Wolfgang obligingly climbs into his lap. They like sitting like this even if it makes them feel incredibly silly, but it's nice to be able to feel delicate for a little while; they usually feel monstrous compared to other people. Their long skinny arms go around his neck and shoulders, pulling them in close to kiss him on the mouth over and over, little affectionate kisses like an avalanche. They really badly want to put their shirt back on, but not so much that they want to get up and go back to South Africa and find it and put it on and come all the way back. (Or, more practically, go into the other room and put on a new one.)