“At first, I did not know what either of you could be,” Athos insists, looking down at his hand clasped in Porthos’. “But I believed what you told me. I did not entirely understand, but I believed you.”

“Porthos,” he sighs, knowing there is more he must say, as explanation and apology both, though the words are difficult and come out awkward and stilted, “as a youth, I still expected men to fall into neat categories, and have you not always defied category?” Athos smiles faintly. “In time, I would have understood it to be your best quality. As I do now."