Bull slid his hand across the bed, reaching for Dorian but not actually touching him.

"Alright," he said quietly. He couldn't fight this, he couldn't battle whatever was happening in his head. Maybe he did need a mage to step in, or-- or something. Letting Dorian make something to help him sleep was no different from letting Stitches do it, he told himself.

His heavy shoulders sank slowly, and the Iron Bull looked utterly defeated by the whatever demons that lived in his memory.