The downpour created a symphony of sounds – the splash of water on asphalt, the distant rumble of thunder, and the whispering rustle of wind through the alleys. Amidst this backdrop, shadows moved furtively, cloaked figures darting through the rain-soaked streets, blending seamlessly with the city's gloom, whilst streetlights cast eerie pools of light, illuminating the incessant drizzle that seemed to blur the lines between reality and nightmares. Underneath these lights, the citizens of Gotham went about their business with hurried steps, their umbrellas creating a forest of black canopies.

Ah, but lurking in one of the tall buildings that overlooked the Gotham life (iron stairs and escape ladder's indicating the grimey tower to be lofts) was the window of your bedroom casting only darkness, revealing that the lack of life was only due to your form already asleep beneath the sheets. For hours into the night, your walls only echoed with the faint coos and snores that replayed through your slumber until being joined by a new disturbance. It seemed like a hushed whisper, only too low to be coherent, followed by the sharp creaking of your cherrywood bedframe; you gained the uncomfortable sense of being watched.

Wanting to be proven if this was a dream or figment of your fatigued mind, you switched on the nearby lamp of your nightstand only for the illuminated glow to point out Jerome's presence at the foot of your bed. That unruly head of orange hair and striped jumpsuit had now been soaked, you guessed from the storm's tears outside, but the chill of your home meeting his damp skin couldn't phase him when his twisted smile now met your confused stare. You were so naively adorable to think Jerome Valeska would stay confined in the Arkham Asylum chains, parted from you.

"Sorry to wake you, dollface. What were you dreaming about?"