[Yuan is seated, with his blade balanced across his knees, when Kratos returns. It occurs to him that this is inopportune, and also that the cloth in his hand has been still, resting on the same inside curve, for probably the better part of the last half-hour.]

[He had almost expected Kratos wouldn't be back until the dead of night. Yuan looks up. He has no idea how to start this conversation; nor if it should be started, if there is any use, or what the bulk of it will dwell on. All he feels is the sense of something wrong and unsaid.]

Have you eaten?

[Regardless of the state of things, Kratos does not get to pass on taking care of himself.]

[But once he's spoken it's as though Yuan's mouth simply takes advantage of that to keep going; he swears he was at least half intending to let Kratos do as he willed, but...]

[But nearly all past engagements of significant emotion have required that Yuan prod.]

You have my apologies regarding today's inspection; had I been forewarned, I would have kept you clear of him. Can you speak your grievance quietly, or is it to be stony silence for the foreseeable future?

[Yuan's focus is down again, on his blade, not sure he even wants to see what's in Kratos's face. If anything.]

[This is pathetic, he's aware. A man grown, a competent commander in his own right, and he hangs on tenterhooks for attempting to help.]