Athos thinks Porthos must have had far too many of this little pills that came in the orange bottles. Much of Aramis’ whispered instruction had been about those - how important it was that he take only so many only so often, no matter how the great oaf insisted. Perhaps, for all the caution, he had snuck a few more.

He looks down at the finger pressing into his chest, and then up into Porthos’ eyes; they’re closer, somehow, than he expects, and his stomach does a flip. “Would you not?"