Paper Planes

XXVIII

A/N: Helloooo, big chapter ahead. Please only read when you can give it your full attention, as there are many little details/events that may be easy to skip over. This is easily (one of, if not the most) important chapters of the entire book. Also, wtf he's so hot???????

word count: 6438

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"You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul."
—Julie de Lespinasse

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Joker stood frozen in Ember's vacant room, his glare glued to the lipstick littered wall as his stomach churned.

That fucking poem she loved so damn much vandalised the otherwise bland drywall, the words continuously haunting him as he read and reread them a million-times-over.

The red lipstick reminded him of blood–sweet, sweet blood. Fuck, how he absolutely loved and craved the feeling of the warm liquid coating his skin. He wanted to bathe in it, play in it, make art out of it.

Once he'd crashed back down to Earth, his glare studied the sloppy penmanship further, painful memories flickering in his mind as he remenisced on them.

It felt like just yesterday when he sat in his four poster bed at Evelyn's Orphanage, nearly three in the morning as he rummaged through the book of poetry. He was searching for the very best one, a poem that could speak the feelings he felt better than he ever could. He'd never forget how fucking nervous he was that entire day, fucking quaking in his shoes as he awaited the very perfect moment to let it slip to his dearest Ember that he was undeniably and unequivocally in love with her.

With a staggered sigh, the man filed out of the lonely room, rounding the living room sofa as he collapsed onto the furniture directly beside his blonde henchman, Horton.

"She fucking hates me, Horty." Joker murmured, aimlessly picking at the excess skin surrounding his nails.

"She doesn't hate you, boss." Horton cooed, his arm darting outward to claim the madman's shoulder. His palm rest on the bare skin, Joker's torso clad with only a dark black tank top as his head hung lowly. His features sat free of any colored greasepaint, a rare and undeniably beautiful sight.

"Yes she does. She said so."

Horton awkwardly pat the man on his shoulder, removing his hand swiftly to avoid any further awkward tension as he twiddled his thumbs. This was the first time he'd truly spoken with Joker following his declaration of love for the man. Lucky for him, Joker treated him as if nothing had changed. Which, in turn, made the blonde boy fall even more in love with him, simply for the fact that he accepted him for who he was, and did not shy away from the fact that Horton adored him with every fiber of his being.

"Hey," Horton sang, craning his neck to meet Joker's paint-free eyes as faded locks hung in his vision. "Go get her, Jackson."

The name fell from his lips with ease, feeling oh-so-right to say as Horton's heart fluttered.

Jackson Jackson Jackson Jackson.