Chapter 1: Confusion (Edited)

"Why so serious? It's just a funny play."

How do you usually feel after waking up from a hangover?

Nausea, vomiting, feeling uncomfortable all over?

Or... pain all over?

What if the situation is even more outrageous?

You open your eyes and find that your body is covered in lipstick marks, and there is a person lying next to you.

What's even more outrageous?

This f*ckin' guy is a man, but you are not gay.

What's even more outrageous?

You know him.

Or rather, you know him better than anyone else.

He is your - Batman's - mortal enemy.

He is the Joker.

He is the most terrifying criminal in Gotham City.

And he is occupying your bed, sleeping soundly even more than you.

—————————————————

Gotham is usually foggy, and darkness permeates every corner of the city.

According to the Gotham Daily, the ratio of rainy days to sunny days in this city is an astonishing 10:1, which many people believe is one of the reasons for Gotham's high crime rate.

But today is a rare sunny day.

Wayne Manor, master bedroom.

Morning light filtered through the slits in the curtains, landing on the face of the man in bed. A string of specks of light danced between his brows and eyes like playful elves.

Bruce Wayne slowly awoke.

His head was groggy, and his throat felt dry and uncomfortably dry, as if he'd swallowed sand. Half-opening his eyes, he instinctively reached for the glass of water on the nightstand, but something touched

him: a warm arm.

...

Who was it?

He wasn't fully conscious yet, but a string of names flashed through his mind—

Selina? Vicki? Kate?

He instinctively recalled all those beautiful, romantic, ultimately fruitless romances... But then a question quickly dawned on him:

had he brought anyone back to the manor yesterday?

He whipped his head around, glancing at the other side of the bed.

Beside him lay a man, his blond hair dishevelled, his skin pale, his nose high, his brows serene, his chest rising and falling slightly.

In that moment, Bruce's heart nearly stopped.

It took him only a tenth of a second to recognize the familiar face. It belonged to the enemy he'd chased, fought, and clashed countless times in the darkness:

the Joker.

But now, without any makeup, no scars at the corners of his mouth, he looked too ordinary, hardly a deranged madman.

The Joker, peacefully slumbering beside him.

...

This couldn't be possible.

Bruce's mind raced, his first reaction wondering if he'd been poisoned by some kind of poison, some kind of magic, or if this was just an illusion, a result of a hidden attack by his enemy.

He instinctively glanced around. Everything in the room was normal, nothing had changed.

He lowered his head to examine himself. No wounds, no extra needle marks.

He narrowed his eyes, carefully examining the face of the person beside him.

No signs of disguise, genuine skin, no possibility of fabrication.

Undoubtedly, this was the Joker.

...

So he was still dreaming?

Bruce felt a throbbing pain in his temples. He took a deep breath and pinched his thigh hard.

The pain crept up, slapping him hard.

...

This wasn't a dream.

"…God,"

Bruce muttered.

He practically leaped out of bed, scrambling for a weapon. His instincts screamed, a chilling sense of danger piercing his spine.

What the hell was going on?

Why was the Joker in his bed?

The man, seemingly awakened by the noise, slowly sat up, rubbed his eyes, and spoke in a low, husky voice, the kind of dazed state of someone just waking up.

"Bruce? You had a nightmare?"

His tone was almost coquettish.

Bruce was completely unfazed by the absurd acting. Instead, he suppressed his anger and asked,

"What the hell are you up to?"

The man looked as if he didn't understand. He blinked in confusion, stunned for a few seconds, then smiled teasingly.

"A new game? Honey, I have to say, playing this right after waking up is a bit exciting. Who am I going to be this time?"

Bruce felt a ringing in his ears as he listened to these frivolous lines. He had just remembered—last night, he had stopped the Joker's bank attack and rescued fifteen hostages, but the Joker had escaped. Afterward, he wearily returned to the manor, intending to track the Joker in the Batcave...

and now, the Joker lay in his bed.

...

Had the Joker tracked him down, infiltrated the manor, and learned his identity?

He might have already done it—Alfred, Jason... their lives unknown. And the culprit lay beside him, like a lover...

A fire of rage burned in Bruce's chest. He clenched his hands, his fingertips white with the force.

The blond man stared at him with those green eyes, a look of confusion.

"What's wrong with you... You look a little off?"

Bruce stared at him intently, suppressing his anger as he spoke slowly, each word falling slowly.

"Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?" The blond man blinked in confusion. "Didn't you bring me back?"

...He was lying.

Bruce didn't know the Joker's point in telling such a ridiculous lie, but he knew he had to do something. He had to expose the Joker's scheme...

He slowly approached, his footsteps echoing in the silent room.

"How did you get in?" His voice barely fluctuated. "What did you do to my family?"

The man looked a little strange, confused and worried. He asked,

"Honey...are you still asleep?"

Bruce stood there motionless, staring at him, then suddenly struck out—

bang!

Without the slightest hesitation, Bruce punched him in the head. The man let out a scream, and the back of his head kissed the bed unexpectedly.

"What are you doing? This is a bit too much!" The man covered his head and groaned, blood gushing out, "This really hurts!"

Bruce rushed forward, pressing the man's knees with his thighs to prevent him from breaking free. He grabbed the man's collar with one hand, clenched his fist with the other hand and raised it high, his eyes cold.

"Where are they?! How did you get into the manor?!"

"What are you talking about? Bruce--"

"Don't play tricks on me."

Bruce picked him up and threw him heavily to the ground. With a dull "bang", the blond man's spine creaked under the heavy burden.

"Fuck..." He couldn't help but curse, groaning in pain, holding his back with his hands. "What the hell are you doing..."

"Explain what you did!"

"I didn't do anything!" he protested. "Bruce, calm down!"

"...You don't deserve to call me that," Bruce stared at him, the anger in his eyes turning into tangible flames. His voice rose higher and higher, his rationality fading with the rage. "You barged in here just to ruin my life, everything I have—"

He could almost imagine the most horrific scenario—Alfred and Jason lying in a pool of blood. He could only secretly be thankful... thankful that Dick wasn't in Gotham.

He remembered that alley, the gunshot, the broken pearl necklace.

Bruce, almost panicked, grabbed the man's neck, his fingers clamped around his throat like an iron hoop. The

blond man struggled violently, his cheeks flushed crimson, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. He desperately tried to pry the hand that was holding him, blood trickling down from under his nails.

"How dare you show up here?" Bruce roared. "No one wants to play your damn game!"

There were hurried footsteps outside, followed by a polite yet uneasy knock.

"Gentlemen?" the butler Alfred's voice echoed from outside, a hint of doubt in his voice. "Are you all right?"

The voice was familiar.

But Bruce's mind, reason and emotion clashing, was momentarily lost, unable to reconcile the voice with reality...

The blond man's nails gripped Bruce's wrists tightly, and finally, with all his might, he let out a piercing scream:

"Help... Help!!!"

A second later,

"Bang!"

The door was violently flung open from the outside.

Alfred stood frozen in the doorway, bewildered, watching the scene unfold. He was forced to face this chaotic, adult-level scene—Bruce strangling another man, pinning him to the wall.

Confusion crept into the butler's face, and he called out frantically,

"Master Bruce!"

Bruce's arm trembled, and his bloodshot eyes turned to look at him.

Alfred stood there, unharmed.

There was no blood, no mangled body, nothing like what he'd just imagined.

Great! He was still alive.

In a trance, Bruce had only this single thought.

"What are you doing?!" Alfred asked in disbelief. "Master Bruce, why are you hitting Mr. Jack?"

"Jack?" Bruce's excitement gradually subsided. He frowned and retorted, "Alfred, are you talking about the Joker?"

Alfred looked at him in surprise, his tone strange.

"Master Bruce... why... what are you talking about?"

He quickly walked over to Jack and carefully helped him to his feet. "Mr. Jack is your partner. You've never treated him like this in two years... why are you doing this now?"

Jack clutched his bruised neck, his expression a mixture of fear and confusion. "Uh... is this

... part of the 'feeling'?" He forced a dry laugh. "Ahem... I've suddenly realized I prefer to be conservative."

Bruce froze in place, his body cold. He could feel Alfred's bewildered gaze fixed on him. 

What was Alfred talking about? 

What was the Joker saying again? ? 

Although the person in front of him had no makeup on his face, he could recognize it as the Joker at a glance. 

Who is Jack? 

He has been with the Joker for two years? 

Why is Alfred protecting him? 

What the hell is going on? ? ? 

Something was breaking in his mind. Some belief, some logic, some past. 

He heard his reason roaring in his mind: This is not right! Something is wrong!! 

Perhaps because he saw him standing there in a daze, Alfred said nothing more, but just supported the Joker - the man who should not exist, and slowly left, probably taking him to bandage his wounds first. 

The door closed. 

Bruce still stood there motionless. 

In the silence, his heartbeat was deafening.