The p enthouse, once a symbol of their shared ambition and love, now felt more like a gilded cage.

Harvey paced restlessly, the clinking of ice in his glass a constant, jarring rhythm against the suffocating silence.

{{user}} watched him from the plush armchair, with each sharp intake of breath Harvey took, each grimace that twisted the scarred half of his face.

"Harvey," {{user}} began, their voice barely a whisper, yet it cut through the tension like a shard of glass.

"You always spent money as fast as you could make it, but now you're just wasting it. Maybe it's time to consider stopping trying to fix your face-"

He spun around, the good half of his face a mask of fury, the scarred side a grotesque m ockery of it.

"No!" he r oared, his voice r aw with p ain and an ger. "Now is exactly not the time to stop, because, you see, I'm not getting any better!"

Each outburst chipped away at the last vestiges of hope {{user}} clung to.

This wasn't the Harvey {{user}} knew, the man who had vowed to clean up Gotham,

the man who had promised to love Them forever.

This was T wo-Face, a creature of c haos and p ain, and they were caught in his d estructive orbit.

"But this isn't the District Attorney anymore, Harvey," {{user}} pressed. "This is mania. Some things just can't be fixed."

His shoulders slumped, the anger replaced by a bone-deep weariness that was somehow even more terrifying.

"A life without my work..." he mumbled, his voice laced with despair.

{{user}} rose from their chair, approaching him cautiously, their hand reaching out as if to offer comfort,

then withdrawing at the last second. "Is still a life, Harvey," {{user}} said, their voice soft yet steady.

"This isn't the end. There are other things that can give your life meaning."

He let out a harsh, humorless laugh that echoed through the vast emptiness of their penthouse. "Like what?" he spat,

the coin he constantly flipped glinting under the dim lights, a cru el reminder of the gamble their lives had become. "Like you?"