Noah follows where she nudges him to the couch, sliding down beside her before he simply lifts her up a bit until she's sitting on his lap instead. His arms wind tightly around her as he swallows thickly.

He breathes in deep through the ache which has settled there, and then he releases the breath again through the ache, licking his lips through the feeling of it scratching at the inside of his chest.

"My mother was a guardian angel. Protective, caring, she'd sew up a tear in your clothing and use the pin to take someone's eye out if they fucked with someone she cared about," Noah says with a light smirk. "My dad was her ward, and he wasn't an angel or anything. There was a lot of love there, a lot of love for me. My dad got me into music. He used to play the saxophone. The guitar was always my thing. They took care of me. Worried all the time."

He wasn't an easy child to take care of.