If You Just Listened // Arthur Fleck x Reader // SLOWBURN

Chapter 12 - Not Funny Enough.

The apartment building's laundry room was hot and stuffy. You shoved your last batch of clothes into the largest machine you could find, pushing the door shut with the side of your arm.

Sweaty, and both mentally and physically exhausted, you lugged yourself on top of the washer and slouched on it, resting your elbows on your knees.

You sat there for a bit, staring at the wall. You could hear an old clock aggravatingly tick.

Tick-tock
Tick-tock
Tick-tock

"What is wrong with me?"

You groaned, slapping yourself on the forehead.

A few hours ago, you got home from work and began your laundry. On any other night, this would've been fine. Normal. Just doing your laundry. But tonight, it could not have been more rude.

After taking a shot with Lucy, you continued your shift as usual. Well, as usual as you could make it.

Arthur made joke after unbearable joke on stage, seeming to find a rhythm in himself despite the lack of reception from the crowd. Perhaps the jokes weren't so bad, maybe it was his terrible delivery. Either way, it was not a pretty sight to see.

Each table you tended had something to say about your friend.

"You guys really let anybody on stage, huh?"
"Leaving him on is just cruel."
"Can't you just tell someone to get the guy off the stage?"
"Christ, it's like watching a kid try to do comedy. Actually, kids are funnier."

You said nothing. You took their empty glasses, you cleaned their tables, you pulled their seats out for them, you served their food. You couldn't build up the courage to say anything in defense of your friend.

You didn't even pretend to laugh at the jokes. What if your co-workers saw you laughing? There's no way you'd be able to climb the social ladder. Even if they knew you were just trying to make him feel better. You already knew what they'd say.

"Why are you trying to help the shmuck out? Let him learn, this is Gotham. He's got no chance here."

And if they didn't know that? They would just think you were weird.

The longer you were there, the more the guilt consumed you. As soon as your shift was over, you rushed out of Pogo's in shame, unable to bear another second. Arthur must've wondered where you went.

You imagined him. Standing outside in the cold. Waiting for you to come out. Not knowing you were long gone.

And now here you were, mulling over your guilt-ridden thoughts while sitting on an old washing machine.

You tried to justify yourself, remembering your strange encounter with him the other night. He was quiet, beaten, bloody. What if he did something bad?

Or, what if he just got mugged, and now was being alienated by you on top of that?

You buried your face in your hands.

"Oh my God, I'm such a..."
"Such a what?"

Arthur held a basket of dirty clothes in one arm, pushing the entrance open with his other. He smiled at you, completely unaware of what you were thinking.

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your chest. You looked down, unable to face him.

"Something wrong?" Arthur placed his basket on the machine next to yours, looking at you with worry on his face.

That question was like a punch in the gut. You should've been the one comforting him. Not the other way around.

Did he not care that you ditched him? Did he not see you dead-faced at his stand-up?