"Mmm," Ronan replies, mulling it over with another sip of his beer. It's not a bad thought, actually, something about dreaming someone as good as Noah, ghost or otherwise, sits pleasantly in his chest.

But he shakes his head a moment later. "Two problems with that," he says, reaching over to rest his hand, still holding his beer, atop Noah's thigh. "One, there's proof you existed before we met. Two, you wouldn't be a fucking nightmare."