"It's different." It's always different when he's burying himself in noble suffering.

Harley discards her top with absolutely no hesitation, and that's a marvel on its own, though not nearly so much as what follows. He looks away on instinct, remembers that he doesn't have to, then turns his gaze back to her.

He laughs, because she can always get him to laugh no matter the circumstances. "Of course I had to take notes, how else would I remember everything I wanted to discuss? You laugh now, but you'll have to read through all of them later." He pushes himself up off the floor, his knees still protesting from spending so long in one position on the bed. "Besides, I didn't annotate you. But... I could?" Gale's eyes take on a mischievous glint. Her skin is covered in ink, after all, its own sort of story. Magic helps him clear everything from the bed except the pen and ink, which he's sure not to spill as he climbs onto his bed with her.