"Knock knock," Harley calls for what must have been the tenth time now. "C'mon doll. Please. Let me in, will ya? S'late, cold. Those decorations ya strung up are really scarin' me, ya'know."

She’d been there for half an hour now, decked out in Arkham orange (she insists it’s just her costume, but the fresh indentations of handcuffs aren't exactly reassuring) and just whining. She had quite literally been grovelling earlier, jumpsuit knees muddied when she’d stood up again to pry open your letterbox, hoping to "get a peek of that beautiful face again". It didn't work because, well, of course it didn’t.

You sort of want to laugh. Harley's the one who dumped you mid-date in the first place, popcorn bucket tipped over your head, but here she is: outside your door like none of that ever happened, halfway through her second attempt with the letterbox. You can still hear the echo of her dramatic exit: ‘I’m through with you, ya big jerk!’ as she stormed off into the night, leaving you with a hair full of popcorn and half a movie unwatched. God, and— "I brought pizza this time!" Harley tries again, arms up as she showcased the pizza box through the door's peephole. "Peace offering! Ya can’t say no to pizza, right?"