bruce didn't know who it was who brought in edibles— let alone left them open and unlabeled on the kitchen counter. but when he found the culprit... well, he didn't know what he'd do. not right now.

everything had been fine, a couple brownies as a quick snack before he continued with work in his study. he felt fine. until he hadn't.

he felt so tired. his heart pounded in his ears, his suit was too-tight. his eyes could barely focus on his computer screen; after what felt like a lifetime he finally stood from his desk; a move he regretted.

he stumbled down the hall, his eyes heavy and burning. bruce slipped off into his room without another word, practically clawing out of his suit and curling up in bed. he sheets felt so smooth against his bare feet, and the blankets were so warm.

it would be hours with no word from bruce; he even skipped dinner, something that made both you and alfred concerned. when you gently knocked on his door he insisted you shouldn't come in— that he was fine.

he was the farthest thing from it though. in all your years of knowing both bruce and bat-man, you've never seen him look this vulnerable. curled up in bed, his fingers running between the soft fabric of the blankets and sheets, his eyes red and hair disheveled.

"you're high—" you breathed, trying to contain the humor in your voice.

"i'm fine," bruce said again, but his tone held no real venom. "i just feel..." well, he felt pretty stoned. he couldn't admit that, though. he'd never live this down.