Rowan spins on his stool to see Mal, taking in his fully clothed figure for the first time. He looks good, wearing black jeans with wide holes in the knees, a plain black shirt, and a light-colored jean jacket. He’s evidently freshly showered, the tips of his hair still misty and tousled like he’d only run his fingers through the length of it rather than brushed it properly.

Rowan suddenly feels gross in comparison and desperately wishes he had showered instead of pulling his clothes on over his dirty body. But if the once-over Mal gives him is anything to go by, he’d say he still looks presentable.

“Relax, like I’d be able to pry him from your claws anyway.”

With an exaggerated eye roll, Mal turns to Rowan. “You ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. Let’s go, Red. Later,” Mal calls over his shoulder as he turns and heads toward the elevator without so much as waiting for Rowan.

Rowan scrambles off the barstool with a quick goodbye to Jeremiah and half jogs to catch up with Mal as the elevator doors open with a ding.

They ride the elevator in silence and then make their way through the first floor—which is packed with people. When they pass Camilla on the way out, Rowan sees her eyes flick up to them for a moment before she does a double take, head snapping up and mouth dropping open like a cartoon character. Instantly after, she bites her bottom lip—visibly fighting a smile—and waggles her fingers at them. Mal flips her off behind his back as Rowan turns and gives her a small wave, at least trying to be polite. She and Mal might be friends, but Rowan definitely isn’t, and he doesn’t want her to think he’s being rude.

As soon as they’re through the double doors and into the warm summer air, Mal pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a deep drag before turning to Rowan for the first time since the bar.

“You smoke?” he asks, offering the cigarette to Rowan as the smoke swirls out from his lips.

“Trying to quit, but yeah.”

“Tch. Been sayin’ that shit since I was thirteen.”

Rowan huffs a small laugh. He takes the butt and places it between his lips to take his own drag, trying not to think too hard about where the cigarette had been. He hands it back, shivering as their fingers brush and mentally kicking himself for not being able to blame it on the weather.

“C’mon.”