Imagine: When you find yourself alone in the dark Arthur comes to keep you company, which takes a rather unexpected turn.
--1st person POV--
I've never found storms particularly frightening. As a kid, sure, but not so much these days.
When I'd heard the loud rumbling of thunder, I'd padded my way over to the window in my poky little apartment.
The sky over Gotham always seems to look bleak, as if the clouds have conspired against its residents, never allowing the sun to breach the permanent barrier they've created above the city. Even now that it's supposedly spring, and the nights getting progressively lighter, there's still no sunshine to speak of.
But within seconds of the thunder sounding, the sky turns as black as tar, and the heavens open. What starts out as an incessant pattering, quickly escalates into a full-on downpour. The rain lashing against the windowpane, followed by the sound of the howling wind, whistling through the chasm of the stairwell in the old building.
And then the lights flicker out, plunging my small living room into darkness. The only brief flashes of light are provided by the intermittent cracks of lightening, splitting through the late evening sky.
Now, one thing I'm not a huge fan of is the dark. It actually terrifies me. Being alone in the dark is even worse, and for some reason being all by myself in the dark while a storm rages outside, ramps-up my anxiety tenfold.
With my arms extended in front of me, I stumble across the room. The all-encompassing blackness making me feel suffocated. Trapped. Isolated.
Come on, get a grip (y/n), it's still your apartment. It's not like you're stranded in some foreign place. The boogeyman isn't going to materialise from the darkness itself and get you, for god sake!
But getting a grip is easier said than done. If it was that easy then no one would have to suffer at the hands of their anxieties. And besides, I might be in my apartment but Gotham is a scary place, plagued by crime, and power-outages are a criminals dream. Hence why most burglaries happen at night, obviously.
I've always found the darkness scarily disorienting too. I'm suddenly unable to judge how far away the couch is. How close I am to the wall. I painfully stub my toe on the coffee table, letting out a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush.
Limping towards what I hope is the general direction of the armchair, I sink down onto the floor and draw my knees up to my chest, hugging them tightly in the manner of a worried child.
I'm not sure how long I sit there like that, chest tightening in panic, willing myself to be calm. It's probably only about ten minutes but it feels like hours.
Then suddenly, I hear a soft knock at the door.
At first I can't be sure I've actually heard it, the sound so quiet amidst the rolling thunder outside. But a few seconds later it comes again, this time a little more frantic.
I can't be certain I know who it is, as the neighbours in this place aren't exactly neighbourly. They tend to just keep themselves to themselves, and in typical Gotham fashion, everyone is distrustful of each other.
The only person it could be, is Arthur.
I've only lived here in this part of town a couple months, and I met Arthur the day I moved into the building.
He was dressed as, of all things, a clown. Which as first impressions go, had me thinking that perhaps I'd made a mistake moving here. My mother always warned me of the dangers of downtown Gotham, and while a guy dressed as a clown might not exactly seem too intimidating, her words did resonate, having insisted that the area was full of crazies, amongst other things.
But then he'd shattered any preconceptions by gallantly offering to help carry up the box I was struggling with. Pleasantly surprised, I'd thanked him, quietly impressed that he carried the heavy box with ease in spite of his alarmingly frail stature.
He barely spoke, which made the situation somewhat awkward, so I'd tried to engage him in polite conversation. But other than telling me his name, and that he lived on the third floor, I didn't really get much more out of him. Realising that he was cripplingly shy, I'd rambled on like I have a tendency to do, and tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke;
"It's too bad you didn't get here earlier, Arthur. This is the last box." I chuckled.
And then he'd looked at me, the clown makeup accentuating his puppy-dog eyes, and said, "O-oh. I'm sorry. If I'd known I would've taken the bus to get here sooner."
At first I'd thought he was being sarcastic, but no. He was being completely sincere. And I realised in that moment that he was one of a kind. Kind of odd, eccentric, timid, and genuine. Genuine and kind. Which is certainly a rarity in this city.
So, I had told him that I would've made him coffee by way of thanking him, but seeing as I'd yet to unpack and even find the coffee, I said to stop by sometime for one.
The invitation seemed to really take him by surprise. He'd mumbled his thanks and left, and to be honest I hadn't expected him to take me up on my offer.
But the very next evening he'd turned up at my door, dressed smartly in burgundy pants, a white dress shirt and matching burgundy vest.
It completely threw me, and it was only when he spoke did I recognise who it was.
After that initial, undeniably awkward, first coffee, his visits became a regular thing. He lives on the floor above me, and stops by at least twice a week, and I've been to his own apartment once for dinner with him and his elderly mother.
So yeah, I suppose Arthur is the nearest I've come to making a friend here.
He is a friend. Not a close one, but he's not just a casual acquaintance either. To refer to him as such would be doing him an injustice, because he's nothing if not considerate and attentive.
And now I'm hoping, praying even, that he is here. That it is him at the door. It has to be, and...and I want it to be.
"Arthur?" I call out as loud as I can in order to be heard above the raging storm. "Is that you?"
"(y/n)? Yeah it's me. Are...are you okay?" Comes the muffled reply.
"I am now." Immediately the tension eases in my chest, as I breath a small sigh of relief. "Just hang on. I can't see a thing."
"No wait." He responds, with uncharacteristic assertiveness. "Where are you?"
"The living room, but I'm coming now--"
"It's okay, stay there. I'll come to you."
I frown in confusion. "What?"
"Just give me a minute. I'll be right back, I promise."
"Arthur?"
There's no response, so I retrace the few steps I've taken, and wait anxiously. Wondering what on earth he's doing.
True to his word, less than a minute later there's a tapping on the side window, making me almost jump right out of my skin. I whirl around and I'm just about able to make out the movement of a silhouette outside.
That crazy, lovable loon must have gone out in this appalling weather and took the fire escape.
I manage to make my way over without tripping and breaking my neck on anything, and unlock the old sash window. He assists in hauling it up and once it's open wide enough, carefully climbs inside.
"Hello neighbour." I say with a grin, shaking my head. "You're crazy. Look at you you're soaking!"
He shakes his head dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I just didn't want you struggling to get to the door."
My heart melts a little, moved by his consideration.
"That's really sweet of you, Arthur. Thank you."
He fumbles around in his coat pocket, then pulls out his cigarette lighter, followed by a candle.
"I don't have a flashlight, do you?"
"If only I were that organised. I've never even owned a flashlight. That's something sensible people have."
He chuckles softly. "I used to have one but it broke. Does that still count?"
I smile, watching as he fiddles with the lighter, trying to get it to work.
"I'd say so. And you have candles. So yeah, at least you're prepared for power cuts. Unlike me."
"I only have the one but it'll have to do. It's one of my moms' scented ones. They help her sleep."
He gives another flick of the lighter and this time the flame ignites, illuminating his slender face. His dark brows are furrowed slightly in concentration as he lights the candle. He looks up at me and smiles gently, green eyes creasing at the corners.
"Hope you don't mind the smell of lavender."
I smile back, relieved. His presence alone has the most calming effect. The fact that he's brought a source of light with him, elevates him to hero status in my eyes.
"Arthur I wouldn't care if it was essence of dog shit. Thank you!"
He laughs again. "You're so funny, (y/n). You make me laugh--"
Without thinking I reach up and pull him into a forced hug, catching him completely off guard. He lets out a small gasp, his body tensing as I hold onto him for dear life. I don't know what's gotten into me but I've never been happier to see him, and the physical contact feels reassuring. I feel safe now.
"Sorry." I say, realising that he's stood rigid, clutching the candle awkwardly in one hand, the other hovering nervously at my back. "I'm just so glad you're here."
I feel compelled to explain myself. Feeling a bit embarrassed by my impulsiveness. I've never hugged Arthur before, and I can see that he wasn't quite prepared for it. Which makes two of us.
"R-really?" He stutters, eyes darting back and forth across my face.
"Well yeah, I mean, I was getting a little freaked out here by myself."
He nods understandingly. "That's why I came. I know you don't like the dark."
I blink in surprise. He actually remembers that?
This one time when we'd been in the elevator and it had stopped temporarily, and the lights had flickered out. I'd almost had a panic attack, but Arthur had been there, uttering calming words of reassurance;
"Hey, it's okay (y/n). I'm here. It'll be fine again in a minute. It does this sometimes."
Not quite knowing what to say, I smile again and end up babbling like an idiot, "Well I, uh, I would make you a coffee but...obviously that's not an option. I have juice though, or water. Can I, can I get you some water?"
What is wrong with me? I feel nervous. But I can't figure out why. I mean, it's just Arthur. He doesn't usually make me feel on edge, so why am I tripping over my words all of a sudden?
He gives another small chuckle which sounds masculine yet soft, much like his voice. "I'm good thanks. Um...do you wanna sit down?"
Ah, yes. Sitting down would be the obvious thing to do, as we've been standing by the window for the last few minutes, and I'm just prattling on with myself.
"Sure, of course. Sorry."
He guides the way over to the couch and we sit down. Without the background babble of the radio or television, the atmosphere seems inexplicably intense. Like the room has suddenly become charged with a heavy, nervous energy.
I guess it much just be because I've never been alone with Arthur like this. The two of us sitting in the dark, huddled around one measly candle that isn't very big.
"How long do you think that will last?" I ask, nodding to it.
He brings a large hand up to his face, stroking along his sharp jaw in contemplation. "They usually burn for a couple hours."
"Right."
Sensing my unease, he shifts his slim body so that he's facing towards me. "Don't worry, the power should come back on soon."
"But what if it doesn't? Who knows how long it could take to fix." I say, sceptically.
He raises his sea green eyes, the intensity of his gaze practically piercing mine. Arthur has really beautiful eyes I've come to notice, accentuated by those long dark lashes that frame them perfectly.
"I won't leave you." He says softly, his sallow cheeks turning pink in the orange glow of the candlelight.
I sigh, smiling with alleviation, but my bottom lip trembles precariously. "But what about your mom?"
"She's sleeping. She won't wake up now until morning."
"Oh."
Once again I find myself stuck for words. His kindness robbing me of the power of speech. Yes I knew that Arthur was kind, with good old fashioned gentlemanly principles, but tonight he's really surpassed himself. Shit. I've never even had a boyfriend who's been this considerate towards me.
Resting his arm along the back of the sofa, he slouches further down into the couch, making himself comfortable, and I'm struck by the homely familiarity of his presence. The sense of security he's providing by simply just being here with me. It gives me a warm feeling that penetrates my very bones, and I have to fight the urge to snuggle up against him. Not that I would, because...well, this is Arthur.
And yet, I'm still sorely tempted.
My gaze is stuck on him, watching as he pushes his brown hair back off his angular face, damp unruly curls gathering by his ears.
And just like that my heart picks up a pace, making the blood fizz through my veins. I feel like a snow globe that's been shaken up then put back down.
Noticing that I've been staring at him for an inordinate amount of time, Arthur shifts a little awkwardly in his seat. A nervous smile curves his thin lips, displaying a small dimple in his left cheek.
"What?" He enquires, his tone laced with anxious curiosity.
I can't answer. The trance I seem to be in won't allow me to. I've been taken completely by surprise. This is so unexpected my brain is struggling to function.
Arthur has an undeniable charisma, a certain boyish charm which gives him an appeal that's a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness.
Oh god. Oh no, I think to myself. I seem to have caught feelings.
Feelings for Arthur.