"Am not," Noah whispers petulantly, but sniffles just to make sure.

He tries to think of other things, not Krem things. Instead he tries to conjure memories of what he and Ronan used to get up to at Monmouth. He wants to say it: remember when we made a bonfire in the parking lot, remember when we mixed all of Gansey's records up, remember when you threw me out a window? But he can't make the words leave his mouth. Instead his nods at Ronan's suggestion of sleep, and closes his eyes.

"Thanks," he says, fingers curling into Ronan's shirt to hold on.