#drunkscienceofcamelot

[thedarksideofthecoin-blog]

Like Old Times || Merlin & Gwaine

Merlin dropped his pencil atop his book and the paper he'd been working on, and leaned back until he crashed into the couch. After picking at the worn leather for a moment, he reeled in a blanket from the other end of the couch, curled into a ball beneath it, and tucked his chin under the edge. He turned his sad eyes onto the paper as if it had ruined his life. It was a psychology paper on the functions of different parts of the brain. When he'd gotten to the hippocampus - the part that dealt with the formation of memory - his attitude toward the assignment had soured considerably. Maybe Arthur's problem was magical (or something) rather than neurological, but Merlin wasn't exactly fond of the reminder. It wasn't that he was having a mental rant with himself about his friend's amnesia, it was just that he was feeling upset and he could tell Arthur was the root of it. Of course he was.

He wriggled down further under the blanket, scrunching himself into the corner of the couch until only his eyes peered out over the blanket, beneath a moody forehead and frowning eyebrows. He continued glaring at the paper, as if it might sink into the table if he stared with enough angst. Regrettably it did not.

[thedarksideofthecoin-blog]

I've Missed the Useless Chatter

 After having been dropped off just inside the campus and directed toward the dorms, Merlin had set out purposefully for the first block, and had then proceeded to find any means possible of delaying himself. He had no idea how this was going to go. Nerves hadn't been much of an issue for the last 1500, but now he found himself unable to get a grip. He wandered down random streets, popping into shops and cafes, thoughts focused like a high-powered microscope on Arthur. Would he remember him? Would he remember what had happened? ...Would he hate him?

In the midst of these distressed mental wanderings, he decided to grab some tea in a mostly useless attempt to calm himself. The nearest coffee shop seemed inviting; he changed his stride and motored in through the open door. He approached the counter and looked up, mouth open to order.

Gwaine's carefree grin was beaming at him from across the counter.

Merlin's jaw hung open, eyes widening ridiculously. When he'd seen Uther's name in the paper, he'd desperately hoped, without much real belief, that the others might come back as well. But Uther was Arthur's father, whereas Gwaine wasn't part of the story by blood. It had killed Merlin – or, well, he'd wished it had – when Gwaine had died in vain, and believing himself to have failed Arthur. He wasn't the one who had failed the king – Merlin was the one who deserved that blame. But it was so unfair for Gwaine. The other knights had at least lived on, seen Guinevere become a strong queen, seen peace.

And now, perhaps, Gwaine had a second chance. Maybe even Merlin, too.

Gwaine was still looking at him expectantly, looking a little perplexed at his reaction.

“...Gwaine?” Merlin uttered, crossing his fingers.