[Yuri prefers Balthus's persistence to make itself known on the battlefield, when he targets a foe ruthlessly, or when Yuri asks him to accomplish a task that he needs completed with brutal efficiency. Not when Balthus is trying to hold Yuri accountable.]

Hearing you say things like that reminds me that you were supposed to lead a noble house once. Gives me goosebumps.

[Complete with Yuri crinkling his nose in exaggerated distaste. He considers making a crack about wishing he'd trained for Garreg Mach's White Heron Cup, if motivation is such a huge concern-- but even the suggestion of performing like that rubs against something raw in him. Anything involving the Officer's Academy feels like it's from centuries ago, anyway. Yuri isn't the type to bring up dusty old memories like that. Let sleeping wolves lie, lest they tear you apart.]

I'm tired of hearing you carry on about sleep, too.

[Yuri raises his brows as Balthus claps once, loud and ringing. He pushes himself back to his feet, a rare unsteadiness to the motion that he quickly disguises with a stretch. But rather than make his way to bed, Yuri moves in close to Balthus, crowds him... and snatches the discarded pen from the mattress. He twirls it in his fingers as Balthus did, deft and somehow mocking, stepping back a half-pace.]

Just give in already, and let me work.