A strange anticipation builds in the darkness both sides of the wandering boundary between conscious and unconscious as Ronan's dream slips from a tangle of sensation into this parallel of reality. Layered and lensed in infinite magnification, the immense weight and power of Kylo's will focuses exactly there, on the question Ronan lets loose in this liminal space. Someone's heart is pounding. He doesn't know whose.

He's quiet, for a moment— because dreams are for impossible things. Because they came here to practice, and perhaps that's still what Ronan's doing. Testing. Trying on the fantasy for size.

And then he leans forward— both of him, possibly, though it's difficult for him to know the difference. He reaches out to touch Ronan's face, cradling his cheek in the palm of his hand. How far removed he is, now, from the jealous ache he'd been consumed by every time he'd caught sight of the affection Ronan had for his creations. From the fear that had led him to take only as much as he was sure Ronan could tolerate losing in one sitting, rationing his exposure to the intimacy and connection he'd found with him though he already knew himself hopelessly addicted to it.
From believing himself disqualified from everything Ronan offered and incapable of giving him anything but pain in return.

Could he ever have come this far if he hadn't been given the chance to explore his impossible desire in a dream, first?

"Always," he confirms. "That's what I want to be."