Ambrus had healed well the next time Areti saw him, laughing jovially with the other warriors that lived in his tent. Sometimes when he moved, he winced and clutched at his side, but he didn't seem to be in anywhere near as much pain as the last time Areti had been in Kallus.

With his back facing the tent flap, he didn't notice Areti's arrival. It gave the messenger a moment to take note of things, to list what he would tell Petros when he was next in Pethra. They had been worried, asking Areti to make sure that Ambrus had everything he needed, that he wasn't going to die. The look in their eyes was unlike anything Areti had ever seen on them before. It had haunted him for days during his travels.

It was one of the other warriors that noticed his presence in the tent and nudged Ambrus with their elbow. "Ambrus, your messenger is here again," they said.

A small thrill shot through him at being known as Ambrus's, but he smothered it within seconds. His friend turned, eyes alight with a joy Areti had never seen aimed at him, and jumped up from his place on the tent floor. It took a moment for Areti to remember that such joy was not for him, but for the letter he held in his bag, the only connection to his partner that Ambrus had.

Without a word, Ambrus tugged him from the tent and back out into the cool night air. "You're quite late this time," Ambrus said, frowning up at the stars and the thin clouds that wisped across them.

"I tried to get back here as fast as I could," Areti replied. There was an ache in his legs, dull and able to be easily ignored for the moment. Come morning, it would be worse, but not anything he hadn't dealt with before. It wasn't anything he was unused to.

"You're too kind to us," Ambrus said. He led them down the side of the tent to where they usually sat. The horse was there again, hiding them from the prying eyes of the other soldiers. A modicum of peace.

Laughter from inside the tent followed them, a cheerful backdrop to a silent conversation. Areti stretched his legs out on the canvas with a sigh, massaging the sore muscles of his thighs in the hopes that it would do something to help in the morning. The pleasant heat of Ambrus next to him was relaxing after one of the fastest trips between Pethra and Kallus he had ever taken. And yet, still not fast enough.

Something about Petros's concern had bled into him and most nights on the road had been filled with nightmares and panic. He'd seen both of his friends dying, seen himself arriving to an empty tent and a list that had a single name on it, seen Petros's face as their heart broke.

"Watch the stars with me," Ambrus said, a distraction from his wondering thoughts.

Areti couldn't deny him. They were stunning, thousands upon thousands of lights far more beautiful than anything he had seen in his trips around the country. A tiny smile pulled at his lips as he watched them, something that had been appearing more and more with his regular trips to see Petros and Ambrus. That meant something, a feeling he was most definitely trying to deny. Volunteering himself made it harder, not that he could ever stop himself from seeing either of them.

They needed him. He was their friend before anything else.

He kept his gaze on the stars in the hopes of pretending that he wasn't where he was. Kallus begged to be acknowledged, through the sounds of warriors laughing or fighting or crying out in pain, through the stench of the fields beyond the camp, through the feeling of the spare piece of canvas against his bare legs. As much as he longed to pretend that he was back at a home he hadn't seen in years, the war made it impossible in the way it always did.

The feeling of his bag against his thigh made him come to his senses. Areti made a noise in the back of his throat and reached into his messenger bag. He'd forgotten. How had he forgotten? Ambrus had distracted him with the view of the stars he had used to watch when he was a child. Ambrus had distracted him with his mere presence.

"Your letter," he said and pressed the parchment into the warm palm that reached towards him. "Petros was... concerned, to say the least."

The laughter Ambrus let out wasn't happy per say, but was one that said he expected the words. "Did they force you to leave?" he asked, a smile pulling up one corner of his mouth, nostalgic and sad. "I think I'm the only person who's ever been allowed in their space when they're upset, and it took a little while for them to let me."

"I..." Areti said, unsure of what he was supposed to say. He had always been one for honesty and his job required it. Neither Ambrus or Petros would appreciate any lie that spilled from his lips. "Actually, they wanted me to hold them."

It was hard to see in the dark of the night, a few sparse candles from within tents their only source of light, but the whites of Ambrus's eyes were completely visible, showing off his shock. "Did they now?" he asked and opened the letter with his thumb.

Areti stayed silent as Ambrus frowned down at the words, no longer wanting to stare up at the stars. Something in him ached, like he had made some kind of mistake by comforting Petros, but they had asked and he wanted to help.

His friend (because he liked to believe they were friends by now) heaved a sigh and dropped the letter in his lap. "I can't read it out here. It can wait," he muttered. There wasn't any irritation in his voice, but Areti couldn't help the anxiety that washed over him. "I'm glad they allowed you to comfort them. I didn't want to think about what they would do should they hear of my injury and not have anyone to confide in."

"I didn't realise it was so unusual for them. As it stands, I don't know them as well as I would like," he replied, glancing down at the dirty sandals that covered his feet. "Doing this for the two of you has helped with that, I suppose. It has helped me get to know you better as well, which is something..."

"Something?" Ambrus asked, but Areti's words wouldn't come, not for a long time. He had said too much, far too much.

"Something I enjoy," he whispered. It wasn't quite the truth, but it was close enough that he wouldn't be caught out in the lie.

He couldn't see Ambrus's reaction in the dark, but he didn't appear to be upset. He huffed. It could have sounded happy, could have sounded flattered, could have sounded like many things. "It's the same for me too," he whispered, as if it was something that should never be said.

Areti opened his mouth to speak. To say what exactly, he did not know, but he was interrupted before he could figure it out. A small group of warriors rounded the corner near their tent, carrying a woman between them. The blood on her fabric looked black in the dim light and Areti swallowed, mind flashing back to the last time he had seen Ambrus.

Neither of them got up to offer help, instead choosing to watch the small group pass in uneasy silence. A splatter of blood landed on the dried grass in front of them, a black stain. Areti couldn't look away from it, disgusted rolling through him like a tidal wave. The war was still raging and he was sitting on a piece of canvas, telling a man how much he enjoyed his company. It was selfish. He was there to bring someone else some sense of joy, not himself. He had a job to do.

"There was another battle nearby," Ambrus muttered, eyes focused on the retreating group. "They've been bringing some of the injured people here."

Areti hummed in agreement. "I heard word of it on the road. I didn't realise it was so close," he replied. He didn't even know who had won the battle, only that it had happened. That seemed to be what most of the news was whenever he spoke to another messenger on the road. Another battle, another list of the dead, but no news on who was winning the war.

"It happens every other week. Sometimes they're close, sometimes we hear news that's weeks old. It's never ending," Ambrus said and leaned back on his elbows, letter crumpled in his lap. "It feels like it's been centuries, Areti. I'm so tired. I've been in the army since this whole thing started and I don't know when it's going to end. To be honest, I don't think it will."

Gone was the sly smile and bright laughter, replaced only with bone deep exhaustion. Areti had no qualms about reaching over and placing a hand on his knee, but couldn't think of anything to say that might comfort him, not when he was thinking the same thing.

He rubbed his thumb in small circles against the fabric of Ambrus's knee, despising the silence that fell between them. With no way to break it that didn't sound like he was dismissing his newfound friend, he kept his eyes locked on the dark smear of blood in the grass.

"I'm sorry, Areti, I didn't mean to-" Ambrus said, cutting himself off with a grunt. "I remember sometimes that I didn't used to be like this. People used to want me around because I could always make them laugh. I still try, but I can't do that anymore, not all the time."

"You're allowed to feel like this, Ambrus. I'd think there was something wrong with you if you didn't," Areti replied.

Perhaps it would have been funny once, if they weren't in the situation they were in. The best he got from Ambrus was a slightly amused huff. "You're kind," he said and sighed again. "Would it be alright if I asked for a moment to myself? I know I asked you to come out here, but I'm no longer in the mood, I feel."

Areti pushed to his feet in a rush, bag slapping against his thigh. "Of course, of course, I understand. I still need to get the rest of these notes to the generals. I just wanted to see you first. I'll come back in the morning to-"

"No," Ambrus said, sharp and to the point. Areti faltered, heart sinking, until Ambrus shook his head. "Sorry. I mean, come back when you're done, not in the morning."

"That, I can do," he replied, relieved once more.

In the dark, it was harder to find the tents he needed. He wandered, half distracted, past groups of quiet warriors and the games they played in an attempt to pretend like they were happier than they really were. Some waved to him, vaguely familiar faces that he had delivered letters to in the past. None were as memorable as Ambrus and Petros.

He delivered war information like it was nothing, far too used to what he was saying and delivering to care. How many times had he told exhausted men and women about casualties miles from where they stood? How many times had he told them where their men would die next? When had he stopped caring about it?

Years ago. That much he knew, but there was no telling when exactly. Once, there had been a lump in his throat and a shake in his hands as he spoke. Then, suddenly, there wasn't anymore. There were only so many times he could say the same things before he got used to it.

And yet, the idea of having to read out Petros or Ambrus's names on a list of the dead filled him with terror. There had been names he knew on them in the past, but nothing had made him feel such dread as the nightmares that plagued him while he was on the road.

He had gotten attached so quickly. Far too quickly. He and Petros were already friends before he'd offered his services, but it had grown into so much more than that. For him, at least. It was one of the closest friendships he had ever had, and while there were other feelings lingering under the surface that he dared not admit to, he didn't want to ever leave it behind.

It was the same with Ambrus. To have feelings for the both of them, his mother would have called him an idiot. He shoved them aside, chalking them down to nothing but base attraction and vague interest as a result of talking to no one else. And besides, they were with each other, devoted to each other completely if Petros's words were anything to go by. What kind of person would he be to dare think he could interrupt that?

He could look, admire from afar at best, but that was all.

Information given and letters received, an exhausted general waved Areti away with nothing more than a meagre message of their own, one he would carry for days back to Pethra. These were the people Areti should have been making a good relationship with in Kallus, not Ambrus. But, even as he thought the words, he couldn't help but ignore them.

He had not made friends with a general once in his time at war. They believed him to be useful, of that much he was certain, but they also believed him to be temporary. Ambrus and Petros didn't see him that way. They thought he was vital, important, to them at the very least.

He needed to return to them. Ambrus had asked that much of him.

With something nicer to focus on, heading back through the tents was easier the second time around. He wouldn't be able to stay with Ambrus long, not when it was so late and he had yet to find a place to rest for the night. None of the generals or commanders appreciated it when the messengers slept in their tents, taking up space where there could otherwise be a warrior. Messengers slept at the edge of camps, away from everyone else.

Ambrus's tent was near empty when he finally reached it, a lone candle illuminating the single figure sitting on a pallet. The letter sat in Ambrus's lap, dark words unreadable at such a distance, as was the unusual smile on Ambrus's face. Areti inched closer, concerned, but didn't say a word.

"Ah, you're back, finally," Ambrus said, far more cheerful than he had been when Areti had left. The time to himself seemed to have helped, along with Petros's letter.

A smile pulled at Areti's lips, unbidden. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked.

"Much. Thank you for giving me some time. I didn't mean to push you away like that, not when I had requested your company," Ambrus replied and patted the empty space next to him.

"Think nothing of it," Areti said as he sat, pointedly looking away from the letter. "Whatever you need."

Laughter bubbled from Ambrus's lips, a sweet sound that Areti found himself longing for when he was on the road. "You say that and yet, I fear I am about to ask you for perhaps too much," he said.

"What is it?" Areti asked, inching forward even as worry gnawed at his bones.

"I wish..." Ambrus whispered, eyes locked on the letter resting against his thighs. The even locks of his fringe fell into his eyes and made him look even younger than he was. "I wish to give Petros a gift."

The worry ceased in an instant and Areti chuckled, hand on the bag against his hip. "That I can do. There's plenty of room in my bag for whatever you wish to give them, I'm sure. I-"

"No, not... Not anything physical," Ambrus said, gaze locked on the hands sitting in his lap. He heaved a sigh and shifted to look at him properly. "Areti, I wish to give them a kiss."

Silence carried through the tent and Areti was grateful that there was no one else to hear their whispered words. A kiss. Such a simple thing to give, if Ambrus and Petro were not so far apart. There was only one way such a gift was possible and the thought of it made Areti's stomach flip with a mix of excitement and dread.

"Ambrus, you would have me kiss them in your stead?" he asked. His cheeks heated when Ambrus gave him a shy nod and his bit down hard on his bottom lip. "Are you sure you're alright with me doing that? Would they be alright with it?"

"I would not ask you if I wasn't comfortable with it. As for Petros, you would have to ask them when you see them next, but I don't believe they would be opposed to the idea," he explained and glanced wistfully at the ceiling of the tent. "It has been so long since I've..."

He shouldn't say yes. It was too much. Letters were one thing, but kissing another man's partner was another entirely. Areti glanced up, ready to tell Ambrus that this one thing was too much to ask, but his gaze caught on the way the candle light danced upon his dark face, the slight upwards tilt of his lips, the longing in his eyes. He could never say no to such beauty.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Areti placed a shaky hand on his friend's shoulder. "As long as they're happy to receive it, I will give them your gift," he said.

The way Ambrus's face lit up stirred a fire deep in Areti's chest. He grinned, brighter than Areti had ever seen, filled with a boyish charm that had no doubt wooed Petros all those years ago. It was stunning, as Ambrus had been from the very moment they met.

He leaned closer, shifting towards the hand Areti had on his shoulder. "Then, would you accept the kiss from me?" he asked, voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. "I wish for you to kiss them the way I have kissed you, do you understand?"

That was something he had not considered as a part of the gift. Kissing Petros would be hard enough, but to kiss them both? It would take all of his self control. But it was for them. It would make them both happy, to receive something they had not been given in months.

"Of course. I understand," he said. He sounded almost clinical, like it was nothing more than a transaction. Perhaps that was exactly what it was, but it still didn't excuse him from not having any skill or tact in the ways of initiating such things.

It didn't seem to matter. Ambrus smiled at him, the way Areti imagined he would smile at Petros, and leaned in. It had been a long time since Areti had kissed someone—years, in fact—and he froze at the tenderness of it. Ambrus's lips were warm, searching for something that Areti couldn't possibly give. He wasn't Petros, but he could be close enough.

A hand cupped his jaw, calloused fingers oddly soothing against the heat in his cheeks. It coaxed him forward, coaxed him to reciprocate. Areti was tentative, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Ambrus wanted to kiss Petros, but he had no idea how Petros kissed. All he could do was his best.

His best was nothing more than a mimic of the gentle caress Ambrus gave him, a sweet brush of lips that left him wanting more. He shouldn't want more. It wasn't for him, but Gods did it feel wonderful.

Ambrus was the one to end it, as slowly and gently as it began, but he kept his hand on Areti's cheek. "Was that alright? Not too much for you?" he asked, voice quiet and soothing. Areti could listen to it for hours. He nodded, unable to form words. "Will you be able to pass that on to Petros for me?"

He nodded again before he could think it through properly. Doubt drifted within him, settling in its usual place at the back of his mind. It was too late to take it back, too late to not have that kiss joining him each night in his dreams, but there was always a chance that Petros wouldn't want it. He hated that he wished for both at the same time, that he wouldn't have to kiss them and that he would.

Those two wishes would have a war between themselves until he came face to face with Petros once more. Of that, he was certain.