[It's a kind of silence Kratos is intimately familiar with, that consideration; the sound of Yuan turning over all the pieces to see what's underneath. It, and the gentle tug of his hair, continues long enough that Kratos starts to think Yuan has decided to wholesale ignore the subject, and Kratos is willing enough to let him, for the moment.

[He isn't even sure if the -- offer -- is fair. There's no reason Kratos can't do it himself, when the time comes. Maybe he will. But it still feels like ... an apology, of sorts ... to give that tacit permission for Yuan to save the world at his expense, if it comes to that.

[Then Yuan's hand comes down and Kratos draws in a sharp breath as he's yanked back with a thud against the tub, his range of vision turning to view the ceiling and Yuan's face upside-down. The pressure is just enough to constrict, but not enough to close; he can still breathe, but Yuan's hand is alarmingly firm, and Kratos's heart beats quick with instinctive panic. He breathes, and his limbs stay where they are, one hand resting on the tub's bottom and the other on his upraised knee; he doesn't fight the pressure, doesn't interrupt the hard, cold process of thought which is evident on Yuan's face. Part of him expects that hand to close.

[I'm sorry, Lloyd.

[But it doesn't, and Yuan pulls back. Kratos exhales a bit unsteadily and sits up a bit higher in the sloshing water. He feels the adrenaline still rushing through him, and the -- the relief -- which is something of a surprise. The relief that Lloyd won't have to always wonder. That he might just see his son again. It's been a while since he's felt relief at having survived, instead of numb resignation.]

Alright.

[It seems inadequate, given he can still feel the residual heat of Yuan's palm against his throat.]

What are you going to do with me, then?

[It's a question worth asking.]