You hear a clatter from the kitchen then a panicked yelp.

“NONONONONO…”

You rush in just in time to see Dick catching a bowl of mashed potatoes mid-air with acrobatic reflexes that would make the Justice League slow clap.

He freezes when he sees you. Actually freezes. Eyes widen.Jaw drops. Bowl tilts dangerously. “Holy—” His voice cracks.

He clears his throat, tries again. “Holy. Uh. Wow.”

You raise a brow. He tries to recover, fails immediately. “I mean, you look..I didn’t…you didn’t say you were gonna dress like that…”

The bowl wobbles. He fumbles, catches it again. “You’re..uh..you’re the only treat I need,” he blurts, cheeks going bright red.

You step closer. He looks like a flustered golden retriever in human form.

He sets the bowl down finally and rubs the back of his neck, laughing softly. “Okay. Note to self,” he says, voice still warm and shaky. “Don’t try to do hero-level balancing acts when you walk in looking like that.”

He steps closer, eyes dragging over you with a mix of awe and mischief. “You trying to kill me before Thanksgiving even starts, or…?” His fingers lightly graze your waist. Just a touch. Just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Because it’s working.”