“For… doing that.” He looks down, shaking his head a little before continuing. “Consent’s obviously a big fuckin’ deal in general, but especially for shit like this. I shouldn’t’a let myself do that, no matter how out of it I was. We didn’t talk about it beforehand.”

Rowan feels his stomach twist, his dinner threatening to come right back up at Mal’s words. He opens and closes his mouth, willing his reply to come to make everything okay. Because fuck, he thought he’d taken advantage of Mal. By being too shocked to push him away immediately. By coming the second he’d felt his lips for the first, and probably only, time.

Rowan doesn’t know how long he’s silent, but it’s apparently too long for Mal, who continues, “If you wanna stop meeting up, I get it.”

“No!” Rowan blurts, far too loud for Mal’s near-whispered statement. The one lone patron on the other side of the diner looks up from his coffee at the commotion before shaking his head and flicking the page of his newspaper.

“No, it’s fine, Mal,” Rowan tells him at a more reasonable volume, shoulders hunched up to his ears. “I’m not against kissing or anything. Actually kinda love it, but not if you’re not into it too.” He stops to fiddle with his napkin, scrunching it up in his hand. “I just….”

“What?”

“Feel fuckin’ guilty for, y’know, blowing during it.” His cheeks burn, and he can’t force himself to meet Mal’s eyes. “You were so out of it, and I feel like shit for basically getting off on it. I don’t normally….”

He trails off when he sees Mal nodding in his periphery, clearly understanding what he was going to say. I don’t normally get off on hurting people.

Somehow, despite the roiling in his stomach, the confession feels good, like a weight has been lifted off his chest. No matter how Mal reacts to it, he’s glad to have this conversation rather than let it tear him up inside. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to tell him how badly he’d wanted to cup his face and lick into his mouth and kiss him senseless. He’s gonna take that shit to his grave.

“Not your fault, man. Shit’s obviously emotional for the both of us, even if no feelings are involved.”

The statement hits like a punch to the gut, plunging that thorn of worry straight into his heart.

“Right,” Rowan manages.

He’d been worried about this—his chaotic and confusing feelings not being reciprocated. Pretty definitively assumed that was the case too. But to actually have it spelled out, black and white? Far worse than he’d imagined, even in his worst-case scenarios.