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• Nobody Else Will Be There (pt.1)

:Imagine: You recognise Arthur from the pharmacy, having realised  that you've recently moved into his building. You befriend him, feeling drawn to his quirky personality. The only problem is, you're in love with your on/off boyfriend. Or at least, you thought you were.

** A/N This story is titled after the song by The National ~ which just seemed to fit so well with the tone of this story**

--3rd person POV--

The little bell above the door jingled; announcing the arrival of another customer.
You felt the cold blast of air as the door opened further, and glanced up to see him.

The cardigan-wearing man with the mop of shoulder-length, hazel hair, and the most striking pair of green eyes you'd ever beheld.
The man who lived with his mother, Penny Fleck, and who frequented the store every Thursday.
The man who collected a weeks' worth of medications to help treat his myriad of problems; which ranged from depression, anxiety, insomnia, and the uncommon Pseudobulbar affect - a neurological condition characterised by uncontrollable episodes of laughter.

The poor man.

As if that bizarre condition alone wasn't bad enough, amongst his cocktail of meds there was also included an anti-psychotic drug; commonly used to treat personality disorders,  delusional psychosis, and schizophrenia.

The man was Arthur Fleck, and he'd been coming to Helms Pharmacy with his prescription since you'd been working here.

And you'd recently discovered that he lived in your building.

You'd actually only been working as a pharmaceutical assistant for three months, and you hadn't decided yet whether you liked the job or not.
The store owner, Neville, was nice enough, as was his wife, Audrey. The work was relatively easy; your duties included making up prescriptions, and serving customers.

But it was the customers that made the job challenging.

This area, Gotham Heights in Otisburg, was quite a rough neighbourhood.
Shoplifting was a common occurrence, and a lot of the customers were recovering addicts. As much as you admired and respected those who were trying to get clean, the store policy was strict when it came to handing out methadone, and patients who failed to collect their prescriptions on a daily basis had to be denied it when they did finally make an appearance.

Confrontations were commonplace, and you were growing accustomed to the verbal abuse thrown your way whenever you were forced to deny a customer their methadone.

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to go back to your doctor and have him make out a new prescription." You parroted, for what seemed like the umpteenth time today.

"This is bullshit!" The customer raised his voice aggressively. "I had shit to do yesterday, bitch! I didn't have time to make it over here. You can't withhold my medication!"

You flinched slightly at his harsh tone, but quickly gathered yourself. You ought to be used to such hostility by now.

"Mister Benfold, please don't take that tone with me--"

"I'll take whatever tone I fucking want! What, d'you think you're better than me, is that it, huh? You need putting in your place, bitch!"

Neville stepped out from the back, having heard the commotion.

The middle-aged man shook his head sternly; his small, deep-set eyes peering at the disruptive customer from behind his wire-framed spectacles.

"You know the rules, Stephen. If you miss a day you can't collect without a new prescription."