Aramis kisses his cheek, lingering a moment as if to chase the roughness from his voice.
"After all this work, I feel I ought to be serving you," he says as he pulls back, but he takes a seat, knowing the Porthos will want to serve each dish just so. It feels a bit strange, being in their apartments without Lucie or even Athos, but also like stepping back in time. How many meals had they shared over this table when they were yet only friends, and then lovers, with no idea of the life that was to come?

Aramis shakes his head, then lifts in his chair to try to see the food. "Mon Dieu, is that duck?" he asks. "Heavenly."