He drew open the curtains and looked how the sky was glowing behind the apartment blocks. Soon the sun would rise over the roofs and the new day would start. He thought of the night and sighed. Such things were new to him, little sisters. Girls...

He wiped a tear out of his eye. Cutting onions had never been amongst his hobbies, but today's breakfast would be the best he had ever made. She was in need of a good meal, his skinny little stepsister.

He thought of the dark traces on her cheeks, pale beneath the red stuff. Her make-up wasn't water-proof, but perhaps make-up wasn't meant to be. For what could describe the feelings better than running mascara, or eye-shadow, or whatever it was called. He didn't know the difference.

Capricious black lines wiggling over a tender face he somehow... Cared for. She had seemed so innocent, so ignorant and disillusioned, like a child that dropped his ice-cream, but worse. What could be a sadder sight than a crying girl wearing her most beautiful dress? He knew he should have said something big brotherly, but he had been stunned.

He tossed the onions into the wok and stirred the sizzling meat. The steam blew into his face and made him sniff.

He wasn't the Golden Avenger or Dragonman. Comic-book heroes would probably give that boy a punch that would send him straight into the stratosphere or stamp him so deep into the ground that he would pop out on the other side of the planet. But this was the real world and he was no hero. He was just an ordinary guy that spend most of his time reading.

Spices filled the kitchen with their fragrance and he tried to think of something he could say to her. He used to tease her and to interrupt her soap operas with sarcastic remarks. She in turn often hid his favourite comics and had even torn one apart in a burst of anger. He wasn't sure if he had forgiven her for that yet, but right now it seemed a small thing.

He listened to the sounds of the sputtering food in front of him and the silence of his flat. Someone was singing somewhere far away, a man with a clear voice. The tune was slow and in he couldn't identify the language, but the music reminded him a little of the Canto-pop she was so fond of.

He turned down the fire and scooped the noodles into a bowl.

The television was on, but she was staring out of the window, bracing herself. She was still wearing her nightgown and seemed even smaller than the night before.

He put the bowl down onto his table and went back to the kitchen to get some chopsticks. When he returned she had seated herself. Her eyes were red with crying.

" You have made noodles."

There was a faint smile on her face.

" You like?"

She nodded.

" If I would say that, you'd say I'm talking slang."

" I would, ah?"

" You're teasing me."

" Not teasing you. You sleep little bit?"

" Stop it."

He was pleased to see a laugh on her tearful face.

" I slept well... Sort of. And you?"

She looked at the blankets that were draped over the couch. He hadn't slept too well, but he had felt obliged to yield his bed.

" Not too bad."

She looked at him and seemed very different from the girl that had once ripped his comics apart. He did not know what to say. It didn't seem like a good idea to mention the other night, but he couldn't do as if nothing had happened either. He filled her bowl and poured her some tea.

She took a few bites from a piece of pork and seemed to hesitate.

" I'm so glad I have a big brother", she said.

His cheeks got hot and he quickly filled his mouth with noodles...