Noah hadn't given him any indication as to when he might be leaving the wedding. In truth, part of him suspected Noah may reconsider or may decide to go home with Donna instead. Or with someone else entirely. Or no one at all. Apart from the awkward invitation in the mall, Noah'd held fast to his rule of no fooling about any longer and, despite the ongoing tension between them, Freddie had honoured it.
But Freddie can't say he's much of a fan of this position. The waiting. Usually, he's the one to decide this sort of thing. He's not the one left waiting up, unsure of whether or not the other person will even show.
He's not the one who's supposed to care.
But there's no denying the itch under his skin regardless of how fiercely he tries to do just that. He wastes no time in peeling himself out of his suit once he's home, exchanging it for his usual lounge shorts and tank before grabbing the sketch pad he'd purchased a few weeks ago. Settled on his sofa, Freddie refuses to let the quiet of his phone bother him as his pencil scrapes across paper, scribbling faceless figures and trees and pointless shapes until the knock at his door pulls him from his thoughts.
Something like relief rolls over him and he answers the door with a faint smirk, taking in the fall of Noah's dress once more. "Why the formality?" he asks, his voice teasing. Because Noah has no real use for doors, has popped into Freddie's flat more times than he can count, his arrival always heralded by a text or phone call.
The again, everything about this meeting is a little different.
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But Freddie can't say he's much of a fan of this position. The waiting. Usually, he's the one to decide this sort of thing. He's not the one left waiting up, unsure of whether or not the other person will even show.
He's not the one who's supposed to care.
But there's no denying the itch under his skin regardless of how fiercely he tries to do just that. He wastes no time in peeling himself out of his suit once he's home, exchanging it for his usual lounge shorts and tank before grabbing the sketch pad he'd purchased a few weeks ago. Settled on his sofa, Freddie refuses to let the quiet of his phone bother him as his pencil scrapes across paper, scribbling faceless figures and trees and pointless shapes until the knock at his door pulls him from his thoughts.
Something like relief rolls over him and he answers the door with a faint smirk, taking in the fall of Noah's dress once more. "Why the formality?" he asks, his voice teasing. Because Noah has no real use for doors, has popped into Freddie's flat more times than he can count, his arrival always heralded by a text or phone call.
The again, everything about this meeting is a little different.