Harvey released a breath at the groan muffled sharply at his throat. He felt disgusting in more ways than he cared to count but somehow the feeling fit like a second skin in this filthy room, with the man who had helped take everything away from him pressed up against him in a hot, sticky mess. Harvey's good eye slide to what he could catch of the painted face, half lips parted as though he wanted to speak, to say something biting or disturbed, whatever the script called for, but he couldn't bring himself to find the words.

A screech that could only be human broke him from his trance, eyes darting to the window as the broken sounds filtered in. He shoved the Joker aside, to the cleaner part of the couch now, sighing as he pulled himself up. "I hate you." he muttered, and it was almost casual, apathetic and age worn rather than bitter.