The scent woke you first — warm garlic, melted cheese, something being stirred on the stove.

You blinked the sleep away and padded into the kitchen, still groggy.

And there he was. Bruce. In full Batsuit minus the cowl, stirring a pot on the stove with quiet concentration.

“You’re still in uniform,” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes.

He turned with a small smirk. “Didn’t want to wake you changing.”

You blinked at the pot. “Is that… my grandma’s recipe?”

He nodded, setting the spoon aside. “I found it in the drawer. Thought you could use something familiar.”

You crossed the kitchen and hugged him from behind, arms barely fitting around the suit’s armor.

“I love you, Batsuit and all.”

His hand covered yours. “Love you too. Dinner in five.”