I'm Sorry That Your Life Turned Out This Way

He doesn't speak. Syrinx has always been a quiet sort of man, keeping to himself and not saying a whole lot. But what he does in lieu of speech shocks her. He pulls her to him, her head pressing to his scarred body, her nostrils flaring with the spice of his scent. His body warms her, and for a moment or so she shakes. She shakes because she feels where their scars overlap, how she feels they fit together like puzzle pieces. She shakes because she knows, she knows she will be forever alone and bitter, but she cannot stop the want. She cannot stop how weak she feels; this is the lowest low. She tries to press close to him; he is her anchor for now, the rock in the hurricane-tormented seas. "Stay for the night," she asks of him. For the moment she doesn't give a shit that it's improper and she's going to regret it; her heart feels like a wreck and she has nobody to at least hold the pieces of her heart down against the howling winds that wish to pry it away.