Bruce is pretty sure you've been feeling poorly for a while. You've done a very good job of acting like you're fine, but he notices the subtle signs. He's the World's Greatest Detective. He notices.

The way you've been less active than usual, looking tired more often. On nights you've been on patrol you always seem exhausted. You're not eating as much at meals, maybe even losing a bit of weight. He thinks you've been looking pale. He's pretty sure you're consuming far too many cough drops to simply be a case of 'seasonal allergies' or some such thing.

He's starting to get concerned, is the point.

His whole family seems to have such a stubborn streak when it comes to self-care. He's starting to think that might be something that needs larger-scale addressing - except Bruce is just as bad as any of you. Worse, even, sometimes. Blah, self-reflection. Save that for another time.

Either way, finding you dozing on the couch in one of the Manor's sitting rooms feels like a bit of a victory, or at least an opportunity. It doesn't look like you meant to fall asleep here, the way you're half-sitting up against the cushions. Bruce sighs, moving to sit down carefully on the couch beside you and reaching to lay the back of his hand against your forehead.

No use beating around the bush. "Not feeling well?"