summary: the aftermath of arthur’s death is like the pause between two parts of a song, a bridge to something else.
(merlin realises what exactly arthur means to him after his death. watch as this magical idiot learns how to deal with it and accept himself for who he is, his own person.)
word count: 6.7k
a/n: here i come with a 6k merlinarthur fic and i’m not even fucking sorry1. props to my friend lulu @kamikazedandelion for supporting me through my bullshit and crying with me over merlin even though she’s never watched it. i love you so much wtf
2. thanks to vanilla twilight by owl city for this fic. this was completely inspired by that song, please go and listen to it, it’s rad and it’s gonna make you cry
3. can’t remember what i wanted to say but to round this all off with a nice three, i’d like to say that dude i don’t own shit, the characters belong to the bbc!
Merlin presses his forehead against
Arthur’s, and it feels like the world is burning around him, and he shakes
Arthur, over and over again –
on, come on, come on, c’mon, c’mon,” he says, and he shakes him and he
shakes him and his words are blurring together until they’re turning into
tears, he feels like he’s on fire,
because this is all he’s known and all of is coming to an end. He’s not ready, he’s not ready, he’s not fucking ready –
Arthur blinks his eyes open, and they’re
all hazy and gone and not the eyes that Merlin knows, not the swirling, caring
eyes that Merlin lov – that he knows, yet a wave of relief washes through him,
because Arthur’s here, and yeah, yeah, Merlin can keep him alive.
Arthur pulls him down, pulls him down by
his neckerchief and for a moment, for a moment Merlin thinks – but he doesn’t,
his mouth trying to form a sentence. “I – want – I want t – to say some –
something I’ve never s – said be – before.”
Merlin shakes his head, and he doesn’t
know whose tears he’s crying. “Don’t say goodbye.”
Arthur blinks at him and his eyes go
hazy again, and it’s fucking – it’s
fucking – “I – no – I love you.”
Guy breathed heavily, his eyes squeezed shut so tight spots of color were all he could see. He pressed his face against the brick wall of his loft, now painted white, and took a deep breath before stepping back to punch the wall forcefully.
“Do it over - again. God, you really are useless.”
Three more punches. Tears stung his eyes as he threw a fourth. He lost count after that and eventually fell into a heap against the wall, sobbing.
“Any more of – whatever – this incompetence is and you’re out of here, Gisborne. And you know I mean it, too.”
Head pressed against the wall, now sitting, he shakily reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and his Zippo. He lit up, hands shaking so hard it was difficult to light the cigarette for a moment. He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes, knuckles stinging.
“Useless,” Guy mumbled to himself. “Incompetent.” He opened his eyes and looked down at the bloody scratches on his knuckles, smoke filling the air.
“Useless,” he repeated, cigarette between his lips.