Page 61 of Joker

Listening. Waiting. The footsteps pass my door. Continue down the hall. Fade.

And something in my chest loosens.

I close my eyes for a second. Then open them again, annoyed with myself.

Because I just listened for him.

And worse than that?

It helped. That realization sits heavy. Uncomfortable. Too honest.

I shake it off and turn back toward the bed. And that’s when I see it.

His sweatshirt.

Folded. Waiting. Right in the center of my bed like it belongs there.

I stare at it. My pulse does something strange. Because I know I didn’t bring it back.

I know I gave it to him.

I know he took it.

Which means—

He brought it here. At some point today. Without saying anything. Without making it a thing. Just…left it.

For me.

The comfort that hits me is immediate.

Sharp. Jarring. Because it shouldn’t matter. Because it’s just a sweatshirt. Because I told myself this morning that I didn’t need it.

And yet.

I cross the room slowly. Reach out. Touch the fabric like I need to confirm it’s real. It still smells like him.

Clean. Steady. Grounding in a way I don’t fully understand.

I pick it up. Hold it for a second too long. Then, before I can talk myself out of it, I pull it over my head.

The weight settles around me. Familiar now. Comforting in a way that makes my chest ache.

I exhale slowly and sit on the edge of the bed.

This is a mistake. I know it is. Getting used to this. Getting comfortable here.

Letting small things matter. Letting him matter.

All of it is a mistake.

But as I lie down beside Lexi, the sweatshirt wrapped around me and the quiet hum of the clubhouse surrounding us, I can’t quite convince myself to take it off.

And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.

I know she’s awake before I see her.

Not because I hear anything obvious through the wall. Not because I’m standing outside her damn door like some kind of creep. Just because by the time I hit the hall that morning, coffee already halfway gone and my cut settled over my shoulders where it belongs, there’s a shift in the air outside her room that wasn’t there ten minutes ago.