Oh shit. Now what? What could he possibly ever say to explain... No, he really didn't want to try to explain. Honestly, he wasn't totally sure he could because he didn't understand it all himself. Kray had just been taking care of a problem that kept popping up. Literally. He didn't mean for this to happen.
“I'm sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand from beneath his exomis. Surreptitiously, he tried to wipe it on the fabric covering his thigh. Kratos suddenly felt sort of dirty about the whole thing.
Then she started talking to him, asking him things, and being so nice about it even though he'd been doing this in her room. Now, with her sitting here, it seemed so wrong to be doing it in her room. At the time, he'd just wanted a place he wouldn't be found, but he should have chosen somewhere else. Somewhere that wouldn't dishonor the sister that was now trying to help him. Kratos struggled against the hot rush of wetness that was abruptly flooding his eyes. He would not cry.
His shoulders hunched up in a shrug, and he still couldn't look at her. But he knew that she was waiting for answers. Because she wanted to help. And she was Nike, so she'd get her way eventually anyway. She always did. Kratos took a deep breath and let it out, then another, until the lump in his throat receded enough for him to say, “I was just trying to make it go away. It keeps coming back though.”