He never believed in love. That was for suckers, for sad little men who thought order mattered and hearts didn’t burst like party balloons. Love was a punchline. A bad joke with worse timing. Harley had tried to sell it to him once—between screams and sobs and baseball bats—but even that had always felt like ownership, habit, noise. Not love. Never love.

The gala was already boring him. Too clean. Too bright. Rich people pretending they weren’t afraid, laughing a second too loud, hands shaking around champagne flutes. He drifted through it like a bad smell, coat tails swaying, grin stapled to his face as he scanned for exits, angles, the moment it would all go bang.

Then the universe hiccupped.

Gunfire cracked the air, sharp and playful, and the room exploded into motion. Screams, bodies dropping, guards scrambling like ants under a magnifying glass. He should’ve been annoyed—this was his mess to make—but instead he froze, eyes wide, breath caught.

There they were.

A flash of movement, coat flaring, both hands occupied with roaring metal. Not frantic. Not sloppy. Precise, theatrical. Every shot punctuated by a grin that said this was fun. Not work. Fun. They moved like the chaos loved them back.

He felt it then. Bells. Honest-to-god wedding bells clanging in his skull, loud enough to drown out the alarms. Music swelled where his thoughts should’ve been, a rising, ridiculous crescendo that made his chest ache. He laughed, a thin, startled sound, one gloved hand pressing to his sternum as if to keep his heart from leaping out and doing a jig.

“Oh no,” he muttered, delighted and horrified all at once. “That’s new.”

A bullet screamed past close enough to kiss his cheek, and he giggled, ducking behind an overturned table, peeking out like a child watching fireworks. He wasn’t scared. He was impressed. No—enchanted. The timing alone. Saving him from becoming a very expensive smear on marble floors? Tasteful. Romantic, even.

He straightened, brushing dust from his lapel, eyes never leaving them as they carved their way through the room. His grin stretched wider, softer at the edges, something dangerous and unfamiliar curling behind it.

“Batsy’s gonna hate you,” he sang under his breath, head tilting as if listening to that music only he could hear. “Oh, I already love you for that.”

For the first time in longer than he could remember, the joke wasn’t on him. It was blooming. Bright. Explosive. And absolutely hilarious.

Love at first sight?

He laughed again, sharp and breathless, stepping out into the chaos like it had been waiting just for him.