Page 98 of Joker

I blink at him. “Don’t what?”

“Whatever the hell you’re doing in your head right now.”

I want to laugh at the impossible accuracy of that. Instead, my throat tightens. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, because apparently humiliation just defaults me back to apology.

His jaw flexes. “Don’t do that either.”

I close my eyes for half a second.

Breathe. Open them again.

He’s still there. Still watching me like I’m the only thing in his line of sight. And for some reason that hurts worse than if he looked angry.

“I just—” My voice catches. “It all happened at once.”

He nods once, like he already knows. Because maybe he does.

I don’t explain. I can’t.

Not with my heart still trying to climb out of my throat. Not with the smell of smoke and night and him too close in the air between us. Not with the echo of that song still ghosting around the edges of my head.

So I just stand there and breathe while Joker stays exactly where he is, close enough to hold the whole world back with nothing but posture and intent.

Behind us, the clubhouse noise shifts but doesn’t fully intrude.

All I know is that Joker got me out before the room could close in any farther. Before the panic could turn into something uglier. Before I had to explain a damn thing.

He waits until my breathing evens out enough to stop sounding broken. Then he says quietly, “You with me now?”

I nod once. Not fully. Enough.

That seems to be enough for him too.

His hand leaves my elbow slowly, carefully, like he’s making sure I’m steady before he lets go.

The loss of that contact is immediate. I hate that too.

He glances back toward the side door once, then returns his focus to me. “You going back in?”

The answer rises in me so fast it almost feels childish. “No.”

His mouth tightens slightly, like he expected that. “Alright.”

No argument. No pressure. Just acceptance.

And somehow that undoes me worse than anything else tonight.

The second the door shuts behind us, I know two things.

One, I’m seconds away from doing something that’s going to change everything.

Two, I don’t have a single instinct telling me to stop.

I get her outside fast.

Not rushed in a way that draws attention, but controlled, deliberate, my hand still firm around her elbow as I guide her away from the noise, away from the lights, away from the cluster of people inside who were starting to notice something was wrong.

By the time we round the side of the building and the sound drops off into a low hum behind us, I can feel it in her.