they say looks can kill and i might try

Jude

Every time we touch, your hands are colder, colder
There's no beating coming from your wooden chest

Upstairs, Jude flinches so hard he drops his notebook, which bounces off the side of his desk and tumbles to the floor in a flurry of paper and eraser crumbs. There's not a lot of slamming that goes on in the Carpenter household - which Jude is grateful for - but it is consistently louder than Jude is used to. His home had been painfully quiet, only ever alleviated by his father's presence, and only ever for a short time. Whenever Jude was looking or listening really. He likes the difference most days, but clearly today has something worse in store.

Gingerly retrieving his songbook, Jude tides up his desk in a fitful attempt to delay the inevitable before he sighs, rakes his hands through his hair, touches Safrin's pendant for courage, and descends the stairs on quiet feet.

It's Noe, which he shouldn't be surprised by. He can't tell her expression with the way she's turned toward the kitchen table, but Jude can't just leave her like this. He's never been good at comforting people (last time he'd tried he'd left single) but you can't blame a guy for trying. Slinking into the seat beside her, Jude hooks the leg of Noe's chair and drags her closer with a grunt-squeal of the wood across the floorboards until they're knocking knees. "Bad hair day, huh? I can tell by how upset you are." His smile is a lopsided, faint ghost of a thing, but there's more sass there than there used to be and it's entirely credited to Noe. Which means it's only appropriate to use it to bring her back from the precipice of whatever ledge she's teetering on.

Frozen grin, a mannequin when I get closer
I can see the strings, they're underneath your vest