He grunts an approval at that. He can probably function without coffee, but he doesn't feel like trying. Bruce wanders closer to the kitchenette, bleary still, if physically refreshed. (He used Clark's toothbrush, too. These are the sacrifices we make with friends like Bruce Wayne.)

Absently, he picks up the invitation on the counter. He'd received one, too, but had tossed in the the garbage without going through it. Like hell is he going to some cocktail party after he's finally rid himself of that life. Having nothing else to do at present but glare at a plant, he opens it, and starts reading.

Slow breath in and out. Serenely, Bruce sets the pamphlet down on the counter, then pushes it over and slides it off the edge and into the trash. Maybe Clark just won't notice.