Arthur Fleck Archive, 2019

Old With You

Summary: You've grown old with Arthur and he begins to show signs of death much sooner than you. As you watch the love of you life topple over into death, you fight complete despair, desperately wishing you had taken care of him better. This is an AU where he stays as Arthur because he met you. Extreme angst and complicated emotions. Warning that this is not necessarily easy reading in terms of emotions.

A/N: I was originally going to post this as a 20k+ one shot, but it felt more natural to post it into two parts once I got around to editing it. I normally loathe spitting up my writing into multiple parts, but it just felt "right" with this one. I explored some very deep and dark themes in this piece, things that I have not personally experienced, and I hope I won't offend anyone by doing so. There may be large inaccuracies on what its like to experience what happens in this fic, and for that I apologize. I wrote this to explore the deep emotional angst with it. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.

Smoke bellowed around the foggy, well-loved apartment, almost as beloved and worn as the couple that lived in it. The walls had become cracked with the nail digging and pounding that had occurred from years of impulsive, reckless, passionate love making against the walls, counters, and tables. The mirror had been cleaned countless times, but nothing could ever get rid of that crack in it that had been made when you had been lifted up on the vanity and had thrusted your head against it it in helpless succumbing to Arthur's fingers inside of you approximately fifteen years ago. The place had truly become a dairy of your love for one another, the love being etched and ripped into the very walls, carpets, and mirrors that surrounded you.

The windows were open, letting in a blissful, cool breeze to air out the smell that you had come to associate with the passionate temperament of your love. To the average person, it would have looked like a dump, but to you both it looked like the place that had harbored the unconditional and impeccably deep love that had manifested for you both through all the past few decades. His hand was rested on top of yours as he stroked your slightly younger one lovingly, both of your voices murmuring through the sweet air in that quiet and poetic way that you both did first thing in the morning. Arthur's other hand was tenderly using his thumb to stroke your thigh in small, gentle circles.

There was a feeling of complete unreality around you both when you were together these days. Something had clicked inside of you both throughout your years together. Something had shifted inside you both that made your love a little more than love.

Arthur had finished whispering his sweet nothings into your ear and began to lift himself out of the bed. He was wearing a light brown knitted sweater, the clothing covering his old and tired, but disguisedly beautiful thin form.

Though you knew you were biased, it struck you today just as every day how devastatingly handsome he was; the years had not only been kind to him, but had refined him in a peculiar sort of way. Arthur was a rare being who's appearance melded with the affects of age harmoniously. His hair had thinned, and it had become straight, grey and simple, only a fews shy curls here and there gracing his brow, a stark contrast to the unruly forest of brown curls it had previously been before. He often slicked it back with just a couple of strokes of his hand, and the thin layer would stay on his head for the day, tame and content. This hairstyle suited him marvelously; it showed the defined cheekbones of his face and the well deserved wisdom in his eyes. His gentle oceans only added to how crushingly precious of a man he had become. You noticed how people took sight of his unconventional beauty that had formed on him throughout the years, coming from within rather than outside. He gentleness had only become more prominent since his youth, leaking out into his essence in the most poetic way. Wrinkles graced his face like gentle kisses of time, making his experience with the world apparent, his fragility in it obvious. His very face was poetry.