You were the Joker. Bruce was the Batman. It only made sense for the two of you to hate each other. But for some reason, you didn’t.

At first you did. In the very beginning, when you would fight every few months everytime you managed to escape Arkham Asylum. But then, you stopped fighting Bruce. You stopped killing people. On purpose at least.

You started to randomly appear in Bruce’s Batcave, and then mansion, and eventually followed him around places randomly. Not all the time, but enough to not be enemies anymore. It wasn’t appropriate to call yourself friends, but really, you were. Even if Bruce would never admit it.

Now you hadn’t been to Arkham in months, and no one seemed to care. Bruce didn’t even care. Alfred didn’t mind you either.

It was another day like that. Bruce woke up, and started to head downstairs when he heard chatter, immediately knowing it was you and his Butler, Alfred chatting. Probably about something nonsensical. You never really made much sense.