Score / Merthur

Lullaby

Arthur woke to darkness.

The curtains were drawn: their edges etched in shadow. He was vaguely aware that he was on his back, his eyes cast upwards to the ceiling. He shifted slightly. The room was a void. He could make out nothing.

He made to reach in the vague direction of his phone and then stiffened. His arm was trapped. For the first time, Arthur was aware of a weight across him. Pinning him.

He stayed very still.

The silence of the room was stifling. The only sound was his breathing. Except— no. It wasn't his breathing. Arthur's lungs had constricted. They refused to let in any air. Yet, somehow, the sound seemed to be coming from his own chest. It was almost as if—

Arthur, suddenly realising that his other arm was free, brought it up through the darkness and tentatively lowered it towards his chest. His hand came to rest on something that was decidedly not his shirt.

It felt a lot more like a mop of hair.

It felt like—

"Merlin?"

The silence continued.

"Merlin," he whispered again, more insistently this time. He was growing rapidly aware of his own rising heartbeat. His body was, finally, taking in air, though it didn't seem to know how to store it. "Mer—"

The thing — Merlin —shifted. "Arthur?"

He realised, very suddenly, that he had no idea why he'd woken him up.

"Arthur?"

A reply was on his lips. He just had to breathe it to life. He just needed air.

"I'm going to sit up," Merlin said, gently moving Arthur's hand from his hair, "and I think you should too. Here— let me help. Alright. Just focus on breathing. Nice and slow, okay? I'm right here."

This was ridiculous. Breathing? He did that naturally. Automatically. Why on Earth was a single breath suddenly such a Herculean effort? It wasn't even that his lungs weren't accepting the air. They were. Without struggle. It was just that taking in the air required every ounce of his energy.

It took several minutes for him to calm. It felt longer.

"Merlin?"

"Still here. You alright?"

"I think so."

"Good. Do you want to talk about it?"

"I don't know. I'm not really sure what just happened."

"I think you had an anxiety attack. Or something similar."

"Oh."

"Have you had one before?"

"Maybe? I'm not sure. I don't really understand. I just woke up and it was dark and I couldn't move— but then I realised it was you. But that's fine. That's good, I wanted you close—"