[There is a crick in Yuan's neck by the time he realizes Kratos is asleep.]

[And it is an odd pleasedness, knowing that despite all this Kratos is relaxed enough, trusting enough, to simply fall asleep on him. Yuan straightens, mind clear of earlier troubles though he now has a strange haze of -- what is it? It's peculiarly warm, and the dulling isn't entirely unpleasant.]

[...he can't sleep like this. And Kratos, if he sleeps like this, is going to wake unable to walk.]

[Yuan looks down at the weight in his lap, and he can look at Kratos without feeling some painful fury creeping its way up inside his throat. He can bear to touch; there is little anger left in him now.]

[He sighs. And reaches to haul Kratos up beside him, which seems like the least disruptive option.]