As With All Momentous Things, It Began Slowly. A Sleep Tunic And A Change Of Clothes, Became A Drawer

As with all momentous things, it began slowly. A sleep tunic and a change of clothes, became a drawer of Merlin’s clothes in Arthur’s wardrobe. Then a book on one of the nightstands turned into the entire thing becoming Merlin’s tiny library because he needed choices when it came to bedtime reading. And half of Arthur’s wardrobe was crammed with Merlin’s clothes, and the quilt his mother made laid over the foot of the bed that Arthur called their’s, and there was enough dust in the room that used to be Merlin’s for it to be considered well and truly abandoned.

Until…

“I cannot fucking believe you!” Merlin shouted, slamming open the door, and striding through it without a care in the world if said door ricocheted back to hit Arthur in the face.

Which it would have if Arthur weren’t trained since birth to have cat-like reflexes. He caught the door, glared at it, and seethed. He flopped down in chair, pinched the bridge of his nose, and waited for Merlin to calm himself.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”

Arthur closed his eyes against the pounding in his head. He had plenty to say, none of which would make Merlin any less upset. So he sat in silence until he couldn’t bear the curiosity of what Merlin was doing to make so much noise. He turned, and his heart stopped. In Merlin’s hand was his rucksack that usually hung on a hook beside the wardrobe, and was now full of Merlin’s clothes, and books, and—he’d even packed the fucking quilt.

“No.” Arthur stood, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. No.”

“What?”

“You. This. Whatever idiocy you’re thinking, no.”

“I’m going to my room, Arthur, where I can be away from whatever idiocy you’re thinking.”

“This is your room,” Arthur said slowly, and deliberately so the words could sink in through Merlin’s thick skull. “Do you not think it strange that you have to pack to go to your room? That all your things are here, and you haven’t slept in that tiny closet for months? You don’t just move out because you’re upset with me. You call me an idiot, and turn your head when I try to kiss you, and if I’ve really pissed you off—“

“You have,” Merlin interjected.

“Then you throw my pillow onto a chair and make me sleep in it!” Arthur shouted, and then bit his lip, trying to hold back the sudden rush of tears. Maybe Merlin was more than upset. Maybe…fuck. He sniffled, and softly added, “But you don’t walk out unless you stop loving me.”

Merlin’s rucksack dropped to the floor. “I didn’t—Of course, I love you. I didn’t realize. I just thought…”

“What? That I let all my servants claim my space, and half my bed?”

“Well I hadn’t thought we’d officially moved in together,” Merlin admitted sheepishly.

“We have. Months ago. You live here. I’m a prat. You’re all caught up now.”

And if Merlin wanted to linger in the argument before, he didn’t anymore. He didn’t even really want an apology for Arthur’s pigheadedness, but he got one kissed into his neck, and his lips, and his hair.

(Arthur’s the idiot in modern times here)

Round Three: A

at least they’ll be reunited when arthur dies

Arthur held Merlin in the aftermath of the battle of Camlan.

His idiot manservant had appeared out of nowhere and taken a blow meant for the king. A killing blow.

Merlin had been slain by Mordred, and in turn Mordred had been slain by Arthur.

“I did it…. I actually did it” Merlin whispered.

Arthur’s brows knit together in confusion. Merlin had sounded almost… happy?

With a closer look, he saw his friend wasn’t grimacing with pain, instead he was smiling the widest he had ever seen.

With that, Merlin gave a hearty sigh, and closed his eyes for the last time. He had conquered fate itself, and now he could finally rest.

Arthur pauses the movie when his phone rings, and it’s Merlin’s face on the screen. Anyone else would go to voicemail. He doesn’t pause his shows for just anyone. There is such a thing as texting.

He barely gets out a “hi, love” before Merlin’s demanding, “Where are you?”

“At home, in bed. You said you didn’t want me to pick you up at the airport. Where are you? Did you make it home from your trip?”

“I’m at home, staring at an empty bed. Are you in the wrong flat? Oh my god, Arthur, tell me you’re not in the wrong flat, again! Mr. Simmons will kill us.”

“That was one time! I was pissed off my— Of course I’m not in the wrong flat! I’m in my flat, watching my television. I think I know where I live.”

“Oh,” Merlin whispers.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Right. Sorry. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Merlin—“

But he’s already hung up. That tiny little “oh” full of disappointment, and confusion lingering, replaying in Arthur’s mind like a scratched record unable to move on. The door to the flat opens, and a little bubble of joy blossoms in his chest.

“Merlin?”

“No.” Morgana. Damn. She stands at the door, hands on her hips. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“No you don’t. You haven’t lived here in months. I rent out that room on Airbnb.”

“You what!?! It’s my room!”

“You don’t need a room for old football jerseys and trainers,” Morgana scoffs. She looks round the room. “Where’s Merlin?”

That damn little “oh”. He’s a fucking pillock, the world’s biggest idiot.

“I want a cut of the Airbnb money,” he tells Morgana as he shoves past her.

“What?! It’s my flat!”

“Dad gave us the flat,” Arthur insists as he yanks on his shoes.

“Then I’m charging you the cleaning fee for your idiocy.”

Fair enough, Arthur thinks running out the door and hailing a cab. Merlin’s key is on his key ring. His favorite pair of trainers is by the door, his jacket on the coat rack, his boyfriend in the bed.

Merlin wakes as Arthur climbs into bed behind him. “What…?”

“You were right. I was in the wrong flat. How stupid am I?”

Merlin’s sleepy smile makes his chest ache, but then he tucks his mop of black hair beneath Arthur’s chin, and the feeling changes to a flutter as Merlin mumbles, “So stupid.”

(And read a canon version of Merlin not realizing they live together here)

In which Merlin does understand the significance of Arthur gifting him his mother's sigil

Bonus: Third Place