--3rd person POV--
The apartment building's laundry room was situated in the windowless basement, making it stiflingly hot and stuffy.
The rickety, narrow bench that ran along the middle of the room was bolted to the floor, and tortuously uncomfortable to sit on for any great length of time. Obviously it wasn't designed for comfort, mores the pity, but after an hour or two it had you longing for the comfort of your couch.
You'd already washed one batch of clothes: which was currently in the tumble dryer, and your second lot was halfway through it's washing cycle.
You sat forwards; your elbows resting on your knees as you stared absently into the little portal in the front of your machine, watching as knots of colour swirled around in the foamy suds.
It's boring, and a lonesome chore, but in your present mood you were content to be by yourself, with only the bump and churn of the machines, and the occasional metallic 'clink' as a button or zipper thunks against the inside of the drum.
The room was full of steam and heat. That clean, laundry smell permeating the air.
It was actually a surprisingly soothing environment when you had the place to yourself, which was a pleasant surprise, given that it was a Sunday, but it was almost midnight. Most sane, sensible people would have no doubt finished laundering their work clothes for the next morning by now.
You'd spent the majority of the day catching up on chores; vacuuming the apartment, changing the bedsheets, then you'd cooked a Sunday lunch.
Afterwards you'd finally put the laundry away. The laundry that had been sitting in the hamper since Thursday night.
You should've known it was too good to be true. That Rick had actually followed your simple instructions for once.
Okay, so he hadn't folded the clean laundry, but you didn't make a big deal out of it. In all honesty it had amazed you that he'd even done the laundry as promised.
However it had only become apparent when you'd searched for your uniform to iron, that he hadn't actually done any of your laundry.
"What am I supposed to do for work tomorrow?" You'd fumed at him, sounding every bit the nagging girlfriend.
But with good reason.
"Look, the last time I washed your stuff you said I ruined it. There's no way I'm risking that again, I'd never hear the end of it." Was his feeble defence.
"And you think you'll hear the end of this?! For fucks sake, Rick, you didn't even tell me you hadn't done it! Do I have to do everything myself?"
For once the argument hadn't escalated, purely because you didn't have the time or energy to stick around, but you didn't doubt that it would have. Especially given your parting shot;
"D'you know, a customer actually stuck around the other night to make sure I was okay after an altercation in the store. A freakin' total stranger did that to look out for me, and yet my own boyfriend can't even be bothered to do my fucking laundry!"
"Was it a guy?"
You stared at him, stony-faced.
"I'll take that as a yes."
"So what difference does that make?"
Rick had given a snort, shaking his head as though it was plainly obvious. "He was probably just after jumping your bones."
"Oh grow up!"
With that you'd slammed out of the apartment; washing hamper resting against your hip, and had been down here, silently seething, since.
God, Rick could be so infuriatingly juvenile.
If you weren't so physically and mentally exhausted you would've stayed and told him so. Asked him to please explain his immature reasoning behind such a ridiculous statement.
By his reckoning a guy only helped a woman out if he had an ulterior motive.
The thought made you feel queasy, as it basically attested to your boyfriends' twisted, selfish logic. It made you wonder about all the times he'd done favours for girls back in college. Had he wanted to sleep with all of them?
Ugh.
Rubbing your face with your hands, you let out a brittle laugh.
Rick knew nothing. If he knew Arthur, he wouldn't have been able to make such an offhand, unfounded remark.
The man was so shy, so innocent and childlike that you doubted he'd ever had a rude thought in his life, least of all have designs on you. It was too absurd, not even worth contemplating. You knew him well enough to know better.
And you were getting to know him it would seem, albeit gradually.
Okay. So you'd only mentioned Arthur's good deed because you were mad at Rick, and had wanted to throw something in his stupid face. In desperation, you had perhaps hoped that he'd realise how thoughtless he was.
You'd had no intention to go into any great detail, such as Arthur living in the building, because there was no reason to. It's not that you were trying to hide anything.
There was nothing to hide.
So what if you'd seen Arthur again on Friday, and Saturday? It wasn't a big deal that he'd walked with you to work, and even home again on Friday.
It wasn't prearranged. You'd simply bumped into him. Granted, you'd never seen him leaving the building around the same time as you before, but it wasn't necessarily premeditated on his part.
However sweet Arthur could be, you figured he had better things to do with his time other than orchestrate running into you 'accidentally on purpose'.
You'd have to be one conceited bitch to think that.
The fact that he was nowhere to be seen when you'd left work on Saturday evening, proved that your meetings had been purely coincidental.
Although, admittedly a small part of you had been wondering if he'd be there as you left the store.
Anyway, even if he had been there, it didn't mean anything. In fact, you actually really liked the idea of making a new friend in the building.
Since your move you scarcely saw any of your friends, as they all lived across town, and you didn't get much free time to socialise anymore.
"Uuuugggghhh." You gave a small growl of frustration.
"You okay?"
Despite the gentility of the softly spoken voice, you still whirled around; startled by the sudden intrusion.
"What the--? Oh...it's you." The pitifully obvious observation left your lips without you thinking, as you breathed a sigh of relief.
Arthur stood holding a basket of dirty laundry under one arm, the door held open with the other.
"Uh, y-yeah. I guess I can't dispute that." He grinned in amusement, making your face redden for some obscure reason. "Were you um, expecting someone else?"
"I wasn't expecting anybody, that's why you nearly gave me a heart attack." You smiled back, pressing a hand to your chest for emphasis.
"S-sorry."
"Hey don't be sorry. It's me being dumb, forgetting this is a communal laundry room."
Still smiling, he lugged his basket of dirty clothes over to the empty machine next to yours, and you watched him for a moment; taking the opportunity to observe him silently.
His wide brows were pinched together in concentration, as he knelt to load the machine. He was wearing one of his trademark cardigans over a white, button-down shirt, and slate-grey coloured slacks. On his feet were his well-worn, black shoes that were slightly scuffed at the toe.
In all the while he'd been coming into the pharmacy you hadn't once seen him in jeans or sneakers. He dressed older than his age, and yet it seemed to suit him in a peculiar, eccentric sort of way. You couldn't imagine him wearing anything else.
Arthur straightened to pour detergent into the drawer, absently pushing a few errant curls back from his face, which somehow seemed to alter his profile.
Perhaps you simply hadn't noticed before, but you weren't prepared for how different he looked from your current angle.
As he rummaged through his pockets for change to put into the machine, for just a brief moment you allowed yourself to actually look at him.
You already knew that his eyes were so startlingly green they would be considered breathtaking, but...you'd never really considered the rest of him before.
The small creases at the sides of his eyes, and the faint wrinkles that lined either side of his mouth, didn't take anything away from his handsomeness. If anything, they only made him look more distinguished, and you couldn't help wondering why you'd never noticed before.
Perhaps you didn't have any reason to.
No, that made no sense. Just because you were in a relationship didn't make you blind to the fact that other men were attractive. There was no harm admiring somebody else's looks.
So what had changed with Arthur? Had you been so dismissive that you hadn't ever bothered to look at him properly? To take the time to really see him?
The thought made you uneasy. Made you feel like a shallow, self-absorbed person.
Without meaning to, you found yourself wondering if Arthur had a woman in his life. Aside from his numerous health issues, he lived with his mother and cared for her. That was bound to wreak havoc with anybody's love life.
Just then he turned to face you, and appeared visibly surprised to catch you watching him.
You ducked your head, the warmth of the room emphasising your blush further.
"Is everything alright?" He asked, which made you smile to yourself.
"Yeah I'm okay. Just tired, you know. I really wasn't planning on having to be doing my laundry at this hour of the night." You sighed, then seeing his look of curious interest you shrugged, not wanting to offload your baggage on him. You barely knew him, and the poor guy had enough of his own problems. "Although, I've never seen it so empty down here before. I'll have to start doing my laundry this late every Sunday, and make the most of the peace and quiet."
He smiled a slightly lopsided smile which seemed to start at one side of his mouth and took the rest of it a second to catch up.
"Yeah I always come down here late so it isn't crowded." His smile faded slightly, and he pointed over his shoulder with a thumb. "Do you want me to go and leave you in peace?"
You couldn't help but smile at him broadly. His consideration never failed to surprise you. He really was too precious.
"No, not at all, don't be silly. I enjoy your company, Arthur."
"Y-you do?" He stared at you in amazement, convinced that he must've been daydreaming again. The thought of you enjoying his company was really too far-fetched in his opinion.
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it." You assured him, and patted the bench as a gesture to encourage him to take a seat.
He hovered for a moment, anxiously raking a hand through his hair. Your wash basket was on the edge of one end, meaning that he would have to sit closer to you than he was comfortable with.
Not that he didn't want to be near you, he just didn't want his nerves to trigger a bout of anxious laughter, not now. The damnable affliction was prone to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments.
He forced a smile before nervously sitting down beside you.
The room smelled of fabric conditioner; all hints of pine and lavender, but he was still able to pick-out the heady scent of your perfume, and combined with the heat he thought he might actually swoon.
"I uh, I'm sorry I didn't get to walk back with you yesterday." He cleared his throat. "I had a late gig. A last minute booking for a party."
"Oh, that's okay. You don't have to explain, it's not like I was expecting you or anything."
His smile wavered slightly, making you highly aware that you'd perhaps said the wrong thing. You could've been wrong, but you thought you detected a hint of disappointment in his expression, which gave you pause.
Your chance meetings with Arthur over the past couple of days were exactly that, chance. Weren't they? You struggled to believe they were anything else. Hell, you'd only just sat here ten minutes ago convincing yourself that they were.
Regardless of whether they were or not, you couldn't escape the sadness that settled in the pit of your stomach, for having inadvertently said something that made him look so crestfallen. You didn't allow yourself to dwell on the reasons why.
"Was it a children's party?" You asked, hurriedly steering the subject away from whether you may or may not have been expecting him to walk home with you after work.
"Well yeah, I'm a party clown. Not a stripper."
You could tell that he hadn't meant to sound sarcastic, the reply itself was self-explanatory, not snarky, but something about Arthur's self-deprecating tone made you burst out laughing.
"W-what I mean is, there are strippers who work at Ha-Ha's, but I'm not one of them, obviously." He mumbled, seemingly feeling the need to clarify, which only added to the hilarity of it. "People would pay me to keep my clothes on."
"Oh, shush." You reprimanded, still giggling.
"What? It's true. If I were a stripper the business would go bust. They'd want their money back."
"You're funny, Arthur."
His dark brows raised in apparent astonishment. "You really think so?"
"Yeah. I do."
He raised his emerald gaze to meet yours for a split second, then hastily averted it again. He took a deep, shaky breath, and breathed his next words into a sentence;
"You know I...I do standup comedy. Y-you could maybe come see a show sometime?"
Without giving his invitation any serious consideration, you found yourself nodding your head, eagerly. Much to his further surprise, and infinite delight.
"Yeah sure. I could do that."
"Yeah?" His thin lips stretched into the brightest smile, which almost seemed to light-up the room.
If it weren't for the fact you were sitting in a windowless basement, you could've sworn rays of sunlight were streaming in; cutting through the dimly-lit grimness of the damp, dingy place.
God, that smile. It was truly beautiful; reflecting in his eyes and making them shine like two precious gems. The sweeping curve of his mouth softened the sharp contours of his face. It was infectious, and heart-warming, and you felt privileged to have evoked such a response. You'd made him happy, and it felt good.
Before either of you could speak again, the tumble dryer containing your clothes rumbled to a halt; the timer having run-down.
Standing, you grabbed your empty basket and made your way passed Arthur, and opened the door.
As you pulled one of Rick's football sweaters from the drum, you huffed slightly. Mildly irritated that he refused to do your laundry, but had sneaked some of his dirty clothes in for you to wash.
Arthur watched you folding it with keen interest, and leaped at the chance to engage you in further conversation. He was doing remarkably well so far, and he figured he was on a roll. After all, you had just agreed to a sort-of date.
Or so he thought.
"I didn't know you like football." He remarked, not knowing what else to say, seeing as he didn't know the first thing about it himself.
"Oh, I don't." You grimaced. "This belongs to Rick, the overgrown man-child I live with."
Arthur's face instantly fell. A mere second ago his heart had been soaring, weightless like a balloon. Now with those few words you had popped it, leaving it deflated; bereft of air and heat, and it came plummeting back down to earth like a stone.
"Y-you...have a boyfriend?" It took everything he had in him to force the words passed his constricting throat without making him gag.
He felt utterly nauseated. The full-on crush of disappointment hurt him more than any physical blow he'd ever felt. In that moment, he believed a kick in the balls would've hurt less.
Something in the way he spoke made you falter, and you glanced up at him, curious.
"Well, he uh...yeah, he is." You flailed, completely taken aback by the stricken look in Arthur's genteel gaze. "Although, at times it feels like I'm doing charity work, except it's far less rewarding." You forced a nervous laugh.
Why did he look so utterly dejected?
Whether you'd intended to or not, you hadn't mentioned Rick during the brief conversations you'd shared on your short walks to the pharmacy.
You hadn't not done so deliberately, it just hadn't come up in conversation.
You never had been one for talking too much about yourself, like a lot of other people had the tendency to do. Instead you'd asked Arthur about his mother's health, and enquired as to what he did for a living. You hadn't really touched on anything that personal.
For all you knew maybe he did have a girlfriend.
"Do you have a girlfriend, Arthur?"
At that, Arthur's head snapped up. He had been resting it in his hands, trying to hide the pained expression he was having difficulty disguising.
"N-no."
You bit your lip, feeling bad for asking. It was clearly a sensitive subject. Given the man's shy nature, and overall demeanour, it was clear he had zero self-esteem.
"It must be hard finding time to meet people when you're caring for your mom." You soothed, offering him a sympathetic smile.
"Yeah." His head lowered, as he went back to staring down at his feet.
You continued to fold your laundry, unable to shake off the knot that was forming in your stomach. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, the tense silence almost deafening. It was awful. You felt wretched for having been so insensitive, and the need to make amends was eating you alive.
Arthur was a nice guy. Not your type, granted, but that didn't mean he wasn't somebody else's. There was bound to be someone who'd appreciate his bookish good-looks, gentle manner, and quirky personality.
"You know, Arthur...I find it hard to believe you aren't dating." You blurted, again without thinking. "I mean, I get that you have to care for your mom, but you should still make time for yourself. If you ever want to go out I could sit with her, if she can't be left by herself."
Arthur fidgeted on the bench, straightening his long legs out so that his hand could access his front pocket, and pull out a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
"Thank you, but...it's not that. I do have time to go out." He slipped a cigarette between his lips, pausing briefly before lighting it. "Do you mind if I smoke?"
You shook your head, hoping that he would continue, but he didn't elaborate.
Compelled to urge him on, you asked, "So....you've just been off the dating scene for a while then, huh?"
He smiled weakly, and there was a secretiveness to it that intrigued you.
Perhaps his last relationship had ended badly, in which case you'd already put your foot in your mouth by broaching the subject.
It wasn't any of your business, not really, and yet you longed to know. You were curious about him. He was so strangely mysterious.
"I've never really been on it." He muttered, taking a long drag that almost burned a quarter of his cigarette in one go.
Your forehead creased into a mystified frown. Surely he had to be exaggerating. It was his self-deprecating humour, you reasoned. Although, you didn't know him well enough to be sure.
"Is there a reason for that?"
He sighed heavily, smoke pouring from his nostrils. "I don't know how to talk to women."
"You're talking to me." You smiled, encouragingly, which elicited a half-hearted laugh from him.
"They think I'm weird."
"Why?"
"'Cause I am."
Perplexed, you shook your head. "No you're not."
He leaned back, exhaling smoke as he spoke. "I am. I know I am."
"Yeah? Well, some people like weird. I know I do. What exactly is 'normal' anyway?" You used your fingers to make quote marks in the air. "I'd rather be weird than boring. Weird is interesting."
Arthur dropped his cigarette butt onto the floor, and extinguished it with the toe of his shoe. He raised his eyes, and offered you a grateful smile. He appreciated your kind words of comfort. He really did. But it wasn't enough to quell the aching that was gnawing away at his insides; creating an emptiness that could never be filled.
"Thanks."
As he looked up at you coquettishly through lashes that were scandalously long for a man, but in the best possible way, you swallowed hard.
Arthur Fleck was beautiful in his own unique way, and you knew that somebody out there would appreciate him, for the abstract, work of art he was.
And in that instant you became determined to help him find that certain somebody. Somebody special who could bring a smile to his face, and help alleviate some of his troubles.
"Do you socialise much, Arthur?"
You weren't surprised when he shook his head in response.
"Okay, well that needs to change. How about we make a deal? We'll go out at least once a week, and we'll find you a date."
His green orbs rounded, making him look comically cartoonish. "O-oh, no I really don't--"
"Aw, come on Arthur, I need to get out more too. Apparently I've lost my sense of fun, so you can help me get it back. It's a win-win for both of us."
Arthur blinked. The idea of you wanting his help for anything made him feel almost deliriously happy, but what you were suggesting filled him with immense dread.
He was socially awkward. Cripplingly shy. It had taken every ounce of courage he could muster to invite you to the comedy club, and then you'd revealed you had a boyfriend. Which had brought him back to reality to with an unforgiving thump.
He'd never seriously thought that he stood a chance with someone as kind and beautiful as you. Of course, he'd allowed himself to dream a little, but realistically he knew you were out of his league.
And yet he'd worked out the time you left for work in the morning, and had gone to the trouble of leaving early just so he could accompany on your way.
It didn't bother him getting to his own job stupidly early, it was worth it just to have been in your company for those precious few minutes it took to walk you to the pharmacy.
He had gazed longingly at your window from across the courtyard, hoping to catch a glimpse of you each night. On one occasion he'd seen you close the curtains, and let out a breathy sigh.
Arthur was hopelessly smitten.
You hadn't judged him when he told you about his job, on the contrary, you'd smiled and told him how sweet you found it, him entertaining people and making children laugh. He had known then that you were special. That you weren't like the rest of them.
He didn't deserve you, but even though he could never have you, he didn't like the thought of anyone else having you either. Especially if that someone didn't appreciate you. You deserved to be happy.
And looking at your hopeful face, your beautiful smile, as you held out your hand to him expectantly, he knew he was powerless to refuse you anything.
"Okay." He relented, timidly slipping the palm of his large hand against your much smaller, softer one.
"Good! That settles it then." You beamed in triumph. "You'll let me know when your next show is?"
"Oh, um, it won't be for a while y-yet. I'm still working on my material." He stammered. "But we could still go to the club?"
"Sure."
Picking up your clothes hamper, you thanked him as he offered to hold the door for you.
"I'll be back down shortly to sort out my last load, so I might see you if you're still here."
"Yeah." He grinned at you, his hand still tingling from where you'd touched to shake hands. "I always wait, so I'll be here."
It was a small lie. Even though leaving clothes unattended in machines meant running the risk of having them dumped on the dirty floor in a soggy heap, Arthur often went for a walk around the building to pass the time; enjoying the quiet time to himself and smoke a cigarette.
But there was no way he'd pass up on the chance of spending more time with you.
Just because you had a significant other didn't mean he wouldn't want you as a friend. Your presence soothed the hollow chasm in his soul, alerting him to just how desperately lonely he actually was.
When you stepped out he noticed something small fall from your basket, and immediately swooped down to pick it up. By the time you'd realised what he was clutching in his hand, it was too late to stop him, and your cheeks flamed with embarrassment.
"Oh, thanks Arthur." You squirmed, as he carefully perched the small bundle of lace back on top of the pile. Thank heavens they were by some miracle a nice pair, and not your granny pants. "That's not really fair. When I come back you'll have to show me your underwear, so that makes us even."
The realisation dawned, and Arthur's cheeks turned a deep shade of pink.
"Oh, s-sorry, I didn't realise they were your....." Instinctively he took a step back away from you, and promptly slipped in a small puddle of water on the linoleum floor.
He staggered back slightly, catching hold of the door handle which saved him from toppling over. Bracing his weight against the doorframe, he slowly straightened.
"It's okay, Arthur, I was only kidding." You giggled, awkwardly. "You don't really have to show me your pants."
Shit, what was wrong with you? Suddenly you'd lost all ability to speak without thinking first. What was it about him that brought out the klutz in you?
Perhaps it was the klutziness in him. The affect his shyness had on you, as thought it were contagious.
But if you were being brutally honest, you didn't dislike it.
Giggling at his sweet awkwardness, before you left you added for good measure, "You're adorable, Arthur. The ladies won't be able to resist you, so you'd better get used to seeing women's underwear."