Tseng understands the question. He frowns, though that is all the effect that he will reveal from the deep pang of guilt seizing in his chest. He should stay. He knows he can't, but he should do it anyway.

"I would," he says, softening his tone, his fingers in Rufus's hair, for as long as it takes for him to explain. "I have to make preparations, sir. What transpired today cannot happen again."

He brushes his fingers over a mass of stains collected at the back of Rufus's neck. This was too much blood. He'll have to rein it in next time.

"I will see you to bed."