Adam's hand settles over Ronan's chest, a warm, comforting weight and Ronan lifts one arm to trail his fingers along the the back of it, tracing the tendons and knuckles there as he frowns at Adam.

"Holy shit," he says after a moment. The idea of Noah being any older than he is right now, any older than he's been since the minute they met him, is boggling.

Why had they never thought to ask Noah's his fucking birthday?

"I didn't get you anything," he says then.