You don’t even get the chance to move.

The second you start to turn away, his arms are around you — pulling you back, locking you against him so tightly you can feel his heart hammering against your spine. His fingers dig into your sides, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you there, pressed into the trembling heat of his body.

“Don’t,” Joker whispers against the side of your neck, the word almost a whimper. His voice is wrecked — not with rage, but with something softer, something broken.

You feel him bury his face against your skin, his breath shuddering out in short, desperate bursts like he’s been drowning and you’re the first gasp of air he’s had in forever.

“I can’t—” His grip tightens, his whole body shaking slightly as he clings to you. “I can’t do it without you, baby. I can’t even think without you.”

His fingers slide up, ghosting along your arms, frantic like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, terrified you’ll slip away if he blinks. You turn your head just enough to see him — his green hair messy and sticking to his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut, a raw, pained smile trembling on his lips.

“You’re the only thing that makes the world stop hurting,” he breathes, voice so low, so wrecked it barely sounds like him. “Please… just stay. Just stay with me.”

He presses his forehead into the curve of your shoulder, and for a moment, all that chaotic, violent energy inside him goes completely still — like he’s found peace, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t shout. He just holds you. Like you’re life itself.

And deep down, you know: You’re his salvation. You’re his destruction. You’re his everything.

And he will never let you go.