Sleepy

She opened the door, finally, after his third push of the doorbell.  To his surprise, she looked disheveled, as if she had just rolled out of bed.

On her feet were fuzzy, brightly colored socks.  The left leg of her pants was tucked into one, the sock pulled halfway up her calf.   The pants themselves were bright blue and loose-fitting, as pajamas should be.  The fabric looked as though it would be incredibly soft to the touch.  They were topped with a baggy old t-shirt, brown, with a faded logo and an unraveled hem.   The large shirt hung to one side, hugging her neck on the left but baring her collarbone on the right.  She blinked at him with eyes that seemed unable to open past half-mast, her face showing a hint of irritation.  Her face was framed asymmetrically by an unbrushed mane, her dark hair a tousled, wild mess.

His tone earnest and confused, he asked, “Did I wake you?”

Her eyebrows lowered and the corners of her mouth turned down in as irritation mixed with disgust.  “Jacob, it’s three in the morning.”