[Yuan waits with some more than his customary relative lack of patience, watching the expression on Zelos's face, wondering if he's frustrated enough to reach out yet.]
[And--]
[Almost. Zelos orients on him, and there is, briefly, faintly, at the back of Yuan's mind, the sense of a complaint about heat. Nothing like words, nothing clear, but a feeling that was not Yuan's making itself known.]
Hm?
[Apparently Zelos surprised himself. Yuan sits back, frowning, and strips off one gauntlet to hold his bare hand an inch or so from the Chosen-- from Zelos's shoulder, looking for a sense of temperature. It isn't hot. It is, as he told Kratos, fairly mild; the sun is only a pleasant warmth.]
no subject
[And--]
[Almost. Zelos orients on him, and there is, briefly, faintly, at the back of Yuan's mind, the sense of a complaint about heat. Nothing like words, nothing clear, but a feeling that was not Yuan's making itself known.]
Hm?
[Apparently Zelos surprised himself. Yuan sits back, frowning, and strips off one gauntlet to hold his bare hand an inch or so from the Chosen-- from Zelos's shoulder, looking for a sense of temperature. It isn't hot. It is, as he told Kratos, fairly mild; the sun is only a pleasant warmth.]
You lean toward fire, don't you?
[Yuan would like this to be wrong.]