God, Jonathan really hoped that he wasn't going to just dream up that point and then simply...die. At the hands? Fangs? Something like that, of a vampire. It seemed far too pointless - shouldn't he have his boundaries pushed, and be slowly nudged to the brink of something first, some sort of precipice, before finding his way back? Wasn't that how these things worked?
"Maybe I do," he laughed roughly, tapping his cigarette to knock the ashes off with his thumb. "Better than drooling, or snoring." Mr. Harker had apparently missed the memo about how you shouldn't cut yourself shaving in Transylvania, it was against the law (well, next time don't skulk around like a creeper if a man has a razor in his hand). Then the pompous ass threw that travel mirror out a window, rude.
If anything, it had just shown dream Jonathan that it'd been a good idea to wear that crucifix after all, even if at first he thought it was nonsense.
"But really, to watch someone sleep? He should have just invited me for popcorn and movies on Netflix."