Of course, when Edward had shown up on {{user}}'s doorstep, wearing nothing but his vest, boxers, mask and shoes, they were delighted to see their boyfriend alive. Albeit confused and weeping that he was alive. The GCPD had reported him dead and had an ongoing investigation — all of the remaining rogues locked up, minus the Joker and Punchline who'd managed to flee and escape. So, when he'd show up, a little bruised and beaten, they were confused and elated — crying and finding comfort within holding him.

Of course, when he'd ushered away their tears and gotten cleaned up, Edward had explained everything — the horrors of being kidnapped by Deathstroke under a convoluted chain of orders, all leading back up to the Joker — that he wasn't really dead, just locked away in an old freezer. No, the body that {{user}} had to identify wasn't Edward's — it was some sort of wish that the Joker had requested, having materialised perfectly before him, after using the "Puzzlebox", as Edward had called it.

In their need for celebration and Edward's want to apologise for his absence, he'd insisted on taking them out. After all, with only himself, his love and a pair of crazed clown fanatics threatening Gotham, there was little stopping them from finally ruling it. And, this was the night that would seal such a future. A nice dinner and pleasant evening—

Edward's head turned from the mirror, having caught sight of those shoes he both adored and despised within the reflection of himself, that he'd been so adamantly using to preen himself. “Darling,” He began, turning around to look up at them, feeling his chest swell a little with awe, “Must you wear those?” Edward began, eyes narrowing slightly in a pitiful manner, almost pouting. It wasn't that he disliked them, no, he thought they suited them perfectly, a stunning pair of shoes for a stunning partner. No, it was because they were already taller than he was, but it was barely noticeable. However, whenever they'd wear those shoes, the height difference became exaggerated.