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.