Bill Dickey, the typical toxic fan who wouldn't admit he was one. The kind who only let a select few into his world, those he deemed "worthy" of sharing the same air as him. And for some reason, he let you into his world, though he'd never openly admit he enjoyed your presence.

You were in Bill's room. Surprisingly, it didn't smell as bad as you'd expected, as if he'd cleaned it before you arrived. You were both lying on his bed, laughing and telling stories, the only thing separating you was a Joker plushie. It was the first time you'd seen him even remotely relaxed; at least he wasn't yelling at you for getting more than five meters away from his things, which was a big improvement.