That's far from comforting, and Martin gives her a brief, surreptitious sidelong glance. He's not looking for comfort, really, not from her; but the open honesty of it is... well. It's familiar. A little too familiar.

He's gotten this sense about her before, but it feels so horribly clarified now: that like him, Jyn is intimately acquainted with solitude, not always by choice, and perhaps has been molded by it, built into someone who now doesn't quite know how to accept a hand out of it. Maybe doesn't feel safe even trying. Or maybe he's projecting too much.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he says softly after a while, and he walks quietly with her for about a block before he ventures to speak again. "I don't suppose you'd ever like to share a drink on purpose sometime."

Embarrassment hits all too easily, much as he tries to fight it back, and he clears his throat. "I-I mean, it doesn't have to be a drink. Just..." He shrugs, looking down at his feet, then manages a faint chuckle and glances back at her. "We've got to stop meeting like this."