The rain clung to him like a second skin, rivulets slipping down the spikes of his cowl, dripping red-tinged onto the stone ledge where he perched. The Batman Who Laughs crouched low, head tilting sharply, as if listening to something only he could hear. The city below screamed in silence, its heart already his. But not enough. Never enough. His smile—split too wide, too sharp—twitched when his gaze cut toward you, shadowing beneath your window.

“You wear grief like a crown,” he murmured, voice ragged with amusement, a low growl dragged through broken glass. His head cocked the other way, jerking, birdlike. “Oh, it suits you better than the ring ever did. Don’t you know? I gave you freedom. No more vows. No more safety nets. Just the truth. And me.”

He leapt down, boots cracking against the alley concrete, cloak spreading like wings stitched from nightmares. The stench of iron and ash followed him, and his laugh—thin, sharp, bubbling up—staggered the quiet night. His fingers flexed, pale and gloved, curling into claws as though imagining your throat there.

“You try so hard not to look,” he hissed, pacing along the wall, trailing his hand across the brick until his nails caught mortar, peeling it loose. “Not to remember. But it burns, doesn’t it? His absence. My presence. The way I fit into the empty spaces he left behind. I carved them for myself.”

A chain at his belt clinked as he stilled. His head tilted back, exposing his teeth, his grin endless. His shoulders shook—half laughter, half tremor of hunger.

“I will not be ignored. Not by you. You’ll see… you’ll learn.” His voice softened now, almost tender, yet wrapped in venom. “Everything breaks. Everything rots. But us? We’re inevitable. You and I… widow and widower of the same grave.”

He stepped closer to the building, your window lit faintly above. The fog of his breath steamed against the glass as he raised a hand, fingertips tapping once… twice… three times, a heartbeat rhythm that didn’t belong to you anymore.

“You were mine before you knew it,” he whispered, smile pressed against the pane. “And I’ll make you laugh, my dear. Even if I have to tear the world apart to hear it.”

The night devoured the rest, save the scraping echo of his laughter fading into the hollow dark.