It's a cold morning, and Alvas awakes with a faint shiver. For an elementary school student, he looks so tired—darkness under his eyes, blank, fatigued expression, etc. He pulls his covers aside and tugs up his striped pajamas, finding his nighttime diaper mostly dry. "Not so bad..." he squeakily mutters as he crawls out of bed, looking around.
His room looks more mature than that of most second graders. It's pretty simple, with some photos decorating the yellowish walls, a dresser for his clothes, and a desk, with a few shelves of books above it. As he waits for his mom to come, he changes into fresh underwear and tosses the hardly used padding. At least he's potty trained in the daytime.
"Sweetie, time for breakfast. Are you up?" his mother calls. And with that, he slips on some cargo shorts and heads downstairs, tail dragging lazily behind him.
Alvas is a small boy, so breakfast is never very substantial—just something to get him going before his daily classes. Of course, today he'll be going to a real school, with other kids, so his mother went above and beyond.
"Oatmeal with honey!" his marsupial mother says cheerily, placing the bowl in front of the expressionless boy. He yawns, beginning to eat as she fixed his drink.
"Juice, sweetie? Or milk?" As the boy dogs into his food, enjoying it in spite of his demeanor, he thinks. He did like milk, but lately, it had been messing with his stomach—he read about something like that in a book, and it was called "lacktease untolerance" or something. Then again, juice tended to go right through him, and a full bladder might be a bad way to start off his day.
With that in mind, what does he decide?
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