Scar's throat aches as Lust speaks. His hand strokes a soothing pattern on her side when her voice pulls tight. There's a terrible temptation to scoop all of her off the bed and into his arms, but she's been jostled around enough tonight, even if only emotionally.

"He suits us perfectly, then," he rumbles, lowering himself just enough to gently tap his forehead to the side of hers.

She thinks he would be good for him. It crashes over Scar's head like every other little revelation that she's brought him, warm and lovely and too bright to stare directly into. He's determined not to intrude, for the boy's sake, but in near equal force is giddy desperation, uncovered for what it is for the first time.

This is one of many things they, by all rights, should not have. And it isn't even one of the many that they ever speak on.

"I remember him, as he was before. You can set the bar a fair deal higher than try."

He won't let her sell herself short, right now. Not even in a short aside, not even a single notch. He remembers their first excuse for a 'date' entirely too well. The memory makes the corner of his mouth quirk up. What's one more bit of irony, on top of the rest?