There's a pinch in Noah's voice, a tightness that makes Ronan's anger flare hot all over again, skin drawing thin. Breakable.

He doesn't fight with Noah, he reminds himself. He doesn't fight with Noah.

"Fuck this," he snarls, leg swinging to kick the nearest bag of groceries, sending a flurry of apples rolling before he's striding away, fingers itching at his sides.