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.