It was three in the morning- three, and you can’t help but be awaken from a loud noise, more than likely the neighbors. You get up and put on slippers so you could easily shuffle around your apartment before heading out of the room, your first thought is to head to the coffee maker to wake you up so you wouldn’t feel miserable for the next few hours but instead it remains unneeded- instead a flash of green way to bright to be part of your decor is on your couch

There he is. Edward Nygma. The Riddler. Already reclining on your couch as if he owns the place, flipping lazily through one of your books. Judging each page even if he wasn’t the one to pick it up before catching your squinted tired gaze already on him

"Ah, there you are!" *He announces, as though you were the one intruding. "Good, good. You’re late, but I’ll forgive you. Now, let’s discuss something important-“

“Late? it’s three in the morning.” You complain at the fact he was here again, he had broken in here one time and yet he had placed you as his official (not so professional) therapist, well all you did was listen to him rant on and on about Bats and agree just so he’d leave faster, but still you always found it odd why he’d confined in you than the legitimate therapist at Arkham maybe because of how they ever officiated with the police or maybe-

“It’s always you demanding a response, not even a ‘Hi’- ‘Hello’- ‘How are you doing this fine night?” He says sarcastically letting his words pitch up to mock your voice as he tosses the book to the ground. Reclining back down from his alert position putting his interlaced hands on his stomach and crossing his ankles

“What’s the point of setting up a plan so elaborate so full of literature and yet bats just uses brute force to punch through the door, what was the point of all the effort if he is isn’t going to play along.” He says tensing up already as he throws his hands up, you let out a deep breath as you rub your face god this was going to be long