Author's Note/Disclaimer: I'm writing a LoTR Merry/Pippin modern AU. I think J.R.R would write me off as irredeemable, to be honest, though I mean no harm.

The problem with Pippin was…well…Pippin.

By all rights, it shouldn't have been so. Or, at the very least, the problem of Pippin shouldn't have been Merry's problem.

It didn't make sense. They weren't taking any of the same classes – they weren't even in the same year at Uni. They were sharing digs, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. For the last two years, Merry had been sharing with a third person, called Tim, who he rarely even saw – the last time had been after they'd flooded his room…which was Pippin's fault, come to think of it, because he'd decided that he needed proof of Tim's alleged existence, and come up with the whole idea. "But on the bright side," he whispered afterwards, as they mopped furiously and tried to appease the six foot three, shovel-fisted, damp menace that answered to the name Tim, "at least we've proved that he's not just a figment of your imagination."

(They were never getting their housing deposits back).

The point…the point was – oh yes, that there was no reason that Pippin, though definitely a problem in general, should have become Merry's problem in particular.

Except that – no getting around it – he was. Pippin had just shown up one day with a landlord-issued key to the grotty front door, and – and happened to Merry, setting himself right smack in the centre of Merry's orbit, like a green-eyed, curly-haired sun. And Merry had just…gone along with that.

Maybe it was because there was no badness in Pippin. No sense either, mind, but no badness. Pippin was near terminally likeable – which was both a good and a necessary thing, because when one had a habit of doing things like covering passed-out strangers at house-parties with post-its and permanent marker doodles ("Just to see what would happen!") or trying (with mixed results) to lift food from the cafeteria without paying ("It keeps the staff on their toes, doesn't it? When you look at it like that, we're doing them a service") then one needed every drop of charisma at one's disposal. Still, the fact that whatever Pippin had invariably just done was motivated by mischief as opposed to malice tended to put Merry firmly on Pippin's side. Or rather, firmly by Pippin's side – and holding the permanent markers and the post-its, like as not.

And Merry had to admit that Pippin was fun. Of course, it was the kind of fun that always seemed to come with consequences – like post-flood mildew, or a lifetime ban from the campus cafeteria, or the vague possibility of death should the muttering stranger with the felt tip whiskers on his cheeks find them crouched behind the sofa. But strangely enough, these consequences didn't appear to act as a deterrent to his friendship with Pippin, rather, in their own way, they served to almost heighten the fun. Still, Merry had never claimed to be a bastion of sense or good judgment in general, only in comparison to Pippin.

(Of course there were other times when Merry thought, rather more prosaically, that perhaps their closeness could be accounted for by the simple fact that they both had the singular misfortune of possessing birth names that were even worse than their nicknames).

In any case, whether any of it made sense or not, it all came down to the same thing in the end – Pippin was Merry's friend, or, to put it less charitably, Pippin was Merry's problem.

It began like this –

"Merry! Good!" Pippin caught hold of his arm, pulling it back and causing a small deluge of drink to slop over his fingers. "Stand there and look besotted!"

Merry stared at him.

"I didn't say gormless – I said besotted." Pippin glanced over his shoulder, before whirling back around and grabbing Merry's arm again. More drink splashed floorwards. "Bugger – here he comes."

"What's going on, Pip?" Merry asked. There was an ominous feeling in his gut, and he immediately began scouting the pub for the nearest exit.

"It's not ideal, of course," Pippin said, ignoring his question, "but he is short-sighted so…it might work…maybe…" he squinted at Merry's face, before trailing off.

"What might work?" Merry demanded, slightly nettled by the dubious look on Pippin's face.

Before he could answer, Pippin was turning him around. The remainder of Merry's drink spilled onto his shoes. "David!" Pippin called cheerfully to the tall, bespectacled figure that immediately materialized in front of them. Merry blinked.

"Pippin!" David seemed no less delighted to see Pippin. Until his eyes wavered right, and then downwards, to where Pippin's fingers had slipped into Merry's. It wasn't an altogether unusual occurrence – Pippin tended to be affectionate when drunk. And also when sober.

"And this is Merry," Pippin said. "Of course."

"Oh." David scrutinized him closely. "Of c – that's Merry?"

Merry frowned. "Who were you ex" – Pippin squeezed his hand hard, bringing him to an abrupt stop. "The one and only," he said, turning his head and looking at Merry with an expression on his face that could only be described as 'gormless.'

Merry tilted his head to the side. Well…'besotted' might be another word for it…he supposed, though that didn't seem quite applicable here. He stared harder at Pippin, who blinked back fatuously at him. Merry wondered if he'd hit his head recently.

"Oh." David didn't sound any happier this time, and he just stood there for several seconds like a slowly deflating balloon before marshalling a smile and saying, "Well…I suppose I'll just – leave you two to it, then." When Merry snapped his head around, David had retreated back into the crowd of students.

"What was that about?" he asked.

Pippin shrugged. The gormless look had vanished. "Nothing. I was just trying to let the poor lad down easy."

"You were" – Merry stopped, glancing between Pippin and the direction David had disappeared. "You mean he – David – wanted…with you" –

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Pippin said, managing to sound both amused and offended. He pulled his hand out of Merry's, to better poke him in the side. "I'll have you know, Merry Brandybuck, that I am a person with many intriguing qualities."

Merry snorted.

Unquelled, Pippin continued, "And one or two of those qualities might have caught David's fancy."

"Don't worry Pip – I'm sure he would have sobered up sooner rather than later," Merry made himself say.

"Couldn't take the risk, could I? You know me – caution is my middle name. And that is where you came in."

"Me?"

"Well, you wouldn't let me throw my life away on something that's not meant to be, would you?"

Merry had to point out, "I dunno. That's never stopped me before."

Pippin ignored this, and almost as an afterthought, he mused, "Of course you couldn't. Especially not when you have the prior claim on my affections."

"Prior claim? Hang on a minute – I don't have any claim on you. Or your affections."

Pippin threw an arm around his shoulders, and with perfect, piss-taking sincerity, said, "Y'see – that's the sort of noble attitude that shows just why I had to choose you."

As an isolated incident, this would have mattered little. Merry put the whole thing very firmly to one side, only looking at it in odd moments, sideways and out of the corner of his eye – which was very nearly the same thing as forgetting about it.

The real problem began when Pippin, like a particularly eager puppy, kept fetching that very same situation (or variations thereof) and dropping it into Merry's lap. Because Pippin had hurled himself into the college gay scene with the same exuberant abandon he threw himself into everything – and with about the same results. Which meant that, as generally happened, it was largely up to Merry to dig him out of any number of scrapes.

Helping Pippin out was just what he did – and there was no reason for this to be any different.

Except…it was different, and Merry couldn't exactly explain why. Every time he felt Pippin's fingers against the crook of his elbow, or Pippin's voice in his ear, muttering things like, "On the count of three, be smitten," or "Infatuated – not constipated," or, "How are you at making sheep's eyes?" – he felt…not resentful exactly, but – chafed. Like Pippin was inadvertently pressing down on a sore spot or a bruise.

Still, he always went along with it (after the briefest of whispered arguments). Looking out for Pippin was an ingrained habit by now. Plus, when you considered what the poor sods interested in Pippin were letting themselves in for, he was doing a good turn all round. He shouldn't have felt that persistent niggle of irritation at all.

Except that he did.

It wasn't because Pippin seemed to have an unerring knack for requiring Merry at precisely the moment when he'd finally succeeded in striking up a conversation with someone he wouldn't mind getting to know better (and now never would).

It wasn't even the fact that Pippin had a tendency to flirt for ages with blokes who were built like brick shithouses before saying things like, "Oh, well – I'd best be getting back to my boyfriend. That's him – that's Merry. He's the jealous type, y'know…"

No, he was annoyed because –

"I don't like feeling like a prop." He stared up at the ceiling as Pippin frowned and shifted onto his side in the bed. Pippin had the windowless and miserable box room, so it had quickly been settled (without ever really being discussed at all) that Pippin had a half-share in Merry's room. Which of course included a half-share in Merry's bed.

Merry would have put up more of an objection to this, except that on the nights Pippin wasn't there, he found it almost impossible to get to sleep.

"A prop?" Pippin repeated. "You mean – like a bowl or a ball or something?"

"Yes – exactly. A prop. That's what I feel like whenever you wheel me out to pretend to be your boyfriend."

"If I'm wheeling you out, wouldn't you be a wheelchair?" Pippin pursed his lips. "I can't see anyone being put off if I introduce them to a wheelchair." With a thoughtfulness that sent shivers down Merry's spine, he continued, "Maybe if you were in the wheelchair…"

"No – that's not what I meant. I meant – that's how it feels. It feels like I'm just a prop when you do that."

Pippin considered this. "That's a good point," he said slowly. He sat up. "That is a very good point, Merry."

Merry felt something inside him relax slightly. "You really think so?"

"Of course. You know, I've been thinking the same thing, actually."

"Good." Merry waited. "Well?" he asked. "What are we going to do about it?"

Pippin looked at him, like the answer was obvious. "If you feel like a prop, then you should stop standing around and do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know… try putting your arm around me for a start. You're supposed to be madly in love with me, after all – you could take a bit more of an interest."

Merry blinked. "That's…not what I meant. I don't think."

"What did you mean, then?" Pippin asked.

"I don't – it's just…" when he looked away from Pippin, the words came out more easily. "Why do you always have to do that anyway? Pretend I'm your boyfriend. Can't you just – I don't know – be honest?"

"D'you want to get me killed?"

"Well, all right," Merry acknowledged. "But couldn't you try a different lie, at least?"

"But this one works so well," Pippin argued. "It gets the job done, and everyone goes away with no hard feelings."

"No hard feelings? You're ditching those people for a complete stranger."

Pippin frowned. "You're not a complete stranger."

"To them I am."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. To them, you're my one true love." He shrugged slightly then grinned at Merry. "And it's not like you can argue with true love, is it?"

Maybe he had a point, because looking at him, Merry certainly couldn't marshal an objection, though there was a twist in his stomach that told him that he probably should. With a satisfied sound, Pippin laid back down on the bed, as if everything was settled now. After a moment though, he reached over and took Merry's arm, pulling it around his body as he turned over.

"See," he yawned. "S'easy."

The trouble was – it was easy. Going along with Pippin always was.

In a way, he felt powerless to stop it. It was like riding a bicycle downhill – no matter how much you dragged your heels, in the end, momentum just sort of…took over.

Accordingly, the next time Pippin appeared, lugging his latest prospective-ex behind him, Merry let himself relax into what had by now become routine. He even put his arm around Pippin's shoulders, waiting patiently for the bloke opposite to drop the polite pretence of interest and wander off. It was a bit silly to balk at that now, he supposed – it wasn't like he had a problem putting his arm around Pippin at any other time.

" – inevitable, really," Pippin said. "See – he never could keep his hands off me."

Merry's kneejerk reaction was to pull away like he'd been burned, but this was forestalled by Pippin snaking a hand around Merry's waist, keeping them firmly pressed together. Pippin grinned widely at him as if he were sharing a joke.

"That's nice," the bloke opposite said vaguely, beginning to look over Pippin's shoulder. Pippin, with his customary awareness just kept chattering, arm solid and warm against Merry's side, until the bloke opposite was stifling yawns behind his hand. He finally bolted for the bathroom when Pippin paused to take a drink.

Unbelievably, it took Pippin a lot longer than it should have to realise, "You know...I don't think he's coming back."

As he peeled himself away from Pippin's side, Merry couldn't help saying, "Beating them off with a stick, aren't you?"

"Shut up. I have to pretend to be boring – softens the blow, that does."

"I don't think you had to go so far though. I mean," he mimicked Pippin's account of their first meeting, "'Our eyes met across a crowded room'? Really?"

"That's a classic!"

"There's a fine line between 'boring' and 'lazy,'" Merry lectured.

"All right – what would you have said, then?"

Merry stared at him, caught, because all he could think of to say was the truth – that Pippin had just shown up one day and moved into his house and his life and taken up permanent residence – but that wouldn't do at all.

"See!" Pippin crowed, sounding vindicated. After a moment though, he added, off-hand, "Still, if it bothers you so much, you can be in charge of telling people how we met."

" – and that was when I knew," Merry finished. He tried to keep the look he directed at Pippin soft, but an element of 'so there' made the corners of his lips curl upwards.

"You knew he was the one for you when you rescued him from a revolving door?" the latest bloke said. He sounded confused.

"I can't explain it – there was just something in the way he kept going round and round – helpless, like one of those mice on a wheel, you know? It just got me – right here." Merry patted his chest.

Pippin scowled at him, but hastily pasted a look of vapid adoration across his face when the latest bloke turned in his direction.

"You know – I suppose I can see it, now that I'm really looking. He's a bit…" the latest bloke twirled his index finger by his temple, "…yeah?"

"Runs in his family," Merry agreed. Pippin glared and dug his elbow into Merry's ribs.

That one hadn't been so bad – as a matter of fact, the latest bloke ended the night by buying Merry a pint and commiserating with him on the manifold difficulties of Pippin. Before he'd left, he'd even shook Merry's hand and said, "Seriously, mate – respect."

"He wasn't so bad," Merry said later, watching the latest bloke's back retreat. "You could do a lot worse, you know."

"Well if you wanted him to stick around, then maybe you shouldn't have made me sound like a complete fool," Pippin said, arms crossed over his chest.

Merry's heart gave a funny little jump. He didn't like the latest bloke that much. He managed to say, almost naturally, "Don't be so modest Pip – I don't think you needed much help."

Pippin had got his revenge later that night, by imitating a creature composed entirely of elbows and knees, jabbing Merry with unerring accuracy every time he dozed off.

Still, Merry couldn't help saying the next morning, "You have to admit though, it was still better than 'Our eyes met across a crowded room.'" He rubbed his gritty eyes.

(If Merry was to be honest, Pippin got his true revenge a week later, when he stayed out for three nights running and Merry stretched out in his suddenly-too-big bed and stared up at the cracks in the ceiling. Though Pippin wouldn't have thought of it like that, and Merry made it a habit never to be too honest with Pippin anyway).

That was when it all began to go wrong.

Merry put it down to sleep deprivation, but when Pippin decided to break it off with Mr Three Nights Running, his reaction wasn't entirely one of relief. Of course – of course – he didn't want Pippin to keep seeing the guy, but underneath that was a simmering kind of resentment at being used as the equivalent of a hammer in Pippin's box of break-up tools.

See, it didn't matter how often he shook his head or rolled his eyes or used the opportunity to poke fun at Pippin – because ultimately he was still just a prop. And of course he was going to do it anyway, because Pippin wanted him to. And because…it was easy. And most of all, because of the twinge behind his ribcage that mutated into a full-blown chest cramp whenever Pippin got tangled up with someone like Mr Three Nights Running, or Mr Five Nights Running, or on one memorably awful occasion, Mr Two Weeks Straight. Still, just because he was a prop with ulterior motives didn't mean he couldn't feel a deep-seeded annoyance about the whole enterprise at the same time.

This was perhaps not the best frame of mind in which to engage with Mr Three Nights Running. Because, in spite of Pippin's confident assertion about the impossibility of arguing with True Love, Mr Three Nights Running certainly seemed like he had a bone to pick with it.

"Still, it's not like we were serious," Pippin said brightly. "I mean – it was only three nights." He shrugged a 'no hard feelings, eh?' kind of shrug and smiled hopefully at Mr Three Nights Running.

Mr Three Nights Running jutted his chin in Merry's direction. "Serious enough. S'longer than you two've been together."

Pippin fidgeted under this flawless logic. "Er – that is…yes. Yes – but it's different for us." Mr Three Nights Running seemed unconvinced. "Be…cause it's true love?" Pippin tried. He brightened as another thought struck him. "Besides, we've known each other for ages before – so I'm sure it all adds up. Cumulatively, you know."

Mr Three Nights Running didn't say anything.

"Drink!" Pippin said suddenly. "I'm getting a drink. Do you want a drink?" he asked Merry, then decided, "I'm getting you a drink," before he could even answer.

This left Merry alone with Mr Three Nights Running. Who actually looked vaguely familiar, through the haze of irritation, sleeplessness and (all right) jealousy. Merry squinted – he thought maybe they had a class together or something.

"So," Mr Three Nights Running said.

"So," Merry echoed. It seemed to sum up the situation pretty succinctly.

"How did you two meet?"

Merry was too tired for anything other than the truth. "I don't know. We share digs. Pippin just…showed up one day. And – that was it."

"I've seen you around, you know," Mr Three Nights Running said. They definitely had some class together, Merry decided. "And Pippin talks about you a lot."

"Oh," Merry said. Like it was news to him that Pippin never shut up.

"I suppose it was inevitable," Mr Three Nights Running said, and Merry heard resignation in that tone. He watched Pippin weave his way over to the bar. One more drink and with any luck, he and Pippin would be free, and maybe they could head home, have an early night, and with Pippin next to him, softly breathing in and out, and occasionally kneeing him in the back, Merry might be able to finally get a decent night's sleep –

" – obvious, really. Always following him around, hoping for more. Stand there long enough and don't hold your breath…it all worked out for you in the end. I suppose he was bound to get around to you eventually."

He was only half-listening, so it took a second for the words to penetrate his brain. He blinked. "What…Did – did he actually say that? Pippin?"

Everything seemed to go quiet, and he didn't actually hear what Mr Three Nights Running said. All he could focus on was Pippin, a pint in each hand, coming toward them. He looked like the same old Pippin, carefree and thoughtless and motivated by mischief, always, never malice. But if that was what he said about Merry –

If that was what he actually thought of Merry –

"Here we go. So – what are we talking about?" Pippin asked with a friendly smile.

Merry's hand shot out, grabbing the pint Pippin proffered and with one smooth motion of his wrist, he tipped it over Pippin's head.

"Hey!" Pippin cried as a stream of beer poured down his curls and over his face. "What was that for?"

Merry took a second to appreciate the sodden, indignant picture Pippin made. Then he turned to Mr Three Nights Running, and said, "You know something? You can have him."

And left.

He pretended to be asleep when Pippin came in. Not that he expected it to work, mind, and he wasn't really surprised when, after studiously ignoring the soft knock on his closed bedroom door, Pippin entered.

"Merry?"

He stayed on his side, facing away from Pippin.

"I know you're awake. You only got back five minutes before I did – you can't be asleep already."

He didn't say anything, and he didn't even react when Pippin climbed into bed beside him and wrapped his arms around Merry's chest. He pushed his nose against Merry's neck and said, "What's wrong? Tell me."

He smelled overwhelmingly of the beer Merry had poured over him, and he sounded soft, concerned. Underneath the impulsive, daft surface, Pippin had a surprisingly sweet centre. That was all part of the trouble, really.

"Come on. Tell me."

Merry shook his head.

"You know you want to," he coaxed. "Did George say something?"

He turned to face Pippin. "You mean you don't know?"

Pippin shook his head. "What was it?"

His eyes were green and open. Merry really couldn't imagine Pippin saying those things about him – maybe as a joke, but not out of malice. It wasn't Pippin's fault that those things happened to be true.

"Nothing."

"It's not nothing," Pippin argued. "Tell me." He pressed himself closer.

"It wasn't anything he said. Really."

"Then it was something I said. Or did," Pippin said. "Whatever it was – I'm sorry. Tell me, and I won't do it again."

The promise came out easily, rashly, and Merry couldn't help it, because underneath it all, the problem wasn't any specific thing Pippin had said or done. The problem was Pippin. So he found himself sighing and saying, "There's no point. It's not like you can stop being you."

Pippin gave a tiny flinch at that, drawing back almost imperceptibly.

"Just," Merry ran a hand through his hair and tried to explain it better, "– I don't want to pretend to be your boyfriend anymore, Pip." It was as close to an answer as he could give.

Pippin was silent for a moment, green eyes unblinking. "All right," he said eventually. Then he turned onto his side, with his back to Merry, leaving a space between them. He didn't leave though.

Lying awake in the darkness, Merry couldn't work out whether that made things better or worse.

The next morning there were careful half-smiles on both their parts and a guilt inspired breakfast spread on Merry's (a good breakfast made the best apology, in his opinion. Pippin seemed to appreciate it, anyway). It wasn't awkward between them afterwards. It wasn't awkward, because Merry wasn't going to let it be awkward. And Merry wasn't going to let it be awkward because he knew what he had to do.

He had to stop dragging his heels and just – get over Pippin. It shouldn't be that hard. There'd been blokes before Pippin, after all. Though…this was a strange concept to Merry now – even though he knew it had happened, the idea of a time before Pippin seemed wrong somehow. For a fairly short person, Pippin cast an astonishingly long shadow.

Still, if he didn't want people to think he was standing around and pining, waiting for Pippin to finally notice him, then he needed to…well, stop standing around and pining, waiting for Pippin to finally notice him.

Accordingly, he went out on the pull.

It did not work out quite as he expected.

For starters, going on the pull post-Pippin was an entirely different thing to going on the pull pre-Pippin. An entirely different, less successful thing. Merry put this down to Pippin's tendency to stand too close. And Pippin's tendency to monopolize conversations. And Pippin's tendency to be flat broke and wheedle drinks out of people who happened to be slightly less flat broke. Who usually tended to be Merry.

Added to all that was Pippin's complete inability to see the problem, even when it was laid out in front of him.

"I'll just keep you company until you cop off," he said brightly, still standing too close. "So you won't be lonely while you wait. You need a bit of company – stop you looking even more pathetic."

"Thanks Pip," Merry sighed. And then frowned. "What d'you mean 'even more pathetic'?"

He managed it sometimes, all the same. By dint of ditching Pippin occasionally, hanging around with other people, other friends, like Frodo – he occasionally managed to engage in what might be called flirtation.

Of course, a more accurate name for it might be failure.

This brought him to the second problem.

"Look, you seem nice and all, but – don't you have a boyfriend already?"

"What? No. Would I be here if I had a boyfriend already?" Merry asked, though his heart was already sinking.

After an intent study, his attempted chat-up decided, "Yeah – last week you were in here, all over someone else. I saw you. You said it was true love."

"I never said that it was true love – he said that," Merry corrected.

For some reason, this did not seem to reassure his attempted chat-up.

Certain reactions were standard. People tended to say things like, "But aren't you already with that fella? The other short one?"

People tended to say, "I don't know…I thought it was serious between you two."

People tended to say, "Maybe you should try and work things out. Have you thought about couples counseling?"

Most of all, though, people tended to say, "Listen mate, I'm sorry you two are having problems – but…you can't argue with true love, can you?"

"Why does everyone think I'm shagging Pippin?" Merry bemoaned, letting his forehead fall forward, onto the scarred wooden tabletop.

"I don't know…maybe because you've declared undying love for each other in almost every pub in town?" Frodo said.

"I didn't declare undying love – Pippin did." It wasn't his most successful counter-argument – people tended to look at him coldly when he made it, and then stalk off without saying goodbye. His other approach (telling people he and Pippin had recently broken up) was slightly more successful – it hadn't netted him anything substantial, but he had received a few sympathetic arm pats.

"Still, you didn't seem to object when it happened."

"Whose side are you on?!"

"I'm not on any side," Frodo told him. "I'm just trying to explain how things might look to a neutral third party."

"Well, they're wrong, because it's not like that at all," Merry said, crossing his arms.

"It's hard to disbelieve something you've seen with your own eyes," Frodo said kindly.

Merry sighed, slumping down in his seat. "I know, that's" – he sat up abruptly, "that's exactly what we need to do!"

Pippin agreed to a public breakup with some reluctance. "It just seems like a shame, is all. People really seem to want us to make it work."

"But that's the thing, Pip. It doesn't work – because there is no it."

"Maybe we should try counseling. I think you're giving up on this far too easily." Pippin tossed an apple between his palms.

"Well, if you don't think I've been taking our fake relationship seriously enough, we probably ought to break up," Merry suggested hopefully.

"But then I'm playing right into your hands."

Merry sighed and went on the offensive. "So you're going to make me stay with you even though you know my heart's not in it?" He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "That doesn't sound much like true love to me, Pippin."

Pippin frowned, outmaneuvered. Merry reached over and plucked Pippin's loosely held apple from his hands, and took a victorious bite.

"Nothing embarrassing," Merry warned, as he finished his drink. And, after a hard look at Pippin's speculative face, "And nothing that makes me look bad, either."

Pippin seemed to deflate slightly. "But if there's nothing bad, why am I breaking up with you?"

"Who said you'll be the one doing the breaking up?" Merry asked. He took a deep breath, and gave a covert glance at the crowd surrounding them. In a slightly-louder-than-normal voice he said, "Pippin – I'm sorry, but I don't think this is working."

The look of distress on Pippin's face was almost disturbingly convincing, and it threw Merry so off-balance that it took him a second to marshal an answer to Pippin's rather loud, "You want to break up with me? But why?"

"Not – not want to," Merry said, aware of a certain dipping of noise levels around them. "I just think it – it would be for the best."

"But why?" Pippin persisted. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, just" –

"Well, if there's nothing's wrong, then why do you want to break up?" Pippin demanded.

There was a definite silence around them now, a certain stillness that denoted intense interest on the part of the people surrounding them. Something seemed to snap, like a tree-branch in Merry's mind, and he found himself saying, "All right – you want to know what's wrong? You want other people, Pip. You know you do" –

Somewhere in the background, he heard a particularly loud and indignant whisper, "What a hypocrite – he was hitting on me two nights ago!" Merry did his best to ignore it, and continued, a bit softer, "You don't want to be with me – you don't, Pip. And…I don't want to hold you back anymore."

Pippin stared at him for a long moment. "You're right," he said finally. "I haven't always treated you well." Merry closed his eyes in relief, because it meant that this fake break-up was almost over, and that meant that things could go back to normal.

"But you're wrong about one thing." Merry's eyes opened. Pippin's face was open and terrifyingly sincere. "I do want you," he said. "You're the only one I want – and if you'll just give me another chance, I'll prove it to you."

Merry stared at him, mouth hanging open. He barely registered the growing buzz of the crowd. Pippin just waited patiently, eyes fixed on his.

"Er…" he managed.

"I'll take that as a yes!" and almost before Pippin had finished the sentence, he had flung himself at Merry, who dumbly brought his arms up and around Pippin's back. Then Pippin's hands were on his face and Pippin's mouth was against his and that was definitely a smattering of applause ringing in Merry's ears.

Very faintly, he heard a voice in the background say, "You just can't argue with true love, can you?"

"I was in-character," Pippin explained later. "And it felt like what my character would do. The dramatic tension of the scene demanded it."

"The dramatic…Pippin, the whole purpose of that scene was to break up. The only purpose of that scene was to break up – and here we are, right back where we started." Merry fought the urge to touch his mouth, which still felt strange. Like it didn't belong to him anymore.

"It was a bit expected. Theatre is all about the unexpected." Pippin swung his leg against the ratty sofa. "Y'know, I think I have a real flair for this. I might go in for the drama society next year."

Their second break-up was meticulously scripted, much to Pippin's dismay. "I just feel like…like improvisation would better preserve the integrity of the moment," he said.

"What does that even mean?" Merry asked him.

"I don't know, it just sounded good," Pippin admitted. "But – do I really have to learn all these lines? Can't we just make it up as we go along?"

"We did that last time," Merry reminded him. Pippin sighed and turned the first page of the script.

Still, despite all their preparation and rehearsals, the second break-up didn't quite work out as planned either.

This was because –

"Colin!" Merry said. "Hello! How – how are you?" Colin had been one of those pre-Pippin someones, actually the last of the pre-Pippin someones.

"I'm good, thank you. And you?"

"I'm well, thanks." Merry's eyes darted right, to the bloke standing next to Colin.

"This is Jim," Colin said. "Jim, this is Merry."

Hands were shaken, and polite smiles and small talk exchanged, and finally, Colin asked. "So, Merry – are you seeing anyone at the moment?"

"Actually…" Merry said. He looked between Colin and Jim, then twisted around to the bar, towards Pippin. Suddenly, and without much thought at all, he made the decision. "I am."

After all, it was what everyone thought anyway, Merry told himself, as he weaved his way toward Pippin. Why shouldn't he use it to his advantage just this once? And it wasn't as if Pippin had ever had any compunction about dropping him in the exact same situation. This was – this was payback, of a sort.

Accordingly, when he tapped Pippin on the shoulder, and Pippin turned, the first thing he did was say, "I need you to look besotted."

Pippin took a sip of his drink and asked, "I'm looking at what now?"

"Me," Merry said. "You're looking at me" –

Pippin nodded to show that he was following.

" – and being besotted."

"I thought we were breaking up," Pippin objected.

"Forget about that for now. Right now, I want to introduce you to someone, and you need to be besotted."

"With you?"

"With me," Merry repeated, and waited for a deluge of questions and objections and piss-taking.

"All right," Pippin said, and slipped his free hand into Merry's. His eyes were warm and unblinking. Merry swallowed.

"You – you don't have to start right now," he said. "They're over there."

"I don't mind," Pippin told him. His fingers were warm against Merry's, and he made no move to pull them away. "Ex-boyfriend?"

"Yeah," Merry said. Pippin glanced over in Colin's direction. Merry felt compelled to say, "You don't have to, if you don't want to – I just thought" –

"I don't mind," Pippin said again. "Suppose it's my turn this time." He grinned at Merry. "All right – I'm your toyboy. What now?"

Thrown by such easy acquiescence, Merry found himself mumbling, "My toyboy? You're not that much younger than me."

Pippin's eyes were calm. "No," he agreed. "I'm not."

Merry was still holding Pippin's hand, and he towed him over to Colin and Jim. Introductions were made, conversation was had, and a free table was found.

Merry had to admit that Pippin was good at being besotted. Better than Merry had been, at any rate. Maybe because he threw himself into being besotted with the same dedication he gave to everything that wasn't hard work. Instead of a lackluster arm around Merry's shoulders, he squeezed in close, so that they were pressed together from shoulder to hip, and kept a loose hold of Merry's hand. His fingers idly stroked against Merry's palm. He rested his chin on Merry's shoulder, which wasn't at all comfortable…but in a strange way was comforting.

"Are you alright?" Pippin spoke into Merry's ear, warm and low, and he nudged Merry's foot with his own.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine," Merry said, mindlessly staring into Pippin's eyes.

It was wonderful. It was terrible. Merry wanted Colin and Jim to leave so that this hollow, empty charade could finally come to an end. He also wanted to find a way to bring Colin and Jim home with them, so that the empty, hollow charade could continue indefinitely.

"How did you two meet, anyway?" Colin asked.

Merry cleared his throat, ready to launch into some sort of story, when Pippin said, "It just sort of happened, really. We share digs and we just…you know..." he trailed off with a shrug. He smiled at Merry.

"That's nice," Colin said.

It was just too perfect, which was a good thing, because there was no way Merry could mistake it for reality. Of course, it was also just too perfect, which was a bad thing, because Merry kept wanting to mistake it for reality. Which meant that when Colin and Jim started checking their watches and making noises about getting home, Merry turned to Pippin to make the same suggestion – and Pippin was, well, close. Closer than usual, even, and looking at him with expectant eyes. And without even thinking about it, Merry leaned in to close the distance between them entirely – only to catch himself at the very last moment. Embarrassment flooded his cheeks and he cleared his throat. Hoping against hope that something might suddenly erase Pippin's memory or understanding of the last few seconds, he looked away and began, "I was thinking" –

Pippin leaned in and kissed the side of his mouth. Merry stopped dead and turned back to stare at him. It didn't seem to bother Pippin, who just leaned in again and kissed him again, a soft there-and-gone-again brush of lips. He pulled back and looked inquiringly at Merry, as if he wasn't – as if he hadn't just –

"What – are you doing?" Merry asked.

"Being besotted," Pippin said simply.

"But they're gone now." Merry gestured across the table, at the seats Colin and Jim had recently vacated.

Pippin shrugged. The corners of his lips tilted upwards, irrepressibly. "You never told me to stop."

"Well. I." It was suddenly hard to think of what to say.

"You were thinking…" Pippin prompted.

"I was…" Merry shook his head. "Home. We should go home."

Pippin was on his feet before he'd even finished the sentence.

The journey back was quiet. Merry didn't know why. It wasn't as if anything had just happened that would warrant a suspenseful silence. Everything was, or should have been, normal, because the besotted thing had just been an act, after all – and now it was over.

But the silence still lingered, padding in the door after them, and following them over to the sofa, curling itself between them like a cat.

"Thanks," Merry said eventually. "For…you know. With Colin and Jim."

Pippin grinned. "I was good, wasn't I?"

"You were – very convincing," Merry had to admit, because even now, smile wide and familiar, there was still something in his expression that made Merry feel as if he could just lean in again and –

Merry shook his head and resolutely faced forward. "We can break up tomorrow night," he decided.

Beside him, Pippin went very still, and when Merry glanced over at him, Pippin was looking right at him, face almost…solemn. "Am I really so bad as a boyfriend, then?"

It was the perfect opening for a joke or some teasing, but the expression on Pippin's face and the careful way he was holding himself – the moment was too quiet for anything but the truth.

"Not bad, no, it's – you're not bad," Merry explained. "It's just – it's not real, you know?"

Abruptly, Pippin leapt to his feet, making Merry jump. "Why didn't you say so?"

"What?"

"Don't just stand there! Come on!" Pippin seized his arm and pulled him to his feet, tugging him towards the bedroom. Merry blinked at this sudden turnaround.

"Well?" Pippin demanded, after hustling him through their bedroom door. "What are you waiting for?"

"What?" Merry repeated.

"Strip!" Pippin grabbed the bottom of Merry's shirt, as if to help. Merry's hands shot down, slapping at Pippin's fingers. "What? No!"

"Come on, it's not like it's anything I haven't seen before!"

"But why?"

"What d'you mean why? This was your idea!"

Merry gaped. "My idea?"

"Yes! You said this wasn't real enough, so we're getting naked for the purposes of verisimilitude."

It wasn't like the word had helped him out so far, but Merry couldn't stop himself from trying again. "What?"

Suddenly, Pippin's face was against his, arms around his shoulders. His voice was warm with laughter in Merry's ear as he pleaded, "Don't make me say it again, Merry. Ver – verisu…I don't think I can say it again…"

He pressed another of those sweet, easy kisses on Merry's cheek before drawing back.

He looked at Pippin's cheerful, hopeful face. It felt like the floor was buckling and swaying under his feet. It was exactly what he wanted – but at the same time, it wasn't, and Merry made one last attempt to get back on solid ground. "Look Pip, it's – it's a nice thought, yeah? But – just because I'm standing here…it doesn't mean I'm waiting in line, and you don't need to give me a go."

Pippin frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"It's not important," Merry said. "Just – something someone said. But it's not – I'm not following some strategy here."

"Why not?" Pippin asked.

"Why not? Why not? Because I don't want to just stand around, waiting for you to get around to me!"

Pippin shrugged. "It's worked all right for me." He stopped. "At least…I think it has. If you took off your clothes I'd know for sure."

Merry blinked. "…what?"

"Well, you didn't think I was hanging about, letting you get me into all sorts of trouble for nothing, did you?" Pippin's eyes were bright and very green.

"I thought…hang on – letting me get you into trouble?"

"You know, luring strange room-mates out of hiding, stealing food from the cafeteria, drawing moustaches on drunk, passed out people…"

"Hey – those were all your ideas!"

"'Oh, Pippin, I can't tell you about Tim. You have to see him for yourself.' 'Pippin, there's no way you could lift three bars of chocolate without getting caught.' 'What d'you think Stephen would look like with whiskers, Pip?'"

"All right, maybe they weren't all your ideas," Merry acknowledged. "But – I thought you did those things for fun."

"Well, that too," Pippin admitted. "What else was I supposed to do, while I was waiting for you?"

A sweet, sharp kind of feeling shot through Merry. He tried to force it down. "So all that time, you were waiting for me." It came out less cynical than he wanted.

Pippin smiled. "Exactly! And now that we've got that cleared up, what's say we get down to business, eh?" His fingers were suddenly at the bottom of Merry's shirt again, scrabbling with buttons and brushing against Merry's stomach. Merry grabbed his hands to stop him.

"Hang on a minute – if you were waiting for me all that time…then what about all those blokes you were seeing on the side?"

"Well, I got bored!" Pippin said. "And you have to admit, it did get your attention."

"You could have just told me!"

"For that matter, so could you," he pointed out. "And besides, where's the fun in that?"

"Fun?"

"Aren't we having fun right now?"

Merry stared at him. "No!"

Pippin tipped his chin up, a challenge. "All right…well…what are you going to do about that?"

Merry opened his mouth. Closed it. Then he tackled Pippin onto the bed.

"See," Pippin said afterwards. He sounded sleepy, yawning through his next sentence, "S'like I kept telling you."

"Mm?" Merry mumbled.

"You just can't argue with true love." Pippin slid an arm around him, heavy and comforting. Merry closed his eyes, then brought his hand up to rest on top of Pippin's.

"See," Pippin said again, slowly, softly. "S'easy."

And it was.