Those were words that Billy knew. Not their English equivalent, but the tenderness in them. They swayed, and Billy slipped his arm more around Goodnight's neck and tilted his head to rest it against his shoulder.

"Nae salang," he murmured, feeling the fit of the words in his mouth. He did not often speak Korean around Goodnight, not in the ways that Goodnight spoke French. But to do it now felt a quiet reinforcement of this tenderness.