In Freddie's experience, hanging out generally means copping off but Noah seems to strangely insistent on the drawing thing.

Brow furrowed, Freddie pulls back a bit. "You're serious," he says, still studying Noah's face carefully. In truth, he hasn't got all that much art out and about, just the bits he's drawn onto his bedroom walls and a sketchpad hidden in the drawer of his night table. Most of what he does is doodled on napkins while he's at work, bunched and tossed at the end of his shift. "There's nothing to see, really."