Aramis’ comment breaks some of the tension in Athos’ expression. Fondly, he rolls his eyes and informs Aramis of what he surely already knows: “You are ridiculous.” His gaze refocuses on the ceiling, and he wishes he knew how to roll towards one of them and bury his face against their skin, and be assured that they will manage, somehow, as strange, and new, and frightening as it all seems.

“I have a request,” he says instead, grimacing slightly as he imagines their reaction of what he is about to ask for. “Let me tell others about this. In my own time.” It’s a bit horrifying, this idea of telling d’Artagnan, or Allison, or, God forbid, Constance. But worse yet is the thought that he might see them, and realize that they are looking at him differently, and it is because they know.