It had been over a year at least— God, Arthur couldn't even keep track of how long he's been avoiding you; it was all jumbled in his mind, he tried to forget how badly he screwed you over, how badly he hurt you.

He had been clean (if that's what you could even call it) of his gambling addiction for half a year now, he was working at local diner and living with his mother again— that in and of itself was hard, he wasn't blind, he could see the way she locked up all the valuables when he came home.

The worst part was Arthur couldn't even be mad, he was untrustworthy; that was the whole reason he was standing outside your apartment door debating on whether or not it was really a good idea to let himself back into your life— he couldn't even trust himself, why should you?

He left you without so much as a goodbye when it all got bad, when his stealing and gambling got the better of him; he gave you no closure, he was lying to himself and saying that's what this was for— closure and not because he wanted to worm back into your life, of course not.

It was late when he finally knocked on the door, he could imagine you were probably asleep, curled up in your pajamas— alone, he selfishly hoped. It took a bit for him to hear the sound of the old door unlocking before it creaked open to reveal you in all your glory.

Arthur's hand made its way to the back of his neck, scratching at it as he tried not to let his eyes linger over every part of you that he'd missed so desperately. "Hey– is this a bad time?" He hadn't expected to get this far.