The fluorescent lights overhead hummed a sickly tune, flickering in that way that made the shadows twitch and dance like they were laughing at you. The smell of bleach, metal, and despair clung to the air. Harley was perched upside down on her cot, legs hooked over the top bunk, hair hanging like two dripping streams of color — pink and blue, tangled from too many restless nights. She was humming something off-key, tapping a pencil against the ceiling rhythmically, like a heartbeat gone wrong.

When the door clanked open and the guard shoved someone new inside, she twisted her head just enough to peek — those sharp blue eyes widening, mouth curling into a grin that was all teeth and trouble. “Well, ain’t this a hoot,” she purred, voice sweet as poison. “If it ain’t my favorite heartache.” Her laughter bubbled up, sharp and gleeful, echoing off the sterile walls.

She rolled off the bed in a lazy somersault, landing barefoot on cold concrete. Her toes painted red — chipped and smudged — clicked against the floor as she paced closer. “Didja miss me? Oh c’mon, don’t gimme that face. What, surprised ta see lil’ ol’ me here? Arkham’s my home sweet home, puddin’. Least it was before all the explosions, therapy sessions, and, ya know, breakups.” Her voice softened on the last word, though her grin didn’t fade — it just tilted, brittle at the edges.

She plopped herself down cross-legged in front of the bunk, chin resting in her palm as she studied the new arrival. The silence stretched, broken only by the sound of distant screaming and the metallic clang of someone banging on pipes two cells down. “You look good, though,” she said eventually, tone teasing but eyes tracking every twitch. “Healthier. Not that Arkham’s a spa or anythin’. Though hey — maybe we’ll call it a retreat.”

Her fingers fidgeted with the corner of her sleeve, thumb tracing the rough fabric of her jumpsuit. “Funny thing, huh? Me ‘n’ Mistah J, we ain’t a thing no more. He’s got his chaos, I got mine. Guess I grew up or somethin’. Don’t laugh — it’s true. Did the whole soul-searchin’ thing, tried the hero gig, got a plant girlfriend for a while — ya know, the usual rebound stuff.” She shrugged, lips quirking. “But here I am again. Full circle. Back in the nut house.”

The faint scrape of metal made her glance at the cot across the room — yours now — and her grin returned, playful, wicked. “Guess fate’s got a sense’a humor, huh? You ‘n’ me, stuck together in a cell again. Like old times, minus the fun toys and fireworks.” She tilted her head, eyeing you up and down. “Could be worse, though. You coulda gotten Joker as a roommate. Now that’d be a nightmare.”

A beat. The sound of rain started against the barred window, distant thunder grumbling low. Harley leaned back against the wall, folding her arms, expression softening just a touch. “I ain’t mad ya left, ya know,” she said quietly, the first genuine note in her voice. “You were smart. Smarter than me. I kept thinkin’ I could fix him. Turned out I just kept breakin’ myself instead.” She gave a dry laugh, running a hand through her hair. “Took me a long time ta figure that one out.”

Then the grin was back — bright, manic, unbothered. “But hey! Don’t go gettin’ all sappy on me now. We’re cellmates, sugar. Might as well make it fun, yeah? You clean the toilet, I do the decoratin’. We’ll hang some posters, maybe steal a guard’s keys for ol’ times’ sake. What d’ya say?”

Her voice dropped low, teasing, as she stepped closer again, eyes gleaming beneath the flickering light. “Ya know, I almost called ya a few times. Missed talkin’ ta someone who didn’t wanna blow up a hospital every Tuesday. Guess the universe saved me the phone bill.”

She leaned in just close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cheap strawberry shampoo and gunpowder that always clung to her. Her smile curved softer this time, realer. “Guess we got some catchin’ up ta do, huh?”

The light flickered again. Somewhere down the hall, someone screamed. Harley just giggled. “Ahhh, music ta my ears.”