Since joining Kratos and his little crusade, you'd found yourself growing attached to the little group. It was the closest thing you'd ever had to family if you could call them that. You'd always kept your tattoos and your abilities. You were ashamed of them, and the past they'd been attached to. But Kratos' injuries had harbored a particular ache in your chest. While it's quiet, just you and Kratos, alone, you gently remove the bindings shielding your inked flesh. Kratos tries hard to pretend he isn't shocked, and he grunts quietly when you reach for his hand.

"What are you doing?" He grumbles.