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The feeling of Ike’s hand on Soren’s own isn’t entirely new to him. They’ve held hands before, however briefly, to help each other up during training sessions or to urge the other to move while in the middle of battles. There were also the rare times where Ike had taken Soren’s hand in his casually, just to pull him toward something he wanted to show him – these are the times Soren treasures the most.
Still, none of them compare to this moment, where Ike’s hand is held securely in his as Soren leads them to the dining hall, warm and larger than his own, holding him tightly as though there'd been ever a risk of Soren letting go.
Ike follows him without complaint, his gaze is fixed on Soren, burning with an emotion he hesitates to name. He's thankful that the candle he's holding to light the way is likely not strong enough to show his features in detail, Soren doubts his face is currently its normal pale shade.
He can't tell what Ike wants right now, besides the food they're on their way to get. He keeps alternating between staring at him and losing focus of his surroundings entirely, hence their entwined hands. It's a little frustrating, as Ike tends to be easy for Soren to read. He’s studied Ike’s every expression over the years with the dedication a scholar would have for their favorite research subject, and he’s made space for every single one of his findings in his heart.
But it’s somewhat difficult to put that knowledge to use now, for, while Ike is the same as he’s always been, this is the first time Soren has seen him drunk. It’s the first time Ike has been drunk at all. To Soren’s knowledge, at least, he’d never tried any alcohol before the party they’d thrown earlier in celebration of the new year.
“Hey, Soren?” Ike mumbles. His voice is close to Soren's ear, too close for his heart not to race in response.
“What is it?” he murmurs back. There's little reason to be so quiet, he doubts they'd wake anyone with how late they'd been up celebrating. But it feels wrong to be loud, like failing to attempt to keep this moment between them would be an invitation for others that might be awake to join them.
Ike seems to share his views on this, as his voice is similarly quiet when he speaks again. “We should hold hands more often. It’s nice.”
Between the low tone and the slight slur in his speech, Soren needs a moment to register what he says; he nearly trips when he does.
“I-Ike, what…?!” Soren sputters, unable to even begin to think of what to say in return.
He’s still trying and failing to gather his bearings when Ike stops in his tracks, forcing Soren to come to a halt as well. There's a reluctance in Ike's gaze that Soren doesn't like to see as he asks, “Do you not want to?”
Soren’s heart is beating loudly in his ears, having yet to recover from Ike’s earlier words. Still, there’s nothing in the world that would have prevented him from answering Ike’s question with him looking at him like that. “I-I do,” he chokes out. “I like it too.”
For a heartbeat, Ike stares at him, as though searching for something in his expression. Then, seemingly satisfied, he nods, squeezes Soren’s hand once, and promptly gets distracted again. Ike’s eyes don’t leave him, but it’s easy – for Soren at least – to tell that he’s no longer focused on that subject, having returned to that puzzling state from before that Soren is still deciphering.
It’s a good thing that he does, because Soren doesn’t know what he would have done if he’d continued pursuing that conversation. He feels as though his face must be warmer than the candle in his hand, not to speak of the state of his heart. Of all possible reactions that Ike could have had to alcohol, this is not at all what Soren expected he'd have to deal with.
He curses Gatrie for suggesting that Ike try it, and Titania too for good measure, who'd agreed there'd be no harm in trying. They’re not the ones struggling to lead Ike around in the dark while fending off startling questions. Soren doesn’t want them to be, doesn’t want to share Ike with anyone else right now, but he still feels on his right to complain.
Not being someone who'd ever set foot at a tavern, Soren's most prominent experience with drunken people were the Greil Mercenaries themselves, who didn't provide the best frame of reference either. Considering Shinon and Gatrie were the worst offenders, he’d had little to take into consideration in regards to Ike, who he’d doubted from the beginning would be as troublesome or boisterous as those two.
Titania only had alcohol on occasion and never to the point of losing her composure too much, the same had been true of Ike’s father when he lived, so the two people who he might have looked to in hopes to anticipate Ike’s behavior had given him little information.
As Soren is now finding out Ike is distracted, lacking his usual grace and ease of movement, as well as most of his coordination, and he’s sweet – to Soren, at least. Ike had gotten himself into a few harmless squabbles with the others due to his current lack of filter, but thus far he'd only shared with Soren thoughts about whatever caught his attention and devastating questions like the one he'd just made.
He doesn’t want to think about why that might be, doesn't want to take anything that happens during this night for fact when Ike might forget all of it. Who's to say if Ike will agree with his intoxicated self once he’s back to his senses?
Soren is abruptly taken away from his musings when Ike trips over a raised floorboard that he would otherwise never have missed and nearly takes them both to the floor. There must be some truth to the saying that it’s in times of need that one finds their strength, as Soren somehow manages to catch them both before they stumble and keep the candle in his hand by pulling Ike to his side.
The effort leaves him winded, but that's an acceptable price to pay to avoid Ike being hurt or accidentally starting a fire.
“‘m sorry,” Ike says, stumbling away from where he'd ended up pressed against Soren.
“It's alright, just…” Soren breathes out, taking a second to lean against the wall for support before continuing. “Be careful where you step.”
Tomorrow, when he’s sober, Soren will warn Ike not to drink as much if he ever wants to do so again. He vows to keep an eye on Ike himself for good measure. Not that Soren would stop him from drinking if for some reason Ike decides he enjoyed this experience, and admittedly he hasn't been too hard to deal with, but… Soren's sanity would fare better if Ike were at least a little more in control of his limbs.
By the time they make it to the dining hall, Soren has given up entirely on holding Ike’s hand and moved to instead loop an arm around his waist. It’s difficult to walk supporting part of Ike’s weight, but it prevents him from hitting the tables and knocking something down or getting hurt.
Ike, for his part, seems to be enjoying himself. He has that small, content smile on his face that he usually only gives Soren in private, and he’s relaxed against Soren in a way he would usually have refrained from, were he fully in his senses and conscious of Soren’s lacking strength. It’s charming in a way that Soren is undeniably weak against, enough that he knows this is a memory he’ll hold dear – of having Ike, trusting and happy, allowing himself to be led by him.
“You stay here,” he orders, setting the candle at a table and urging Ike to sit down. “I’ll see what I can find for you.”
While plenty of food had been made for their earlier celebration, Soren doesn’t bother looking for leftovers. More often than not, Oscar and Mist were careful not to make more than they could eat even during celebrations so that nothing would be wasted. And besides, even if there were some, he doesn’t think they’d be ideal for the late – or perhaps it’d be better to say early? – hour.
Thus he decides to first set about making tea. That should be suitable for them to wind down before sleep. It’s little trouble to poke the banked embers into waking and feed them some wood to start the fire anew, and thanks to someone having had the foresight to leave some water within easy access, taking some of that to boil is easy enough as well.
With that in place, he sets after something to eat. Or at least he plans to, before Ike’s voice promptly stops him in his tracks.
“Have I told you I like it when you’re like that?” Ike blurts out, soft and a little slurred, but clear in the silence of the dining hall.
Soren looks back at him, not surprised, but no less warmed to find Ike already looking back at him. It wouldn't surprise him if from the moment Soren left him, Ike's eyes hadn't traveled elsewhere at all. The whole night he'd been looking right at him.
“Like what?” he asks, genuinely uncertain.
“Confidence looks handsome on you.”
Suddenly, Soren is glad that he'd stopped his pursuit for food when Ike spoke to him. If he'd been holding anything right now he would surely have dropped it.
“You don't mean that,” he replies, denying reflexively, “you're just drunk.” But Soren knows even as he says it that he's lying to himself.
Ike's expression isn't the easiest to see in the dim light, yet even so, Soren can see the honesty in the soft line of his brows and the slight curl of his lip; can hear the sincerity in his voice. Drunk or not, the Ike staring back at him is an open book for him to see.
“I'll just have to tell you again when I'm sober then.” His voice is taken with that stubborn determination Soren knows so well, as though he's ready to tackle this as seriously as he would a battle.
“You can,” he mutters softly, teasingly, “if you even remember.“
Ike frowns at that, crossing his arms sourly. “Can't you remind me?“
Soren is truly helpless against this man. What is he to do in these circumstances but smile? “Wouldn't that defeat the purpose?”
“Would it?” Ike bites his lip, deeply in thought about this.
There’s no other response Soren can give but the warmth in his cheeks and the fluttering in his chest.
When no other answer comes, Soren leaves Ike to his contemplation, resuming his earlier task of finding him something to eat. Despite losing some time chatting, he's determined to finish his task before the water for the tea has boiled.
His mind remains on Ike's words, running them over and over again. Their effect is just as devastating upon recollection, yet he can't stop thinking about them. Soren doesn't want to put too much weight into anything Ike says tonight, but how else is he supposed to interpret this? What should he do with the knowledge that Ike, at his most thoughtlessly honest, has decided these are the kinds of things he should tell him?
Obvious as the answer to that question seems to be, Soren can’t quite bring himself to hold onto it.
Unlike the woes of his heart, his self imposed task is much easier to deal with. There's unsurprisingly not much to be found in the way of food, given the season. Winter isn't very forgiving when it comes to variety, though he's able to find Ike a small selection to pick from. There’s a slice of bread who had somehow survived their dinner, fruit – a pear from the ones they’d had the foresight to buy unripened, and an apple that doesn’t look as beautiful as it would have in the warmer months but should do for now – cheese, and a couple of nuts from a sack they’ve been given by one of their clients as a show of thanks.
It’s not the most coherent selection, but it’s enough that Ike will find something he’ll enjoy, which is Soren’s true end goal.
Soren settles his findings on the table just as he hears the telltale noise of the water boiling. While it should be an easy matter to then get the tea ready, he’s faced with the unexpected challenge of fending off Ike, who’s suddenly decided he should help. In a way, it isn’t surprising that he would. It’s routine between them to help each other with such things, no matter how little they are, and in Ike’s state, it’s no surprise that he forgot Soren’s earlier request for him to stay put and decided to get up and be helpful.
However, Soren does not want to see how Ike’s current clumsiness fares against fire and boiling water, so their meal is put on halt for a brief interlude while Soren convinces his stubborn companion out of helping.
“Why don’t you set the table?” he suggests, hoping that’ll be enough of a compromise. “I’ll be there soon.”
He waits for Ike’s assent before moving to pull the kettle away from the fireplace and remove it from the fire. Soren had already left the teapot waiting with leaves ready to be steeped, so it’s easy work to pour the water into it now and take it to the table where cups already wait for them. He has no plans to eat, but the tea, at least, he can drink to accompany Ike.
Or so he was planning, although Ike seems to have a different idea, as the moment Soren sits down beside him, he places half a slice of bread covered with cheese in front of Soren.
He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. By all means, he shouldn’t be, as ever since he noticed Soren’s complex relationship with food and tendency to forget to eat when busy with other matters, Ike has taken to sharing snacks with him or sneaking Soren’s favorite things into his plate. Soren doesn’t even know how he noticed his preferences in the first place, but he won’t deny that it helps. Everything tastes better when delivered wrapped in Ike’s care.
Soren feels his entire body soften under Ike's attention, unable to hide its effect on him. He hadn’t expected him to do this now for some reason. Ike has been distracted, and it’d seemed obvious to him that he had no plans to eat. Yet this, Ike didn’t forget.
Poking the slice of bread with his finger, Soren does seriously ask himself if he could eat. He doesn't want to, per se, but he rarely ever feels the need to, so he feels it's fair to consider Ike's suggestion.
It doesn't take long at all for him to ascertain that he truly doesn't want this. “There's no need,” he tells Ike, placing the bread in front of him instead. “The tea is enough for me.”
Ike frowns; it's distractingly close to a pout. “But you should eat.”
“I ate enough at the feast,” he reminds him, as the occasion somehow seems to already have left his mind. “Give me a couple of hours. You can feed me during breakfast.”
“I will,” he promises.
They're sitting so close together that Soren can feel the whisper of Ike's voice tickling his ear. Combined with the warmth from where their arms and legs meet, Soren thinks he could melt. Were it any other situation, he thinks he might have.
Here, he distracts himself by fiddling with the ends of his sleeves, watching the candle slowly melt away.
“You’re always taking good care of me,” Ike continues. It's a beat late, but Soren can tell he's continuing the same thought from before. “I want to take care of you too.”
“I won’t stop you.” He smiles, unable to keep from looking back at Ike.
“Good.” Ike’s nod is serious, but there’s a couple of bread and cheese crumbs stuck around his mouth that end up making him look endearing instead of conveying the solemnity of his words.
Soren ends up laughing despite himself, overcome with fondness as he lifts a hand to wipe down Ike’s face with his sleeve. He holds his face with his other hand, gently directing Ike to stay put so that he can clean everything. His efforts are likely to be undone moments later, but Soren doesn't mind, he can always repeat himself.
There’s something in Ike’s gaze then, an intensity that’s different from the stares he’s been giving Soren all night; fiercer and softer all at once. Soren waits, breath caught in his throat in anticipation for what he’ll say next.
Still, he isn’t ready for when Ike blurts out, “Can I kiss you?”
Four words and all the ease Soren had gained throughout the night disappears. He feels lightheaded, as though all the blood in his body has decided to burn underneath his cheeks. “I-I…!”
Soren’s hands fall from Ike’s face, but they settle on his shoulders, never going too far away. Then he closes his eyes, sure he won’t be able to recover his breath under that heated gaze.
In many ways, they have been walking toward this question for a while now; taking slow and careful steps in this direction. Soren had been hoping it would come, at least. Wistfully holding onto the possibility that they wanted the same thing, that he hadn’t been reading the meanings behind Ike’s words the wrong way.
It stands to reason then that this is a question that, coming from Ike, there was never any answer Soren could give but yes – or at least he had thought.
But when he meets Ike’s eyes again, he can tell, even in the poor lighting, that they’re still not entirely clear, and neither were his words, sincere as they’d been. So in the end, what he stutters out is, “Ask me again in the morning. I’ll give you an answer then.”
“What if I forget?” Ike asks, sounding so genuinely troubled that Soren can’t help but smile again.
“I won’t let you.”
It'll be difficult to bring this up, if Ike forgets. But Soren feels as though he’ll owe it to both of them, to make sure Ike has something of this memory. It’s the first time either of their feelings has been voiced so clearly, he can’t do Ike the disservice of allowing his words to be washed away.
And besides, it’s Ike. Soren has no reason to be afraid. Not when he’s already long since given his heart to him.
“Do you promise?”
“I do.”