Noah's touch is slow and warm, lazy, fingers brushing through his hair and over his shoulder.

Freddie himself has one arm outstretched between them, the backs of his fingers grazing the bare skin of Noah's chest. He always likes these moments, the calm and quiet afterwards once the clamor has settled. It never lasts, of course. Nothing like this can. But he feels inclined to soak up while it does.

Some part of him isn't quite expecting Noah to be done so quickly, but he fights the drop of his stomach easily enough, fights way his smile wants to falter. "Yeah, 'course," he says, curling his hand back to his own chest as he takes a breath. "You need help with a cab or anything?"