Deacon hums, taking another drag of his cigarette. He leans over, tugging open one of the bench drawers to see if he can find something to ash into. Inside if it is a bunch of trash, including a chipped and broken mug that Deacon blinks at for a moment before unceremoniously placing atop the bench and ashing into it.

"Huh." he acknowledges Danse's explanation, "Guess I'll check it out sometime." Maybe even take that suggestion, while he's at it. If these seats push back he'll sleep just fine on one of them.

"What makes you so confident someone wasn't?" he asks, just to be a shit. Maybe a stealth boy was involved. Or maybe Deacon is just paranoid.