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Noah wakes up to something warm tucked up against his neck, under his chin. Without opening his eyes he reaches to feel for whatever it is, and discovers fur. It's followed by a tiny mew. That's a sound Noah recognizes, and he opens his eyes, still groggy and sleep-muddled. Even recognizing the meow, it's still a shock when he picks it up and moves it to see a small ball of grey fur in front of his face. The kitten bites his hand, a futile effort for something so little, and all Noah can do is gape. Carefully, he props himself up on his side to get a better look. There's a familiar feel to the kitten, and he realizes he recognizes what it is. The kitten isn't alive. It's a ghost, like him.

"Where did you come from?" he asks in awe, as the kitten just gazes up at him with big yellow eyes. Noah's own eyes well up with tears, because he already knows, and he knows it means the kitten is especially for him.

Quickly, but with care, Noah gets out of bed, picking the kitten up and tucking it against his chest. He carries the kitten out of his bedroom and into the common room. "Ronan?" he calls, needing to make sure.

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Ronan's just making his way up the stairs, muscles sore from moving around piles of hay for Cinnamon. Cold as it's getting, she's spending less time outside; he's going to need to move her out to Cabeswater here soon.

He bends to pull off his boots at the top of the stairs, lifting his head when he hears Noah calling his name.

"What?" It's only then notices the kitten Noah's holding close to his chest, but his expression stays the same. "Good, you found him."

"Good, you found him!?" Noah echoes, his heart doing a flip from what he suspected being confirmed. This kitten was made for him, born in a dream. A ghost, somehow, without ever having really died. Noah crosses the room so fast he might as well have manifested there, throwing his free arm around Ronan to pull him close in a tight hug. Mindful of the kitten, he tucks himself against Ronan's chest, his face pressed to Ronan's neck and his eyes squeezed closed against the way they suddenly burn.

"Thank you," he says, unmoving.

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."

Ronan brings up Prunam, and Noah swallows hard past the way his throat tightens, blinking his eyes to try and keep from crying. He lets out a shuddering breath. What Ronan did was so thoughtful, selfless, and kind, especially when so much can go wrong with his dreaming. Especially after KIRIN.

"I love you," he tells Ronan, his voice watery and soft, the words spilling from his mouth without a second thought. But he means it. With every atom of whatever he's made of, he loves Ronan. He always has.

Noah breathes against him, a quiet, stuttered sort of sob that gusts warm across Ronan's neck. It sends a jolt down his spine, has him closing his eyes and forcibly reminding himself Noah doesn't mean it the same way he does. And that it doesn't matter. At least Noah loves him at all.

Swallowing tightly, he manages a nod before pressing his lips to the top of Noah's head and breathing him in for a moment.

"How's your camera, by the way?" he asks, pulling back a little as he sinks his fingers up into Noah's hair, aiming for playful. Part of him wants to point that Freddie can't dream him up a fucking cat. But he doesn't really want to think about Noah's pseudo-boyfriend right now. Or anyone else either.

Ronan's thoughts are loud, and Noah hears them all. He wants to tell Ronan it is the same, that Freddie isn't his boyfriend, Freddie doesn't care about him that way. But he's scared to, not wanting to upset things. When Ronan pulls back, Noah quickly lifts his free hand to wipe at his eyes.

"It's great," he says, eyes closing a moment with Ronan's fingers in his hair. He tilts his head, encouraging him. "Um." Noah's lost his train of thought, and takes a moment to find it. He shifts the kitten in his arms when he starts to squirm. "Do you think I'll be able to take pictures of him?"

He doesn't pretend not to notice Noah wiping at his eyes, but he considers teasing him for before letting it drop. Fuck knows, it's not like Noah's never seen Ronan cry before.

Noah tips his head into Ronan's touch, his eyes half closed and Ronan tries not to think about that too hard even as he keeps his hand right where it is. At least until the cat starts squirming and Noah shifts it in his arms, Ronan's hand dropping to Noah's shoulder instead. "Probably. It's not a real camera, so. Guess there's one way to find out."

Ronan's hand leaves Noah's hair, and he wants to complain, but the little ghostly furball is too cute to dwell on receiving affectionate touches when he can be the one to give them to his new kitty. "Maybe later," he says, breaking away to go flop down on the couch. He lays across its length, propped up by a few small pillows, and sets the kitten down on his chest.

"What should I name you, Tiny Boo?" he says in a baby voice to the kitten.

Ronan smirks as Noah drops down onto the couch, long legs stretched out in front of him as he rests the cat atop his chest. He hears it meow again, a tiny little sound, as he turns to head to kitchen, grabbing a beer for himself and a soda for Noah.

"Here," he says, knocking the can against Noah's elbow once he's back in the other room, handing it off before disappearing into Noah's room.

Reemerging seconds later with the strap of the camera slung around his neck, he sets his beer on the coffee table and starts fiddling with the buttons and knobs. He'd had to do some research before dreaming this one, had to study manuals and diagrams to understand every little function. He'd forgotten most of the information as soon as he'd passed the camera off to Noah, but he remembers enough to focus the lens and snap the shutter, capturing a picture of Noah grinning down at the kitten as it rests a paw right against his chin.

"Thanks." Noah glances away from the kitten long enough to see what Ronan's brought. "Hey, it's too early for beer!" he calls after Ronan, but his attention goes right back to the kitten. He can feel the gentle purring against his chest, the tiny pinprick of an occasional claw as he explores.

At the sound of the camera, Noah looks over with a groan, but he's still smiling so it's mostly ineffectual. "Don't take a picture of me, I just woke up. I haven't even combed my hair." He looks back to the kitten, lifting his paw with a finger, and pitches his voice back into that silly baby speak. "Little Ronan here needs to be combed, too. Yes you do. Look at all that fur."

Ignoring Noah's complaints, Ronan only lifts the camera to take another picture, zooming in a bit to get a close-up of Noah's hair for him to find later. It's definitely rumpled, sticking up all over the place in a way that only sleep can truly manage.

"You are not naming him Little Ronan," he remarks, snapping another picture of the two of them, capturing Noah's lips pursed as he speaks in that ridiculous voice. "I'll dream him right back to Cabeswater."

"You will not," Noah says with a dismissive wave, knowing an idle threat when he hears one. He lifts Little Ronan up, pressing his cheek against his kitty face, and smiles cutely over at Ronan. "Look at his precious face. You would never have to heart to take Little Ronan back, he's your son!"

Well aware of exactly what the kitten looks like, Ronan again ignores the request, taking yet another few pictures, more than a few of Noah with his face smashed up against the kitten's.

"That's fucking creepy," Ronan argues though there's no heat in his words. "And I wouldn't be taking him back. Just letting him go to a better place."

Noah sets the kitten back down on top of him, petting and cuddling the tiny ball of fur, marveling at how soft he is. "There's no better place than with me, is there, Little Ro?" he says petulantly to the cat.

"Also, your dad needs to stop taking pictures of me," he says, turning on the couch with the kitten, rolling onto his side so his back is facing Ronan.

"I'm not his dad," Ronan argues, lifting the camera again, this time focusing solely on Noah's face, on those clear blue eyes and full lips. That bright smile.

Ronan's no photographer, but the camera is a dream thing and Ronan is a master of dream things.

He laughs when Noah rolls over, his back to Ronan and the kitten shielded between him and the couch. "Since when are you fucking shy?" he asks as he steps to the end of the couch, zooming in this time on Noah's nostril and getting a clear shot.

"You created him, you are his father," Noah says in a really bad impression of both Dr. Frankenstein and Darth Vader.

He laughs and groans when Ronan comes to the other end of the couch, and tries to throw a pillow at him. "I'm not! But who's gonna look at these pictures? I don't want pictures of myself. Just take some of Ro," he says, waving the kitten's paw.

"That's fucked, dude. I'm not Matthew's father."

It's the first time he's really acknowledged that out loud since Adam filled him in, but he can only assume Noah already knows. Noah knows just about everything; that's part of being a fucking ghost.

Still grinning, Ronan bats the pillow away, camera still held in one hand. "Maybe I do, dickface. I'll plaster my walls with them so I can throw darts when you piss me off." His voice is still light, still teasing as he takes another picture, the frame lopsided, getting just a quarter of Noah's face and a fraction of the cat's.

The comment about Matthew only makes Noah laugh more, giddy on the feeling of having a cat, and not just any cat, but a special cat dreamed just for him, a ghost like him. Everything is ten times funnier, so when Ronan calls him a dickface and threatens him about darts there are tears in Noah's eyes.

Face flushed and gasping for breath, Noah grins up at Ronan, biting his lip as though to keep more laughter in. "Is that what you're gonna do with them, really?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Ronan takes several more pictures as Noah cackles, each one capturing his wide, bright smile and stretch of his long throat when he has his head thrown back. Click-click-click.

Noah calms a moment later, enough for his expression to shift to something more flirtatious and Ronan doesn't stop taking pictures. He glances up above the viewer though, eyebrow arched. Noah's tone is teasing and Ronan isn't entirely sure how to read it given... everything. It's likely just a joke; Noah's never been cruel.

"What else would I do with them?" he says, deciding to put it in Noah's court, to make him say just exactly what he means.

Noah pauses, his expression dimming when Ronan doesn't play along and he realizes he overstepped. He'd said it without thinking, the sort of inappropriate joke he'd have been able to make with Ronan months ago and not mean anything, but it's not just that. Not knowing how Ronan feels about him, and knowing how he feels about Ronan.

He looks back to Little Ro, watching the kitten as he goes back to petting him. "Nothing."

Noah's smile fades instantly, expression clouding over with what looks like guilt.

Click.

Just a joke, then. One Ronan should've just played along with. He scowls down at the camera, quickly deleting the last few pictures as he mentally berates himself. There's nothing he can do about how he feels, he knows that. But the least he can do is not make it fucking awkward.

"Maybe I'll just send Freddie a care package," he says, ignoring the buzzing under his skin and keeping his voice cool and even as he lifts his eyes to Noah's. "Got any other admirers?"

Noah keeps his eyes on the kitten, and tries to think only of her instead of being hurt by Ronan's comment. He doesn't even know if Ronan means it as hurtful, just that it does. He likes Freddie, he's accepted their relationship for what it is, which isn't a romantic one. It's not like Freddie cares about him. No one cares about him like that except Ronan, and Ronan won't even say it.

"No," Noah says and rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off. He smirks, and glances up at Ronan. "Do I look like Brad Pitt?"

"Bullshit," Ronan remarks, though there's no real heat in his tone. More statement of fact than accusation. "What do you call Rapunzel?"

Because he remembers how she'd looked at Noah at Prom and he isn't stupid.

"And why would you need to look like Brad Pitt? You look like you." Which is about as close as Ronan can get right now to saying he finds Noah attractive. It's not like Noah doesn't already know anyway.

Noah's nose scrunches up and he looks at Ronan like he's grown a second head. "'Punz is my friend, she's not into me-- you know what, you're so ridiculous."

Ronan's added comment has Noah blushing, so he goes back to paying attention to the kitten, letting her nibble on his finger, wiggling it so she reaches up to grab it and attack. She's so tiny and cute.

"I don't want to talk about me, let's talk about you. How's the barn going?"

Ronan only arches an eyebrow at first, not missing how easily Noah brushes it aside. But it's not exactly something he wants to hound on himself so he's happy to let the topic slide.

So he shrugs instead, setting the camera on the table and grabbing his beer before he drops onto the couch by Noah's feet, relaxing into the cushions. "Nearly done," he says as he takes a sip. "Probably cheating since I'm dreaming so much of it, but fuck if I care. Probably do better in Cabeswater that way anyhow. You gone to see it lately?"

Noah promptly re-positions himself a little and drapes his legs across Ronan's lap. "No," he admits, remembering his conversation with Freddie about what a bad friend he's been. He wonders not for the first time if he should drop his job at the dispensary now that he's taking classes to free up some time, but he really likes it there.

"We could go see it later, if you aren't busy. And I could help. Do you need any?"

Swallowing his sip, Ronan lowers his hand to rest it on Noah's leg, the butt of the bottle nudging his shin as he gives an easy shrug.

"Not too much to do any more," he admits, settling his other hand on Noah's bare foot, curling around the arch. "Might need help dragging the kids over in a few weeks though if you want to help there."

Noah wiggles his toes, hoping to elicit a foot rub from Ronan.

"Of course I'll help," he says, wondering exactly how they're going to do that, especially with Cinnamon. A U-Haul, maybe? But the feeling that he isn't doing enough still nags. "I'd be happy to help with anything."

Ronan answers with a light squeeze before turning his wrist enough to rub his thumb into the arch of Noah's foot.

"I know you've got class and shit," he says then, honestly not too bothered if Noah pitches or not. It's been almost entirely Ronan's project aside from Adam's help at the start. He's the only one of them without anything else to do, after all. He doesn't mind it. "But once it's done, you'll have a new place to do homework or whatever if you want it."

Noah makes a soft sound without meaning to, but even that one gentle movement feels so good.

It's also a relief to hear that Ronan doesn't mind that he hasn't been doing any of the heavy work. "That will be nice," he says with a smile, relaxing back against the couch pillows. "Is there a fireplace? It's almost winter."

It's only a quick, quiet sound, but Ronan falters briefly, forcing himself not to acknowledge it or the affect it has on him before he continues giving Noah's foot another squeeze.

"Yeah," he replies none too proudly. "In the main room. A real one, too. Well, dreamed to be real at least. Takes wood, all that shit." For a moment, he's tempted to lay down a rule that Noah's not allowed to bring anyone there. Mostly Freddie. But he manages to bite it back, to swallow it down. Despite how much the idea of that shitstain stepping foot in his farmhouse makes his blood boil.

Noah hums appreciatively, but purses his mouth in protest when the foot rub is, again, just a tease. He nudges Ronan in the side with his other foot, a tiny smile forming.

"That sounds nice," he says on a sigh. He won't invite anyone, not to Ronan's house. He doesn't say so, doing his best not to reply to thoughts, though part of him wants to reassure Ronan. Instead he judges nudges at Ronan again with his foot. "We can make s'mores inside. Roast hot dogs. Um. Pop corn in one of those pop corn tins?"

With a grunt, Ronan squirms against the press of Noah's other foot before grabbing it and setting it with the other across his lip, one thumb still digging into Noah's arch.

"Yeah, all that shit," Ronan agrees with a faint smile, glancing over at Noah then. He likes the idea of all of that, if he's honest. With Adam and Noah both. With Gansey if he can bother to be around. "Tell ghost stories," he adds with a wider grin as gives Noah's big toe a yank. "Or is that racist?"

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