Arthur doesn't sleep for long. It was dark when he fell asleep, and still dark when he woke up. His headache has faded, allowing him to move around more. He grabs his jacket and fishes a cigarette and a lighter out, before moving over to the window. There's no glass in the frame, allowing a cold chill into the room, brushing against his bare skin.

Lighting up the cigarette, Arthur peers between the boards into a dark alleyway between this building and an old looking apartment block. There's significantly less trash lying around, though still not what you'd call clean. He tries to look at the street beyond the alleyway, but it's empty. Sighing, he presses the cigarette to his lips, smoke filling his lungs, before slowly exhaling.

He can't tell how real this entire situation is. Ever since his medication ran out he's been unable to recognise reality from his imagination, as reality often feels like a dream, and imagination is strong enough to seem real. Like Sophie. He loved her since the day he layed eyes on her.

His eyes fall shut as the memories comes back to him. Her watching his comedy act; their date; her comforting him when his mum was hospitalised. That night when he went to her apartment for support and everything suddenly unravelled.

Arthur already knew how to get into her apartment; he broke in once before when she was at work. He knew that if you jiggled the handle in a certain way then it would loosen the lock, which wasn't secure due to the age of the building. He would never forget the fear in her eyes when she saw him there, or the panic when he slowly made a gun gesture against his head. His whole world came crashing down in that very moment, and all he could do was get up and walk away without another word, breaking down into a painful fit of laughter once home.

What hurt the most for him, was that the only time he felt normal was when he was with her.

His imagination has always been strong enough to make up things. When he was younger he would often see things that never really happened, or hear things no one else could. It's probably some sort of medical condition that he hasn't outright been diagnosed with, but was given medication for anyway. Though, Arthur can't tell if that's the truth. Maybe he just has an overactive imagination, and that's that.

Maybe all of this isn't real. It doesn't feel like it, but yet it doesn't have a dream-like sensation to it either. If it is just a hallucination, then Arthur is just crashing in some strange house. If it's real? He's stuck in an unfamiliar Gotham city with some strange guy who goes by the name he chose for his new persona. None of this seemed real, or even likely.

Pressing the cigarette back to his lips, he watches a cat wander through the alley, carefully stalking a rat within the bin bags. It reminds him of his old cat, Tabby, though he found out that the cat he had loved didn't exist either. His life is very disappointing at this point.

Joker's words replay in his mind, and Arthur begins to wonder how far away from home he really is. He isn't entirely sure where he ended up after the crash, especially considering the car journey beforehand. The theatre he ran past was familiar, but the rest of the area wasn't. So where in Gotham is he?

Once finished smoking, Arthur puts the cigarette put on the wooden board and flicks it out the window. He puts his trousers and his jacket on, as it doesn't feel like a good idea to confront this man near naked, and slowly creeps out of the room. He follows the wall round to the living room, where Joker is sat on a coach staring something in his hands.

Sensing his guest, Joker turns and stares at him. Arthur notices that he still had most of his face paint on, though it had partially wiped off and smudged on the right side of his face. He hadn't slept much either by the looks of it.

"What's this?" Joker asks, holding up a familiar laminated card. Arthur pauses. He recognises it immediately as a card he gave during an episode, but he doesn't remember putting it in his pocket. "Please forgive my laughter, I have a condition?"

"...I have a neurological condition..." He bites the inside of his lip uncomfortably. His condition hardly affected him anymore, so there's no reason why Joker should've found out about it. "I can't...I sometimes laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate times as a response to my emotions. Like when I get scared, uncomfortable or upset. I can't help it, it just happens"

Joker raises an eyebrow, and Arthur quickly continues. "It doesn't really affect me anymore since I stopped taking my medication. It won't be a problem"

"This condition is real?" The other turns the card in his hand. Arthur nods. "You learn something new everyday" He leans forward with the card outstretched, handing it back to Arthur.

"I..." Arthur starts, hesitating when Joker's eyes meet his, "I don't know my name anymore. I'm not who I thought I was. But I was called Arthur..."

He isn't sure why he decided to tell him. Ever since he found out the truth behind his mother, he hasn't been sure who he is. Everything feels like a lie.

"Arthur..." The man mumbles, then mumbles it again quieter before nodding and getting up to walk over. Arthur notices that Joker is a few inches taller than him, maybe another inch if he stood completely upright. It would probably be intimidating if they were meeting for the first time.

"There's some clothes in the closet you can use" His eyes set on Arthur's bare chest visible from under his jacket, and notices how the skin seems to tightly stretch across the ribs when he breaths in. When he carried Arthur here, he noticed how he was way too light for a man his age and height. His eyes flick up to meet Arthur's again, "I'm not sure how well they'll fit, but it's a good way to blend in while you're out"

"Out?"

"Do you wanna see how Gotham has changed in 27 years?"

"Yes"

"Get dressed then"

Briefly hesitating, Arthur walks back to the room and looks through the closet. It seems as if it were just abandoned. Clothes hang neatly on the rack, with only a few empty hangers within the lot. He moves them around and picks out a few that fit with the clothes he usually wore.

After slipping off his jacket, he tries on a white button up shirt first, but finds that it's far too big. He throws it off and tries on a few more, eventually settling on a light grey button up with a stain on the forearm.

A dark blue cardigan that reminds him of the one he had at home catches his eye, and he immediately tries it on. It's too big for his skeletal frame, but the right length so he keeps it. He notices the threads in the cuffs are tattered and worn, and it's missing a button in the middle, but otherwise very comfortable. A smile crossed his face as he pulls it close around him for a brief moment, before buttoning it up and searching for some pants.

Unfortunately, all of them are slightly too long and the waist is too big, so Arthur decides to wear his own instead, before putting his socks and shoes on. He walks back out and pauses in surprise when he sees Joker waiting for him.

He looks surprisingly different without the face paint, and fairly normal if it wasn't for the facial scars. His outfit is the same, though he decided to take off some of the layers and put on a black coat ontop of it. As Arthur approaches, he notices that Joker's eyes are significantly lighter without the black circles surrounding them. The paint makes his eyes look dark, almost black, but without them, he can see cold, hazel eyes watching him.

"What, do you need an invitation? Let's go" Joker opens the door, and Arthur walks out into the hallway. A strange sense of excitement fills his stomach as they walk down the stairs, and he tries to prepare himself for the modern Gotham he was told of. When they reach the ground floor, Joker walks towards the door where two men are stood, perking up when the two clowns walk over.

"We're heading out. Keep an eye on the place while we're gone"

"Yes, sir" They reply.

Joker glances at Arthur, before they step out the building onto the dim streets of Gotham.