[Kratos's next shortened breath may be a shadow of a laugh.]

If I did, would it matter?

[It's a novel situation and a strange thought, but with the way Yuan walks him to his bed, hovers to ensure Kratos sits with a minimum of pain -- there's really only one word for it. Kratos has never been mothered before. He would never have imagined it would be Yuan doing so, and the realisation is very nearly as breathtaking as the broken ribs.

[He studies Yuan for just a bit too long to be entirely casual, seated on the bed with his back straight and an expression just a touch too soft in his eyes, unrealised. Then, with the faintest shades of humour in his dryness:]

Are you sure you'll be able to handle helping me get my shirt off?