and was in need of a reboot.

 

 "Yup." Freya said, gnawing her lips in uncertainty. "Um, you seem sort of surprised?"

 

 "I really don't think he knew, Freya." Gwen looked at him worriedly. Freya seemed, if anything, even more gleeful at the news. Merlin barely heard them.

 

 "And you made me wear that headband and skirt."

 

 "Uh huh."

 

 "That's the scarf Arthur gave me yesterday."

 

 "Sure is."

 

 Merlin looked down at his vest belatedly, a strange blue and white and pink unintentional tie dye, from his first ever attempt at laundry and forever stained, mirroring the photo on screen. The frilly sleeves went past the length of his hands, being two sizes too big.

 

 "This is Lance's," he heard himself say, distant over the roaring in his ears. He picked at the ridiculous frills. "They're the only clean shirts left because we're both doing laundry today. This one had the least amount of frills on it."

 

 No wonder he had been dressed like everyone else. No wonder everyone was reading P&P&Z at uni. No wonder he couldn't get the next Autobot in the Happy Meal series!

 

 He could feel Gwen murmuring at him indistinctly, but his mind had already stopped well before the point of human interaction. Held at a standstill, it was like he was looking at white text on a blue screen of death, his eyes like the cursor, blinking mechanically.

 

 

 

 

 

 Merlin continued to blink. Then got up woodenly from his chair.

 

 "I should fix that," he said blankly.

 

 For the rest of his shift, he sequestered himself in the tea room and meticulously pulled out all the wiring, scattered his beloved chips and circuits in a donut shape around himself and ignored Freya when she tried to make him come out the front and serve customers, threatening to not give him the promised raise.

 

 He was Bar Guy. BG.

 

 People around the city were dressing up like him. People were reading the books he was reading. People listened to Penn go on about him and bought blue contacts.

 

 Penn, the DriveThru's very own lovable nutjob, sort of admired him from afar.

 

 Penn, the voice which lulled him into sleep most nights, sort of had a crush on him.

 

Um.

 

Huh?!

 

 ---

 

 Gwen and Freya were two of the best people Merlin ever had the privilege of befriending. Gwen was forever worried about his health and things like his eating habits (and Freya was too, in the beginning. Then she forced him on the scales after a night of all-you-can-eat lasagna for a standard shop personnel health test, and since then had been entirely unconcerned. Very strange). Gwen was nice, almost to a fault, and actually helped to land Merlin his job at the shop the day after he moved in (she had spilt some coffee on him on her way to work, and taken him to the store to get him a new one. Honestly, the nicest person).

 

 After hearing about his lack of employment, Freya basically gave him a job on the spot, after a two question interview.

 

 ("So Merlin, do you do drugs?"

 

 "Um, no."

 

 "And you're obviously twee, then."

 

 "I-I don't think you're meant to ask me stuff like that—"

 

 "I like him Gwen! He's hired!")

 

 It was more of a one question interview really, now that he thought about it.

 

 What he was trying to say was, the girls were very, very nice to him. Ordinarily. He was quickly discovering the niceness? Did not extend to times when they discovered he was somewhat famous on the internet.

 

 "Bar Guy has a heart of gold!" Gwen chirped at him cheerfully, humming as she rinsed out her mug in the sink. She then simply bounced out of the room, ignoring Merlin's look of horror and despair and not caring in the slightest that he might have crushed a very important circuit the espresso machine needed in order to make horrible coffee in his shocked hands.

 

 "Bar Guy has a smile that really ought to be classified as a WMD!" Freya sang out melodically on her way to the biscuit tin, jolting Merlin out of his rather uncomfortable sprawl on the tea room floor. "By the way, you know I'm paying you to work out front right?"

 

 Merlin ignored her.

 

 And so on and so forth it went, even after Merlin had to relinquish his screwdriver because his hand developed red grooves from gripping it too tightly. He dragged at his heels, re-assembling the coffee machine as slowly as possible after he took out the sound chip. Gwen and Freya's increasingly thin excuses eventually ran out until they made no attempts to mask their insidious glee at all.

 

 "Bar Guy probably tastes sweet like oranges and cream, his favourite lolly stick flavour," Gwen read out. The girls awwwwwwwwww-ed in unison and Merlin had had enough.

 

 "It does not say that!" Merlin threw his hands up, exasperated.

 

 "No it does, right after Dusty says he's going to be sick." Gwen says, thrusting a printout in his face. "See, right here."

 

 "Right under where Penn says he doesn't know what Dusty's on about," Freya chimed in unhelpfully. Printouts were not a good sign. Merlin looked at the innocuous white piece of paper in dismay. He hoped they weren't planning to decorate them with sparkly pens and put them up on their sewing room wall (like they did when they found the diary he had kept in grade school. Just a lot of stick figures and hungry caterpillars really, but embarrassing all the same).

 

 He carelessly pushed the offending sheet away from him and narrowed his eyes. "You girls are having way too much fun with this. How did you even find out?" These questions probably would have been best asked right after they had 'shown him the light' (their words, not his) but Merlin had been overloading with information, and it was only now that he was fit for normal human enquiries.

 

 Freya and Gwen exchanged a long-suffering look before both patting his head (he was still not a dog).

 

 "We dress you Merlin. Every day," Freya said, enunciating slowly and clearly.

 

 "And well, it was all a little too coincidental? Everything we dressed you in would fly of the shelves the day after. I mean, we sort of suspected something was going on but, we really didn't think of it until the coveralls," Gwen said soothingly, rubbing his arm.

 

 "Oh," Merlin breathed out.

 

 Freya nodded in agreement. "We designed them ourselves you know, and they weren't cheap to produce so, we never thought they'd sell that well at all. But after you wore them out of the store the other day, they flew off the shelf like brollies on a rainy day! I'm surprised you didn't notice."

 

 Merlin decided it was better for everyone sitting at the table if he kept silent about his mantra of 'what goes on in the shop, stays in the shop', due to Gwen and Freya incessant treatment of him as though he was a mannequin in the front window. He wore what they wanted him to wear and scrubbed his mind clean of the gritty details. In fact, as far as he was concerned his clothes magically changed when he walked through the door, and never was he subjected to horrific scrutiny with comments such as "these pants require him to wear a thong," and "we should tape it down to his skin in case of nipple flash" (and he was immensely grateful that the weather was always so cold, because the thought of even less clothing sort of made him dizzy and in need of a lie down).

 

 Anyway, in his mind? Work consisted of walking in, walking out, and biscuits in the tea room. Oh, and weird customers (those stories are great ice breakers at parties where he knew nobody and Will was busy making out with a girl in the darkest corner he can find).

 

 The two girls sipped their tea. Merlin stared some more.

 

 "So are you going to meet him?" Gwen asked finally, a worried crease appearing on her brow.

 

 Merlin gaped, slamming the lid of the laptop in horror.

 

 "What? Back up, back up!" Freya cried fretfully. "Who said anything about Merlin actually coming into contact with this bloke?" She settled her gaze on Merlin, eyes fierce. "Don't do it Merlin, he could slip you date rape drugs!"

 

 "Oh, no he wouldn't." Gwen rubbed his arm a with a little more pressure than before. "He's probably just shy or-- or overweight or something. You know. Because he's been saying all these nice things about you but hasn't even introduced himself to you? He hasn't has he?"

 

 "An obese drug pusher!" Freya gasped.

 

 The girls were very lovely indeed. They always knew exactly the right things to say to him.

 

 ---

 

 After his shift ended, he decided he needed a lollipop (one that wasn't handed to him by people wearing skinny jeans on his walk to work, but one he had to pry out of the begrudging claws of the girl who worked at the games shop).

 

 He unwrapped his prize with relish, popping it in his mouth as he stepped back out into the rush three quarters of an hour later (it was one of those damn slidey puzzles where he had maneuver stupid small squares to get a big square out all right, don't judge him), and bumped right into Arthur.

 

 "Fancy meetin' ya here Merlin, whadda coincidence!" The blond smiled broadly, clapping his icy cold hand onto Merlin's shoulder. He couldn't help but shudder at the shock of it.

 

 "H-hello Arthur, how are you?" Merlin said, after recovering from the sudden drop in temperature (except it sort of came out muffled because of the lolly).

 

 Arthur opened his mouth to reply when a harried waitress suddenly appeared at his elbow. "You forgot your coffee sir!" she said irritably, almost shoving the styrofoam cup into Arthur's gloveless hands.

 

 "Very kind of you," Arthur bit out tersely (the cold must have been getting to him). Merlin watched on curiously as the waitress rolled her eyes at him, before quickly retreating back across the street, muttering something about people standing around for no good reason under her breath.

 

 They both stared after her until she finally slipped behind her coffee kiosk, going back to serving cold, unhappy Albionites. Locking gazes a moment later, they burst out into awkward laughter.

 

 "What was that about?" Merlin said, lollipop hanging precariously from his fingertips.

 

 "Who knows?" Arthur replied, wiping tears of cold (or possibly actual mirth) from his eyes. He took a few exaggerated deep breaths as if to calm himself down, which only set Merlin off again.

 

 "Ya know, s' a bit chilly. Dya want?" He offered the take away cup in Merlin's direction.

 

 "I think your hands need it more than I do," Merlin laughed, waving it away. "Plus, my mouth is kind of occupied."

 

 He noticed Arthur watching the path his hand took to lead the sweet back into his mouth. Arthur didn't say anything for a while, which was also awkward, so Merlin cleared his throat and started ambling down the street, hoping Arthur would fall in step with him. He did.

 

 "Cherry s'it?" Arthur said, eyes distractingly following the lolly's journey in Merlin's mouth as he blocked the chill coming in from the cars on the road.

 

 "Um, yeah," Merlin mumbled. His mouth was tingling for no good reason.

 

 "Dun'it taste like cough syrup," Arthur said, voice severe. The hand not holding the styrofoam cup was stuffed in his coat pocket.

 

 "Mmm," Merlin agreed, pulling a face. "It's disgusting." That didn't stop him from eating it though, he'd earned the right to devour it with his blood, sweat and tears (well, no actual bodily fluids were present, though the girl at the games shop probably imagined his bloody, gory death every time he stepped in. Just a hunch).