Chapter Text
When Arthur Pendragon's flatmate to be had said in the email he was pretty quiet, Arthur hadn't taken him literally enough. The guy never spoke. They had exchanged maybe ten words since he had moved in – all of them unavoidable and necessary, such as which room he was to sleep in and where the light switch in the lounge was. And how to work the dodgy handle for the backdoor. He wasn't sure if Merlin was rude, painfully shy or painfully awkward. Or maybe a combination of the three. On the first morning he was there, he had tried to make conversation over breakfast. No response. He had put it down to Merlin not being a morning person. Turns out he wasn't an afternoon or evening person either.
Once, Arthur had complimented his jacket and Merlin had blushed from the tip of his nose to the edges of his rather sticky out ears. Then he had offered up a smile that was almost a grimace and stumbled out of the room. Pretty soon after, Arthur had got used to the quiet. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, just a little awkward. People pestered him all day anyway – his face didn't exactly go unnoticed, given his family name. This little flat was an escape from the pressures of being watched constantly.
It was Monday morning. Arthur hated Monday's. They were close to Friday, just the wrong side of it, and the week always seemed to stretch ahead like a dessert. Next Friday seemed almost like a mirage. He opened the fridge. On one shelf was Merlin's food – random health foods, leftovers and an inhuman amount of cheese. On another was his – an old yoghurt, half an onion and an egg. He really needed to go shopping. But he had that meeting tonight, and he wouldn't be back until nearly eleven and he was about to eat the last potnoodle for breakfast.
He could order takeaway. Or do an online shop. But his laptop was in for repair and he didn't like making phonecalls late at night. Merlin would be back at lunchtime. He went shopping on Mondays. Arthur grabbed a postit from the table and scrawled a note.
Merlin, if you are getting groceries, could you pick some things up for me?
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Pot Noodles
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Milk
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Pizza
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Cheese Puffs
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Apples
Thanks, Arthur
He left the note by Merlin's book ( some old, historical tome) with a twenty pound note. He wondered if it was weird to ask someone to buy your groceries if you didn't even say good morning to them. Well, there was a first time for everything. He picked the pen back up.
P.S Good Morning
There. That couldn't be much more polite.
Later that night, Arthur arrived home, feet aching and head pounding from listening to people drone on and on about profits and business forecasts and things he quite simply did not give a shit about. Merlin was sat in the small armchair he always sat it ( presumably to ensure he never had to sit beside anyone else) reading his book. He didn't look up when Arthur arrived.
Arthur opened the fridge. His shelf was replenished. The cupboard had a weeks worth of potnoodles. There was a note on the door. Arthur pulled it off to read it – it was written in a neat, small script that he had to squint to decipher.
Arthur, Here are your groceries. I do not understand how you maintain your rather large amount of muscle mass on this diet. It is not healthy. The change is on the side. From Merlin.
P.S Good Evening.
Arthur laughed in surprise. On this small piece of paper were more words than he had ever heard come out of Merlin's mouth. And most of them appeared to be saying he was ripped. He grinned and flipped the paper over, scribbling a few words back.
Hey – I eat Apples. And work out. You can't judge – you are 90% cheese.
P.S Goodnight
He makes himself a chicken potnoodle and sits on the couch, flicking the TV on. He turns the volume down low. Neither of them speak. A little while later, Merlin goes through to the kitchen to make tea. He is 90% cheese and 10% tea. Arthur sneaks a glance and sees him reading the note. A small smile spreads across his face. He looks like a different person.
When he returns, he wordlessly places a cup of tea on the table beside Arthur.