Chapter Text
“I’m about to marry a complete stranger.”
Married at First Sight has arrived in Melior, Crimea, where we matched ten brave singles to be married—without ever meeting each other.
“I understand my situation is a little unusual, with my having custody of my youngest brother,” Oscar said, smiling. “So I would ideally like someone who is eager to take on a challenge. Someone with a lot of determination, the kind of person who can weather a storm. It wouldn’t hurt if they had a lot of energy. Both of my brothers can be a handful.”
“You know we can hear you, right?” Boyd yelled from the kitchen.
“I’m ready to take on any challenge!”
“That’s very admirable,” Sephiran said.
“Of course!” Kieran said, slapping a hand on his knee. “It matters not what vile tortures fate has devised to challenge my marriage! I am bold, steadfast, and strong! I care not if they pull out my nails with tongs—”
“That’s very unlikely,” Sephiran attempted to cut it, but it didn’t matter. Kieran was still talking.
“Or insert pins into the soft flesh of my underbelly or yank—”
“We’ll just say you’re prepared for any challenge and leave it at that.”
“My ideal man would be the strong, tall, handsome type,” Aimee said, her red lips curved up in a smile. “I want someone who will protect me, who will whisk me off my feet and treat me like the rose that I am.” She paused, tilting her head to the side. “And it doesn’t hurt if he’s rich.”
“I don’t like to brag, but I’m a pretty big deal,” Jarod said, smirking. “I mean, look at me, I’m a catch. I’m in great shape, I work out, and this is my original hairline. Wait, are you writing that down?”
“Just taking a few notes,” Sigrun said, flipping the page over before he could see the word hairline circled with a question mark.
Jarod squinted at her until she gestured for him to continue.
“I had a great career in the Begnion military,” Jarod continued. “And that inquest went nowhere. Any woman would be lucky to have me.”
“I noticed you said “had.” And may I ask what it is you currently do?” Sigrun said, pleasantly.
A muscle ticked in Jarod’s jaw.
“I’m junior salesman of the month,” he said, “at Lucky Lekain’s Auto Mall and Used Car Emporium.”
“My assistant, Ranulf, tells me that I would need a very patient partner,” Skrimir said, his arms crossed over his chest. “I am not sure what he thinks he was implying. But I would like someone who would be able to support me in the future. Who will push me to be better. The best version of myself.”
He nodded to himself decisively, his massive mane of red hair tumbling over his broad shoulders.
“That’s very insightful,” Sephiran said, smiling.
“Yes, that is what my uncle says I need,” Skrimir said.
“Ah,” Sephiran said, tastefully.
“If I could pick a quality I admire… I would say I admire strength,” Rhys said, inclining his head. “Strength and determination, the courage to make your own way in the world.”
“My only concern is my mother,” Pelleas admitted. “Mother can be… very opinionated. I hope my future spouse wouldn’t feel intimidated.”
“I had the most wonderful dream last night.”
“Oh?” Sephiran said. He folded his hands in his lap. “Would you share it with me?”
“If you’d like.” Micaiah let her eyes flutter shut. She held her hands up to her chest, exhaling. Her hair spilled silvery over her shoulder, catching the warm afternoon light. “I was in a room with many other people. We didn’t know each other, but we all had felt the same calling. Some people were laughing, some were crying… some embracing.”
Her voice was light and melodious, warm as the sunlight.
“There was a man there with blue hair,” she said. “And I knew that somehow, in some way, something important was going to be revealed to him.”
Sephiran inclined his head, smiling.
“That’s a lovely dream,” he said.
“It was,” Micaiah said, opening her eyes. A smile touched on her lips. “A voice spoke to me in it. It said to follow this path, and the truth would be revealed.”
“What would I like in a partner?” Soren repeated the question, leaning his cheek on his palm. He raised an eyebrow. “How specific am I allowed to be?”
“As specific as you’d like,” Sigrun said, smiling pleasantly.
“A man,” Soren drawled. “My own age or thereabouts, with blue hair and blue eyes.”
Sigrun raised her eyebrows, but her smile didn’t fall. After a moment, Soren continued.
“Someone… kind,” he finally said. “Someone who would reach out their hand to a scared child, or share what little they had with someone who truly needed it.”
There was a distant, faraway look in his eyes. But only for a moment.
He shook his head decisively.
“But I doubt you’ll be able to find anyone who meets all my requirements.”
“A partner,” Ike said, his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side.
He was quiet for a long moment. Sephiran let him think.
“I know this is strange to say, but…” Ike said. “When I try to picture… someone, someone I’d like to spend my life with, it’s like they’re just out of my reach.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” Sephiran said. “Take your time and carefully consider the question. There are no right or wrong answers.”
Ike’s frown deepened.
“To be completely honest, all my life it’s felt like there’s something… missing.” He leaned back, staring out the window. “Someone missing. But when I try to think about them, there’s just this void.” He shook his head ruefully. “I know there’s someone that’s supposed to be there, but I can’t picture them.”
“You seem like you’re not very sure what it is that you want,” Sephiran said. “So would you be open to a husband who knows exactly what he wants?”
The corner of Ike’s mouth lifted in a wry smile.
“Honestly?” he said. “That sounds pretty nice.”
“I’m getting married in two weeks.”
Ranulf nearly tripped over his own feet. He violently slammed the off button on the treadmill, panted for a second, and then whipped around.
“What did you just say?” he demanded.
“I’m getting married,” Ike said, raising an eyebrow. “In two weeks.”
“You are not getting married!” Ranulf said.
“You’re getting married?” Elincia exclaimed, rounding the corner of the gym.
“He is not getting married!” Ranulf said.
“That’s so exciting!” Elincia gushed. “Who is it? Do we know them?”
“Am I invisible?” Ranulf said, throwing his hands up. “He’s not getting married!”
“You don’t know them,” Ike said to Elincia, frowning a bit. “Actually, I don’t know them, either.”
“Come again?” Ranulf said. There was a creeping feeling of dread settling over him, coupled with exasperation. Whatever Ike was going to say next, he knew he wouldn’t like it.
“I’m getting married at first sight,” Ike said. “I signed up to let the experts match me.” He paused and then gestured over his shoulder. “Why else did you think there was a camera crew here?”
Ranulf glanced at the camera crew. A cheerful looking girl with long purple hair waved at him.
“Just pretend we’re not even here, boss!” she said.
“You said this was a fitness show,” Ranulf hissed.
“Actually, I didn’t,” Ike said. “You assumed.”
In Ranulf’s defense, it had been a natural assumption. If any kind of television show was going to follow Ike around, a love and marriage type would have been his last guess. For as long as he’d known him, men and women had practically thrown themselves at Ike, begging for his attention.
Ike had never so much as batted an eye. Ranulf had been forced to assume that he just wasn’t interested in anyone, period.
“If I’d known you were looking, I could have hooked you up,” he said later, when they had a minute alone and away from the cameras. His television debut, and he was going to look sweaty and unkempt, bags under his eyes because he had no choice but to drag himself to the gym first thing in the morning with the way Skrimir kept his schedule.
Ike was lucky Ranulf loved him because right now he felt like strangling him.
“I wasn’t looking,” Ike snorted. “And I don’t need you using me to try and distract your suitors. How are Kyza and Lyre?”
“Let’s not talk about it,” Ranulf groaned. “I’m not the one on a reality show. Are you really serious about this?”
“I’m doing it, aren’t I?” Ike said. “You know me. I’m not one to quit halfway.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Ranulf said, throwing his hands up. “But I guess I knew that already. If this is what you want to do, then you know I’ll support you.”
“Thanks,” Ike said, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he clapped Ranulf on the shoulder.
Ranulf rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Listen, just be careful. Not everyone has good intentions like you.”
“Noted,” Ike said. “But I’m choosing to trust the experts.”
Experts. Ranulf tried hard not to scoff. He dodged the camera crew on his way out—the woman with the purple hair was interrogating Elincia about her white gym clothes, saying something about a destined rival—and hightailed it to work.
At least there he could distract himself from Ike’s insane decision for a couple of hours.
“I’m late, I know, I know,” he said, throwing himself down at his desk. Never mind that Skrimir had probably only walked in a minute before. “I’m sorry, my buddy at the gym just told me the craziest news. I’m still processing if he’s developed a sense of humor and is pulling some stunt or if he’s literally lost his mind.”
“Never mind that,” Skrimir said. He sounded pleased with himself, which automatically made Ranulf suspicious. If something was on fire, he was making Kyza deal with it. “I have news of my own!”
The hair on the back of Ranulf’s neck stood up.
“Tell me it’s work related,” he said. “Skrimir. Tell me it’s work related.”
“I,” Skrimir said, his chest puffed out proudly, “am getting married in two weeks.”
Ranulf put his head down on his desk.
“I’m quitting.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Greil asked, once the cameras were off. “You’ve never exactly been one for romance.”
Ike shrugged one shoulder, up to his wrists in soapy water as he washed the dishes.
“It’s not that I’ve never considered it,” he said. “It’s just never felt right. I figured I might as well try it this way. What’s the harm?”
“There could be a lot of harm,” Greil pointed out. He took a long sip of his beer. “It’s a marriage, son, not a new hobby. You could get hurt.”
“You don’t get anywhere if you don’t take chances,” Ike pointed out. “Some stubborn old man told me that once.”
“This old man doesn’t want to see his bullheaded son get his heart broken,” Greil grunted. “You had enough of that when you quit the team.”
“This is different,” Ike said. He rinsed a plate and shut off the faucet, turning around to lean back against the counter. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t explain it. I just feel it.”
“You’ve always had good intuition,” Greil allowed. “You and Mist both. You get that from your mother.”
The mention made Ike pause the way it always did, the weight of a memory he couldn’t quite recall pressing down on him. He inclined his head for a second before he turned back to the sink, wiping it down for a want of something to do with his hands.
Behind him, his father sighed.
“I want it to work out for you, Ike,” Greil said. “But if it doesn’t work out, your family is here for you.”
Ike smiled.
“I know,” he said. “But Mist will never let me live it down if I get divorced.”
“Your sister will never let you live it down either way,” Greil snorted. “Just be careful, Ike. That’s all I’m asking. It’s easy to feel like you know someone when you’re thrust into this kind of situation, but everyone has secrets.”
Ike hadn’t really wanted to go to the bachelor party, but he’d signed a contract, and Mist told him it would be good to go and make friends.
He’d already been told that the parties would be divided up to keep anyone from meeting their assigned spouse. The party was held at a nearby sports bar. It wasn’t usually his kind of place, but he’d known Largo and Calill for years now, so at least that part wouldn’t be uncomfortable.
So armed with nothing but courage and an encouraging text from Elincia—you’re going to be okay! remember that we all have your back!—he pushed the door of the pub open.
The introductions were quick and only slightly awkward, the casual atmosphere of the pub doing its part to push the evening along. Ike shook hands and made a note of people’s names, but it all just seemed like background noise. This was just one more trial to get through before the wedding itself.
Before long, Skrimir and Kieran had cornered poor nervous-looking Pelleas in the corner. It looked like they were talking over him rather than with him, their voices rising loud and boisterous above the din of the pub. Ike didn’t know where Jarod had gone and didn’t particularly care. He’d disliked him on first sight. He knew bad intentions when he saw them.
He knew that he was maybe the naïve party, that there would be others who just wanted to get on television for the sake of fame and notoriety. But still, seeing someone so eager to preen for the cameras put a bad taste in his mouth.
Instead of socializing with his fellow grooms, he found himself at the bar instead.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the man of the hour,” Largo said, grinning, as he slid Ike’s usual his way. “I never expected you’d get yourself involved in something like this! Calill has been dying to set you up for years, you know.”
“I know,” Ike admitted. “She hasn’t been subtle.”
Largo threw his head back laughing.
“That’s my wife for you! The prettiest battering ram to ever grace Tellius!” he said. “You excited yet?”
“Getting there,” Ike said. “You’ve always seemed happy being married.”
“Marriage is great!” Largo said, grinning ear to ear. “Best thing that ever happened to me. Just you wait, you’ll see.”
“I hope so,” Ike said, giving Largo a small, strained smile.
Largo was used to him, though, so he just clapped Ike heavily on the shoulder before he went to find Calill. Ike was sure she was off somewhere giving production a hard time, trying to make sure the pub got the kind of exposure she felt it deserved.
He scanned the room again, taking in the faces of the men he’d been briefly introduced to when he’d walked in. They were all in the same boat, but Ike couldn’t help but feel a little disconnected from them. Skrimir seemed all right, if very loud, and Kieran and Pelleas seemed nice enough.
Maybe the impending wedding had gotten under his skin, though, because now it seemed like every stranger he met, he imagined them being the one. The face he’d stare into as they met him at the altar.
Ike tried to imagine marrying any one of these men and couldn’t picture it at all. That uncomfortable feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach again, that something was missing, but just like always he had no idea what it was.
The only conclusion he could ever come to was that there was something missing in him, and not in his life. The feeling that he might disappoint whoever had been matched with him seeped into him, settling heavy in the pit of his stomach.
“Ike, right?” a voice said from behind him.
He turned to see Jarod and wasn’t quite able to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching into a frown.
“Right,” he said. “Jarod?”
“That’s right. Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”
“I get that a lot,” Ike said, taking a sip of his drink. “One of those faces, I guesses.”
He hoped it would be enough to deter any further questions, but experience told him there was little hope of that.
“You used to play for the Mercenaries, didn’t you?” Jarod said. There was an edge to his voice that told Ike he wasn’t drunk yet, but he was getting there, and he was about to make it everyone else’s problem. “Yeah, I remember you. I lost a thousand bucks when you scored that last goal against the Pirates.”
“It was just luck,” Ike said, shrugging one shoulder. “No hard feelings, right?”
Jarod didn’t look like there were no hard feelings. He opened his mouth and Ike readied himself for the usual armchair quarterback talk. He’d gotten it enough from Shinon over the years, but at least Shinon was family, in his own way. He scanned the crowd over the top of Jarod’s head for a savior. Calill would help him, if he could catch her eye. She had a soft spot for him like that.
“Did I hear correctly? You played for the Mercenaries?”
Ike barely had time to register the booming voice in his ear before a large arm clapped down around his shoulders. His peripheral vision was filled with curly red hair.
“You bet poorly, my friend,” Skrimir told Jarod, grinning with all teeth. “Everyone with eyes could have called the outcome of that match.”
Ike snorted, shaking his head.
“My uncle is a loyal supporter of the Mercenaries,” Skrimir said, steering Ike away. He locked his arm around Ike so tightly Ike thought he heard something crack. “We are going to be good friends.”
Ike hoped so. Judging by the way he could feel Jarod glaring a hole in his back, he’d just made an enemy, too.
“You have to send him a gift, Ike.”
Two weeks. Ike had known exactly how long he had before getting married, but still, it had flown by. One minute he was getting the news, and the next he was packing his bag, about to leave for the hotel. And after that, for a honeymoon with someone he’d never even met before.
“I don’t even know him,” he said. “How am I supposed to know what to get him?”
Mist sighed, crossing her arms.
“It doesn’t matter what you get him,” she said. “Just that you get him something!”
Ike just stared at her. Mist groaned.
“It’s your wedding day and he’s going to be your husband,” she said. “You want to make a good impression, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t showing up say it all?” Ike said.
“You’re giving me a headache,” Mist said, rubbing her forehead. She squawked when Ike reached out and ruffled her hair. She peered up at him from underneath her rumpled bangs, her face exasperated, but he and Mist had always had each other’s backs.
She thought for a moment, one finger tapping at her chin.
“Flowers,” Mist said. “Get him flowers. They’re romantic, but not too personal. And he can add them to a bouquet if he has one.”
“Flowers,” Ike repeated to himself. For some reason, just hearing the word conjured up an image in his mind. A tall tree in the springtime, the sun beating down on him, and somewhere not too far away, a patch of red and purple flowers.
He didn’t know the proper names for the flowers. He didn’t even know where he’d seen them before. He couldn’t remember ever being in a park that looked exactly like that, but still, it felt important.
“Okay,” he said to himself, almost under his breath. “I’ll get him flowers.”
The production team seemed disappointed that Soren had no one to accompany him on the morning of his wedding. He’d warned them from the start that he wouldn’t be very good television. He had no friends, and his one family member, if he could be called that, wouldn’t have come to his wedding if Soren had begged him.
Soren hadn’t begged him for anything for a very long time. He would never be that child again.
He’d just finished dressing when the box arrived. Surprised, he simply sat there as Mia chattered at him, explaining that his husband-to-be had sent a gift.
The box was overflowing with red and purple flowers. Gladiolas and violets, Soren registered faintly, the petals slipping through his fingers. He rubbed one between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling the fragrance.
A memory flashed through his mind, and he had to close his eyes against the brightness of it. A little boy with blue eyes and blue hair, holding out a red flower to a scared child.
Soren exhaled shakily and opened his eyes. The flower was still the same shade of red.
“Coincidence,” he whispered.
After a moment’s hesitation, he still tucked it neatly into his hair.
It was a gift. Soren had only ever received one in his life before. He should respect it, if nothing else.
He picked up the card that had come with the flowers, holding it carefully. The handwriting was blocky, bold—indelicate. But something about it, to Soren’s surprise, made him smile.
I hope you like the flowers.
Your husband.
Soren mouthed the word, testing the shape and feel of it. It was simple, but it struck him. His husband. For the next two months, no matter what happened afterwards, this man who had sent flowers was going to be his husband.
He felt strange. Maybe a little guilty. He knew nothing about this man. Maybe he was cruel, or selfish, or unthinking, like Soren found the vast majority of people to be. Maybe he deserved the way Soren was using him, as an excuse to escape a previous life. But maybe he had come into this experiment with the right intentions, unlike Soren.
Maybe Soren was betraying him.
He took a deep breath and put the card away. He couldn’t think about it. He only had to put one foot in front of the other and do what he had to do to get through the next two months.
It wouldn’t be harder than anything else Soren had ever done. He told himself that as he caressed one of the flower petals. Just one more trial to get through.
When he caught a glance of himself in the elevator’s mirrored wall, on his way down to the ballroom, he nearly didn’t recognize himself. It felt like looking a stranger, his hair twisted up and pinned neatly, flower tucked into his hair. His wedding clothes were tailored, fitting his body. It was only when he looked in his own eyes that he saw himself staring back.
Strange child. So severe. And did you see that mark?
He’d heard it so many times before. He realized suddenly that he would probably hear it again from his husband’s lips. Severe. A curse. A disappointment.
Soren dragged in a long, slow breath. He had been worse things in his life than a disappointment.
He pulled himself up, his shoulders back, and walked out of the elevator. He excused himself from the crew, ducking into a restroom and splashing water on his face. He avoided the mirror this time. He didn’t need to look at himself.
A sobbing sound surprised him when he entered the hallway.
There was a woman standing with her back to Soren, her face to the wall. Her dress was black and there was a black veil pinned to her dark hair. She was weeping, seemingly uncontrollably, her shoulders shaking with the force of it.
Normally, Soren wouldn’t have said anything.
But normally, Soren wouldn’t be minutes away from marrying a stranger, either.
That same unsettling pull in the pit of his stomach that had made him sign up for a marriage experiment in the first place made him stop.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She gave every impression of a widow on her way to a funeral. Soren wondered if there was a funeral service scheduled for the same day. It would hardly be fortuitous, but he supposed there was nothing to do about that.
“Oh,” the woman said, taking a shaky, startled breath. She dabbed quickly at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief, though she made no move to turn around. “You’re very kind. It’s only… my only son is getting married.”
She burst into a fresh round of tears. Soren grimaced.
Weddings weren’t always a happy occasion. Soren understood that well. His own parents, if they had been married at all, must have met with some unhappy fate. How else would he have ended up such an unwanted child?
“Why would he do such a wretched thing?” she wailed.
Soren had never been quite so thankful for Mia, who rounded the corner, caught him standing by a weeping woman in full funeral dress, and promptly made a face. She snagged Soren by the elbow, making their excuses.
“That’s the mother of one of the other grooms,” she said as she led Soren away. She gave him a sidelong look, twirling one finger by the side of her head. “She’s kind of intense. She made one of the cameramen cry on the first day.”
Soren could believe it. He found himself glad that he wasn’t dealing with the same dramatics today. There were some benefits, he supposed, to being an abandoned child.
The last of the nerves didn’t kick in until he was standing outside the ballroom doors, waiting to walk in and see, for the first time, the man he was going to marry.
It wasn’t too late to walk out. The show would get a good dramatic moment out of it, and Soren wouldn’t have to put himself through the coming weeks of awkward domestic drudgery. He wouldn’t have to find himself resented by a spouse for his inability to be what they expected.
It wasn’t like he would grow to love them. He wasn’t capable of that. His heart had frozen a long time ago. It was nothing but an icy, leaden weight in his chest. No one could thaw it. Certainly not someone expecting to meet their true love on a reality show.
Still, as the music picked up and he readied himself to walk into the room, that foolish fluttering feeling pulled at him again, like a hook just under his ribs. Like that nagging voice in his own head that day in the park, telling him to just hold on a little longer.
Like an outstretched hand from the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen.
The doors opened, and he didn’t have time to away the memory, but it didn’t matter.
Because standing at the end of the aisle, waiting for him, was the same boy from all those years ago.
Ike had gone in without expectations. Mist rolled her eyes at him, told him that everyone said that, but he must have had some idea of what he wanted, didn’t he?
He hadn’t been lying. When he thought of who he’d like to marry, his ideal, he always came up blank.
He wanted… something. Someone. He just didn’t know what. He’d been honest when he’d said he’d never pictured anyone in particular, never ruminated on what kind of hair his future husband would have, what his eyes would look like, or the way he’d smile.
Just trying to think about it left him with a headache and a pain in his chest like someone had reached into him and yanked something important out.
That all came crashing down the second he saw his groom. He felt like someone knocked the wind out of him just looking at him. Like before everything had been gloomy and overcast, and he’d just stepped into the sun.
His groom was like no one else Ike had ever seen before, and strangely familiar all at the same time. Like hearing a song on the radio for the first time and somehow knowing all the words.
He was beautiful. Ike had never thought that about anyone before. But looking at his groom, it was all he could think. He had long dark hair, piercing red eyes, and he was staring at Ike like he wasn’t sure what he was seeing.
He was beautiful, and he had signed up to marry a stranger. To marry Ike.
He also looked a little bit like the floor had fallen out from under him. Pale, wide-eyed, his hands faintly trembling as he made his way down the aisle.
Ike knew he was rough edged and clumsy, too blunt, with a face made for frowning—but he didn’t think he was that bad in the grand scheme of things. Mist said he cleaned up nice.
But maybe he hadn’t been what his groom expected. Or maybe he wasn’t what he liked.
Ike had never before wanted to be what someone liked so badly in his life.
His groom stumbled a little as he reached him and Ike reached out before he even registered it.
Just touching him was electric. He looked up at Ike, his lips slightly parted, and Ike wondered if he was always that pale, or if it was just the prospect of marrying Ike that had him looking white as a sheet.
Ike hoped it wasn’t that. He hadn’t known what to expect but now, looking at his groom, suddenly he couldn’t picture any other outcome but this man standing across from it.
“All right?” Ike asked, steadying him by his elbow.
His groom nodded quickly, still staring up into Ike’s face with an unreadable expression on his face.
“Yes,” he said, quiet so only Ike could hear, and just his voice had Ike reeling all over again. A little sharp, but his tone was gentle. Even his voice was pretty. “Thank you.”
“It’s going to be my job, right?” Ike tried to joke, but the stricken look didn’t leave his groom’s face. “Sorry, I’m just… nervous, I guess.”
The whole room had fallen away. There was no camera crew, no officiant, no friends and family watching them. There was only him and this beautiful boy. Ike’s heart had never beat quite so hard before.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Soren,” his groom whispered. “My name is Soren.”
The name settled in the center of Ike’s chest. It felt like a puzzle piece fitting into place. A key in a lock. Like the feeling of stepping into his home after a long time away.
“Soren.” Ike squeezed his hands. “I’m Ike.”