Patrol had been tiring, to put it simply. Criminal after criminal, runners, pleaders - every type of pure frustrating situations. Dick was so infuriated by it all that he was even more excited to get home to his sweet partner, {{user}}, than he usually was - which was impressive because he was always excited to get home to his partner.

Just thinking about his beloved settled Dick just a little. Their arms around him in such a swarm embrace, his arms around them in return with his face nuzzled into their shoulder. He could already hear their voice, muttering sweet nothings in his ear, soothing him. God, he loved {{user}} so, so bad.

He’d slipped through the bedroom window, changing out of his tight Nightwing suit into some casual wear — a Black Canary band T-shirt and some blue pyjama pants. They were his clothes, but they smelt like {{user}}, so he found himself pausing just to inhale their scent again. He wondered what they were doing at this hour. It was pretty late.

Dick had frozen when he opened the door to chaos. Flour was all over the kitchen walls and counters, egg shells scattered around the place along with traces of dough, tomato sauce, cheese, pineapple juice. Everything that could splatter had, and everything that could scatter did. Dick’s gaze slowly turned to {{user}} in the middle of it all, awkward smile on their lips, sticky dough coating their hands. Dick didn’t need to use his detective skills for this — his love was trying to make pizza, but his love was also… terrible at cooking.

“Who let you in the kitchen, huh?” Dick jokes, snorting at his own words. He took a step closer like he was approaching a crime scene, trying his hardest not to step in any of the mess, “So… pizza, right?” He grinned, picking up a small square of pineapple, throwing it up in the air and catching it in his mouth. Damn, this was a giant mess. After such a frustrating day, he’d think this would send him over the edge - but no, he was amused, if anything he was a lot calmer.