The Joker yawns, repositioning his head in your lap.
“You want a small pillow?” you pause the movie you’re both watching and he refuses.
“No,” J stretches on the couch. “These are soft enough,” he pokes your thighs and you squirm, ticklish to his touch.
Suddenly, the cell phone chimes and J reaches his hand to grab it from the table.
“Arthur is here,” he announces. “He wasn’t in a hurry, hm?” The Joker mumbles while getting up.
You decline to comment and do the same because you can hear the elevator going up to the Penthouse. You could say the anticipation is making you a little bit nervous: you’ve been with J for about 10 months but you’ve never met Arthur. Probably it’s safe to assume they are not very close yet soon after finding out about the illness, The Joker contacted his sibling to let him know and sure enough he agreed to come over and help.
Although Mr. Fleck is three hours late, it doesn’t mean he is trying to back out on his promise.
The elevator opens and Arthur emerges dressed in one of his red suits, anxiously passing his fingers through his curls. J wants to criticize and his brother is in no mood for a lecture:
“Before you lash out, I was delayed by an unexpected issue!” he keeps talking and walking in your direction. “My apologies.”
“What issue?” J growls and Arthur extends the palm of his hand, firmly shaking yours, definitely not waiting for an introduction: “Hello there,” he smiles. “I’m the older, smarter, funnier and more charming version; you must be the better half.”
“Riiiiiight…” The Joker rolls his eyes, annoyed.
“Y/N,” you smirk at the man’s remark and he lets go of your hand, explaining his delayed arrival:
“Don’t get worked up, kid. One of my projects required immediate attention and I had to sort it out.”
You expect The Joker to protest the nickname but he doesn’t mention anything: Arthur always called him that since they were teenagers and your boyfriend is used to it. Doesn’t bother him at all.
“Do you want a drink? Are you hungry?” you offer and he nods a no.
“I’m good; thanks,” he takes a sit on the nearest armchair and the couple reprises their position on the sofa.
A few moments of silence before Arthur decides to talk about the reason why he’s at the Penthouse.
“Sooo… What did the doctors find out? How bad is it?” he inquires and you unconsciously cling to J’s arm, not willing to hear about it again.
“The brain tumor is too big, I can’t have surgery yet. I already started with lower doses of medication 20 days ago, I have to gradually build up to the higher doses so my body can handle it. Soon I’ll have chemo every 3 weeks, then every 2 we…”
A low chuckle and Arthur covers his mouth in horror.
“Sorry…” he has a chance to whisper before bursting out laughing.
“Here we go…” The Joker crosses his legs, patiently waiting for his brother to finish his outburst. The King of Gotham may not be an accommodating individual, but his sibling’s condition is something he has always tolerated without any problem.
“I’m very…” Arthur tries to speak but the strenuous sounds he makes at the end of each cackle prove how much he’s struggling to control his inappropriate amusement. “…s-sorry,” he continues to snicker while digging in his pocket for a small piece of laminated paper. He finds the item and hands it over to you; you curiously inspect the writing: it basically explains his neurological disorder in a few words.
“It’s fine, J told me,” you return the information to its owner.
“I can’t believe you still have that,” The Clown Prince of Crime huffs as Arthur is slowly regaining his composure.
“I’m very sorry,” he emphasizes his regrettable outpour. “You were saying?”
J deeply inhales and reprises the briefing:
“I’ll have to do chemo every 3 weeks, then every 14 days until the tumor shrinks enough to be operable. I guess I have a 50/50 chance of surviving the whole thing, that’s why I asked for your cooperation in helping Y/N oversee my affairs. I will get worse before I might get better, thus here we are.”
Arthur pulls tissues out of the box next to him and gives them to the devastated Y/N: The Joker didn’t notice you are quietly sobbing by his side.
“Please stop crying,” he kisses your temple, avoiding your emotions like he regularly does. The best option is to divert the gathering towards another topic. “We got ready one of the bedrooms upstairs for you; I hope that’s up to your standards.”
“My standards are normal,” the truth is blurred out. “You’re the fancy one, kid. That’s why you’re The Joker and I’m Joker; I don’t need any glorification. Plus, I didn’t oppose when you picked this half of town and left me the other.”
“You’re an idiot!” the green haired man stands up from his spot, wanting nothing more than to retreat to the master bedroom after an exhausting day.
“Runs in the family,” Arthur nonchalantly hints and you snort, blowing your nose in a tissue.
“Keep your mouth shut!” J advices and you have no clue he’s referring to more than just the constant bickering going on between them. “I’m calling it quits, are you coming?”
“I’ll have a smoke on the terrace first, “Arthur searches for his pack of cigarettes and you believe this is the perfect chance to chat with him:
“I’ll stay with our guest, alright?”
“Suit yourselves,” The Joker grumbles and you follow his brother outside on the huge patio.
“I forgot how nice this is from the 30th floor,” Arthur stirs the conversation while lighting up a cigarette.
“Yes, it’s a lovely view,” you wipe your tears and he resentfully mutters:
“I fucking hate this town…”
You sigh, not wishing to interrupt in case he has more to add and the plain inquiry catches you off guard.
“How are you holding up?”
The question resonates in the awkward stillness and Y/N elects to bring him up to date.
“I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. He’s not doing well…” you sniffle and Arthur pays attention to your confession. “The medications may be in low amount, but they are strong; they make him very confused at times, plus the side effects of the tumor… he forgets things, he has no idea where he is or… or… who I am. The doctors advised that when it happens we have to go with the flow and not push for him to recall details. His brain is under a lot of pressure and this is only the beginning.”
Arthur blows smoke up in the air, displeased with the news about his younger sibling.
“Shit, that’s rough…”
That’s surely the understatement of the year for the heartbroken Y/N.
“When he doesn’t recognize me, I tell him I’m nobody, just a person taking care of the place and he doesn’t even know the difference. I suggest you avoid any type of confrontation while he’s like that; please generalize everything you articulate and don’t complicate the situation.”
“Of course… Yeah, yeah, of course,” he is fast to agree with your guidance.
“Thank you,” you sincerely show your gratitude because you appreciate his presence. “I think I’ll join him upstairs; tonight he’s beginning higher dosage on his pills and he might have a reaction.”
“I’ll stay and finish my cigarette,” Arthur scratches the scar above his lip. “Which bedroom is mine?”
“Fourth one on the left.”
“Perfect, I’ll find it,” he waves as you return inside, eager to check up on The Clown Prince of Crime.
“What the … t-the hell?” The Joker stutters, groggy from the strong medications swallowed a few hours ago.
You barely distinguish his wobbly silhouette standing by the bed.
“What’s wrong?” you turn on the lamp on the nightstand, instantly aware of his wet boxers.
“I d-didn’t make it to… to the bathroom,” J seems out of it, yet at least he realizes that much.
“Oh, it’s totally fine,” you maintain your cool and jump off the sheets, rushing to help him. “The doctors warned accidents could happen since the drugs are making you dizzy and super drowsy. Let’s step in the bathtub, shall we?”
You take his hand and lead a compliant boyfriend to the master bathroom; sometimes it’s easy to deal with him in this state, sometimes it’s not.
Luckily tonight he’s obedient.
You turn on the water and he tightly holds his boxers while you attempt to yank them off him.
“Who…who are you?” The Joker sulks, unhappy with your movement.
“I’m nobody,” you reply and manage not to cry at his disorientation. “I’m here to help you, ok?” you calmly try to reason with his baffled mind.
“I… I… I don’t want you to see me naked,” he complains and Y/N has an easy solution for the apparent controversy.
“I’ll close my eyes, deal?”
You do as vowed and J lets you undress him, finally ending up in the bathtub for a quick, relaxing soak.
“You want bubbles?” you glance at him once the body is submerged under the warm water.
“No…” he yawns and you fold a towel, placing it under his head in case he’ll pass out.
“Where… where am I?…”
A faint knock at the door and Arthur talks in a low tone:
“Yes, we’re fine,” he distinguishes your reply; he just returned from the underground garage with his suitcase and discerned the commotion: made him wonder if his assistance was necessary.
“Who was that?” The Joker enjoys being pampered by the stranger he doesn’t recognize for the moment; apparently forgot about shyness also because he has no objection to the sponge bath now.
“The maintenance guy,” you lie without blinking while pouring more shampoo over J’s toxic green locks.
Arthur joined you and The Joker in the kitchen less than 5 minutes ago; he positioned himself against the counter, this way he has a broad perspective of the whole space. He sips on the fresh coffee, observing the scene unfolding at the table:
J is reading a magazine and you feed him breakfast, caressing his hair every few seconds. You didn’t mention anything about last night; he woke up feeling a bit better and it’s safe not to agitate him with useless facts.
“Are you hungry?” you address Arthur and he lifts his shoulders up, undecided.
“Maybe… I’ll munch on something shortly.”
“Hurry up before it gets cold,” you encourage him and The Joker is already as crabby as he can be.
“Stop bugging him! If he wants to eat, he’ll eat!”
“I’m not bugging him,” you defend your action, upset at J’s feisty attitude.
“She’s not bugging me,” Arthur tucks a rebel curl behind his ear, disapproving of his brother’s assumption.
“I’m not,” you sweetly smile and The Joker slaps your fingers away from his hair.
The cheerfulness dies on your face and you get up, kicking the chair in the process.
“I’ll bring your morning meds,” you enunciate and leave the kitchen in a hurry.
“Goddamn irritating,” J hisses at your behavior and Arthur can’t zip it.
“Are you stupid?” he sucks on his cheeks and that definitely gets your boyfriend’s attention.
“What did you say?!”
“I’ve been here for minutes and she didn’t take a single bite out of anything, too preoccupied with making sure you eat. Do you even notice how she looks at you?” he raises his voice. “So I’m asking you again: are you stupid?”
“Excuse me?!” J abandons his seat and the threatening demeanor queues Arthur about the imminent scuffle, not that he’s willing to avoid it.
“I wasn’t clear enough?” the latest provokes his sibling. “ARE. YOU. STUUUUPID?” he repeats, cracking his neck with anticipation.
You are coming downstairs with the meds and the ruckus happening in the kitchen makes you speed up.
You are certainly not disappointed at the show: J and Arthur are wrestling on the floor, relentlessly hitting one another.
“Stop it!!” you shout and your plea is ignored. “Stop it!” you insist when you detect Arthur’s bloody nose and J’s busted lip. “Are you deaf?! Stop it!!”
This is the last drop: after another shitty night and the stuff you endured recently, you are completely lacking any kind of patience for anybody’s nonsense.
You toss the vial with The Joker’s tablets on the counter, snatch the ice bucket from the freezer and fill it out with water. The ice cubes float in the clear liquid: the 8 gallons metal container is pretty large since it’s used for J’s grape juice cans.
You thud on the marble floor and dump the freezing concoction on top of the two heated fighters, the sudden shock from the unexpected impact being enough to halt the brawl.
“Ugg!!” J rolls on his back while Arthur crawls by the stove. “What are you doing, Y/N?!” he yells and you storm out, firmly squeezing the ice bucket to your chest without realizing.
The loud bang of a shut door bears witness of your justified rage concerning the altercation; how can you not get mad at such crap?!
Arthur seeks for his beloved cigarettes in the interior of his orange vest, triumphantly lightening one after failing the first trials.
“I like her,” he puffs the fumes out, leaning towards his brother because J is gesturing for the bud.
The Joker takes a deep drag, admitting for once:
“I thought you quit,” Arthur points out.
“I did,” his brother answers, glaring at the ceiling. “Clean up this mess!” he orders and continues to smoke.
“Nope, we should let fate determine,” the older sibling suggests and J falls into the little trap.
“Rock, paper, scissors?”
“Ready?” Arthur smirks and counts. “1…2…3!”
“… … … Dammit!” The King of Gotham cusses.
“Have fun, kid!” the winner plucks the cig away from J. “Gimme, these are bad for your health!”
“Are you in here?” The Joker sneaks in his office and watches you patrol around the desk, still vigorously attached to the infamous ice bucket.
The lack of reply makes him approach the distressed woman; you avoid gazing his way at all costs.
“I need my pitcher,” he sniffles and Y/N disregards his sentence. “You’re aware I like to use grape juice on ice for those bitter capsules. There’s no bucket and no ice in the freezer so… what am I supposed to do? Skip my morning remedy?”
A hint of lowered resistance and he’s taking advantage of it.
“My lip hurts,” he rubs the swollen, red spot. “I need ice for this too.”
You place your precious bucket on top of some folders, cautiously examining the superficial cut.
“Stitches won’t be necessary,” the obvious result updates a pouting J.
“Are you sure?” he plays dumb and wraps his arms around your waist. “Take a closer look, I can’t afford to walk around with chipped dignity.”
You peck the unharmed corner of his mouth, mad you’re giving into such flimsy amendments.
The Joker grins and kisses you, entirely convinced it wasn’t hard to get under your skin.
“You’re not going to leave, are you?” he rests his forehead on yours and Y/N is speechless at the question. “This is the tumor talking, obviously,” J fixes the tiny mistake when he sees your reaction.
“Obviously…” you whisper, sadly reckoning he purposely avoids any type of sensitive debate about your future together.
The Joker though is carefully listening to Arthur mumbling on the hallway, suspicious at the meaning.
“Is he eavesdropping?!” you focus on the faint words also and it clicks for J.
“Cut it out!!!” he screams while Mister Fleck is not phased, joyfully concluding the ceremony the couple didn’t agree to.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”
“What was that?!” you crinkle your nose, puzzled.
“He has a minister license and never used it; he tried to hitch me with my ex too,” J clarifies his brother’s odd conduct.
“You may now kiss the bride!” Arthur shouts and The Joker had enough:
“Shut the fuck up!!!”
“What am I supposed to do with my license then?!” the wavy hair pops in the door frame.
“I don’t care!” J snarls, fed up with his sibling’s persistence. “Go pester someone else!” the door is slammed in Arthur’s face; fortunately the 42 years old is not the type of man to be easily offended.
He adjusts the pieces of tissue sticking out of his bloody nose, proudly holding the minister accreditation at eye level.
“I got myself a sister-in-law,” Arthur chuckles at his achievement, impatiently searching for a pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his red jacket.
“Hey Pumpkin,” The Joker kisses you. “Are you awake?”
You smack your lips and stretch, opening your eyes since you have no other choice.
“I am now… Are you feeling sick? Need anything?” the nursing side takes over while he’s silent, too busy wrapping your right leg around his waist. “Mister Joker,” you immediately gasp. “No guns in bed!”
“It’s not my gun,” he smirks and you chuckle at the evident truth. “When’s the last time we had sex, huh? Two weeks ago?!”
“Mmmm…” you debate, caressing his face. “Something like that.”
“All the meds are messing me up,” J pouts. “Great news though: turns out I’m not dead yet,” he adds and you yank him in your arms before his speech ruins the mood.
“Maybe we should sleep outdoors more often; it seems to have a beneficial effect,” Y/N underlines the welcomed idea The Joker had last night about resting on the terrace.
“Or maybe it’s just from having my girl close,” he utters a nice sentence, instantly correcting himself. “This is clearly the tumor messing with my brain; makes me say weird stuff.”
“Perhaps we should keep it then,” you sigh as The King of Gotham pulls down on your PJ shorts. “I like to hear weird stuff like that.”
“Do ya’?!” he fakes his surprise because he tries to avoid the subject.
“Naaah, I vote for sex and dirty talk!” J hisses and slides on top of you, prompting laughter when he starts nibbling on your cleavage. “Let’s have some fun before my mojo’s gone!”
“Mojo!” you repeat since you can’t stop cracking up, the unexpected entertaining morning 100 percent welcomed after the stressful past months.
“Shut up and let’s sin,” The Joker gives in to your charms. “You can be laud: Arthur’s a heavy sleeper, not that he can hear us anyway.”
His brother is actually downstairs; Arthur woke up at 7:15am, moped around for a bit, then decided to cook breakfast. That’s what he’s been doing for the past 20 minutes: it wasn’t difficult to locate the necessary ingredients and bestowing his talents upon the famished couple might help in the long run.
He figured Y/N and J will appreciate his culinary abilities succeeding napping on the inflatable mattress outside; fresh air is bound to make one hungrier than usual.
So here’s the result of his hard work: two plates filled with bacon, eggs, hash browns, waffles and freshly sliced oranges perfectly arranged in symmetrical patterns.
Arthur places the dishes on a tray, humming a little song while he pours hot tea in the cups; it smells delicious and he can’t wait to enjoy the praises: he needs extra credit after upsetting Y/N yesterday with the unnecessary fight she witnessed by accident.
Mister Fleck lights up a cigarette, swiftly creeping out The Penthouse: he puffs the smoke like a chimney, mindful at the ashes flying in the breeze. A few extra steps and he’s almost in front of the canopy; Arthur prepares to announce his presence when moans reach his ear. He freezes and carefully listens, unsure on what to do.
“Oh my God, J!” you squeal as The Joker growls, purring up a storm.
“What are you doing to me, Kitten?”
Further panting and groaning suggests he should probably abandon his plan: Arthur holds in his breath, unwilling to interrupt the fun. The 42 year old begins to gracefully walk backwards, totally caught up in a tiny dance with the food tray.
“Sssttttt,” he admonishes his own action while sliding the glass door. “Let’s give the kids privacy,”Arthur mumbles and covers the plates to keep breakfast warm.
In about 20 minutes he notices J chasing you towards the entrance, your rosy cheeks turning red when you bump into the guest.
“Good morning,” you smile and let The Joker catch you.
“Easy prey,” he gropes a bubbly Y/N although his older brother is present.
“Morning,” the reply triggers your boyfriend’s out of context comment:
“Yeah,” Arthur gestures at the covered plates. “It’s ready to go.”
“Let me take a fast shower and brush my teeth. Are you coming?” J slaps you butt instead of another encouragement and you steal a piece of bacon to munch on the way up to the master bathroom:
“Thank you Arthur!”
“No problem,” he blows a rebel curl off his forehead, intrigued to see his sibling in a good mood; it’s a well-known fact The Joker didn’t have an abundance of fine days lately. Today must be an exception.
He’s actually the first one to arrive and Arthur has to ask:
“Where’s my sister-in-law?”
“She’s not your sister-in-law!” the sour tone underlines.
“I had you guys married,” the man insists.
“We didn’t agree to that!” The Joker hisses. “I barely tolerate her!”
Arthur calmly lights up his second cigarette for the day, sharing wisdom with the feisty green haired menace:
“I wouldn’t take her for granted if I were you; one day you might wake up and realize she’s not even here. I talk from my own experience when I tell you it happened to me too: my relationship with the woman I loved was just an illusion, nothing more. Trust me when I tell you you’ll never feel such a deep disappointment again…”
“Ahhhh, I’m starving!” you pop up in the kitchen, completely unaware of the discussion they’re having. “Coffeeeeee,” you gush at the freshly brewed pot, excited to sip on the miracle drink.
“It’s impossible for us to hallucinate in the same time,” Arthur whispers. “Wanna check to make sure?”
J nods a yes and you’re suddenly trapped at the counter: Arthur grabs your right hand, his brother your left, both squeezing your fingers.
“I think you’re OK,” Mister Fleck concludes and you’re confused:
“What’s going on?”
“Confirming you’re real,” he admits on their strange experiment.
“Of course I’m real,” Y/N frowns, yet she has a vague idea regarding the mysterious behavior.
“Perfect; take your coffee and let’s eat,” J avoids expanding on the topic; that’s the best he can muster without revealing the slight panic at the thought you might be a product of his imagination.
“I have a meeting at Savage Club this evening. Could end up profitable, depending on the terms. Would you care to accompany me?” Arthur offers to get The Joker out of the house for the heck of it.
“Nah…” the latest mutters, quite uncomfortable after his afternoon pills.
“Come on, baby; let’s go out!!! It’s been forever!” you implore because the proposal sounds super enticing. “I miss having fun,” you blur out and continue when his bitterness is obvious: “Not that it’s not fun staying home. Pleeeeaasseee, can we? I promise I’ll take care of you.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me; I’m not a child!” The Joker raises his voice and you are frustrated since no matter what you articulate it gets twisted.
“Why do you have to be like this?…” the rhetorical question is a clear statement of how much you hate conflict over trivial issues of no importance whatsoever.
Your other half believes otherwise.
“Like what, hm? Like what?! Explain so everybody can get an intelligible and logical breakdown!!” J yells for no reason but you are so done with his outbursts.
“Never mind,” you sniffle and stroll out on the terrace in order to avoid more bickering; today started so damned uplifting and you don’t know how to keep things together anymore.
When you give your all and you don’t receive too much in return, the good moments blur out in the background to the point of becoming insignificant.
“You’re a jerk,” Arthur affirms after he’s left alone with his sibling.
“Pfft,” The Joker rolls his eyes. “It’s the tumor,” he sarcastically emphasizes.
“Bullshit! It’s not the tumor, kid. And I’m taking her out, she earned it. Your crabby ass can stay here; Y/N is certainly due for refreshing fun!” the fierce answer provokes J’s resentment.
“Watch me,” Arthur scoffs at his relative’s conduct, deciding to follow you outdoors.
You watch the busy city from the 30th floor and it’s safe to say you don’t really see it; the wrists loosely hanging over the railing cue him to approach with caution.
“I had this epiphany that you should escort me to Savage Club,” he tests the waters. “If you don’t fancy to attend the gathering you can always sit at the bar and have some drinks. Call me insane but I have this hunch you might want a distraction.”
“I can’t,” you regretfully inform. “I have to ensure J takes his medications and eats; what if he has an episode while I’m gone?… I simply can’t…”
“Plenty of people to supervise him; he’ll be ok.”
You don’t reply and Arthur lights up another cigarette, nonchalantly chatting with the quiet Y/N.
“Tell you how this will play: we’ll get ready and at 6pm we are leaving with or without the kid. If he joins it’s fine, if not… infinitely better,” he elbows a sulky Y/N. C’mon, put on a happy face! See?” he grabs the corners of his mouth and forces them into an eerie grin, eager to demonstrate his proclamation. “It’s not complicated, you just have to practice,” he moves his fingers to your face and elevates the corners of your lips, trying to mimic a smirk for a few seconds. “Tough crowd…” he grumbles when there’s no reaction. “Don’t make me take out the heavy artillery,” Arthur threatens. “I used to do stand-up comedy, you know?”
“… Did you?…” you finally respond to his repeated attempts, pretending you are clueless of his skills.
“You should be aware I’m a tour de force nobody should reckon with,” Mister Fleck boasts, super confident he can make you laugh.
“Yeah, after you tell a joke there’s so much silence you can hear the crickets chirping all the way from New York!” J snarls because he tiptoed on the patio to spy on the conversation.
“Oh yeah?!” Arthur gets annoyed and without further delay he lays upon you one of the best masterpieces to ever emerge from his genius brain: “I hope my death makes more cents than my life.”
And now he waits… and waits…
“Told you before: it’s not funny,” The Joker reprises his march back to the Penthouse, thrilled at his brother’s failure when the unthinkable happens: Y/N bursts out laughing like crazy, not necessarily due to the pun being hilarious (she actually finds it kind of sad, that’s why she didn’t react sooner).
Arthur’s inflated ego makes him shout from the top of his lungs, ensuring the younger sibling can perceive his triumphant bragging:
“IT IS FUNNY!”
“Welcome to my humble kingdom,” Joker guides you towards the bar among the increasing ruckus his presence is creating among the audience.
Savage Club belongs to him and his “fans” meet here on a regular basis: a safe haven for the eccentrics, misfits and wackos, ready to do whatever necessary to please their role model.
Arthur picks a microscopic crumb from the collar of his impeccable red suit while pulling a high chair for you:
“Take a sit,” he quickly glances at the huge mirror behind the counter to make sure his clown make-up is flawless: it took him an hour to get ready after you accepted his invitation. He’s usually faster yet the feminine company required auxiliary efforts; it’s not every day you steal a woman from her crib and take her out for invigorating entertainment.
The woman being your brother’s partner makes it even better.
“J is not answering my texts,” you sigh, already worried he might be sick.
“It’s his fault for acting up,” Arthur takes out a cigarette and seven hands holding lighters pop up around him. He chooses the one belonging to the pretty lady to his right, giving her a little wicked wink that visibly flusters the recipient of such undivided attention. “I’m going to my meeting, it shouldn't take too long,” he addresses Y/N and she nods, prepared to guzzle down much needed alcohol away from the grumpy boyfriend.
“Nothing happens to my sister-in-law,” Joker barks at one of the bouncers on his way to the VIP room; there’s no soul to argue the disclosure regarding your connection so he gets away with it.
“No worries, sir; she’s safe.”
“You misunderstand,” Arthur cuts him off. “This is for their safety,” he points at the mob. “In case you didn’t recognize her, that’s Y’N and she’s in a foul mood; we all heard rumors about her temper, hm?”
“Yes, Mister Joker.”
“Don’t be an idiot!” The Clown scolds. “My brother’s Mister Joker; I’m simply Joker. Or did you forget?!”
1 hour and 13 minutes later
“How are we doing?” Arthur makes himself comfortable next to you, gesturing at the 8 empty shot glasses collected in a small pyramid.
“Amazing,” you slurp from your second Mai Tai cocktail and chew on the pink straw.
“How many can shots can you handle?” he curiously interrogates the buzzed Y/N.
“About 5,” you snort and it makes him content to notice you’re carefree for once.
“Going overboard?” Arthur snickers and you lift your glass, lively concluding: “I’ll drink to that!”
He has no beverage so he snatches a beer bottle from a guy, inquiring:
“Did you touch this?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“It’s mine,” he clinks the container against yours and instructs: ”Here’s to going overboard; bottoms up!”
“Look who’s home at 2 in the morning!” J criticizes when Y/N and Arthur show up in the living room at The Penthouse.
“I wasn’t aware we had a curfew!” your drinking buddy enunciates as you hide behind him, concealing your face in the soft fabric of his jacket.
You obviously thought your boyfriend would be in bed but nope, he waited for your victorious return.
“A-are you mad?” your slurred words dissipate in the air, closely followed by hiccups.
The Joker exhales, resigned: oddly enough he missed you, although you were absent for a whopping 5 hours and a half.
“Oh my God!” you peek from beyond your human shield as if the opposite was stated. ”W-what are you gonna do?”
“You’ll see,” J finally takes his night meds: he postponed the remedy because he wanted to be awake for this magnificent after show.
“Oh my God!” you squeak, appalled. “W-what are you gonna d-do?” the repeated question prompts actual confessions:
“First, I’ll help you take a shower and brush your teeth…”
“Oh my God!” your eyes get big like this is the worst thing ever; the inebriated Y/N can’t connect the dots too well.
“Then we’ll have sex and I’ll be sweet; you won’t remember in the morning,” The Joker sneers.
“Oh my God!” you glare at Arthur completely dumbfounded, then at J, then at Arthur who’s sturdily holding your arm so you won’t fall.
“Stop teasing her!” he hisses.
“I’m literally replying to her quizzing.”
“W-what are you gonna do?” the plastered Y/N has to know again.
“This is your fault!” The Joker comes to grab you, exasperated. “I consider you responsible!”
“Cool,” Arthur proudly delivers his date to the rightful owner. “I’ll retreat to my room and leave you kids alone,” he waves and distances from the couple while blessing them: “By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you Nobody and Joker!”
“Shut the hell up!” his brother snaps, irritated at the persistent charade.
“You may kiss the bride!” Arthur mocks, positively not giving a crap about the rant: he’s an individual with a mission and won’t admit defeat that easily.
“Can you believe this shit?!” The Joker complains and shoves Y/N in one of the bathrooms downstairs. “Ewww, you smell like a distillery,” he rants while tugging on your clothes.
“Oh my God!” you whimper, distressed at his words.
“Ugghhh, you sound like a broken record!” The King of Gotham urges you to step in the shower and it doesn’t fail:
“Oh my God!”
“Seriously??!!” your actions skyrocket his blood pressure to unknown heights. “Take a break!”
“A-are you mad?” you stutter, the hot water making you even drowsier.
“I’m starting to be!!” he reprimands and you fakely sob since you can’t recall how to cry properly:
“W-what are you gonna do?”
The great Clown Prince of Crime huffs, convinced the universe unleashed you upon him to test his patience as punishment for past transgressions:
You rub your eyes and J turns off the water, bundling the intoxicated Y/N in a huge towel.
“Stupid helpless burrito,” he grunts and sweeps you off your feet, entirely done for the night.
Ahh, it sure feels nice and you bury your cheeks in his neck, burping in the process.
“Jesus!” he protests as you clumsily apologize:
“I should push you off the balcony and be done with this ordeal!” he stumbles on the hallway, vexed.
The Joker really should have kept his opinion to himself since Pandora’s Box is automatically reopened.
“Oh my God!”
“I’m cursed,” the genuine declaration is accompanied by a soft kiss; despite the circumstances, The Joker is not that angry.
Arthur closes the door to his bedroom, delighted to have observed the scene:
“He kissed the bride,” the man inhales from the last cigarette of the day, flicking the bud out the window afterwards.
To be continued