He's not like his sister.
Temper is short with this one when he's sick.
He holds a grudge. Even against his own interests.
When he's like this I know bedtime will be a bear.
He growls and snarls and retreats into his cave.
I step into his lair, he tells me to leave through tears and recriminations.
He wanted me to read him a story ...
"But that moment's over," he snipes.
"Ok," I shrug. "Suit yourself."
I turn to go.
"WAIT! ... that moment's over, too. Here's my book. I'm up to 'volcanos.'"