➸ viva la vida (arthur fleck x oc) ✅

↳ i. life in technicolor

"And that's it!" I grin at the small audience in the club. I get some applause and a shout from a drunk guy at the bar. "Thank you guys so much for havin' me. I'll see ya, alright?" I get up from the piano, wave at the crowd and walk offstage. I put my water bottle and a couple paper towels back here before the show, so I take a swig of the water (it's almost half the bottle) and wipe my face with the paper towels. I look around for my backpack- I tossed it on a chair somewhere back here, and as soon as I get it I can take the bus home. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I turn my head to look for my bag.

I'm really nothing special- pale skin (I don't get out much), black hair, shaved on the sides but overgrown and hanging in my face in the front. I'm in a tight, slightly damp from sweat, black t-shirt and jeans. I've got my scuffed, beat up black combat boots on too, the only halfway decent pair of shoes I have.

My bag is over on the counter of the changing room I holed up in fifteen minutes before the show. I walk over and open it, pulling my black jacket out of it and putting it on. I sling the backpack over my shoulder, rake a hand through my hair and push the door open to the rest of the club.

"Hey, good job, man," the manager of the club, the Eclectic, comes up as I walk out, and claps me on the shoulder. He's a short, stocky man with a brown buzzcut, and I don't remember his name at all. "Almost didn't believe your friend when he said you were decent." I ignore the backhanded compliment and smile back.

"Thanks. If the pay's always this good, you bet I'll be back," I say, and he pats my shoulder again. I walk out of the back exit and shiver at the cold. It's about 5, I was playing the slow afternoon hours. But Gotham is always cold, all the time, so I put in my earbuds and walk to the bus stop. Luckily, I'm not waiting for long- the green and white bus pulls up, and as always I'm the only person at this stop.

As I step on, I notice that my usual seat near the front is taken- oh. It's a new rider. The regulars know not to switch seats. Unspoken agreements. I look up, towards the back, to see if I've got to stand for 35 minutes on the way back to Midtown.

"Oh, thank fuck," I whisper, to the chagrin of the old lady sitting in the seat next to where I'm standing. I don't pay any attention to her, though, because there's an empty seat, next to one of the regulars. That seat's always empty, but since we seem to be shaking shit up on the bus today, I wasn't sure.

The regular in the seat next to the empty one I'm headed for is leaning against the window, looking out of it aimlessly. He's got shoulder length brown-black hair, and he's slightly older. He's wearing a light brown jacket over a faded green sweater and a white button-down shirt, and looking out of the window. There's a threadbare grey scarf around his neck.

And he is absurdly pretty.

I've come to terms with being gay. It's nothing I can change. I certainly don't go around trying to find myself a boyfriend, however. Midtown is a shitty place, filled with shitty people and their godawful biases. I saw a guy beaten up by his own brother because they thought he was gay. So I don't talk about it. It rarely even ever crosses my mind. And it isn't like I haven't noticed the guy before- he's on this bus every damn day, of course I have. But I never looked too hard, and I absolutely didn't have to sit next to him.

Except right about now. It's almost unfair, how attractive he is. I realize I've been staring at him and walking way too slowly. I shoot an apologetic glance to the old lady from before and slide into the seat next to him. He looks up and shifts towards the window, away from me. Usually I'd be thankful for the gesture- it's awkward, it's different. But this time I'm not sure I want him to move away.

Get it together, Carson. You're not a blushing schoolgirl.

"Hey," I say, putting on my best smile. He looks at me, blinking slowly as if he can't believe I'm talking to him.