"I feel it," Kylo assures him, pressing his wild urge to laugh into a kiss. Can he feel it? The warmth radiating out from the core of Ronan's being, the bright, bursting light he can only bear because it is his, all for him, all of it, fearlessly pouring out as a beacon to guide him home? He feels certain it could reach him anywhere, wherever he was— and right now, with his whole self wrapped around it and bathed in it, it might as well be the only thing in existence.

"You," he says, barely able to tear himself away from showing his devotion to Ronan's lips, his cheek, his jaw, the throbbing reminder of lifeblood pulsing under the tender stretch of skin just behind it long enough to murmur in his ear, "Ronan... you are all I can feel."

And he loves it. He basks in it, reflecting back the overflow every way his clumsy, infant heart knows how, long having come to the end of words. He chases Ronan's pulse down the column of his throat, as far as he can trace the path without pulling too far away from the warm loop of his arms.