It's Doctor Sam Beckett, thank you very much.

Last night, Dorian rolled over suddenly, threw his arm over me, and jostled me awake.

Dorian: "I'm sorry!"
Me: "Ugh?"
"I'm sorry."

I had no idea what he was talking about, having just been woken up from a dream, myself. (I was playing ping-pong with Brian Blessed at an outdoor anime convention, but I was really that guy from Quantum Leap, trying to avert a terrible embarrassment that was going to happen to Sir Patrick Stewart during the production of The War of the Roses, scheduled to play that evening.)

More importantly, Dorian apparently caught the creeping crud I had last week and was up all Monday night vomiting, so I was worried he was sick again.

"You ok? Did you throw up?"
"No, I'm sorry."

At this point, I realized his eyes were closed.

"...It's okay. Go back to sleep."
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't tell you what to think. You're your own person, Justin."

I'm sure I don't need to tell you that my name is not Justin.