Summary: Arthur feels the need to become someone else for you love him.A/N: I'm a bit nervous to post this more than usual idk why exactly?? Arthur is just so baby in this ejkfjnwewj. I really indulged in the concepts I love to explore with Arthur here. This explores the concept of Arthur healing his younger self through activities that allows him to be who he wasn't allowed to be when he was young. Of course, though, it backfires, bc you know im a sucker for angst . This is also based off of an idea sent by an anon a few days ago-so if you see this, this is dedicated to you!Length: 6,992Contains: Alludes to age regression, angry/upset/insecure Arthur, fighting, angst, fluffYour heart thudded with excitement. What you were excited about wasn't anything lavish, soul striking, or particularly fansicating to the average person; no. What you were excited about was something humble and simple, but the most precious and life giving thing your life had ever granted you, the last thing you'd ever expect to consider the highlight of your life:Making crafts with Arthur.It was an activity that you two had taken up together the past few weeks-you had set aside a specific time frame on Wednesdays after you both got home from work. It was a time you both cherished equally; although you could tell it had slightly more heavy and emotional significance for Arthur.It went beyond a simple activity for him; it was something that mattered deeply to him, not just because he was able to express his most creative self, but because he was allowed, even if just for a short moment, to be himself in a creative, unapologetic sense in a space and with a person that allowed him to do so without any repercussions. To explore a younger part of himself that had been forced to be locked away under the damage of trauma and adult responsibility that had been thrust upon to him far too soon before that part of him could even be brought into existence. Like a blooming flower under a shoe it had been squashed, and you loved him so deeply that you were willing to do anything to heal all parts of him, and not just the damaged parts that were more obvious to see. Arthur had many layers of him that needed to be healed, and you were more than willing to dig as deep as needed to find the deepest and most hidden ones and heal them in whatever way you could grant him.Arthur showed the slightest signs of age regression, and within this activity was he allowed to simply be the child he hadn't been allowed to be when he was young. He got so into them; he would play with the googly eyes, glue, tubes, whatever crafts you could afford. He would smile and giggle as you two finished a crafted character made of colorful, electric tubes for arms and legs, and smiley faces drawn on with magic marker. You two would even build houses for the characters, making it from the same wired fluffy strings, as well as using crackers-Arthur would sneak a bite at times-for the walls, and legos and other such toys you could find for the furniture and the gardens. Arthur would invent voices for each of the characters you made-he was quite inventive and creative with them, coming up with different tones and mannerisms for every one. Arthur was an artist, and, although he was full of damage and self doubt, his creativity and desire to bring life to everything he touched shined through everything he did. You yourself admitted that the "playtime" you had with Arthur as a form of therapy for him was something you yourself deeply cherished, and the time went by fast for you as well. Arthur was so creative and took it so seriously much as he did his clowning, yet was so sweet and so playful that it made every minute eventful and full of new activities and surprises.By the end of every session, you could sense Arthur coming out of it a bit, becoming more of the grown man he was, but you could tell there was something different in his soul, something a little more relieved and less heavy, as if a physical weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. You felt your own wounds healing through his; it was hard not to forget all of your cares and worries when you were with his sweet soul and carefree, gentle spirit. You forgot the world as when he was around you, and, pretty soon, you found that these sessions of allowing yourselves to be children for awhile was healing for the both of you. You found yourself looking forward to it more than anything else for the rest of the week.You opened the door to your apartment, and there he was; sitting on the one of the two chairs by the kitchen counter, staring in innocent concentration with his vest still on, hair flopped in front of his face as he carefully focused on the character's arm he was working on, his shoulder hunched and his eyes in deep concentration as he studied it, glue in another hand. He didn't look up as you entered the room. "I'm home, darling," you muttered lovingly as you kissed his head. You already felt a peace sweep through you just being next to him.Though Arthur leaned slightly into the touch, he kept his eyes on his toy. "You're late for crafts" he mumbled. Truth be told, you were hardly late; only by about maybe two minutes. But time meant a lot to Arthur when it came to this activity, and you know he had been counting down every minute since waking up this morning to this time. When it came to things that were important to Arthur, every minute counted, and if one was missed, it was a validation for him to get frustrated. You didn't deny him this frustration; you knew he was trying to heal the parts of himself that had been neglected as a child. "I know, baby," you sighed. "I'm sorry. But look."Arthur didn't look up at first, still a tad grumpy, and focused on his character. But when he heard the rustling of a shopping bag, he looked up curiously despite himself; you two rarely bought anything for fun, and the wonder as to what was worth possibly not being able to pay your bills this month got the best of him."What is it?" he asked in a childlike voice. You had caught him in one of his states where he acted a bit more childlike than usual, voice sounding a little too gentle for a grown man and a little too naive. He always came out of it eventually, but it was the most noticeable during these sessions. He cocked his head curiously at the bag.You pulled out the box from its plastic bag and Arthur's green eyes widened in shock; it was the one thousand pack building block set that Arthur had had his eyes on for months. It was about a hundred dollars, and, after some thought, tough conversations, and some disappointment, you both had come to the conclusion that it was too expensive for either of you to be able to afford; at least not anytime soon. You still remembered how your heart had broke as you saw how Arthur's shoulders slumped that night, wrinkles deepening on his face as sorrow broke into his eyes. You knew that this meant more for him than just the blocks,"I wanted to build a city," he had mumbled softly. "Somewhere far away from here. I wanted to build a place-with you-where we could just play and pretend we were somewhere else."You had felt your eyes become wet, and you had reached our and caressed his hand softly. "I'm so sorry, Arthur," you had whispered gently. The rest of the night had been full of cuddles, gentles words, and sweet kisses.That had been about two weeks ago. Your heart had broken for him so deeply that you had taken it upon yourself to pick up extra shifts on every day but Wednesday. When Arthur had asked you why, you had simply brushed it off as simply getting extra money in case you both needed it. When Arthur had stated rather pleadingly that he would miss you, you had kissed him and reassured him that it was only for a few weeks. Now Arthur was sitting in front of you, mouth agape with shock as he stared at what you had for him. There it was-the big, shiny box in all of its glory. "Y-Y/N!" Arthur stuttered. He dropped his character, temporarily forgetting it amidst his shock, his former grumpiness entirely forgotten. "How?"You laughed and smiled. "Don't about worry about it, darling," you reassured him softly. "Just take it-and enjoy it." You didn't want to go into how these past few weeks had been torture for you-fourteen hour plus shifts on your feet, and then yet another at another job the next day or sometimes right after. You had only gotten about three hours of sleep nightly, and you could forget about the concept of free time. Your eyes had been red, feet sore, bones aching, sanity balancing on the edge of insanity. But it had all been worth it to see the dumbfounded, struck look of sheer excitement on Arthur's face now; he took he large box in his hand and looked at it like it held all the magic in the world."I...I can't believe it, Y/N," Arthur mumbled as he looked at it. Tears were starting to form in his eyes. You went over and wrapped your arms around him, kissing him gently from behind his head. "Believe it, Arthur," you whispered softly into his brown curls. "Now we can make a city together and truly have a little world all our own that we can call ours."Arthur let out a soft cackle of disbelief, and he leaned his head back so that he was facing upward towards you, his eyes alight with all the soft naive excitement that he held in his green fields of endless playful energy. He was beaming, his crooked teeth shining from his weathered lips, a funny combination between young and naive, yet aged and haunting. You leaned your head down and kissed the tip of his nose."You're amazing, darling," Arthur mumbled softly. "Thank you, so, so much."You nodded, and nuzzled your face into his, to which he giggled at happily. "Anything for you, my love."The rest of the night was about sitting on the ground, spreading out the seemingly endless blocks that were mixtures of all different kinds of colors-banana yellow, dark blue, electric green, apple red, and the like. Arthur immediately set about starting to put the pieces together in whatever way he could figure out; as it turned out, he was rather good at it. By the end of the night, Arthur had built a tall green and blue tower, a rectangular "supermarket' that still had pending name, and a couple of residential houses-the kind he had always dreamed of living in. They weren't like the cramped, dirtied apartment you two lived in-they were entire and whole houses and buildings all on their own, the ones Arthur had used to see in Penny's home design magazines back when he lived with her. They had their own rectangular roofs, their own front porch, their own fence and yard, with a front and upstairs. Arthur had built several, each of them a different combination of colors. You yourself didn't have as much luck, and had simply come up with a "car" that was really just a block, and a couple equally dull blocks meant to be flower and food stands that could rest in the roads of the city you build together. Suddenly, Arthur yawned, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Your eyes flitted over to the kitchen clock; it was about ten at night, and you both had to wake up early for work in a couple of hours. Despite his yawn, Arthur still kept concentrated on his blocks, legs criss crossed across each other as he sat on the carpet, thin back hunched over with concentration. Your love for him overcame you then like a warm wave sweeping through your body, and, suddenly feeling your own exhaustion overcome you, you scooted over to closer Arthur and wrapped your arms around his thin waist, gently pressing kisses to the back of his neck. Arthur let out a soft noise of love an appreciation in response, but kept his eyes on the next skyscraper he was building."I think it's time for bed, sweetheart," you whispered softly into his ear. You nipped his ear softly; you wouldn't have minded ending this night in a more "adult" way so to speak, so deeply were you craving him, the space between your legs throbbing with desire for how much you longed for him in that moment. He was so precious, so sweet. You wanted him so badly it physically hurt, your skin and body screaming for his soft, warm kisses and touches, but you would be more than happy simply to go to bed with him. Whatever happened was good enough for you, as long as it was with Arthur. "Not tired," Arthur mumbled as he continued to work on his building. You smiled to yourself; he was clearly exhausted, the purple bags under his eyes seeming permanent, but too caught up in his play to care. "One more hour, ok?" you suggested gently.Arthur nodded, eyes and hands still intensely caught up in his work. "Ok."You felt an inward sigh inside of you; clearly the pulsing between your legs wouldn't by satisfied by the love of your life tonight. He was a little too within himself this session, too caught up in healing younger parts of himself to be concerned with the desires that were going through your head right now. Not that you had a problem with that; you were so happy he was finding relief with the trauma he hadn't deserved. You yourself felt tired, and, since you had hardly gotten anywhere with building anything within the past few hours compared to Arthur, you didn't feel inspired to continue working on yours. You thought of the book you had in your bed; the one that you had picked up in lackluster interest about a month ago that you kept reading simply to help lull you to sleep on nights when, for whatever reason, you didn't have Arthur's touches, or to read whenever you were bored. It was a decent enough read, and it was just what you needed to get it to lull you off to sleep to translate you from the exhausted state you were in now to complete sleepiness.Your arms squeezed around Arthur's waist for a moment as a mark of reassurance, as a physical way of telling him you loved him."I'm gonna go read for a bit," you muttered gently. Arthur nodded silently in response. You knew his seemingly apathetic attitude towards you wasn't anything personal; his playtime just truly meant a lot to him."Can I have a kiss before I go?" you almost pleaded. He was killing you with how adorable he was, and, although you craved the entirely of him in that moment, you would be more than happy to take whatever you could get. Arthur smiled to himself, and, for the first time in hours, straightened himself up and turned his face towards you. He leaned over and cupped your face that was already nuzzling the side of his and then graced his lips against yours, humming softly as he felt your warm lips against his, the sweetest sensation that he would surely ever feel in his lifetime. "Goodnight, sweetheart," Arthur almost sang with affection in a gentle whisper as his voice vibrated against your lips. "Thank you for everything today."You nuzzled against him, softly humming as your lips danced a few more time within only a few jumps of air in between. "I love you, Arthur," you whispered back between kisses. "So, so much."You felt Arthur let out a small, tender whine and smile from his lips to yours, his crooked teeth leaving a perfectly welcomed uneven sensation against your lips. "I love you too, Y/N," Arthur mumbled, barley able to speak in his passion. "You're my reason, my everything, and more."Now it was your turn to smile. With one last reluctant kiss against each other's lips, you regretfully pulled yourself away from him. If you were to give in to how much time you really wanted to spend with him, you two would be there forever and a day. You playfully tousled his hair, to which Arthur laughed and snorted at, and then, with one last kiss to his forehead, you made your way towards bed. The room was lit by a simple dim light, and you went over to the bedside table to get your book. It was one of the fifty cent corny romance novels that they sold at supermarkets; it was really the only book you could afford. The cover was an almost inhumanly muscular, strong man with chiseled high cheekbones, perfectly cut jet black hair, a beautiful mustache that graced his conventionally attractive face just so, perfectly carved lips, his entire perfectly sculpted torso and legs just barely covered with a romantic red cloth that just managed to drape over his hips, clearly meant to be seducing. He was staring from the cover intensely with his handsome almond eyes, seeming to challenge the reader to desire anyone else but him.You rolled your eyes. It was an adequately written enough story, but the way they portrayed such a conventional man as the only type deserving of romance made you scoff. Much rather would you have the sweet, eccentric touches and curves and hills of Arthur's quirky built and unique body, loving how his stomach muscles adorably jutted out from between his hips, how his back became a little rounder as his torso that jutted with his ribs eased into a roundish shaped circle. You could trace the muscles of his ribs, muscles, and arms alike forever and a day, and your folds were throbbing with desire simply at the thought of his body.You sighed. Another night. You needed water, however. Your throat was dry, and it was only going to get drier over night. With a deep sigh you made your way to the kitchen, and filled up the glass of water, book in hand. You didn't look towards Arthur as you made your way back to your bedroom, but oh, did Arthur look up at you.He felt his heart drop in his stomach as he saw the book you were carrying. He hated that thing-though he would never tell you as much. He knew you enjoyed it-or, at least, he assumed you did. And he would never, ever allow himself to take away even the slightest joy you got from anything, even if it made him feel terrible, so deeply did he love you.Yet, he couldn't stop the onslaught of utter self loathing as he saw you reading that book whenever you got the chance-in bed, on the couch, sometimes even when you went out you would bring it with you and read it when you got a sliver of a chance. He saw the way your eye glinted with excitement whenever you were reading it, the way your hands flutter across the page when you were in your upmost trance dragged into it. Even worse, the man that graced the cover was so conventional and beautiful-perfect muscles, just the right amount of skinny and meaty, his facial bones just the right amount of muscular and thin, so different from the all too skinny hollows of Arthur's starved face. Did you fantasize about the man? Despite Arthur trying to push the thought away, the question polluted his mind almost nightly. Ever since you had sat down with it at night that first night, the grotesque worm of insecurities had given birth inside Arthur's brain, eating away at him mercilessly. He would try to read your expression through barley opened slits as he observe you reading it when he pretended to sleep at night. He occasionally caught glimpses of exhilaration in your eyes, and, sometimes, despite trying to tell himself otherwise, erotic interest. He knew, he hoped, that he was just imagining it, but never did he have the courage to ask in case the answer was anything even remotely resembling a yes.Arthur was hopelessly devoted to you. Never would he even dream about thinking of another partner or any other person in the way he thought about you. It made him sick to his stomach to imagine giving his affection to anyone other than you.He was starting to wonder if your love for him abided by the same rules.The warm gooiness from the afternoon suddenly left him like it had never happened, and in place was a dark, sweeping insecurity that he was much more familiar with. Arthur's hands gripped the blue block he was holding, his face suddenly crunching up into a rage. With some sudden frustration he threw the block across the room, and then rushed into the bathroom. Arthur didn't leave that bathroom for the rest of the night. Instead, he simply stared at himself in the mirror. He stared at his disgustingly hollow cheeks and how they were graced with wrinkles, so different from the smooth skin that the fictional but perfect skin the man in the cover had. He stared at the space on his dark eyebrow that was half rubbed off because of his anxiety. He stared at his worn, thin lips, and how his face looked like it was half rotten into death already, as if the ugliness of his illness had become the ugliness on the outside, too.Worst of all, his body. Arthur felt physically sick as he stepped away from the mirror and took in at his body. He stared at his chest that was awkwardly shaped, especially when he moved it; it was so thin on the hips, his bones jutting out, but then molded into a strange circular shape as it lead up to his arms. He had a slight hunchback, and his spine jutted out like a skeleton. His arms were the closest thing he liked about himself-but even then, they came out of his revoltingly, thin shoulders like a skeleton, the molds of his distastefully thin biceps looking more like tumor than muscles that could protect you. He looked diseased-he looked like a monster. Not the handsome, sweet man that looked like he could grant you everything and more than inhabited the cover.Arthur wasn't the kind of man that was written about in stories. He was just the man who got sick.Hot tears fell down Arthur's face without him even being aware of them, and he blinked slowly as he forgot how to breathe. He felt nausea begin to sweep up his throat, and, forgetting how to breath, Arthur lurched his torso forward and he let sickly clear vomit trickle itself into the sink. He hadn't eaten much yet that day, and there was really nothing to come out, yet it still something did because of the pressure he felt from his emotions. Arthur wanted to gasp with the unpleasant sensation, but he needed to stay quiet. Quiet. He didn't want you to see him in his state, didn't want you to see the weak, insecure and sickly man that he was in body and spirit. You already knew to an extent, but you hadn't truly seen the deepest depths of his sickness. Not like this.He wanted to be the handsome, stable man that you read about in books, the kind that were so perfect that they deserved to be immortalized in pages, not forgotten as soon as they died, such as would inevitably be the fate for Arthur. You deserved the world, and Arthur couldn't give it to you-he could only be the sickly and sad, tormented man he was born to be.That man didn't play with toys. That man didn't need to take medication. That man didn't become obsessed with building blocks-what an embarrassing thing. That man didn't have symptoms of age regression or trauma or mental illness. The man was just that that-a man, and that was everything Arthur would never be for you.Rough, tormented cackles began to emit from Arthur's throat, and he grabbed the nearest towel in his face and shoved it into his mouth, deepening the disgusting vomit taste that was in his mouth. He hunched over his body until he was in a ball. He crawled over into the corner of the bathroom, shaking his head and snorting into the towel with as much silence as he could muster. He wouldn't wake you, he wouldn't. As much as he was falling apart, as much as he needed you in that moment, he wouldn't allow himself to become even more pathetic than he must already be.How on earth did you love him?Arthur didn't sleep that night, not once. He simply rocked back and forth into his knees, muttering and talking tortured nothings to himself.Arthur hated everything about him. He hated himself.He did.On and on this went on, until Arthur saw the slightest bit of sun peaking out from the horizon through the small bathroom window. With a tormented gasp Arthur just barely managed to get his thin, shaking legs up. He still smelled of vomit, but he needed to get to work. Needed to.Within minutes he had thrown on his clown costume without waking you, and then he was out the door. You had never seen his episode , and never would. ——————-Your day had been long. You were tired, hungry, but, most of all-you just wanted Arthur. As usual. You sighed, and turned the knob to your apartment as you opened the door. This morning had been rather strange; you had woken up to the vague smell of vomit, Arthur's side of the bed looked like it had never been slept in, and his toys were still scattered all around the living room floor. It was so unlike Arthur that it was unbelievable that he had left a mess around the house intentionally. Arthur was so good at cleaning that he never left one corner uncleaned, let alone left for work with so much disarray for you to clean up. He loathed the idea of you cleaning up for him. He prided himself off of being the man of the house, especially for you. It wasn't like him to be so messy and irresponsible.You knew something was deeply off, and your heart thudded in anxiety as you turned the door open. Your intuition was only deepened as you heard the sound of what sounded like small weights being thrown into a trash bag, and feeble, tormented cries following them.You rushed further into the apartment, and, to your horror, you saw Arthur's skinny form leaned over the crafts you two had lovingly made-except now they were ripped up and destroyed. Hours of love, of healing, of simple play was now being ripped from the very hands that had made them so considerately right before our eyes. "Arthur?" You almost screamed as you took it all in. "What the fuck are you doing?"You hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but you were so shocked and angry, and even a little hurt. Why was he destroying so much of the time and effort you had shared together? Did it mean so little to him suddenly?Arthur chuckled darkly and only continued to rip the googly eyed characters into small pieces, throwing them carelessly into the trash bag. "Not good enough," he muttuered darkly as he kept doing do. "Never was."You only stood there, shock ebbing at your core. You knew how much Arthur's crafts meant to him, how long he had worked on them, how much time and effort he had out into them, how much it meant to his younger self. And now here he was, taking them apart limb from limb, ripping their colorful furry arms and googly eyes out, seeming to rip out all the bonding and love you had spent together along with them. "Arthur-stop!" You finally managed to get yourself out of your shock and hurt a bit and gently but firmly took his hands. To your further shock, Arthur, with a little too much force, shoved your hands away with a furious swipe, almost snarling at you as he did so. You felt tears in your eyes, not because he has hurt you physically, he would never do that even in his worst states, but because you couldn't understand why he was acting this way."Why are you doing this?" You barley choked out the words between your throat closing. Oh, this hurt. The little heaven that you two had carved out from the cruelness of the world was now being destroyed right in front of you eyes by the man that inspired it all. "I'm not enough fur you. I never will be. I'm pathetic." Another rip, another beloved character thrown into the trash. You tried one more attempt to stroke his back, knowing how much your touches usually meant to him. "Arthur, that's not-""Don't touch me!" Arthur physically shrunk away from your touch.You were hurt, hands trembling, eyes bleeding with tears, but you tried again. "Arthur, don't say those things." You said sternly, trying to disguise how angry you were starting getting with him. "Don't you say that." Arthur laughed without humor and continued to rip the crafts. You curled your face up in anger, and finally gave up the fight.If this was what he wanted, fine.Trying to ignore the feeling of your heart breaking into two, you ran into the bedroom and threw yourself onto the bed, sobs already wrecking through your body before your body hit the sheets. You swiped your arms up to your face as your sobs overtook your body in violent gasps. You cried until you lost sense of time. Finally, with the pillow soaked with your tears and your chest still heaving, you feel into an unintentional, tormented sleep, exhaustion taking over you from how much you were hurting, both for yourself and for Arthur. Even when you were angry with him, you could never being yourself to feel much other than love for him-even if that love was sometimes wrapped in a frustrated, twisting pain.A gentle, warm touch was what woke you up. You slowly opened your groggy, disoriented eyes, and looked up at the man looking down at you, sweet, naive eyes now back into their usual gentle state. You could tell he had been crying; his eyes were bloodshot, making the sea green irises of them pop out like gems against a sea of watery red. His eyes looked tortured, tormented, and he just barley allowed his fingers to gently caresses your cheek. He felt he has lost the right to touch you, but he needed to let you know how much he still loved you-needed to apologize somehow."You've been asleep for awhile," Arthur whispered, his voice scratchy, a clear sign that he himself had been crying for quite sometime. "I-I made some soup, in case you wanted it." His voice was ebbed in guilt and self loathing; you weren't going to let this go until you two talked this out."Arthur," you started slowly. You gently took his warm fingers and embraced them in yours, kissing each other softly. Arthur let out a soft whine of love, despite himself. "Come lie down next to me."Arthur nodded. He wouldn't dare deny you anything, especially now. He silently lied down next to you, your heads sharing the tear soaked pillow. Arthur was looking at your with all of the concern and apology in the world-you knew he would never quite forgive himself for hurting you. His was face in a childlike softness that was begging for you to understand him-to know his heart now more than ever. He needed you to. He hand't meant to hurt you in the slightest-he wanted better for you. Better than him. "I'm so sorry, baby," Arthur whispered as he looked at you with his soulful green depths. You let out a soft noise of love; already you had forgiven him. You knew he would never intentionally cause you harm, not unless he was fighting something that was stronger than his love for you; his own demons."It's ok, darling," you spoke softly. Arthur closed his eyes and you could see his worn face visibly sigh in relief at your reassurance that you still loved him. "Of course it is."Arthur nodded against the pillow, face still knitted in worry, but melted into relief of your reassurance that you still loved him the same. That was, after all, what true love was about-love and forgiveness."Can you tell me what got you so upset?" you inquired gently. Arthur opened his eyes then, eyes still sorrowful, and sighed. "It was....your book." he swallowed at how foolish he felt he sounded. Who was so insecure that they got triggered by a fucking book? "The guy...." his voice faltered then. His voice was so soft and so apologetic it sounded like a child that was in trouble with his mother. He began to trace shy patterns by the damp pillow by his face, too shy to look into your eyes.You almost wanted to laugh at how such a small thing set of Arthur so badly. Almost. Only because it was so silly for Arthur to be jealous at anyone at all, let alone a character in a book, as if you weren't irrevocably and entirely lovesick over him, as if you could see anyone other than him. But Arthur's pain was real, and your heart squeezed in soft agony that he could get hurt so easily. You scooted yourself over, letting our soft noises of sympathy and you shyly began to stroke his face. "Arthur, darling, that book is so average. I don't even like it very much."Arthur frowned slightly. "Seems like you do. Sometimes you pay more attention to the book than to me sometimes." Arthur half buried his face into the pillow. He knew he was poking the bear again, but with his insecurity, he couldn't help it."I thought you were sleeping when I was reading it. I only read it when we're not doing anything together, sweetheart, or when I just need to pass the time. It's just a way to fill some of the empty spaces of the day."Arthur shrugged. "No. Just thought you wanted me to be sleeping. But I watched you the whole time. I see how much you bring it out even when we're together." Arthur realized the flaws in what he was saying, and sighed. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm sorry I'm so insecure about....everything." The last word came out as a tired sigh. You cooed softly. "Arthur, baby, I know you're insecure. And I know how no matter many times I tell you, or show you, there's always going to be something in your head that's telling you lies." Arthur eyes flickered up to you at the word lies, and you picked up on that. "Yes, Arthur. Lies. That's all they are. I love you so, so much, darling, I can't even stand it. I can't believe you're real-you're so wonderful, and I love everything about you, everything." A moment of simple breathing, of starting at the other. Arthur's green eyes flickered up to yours, asking the question.You nodded.Arthur leaned forward crashed his lips against yours, and he embraced his hands around your face. You moaned and rolled over, and Arthur topped himself onto you. Arthur began to pepper passionate kisses against your lips; so warm and soft were they, and the dampness of both of your tears and his melded into the other, symbolizing how each other's pain was your own like physical poetry of your bodies."I'm so sorry, baby," Arthur muttered against your lips. "Fuck, Arthur, stop apologizing," you gasped between the kisses of air that you didn't need spiritually, only physically, frustrated that it was the human condition to have to come up for air. "I love you Arthur-fuck I love you. Please know that. There's nothing you could do that could make me love you any less, ok? l fucking love you, I love you, fuck, darling, I can't say it enough. I love you."Arthur nodded slightly against your face and kept allowing your tongues and lips to dance. You were both gasping and moaning against each other's warm touches and kisses, eternally desperate for the feel of the other.Finally, after a few more moments of heated passion, Arthur's passionate dance against your lips slowed down bit. Every so softly did Arthur nuzzle his nose against yours shyly, which you returned tenfold. You sighed, and allowed your fingers to grab his brown curls, looking into his soft, now peaceful eyes gently as he gazed back into your face."I'm sorry I destroyed our crafts," Arthur muttered softly as he allowed his broken soul to look into yours. He didn't say it with self loathing this time; he simply said it as an genuine apology for showing disrespect for your time. He gently traced your lips with his finger as he spoke. You shook your head. "Don't worry about it, darling. Just means we have more characters to make, right?" You smiled at him softly, which Arthur returned gladly."Right," he agreed boyishly. You laughed in relief and love."Let's try to get some sleep, alright, darling?" You felt you wouldn't be able to sleep; your whole body was awake with how much you loved Arthur. Being with him was like being on constant ecstasy, and you couldn't imagine that heaven could feel any better. But Arthur had been crying, and you knew how much he must be worn out from fighting his mind.Arthur nodded. "M'okay," he agreed, and then lied down beside your, nuzzling his face into the curve of your neck. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he mumbled into your skin.You smiled against his forehead, kising it softly. "Goodnight, Arthur."And then Arthur fell sleep. But you didn't. You waited until he was long passed out, tracing gentle, meaningless patters on his skin to hep him sleep, and then, slowly, without disturbing him, you made your way to the kitchen.———-Arthur woke up the next morning, blearily eyed and sleepy. He felt a slight panic in his chest as he awoke to empty space, and quickly rushed out of bed to find you, heart thudding. He always needed confirmation that you were real, always.He rushed into the kitchen and his heart melted; there you were, looking like a literal angel against the morning light framing your face. You looked up at him and smiled, your eyes tired but full of joy. Arthur's eyes trailed down to where your hands were; they were with the crafts that he had destroyed yesterday, all scattered about the kitchen counter you were sitting by.Arthur walked over and looked over at the crafts with a serious, deep set revelation, tears forming in his eyes. The characters were still damaged, but they were pieced back together.They were just like him now, Arthur thought to himself bittersweetly, with a tear rolling down his check. Broken...but loved. Fixed.Arthur picked one up and twirled it in his hand gently. He looked up at you, his eyes full of shock and something deeper than tenderness. "Thank you, Y/N," he whispered."Don't thank me," you muttered gently. You leaned over and wiped away his tears. "Thank you for giving me something to live for, Arthur."Arthur smiled a teary, watery smile at you, and he kissed the top of your palm."I can't love myself," Arthur mumbled against your hand. He no longer felt the need to hide the darker parts of himself from you; he knew that you loved him unconditionally. He knew. And it was about time he started acting like it-started allowing himself to feel your love for him in its full force the way it had been begging to for all this time. He had copied other people his whole life because he was never taught that he was ok. That Arthur Fleck was ok. The tentacles of insecurity were always, always gripping and creeping into his soul. It was a battle he would never truly win-but having your love in his life made it an easier fight to recover from whenever he fell.You smiled wearily. "I know, sweetheart. I know. But I love you, and I hope one day you can love you too."You shared a moment, simply staring at each others' watery eyes. And then, finally-"I made something else too,"Arthur's eyes brightened in curiosity as you indicated toward a beautiful, multicolored house made of Arthur's blocks. His face broke out into even more tears as he stared at it, rolling down his cheeks as if they were little droplets of both pain and healing. Arthur brought a hand to his mouth, overcome with emotion."One day that will be our house, Arthur, one day. We'll be out of here, and gone. And I'll write stories about you, Arthur, the stories that you inspire inside of me every day simply by being you. And I'll love you in it forever and a day. Until my heart gives out."Until my heart gives out.The words echoed in your head over and over like a well known song as Arthur leaned forward and pressed his damp lips towards yours. "I love you, darling," Arthur whispered. "Thank you for allowing me to heal. For letting me....be me. "Thank you.And, just like that, with both of your own songs echoing in your heads, you two got lost in a dance of hands and kisses desperately fulfilling the other, knowing that there wasn't one dark place where either of you could go where the other wouldn't follow.
YOU ARE READING
Arthur Fleck Archive, 2019
FanfictionA series of romantic one-shots concerning Arthur Fleck.
