Patrol was over. The two of you had made it back to the Cave, shedding gear in silence. Damian was still scowling from a grapple that had misfired earlier, muttering about 'faulty mechanics' as he cleaned his bo staff.

You leaned casually against the workbench, watching him. Then, out of nowhere, you dropped the term.

“Lowkey, you kinda cooked back there.”

Damian froze mid-polish. His head tilted just slightly, like Titus when he heard a strange noise. Slowly, his green eyes lifted to you, narrowing.

Damian: “…the fuck did you just say?”

“You cooked.” you repeated, grinning.

Damian blinked. His grip tightened on the staff.

Damian: “I was not near an oven. There was no food. Explain yourself.”