#my lark. how else would i get this back' the latter being also a line from my fic. either way he is a LIAR!!!!!!!!

[theinfinitedivides]

'just die now instead. because i cannot watch you break apart piece by piece. so just go and die right now instead. because of you... i think i'm going crazy.'

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 8

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Swearing

Words: 3,835

A/N: Totally self-indulgent, but when Sinatra is mentioned, this is the song I hear playing (though almost any would do): Nice ‘N’ Easy

Also, a big thanks to @harmonioussolve​ for reading this chapter before I had the courage to post anything!

Arthur paced in front of the door to Y/N’s apartment. His shoulders lifted as he sucked in a deep breath. He couldn’t stop fiddling with the collar buttons of the red sweater he wore (one of the few pieces of clothing he had that fit him properly). A rose was in his hand, one he’d grabbed at a vendor on the way over. He’d gotten it on a lark - women were supposed to like flowers. Now he was on the verge of worrying off the leaves.

It’ll be fine. It’s only Y/N. Only Y/N - what a joke.

Forcing himself to stand still, he slowly raised his hand to trace the apartment number, 4A. Then he swallowed hard and knocked.

“Just a minute!” she called.

At the sound of her voice, he leaned forward to listen to her slight shuffling. As her footsteps brought her nearer, he screwed his eyes shut, trying to calm his pulse. Hearing the sound of the deadbolt being unlocked, he straightened. The door swung open.

There she stood, beaming. His breath stopped. That smile was for him. Because of him. It was hard to take-in. His eyebrows lifted and he held out the flower. “Hi.”

“Hi, Arthur. You look wonderful.”

His cheeks burned and he lowered his eyes to the floor. “Thanks. So do you,” he said.

Y/N took the rose from him and gently ran her fingertips over the petals. “This is lovely. Thank you.” She stepped back, then, and extended her arm to guide him inside. “Come in, come in.” After closing the door behind her, she darted back to the kitchen. “You can put your coat on the hooks by the door.”

He did as she instructed, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it up next to hers. He felt his throat clench and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth. Don’t fuck this up. Letting out a long breath, he stepped further into the apartment and peeked around.

It was different than he’d imagined. The white walls were sparsely decorated, with a calendar here or a print there. The cream colored carpet was plush, but struck him as a pain to keep clean. The living area was larger than his own, maybe by ten square feet. In the low light of the side table lamp, he could see there were no knick-knacks anywhere, no photos. Two doors were connected to the room, which he deduced were for the bathroom and bedroom. A third, glass door led outside. His eyes went to the kitchen, which was in the same spot as in his own apartment. It was somewhat longer, with a dining nook at the end.

He knew he was out of place. The freshness, the newness of the apartment was a stark contrast to his own, aged home. It was nice to be here, though. Different, but nice.

Y/N interrupted his reverie. “Did you have any trouble finding your way here?”

Arthur approached her, leaning against the kitchen entrance and folding his arms over his chest. “No, you gave good directions.”

She cocked her head at him. “I was thinking the other day how it’s funny you live so close by. Well, relatively close by.” Stirring slowly, her attention back to the stove, she continued. “I wonder how often we passed each other without noticing,” she said.

The words, spoken in her usual casual tone, landed with him, hard. He didn’t answer, unsure of what to say. Instead, he tried to focus on her easy manner. So far, it had always helped him relax.

He let his eyes rove over her form, noting that her conservative heels complimented the curves of the back of her calves. Her knee-length skirt prevented him from checking out her thighs, but it accentuated the feminine silhouette of her backside. The blue sweater she wore was snug, and he could make out the curve of her breasts. Her hair looked soft, and he alternated between wanting to touch it and breath in her scent.

The moment she looked at him, he averted his eyes to what she was cooking. He didn’t recognize it. “That smells good. What is it?”

“Beef stroganoff. I can’t take too much credit. My crock-pot did most of the work. I’m just boiling the egg noodles now, which is about the height of my cooking skills.” She huffed and shook her head at herself. “I’m selling myself well, aren’t I?”

Arthur met her gaze, then pushed himself to verbalize what came to mind. “I’m already sold on you.” He froze for a split second, then smiled in relief as her eyes warmed and he realized he’d said the right thing. As she retrieved a colander, he saw that she’d put the rose he’d brought in a glass of water. Emboldened, he stepped next to her. “I’m actually okay around the kitchen, taking care of my mother… Maybe I can help?”

She placed the colander in the sink as she fished a noodle out of the pot. After testing it, she handed him oven mitts. “Yeah, would you drain these? The pot’s heavy and I messed up my wrist at work today. Too much typing.”

He put them on and picked up the pot. “Are you all right?” he asked. Dumping the noodles into the sink, he watched her take out plates, cutlery, wine glasses, and a bottle of red wine.

Shit. Maybe Gary had been right.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, placing the silverware on the table. “Happens sometimes. Occupational hazard.” She grabbed the wine corker and opened the bottle, then held it out to him. “Here. You pour and I’ll serve.”

“Um, okay.” He took the it from her and furrowed his brow at the glasses. He’d drunk occasionally, but wine was new to him, and he was trying to figure out how much to pour. Half a glass? A full glass? He went with the latter.

Y/N’s hand was on his bicep in an instant and he stiffened. “Arthur, that’s too much,” she laughed. “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”

He flinched and put the bottle down. Did she really think that? “No, I wasn’t-.”

Her hand moving down his arm to the back of his hand stopped him. “I’m teasing you,” she said. She gave him a little squeeze. “You’re going to have to get used to it.”

The smile she was giving him, the glint in her eye, her close proximity. For a moment, he could see himself clearing the counter with his arm, lifting her onto it, stepping between her legs, pulling her mouth to his -

A nudge from her elbow caught his attention. “Is this enough?”

He blinked down at the portion. It was more than he usually ate in a day. “That’s plenty.”

After serving herself, she grabbed both plates and brought them to the small, round table at the end of the kitchen. He followed her lead, wine glasses in his hands. The corner of his mouth turned up when he saw he was supposed to sit next to her, not across from her. She sat down and put a cloth napkin in her lap, and, taking his cue from her, he did the same. “Well, enjoy.”

Arthur watched her movements for a few seconds before starting. He wasn’t used to sitting at a table and eating with someone, even though he’d often wished for it. It had always been more casual: TV dinners on the couch, or alone at his table as he wrote in his journal. He observed the way she held the knife and fork, in her right and left hands, respectively. He was used to cutting his food with the side of his fork. He tried to hold the cutlery in the same manner she did, but it felt unnatural. He could feel himself tense up. A short laugh forced its way through his throat. Wincing, he instinctively covered his mouth.

Y/N lightly put her hand on his shoulder, caressing him soothingly, then gave him a tender squeeze. “It’s okay. I’m a little nervous, too.” She hummed softly with a blush. “And I didn’t invite you here to be uncomfortable or someone else. Eat how you want.”

His eyes watered but he managed to blink it back, hoping she didn’t notice. She had no idea how often he wished to be someone else, away from this city, his conditions. But not tonight. He was glad to be here tonight. With her. Lowering the hand from his lips, he nodded. Taking his fork in his right hand, he took a bite. He chewed it slowly and mulled over the texture. “It’s very good,” he said. “Thank you.”

“It’s great when the weather’s this chilly.”

A few mouthfuls later, he tried the wine. It was surprising, a little dry, but he decided he liked it. He cleared his throat. “I know we talked about this before, but I still don’t understand how you could choose Gotham to live in. There are other cities.”

She took a drink herself. “I needed time to save up enough money to move. I was doing legal work at home, too. Once I’d put away enough and could leave, I applied to every paralegal job in a big city. Metropolis, Toronto, Central City. I didn’t care where it was. And I got work in Gotham.” She looked pleased. “I’m glad I did.”

Bashfully, he smiled back. “Me, too,” he said.

Looking ahead, she chewed thoughtfully. “I never felt at home in Boonville, you know? It’s such a small town. Nothing to do, not much opportunity. I thought I’d be able to settle down there and be content with my ex-husband, but that didn’t happen.” She squinted then and her eyes pierced his. “It doesn’t bother you, does it? That I’m divorced? I know it’s unusual, but I got married twenty years ago when we were both young and stupid.”

He wouldn’t have minded if she’d been locked up in Arkham with him. Arthur shook his head. “Does it bother you that I’m not?” He could see her shoulders loosen at his answer.

Chuckling, she continued to eat. “You seem to hate it here.”

He paused, pondering what to say that wouldn’t put her off. For reasons he would never understand, she loved Gotham. “People can be awful.” Bitter memories starting surfacing. “They’ll cut you off in line like you’re not even there. There was a homeless guy once, who died on the sidewalk near where I live. People were just stepping over him. Like they didn’t even notice.”

His voice lowered as he poked at the food on his plate. “What happened on the train?” he said. “That wasn’t the first time. You’re the only reason I got out of there all right.” He brought a hand to his forehead. “It’s tiring. And embarrassing.”

Y/N’s hand touched his and he let her pull it away from his face. “Don’t be embarrassed because others are assholes. Just don’t be one yourself. That’s all anyone can do.” She finished the last few bites of her food. “There are awful people everywhere.” A short snort escaped her. “At least here it’s in your face and you know where you stand.”

They continued in silence for a few moments, Arthur finishing his meal. “Oh, I haven’t told you yet.” He perked up, a wide smile on his face. “I have a stand-up show next Tuesday at eight. Maybe you should come see me?”

She stood, grinning down at him “Of course I’ll be there. Just tell me where.” Bending slightly at the waist, she picked up their plates. “Would you like seconds?”

He observed her, the closeness of her face. Suddenly, he was hungry again. “Please.”

~~~~~

Nicotine soothed what remained of Arthur’s nerves as he stood on the fire escape, cigarette in his mouth. He’d been craving a smoke since entering the apartment building. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he went over the evening so far. He was feeling pretty good, which was new. He hadn’t made a mistake, except with the wine, which Y/N didn’t seem to mind too much. It was nice to be around a person who so comfortable with themselves. He hoped it would be contagious - it seemed to be when he was around her.

At least partially. Part of him wondered what she saw in him, anyway. A professional woman like her interested in a high-school dropout like him? He hadn’t minded leaving school at the time. It had been difficult, with his laughter and black moods. And quitting had eventually become a necessity so he could take care of his mother. Working odd jobs and concentrating on comedy and performing had helped him get out of his own head, at least for a time. Y/N was such a contrast, having gone to college and made something of herself. He hoped she never realized he was worthless.

He closed his eyes against the musings worming their way into his brain, wishing his mind would let him enjoy himself. He felt himself slipping sometimes, though he still mostly managed to push through the negative thoughts. They were recurring more often, however. Two of his medications had run out. He only had enough of the rest to get him through Sunday. The effects of suddenly stopping them wasn’t something he knew much about, having been on them for so long. And now he had no one he could go to to ask. So far, the most obvious change had been the shortening of his refractory period from a few days to a few hours.

Though Y/N might have also helped with that. He blushed, feeling a little shameful, thinking about it with her maybe twelve feet away.

As if on cue, he heard her open the glass door behind him. “The ad for the apartment said this was supposed to be a balcony,” she giggled. When he didn’t reply, she loosely put her arm around his back at his waist. “Arthur, you’re so tightly wound. I want you to have a good time. You need more wine.”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth turning up as he blew smoke through his nose.

Her voice was apologetic when she spoke again. “I’ve noticed when I touch you, you sometimes tense up.” Y/N stroked his side, softening her words. “Should I stop? I don’t want to, but if you-”

Arthur turned to her, grasping her hand desperately. “No. Please.” He entwined their fingers, savoring her smaller palm against his own. It was odd to voice what he craved as if it mattered. “I want you to touch me. I think about it a lot.” He scoffed at his own vulnerability. “I’m - I’m just not used to it.”

She nodded in understanding, tightening her hold on him. “It’s been a couple years for me, too.”

He flicked his cigarette off the ledge and watched it as it fell. It’s only been thirty-five here.

“Come back in,” she said, turning and pulling him inside. “It’s cold out and you could do without the cancer sticks.”

The notes of music coming from a radio in the corner caught his ear. Sinatra was playing. After closing the door, she stood in front of him expectantly. When he gave her a crooked smile but didn’t move, she extended her hand to him. “Mr. Fleck, you told me you were a good dancer,” she said, lifting an eyebrow. “Show me? Quick, before the alcohol wears off and I change my mind.”

He grasped her hand tenderly, then, and stepped closer. “Change your mind? About me?”

“No, silly. Embarrassing myself.” She gripped his shoulder.

Arthur scoffed. “I don’t think that’s possible.” It took him a couple seconds to steel himself before he could place his hand on her side. Gently, he started to move, leading her to the song’s beat and rhythm. He longed to look into her eyes, and did so for a few moments before self-consciousness took over. When that happened he pulled her closer, his eyes shutting as his jaw grazed her cheek.

After a few minutes, her forehead fell forward onto his shoulder. She moved her hand to his chest and sighed contentedly. “Where’d you learn how to dance?”

His hand went over hers. “My mom taught me when I was little. That’s when I started. And I’ve listened to a lot of Jackie Gleason Orchestra records.” He dipped her, then, not too far, but enough to feel her weight on his arm.

She laughed. “Those records are so cheesy. I love it.” When he brought her back up, she put her hand to her forehead. “I gotta sit down. My head’s spinning.” At his disappointed groan, she waved dismissively and sat on the couch. After taking off her heels and pouring a third glass of wine, she cleared her throat. “I’ve been thinking about you and your mother. You’re in a tough situation. I’ve been there.”

“You have?” he asked.

Y/N swallowed hard, taking a drink. “One of the reasons I had to stay home for so long was my father. He had dementia.” Looking up at him, she added, “Is that what you deal with?”

His brow pinched and he sat next to her. “I’m not sure. She’s been sick a long time. She focuses on strange things.” He rolled his eyes, already annoyed. “Lately, she’s been obsessed with Thomas Wayne.” Sighing, he said, “She keeps writing him letters asking for help, because she worked for them thirty years ago.”

She nodded and turned her body to face him. “My father got like that, too. Always obsessed with the mail. Thinking someone was stealing from him.” She sniffled once and swiped at her nose. “My mother had passed away. My sister - I have a sister - she tried but she has her own children.” Tucking her feet under herself, she leaned against the back of the sofa. “In the end, the worst thing was the emotional back and forth. Most days he was a shadow of who he used to be. But there were days when he knew who I was.” She clicked her tongue. “You keep hoping for more of those, but they don’t come.”

Arthur saw her lip tremble and her eyes gloss over. Pressure formed in his chest. He wanted to comfort her and make her smile, but he didn’t know how to do it. He settled for putting his hand on her forearm and turning to her.

Staring into the distance, she continued. “You get to the point where you don’t recognize yourself. All you want is to be alone with your thoughts instead of…” She blinked a couple times and looked at him, as if realizing she wasn’t alone, and grimaced shyly. She put down the wine glass. The heel of her hand went to her eyes to wipe away unshed tears. “Whew. I shouldn’t have started that third glass. I’m sorry. I’ve ruined our beautiful evening.”

“No,” he answered quickly, moving his hand to her shoulder, the way she had comforted him at the dinner table. “You didn’t.”

She stood, still seemingly embarrassed. “You’re too kind.” She held her hip and looked down at him. “You’ve asked a couple of times if I was real. Are you sure you are? You seem too good to be true. How are you not married with five children or something?”

He widened his eyes and studied the surface of the coffee table, laughing quietly. Good thing she couldn’t read his mind. Or his journal. “Now I know you’ve had too much to drink,” he said.

She continued to stand there, looking down at him with narrowed eyes. “It’s possible.”

He smiled wryly. Sensing the evening was winding down, he picked up the glasses and brought them to the kitchen. He put his hands on the edge of the counter, grasping until his knuckles were white. Even though he thought it would be the correct thing to do, considering she was tipsy, he didn’t want to leave.

Y/N followed. Her hand touched the small of his back as she moved to rummage in a bottom cabinet. “Let me pack some of this up for you and your mother.” She pulled out a few Tupperware dishes.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

Not heeding his words, she started to fill each dish with a separate part of the meal. “I’m one person. It’ll go bad before I eat it. Plus, I want to.”

Arthur slowly went to the door and pulled on his jacket. When he turned around, she stood before him, a grin on her face, bag of leftovers dangling from her fingertips. “Thank you for coming over, Arthur. It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.” She leaned forward, stood on her toes, and gave his cheek a tender kiss.

He let out a long breath, then, staring at the floor before meeting her look. Before the moment passed, before he left, he had the urgent need to do something, anything. His voice cracked slightly. “Y/N, I…” For one of the first times in his life, he followed his instinct, placed his hands on the sides of her face, and leaned in to kiss her.

Y/N’s lips were soft, so soft, against his own, and her short moan warmed him. He could feel her pull him closer, her hands going across his back as his own slid down to her sides. She tilted her head and deepened the kiss, one of her palms going to the nape of his neck, her fingers in his hair. When her fingernails met his scalp, a groan escaped him and he grasped her hip. It happened so quickly. He felt himself hardening in his pants as her lips sought his.

She broke the kiss first, gasping and giggling. “I’ll be at your show next week, all right?”

Arthur was lightheaded; she was still hanging onto him. His voice was unsteady when he answered. “Yes. Okay.”

She finally released him from her arms and handed him the food. He took it gratefully, a sad smile breaking out as he turned to leave. She tempered the blow by giving him another quick kiss when she opened the door. “Get home safely.”

He nodded, voice raspy when he answered. “I will.”

She slowly started shutting the door, whispering, “Good night” before it closed completely.

Arthur stood in the hallway. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he attempted to quiet his heart. Did she know what she did to him, how quickly and hard he had already fallen for her?

With a sigh, he started down the hall, stretching his arms in front of him to expel the energy built up in his wiry frame. After the elevator opened, he entered it with a little spin, and chuckled, thinking about he was going to need a new journal after writing tonight.

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​@clowndaddyfleck​ @stephieraptorr @rommies @sweet-nothings04​