Jyn let out a slow, shaky exhale as he rested his hand against her shoulderblade, trying to will some of the tension out of her limbs. It was too much — not anything he had done or was doing, but the back and forth of it all in her mind, from contentment to concern and back to confusion again, how things could feel so right and then so wrong in the span of a single breath. She had never felt so at ease with anyone as she did with him, and yet it seemed all she could do was misstep. Given the strangeness of their circumstances, it probably wasn't fair to blame herself for that entirely, but it was hard not to let that frustration well up.

She wanted to tell him everything and she wanted to tell him nothing. She wanted to rebuild what she'd lost years ago and she wanted not to risk opening herself up to that again. She didn't know what she wanted, except that all of this fraughtness and uncertainty wasn't it.

"It does," she said quietly, because the question, at least, was something simple enough to address. She knew what he meant, and she could even appreciate the reasoning behind it, despite their misreading each other a moment before. "Make sense. But I could say the same to you. I—" I love you. It was always right there, on the tip of her tongue; she couldn't allow it past her teeth, no matter what he'd said to her last night. "I don't expect anything of you. I know that, whatever happened before, that wasn't you, now. And I wouldn't ask that. Or push for it. But I also wouldn't do anything that I didn't want to do just for you."