[It's true. Yuan, for all his modesty, knows when to put his discomfort aside; and there's something endearing that he should strive to maintain it, besides. Kratos has no intention of apologising for the gentle humour. Yuan needs to see the innocent humour in things more often.

[Kratos spends the time setting his cane aside, and arranging his leg so he'll be able to lay down once his ribs are bound. Twisting to pile his pillows is, unfortunately, beyond him right now -- not that he doesn't try, just once, and carefully. The result is that all humour is gone by the time Yuan comes back, replaced by pale weariness.

[On the upside, Kratos has managed to get his arms through his sleeves and his shirt over his head by that point as well, tossing it in the laundry basket near enough to reach without bending. The old bruises show as medleys of green and yellow, but the new ones are already mottling dark, and Kratos's hand is ginger on them as he tests the broken bones.]