Chapter Text
Arthur grunts as he shoulders open the door to his office, hands occupied with juggling a box of his belongings and the strap of his duffel bag that keeps threatening to slip from his arm. The metal door handle smacks the wall, leaving a dent that he probably will never find the time to fix. Taking a few steps into the room, he drops the box on the corner of his desk, the bag on the floor. The thud echoes in the darkened gym beyond, where the ring sits empty, boxers long since gone for the night.
With a heavy sigh, he slumps onto the couch. The cracked leather sticks to his sweaty skin. Overhead, a bulb flickers. Deliriously, he thinks for a moment that it’s mocking him. He stares up at the ceiling, breathing through the ache in his shoulder. One bag, one box. Two years of his life. Almost impressive, really.
Of course, Vivian kept the furniture he had brought with him when he moved in. And truly, foolish of him for assuming her entitlement would stop at his material goods. Foolish of him to think he’d miss her less than the coffee table. Arthur exhales through clenched teeth, dragging his hand down his face. He groans, and hauls himself upright. Just as he gathers the mental fortitude to address where he would be sleeping, his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket, intending to decline the call; he does not have the energy to deal with speaking to anyone tonight. However, seeing Gwen (Manager) flash across his screen, he reluctantly picks up.
“Hey,” Arthur winces. He clears his throat.
“Have you been crying?” Gwen asks, voice immediately sharp with concern.
“No, no. Just tired. What’s up?” Arthur corrals his voice into a cheerier tone, silently praying that Gwen won’t press further.
“Okaaayyy… Well, the silent alarm in the gym was triggered, and when I checked the camera feed I saw it was you. Is everything okay?” Heavy suspicion lingers in her voice.
“Yeah, I’m just… crashing here for a couple nights. Everything’s fine. Really.”
“You’re crashing there? What, was the Hilton full?” She asks.Arthur rolls his eyes.
“Very funny, Guinevere. I do so love when you talk poorly about the gym that I’ve poured my whole life into.” His voice drips with sarcasm.
“Sorry, sorry. You know I love her.” Gwen has the decency to sound apologetic.
“Don’t let it happen again,” Arthur jokes tiredly. Gwen giggles.
“No but really, though, Arthur, you can’t stay there.” Her voice softens, a gentle, aching thing, and Arthur fights the urge to hang up. “I know things with Vivian were rough, but you need a real bed. What about your shoulder?” She pauses for a moment, waiting for him to respond. He huffs noncommittally. “Your shitty couch is half your size, and older than both of us combined.”
Arthur exhales through his nose, pointedly ignoring the dull throb in the aforementioned joint. “It’s temporary.”
Gwen hums in that way that means she doesn’t believe him for a second. “I have a friend who lives in Southie who just posted an ad for a roommate. D’you want me to give you his number? You’d have a shower with real walls, no lockers in sight.”
“When do we get to the part where you stop mothering me?” Arthur asks, exasperated.
“Once we get through the part where I stop you from sleeping under fluorescent lights.” A pause, then gentler, “I’ll text you the listing. Promise me you’ll at least look at it?”
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yea, fine, I’ll look at it.”
“Good,” Gwen says. “Try to get some rest, alright? As much as you can on that disaster of a couch, at least.”
“Gwen?” He asks.
“Yes, Arthur?”
“Thanks. You’re a good friend.” Arthur says gruffly. There’s a pause on the other end of the line, soft static and the sound of her breathing. He almost apologizes.
“Of course,” she murmurs. “Take care of yourself, yeah?” The call ends before he can think of what to say.
Arthur stares at the dark screen for a long moment, then lets it drop to the couch beside him. The gym is quiet; just the subtle hum of the lights above and the ticking of the wall clock. He should turn off the lights, try to find a blanket. His phone buzzes briefly.
Gwen (Manager): Here’s the listing. Just… have an open mind, will you?
Arthur snorts, and opens the link. It’s an altogether beautiful apartment, from the photos; a deep green tiled backsplash in the kitchen, hardwood floors, and plants everywhere. The amount of sunlight seems improbable for a Boston winter. He skims the listing.
“Small room, affordable rent. Must be okay with magic. Cats welcomed with enthusiasm.”
Arthur blinks.
He reads it again.
“‘Must be okay with magic.’ Sure. Whatever that means.” He mutters to himself. Then, either because he’s finally lost it, or he truly is just that tired, he opens a new message to one ‘Merlin Emrys’.
Arthur Pendragon: “Interested in your listing. You available for a showing any time tomorrow?”
With that, he drops his phone on his chest, and closes his eyes. He snorts.
“Magic. Sure.”
A faint light blooms under the office door; a soft, impossible gold. It fades before Arthur can open his eyes to see it.