Areti floated in a sea of black, weightless and exhausted. There was no pain, thankfully, but there wasn't much of anything else either. All he was aware of was the fact that he was aware and that he was extremely tired. It was as if all of his trips over the course of the war had come back to him at once.

If it was the afterlife, it was both exactly what he expected and nothing at all. He hadn't once thought he'd be aware of himself, but the pure black wasn't a surprise. How long was he to wait before the boatman took him down to the Underworld?

A flash of panic raced through him and the darkness moulded around him in response. Had anyone given him an obol? No, surely not. If they had, he wouldn't be swimming in the dark, he'd already be down in the fields of Asphodel, living out eternity in peace and quiet. Was this what the shores of the Styx were like? An ever swirling mass of darkness that he would spend a long century staring at.

His memories were foggy, all of them. He knew his name, knew his gender and his home, knew he was dead, but anything else failed to come to the surface at first. He pushed on certain thoughts, like where his home was and who he had lived with. It took what felt like hours for him to remember that he had a family. Siblings, parents, trips to Kallus and the beach. The memories came to him slowly, pushing through the clouds in his mind.

He knew then that he hadn't been with his family when he died. Why? Where had he been? That answer took even longer to come and made him feel sick to his stomach when it did. War, he was at war, passing messages between camps and running like his life depended on it. Descendant of Hermes, running as if it was the only thing he was good at. Perhaps it was.

He wasn't just passing messages between camps, was he? There were other warriors who requested his services every once in a while. Messages to friends, to comrades, to loved ones. Loved ones... He couldn't figure out what was so familiar about the words.

It came to him all at once a second later, every message passed between Ambrus and Petros, every kiss and touch shared. His whole body ached. He had died in their arms, hadn't he? The infection from his wound had taken him when they'd reached Pethra. Petros had been there, he'd seen them, right at the last minute. Ambrus had been holding him. How had they even made it to Pethra?

That was something he couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried. The memories wouldn't come and he was forced to lie in the pitch black remembering his final moments, those pleasant kisses, the time with his family, over and over and over again.

Somewhere in the distance was the sound of sobs. Another soul perhaps, lying on the shores of the Styx with him. He wanted to reach out and comfort them, a stranger, but didn't know how to move through the darkness. Perhaps he would learn, given time.

The sobs faded eventually, after what felt like boths minutes and days. He was left to float aimlessly, trying to remember everything that had happened after saving Ambrus and struggling. When he gave that up, he moved on to try to speak, but found that he couldn't feel a mouth to speak with.

Frustrated, he let the darkness wash over him. Even if no one had given him an obol to board the ferry of the dead, surely someone would tell his family. Ambrus or Petros, perhaps? He had mentioned his parents and siblings to them both on occasion. Perhaps they felt enough guilt over his death to tell them. Someone had to tell them. They couldn't go the rest of their lives simply believing he was dead because he never came back from the war. They'd never have closure.

"Petros, why didn't you tell him?"

The voice floated through the black, making it ripple and shine as if there were a light somewhere. It was a voice that should not be there. Panic bubbled up within him, whatever he happened to be in those long moments. Ambrus shouldn't be there. He couldn't be dead. Not after everything Areti had done to get him back to Pethra and Petros.

"I didn't know how. I struggled to say it with you as well, did I not?"

No. No. They couldn't be there with him. They were supposed to reunite, supposed to live happily without him. What had happened? Had Pethra fallen? It couldn't have been possible, but he was hearing them so clearly, as if they were at his side.

"I'm well aware. I thought you would have learned to say what you feel by now. Because of us, Areti's dying."

A scoff, angry and filled with irritation. "You didn't say anything either."

"I tried. He wouldn't let me." Ambrus's voice was sad, tired, all the things it should not be. "Besides, we both agreed that you were to make your feelings known first. You've wanted him far longer than I have."

The words faded after that, sounding thick and muffled by the fog. Areti focused on a single word, all others leaving his head almost as soon as he heard them. Dying. He was dying. He was not dead, not yet. He wasn't sitting in the darkness on the shores of the Styx, but half asleep, groggy with infection. The sobbing had not come from another soul nearby, but from someone sitting at his bedside, weeping over him. He couldn't think of who would do such a thing.

Then came the realisation that he was alive, that he might survive the awful infection that had taken him over. He could fight it if he truly wanted to, instead of succumbing like his delirious mind had wanted him to. If he did, they would most likely send him home or keep him from his duties for a while. He could see his family again, for the first time in years. He could ask Ambrus and Petros what they meant by everything they were saying.

Petros's voice drifted towards him again, shaking and far from the usual rumbling comfort he had found it to be. "If he wakes up, we'll tell him then."

Tell him what? He felt like he was missing something, a foggy thought lost deep in his mind. Whatever it was, it was important and he needed to know. He couldn't just lie there in the dark until he faded away. Yes, he was dying, but if he fought hard enough, he might still live. And if he did, then he was going to demand every answer he could get, because nothing either of them had said made sense to him.

However, knowing that he needed to fight didn't mean that he knew how to fight. The darkness was overwhelming, all encompassing in a way that felt impossible to get through. He couldn't feel his body, but he couldn't feel the pain either. All he could do was see, even if it was darkness. That had to be something he could work with.

He couldn't say how much time he spent trying to open eyelids he could not feel. It could have been minutes or hours or days. Sometimes, he heard voices. Usually, it was Ambrus or Petros, speaking in worried tones so quietly that Areti could only make a few words out. Other times, he didn't hear or see anything and when he became aware of himself again, he knew he had been sleeping.

Eventually, after more time than he knew how to count, he began to fill the heat of the darkness around him. He had to be in a room in Pethra somewhere, in the middle of the hot summer he'd hated travelling through. With it, came the dull pain of his arm, the first part of himself he'd been able to feel. Occasionally, the pain disappeared, usually when an unfamiliar voice spoke to him. Medicinal herbs, something to dull the pain and treat the infection.

Before he knew it, more of his body became known to him. The dryness of his throat, the ache in his legs, the fact that he was lying down on something lumpy and uncomfortable against his back. He still couldn't move, but he was getting there. He was waking up. He was alive.

It was with that thought that his eyes cracked open. Only a sliver of light met him, dark and slivery as the night, but still far too bright for eyes that hadn't seen anything except black for what felt like years. Areti blinked until the light wasn't too painful and his eyes filled with tears of relief. His arm ached and his body was heavy, but he was not on the shores of the Styx.

The first thing he did when his eyesight cleared and he could look at any point of light without it burning was check his arm. Somehow, it was still attached. It wasn't as if they could have amputated it properly; his wound had stretched up his shoulder as well. Even so, relief flowed through him and he melted into his blankets with a sigh.

The second thing he did was check if there was anyone else in the room. There wasn't. He was alone. After all the conversations and tears he had overheard, he had still woken up alone. He didn't know why he had expected otherwise. They'd been there, he was sure of it. Or, his delirious mind was supplying him with wishful ideas that would never truly come to pass.

It took a while for him to be able to push him into a sitting position, even longer to be able to stand without getting dizzy. Perhaps he should have stayed in bed and waited for someone to come by, but he was awake and alive and he wanted to feel the cool night air on his skin.

He wore a loose chiton, nothing like the one he had travelled in. A flash of embarrassment coursed through him at the idea of someone undressing him, of someone knowing his secret, but he doubted anything would come of it. Granted, they may believe him to be a woman posing as a man, but with Kallus fallen, the army would need all the help it could get.

Wrenching the door open, Areti came face to face with a tired looking woman. A doctor of some variety. She raised an eyebrow at him and with a gentle hand, pushed him back into the room.

She didn't speak much and never gave him her name, but she unwrapped the bandages and let him have a look at the damage. It was slowly healing, the wound no longer a motley of red and yellow, but still harsh to look at. Almost four days, he'd been out, according to the quiet doctor. She'd never truly been sure if he would make it until the afternoon before.

"Am I able to go for a walk?" he asked, his voice raspy with disuse.

The doctor narrowed her eyes at him for a long second. "Don't go far," she told him. "If you start feeling dizzy, sit until it passes and then come straight back here. Do you understand?"

He was genuinely surprised that she let him go, but dashed from the room as fast as he heavy legs could take him. There might have been a part of him that was looking for Ambrus and Petros but mainly, he wished to be up and moving once more. He wobbled occasionally, but there was no dizziness anymore.

On the horizon, the sun was beginning to peek up from where it had rested. A few soldiers roamed the halls, all of them looking weary and tired. Areti should have asked for news of the war, but there would hopefully be time for that later. Pethra hadn't fallen yet, they still had a chance.

He eventually stopped against an archway facing the rising sun. Within moments, the day would start and soldiers would be pouring through the walls, but Areti couldn't care less. All he wanted to do was watch the sunrise, take it in like it was the first time he was seeing one. He had come so close to never seeing anything again. It would be a long time before he didn't stop to stare at every little thing like it was new.

Like one of Pethra's many statues, he stood frozen as the warriors stumbled from their quarters and readied themselves for the day. No one seemed to notice him leaning against a cool pillar, watching the blinding sun rise. He waited until their footsteps and voices faded and the sun grew too hot to bear on his sensitive skin before he turned back the way he came.

While there was no dizziness on his short walk, he quickly became overcome with exhaustion. He'd sleep again, but hopefully it wouldn't be for so long. There were still people he needed to talk to, as terrifying as the prospect sounded.

Voices drifted towards him as he wandered back towards his makeshift quarters, quiet and panicked. Areti hurried forward, his bare feet skidding to a stop as he rounded the corner. In the open doorway to his quarters stood Ambrus and Petros, whispering to each other while the former gestured wildly. How strange it was to see them together.

How quickly his anger surfaced once again.

It only took a second for Ambrus's gaze to flick over and when it did, all three of them froze. Petros turned around and made a noise in the back of their throat. Both of them wore matching expressions of exhaustion, bags under their eyes and hair matted on their heads

"Areti," Petros gasped, their body deflating with relief. "You're alright."

Where Petros was gentle, Ambrus was enraged. "Where were you? You shouldn't be out of bed!"

A hand landed on his uninjured arm and it took Areti a moment to realise that Ambrus had moved. "I went for a walk. I was given permission," he answered, jolting away from the warmth Ambrus's hand provided. He had believed his anger had faded, but of course, it hadn't.

"You've been out for days, Areti," Ambrus whispered, his anger disappearing in less than a second. Petros came up behind him and the way their hand settled on his back made something sour land in Areti's stomach. "We weren't sure if you would... if you would make it."

Reassuring them came easier than he had thought it would. "I'm fine, as you can see. I just need rest," he said and after a second of awkward silence, took a deep breath. "You said you wanted to tell me something when I woke up."

"How did you... Could you hear us?" Ambrus asked, jolting back into Petros's chest.

"Sometimes. It's how I knew I wasn't dead," he replied and winced. It was too honest, far too honest. "I would like to have this conversation sooner rather than later, so that I can rest."

He wished he could have strode into his room with ease, but he wobbled as he got to the doorframe, legs heavy and eyes drooping. He was so tired and probably should have allowed the conversation to wait, but at the same time he wanted to get it over and done with. Find out what Ambrus and Petros were hiding from him and then push them both from his life. He needed closure, especially after almost dying.

Collapsing on the bed with a sigh, Areti waited in tense silence for his two companions to shuffle in and close the door. Wherever the doctor had gone, she didn't seem bothered by anything that was going on. He would need more medication from her soon; his arm was starting to sting.

"Well?" he said, willing himself to calm down, to be more polite, as hard as it was. "What did you want to tell me?"

Ambrus and Petros shared a nervous look, one that held a conversation that would have usually been minutes long. Areti hadn't realised just how in tune the pair of them were. If he hadn't collapsed, what would their reunion have been like?

"It's... It's what I was trying to explain when we were on the road," Ambrus said and sat down in a creaky chair next to the bed, Petros's hand on his shoulder. "Petros told me what they wrote in their last letter and we've both realised that we should have communicated what we wanted a lot better than we did."

Areti raised an eyebrow, trying not to show how much his hands were shaking. He bunched them in the blankets pooled around him, unable to say a word. Petros wouldn't even meet his eyes, staring down at the floor with flushed cheeks. It was impossible to tell what either of them were thinking and yet, a pinprick of hope bloomed in Areti's chest.

"Petros had told me of you more than once before we met," Ambrus said, hands wringing together in his lap. "They told me of their feelings for you and I encouraged them to pursue them, but they've never been the best at telling anyone such things. Which is why I'm the one telling you now."

The laughter that bubbled out of Areti's mouth was near-hysterical. "What?"

A single hand up from Petros stopped any other words from being spilled. "Areti, please, let us explain," they said but still didn't look at him. "Whatever Ambrus says is the truth."

"And what we're trying to tell you is that, admittedly, it took a while after I met you, but I grew to understand why Petros feels the way they do about you. Eventually, I also gained the same feelings," Ambrus explained. He looked like he wanted to reach out as he always did, but held himself back.

"Then why-" Areti started, stopping himself a second later. Nothing was making sense, but from the looks on Ambrus and Petros's faces there was still a lot more to be said.

"It was my idea to make you our messenger," Ambrus said, biting down hard on his lip. "It took some convincing on my part to get Petros to agree, but the majority of their letters were them moping about how they couldn't have you." Petros flushed and looked away at that, much to Areti's increasing confusion. "And I also wanted you. Want you. It's... frowned upon, what we both want and so I believed it would be safer if we made up this farce.

"Yes, it was partially so I could have some connection to Petros. You can't blame either of us for that. But it was also so we could get closer to you in the only way we believed we could. We never meant to make you feel like we were using you, Areti, because we weren't."

"I was always kissing you for you," Petros muttered, finally glancing back up at him, but only for a second.

Areti choked and dropped his head into his hands, trying to make sense of the emotions raging through him. "Then why didn't you ever say anything? Either of you?" he demanded, glaring at them both. "You made me feel like all I was good for was my body and what it could do for the two of you. And now you're telling me it's because you feel some sort of affection for me?"

"Areti-"
"No! This whole time. This whole time! I have had feelings for you both almost since the moment I met you. Surely you realise the mistakes you have made here?" he growled, glaring up at them and dropping his hands to grasp at the end of his chiton.

Petros was before him in an instant, dropping to their knees in front of his bed, but not touching him. "Of course, we have. Why do you think we're here?" they asked and hesitantly placed a single hand on Areti's knee. "I should have said something last time I saw you, but I couldn't. For that, for everything, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"We both are. Areti, we fell for you long ago and we're sorry we didn't make that as clear as we should have-"

He wanted to hear them out, but there was something Areti needed to know before anything else was said. "If I hadn't almost died, would you be telling me this?"

The silence only lasted a second, but it was thick and heavy. "Of course, we would have," Ambrus said, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I kept trying to tell you on the road, remember. Now I know exactly what's going on, I think I understand a little more. You deserve to know the truth.

"We may not know how something like this would work, but we would very much like to have you with us, as an equal member of our relationship now that Petros and I are together again. I know we made mistakes, but we adore you and want to do better, Areti. Will you let us?"

Lips parted, Areti stared at them, unable to find the right words to say. A relationship between the three of them had been something that had plagued his dreams for months, but he had thought it impossible that both of them would feel the same way. His anger boiled away in the background, shoving away any attempt at forgiveness.

Ambrus and Petros looked so earnest, as if there was nothing they wanted more than him. Every moment with them came back in a rush, every soft touch and gentle smile, every word of excitement about seeing him. In the new light he had been given, he couldn't help but believe that they were telling the truth.

He was so tired and the pain was slowly coming back to him, but happiness was slowly pushing past the anger, washing over him in a slow and calming way that left him feeling like he was floating. "I think... I would be willing to try," he said and held up a hand at the excited look on Ambrsus's face. "Don't get me wrong, I'm still so angry at the both of you, but I want to move past it, I want to believe you."

Petros's hand on his knee squeezed tighter. "You can trust us, I promise," they said, so much adoration in their eyes that it left Areti momentarily winded.

"I hope so," he whispered and gingerly reached out to cup Petros's face. From the chair, Ambrus smiled at him, the epitome of relief. "Can I kiss you?"

The answer to his question came as the soft press of lips against his own, a feeling he had missed after his outburst and anger. He melted into it, clutching Petros closer until they were situated completely between his knees. They made a soft noise against him and wrapped their arms around his waist.

A hand on his shoulder made him pull away, breathless, to look up at Ambrus. Petros dropped their head against his other shoulder, wary of his wound, and nuzzled at his neck. It gave Ambrus the opening he needed and all Areti could do was tilt his head up and let Ambrus kiss him.

Having them both so close made his heart race. He grabbed them as best he could, losing himself in the feeling of Ambrus's lips against his own and Petros's breath hot on his neck. But it didn't last for long. Petros shifted slightly and Areti's arm screamed with pain. He cried out against Ambrus's mouth and in an instant both of them ripped away from him.

"Get the doctor," Ambrus said, pushing Petros away gently until they stumbled through the door.

Areti clutched at his shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered, not meeting Ambrus's searching gaze. He wasn't sure what he was apologising for, his outburst, his inability to listen, his injury, everything.

Chuckling, Ambrus guided him back until he lay against the lumpy bed. "You're alright, don't worry," he said, rubbing his cheek with a thumb. Petros stumbled back into the room, followed closely by the doctor, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Rest, Areti, we'll be right here."