Was it unusual for Noah to barge into your apartment without warning? Not in the slightest. The spare key you’d given him “for emergencies” had long since morphed into a free pass for his unplanned visits. At first, it had been a safety measure; now, it was his go to escape when he needed to vent, just like tonight.
“It’s absurd. Completely absurd,” he ranted, flopping onto your couch and clutching a pillow like it held all the answers. “I can’t believe they’ve got me doing such an intimate scene,” he added, his tone dripping with discontent.
As he settled in, legs stretched out and posture relaxed, it was hard not to notice how at home he looked, like this was as much his space as yours.
“What do you think? I’m not being ridiculous, am I?” he asked, though his tone suggested he wasn’t genuinely seeking validation. Before you could even open your mouth, he barreled on. “No, I’m definitely not.”
The irony, of course, was that he absolutely was. It was just a hug scene, but for Noah, who treated physical touch like a foreign language, such a request might as well have been asking him to recite poetry in Latin.