Not for the first time, Jyn reminds herself that she barely knows anything about him. It's an uncomfortable disadvantage to be at, when there's no telling how much information the Alliance might have gotten on her before extracting her from Wobani. For all she can tell, he might well know more about her life than she does herself, while she's only got the barest few facts to work with in trying to piece a clear picture together of his. Still, in this regard, they speak for themselves. To have joined the fight as young as he did — barely younger than she was when Saw took her, and she wonders if he knows that, too, or if all they ever found out about was that connection itself — and to all but tell her that he lost everything too, no, of course he's never had anything easy, either.

She wants to ask, a question on the tip of her tongue that almost escapes her, but this isn't the time, and anyway, it isn't her business. He'll tell her whatever he wants to tell her. She isn't going to ruin a rare moment of peace by trying to push her way through one of his many walls.

"Good point," she agrees, voice soft and wry. It's the understatement of the millennium, more like, but she doesn't need to tell him that, least of all now. Besides, it seems inherently wrong, somehow, when this is easier than it has any right to be. Later, maybe, she'll stop and question it and curse herself for thinking it was a good idea to climb into his bed in the first place. Right now, lying here against him, his heart beating under her hand and his fingers in her hair, even still reeling from a nightmare, she thinks she feels better than she has in years. Safe. Home.

Later, too, she'll blame such a ridiculous thought on exhaustion.

"I'm not sure I'd even know what easy looked like, or what to do with it," she adds, thoughtful. "And Saw would say not to trust anything that seemed it."