will write, someday, probably

Perhaps there were better climates to spend the summer, but, in comparison to, say, the desert or a jungle, the balmy air of the temperate, lightly forested region Ike and Soren had found themselves in was tolerable. Sleeping, however, was another story. As much as they’d love to enjoy their time together and sleep in the same bed, within minutes it was bound to devolve into a sweaty mess.

Soren had resigned himself to the dull emptiness of sleeping alone.  It shouldn’t bother him this much, he knew, but Ike and he had been sharing rooms as long as they’d known each other. It just seemed… unnatural.

When the opportunity for distraction presented itself in the form of a confused exclamation from outside, Soren wasted no time in throwing himself out of his tent.

“What’s wrong?” he found himself asking before he even has a chance to fully emerge. On the edge of their campsite, Ike was staring intensely at… the grass.

“There was something here,” he explained as Soren approached. “It was glowing, and then it just… disappeared.”

Soren looked at the ground where Ike was staring. “I don’t see any-”

“There!” Ike shouted. A few feet in front of them, a greenish-yellow light floated up from the grass, then fizzed out, like an ember. For a moment, Soren thought it was some kind of magic, but the spirits around him were calm, as though nothing were amiss.

“You saw it, right?” Ike asked. Soren nodded.

“What is that?” he thought out loud.

“I thought you would know,” Ike replied. Again, another light floated up from the ground. Then, another.

“Are they appearing more frequently?” Soren asked. He didn’t get an answer, for as he said that, a light appeared in front of Ike, and he lunged forward and caught it in his hands. Carefully, he brought it up to his face and peeked inside.

“It’s… a bug,” Ike said.

“What?” Soren leaned closer, and Ike opened his hands to let it fly out. Sure enough, Soren could see its tiny wings beating as it lit up and faded into its own glow. He reached out and grabbed Ike’s hand to examine it. “It didn’t burn you, did it?”

Ike shook his head. “It doesn’t even feel hot.”

Around them, several of the bugs had begun to gather in the grass, lighting up in intervals. Soren took a moment to stare.

“They’re bugs that glow,” he said to himself, seemingly incredulous, but the proof was right in front of his eyes. Ike seemed lost in thought.

“Wait here,” he said and stood abruptly. Soren meant to ask him where he was going, but was too late to catch him before he disappeared into his tent. Mere moments later, he emerged with... a jar.

“Really, Ike?” Soren groaned. Ike chuckled.

“I used to catch all sorts of bugs when I was younger,” Ike mused. “Then I’d throw them at Mist. It was kind of mean but… it was funny.” Silently, Soren watched as scooped a bunch of the bugs into the jar.

“...You aren’t going to throw those at me now, are you?” Soren asked. Ike laughed.

“Nah, I’m not that immature.” Ike sealed the jar and peered in. Inside, the bugs bounced around each other and lit up, creating a soft glow that bounced off Ike’s face in the darkness. Even Soren could admit it was lovely.

Wordlessly, Ike handed the jar to Soren.

“It’s probably not bright enough for you to read by, but maybe you can save on fire magic,” he said, smiling. Soren’s face was warm, and he was glad it wasn’t bright enough to see. Dark as it was, he could feel Ike’s gaze on him, still thinking of him, after all this time.

“We should head to bed,” Soren said slowly, hesitant to break the moment. Regardless, Ike nodded in agreement and stood, then helped Soren up.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Ike called from his tent.

“Sleep well,” Soren replied, gaze set on the makeshift lantern in his hands. Gingerly, he laid it by his bedside, rolling over in his blankets so he could admire the soft light. In the morning, they’d probably all be dead, he thought. And yet…

It was all too easy.

A vague idea whispered tiredly into the fabric of a nightshirt, and mere days later, what few things they cared about were haphazardly shoved into bags, along with a few necessities (“Food, Ike, we need food-” “Right, right-”). That was all. No notes, no goodbyes, they were gone, vanished into the night without a trace or a single glance back.

That was wrong, wasn’t it? There should have been some guilt, some regret, at leaving behind everyone. His work, his friends, his family…

Ike glanced over at his traveling partner, perfectly matched in pace. Soren looked back, curious, but not probing.

Well, not everyone.

Neither of them had said a word since they had left, and it seemed the silence wasn’t about to break any time soon. Maybe it was the gravity of what they had just done, maybe it was nerves. After all, it was still so new, whatever this was that they had. Even now, he could feel Soren endlessly calculating all the possible negative outcomes. Regardless, Ike had yet to feel like he’d made the wrong decision.

Tentative, he reached out a hand, brushing the smooth skin of Soren’s palm. Soren stiffened. For a moment, Ike wondered if he had done something wrong, but when he tried to withdraw, Soren quickly reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing tightly enough to give the impression he never wanted to let go.

Ike smiled to himself. They’d have plenty of time to figure it out.

Back at the mercenary fort, before things had taken a turn for the unfortunate, they had shared a bunk, and later, during the first war, it hadn’t been uncommon for them to share a room or one of the larger tents to save funds. The tent they had packed, however, was nowhere near as big.

Soren had resolutely turned his back to Ike and curled up to maintain the illusion of personal space, Ike stiff on his back, uncertain how to move without waking Soren. He sighed. This really wasn’t what he’d had in mind.

Ike looked at the back of Soren’s head, appraising the thin, silky strands. He thought back to when Soren had first approached their mercenary group, and his hair was short, choppy, uneven. His excuse had been something along the lines of long hair being a hazard, attracting bugs, snagging on branches, leaving you vulnerable to being grabbed, but as time went on, he hadn’t bothered to keep it trimmed.

Ike liked it so, so much better long.

Careful, Ike reached out and brushed the hair away from his neck, revealing skin pale enough to be visible even in the darkness. Soren shuddered ever so slightly. Not asleep yet, then. Ike gently rolled over and scooped the smaller man into his arms, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

“It’s cold,” he offered as a weak excuse. Soren was tense in his arms, and Ike wondered if he had gone too fast, again, but eventually, he relaxed.

“Is it...” he whispered, almost inaudible, “...is it always going to be like this with you?”

“What do you mean?” Ike asked. He felt Soren shake his head.

“No, it’s nothing.” Soren turned his cheek away from Ike’s lips, which were drifting closer by the moment. “Go to sleep, Ike.”

Ike didn’t respond, but he did as he was told.

It rained last night.

Whether it was poor planning or them being too caught up in themselves to notice (most likely, some mix of both), their camp had been caught in the middle of it, and the pair had been rudely, wetly awoken and forced to scramble to save what they could. Not that they could do much, aside from move things somewhere slightly less soaked. By the time morning broke, the rain had stopped, but neither of them had slept, and could only stare tiredly at the flooded remains of their campsite.

“I’m sorry,” Ike said, doing his best impression of a sad, neglected dog. Soren shook his head.

“You can’t control the weather,” Soren assured, calm, but with the edge of exhaustion in his voice that betrayed his true feelings. Huffing, Soren gathered up his hair and rung it out in the mud. Ike, alternatively, went through their things one last time to see if anything could be salvaged.

The ink from the map had run off to stain some of his clothes, to his chagrin, but at least there happened to be a village nearby. Their bedroll, Ike could mourn. They could hang it up to dry, but it was so soaked it’d take maybe a week until it was fully usable again, provided no mold or mildew decided to grow in it.

In a nearby tree, a bird chirped, basking in the early morning sunshine. Ike internally sent some choice curses its way and went back to rummaging through their things.

“Soren, how much money did we bring?” he asked.

“Enough, I hope,” Soren sighed. Ike wanted to reach out and smooth away the frustrated creases of his face, but before he could consider that thought for a moment longer, his head lurched forward with a sneeze.

Soren wrenched around so quickly, Ike could’ve sworn he heard something snap.

“I’m okay,” Ike tried. Soren wasn’t glaring at him, specifically, just in his general direction, but that didn’t change the fact his looks could slaughter even the strongest of men.

“Go change into something dry,” he ordered.

“Nothing’s dry.”

Soren moved his glare to their soaked packs, as though that would solve their current predicament. Ike didn’t quite understand what he was getting so worked up about; they had been through worse than this in the wars. Ike hadn’t gotten sick then, and he wouldn’t get sick now. Nevertheless, Soren sent him on his way to the next village with a list, and Ike didn’t miss the extra herbs carefully slipped into the middle.

When Ike returned, late in the afternoon, the camp had been mostly put back together, with the exception of some things still sunk in the mud. Their extra clothes and any other cloth Soren could find had been hung out, along with the robe he’d been wearing before. Ike mentally reminded himself to add his later and hunted down wherever Soren had decided to brood this time.

In the end, Ike hadn’t gotten sick. Soren, however…

Soren was right in the assertion that it wasn’t anything serious. A sinus infection, at best; even still, Ike knew not to underestimate illness. Unfortunately, Soren made for a bitter, uncooperative patient, refusing to stay in bed and be cared for like he should be.

It had gotten to the point where Ike had to sit outside their shared tent and keep watch, lest Soren slip out and start doing… he had no idea. Taxes, maybe? Did they still have to pay those?

He heard a sneeze from their shared tent, and Ike peeked in, sizing up Soren’s irritated, stuffy features.

“Your face is starting to swell,” Ike commented casually, Soren grumbling to himself and wiping his face on his sleeve. Ike hoped he’d remember to wash the sheets after this.

“Ike,” Soren grumbled, voice scratchy, “You don’t have to baby me. I’m fine.”

“If it were me, you’d be losing your mind right about now,” Ike said. “And yeah, I do, since you don’t seem to be willing to take care of yourself.” Face morphing from irritated to just plain exhausted, Soren sank back under the covers and rolled over to avoid Ike’s gaze.

“I just…” He huffed, voice muffled by their brand-new blankets. “We should be moving again by now, and I’m just weighing us down-”

Ike wanted to gather him up in his arms and silence him with a few well-placed kisses, but there were a bit too many flaws in that plan (the first of which was the fact that he’d probably crush Soren in the attempt, and the last being that he was sick and that was gross). “Soren, you could never drag me down. If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve have asked.”

Soren looked up at Ike from the pillows in a thinly-masked wonder.

“Besides, I’m not on this trip just to get somewhere, I’m here to explore,” he continued. “If we didn’t take some time to slow down every once in a while, it wouldn’t be worth it.” Ike reached out and brushed sweat-slick hair out of his face, frowning at the heat emanating from his skin. “You should get some rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

Sighing (and shivering ever so slightly, whether it be from the contact or the illness), Soren allowed his eyes to close and nestled in the blankets. “Don’t destroy too much,” he commented one last time, then Ike laughed and let him be.

Thankfully, there wasn’t much left for him to “destroy.” He had already done the camp’s daily chores, and nothing else needed care from the storm. Ike sat down on the nearby log they had repurposed as a bench and thought for a few moments, thinking back to the herbs Soren had made him buy a few days ago.

Silently, Ike began formulating a plan.

“You awake?” Ike asked, peeking into the tent again. Soren blinked sluggishly, about to ask him where he’d been all day, only to notice a bowl in his hands, steam curling from the surface.

“Did you…?” He sat up, accepting the offered soup. Cautiously, he sniffed it, then made a face. “What did you make this out of?”

“Uh, I had some pheasant, so...” Ike said. Soren took a sip.

“...Ike,” he said, voice sharp even through the cold, “You realize you’re supposed to cook medicinal herbs in tea, not soup.”

Ike blinked. “Oh.” Soren reached over to hand the bowl back to Ike. “No, wait, you should drink it anyway.”

“Ike, you burnt it, regardless.” he dismissed. Ike made a dejected face.

“Sorry,” Ike said. Soren shook his head.

“Ike...” he started, unsure of what to say. “Thank you for the effort, at least.”

Ike offered a crooked smile, “Next time, I’ll just ask you first.”

It was late, or, at least late enough to upset Soren should he shift the wrong way and accidentally wake him. Now, of all times, however, Ike figured he would be able to get away with a poor night’s sleep. He threaded his fingers through silky, black hair and let Soren bury himself deeper in his chest, staring tiredly at the wall.

“Ike, you should sleep,” Soren mumbled into his chest. Ike shivered slightly at the sensation.

“So should you,” he countered, voice just as sluggish.

“I would, but you keep moving,” he said. Caught, Soren stretched stiffly and sat up, avoiding Ike’s gaze. “...Is there something on your mind?” Tentative, as though testing water, though Ike had thought they’d know each other’s boundaries by now.

“Nothing in particular,” he replied. He took a moment to examine Soren’s form in the faint moonlight leaking through the tent, hunched shoulders from years of leaning over desks, the slim outline of his cheek, and suddenly, something clicked.

“Hey, Soren,” Ike said. “I love you.”

Soren tensed. Ike couldn’t see his expression.

“...Is it that surprising?” Ike said after a moment of uncomfortable silence, only half-joking. Soren thought for a moment longer.

“No, I’ve known,” he said, voice the softest it’d been since that fateful day in the tower, “It’s just...” He paused, perhaps for a moment too long, but Ike allowed him to collect his thoughts. “Love is so... noble. The type of concept reserved for tragedies, or worse, fairytales. Is that really… us?”

Ike thought back for a moment, on all the adventures he’d had, all the people he’d met, and knew, deep down, that for once in this argument, he knew something Soren didn’t. It was so much to say, and Ike couldn’t really think of how to tell, so he sat up next to Soren, and tried something new.