He's been off with you all week now. Becoming less affectionate, less welcoming, less enjoyable to be around and it's all because he's sad. He doesn't say anything about it but you know it's true. The way his eyes refuse to meet yours for too long lest you see the hopelessness caged within them; the way he wrings his hands in his lap when you touch him; the way he only chuckles feebly when you try your hardest to make him laugh. It's heartbreaking.
"Joey...?" you ask softly, rapping your knuckles against the door. He has a habit of leaving it open, a fairly unashamed man (hell you've caught him changing, masturbating, the list goes on and on) and so when the door is closed you go out of your way to check that he's not doing anything private. However, when all that greets you on the other end is silence, you ease the door ajar slowly and poke your head in. The outline of him is clear in the bed but he doesn't respond."...Joe...?"
Steps are taken to stand in front of him... but he simply tenses and pulls the duvet further up over his head. A new approach is taken in that you slide to the other end of the bed and attempt to weasel your way under the blankets with him, eventually able to press a hand to his back. He's shaking.
"...are you okay? Are you sick?" you ask quietly, fingers taking in the tenseness of his muscles as you shift in as close as you can get. "Joe... please talk to me. I'm worried about you."
For a moment, it's as if your entire world has frozen - because the sound that you hear is so incongruous with reality as you've come to accept it, so painstakingly cruel that it strikes fear and depression alike through your entire body.
He sobs.
And then he can't stop. Sadness, desperation, the writhing of muscles as if he's in physical pain as legs curl up and fists clench so tightly they're shaking with the sheets between them. You're unsure of what to do, listening to Joe Gatto crying, but you force the sheets blocking you from his body away and wrap your arms around him tightly. He seems to all but collapse into you, face burying into your shoulder as he cries.
"Oh my... Joe, what's wrong... please tell me..." Part of you knows it's fruitless to whisper these things in his ear while he's sobbing himself dry but you do anyway, a hand making its way to the back of his head and combing through his hair. He's choking over his breaths, trembling with effort to keep it in and you quietly assure him that no, it's okay, please get it out.
"I–I'm not– I'm not–"
"All right... it's all right..." you soothe, rubbing his back with gentle hands and pressing a tender kiss to his forehead before pushing his head into your chest and letting him weep. In truth you're terrified - you've never witnessed such a breakdown, nor have you ever seen Joe shed a tear, never mind sob to death. His sorrow has toxicity rising into the air, the breath you take in tasting foul and unjust as he stammers over his own and tries to take oxygen into his aching lungs.
Many minutes pass in which the Joker does nothing but wail, tears soaking your shirt while you hold him close and stroke anything of him that you can reach. But eventually, he begins to calm down, perhaps simply because there's nothing left in him to cry. After many moments of quiet, you find it in yourself to push once more.
"Joe–"
"I'm bein' dumb, just forget it."
The words sting, and not just because he's unprepared to speak but because he really feels that you're going to find him stupid. That invalidating his feelings somehow makes the situation better. He's always doing that, sacrificing himself for the sake of others - you wish, just this once, he'd stop.
"You know I won't." Gently, you force him to look at you, the puffiness of his eyes having your heart sinking until you feel its six feet under. It makes you so upset to see him so low, so consumed in his own sadness that he doesn't trust even you to be able to help him out of it. "Talk to me."
"I don't... I don't feel like, I'm... good enough."
The words are by no means steady, syllables that tug at your conscience and remind you of everything he's ever said to you: that you're good enough. That you're loved. That no matter how alone you feel, you never are - not when he's there to love you enough for the both of you. So to see him crumpled in defeat, bawling over his own lack of self-worth, it really makes you frightened.
"What're you talking about?" you whisper, brushing soft pads of fingers down his face and tracing the hot streaks that have been embedded into his skin like the striking brand of a hot poker. "You're more than enough. I love you."
Slowly, he shakes his head. "...ya could do so much better, [Y/N]."
Jarred, as if you've stepped out of your body to assess a situation that isn't your own, you rear your head back slightly and allow your brow to furrow.
"I'm not... I'm not good for ya–"
"Joe..."
"–I'm not good. I don't look good. I look terrible. I don't feel good. Everythin' ya ever thought about me, I don't know why–"
"Stop it..."
"I don't deserve–"
"I said stop." His words stammer, and then die, much like he wants to as he realises that you're on the brink yourself. Wetness begins to form at the corners of your eyes, the threat of tears as you stare searchingly at him. Eyes locked, noses all but brushing, shallow breaths mingled. "Joey, please stop... stop being so horrible to yourself..."
[I can't drown my demons;
they know how to swim.]
Before you can stop it, a tear escapes your eye and you sniffle hopelessly as you bury your face into his neck and kiss it mindlessly. He trembles with effort to hold it in all over again, your lips soft over his skin and slip further down his body. Sensing the catalyst of his uncertainty, you lay with your forehead pressed to his stomach and nuzzle against it. A mumble catches your attention from above but you lift his shirt and press soft kisses to his skin. You're stunned when he reacts violently, writhing backwards and away from you before tugging his shirt tightly back down.
"Joe..." Soft crying catches your awareness once more but you just nudge closer once more, wrap arms around him and guide your head beneath the material blocking him from your sight. The Joker is already shuffling to try and get away, but any further and he'll fall backwards and onto the floor. "I love every part of you..." you breathe softly, pressing kisses to his belly. Stiffening, hands searching for your shoulders beneath the blankets, attempt to pull you away but he's too weak with insecurity to do it with conviction. A broken 'please stop...' is heard but you persevere, refuse to let him give in to his insecurities.
"Joey, I love the feel of you. All of you. So you're not stick-thin..." You trail off, gentle kisses all over his tummy as he lays there shivering with the urge to curl in on himself and lock you out again. However, he has to admit, he hates being alone more than he hates you confronting him; he'd take this gentle reminder that he's attractive over being locked away again. "...I find that so attractive. There's a reason I didn't go for any of your friends. Murr with his shape; Sal with his adorable face; Q with his scruff... and it's because none of them are you. I love you, and if you ever tell me you're not good enough then you're calling me a liar - and I'm no liar."
Feeling as if you've managed to get through to him, you slowly kiss up his chest before unhooking the shirt from over your head and emerging from the blankets once more. Joe is laying there in stunned silence, tear-stained but hopeful.
"...you mean that...?"
Breathlessly, you lean close and kiss him deeply, a hand resting on his stomach as your tongue passionately slides against his, your free hand moving to cup his cheek as you press against his sturdy body. Gatto whimpers, uncharacteristically vulnerable as he lets you take the reins and guide him further into the love you feel for him. Pulling away with a soft slip of your lips, you nudge his nose with your own and release a shudder of a breath when he raises a thumb to brush your tears away.
"I'm so sorry..."
"Stop apologising. I should've noticed. I should've known."
And you kiss him again, before he has chance to argue with you, hands sliding over one another desperately as tension between you dissipates into an urge to make one another feel loved. It's a lonely world - and without one another to keep each other in high spirits, you have nothing. You dread to think what life would be like without the lovable man you'd been in love with since day one, knowing somewhere deep inside of you that the moment you'd locked eyes was the moment you'd clicked into place. The thought itself was scary.
"Don't ever bottle it up again... all you have to do is tell me and I can prove you're wrong. I can prove it."
"I won't [Y/N]... just don't let go of me, please..." He's begging, the one thing he said he'd never do, and your exchanged speech is all in between soft kisses and squeezes of flesh that make you arch into one another. "Don't let go..."
"I won't. I won't."