Reid's wrists are frail and thin and Morgan almost thinks that they're just a couple strings that have been knotted together, and if Morgan tried he could get any old pair of kitchen scissors and snip them in half, and all he would find was hollow bone and skin.

Reid's hands are long and bony and they look like there isn't any ounce of power left in them, but they cling to an empty coffee cup as if the fingers have been glued there, and Morgan couldn't pull them apart if he tried.

The skin on Reid's body looks pale and thin, stretching over bones and bagging into indents where muscles should be, and Morgan, for the life of him, can't figure out if it's really Reid or just a skeleton from a high school science class with a thin sheet draped around and pinned down.

Reid's hair is long and tangled and greasy and Morgan suspects that it hasn't been washed in a days, three or four, and that Reid's craving has been going on for a couple days, maybe more and that showing up at Morgan's door is just a feeble last resort.

All of this still isn't the end though, and Morgan's eyes catch and pull on Reid's.

They're hollow and empty, and glazed over with a thin white layer of film as if to hide the state of mind Reid is in, and if they could speak they would tell Morgan a story of hunger and lust and need and crave and the story would creep up on him and claw at his ears and oh, his heart, and Morgan would find himself on the floor writhing in pain, and Reid would relentlessly apologize for the pain that harbors inside him.

Morgan has analyzed all but Reid's heart but maybe he thinks, that he doesn't want to, before Reid is in his apartment and sitting on his couch and fingering the air and muttering something imcomprehensible in another language, and Morgan brings him sour, stale tea and a scratchy blanket in hopes that the place to stay tonight will offer shelter from the rain if nothing else, although the real storm is in Reid's head and Morgan can do nothing to help with that except pick up the shadow of an old friend and rock him into sanity on his lap.

And that's all he does, the whole night while the city sleeps and dreams of warmth, is sit on the old couch in the middle of his one room flat and gather the remains of Reid into his arms and rock back and forth and back forth, hoping to find his own dream of warmth, here with this broken, needful thing, praying to god that next time, he'll know how to fix him.