Rowan raises an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmm. Not complainin’, but you could’a made me work for shit more. Not given in so easily.”

Rowan shifts in his seat. “Pretty fuckin’ hard denying you anything, Mal.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Rowan wants to kick himself. Because that’s a whole lotta too much too soon that’s probably going to make Mal uncomfortable. Hell, it makes him uncomfortable with how sincere it is.

But thankfully Mal blows right past it. “Push and pull, man. I get off on being denied shit, and you get off on doin’ it. The payoff’s more satisfying havin’ to work for it.”

“Yeah,” Rowan tells him. “I know. Just… need to get outta my head.”

Maybe there’s something off about Rowan’s tone, because Mal’s eyes narrow a fraction before he speaks again. “You feel guilty or anything?”

It seems to come out of left field, and Rowan’s sure the surprise shows on his face. “Guilty? No… why?”

“Not anxious or depressed or anythin’? Now or last week?” Mal presses.

Mal couldn’t possibly know about his depression, but even with the moments of uncertainty he’s felt so far being Mal’s Dom, Rowan knows that nothing he’s felt with him even comes close to those days of feeling like the absolute scum of the earth.

Rowan shakes his head. “Nope.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Mal takes another bite of his sandwich, then speaks with his mouth full. “Wanted to make sure you weren’t droppin’.”

Oh. Right. He’d been so focused on Mal the past two sessions that Rowan hadn’t even considered the possibility of dropping himself. Of the two of them, it is more likely that the newbie would be more emotionally compromised after a scene than the seasoned pro.

Regardless, there’s a flutter in his chest at Mal’s concern.

“Oh,” Rowan says. “Kinda forgot that was a thing, honestly.”

“Less common than sub drop, but it happens.”

Mal meets his eyes, and the intensity that Rowan sees there turns the flutter into a full-on palpitation.

“You start feelin’ like that after our scene’s over, tell me. Or text me if it’s later in the week or somethin’,” Mal tells him, voice serious.

Rowan wants to say thank you and he wants to say I like learning this stuff with you and he wants to leap across the table and kiss the tiny fleck of mustard off the corner of Mal’s lip because sure, Rowan’s clinically mentally ill, but he’s also apparently fucking crazy and way too into this guy he’s basically only hooking up with.

What he says instead is nothing, and what he does is nod and take another bite of his grilled cheese.

Mal mirrors his nod, seemingly satisfied. “Anyway,” he says, “don’t be afraid to push me more’s all I’m sayin’. Gotta trust yourself that you’re not gonna fuck it up. But that’ll come with time. Already pretty damn good at it for a newbie.”