iwasmore | backdated for Frederick

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freddie

backdated for Frederick

Noah feels really guilty that his present to Freddie is late. He's seen firsthand how sucky a birthday can be here away from family and friends, and while some are lucky enough to have people from home in Darrow, Freddie isn't one of them. Though, Noah can't help wondering if there's even a person he misses badly. Every now and then he'll catch Freddie thinking of someone, but he's never brought them up.

Anyway, he's late because Whiskers had to be old enough to leave the care he was getting at the shelter. Noah couldn't have expected Freddie to bottle feed a kitten around the clock, he doesn't even know if Freddie will want a kitten at all, so he had to wait until Whiskers was ready.

And he's so not telling Freddie that that's her name, because it's super unoriginal.

So Noah has As Of Yet Unnamed Kitten tucked into a small basket underneath a blanket to keep her warm from the cold. He knocks at Freddie's apartment door, hoping he's home. He hadn't texted or anything first, wanting to make up for the belated gift by making it a surprise. "Special delivery!" he calls in a high-pitched voice.

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Noah laughs, but makes a sound of disappointment that Freddie stopped playing along. "Come on, you're supposed to be the big bad wolf," he says, elbowing Freddie playfully as he walks through the door. He glances around as he comes inside. It hasn't been that long since he's last been here, but he likes to see if anything's changed. He likes to make sure his drawing is still on the wall, too.

"No-- what?" he asks, because that's a strange assumption. He looks down at the basket and unlatches one of the top flaps. "This is for you! For your birthday." He offers Freddie the basket, leaning back against the arm of the couch with a smile.

Any other time, Freddie might have made a remark about eating Noah whole but, even apart from the fact where he's not certain that sort of flirtatiousness is welcome any longer, he's quickly distracted by push of the basket into his arms. And he hadn't been wrong; it's definitely moving.

His lips tug into a deeper frown as he peers into the depths of the basket and two bright green eyes blink right back up at him.

"It's a cat," he says rather stupidly, looking up at Noah again. "What am I to do with a cat?"

"It's a she," Noah says with a smile, nearly grinning from the look of shock on Freddie's face. He can't quite tell what he's thinking or feeling beyond that, but his expression in that moment is priceless. He glances at the basket and shrugs. "And, you take care of her. Give her a good home, play with her, love her."

He knows it sounds cheesy, but at least it's about a cat. Most people have a pet of some kind, it's not that strange.

It's not like Freddie's never had a pet before. He's even had a cat, though Molly had mostly been his parents and she'd died when Freddie was twelve. She'd been a good cat even with all the dead mice she dragged into the kitchen, but Freddie's not felt the impulse to replace her, really.

Before arriving here, he honestly couldn't have afforded one.

The cat in the basket continues staring up at him with wide, green eyes before letting out a quiet, plaintive little meow and peeking her head out further. "I don't have anything," he says then, stupidly as he backs up further into his own flat. "She from that place where you work? The cafe?"

"I do," Noah says, because he wasn't about to buy Freddie an entire cat without a little box and food and the supplies he'll need to take care of her. But bringing them in with the cat would have ruined the surprise, so he's stashed them in the hallway for the moment.

He's also prepared to keep her himself if Freddie doesn't want her.

"We don't adopt out cats there, she's from the shelter. Someone brought in a pregnant stray a few months ago and this is one of the kittens from her litter. That's why I couldn't give her to you on time, I had to wait for her to be old enough to be weaned from her mom," Noah explains, sitting down on the arm of the couch.

That feels like something Freddie should have known somehow, something he should've picked up on from hanging out with Noah all this time. Something like guilt curdles in his stomach, but he tries to push it away, still staring down in the basket at the little orange ball of fluff that's currently trying to crawl out and onto him with another quiet little meow.

"What made you think I'd want a cat?"

It comes out more accusatory than curious as the cat digs her little nails into the back of Freddie's hand for purchase, making him flinch and pull away. She hardly seems deterred at all, just meows again as she squirms further out of the basket.

Freddie refuses to think she's cute.

Noah wants to assure Freddie it's okay if he didn't know that about the cafe, he doesn't expect Freddie to know all the details of his job, but he speaks before Noah can.

"Why?" Noah echoes, and tries to think of an answer that makes sense. He could say that it's because everyone should want a cat, or that he doesn't see Freddie as a dog person, and while both of these are true he thinks maybe the truth is best.

"Are you gonna be mad if I say it's because I think sometimes you get lonely? Living alone and all," he adds, not wanting to make Freddie uncomfortable with his observation.

It strikes a little too close, honestly, and Freddie has to look away, focusing instead on the mewling kitten as she frees herself entirely from the basket and tries crawling up his arm with her tiny, razor sharp claws.

"Haven't had a cat since I was a kid," he says, wincing a little at another dig into his arm and he moves to set the basket aside and scoop up the kitten in his other hand. "She'll scratch everything up." Despite himself, he doesn't really feel upset so much as a little confused. Freddie hasn't had to care for anyone but himself since he left high school. How long will it take him to ruin this little thing's entire life?

Holding her up, he squints over at Freddie. "Did you name her?"

Noah is quiet, letting Freddie process it. It had seemed like such a simple, innocent gift to him. Not without meaning on his part, but he wasn't expecting Freddie to react so sincerely. He's glad, though, that means if Freddie decides to keep her he'll be serious about it.

"No, I left that part to you. If you get her a couple scratching posts she shouldn't damage your furniture or anything," he adds, an optimistic smile creeping onto his face.

Freddie's honestly more than a bit doubtful that a few scratching posts are going to deter a kitten from tearing up every bit of furniture he owns, but then it's not like his furniture is the greatest to begin with. And who's he trying to impress anyhow? If he's not careful, he'll start to sound a bit like Christopher.

"Do I need to do anything?" he asks, glancing from the kitten to Noah and back again. "Neuter or get her shots or anything like that? Not sure this flat even allows cats come to think of it."

But he's not sure he'll let that stop him all the same. It's not like they'd know, is it?

"Nope, she's all covered. There are some annual shots she'll need to keep up with, but if you want her the veterinarian will send you reminders in the mail," Noah says, not wanting Freddie to feel pressured to keep her. He moves closer, his smile tentative, and reaches up to pet her.

"I used to live here. They're allowed," he says quietly. He glances up at Freddie with another half-smile. "Seriously, if it's not what you want, I can take her. I was prepared to, in case you didn't want a pet."

Oh, right. Yes. Of course Noah would know. He'd even mentioned having a cat here before, hadn't he?

"Didn't say I don't want her," he replies, tone defensive though he doesn't pull her away from Noah's petting. She's clearly enjoying it is the thing, tipping her head up against Noah's fingers and purring even as she digs her sharp little claws deeper into the meat of Freddie's arm.

He flinches after a moment, shifting her to get some relief. "Bit strange that this is what you thought of," he admits, eyeing her a bit as he holds her up. "Could've just gotten a gift card."

Noah schools his expression so he doesn't grin at Freddie's defensiveness, and pulls his hand away to clasp the other behind his back. "Just making sure," he says. "She seems to like you, she isn't even trying to get away."

Not that that's a sign of dislike, usually, but it's nice how she's letting Freddie hold her.

"A gift card?" he says and rolls his eyes, reaching over to tug playfully at the hem of Freddie's shirt. "You can't be serious. I think you mean more to me than a gift card."

Freddie'd assume she's not trying too hard given the way he's holding her. Or that she's just glad to be out of the basket for now. Still, he adjusts her again, tucking her into the crook of his arm as Noah tugs at his shirt.

"Fine, gift card and a bottle of wine then," he says, ignoring the impulse to make some sort of implication in that. Noah's made it quite clear what he wants from Freddie, what he's comfortable with and, even if it might not be what Freddie himself wants, he'll not push. Noah deserves better than someone like Freddie anyhow and they both know it.

He nods back toward the door. "Go get the rest of the stuff and I'll grab you a beer," he says instead because that sounds friendly enough. "And you can help me pick out a name because I haven't a bloody clue."

Noah hates Freddie's thoughts, and he hates his own stupid heart and that Freddie doesn't seem to understand anything at all. He keeps hold of Freddie's shirt when he turns to walk away, gripping tight to keep him there a minute. "Hey," he says, making Freddie look at him. "I wouldn't get you a shitty gift card, man."

He lets go and leaves out the door to grab the big box of everything he'd brought and left in the hallway. He hadn't worried about anyone stealing it, nothing could have re-sold, really. He just stands there for a minute, staring down at it, and finally brings it into the apartment. "Cat litter, a box, some food and toys," he announces.

He still has the cat clutched to his chest when Noah grabs hold of his shirt, holding in place for a moment and essentially forcing Freddie to look at him.

It's disconcerting, Noah's words weighty in a way that makes Freddie's insides twist. They're not talking about a gift card, he knows, and he frowns a little, lightly shoving Noah's hand off. "Stop reading my mind," he says, but his tone comes off more self-conscious than accusatory.

He ducks away into the kitchen as Noah goes to retrieve whatever it is he's left outside. The counter seems as good a spot as any for the cat and she wobbles across the smooth top as Freddie retrieves two bottles from his fridge and grabs the bottle opener from the drawer.

Freddie glances back over his shoulder when he hears Noah return, which is all the time the small ball of fur needs to swat at the newly-released bottle cap and send it skittering across the floor. She hops down to chase after it, tail swishing, and Freddie glances over at Noah again. "She won't try to eat it, will she?"

If he could, Noah would definitely stop hearing thoughts. There's a lot he wishes he could control, but he simply can't no matter how hard he tries. So he starts unpacking the box of supplies, filling the litter box with some litter and placing it against the wall.

He glances over and smiles at the way the kitten bats the bottlecap around. "No, I doubt it. Plastic she might, like bags? Sometimes cats try to eat them for some reason. And wires, you might want to keep an eye on that, Prunam was always trying to chew on the wires behind the TV," he says, getting her some food and water next, setting the bowls down on the kitchen floor.

He stands up, thinking about names. The clever cat names of Un Chat Gris don't seem like Freddie's style. Prunam had been Krem's choice, and Little Ro had been for Ronan.

Noah looks over at Freddie, taking the second bottle and pointing toward the kitten with it. "You should name her after your favorite girl."

He can't remember his family's cat as a kitten is the thing. Can't remember when she'd been playful and rambunctious like this, only remembers her hiding and slinking around most of the time when she hadn't been out roaming the neighborhood.

Watching her chase the bottle cap all over the kitchen floor, Freddie leans back against the counter and holds out one of the beers for Noah.

"Don't really have a favourite girl," he confesses with a shrug and a smirk. "And I'm definitely not naming her after my mum." He takes a sip of his drink then, curling the fingers of his free hand around the lip of the countertop as he considers. Strangely, he's tempted to name her after Noah except that's not a very good name for a cat, really. And it's too on the nose besides. Noah's last name doesn't lend itself well either.

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth as his brow furrows and he glances over again with a thought. "What about Nora?"

Noah takes a drink of beer, quirking an eyebrow over at Freddie's answer. Everybody has favorites, whether they admit it or not. There has to be some girl he likes more than the rest. Or at least most of the rest. But if there is, he doesn't think of her, instead briefly wondering if he should name the can Noah, which almost makes Noah spit out his beer.

"Nora?" Noah says, his voice tight from the bad swallow. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is that, like, the girl version of Noah?" He grins, a mixture of teasing and fondness. "That's so sweet."

He can't quite read Noah's sputtered reaction, at least not at first. But then Noah smiles a bit, his eyes lighting up and Freddie relaxes, giving only an easy shrug.

"Yeah, guess so," he says, striving for aloof. "Not that sweet, is it? People might think I named her after you because you share personality traits and what if she turns out to be an arsehole? Or a fucking ghost."

The last is said with a bit of a grin, most of it hidden behind the rim of his bottle as he takes another sip.

((the CAN))

Noah laughs. "She's definitely not a ghost, but you shouldn't discriminate against her even if she was," he teases, knocking his shoulder into Freddie's and keeping it there. His chest aches a little, that Freddie would want to name her after him, like if he disappears or dies for good there'll still be a part of him here with Freddie. It's sort of a morbid thought, but he'd be lying if he didn't think about death a lot. He is a fucking ghost, after all.

"I don't think it's too sweet, and also...what does that mean?" He tilts his head toward Freddie with a lopsided smile. "I can be an asshole."

His arm is warm where Noah's pressed against him and he doesn't move away. Refused to. Maybe it's not particularly friendly, but he doesn't give a toss. It's Noah that's made the move, after all.

"Yeah, right," Freddie says with a half snort of a laugh, very nearly rolling his eyes. "You hardly even use your ghost-y powers for nefarious purposes. What have you ever done to be even remotely an arsehole. Because, if nothing else, Freddie is an expert on arseholes. In the obvious, physical manner, of course, but he's been called one more times than he could possibly count. And he did learn from the best.

For Noah it's as friendly as he is with anyone, he likes to touch, he likes to feel a connection with people. But maybe he misses Freddie, how they used to be. So maybe he is the asshole, even if Freddie says he isn't.

"Does thinking inappropriate thoughts about your friend's boyfriend count?" he asks lightly, taking a long drink and watching the kitten-- Nora play.

That's hardly what Freddie's expecting and his lips twitch upward in a grin even as he refuses to acknowledge the twist of discomfort low in his belly. There's no attempt at coy flirtation in this; Noah isn't alluding to Freddie in any way and that shouldn't bother him. It shouldn't matter at all.

"Yeah?" he asks instead, taking another quick sip of his beer. "S'pose it depends. Everyone thinks shit about people they shouldn't. Think you're only an asshole if you do anything about it."

And that, he has a feeling, Noah's not done. He's not the type.

"I guess you have a point," Noah says, his mouth threatening a smirk but not quite making it. As guilty as he feels, saying it out loud is almost a relief, alleviating some of the stress of holding onto a secret for so long. He's never really talked about it with anyone except Ronan himself, and even then it wasn't much because he'd felt so terrible. He'd sooner tell someone he's dead than about his feelings for Ronan. But he knows Freddie won't judge him, so he keeps talking.

"It sucks, though. I hate it. Wanting someone like that, and then not being able to do anything with it," he says, his statement trailing off. Noah sighs and takes a drink. "Sucks."

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