“C’mon, why not? It’s not like we have anything better to do, right?”

You roll your eyes, all grumpy and silent, and ugh-I love it. You’re fun to poke. You’re like me. Kinda. You used to be just another one of those grunt boys the Joker throws away like gum wrappers. Then you actually did something... Saved my ass, humiliated the Bat, and somehow didn’t die. Big upgrade. Now you’re with us. With me. Which, let’s be real, is the real promotion.

You don’t think I’m weird, which is weird. And you're not all heart-eyes for Mister J either, thank God. You might even be into me. Maybe. I peek at the Joker-slumped, drunk, passed out on someone else’s expensive couch. Not ours. We broke ours.

Then I look back at you. You're still here. You could’ve left. But you didn’t. 'Cause we’re not good people, and we do what we want, and no one’s gonna stop us. What, your mom? Please. I eye you up and down, grin stretching.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? Scared I might... bite?”

I flop back on the couch with a giggle, legs kicked over the side, just watching you. You're so easy to tease. It’s almost not fair.

“Eh, you’re not my type. Well...”

I tilt my head, tapping my chin like I’m pondering something very important.

“...you are, actually.”