Of course he noticed when her breathing changed. He should have stopped the movement of his hand then, of course, when he saw her stir and yet... he did not. But then it would make sense if she was just a little starved for affection, having gone without it for so long in her life. That was why she might have moved in closer. Krennic told himself that on his side, that's all this was - a guarantee that she would keep coming back to him. The gentle touch of her lover in the early hours of the morning after a night of rough, heated passions. A reward, perhaps. That's all it was.

Then she speaks, and he can't help but snort, quietly dry. "You're naked," he murmurs back pointedly, patiently, as if staring at her was the obvious thing to do. However, he doesn't point out that she is partially covered by the silky sheets... nor the fact his gaze has been focused on her face, her expression. As far as her terrible, bed-ridden looks went, he disagrees but clucks his tongue in mock-disapproval, "Yes, most disgraceful."

But that didn't mean he pulls back the arm she had taken prisoner sometime in the night, the one that is draped loosely around her shoulders and attached to the side she had nuzzled into. The one that is attached to the hand that is stroking her bare shoulder idly. Neither does he stop staring at her, those blue eyes thoughtful but intent - though perhaps they did not have quite the same intensity with which they had seared into her just last night.