It's not a song Freddie recognizes and he's still fighting a smirk as the music filters through Noah's phone, tinny and quiet in his flat before Noah sets it down on the couch and reaches for him.

"You're assuming I even know how to dance," Freddie says, but he's already taken Noah's hand and drawn her closer, easily fitting his other arm around Noah's waist, the sheer fabric soft against his fingertips and Noah's skin warm beneath it. There's something strangely intimate about the moment, something almost romantic that Freddie's determined to not look at too closely. "I don't remember this being part of your proposal," he says instead as they slowly fall into an easy sway to the rhythm.