Author's Notes: Ah, yes. My getting-to-know-you phase of dipping into a new fandom. This is my first FE fic, and it probably shows. If there's OOC-ness, feel free to berate me. -grin-

Ike/Soren. Takes place directly after their A-level support conversation; the fic's first line is the last line therein. I don't own FE or any of the characters; if I did, they would spend much less time on tactics battles and much more time making out.

Since Then

"My… only friend."

For a moment, the quiet sound of the young tactician struggling to keep his breathing from becoming too jagged was the only noise that filled the tent. Ike found that he couldn't take another breath at all; the words had struck him too deeply, the expression on Soren's face much too carefully guarded against the emotions creeping in around the edges to allow such mundane things as the need for air to interfere with the moment.

It was several seconds later that he remembered to inhale- to swallow hard against the sudden parched sensation at the back of his throat. "Soren," he began, not knowing what else to say.

And the boy was actually trembling now; it was visible in the thin line of his shoulders, through the robes, and the place where slender hands had clenched into themselves at his side. The tears, though, what few there had been, were all but gone from Soren's cheeks, and he visibly pulled himself together, even as the young general watched.

"Thank you," the tactician said, soft but intent, the corners of his lips curving up just slightly into the smile that he showed nobody but Ike. It remained for a moment, sincere and grateful, before flickering away to be replaced by an expression much more businesslike. "Now," he announced, "there are a great many things that aren't yet in order for our next battle, and I don't intend to let them stay that way for long."

But for the residual tear tracts along the boy's pale face, Ike might have thought that the conversation of the past several minutes hadn't happened at all. Dumbfounded, he watched as his best friend turned to make his way from the tent.

"Soren-" he began again, still not entirely certain what he intended to say but knowing, at least, that it ought to be said.

The young tactician didn't so much as slow, reaching out to pull aside the tent flap with the ease of someone that hadn't slept in a sturdy building for far too long.

"Soren, wait!"

Ike's hand had moved before it became a conscious decision- reached out as though with a will of its own and closed around the boy's wrist. And the young tactician was still trembling; he could feel it even through the layers of cloth, though it had become too fine to be visible.

At the touch, Soren froze, fingers still closed around the fabric of the tent- and then slowly, carefully, let it go once more. When he turned, there was something cautious in the depths of wide, dusky red eyes, an expression at once both guarded and curious.

"I-" Ike began, somehow managing to have less an idea what he intended to say, now that he'd succeeded in keeping the boy so that he could say it. "You-"

But that, the young general realized as he watched the subtle shift of emotion on Soren's face, was a bad way to begin- because the trepidation that had tinged those delicate features just moments before had returned, an uncertainty that filtered in at the corners of his eyes and showed in the set of his lips.

The reaction, Ike would think later, was an instinctive one; some part of him had decided, in that instant, that the quickest way to keep that expression from his friend's face was simply to act, to chase it away with something that couldn't be misconstrued, wouldn't take time to explain.

In that unthinking second, he reached out with the other hand, as well- set it on Soren's shoulder and pressed, so that the tactician, usually so hard to unbalance, stumbled forward against him. It wasn't until he could feel the trembling up against his chest that he released the slender wrist from his grasp, reaching instead to circle his arm around the boy's back and draw him nearer.

There was a moment's resistance, a stiffening that may have been discomfort or perhaps surprise. But a heartbeat more and the tension had drained, slender arms reaching up cautiously to close around his waist.

It was the boy's hair that reminded Ike how long it had been since last they'd been this close; the thick, silky black segments were unfamiliar beneath his fingers, strange and surprisingly soft to the touch.

When they'd been younger, it hadn't been long enough for him to reach, not quite falling to the center of the boy's shoulder blades. On the occasions when Soren had admitted to wanting company while upset- rare initially, but scarcer still as the years had passed- he'd wondered, sometimes, whether his friend would mind if he were to run his fingers through it. The thought had always been accompanied with an undertone of guilt, the vague sense that he shouldn't be thinking about what the boy's hair felt like when he needed comfort, but he'd never been able to rid himself of the impulse.

It was something of a shock to be reminded so physically of how much time had been and gone. To be able to run his fingers gently over Soren's back the way he had when they were both still children and stroke the young tactician's hair all in the same motion.

Against him, the boy took in a long, shuddering breath- let it out once more, slow and unsteady.

It was impossible to say for sure, with the way that Soren's face was pressed against the front of his shirt, but Ike thought the tactician may have been crying again, shoulders shaking just slightly more than they had been.

Carefully, he tightened his hold.

-owari-