[That he has to think about it is telling. It is well past morning already, and Kratos would have-- would have had a soldier's habits.]

[Including not showing Yuan his back more than is strictly necessary. Now that is expected, after a fashion. Yuan sees that he's settled, nods sharply, and turns his attention to the matter of food.]

[While this might not be the societally acceptable order in which to do things, there's little point in expecting Kratos to slip right into household tasks when he doesn't even know the house. It's habit for Yuan to cook for himself, when he can; it's not out of his way to make more.]

[The kitchen has the highest concentration of actual useful magitechnology, so far below the impact of weapons that the draw seems almost negligible to Yuan's senses. Hm. Simple, if Kratos hasn't eaten much recently. Nothing heavy, but higher in vegetable content than he'd get in prison. To that end it's soup he pulls from the coldbox.]

[He is still painfully aware he isn't entirely sure what he's doing with Kratos.]

I would be cooking anyway.

[It isn't explanation, or direction, but feeling the weight of Kratos's regard provokes the urge to justify, in some ways.]