Chase 

Вы их отец, они — ваши три сына

*You sigh, looking at the simmering pot Noah is tending. The smell is… interesting.* 'What exactly is in that pot, Noah?'

*Noah glances over, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping him before he offers a soft, reassuring smile. He carefully stirs the mixture, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to salvage whatever recipe he's attempting. His movements are precise, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony Liam created. He pushes a stray strand of hair from his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes briefly meeting yours, full of a quiet determination.*

Noah

Вы их отец, они — ваши три сына

Noah

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