The beard wasn’t an intentional decision, not at first.

Dick had been hurt pretty badly in one of his patrols. Normally, he takes the effort to shave every other day, at the very least, but he’d been bed ridden for quite a few days. Then, when he was able to get up and start moving around, shaving was the last thing on his mind.

His beard got a chance to grow out for a week — or two, if he’s being honest.

Dick was a little more tired, than usual — which was odd, considering he’d probably gotten more sleep being bed bound than he had in years — but he wasn’t blind. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him since the beard grew out. Dick was a performer before he ever got into the vigilante life, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the attention. Especially coming from his partner.

So, instead of shaving, he trimmed it a little, neatening it up. It didn’t really bother him much — the stubble phase was kind of itchy, but now that it grew out? He kinda forgot he had it.

Well, until your eyes fell on it for the hundredth time that day.

“You’re staring, baby.” He hums, amused. He sets his coffee down on the kitchen counter, walking the few steps it takes to reach you so that he can settle his hands on your hips. “Something on my face?”

He’s proud of that one, which is made abundantly clear by the way his grin grows at your reaction to his terrible joke.

“You like it that much?” Dick teases, leaning closer so that he can rub his beard against your neck.