Jðkêr//Är†hµr x RêåÐêr ïmågïñê§ & ðñê-§hð†§

• Send In The Clown (Pt.3)

--1st person POV--

"Hey Arthur. Wow! You're a really good dancer."

Arthur smiled confidently, "I know, thanks." He stepped closer to you, purposely bringing his mouth closer to your ear. "You're pretty good yourself. I've been watching you."

You blushed. He secretly loved making you blush. When you were blushing he knew that his words had affected you deeply, and he liked the feeling it gave him.
He thought of ways in which he could make you blush more. To see your beautiful face turn that pleasing shade of pink, because of him. Because you secretly wanted him....

"Arthur!"

The stern voice of Arthur's social worker, Debra, shattered his daydream, making him feel irrationally cross.

"Arthur, have you been listening to me?" She asked, her brows drawn low in annoyance.

That was rich, Arthur thought. She never listened to him, so why should he listen to her?

"Arthur, you need to pay attention." She ground the words out, all patience nearly lost. "It's important that you keep up with your journal."

He nodded disinterestedly. "Yes ma'am."

"So why haven't you brought it with you?"

His gaze lowered and settled on his lap, willing to look anywhere other than at her blank, impassive face and dark, judgmental eyes.
Sometimes he doubted himself, wondering if he was really speaking at all, because everything he ever said was always met with the same emotionless expression. So in the end he'd basically given up. Choosing to answer her repetitive questions but not elaborating further.
He noticed that his cigarette had almost burnt right down to the filter, and the ash had fallen onto his pants.

"Arthur. Your journal?"

"I just...forgot." He lied, brushing the pile of ash away, leaving a dark smudge in its wake. "Sorry ma'am."

The truth was he hadn't forgotten his precious journal. He just didn't want Debra reading all of his private thoughts. His personal thoughts, about you.
He'd been documenting each time he saw you, making notes where, when, etc.
To some extent you were a creature of habit. You did your grocery shopping on Saturday afternoons. Walked your little dog around the block every evening, and in the park on Sundays.

Occasionally you bought art supplies from a craft store in town, and he'd seen you at work, painting on canvas, through the window. He'd figured that room must be your studio. He loved the fact that you were an artist. Creative people usually had the ability to see beauty where others didn't. He'd watched you in awe, so focused and at ease. Paint smudges on your bare arms, and sometimes even on your face...

"Isn't the paint supposed to go on the canvas, love?" Arthur grinned, licking a finger and gently rubbing at the red smudge on your neck.

Your skin was so soft. He could smell the sweet essence of your perfume, wafting from the perfect pores of your skin. The heady scent put him in mind of a spring meadow.
Touching you made the nerve endings in his fingertips tingle.

"You've even got some on your nose." He laughed.

"Yeah?" You giggled, catching his hand before he had time to wipe it away and then you leaned forwards and rubbed the tip of your nose against his. "Oops. Looks like it's on yours now too!"

"I'll get you back for that." He chuckled, winding his arms around your waist, pulling you close so he could claim your pink lips in a deep kiss...