[Yuan understands the sound of that, if not all the weight behind it. His mouth quirks wryly; he sits down on his cot so he's cater-cornered to Kratos, not looking at him but there.]

Sláinte mhaith.

[Good health is a little ironic a well-wish for the lamed man, but Yuan prefers to think of it as a good future.]

[...Also a little ironic, given where they are.]

[Softness and wistfulness has a question out before Yuan can stop himself.]

What is it like? Having a family.

[--that was possibly the stupidest thing he could have-- maybe it's a good thing he's not looking at Kratos.]

Don't-- never mind.

[Damn it, what is it about Kratos's rawness that makes Yuan more readily vulnerable?]