"Jyn." It was either her name, an outrush of breath, or something like a sob. Whatever it was, he was tired of words. Insufficient, misleading, terrible words.

His hand slipped under her, coming to rest in the small of her back. The arm attached curved around her, and so doing pulled their bodies flush together. His other arm folded over and around her, closing any last distance between them. His chest to hers so he couldn't tell whose heart that was, thudding away. His hand gently cupped her face. Before he could quite think otherwise, he'd leaned in to kiss her.

(…Her forehead. Not her mouth. He couldn't. Couldn't bear the idea of certain intimacies with her done under false pretense. He wanted them too badly—but only if they were real. If that could never happen, at least it wouldn't be eclipsed by doing them while lying. The idea, at least, could remain unstained.)