[Apparently Yuan had done better than he knew, shaving Kratos in his sleep before. Especially while he was sick and minimally responsive. He presses onward without words, steady and even, favoring efficiency over lingering on perfection.]

[It seems to ease a little as Yuan goes on, as though there is some reassurance that murder isn't on his mind, but it isn't enough to be reasonable. Kratos is still a solid brick of tension.]

[Finally, finally, he's done with the part that actually requires a blade, and he reaches to drop the razor into the sink. His hands are empty when he settles down to the previous position, and for a long moment he just stares at Kratos.]

[Words aren't something the seal will understand. Kratos's certainty... maybe. Yuan reaches for the nearby towel -- the thing for which the rack was actually made -- and wipes what remains of water and soap off Kratos's face and neck. He is, unerringly, gentle, even with Kratos's throat briefly within his grasp.]

I am not going to kill you.

[It is a quiet, certain statement of intent; and even Yuan couldn't say himself if it is entirely directed at Kratos or the seal, inasmuch as the seal can be considered some separate entity.]

[He reaches to unlock the cuffs, still gentle as he pulls them away from the raw wounds left behind.]