[Even once Yuan drops his blade, the tension doesn't immediately fade. It takes another few breaths before the seal registers the lack of threat, as if there had been any threat at all. Kratos exhales and the tension goes with it, and he rests his head against the wall with another shaky breath.

[The back of his head hurts. He must have struck it while he was struggling. And his shoulders, his wrists, his back, his thighs ... everything hurts. A man's body isn't made to carry that much tension for so long. Especially not someone his age.

[Yuan's staring at him, and Kratos can't tell what's going on in his head. He can guess -- but he can't be sure, not like in the past. What Kratos doesn't expect is for Yuan to reach for the towel, to dry his face, let alone with such tenderness. There's a feeling there they've both ignored for centuries, and it aches, the brotherhood in that action; so newly regained, so raw. Even when Yuan's fingers brush his throat, the same place he'd gripped with intent to kill a few weeks ago, the seal is silent.]

I know.

[Kratos's voice is raw too, though the words are whispered. The scrape of the cuffs being removed from his wrists makes him draw in a breath; but it's lowering his arms which makes him grunt, more than half a gasp of pain, at the agony that flares across his shoulders. There's no way he's going to manage training this morning. Not like this.]