"No," Jedao says, with perfect equanimity. A complete thought, to his own mind nearly self-evident.

"I told you the other day, you make me feel peaceful. You'll be warm in my arms and I'll get to look at your pretty hair and cheekbones for hours and listen to your soft sleep breathing and lose count of your eyelashes a dozen times." He sounds just a little bit high himself at the prospect: a gentle blissful wistful ease, not quite a daze, not yet.