quicklog, gotham: wayne manor
[The door was locked. Or he thought it might have been, he couldn't remember. Bruce supposed it didn't matter. He didn't look up from his spot on the floor, back against the couch, when Alfred entered, as though maybe if he ignored him he might go away. But then the curtains were opened and he raised an arm with a wince, shielding himself from the unwelcome light that spilled in through the windows. He wasn't surprised. Oh, he wanted very much to be alone, but if there was anyone who would ignore a closed (or locked) door and do as he liked, it was Alfred. Everyone else would keep their distance, but not him.
He drew his knees up to his chest, a sharp intake of breath the only indication that the movement hurt, and turned, facing away from Alfred and his cart. It was childish, he knew, but he didn't care.] I'm not hungry, Alfred. [It wasn't difficult to guess what he'd brought with him.]