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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Freddie's thoughts ache, cooling his anger, and Noah's almost positive he stops breathing altogether. He understands that loneliness, a feeling he wonders if he wouldn't have if he hadn't been so happy with Krem for that first long while. Krem loved him, they took care of each other, and Noah would do just about anything to get that back.

He doesn't know what Freddie's trying to run from, what he's so scared of. But he's surprised to hear Freddie doesn't think there's a person for him. Noah's thought that more than once, too.

Part of him wonders what that person would be like for Freddie, and what it is about him that keeps him from being that person. But he quickly pushes those thoughts away, glad Freddie can't read his mind, guilty that he can.

He focuses on what Freddie says out loud, nodding a little, head bowed. It's what he wants to believe, what he tries so hard to be. Real. "Thanks, Freddie," he says quietly, picking at the bottle's label. His throat feels too tight to drink, so he sets it down on the coffee table and glances over.

And then, like no person should be able to do, he asks about what he heard that he shouldn't have. "Do you really want someone?"

It sounds a bit like a script, like Noah's only saying thanks because he feels he ought to, not because he believes a word of what Freddie's said. And Freddie figures he can't fault him that. He can't say he understands Noah's situation at all having never been a ghost so who is he to pretend he can? It all comes off as trite at best and bullshit at worst.

In the end, Freddie's made entirely of bullshit anyhow, isn't he?

He frowns down at his own beer before taking another sip, licking a stray drop with a frown as Noah speaks again, asking a question this time in reference to something Freddie is positive he'd not said out loud.

"You did it again," he says, but he doesn't feel too upset if he's honest. It's disconcerting that Noah can know so much about him without Freddie ever saying a word, but it's oddly kind of nice as well. He doesn't have to make the effort to put into words all the shit that's in his head. It's just there. Ugly as it all is.

Pulling in a slow breath, Freddie considers the question and then tips his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Noah can read his mind, but it's still easier if Freddie doesn't have to look him in the eye at the same time. "Fuck," he breathes eventually, and nods. "Think it'd just be nice, you know? And it's not like I've not had it before. Just never lasts." He closes his eyes. "There's always someone better."

It isn't a script, Noah does genuinely mean it. He is glad Freddie can look past what he is and thinks of him like any other person most of the time, he's grateful. He'll tell him so later, he's already said too much from Freddie's thoughts. He'll writer him a letter or something, tell him how much he appreciates Freddie.

I do it all the time, he wants to say, but only looks over, quickly cataloging the expression on Freddie's fact. He doesn't seem angry.

Noah listens, his eyes lingering on Freddie's profile. "You can't say never until your dead," he finally says, in no relation to the fact that he is and only to the simple fact that if there are still options there's still a chance it could work out. "It's hard to trust when people have hurt you. Maybe your old relationships didn't hold, but that doesn't mean future ones won't."

He goes quiet a long moment, considering. "I hear you thinking about other people, certain names repeat..."

"Does that mean you can never say never?" he asks, peeking an eye open and tipping his head down to give Noah a look. It's a deflection, an easy way of diverting an uncomfortable conversation, only Noah doesn't bite, his next statement threatening to send a panic through him.

He can only imagine the names Noah's heard in Freddie's head. Cliff and Henry, probably. Marcus. Sir. Christopher, even.

They're all names Freddie's tried to forget, people he's failed to put behind him. Because no matter where he goes, how far he runs, they're all still there, still taking up space in his head, still reminding him he's not worth shit.

Swallowing, he fights the unease boiling inside him, draws his legs up closer. "We've all got pasts, haven't we?" he says. "Is what it is?"

That probably is what it means, so long as the spell holds. It's almost a scary thought, being around forever, but knowing the fickle nature of this place he doubts it'll keep him that long. He wishes he could take the spell back to his own world, be able to stick around there. At least for awhile.

He reaches out to touch Freddie's arm, like it can stop his panicked thoughts. "No," he says, to all of it. Freddie's never talked to him about any of those people, but he doubts they're any good from how they've made him feel. Noah tries not to let himself get angry over it.

"I meant here. There are people you know here, you could date one of them."

Noah's touch is light, just a brush of fingers against Freddie's forearm and, though Freddie doesn't pull away, he does go tenses, holding his bottle tighter.

And then immediately relaxes as Noah continues, letting out a breath. Everything that's happened here is safer than anything that happened back home. So far, at least. But he has to wonder what names Noah's heard, who he's thought about.

He lets out a laugh, a half scoff and shakes his head. "What's the point? It always turns out the same. Someone always gets hurt."

That always used to be Freddie until he'd made a promise to himself not to let it happen anymore, not to get too close. It's easier to be the one to leave than the one left behind. Or at least that's what he's always thought.

Noah pets Freddie's arm, a light, soft, back and forth stroke above his elbow like you'd calm a nervous horse. The last thing he wants is to upset him. When he seems mostly okay again, Noah gives his arm a light squeeze and then lets go.

"You don't think it hurts already?" Noah asks, eyebrows raised. He can't say what's worse, loneliness, or when someone you love hurts you, but there are no good parts about loneliness. Freddie can try to bury it with casual hook-ups, but Noah doesn't think it's making him all that happy.

"It doesn't always end bad," he continues. "Otherwise there'd be no happy old married people. My parents were happy. It's possible."

It sounds like a rhetorical question, Freddie thinks. But even if it's not, Freddie's can't answer out loud. He's choosing empty hook-ups over been told over and over and over again that he's not good enough to stick with. And he doesn't care. It's nothing he doesn't already know. It's just tiring.

Noah's still touching him, fingers lightly petting along his skin and Freddie tries not to focus on it, how kinda gesture it is. How fucking fleeting.

"My parents met at school," Freddie says, finally meeting Noah's eyes again. "Dated for three years and got married before they were twenty. They've been together now thirty-five years. So I know a thing or two about happy endings." He doesn't mention that he'd met someone back at school, too. The person he thought he'd spend the rest of his life with. He'd met him and fallen in love and had three years of the best sex of his life, telling himself the entire time that as soon as he graduated, they could tell everyone. He could have just what his parents had, a future with someone who made him feel like the best person in the world.

Except none of that happened. He graduated and moved to London and no one ever know. Gregory continued teaching. Got married. Had kids.

He doesn't say any of it. Can't even now. Not even his parents ever knew, not even after all the business with the picture and scared little Gregory leaving town.

He doesn't say it because he can't. But he can think it and Noah will understand.

Noah hears all of it, and the ache returns to his chest. If he wanted, Freddie could have shielded it from him, forced his thoughts somewhere else, told Noah to fuck off. But he didn't, so Noah hopes Freddie doesn't mind him scooting over, reaching and pulling him sideways to wrap his arms around him. Sometimes it's nice just to be held.

"You are good enough. You weren't the problem, he was. Some people are scum, they don't care who they hurt. But you're worth sticking around for," he says, carding his fingers through Freddie's hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Noah hears all of it, or at least enough to get the picture. Freddie can see it on his face, the way his eyes go soft and his shoulders slouch, pity washing over him like a wave before he's shifting to wrap an arm around Freddie.

Freddie doesn't fight it, but he shakes his head. His throat hurts, like there's something stuck in it. He can't speak.

Because Sir never considered sticking around for Freddie, a fact Freddie hadn't realized til later. Years later. Freddie had never been more than a fuck, a dirty little secret. He'd shown Freddie, right from the start, just exactly what Freddie was good for.

"You are," Noah says when he feels Freddie shake his head against the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry he didn't treat you how you deserved to be treated." He continues to play with Freddie's hair, idly stroking, wishing his touch and his words could somehow convince Freddie of this truth.

"I'd never do that to you," he also says, just as quiet. It won't matter coming from him, because he isn't Sir. The damage has already been done, and it doesn't seem like Freddie is even willing to entertain the idea that not everyone is out to use him. He doesn't know how to fix that. All he can do is be gentle with Freddie, do his best not to let him down, be a good friend.

That's the thing though, Freddie thinks. He had been treated exactly as he'd deserved. Better than, even. After all, how many other kids get the chance to fuck their teachers even once, not to mention countless times? He'd been stupid to think it could ever be more than that. Delusional, really.

And to have it all thrown back into his face years later. He's told himself he'd ended up on top in the end, ruining Gregory's the way he had. But the truth is, he's never felt great about it. It hadn't taken the pain away. The humiliation.

Noah's still holding him, his fingers light through Freddie's hair and it's somehow comforting and suffocating at the same time. He's never told anyone about this and he still hasn't told Noah. Not exactly, anyhow. He's not said the words. But he knows and he'll look at Freddie differently now, will see the used up kid Freddie's been trying so hard to hide. It

"Friends can still fuck," he says finally, pointedly ignoring the break of his voice and how it feels like the wrong thing. His heart his pounding and his skin itches. Noah's close and touching him and Freddie's not some broken fucking teenager. He knows what he wants.

Noah's face goes red when he hears that it was Freddie's teacher, and he knows from Freddie's previous thoughts that the guy wasn't a college professor. Noah tries to imagine having sex with any of his teachers at Aglionby and he simply can't, not even the younger ones. He wonders if this is part of it, the psychology of having an adult fuck you when you're barely a teenager, the power imbalance. Noah's pretty sure if this guy ever shows up here he'll do more than haunt him.

He's so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly misses when Freddie speaks. But when he realizes what Freddie's said he lets out a short, startled laugh.

"Is that what you want for your birthday?"

Noah's laugh isn't harsh or cruel in any way, but Freddie flinches all the same and stares down at his hands. It might be what he wants, but it's still not a fair thing to request. Noah's set up his boundaries and is in love with someone else; just because it's Freddie's birthday doesn't mean he can ignore that.

So he shakes his head.

"Don't even know what I want," he says, putting that thought into words for the first time before finishing off his beer with one last swallow.

"It's not that I don't want to," Noah starts to say, but stops before continuing. He just doesn't want Freddie to think he's not desirable, but he probably already knows he is, at least in that aspect. He can't not know how attracted Noah is to him.

"You don't have to have everything figured out," Noah adds, changing the subject. He suspects Freddie means more than just him or sex, and more than just his birthday. He thinks about what Freddie likes, what makes him happy, and smiles. "How about you take an art course with me this summer?"

Some part of Freddie believes that, but it's all also fucked up in his head. Because Noah's in love with someone else and Freddie's available, but Freddie also has no fucking clue how to be in a relationship even if he wants one and maybe he could try with Noah, but maybe he'd just fuck it all up again and Noah deserves someone good for a change. Someone who can give him everything he wants.

His lips curve into a deeper frown when Noah changes the subject, though it's only a slight change, really. "What sort of art course?" he asks because that's not something he's considered before. He hasn't taken any class at all since uni. For a number of reasons.

Noah doesn't say anything at all, not wanting to make it about him. But it's not like anyone is lining up to date him. It's not like anyone ever has. Who's ever been interested in him? A couple girls in high school because he was friends with Barrington Whelk, a guy who ended up interested in literally everyone else, his best friend who's already with someone, and...Freddie, who's interested in literally everyone else, too, or at least sleeping with them. Freddie practically had a heart attack when he thought he'd asked him out on a date, so that's answer enough.

Noah still wants to be Freddie's friend because he cares about him, more than he wishes he did, but he's not holding his breath for anything else.

"I don't know, anything. Whatever you like. Drawing, or painting, photography," he suggests.

The trouble is, once again, Freddie doesn't know what he wants. He'd been into art back in secondary, enough that Sir had encouraged him into architecture. Which hadn't panned out, obviously. But even at uni, he'd liked some of his courses. Art history and drawing. He's never done photography, but there's something appealing in that as well.

"You're in school for it, aren't you?" he asks because he's fairly sure he remembers that. "What d'you want to take?"

"No, man, this is about you," Noah says, jabbing a finger (softly) at Freddie's chest. Which is slightly difficult since he has Freddie sitting against his own chest so the position is all wrong. "What do you want to take? Because I'll take whatever."

Noah wasn't actually planning on taking any summer courses, he doesn't even know if Barton offers them to be honest, but if it doesn't then the community college will and they can take something there.

It's not a particularly hard poke, but Freddie reaches up to wrap his hand loosely around Noah's finger and holds on. They're still pressed together and it's strangely comfortable. This isn't a thing he does often, touch normally reserved for the bedroom or activities leading up to the bedroom. Rarely for just... sitting and talking.

For friends.

"Photography then," he decides because he already knows how to draw for the most part, but he's never done much with a camera. "Or have you done that already?"

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