Summary: Arthur is having a particularly bad night of insomnia, and with the combination of you being late for work, he can't take it anymore. He succumbs to a habit he promised you he would quit. When you come home, you are in ruins over the state you find Arthur in, and you desperately try to find ways to heal the broken man you love. Fluff and Angst.
A/N: This is piece is kind of all over the place, I was feeling a lot when I started writing this, so I hope it makes sense. I just love exploring the emotional depth with him, there is so much to explore and I find it so thrilling. I had to edit this thing twice because Tumblr kept fucking everything up, dear god. It's a good thing Arthur is worth it. My wrist hurts. You know you love a fictional character when you're willing cramp your neck and wrist for him.
Contains: Mental illness, hypothermia, heavy thoughts, Arthur gets himself into a dangerous situation
Words: 5,827 (one day I'll learn how to shut up)
Originally posted by a-monami
Arthur wasn't feeling well, and, despite his best efforts to fight against it, he was thinking of doing something he had promised you he would never do again.He was pacing back and forth, mumbling under his breath. The slew of negative thoughts that was etching itself into his brain was overwhelming him, the negativity so unapologetically persistent, so unwelcomingly familiar to him that it had gotten to the point where he was convinced that this was all he was-just a pool of never ending, unrelenting hurt and pain and black despondency, pulling everything down with hi-He hit himself, trying to end his train of thought, but as soon as the slight physical pain resided, the slew of negative thoughts started all over again, like a stream breaking through a dam.In the past, you had cradled him in your hands and cooed to him gently about his habit of locking himself into the fridge. There had been tears in your eyes, you had been choking on your words as you spoke to him. His lack of sleep was driving him over the edge in a deeper way than you ever believed possible. Seeing him hurt himself caused you your own pain deeper than you could express or could even imagine, feeling as if there was a stone cold weight in your stomach as you gazed at the man that caused you a twisted and poetic melancholic sort of love wrapped in pain.You had brought him into your chest, stroking his back softly. Arthur had merely buried his face into your chest, leaned up against you like he was a child and you were a concerned mother-in some ways, often your relationship was such-the carer and the nurturer, Arthur's wounds going so deep that he required a deeper and more complicated love from you than just being a loving girlfriend. Only a soul as damaged and tormented as Arthur, and only someone as desperate to heal him as you, could understand the complex and ever shifting dynamics of the relationship, sometimes needing more from the other than most partners were willing or able to give-but you were more than willing to do what you could, so deep did you love and empathy pour for him.That night, he had just been about to open the fridge, having successfully escaped your arms without waking you and planning on festering in the fridge until god knows what happened. He couldn't have cared what happened to him in the moment, so much pain was he in. It was these dark mindsets that he deemed so selfish that made him believe he didn't deserve you; he knew how much shearing pain you would be in if anything happened to him, and yet, the darkness drew him to a selfishness were he no longer cared what happened to him, or even what happened to those he left behind.He had snapped out of it the second that you own eyes flickered awake, and you had to the kitchen, instantly knowing something was wrong. Arthur never left your arms at night unless something was deeply, profoundly wrong; his favorite time of the twenty four hours of his life was being locked into the comfort of your arms, melded as one for eight some hours until the cruel hours of the day forced you two to be apart again for another ten.He had just been about to climb in when you pulled him back and closed the fridge for him, sealing it shut. You pulled Arthur into your arms, who didn't seem all there, all coherent, simply mumbling tortured nothings into the silky fabric of your pajamas. You had pulled him back over to the bed, the task not being a hard one, pulling the entirely of his weight across to the bed, so thin and light was the man. You had lied him down, then scooted yourself next to him on the pillows, and held him softly as you stroked the sickly curls out of his face. He had broken into a sweat, his eyes closed, face shuddering and heaving.You had brought him to your chest, and stroked his head softly until it seemed he was asleep. You spoke only a few pained words into the darkness, feeling your chest swell with worry as you spoke them."The next time you feel like doing this to yourself, wake me and let me know. Ok?"You hadn't expected a reply; you assumed he was asleep. The words you spoke were more for your own comfort than his. But then, ever so softly, you heard a raspy and pained, detached but wonderfully welcomed voice reply in a sleepy manner;"Ok."At that simple word you felt your heart leap in your throat with emotion, and you pressed your lips to his head, a tear trailing down your cheek.That had been about five months ago, and it hadn't happened since. But now you weren't here, late from work, and he was feeling bad again; truly deeply bad and reckless in a way he hadn't felt in the longest time he could remember. You didn't heal his wounds, but you certainly made things more bearable than they would be without you, and right now, you weren't here. He chuckled darkly as he leaned his veiny hands against the counter, his skinny body contorting in a way that almost looked outlandish and inhuman. His shoulder blades stuck out of his skinny and pale body like they could burst out of him with one wrong or sudden movement. So fragile was this man, in ever way humanely possible.He knew he needed you, and even in his detached state did he manage to pull the phone and try to call your work place number, but you hadn't picked up. An all consuming darkness and disappointment had overcome him them, and he had let the phone drop to the floor, shaking his head darkly, and couple of laughs emitting from his forced smile, feeling the need to put on a happy face even when no one was there, so deep was the forced performative facade embedded in his system pushed onto him from the world. He was so used to being told who he should be, that sometimes, he didn't even know who he was.His mind was playing tricks on him; dark, tenebrous tricks. Maybe you weren't even real. Even as he rushed to grab one of your sweaters that was left on the bed, reeking of your beloved scent, even as he pushed the fabric into his nose and closed his eyes, breathing in deep the proof that you were real and would be home eventually, even as every second ticked by in a mocking click on the clock, did he convince himself that maybe you were never really here. Maybe he had had an episode and had gone down to the woman's shop, bought some skirts and dresses and pants and cardigans, bought some perfume and had brought them home like the fool he was and had huddled against them in these states as some sort of mocking way to himself to prove to him that his hallucinations were real through the months. Maybe the bills that were on the counter with your name on them was some cheat in the system, some blimp that had manifested when the person who had them had been typing them out, maybe they knew about his illnesses and did it as a cruel joke...Such was his thoughts, and they only grew the stronger, more black and more merciless until Arthur pulled his wiry hands over his hands, kneeling on the floor, sweater still in one clenched and tormented hand.He suppressed a scream, and instead settled for biting down on his lip until it bled. He licked it off, tasting it and pretending it was yours, so desperate was her for a sign of you.He managed to get himself to glance over at the clock. 12:15 AM. You were never coming back, he was sure of it. If you had ever been here at all.With another dark chuckle, genuine and real, such was his dark humor, finding humor only in the deepest of pain, did he manage to get himself up. He would never be able to sleep without your touches, without your loving arms wrapped around him, and he knew as much, troublingly so. Whether the past few months had just been a particularly strong episode, or whether he had truly had you in his life was besides the question now; the point was first and foremost was that he was alone, completely and utterly alone, and not even sleep could overcome or help him now.With the most heavy of steps he dragged his body over to the fridge, the sad small and rectangular thing, the insignificance of it seeming to mock him, reminding him of how small he was. He opened it and began to throw out the small but substantial condiments and the like that lay in there-sandwhich bags, soup ingredients, juice, and-his heart lurched as he did so-your favorite casserole that you had made together, one of his favorite nights cooking with you, half eaten and surrounded in a beautiful glass. He threw it behind him recklessly, only wincing slightly as the glass shattered. It didn't matter now; you had never really been here anyway.He pulled his body into the fridge and closed it with one last dark chuckle. As soon as he entered it, he relished how it numbed his mind and body alike, putting him in so much pain that he couldn't think anymore. He wrapped his arms around his body and began to shiver uncontrollably, his crooked teeth chattering, his beautiful striking pools of pain staring ahead of him at the white walls, somehow more lifeless and unforgiving than even the hospital walls he found himself locked in so often. God, he hated the hospital.He studied the cluster of ice that was formed in the corner of the fridge; it stared back at him lifelessly, indifferent to his suffering. Just as everyone else. His body began to bounce uncontrollably, up and down, up and down, and he seemed to lose control of his muscles as his body went into full panic mood. He was now so cold that he could no longer think clearly, but he still knew enough that he knew he was better off not leaving the fridge. Only one sentence echoed in his muddled and tormented thoughts and blackness overtook his vision:You would be so disappointed. So, so disappointed.He the blacked out, and knew nothing more.You yourself were dragging on your dead tired feet, feeling as if the weight of the world was on your shoulders. This was the first night you hadn't come home around six, and although you felt terrible for coming home so late, you hadn't had a choice. The phone lines had been busy, your boss had been demanding things from you that were out of your control, and you had been behind on paper work.You were muttering under your breath darkly; your own mental health was crossing a fine line tonight; and all you wanted to do was go home to your Arthur and cuddle into his arms. You were worried about how he had handled you come so late; but you were confident that he knew you loved him, that he was finally stable enough in his own head in regards to your love that he wouldn't topple over the way he used to be prone to..As you opened the door, and were greeted with the shattered plates and scattered food all over the floor, you instantly knew with an intense black surge of regret that you were deeply, deeply wrong.You took a breath of pain and shock and whispered into the dark apartment, "Arthur?" You already knew where he was, but there was some naive hope in the corner of your head that was telling you maybe you were wrong, maybe this time would be different.When no answer came,you decided to stop bullshitting yourself, and you rushed over to the fridge. You felt so sickly worried that you felt numb, almost as if you didn't care anymore what happened to either of you; you were just so tired, so deeply troubled over your love deeper than love for this tortured soul, that sometimes you almost wished that both of you could just die together, to find eternal rest in a world outside of this one that did nothing but bruise and batter you both. But no, you needed to push away such thoughts. Arthtur needed you now more than ever, and the sickly worry that swept through your core made you want to kneel over and curl with despair as your shaking fingers opened the fridge. You felt your heart drop to you chest at what you saw.Arthur was completely unconscious, his mouth hanging open, wet curls slicking to his forehead. His skeletal torso was leaned against the fridge, the back fourth wall holding up his sickly body, stark and uncaring.With a surge of sickness did you realize he looked dead; lifeless. No, no he wasn't, and you wouldn't allow yourself to believe so. You heaved your body in, trying to ignore the surge of cold that greeted you, and pulled him out; he was so light, it felt as if you were picking up as sickly child. His skinny form fell into your arms, his head lolled back helplessly, mouth open, all the muscles in his face relaxed.You tried your best to fight off the rising panic you felt swell up in your chest. As quickly as you could you ran from the kitchen to the bedroom with him in your arms, and laid down his form, cold as ice. Your feet were bleeding from the glass you had stepped on in the kitchen, but at the moment you couldn't get yourself to give a damn. You checked his pulse; it was faint, but still beating. You felt a sickly relief flood over you.You grabbed a cloth, wet it, and threw it into the microwave.The thirty seconds it took to heat it up seemed like it took ages. Finally it beeped, and you snatched it out and ran back over to Arthur, as lifeless as anything as he lied upon the bed. You couldn't tell if his chest was heaving up or down or not, if he was breathing; he looked like a pale and lifeless statue. With a shaking hand you put the warm cloth over him. You couldn't get yourself to calm down, try as you might."Arthur, we talked about this. Where are you?" you whispered into the dark. You were trying to convince yourself that maybe somehow your voice would bring him out of his trace, that somehow it would reach out and pull him from the black that his mind and soul alike was lost in. It worked well enough when he was sleeping beside you; you would whisper sweet nothings into his ear as he slept beside you. The upper part of his lip would twitch into a small smile, and you would know that you somehow reach him, even in dreams.Tears began to melt from your eyes, and they trickled down and onto your love's face. You continued to wipe his weathered face, tracing every line with your finger as the swept the ice cold and unforgiving layer of cold on his skin, reminiscent of his thoughts, and replaced it with the loving warmth of the cloth reminiscent of your love.Arthur's face began to wrinkle itself up, and his nose began to twitch. He mumbled out something incoherent, and you felt your heart leap in your throat; although you had failed him tonight, at least you had brought him back.Slowly did his memorizing pools begin to awake themselves from his heavily hooded gaze, like a shred of magic peeking out of a rock. His eyes met yours instantly, and he melted at how much relief flooded through him then, so relieved that for the first time in hours you here, that you were real and tangible."Are you really here?" he just barely managed to speak through the layer of ice still on his lips, trying his best to talk through the black haze he found himself in. His voice was accompanied by a haunting heaving and raspiness, sounding for a moment like a ghost trying to speak.You heart squeezed painfully. "Yes, baby, I'm real. And I'm here."He beamed his crooked grin, the simple action seeming to pain him, but the smile reaching his eyes. How tragically handsome he was, even with his hair slicked on his face with the cold.Arthur took you chin in his wrinkled and stubby fingers. He tried to rasp something else through his cold and ice concealed lips, but they felt permanently shut from the freezing cold. There was bits of ice on them, and you pulled them off him with a tender finger, the ice making a small pinch as they left his skin.He couldn't-or wouldn't-speak anymore, so instead you settled for gazing into his eyes, continuing to stroke the warm cloth around his face gently. There was so much unspoken pain in his eyes that was transmitting itself into you, and you felt the stark connection imparting itself from his mind and into yours, sending a wave through your body of empathetic shock and sadness.You could tell he wasn't going to get up on his own, and you needed to get his blood moving again. You didn't know much about recovery from hypothermia, but it only made sense to try and get his blood pumping again, his body moving."Honey," you started softly. There was so much you would need to work through tonight, but you needed to start somewhere. "I'm going to lift you up, ok? I'm going to pick you up and we're going to walk around a bit." Arthur made no move forward, and settled for simply communicating to you with his eyes. They were full of so much loved, so relived was he that you were taking care of him, but also agony.You sighed and you pressed our lips to his temple, a little clammy from the awkward mixture of the freezing cold of the fridge and the warmth of your cloth, but alive and breathing and beating, which was all that mattered to you right now.You intertwined your hands in his fingers and heaved him up. He allowed himself to be lifted, still limp, but your gentle challenge of lifting him up, forcing him to start feeling again, to come into himself again, was enough to get the blood pumping slightly into his skin and bones again, as heavy and as weary as they were. Arthur fell forward into your chest, and you allowed him to put his full weight on you; you brushed your hands against his arms briskly, forcing his blood to warm back up into his system. Arthur let out little adorable mumbles and groans that, despite the seriousness of the situation, made you smile and made you feel that deep warmth and gooey happiness that only the adorableness of Arthur could make you feel, reminding you why you had fallen for him so deeply in the first place, why you had picked up out of all the dirty and lost souls in the corrupted city. Deeper than joy is what he made you feel, without even trying.You lifted him up, and he slightly kept himself upward with his own legs, although they were still shaky and trembling like sea legs. You guided him into the living room and turned on a light, lending some actual, physical warmth into the apartment that Arthur could tangibly process. You brought him into your arms and started swaying him back and forth as way of movement and comfort.He had his chin rested on your shoulder, and he seemed to be leaving small peppered kisses on your shoulder, still covered in the stark work clothes, such a contrast to the loving walls of the apartment. He was so ashamed of how he had failed you tonight, so deeply hurt at himself for how he had given up on himself, when he knew it would hurt you. Like always he had let his illness get the best of him, letting the first wave of insecurity and weakness take over him. He knew he should know better. The small and gentle kisses that was gracing your shoulder right now were so apologetic but shy, feeling like he didn't deserve to touch you, love you, feel you.But you had already forgiven him; in a way there was nothing to forgive, because you had never been mad at him to begin with. You only felt a deep, heart wrenching sadness that he valued himself so little that all it took was one night out of the normal to get him to be so willing to hurt himself. A little anger, too, perhaps, that he would put himself in such danger, and a little more anger still that he would leave you behind. But you knew he only did it because he doubted that he was enough for you; what he needed more than every was your patience, understanding, and, above all, your love."Baby," you began. "If you're wondering if I'm mad at you, I'm not." It was a bit of a lie, but you had to push down your own negative feelings to lift him out of his dark state."I did a bad thing," Arthur mumbled into your shoulder. He then buried his face in your neck, as if he was trying to hide from you by hiding into you; you were both the cure and the problem for Arthur's strong emotions many of the time. He simultaneously got comfort from the same source that caused him caused him to feel shame. You were both the solution and the problem to his never ending, confused ways."I'll never be enough for you, will I?" Arthur mumbled into your hair, the back of your neck tingling at his hot breath. The love in his eyes, still strong despite the hazy ice in them, melted into an empty realization. "I just can't be...strong enough." You two had taken to a small little dance, swaying back and forth ever so gently. It was comforting to the both of you, the movement something to distract you for a bit from the pain and complicated emotion you both were feeling.You leaned him back and stroked the hair out of his eyes, forcing him to look at you. Through his eyes you could see the light in them; despite the darkness of his illnesses that plagued him, Arthur was the happiest of tormented souls; an inside out quirky poem of being so carefree and gentle and playful, surrounded in a firm grasp of unforgiving hard darkness.You took one of his hands and carried it up to your lips, and engulfed each knobby knuckle gently with your warm lips. Arthur's eyelids shuddered, the tender feeling of your lips on his wretched skin always something he that made him remember why he fought at all."You will always be enough for me, but I need you to be enough for you," you whispered between the kiss on the fourth knuckle."Please search inside of yourself," you whisperer between the next few ones, voice as gentle as water as you spoke."The answers are inside you baby. You just have to find them."He often felt like his emotions were so unhinged and misplaced, like a thrashing child; where others laughed, he cried. Where others cried, he laughed. He smiled at your words like you had just made a joke, though you could see the pain in his eyes as he did so. Arthur broke down then, and tears and cackles alike began to torment his being. He threw himself back into the crook of your neck, ashamed.You cooed sympathetically, letting him know you understood what he meant by his reaction; he just had his own way of expressing his feelings. You took him into your arms, comforting him the best you could.This man would be the death of you. If not your physical body, your sanity.The night had ended with you offering him all the love and energy you could give that night, offering him kisses, tea, and warm conversation until he fell asleep in that dance in your arms around 4 PM. You had carried his sleepy body to the bed, and had kissed him goodnight, watching him sleep soundly, not being able to find your own peace.Sometimes, in your own torment and insecurities, you wondered if you were truly good for him. If you ever did enough.If he had asked you to leave your life, you would have. You valued his happiness before your own pain, torment, or discomfort. But with a man with a low self esteem as Arthur, who was so tormented and so grief stricken, it was hard to tell what he truly wanted. You knew deep down that despite the shortcomings in your relationship sometimes, that he did love you. He didn't just love you beyond what he could breath or think, he quite literally needed you. The abuse he had suffered throughout his life since childhood made him crave your loving touches, healing him in not just a romantically touch starved way, but as a human being healing a human being. You weren't just his partner; you were his protector, his guider through pain. Ironically, because he loved you so deeply, he often wanted you to find better. He couldn't see himself in the light that you saw him; gentle, hauntingly and wonderfully different, beautiful, real, sensitive, loving, rare. He only saw himself as a monster that needed constant nurturing and caring for, one with needs that no one person could ever give.If only he had known that you only loved him all the deeper for this, in an aberrant sort of way. You were addicted to helping Arthur in any way you could possibly give, no matter how much pain it caused you. In a way, your pain was a twisted blessing, something that made your life go drastically up and down, but caused you a heartfelt meaning that you never find in anyone else, no one elses' soul going down deeper depths than your Arthur's.He would never wholly come back from his torment; that much you knew. He would never be the whole man he had been born to be naturally, before cruel hands and uncaring hearts had grabbed his innocent flesh and squeezed half of the life out of him that he was born with.Your heart felt as if it would give out. What could you say? And an even darker thought followed; If he had never known you, what would have happened to him? It wasn't that you convinced yourself Arthur couldn't live without you. But you knew that he needed a caretaker to make up for all his own neglect in his life; a caretaker for a caretaker.He was always torn between how much he loved you and craved you, yet how much he felt like you deserved more than him. Despite him knowing at how you deserved more, his soul ached and kicked for you, a wrestling between his low self esteem and his literal need to have against his skin upon your skin and loving the pieces that he was, not putting him back together but at least offering a sort of hope, the abuse from both body and soul calling out for so much more from a partner than most were willing to give, but you just happened to be the perfect and most willing march. If only Arthur could understand that.Though you would admit your relationship had started out a big juvenile, in the sense that Arthur has been so starved and blind sick for your touches, to feel the romantic graze of your hands across his, so much more vivid and beautiful it was than the stagnant porn images that had grazed his empty journal pages which had always glared at him challengingly, daring him to express his tormented thoughts in the open to the judgemental world-mainly, his therapist, who didn't give a damn.His fantasies he would have rather filled a majorly of them, he had decided back then before you, though they seemed so lifeless now compared to the very real and irreplaceable warmth of your real, tender skin, that craved and loved him not just physically but mentally as well. You loved his soul, and that was what truly made you so addicting, such a breath of fresh air.Now the love had mattered into a sort of solidified, pained but twistingly rewarding love in a sort of melancholic, unexpected way. You two still loved to be inside each other, to love each other physically as well as psychologically, and lord knows Arthur had a high sex drive. But you interactions were purer now, less frantic, somehow, more serious; they said; I see you, I know you, and I love you for everything you are, good and bad.Of course, there was no such thing as bad in your eyes when it came to your love, for even Arthur's bad was better than most good in your own life. Such was your deep love for him. He felt much the same. It scared him how much he loved you and in turn it scared you. Life was often about fear, wasn't it? Fear cradled in a delicate love. You told Arthur as much one night with his face buried in yours, cradling his hair in your hands, slipping through your fingers like brown ocean waves, As much as he loved you, he couldn't always help you, similar to how you couldn't always help him. His worst nights were when he started bashing his head against the wall when you came home crying from work. He tried to get him to stop, but had been so angry, so furious that people were treating you badly the way that people in Gotham were prone to doing. He could tolerate it for himself, but not for you. There would be days when he couldn't look you in the eyes, when his touches were distracted and distant. You knew it wasn't because of any lack of love for you, but simply how drained he felt fighting his own mind. He never once said a cruel word to you, never made you feel anything less than loved. Forgotten sometimes, maybe, but you knew it wasn't something he would ever chose.Arthur would never overcome his demons, and he knew as much. After a certain point in the relationship, the both of you stopped pretending The love got harder, but it never faded. On the contrary, you only felt your love for him burn deeper as you came to now him, every minute detail of his complex and tortured yet joyful and innocent mind, so complex was your Arthur. You made jokes to Arthur that his hair was so magnificent and so big because of all the secrets he kept hidden in them. He would always blush and giggle, shaking his had at how silly you were.Dancing with him sleepily when he had insomnia became almost a nightly routine after that. It lulled him out of his insomnia, and it comforted you to know beyond what you could express that he was safe, both physically, emotionally, and mentally. His boyish, fragile, and skinny frame leaned against you as you continued rocking him made you feel a protective warmth over the man that you loved so deeply, somehow falling deeper in love.If he had nightmare or a late night a meltdown, you would do much of the same. It was so rare for his mind to allow him to sleep, as if even the simplest pleasures of life were unattainable to him.You knew you couldn't wholly save him. People were not meant to be fixed by another, no matter how deeply the love was brought. You needed to guide him to be his better self. It would be his choice how he saved himself, if he did.You did everything you could to make him smile, even as his worser days increased.You would also read him stories, pulling him up onto your lap in Penny's big reading chair and letting him rest on your shoulder or even have his head entirely on your chest as your soothing voice and playful stories lulled him to sleep. You would grab a blanket and pull it over the both of you, using your gentlest voice to read the words out loud. They were often childrens' books, as Arthur loved the goofy characters and simple stories line so much-long or dark or overly complex stories overwhelmed and agitated him, reminding him too much of the required reading he had been forced to do in high school before he dropped out.Once he was asleep, you would wrap your arms around him and pull him closer, stroking him and murmuring sweet nothings into his ear, hoping somehow he could hear you even in his sweet dreams, knowing that your love could follow him anywhere, even in dreams. That would be the only times he would sleep with a smile on his face.If neither dancing or reading stories worked-luckily, a rare occurrence-you would simply take to going on a walk, letting him breath in the fresh air. You two would play, run, jump into the night of Gotham, feeling a strange but sweet freedom at night that neither of you felt never felt during the day.When Arthur was finally breathless and worn out, nose and cheeks swollen red from running so much, you would rush back into the apartment, breathless and worn out like children after recess, feeling free with blood pumping and just so full of love and healing and sheer happiness at how much fun you had with the other.You would lie Arthur down, and press kisses all over his face until he blushed and giggled manically, cheeks crimson and happy and still the same damaged man, but stronger and surrounded in love and so sure of his worth and how he knew he was loved was beyond a shadow of a doubt."That's my baby," you would say between rushed and passionate kisses, smelling of fresh air and trees and cold and love. "That's my Arthur that you deserve to be."
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Arthur Fleck Archive, 2019
FanfictionA series of romantic one-shots concerning Arthur Fleck.
