The army isn’t going off to war this year. Following Tizoc’s failure of a coronation war and the resulting horrific plague, they simply can’t afford to. Acatl had thought Teomitl would be angry about it—every war, after all, is a chance to show their strength and earn further glory—but instead he finds the man smiling when he shares the news.

“You actually want to stay here for the winter?” Acatl can’t keep a note of incredulity out of his voice.

Teomitl shrugs, almost carelessly—but then he links their fingers together, and that’s not careless at all even if his ears are pink and he’s not making eye contact as he answers, “I do miss you a great deal while I’m gone, you know.”

Now he’s blushing as well. This facet of their relationship is still so terribly new and tender; it’s one thing to be told (and enthusiastically shown) how much Teomitl adores and respects him when they’re together, but another thing entirely to learn he’s missed even when they’re apart.

“Well,” he says, and clears his throat. “This year, you won’t have to. Perhaps—we can celebrate your birthday together for once?” It’s always fallen just after the army leaves, and so he’s never had the chance. He rather likes the idea.

Judging by the way Teomitl lights up, he likes it too.