Chapter Text
“Don’t forget our bet,” Aramis says, as Porthos is carefully pouring a lot of foamy milk into his coffee. d’Artagnan looks up from his very exciting cleaning, but doesn’t say anything.
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Porthos says. “Thursday at 8?”
Aramis smiles too widely for it to be a joke, or a smirk, or any of the other kinds of smiles that d’Artagnan is used to seeing from Aramis. It’s unnerving. “Excellent,” he says. Porthos hands him his coffee and waves him away when he tries to pay. That’s new. Aramis smiles again, lopsidedly, and puts the money in the tip-cup anyway. “See you on Thursday,” he says, with a slight growl in his voice, and then he leaves before d’Artagnan can interrupt to point out that he comes in every day, he’ll definitely see Porthos before then.
Speaking of which, Porthos still does his regular little pining wave-and-stare, but it’s different this time, somehow. He’s smiling. “What’s the bet?” d’Artagnan asks, as soon as Aramis is out of earshot. Porthos doesn’t reply, but goes back to the kitchen, so d’Artagnan follows him and stands in the doorway. “Come on, just tell me what the bet is!”
Athos looks up from where he’s icing some buns. His mouth is set in a straight line, but he doesn’t say anything. “Look, Athos wants to know too,” d’Artagnan says. “You can see it in his eyes.”
“I want you to stop talking,” Athos says. “If Porthos telling you what you want to know is the quickest way for that to happen, then yes, I want that to happen.”
“See!” d’Artagnan says. It’s Tuesday. Tuesdays are boring.
Porthos sighs. He’s kneading a big lump of dough and he won’t look at d’Artagnan or Athos. “Bet’s already done,” he says. “Poker.”
“Strip poker,” d’Artagnan says, and Porthos shrugs, then hits the dough with his fist.
“So?”
“We’re going on a date,” Porthos mutters. Athos makes a noise of distress.
“So you won?” d’Artagnan says. Porthos tilts his head to one side.
“You know,” he says, “I don’t remember.”
“Who was more naked?” d’Artagnan asks. Porthos shrugs again.
“Now please stop talking,” Athos says. “I’m trying to concentrate.” But he’s smiling. A little bit. It’s like he can’t help it. It would be rude for d’Artagnan to point this out, so he doesn’t.
***
When d’Artagnan gets to work on Friday morning, Porthos isn’t there yet. Usually when he’s got the day off, Treville comes in to open up (Athos has a key too, but he always closes), but today there’s no sign of him. Which makes sense, as he hasn’t got the day off.
d’Artagnan sighs and decides to give him ten minutes before he phones Treville to check if he’s called in sick. And he is a little bit early.
He looks over at the big, gleaming red sign, and sighs again, and gives in
He buys a coffee from the evil coffee shop.
He has his own, pristine white, resusable coffee cup this time. Milady takes his order, and he has to turn down some kind of fancy new imported bean they’ve got in, because -- well, he’s scared that Athos will be able to smell it.
***
“You’re drinking their coffee again,” Porthos says. He’s bleary-eyed and he fumbles with his keys, but d’Artagnan doesn’t offer to help. He’s never seen him look remotely this much of a mess. It’s delightful.
“And you’re late,” d’Artagnan says, loudly, as Porthos swears and tries to remember the code to turn off the alarm. “Let’s pretend neither of them happened, shall we?”
Porthos swears again, but at least the alarm’s off now. “Besides,” d’Artagnan says, “I’m going to make us both a coffee now and you’re going to tell me all about it.”
Porthos says, “d’Artagnan, ask your other dad to explain that to you, alright.”
“That is not what I meant,” d’Artagnan says, although he can feel himself going red. “On your first date, though? Really?”
It’s Porthos’s turn to blush. “Make it two coffees,” he says, grudgingly. “Bring them into the kitchen.”
***
Porthos has barely started with the story when Athos gets in. “You’re late,” he says to Porthos. “Where’s the bread?”
d’Artagnan laughs and flees the kitchen.
***
Aramis comes in later than usual, hair twisted into a bun. He holds a finger to his lips to stop d’Artagnan calling Porthos through, and he gives d’Artagnan a pastry order.
It’s for Porthos.
“I can’t even begin to tell you what a terrible idea this is,” d’Artagnan says, as he rings it up. “So is this just what you do? You sleep with people and send them pastry?”
“Well,” Aramis says, his voice low. “Well. Yes.”
d’Artagnan nods, and says, “fine. Black coffee?”
“Please.”
***
d’Artagnan takes the pastry order through to Athos when Porthos goes out in search of some fancy ham to have in his sandwich for lunch. “Not a word,” he says. “It’s funnier that way.”
“I don’t like to talk in the kitchen,” Athos says. His mouth is twitching. d’Artagnan still thinks it’d probably be polite of him not to mention it.
***
Aramis had paid for the fanciest wrapping, so it’s mid-afternoon, after Constance has left, that d’Artagnan takes the pastry through to him. Porthos looks at him, warily.
“It’s not my birthday,” he says.
“I would be very disappointed if this was your birthday gift,” d’Artagnan says, and hands it over. Porthos carefully unties the ribbon and stares down at Aramis’s message. He looks kind of dumbstruck.
“Wait, before you eat it,” d’Artagnan says. “Let’s get a photo of you with it for Aramis.”
“No,” Porthos says. “He wants that, he can come here and feed me himself.”
“No,” Athos croaks. “Absolutely not.”
Porthos eats the pastry. d’Artagnan sends a surreptitious snapchat to Aramis. It’s blurry, but it’s the thought that counts. “Delicious,” Porthos says. “No matter how dirty the words on it were.”
***
Porthos tells d’Artagnan snippets about the date throughout the day. Every time he talks, he can’t stop himself from smiling, even when he tries to. The smile starts in one corner of his mouth and spreads outwards.
“It wasn’t anything big,” Porthos says. “Dinner, a drink. Watched a film back at his.”
“Yeah,” d’Artagnan says. “A film.”
“No, it was really a film,” Porthos says. “Had subtitles and everything.”
“Subtitles,” d’Artagnan says, dubiously. “What was it about?”
“... We stopped paying attention after the first half-hour,” Porthos says. “I dunno, friendship dynamics?”
***
It’s only much later in the day that d’Artagnan finds out that they’d been watching the Avengers. This is because he texts Aramis about it.
i wanted to watch la dolce vita but he said no thankfully
why do you care so much anyway
d’Artagnan makes a face at his phone:
there is nothing else to do here
you are our only customer, in case you hadn’t worked that out yet
and porthos doesn’t even let you pay anymore.
Aramis doesn’t text back, so d’Artagnan puts his phone away. The Avengers barely has any subtitles in. He's not sure that it counts.
Maybe he needs a new hobby. Maybe he should start bringing in a book to work.
***
“So,” d’Artagnan says, finally, as he and Porthos are being shooed out of the bakery by Athos, who wants to lock up. “You’re going out again?”
Porthos thinks for a second. “Of course,” he says. “Yeah.”
***
d’Artagnan is waiting for the tube at Stratford, when he looks up and sees, on the opposite platform -- Aramis. He raises his hand to wave, but realises that he’s with someone. Or rather, with someone. He’s tall, well-dressed, curly blonde hair, and he’s holding onto Aramis like -- well, like.
A train pulls in, but it’s not the one that d’Artagnan wants. When it leaves the platform and he can see them again, the man is kissing Aramis. His hands are in Aramis’s hair. He’s making quite a show of the whole thing. d’Artagnan looks down at his feet, and then his train’s here, and he gets on it.
***
d’Artagnan spends most of the night wondering if he should even mention it to Porthos. They’d gone on like, one date. Presumably they weren’t -- committed? But... Porthos seems to like Aramis so much. What if Aramis just thinks of it as -- just fun?
It’s not your business it’s not your business it’s not your business, d’Artagnan thinks, and he doesn’t do anything. Don’t get involved. It might not be what you think.
***
d’Artagnan’s working Sunday with just Porthos, and Treville stopped by to open up and then didn’t have anywhere else to be so he’s drinking coffee in the shop. Porthos is eating his lunch when Treville sighs, like he’s decided something, and raps his hand against the table. “Marsac’s back,” he says.
Porthos’s head jerks up. “What?”
Treville rubs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Gave me a call yesterday, was looking for some advice. I told him where he could shove it...”
“Doesn’t mean he’s back, though. Phonecall.”
“No, he said he was. Wants to make things right.”
Porthos looks up at the ceiling.
“Who’s Marsac?” d’Artagnan asks.
“Aramis’s ex-boyfriend,” Treville says.
“Oh, the one who ran off with all of his money?” d’Artagnan says.
“That’s the one,” Porthos says, through gritted teeth. He looks down at his sandwich. “We all used to be mates.”
Porthos says the word mates like he’s trying not to kill something.
“Oh,” d’Artagnan says. “Oh. Uh, what does Marsac look like?”
“Blond,” Porthos says, and waves a hand over his own hair to indicate that there’s a lot of it. He’s still got that murderous look on his face.
d’Artagnan frowns, and then thinks, fuck it. “I might have seen them together,” he says. “At the tube station last night.”
“Did Aramis throw him under a train?” Porthos asks.
“Um,” d’Artagnan says. “Not exactly.”
“What, then?” Porthos says. He suddenly sounds very tired. He’s picking at the remains of his sandwich.
“He was kind of... all over him. I’m sorry!” d’Artagnan says.
“Yeah, they did that,” Porthos says, and he finishes the sandwich and stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Right.” He gets up and walks into the kitchen. d’Artagnan braces his hands on the counter and looks at Treville, who sighs, and doesn’t say anything.
He looks in on Porthos an hour later. He’s hammering at some dough. “How’re you doing?” d’Artagnan asks, and Porthos sighs.
“It’s not like I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for,” he says. “He’s not a bad guy, I just can’t --” he pauses. “You never really saw them together, but I can’t be second to that.”
“He sounds like a charmer,” d’Artagnan says, and Porthos grimaces.
“You have no idea,” he says. And then he sighs, and says, "well that's the problem. He is! We all thought he was great. And then -- the money thing. You know."
***
d’Artagnan’s not sure how it happens -- it’s not like Treville says anything -- but they end up at the pub after closing the shop. Treville buys them each a pint, and a bag of crisps and pork scratchings for them to share.
d’Artagnan eats a lot of the crisps but none of the pork scratchings. He’s still not sure what pork scratchings are. Who decided to call a food scratchings, anyway.
Treville doesn’t ask any questions. There’s some kind of sport on that he’s watching, although d’Artagnan notices that he keeps looking over at Porthos when Porthos is looking elsewhere.
d’Artagnan doesn’t really know what to say. “Doing anything nice tomorrow?”
“Nah,” Porthos says. “Sleeping in, probably.”
***
They’re a few drinks in when d’Artagnan and Porthos both feel a hand on the back of their neck. Porthos immediately tenses, and d’Artagnan looks up.
“Aramis!” he says. Because of course it’s Aramis. Porthos stares at his pint while Aramis frowns at the top of his head.
“Thought I’d find you here when nobody was replying to my texts,” Aramis says. He’s doing his best to sound normal. He drops his hands and looks over at Treville. “I hear you’ve heard the news.”
“Of a sort,” Treville says. “I take it you’re not here to ask us to help you get rid of the body?”
Aramis frowns. “No,” he says. “He says he wants to make everything right.”
“And you’re listening to him?” Porthos says. He still won’t look up.
“What choice do I have?” Aramis says, and rubs a hand through his hair. He looks so -- tired.
Porthos makes a noise in his throat. "Are you okay," he says, finally.
“Yes," Aramis says. "You know, I'd thought about seeing him again -- I'd wondered what it'd be like. What it'd feel like. But I feel like -- nothing's really changed." He waves a hand in the air as if this helps explain it, any of it, but it doesn't. "I thought I'd feel different. But I just look at him -- and -- anyway, I was wondering if you --”
Porthos cuts him off. He finally looks up, and meets Aramis's gaze, and Aramis stops talking. “We’ll stay friends, yeah?” he says. The emphasis is on the word friends. His tone is sincere. Kind. It’s not a lie. He really does want to stay friends. He just can't --
Aramis blinks a few times. “Yes,” he says, slowly. Nobody moves, and then Aramis’s phone starts to audibly vibrate against his thigh.
“I should,” he says, and rubs a hand through his hair again. He closes his eyes for a fraction too long.
Treville says, "don't trust him with anything."
"I don't," Aramis says, with force, and leaves without saying goodbye.
Porthos presses his fingers to his mouth, and d'Artagnan thinks, did we read this right?