Ronan won't admit how accidentally dreaming up a fake Adam has long been one of his biggest fears. He won't mention how many times he's dreamt Adam's shirt or boxers or overalls by mistake, how every single time, he's awoken equal parts aroused, panicked, and guilt-striken.

But she's right, as much as it pains him to admit it. He's never wanted a dream version of Adam. No matter his ability, no matter how much he might practice, he could never in a million years dream up any person, animal, or thing as complex, nuanced, and beautiful as Adam Parrish.

He watches as Blue grabs the rain-sodden and splintered guitar. It sings quietly at the brush of her fingers, a sad note, but no less beautiful than if it had encouraged no damage at all.

"I don't have to dream it in here," he tells her and there's a tinge of pride in his voice.

A blink and the rain stops, almost as fast as turning off a switch. The clouds break, letting a small glimmer of sun peak through.

Ronan holds his arms out in presentation. He shrugs. "Anything I want, remember?"

But he isn't fighting anymore.