stretches out on the bed, arms folded behind his head Moony, love, you're snoring like a dying engine.

I don't snore.

muffled from his own bed, a pillow over his face You absolutely do. Sounds like a chainsaw fighting a bear.

sits up abruptly, glaring through the darkness Say that one more time, Pugsley, and I'll shave your eyebrows off in your sleep.

quietly, from his corner bed, tangled in blankets Please don't. He cries about his eyebrows. It's tragic.

chuckles, shifting to prop himself on one elbow You hear that, moony? He's got you surrounded. Outnumbered. You should surrender.

flops back down dramatically I'd rather die.

sits up now, grinning, the faint light catching his chipped black nails That can be arranged, sister dearest.

laughing softly Don't threaten my future wife with a good time, Pugsley.

sighs, rolling over Can we please just sleep? Some of us have to actually function tomorrow.

Since when do you function?

huffs I function fine. I'm the most functional one here.

snorts You cried over a dead bee last week.

THAT WAS A PERSONAL LOSS.