Kratos was never one for smiles or laughter, nor did he show affection easily. Opening up wasn’t in his nature, not after everything he had endured.

Yet here you were, standing behind him, guiding his hands as they molded clay together. The first time he had allowed another man to care for him in such a way. Your fingers rested on his, steady and firm, while your back pressed gently against his.

He grunted as you adjusted his grip, his hands stiff under yours. After a moment of silence, his face reddened.

“It’s too hot in here,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff, clearly trying to deflect. He shifted slightly, his focus narrowing again on the clay as if it was the only thing in the world.

Another grunt escaped him as he worked, trying to ignore the warmth of your presence behind him.

“This is… unnecessary,” he added quietly, though there was no real anger in his words, just a sense of discomfort. Still, he didn’t pull away or stop. Despite the tension in his shoulders, he stayed still, his deep breaths the only sound in the room as he carefully shaped the clay.