It's not a bad look, even if she's used to bulkier framed men (and women if she's being honest). "Good luck," she offers empathically, "Sleep schedules are impossible to manage in space. There's no sun." And the substitutes that technology can provide don't always work, particularly on those who already have difficulty sleeping. Had she been in a flirty mood, Rogue probably would have offered to help him in his sleep efforts.

Instead, the younger woman continues searching the inanimate object for answers that can only come from herself, taking another sip of her drink. As he moves nearer to her, the hand closest to him slides from the glass and reaches over to brush against the edge of his thigh. It's not suggestive, just a subconscious effort to seek out more tactile comfort. She's already leaning into his touch to her hair, turning towards him when he speaks.

He understands, more than most would, and as much as a normal human without powers could relate. Her gaze searches his for a few moments before dropping slightly.

His suggestion, however, earns a quick, probably too sharp response, her head shaking as she finds his eyes again. A frown deepens over her features. "No. We might need to use it." It's the ugly truth. "In case ah lose control, or ah'm not mahself with mah abilities." Given how dangerous she is and how something already has caused her to lose her faculties.

But there's more to it than that. "Ah've never really had control of mah touch, not really. It's always been someone or somethin' else, an' even when it was mah choice, it always felt like cheatin'." Her voice gives away her increasing agitation as she continues. "Not to mention mutants are hunted, collared, an' caged by those who wish to control an' experiment on us."

She doesn't regret using the collar to indulge on Sarano, but it's clearly come with a heavy tax.