Vyan's deep sleep was rudely interrupted by a piercing, shrill voice. He rolled over, desperately trying to ignore it.
"Vyan, Vyaaan, Vyaaaaan," Clyde called out in a comical opera-like tone, standing beside Vyan's bed—or more accurately, Clyde's bed.
"Shuddap," Vyan mumbled, his words slurred with sleep.
Clyde's grin stretched from ear to ear. "Rise and shine, my dear lord. Miss breakfast and you will be fasting till dusk."
Vyan yanked the duvet over his head, blocking out Clyde as if he were a particularly obnoxious alarm clock.
"Don't ignore me like that," Clyde whined, his voice a blend of exaggerated distress and playful menace.
"…you … ex… ou…" Vyan's muffled voice emerged from under the covers, a jumbled mess of syllables.
"U? X? O? Dreaming of alphabets now, Vyan?" Clyde teased. "Most people your age dream of women—oh, but then again, maybe you're past that whole puberty phase—"
