"Mm." Luo Binghe lets himself be soothed by the words and Shen Yuan's hand in his hair. It feels good on the surface, but it doesn't touch the dark storm stirred up by the conversation with Sagramore. He cannot shake the dread that he has done something terribly wrong, something unfixable—familiar dread that often comes over him unprovoked, but thick as smoke in his throat now. And he will miss Sagramore. He misses him already. Of all his deficits and weaknesses, the primary one must be how poorly he tolerates loss.

He shifts a little in Shen Yuan's arms. "Have I told you what happened the day of the childhood curse?"