"I didn't fucking see anything, you told me," Ronan snarls in reply. "And I don't want to know about you and--"

He snaps his mouth shut before he can go too far, though he knows it's more his tone and general attitude, general being, than the words themselves that will have Noah shrinking away from him in fear. His skin is vibrating as he balls his hands into fists, fighting the urge to take a swing at something, to drive his fist through a wall or the table or the fucking fridge.

He backs up instead, pressing himself against the lip of the counter as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Fuck it, I don't care, okay? You want to get a boyfriend, get a fucking boyfriend. But at least get one that doesn't treat you like shit."