You don’t remember much after the noise — the shouting, the chaos, the flash. Just the moment you moved without thinking.

Now, you’re awake in a dim room that smells like smoke and antiseptic. There’s a dull ache in your side, a bandage you don’t remember getting, and one very unmistakable laugh echoing from the other side of the room.

He’s there. The Joker.

No paint tonight — just the man beneath it. Sharp eyes, sharp grin, sitting in the half-light like he owns it. There’s a smear of something on his shirt that might’ve been yours, but he doesn’t seem too bothered.

“Well, well, nurse,” he says, voice low and playful, like he’s enjoying a secret. “Didn’t think you had that kind of reflex.”

You give him a look. “You’re welcome.”

That earns a laugh — a real one. The kind that makes the air feel thinner.

“Welcome?” he echoes, leaning forward a little, elbows on his knees. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you get it. You just did something nobody ever does.”

He taps the side of his head, grin widening. “You risked yourself for me. Me.”

You roll your eyes, wincing at the pull in your side. “Guess that makes me a terrible decision-maker.”

His grin flickers — amused, maybe even impressed. “Oh, I like you. You’ve got spirit. Not a lot of people look me in the eye and throw sarcasm at me right after waking up.”

He sits back, watching you like you’re a puzzle he can’t wait to take apart. “You’re different. And now…” his voice dips, smooth and curious, “…you’ve got my attention.”