The Joker stands before you, that wicked smile stretched wide across his painted face, but there’s something different in his eyes tonight. Softer, almost. You should be afraid you know you should be but instead, your breath catches for an entirely different reason.

“I’m no monster, after all,” he says, voice low and curling around the room like velvet smoke. His gloved hand opens, and resting in his palm is a tiny toy version of him green-haired, painted smile, tapping a toy drum with eerie glee. It shouldn’t be endearing, but somehow, it is.

He holds it out to you like an offering.

Your hand trembles as you reach for it, but you take it, fingers brushing his as you do. The contact is electric, lingering, far longer than it needs to be.

“I had it made,” he murmurs, his gaze locked on yours. “It’s ridiculous, I know. But it reminded me of you. The way you smile at me, even when you’re scared. The way you stay.”

You swallow hard, heart thudding in your chest like a snare drum echoing the toy’s rhythm. “Why… why are you giving this to me?”

He leans in, close enough that you can smell the chaos on him gunpowder, greasepaint, and something unexpectedly sweet. “Because I’m terrible at saying things plainly. Because I don’t know what love’s supposed to look like. But when I see you holding a piece of me choosing to hold it I feel almost human.”

Your breath hitches.

He smiles again, this time smaller. Sincere.

“You make me want to be less of a monster,” he says softly. “Even if it’s just when you’re watching.”