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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]

"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.

[thisfaceismine]

"Walls," Freddie offers because that's usually what he resorts to unless he's fucking around in his sketchpad.

It occurs to him that Noah hasn't been in his bedroom recently, hasn't seen the expansion of what Freddie's efforts. He's not keeping it secret so much as that's how he prefers to spend the energy, drawing geometric lines and shapes on a vertical surface, shading in here and there when he has the time.

He shrugs again as he drops down onto the couch next to Noah. "Or you could use your ghost powers and go get some paper, I'm not bothered."

[iwasmore]

Noah sighs and kicks at Freddie again, just a gentle nudge. "I can't use my ghost powers to go get it. Well, I mean I could use them to go back to Hywel, but then I'd have to take the bus back here to bring the paper with me probably." It seems like a lot of effort right now. Noah doesn't want to get properly dressed and have to find his bus card and sit next to people.

"We could draw on the walls if you want. If it's really okay to draw on your wall," he adds, not sure if Freddie wants him to graffiti his apartment.

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie hadn't considered that whatever teleportation trick Noah can accomplish as a ghost doesn't extend to anything he might be carrying. It makes him wonder how his clothing works, but he just shrugs for the moment, not wanting to think too hard on it.

"Walls are fine," he says, leaning over to grab a pencil from the pack. "Can always paint over it if it's shitty," he adds with a hint of a grin as he walks over to the opposite wall, sitting by the patch beside his bookcase.

[iwasmore]

Noah makes a tiny, indignant sound. "If you paint over my drawing I will personally be very hurt," he says in a little huff, taking a few colors from the colored pencil box. He chooses a spot away from Freddie so he won't be able to see what he's drawing, the space of wall between living room and Freddie's bedroom, and sits down on the floor. He can't draw that well from memory, though ever since he met Lincoln he's been trying, so he scrolls through the photos on his phone until he finds something good.

"You could come draw on my bedroom wall sometime if you wanted," he says as he starts drawing. "Maybe with paint."

[thisfaceismine]

Scooting closer to the wall, Freddie leans forward, making a wide arc with the pencil and starting in on the lines that parallel and bisect it. It won't be perfect as far as angles to, but it's not like Freddie's ever paid all that much attention to that anyhow.

He glances over, eyebrow arched, finds he isn't quite able to see what it is Noah's putting on his wall. Probably a cat, he thinks. "Why don't you paint your own?" he asks because no one's ever actually said that to him before. It seems an odd request.

[iwasmore]

"Never thought of it," Noah says absently. He always kind of gets in a zone when he's drawing, and he wants this to look especially good because it's going to be on Freddie's wall. He'll see it every day, and if it sucks he'll either be stuck staring at crap or he'll paint over it.

"But it'd be cool, huh?" he says a moment later, working on the outline of some tree branches. "I'm serious. You should come over and do one on mine."

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie doesn't respond right away, quiet as he thinks it over. He's seen a few of Noah's pieces, most notably the one he'd done of Freddie that they put on display. He knows Noah's style well enough to note that it's not very similar to his own. More realistic and natural where Freddie tends toward geometric and angular. A bit abstract.

At least when he's not doing comics, though he hasn't tried those in years.

"Sure," he says eventually, ignoring the strange feeling in his gut, a flicker that he's getting too close, that this is all becoming too much. "Can't blame me if you think it's shit though."

[iwasmore]

"You're too hard on yourself," Noah says quietly, his voice still carrying that quality of just slightly distracted as he lightly outlines. His mind is also forming a new idea, to have all of his friends come over at some point and paint something on his wall, even if they think they can't draw anything. It could be an amazing mural of all the people he loves.

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie can't honestly remember if anyone's ever said that to him before and he has no idea how to respond.

So he doesn't, frowning quietly instead as he continues making broad marks, bisecting lines here and sharply changing angles, laying down the backbone of a piece that will eventually be filled with color. If he ever gets it that far, that is.

"You drawing a giant penis?" he asks idly after a few moments, leaning back a bit to try and see what Noah's putting on his wall.

[iwasmore]

Freddie's comment comes out of nowhere and startles a laugh out of Noah, causing his hand to slip and draw a jagged line on the wall. "Dammit, Freddie," he explains, laughter still in his voice. He stares at the mark a moment before turning it into a tree branch. "No, I'm not drawing a penis."

"But hey, speaking of dicks, and of ghost powers," he continues, still drawing, "here's a funny thing. Did you know that I can't give or receive STDs?" He grins at the wall. "Let that one turn around in your mind a moment." He also can't get someone pregnant, but that isn't exactly relevant to Freddie. Condoms, though? Might be.

[thisfaceismine]

It's a tree, Freddie notices, as Noah makes the startled mark into a branch, the lines fluid and natural, arcing up along Freddie's wall. Not what he would've elected to put there, but he likes it, he can say that much.

He watches for a moment before he turning his attention back to his own design, eyebrow arching when Noah starts speaking again. "That so?" he asks, glancing over at Noah out the corner of his eye, lips curling into a smirk. Strangely, he finds himself thinking of Philip, of the last time they'd been together when Philip had goaded him into fucking bare. They hadn't then, Freddie far too careful for that kind of thing, but he had been tempted.

Very tempted.

Drawing another sharp line, he asks, "How d'ya know?"

[iwasmore]

Noah had honestly hoped Freddie would sound a little more interested, but maybe it's just exciting for him. That makes sense. Freddie has a lot more experience, he'd had a lot more partners. He probably doesn't care by this point. But even Krem, always so scared of pregnancy, hadn't used a condom with him, and it had been...really good. Embarrassingly, Noah likes it messy, and he's been wanting Freddie to be able to follow through on a few of the filthier things he's said when they've been together.

"Because I'm not alive," he says matter-of-factly, starting to draw a bird. "I can bleed, but it's not real blood. I can come, but it's not real. I can't get sick. I can shit, though, but only if I eat. I don't have to do that, either, but I like it."

[thisfaceismine]

"You like shitting?" Freddie asks, biting a smirk because he knows exactly what Noah had meant.

He falls quiet then, thinking it over as he continues fleshing out the bones of his piece, every angular line breaking into another with seemingly no coherent stopping point. No border.

"Your come felt pretty fucking real," he says after a long moment, once again glancing over at Noah. It's been awhile since they've done anything, largely due to Noah's confession at Halloween, but Freddie remembers it well enough. "Tasted real, too. Not telling me it's, like, ectoplasm, are you?"

[iwasmore]

Noah snorts and smirks. "Shut up," he says lightly, sketching out a face, wings. Birds are a symbol of freedom, something they all lack to a certain extent, here. He thinks it will be something comforting to look at.

He pauses when Freddie continues, frowning at the wall. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything, pointing out his differences only shines a spotlight on how weird he is. And, truthfully, he has no idea what his come is made of, or him, beyond energy. All he seems to be doing is making Freddie want to be with him even less.

"I don't know," he says, and tries to think of a way to divert the topic from something he stupidly brought up. He can't think of anything, though.

[thisfaceismine]

Noah's voice goes quiet again, melting into something that's not exactly a sulk, but does succeed in making Freddie feel guilty. He's not sure what he's done this time. He's only curious, unsure of how something that looks, feels, smells, and tastes so real can not be.

So he pushes on, still drawing lines as he asks, "It's not like you've got control of it, is it? I mean, you can't make your come look or taste like something else, can you? You haven't got a choice same as you and me."

He could be wrong, of course. Maybe Noah can do that if he wants. But Freddie has a hunch all the same.

[iwasmore]

"No," Noah says, glancing over his shoulder at Freddie. He just looks at him for a long moment, even though he can't see his face, before turning his attention back to the wall. He doesn't keep drawing on it, though, just yet.

"I just don't want you to think I'm gross," he finally says, his cheeks heating up to admit it.

[thisfaceismine]

Freddie doesn't look away from his own drawing, but he's aware that Noah's stopped for the moment, can hear it in the tone of his voice and lack of movement in his peripheral vision. He frowns a moment later, finally looking over again.

"I don't think you're gross," he says and it feels strange he has to say it at all. "I think you're-- well, I mean it's weird. But it's no weirder than fucking some guy technically old enough to be my grandad or a wizard or whatever. Everyone here is weird. My point is your come is real enough," he says, turning back to his picture once again. "Whatever it's made of, it's come. Same as mine."

[iwasmore]

"...You're fucking a guy old enough to be your granddad?" Noah asks with a tiny smile, secretly relieved that Freddie really doesn't seem to mind that his come might be made of ectoplasm, or whatever. He's just never been with someone outside of Krem, and the one time with Hild, but both of them had known what he was before they'd ever done anything, so he hadn't questioned everything so obsessively as he can't help doing now.

[thisfaceismine]

"Great-grandad, actually," Freddie amends after a moment's further thought. "He's from the 30s or 40s, something like that."

Obviously, the strange time shit means he doesn't look a day over thirty-five, but it's still all a bit weird. About as weird as fucking a ghost boy who looks and feels just like any other ordinary boy. Just... one who can teleport and read minds. And doesn't need to breathe or sleep or eat.

He cocks his head then, lips curving into a faint grin. "Does that make him the weird one or me?"

[iwasmore]

"If he isn't actually eighty or whatever, then neither of you are weird," Noah says with a snort and a smirk, and looks back to the wall. He doesn't lift his pencil to keep drawing just yet, though, wondering at why he's feeling so irked all of a sudden.

[thisfaceismine]

That's true, he knows. And it's not like he and Philip have a difficult time finding things to talk about despite the difference. Though, honestly, it's not as though they spend all that much time talking.

Noah's still just staring at the wall and Freddie frowns a bit. "What?"

[iwasmore]

"Hm?" Noah pauses, and raises his hand to keep drawing. "What what? It's nothing," he says, brushing it off and pushing it down, and starts on a few bird. He feels sorry for himself too much, when all he should feel is grateful for what he has here.

"How's your drawing coming along? Gonna paint it when it's done?"