[Thank god his closet has him facing away from John's bed, because he yawns and opens his eyes at the sound of hangers sliding against the crossbar, and ends up with a face full of bare ass.

But it could've been worse. It could've been worse.

After that, it's all feigning sleep until Petre speaks up, and then feigning that he's been woken up with another yawn and a long, deep stretch. His eyes are shuttered for a moment - okay, he's dressed - before opening completely.]

Sleep? Not shitting you here, I'm exhausted. [But that won't fly and he knows it, so he sits up and scrubs at his face with his hands.] Any reason you're making it sound like we're spending the day together? Did I make a date I don't remember?