Work Text:
After a brief battle with the door, Soren finally emerged victorious and was admitted entry into the apartment. He sighed softly as he entered, plodding down the hall into the kitchen.
“Ike–oh.” Soren’s face dropped into a scowl when he saw a certain blue-haired cat sitting on their couch.
“Why the long face, Soren? Didn’t you miss me?” Ranulf grinned a little.
“You went grocery shopping? You should have called me.” Ike stood up from the couch, moving over to the kitchen to help Soren unpack the grocery bags.
“I took the bus. It was fine. It’s only a few blocks away.” He took the honey from Ike before he could put it in the fridge, setting it in its proper place in the bottom drawer.
“Still. I would have came.” Soren had to busy himself with the broccoli to avoid Ike’s piercing gaze and the palpable disappointment. It wasn’t about the groceries. Soren knew that.
You can rely on me, you know.
“I know,” Soren said softly. I’m sorry. After seven years I’m still not used to it.
“Call me next time. It’s only a few blocks away, after all.” Ike’s hand lingered on Soren’s shoulder a little too long. It’s okay. But I want you to learn.
Ranulf was staring at them. Soren could feel it, even without looking at him. He was glad that he freed his hair from his ponytail on the bus, because his ears were burning at this witness, this interloper, who was peering voyeuristically into the strange world of Ike-and-Soren.
“Get back over here, Ike,” Ranulf said. “Stop bothering Soren’s immaculate organizational skills and watch this cutscene.”
“I don’t know any of these people.” Ike drifted away from Soren. A hand passed over his hip as he walked away. “There’s no need for me to watch this.”
“You will, though! And you’ll love them! This is important, though. It sets the tone for the whole game!” Ranulf seemed unusually excited today, but any level of excitement was unusual in Soren’s mind.
Soren stuffed a packaged rack of ribs into the freezer–the whole reason why he went to the grocery store on a Friday; they were having a flash sale–and went about making himself a cup of tea. After a serious caffeine addiction in college that turned out to exacerbate his near-constant migraines and worsen his anxiety, Ike had firmly cut him off of coffee. Ike had even quit coffee in solidarity, and Soren, out of fear of disappointing Ike, had swapped to green tea and never looked back.
As he waited for his tea to steep, he stared at the TV. A few cat Laguz bounded across the screen, followed by two Beorcs in armor. The scene abruptly switched to a pretty Beorc priestess, slamming her staff down as a halo of light exploded around her. Soren frowned. It looked like the usual high fantasy fare that Ike liked to play, while Soren curled up on the other end of the couch with a book or with his paperwork for the day. But Ike’s brow was furrowed and he was drumming his fingers on the arm of the couch. He wasn’t leaning forward or slouched, as he usually was when eager to start a new game.
“What’s this?” Soren asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
“It’s a video game. People play it to have fun,” Ranulf said. Soren glared at him.
“It’s an online multiplayer game…” Ike gnawed at his bottom lip. Soren felt a sudden urge to stop him, to get him to leave his lower lip alone. “Ranulf suggested it.”
“It’s way too easy for you to drop off the map, brother,” Ranulf said. “I wanna get you started on something that I can play with you when I get home, you know? You might actually answer my texts. And it’s right up your alley–the sorta fantasy medieval stuff, good combat, and you played every other game in the series.”
“I don’t know. I don’t really play multiplayer games,” Ike said, and Soren gathered the reason for his doubt. Helming two world wars and leading an army of seventy-odd sole survivors through a harrowing last-ditch attempt to save humanity led Ike to embrace his more reclusive side. Ike was friendly and kind and respectful to everyone, and he loved his friends and family with all of his big heart, but he was, in the end, an introvert. It was why he liked to fight against or alongside people: you didn’t have to hold a proper conversation in the heat of battle.
“You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. I’ll show you how to turn off world chat and stuff. Just consider all the others running around to be NPCs. Except for me, of course!” Ranulf assured Ike. Despite Soren’s annoyance with him, he was grudgingly happy that Ranulf listened to Ike’s concerns.
By this time, the cutscene was over, and a menu option popped up. Ike immediately selected the option to create his character first.
A nondescript Beorc man popped up on screen. Ike’s eyes widened. “That’s a lot of options.”
“Aha! You’ve come to the first hurdle, my friend,” Ranulf chuckled. “Make a cute character–this game is in third person, so you’re going to be looking at them a lot.”
“What sort of character did you make?” Ike asked.
“A sexy catgirl, duh!” Ranulf grinned. “I can show you later. You should play a catgirl, too!”
Ike frowned as he scrolled over the different options for races. There were the typical Beorc, Laguz, elf, dwarf races, as well as some that didn’t typically appear in other games, like a separate race for Taguel, and a race of boar or cow people who didn’t, as far as Soren was aware, represent any real-world race. But at the bottom–
“There’s an option to be Branded?” Ike said. Soren’s face immediately flushed, and he took a hasty sip of too-hot tea to try and hide his surprise.
Ranulf was looking at the screen, “Yeah,” he said vaguely. “It caused a huge controversy in Begnion and Gallia when they announced that they were going to update the game with a Branded race.” He shook himself, sitting upright. “It’s cool, though!” he said, with his voice layered with false cheer. “You can choose what races you have as parents and it’ll change your character’s build and stuff. None of it has any sorta gameplay application, though, it’s all just cosmetic.”
Ike, meanwhile, was quiet, mulling over it thoughtfully. Soren read the descriptor in the text box next to the character: The Marked are individuals with blood from two races. Forced in many places to hide in plain sight to escape ostracization and abuse, they have found safe haven in places like the Grado Desert and Hanai. There was also more information, detailing things like life spans and suggested names, but Soren frowned, his fingers clenched tightly around his mug of tea. It was…strange. The game developers clearly intended for this race to be a proxy for Branded.
“I guess it’s nice,” Ike said softly.
Soren only huffed. He wondered if Stefan knew about this. Stefan was the sort of man who, when he got drunk, would rant and rave about the representation of Branded in media. Soren…was not the sort of person who cared one whit about it.
Ike fiddled around with the race menu a little bit, eventually settling on a Branded–or rather, Marked–character. As he began to wheel through the endless hair options, Soren decided that he would leave Ike and Ranulf to it, and headed into his own room with his cup of tea.
When he emerged several hours later to prepare dinner, Ike was still playing that game, and Ranulf was on his phone. Soren stared at the screen as he put his teacup in the sink and started preparing something for dinner. Ike’s character was running around an open field, attacking large rat creatures with a dagger.
Ike’s character…he had long black hair that bounced against his back as he ran around. He was short, and slender, and had red eyes.
“Ike, did you design your character after me,” Soren said flatly.
Ike jumped, glancing guiltily over his shoulder. “Not on purpose,” he said, and Soren would have been more certain that it was a bald-faced lie if Ike was the sort of person who lied to him. “Ranulf told me to make a character that I’d be okay looking at, and…”
Ike trailed off. Soren could feel heat rising to his cheeks. After a too-long moment, he quickly turned away and opened up the refrigerator. The cool air was a panacea to the sudden warmth he was feeling.
Ike had kissed him, a few weeks ago. And Soren had kissed him back. And ever since then, they were in…a relationship. But it was still hard for Soren to come to terms with the fact that he was someone…desirable to Ike.
Ike was very kind about it. Ike was giving him space. They kissed, sometimes, in the kitchen after dinner. They went on one date, to get coffee and walk in the park, and it was good. But Ike, when told to make a character that appealed to him in a fantasy video game, chose to make a character that resembled him. It wasn’t strange at all, the logical part of Soren’s mind said, but there was a sense of wrongness that was weighing him down from accepting it.
“Okay, jeez, awkward.” Soren heard Ranulf whisper. He pulled his head out of the refrigerator to glare at him, and Ranulf rubbed the back of his neck.
“When are you leaving.”
“Right now, actually! I’m waiting for my ride,” Ranulf said, sprawling out over the couch as if he belonged there.
“Once he leaves I’ll help you make dinner,” Ike said. Soren shook his head.
“There’s not much to cook. You can keep playing.”
“Ooo, what’s for dinner?” Ranulf asked.
“Chicken wings.” Soren shot Ranulf a glare. “But you do not get any.” He had no intention of entertaining a freeloading cat today.
“But I looove Oscar’s wings!” Ranulf whined. Soren’s glare deepend, and he grabbed a knife from the knife block.
Ranulf’s phone buzzed. “Oop! Kyza’s here. I gotta go! See ya, Ike!” Ranulf ran out of the apartment.
Ike glanced over at Soren. His character was now in a town, standing idle next to a fountain. “He’s not scared of you, you know.”
“Given that he persists on pestering me, I am well aware,” Soren said stiffly.
Ike got up off of the couch and came over to him, standing on the other side of the bar that separated their kitchen from the living room. “How was your day?” he asked.
“Fine,” Soren said. He didn't want to talk about it. “How was yours?”
“It was okay. I went with Titania, Rhys, and Shinon to take care of some bandits, but other than that, I mostly stayed at home. I think Rhys is having a serious crisis of faith.”
Soren twitched. He was…lucky, in that sense, in that he never put his faith in the goddess. He didn’t learn about her until he was about ten, and even then, he couldn’t trust any of the monks’ gentle insistence that she was good, and she had a plan for everyone when her plan for him was complete and utter catastrophe. His skepticism was rewarded after they ended up defeating her in battle after she tried to turn everyone into stone.
“I hope it didn’t interfere with your job,” Soren said.
“No. He and Titania were just talking about it on the way home,” Ike said. He sighed. “I guess I haven’t really thought about the repercussions of it all.”
“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.” Soren busied himself with reheating the chicken wings for Ike. After his afternoon, the last thing Soren wanted to do was eat, but he knew that Ike would frown if all he ate were a few nuts. He reluctantly cast about for something relatively nutritious, and ended up settling on making a smoothie. If he added some fruits, nuts, and granola, it would count as a “smoothie bowl” (a term Soren personally hated) and Ike wouldn’t be so unhappy with him.
“I guess not. Thinking is your job, after all,” Ike said. He smiled at Soren, who could only smile back, helplessly. "Can I help you do anything?"
Soren looked around for something for Ike to do. He was always more of an eater than a chef, but now that they were beyond the daily reach of Oscar's skill (not completely beyond; the par-cooked spicy chicken wings were sent in a care package, after all) they both were trying to make an effort to cook more often. Soren was...decent. Ike could be trusted with a knife and a microwave. "Could you cut up some fruit for me?"
"Sure." As Ike took hold of some apples and strawberries and went searching for a knife (“use the small one in the knife block,” Soren murmured) Soren put the wings in the oven and washed some celery. After he finished blending up some fruit and vegetables for his own dinner, the naked wings came out of the oven, and Soren tossed them with some hot sauce. It barely counted as cooking, since Oscar did all the work, but it still made him feel strangely domestic.
As he shook wings onto a plate, Ike had finished cutting up his fruit. “Here,” he said, passing Soren the cutting board.
“Thank you,” Soren said and took the cutting board from him. As he floated sliced strawberries on top of his smoothie, he happened to look up at Ike. He was staring at Soren, leaning on the counter. Soren looked back. An uncomfortable feeling was rising up in him. Did he misread a cue? Ike was more straightforward than that. If he wanted something, he would say, or do it, and expect Soren to reciprocate.
Should he have kissed Ike as thanks? Couples…do that, right?
But to do so felt like a liberty he was ill-afforded.
He realized that he had been staring at Ike for far too long. “...What is it?” he asked. He didn’t mean to sound so wary.
Ike just shook his head. “It’s nothing.”
Soren lowered his eyes. “...Here. Eat your wings. And eat some celery, too.”
“Thanks, Soren,” Ike said. There was a smile on his face, and Soren’s heart jumped in his chest.
Eating dinner together in peaceful silence was exactly what Soren needed after his day.
***
Soren had visited Rajaion.
It was an entirely foreign experience to him. Having someone to visit. Having someone that he could consult when he felt lost, or in turmoil. Having someone who was related to him by blood, and genuinely seemed to care for him. He wasn't used to it.
He couldn't bring himself to believe Almedha or Deginsea or Kurthnaga when they told him that they looked for him, that they would have welcomed him into their family and loved him. It seemed too much like a lie, when his earliest memory was getting screamed at by a terrible woman for the crime of being hungry, and his life only went downhill from there. He had no evidence to believe that his biological family searched for him…save for Rajaion. Rajaion had come for Soren. He had nearly died, been tortured for almost twenty years because he made the foolish decision to trust the Mad King Ashnard for the sake of his nephew.
So Soren spoke to Rajaion. Sometimes even out of his own volition. The first time it was a sense of guilt, or obligation, or a quid-pro-quo. The first time Soren was certain Rajaion would be disappointed to see that the baby he sacrificed his health, sanity, and almost life to save had turned out to be a sour-faced malnourished wretch of a man with a laundry list of issues. But Rajaion had smiled at him. Had asked permission to grip his hand, and had held it for a long moment. Had asked Soren about his life, listening without judgment or pity. And so Soren found himself going back.
It always happened thusly: Soren would call Rajaion and ask him if anyone was visiting him that day. It was code for are any of your family members going to be there today . If Rajaion answered in the affirmative, Soren hung up. If Rajaion answered in the negative, Soren took the bus to the long-term care facility.
"Rajaion. I brought you pears." Soren said. Goldoan pears: round, golden, and crisp. He found bags of small ones in the ninety-nine cent bin at the supermarket. "They were on sale." It was automatic, a reply justifying the purchase of what is usually an expensive luxury. Even though Rajaion was a prince who never had to worry about the price of pears.
"Thank you. You shouldn't have." Rajaion wheeled himself over to the table. There was no kitchen in his room, but he had a small pocket knife which he used to peel and slice a pear. "Have some."
Soren took a slice without complaint. As he ate it, the mild, sweet flavor bursting across his tongue, Rajaion said, "You look troubled."
"Do you ever tire of being my pseudo-therapist?" Soren asked. It was only mostly out of irritation. A part of it was actual concern.
Rajaion smiled. "No. I am glad for the privilege of being one of the few who is privy to your private thoughts. I'm always grateful that you decide to confide in me."
Soren ate another slice of pear. "Ike kissed me."
"I am happy for you. You love him dearly, don't you?" Rajaion murmured. He ate two slices in quick succession.
"I do." Soren hesitated. "I just...can't seem to wrap my head around the fact that he loves me."
"I see." Rajaion looked sad, which meant that he was thinking about the past. Soren flinched a little, curling back on himself. Rajaion must have noticed his behavior, because he wiped the expression off of his face with the practiced air of a hundred-year-old crown prince. "Are you finding this to be an issue?" It was an open-ended question that Soren had to ponder a little to parse the meaning.
“I want to be with him,” Soren said slowly. “But I can't seem to trust that he won't be...disgusted by me."
“Emotionally or physically?” Rajaion asked calmly.
“Both, I suppose.” Soren wondered dimly if he should be more uncomfortable discussing his love life with Rajaion. Rajaion was nominally his uncle, after all. But Soren truly felt no familial connection to him. Perhaps there was a tiny tendril of growth, starting to bridge the gap between him and his biological family, but it wasn't strong enough to support any more baggage than what was already weighing on his shoulders. Right now, Rajaion was simply a person to bounce ideas off of who wasn’t Ike.
Rajaion was silent for a little while, eating his pears. Between the two of them, two of the small pears disappeared in quick succession. As he peeled the third, Rajaion asked, “Do you find yourself with a physical reaction to that uncertainty? Or do you just think about it?”
Soren should probably pay a therapist to talk about these things, instead of speaking to his wheelchair-bound, PTSD-suffering uncle whose injuries lay solely on his shoulders. But it had taken him three years, a death, and a war to tell his story to his closest friend. The idea of becoming vulnerable to a stranger who wasn't intimately aware with the suffering his existence caused was...troubling. So he said, "I can't initiate anything. I always stop myself.” He inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. “I think Ike is disappointed. I feel like...I should be doing more."
I’ve had a crush on you since we were fifteen, Ike had said to him. I’ve loved you since I was nine, Soren had replied.
He’d never dreamed of being anything more than Ike’s shadow. Ike probably had his own dreams, of how their relationship would look like after he confessed. Surely he didn’t dream of…this.
Rajaion nodded slowly. "I see. So if Ike won't initiate, you won't either, but Ike doesn’t initiate things all that often. And you feel burdened by the idea that you should be doing certain things in order to maintain this relationship."
Soren frowned. "I suppose…" It was a fair summary. It was more than a fair summary, it was uncomfortably truthful.
"It seems cliche to say this, but it’s true: as long as you are both comfortable and happy, it doesn't matter what everyone else is doing. You could have an entirely asexual romantic relationship with no intimacy at all if you would like, as long as Ike is on board." Rajaion smiled. "But you don't want that, do you."
“You've seen Ike,” Soren said flatly. How could anyone not want Ike? Ike was…like that.
“And as a straight man engaged to the woman of my dreams, I am fully aware that Ike is sex on legs,” Rajaion chuckled. It was a terrible time for Soren to get hit with the realization that yes, Rajaion was his uncle, and yes, his uncle just called his boyfriend sex on legs.
“Please never say that again.”
“I apologize. Sincerely.” Rajaion bowed his head a little, but soon raised it and looked Soren dead in the eyes. “But truly...I want you to try to talk to Ike. Tell him your insecurities, and your hesitance. Ask him how he feels about it. I assure you, it is not as dire as you fear.”
“What if it is? What if he gets frustrated…” Soren trailed off. Because he knew that Rajaion was right. Ike was so good. Ike was so patient and kind to him, even though he deserved none of it.
"Then he's not behaving the way that we know Ike would behave, and you should bring him over here and check him in," Rajaion chuckled. Soren smiled wanly.
His smile disappeared when there was a knock on the door. "Rajaion, your family is here to visit you!"
Soren and Rajaion both stiffened. Soren looked at Rajaion, mutely betrayed, but Rajaion shook his head. "It's a surprise to me as well. Shall I…?"
"Call them in. I'd rather leave them behind in here than run into them in the hallway or waiting room. You can distract them while I leave." Soren closed his eyes.
Rajaion called, "They can come in, thank you."
The door opened, and there stood Soren's whole family. Dheginsea. Almedha. Kurthnaga. Ena. Even Pelleas, who wasn't Almedha's son but they thought he was but then he wasn't but she still welcomed him, was there.
Damn it.
"Soren." Almedha always said his name as if she was on the edge of a fainting spell. He still remembered the way she said his name when they first spoke, directly after the Tower of Guidance. She said it like a prayer to a dead goddess. At the time, she didn't tell him that she was his mother. He wished he had never known.
"This is a surprise. I wasn't aware that you would be visiting today," Rajaion said. His voice had an edge of terseness to it that sounded both familiar to Soren’s ear and strange on Rajaion’s tongue. After a moment, Soren realized that Rajaion sounded like him.
He stood up abruptly to try and leave, but Dheginsea's bulk was blocking the doorway. Rajaion noticed. "Father, you're blocking the doorway. Come in and sit down."
Dheginsea ignored his son. His eyes were locked on Soren, who was frozen between breaking the eye contact and refusing to look away. "Grandson.” His deep voice rumbled, and Soren flinched. "You are doing well?"
"I've just come to visit Rajaion," Soren said stiffly. "I will be on my way."
"You could stay," Almedha said, almost desperately. "We didn't mean to cut your time with your uncle short."
Soren bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood. "I was just on my way out. Pardon me."
“Soren–” Dheginsea began, but Soren pushed past him, trying not to seem like he was fleeing. It almost definitely didn’t work, but he didn’t care. He hated being reminded that they were his family. He hated thinking that he was Prince Soren, prince of the Laguz nation of Goldoa and Daein, son of the Mad King Ashnard, first black dragon Branded born ever. He--
He just wanted to go home and see Ike.
So he did.
***
A few weeks passed, and Soren didn’t say anything to Ike.
Every time Ike kissed him, every time Soren looked at him and wanted but walked away instead, he thought of what he could say. What he could tell him. He planned out their conversation in a thousand little ways, in a thousand variations, but the words stayed heavy on the back of his tongue.
When he called or texted or visited Rajaion, Rajaion didn’t bring it up again, and Soren was grateful. If he were a different person, he would possibly say this is why you are my favorite uncle but he was not the sort of person those words belonged to.
Every day that Soren chose not to talk to Ike passed slowly, but the weeks sped by. As accustomed as he was to the gogogo nature of their previous work, he found himself enjoying the sedate pace of their new lifestyle. Semi-retirement offered them increased leisure time, and moving out of the old fort and giving up their duties with the Greil Mercenaries meant that he no longer had to fight for slivers of Ike’s time and attention. Nowadays, after dinner, Soren found himself on the couch in their living room, curled up against one arm of the couch with a book or his tablet, while Ike played video games or watched TV on the other side.
(If he was less fucked in the head he would curl up next to Ike, feel his warmth diffusing through their clothes.)
Soren glanced at the TV, checking out Ike’s game of choice tonight. He recognized the character on screen–it was that MMO that Ike was playing at Ranulf’s behest. Ranulf’s scheme to get Ike to stay in contact with him was working. Today, he even had one of his earbuds in so he could chat with Ranulf as they did…quests and things together.
“Huh. Sounds rough,” Ike said. “And Caineghis is okay with this?”
After a few weeks of playing, Ike’s character looked…different. Soren frowned.
“What are you wearing?” Soren said flatly, interrupting whatever Ranulf was complaining about. It was more of a rhetorical question, as he could clearly see it with his own eyes. The character was running around, attacking bears while wearing…a frilly blue halter top and a blue wraparound skirt.
“I, uh, got it from a sidequest,” Ike said, turning his head slightly to address Soren even as he kept his eyes on the screen. “I think it looks nice.” ‘Senerio’ threw several daggers at a bear, and it fell over.
“It doesn’t look very practical for battle,” Soren commented.
“I have real armor on. It’s just to make my character look nice, I guess.” Ike directed ‘Senerio’ over and retrieved a bear pelt. “See?” He opened up his inventory, and switched to a tab. ‘Senerio’s’ true armor was a mish-mash of various armor pieces in various colors, none of which really matched.
Soren frowned. It was true that the...clothes were much more harmonious than the armor. But...did Ike really think it looked nice…?
He wasn't sure what to think.
Ranulf spoke up again. Soren could only barely hear his voice buzzing through the earbud that was out of Ike’s ear, sitting in his lap.
“Oh, hang on. Gimme a moment, Soren was asking about my character’s outfit.” Soren glanced at Ike, but Ike was apparently back to addressing Ranulf. Soren sank deeper into his spot, watching as Ike’s character ran back through the plains, through some city streets, and into an inn room. He went over to a wardrobe, and Ike spent some time shuffling through the menus–passing by several clothes that flashed across Soren’s confused brain (a maid outfit? A suit? Was that…a bunny suit? And a wedding gown?) until he settled on a long fur-trimmed jacket, with a hat and boots to match. The character struck a pose, clenching both fists happily, before the menu closed out. “Okay, I’m coming.”
Soren could hear Ranulf shout, “Did you just change your character’s clothes?”
“He looks like he’ll be cold,” Ike said, taking a portal. After a loading screen, the scenery changed to a snowy forest with towering blue glaciers in the background.
“He’s a video game character, Ike,” Ranulf said loudly, his voice distant and tinny. “You’re such a dork.”
Soren was openly staring at the screen now, watching an appropriately-clothed ‘Senerio’ trek across dunes of snow to join up with a female Laguz who was wearing a bandeau top and a miniskirt. Ike was never someone who cared about the appearance of his character. He played games because he liked the experience of getting stronger and taking on more and more difficult enemies. He didn’t play games to play virtual dress-up, and he certainly didn’t ever make a friend wait so he could change his character’s clothes because he’ll be cold .
What was different about this game? What made Ike so enamored with this…character? Soren knew that it wasn’t his personality–he watched some of the story with Ike, and the character was little more than a mute, well-meaning blank canvas for a player to project onto.
It was driving him crazy. Not because he didn’t know, but because he did. The evidence was all there. He could see Ike’s logic staring him in the eye. There was only one conclusion to draw. But he didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Ike loves you.
He knew.
Ike wants you.
He…
***
Ike is becoming a cosmetics hunter lol
Soren frowned when he saw the text notification at the top of his screen. He should really block Ranulf’s number, but sometimes Ike went out with his friends and sometimes he forgot to pick up his phone and so Soren would call all of his friends to find out where he was.
He had no interest in having a conversation with Ranulf. But his phone lit up again.
He grinds for money (lol) so he can dress his pc up in cute outfits
Soren pressed down the volume and lock button on his phone. He shared the screenshot of Ranulf’s last two messages with Rajaion with the simple caption, I don’t know what this means. He knew what the words meant. He knew what they meant in context of the video games Ike plays. He didn’t understand why Ranulf felt the need to inform him. He didn’t know what to make of Ike’s apparent interest in dressing up his character.
Almost immediately, his phone rang. When Soren raised it, he had an incoming call from Ike. He answered it immediately.
“Ike?”
“Hi, Soren.” He heard a soft sigh. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine Ike running his hand through his hair. “Your text…do you want me to…”
His last text? Soren frowned as he cast his mind back. The last thing he texted Ike was that he was on his way home from visiting Rajaion a few days ago. Ike had come to pick him up.
Ah. Soren felt his cheeks getting warmer. “No, you don’t need to. It was meant for Rajaion, actually.”
“Oh.” Ike paused. “Sorry.”
“I should apologize. It was an accident.”
“Yeah, but I…never mind.” Soren could hear some sort of sounds on the other end of the line. Ambience of a bar, perhaps. “I’m glad that you’re close with your uncle.”
Soren flinched a little bit. It was a Pavolovian response at this rate. “Rajaion is…good.” What he meant was that Rajaion was good at not getting too close to Soren. He was good at hiding whether he was disappointed by the way that the boy he sacrificed his life to retrieve grew up. He was good at being deliberate with his words, blunt enough so Soren felt like he was always being honest and not so kind that Soren felt he was being patronizing. And he alone was the only person who was good at never calling Soren his nephew. Never acknowledging the fact that he had–has–a family. Never referencing that his life could have been very different from what it really was. That the faceless parents who birthed a cursed child and abandoned it had the faces of a dragon princess and a dead king.
“Yeah. Does it make you uncomfortable?” Ike asked. It forcibly snapped Soren out of his haze.
“What? Rajaion?” Soren frowned.
“No.” Ike huffed softly. “The fact that my character looks like you and I dress him up.”
Oh. Soren licked his lips to stall for time. It was a bad habit of his. “Not really, actually. It’s…” Soren dug his fingers into the palm of his hand. Communicate, he could almost imagine Rajaion saying to him. “It’s…fine. I’m happy you’re having fun.”
“Okay. Let me know if it feels weird or something,” Ike said.
“I will.”
“Okay. Do you need anything else?” Ike asked.
“Wait.” Soren thought for a moment. His hand clenched tighter. “Do you…want me to dress like that?”
There was a long, pregnant pause. “No,” Ike said hesitantly. “But. If you did, it would…”
“It would make you feel attracted to me,” Soren said.
“No. Yes. I’m always attracted to you.” Another pause. “Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” Soren asked softly. “I’m your…” he swallowed. “I’m your boyfriend.”
There was a long silence. “Yeah, you are.” Ike’s voice was rough and hoarse.
Communicate, Rajaion hissed in his head. Soren closed his eyes. “Ike. I need to talk to you. When you get home. No rush.”
“I was thinking the exact same thing,” Ike said. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Yes.” Home.
“Bye.” Ike hesitated. There was a small intake of breath. “I love you.”
“...Me too,” Soren said weakly. It was easier than saying it back. It was always easier, to echo than to shout. “I’ll see you.” Soren hung up.
Then he hunkered down, burying his hands in his hair. He was a coward. He couldn’t even say that he loved Ike, even though he loved him so much it hurt.
Ike was attracted to him. Ike said so. Soren had no choice but to believe him. But Ike wouldn’t…Ike hadn’t acted on it. Ike had been waiting for him. But Soren couldn’t. Soren couldn’t, because he was a coward, he was disgusting, he was…
He was hyperventilating. He pressed a shaking fist to his mouth, trying to calm himself down, trying to force himself out of a panic attack. He pulled on his own hair, trying to use the pain to snap himself out of his fugue, but his grip was weak, his hands were shaking so much that he couldn’t pull hard enough where he could feel it through the numbness-hyperawareness spreading through his body.
Several long, shameful, painful minutes passed before he could stand up on shaking legs.
Ike came home an hour later. Soren was sitting at the kitchen counter, trying to pretend that he didn’t have a panic attack, panicked about Ike being able to figure out that he had a panic attack, took a shower, and was now drinking hot water with nothing in it because his heart still felt like it was going to explode and put him out of his misery.
“Hello,” Ike said softly. Soren looked over at him.
“Hello, Ike. Welcome back.”
Ike came over slowly. Soren watched him approach. He swallowed lightly. Ike was…handsome. He stood next to Soren for a moment, and then leaned in. Soren tilted his chin up, so eagerly, to welcome the kiss.
They parted after a moment. Soren stared up at Ike, admiring his chiseled face and his broad frame. Everyone liked Ike. Everyone loved Ike. He was a hero. He was just, he was kind, he was fair. He was handsome, he was strong, he was principled.
Soren loved Ike too. He was simple-minded. He was messy. He was clumsy. He was blunt. He was stubborn. He was prideful.
“So. Uh. What did you want to talk about?” Ike asked.
Soren swallowed. He took a sip of his water. “Does it bother you? That we’re…that I…the pace of our relationship?”
“No,” Ike said immediately. “I mean…this is my first time doing anything like this. I don’t mind taking it slow.” He hesitated. His hands curled a little, then relaxed. “Does it bother you? Are we…moving too fast?”
Soren twitched a little. “You noticed.”
“I notice a lot of things about you, Soren,” Ike said. His tone was warm and amused. He reached out and gently pried Soren’s fingers from around the mug. “You’re holding your mug so tightly your knuckles are white. You’re even paler than usual. You’re sweating, even though you always run cold.”
Soren didn’t like being seen like that. He didn’t like thinking about the fact that people could see past his indifferent veneer and see the unwanted, vulnerable, disgusting boy he was at heart. But it was Ike. Ike saw him when he was starving and filthy and wanted to help him. Ike held him when he cried. Ike defended him when he was being cruel and racist. He didn’t mind being seen by Ike. He liked it. He liked that Ike was noticing him the same way that Soren was always noticing Ike.
Why was it so hard to let himself be loved by someone like that?
Communicate, Rajaion had finally texted him back while he waited for Ike. Tell him of your feelings. He’ll listen to you. He’s heard you out before. If you can’t, write him an email.
Talk to me.
He didn’t know how to start.
“Do you…” Soren closed his eyes. “Does it bother you that I can never initiate anything?”
“No,” Ike said quietly. “Does it bother you?”
Soren nodded.
“It’s okay,” Ike said. “It’s okay for you to not want to. I know…”
“It’s not that,” Soren quickly said. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. I wanted to be near you, I wanted to help you, I wanted to love you. It’s not that that I have a problem with. It’s…it’s not okay for you to want me. Or it doesn’t feel like it should.”
Ike stiffened. “Have I been…hurting you?”
“No. No, no, no. Absolutely not.” Soren opened his eyes again. He reached out, and Ike seized his hand. “It just…it feels wrong. That someone could want me. No one has ever wanted me for being me. The woman who raised me didn’t want me. The sage who taught me didn’t want me. I’ve never been…someone who’s been wanted. Even in the mercenaries…I was careful to learn all the skills I could. So I could be useful. Someone who is needed. And now…we’re together. And I still don’t…understand how someone like you could want me back.” He was shaking now. He felt like he could shake out of Ike's grip. “It’s okay when you start something. Because…because I know, logically, that you love me. I trust you. You said you loved me, and you’ve never lied to me before. But when I try to reach out to you, I feel like…it wouldn’t be welcomed. Even though I know that it would. Because…because there’s still some part of me that refuses to accept the fact that I’m finally wanted.
“And then…the part of me that loves you, that would do anything for you, became scared. That you would get frustrated, or annoyed, because I can never just say it. I can never just reach out for you and hold you when I want to, or kiss you in the kitchen, or invite you to bed with a smile. And I don't think I ever could. And you might...resent me for that.” Soren opened his eyes so he could look at Ike.
“It’s okay,” Ike said gently, so gently that it hurt Soren’s fragile heart. He shook his head.
“It’s not okay. I’m not okay. I’m really…” He was really so many things, but he summed them up lamely as, “Fucked up.”
“It is okay,” Ike insisted. Soren’s hand was aching from how tight Ike was holding him, but he didn’t want him to let go. “I know that, and I still love you. And I’m a little fucked up too.” Ike took a deep breath. “I’ve always had a complex about protecting the people that I loved. It only got stronger after…after Dad died. And after the Tower…I think I finally see why I’ve always been weird about it.”
“Because you saw your mother die?” Soren whispered.
“Yeah. I saw Dad kill her. And I guess…even though I lost the memory, I always remembered deep down. And now that the memory is unlocked, it’s become…it’s twisted into I need to be strong enough to protect my family from everything, including myself. I can’t let them be hurt by me or anybody. I think Sephiran was right to lock away that memory…it affected me so deeply even when I couldn’t remember it.” Ike sighed. “So…so I was happy to take it slow. Because…I couldn’t hurt you. My biggest nightmare is hurting you in any way, shape, or form." Ike held his hand tightly. "So...if I'm hesitating, or going slowly, or making you feel unwanted...it's because of me and my issues."
Me and my issues. Ike wasn't perfect. Soren knew that and he loved him anyways. Ike was new to this too. Ike had his own share of trauma, that manifested in nightmares and sleepless nights and pushing his body into perfection always. The crazy growth spurt he experienced in that short, shattered peace between two wars wasn't only due to teenage growth hormones but due to Ike's daily diligence, training and exercising with the determination to never be too weak again. Soren knew that. It wasn't a symbol of Ike's perfection, but of his deeply-ingrained insecurities. And Ike always hated being put on a pedestal. He–
“You’re thinking too much again,” Ike murmured softly, interrupting Soren's train of thought but without judgment or disgust. “Come here.”
Soren went willingly. He buried his face in Ike’s chest, fisting a handful of his shirt to steady his trembling hands. He felt so childish, but he felt warm and protected. He felt loved.
“I love you,” Ike said.
“Me too,” Soren replied.
“I know.” Ike laid his cheek on top of his head. “It’s okay if we never go any further.”
“No it’s not,” Soren muttered. “I’m not okay with it. You’re…” He smiled, involuntarily, painfully, at a joke only he would get. “You’re sex on legs, Ike.”
Ike chuckled, and Soren felt warm. He saw the humor in it, too. “Then how about this. It’s okay if you never do or say anything first. I trust you. I’ll trust that you love me and want me. I’ll take the lead, but as long as you promise me something.”
There is nothing Soren wouldn’t do for Ike. “Anything,” he whispered. He meant it.
Ike gently pulled back. Soren glanced up at him, at the small smile lighting up his handsome face. “Promise me that you’ll tell me immediately if I’m doing something that makes you remotely uncomfortable. You have a tendency to go along with what I want, and then you justify it afterwards with ‘it was for the best’ or ‘I needed to do it sometime.’ But I don’t want to keep second-guessing everything that I do out of fear that I'm hurting you. You deserve better than that.”
Soren nodded. “I promise.” He wondered if it was enough to keep Ike’s ghosts at bay. He doubted it, but if Ike wanted him to do it, he would.
“Thank you.” Ike sighed deeply. “So. Uh. What do we do now?”
Soren smiled faintly. “Well…we can start doing our typical evening activities. Or we could…” he trailed off, swallowing heavily around the words stuck in his throat.
“...Try out all the things that I’ve thought about doing?” Ike suggested softly. Soren nodded. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks. Ike just smiled. “...Great.”
There was still a moment of hesitation. But Ike then ran his hand through Soren’s hair, pushing his sidelocks away from his face. And then he bent down and kissed him.
It was easy to return the kiss. Soren pressed up eagerly, pushing himself up onto his tiptoes as he desperately sought out what Ike was offering. It wasn’t the gentle, sweet kisses he was used to. It was hungry, and he could feel his own wants and needs reflected back at him, in the way Ike’s lips parted, in the hot press of a tongue against his lips.
They eventually had to part for air. Soren gazed up at Ike, feeling disheveled as he looked. Ike let out a breathless huff and said, “Is this…going too far?”
“Ike,” Soren said. Ike fell silent, as Soren clutched his hand tightly. He felt like he was burning up from within. “Whatever you are thinking, it’s alright. Trust me.” He didn’t think he could ever trust himself, but the one person he trusted was Ike. Ike would make everything okay.
“I can…I can do that.” Ike ran a hand through his own hair. Then he smiled, a crooked little smile, and he tugged on Soren’s hand. “Uh…your bedroom or mine?”
He was already too warm all over to flush anymore. “Yours, I think.” To lay in Ike’s bed, to be surrounded by his warmth and his scent, to spend the night there…he wanted it so badly that he ached with it.
“Okay.” As they walked down the hallway, hand-in-hand, Ike said, “Uh. I’ve never done this before. Obviously.”
“Me neither. Obviously,” Soren parroted him. “But we’ll work something out.”
They had no supplies for penetrative sex, but Ike said that he was a little too uncertain to even attempt that for the first time anyways, and Soren had agreed. So they ended up just frotting against each other. It was messy and strange and sweaty and Soren's wrist hurt by the end and it was perfect.
Afterwards, Soren lay by Ike's side, with his hand splayed out over Ike's washboard abs, feeling the bare skin and the solid wall of muscle underneath. Ike's arm was trapped under his back, his hand curled around his hip.
"It feels weird to say that that was awesome," Ike said. Soren looked up at him. He was staring straight up at the ceiling. "But it was pretty awesome."
"I'll make sure to add that to my next performance review," Soren replied. Ike snorted, but then sobered up.
"Uh. If you don't mind. I think that's going to happen more often from now."
"...I will add lubricant to our shopping list," Soren said. Then he cringed. That was probably the least attractive way to acquiesce to what Ike was implying.
But Ike was looking down at him. He had a smile on his face. "Only you can make grocery trips sound sexy," he said, with naked fondness in his voice.
“...And only you can find yourself aroused by grocery tips,” Soren said. It was sweet and familiar, even as his heart rapped against his ribcage. It was just…bantering with Ike. He smiled back, softly, cautiously. He wanted to kiss that smile.
Perhaps Ike was able to read his desire in his eyes, because he leaned down to give him another kiss.