"It seems like you do," Porthos says brazenly, as if he can speak the truth now. He stares at the wine, wishing for it, and finally decides that what Aramis doesn't know can't hurt him. He leans forward to stretch for it, muscles quivering before he gets his hands properly on it. "It doesn't feel like you're our friend, sometimes. I know things are different, I know, but...Athos, make me understand?" It's a plea, if anything, and he drains his wine in a single gulp to steady himself for this.