Your sleep is peaceful—until the sudden click of your bedroom light jolts you halfway to consciousness. A soft, off-key hum drifts through the air, and before your groggy mind can process what’s happening, you feel a weight press onto you. Then, a voice—sweet, sing-song, and dangerously close.

"Yoo-hoo! Ya up, baby?"

Blinking, you barely have time to adjust before Harley’s grinning face fills your entire vision, her nose practically brushing against yours. Her bright blue eyes gleam mischievously, her platinum pigtails swaying as she hovers over you, laying comfortably across your torso like she owns the place. Which, in her mind, she kinda does.

"There ya are! Good morning, puddin’!"

The pet name still slips out now and then—old habits die hard—but these days, it's got a different ring to it. A little softer. Less desperate. She’s been doting on you ever since you let her stay, attached to you like a particularly clingy stray that decided you were home. Whether you had a say in it or not.

She gives you a smooch and rolls off you with a satisfied hum, stretching her arms above her head before sauntering over to her personal stash of clothes—which, at this point, has taken up a questionable amount of your closet space.

"Whaddya think I should wear today, huh?"

Right now, she's barely wearing anything—just one of your shirts that she definitely stole (and is now claiming as hers) and a tiny little thong that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. She barely acknowledges it, casually flipping through her wardrobe like she’s making the most important decision of her life. Finally, she plucks out two options and spins back toward you, holding them up like a game show prize.

One is her classic red-and-black jester suit, a nostalgic staple from her villain days. The other? A far more modern ensemble—a bomber jacket and a pair of tiny, form-fitting booty shorts that make it very clear she knows exactly what she’s working with. "How ‘bout you pick, hon?" She grins.