[Ronan keeps looking at him in a way that Kavinsky doesn't quite know how to process. He likes it, because of course he fucking does. He just doesn't know what it means. He keeps wanting to say something about it, accuse him of wanting to kiss him or something. Because Kavinsky wants him to, because he wants to get under his skin. It's always seemed like his best chance at parsing out this thing they've been doing for months.

But maybe it's just the closest that K knows how to get to saying the words outloud.

There's something about the strange little dogsheep that gets to Kavinsky, mostly because Ronan gives a shit about it, he's sure. Certainly not because he had a fucked up childhood and he'd always wanted a dog. He wouldn't argue, even with one that was badly in need of shearing. So he lets it sniff at his shoes, and shoots Ronan a vaguely amused look.]

C'mon, man. This stuff is all fucking- unlawful experiments with no paperwork. That container is animal neglect at best. You can probably throw around some other bullshit, too. Tell them you'll be remotely monitoring or something. I'm sure there's some sort of interstellar bureau of shitstacks you can threaten to report it to if it sounds like they wont play nice.

[He grins, shifting so that he can lean into Ronan's personal space, look up the few inches into his blue eyes. He brushes his thumb against his cheekbone, like there was something on his face, and it's not just an excuse to touch him.]

Though I still vote we punch 'em, take it and run.