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.