A/N: Right now, it's almost seven in the morning.
Everything after Ike's first song is entirely unbeta'd. While I was half awake while writing it. But I had to finish this you do not understand. Therefore, I do not care.
Half of this will not make sense, and the other half will be poorly written; you've been warned.
The songs featured in this fic are "Daniel" by Dia Frampton and "America" by Imagine Dragons.
Now if you'll excuse me I'm just gunna go
collapse into a coma over here if you don't mind
One-Shot: Heartstrings
"So, he's in town again, then?"
"Definitely! I passed him on my way here; he's only setting up now, plus he's just down the road. We should go and-"
"Peach, you know I can't just abandon the café. And I don't think that could've been him. He was here last week, too, and you know he never visits twice within such a short span of time."
"Aw, come on, Zelda, it's dead in here! Plus, isn't it your break in, like-" There was a brief pause as Peach checked either a watch or the clock hanging over the counter, "- five minutes? Can't you just come back five minutes earlier?"
"That's not how it works, you know that. I have so much to do, and I was going to talk to Marth about some things, and-"
Marth glanced up from the counter he was wiping down as his name was mentioned, instantly shooting his boss a glance screaming why did you drag me into this? He had absolutely no clue what they were talking about, and to be frank, he didn't much care. The café was nearly as silent as he had ever seen it, one of their few dead hours – and days. Wednesdays never did have much traffic. Most of their regulars – and there were a lot – were busy on Wednesdays, though they were usually kept busy by those passing by. In fact, just two hours ago, he'd been nearly run ragged.
Now, though, it was decidedly peaceful. The fall sunlight shone in through the large windows, illuminating the shop's many tableclothed tables and glinting off the display of cakes and other assorted goods. All of the tables were clean, the tiled floors swept, and he could hear Kirby humming in the kitchen. He wanted nothing more than to spend his break – which was, indeed, in five minutes as well – relaxing in the back room, not rushing down the street to see who-knows-what. Or who, as it may be.
Unfortunately, it seemed his fate had been sealed; Peach had gotten that look in her eye, which could only mean one thing: she'd made a decision. And when Peach made a decision, it didn't matter what lengths she had to go to. It would be done. Somehow. Some way.
The woman flicked her hair over her shoulder as she looked back to Zelda, a bright smile on her face once more. "Good! Then you two can talk about them on the way, and Link and Pit can watch the store while you're gone!" she proclaimed happily, clasping her hands together. "Marth hasn't seen him, has he? Have you, Marth?"
Her piercing gaze had landed on him again, and Marth made a big show of slowly folding up his rag again before turning to face her. "I'm not going, Peach," he said firmly. He saw her smile flicker.
"Do you even know where we might be going?" she asked pleasantly, taking a half-step towards him.
"It doesn't matter, Peach, just drop it," said Zelda, rubbing one of her temples tiredly. "I have more important things than going to see a street performer."
"Oh, don't act as though he's just a street performer! And you don't know when he'll be in town again!" her friend protested, her hands clamping onto the strap of her bag instead. "I think Marth will like him, and you could go with a break, don't you think?"
"No," Marth and Zelda said in unison, the former placing a hand on his hip in exasperation and the latter dropping her hand with a kind of finality.
Peach stared hard at the two of them, her gaze flicking from one to the other a few times before she gave a huff. And adopted that look again. Marth braced himself for some sort of fallout, for an explosion of protest that he would be forced to-
"Well," she said loudly – not loud enough to be shouting, really, but louder than she should have been speaking – "if you two don't trust Link and Pit enough to watch the store, then you don't have to tell me twice! I'm sure you have your reasons, even if I don't agree-"
"Hey!" There was a flurry of movement from the back of the little store, and Marth sighed in exasperation as Pit practically exploded into the room again, eyes wide as he frowned. "What do you mean, you don't trust us? Zelda! Aren't we trustworthy?"
The woman gave Peach the most piercing stare she could muster before slowly turning towards Pit, looking a bit resigned. "Of course I trust you two, Pit, but-"
"Then there's no 'but's about it!" Link had now followed suit, jogging forward to stand beside his companion, hands on his hips as he came to a standstill. "If you trust us to run your store, then let us!"
"Oh, drop it, Link, I've let you run the store plenty of times before-"
"Then there's no problem letting us run it now!"
"But-"
"Go! You too, Marth!" he added, looking fiercely over to his coworker, who raised an eyebrow lightly in response.
"And why do I have to go?" he asked, not shifting position. The whole ordeal was ridiculous – and not uncommon, really. Small arguments among staff and regulars, especially Peach, were not odd in the least. Some people said that it made all of them feel like a family, and he had to agree, really. Mostly because his love for the people was often mixed with his exasperation, respect, and frustration. Just like family, alright.
"Oh, come off it. You know you're just as in charge as he is, half of the time!"
Well, Link had him there. Usually Zelda did trust him with the other staff more than she would trust any other, but that was just because he wasn't as childish as the rest of them. But no, he couldn't say anything otherwise, because that would get Zelda in trouble, and then Link would never let it go. Those two were like siblings, perhaps closer – which meant that their rows went as such. Usually petty, and usually longer lasting than they needed to be. Although grudges as a whole weren't ever held, to his knowledge.
He realized a moment too late that his silence was taken as acceptance, and he opened his mouth to argue further when a pair of hands suddenly shoved him between the shoulder blades, leaving him stumbling to stand beside Zelda. And then both of their arms were locked in Peach's, who looked decidedly pleased. And smug, but only if you knew her as well as he did. Friends since middle school, up through their years of college. It was around the same amount of time he'd known Zelda, which let him see the quiet irritation on her features that others may not have picked up on.
"Right, then!" Peach went on, dragging them none too gently to the doorway. She was stronger than she looked. "It's decided. We'll see you boys after a song or two, I believe – won't be long! Ta-ta!"
She dragged her prisoners out into the cool air of the sidewalk, and then swiftly down the street. Marth suddenly became rather aware how odd he must look, still in his rather high-class uniform – Zelda had high expectations for her employees. Peach's fine dress made up for it, though; she had rather expensive tastes, herself, making him feel like less of a sore thumb. Not that there was anyone out to judge him about it, anyways. The café wasn't the only thing that was empty.
On the corner of the street, however, there were a couple of people lingering around. At first, he couldn't see why, but he then noticed somebody perched on the fence bordering the river. A guitar was poised in his arms, the body resting on one of his legs, the strap slung securely over his shoulders, and the strings being plucked systematically by a few calloused fingers. Then he would mess with the tuning a little bit, tighten or loosen the string until he was satisfied with its sound, and moving down again. He was on the fourth of six; the guitar was acoustic and clearly well-worn, but also well-cared for. Below the man's feet – which were adorned with similarly worn sneakers – was an open guitar case, which held what seemed to be a pick or two, a capo, a cloth, and a few spare strings that poked out of one small compartment.
Peach dragged the two of them up to the side of the fence, and the man glanced up at them as he heard them approach, flashing a small, welcoming smile before turning back to his instrument. At this distance, Marth could easily size him up; he was clearly fit, if his tan, toned arms were any indication, and had a decidedly square jaw. He was tall and rather broad, built for power; it gave him a bit of an intimidating look that his unruly hair encouraged nicely. His eyes were blue and bright, though he noticed the faintest of lines and shadows surrounding him, despite not looking much older than Marth himself – if he was older at all. He wore a white shirt with a loose and worn shirt over it; his faded blue jeans completed his attire. He didn't necessarily look shabby, per se. It was more of a… well, worn look. Just like the rest of him.
Marth decided immediately that he was rather attractive, though Peach's giggle on one side of him told him that his gaze had lingered too long. Embarrassed, he glanced out to the water, willing the light pink in his cheeks to fade away. This was ridiculous – he should just walk back to the café right now, instead of wasting his break here, where-
His eyes were immediately drawn back to the man as soon as he plucked out the first few notes. At first, he believed that he was just going to play the guitar, and he had to admit that it would've been fine with him. He didn't recognize the beginning of the song, but it was pleasant altogether – but then the man took a breath and Marth realized why Peach had forced him down here.
"Do you still sleep without your pillows on the house on Cherry Street?
Do you hear the sea?
And we promised we would meet back up in autumn,
But next spring came crawlin' on its knees."
Looking at the man, Marth wouldn't have expecting him to sing any better than Link could, but his voice was oddly soft and soothing, smooth and warm like honey. Unwillingly, he was caught entirely in his song – and Peach seemed to notice, for out of the corner of his eye, he caught her with that irritatingly satisfied expression. Damn her.
"I convinced me if I loved you, I'd leave you; I was lying.
You stood there with your palms out, your crying was silent.
Why Daniel? I didn't mean a word I said back then.
Why'd you let me win?"
There was a part of him that wondered achingly about the choice in song. Perhaps he just didn't see the need to change the lyrics? That would make sense, but there was also the possibility that he was-
Oh, what had gotten into him? He didn't even know the man's name, who cared about his orientation? No matter he was attractive – for all Marth knew he could be a complete asshole. Irritated with himself, he glanced over to Zelda, who had a small smile on her face. She did seem to be enjoying herself, and from what the two of them had said earlier, she'd come to see him before. Did he come here often, then? His eyes moved back to the performer, so completely focused on the strings beneath his fingers, on the words he carefully recited. How many times had he come here? Glancing about him, he realized that several more people had joined the crowd from earlier; there was now a nice little gathering around him. Not all of them seemed surprised.
"Why'd you let me win?
Why'd you let me win?"
There was a smattering of applause from around the man as the last note faded, and he glanced up as if startled to see that many people surrounding him. Regardless, he gave a gentle, grateful smile and nod as a few stepped forwards to toss coins and bills into the empty guitar case. He thanked each one in turn, using the same deep voice that he sang with, and then seemed to consider for a few moments, his fingers drumming soundlessly over his fingerboard.
Within a short amount of time he'd launched into another song, this time one that the bluenette recognized, but it was also over faster than he might have expected. And he was tugged away from the scene just as he began to clap himself, before he could even think about leaving some sort of money for the performance that, in his opinion, wholeheartedly deserved it. Looking to his side, he realized that it was Zelda dragging him off, and not Peach; a backwards glance revealed that she'd been left behind, lost in the performer's songs.
"I swear she'll be the death of me," his boss muttered as he was dragged away from the gentle voice behind him.
Marth blinked a few times to clear his thoughts before giving her a pitying smile, patting her arm gently. "Well, it wasn't that bad, at least," he consoled her, and she sighed.
"No, I supposed not," she murmured, shaking her head. "But that's not what I'm worried about…! If I'm not too careful with those two, then I'll turn around and suddenly half of the shop will be in pieces!"
"Like last January?" he replied, his worry mixing with his amusement. The incident might be amusing in hindsight, but at the time it had been horrifying; half of the dishes smashed, the display case obliterated, and Kirby panicking in the back – and all because of a silly bug. One that Marth had been more startled by than he would ever admit and Zelda had crushed without a second thought.
"Yes! Exactly like then!" Closing her eyes tightly before she reached the windows, she threw open the door and, once the soft overhead bell's chime faded away, risked open her eyes. Her relief might have been a bit exaggerated, but in all fairness, it was nearly impossible to underestimate the men's abilities.
At the sound of her reappearing, Link turned from behind the counter, smiling brightly. "See!" he said, throwing wide his arms and nearly knocking over one of the cake cases on top of the counter. "See, we're capable! Completely! Now, if you need me, I'll be in the back. Enough responsibility for one day."
Zelda frowned at him as he continued, finally releasing Marth and pausing. It seemed to him that she was about to make some sort of comment about her childhood friend, but refrained, instead giving him a look that said nearly as much as he words would have. "I'll be in my office," she said finally, shrugging. "If things get busy, call me or those dorks."
"Will do," he assured her, and she slipped wordlessly down the hall, her heels clicking softly against the floor.
He moved to the counter again, leaning his elbows against it and staring off into a fixed point in space, the performer's song looping over and over again in the back of his head. Occasionally he would pace, adjust things around, check to make sure everything was tidy, but for about an hour or so he was left with absolutely nothing to do. He'd resorted to flipping through one of the magazines from the back room, even though he had little to no interest in anything that it said, when the bell chimed gently over the door.
Hastily, he slipped his reading material away and turned to address the customer – who happened to have a guitar slung behind his back, bright eyes quickly scanning the menu behind Marth's head as he stepped forward. Perhaps he didn't live around here, after all; anyone who did was usually a regular or a friend of one.
"Welcome to Farore's Café," he greeted after overcoming his initial surprise. The man's eyes landed on him and a small smile tugged at his lips, an eyebrow raising.
"So that's the name? I've been wondering for a while – everybody just keeps calling it 'the café' like I'm supposed to know what they're talking about," he replied with slight amusement, and Marth couldn't help but smile in return.
"Yes, it's a bit difficult to remember that it's got a real name, sometimes," he agreed with a soft laugh, tilting his head a little bit. "I usually just say 'welcome back,' but seeing as I don't believe you've been here…"
"You'd be right," the man replied as he dug in his pocket for what Marth spied to be a wallet. "So I'm just going to have to make my own judgment at last. If I could get an Americano, that'd be wonderful. Ah- to go, if that's alright."
"Certainly." Marth quickly stepped away from the counter and returned a few moments later, placing the drink on the counter; the man exchanged it for a few bills he must've received incredibly recently before taking the hot coffee into his hand, giving it a soft, cooling blow before downing a rather good amount. He sighed softly, drumming his calloused fingers over it gently.
"I might just have to come back some other time, since I can't just get in and out anywhere else like I, evidently, can here. Although I must admit, for how popular it seems to be, today seems to be rather… deserted." He raised an eyebrow again, and Marth smiled.
"Just one of those days, I suppose. Blessing in disguise, with how hectic it can be…" He shrugged a little and then paused, considering before he asked, "You're that street performer, aren't you?"
The man blinked a little bit at this before smiling, leaning his elbows against the carefully polished counter. "That'd be me. You showed up at the beginning of my rounds today, didn't you? 'Preciate it. Helps bring in a few more people," he replied, taking another sip that must've burned his tongue. At least a little bit.
"You were very good," said Marth sincerely, though the words sounded hollow even to him. "Really," he added, as though that would make it seem a little more authentic.
It seemed as though he was worried for nothing, though; the man brightened a little all the same, blinking those bright eyes of his. "Thanks," he replied, nodding a little bit. "I try. Name's Ike, by the way," he added, extending his free hand out towards Marth.
The man blinked a few times and smiled gently in return, taking the rough hand into his smoother one and giving it a firm shake. "Marth," he replied softly, replacing his hands behind his back just afterwards. "Do you come play around here often? I haven't seen you before, and I thought I heard something about it being unusual you being here again…"
Ike blinked again at this question, shaking his head as he turned his cup between his hands. "Nah. I travel around a lot, don't usually stay in one place longer than a few weeks. I backtrack a lot, though," he added, shrugging. "Get a little nostalgic for some places, even if I've only been there once… and consequently pass through here pretty often. It's a nice little crossroads, ya'know? Because of that, I don't usually stay here very long, so I guess it would be kinda weird for me to be here two weeks in a row," he explained. He didn't elaborate on why he might be staying, instead taking a longer drink, as if experimenting to see how long a few moments would cool it down. Probably not by much.
Marth listened attentively to the man speak, nodding slowly at the end of it. "Makes sense," he replied softly, deciding not to press him if he wasn't going to continue on his own. "Why did you start traveling, if I may ask?" he said instead, and watched as Ike seemed to consider carefully, briefly glancing to the watch on his wrist as he did so.
"Tell you what: next time I see you, whether you see me playing – and I will be playing around," he said, interrupting himself with a faint smile. "See if you can find my regular spots, if you want – or I come in to get another cup of coffee, I'll tell you. It's an incredibly thrilling tale, I promise you; I want to do it justice."
Marth blinked a little at this curious promise, but smiled warmly, regardless. "I'll hold you to that, then," he replied lightly, nodding. "It was nice to meet you, Ike."
"You as well, Marth," he replied, shooting a glance to the hallway behind him before smiling to his face again and straightening up. He shifted the instrument on his back, nodding. "See you." With a small wave, he swiftly turned and strode out the door, the soft ringing of the bell leaving Marth simultaneously expectant – and oddly disappointed.
Marth wasn't entirely sure when he was expecting to see Ike again – he honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he'd run into him on his way home from work, but such wasn't the case. Instead, he ran into him while walking the next day. It was rather early in the morning, surprisingly so. On one of his few days off, where he usually went on long walks throughout the town. There was a particular park a little off the usual view of passerby, and therefore usually empty. He expected it to be so, almost depended on it; it was a normal part of his day, that solidarity. It was a bit nice, to let him collect his thoughts and then go through with the rest of the motions.
But today, as soon as he entered, the soft strumming of strings reached him instead of birdsong.
"Rise to the top of the world, America, America, don't you cry."
He blinked a little and stepped silently along the path until he spotted him – completely alone, seeming to be completely absorbed in his quiet song.
"Lift me up, Give me strength to press on."
He felt almost as though he was intruding on something personal, but continued anyways, slowly tracing the pathways with his feet as he drew closer. He wondered, idly, why he was bothering to perform in a place that nobody would show up in – especially now, when nobody would be around at all. It didn't make very much sense.
"From farmers in fields,
To the tallest of the towers that fall and rise,
One, seven, seven, six,
The names upon the list,
For all the ones that gave until they died."
He stayed a little distance away as he listened silently, simply observing the other man. This morning, he was still wearing the same jeans and shoes from the day previous, but wore a looser red shirt today. Everything else seemed exactly the same; his hair, his voice, his guitar. Although his case, still lying by his feet, was closed. As though he wasn't expecting anyone to come at all…
Ike didn't look up until he'd finished his song, and when he did, he looked just as surprised as before when he realized somebody was actually present. Just as easily as before, though, this subtle shock melted into a warm, pleasant smile, and he tilted his head. "Oh. Good morning, Marth," he said softly, letting his fingers fall from the fingerboard as he flexed them a little bit.
"Morning," Marth replied warmly, stepping a bit closer once he felt as though he was welcome. Ike shifted a little on the bench he occupied to give him room, and the bluenette gratefully accepted it, sitting down with a small sigh. "I wasn't expecting to see anyone out here this early," he admitted, tilting his head a little bit. Sunlight was still soft over the grasses and through the few trees; the town itself still seemed to be sleeping, nevermind the residents.
"Me neither," Ike replied with a good-natured smile, absentmindedly plucking at one of his strings and reaching up to adjust it the tiniest bit. "Every once in a while, I'll come out here to warm up a bit… and I take it those are the mornings you decide not to?"
"Something like that," Marth replied with a small laugh, shaking his head. "I come out here on my free days, which can be few and far between, sometimes. I don't really mind, though; it isn't a bad job."
"No, it doesn't seem like it would be," he replied, a bit thoughtfully. "Zelda owns that place, doesn't she?"
"She does. Do you know her?"
"I've run into her a few times, when I was around here. And… elementary school," he decided, nodding a little bit. "Really early on, before I moved away from here."
"You used to live here, then?" Marth asked, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise.
"Yeah. Not for too long, we moved out just a few years after my sister was born… So in that way, I guess that's another reason I keep coming back here, huh? Not like I mind, really… more good memories than bad."
"Speaking of which, weren't you supposed to tell me some sort of epic story?" The man's lips twitched upwards in a teasing smile as he brought it up, raising an eyebrow. "One that I'm sure is worthy of many awards."
"Right, right. Well, I might've lied to you a little bit," Ike replied casually, laying the guitar flat on his lap and smiling cheekily at Marth.
"Oh?" He couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. "So you don't travel, then?"
"Oh no, I do," Ike replied, shaking his head. "It's the enthralling tale that I might've lied about. I had to stay the mysterious stranger somehow, ya'know," he added in response to Marth's look, his smile growing a little bit. "I mean, how else was I supposed to keep interest? You would've just gotten bored, after all, and then our lovely conversation would never continue."
"Well, if you weren't in such a rush, then maybe you wouldn't have needed to keep the mystery. And trust me, the real mystery here is still how you get your hair to do that."
Ike chuckled softly; it was a soft, quiet kind of laugh that filled Marth with an unexpected warmth. "Fair enough, but money doesn't make itself."
"I do hope your story redeems you, then," he replied with a small, teasing smile, to which Ike raised an eyebrow.
"I'm afraid not."
"And why's that?"
"It's pretty lackluster." The emphasis on the word seemed rather unnecessary, so it was now Marth's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"How about you let me be the judge of that?" he replied with slight amusement, but Ike suddenly sighed and looked away.
"I dunno…" It was needlessly dramatic at this point, and Marth wasn't sure if he was amused or exasperated by this display.
"Oh, really. Come on, now, you promised me that much and you're not going to go denying me of it. Out with it," he urged, and for several long moments, he received only silence. He was almost afraid that he'd overstepped some kind of boundary, offended him – but he turned back to him and gave a small smile again just afterwards.
"I felt like it," he said simply.
Marth blinked a few times, confused. "Hm?"
"I felt like it," he repeated. "That's why I decided to travel. I told my sister and our aunt that I wanted to travel, go abroad, I suppose – so they said alright. As long as I both visited and kept in touch. So I did and do both, and here I am." He shrugged a little bit, shifting his guitar as he crossed his legs. "Not really much else to say. Told you it was boring."
But Marth was regarding him with a kind of quiet curiosity, blinking slowly. "So you just… packed up and left?" he asked quietly, his eyebrows drawing together.
Ike blinked a few times at this, tilting his head to the side as he looked forwards. "Well… yeah. I left as soon as I got out of high school. Never did go to university or anything – I just went everywhere else. Packed a backpack. Brought my own money. Performed, sometimes picked up the odd job when things got too tight, stayed with friends or in hotels…" He trailed off, shrugging before looking back to Marth again, raising an eyebrow.
The idea to simply pack his suitcase and whisk himself off to places unknown seemed incredibly irresponsible to Marth; reckless, almost a bit stupid, if he was to be blunt. But at the same time, it was an almost exciting prospect. To just go wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted, and not have to answer to anyone but yourself… it sounded oddly freeing. Like you could find out so much about so many things, including yourself.
"How long?" he suddenly blurted out, making Ike give him a bit of an odd look.
"What?"
"Sorry," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed, but elaborated, "How long have you been traveling? You said that you started when you got out of high school, but…"
"Ah," Ike murmured, nodding a little bit before frowning in thought. "… About… Maybe six or so years? I'd say that's a fair estimate. I'm twenty-four," he clarified, and Marth raised an eyebrow slowly. So this man was younger than him? Well, if that wasn't a bit of a blow to the ego. Granted, it was only a year, but still - enough to make him uncomfortable.
"I suppose you've seen a lot of places, then… wow. Six years, though? I couldn't imagine not staying put for so long," he said softly, thoughtfully.
Ike regarded him for a few moments, though it was impossible to guess what he might be looking for; he looked away again, shrugging. "Yeah," he murmured, scratching at the back of his head. "I mean… I guess I've just gotten so used to going wherever that the thought of staying put for any length of time seems sort of odd, you know what I mean?" He smiled, though Marth couldn't pinpoint what emotion went along with it. Perhaps it was a bit bitter, if anything. "I can't just keep wandering around forever, I know that much. There's a whole lot I still haven't seen yet, and a lot that I still want to learn, but… if I don't make up my mind, then I'll never really get anything done."
"You can sure make a lot of friends that way, though," Marth commented without really meaning to, and he blinked a few times in realization. "That is to say… You'll still touch a lot of people, I suppose. And all in all, that might be what we're all trying to do, right…?" He paused for a moment, a time in which Ike remained silent, and laughed a little nervously. "Sorry, I didn't mean to get all philosophical on you there-"
"No," Ike cut him off, looking over to him with a gentle smile. "No, really. Maybe you're right." He glanced ahead again, staring at a fixed point in space once more. "But I guess there's no way to know what you've achieved until everything's already over. And by that time, it's kind of hard to tell." He paused again, and then gave a soft chuckle, tilting his head. "… I wonder if that thereby gives me the right to do whatever the hell I want. It's almost weird to think about, like that…"
Marth blinked a little at this before chuckling softly, himself, and giving a small nod. "Well, you should certainly be free to make your own decisions. Whether to go everywhere or nowhere at all. I would recommend, though," he noted, poking at the guitar resting in the man's lap, "sticking with that, though. That could probably take you places, I think."
The other man eyed him for a moment or two before his face slipped into that small smile again, and he sighed. "I suppose we'll see… just where everything takes me. I never really know where I'm going next, after all," he added, and Marth blinked a few times, confused.
"How can you not know where you're going next?" he murmured, frowning. "It's not like you're in a ship, or something… are you?"
Ike laughed again at this, crossing his arms and resting his arms on his guitar. "Nah, I bike, usually. Not incredibly fond of cars, they make me kinda paranoid."
Despite himself, Marth found himself shooting the other man a somewhat inquiring glance, to which he waved his hand a little bit. "That one is definitely a long story. For another time." His tone was so firm that Marth felt a little bad for even suggesting his curiosity, but decided to move on.
"Right. Sorry," he added softly, and Ike glanced over to him again, tilting his head.
"You're apologizing for being curious? It's no problem – don't worry."
Marth couldn't tell if the question was rhetorical or not, and battled with it for a moment or two before honing in on the biking section again. "So you… bike everywhere. For six years, you have?"
"That's right. Well, not everywhere, but most places."
"And you don't get… you know, tired? Worn out?" he asked, somewhat incredulously. Plus, wasn't it sort of, well, difficult to carry a guitar on your back and bike at the same time? Not to mention he had a suitcase to lug around, as well.
Ike was smiling again, and he shrugged just a little bit. "In the beginning more so than now. Six years is a long time to get used to it; plenty of time to build up stamina. It's like playing, or singing," he added, after a brief pause of thought. "After a while, it's just like going through the motions. Takes practice."
Marth nodded slowly at this, and then added, "How do you get everywhere else, then? If not by bike?"
"Train, typically," he replied, his attention now on his strings again as he unfolded his arms. "They're the best for particularly long distances, but they're more expensive… so I try and stick with bikes, because I don't have to pay for those except to buy one and make sure it doesn't fall apart when I'm riding it. Because that's not very fun, take my word for it."
Marth laughed softly at this, nodding a little bit. "I wouldn't expect so, no."
This continued on for… how long, he wasn't entirely sure. All he knew was that by the time Ike was apologizing and getting to his feet, saying that he'd rather catch the rush hour, it felt as though he'd talked himself hoarse. That they'd covered every subject under the sun, and that he knew this man inside out, and vice versa – though that was the complete opposite. It wasn't as though he could possibly know everything about the man, but more that he'd realized just how much he had to learn about him.
Watching his figure recede from view, the guitar still strapped to his back, he wondered why it suddenly mattered so much that he fixed that problem as soon as possible.
And so he tried.
The two of them often ran into one another, though this quickly grew suspicious as coincidence became more than that. He was rather certain that he saw Peach and Zelda alike lurking around the corners when the two of them met in streets, or that he was being sent on some errands that sent him past Ike's favorite haunts time and time again, until he memorized them. The times of day, the kinds of songs he would play in certain locations – and they were different, even if the direct categories took him some time to place – and beyond that, how he might trick himself into accidentally coming there.
He noticed his growing fondness of the other man, as a few days turned to a week – and then more than that, until Ike had been in town for two months and winter began to slowly creep in. It didn't bother him so much; he managed to brush it off as a blossoming friendship. That he was beginning to truly care about the other man, that they were becoming very good friends.
But he wasn't stupid. He wasn't so stupid enough to not realize how much of an idiot he'd been when he was talking with him, just after another performance.
They were both sitting on the fence separating the river from the street, Marth watching the crowd and Ike watching the water. It was one of those periods of silence that neither of them really minded because of how comfortable it was – it wasn't the same kind of silence that he shared with other people, and somewhere along the line it was just something that he associated with the tall man.
"I'm probably going to be heading out again tomorrow."
His words were calm and casual, but they nearly threw Marth over the edge of that railing, tumbling down into the icy waters beneath him. No, that was worse than the ice water. He felt his heart gave a lurch that he didn't quite understand, slowly looking aside to the other man. He wasn't meeting his gaze. Instead, he continued to stare into the gently floating waters, causing Marth to scramble for a response.
"Why?" It was quiet, and perfectly calm. Somehow. He wasn't exactly sure why – he was currently trying to wrestle with too many conflicting emotions for his voice to be calm, but miraculously, it was.
"I've already stayed here too long, I think," came Ike's thoughtful reply, and he shrugged a little bit, turning his head to look at the case of his guitar now, instead. A good amount of money was lying inside – there had been a rather large crowd, today. They grew slowly, by one or two people every day as other people learned of his routes, too; it proved a good profit, in Marth's mind. "And… I need to move on. Obviously, I'll be back at some point in time, though. Dunno when." He shrugged again, almost helplessly. "Eventually."
Really, Marth wasn't sure what he was expecting; Ike had always, always known that he was going to leave again, and so had Marth. He had basic comprehension skills, after all, but if that was the case, then why did it seem to hurt so much? He'd known the fact, but hadn't considered the reality of it. He'd known this man for two months, though. He was being ridiculous. His world wasn't going to end just because he wouldn't see Ike for a long time, might not talk to him, might be completely forgotten by-
"Where do you think you're going to go?" his mouth asked for him, and now he wasn't looking at the man, either. He was staring at the passerby, his insides churning. But at least the rest of him seemed to know what to do; otherwise he might just sit there until he collapsed onto himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ike shrugging again.
"Dunno," he replied quietly, once more. It seemed like such an unsatisfactory one answer, though. How could Marth possibly feel at ease when he didn't know at all when he had no clue where Ike might be? Whether he was alright, whether he was going on fine, whether he had some sort of stupidly deep statement about what might be happening next in the world?
"Well, you should send me a postcard or something when you get there," he said airily, as if none of this bothered him. As if he was perfectly fine, and he didn't care, because he was fine with his friend being happy. And traveling was what made Ike happy, so why wouldn't he want him to go?
It's because I-
"I don't actually know your address," the man replied with a slightly raised eyebrow, finally turning his gaze towards Marth. Marth felt obliged to look back, his eyebrows raised in polite, automatic surprise. Well, it was genuine surprise. Probably would've been, if half of him wasn't numb.
"Really? I never gave it to you?" he asked, frowning, and the man shook his head. "I can go get a piece of paper from the café and write it down for you, if you'd like."
"… I would. Thank you," he replied softly, smiling that stupid way of his.
I don't know how it happened, but I-
Marth simply nodded and turned, striding resolutely down the street. He didn't turn back, didn't pause when he entered the shop, didn't great Zelda when she called out to him nor any of the regulars nor did he explain what he was doing. He focused entirely on the words on the peace of paper to stop the burning in his throat, and blinked few times as he exited, finally closing his eyes and giving a deep breath.
Was giving his address to Ike like giving his permission for him to leave? Because most certainly, he wasn't giving it. But… no. That was wrong. Because first of all, Ike didn't need his permission, and second of all, he was giving his permission. Because… Ike being happy was what came first, and if that meant leaving him far behind, then that was what would happen. So he turned and walked down the street again, the paper clenched in his hand.
No matter where you go, I just want you to know-
And it wasn't like Ike wasn't going to come back. He would. He said he would; he did often. Just in passing, but he came. And surely he would say hello to Marth on the way, right?
But sometimes he didn't even mention to Link or Zelda that he came in town, and they had met in elementary school. So why would Marth be special? Why would he be any different than them?
He wouldn't be. He would have no idea, so maybe he would just visit these spots every day to check? No, then Peach would never let him hear the end of it; she'd notice for sure. He'd know. And he wouldn't let himself live that down, that was just too pathetic.
As pathetic as being unable to admit-?
"Marth?"
He was pulled out of his thoughts by the single, soft syllable, and as he looked up, he realized that he'd come to face Ike without even realizing it. The bluenette looked a bit concerned, and he had to wonder why – until he realized that his face was so carefully blank that it must look rather odd. So he forced himself to relax a little bit, and forced himself to smile. It slid on like a practiced mask, and he held out the address to his friend.
"Here you are."
Ike studied his face for several long moments after this, but then slowly took the small scrap, reading it over a few times before stowing it safely in his pocket. "Thank you," he said softly, and then slipped from his seat, pausing in front of the other bluenette. He gave him a warm smile and tilted his head a little bit, reaching a hand up and ruffling the man's carefully-placed hair a little bit.
"I'll see you when I see you, then, Marth."
"Goodbye, Ike."
"See you later, Marth. There's a difference."
Marth watched his receding figure silently, one of his fists curling and uncurling a few times. He wondered why he felt so unfulfilled. And disappointed.
It's because you love him, you idiot.
And so he did.
Marth was left wondering a lot of things in the week or two to come. What he did before Ike came into town, on his now-dull free days; which costumers he actually looked forward to seeing, because now they all just seemed bland; why the streets seemed to empty and silent when nobody else seemed to notice.
He didn't receive a postcard. He didn't know why he expected one, or why he felt so bitter every time he saw that there wasn't any in the mailbox. Why would Ike send him a postcard, and not somebody that he'd known for years and years? Repeatedly, he reminded himself that he was talking about a man that he'd known for two months.
But that was enough.
That he knew hardly anything about because he was so damn reserved half the time, even though it was so easy to believe he was being open.
Isn't that what makes him interesting?
He missed him.
More than I believe I do.
And he wasn't expecting the knock on the door.
No, it wasn't a knock. It was a pounding, and Marth looked up from where he was reading some magazine he didn't care about with slight alarm. Slowly, he rose from where he sat, lowering his reading material down onto the table. He stepped over to the door, his hand hovering lightly over the handle before he steeled himself and opened it, fully prepared for whoever might be waiting there-
A warm finger jabbed him hard in the chest, and as he looked up into the familiar face, he blinked a few times at the expression on it. It was somewhere between anger and confusion – a kind of confliction that flittered across his features so subtly, so subtly that Marth had learned how to read it.
"I-Ike, what are you-"
"You." A hard, single syllable. Marth blinked a little and took a half-step back, trying to understand the situation somehow.
"M… Me?" he stammered, entirely confused.
"You," Ike repeated, closing the distance again. And then again. And then again.
"I can't play," he spat, finally seeming to land in the medium of frustration. "I can't play, I can't sing, I can't perform. I can hardly bike, sometimes, you know - I swear I nearly crashed seven times between the entrance of the city and your house. And it took me forever to figure out why that was, and now I know."
Marth blinked a few times at this, bewildered. "… Me?" he guessed quietly, and Ike gave a short, violent nod.
"You," he repeated again, and then turned to the side, pacing back and forth. "My hands keep shaking. I've completely wasted all of my spare strings, and when I open my mouth, it's pitchy and sometimes nothing comes out. It's just silence, and I- didn't know how to fix it. Not for a while. But then I sat down and I thought – I really, really thought about it – and then I realized. It was you. That's how I would fix it." He suddenly whipped around, and Marth noticed that the faint circles had deepened. Quite a bit, actually. Maybe that would explain the odd behavior, but…
"… Ike, talk sense, please," he said as soothingly as he could, placing a hand gently on the man's shoulder. He seemed to relax a little bit. "Now, tell me how I can fix this."
For a moment, he thought that he'd completely broken the other man; he closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths, as if steeling himself for something. And then, suddenly, his rough hands were on Marth's face, and they were being pulled together-
And then their lips met, and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second, and in that second he froze… but slowly, his arms wrapped around the bluenette's neck, and Ike's moved to wrap around his waist.
And as they separated, there was a long moment of silence, before-
"You could come with me."
"Where to?"
"Anywhere."
A long, drawn out pause.
"Will I have to get a bike?"
"Probably."
Another.
"Okay."
Ike was silent for a good few moments before he simply laughed, shaking his head and kissing him again.
He'd let a stupid street performer play his heart strings perfectly. And now look where it had gotten him.
Don't pretend like it's not what you wanted.
Maybe it was.
But he wouldn't know until the end, would he?