She tenses but so did he. In the darkness, he feels and hears her shift closer to him more than he really sees it and the head on his shoulder is a surprise. It's a softer, less weighty version of their embrace on Scarif, less tightly-held because there's too much between them and no oncoming fate. Without finality, he isn't sure who to be with Jyn.

Better to let the vidscreen cover them in background noise and color and other people's problems.

"There won't be anything good," he says, letting himself nose into her hair a little. That, at least, is a constant. No matter what planet he's on, no matter the seedy cantina or flophouse, there is never, ever anything good to watch late at night. The banal inconvenience is almost comforting.