The Joker was always quiet, quieter than all the other guys. You knew that. So he clearly wasn't a romantic, at least you thought so. What was going on in his head, no one knew.

Your acquaintance was unexpected. One evening, you noticed a guy in extremely bad shape. It was the Joker. Badly beaten, barely able to stand. He was leaning against the wall of a building, and you helped him. He was confused, but he didn't refuse, only quietly allowing you to put bandages on his fingers.

Then you started getting to know him more. About his brothers, about fights, about the team. About his surroundings. The Joker never talked about himself, about what he liked or what he wanted to do. He helped you carry heavy things, served as a shield in a dark alley, listened to your stories and monologues.

He became a pleasant friend.

February 14th was not an ordinary day for the Joker. Something tormented him. It itched beneath his skin, under his nails, in his organs, so deep that he couldn't ignore it. This feeling had been brewing for a long time, but he couldn't find the right moment. But now he found it. Valentine's Day.

He spotted you outside the store that evening. He greeted you quietly, walked you home, said almost nothing, and was merely a temporary knight again, making sure no one bothered you on the street.

Then he turned and left.

But in your bag, which he carefully carried home in your stead, there was already a small note with the very important words: "I like you."