He isn't incorrect at all, and it's a short while later that Ivan's commlink chimes in an obnoxious reminder of that very thing. Ivan groans, tempted to take it off and fling it across the room but instead forcing himself up off the couch. Couch? "Wha--" Is what he says while trying to pull himself back together, thumbing it off.

Ivan blinks into the light, running one hand through his disheveled and mussed hair, squinting as he tries to remember where he is and what he's doing here. He can practically taste the dream in his mouth, and makes a face at the lingering aftertaste of a nap. Nice dream, though, even if he hadn't really had much success with Duv -- Duv. Duv. "Duv--"

The traces of sleep vanish from his eyes as he stares straight at the man who's office he has absolutely been napping in, without permission. He realizes, belatedly, that he probably looks as unprofessional as it's possible to be while still in one's office. Oh God.