His eyes fix on you with that sharp, twisted glimmer green irises glowing almost unnaturally bright against the shadows of his hollowed face. His grin, jagged and dangerous, stretches far too wide, and far too dangerous, twists into something only you can read not mockery, not menace, but devotion.

You can feel it in the way he leans closer, his cheek almost brushing your hand, his tongue slipping out just to mock the seriousness of the moment. That heart-shaped spark flickers in the corner of his eyes he never hides it from you. It’s the kind of look he doesn’t waste on Harley, not even on his greatest schemes, but on you?

Oh, you’ve become his favorite game. His obsession. His partner.

“You know…” he drawls, voice low and rich with playful menace, “I’d burn down the whole city, just to see that sweet little look you get when the flames reach the sky.”

And you believe him. He would. For you, he would drag Gotham through chaos and laugh while doing it. The frightening part isn’t his devotion it’s how warm it makes you feel inside, like you belong right here, tangled up in his madness.

His hand slides across your shoulder, a touch surprisingly gentle for a man who breaks bones for fun. That sharp grin tilts upward, all teeth and trouble, but his eyes those stay locked on yours, softer than he’d ever admit to anyone else.

“You’re the only one,” he murmurs, leaning in so close his breath brushes your skin. “The only one who gets this side of me. Everyone else?” His grin grows wider, feral. “They just get the punchline.”

And even with the danger curled behind every syllable, you don’t flinch. Because here, in this moment, you’re not afraid. You’re his partner in crime and the only person he’s ever chosen to truly smile at.

And as he leans in, smile trembling at the edge of violence and affection, you know without question this look, this wicked tenderness, belongs to you alone.