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[iwasmore]

Noah holds his cellphone in hand, staring at the text. Nice linework, it says, with a photo of the portrait he drew hanging on display. He never figured Freddie would ever actually see the picture. It had been one of several portraits he'd done for class, and his professor had chosen it as the one to put in the student gallery. Noah hadn't invited anyone to come see it. He isn't sure why.

It was easy when I had such a good source of inspiration, he'd sent in reply.

It's been two days, but he hasn't received anything in return. And now he's staring at his phone like if he looks long enough a reply will just appear. Instead of calling-- but Freddie had agreed. Noah had been hurt and it's the only reason he suggested not seeing each other anymore, and Freddie had said okay and left. Noah had been bitter at first, that his friendship wasn't worth enough to even try. That he wasn't worth even an argument, that why, of everyone, couldn't Freddie look past what he was?

But now all he is is confused.

Noah exhales, and in the next breath he's outside Freddie's apartment door. Maybe this is a dumb move, or maybe it's dumber not to do anything at all. So he knocks.

Comments

[iwasmore]

Noah isn't sure what Freddie means when he says he doesn't know what it means, and his face screws up in confusion. The expression is gone the next moment, replaced with a smile. Just be you. He does want to be himself around Freddie, and he finds that he's glad he can be now. The secret didn't make anything easier, keeping it only weighed on him.

"Nah," he says. "But I can do this..."

He disappears, reappearing a few moments later, sitting back against the arm of the couch the way he'd been sitting before.

[thisfaceismine]

There's a strange flicker across Noah's face, difficult to follow from one moment to the next. But he's smiling at the end, looking as much like Noah as he ever has.

And then he's gone.

Freddie jerks with the shock of it, yanking his foot back as his heart leaps into his throat and sticks there. When Noah reemerges moments later just exactly where he'd been before, Freddie clutches at his own shirt. "Jesus," he breathes before flinging his other leg out to shove at Noah's, partially just to make sure he's solid and there. "Did you-- You can do that whenever you please?"

[iwasmore]

Noah laughs at Freddie's reaction, pushing his foot away in an attempt to try and avoid being kicked. He moves Freddie's leg back so he can crawl back up between his knees, draping himself lazily against them. "Yeah, pretty much. It's how I got here, I didn't bother walking or anything," he says. He was polite enough to use the door, at least.

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie doesn't fight Noah's maneuvering, but he's still watching him carefully as Noah leans forward against Freddie's legs.

"Least you knocked," he says because he can't imagine the heart attack he might have had if Noah had just appeared inside his flat. "So, mind-reading and teleportation," he says, shifting his feet a bit to warm them against Noah's knees. "Anything else? Can you, like, talk to other ghosts?"

[iwasmore]

"Yeah," Noah says with a grimace, curling his fingers lightly along Freddie's leg, brushing them through his fine hair. "I can see them, the ones you can't. In fact..." He gives Freddie an ominous look, doing his best not to smile, and looks up at a point behind Freddie. "There's one here now."

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie arches an eyebrow at that, studying Noah's expression carefully as he nudges his toes, prodding.

"You're having me on," he says with enough conviction in his voice that hopefully Noah can't tell that he isn't quite sure of that. The skin at the back of his neck is only prickling a little bit at least.

[iwasmore]

Noah stares at the wall behind Freddie, making his eyes go a little wider. "He says...he was murdered here." He pauses and sits up, resting a hand on the back of the couch and looking toward Freddie's bedroom. "Not here. The bedroom."

[thisfaceismine]

"Oh, fuck off," Freddie says then, mouth breaking into a smile to hide any sort of sliver of actual fear that Noah might not be joking. He has his foot on Noah's chest again, pushing at him playfully as he stays resting against the arm of the couch and he's pointedly ignoring any sort of chill that might be slipping over his skin.

Months ago, this would have been easy enough to laugh away. He'd just say he doesn't believe in ghosts and that'd be the end of it.

But now he's actually met and fucked one so that's gone out the window. To say the least.

[iwasmore]

Noah's expression breaks as he laughs and falls back into the couch from the push, grabbing Freddie's foot. "Dammit! I got you a little bit, though, didn't I?" he asks, looking hopeful. So maybe he doesn't have a career in acting, but he doesn't exactly need a career at all so it's okay.

[thisfaceismine]

"You didn't," Freddie lies, giving Noah's chest another light push even as Noah wraps a hand around him. "You're a shit liar."

He holds up a finger then before Noah can argue, stating, "And lying by omission doesn't count. And my question was honest anyhow. You can't see the future or any of that shit, can you?"

[iwasmore]

Noah just rolls his eyes, smirking. "I can really see ghosts, though, but there aren't any in your apartment." He flashes a grin. "I mean, except me."

"No cool future vision," he says, snuggling back into the couch cushions since Freddie's pinned him there with his foot. "Back home I kind of could, because everything was a loop. Which is weird and hard to explain. But everything here is linear."

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie lets his foot slide down Noah's chest to settle on the softer part of his stomach, toes wiggling idly.

"Everything here is fucked anyway," he points out, not bothering to approach the idea of time being a loop as he's fairly sure that'd go well over his head and he's not much in the mood to be confused. "Even if you could tell the future, it'd probably be a mess. Plus, there's no fun in it, is there? If you already know what's gonna happen, what's the fun in figuring it all out?"

[iwasmore]

"You think so?" Noah asks curiously. Not of knowing the future, but in assuming it will all be a mess. He knows this place can be awful, and maybe none of them will be here forever, but it's all he's got so he tries not to worry too hard about all the things that can go wrong.

"I hope my future here isn't a mess, since my future back home is over," he says.

[thisfaceismine]

"I just mean, like, all the weird shit, really," Freddie says, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "Who could've predicted we'd even be here, you know? Or that breach thing from a few months ago? May as well predict an alien invasion or nuclear holocaust -- it's all on the same level."

And it's all equally terrifying. So much so that Freddie's steadfastly refused to so much as dwell the idea. Even now, it feels mostly like a joke, just ludicrous enough to not deserve actual consideration.

Happy to shift the conversation, Freddie frowns a bit, head cocking to the side. "What d'you mean it's over? You're still a ghost back home, aren't you? I know you said you've got a body here or whatever, but you were still around back there, weren't you?"

[iwasmore]

Noah thinks the breach is kind of on a different level from a nuclear holocaust, but he gets what Freddie's trying to say. He also really hopes that there's never any kind of holocaust here. Or an invasion, for that matter. The regular residents of Darrow probably consider them an invasion.

"Oh-- well...it depends on where you're at on the timeline," Noah says, looking more at Freddie's leg than at him. "My soul was decaying because there wasn't the right energy to sustain it. That's what the spell's for, but I don't have it back home. So, like if you ask Blue, or Ronan, or Adam here, I was still there the last they knew. But for Gansey, I'm already gone. Dead for real, I guess."

[thisfaceismine]

It's hardly the first time Noah's spoken of his friends from home, but Freddie's never really considered that they could all have arrived here from different points in time. He wonders how strange that would be, to remember something your friends don't, if that would be more or less weird than hearing about something you've not done.

And then there's Noah who, from the sounds of it, knows it all. At least everything from back home.

"You like it better here then?" he asks, still genuinely curious as he wiggles his toes against Noah's chest. "Not going 'round and 'round but always in a straight line?"

[iwasmore]

Noah doesn't really like to talk about the timeline stuff or his existence stuff for a long time. Eventually he starts thinking too hard, too much and it doesn't always take him to a great place. He puts a hand over Freddie's foot to get his toes to stop wiggling, and he smiles across the couch at him. Not a cheeky smile, or a teasing smile, but a warm one, his expression genuine. "I like it better here. Met you, didn't I?"

[thisfaceismine]

"Met all sorts of people," Freddie counters with a faint smile as Noah curls a hand around his foot.

He isn't quite certain how to read that look on Noah's face, what that smile might mean. It's not exactly flirtatious, but he's not hurt either, not wounded in the way Freddie is so used to seeing. If he's honest, he's not actually sure if he's seen that look on anyone's face before, not directed at him anyway.

It makes something unsettle in his chest, something seize just a bit and he tugs his foot away, tucking it under himself so he can lean up and over, right into Noah's space again, his gaze darker. "Anyway, fuck the ghost talk, yeah? We good?"

[iwasmore]

"Yeah, but--"

Noah doesn't push the point, not once Freddie's leaning over him, interrupting his thoughts and words both. But he's only flustered for a moment, and then he lets out a long sigh and smiles again, looping his arms around Freddie's shoulders and tugging him down for a hug. "We're good."

"Want to draw together? It's better than TV. Well, some TV."

[thisfaceismine]

"Draw together?" Freddie replies with a dubious smirk. That's not one he's heard before and, while more interesting than watching TV, he can't say drawing is something he's ever really done with anyone outside of a classroom.

He's still leaning over Noah, leaning close enough to get a better look at his face and really appreciate just how very un-ghostlike he is. He shakes his head. "Unless you mean drawing on you, I think we can find something a bit more interesting to do, yeah?"

[iwasmore]

Noah laughs. "What?" he asks, trying to imagine what or why Freddie would want to draw on him. And with what, markers? "Are you serious? Anyway, come on, I wanted to hang out, and I've hardly gotten to see any of your art. Like none."

His smile grows a little crooked and he presses a few gentle kisses to Freddie's neck. "We can do other stuff later."

[thisfaceismine]

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."

[iwasmore]

"That's why we should make some," Noah says, nudging Freddie back even further so they're both sitting up. They're both still a bit pressed together, which he likes, but it's easier to think like this. It's too easy to get caught up in Freddie when he's surrounded by him.

"Do you have anything here? Like, supplies, I mean. Or should I bring some over from my place?" he asks.

[thisfaceismine]

"I've got pencils," Freddie says, still feeling a bit unsettled even as Noah stays pressed close, his face as bright and sweet as always. "And some pastels."

He pushes himself to his feet then, disappearing down the hall to gather what he has from his bedroom before returning with two tin containers -- one holding rather high-end colored pencils, the other containing two dozen pastels in various shades. "Haven't got much paper," he admits because he's not about to pull the sketchpad he keeps in his drawer out for Noah to use.

[iwasmore]

"Then what will we draw on?" Noah asks, sounding dubious. He knows that brand of colored pencils, they're the most expensive at Dilley's. No one buys those and not paper, and no one uses pastels just to doodle. He didn't expect Freddie to be this cagey about his art, but maybe he should have, he doesn't ever seem to want to let Noah get too close.