Notes: Dedicated to weighedandmeasured. This is vaguely related to Repose in that I seem to like writing Ike and Soren watch each other sleep. Background detail for the beginning: I headcanon Ike as dyslexic.

Xxxxxx

Soren sat on the pillow with his back flat against the wall as he gave the weekly report. Ike had been the one to suggest they do the evening's work in bed, hoping that the comfortable location would lure Soren into resting, but Soren's posture was as stiff as a nobleman's, as much as Ike hated that comparison. Though Ike tried to listen, his attention was focused on watching Soren's fingers slacken their grip on his parchment. After catching one too many stifled yawns, Ike decided a change in tactics was called for.

Ike rested his head on Soren's shoulder, shifting his weight onto Soren to pull him down. When Soren bent his neck away and grunted, Ike remembered their respective weights and eased up, but he didn't back off. Finally, Soren slumped against the pillow and closed his eyes, muttering about obstinate commanders and the cost of rice before his voice disappeared into the steady breathing of sleep.

Ike lifted the report from Soren's fingers. The ink had smeared under Soren's thumb, and he'd no doubt insist on doing the whole page over. Ike sighed and tried to read the legible section. The letters swam and rearranged themselves in his vision, making about as much sense as the smeared corner. Reading had never been his strong suit, but if he could grasp enough of it to convince Soren there was no need to do redo the report, it would be one thing checked off of Soren's list in the morning.

Ike held the parchment close and squinted, trying to focus on each line, but his eyes drifted to the man next to him. The boy, he thought—Soren never looked smaller than when he was curled up in himself, unable to square his shoulders or raise his chin or do any other of the things he did to appear professional. He'd never needed to stand tall for Ike to see him that way—Ike had marveled at Soren's work when they'd been children and Soren had hunched and clutched his book to his chest. Still, it struck him now how small Soren's hands were, like they should have been playing catch instead of battling. Tracing the burns and scars on them reminded Ike how wrong that was.

When looking at the wounds started to hurt, Ike directed his eyes to Soren's face. Even in sleep, the skin was creased between his eyes and his lips were curved in a small frown, but some of the harsh edge had melted, leaving a troubled expression. Soren's face was so round, Ike realized. He'd always thought of it as sharp, with a tapered chin and bony structure, but Soren's jaw curved where Ike's own had long since become square. Why had Ike not noticed? Was it just the mask Soren wore making his eyebrows more angular than they actually were?

Ike frowned and leaned closer to study the lines of Soren's face. He, of all people, should be able to recognize them.

It was hard to tell where Soren's bangs ended and the shadows under them began. Though his skin stood in stark contrast, everything he cloaked himself in was dark, as if he could melt into the shadows and hide there. He'd often done just that, crouching in the alleyways Ike had only heard about while people walked by without a glance. Even in the fort, Soren often slipped by to read in the corners unacknowledged. Sometimes, though, people noticed the shadows wrapped around him, whispering about his callousness, his amorality, or his lack of consideration for others. Ike knew he shouldn't mind. As long as he could study the skin, the veins, the rise and fall of breath, it didn't matter what anyone else thought. He watched the candlelight make shadows flicker across Soren's face and tried to pick out which dark patches were bruises.

Carefully so as not to wake him, Ike slid Soren's undershirt off his shoulder and scanned it for scars, resisting the urge to touch the raised skin. Yellow streaked the white among blobs of purple and blue. It looked like one of the maps Soren often pored over, with parchment that had become splotchy over time and landmarks that showed the destinations Soren guided Ike toward. Ike wanted to trace the bruises with his finger, as if by connecting them he could find out where they came from. All of them had already been marked when Soren had showed Ike the way to them, and like the cities he'd been to, he knew they'd stood there long before he'd thought to look for them. Soren had been scarred back in the alleyways Ike had never seen. The shadows that hid him in the mercenary fort were only the continuation, not anything that Ike could blame on anybody around him.

Still, even knowing that it the others didn't need to know any of Soren's past, as he watched Soren's callused fingers grip the sheets Ike couldn't help but wonder what they'd think if they could only see. There was no helping it, though. Seeing the scars would only make them feel pity, something Soren never wanted. It was the rest that made the map Soren revealed to him worth reading. Nobody else could ever experience Soren forcing them to sleep while adding their workload to his already overtaxed day, or feel him rub stray dirt off their face, or have him silently kneel by their side while they stared at an axe in the ground and tried to make sense of how it came to be there.

Before Ike forced the thought of that night away, a memory brought a smile to his face. It had been when his family had all voiced their support of his leadership. Soren had hung back when everyone crowded around Ike, but when Ike's eyes sought him out, he'd stepped forward and admitted his insecurities. After Ike had reassured him, Soren had spoken his vow in a low voice.

I'll be here, watching over you.

Ike strained to remember how the others huddled around them had reacted, but all he could picture was Soren's smile. That was enough for him.

Soren kicked Ike, breaking him out of his reverie. Soren's cheeks were flushed and sweat beaded his brow. Whimpering, he shuddered and buried his face in the sheets. Ike reached instinctively to stroke his face. Soren stirred. His eyes fluttered before shooting open. He jerked.

"Sorry," Ike said. He held Soren's shoulder to stabilize him. "I thought you were having a nightmare."

Soren yawned. "I was." He seemed to be reassuring himself it was true. Ike rubbed Soren's shoulder and looked between his sagging eyelids to see the images haunting them.

Soren's attention turned to the reports in Ike's lap. His eyes widened, suddenly alert as he grabbed for the parchment. Ike pulled it out of reach.

"Rest," he said.

Soren looked sharply at him. "If you will."

"I will," Ike promised. Soren didn't move. Ike suppressed a sigh and set the papers aside. Only once he'd settled against the pillow did Soren lie back down.

Soren muttered something about dousing the candle to conserve oil. Ike pulled the covers around the shoulder he'd bared.

"Ike? Did you hear me?"

"Yeah."

Ike stayed put. Soren raised an eyebrow.

"I'm keeping it lit so I can watch you," Ike said.

Soren studied him. Ike wondered if he'd grow flustered, like he sometimes did even now at throwaway comments, or maybe lecture Ike on wasted time and resources. However, he settled into the pillow and closed his eyes with a quiet, "Suit yourself."

Ike did, taking in the way Soren's eyelids pressed together, the way the creases in his forehead smoothed and the ways they didn't. He was the only one that ever saw Soren sleep. Soren never so much as closed his eyes in exposed areas, even when they's been children sitting in the shade of a tree and Ike fell asleep on his shoulder. Now he knew about the habits that Soren had picked up from living in the streets, but at the time, he'd assumed that Soren had just stayed awake to guard him. It might have been on odd term for children, but it had worked for them.

Ike's eyelids finally drooped, causing Soren's hair and skin and the bruises on it to blur together. Feeling Soren's head settle into the crook of his neck, Ike shifted to fit their mismatched bodies together. His hand pressed into Soren's chest. He felt a faint beat.

He smiled. Nobody but him knew that rhythm, but that was all right. It had only ever beaten for him.