Freddie doesn't need to ask if it's what Noah wants. He can still remember bits of the night before even through the pounding in his head, the light in Noah's eyes, how bloody happy he'd been. Has anyone looked at him like that before when they're not drunk on some kind of enchanted wine?

He glances back down at his hands then, at the coffee Noah's brought him even after Freddie stood him up.

"I think I'd like to," he decides, glancing up again, something a little like fear unsettling his stomach. He ignores it. "Promise I won't fuck off in the middle either. We can just, like. Get dinner somewhere. See a movie, maybe. I dunno."