True North - Vol 1

Chapter 11 - Radiance

★・・・・・★

The next morning, long after breakfast, Patricia knocked on Morgan's door, "Morgan, are you awake yet?" but there was no answer.

"Of course you're not," letting out a sigh. This was the third time she has tried to wake him up in the past hour, and her patience was stretching thin.

She banged on the door, louder this time, "If you don't open this door, I'm coming in," she warned, pausing for a moment, but still nothing.

"I know you're in there, I can feel you..." she whispered, a touch of heat biting her cheeks as the words left her mouth, but only silence called back.

Patricia attempted to turn the handle but it was locked, however she wouldn't let that minute detail halt her determination. She considered her options for a moment, quickly looking up and down the hallway, making sure she was alone. She gathered up the force around her hands and hurled it at the door, it burst open, a little too forcibly, but she was still delighted that it worked, her mouth twisting into a smile.

Morgan snapped his head up at the noise.

"Rise and shine your highness," she sang, as she strode uninvited into his bedroom.

"What the kriff are you doing in here?" he said in groggy irritation.

"Returning the favor it seems," rolling her eyes at his hypocrisy. She walked over to his window, and flung the curtains open, letting light flood the room.

Patricia shook her head in disbelief, even half asleep, he was irritatingly endearing with his hair a muss and nose scrunched up in confusion.

"Huh, what?" he quickly pulled a pillow over his face.

"Did you forget your promise already? I am not surprised," she huffed.

He let out a groan of realization, and a curse word or two, but Patricia ignored it, instead noticing the current state of his bedroom. She didn't recall it being so messy last night.

There was a mountain of clothes strewn across the floor, the housekeeper in her was appalled, "Morgan, your room is a mess, how can you live like this?"

"Define, living," she heard him faintly from beneath the pillow

She loudly sighed, he was incorrigible.

In the light of the day his room seemed different, it was surprisingly much smaller than hers, not to mention cold and vacant, aside from a small nightstand next to his bed and an armoire in the corner.

Patricia sadly realized that he lived like a guest in his own home, besides the clothing, there wasn't any inkling that he lived here. Whether that was by his design or not, was unclear, but after their conversation the other night, she assumed his father was the person that made him feel like an unwelcomed vagrant, just passing through.

"Well, do you have any clean clothes at least?" ignoring the depression looming overhead.

"In the wardrobe," he mumbled through the pillow.

She made her way over, carefully maneuvering through the heaps of clothes, and pulled opened the doors, her eyes widening in surprise. "Do you ever wear anything colorful?" she criticized, carefully scrutinized his all-black wardrobe, thumbing through the stacks of folded clothing.

He lifted up a corner of his pillow and glanced at her momentarily, "Yeah, sometimes, I wear grey."

She shook her head, and pulled out a set of clothes.