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"I really had you worried, didn't I?" Ike says, and Soren struggles to keep himself looking stoic, because of course he was worried, (terrified, really,) how could he not be? Ike went to fight the Black Knight alone and, restrained by Titania as he was, Soren couldn't do anything about it.
(Well, almost alone. Truthfully though, Mist's presence beyond those doors hadn't been much of a comfort. Soren's willing to give his life to defend Ike, and he supposes Mist might be as well, but he's certain that Ike would never allow such a thing of her, and might put himself in further danger attempting to protect his sister.)
"Let's get back to the others... I can't do anything else today," Ike adds, the tail end of some conversation Soren didn't quite catch. That sounds ideal. He's not the only one who would appreciate the time to rest.
Soren goes to offer Ike a hand, given what appears to be some shakiness in his stance, but then stops. Ike's eyes have gone wide in surprise. When his gaze turns downward, Soren's follows, and—
Ike's bleeding. A dark spreading stain from just beneath the lower edge of his armor. Ike's brow furrows in confusion and his lips part, like he wants to ask something of Soren, but there's no resulting sound, just a bubble of blood.
Soren scrambles for his Mend staff, only to find it absent—tries to shout for Mist before discovering that his voice, too, has deserted him. The courtyard is empty of any save for himself and Ike (when did that happen?)
Ike sways on his feet, then slumps forward. Soren barely manages to catch him without being knocked over, and has to brace himself to stay standing. This close, he hears the bubbling rasp of Ike's breathing, smells the blood. Feels it starting to soak into his robes, too much for Ike to be losing, far too much. Tries to shout for help, again without any result, useless, utterly useless—
Soren sits up in bed with a horrified gasp.
It's dark save for a little moonlight from the window, spilling across the fine furnishings of a luxurious chamber in Melior. Right. Of course. These are the rooms that Queen Crimea granted to Ike, and which Soren has very recently taken to sharing.The war is over. Ike's fine, asleep next to Soren in the bed, curled on his side.
Ike's fine, Soren tells himself again. The reconstruction of Crimea is well underway, and Ike's been dragged into it, a combination of mercenary work and endless meetings with the queen and the Crimean nobility. He needs what rest he can get, and certainly doesn't need Soren waking him up because of some stupid dream.
Soren does his best to quiet his breathing, to keep himself still and allow his pounding heart to slow. It doesn't. For all his supposed rationality, the idea that Ike could be injured at this very moment, bleeding out onto the mattress, has taken hold of him and refuses to let go. He wants to- to push Ike over onto his back and see for himself the lack of injury, or at least to lay a hand on his chest, and feel for certain that Ike is alright.
He doesn't. He can't. His worthless nerves aren't worth causing such trouble over. Soren shuts his eyes to keep them from uselessly searching Ike for signs of injury. He tries to focus himself on the sound of Ike's breath, to match his own to it. It's fine. He's fine.
Focused as he is on Ike's breathing, he notices almost immediately when it speeds up. Soren's eyes fly open, and he stares down at Ike in (stupid, irrational) concern. It isn't injury, he realizes after a moment. Ike's having a nightmare.
This shouldn't surprise him. Ike watched his father die, risked death himself numerous times, and led an army to war at seventeen. It surprises him anyway. Somehow he'd thought, even with the stress and insecurities that Ike's expressed in waking hours, he would be spared such things by night. Soren's chest aches. After everything he's done for so many people, (after everything he's done for Soren,) it isn't right that Ike should have to endure any of this.
Ike groans, curling a little tighter in on himself. Soren isn't sure what to do. If he waits, will Ike fall back into ordinary sleep, or would waking him now be to his benefit? Is Soren's continued panic over his own nightmare influencing his decision?
Ike mumbles something. Repeats it once, twice. On the third, it resolves into Soren's name. Quiet, desperate. Soren can't just ignore that.
"Ike!" he says, shaking his shoulder, then withdrawing immediately. He shouldn't cling, and besides, it's a matter of safety. Even an uncoordinated strike with Ike's full strength behind it would leave him with worse than bruising. Ike doesn't lash out in his panic, though; he simply comes awake with a start, eyes darting around the room frantically before finally finding Soren's face.
They stare at each other, wide-eyed in the near darkness.
"Are... you alright, Ike?" Stupid question. Obviously he's not.
"...Yeah. I'll be okay." He's shaking a little, lying there looking up at Soren, and the words sound untrue, but Soren isn't sure what to do about that, if anything. Ike's gaze roams Soren's face, taking stock of him. Soren suddenly becomes very aware of his own still-unsteady breathing, the spots of sweat on his shift, the tear tracks drying on his cheeks. "Are you?"
"I-I'm alright." He doesn't mean to stutter, but can't stop himself, and hopes, however pointlessly, that Ike won't notice. They should both just try to get back to sleep, at this point. Tomorrow's obligations won't wait for them, or be improved by exhaustion.
"Come here?" Ike says, pushing himself up so that he's sitting, leaned against the headboard. He opens his arms, a little hesitantly. Even if physical contact wasn't something Soren desperately wanted in this moment (and it is), the uncertainty in Ike's tone, like he's not sure if the desire for comfort is mutual, or if it's okay for him to ask, would have won him over in an instant.
He edges over to Ike and presses into his arms, and Ike crushes him to his chest almost immediately, pushing his face into Soren's hair with a shuddering gasp. Soren hides his own face against the soft, well-worn fabric of Ike's sleep shirt and wraps both arms around his waist. He's clinging more tightly than he intended to, and after a moment, it becomes obvious that both of them are shaking.
Still, it helps. The two of them stay there in silence, and it's like that that Soren finally falls back to sleep, Ike's arms around him and the sound of his heartbeat against his ear.
* * *
When Soren wakes, it's nearly dawn.
In the night, the two of them have shifted. Ike's sprawled sideways across both of the bed's pillows, one of his arms flat on the bedspread, the other draped such that it leaves a hand on Soren's shoulder. Soren's slumped until his head is resting on Ike's thigh instead of his chest.
He feels himself flush. This, the relationship between them, is new, and the bed sharing even newer. They've been taking things slowly, between all their other obligations and the way that, in the aftermath of the war, they have the time to do so.
That they spent the better part of the night... cuddled, and that right now his face is worryingly near Ike's crotch, is more than a little mortifying. And while Ike certainly invited their earlier closeness, the lateness of the hour and his emotional distress were likely major factors, and it probably shouldn't be taken as indicative. Their current position, moreover, was entirely unrequested by either of them, and any impulses Soren may or may not have regarding it need to be thoroughly ignored.
Rather than think too hard about that, Soren sits up, letting Ike's hand slip off him with some regret. There's an awful crick in his neck, and he doubts Ike's position is much more comfortable than his own was. It's still a little early, but better that Ike has time to eat and to collect himself before dealing with today's particular flavor of idiocy anyway.
"Ike. Ike, wake up."
Ike groans (just tired, not distressed; good) and cracks an eye open, looking rather balefully up at Soren. His gaze softens a bit after their eyes meet, but it is clear that, however much of a help Soren's presence may be, he still isn't much one for mornings.
"Really?" he says. "This early?"
"It's a perfectly reasonable hour," Soren tells him, amused, and delights in the irritable look he gets in return. Sentimental, utterly, but Ike looks gorgeous like this, all wayward hair and grumpy expression, groggy and disheveled from sleep.
When Ike sits up and stretches, arms over his head, Soren almost drops his gaze on impulse. It's still a habit to look away, to avoid being too obvious about his staring. No need for that, he reminds himself. When it's just the two of them, he's allowed to appreciate the view.
Soren proceeds to do exactly that before finally standing, then offering Ike a hand to pull him up as well. He does turn away when Ike heads for his day clothing, hands going to the hem of his shirt. Not something he feels the need to push at the moment, and it's comfortable enough routine from when they were younger and sharing a room to simply face the other direction and see to his own robes and ablutions.
After a time, Ike breaks the comfortable silence. "Hey, Soren?"
Soren turns back around, tying off a sash. Ike's sitting on the bed, hair a little tidier, dressed enough for decency, and in the process of pulling on his coat. He makes no move to put his boots on after doing so, though; he just drops his hands and looks steadily up at Soren. "About last night..."
"Yes?" Soren keeps his voice steady, trying not to betray his quiet dread. The shared comfort of the previous night was something he deeply appreciated, but he isn't sure if the feeling was mutual. He has no idea what to do if Ike tells him it was a mistake, or worse, apologizes.
"Thank you. For being there for me." Oh. Maybe he should have expected that. It helps to hear it, regardless. If it were Soren, he knows he wouldn't be able to meet Ike's eyes, but Ike seems to have no such trouble, sincere and unashamed in his gratitude.
"Of course, Ike," he says, when he's finally pulled himself together enough to answer. He wants to add more—anything else, really—but can't quite force the words out.
Ike pauses for a moment, and the look on his face is one Soren mostly sees when he's talking to nobles, and isn't sure that something he wants to say is acceptable. It's not a look Soren ever saw on him before the war, and for it to show up here, when it's just the two of them, is disconcerting.
It only seems to take that moment for Ike to make up his mind, though. When he speaks, there's no hesitation in it. "You looked like you'd had a nightmare, too." His brow furrows. "Why didn't you wake me before?"
"You..." Soren swallows. "You were asleep. I didn't want to trouble you."
"Soren." Through what's left of his grogginess, Ike sounds exasperated. "I didn't ask for you in my bed because I 'didn't want you to trouble me.' "
Soren ducks his head, feeling thoroughly chastised. Stupid of him to assume. If it had been Ike recently upset from a nightmare, Soren would certainly prefer to be woken. Somehow, the idea that it could be the same way for Ike didn't occur to him.
"Hey." Ike stands, then reaches out. Not so abruptly that Soren couldn't step back from it, if he so chose, but Soren doesn't retreat. He feels his breath catch at the feel of calloused fingers on his chin, and lets his face be gently tilted back up, meeting Ike's gaze uncertainly. "It's all right."
"I apologize," Soren says softly. "I failed to consider your perspective. This is still... new to me."
"I know," Ike says. "I'm no better at it." Soren would think that a lie to spare his feelings, but such things have never been Ike's way. He wonders what Ike considers his own failures, that Soren's are merely equal to them. "I just... want you to be able to ask, when you need something," Ike adds. The hand on Soren's chin has shifted to his jaw, and Ike's thumb is resting on the corner of his mouth. The fact that he hasn't let go is, perhaps, a little telling.
If Ike wants him to ask, well, there is something Soren's after at the moment, even if it's hardly a need. He takes a step closer, setting his hands lightly on Ike's waist. "May I?"
The sudden proximity and the request both seem to surprise Ike, but he nods, and the smile he offers is genuine, perhaps even anticipatory. Soren pulls him closer and tilts his chin up, enjoying the height momentarily afforded by his boots, and Ike's current lack of them. He kisses Ike, chaste but lingering, then draws back a few inches, not breaking the loose embrace they've ended up in.
"I'll try to be more forthright," Soren says eventually.
Ike tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, clearly far more an excuse to touch than any particular care for his appearance. "I appreciate it," he says. He leans in again to brush his lips briefly against Soren's forehead. It's not a new gesture, and Soren's growing used to it, but the way that Ike can so casually bestow affection on the symbol of his inhumanity still leaves his next intake of breath a little shaky.
The reaction doesn't go unnoticed, and he glances away before he has to see Ike's expression. Surely not pitying—it's never been that, for which Soren is grateful—but the trace of sadness at the edges is still difficult to look at.
Focus redirected as it is, the increased brightness of the room catches his attention, and his gaze is drawn to the window. Weak dawn sunlight is streaming in, a clear indicator that the time left in their morning is dwindling. Soren lets go and steps back with some regret. "The day won't wait for us, Ike," he says.
Ike sighs. "I suppose not. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, though."
Soren doesn't really disagree, but that doesn't change their obligations. He gives Ike a light shove, back towards the bed and the rest of his gear. "Go on," he says. "You led an army and saved Crimea. A few diplomatic talks shouldn't trouble the great General Ike."
Ike makes a face at the titles, and probably at the note of teasing to Soren's voice, but goes willingly enough. "As long as you're there to suffer through them with me, I'll be all right," he says. Joking, clearly, but Soren knows him, and knows there's some truth to the sentiment.
"Of course," he says. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be, I'm sure."
Much like Ike, though, he means it. If they can face the night's demons together, meetings should be no trouble at all.