The bathroom steam curled around Dick’s freshly-shaven legs as he stood before you, looking like a confused Greek statue that had been waxed into oblivion. The towel around his waist was the only thing preserving his dignity—not that there was much left after whatever this was.

You pressed your hands over your mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort of not cackling.

Dick’s brow furrowed, his infamous Grayson charm replaced by pure, unadulterated concern. He lifted one hairless arm, examining it like it had betrayed him. "Did I do it wrong?"

The question—delivered with the same tone he’d use if he’d accidentally disarmed a bomb backward—nearly broke you.

Because oh God, he was serious.

Your eyes raked over him. His usually toned, fuzzy legs were now smoother than a baby dolphin. His chest, normally dusted with dark hair, was as bare as a mannequin’s. Even his arms had fallen victim to whatever crisis had prompted this.

"Why…?" you managed, voice strangled.

Dick rubbed the back of his neck—also suspiciously hairless. "I, uh… thought it’d make me more aerodynamic?"