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Summary
Syril wraps her in skinny arms and pulls her against his chest. The heat of his body seeps through the multiple layers of clothing they both wear. And he doesn’t smell like smoke. He smells… clean, a mix of soap and laundry detergent. She’s close enough that she can hear the beat of his heart alongside the thudding of her own. It’s fast but not too fast, and the illusion of safety allows her own heart to fall into a calmer pace. The softness of his embrace slowly begins to overwrite the feeling of hands clutching her legs. Even the blaster fire seems quieter now that he’s holding her. Perhaps she won’t die, after all.
In the aftermath of the riot on Ferrix, Syril and Dedra create their best approximation of love.