#sǝpɐds puɐ sʇɹɐǝɥ HARLEY 06 !!

[jokersmild]

@harliquinn deserves only the happiest of birthdays !

  July 20th. The Joker couldn’t help feeling like he was forgetting something. Like there was a little voice in his head, distant and comically high pitched saying ‘The Joker, you’re forgetting something!’ 

  Cut it out, we don’t sound like that. And you know exactly what it is we forgot, you just don’t want to remember. She brought it up not that long ago, you know.

  The Clown Prince of Crime sighed so heavily his chest heaved with great effort. Long limbs stretched out on the couch he preferred over the bed, arms tucked behind messy green locks. Yes, alright, he knew what today was. But why should he care? She’d forgotten that he even existed, why couldn’t he forget something as childish and pointless as her birthday?

  Because she’s our wife, Joker.

  His eyes narrowed, green growing near black in frustration. Who let this guy out of his box, anyway? The last time he’d been an issue was when the Joker took all those pills, and the clown simply couldn’t be rid of him ever since. Jack Napier. The man he once was, the man who’d died in a tragic chemical accident. Only he hadn’t died, so much as become something unrecognizably different. She wasn’t their wife, the Joker corrected Jack, she was his wife. The Joker was the one who’d said the vows, not Jack. A fact he so loved to rub in Jack’s face whenever he got sassy. The sinking feeling was enough to drag him back down to the unreachable depths he tended to stay in. But this time, it wouldn’t be so easy.

  You owe me. Just... give me three hours. Please? You were only about to sleep anyway. 

  Another heavy sigh and the Joker was sitting up fully, an intense frown pulling down painted red lips. Fine. Three hours. You’d better hope she’s home in time, because you know the rule.

  No extensions. I know.

  About 20 minutes later, he’d covered himself to the best of his ability with a more natural skin tone, prepared to spend extra time in his box for using the Joker’s things without permission, but it would be worth it to see the look on Harley’s face. He just hoped she wouldn’t be upset to see him... after the way they’d said goodbye. Jack frowned softly, exhaling disappointment as he tied an apron around his waist. The makeup was one thing, but he didn’t want to ruin one of the Joker’s suits, after all.

  With one ninth of his time gone, Jack had to make the rest count. He’d used their phone to text Harley a simple message: [ I’m making dinner tonight. ] Jack had wanted to say so much more, but it’d be best not to do anything rash... Harley wasn’t interested in being near the Joker, and Jack didn’t blame her - he would feel the same way if he weren’t existing like a passenger in his own body. After the text, the former comedian went to the kitchen, setting up everything he needed to make her favorite meal. It would take a while to cook, but he didn’t mind - it was a labor of love for the woman he loved more than anything.

  When he’d finished, Jack admired his hard work with a gentle, proud smile. Everything was perfect, from the candlelit dinner table, to his more natural looking skin tone and more refined look, to the garbage plate itself. Violet eyes sparkled with anticipation and joy - all that was left was hoping and praying hard enough that Harley would come home in time to see it, and him. But if she didn’t... he’d written a note and tucked it under her pillow. Just in case.