In retrospect, she really should have seen this one coming. I mean, seriously, what person who has everything going great for them really expects life to carry on like that?

The weeks leading up to the incident- because, no, she wasn't immature, she just didn't want to call it what it was, Dumbledore's advice be damned- had been... different, to say the least. It had been almost a sort of limbo, a calm before the storm, if you will. The kind of peace- absolute perfection- that almost makes you wonder if you're even awake. Well, at least now she knew it wasn't a dream.

(One of the many dreams she'd had about this exact situation).

How the hell had this even started?

-Two months ago-

She'd liked him for what had to be forever. Because, when you're a teenager, one year might as well be forever, right?

It had started out simple enough. She'd known him for years, but they hadn't really talked much- or, at least, not enough for anything to happen. And then her stupid friends had to go and ruin it by pointing out how stupidly cute they'd be as a stupid couple, and all of a sudden all she could think about was how stupidly perfect he was.

And so it had gone on. For a year.

She had thought it would stop, and honestly, it almost did- summer break hit, and not seeing a person for two months can really change how often you think of them. Until, of course, school started again, and they were in the same class and seeing each other every day and what was that saying about absence making the heart grow fonder?

Needless to say, it hadn't stopped.

And so, here she was, trying very hard not to think about the way his thick hair curled around his ears and that stupid face he made as he told her terrible jokes and how freaking adorable it was when his shoulders shook as he laughed and- no, stop it!

And she was trying even harder not to think about how there was no chance in hell of him ever liking her back.

So she pushed it from her mind, instead joining in his infectious giggles at something he'd said that was so not funny that it had her bent over and clutching her stomach, trying to just enjoy being around him.

-----

A few days later was when it started.

Really, she should thank her teacher for the whole thing, although she wasn't sure it was really something she was grateful for.

She'd been talking to him- because hey, her friends weren't there yet, what was she supposed to do- when her teacher, master of timing he was, decided to walk by at the exact moment she had been once again bent over, clutching her stomach in a fit of giggles, and had given them what she could honestly say was the strangest look a teacher had ever given her. Followed by a knowing smirk.

And, wonderful, he'd seen it too.

"Hey, um. . . did you see that?" And try as she might to deny it, the traitorous pink on her cheeks would surely give her away, so she nodded her head yes.

"He was looking at us funny. . ." Way to go me, pointing out the obvious.

"I think- I think he thought we're dating." And that's when they simultaneously noted just how close they were standing, close enough for her to notice the little freckles on his nose and how his hair had gotten even thicker.

They also both had the idea to jump back at the same time.

He played it off as a joke, and of course she joined in because maybe it'd calm her still flushed cheeks (and there was no way she could ever turn down one of his jokes). And so they'd laughed about the whole thing, about how are we far enough apart now? and this seems like a friendly distance.

And when they'd taken their seats later, he'd offered out his hand to her with a "We're dating, so we should hold hands!" and she'd never wanted something so badly in her life.

Of course, she hadn't the confidence to accept his offer. But that didn't stop her from dreaming about what his hand would have felt like in hers.

-----

Her friends must have noticed, because they would not stop teasing her about it.

"I saw you guys in class today, trying to hold hands!" Key word: trying.

"So cute!" He is.

"So, do you like him?" More than you know.

But she just denied it all, because no use making a big deal out of nothing if he didn't like her back.

Her friends seemed disappointed (and, to be honest, unconvinced) but that didn't stop their teasing, and insistence that they would make a "perfect couple."

Though she simply scowled on the outside, happiness bubbled in her chest at their sentiments.

-----

He talked to her now.

A lot.

He talked to her so much now that instead of hoping for a hi, she grew to expect multiple conversations a day. Him walking up to her before school, during class, after the bell rang, waiting to go home. She found herself learning little things about him- or, at least, little compared to her prior knowledge. (They even had inside jokes.) Sometimes it felt like she spent more time talking with him than her friends.

It was honestly perfect.

But it also kind of freaked her out.

What was she supposed to make of this? She didn't dare get her hopes up, but. . . did he, maybe- and she knew she was insane for even considering this- but was there maybe a chance he liked her back? Or was she reading too far into this? Oh god, I'm probably reading too far into this. I mean, he talks to a lot of people, he's a friendly person, I'm probably not special. Right? What if I'm reading this wrong and he finds out and I end up embarrassing myself and-

She tried not to think about that option too much.

But then came the other scenario: he had feelings for her, and the last few weeks had been filled with attempts at flirting with her. The thought of that alone caused a feeling of panic to settle in her chest.

But why? Wasn't that exactly what she'd wanted? It was like the part in the movie where the villain finally kills the hero, and promptly panics upon realizing he hasn't a clue what to do next. But wait, what kind of metaphor was that? It didn't make sense. None of this makes sense!

She was definitely thinking about this way too much.

-----

Okay, so looking back on it all, the weeks leading up to it had really been anything but a "calm before the storm." But, comparatively, that period of time was far less of a hurricane than that in her mind.

A hurricane that was still happening.

Wait, still happening? Still happening?

How long had he been staring at her with that expectant look? As if he was waiting for her to speak. . . had something. . .

Oh, that's right. The incident. The incident that was still happening!

It was still happening, and he was still looking at her with those big, expectant eyes, waiting for her to speak and oh my god how long has it been since I've said anything?!

(Long enough, apparently, for her to replay the last two months in her head.)

And for all her dreaming and fantasizing, planning every detail of this exact moment (minus her internal freakout), all her fried brain could supply her with was a measly "Wait, what?" Nice going.

His face went pink, as if he was losing his nerve. As if he was going through just as much inner turmoil as her. She doubted it.

"Oh, I just. . ." A gulp. "I was wondering if you wanted to go out, maybe next Saturday? I was thinking we could. . ." But she had stopped listening. (But, in her defense, it's pretty hard to focus when your heart has just stopped.)

Her chest felt tight. Too tight. She was having trouble breathing. If I pass out, does that mean I can deal with this later?

Wishful thinking.

She was in too deep, she wasn't ready for this! Here she was, the Joker standing over a dead Batman, goal achieved as her world seemed to fall apart. What was wrong with her? Wasn't this what she wanted? Why couldn't she just be happy?

And he was still talking and oh my god I haven't heard a single word and yet she still couldn't bring herself to focus, she was having a mini panic attack but there was nothing "mini" about this, and her breathing was getting more shallow by the second and it felt like she was drowning, deep down below the surface, and for a split second her vision darkened and she was certain this was where she was going to die-

But wait, was he still talking?

As she realized that yes, he was, and had been for the entire two minutes she had zoned out, she also realized that not only was he still talking, he was rambling. His hands were fidgeting with a stray curl of hair and the hem of his shirt, and his eyes met with everything but hers, and she couldn't help but find it adorable. He was nervous! And honestly, there was something distinctly reassuring about that. Because maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way as her.

And as comforting as she was beginning to find the deep timbre of his voice (though its pitch was steadily rising), she knew she had to stop him.

"Next Saturday sounds wonderful."

And the smile that lit up his face washed away every last ounce of uncertainty left in her body. She could do this, I can do this! She wasn't the Joker, she wasn't even Batman, she was just a teenage girl with a crush, and that she could handle.

(Probably.)

She just hoped that a week from now wouldn't find her making as much of a scene as today. That she wouldn't have a reason to address it as an incident.

And that, for the love of God, there would be no more Batman metaphors.