It's been a long year.
Soren had gone through much more in shorter sums of time; that occurred to him. It's been on his mind a lot, actually. His past, his upbringing, how one innocent, benign encounter so easily altered the course of his life. This was the easy part. This was, and would hopefully continue to be, his golden age. This was his time to recover, to mature, to properly grow up.
It was a naïve aspiration. There would be war once more, perhaps even on a greater scale than the mad king's, but there was time until then. He couldn't go on like this, keeping— A tap on his shoulder broke his chain of thought.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Ike had slowed down to match Soren's pace. "We're going to have a lot of work on our plate when we get back," he remarked.
Soren nodded silently in agreement. Small talk was neither his nor Ike's forte. "We should set up camp soon," he told him, eyes gazing upon the setting sun. "Things change quickly, don't they," he mused quietly.
There was a mutual silence between them until they arrived at the clearing. Soren sat at the edge of the forest, keeping to himself at a time when he didn't typically keep to himself. This was a time to oversee the setting up of camp and distribution of rations, to verify their resources, maybe even visit the nearest town. Crimea was more than friendly towards them; there was much to be gained. But he sat there, feeling the cool breeze on his face and contemplating.
"Are you feeling unwell, Soren?" This time Ike placed his hand against his forehead, checking his temperature. When had Ike grown so stealthy?
"There's always work to be done. That's what you tell me, anyway," Ike continued.
Soren was jolted up by the statement, fear and panic creeping up on him as they always did. "Of course, commander. Excuse me," he quickly replied, bowing his head down as he prepared to head back to camp.
"Wait, no—," Ike stumbled over his words, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "That's, that's not what I meant. Soren, I'm sorry, please stay," he implored, reaching for Soren's wrist.
This was hard. Harder than he'd expected. How could change come so easily yet be so difficult. Soren, the fool. "Oh." Oh. He resisted the urge to jerk his hand away and found himself awkwardly close to the commander.
"It was a joke. You're always so busy, and when I'd come to you to tell you to take a break you'd always say that there's more work, and, well, maybe it's not much of a joke," Ike struggled to explain, slowly releasing his gentle hold on Soren. This was the last time he'd take flirting advice from any of the guys, save Oscar.
Soren chuckled. A pained, almost self-deprecating chuckle. "I'm tired, Ike. That's all," he said dismissively, as though such an admission was typical of him. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes and his skin pallid as ever. Everything he wanted to say always rested on the tip of his tongue, agonizingly close to coming out. So, he agonized.
Ike's eyebrows refused to unfurrow, and he continued to eye him with concern. It was weird to think of Soren as sensitive when he could be so… unfeeling. "I hope I'm not intruding," he said hesitantly. He looked at Soren with his eyebrows raised, half expecting him to either leave or tell him to leave.
"You know that you're always welcome, Ike," Soren asserted, sitting down once more at the bottom of the tree. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "I don't like being this way," he added quietly, "There's no need."
"You shouldn't push yourself too hard, Soren," Ike reassured him. He sat down next to him, crossing his legs under himself in a childish manner. "You can relax for a few days, weeks. Titania can manage, and we still have a hefty amount of gold left over."
To speak so casually, to relax so easily; Soren wanted that. Around Ike, he ought to be like that. "I know, but…" Soren turned to him, almost expecting him to have his answer. He didn't. Ike was off looking towards the encampment, waving a hand at Mist when she passed by. "I'm scared there won't be enough time," he admitted.
"Time for what?"
Ike waited for an answer, but none came. "I'll always be here," he reassured.
"I know," Soren said, "Can I ask you a personal question?"
They didn't discuss personal matters, never fully. He was to blame, of course, but it also didn't come naturally. There just hadn't been any time to spare during the war, and he'd been away before the war, and he could barely bring himself to talk to Ike before that. They always had a bond, some sort of connection, but it would fade should it be left unkindled.
"Sure," Ike replied, just a hint of surprise in his voice. His attention was now fully on Soren, his inquisitive gaze piercing.
The sage felt pressured by his own question. He'd hate to cross that line. He looked down at his lap, down at his nervously clasped together hands. "We've had a variety of individuals in our company. Have you ever been interested in any of them, in that way?" His heart was pounding and he had butterflies in his stomach; he couldn't believe how smoothly the question had come out.
"Geez, Soren, you're worse than Mist!" Ike was caught completely off-guard, but he laughed it off. His cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and he ran an uncertain hand through his hair, the action so awkward that he fumbled with his headband. "In passing, I might've… I never gave it much thought. There aren't that many—," he hesitated for a moment, "—Um, guys my age." He didn't bother with redoing his headband, leaving his unruly hair to fall over his eyes.
Soren looked up at Ike in disbelief, eyebrows furrowed as he processed this new information. "Guys, huh," he remarked audibly. He pushed his bangs behind his ears, allowing Ike to see his profile. His eyes were fixated on the floor, though. Could he admit that as easily as Ike? Soren wanted to say more, but all he could do was purse his lips in thought. He pressed his clammy hands into his lap, trying to wipe away the sweat discreetly.
"Is that bad?"
"What is?"
"Being attracted to you."