[ She doesn't mind the discomfort — it's definitely not as bad as a lot of things she's endured. Once you've been shot through a few times, a little necessary hair-pulling is a small inconvenience by comparison. If anything, the sharp sensation keeps her grounded — keeps her thoughts from drifting too far. What brief pain there is still isn't as hard as watching Poe lay unconscious in the medbay. ]

So it's not your durability I should be worried about. [ Dry as ever: ] Just your poor taste in company.

[ Her mockery, dry though it is, comes more gently than it might have on a different day, and she lets a moment or two of quiet settle in once she's spoken. Her eyes close as she focuses on the feeling of his fingers working through the mess of her hair. A few long beats pass before she finally turns again, more fully this time — stalling his hands as she catches each one by the wrist. It's more somber now, when she speaks. ]

I love you. And I'm — [ She struggles. ] I'm sorry. That I don't say it enough.