--1st person POV--

I wake up the following morning with a thumping headache, most likely brought on by too much liquor and not enough sleep.

But at least I'm in my own bed. Alone.
Which is good.

I get up just to take some aspirin and drink a glass of water, then promptly return to my pit, wallowing in shame, wishing I could hibernate til spring.

But obviously I can't because the bills won't pay themselves and all the sleep in the world won't help me with my personal crisis.

I drunkenly kissed my workmate last night.
Someone who I actually cherish as a friend.
Cherish even more than I realised, it would seem.
Now I've probably ruined everything. I mean, how is Arthur going to be feeling about what we did now, in the sobering light of day?
He was a little drunk too, so I wonder if he'll be regretting it?

Pulling the quilt over my head I groan, and try to will myself back to sleep.

Bizarrely it seems to work, and I wake so much later, headache-free at least, but I'm going to be late for work, so I have to speed-shower and do my makeup as quickly as I can.

While on the bus my thoughts keep returning to Arthur, and I wonder what sort of day he's had.
I hope he's safe.
Those little shits that gave him a kicking shouldn't get away with behaving so vile.
Arthur is the gentlest person in the world and he doesn't deserve to be treated so brutally, yet the poor guy always seems to attract trouble.

I wish I could protect him. Shield him somehow from all the horrors life throws at him. He just seems so ill equipped to deal with the brutal reality of the world.

Shit, I really shouldn't have kissed him though. It's so unprofessional mixing business with pleasure.

"I don't want you to leave." He'd said last night, despite him having begrudgingly called me a cab.

"I can't stay, Artie. What would your mom think? There's nothing worse than awkward introductions over breakfast."

He'd laughed at that, leaning against the elevator door. "You're funny (y/n). Funny and beautiful and smart. That's a rare combination."

"It can't be that rare." I told him with a grin. "Because you're all of those things too!"

He pulled a face, making me laugh. "I've been called many things but never beautiful. I don't know if I should be flattered or offended."

"Flattered of course! And you know what I mean."

He took a step closer, lowering his head so we were almost nose to nose. "Do I?"

"Aha. You're handsome."

"You're drunk."

At that point the elevator door tried to close, then he'd stopped it with his shoulder, buying us some more time so he could kiss me goodbye.

It hadn't been a friendly peck either, but rather a full-on knee trembling kiss.

Oh dear.
Admittedly I'm starting to feel a little panicky about what we may have inadvertently begun. Could it simply be labelled as a harmless, drunken makeout session?
Would we have to talk about it? Because that's a conversation I don't think I'll ever be ready to have. But maybe if we do need to discuss things, then not doing it at work would be much easier.

When I arrive at Amusement Mile I find Gary, Randall, and the man himself, out front of HA-HA'S smoking.

"Hey (y/n)." Gary smiles as he sees me approaching.

The other two men turn my way, and suddenly I find myself feeling a little flustered, coming face to face with Arthur in front of the others.
I kissed that man, is all I can think. I kissed that man a lot.

"Sup' sweetcakes." Randall flashes me a lecherous smile that makes me want to gag.

Arthur bashfully meets my eyes, smiling shyly. "Hi (y/n)"

I plaster on a big fake smile and try to appear nonchalant. "Hey guys. Whatcha' all doing hanging around out here?"

"Talking." Randall answers, grinning mischievously. "But about you not to you."

Instinctively my eyes snap back to Arthur, and to my horror I feel my face grow hot.
He wouldn't have said anything, would he? I would've thought Arthur of all people wouldn't be the kind of guy to kiss and tell.

"We weren't saying anything bad." Gary adds hurriedly. "It's just Hoyt wants a word with you before he leaves, that's all. And Randall being Randall was speculating what you might've done."

My stomach drops.
I already have a feeling I know what this is about.

"Someone's been a naughty girl." Randall taunts. "It's not like you to be in trouble with the boss."

"Knock it off Randall." Arthur says, gallantly, to which Randall immediately retaliates.

"Hey you're the one who's usually in the shit with Hoyt. What's up Artie, are you jealous?"

I roll my eyes at Randall. "Leave him alone. And for your information I haven't done anything wrong. Sorry to disappoint but I haven't been a naughty girl."

Arthur's eyes meet mine again and a secretive, knowing look passes between us, making my face grow unbearably hot.
Damn. I'm blushing all over the place today.
But I can't help it because his look suggests that he's got good reason to believe that I am in fact a very naughty girl, considering what the pair of us got up to.

"It'll be about my costume, that's all. I didn't come back here to return it last night after the gig."

"Why's that? You been using your outfits for personal use, huh?" Randall winks suggestively. "Who's the lucky guy I wonder."

"Randall, why don't you just--" I trail off as Arthur suddenly bursts out laughing.

He turns away, wrapping his arms over his face in a desperate bid to stifle his painful laughter.

"What the fuck has set you off now?" Randall demands, but all Arthur can do is shake his head hopelessly in response.

Feeling helpless all I can do is rub slow circles on Arthur's back in an attempt to soothe him.
Shit. Randall's such a moron. A moron who for once hit the nail right on the head, and even though he's oblivious and just thinks he's teasing me, Arthur obviously knows that he's right. Which must've made him feel anxious, triggering his laughing fit.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" I ask with concern, once the laughter subsides.

He nods his head weakly, roughly wiping his watering eyes.

"Are you sure you're alright, Arthur?" Gary asks.

"Y-yeah I'm fine, honestly. Thanks."

Gary nods. "Alright then, well I'll be off now. See you all tomorrow."

"Not me you won't." I say with a grin. "It's my day off."

"It's alright for some." Gary chuckles, as he heads off.

"Well I guess I'd better get my ass in there and face the music." I sigh.

"Good luck sweetheart. You coming Artie?" Randall waits for Arthur expectantly.

Arthur hesitates, looking thoughtful. "Uh, I actually just remembered. I forgot my cigarettes."

Randall frowns. "How could you have forgot your smokes numbnuts, you just had one?"

Arthur's brows lift. He really is the worst convincing liar.

"Did I say cigarettes? I meant...uh, keys."

"Artie, you didn't forget your keys. I saw you put them in your pocket."

"No you didn't. They're not the keys I need. I've left them in my locker by mistake."

Shaking his head, clearly mystified, Randall turns and wanders away, having lost interest and patience. To him Arthur is eccentric at best. At worst he sees him as a complete wacko.

"Cigarettes and keys?" I say to Arthur as he pulls open the door for me. "Really? That's the best you could come up with?"

He shrugs. "I'm not very good at lying."

"No shit." I giggle, making my way up the stairs. "But more to the point, why were you making up excuses to come back in?"

....Silence...

"Arthur?"

Still no reply came.

"Arthur?" I spin around to see him loitering at the bottom of the steep staircase, gazing up at me.

"S-sorry (y/n)."

"Arthur were you just checking out my ass?"

He bites his bottom lip, looking guilty as hell. But to my surprise he doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"Y-yeah."

He looks so innocent with his wide eyes, hands buried in his pockets, I have to forgive him. There's no way I can be mad at that adorable face.

Just then Hoyt comes out of his office, his annoying voice echoing down the stairwell.

"That you (y/n)?"

"Yes Hoyt. Coming."

"Who's that with you?"

"It's Arthur. He left his keys in his locker."

"Hm."

I head into Hoyt's office, leaving Arthur to his own devices.

"You wanted to see me?"

Hoyt looks up from his desk. It looks as if he's getting ready to leave for the night, locking his small safety deposit box that he keeps all the cash and cheques in.

"Too right I do. Your nurse outfit is missing."

"No it's not. It's right here." I say with a measure of satisfaction, as I open my rucksack and pull it out.

Hoyt's beady eyes drag over the dress, scrutinising it. "You were booked as a sexy cop last night, right? So why the hell did you take the nurse outfit?"

I heave an exasperated sigh. "I had to wash it, obviously. The last party I did the old man spilled punch all over it. Still, I guess it was my own fault. I did nearly give him a seizure."

After a drawn-out pause he eventually nods, apparently satisfied with my explanation. Thank god.

"Okay, well just don't take any of the costumes home without letting me know first. You got that, (y/n)?"

"Got it."

He waves me away, letting me know that I'm dismissed.

Out in the corridor I turn the corner and almost bump right into Arthur, who seems to have been anxiously hovering nearby.

"I take it you heard that? That sweetie, is what a convincing lie sounds like." I tell him with a smirk.

Arthur lowers his voice cautiously. "Impressive." But then his smile wavers slightly. "Wait, you wouldn't lie to me would you?"

I frown at him, feeling puzzled by the random question. "No, of course not. Why would I?"

He visibly sighs with relief. "Ah. That's okay then."

Walking into the changing room I set down my bag, pull the nurse costume out and give it a shake before hanging it in the closet where my outfits are kept..

We hear the door to Hoyt's office slam shut, followed by his footsteps reverberating off the walls as he descends the stairs.

I take out the schoolgirl outfit, pretending to be thoroughly focused on getting my costume together for tonight's gig. All the while I can feel Arthur's eyes burning into my back. Somehow I can sense his eagerness to talk, and I'm trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. But I suppose the sooner I face him the sooner it will be less awkward.

Surely nothing could be as awkward as it already is, so...

"I'm so glad we're finally alone." Arthur exclaims excitedly, the second I turn around to face him. "I thought Hoyt was never going to leave."

"Oh. Why is there something you want to talk about, sweetie?" I manage in my steadiest voice, hoping to come across as calm and cool.

Arthur's brow furrows in instant confusion. "Talk? Well yeah, I guess. But I just couldn't wait to spend some time alone with you."

Spend time alone with me?
Oh lord no. Please no.
I should've had the talk with him sooner. Last night actually, before I'd left his place.
Better still I should've kept my lips to myself and not kissed him at all, then we wouldn't be in this mess.

As much as it pains me, I have to clear the air with him. What other choice do I have?

"Artie, sweetie....come here." Taking his hands in mine I lead him over to the bench and sit him down next to me. "About last night.....you know that it was just my silly way of trying to cheer you up, right?"

He looks deeply confused, but there's still the hint of a smile on his lips. "Well, yeah the whole kissogram routine. But the kiss--"

"I know, I shouldn't have kissed you. I'd had too much to drink, we both did, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"You mean you only kissed me because you were drunk?"

Oh god that sounds awful, him saying it out loud like that.

"No. It wasn't like that. I just got caught up in the moment."

"But we did have a moment, didn't we?"

I sigh, letting my head fall into my hands. "Maybe, yes. I don't know."

He gets to his feet. He looks absolutely stricken, which makes me feel even more wretched.

"It's okay (y/n) I get it. You wouldn't want someone like me. Why would you?"

"Hey, don't say that. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Oh come on (y/n), there's plenty wrong with me."

"It isn't you." I insist. "It's me."

"You mean you'd have a problem with people knowing about us?"

"Us? No! Artie there just is no 'us'. Not like that anyway. We're just friends, that's all. Things got a bit out of hand last night but we need to draw a line under it and forget what happened. Otherwise it could ruin our friendship. Screw up our working relationship."

"How can I just forget about it?" He demands, the tone of his voice growing rough with his rising anger. "It was the best night of my life, the best birthday I ever had, and you want me to forget about it?"

I jump to my feet feeling panicked. I need to fix things somehow, before Arthur ends up despising me.

"Please, Arthur. I don't want this to come between us."

"That's funny (y/n). I thought you just said there is no us." With that he turns on his heel and heads for the door.

"Wait! You can't just leave."

He stops at the doorway, flinging his arms out wide. "Why not?"

"Because we need to sort this out." My voice comes out much more shrill than I would've liked, but I'm genuinely panicking now.

Slipping a cigarette between his lips, he lights it and takes a long drag before saying, "There's nothing to sort out."

"Arthur, I don't want to lose you as a friend."

"Fine, whatever."

"No don't just say fine whatever. I need us to be okay."

He frowns, clearly irritated. "Why?"

I'm stumped now. There's nothing I can say that I haven't tried saying already. I don't want to lose him as a friend. He's not an idiot, in spite of his condition and quirkiness, Arthur's intelligent. So I know he understands what I'm trying to say, he's just struggling to accept it.

I stay silent for a heartbeat too long, and he growls under his breath then storms away, practically radiating anger.

I know I should go after him but I don't. That's because I'm an idiot and a coward. It's like I'm too afraid of getting close to someone, because I don't want to end up hurt and let down yet again. And Arthur, he's a decent guy. But I've gone and blown everything now. He most likely won't want to be friends with me.

I hear him kick the door open aggressively once he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and my eyes begin to burn with unshed tears.
Hurrying over to the window, I look down and see Arthur walking away down the street. For a fleeting moment I consider opening the window and calling after him, but it's too late. He's already too far away to hear me.

>>------------------------------------>>

The following day is my day off so there's no opportunity to see Arthur and try to resolve things.
I'm still feeling terrible about it all and it's playing on my mind. So much so that I end up cleaning my small apartment from top to bottom, just to try and keep me distracted.

I hadn't intended to, but I inadvertently played with Arthur's feelings.
I didn't realise the kiss meant so much to him.
Okay, I have to stop beating myself up over this. Tomorrow I'll try talking to him again. He should've calmed down by then.

I didn't realise how much the apartment needed a good, thorough cleaning. It pretty much takes all day and by the time I finish I'm surprisingly tired, so I take a shower and change into my pyjama shorts and a baggy shirt.
An early night could be just what I need.

I'm just in the middle of drying my hair when I think I hear a dull thudding noise, so I switch off my hairdryer and listen intently.

-- silence --

Unconvinced, I make my way into the hall, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. I've never felt so on edge before, which is strange. The area I live in, Parkchester, is pretty safe, unlike a lot of places in downtown Gotham. My apartment building is small but secure. The neighbours aren't troublesome, there's never any antisocial behaviour.

I go to the door and look through the spy hole. Nothing. The landing is empty.
For some reason I feel compelled to open the door, and what I see gives me the fright of my life.

"Jesus!"

A disheveled looking Arthur is slouched on the floor, leaning back against the wall outside my door, his knees drawn up to his chest.
On the floor beside him I see his tatty old shopping bag, stuffed with clothes.
He's wearing his clown outfit, all except for the wig, jacket and shoes.

Something is seriously wrong. Arthur doesn't make a habit of going home in his costume.
Then again he isn't at home.
He's here.

"Arthur, are you okay? What's wrong?" I step out into the hall so I can face him because he doesn't look up, or answer.

He's such a mess. His makeup is smeared and his nose is bloody.
Oh hell.

Crouching down so I'm level with him, I gently take the tip of his chin in my hand and tilt his head to face me. "Arthur, what happened?"

He gives a slow blink, his eyes sort of blank looking and staring off into space.
I'm trying to keep calm and not panic, but he's really worrying me.
What if he's seriously hurt?

"Arthur, sweetie, please. You're scaring me."

At last his eyes seem to snap into focus and he lifts his hand, placing it on mine which is still cupping his face.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He says in a low voice.

"Okay, well lets get you inside. Then you can tell me what happened."

He nods slowly, taking the hand I hold out to him, to help him to his feet.

His clothes are filthy, I notice, as he makes his way inside. I pick up the bag with his clothes in and steer him into my bathroom.

"I'm going to take care of you, okay? Just give me a second."

Quickly I gather up some clean towels and a cloth, then raid my bathroom cabinet, searching for my first aid kit.

"Y-you don't have to go to all this trouble (y/n)."

I shake my head, "It's no trouble."

He's sat on the toilet seat and I fill the wash basin with warm, soapy water, and I'm experiencing the feeling of deja vu.

"Lets get that greasepaint off so I can take a proper look at you."

I help him wash the makeup off, then take an alcohol swab from the kit.
Poor Arthur. There's an angry welt on his left cheek, and dried blood on his top lip which must've come from his nose.

"This is gonna sting sweetie, I'm sorry." I warn him, as I gently dab under his nose.

He flinches a little, but assures me he's okay. "Don't worry, do what you have to. I'm used to it now."

My hands are trembling. Possibly with nerves or anger, I'm not sure which, because I'm worried for him as well as furious on his behalf. Some bastard has obviously had a good go at him, and I'd love two minutes alone with whoever they are, just two.
That's all I'd need, and they'd be wearing their balls as earrings once I'd finished with them.

"Who did this to you Artie?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters! This is the second time in the space of three days."

His eyes lock with mine, and they're so mournful it breaks my heart.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What? Don't you dare apologise. I want to help you, it's not your fault!"

Once he's cleaned up I turn my attention to his clothing.

"You can take a shower if you like, and I'll wash your clothes for you. I should have some spare...men's clothes...somewhere."

The quizzical eyebrow he raises doesn't escape my attention, like he's silently demanding further explanation, but I'm in no mood to go into any of that yet, least of all with him.

"Thanks (y/n). I really appreciate it."

I leave him so he can undress, only going back into the bathroom once he's decent. That is, he has a towel wrapped around his slinky waist, protecting his modesty.

"Did they hurt you anywhere else?" I ask, as he hands me his bundle of clothes.

His gaze lowers to the floor. "Just my back."

"Again? Jesus, Arthur. You took a kicking last time."

"I know." He says sadly.

"How many were there?"

He hesitates before answering. Considering his response carefully. "T-three. There was....three of them."

I sigh, feeling overwhelmingly sad for him, and so very angry. "Well this time we're calling the cops."

"No!"

The sudden raising of his voice makes me jump and he sees it, so naturally he apologises for his outburst.

"Shit, sorry (y/n). I just.....I'd rather not get the police involved. Please."

Not wanting to pester him after his ordeal, I begrudgingly agree to respect his wishes. There's nothing else I can do. I can't press charges on behalf of him when he doesn't even want to inform the police of the incident, no matter how infuriated I am with the injustice of it all.

Arthur's a dear, sweet man. It's so unfair.

I leave him to take a shower, busying myself with putting his clown outfit in to wash.
I notice there's small splatters of blood on his yellow vest and his hobo pants, and I can't figure out how it got there. I mean, it can't be from his nose, surely.

Not knowing if he was wearing his colourful clown jacket at the time of the attack, I pull it out of his bag, intending to wash that too. But in doing so something heavy falls out onto the floor.

My eyes widen in disbelief.

It's a gun.

An actual gun.

What the actual fu-- is Arthur doing with a gun?!

Shaking, I hastily throw his clothes into the washing machine and stuff the gun back into his bag. I then go to my bedroom and rifle through my closet, knowing I still have some of my ex's clothes in there somewhere.

And all the while I'm thinking about that gun.
Arthur's like, the most unlikeliest person to have a gun.
But there was blood on his clothes. What if that blood wasn't his?
Oh god. How well do I actually know him really?
He doesn't seem like a violent person at all. But is he capable of seriously hurting someone?

Would he hurt me? No. I'm just being stupid.

I hear the bathroom door open, and Arthur steps out, freshly showered.
I give him the clothes. He thanks me and disappears back inside to change.
Trying to remain calm I go into the kitchen and make us both a coffee, so when he emerges soon after I hand him a cup, and we sit down on my couch.

"D'you feel any better now?" I ask him.

He drags his hands over his wet hair, pushing it back from his face, and just like that I'm reminded of how handsome he is. It throws me off balance a little, because I'm not drunk. Since when have I been attracted to Arthur? Shit. It must've sneaked up on me without me even noticing.

"I do. Thanks." He says softly, taking a sip of coffee.

"You don't have to keep thanking me, Artie. That's what friends do. They help each other out."

"Yeah. I...I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For coming here. I...I just didn't know where else to go."

Touched, I lean over and place my hand on his. He immediately responds by taking hold of it, squeezing it a little as if thankful for the contact.

"I'm glad you came here. How did you know where I lived?"

He smiles faintly. "I did what you did. Looked up your address in Hoyt's book."

We both laugh, and the atmosphere feels less tense. Arthur's still clinging on to my hand though, which tells me he finds it comforting. Maybe even calming.

"Can...can I stay here tonight?" He asks, his face turning pink. "I don't feel like I can face going home."

"Um, sure. I only have the one room here though. But you're welcome to sleep on the couch."

"Thank you." He breaths a sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

He shakes his head. "Do you have any cigarettes?"

I nod, getting up to go fetch them from my purse.
I'm more of a social smoker, only having the odd one occasionally. But I'm so stressed right now I think I could use one.

We both light up a cigarette, and drink our coffee in companionable silence.
Once I've drunk my coffee I fetch Arthur a pillow and a blanket, then bid him goodnight.

Once I climb into bed I find it impossible to sleep. My head is buzzing. I have all these thoughts rattling in my mind that feel like ball bearings, and they're rolling around, crashing into each other.

It's not that I feel unsafe having Arthur in my apartment, I just can't relax thinking about him in the living room, laying there with god knows what going through his own mind. Whatever he's been through must have affected him deeply, he was badly shaken up when I found him on my doorstep. And if I'm struggling to sleep then he must be too, considering he's the one who's had a traumatic experience.

Half an hour passes, so defeated, I throw the covers back and swing my legs out of bed.
Knowing this probably isn't a good idea but I'm going to do it anyway, because I wouldn't be me if I didn't.

Pushing the living room door open my eyes squint as I try to focus in the darkness.
Arthur's nothing more than a large bundle on my couch. Wrapped up in a blanket, curled up in the foetal position.
My poor baby.

Wait...what?
I shouldn't be thinking things like that.
But man, he's so vulnerable I feel responsible for him.

"Arthur....are you asleep?" I ask, which is a pretty dumb question.

"No." Comes the muffled answer, as he pulls the blanket from over his head.

Without saying a word I gesture for him to follow me.
He does.

"What are you--" His words dissolve as soon as he enters my bedroom.

"I thought you might be having trouble sleeping." I explain, as I watch him step cautiously into the room.

Bless him he looks so out of his depth. He gazes around the room with wide eyes, looking genuinely bewildered, like he's slipped into some alternative dimension.

"But you....you only have one bed (y/n)."

I giggle. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious, sweetie. It's okay...I won't bite, I don't snore and I promise not to steal all the covers. As long as you don't either."

He blinks in animated slow motion, as he processes what I'm suggesting.

"A-are you sure you don't mind?" He stammers. "After yesterday...I was a real jerk."

Climbing back into bed I pull back the covers for him. "Artie, lets not talk about yesterday. It doesn't matter now."

Arthur gingerly slides into bed beside me, his breathing a little ragged. "I want to talk about it though. I shouldn't have overreacted like that."

"It's fine, honestly. I shouldn't have..." I don't know what to say.

I was about to say, I shouldn't have played with his feelings, even if it was unintentional, but what am I doing now? Sure I'm trying to comfort him, because I care about him, but will he see it as more than that? I could unwittingly be confusing him even more.

Arthur lays down and looks up at me. I'm still slightly propped against the pile of pillows at my headboard.

"I've never been in a girls room before." He confesses, and my heart pinches. "I've never slept with one either."

"Really? Well I feel privileged to be the first." I smile.

Oh shit. There's nothing wrong with sharing a bed with someone. It's all completely innocent. So I've no idea why my heart is suddenly beating like a tribal drum against my rib cage.

And yet I'm incapable of keeping my distance. No matter how platonic I keep telling myself this is, I can't resist the overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort him, but I'm blurring the lines by doing so. We already crossed a line on his birthday, and I'm stepping into uncharted territory again, even though I tried fooling myself by keeping him in the friend zone.

"Come." I say, scooting down a little and lifting my arm.

Arthur stares at me for the longest time, then eventually, very cautiously, moves closer in the bed, resting his head in the crook of my arm.

"You're safe here, Artie." I feel compelled to tell him, as my fingers begin playing in the damp locks of his hair of their own accord.

He exhales a deep, long breath, his arm snaking around my middle so he's holding me tight.

"I had a bad day." He says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"D'you want to tell me about it sweetie?"

I hear him swallow roughly. "Hoyt fired me."

"What?" I cry, astonished. And if it wasn't for Arthur resting his head on me I probably would've leaped to my feet. "Artie, no! Why? You're an amazing clown. It makes no sense."

"Randall gave me a gun. He said I needed it to protect myself. It was tucked into my pants....it fell out while I was doing my act at the children's hospital."

"Oh my god." Is all I can say, as I digest all this dramatic information. And then, "Randall's a fucking idiot!"

I feel Arthur shaking slightly and at first I think he's crying, but then realise he's chuckling to himself.

"You make me laugh (y/n). You're the only one who can do that."

My arm encircles him and I hold him tight against me. "Well I'm glad I can. After you left yesterday I was so worried that you hated me."

At that he lifts his head, his beautiful green eyes gazing up at me. "I don't hate you (y/n)." He says softly. "I could never hate you. I-I love you."

The breath sticks in my throat. I feel like a giant fist has a hold of my heart and is squeezing and squeezing it.

"Y-you mean as a friend, right?" I croak.

He's so close I can feel his warm breath on my face, his lips dangerously close to mine. My stomach is turning somersaults.

"I don't think so." The reply comes at last. His dark brows are creased slightly, as he concentrates, trying to find the right words. "I've never been with a girl, but I think what I'm feeling is real love."

"Oh, Artie--"

"(y/n) I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, I just want to be honest with you." He chances a nervous smile. "At least things won't be awkward at work. And I still want us to be friends. If that's okay with you? Can we--"

I silence him by pressing my lips to his. His body goes rigid with tension, and he moans softly, which completely undoes me.

And then he's kissing me back, one large hand sliding into my hair, the other cradling the side of my cheek.

I think I've officially lost my mind.

But that seems to be the affect Arthur Fleck has on me.
And I'm not complaining.