He'd expected Noah to be happy, of course. That's the entire reason he'd dreamed the little, faded ball of fluff, but something about the way Noah throws himself against Ronan's chest and burrows there is more than he's expecting. Noah's warm, so much warmer than he ever was back in Henrietta, and if there's one damn thing about this shithole town Ronan's grateful for, it's that.

Standing in his socks at the top of the stairs, Ronan carefully wraps an arm around Noah and hides a smile against the top of his. The kitten mewls plaintively between them and Ronan rests his hand at the nape of Noah's neck. "I know he's not Prunam," he says quietly. "He's not a replacement or anything. But he's yours."