Mi casa es tu casa // Mordred & Arthur
When Arthur finally managed to return to his room, politely declining the offer from his father's charming but all together kind of creepy chauffer to take him home to Pendragon manor, favoring the small comforts of his own room here, he was thoroughly done with everything.
He stumbled into his room, throwing off items of clothing, his jacket landing on the floor and trousers ending up strewn over his desk, Arthur collapsed onto his bed with a final sigh and groan. He trailed his tie through his collar and chucked it into the darkness of his room.
He lay like that for a while, in rather peaceful and calm silence, he could hear the last of the students leaving the hall below, cars being pulled up into the courtyard. Most students were heading home for the holidays, Arthur didn't know if he'd be staying, where at least there'd be a few other people, or going home to the empty vastness of Pendragon manor, with only his father for company and not even Morgana there to make things more interesting. Arthur was contemplating taking a cold shower to try and sober up from the alcohol and raw post-ball emotions he was having (mainly emotions actually, he wasn't even drunk, which was worse) and just curling into a ball and sleeping when there was a somewhat timid and reluctant knock at his door.
"Fuck." Arthur said out loud, rolling off the bed in a panic and scrambling for his phone. He scrolled through the messages, looking for Gwaine's one about Mordred staying with him, that surely wasn't tonight was it? But of course it was, because Gwaine was probably fucking Morgana right now, some friend he was, and Mordred had no place to go. Anywhere but here. Please, god.
By the third knock, Arthur had decided he couldn't jump out the window, nor could he ignore Mordred and leave him stranded outside in the middle of winter, unable to return to his room for fear of, well, gatecrashing some elaborate and downright disgusting, in Arthur's mind, sex. There was nothing for it.
Arthur pulled himself up from the floor, flicking on the light switch and groaning at the mess it revealed. Strewn clothes and scattered papers lay on every surface, he had not exactly prepared for this. He got to the door, unlatching it with a final hesitation, before pulling it open, in all of his deshevelled, bed-headed, half naked apart from his white button down that wasn't exactly buttoned down, glory.
"Morded. Mi casa es tu casa." Spanish, yupp.
