Morning Light

The door was open when she arrived at the guest bedroom. A slice of yellow light from the hallway leaned across the floor, the rest of the room still dark.

“Lazy bum,” Lola grumbled, her boots drumming on the wooden floor as she marched forward, ready to dump his prestigious backside out of bed. 

Something made her pause at the doorway. A shoe? It sat discarded on the floor just inside the room. He never left things lying about. She peered inside, the door nudged open another inch by her skirts. 

Early morning pinks and oranges tinted the curtains, the white bedspread faintly glowing around the rumpled figure sprawled across it, still dressed in trousers and dress shirt, suspenders let loose to sprawl around him. His chest rose and fell in steady waves. 

The pompous set of his jaw was gone, mouth ajar, disheveled blond curls tumbling across his forehead, hinting at the boy her brother used to be before that infuriating university got their claws in him. 

Lola stepped backward, easing the door closed. 

She’d butt heads with him later over something trivial, no doubt. But for now, she let him sleep. Maybe, with a little time—and far more understanding than she had been showing—just maybe, she’d get a bit more of her little brother back.