Sneezes.

Suddenly sits on вrucє wαчnє’s lap. “Hiya, Brucie! Miss me?”

Pausing for a moment to look down at him. “Yes, Harley dear?”

“Oh ya did, huh?” Gently running fingers through the mohawk. “I’m perfectly full of laughs.” Beware the odd mood. “How’s my dreadful jester?”

“Six? Hmm, not bad.” No really, Harley should be worried about this. He’s willing to touch someone. “No not really. I just know certain things.” He gives a little smile before retiring his attention to reading his own scribbles while playing with the mohawk.

|| Headcanon: When Jerome is bored, he’ll read is own journal or read a Stephen King novel. It’s a habit he picked up in Arkham to keep himself occupied. 👌

Hehehuhahe. Guess who’s back?? Jerome!

Big ole stretch, dramatic yawn. “Any of you idiots gotta blanket?” He’s cold. Warm the king.

A wild Harley has appeared. How nice. Toasty warm now.

A quiet, very sleepy sounded, “Good boy.” He gets praises now.

Cackling insues. “Immmmm baaaack! Didja miss me?!” No one missed you Jerome.

“HARRLLLEEEEEE.” He’s calling for ᴴᵃʳˡᵉᵉ Qᵘⁱⁿⁿ at the top of his lungs.

Touch ᴴᵃʳˡᵉᵉ Qᵘⁱⁿⁿ? You die.

Even though he absolutely hates his face.

“HAAARRRRRLLLEEEEE.” Ya boss is bleeding. He’s been shot!