“Volunteering to sit in this nasty cell for a night?” Kit asks them in disbelief. “I’d say you’ve got balls but that might just be downright stupid” He knows he’s being aggressive, but he doesn’t have time for this. he’s exhausted, and irritated, and he just wants his god damned phone call so that Grace or Maddox will come take him home. He’d do almost anything to get out of this cell and be in his own warm bed, big and empty and all his own. Kit didn’t share his bed for any price– it had to be his choice and his alone. He had a perfectly good couch for anyone who thought they could spend the night.
The aggression surprised them a little, and Rowan watched the dark-haired man carefully. Assessing. No longer quite so loose around him. “Genitals have nothing to do with it. Nor does courage,” they commented with something like clipped tones, lying down on their back. The bench was cold, and it made them shiver a little and touch their arms. “I was just...” Rowan waved their hands dismissively, airily, in front of their face. “lethargic.” Rowan didn’t like the police. Scared was too strong a word, but wary was about right. Too many stories. “Didn’t want to make a fuss.”
