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It started with a dancer in the town square.
They were up near the mountains by the Daein border on Bastian’s orders and on his gold. Soren was glad for that because as long as the Greil Mercenaries had to stay out of sight, it wasn’t exactly like they could take any big jobs. Ike, Boyd, and Gatrie had done a few odd jobs at more remote farms, dealing with bandits and fixing roofs, but the more of them that were seen together, the more likely it was that they’d be recognized.
Word could travel fast, even in small towns.
He was shopping in town with Ike, getting supplies for the week. Or he was shopping, anyway, and Ike was carrying things. It was a good system and they always worked well together.
And Soren relished the time alone with Ike. With eleven people in a small, old, crumbling keep, it was hard to come by. Someone always needed Ike for something, and Soren could manage most tasks on his own.
He was consulting the list Mist had forced into his hands, trying to decipher half a dozen different handwritings, when he suddenly realized Ike wasn’t at his shoulder any longer. That comforting presence he was so used to was gone, the warmth missing.
He whipped around, the old fear there again in a flash -- Ike was gone -- only to spot him a few feet behind, staring at something. There was a small crowd gathering, but to Soren’s relief they weren’t looking at Ike, but at someone else.
It appeared to be a traveling dance troupe. In their center was a young man and a young woman, spinning and twirling for all he was worth.
The man was young, their age or thereabouts, and lithe. He had long, dark hair that whipped around his body as he spun. He was beautiful. The woman was beautiful, too, but then that hardly mattered, because Ike was not looking at her.
There was a bitter taste in the back of Soren’s throat.
“Ike,” he said, catching at his cape.
“Huh?” Ike said, glancing down. He looked almost awed, and a new kind of cold crept into Soren’s heart. “Soren. Sorry, I got distracted.”
“I noticed,” Soren murmured. He glanced back at the dancer, taking in his long legs, the whirl of his dark hair, his serene expression. He pressed his lips into a thin line as he stared at his bare midriff. “Honestly, it’s almost winter.”
“Did you say something?” Ike asked.
“Nothing,” Soren said. “I’ve never known you to be interested in… dancing.”
“I’m not,” Ike said. “It’s just, he’s… the dancing. The dancing is beautiful.”
Soren bit his lip and glanced at the dancer again. He caught Soren staring and, to Soren’s annoyance, he winked. Soren pressed his lips into a thin, displeased line.
Then Ike suddenly curled an arm around his shoulders and pulled him away from the crowd.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to leave you. What’s next on the list?”
“Right,” Soren said, recovering himself.
Ike was attentive after that, maybe even overly so, and normally it would have warmed Soren and made him feel flustered. But for the rest of the night, he couldn’t forget the look on Ike’s face as he watched the dancer.
If it had only been the one time, Soren would have been able to put it out of his mind eventually. He could hardy fault Ike for simply looking at other people, after all.
Everything between them was new and delicate. Ike didn’t owe him anything. Not explanations, and not the exclusivity of his gaze.
He could not claim ownership of Ike’s heart. He told himself that even as Ike pressed a shy kiss against his cheek before he retired to bed, Soren still sitting as his own desk, or when Ike’s hand found his while they were out walking.
It felt dangerous. Soren was dizzy with just those small touches already.
So if Ike’s gaze strayed to the performers when they were in town, Soren could hardly comment on it. They were beautiful, after all, especially the young man with the dark hair. Soon, though, the performers would continue their travels, and the Greil Mercenaries would complete their work for Bastian, and it would be over.
That’s what he told himself, anyway.
Alone one day, a week or so after Ike had first seen the dancer, he found himself clumsily attempting to copy the moves, sweeping one arm over his head, bending his back, trying to copy the way the dancer had made his own long hair spill like a waterfall.
He froze when the door creaked open. There, standing in the afternoon light, stood Mia.
“Are you dancing?” she said.
“No,” Soren said quickly, recovering himself and straightening up. He turned his face away, busying himself with a few tomes he’d left on a nearby table. Mia, uncaring, simply threw herself down into the nearest seat, raising her eyebrows in his direction.
“You’re not very good, huh?” she said, sympathetic.
“Was there something you needed?” Soren asked, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Is this about the floozy in the square?” Mia asked, settling her chin on her palms.
“Excuse me?” Soren said.
They were alone in the keep, the two of them. Ike had taken a few of the others to repair an elderly neighbor’s roof. He’d always been bad at keeping still, and he insisted it was something his father would have done. Soren had stayed behind to take stock of their supplies, kept company only by Mia, who was nursing a bruised shoulder. When Soren had left her earlier, she’d been sleeping. Evidently, she’d grown bored.
He turned so she wouldn’t see the furious blush on his cheeks, but Mia had never been one to be easily deterred.
“You know,” Mia said. “The one who’s been cuddling up to the boss.”
Soren’s grip on his tome tightened instinctively.
“Cuddling up?” he demanded before he could stop himself.
“The boss went bright red!” Mia said. “I couldn’t believe it. I’ve never seen him look like that except around, well. You.”
Soren scoffed.
“You know, that guy kind of looks like you,” Mia said suddenly. “Maybe that’s what’s got the boss acting like that.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Soren said, drumming his fingertips on top of the table. “I’m sure he isn’t acting like anything.”
He didn’t doubt Ike’s affection. Ike had always been steadfast.
His interest, then, maybe.
Soren was severe in all his facets. He knew that. He was not, by nature or nurture, flirtatious or playful. He was not the type to make others laugh.
He knew he was not very enjoyable to be around. He had been told so enough times in his life.
Never, granted, by Ike, but still—he worried.
If his presence grew tiresome, if he could never be warm and inviting like others their age, would he be another burden on Ike?
Would Ike grow bored of him? Of being with him?
Good for nothing child. Slow, lazy, stupid.
Soren took a steadying breath. He hated the way the sage’s words would come back to him when he was tired and unsure. He pushed them away, reminding himself in Ike’s steady voice—You’re strong. You survived. Why would you feel insecure about who you are?
“Well, maybe he likes the dancing, then,” Mia decided. “You certainly thought so.”
“I’ve hardly known him to be interested in dancing,” Soren scoffed, ignoring the second part of her statement.
On more than one occasion, the Greil Mercenaries had been brought to parties in Melior, brought out before the nobility like interesting pets instead of a band of mercenaries. Ike had never once been interested in the dancing then.
Granted, that dancing had all been formal, following strict rules and adhering to the latest fashions. Nothing like the way the dancer in the town square had moved, wild and free, uninhibited.
Maybe Ike did like that kind of dancing.
The thought came to Soren, unbidden. That maybe Ike would like it if he danced like that.
He tried to banish it as soon as it occurred to him, but something must have shown on his face. Mia wolf-whistled, grinning ear to ear.
“No,” Soren said before he could stop himself. He didn’t feel like he had to elaborate.
“Oh, come on!” Mia said. “You’d look great and the boss would love it!”
“We are not having this conversation,” Soren said, shooting her a look that would have withered others on the spot.
Mia, unfortunately, seemed largely immune. She just hummed, shrugging her good shoulder.
“I’m sure Ike has no interest in seeing me dance,” he said. “And I have no experience, besides.”
“I might not look like it, but I come from a pretty traditional family,” Mia said, propping her chin up on her hands. “You know, the boys get to play with swords, the girls play with dolls, that kind of thing. My parents made me take dancing lessons as a kid. I was actually pretty good at it.”
It made sense, if Soren thought about it. Mia had a kind of grace on the battlefield that spoke of more than just a rough and tumble mercenary lifestyle. But she’d never offered up much in the way of detail about her life before Greil had saved her, and Soren, at least, had never asked. She was talented, and loyal, and willing to work hard. That was enough.
Anything else she wanted to divulge was up to her.
“Well, anyway, then I ran away to embrace my destiny,” she said, shrugging. “But my point is, I could give you some tips. You’re just going to trip over yourself and fall on your face at this rate.”
She mimed it, as if that would help. Soren’s eyebrow twitched.
“Bad way to impress the boss,” she added.
“No, thank you,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It was just a passing fancy.”
“If you’re sure,” she said, sounding doubtful. Then she crossed her arms and put her head down on top of them, apparently intending to go back to sleep right there. She was like Ike that way, so it was no surprise that they got along.
Soren sighed to himself. He let himself linger over one of the tomes, fingertips tracing the delicate designs on the cover.
He was being ridiculous, he told himself. Petty and childish.
Ike was a stalwart heart, and Soren was no dancer. Those were both true statements.
Still, it dogged him, a persistent thought that lingered from morning to night. He would think about that moment, Ike staring at that dancer, and flex his own ankles, twist his wrists. He wondered if Ike would like it. He wanted Ike to like, to look at him like that.
Mia was training alone on the morning he made his decision. Her movements were fluid and graceful, and Soren couldn’t deny that they were reminiscent of a dancer. She was light on her feet, quick to react, spinning in place without ever losing her balance or appearing dizzy.
He grimaced, told himself he had nothing to lose, and tapped Mia on the shoulder.
“Soren!” Mia said, wiping the sweat from her brow. She looked genuinely happy to see him. She always did, and it was unnerving. “What’s up?”
He took a deep breath.
“I want to take you up on your offer,” he said.
The next morning, Soren was sitting with Ike at the table, going over Bastian’s latest message. Bastian always wrote in code, and Ike didn’t have much patience for checking it against the codex himself. He had even less patience for Bastian’s flowery language.
“Three pages just to tell us to keep our heads down?” Ike snorted.
“Only for a few more months, by his estimation,” Soren said.
“Well,” Ike said. He leaned forward and his thigh brushed against Soren’s as he stretched his arm across the back of Soren’s chair. “Small mercies.”
“Will you be glad to leave?” Soren asked.
“I’ll be glad to help Elincia,” Ike said. “And to get back to work.”
“Ah,” Soren said, nodding. “Of course.”
He could feel Ike’s fingers twirling a lock of Soren’s hair between them, his hand brushing against Soren’s arm. A habit as of late, one Soren hadn’t commented on.
It was only Ike being restless. That was all.
“What about you?” Ike asked.
“I—” Soren began, only to be cut off when Mia swung herself down into a chair across from him.
“Morning, boss!” she said, sparing Ike a quick grin before she focused on Soren. “Are you ready for our secret mission today?”
Soren could have put his head in his hands.
“Secret mission?” Ike said, sounding bemused.
“The storeroom!” Soren said, too quickly, and Ike turned to look at him. “Mia agreed to help me clean out the old storeroom.”
It was a crumbling old thing, having long ago fallen into disuse. Soren regretted using it as an excuse as soon as the words left his lips.
He wasn’t used to lying to Ike. Obfuscating, hiding – he’d done enough of that during the war, when he’d tried in vain to hide his newly discovered Branded nature, or when Nasir had blackmailed him into silence. But he didn’t lie to Ike outright.
Ike tilted his head to the side.
“Wouldn’t it be better if I helped out?” he asked.
“Nope,” Mia sang. She snagged a piece of bread off Soren’s plate. “This requires a special touch, boss. Trust me, you’re going to be very impressed.”
Soren glared at her. She seemed unbothered.
“And… that’s a secret,” Ike said, sounding doubtful.
He looked at Soren, his eyes shining in the morning light. Soren couldn’t think of what to say, so he just nodded, a knot in his throat.
In the church, when he’d learned to speak, all he could think about was Ike. How when he found Ike, he had to be able to speak to him. It couldn’t be like before, him strange and silent.
And now here he was, rendered speechless over something as silly as petty jealousy.
“Big secret, boss,” Mia said, her mouth full of stolen bread. “Just trust us.”
“You said you wouldn’t tell anyone,” Soren said, icy, when he arrived at the spot they’d agreed upon.
Mia seemed unaffected.
“It’s just Rhys,” she said. “He’s not anybody.”
“Yes, thank you,” Rhys said, sighing. “I’m sorry, Soren. She dragged me here saying someone was injured.”
“He could have been, with the way he’s been flailing about,” Mia said. “Imagine if he had a sword!”
“Why would I have a sword?” Soren asked, bravely resisting the urge to rub his forehead. There was a tempest brewing behind his eyes, and he only had himself to blame for it.
“Because it would look cool,” Mia said, as if it were obvious. “Imagine, a dancer with a sword on the battlefield! Invigorating the troops while spinning with a sword!”
“Perhaps let’s not,” Rhys said, weakly, as Mia struck a pose.
“I would rather focus on simply not falling on my face,” Soren said, and Mia sighed.
“All right,” she relented. “We’ll work the sword into it another day.”
Soren traded a look with Rhys behind her back that said absolutely not.
At first, Mia only walked him through a few basic dances, leading him first and then letting him lead her. (She was spectacularly bad at being led, but a good leader.) Rhys clapped as Mia whirled him around the room, and Soren tried not to mind so much, this aspect of being watched as he learned.
There were no repercussions if he made a mistake, and Mia was more likely to step on his feet than the opposite, as graceful as she was when she moved on her own.
The lessons progressed day by day, bit by bit, until Soren was moving on his own, letting the rhythm guide him. He could see that Ike was getting suspicious about where he snuck off to at odd hours, including the trips into town, the purchase made covertly. He lingered on his way back, watching the dancer himself, and had to snort when the young man caught Soren’s eye and winked, then threw his head back in amusement when Soren snorted.
It had all been going so well. A few weeks in, Soren was practicing in the outfit he’d carefully selected, the one meant to match a dancer’s grace. The sleeves fluttered pleasantly as he moved, Mia keeping time by clapping her hands.
The door creaked open, sunlight falling over the old stone floor, and Soren froze as he heard Ike suck in a breath.
Mia squawked, throwing an old traveling cloak over Soren, as Rhys nearly tripped over himself trying to hide them from view.
“So,” Ike said, looking amused. “Was this the secret?”
“You’ll have to talk to me eventually.”
It was only Ike and him alone in the backroom. He thought Mia probably would have wanted to stay, but Rhys had all but dragged her off. Soren clutched the traveling cape tighter around himself, pointedly looking at the wall.
“Yes, Commander,” he said, his voice cool. “Once we have a job again, Commander.”
“You know I don’t like it when you do that when we’re alone,” Ike said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Come on, is it really so bad that I walked in?”
“No,” Soren admitted. “It’s only that I didn’t want you to find out this way.”
Ike nodded, seeming to accept that as an answer.
“But why were you dancing?” he asked. “I didn’t think you were interested in that.”
“I wasn’t before, not particularly,” Soren admitted. “It’s only…”
“Only?”
“A few weeks ago,” Soren said. “There was a dancer in the town square. You were… staring.”
“Oh,” Ike said, blinking. “I… was I staring that obviously?”
“Yes,” Soren admitted, grudgingly. Ike looked sheepish, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“I didn’t think you’d noticed,” he said, and Soren felt a tiny creep of annoyance. As if he wouldn’t notice something Ike took interest in.
Even if it was someone else.
He jumped to feel the touch of Ike’s hand, callused fingers gripping his lightly. Ike’s brows were drawn together, his usual frown deepening.
“I should explain,” Ike said.
“There’s really no need—”
“He looked like you,” Ike said. “That’s why I was staring at him.”
“Oh,” Soren said, feeling shocked. Warmth ran through him. “That’s what Mia said, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Mia noticed?” Ike said, grimacing.
“She’s more astute than she seems,” Soren said. “It’s very irritating.”
The corner of Ike’s mouth quirked up.
“She’s a good friend,” he said. “I’m glad you have her.”
That brought Soren up short.
“I suppose so,” he allowed. Mia had been kind, in her own exuberant way, and encouraging. It was only that Soren wasn’t used to such things. It was hard to undo a childhood where every flaw was singled out, and where a simple mistake earned him harsh words—if he was lucky.
“I thought maybe you… enjoyed the dancing,” Soren said, his voice stilted. He twisting his hand in Ike’s so he could grip back, their fingers twining together.
“Enjoyed?” Ike echoed, looking puzzled.
Soren raised his eyebrows.
“Enjoyed, Ike.”
“Oh,” Ike said, blinking. “Oh!”
His hand tightened around Soren’s and the sheepish look returned to his eyes.
“I mean, I did—I do—it was beautiful, the dancing, but,” he stammered, looking away. “It wasn’t the only reason I was looking.”
“So when you said he looked like me…”
Ike went red to his ears. Soren so rarely saw him blush, it was almost alarming. In spite of himself, he started to smile, raising a hand to his lips to hide it so Ike wouldn’t be embarrassed further.
“How do I explain it…?” Ike wondered out loud. “You know I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with, and I didn’t think you’d enjoy dancing. So I was just… imagining what you’d look like. Dancing for me.”
Now it was Soren’s turn to go red. He pressed his lips together, unsure how to say what he was thinking. That he was happy it was him. That he wanted Ike to want that from him. To want everything from him.
“But if that’s why you were looking at him… you could just look at me instead,” Soren said. It felt too bold, too forward.
“Can I?” Ike said, rubbing at the back of his neck. He averted his eyes, suddenly shy. “That’s not… normally the kind of thing you wear.”
Soren raised his eyebrows. He took a deep, steadying breath, and told himself that this was Ike. No matter what, Ike wouldn’t laugh at him, wouldn’t disdain him. Slowly, carefully, he tugged his hand from Ike’s grip and raised it to his throat.
He let the cloak fall from his body.
Ike’s eyes widened, and he sucked in a quick breath.
The outfit was not very revealing. Soren wouldn’t have presumed. Still, his usual robes showed next to no skin, and these were cut close to the body, revealing a flash of his stomach, his arms and his ankles. They were a pale, frothy green-blue, like the sunlight on ocean waves, hemmed with gold thread. The material moved with him as he slowly turned, letting Ike see everything.
Bastian would be paying for the extra expenses. He just didn’t know it yet.
“Well?” he said when he faced Ike again, holding his arms out, hands poised. “What do you think?”
Ike opened his mouth but no sound came out. He looked Soren up and down, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, and there was something like awe in his eyes.
“You’re beautiful,” he finally said.
The smile that dawned over his face was bright and Soren, flustered, could only think that he wasn’t the one in the room that was beautiful. It was too much to simply be looked at by someone as radiant as Ike, and Soren crossed his arms and shook his head, looking away.
“You really did all this for me?” Ike said.
“Certainly not for Shinon,” Soren said, and Ike snorted. “I… Yes. I wanted you to look at me like that.”
Ike stood, wrapping his arms around Soren. Soren startled, surprised, but after a moment he melted into the embrace. Ike was so warm, and his chest and arms were solid and strong.
“You don’t have to do anything to keep me,” Ike said, tilting Soren’s chin up. “You’ve always had me. But if you’re fine with it, I want to see you dance.”
“It’s not very pretty,” Soren told him.
“That’s all right,” Ike said, smiling gently. “It’s you.”