He lets out a juvenile giggle at Roadhog's euphemism. "Ah, mate, if she was scared of a lil' fire she probably wouldn't be spendin' this much time with me. Who knows? Maybe she's inta that kinda thing."

Junkrat shifts so he can cross his arms, making an uncomfortable arm-pillow for him to rest his cheek on. He yawns--a good sign.

"Well...that and the fact that space is a cold, loveless vaccuum. Love me some nighttime sky but I don't care ta meet my demise as a suffocating popsicle. A ratsicle."

Such self-control.