Chapter Text
Ike's father gave him a car for his 17th birthday.
Actually, “car” would be incredibly generous. Even a cursory glance told Ike the truck was in rough shape. Half the tires were missing. The paint was rusty. The windshield was cracked in several places. One of the taillights was hanging limply from its proper place. He shuddered to consider the state underneath the hood.
“The Ragnell,” Greil had said. “Once she's fixed up, nothing is as reliable.”
Once she's fixed up. Ike wasn't the best at school, but he knew a test when he was presented with one, and this was nothing less than a final exam. Gathering all the proper parts would require Ike to call and order from multiple manufacturers and shops. Once he found them all, he’d have to install each piece into the truck delicately. Then and only then could he see if the thing would even move.
This was Greil’s way of seeing if Ike was ready to take over the shop.
Ike had sighed. He knew he wouldn't get any help from his dad, let alone Titania and the others. He might be able to order some parts online, but he’d have to go to the library regularly until Greil finally caved and bought a home computer. Well, maybe he could get away with using the shop’s computer. Maybe.
It was the kind of challenge a lesser man might've rejected outright. But Ike was foolhardy, bullheaded, and above all else, determined.
“Reliable, huh?” Ike had answered, cracking his knuckles. “I can work with that.”
It was on the verge of storming when Ike got on the bus after school. Something about rainy weather made Ike think about his mother. The problem was that Ike didn't remember his mother well.
Most of the time, it didn't bother him. He knew that she loved him and that she was loved in return. He got his hair from her, and Mist had her kindness. Sometimes, however, there was a scratch in the back of his mind, making him wonder if there was something else he had forgotten.
Ike got off the bus at the stop closest to the shop. Technically they were supposed to drop students off at their homes, but Kieran, the bus driver, was friends with Oscar, one of the shop’s employees, and knew Ike. Nobody bothered to stop Ike, anyway.
Ike was prepared to troll the internet again, in search of parts for the Ragnell, when he noticed someone sitting on the stack of decorative tires outside the shop. It was a boy around his age, with dark hair pulled into a short ponytail. He wore an emerald green sweater, making him look exceptionally out of place against the grungy exterior of both the store and Ike. He looked up as Ike approached, blood-red eyes softening.
He was the most handsome person Ike had ever seen.
“Can I help-” Ike started before his eyes flicked to the birthmark on the stranger’s forehead. Even in his foggy memory, that distinct shape couldn't be obscured. “Soren?”
“It's been a while, Ike,” the stranger- Soren- answered. He didn't smile, but he stood, sticking out a hand. “How are you?”
Ike didn't hesitate. He took the offered hand and pulled Soren into a hug. His backpack fell onto the pavement. “Holy- Soren! What are you doing here? I haven't seen you since- since…” He stepped away from the hug, still holding Soren. “Ugh. I can't remember. Must've been a while.”
Soren regarded him with something akin to confusion. “Yes. It has been.” He freed himself from Ike’s grip, grabbing the fallen backpack and holding it out to Ike. “I- you must still be in school, then. I had forgotten.”
“Yeah. I’m a junior. Did you graduate already?” Ike took the bag and slung it back over his shoulders.
“... something like that.”
They lapsed into silence- not quite tense, but not entirely amicable, either. The smell of grease and exhaust lingered in the air. Soren looked incredibly out of place among the rust. “Um. Well- hey, did you talk to my dad yet? I think he would be happy to see you.”
Soren nodded. “I’ve spoken with everybody in the shop, save Mist. Is she still at school?”
“Yeah, she had some club or another. She’s pretty active with them.”
“And how about you, Ike?” Soren asked, a vaguely teasing tilt entering his voice. “Are you keeping out of trouble?”
Ike barked out a laugh. “Ha, you could say that. Lemme show you my latest project.” He began walking behind the shop, pausing momentarily to ensure Soren was following. Once he heard footsteps behind him, he resumed. “Check it out. The Ragnell.”
He hadn’t made much progress with the truck. A few parts were ordered, but it would still be some time before delivery. Ike had managed to clean off some of the rust around the hubcaps and fender, at least. It still looked like something that would belong in a museum or a junkyard.
Soren raised an eyebrow. “Calling that a vehicle would be a lie.”
Ike scratched underneath his headband. “Yeah, it’s not a looker. Dad got it for me for my birthday. It’s his way of testing me.”
“Do you want to be tested, though?” Soren questioned.
Ike sucked in his cheek as he thought. “I want to prove to my dad that I can take over the shop when the time comes, yes,” he eventually said. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to do that yet.” He glanced over at Soren. “I guess it’s not that pressing of an issue, though. I just want to do something for myself, even if it was set by someone else. Does that make any sense?”
Soren’s lips played with something that might pass for a smile. “You really haven’t changed much at all, Ike. That’s… very comforting. I hope you don’t mind me saying.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. And it’s good to see you again, too.” Ike beamed at him, cheeks beginning to ache. “I dunno how long you’re gonna be in town, but do you want to come over for dinner sometime? Mist isn’t the best at cooking, but even she can’t mess up spaghetti.” She could mess up the sauce if she decided to make it from scratch. Ike was hoping the excitement of seeing Soren would be enough to discourage her from being too adventurous.
“I plan to be here for a while. I’m just… awaiting verification on my situation,” Soren answered cryptically. Ike wasn’t entirely sure what he was alluding to. Granted, Ike didn’t remember exactly what Soren was like when they were children, but he was never this obtuse. At least not on purpose. If he recalled correctly, Soren was fairly quiet, allowing Ike to dictate their adventures.
“I hope it’s good news,” Ike eventually replied. Soren offered a tight-lipped expression in return.
“Well, somebody is in a good mood,” Heather said the next day at lunch. Her tray smacked against the cafeteria table, sending her apple rolling. Nephenee caught it. “Thanks, sweetie!”
Nephenee predictably blushed, sitting next to Heather. “We’re in public… sugar cube.” The last word was practically whispered. It was an open secret the two were together. As long as they didn’t flirt too obviously, most of the student body and staff were willing to look the other way. After all, Nephenee kept Heather from stealing from the teachers’ pockets in the hallways.
“I guess I am,” Ike admitted, biting into his chicken patty. “An old childhood friend came by to visit yesterday.”
“How old we talkin’?” Nephenee asked, carefully swallowing before speaking.
Ike sipped his milk. “I’m… not sure. After Mist was born, but maybe before middle school?”
“You wear that headband too tight,” Heather teased. “It’s making your brain leak out your ears.”
Nephenee hushed her. “It ain’t right to tease people ‘cause of their brains not workin’! Not that yours don’t work, Ike,” she added hastily.
Ike shrugged. “Nah, my memory isn’t great, I know that. But it’s been a long time. He’s… I feel like he’s changed. He’s so mature now.” Soren was at least a grade above Ike—he remembered that much—but it felt as if there were centuries between them. “And he said I’m the same.”
Heather’s chin dripped with the juice of the apple. The red flesh against her lips made something odd well up in Ike’s memory, like someone kissing his brow. “No offense, but he's just telling the truth. You're exactly as thick-headed as always.” Nephenee didn't bother to refute that. Neither did Ike. “Still, I'm happy for you. If he's got you this perky, he's gotta be a good influence.”
“I gotta agree,” Nephenee said. “It's nice to see ya smile for a change.”
“Hey now, are you saying I don't smile?” Ike joked. The familiarity of his friends’ lighthearted jabs distracted him from whatever memory was threatening to resurface.
Soren was back when Ike got home from school. In fact, he was behind the register, looking over a pile of receipts with Titania. “With a filing system like this,” Soren commented, “I'm surprised you haven't been fleeced more. ”
“Greil will undercharge his services sometimes,” Titania admitted. “If he knows the person is in a rough spot or did him a favor in the past.” Soren’s face puckered.
Ike’s eyes flicked around the auto shop. There was a small waiting area originally, but as Greil hired more people, it was converted into his private office. The garage doors unloaded onto two jacks, with carts scattered about and counters against walls. The register was set up on a kitchen island that Greil had gotten secondhand from a neighbor.
It was pretty lame if Ike was honest, but it was familiar and comforting.
“What’re you doing?” Ike asked, tossing his backpack onto a nearby work counter. It knocked the wrench Gatrie was reaching for to the floor. “Sorry.”
“Reviewing past invoices. If I'm going to be your bookkeeper, I should know what kind of situation I'm handling,” Soren explained.
Ike couldn't resist the grin that followed. “Dad hired you? That’s- huh. You don’t want to go to college? You always seemed the type.”
Soren’s expression contorted even further. “I am… taking a break from my education. Rest assured that I'm more than qualified for this job.” Shinon glared at Soren. Soren and Ike glared back. Titania cough-laughed into her fist.
“He’ll also be staying with me for the time being,” Titania said. “Until things are, ah, settled with Soren’s home life.”
Something itched in the back of Ike’s brain. As if he knew exactly what Soren’s home life was like, in almost painful detail. But any attempts to extract that memory were met with blankness and a splitting headache. Then again, what Ike knew of Soren was limited to their prior friendship. Things had likely changed.
“Still not a fan of having another brat hanging around the shop,” Shinon mumbled. “Mia and Boyd are bad enough.” He may have not said Ike's name, but Ike felt the implicit insult regardless.
“Ah, don't be like that, dude. I know how soft you are around Rolf,” Gatrie teased. Shinon smacked him with a greasy rag.
Greil emerged from the back room. “They aren’t brats, Shinon. They’re looking for an apprenticeship. Hello, son.” Ike nodded at him in acknowledgment. “Soren, I think that’ll be enough for today. You’re free to go.”
“I’m going to go work on the truck some if you want to hang out with me,” Ike said quickly. At his father’s pointed look, he added, “I don’t have much homework.”
Something around Soren’s eyes relaxed at the offer. “Sure. I suppose I should see what I’ll be dealing with regularly, anyway.”
Two weeks had passed and not much had changed. Any attempts at getting Soren to socialize outside of work fell flat. But at work, he was glued to Ike’s side.
The hood of the Ragnell lifted with a worrying creak. Ike sighed. He had just oiled the hinges, but apparently not enough. He pushed the hood prop into place and began inspecting the damage. “Hey, can you hand me a flashlight?”
Soren grabbed one off the cart they had wheeled out next to the truck, offering it to Ike. “I’m afraid you’ll need to explain to me just what you’re doing.”
“Well,” Ike started, darting the flashlight around, “it looks like at least one of the spark plugs needs replacing. Same with the battery. See how it’s warped?”
“Ah. Is it also responsible for that odor?” Sure enough, the scent of rotten eggs wafted through the air and directly into their nostrils. Ike nodded, and Soren returned it in comprehension. “I admit my actual, functional knowledge of cars is limited. The most I’ve done is replace wiper fluid.”
“That’s more than a lot of people can do,” Ike commented with a laugh. “You should see the state people bring their cars in. Especially after they attempted some DIY. Dad says if one more ‘numbskull’ comes in after listening to Car Talk, he’s going to charge them triple.” Soren considered this for a moment, obviously taking it as a serious threat. “I’m pretty sure he’s joking, Soren.”
Soren exhaled. “Well, so much for my plans of financing your college education through morons.”
Ike tried to chuckle at that but couldn’t. He detached the battery and set it on the grass by the tire. “I’m… I’m not sure I want to go to college, honestly,” he said quietly. “Not sure I’m cut out for it.”
“Ike, you’re plenty smart. Don’t sell yourself short,” Soren argued.
“I’m really not,” Ike countered. “And even if I was, I’m not sure what I would go for. I know basically everything I need to know about cars already. What would I study? Psychology? We both know that isn’t what I’m good at.” He took out the damaged spark plug and tossed it aside, far too carelessly. “My future is running the shop.”
Soren didn’t respond for a moment. Eventually, he said, “But is that what you want?”
Ike paused. He looked at his grease-covered fingers and felt the sweat on his brow. Every time he imagined his future, he saw himself working on cars, just like his father. Perhaps not the most glamorous profession, but it suited him. He tried to picture himself as a professor, a paramedic, or a lawyer. Nothing seemed to match his mental image. Yet Soren made him realize that he never anticipated anything but being a mechanic. He didn’t dream of being an astronaut as a kid, or at least he didn’t remember it.
Had he always wanted to inherit the shop? Or was he just resigned to it?
…Ike wasn’t sure. “Pass me a screwdriver,” he said instead.
Mist was a genius.
In her first year of middle school, her teachers had contacted Greil about her skipping a grade. Normally they'd be worried about her being in a different age group, but her older brother was already part of the class. She would adapt quickly.
Greil agreed, but Ike wondered sometimes if it was solely due to the timing. It wasn't terribly long after their mother, Elena, had died, and she was the one who dealt with school-related issues. Maybe he would have agreed regardless. Either way, both siblings began eighth grade the same year- one a year older than their peers, the other a year younger.
Ike supposed he should've felt more awkward about it. He was, admittedly, somewhat self-conscious about being one of the oldest in his class. Mostly from the way his growth spurts left him towering over his classmates. But he held no bitterness or anything over Mist sharing a class or two. Besides, even with the jump, she still stuck to advanced and AP courses.
It was only natural that she had ambitions for college, too.
“Mister Rhys told me about something today,” she said between bites of meatloaf.
“Rhys?” Greil asked.
“The school nurse,” Ike supplied, shoveling in potatoes. “Mist helps Mia and Ilyana go down there a lot.”
Mist nodded. “I’ve picked up a lot of skills from helping them and just generally being in the nurse’s office a lot anyway. Not to mention cleaning up after you, ” she teased, glaring at Ike. Ike just shrugged innocently. “Honestly, between you and Boyd, I wonder if we should just open up a clinic instead of a mechanic.”
Greil snorted in amusement. “Something to consider, although I question the legality of it. But you were saying?”
“Well, he mentioned that there’s this scholarship at a really prestigious nursing school that I might be eligible for. You have to meet a bunch of criteria, like being a first-generation college student and having extracurriculars, but I have almost all of them,” Mist explained.
“Dad went to college,” Ike reminded her. She kicked him under the table. “Hey! What?”
“They mean a university, not a trade school. Not that trade schools aren’t great or anything!” she added sheepishly. Greil smiled lightly as reassurance. “But Rhys said if I truly wanted to be a nurse, I should look into it.”
Greil’s expression turned thoughtful. “And do you want to be a nurse?”
Mist set down her fork. “I like helping people. And I know I’m not as strong as either of you, at least not physically. Ike is the one who’s going to take over the shop, anyway.” Something about the casual decisiveness of Mist’s words made Ike frown. As if it was ordained by some higher power, or a law of the universe that couldn’t be broken, like gravity. “I can save people. I- I think- no, I know I want to be a nurse.”
“Nursing school is hard,” Greil pointed out. “And expensive. You’ll need a scholarship to go anywhere decent, and even then, I’m just not- I don’t want you to not live your dream, Mist. I’m merely thinking of statistics.”
Mist nodded. “I know. And I’m prepared for that. But I’m going to try anyway. That’s… that’s what Mom would’ve said, isn’t it?”
Ike’s forehead throbbed momentarily. “Yeah, it does sound like her. But it also sounds like Dad. You’re both stubborn.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” Mist snarked. Ike returned her kick from earlier. “Anyway, I’ll look more into the scholarship. It’s for the nursing school at Begnion University, so it’s not that far away.”
“Still further than I’d expected of you. And that’s a highly… well, it’s what people have called an ‘old-money’ school,” Greil said carefully. “You’d be a bit of an outlier.”
“I don’t care,” Mist declared. “If they look down on me because I’m not rich, then they’re not worth my time anyway.”
Greil smiled at her and stood up to refill his glass. Ike studied his broccoli. His future was nowhere near as open as Mist’s. He wouldn’t be given the same opportunities as her, he simply didn’t have the same aptitude for academics. The thought of his future in general made him wildly uncomfortable, almost nauseous, so he picked up his fork and stuffed his mouth to settle his stomach.
The boy didn’t have any food- that was the first thing Ike noticed. Then he saw the boy’s red eyes. “Hi! I’m Ike! What’s your name?” he asked, sitting down across from the stranger.
The boy shivered. “O-oh… Soren…” he mumbled.
“That’s a cool name! Aren’t you hungry?”
“N-no, I’m fine. Besides, my mother forgot to pack me lunch, but it’s fine,” Soren insisted.
Ike frowned. “Do you have any money for the cafeteria?” Soren shook his head. “Here. Have some of mine.” Ike dug through his lunchbox and pulled out his sandwich. He offered half to Soren. “It’s turkey!”
“What? N-no, I couldn’t. Then you’d be hungry, too.”
Ike shrugged. “I’m always hungry; it’s nothing new. Go on, take it!” Smaller fingers brushed Ike’s as Soren took the sandwich. He grinned widely, satisfied. Soren’s smile was smaller but no less grateful.
Ike woke up with a groan. His dreams had been exceptionally odd lately… but that hadn’t felt like a dream. A memory. “Was that when I met…” he mumbled to himself. He threw on a hoodie and went downstairs, some vague idea of food in his mind. Voices were coming from the living room, but they didn’t sound as if they were from the TV. “Mist?”
“I’m here!” Mist called back. She was sitting on the couch, holding the hand of someone opposite her. “Morning, sleepyhead,” she teased.
“You weren’t lying about him not being a morning person, then,” the stranger said, and Ike immediately recognized it as Soren’s. As grogginess faded, he took in the full sight before him. Mist was painting Soren’s nails. “Hello, Ike.”
“Uh, hey,” Ike said, still trying to process his vision. “Um. That’s a good color for you.” Mist had chosen a pale green, almost cactus-esque in hue. Soren smiled slightly. “Wait. What are you doing here?”
“Dad’s shoulder is acting up, Oscar had to stay home because Rolf is sick, and Titania has a dentist’s appointment,” Mist explained, applying another coat to Soren’s thumb. “Titania just dropped him off here on her way over.”
Soren sighed. “I think she had an idea that I would go to the shop anyway and work alone,” he said grumpily. “I’m not so focused as to ignore an order from my manager.”
“No, but you are stubborn enough,” Ike sniped back. Soren glared at him. He ignored it and wandered to the kitchen, digging a bagel from the pantry. The television program switched over and Rod Roddy began introducing The Price is Right. Was it that late already? Ike grabbed some peanut butter to put on the bagel- at this point, he might as well make a sandwich.
“Aaaand… done! You’ll need to let them dry for a while before you do anything or you’ll ruin them,” Mist announced. She must’ve finished.
“I understand. Ah… thank you, Mist,” Soren said, sounding somewhat uncomfortable. “I appreciate you doing this for me.”
Mist hummed. The contestants on TV placed their bids on a game console. “You have such soft hands! And I bet your hair is soft, too…” she added in a teasing lilt. “Oh, won’t you please let me braid it?”
The knife Ike had pulled from the drawer clattered against the linoleum floor. “Ike? Are you okay?” Soren called immediately.
“F-fine,” Ike choked out, retrieving the fallen utensil. “Still- still waking up, I guess.” What was it about the idea of Soren in a braid that got him all worked up? The bagel finished toasting, snapping him back to attention. Right, food.
Mist giggled about something. “So will you let me? Pleeeeease?” she begged.
“Please don’t touch my hair,” Soren snapped back, sounding angrier and almost concerned than Ike had ever heard him. “I-I appreciate the offer, but I would prefer you didn’t.”
“Oh, alright,” Mist acquiesced. Ike entered the living room again, sandwich in hand, and saw her disappointment.
Soren ran a hand down his face. “It’s not you, Mist,” he reassured her. Mist scolded him for moving his hand while the polish was still drying. He placed it back on his lap dutifully. “It’s a personal matter. Nothing you did.”
“You can talk about it,” Ike said. “If you want. I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”
Soren considered it for a moment before shaking his head. “One day, I will. But not right now.” The television audience began cheering as Bob Barker revealed the contestant would be playing Plinko. Mist still looked despondent. “...I’ll let you paint my toes if it would cheer you up,” he said quietly.
Ike found watching the two of them more entertaining than the broadcast.
It took another week before Soren brought it up again. In truth, Ike had mostly forgotten, too focused on fixing the car and his grades as the end of the school year approached. He had stopped by Titania’s place to drop off leftovers Oscar had brought in earlier. She was awfully partial to his chicken pot pie, and Ike couldn’t blame her. Oscar knew his way around a crust.
Soren was there, naturally, reading a book in the living room. Ike could see that he had carved out a place for himself on the couch. A popup drying rack had become a makeshift closet of sorts, holding some of Soren’s sweaters and pants. A few books he knew Titania would never read and a hairbrush was on the bookcase. It was all very orderly despite being impromptu. It was very Soren, for lack of a better term. “Oh, Ike. Do you have a moment?”
Ike popped the container into the fridge and sat down on the couch next to Soren. “Always. What’s up?”
Soren shut his book, marking his spot deliberately. “I can explain about the hair. If you’re still interested.”
It took Ike a moment to remember what Soren was referring to. “Oh, yeah, Mist braiding it. Look, it’s not really a big deal. If it makes you uncomfortable-”
Soren shook his head. “No. I-I think it would do me some good to speak on it. The short version is that I was forced to cut it. Or rather, someone cut it forcefully.”
“...that really sucks,” Ike said, not entirely sure what else to say. “Did they hurt you?”
“Physically? No. Emotionally? My guess is yes. The school my father sent me to had a very strict dress code. Several regulations. If it wasn’t the hair that scarred me, it would be… everything else.”
Ike watched Soren’s hair flutter as he breathed. He looked exceptionally good with longer hair, Ike decided. It didn’t make him look less masculine. The curve of his jaw and the shape of his eyes gave him an almost otherworldly appearance. He tried to imagine Soren with short hair, neck exposed and edges jagged but found it difficult to conceptualize. “Why would they do something like that?”
Soren huffed. “In hopes of making people conform to their standards. Very Eurocentric standards, I might add. I recall slurping once while eating soup and being disciplined for that. Nothing particularly harsh, but they couldn’t seem to understand I meant it as a compliment.”
“They talked about something like this in school once, I think,” Ike said. “I mean, it was with Native Americans, but the hair and boarding school thing… they still do that?”
“You’re incredibly naive if you believe that systemic issues like that are only for history classes,” Soren replied coldly.
“Ike, am I ugly?”
“Huh? Why would you ask that?”
“My father says I look too much like my mother. With squinty eyes and the long hair and the birthmark… he thinks I’m ugly,” Soren whispered, hugging his knees to his chest.
Ike scrunched his nose and shook his head. “You look like Soren to me. And Soren looks perfect.” Soren squealed and tried to disagree, but Ike stood firm. “I like how you look. You look… handsome. Yeah, handsome!”
“...thank you, Ike. You look handsome, too.”
Ike threw an arm around Soren’s shoulder, pulling him flush against his side. Soren made an indignant noise but didn’t fight the embrace. “Maybe I am a bit naive,” he admitted, “but it’s still stupid either way. You can have whatever length hair you want. Slurp your soup. Do whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”
Soren sighed, laying his head on Ike’s shoulder. “I wish… your way of seeing things is very unique, Ike. I mean that kindly.”
They sat like that, curled up on Titania’s couch, for a while longer. Ike wondered if he should mention that he still found Soren handsome but decided the moment was fraught enough. Sometimes, the silence was more palatable.
Greil had wanted Ike to not go on this job, but Ike had strong-armed his way into it. Or, as Soren put it, “coerced” himself into being assigned. Greil did relent, but only if Ike brought Gatrie and Soren along with him.
“Please don’t flirt with Nephenee,” Ike demanded as they turned down the road towards the farm.
Gatrie scoffed. “Isn’t she in your grade? I’m not gonna flirt with a kid.”
Ike wanted to object at that—Nephenee wasn’t a kid, and neither was he, by extension—but saved his breath. They pulled up in the driveway in front of an old barn. Nephenee and her father were there, waiting for them.
“Whew! Alright, what’s the problem?” Gatrie asked as they got out of the tow truck.
Nephenee’s father began speaking with Gatrie, leaving Ike to greet Nephenee. She smiled at him and nodded towards Soren. “So that’s him, then? I’m Nephenee. Nice to meet ya.”
Soren nodded back, not extending a hand. “Soren. Ike has mentioned you a few times.”
“And Ike hasn’t shut up about you,” a new voice said, emerging from the barn. “Oh my, he is cute. Not really my type, though.”
“Heather? Why are you- what do you mean, ‘cute?’” Ike stammered, trying not to blush. Soren let out an indignant scoff.
Heather giggled. “Officially, I’m here as a farmhand, because I still need money for my mom, and the fuzz say if I get one more citation, it’s off to juvie. Unofficially, though, well…” She winked and tilted her head towards Nephenee.
Soren crossed his arms and looked Heather over. “Ike has mentioned you, too. And your numerous… exploits.”
Heather laughed, blonde hair glinting in the morning sun. “And he’s direct! Ike, you found a keeper.” Ike wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but Soren had turned his face away, muttering something under his breath.
“Yo, Ike! Grab the jumper cables?” Gatrie called. Ike nodded and grabbed them from the toolbox in the truck. “Hopefully that’ll be enough to get it going,” Gatrie said as he attached them to the farmer’s truck. Ike followed suit, hooking them up to the spare battery they had brought. On Gatrie’s signal, Nephenee’s father turned the key. A spark of life, but not enough for movement. “Damn. Alright, let’s get a better look. Hopefully, we won’t have to take it back to the shop.”
“Losing a truck must be extremely detrimental to a farm,” Soren observed. “Traversal and harvest could be next to impossible.”
Nephenee shrugged. “It ain’t great, but it’s not as bad as you think. Brom already said we can borrow one of the beds for the tractor- Meg might already be on her way over. And we still got Alfonse and Shareena. Not as fast, but reliable.”
Soren looked at her quizzically. “Alfonse and Shareena?”
“Their horses,” Ike supplied. “You still have them? Gosh, I remember when they were foals.”
Heather swung an arm over Ike’s shoulder. “I just finished brushing their manes if you wanna see them,” she teased . Ike glanced over at Soren, raising an eyebrow. Soren offered a noncommittal noise in return.
“Ah, go ahead. But this is why Greil won’t send you on jobs alone, Ike, you keep getting distracted!” Gatrie goaded . Ike huffed through his nose but followed Nephenee and Heather inside the barn. Soren’s footsteps echoed his own.
“Where are the horses, then?” Soren asked as they crossed beneath the hayloft. Straw and gravel crackled under their feet. To the left, Ike saw a couple of goats munching on some feed. The right housed a flock of chickens—all hens, as far as he could tell.
Nephenee chuckled. “You’re a bit of a city slicker, huh? Horses ain’t kept in the barn, they’re in the stable. Just so happens the stable is attached. Through here.” She led them through a side door between the goat pen and storage. It opened up to reveal two enclosures, side by side, each containing a single horse. “The larger one is Alfonse. He’s a bit prickly to new folks, but he’s a sweetie. Shareena loves everybody.”
Ike walked up to Shareena, petting her muzzle. “Hey there, girl. Sorry, don’t have anything for you,” he said softly. Shareena whinied softly in response. “Yeah, I’ll remember next time.”
“First time you’ll do that,” Heather mocked , climbing over the fence into Alfonse’s stall. “Yeah, yeah, big guy, but I left the brush in here.” She grabbed it and swung her leg over the fence, gracefully sliding to the ground. “See? No harm done.”
“What do you think?” Nephenee asked, turning to look at Soren. She frowned, and Ike followed her gaze. Soren had backed up by the wall, cheeks gaunt. “Are you… there ain’t nothin’ to be ‘fraid of,” she tried to reassure him.
Soren balked. “They’re so… large. Are all horses that large?”
Heather grinned mischievously. “Actually, Alfonse here is on the small end for a stallion! Some are at least a good foot on him!” Soren grew impossibly paler. Nephenee swatted her, scolding her quietly.
Ike put a hand on Soren’s shoulder gently. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were afraid of horses.”
“I’m not afraid,” Soren insisted. “I’ve just… never seen one in person before.”
“Wow, you are a city slicker. Don’t know anybody ‘round here that hasn’t at least milked a cow before.”
“I was born here,” Soren countered, raising his chin in defiance. “My father… he thought such things beneath me.” Realizing what he said, he lowered his face, looking to the side surreptitiously. “I’m not sure farm life is for me, but I do respect it. You do hard work that does not go unappreciated.”
Nephenee’s expression softened. “You’re sweet, Soren.” Soren blinked and turned red, obviously not expecting such a compliment. “And you!” She turned towards Heather, who had moved into Shareena’s stall. “You were gonna try to force Soren to ride!”
“What? Noooo, no way,” Heather fibbed, doing her best to look innocent. Heather never looked truly innocent, in Ike’s opinion, but this was as guilty as he’d ever seen her.
“We should go help Gatrie,” Ike said, leaving Nephenee to berate Heather. “If he’s not finished by now.”
The right corner of Soren’s lip quirked up. “I doubt it. But I concur. Let’s do what we were hired to do.”
It was the first time Soren had seen the interior of the Ragnell, Ike realized. It was, thankfully, in a less deplorable state than the outside. Aside from some of the detailing on the seats being missing, everything was intact. Mist would likely be able to patch up the seats, too.
Ike wiggled the key, grinning at how it reflected the light off the rearview mirror. “You ready?”
Soren shrugged. Even though they had no intention of going anywhere, he had still put on his seatbelt. “At your leisure.”
Ike stuck the key into the ignition, turning it carefully. The car roared, sputtered, and silenced. Any further attempts at starting the ignition were met with failure. Ike threw his head down with a groan. A loud honk startled him upright.
“Well,” Soren said, “at least we know the horn works.” Ike glared at him and flipped him off. Soren just chuckled. “In all seriousness, do you recognize what that sound means?”
“I think, and it’s not good. Here, turn the key again on my signal,” Ike requested, opening the door.
“Is it really safe to have the engine exposed while running the car?” Soren asked. In all honesty, probably not, but Ike wasn’t sure of a better way to determine what exactly was wrong.
Ike lifted the hood and gestured to Soren, who obliged and turned the key. Without digging further, Ike could tell that it wasn’t the engine itself that was shot. Rather, it seemed that the transmission was faulty in some way. Easier to fix overall than replacing the whole engine but still costly and time-consuming. Ordering the right parts alone would take weeks. He slammed the hood back down in frustration.
Soren exited the Ragnell and stood next to Ike. “It may be a setback, but it doesn’t mean you have to stall entirely. Use this as an opportunity to fix the paint job, for example. I highly doubt you want to drive it around in this condition.” He scraped along the windshield with his nail. A line of rust twinkled off.
“Yeah, you’re right. How’d you get so level-headed?”
“I… I had a lot of experience. Getting overly emotional proved… debilitating, for me,” Soren said awkwardly.
“Why are you so quiet, Soren?”
Soren bit his lower lip before scrunching his whole face in disappointment. “My father doesn’t like it when I raise my voice or… make noise at all, really. I’m not supposed to speak unless spoken to, first. And he… prefers actions to words.”
Ike frowned. “So do I, but that doesn’t mean I don’t talk. What about your mom?”
“She lets me talk freely when it’s just us, but that doesn’t happen very often. My father…” Soren opened his mouth, trying to find the right words to say, but failing. Or perhaps he knew what to say, just not if he should.
Either way, Ike wished he could find Soren a stronger, more confident voice.
“Well, you don’t have to hide your emotions around me,” Ike declared, offering what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Speak your mind and be honest with me. I think that’s the best way of doing anything.”
Soren nodded, smiling back, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know, Ike. I appreciate that.”
Greil made most of his purchases for the shop through catalogs. Mist had tried to show him how to use online marketplaces a few times;, but she was easily the most technologically adept in the Howel family. That said, sometimes emergencies would crop up—not just for the store, but for their daily life, too. In those scenarios, Ike was the designated errand boy, by virtue of having a license but not being a paid employee.
It sucked working for your family sometimes.
At least, on this occasion, Soren had opted to join him. He needed to familiarize himself with the town more, or at least that was his excuse. Ike figured it was more to get away from Shinnon’s hangover for a few minutes. “It’s really not gonna be much to look at it,” Ike warned Soren as they got into the car.
Soren shrugged. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
The closest corner store used to be an honest-to-God general store at one point, or at least Ike guessed it was. The kind seen in the old Western movies Greil favored. Soren regarded it warily as they pulled into the tiny parking lot. “Yeah, it’s probably not as fancy as those shops they have over in Daein,” Ike admitted.
“No, it’s not that,” Soren said. “I’m just surprised you can get everything on that list without having to go to some big-box store.”
Ike chuckled. “The closest one of those is at least a forty-minute drive. Nah, they have what we need.”
They both got out of the car without further discussion. Once inside, Ike made a beeline for the health and beauty aisle, grabbing Mist’s preferred brand of tampons before hightailing it out. He wasn’t self-conscious about getting stuff for her but would rather avoid having Heather randomly appear and tease him about it.
He found Soren comparing brands of wiper fluid before choosing the larger bottle. “More expensive, but paying more now will save us in the long run,” he explained. Ike shrugged. “What else?”
They located everything else without issue. Soren raised his eyebrow at the snack cakes Ike tossed in their basket but made no argument. It wasn’t until they approached the register that things turned sour. “Ikey-poo! I wasn’t expecting to see you again until school started up!”
Ike paled. “Oh, uh, hi, Aimee. I forgot your parents owned this store,” he said quickly. Soren looked at Ike, somewhat bemused. He mouthed “Ikey-poo?” with incredulous disbelief. Ike elbowed him.
“Aw, I’m hurt! I thought we knew each other better than that,” Aimee replied, taking the basket. “Oh, did you think about what I said about joining the football team? I think you’d be a great quarterback.”
Ike had zero interest in football. He didn’t even watch it with his father and Mist. “I’m still debating it,” he said instead.
Aimee looked put out. “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll put in a good word for you. I’m a shoo-in for head cheerleader.” She continued chatting as she rang up each item, before pausing. “Are these… tampons? Ikey, are you seeing someone?”
“They’re for his sister,” Soren snapped. Aimee looked at him as if she was just noticing him for the first time. “And actually, that brand is having a sale, according to the flier in the window. Yet I notice you’ve punched in the normal price. That kind of false advertising isn’t very appealing to the average consumer.” Ike watched in awe as Soren dismantled the store’s pricing system, particularly the markup on automotive supplies. “I may just bring up selling oil and similar products to Titania. I’m sure we could turn a profit without shortchanging our customers.”
Aimee blinked. “Oooo-kayyy, I’ll talk to my dad about it. And I’ll give you the sale price, whatever. Your total is $12.62,” she said flatly.
They left in the same silence they had entered. Once Ike was behind the wheel, he beamed at Soren. “Holy crap. That was amazing! Where did you learn to do that?”
“Stores in Daein think they can charge more for their products because of the area, even if they’re at a lower quality than in other cities,” Soren explained. “Haggling is an art that I fear may be dying.”
“Remind me to bring you next time we go shopping. I’ve never gotten Aimee to shut up like that.”
“Alright, everybody, eat up!” Titania declared, placing the greasy bag on Soren's desk. Ike immediately descended on the bounty, pulling two tacos and a handful of sauce packets out. “Oi, there's only enough for one per person!”
It was rare that Greil would treat his employees to lunch. If there was provided food, it was whatever leftovers Oscar had that Boyd and Rolf had rejected. A generous tip from an out-of-town businessman, however, gave Greil the incentive to splurge.
“He can have mine,” Soren said, vacating the desk as a salivating Gatrie and Boyd approached. “I don't care for this basta-” He paused as he eyed Rolf and Oscar’s foul expression. “-this Americanization of Mexican food.”
Ike had already poured two packets of hot sauce on his first taco and was partway through tearing open a third with his teeth. “Whaddya mean?” he said around a mouthful of plastic.
“Taco Bell is a more watered-down version of actual Mexican cuisine. That's true for all fast food, but these barely resemble actual tacos. And if you want spice,” Soren added, “there are better countries to eat food from.”
“Spicy stuff makes me sneeze,” Rolf said. As if on command, his nose twitched as his burrito was removed from its wrapper.
Soren ignored him. “Indian food is known for a high spice level, for instance. And there's wasabi, but that's more… more potent than actually spicy.”
Titania nodded. “I've tried wasabi, it's quite intense. Unfortunately, this area is lacking in more diverse culinary options. Taco Bell and a single Chinese place are all we have.”
“I've noticed,” Soren answered dryly. He sighed. “Perhaps you'll one day find a dish too spicy for even you, Ike.”
“Ha! Doubt it,” Boyd said. “Have you seen what he puts hot sauce on? I’ve seen him put it on PopTarts!”
Every pair of eyes in the shop turned to face Ike, who swallowed his mouthful with sudden urgency. “Um.”
Oscar seemed the most offended. “Ike, is my brother telling the truth?”
“Alright, listen, Mist had dared me and it kinda worked? The spicy mixed with the sweetness was tasty! And I haven’t done it since, so please stop staring at me as if I’ve committed a war crime,” Ike begged.
“What flavor was it?” Oscar asked, voice icy beneath his friendly veneer.
“...wild berry.”
Gatrie stuck his finger down his throat in a mock gag. Rolf was even less subtle, dry-heaving into the empty paper bag. Titania looked about ready to murder him for culinary catastrophes. Only Soren seemed nonplussed, if mildly disgusted. “Actually… some hot sauces are made with berries. Some curries include berries as ingredients. My uncle would send me recipes from his travels. I rarely had a chance to try them, but yes, spice and berries can go together.” Ike exhaled in relief. “ That said… PopTarts? Really?” Soren looked downright murderous. It was clear that any appetite he might’ve had vanished during Ike’s explanation.
At least during all the commotion of people berating him, Ike could take most of the chips from the bag.
The Ragnell was still in rough shape.
Ike had poured his time, sweat, and tears into this truck, and it still felt no closer to actually being road-legal. Parts were rusting off. The engine would work for a few miles before puttering out. The seatbelts wouldn’t stay buckled in if the car was jostled suddenly, which was especially worrying. Not even Greil had heard of anything like that happening before.
Soren watched as Ike laid down in the Ragnell’s truckbed, the only part of the vehicle he fully trusted. Multiple people had clambered all over the bed, including Mia, who reenacted her version of “Ten Little Monkeys.” If it survived that, then it could survive Ike’s weight. “You can come up, too,” he called.
With much trepidation, Soren followed, lowering himself next to Ike. “I’m not an optimist like Mist, but I’m not a pessimist like you,” Ike said, apropos of nothing. “I’m in the middle. But I still feel like this is kinda pointless.”
“You’ve had setbacks, true,” Soren agreed. “But you’ve also made great strides since I joined the shop. I think you can do it.”
“You? Offering encouragement? Check that I’m not running a fever,” he replied sarcastically. Soren let out a disgruntled huff. “...you know, I used to do wrestling. They had a club after school. Wasn’t really official, mostly a way for kids to get some energy out, but it was fun. I had wanted to do karate, but that costs money, and there’s no dojo around here.”
“I know you used to wrestle. You tried to get me to join on several occasions. You weren't successful,” Soren said. “It's alright if you don't remember. But why did you quit?”
Ike swallowed thickly, trying to make sense of the clouds above. “Mom died. With her gone, Dad had to do a lot for Mist and me, and I had to start helping out at the store. Once I was older, obviously. But it… it was really the only thing I had. All the other kids had things, except me.”
Soren did not respond. He looked upwards, even as Ike turned his head towards him. “My father did not allow me any extracurriculars, either. Even though I was at a boarding school, he would find out. It didn't help that many students didn't want to be associated with me.”
“Why?”
“Oh, all the usual reasons children are mean. My ‘dirty’ blood, my birthmark making me ugly, being weak and frail.” Soren made air quotes around “dirty,” but it still frustrated Ike.
He sat up abruptly, grabbing Soren's hand without thinking. “Your blood isn't dirty. Promise me you know that. You're really awesome, Soren. No matter who your parents are.”
Soren looked up at Ike, mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide. “I- I know. As long as you promise me you aren't worthless because you don't have a club to participate in.” He lifted himself upright too, still holding Ike’s hand. “You have made great progress on the truck in a short amount of time. And you’ve done so largely at your own expense, while still passing school. Not many can claim that. You may only have cars, but that's not a skill everybody has. It's yours. ”
“How come I never see you at any clubs, Soren?” Ike narrowly avoided falling off the fallen log he was trying to balance on.
“My father thinks that joining a club would distract me from my studies,” Soren said. “Stop that, you're going to hurt yourself!”
Ike rolled his eyes. “Going to a club or sport or something one time a week isn't gonna make you stupid. You're too smart for that.” As Soren predicted, Ike stumbled but managed to catch himself in time.
“...I don't know what club I would join. I really don't have many interests outside of reading,” Soren confessed.
“Then don't worry about it! Heck, let's make our own club. The Ike and Soren Club! Just for us. Nobody will know,” Ike said.
Soren laughed. “Isn't the point of a club to let people know you're in it?”
“Who cares? Being in a club or doin’ a sport shouldn't be your whole person-ility.”
“It's ‘personality’,” Soren gently corrected, but nodded. “Alright. A club, just for us.”
It was the most Ike had ever heard Soren speak in one sitting. Bewildered, he said “Alright,” barely recognizing his own voice. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his thumb over the back of Soren’s hand. “Same for you, though.”
Soren squeezed Ike's hand in return. “I agree.”
They sat there in silence, hands still intertwined until Shinon yelled at them to get back to work.
Mia was an odd case of not necessarily being friends with either Mist or Ike, but still being very close to both of them. It was Mist who would accompany her to the nurse’s office whenever she got into a fight (or had some other accident). Ike was who she followed around at the store when she was free, asking questions and calling him “boss.” Ike had tried to explain that it was Greil who was in charge, and if she wanted an apprenticeship, she should see him. She would just laugh and say “Sure thing, boss!”
Ike sometimes cursed that her house was so close to the shop, but at least she helped out.
Regardless, when she opened the garage door and hefted it up, Ike tried not to groan. “It’s slow, Mia,” he called out to her. “You don’t have to work today.”
“Wasn’t planning on it!” she replied cheerfully, ducking under the door and letting it fall down with a mighty slam. Soren winced. “I have Ilyana over and I have a new game, but you can play with four people so I thought you and Mist might wanna join us!”
“Mist isn’t here,” Ike said. She and Boyd had gone to see some Disney movie about dragons or the Huns or something. It felt uncomfortably like a date to Ike, but if Greil was alright with it, Ike figured he had to be, too.
Mia grinned. “Then he can come!” she said, pointing to Soren.
Soren frowned. “A… board game? Couldn’t you get one of your family members to help?”
“It’s not a board game, stupid,” Mia answered affectionately. “It’s a video game!”
Soren didn’t smile, but his frown softened. “Ah. I’ve… never played a video game, actually.”
“Then we’re going to introduce you today.” Ike wasn’t much of a gamer himself, but he and Mist shared a GameBoy as kids, and he spent enough quarters on Pac-Man to know the basics. “Lemme go tell Titania, and we’ll be over soon.”
Titania let them go without incident, telling them to “go enjoy being kids.” Soren obviously wanted to reply that they were both adults at this point, but Ike had dragged him away before he could say anything.
Mia’s house was one of the larger ones in town. Her family, as far as Ike knew, were originally from Daein, so they had far more wealth than most people in Crimea. Mia was constantly trying new sports and activities, often ones that Ike couldn’t dream of affording. He certainly didn’t know anybody else who actually owned a fencing foil, for one thing.
Yet Mia was exceptionally humble. She genuinely wanted to be a mechanic, or at least put up the front of it. Soren, when he was feeling especially caustic, would imply she was just trying to find some company with her parents so distant. Something about how he phrased it, how certain he was about it, made Ike believe he was talking from experience.
The door to Mia’s house was unlocked, but Soren was careful to lock it behind them. Mia’s voice beckoned them from the living room. There, she and Ilyana- another one of Mist’s friends, though Ike knew her well enough- were sitting in front of the TV. “You’ve played on the 64, right, Ike?”
“Yeah, I came over when you got that racing game last year,” he reminded her, grabbing the third controller. “Take a seat, Soren. Oh, right, Soren, this is Ilyana.”
“Hi,” Ilyana said. “Did you bring snacks?” Mia snickered and handed her a bag of chips. “Oh, perfect!”
Soren didn’t answer. He was too busy studying the controller. “Why was it… Why is this pad in the middle? And the extra prong? It looks… uncomfortable.”
“Only when you play Mario Party and have to use the palm of your hand!” Mia chirped. “So this game is called Smash Brothers! You pick a character and try to deal damage to another character, and beat them up, and make them fall off the stage. And there are items and stuff and you’ll figure it out,” she said quickly. “I call dibs on Link! If I were in a fantasy setting, I would totally have a sword.”
Ike could see it without thinking too hard. “I guess… I’ll take Donkey Kong,” he decided, selecting his character.
Ilyana moved her cursor over Kirby without comment. Ike still had to suppress a snort.
“I… who are these people? How do you move it?” Soren complained, tapping every button on his controller.
Ike and Mia did their best to coach Soren over the controllers, but Soren still seemed extremely out of his element. At Mia’s suggestion, he ultimately selected Mario. “He’s sort of the easiest character to use. You’ll figure it out.”
“I remain skeptical,” Soren said as the round began.
While Mia was enthusiastic about games, she wasn’t necessarily good at them. Or, at the very least, she wasn’t very good at this game. No, it was Ilyana who was currently kicking everybody’s asses, swallowing them and copying their abilities with little problem. Soren, meanwhile…
It was honestly pathetic.
Even by complete newcomer standards, Soren was woefully inept. He took several seconds to figure out how to walk, and nearly a minute before he threw a single attack. Ilyana, rather ruthlessly, was using him as a glorified punching bag. Once Soren seemed to get a handle on the controls enough to counter-attack, his first stock was eliminated. “Where did I go?” he asked, searching the screen.
“On that floating platform up there!” Mia yelled over her special attack. “You have two more stocks!”
“I think you just have to move to get back on the stage,” Ike explained. Soren wiggled the joystick and Mario landed in front of Donkey Kong. “Sorry about this,” he said, charging up a devastating punch. It didn’t send Mario flying- his health was still too low- but it was enough to get Soren to pinch him. “Hey! It’s just a game.”
Soren scowled. “You could've at least let me get my bearings.”
“Hey, Mia, is there a way to do team battles?” Ike asked, barely avoiding a green shell Kirby had thrown.
“Yeah! I think- shit!- I think it would make sense for me and you to go against Ilyana and Soren. Give them a fighting chance!”
“I'm fine with that,” Ilyana said, mercilessly stunlocking a helpless Soren. Soren just grunted, but Ike could tell he wasn't opposed.
They finished the round with Ilyana dominating by a landslide. Mia backed them to the main menu, setting up a team-based match with items turned off. “I think the items are making it a bit too chaotic. We can turn them back on, though.” Ike nodded. He didn’t entirely know what all the items did, anyway.
Mia changed her character to Pikachu, so Ike took the chance to play as Link. Both Ilyana and Soren stayed with their original choices. A stage was picked, something that looked like a castle, and the match began.
There was an immediate difference in how the battle played out. Without the randomness of items or the free-for-all nature, Soren seemed a bit less overwhelmed. Mia, too, seemed to have a greater focus on targeting Soren in particular. That left Ike to deal with Ilyana. Ike, thankfully, had more range than Donkey Kong, keeping her from swallowing his character.
Ike was so intent on keeping Kirby at bay that he didn’t notice the edge of the stage, prompting him to fall off. There was a snort to his left, and he turned to see Soren… laughing. Raw, unbridled, pure laughter.
Something in Soren’s closed eyes, wanton amusement, and the way the setting summer sun filtered through his hair caused Ike’s breath to vanish. His throat tightened. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and touch Soren’s cheek, to hold him, to-
“IKE! Pay attention, we’re losing! ” Mia yelled, snapping him out of his trance.
“R-right, sorry,” he mumbled, turning back to the television. Soren was still smiling, finally enjoying the game, or at least winning it. It took every ounce of self-control Ike had to focus on the battle, not Soren. Even after he and Mia definitively lost, his heart was still pounding as if he had been in the battle himself.
Ike didn’t know why Soren was having this effect on him. He’d never been so… caught off-guard by a smile before. It left with so many questions, none of which he wanted to voice, at least not yet.
All he knew for certain, as his final high school summer began to wane, was that he wanted to see Soren smile more.
END PART ONE.