His comment, though weak and full of the exhaustion running rampant in his body, doesn't go unnoticed; she responds with a lazy, lopsided smile and a gentle nudge of her elbow. She'd be foolish not to admit (only to herself, of course) that Kira is a good-looking person, as a purely objective statement of fact. But some part of her brain or perhaps her heart or perhaps something even deeper than that, the part that relates to romanticism and sexual attraction, had been stunted - taken with the innocence of her early childhood the moment she'd had a blaster shoved into her hand. She'd only been eight years old, then. The men and women she'd known and come to care about were seen in terms of their tactical skills, their abilities, their resiliency and strength.

Still, Jyn knew - from a factual standpoint - what made someone attractive.

She lets the sounds tumble out of his mouth, lets his arms tangle themselves around his fragile frame and lets him feel whatever it is he must. She only hesitates a moment longer before she turns towards him, wraps her own arms around his body - realizing too late that she's dampening his scrubs with the wet fabric of her undergarments, but isn't bothered enough by it to move. She's slight, but there's a strength in her grip, a steadying, anchoring weight to it, one she hopes will keep him tethered to the ground - to stay there, sitting next to her. She presses her cheek to his shoulder, face angled down towards their feet in the water.

"I don't have to do anything," she murmurs gently, voice like a velvet blanket meant to envelop him. "I'm not offering because I feel obligated. I'm offering because I want to."