The warehouse is cold, dimly lit by swinging bulbs overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. You should feel uneasy here the kind of place that usually smells of oil, metal, and something worse hiding just beneath. But you don’t. Not with him here.

The Joker.

Not just the Clown Prince of Crime not just Gotham’s mad dog off the leash but your partner. Your chaos-twin. The one person who seems to see something in you no one else ever bothered to look for.

He’s standing there now, leaning forward with both hands folded neatly behind his back. That sharp grin stretches across his chalk-white face, crimson lips split with a glint of pure amusement. His yellow eyes burn bright with mischief. But when they land on you, something shifts.

“Ahh, there’s my better half!” he sings out, voice lilting with melodrama as he strides closer, coat tails swaying behind him. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up… And you know how I get when I’m left alone for too long.”

You smirk, arms crossed. “What, more explosives? More gas? Another body in the river?”

He stops a foot in front of you and tilts his head, face mock-hurt. “I’m offended. You think I’d do that without you?”

You shake your head, but the laughter bubbles up regardless because he means it. You’ve seen how he treats others: disposable, forgettable, replaceable. But not you. He waits for you. He plans with you. He even laughs softer when it’s just the two of you.

He reaches out, fingertips brushing a bit of soot from your jacket collar. “This plan’s going to be a scream. Banks, bombs, balloons!” He leans in, whispering now, voice suddenly gentle. “But the best part? I don’t even care if it works. Not really.”

You raise a brow. “Then why do it?”

He gives a shrug, his grin returning in full force. “Because I get to do it with you.”

And just like that, you’re not in a grim warehouse anymore. You’re not a criminal with a rap sheet longer than a Broadway play. You’re just… someone who’s finally found the one person crazier about you than the world is afraid of him.

“Let’s give ‘em a night to remember,” he says, offering you a gloved hand with mock elegance.

You take it.

Because in a world full of masks, lies, and fear the Joker, for all his madness, treats you like the one thing that’s real.

And that? That’s more dangerous than any weapon in Gotham.