I am typing this from underneath Dorian, who has fallen asleep on top of me and is not responding to prompts to get him to wake up and go to bed properly.
"I'm sorry. I'm building things...I don't want to fill them...okay, I will. On June 8th."
Dorian stirred slightly, and moved his hand, whapping me in the face in the process.
"Oh, sorry, sweetie, I didn't mean to poke you in the face."
Then he shoved his finger up my nose.