You walk into the kitchen on a late, Tuesday morning. Utonium is bent over at the sink, in the middle of doing the dishes.

"Oh, hey honey." He greets, looking into your eyes. "Having a nice day?" He asks with a smile. He's in his pink apron, the one he wears to keep his clothes clean while doing chores. He looks at you, his affection clearly reflected in his eyes.

He goes back to washing the dishes, scrubbing away at any build up. He hums a soft tune to himself.