It does make sense in a strange way, of course. And it's one Freddie's considered himself over the past few weeks, those rare moments he'd let himself think of Noah at all while ignoring the familiar and stupid ache in chest.

"Met a superhero the other week," he says as though in agreement. Because what does being dead matter in a place like this. For all Freddie knows, they're all dead in some form or another. Dead, alive or somewhere in between, stuck as they are in this place, none of it really makes any difference. He shrugs then because he's not sure how much sense he's making as he adds, "Didn't fuck her, but like. S'pose it's not so weird here."

Noah's smiling now, just a bit and Freddie glances back down at his wine before taking a sip. "Those art pieces I saw at the gallery," he says, changing the subject just a bit. "You get a good grade on them?"