Porthos grins from where he's standing in the kitchen, marinating the duck so that it doesn't go dry. He'll save some for Athos later because it's his favourite, but right now, he's got the dinner to look at, but his eyes widen at the flowers. "Aramis," he says, that lump in his throat back as he thinks about how lucky he is, and how he's not sure why he gets to have this when others don't.

"You didn't need to," he says, meaning it, but not daring let Aramis take them away. He lets his fingers sift through them, digging out one of their vases so he can get them in water. "Go on, sit, I'll pour us something to drink."