"What... do you mean you never believed in Santa Claus?" Merlin asks, blinking at Arthur. "I never believed in Santa Claus," Arthur repeats with a shrug, one arm slung over the couch as he looks over at Merlin, the blase way he manages to say such a thing almost heartbreaking, Merlin thinks.

And something about the way Arthur looked, there like that, made Merlin grin shyly, writing out something in his eyes that Arthur couldn't quite decipher until Merlin was crossing to Arthur's bed, leaning across the pillows to kiss him, soft and sweet and tinged with 'good morning, sunshine' before he pulled away like it was nothing.

Lancelot is chuckling then, however, the most sober of them all, other than Merlin, and Arthur's attention is caught on him, head whipping and eyes moving reluctantly from Merlin to Lancelot, his muddled thoughts answered before he can sort through them enough to wonder anything aloud. "It's love, Arthur," he says, "You're... in love with Merlin."

And the first time, sitting around the fire, the air heavy with loss and pain, that Arthur had clasped Merlin's hand in his own, he didn't recognize the way Merlin cut his eyes at him, maybe surprised, maybe pleased, but… He hadn't pulled away.

At the back of his sickly, muddled mind, he felt a tugging that this wasn't something that should have been happening; the knights didn't usually make a habit of climbing into bed with him, after all.

Arthur was busy enough with his kingdom, he simply did not have the time for Merlin anymore, and that... that was a terribly heartbreaking sort of thing to realize. "Merlin, you idiot..."

Shoving Arthur against his chamber door wasn't... unpleasant, exactly. Losing himself as he pressed harsh, hurried kisses to Arthur's neck, along his jawline—it was all as far from unpleasant as it got, to be perfectly honest.

Because a king without his crown felt like nothing at all, and yet a sorcerer with magic flowing through his every breath and kiss could breathe meaning into him—easy as that.

Merlin stopped, however, just in front of Arthur, his breath flitting across his waiting, wanting, disappointed lips. He let out a breath, shook his head. "I'm sorry…" Merlin mumbled, not moving away from Arthur. "I shouldn't—we shouldn't—I'm sure you don't—"

He doesn't even consider he might be jealous of her until Gwaine mutters something about a green-eyed monster under his breath when he observes Merlin glaring across the table at her and Arthur at a feast one night. Merlin scoffs at him, "Hardly anything to be jealous of…!"

"You're out of your mind if you think I'm getting in that water naked."

It was an unsettling night all around.

If anyone deserved a seat at the round table, it was Merlin. So why didn't Arthur allow him one? "Before anyone else could finish their thoughts, Gwaine piped up, his question shooting out of his mouth in a way that silenced the entire room, "Why doesn't Merlin have a seat at the table?""

It was going to be a big day—one of the biggest of their lives, actually. Bigger, almost, than their wedding had been—and that had been a pretty big day, if Merlin did say so himself.

Arthur finally finds a way to shut Merlin up.

Merlin having magic was the biggest thing he ever had to hide from Arthur, right? After it finally came out, surely there wasn't anything left for Merlin to hide from him? So why is he leaving a feast that Arthur is throwing to celebrate the anniversary of him being made Court Sorcerer early? And why have there been so many butterflies around Camelot this past year?

Arthur returns at last, and he and Merlin can finally have the happy ending that they both have earned. "Marry me?" He asked, licking his lips with anticipation.

When it comes to Arthur, Merlin has always taken whatever he can get.

He knew he had done some questionable things in the past, knew he probably deserved for a terrible thing or two to happen to him in his life but this—this was just cruel. Like the Fates were laughing at him, enjoying his misery.

Arthur is just fine with the way his relationship with Merlin is, thank you very much. He's fine being flatmates, fine being friends—occasionally. So why does Merlin have to ruin it by looking so very attractive in nothing but a pair of Arthur's boxers? Why does he have to ruin the way Arthur looks at him, the way he thinks about him? Why does Merlin have to ruin things?