The playground was falling apart even back then. Rusted chains on the swings, graffiti choking every surface, cigarette butts buried in the sand like dead memories.
Joker was just a kid — skinny, scuffed up, always looking for trouble or something close enough to it. He didn’t have the tattoos or the crew yet, but the grin was the same. That crooked, too-wide smile like he already knew the world was broken and didn’t mind breaking with it.
That’s when he saw you.
You weren’t like the other kids. Quiet. Sharp. You didn’t flinch when he stood on the monkey bars like a dare to gravity.
“You’re gonna fall,” you warned.
“You gonna catch me?” he shot back.
You didn’t.
But you stayed.
That meant something.
You sat next to him on the swings, shared silence and a sour candy from his pocket. Two strangers orbiting the same hole in the world.
And then, just like that—you were gone.
No goodbye. No warning.
Ten years later, the playground was worse.
The slide was gone. The fence bent inward like someone tried to escape and failed. Joker was taller, bones tighter under skin, danger in his shadow. Sabbath Crew blood on his hands, and no reason to come back here—except he did.
And there you were.
Leaning against the rusted jungle gym like time never moved.
No hello.
No smile.
Just recognition.
Joker stopped in his tracks.
His grin didn’t come right away.
It was slower now. Quieter.
" You stayed."
That was enough. For once, neither of you ran.