Usually - for Jesus anyway - Rosita is deceptively easy to hold. She craves closeness, soaks up human contact like it's sunlight, keeps it stored close to her heart against the likelihood that it won't happen again.

Now, though, she doesn't actually resist but she doesn't relax into him either. It's difficult to hold onto her, joints at angles and muscles tense, but she doesn't resist.

She just also doesn't know how to even begin to let this go - and she is, maybe, just a bit afraid of what would happen if she tried.

"I get by," she finally says, softly, eyes open but unfocused over his shoulder, dry despite the tightness in her throat. "I have to. I'm the one still here."