He nodded heavily with relief. Then brought her hand to his face and pressed it to his forehead, his closed eyes. (Still not a kiss, not uninvited, but perhaps more.)

Gently, reluctantly, he released her hand, and folded his arm under his head. Here was a man accustomed to ship's bunks. Though often as not, when alone, he'd sleep in the pilot's seat in the cockpit, wrapped in an army blanket, with static blaring from the radio. Right now, his exhaustion was enough to overcome usual difficulties, and with Jyn's touch still resonant on his skin, he was out.