Porthos listens to the orders of three men, precisely. They used to order Treville, Athos, Aramis, but the last half a year has elevated Aramis above Athos in that order and so when the communication is clear that he's expected to sit beside Athos. He does so once he's fetched a jacket to cover his tattoo, hands folded in his lap as he gets comfortable.

"I'm going to have to bake again tomorrow," he mutters, but it's without heat as he shakes his head, his gaze briefly on Athos for a small smile before he turns his attentions to Aramis, grateful beyond measure at how he tries to thaw the ground between all of them. His heart swells and aches for it, happy that they have something to tide them over for now.