The rope burns as Noah grabs it and yanks, and Ronan relishes the pain for the two seconds that it lasts, extending his fingers then curling them inward again as he glares up at Noah.

He still wants to argue, wants to point out that Noah only ever expected the worst out of Ronan and got exactly that.

The rope coils around Noah's hand, winding gently around his wrist. Ronan glances down at it and then away. "I don't need to be your fucking boyfriend," he says, voice low and quiet as he glares down at Cabeswater's grass. There are too many things Ronan does need, and getting back home is highest on the list. He doesn't belong here; that's never felt so clear.