[The sense of apology doesn't linger mentally; but Yuan, who's rarely been given to a great deal of physical affection, draws Kratos a little closer, rearranges his legs so that there's actually some comfort to being sprawled in his lap.]

[In the morning, then. Raine is a stranger to Kratos, Yuan realizes, but she's sharp, and he trusts her, which will count for something. In the mean time, I have you. Here.]

[Yuan bows his head a little, eyes half-shut again, and draws his mana out into the same pattern as previously, each armor-piece carefully shaped from the barest threads he can manage. It's a complete circulation, from one hand to the other, and he looks wreathed in lightning. It isn't much good for anything but control and aesthetics, but it serves its purpose.]

[And he can focus his thoughts on that pattern, and not the tight knot of worry he carries about Kratos.]