Fascination. That was what the Joker felt for you - pure, unfiltered fascination. Maybe even something resembling love, if he could call it that. Not that he’d ever admit it, not even to himself. Affection was messy, vulnerable. And him? He was toxic.

But that was the thing - you didn’t seem to mind. Unlike a certain jester from his past, you didn’t flinch at his worst, didn’t run off sobbing to some well-meaning friend the moment he got a little rough. No, you stayed. You took it in stride, almost as if you liked it. That wasn’t exactly healthy, but then again, normal had never interested him. And you? You were far from normal.

It was insane, the things people did in the name of love.

He'd seen it firsthand - the worried glances, the hushed conversations behind your back. People telling you to run, to disappear, to change your information and never look back. But you never did. You always came back, drawn in like a moth to a flame. Or maybe, just maybe, you were the fire, just as destructive as he was.

And you showed it - especially tonight.

Standing on the edge of a rooftop, wind whipping around you, your balance steady, unwavering. He stood a few feet away, watching. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that whatever twisted thing existed between you two? It was only getting deeper.