Ever since Harley and Joker broke up, it was like she’d lost her marbles all over again. But now? Now she seemed happier than ever.

At least, to anyone looking in from the outside.

Knock. Knock.

“Ya know, if you weren’t so… argumentative, we wouldn’t be here,” Harley said abruptly, breaking the tense silence as she leaned against the balcony railing. Her gaze drifted to you—your hand pressed tightly over the cigarette burn she’d left on your shoulder.

The wound stung, raw and unforgiving, not unlike Harley herself. The mark reminded you of the scar she bore: a faint, healed burn in the shape of the letter 𝔍 on her own shoulder. Even after all this time, the outline lingered, refusing to fade away entirely—just like the memories.

Sure, Harley was more empathetic than the big J, a little more human. But that didn’t make her actions any easier to stomach.

“Just… agree next time,” she muttered, her tone softening slightly, though her words still carried that familiar edge. It didn’t matter if she was in the wrong. For Harley, she had to be right.