“how late was it this time?”

the golden sunlight of an early late winter morning poured through the windows of the march house, illuminating the sitting room with warmth and welcomeness that never seemed to fade or waver, no matter the time of day.

you, having stayed up through the ungodly hours of the night to read, were practically a ghost of a person. you had stumbled down the stairs and essentially collapsed on the sofa next to your sister, jo.

in response, she’d lied your head down in her lap, soothingly running a hand through your hair as she reread the writing she’d been working on earlier.

beth was at the piano, playing as quietly as she could as to not wake the rest of the house, but her notes were still beautiful and flawless as always.

jo glanced down at you, almost falling asleep again, by the looks of it. she couldn’t help but grin to herself, finding your state amusing.

“no answer?”

you shook your head glumly and mumbled incoherently, the yellow daylight coming from the windows was bright and present from behind your closed eyes.

jo shrugged to herself, affectionately patting your head as she kept reading.

“i’d say you read too much, but i can’t really be talking, can i?”