Kallus had seen another battle more than two weeks ago. Areti had read the list of the dead aloud in Pethra's grand hall once again, mind numb to the hundreds of names that donned the pages. With barely a pause, he read a second list, one that held the names of those who were to be transferred to the battle camp in the wake of the fight.

Petros's name had not been on that list. And Ambrus's hadn't seen that of the dead. Areti hated that there was a sense of relief at both of those things.

As they had the last time, Petros watched and listened from the side of the room, but there was far less panic on their face. Areti had promised all those weeks ago to never read Ambrus's name out loud in front of so many others and to find them first if Ambrus had passed in battle. That didn't mean that Petros was relaxed, but Areti didn't have to face the terror in their eyes in front of a crowd again.

Areti was the one who had to help guide the warriors to Kallus, as a part of the orders he was given when he was last at the battle camp. It meant that there wasn't much time to give Petros their letter and gift, let alone receive a rushed kiss to his cheek in a dark corner of the castle.

"Areti, please tell Ambrus I miss him," they'd whispered in his ear before they'd pulled away. The words were like a blade in his heart, a twisting pain he had grown used to during the time he had been helping them.

All he could was agree to it, to nod along and ignore his own aching heart. But those words stayed with him for the entire week, even when he spoke with the small group of warriors from Pethra. He was distracted, tired, and they all seemed to notice. Then again, they too weren't in their best spirits. Being sent to a battle camp, even one as quiet as Kallus, was never cause for celebration.

At any other time, he would have tried to calm them down, tell them what it was like at Kallus, but he found that it was the last place he wanted to be as well. He wanted to see Ambrus, he always wanted to see him, but at the same time he didn't want to face the fact that he was not wanted.

He would go to him anyway. He always would.

With company, the trip took nowhere near as long as it usually did. Aside from his thoughts, talking to the other warriors took up most of his time. Landmarks blurred together and before he was ready, the tents appeared on the horizon. He couldn't run from them; he had a job to do outside of his obligations to Ambrus and Petros. He hated himself for wanting to though, for trying to save himself a little bit of pain.

And potentially cause himself even more with the heartbreak that would come from running away. Which pain was worse? He couldn't tell. Perhaps one day, it would become obvious and he would have a solution that wasn't running and wasn't keeping silent.

His orders dictated that he would leave the new recruits with the generals and make his usual rounds, but as he neared the massive beige tent at the centre of the camp, a familiar figure wandered out. Ambrus stopped when he saw him, his usual grin only lasting a second before he looked closer at Areti's face.

"You look exhausted, my friend," he said, but in front of all the crowds, didn't dare touch his face the way he usually would. "You have shadows under your eyes."

"I've had a busy week," Areti replied, his voice shaky, and gestured to the group behind him. "They're from Pethra. I need to..."

Ambrus nodded, searching the group for a face he would not find. "I'll talk to you later, you know where to find me," he whispered, all pretence of happiness gone from his voice. If only Areti could have brought Petros with him. Everything would be so simple if he did, but it was impossible.

He should have cared more about his duties, but the orders given to the warriors were not entirely his business. There were no messages for him to take, not when other messengers had already stopped by Kallus while he'd been away. He wished there were, wished there was more time before he had to face Ambrus again.

But, he found himself in front of a familiar tent all the same. The sun was setting behind him, bathing the camp in hues of orange and yellow that should have been covering miles of forests and fields.

He shook his head as if that would help him focus, and strode into the tent. Only one other person sat in there aside from Ambrus, snoring away on the other side of the tent. Ambrus didn't say a word, just waved him over to his pallet.

"They say they miss you," Areti said before anything else. It came out quiet, but not forced, simply sad.

"I don't know why I got my hopes up, but when you said they were from Pethra, I..." Ambrus trailed off and leaned back on the pallet, resting on his bent arms. "The battles are getting worse. I fear for my life, Areti. I fear that... I'll never see them again. Or you, for that matter."

Areti's heart ached and he reached for his friend. "Ambrus-"

"If I fall in battle, will you look after them? They'll need someone by their side. I don't think they'll manage on their own," he continued, not meeting Areti's sorrowful gaze.

How could he promise such a thing? How could he insert himself into the life of someone grieving? But he couldn't say no, not when Ambrus looked to be on the verge of tears. "Of course. I'll do what I can if that happens," he said.

The laugh Ambrus let out was watery and he wiped his eyes with a shaking hand. "You're too good to us," he muttered like it was something rare that he had found in Areti. Given their situation, perhaps it was.

He wanted to tell him more, wanted to tell him that he wouldn't die before seeing Petros again, but he couldn't promise that. He couldn't promise anything except that he would do his best to help them. And even then, that was getting hard to stick by.

"What did we do to deserve you?" Ambrus asked and shuffled closer until their shoulders brushed together.

"You were simply yourselves," Areti answered. It was almost too much, almost a confession, filled with so many feelings that he had tried so hard to keep underwraps. Would Ambrus understand what he was saying, that simply by talking to them, he had fallen for them both so quickly?

Nothing in Ambrus's gaze gave him an answer. The taller, darker, cheerier man sighed against him and dropped his head onto his shoulder. "You know that we are grateful, and that we're in your debt, don't you?" he asked.

Areti made a noise in the back of his throat. "You don't owe me anything," he replied, the words raspy and choked. As a matter of fact, he was the one who owed Ambrus. He still had a gift to give him.

The second the letter was in Ambrus's hand, he leaned over and pecked his cheek with the same gentleness and speed Petros had. It earned him a beaming grin in return, a sharp contrast to the sadness that had filled the tent mere minutes beforehand. Such a simple action had made him so happy. Of course it had, it was from Petros.

Then there were hands on his shoulders, pushing ever so slowly until he was pressed back against the pallet. The strap of his bag cinched tight against his neck. Laughter echoed around him as one of those broad hands removed it and dropped it somewhere he couldn't see. Dark eyes met his a second later, full of mirth and sadness and bone deep longing that Areti couldn't help but mirror.

"I'm assuming neither of you had much time, given how thrown away that was," Ambrus said, hands on the pallet on either side of Areti's splayed out body. Nothing in his words screamed judgement, only observation. "Do you think you'll have more next time you're in Pethra?"

It was hard to find the right words to say. Ambrus was above him, shaggy hair that Areti had cut only weeks ago falling down around his youthful face. This was new and confusing and terrifying and it was all Areti could do to keep his hands firmly planted at his sides.

He swallowed, suddenly hyper aware of the person sleeping nearby. If they were caught, who knew what would happen. A loud snore put aside any of those worries. "I can make time," he whispered, voice smaller than he would have liked. From the grin he was given, it was the answer Ambrus had wanted to hear.

There was some shuffling, but Areti still couldn't take his eyes off the face above him, not even when he felt strong thighs bracketing his own. Unsure of what he had agreed to, he didn't move, but knew he looked like some terrified maiden with her hair splayed out around her, blushing and giddy.

The kiss was nothing new. That they had done what felt like a thousand times before. They had only done it sitting or standing before, never with one of them pressed back against the pallet. But it was still just as passionate as all the others, a clash of lips and tongue that left him holding back groans.

Belatedly, he realised he needed to move his hands. It was like any other gift and both Ambrus and Petros appreciated it more if he actively participated, even if he didn't know how either one of them would truly react to it. No one appreciated kissing a stiff board, despite Areti trying to keep himself out of it as best he could.

He moved his hands without thinking, bunching them in the rough fabric of Ambrus's chiton as if he was holding on for dear life. Amrbus's armour was gone. The thought swam through his mind, foggy and distant. His armour was gone, scattered somewhere in the tent. He had been prepared for this.

Unlike his own frozen ones, Ambrus's hands drifted lightly through his hair and down his face and neck. It was a sharp contrast to the heat of the kiss, the push and shove that threatened to take over the entirety of Areti's being. He kissed back with a fervour, suddenly wanting nothing more for it to be just the two of them forever.

No, that wasn't quite right. The two of them, yes, but Petros as well. All three of them, together. An impossibility.

That thought forced more movement from him. He kept one hand where it sat against Ambrus's waist, just flattened it out into something more soothing, and let the other move up the hard plain on his chest, eventually working its way into the thick hair on the back of his head. Ambrus hummed into the kiss and the sound sent a thrill through Areti, one that coaxed a choked noise from his throat.

At that, Ambrus pulled away from the kiss, but his hands still roamed across Areti's stomach and sides. There was a smile on his face, sweet and wanting and devious all at once. "You know," he said in a smooth voice that would have melted Areti if he wasn't already a puddle. "There are other kinds of gifts Petros and I could give each other, other things we could do with our hands and our mouths."

As if there were any way to misconstrue his words, Ambrus's hands moved down until they were playing with the edge of Areti's suddenly too-short chiton. When he didn't say anything, he flicked the hem up and dragged calloused fingers against the middle of his thighs. A thrill shot through him again, accompanied by an awful anxiety that made him freeze.

"I... No," he said. The word felt foreign in his mouth, enough to make nausea swim in his stomach. He had never said no to either of them before, had never felt the need to. But there was a line, and Ambrus was inching his way to crossing it with every slither of fabric he lifted.

If it weren't for one thing, he would have said yes, and then where would he have ended up? Was he even comfortable doing such a thing even if his body was the way he wished it to be? Especially considering the fact that anything they did would not be for him. The answer was a simple one. No.

Ambrus sat back the moment the word fell from his lips, legs still on either side of him, but hands splayed against the blanket instead of Areti's warm thighs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he said. So earnest, so genuine. It was hard to feel bad about denying him. "Would it be too much to ask you to explain?"

It would, but he didn't say as much. Telling the whole truth would mean explaining his feelings, which was the last thing he wanted to bring up. Doing so would only ruin the arrangement they had. But there was a smaller truth he could tell, one that was affecting him greatly.

"I'm not... Disinterested," he said and swallowed thickly around the words. "But... It wouldn't be possible for me to give your gift to Petros in the way you want me to. You wouldn't even be able to give it in the way you want to."

Ambrus frowned, eyebrows furrowing in a way that made him look years older. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"If my assumptions are correct, I do not have the same body parts as you or Petros. It wouldn't be possible for you to have what you want, not with me," he whispered. He couldn't help but squirm and pulled the bottom of his chiton down, even though nothing was on display.

It had been a long time since he had felt anxiety about his body. He was used to it, more than happy with it despite it's wrongness, but having someone else see and touch... Having someone else know. It was more than he could handle, more terrifying than he had ever expected it to be. Perhaps that too could ruin their arrangement, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about that.

"Oh! You mean..." Ambrus said, eyes wide as they drifted across Areti's body, seeing it in a new light. "Oh... I don't know why you'd ever think that would be a problem. Gods, Areti, that's the last thing you need to worry about. You know we'd never cast you aside for something like that, right? I mean, I'm sure Petros has talked to you about their relationship with their gender."

"They have," he replied, still lying still under Ambrus. They'd only talked about it briefly, offhand comments when Petros deigned to talk about their life with their family before the war.

"Then you know it's not something that bothers either of us," Ambrus told him and reached a hand up to cup Areti's cheek. "If that's your only concern then you can simply tell Petros what I've done to you and have them mimic it. Trust me, they won't complain in the slightest. If there's something else, then we needn't do any of this. We both want you to feel comfortable, my friend."

And wasn't that one of the most enticing thoughts he'd ever had?

He didn't know what to make of anything Ambrus had said, or what any of it meant. He knew he would take those words with him on his journey and twist them into something they weren't, something that made hope bloom in his chest until he was faced with Petros and the reality of what he had gotten himself into.

There was no point in letting that hope bloom. He needed to stamp it down before it ever arose. It was for Petros. Ambrus was offering to pleasure him so that Petros would enjoy themselves in a week's time. By using him and his body.

He felt sick.

Areti shoved himself away in an instant, scrambling out from under Ambrus until he almost fell off the pallet. "No, I really don't- That's not what I- No, please," he stuttered, hating himself for not being able to get the words out as he needed to.

"Woah, Areti, it's alright," Ambrus said, hands in the air in mock surrender. He didn't reach for him, thankfully, because Areti wasn't sure what he would do if he was touched at that moment. "We don't need to do anything you don't want to. We can sit now, eat something, or you can leave if you need to."

Areti didn't know what he wanted to do. He was frozen, stuck on the edge of the pallet and surrounded by the quiet snores of someone who still had not woken up. Ambrus waited patiently for words that would not come, still somehow so gentle despite what he had just offered. His obliviousness made Areti ache. How could he not know? How could he not understand what he and Petros were doing to him?

Tears were falling before he could stop them, his many nameless emotions overwhelming him in an instant. The hands that touched him weren't there to do anything but comfort and he couldn't help but lean into them. He sobbed at the first touch of a warm hand on his shoulder and found his face pressed against a solid chest a second later.

It was easy then, to let it all out. The tears fell freely as Areti grasped at the fabric and solid body of Ambrus. His friend would never know that he was the reason those tears fell, painfully oblivious to it all.