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Days have passed since Kratos was set against a young boy in the sparring ring, and everything remains much the same. Training goes on, the daily struggle to become stronger than the enemy pressing on eternally, and by all rights, Kratos should have long since put Atreus out of his mind. He should not warrant any more thought than any of the other boys Kratos sees throughout the day, no matter the bruises he wears or the cheerful demeanour to which he clings. He is a comrade, a fellow soldier. Nothing more.
This is what Kratos tells himself. The truth is slightly more complicated.
More often than not, he finds himself drawn towards Atreus for reasons he fails to identify. He holds firm to his own sense of discipline, not allowing it to distract him from his training, but he finds it difficult to concentrate when the boy is near. Difficult not to wonder about his injury, or to think about his skill in combat, or to watch his expression; he is overwhelmed by a nagging curiosity that demands more information. If anything, the distraction drives him to fight even harder; the other trainees start to watch him with more wariness than usual, and even the commander gives him a few questioning looks.
He refuses to accept that this is affecting him, and that is how things stay for several days. He throws himself, body and soul, into his training, and he ignores Atreus as best he is able. It proves more difficult than expected.
It happens entirely by chance. Kratos finds himself alone on the way back to his barracks for the night, and Atreus- Atreus seems to simply materialize from the shadows. It startles Kratos nearly to the point of violence, but even in the low light of the evening, it is easy to recognize the boy, if only for his sunny disposition.
“Kratos,” he greets, and he sounds excited. Pleasantly surprised, maybe. They have not spoken to one another since Kratos visited him by his bedside, but it had not occurred to him that the boy might have wanted to see him. “You’re on your way to bed?”
Though the rational part of Kratos’ mind urges him to continue on- he ought not to encourage this behaviour; he has no need for a friendship with this child, and it would be best to put it to an end before it has a proper chance to start- he finds himself rooted in place. His eyes flit over Atreus’ expression and absorb every detail, trying not to overanalyze this impulse. The bruises are more prominent now, and Kratos feels a stab of guilt as he has every time he has looked at the boy’s face since their fight; he did not deserve to take such a hard hit. Certainly not from his elder. “Yes. As you should be.”
“I will be. Soon.” Atreus seems entirely unconcerned by the late hour, and Kratos wonders where this sense of freedom comes from. Surely, Atreus has been raised the same as any other Spartan boy, and yet Kratos has never encountered another who exists on the same plane. He seems to be in a league all his own, and it is endlessly baffling. Endlessly fascinating, and perhaps this is why Kratos’ thoughts have been so plagued. The boy sounds more tentative when he speaks next. Still a child addressing a superior, even if Kratos is still in training, himself. “How, um- how was your day? How did training go?”
Kratos stares at him for a moment, confused. Atreus had been present for the very same training. It seems like an entirely superfluous inquiry, yet he still feels compelled to respond. “It was as it always is. Physically demanding.” He pauses, then, because something does stand about his memories of the day; Atreus had been chosen to fight again. This time, he had been placed against a boy much closer to his own age, and it had been an impressive display to behold. It is easier to understand, now, why their commander saw fit to have him fight someone so much older and more experienced. “You fought well.”
At these words, Atreus’ expression changes, lighting up in a way that does something to Kratos. He does his best to bury it, but the warmth in his chest is difficult to ignore. “You think so?”
“I would not have said it if I did not think it to be true.” Kratos looks away, because watching Atreus’ face proves to be too much for him. It is overwhelming, being faced with such brightness. Akin to glancing at the sun in all its glory. Looking to redirect the boy’s attention, he speaks once more, the first words that come to his mouth. “Your injury. Are you healing?”
“I am.” Atreus’ voice does not change, and Kratos is finally able to identify something in his tone; adoration. It brings forth another reaction that Kratos struggles to disregard. “The doctor says I should be good as new in a few weeks. No scars or anything.” He pauses, and in the silence rests something unspoken. A question, too fragile to be spoken aloud. Kratos braces himself, but it proves unnecessary. “I should let you go. Time to rest, right?”
“Yes.” Grateful, Kratos looks towards Atreus once more. He tells himself that he only lingers out of a misplaced sense of guilt; it is absurd to feel anything at all about hurting an opponent in battle. Even if the opponent in question is an ally. Even if he is younger. Softer. Too soft. “We will not be excused for exhausting ourselves.”
“Right.” With a firm nod, Atreus smiles at him, and once more, Kratos gets the impression that the boy has more to say. Questions to ask, perhaps. Secrets to share. He quickly stows that thought away, somewhere too deep and dark to ever see the light of the sun. There are some things he knows he cannot afford to think about, lest they be his undoing. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
Another question with an obvious answer. It should not warrant a response. Kratos gives one, regardless. “You will.”
“Good. I mean- um-” Atreus stumbles over himself, and Kratos watches in silence. The boy sorts himself out quickly and flashes another smile. It seems that very little can shake his cheerful attitude, and quietly, Kratos takes some measure of comfort in that. He appreciates consistency. “Goodnight, then. And- and thank you.”
Before Kratos can ask what it is he has done to earn that, Atreus hurries away, headed for his barracks and leaving Kratos with more questions than answers. He furrows his brow, slowly turning to make his own way to bed, plagued by uncertainty as he works through the short interaction in his head.
He must be clinging to some sense of responsibility. He hurt Atreus in an unfair fight, and now he feels guilty for it. Surely, his compulsion to stay close to the boy, to watch him during training, to speak with him- surely, it will fade along with the lingering bruises. His injuries will heal, and Kratos will leave him alone once more, continuing on with his solitary lifestyle. His training- proving himself to his superiors and overcoming every possible obstacle on his journey towards greater power- is the most important thing in his life, and he will not allow anything to interfere with that.
When he finds himself laying awake that night, wondering in vain if Atreus will seek him out after his recovery- wondering why it is that he aches with the idea that the boy will not bother with him any longer- Kratos wonders if ignoring this problem will be as easy as he had hoped.