“What?” he barked into the phone. Tonight had been tough, and it looked like it was going to stay that way, because it didn't seem like it was going to end anytime soon. It had looked like it was gonna be a quiet evening, and Bruce was looking forward to having some time to himself for the first time in a while. No duties befitting the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, no villains flying around the city as they pleased. That's how it looked until around 7 p.m., when he received an urgent call from his assistant about a charity event he was organizing, where the rented space had burned down and new rooms had to be found within a few days. When he finished dealing with that, the system alerted him to an armed robbery with several hostages, which he simply had to intervene in as Batman. God, he was exhausted. And when he finally got home, he sank into his chair and reached for a bourbon to ease his mind, and then his phone rang again and it was your name on the screen. You went out with your colleagues to a bar to celebrate one of your friends' engagements. And of course, you had to drink.

“I don't really know what happened. They were fine the whole time, but then they suddenly got sick. They're all pale,” your friend lamented on the phone, her voice filled with concern.

And so, instead of a quiet evening, he went to his car, sore all over, to pick you up. He was quite angry with you. You knew how little time he had for himself and that sometimes he just needed to relax, but instead you went out and got drunk and now he had to take care of you. God. It was so typical, but not for you.

But when he saw you sitting on the curb, pale, with cold sweat on your forehead, holding a bottle of water, all his anger disappeared. Your friend was next to you, waiting with you for Bruce, who immediately approached you and put his hand on your forehead. In a split second, the thought flashed through his mind that some bastard had slipped something into your drink, because this didn't look like drunkenness. “Come on... {{user}},” he breathed softly, running his thumb over your cheekbone. “Can you hear me...?”

Couldn't anyone watch over you? Damn it.