“Vasiht’h….” “No, Sehvi,” he said. “I can’t see it ending well. So why get invested?” “Because you already are?” she said, soft. “I’m—” “Love, you’re crying.” He touched his cheeks, found the fur damp. So this was what it was like, to cry for something other than physical pain. And he’d wondered that he was capable? He rubbed his fingers together, curled them into fists. “I can’t spare myself,” he said, when he was sure he could talk. “The least I can do is spare him.”
