Archive of Our Own

Ike wouldn’t consider himself to be someone who believes in instant connection, or puts much stock in the ‘love at first sight’ style of soulmates.  He’s always been one who put more stock into relationships built over time, relationships built on mutual trust- both in the platonic and romantic senses, though the former, for him, is much, much more common.

He wouldn’t say that he prides himself on knowing how to foster those kinds of connections, that kind of trust- that would be extremely arrogant of him, assuming that he’s so skillful with his words and his knowledge of people that they have no choice but to trust him.  But, well, Ike wouldn’t say that he’s necessarily bad at it, either.  For all that he tends to talk down on himself, he can admit that he’s always slotted neatly into the role of the helpful listener- a shoulder to cry on, a presence to comfort others, someone who can distract friends with jokes and stories when the need arises.

He hasn’t always been able to say that- but, well, he’s gotten to the age where most things about his personality seem relatively unchanging, and since he met Luxiem, since he joined Nijisanji, and even in the years since arriving in the present at all- that’s been a core facet of his relationships, everpresent.

Regardless of how he, himself, may be feeling, Ike will always stop to listen to a friend, and help how he can.

With age, he’s come to appreciate the act, most of the time- it’s become grounding, almost relaxing.  Not that his friends are struggling, of course not- but simply the motions of responding, helping guide them through the process of calming down, talking things out, forming a game plan if needed or possible.  It’s a familiar rhythm, one that he sometimes feels he could fall into forever, perfectly at peace to dispense his calming words and small bits of advice until the end of time.

Sometimes, though- sometimes, Ike is hit with what feels like the weight of the world falling on his shoulders- he's the furthest thing from Atlas, though, and god, if it doesn’t feel arrogant to phrase it like that, when his problems are so small compared to his friends.  They’re stressing over their work, most often- Luca with his mafia, Shu with the exorcisms he’s hired for at times, Mysta with his cases- or with the weight of pasts that are far, far heavier than his own (Vox’s comes to mind rather quickly- he’s not sure how the demon managed to survive that, both in terms of his injuries, and in terms of his mentality.  Ike isn’t sure that he’d be able to do the same, if he were in the same position).

And what does he have?  Some- books that he has to finish, the occasional musical project that he takes up to help his friends out, or of his own accord?  What in the world could weigh heavy enough on Ike’s shoulders that he should feel he has any right to- to what, refuse to help people when they ask?  How selfish is he, to even consider it?

He knows, logically, that it’s more than that- that he could always say he doesn’t have the time to talk, doesn’t have the energy, that he would maybe like to be hugged himself, actually- that his friends would never judge him for it, not in a million years.

Even so.

That doesn’t stop the all-consuming weight that settles on him, now, when he sees he’s got a new message in the server that he specifically made so people could ask for his help.

It doesn’t stop the guilt that follows, either, burning through him with a vengeance- how dare he, how dare he feel so put-upon when he offered to help in the first place?- as he tabs in and forces more energy into his replies than he feels.

After that conversation is as close to done as it’s going to get, Ike sits back- he’s been hunched over his computer this entire time, he’d been about to do something, hadn’t he?

But the memory is foggy, and he lets it go after a moment- whatever it was, it’s something that future-Ike can deal with.  For now, present-Ike feels weirdly floaty- disoriented in the way that’s becoming more and more common lately, as the weather turns chillier and his sleep schedule gets worse.

As if he’s watching himself in third person, Ike stands, mechanically- forces himself to stretch until his back cracks and then some, not even having the energy to make the slightest of sounds.  He sees himself move slowly towards the door, before pausing- where is he going?  What is he doing?

His computer chimes behind him- either a dm or another friend needing help, both of which he should respond to sooner rather than later.

He can’t bring himself to look at it.

Instead, Ike stares blankly at the door frame- or, just past it, really, into the dark nothingness of his hallway- until he feels himself return to his body, though there’s still some disconnect, an uncomfortable, familiar buzzing under his skin, like he’s still flickering in and out of his own body.

Ike isn’t psychic- he’s the furthest thing from magical, in fact, just an ordinary human novelist- but he knows, with clarity sharp as glass, how the next however-long will play out.

Step one: Ike will make his way to the bathroom, will continue to ignore his computer and his phone and his friends as he opens his drawer and brings out what he needs.

Step two: Ike will not feel himself hurt- until he does, sharp and cold and everything he deserves.  He will stop after it fades, when the lack of pain returns and the guilt rises up, ugly and vitriolic.

Step three: Ike will sit there, in his bathroom, for a concerning amount of time.  He will be grateful that he lives alone, because if he had any roommates, they would think something had happened- and that won’t be true, that will never have been true.  For something to have happened, Ike would have had to be hurt by it- and he feels the lack of pain as sorely as if it were, itself, an injury; a vast, gaping nothing that sucks his thoughts away.  That’s rather the point.

Step four: Ike will return to his computer, more grounded, will read the message and respond with forced energy, and will go to sleep regretting what he did.

Step five: Ike will never learn.

Ike will never learn.

That’s fine, though- this system works, what does he need to change about it?  It happens every day, every month, every year- the people used to shift around some, but now, he’s pretty sure, everyone is pretty much set in where they want to go- where they want to be, what they want to do, whether they’re going to leave.

Some days, Ike wonders that, himself.  When is he going to leave?

He knows he’s loved- knows his friends and coworkers and audience care for him, knows how many people don’t want him to leave- and because it’s just another way of helping, he doesn’t, but still- on those heaviest of days, he can’t help but wonder, what if?

What if, just for a day, he had the freedom?

What if everyone forgot about him, let him sink into obscurity and fade away, a nameless stone thrown into a pond far bigger than anyone could ever comprehend?

What if it were an accident, what if he didn’t have to take the blame?

That thought, almost more than any other, is tempting- what if a tragedy occurred, what if he were allowed to simply disappear into oblivion without a scrap of blame?

On the best of his days, it’s not a thought Ike has at all- but even on those ‘good’ days, he doesn’t think he’d disagree with the notion.  The idea of a blameless exit, no grand fanfare, just a simple goodbye at most- a sentence that doesn’t even fall at the end of a chapter, because it’s not so important as to constitute any kind of cliffhanger.  A fact, dropped in the middle of a paragraph and forgotten about the next, a character without so much as a wiki page, simply left by the wayside along the story’s path.  The soft 'plonk' of a stone hitting the water, tossed away by a child, whose only concern is that the stone didn't skip as far as they'd hoped.

It’s never going to happen, of course- especially not at this point, with so many eyes on him, so many hands attempting to propel him forwards, lift him up- the better parts of Ike are thankful for that tether.

Today, though, he returns to his computer, replies to the thankfully-just-a-dm with cheerful agreement, goes on a fanart-retweeting spree at far too late an hour, and ignores the sparks of pain that accompany certain movements and stretches.  His body slowly starts to feel more like his own- twinges of hunger hitting him, and he tells himself that if anyone else is awake right now, if anyone else is eating, that he’ll share a meal with them.

Is it bad that so much of who Ike Eveland is feels pieced together from the parts of others that hold him up, a patchwork that he barely recognizes some days?

Maybe.

It’s not like he has any choice in the matter, though, it’s not like he decided to become this person, fragmented and reformed from the broken bits of others.

Months later, Ike’s routine falls to tatters.

In the day-to-day, not so much has changed since moving in with the rest of Luxiem- they eat together, hang out sometimes, but all of them know that Ike is an introvert- they respect his need to recharge, and he doesn’t really have all that much less alone time than he did before.

When he falls into one of his worse days, however, that’s when he really realizes- ah, right, he’s got roommates now, who will just ask him in person if they need something, who he’ll need to smile at until they go away.

Luckily, the first time this happens, the first day of what he knows will be at least a week-long slump, it’s Mysta who finds him- standing blankly in his room, staring at nothing, Mysta’s touches are gentle on his arms, and Ike comes back to himself quickly- he thinks, at least, he doesn’t quite know when he started zoning out, after all, or how long he spent staring at nothing.

Mysta is the closest to understanding, he thinks- just giving him a concerned look, not asking that Ike say anything, next time, but just that he tries to make it to Mysta’s- to anyone’s- room if he feels himself starting to drift again, so they can help him come back down.  Ike nods, he thinks, says something that must be good enough for the detective- because he leaves, albeit not without another concerned frown.

The next time anyone notices anything, it’s Shu- Ike’s in the kitchen at ass-o’clock, he’s been staring blankly into the fridge for god knows how long, and Shu’s just woken up, his sleep schedule every bit as healthy as he claims it is.

There’s probably a commiserating nod, if Ike has to guess, based on prior experience- but he can’t tell for sure, unable to force his focus away from the grime on the very back of the second shelf.  Why that’s what his mind has chosen to focus in on, he hasn’t the slightest inkling of a clue- but it’s forced away when Shu lightly pokes his arm, his gaze flickering down to the touch, then over to the sorcerer’s face.

“Ah-” is all he manages, before Shu shushes him and smiles calmingly.  He says something about making tea for them both, and Ike can only nod.

Luca startles him out of the beginnings of a panic attack a few days later, dragging him to the store to get more snacks for everyone because they were “Almost all gone, Ikey, we all need some more, c’mon!” and totally not because he’d run out of snacks the day before.  It’s a welcome distraction, though, and if he’s quieter than normal on the drive there and in the store, Luca says nothing about it- just grins, bright as the midday sun, when Ike starts quietly humming along to the car radio on the drive home.

It’s nice- for the first time in years, Ike feels like this string of depressive episodes might not consume him for most of winter, like there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.  A half-season, his mind jokes- and he gives a small, private, genuine smile.

Of course, though, the universe just loves to prove him wrong- days later and he’s cooped up in his room once again, not even sitting at his desk.  He doesn’t have the motivation to cross the room, his schedule hasn’t released yet that week and even though he had been planning something for today, he just can’t bring himself to get up and perform for hours in front of everyone.  Even if he’d had the obligation of a waiting room weighing on him, Ike’s not sure that would’ve been enough to move him- at least, not enough to get him on-screen.  He probably would’ve been able to leave his bed, make some cursory tweet about not feeling well and moving the stream, and then lay back down for the next however-long until someone came to get him.

The others are busy with their own things, though, Ike knows for sure- and finally, after months, he’s slipping back into familiar patterns, dragging himself out of bed and into the bathroom with what he needs, going through his familiar steps with blessedly no interruption.

It’s not even an hour before Ike is back in bed- weighed-down as ever, but now slightly less burdened by the feeling of ice coating his lungs, freezing his tongue in place.

No one realizes- not that day, not the next, and Ike is impossibly relieved, lets himself breathe a little easier.

The thing about living with roommates, though, is- eventually they’re going to see each other in all manner of states of undress.  Ike’s not like Vox, or even Luca, lounging around in as little as socially acceptable sometimes- he’s not even quite as risky as Shu, most of the time, generally lounging around in.. well, loungewear.  Sweatpants, old t-shirts, mostly long sleeves- even in summer, more often than not.

But.

After finishing his final stream of the week, collaborating once more with Selen to play Apex, he’s been roped into taking off his pants again- and he’s at home, in his room, and the others all have long streams scheduled for the day, so he figures that it’s fine, even with things the way they are, if he just leaves his pants off, for a moment.  It’s not like anyone will see much of anything, anyways- his boxers cover a fair bit of his legs.  Not what he needs them to cover, right now, but Ike doesn’t feel like he’s walking around naked, so it’ll be fine for a brief stint out of his room.  And besides- the others have seen his legs before, just.. not like this.

The stream finishes, Ike hops up to get some water without putting his pants back on- because everyone else is supposed to be busy streaming, so it’ll be fine, he reassures himself- and he’s in the kitchen grabbing a glass before he hears steps approaching.  It’s all he can do to pull down his sweatshirt and boxers as far as they’ll go before Vox steps in, a tired smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he greets Ike and noticeably brightens.

Ike doesn’t think his reply sounds forced- if you asked him, he would say that he was doing a perfectly fine job of keeping his panic securely contained within his chest right next to his currently-jackrabbiting-heart, thank you very much, and there was no way Vox would’ve been able to hear the way his heart was hammering against the inside of his ribs like it wanted out, demon or no- but he’s probably wrong about all of that, he thinks, as Vox’s gaze slides past him towards the fridge and then does a double-take in real time.  Ike stalls in place, the icy panic turning him to little more than a frozen statue.

“...Ike,” Vox begins after a moment, very pointedly not-looking at Ike’s legs.  “I have two questions for you.”

“I’m busy,” Ike tries to say, with an awkward laugh, taking a sip of his water and keeping his gaze locked on the way the tiny cubes of ice swirl around in his glass.

“No, you’re not,” Vox states, matter-of-fact, golden eyes all but burning a hole through Ike.  “Your stream just finished, I saw you raid me.  Ike- number one, why aren’t you wearing pants, and number two..”

Ike braces himself for the inevitable, and he knows he’s not doing a good job of hiding his nerves- because he can hear Vox’s tone shift, can hear his friend exhale quietly and then resume speaking, ten times more gently than before.

(Not that he’d been rude, before, but- well, he’d been speaking in his normal, semi-brash tone, voice gravelly from the long stream he was taking a break from at the moment.)

“Is it alright, if we talk after my stream?”

Ike’s a little embarrassed, but his first instinct is to play dumb- to tease Vox about his habit of flirting, ask if he should expect any confessions, distract the demon with coy smiles and warm words and light jabs.

He knows it wouldn’t work, of course- he’s barely got the energy to speak normally as-is, he’s certainly not in any sort of space to tease Vox for an extended period of time- at least, not so long as it would take to deter him from the topic.

A tiny part of Ike considers it anyways.

In the end, he just nods quietly, and gestures to his bare legs with a barely-there huff of laughter and a, “Selen-senpai and I played Apex with Kanato again.”

It’s satisfactory enough, it seems- Vox nods, goes back to his stream, and Ike returns to his room with his glass and contemplates the merits of leaving the country before he has to talk about.. this in any amount of detail.

It’s not going to be his.. first time talking about this, of course- Ike’s been alive too long, has kept up his habits for far too long, to have never been noticed before- but this will be the first time he’s talking about it with someone who matters, with someone who he cares deeply about and someone whose opinion actually matters quite a bit to him.

Knowing Vox, it’s not unlikely that this will be far from the last time, though.  As much as Ike trusts his friend to keep things private, when they don’t hurt anyone- he knows Vox will see all this differently from how Ike does.  He knows that Vox will only see the injuries, the scars- will spill the same platitudes about how he’s always there if Ike needs anything, how Ike can always talk to him or any of the other boys- and the thing is, it’s not that Ike doesn’t believe them.  He knows they would listen as best they could, knows they’d do their best to help, that, bless them, they would do their all to make sure that he was alright- but that’s the thing.

As much as Ike knows the help is there, trusts that it will, without fail, be offered, should he ask- he doesn’t want to ask.

He’s supposed to be the one that everyone turns to for help- the one that takes on their burdens, helps lighten their loads as much as possible- and even the few times that he’s gotten just-slightly annoyed at people for messaging at a bad time, the guilt has been enormous.   To think about actually asking any of his friends for help- the idea alone almost makes Ike laugh, though he can’t quite tell why.  The ridiculousness of it, maybe?  The thought of Ike actually asking for help?

Atlas never asked for help with the world, and Ike is holding far, far less than that- he's fine, he doesn't need the help, anyways.  His system works, it's what he's learned over time, and it works.

In the end, Ike occupies himself during his wait as he always does: he sits on his bed, mindlessly scrolling through Twitter when he has the energy, lurking his various tags in an attempt to store up energy for the conversation to come.

It works, somewhat- he’s not-quite-smiling by the time Twitter notifies him of Vox’s post-stream tweet, and he actually manages to stand and open his door to greet his friend when Vox knocks lightly for entrance.

That’s about where his mood runs out, though- apprehension running hot in his veins, mixing and blurring together with the icy cold dread of knowing what Vox was here for.  It’s not a pleasant feeling, familiar as the freezing bite of panic has become.

He doesn’t open his mouth to speak beyond greeting the demon, though- Vox was the one who wanted to talk about this, so Vox was going to have to start that conversation himself, thank you very much.

Despite it being his choice- the small indulgence of his slight stubborn streak was enough to bury a small seed of guilt in the pit of Ike’s stomach anyways, so he decides to make things easier on Vox- a little bit easier, at any rate.  He closes the door, then returns to his bed, patting the covers next to himself to silently invite the demon over.  Given how touchy Vox tends to be (and definitely-not-ignoring the fact that Ike wanted to indulge in a hug or two, sue him), it’ll probably be easier to talk about that like this, sitting next to each other, in easy reach.

Vox, for his part, looks appropriately grateful- he settles down quickly, attempting to break the silence with a joke, familiar grin tugging at his lips and revealing the sharp points of his canines.

“Well, this isn’t exactly what I thought I’d be doing in your room with the door closed, Ike,” he teases, and Ike can’t hold back his snort of laughter, rolling his eyes.

“Be grateful you’re even in here at all,” he retorts, with half his usual fire- but it’s enough that Vox’s smile turns more genuine, the corners of his eyes scrunching up charmingly.

“I am, I am.”

It sounds honest- almost vulnerable, in a way that makes Ike’s heart shoot up into his throat, in a way that brings a hot flash of guilt to his forehead and his temples and his chest and his throat.  Vox is only worried because Ike was stupid and fucked everything up, it’s his fault that they’re even having to talk about this at all.

“Well,” Vox starts, sighing awkwardly through his nose.  “God, it’s been years since I last talked about this with anyone- sorry, if things’re a bit awkward.  I’m a bit out of practice.”

Ike waves him off, looking away quietly.  “It’s fine.  I’m not going to answer everything, but if you want to know anything, ask away.  The worst I'll do is say I'm not going to answer.”

“Mhm,” Vox agrees absently, biting at his lips lightly.  “Well- first off, I suppose I should ask- did anything specific cause you to hurt yourself, last time?”

The bluntness with which Vox speaks about the topic almost makes Ike flinch- but he appreciates the light pressure of Vox’s hand appearing on his arm just a moment later, idly interlocking his fingers in his lap and staring down at them.

“..nothing in particular, no.  It’s just.. that time of year, y’know?”

Vox nods understandingly- for all his joking around, Ike knows that he’s dealt with his own share of struggles in his life, and he’s far from surprised that Vox gets it, when he says something so vague and yet so specific.

“Okay, it’s- I mean, it’s not good that you hurt yourself, but it’s good that nothing happened.  Is there anything that we can do to help?”

Ike frowns down at his hands, leaning against Vox’s side despite himself.

“Who is this ‘we’?” he asks archly, bordering on testy.  “Last I checked, exactly two people in this house knew anything about what’s going on- one more than I’d like, but that number is certainly not going to get any higher.”

“..Ike.”

Ike can tell from Vox’s tone alone that he’s not going to be able to talk his way out of this- not without some amount of luck or playing dirty, at any rate- but that doesn’t mean he’s not going to at least try.  If for no other reason than to attempt to alleviate the pit that opens up somewhere between his ribs and his stomach at Vox’s tone.

“Vox.” he replies, with an icy, fragile kind of calm that sounds obviously forced, even to his own ear.  “This is my problem, I can deal with it on my own.”

Even without Vox saying anything, Ike can just about tell what his expression is going to be- his eyes are going to be closed, brows furrowed in a combination of worry and thought, his lips drawn into a thin line that’s only not a frown on a technicality.

Glancing over proves almost exactly that- though Ike is surprised to find his friend’s eyes open, staring at him with an inscrutable emotion brewing within.  Disbelief, maybe- probably- but that’s absolutely not it, it’s far deeper.  There’s an undeniable note of worry to it all, too, Vox’s shoulders are hunched and his grip tightens around Ike’s shoulders seemingly subconsciously.

“I.. am well aware that you fully believe that,” Vox starts, and Ike would almost want to laugh at how forced-professional he sounds, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s the subject of this discussion, and the fact that he knows Vox is trying his best in a situation he probably never really expected to find himself in.

(Can anyone really expect something like this?, some part of his mind questions, but Ike brushes it away- it’s semantics, in the end.  He’s trying to give Vox as much credit as he can, even if he really doesn’t want to be having this discussion.)

“..but, I- you-.. you can’t solve this on your own, if it’s- I mean, I don’t want to assume anything, but-” he makes a gesture towards Ike’s legs, long fingers trembling, barely visible.  “It.. looks like things have been going on for a while.  Maybe you’ve been on and off, maybe it gets worse and better sometimes, I don’t know- but it’s clearly not something new, and if it’s still happening-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, gesturing vaguely- helplessly- into the air between them.

Ike is silent for a minute- he looks away from Vox, unable to handle the something in his eyes, instead frowning once more at his lap- his legs, his scars.

“It’s not.. a problem, not really.” he settles on, holding up a hand to stop Vox from speaking when he sees the other’s mouth drop open like he’s about to say something.  “Let me finish- it’s not really a problem, for me.  It’s just.. something that I do.  Like I drink energy drinks, sometimes- it’s not really good for me, but sometimes I need it, y’know?”

He can see the conflict in Vox’s expression out of the corner of his eye- can practically see as the demon searches for a way to justify the difference between the two.  Realistically, Ike knows they’re really not all that alike- at least, not enough to justify this, to Vox- but he also knows that if he went into more detail on it, he’s more than likely to end up with their manager asking him to take a break and heal, more than likely to end up with his editor and publisher “mysteriously” asking him to take breaks before his next book, more than likely to end up with one of his groupmates with him at all hours like some kind of guard dog.

“I don’t do it all that often,” Ike offers, still feeling the urge to reassure his friend when he knows he’s upset.  “This is the first time since we all moved in- and it was a few days ago, so I’m okay right now, really.  Well- mostly, aha, obviously I’d rather not be having this conversation, but..”

Ike trails off, biting his tongue lightly- his anxiety tends to make him freeze, tends to fill his throat with ice and smoke, but sometimes, it’s like this- his tongue keeps going until he makes himself stop, swallows down the words that keep bubbling up and out.

“Well I’m glad that it’s the first since moving in, but-” Vox frowns properly, now, and finally, Ike notices the way he keeps deliberately not-looking at his legs, feels a hot rush of shame at it that makes him a little dizzy.  He caused this.  This is no one’s fault but his own, he’s got no one to blame for this situation but himself- distantly, Ike feels himself start to drift, even if the anxiety and shame and dizziness keep combining in his throat and his lungs and drive all thoughts out of his head but that.

He almost doesn't realize that he's doing it again- floating off, the buzzing under his skin beginning by habit- until Vox grabs both of his hands, strong, grounding- just this side of painful.

"-ke.  Ike.  Hey, hey, come back to me, alright?  We can take a break if you need one, just-" Vox bites his lip, and Ike notes, with some kind of distant guilt, that it's bloody- chapped, then bitten and worried at far too many times for it to be healthy.  "-we need to.. talk about this, at some point, y'know?  Actually talk about it.  I- I trust you, I want to believe you, but- you know how unhealthy this is.  You know it can't really be compared to much else."

It's not a question.  Ike nods, slowly, anyways.

"It's.." he sighs, decides- to hell with his dignity.  Leaning into Vox's arms, letting his friend's chest hide his face, it's.. marginally easier to speak, the warmth melting some of the ice coating his lungs.

"I get this.. buzzing feeling, sometimes.  Or- well, that's not where it starts. I just- zone out, sometimes, you guys have seen.  And- sometimes, I come back, and I'm fine.  I can move on with my day.  But sometimes, it's-" Ike frowns, curling his hands into fists- his nails digging into his palms, little half-moon crescents.  "It's.. different.  I don't come back all the way.  I feel like I'm.. slipping away from the world.  Like- like when I left my first time.  And-"

Ike takes a shuddering breath.

"I don't.. want to leave you guys."

I don't want to think about what I'd do, in a new time, with no one around to care.

"So- I need to ground myself.  Eating doesn't help, drinking doesn't help, and if I try to do any work, I'll just need to redo it later.  So, the easiest way to ground myself is.."

"Pain," Vox nods against the top of his head, and Ike can feel the way the word reverberates in his chest.  "But still, Ike- I mean, you have to know, right?  That there are other ways of coming back, even if they take a little longer?"

A spark of indignation lights in Ike's chest, but he doesn't pull back, doesn't pout.  He just- frowns, refusing to look up, the way he can so clearly feel Vox wants him to.

"There aren't," he sighs, almost ashamed.  It's stupid- he knows himself, he knows what works, and while he'd probably react the same way in Vox's position- it doesn't mean that he appreciates being patronized like this.  With time, Ike has learned- what works, and what doesn't.

(He knows it's not patronizing, not really, but it's close enough that he still recoils from it, still hisses, like a cat sprayed with water.)

"I'm trying," Ike mumbles against Vox's chest anyways- quiet, vulnerable.  "I've been trying."

"Try something else," Vox replies, hushed- and despite his gentle tone, the words feel like nothing less than a slap in the face.

"I have, Vox- I don't like this, I don't like having these scars or looking like this, or-" he does lean back, now gesturing vaguely to the entirety of himself.  "Or- or any of this!  If it were as easy as trying something new and fixing everything, I would've done it already.  And before you say that I should talk to someone- that's not happening.  It's fucking embarrassing enough already, and one other person knowing about it and telling me the same things I've always heard can't make me."

Vox recoils, but Ike recognizes that expression on his face- a mere sense of upset turning caustic, as he struggles to get his temper and tongue under control.

His tongue is quicker than he is, though, and Ike watches as he speaks without thinking-

"I wasn't planning on it, but I can certainly make you do whatever I'd like, Ike."

The threat isn't anything Vox would ever follow through on, Ike thinks with a muffled snort, but the fact that he'd say that, even without thinking- even with the regret Ike can see decorating his face, already- it only feeds his own anger.  He didn't agree to this conversation to be patronized, spoken down to like some child- like some imbecile who can't take care of himself, some suicidal person just looking for any reason to finally go through with things.  Anger burns through the last of the panic freezing his chest- colder, sharper, than it could ever hope to be.

"As if you really would," Ike says, rolling his eyes.  "Please.  You're a wolf with no bite- scary-looking, big, and brutish, but with nothing to back it.  If I really wanted to do anything, you couldn't stop me- and you're too caught up in wanting to help to trust that I know how to fucking help myself, Vox.  I'm perfectly, fine, so if you would just leave-"

His breath dies in his throat, as Vox's golden eyes thin into slits, and a single word leaves his lips- heavy with power.

"Quiet."

Ike can't speak- but he can struggle, his expression split as he tilts his head to stare up at Vox- betrayal, hurt, shock- some part of him is almost impressed- that he pushed Vox so far as to make him use his powers, that Vox actually used his powers, even when provoked by a member of Luxiem.

This time, it's Vox refusing to meet Ike's gaze- he's not looking at him so much as looking through, his eyes staring but unseeing.

Ike frowns, pushes at Vox's chest- a soundless gasp leaving his lips as Vox actually has the audacity to glare at him.

"Sit still and listen," the demon hisses, and Ike falls still.  Even his chest is barely moving as he breathes- his lungs in a vice grip, everything else wholly unmoving.

"If you don't change something, I'm going to have to tell someone about this, Ike-" Vox starts out, angry, his voice barely above a growl.  "You can't continue on like this- you can't just expect me to learn about this and do nothing about it!"

He looks away, almost pleading.

"Think about it from my perspective- you wouldn't let it continue if you were in my position, right?"

Finally, Vox meets his gaze- taken aback by the utter vitriol in Ike's gaze, the way he's trembling, even under the weight of Vox's command.  That brief moment of eye contact seems to give him the strength he needs- as Ike wrenches himself away, all but throwing himself off the bed.

"Out." he spits, cold fury dripping from his voice as he points a single finger towards the door.  When Vox doesn't move quickly enough for his liking, he repeats- "Get out!"

Vox gets out.

Ike doesn't think, once he's alone- he shuts the door, quietly enough that the others' mics won't pick it up, but with enough force that he knows Vox will have heard.  It's a clear signal to leave him the fuck alone.

His body continues in autopilot as he grabs necessities- headphones, phone, wallet- as he throws on a pair of pants and grabs his usual tools from where he's squirreled them away.  Thank fuck for foresight.

When Ike storms out of the house, he can't tell if Vox is calling out for him or not.  It doesn't make a difference, either way- he cranks up the volume in his headphones to a ridiculous degree, anyways.  If Vox is calling out to him, after all that, then he can go fuck himself.

He walks, and walks, and at some point he thinks that his feet start hurting- but he's so far-off in his own head, his own feelings, that it barely registers, if at all.  It doesn't really matter, anyways- the park that he finds himself in is isolated, Ike himself even moreso, having found a pleasant little bench near a half-frozen lake that he hasn't seen anyone come near in the past.. however-long he's been here.  Ike isn't really sure exactly how long that is, but it's not like it matters.  He's returning home when he damn well feels like it, thank you very much.

After a moment, the thought enters his mind- if he damn well feels like it.  Because- it's not a certainty, even less so now than ever, given his current emotional state.

He sighs.

Even as pissed as Ike currently is- killing himself out of spite would be a little..

The thought won't leave, though.

And he's still feeling that awful floaty feeling, barely registering the mid-winter chill, despite the fact that he's only wearing a short sleeve shirt and didn't even think to grab a jacket before he left.

Fuck, everything about this has him thrown for a loop.  What should he do?

Resorting to his usual coping strategies in the middle of a public space doesn't seem like the greatest idea- but he's pretty secluded, isn't he..?  And it's not as if anyone in Luxiem is going to find him here, so far from their home- plus, if any random stranger were to find him, what could they really do?

..and, as much as Ike feels a little bit bad about this- it's like he'd said to Vox, it's really the only thing that helps, when things get as bad as this.  It has been for years, one conversation doesn't somehow change all that.

Ike Eveland is the furthest thing from psychic, but still, he knows how the next few minutes will play out.

Step one: already completed- he's already all alone, after all, by his own choice.

Step two: in progress- he barely feels the pain of the cold, of his increasingly-harder-to-move fingers, the bite of chilled metal in his hand.  He knows that he will not feel the pain, when it comes.

Step three: also in progress- an overachiever today, isn't he?, his mind snarks- he will sit alone, in this secluded little slice of park that he's found, and contemplate the lake in front of him for a concerning amount of time.  He will open his phone up and stare blankly at the notification number ticking up on his discord and in his calls and his texts, and he will keep staring at that and the lake alike, not really seeing either, trapped between the choice.

Step four: who knows if Ike will respond?  Who knows what he'll choose- because he certainly doesn't, he barely knows which one will hurt less- because the pain is unavoidable, unassailable.  At this point, all he can do is try to minimize it.

Step five: Ike has still not learned.  At this point, he doesn't think he ever will.

He's not sure how long he sits there, bleeding slowly, staring at the lake.  It's a new sensation, feeling the blood slowly freeze- not a pleasant one, to say the least, especially when Ike knows that he'll need to peel his clothes off carefully, lest he reopen a wound- if he returns home, at least.

He's frowning, and that's nothing new for today- but he's got a headache from it, now, which makes him aware of it, finally.

That sensation pulls his gaze upwards, finally- away from the still, barely-frozen surface of the lake, which would be so easy to shatter- he probably wouldn't need to do more than take a few steps, to be fully submerged, it would be so easy- and he'd pass out from the hypothermia before anything else, it would be so painless, it's so tempting-

Ike shakes his head.

As upset as he is- he left the house so that he wouldn't think as much about leaving his friends, the closest people in the world to him.

It's night, now- not sunset, not twilight, but proper night.   The stars are out, the moon a barely-there sliver in the sky- Ike can't remember whether it's waxing or waning, at this time of the month, but something tells him it's the latter.  It feels fitting, in a way.

The moon is waning, disappearing- a new moon will happen soon, this week for sure, if not tomorrow.

In the same way- tonight, is the last night like this that Ike will have.  He knows this with sickening certainty- no matter what he chooses, after tonight, everything will be horribly, painfully different.

Finally, Ike cries.

He doesn't realize when it starts- really, the only thing that tips him off is how his eyelashes start to stick together, freezing quickly with the night's chill.  He sniffles, wiping pathetically at his eyes with the hem of his shirt, the sleeves of his jacket- god, what kind of mess is he?  What kind of person yells at a friend for trying to help, then goes off to- what, mope about a problem that he caused?  What fucking right does he have?  Who does he think he is?

A conceited bastard, apparently- he's been gone for too long, hasn't even thought to keep track of how long he's been out- by now, Ike's thoughts are racing, his head throbbing.  Everyone's probably worried sick about him- what if they've been out in the cold looking for him?  If any of them got sick, he'd never forgive himself- he has to say something, anything, right?

But he can't tell them where he is- what he has to do, what he knows is right.  They can't know, they care too much, it would only hurt them-

His phone is vibrating, again, another call from someone who he doesn't deserve to hurt.

Ike's hands are shaking, his breathing ragged- he doesn't realize he hasn't dismissed the call until he hears a voice through his headphones, still in, somehow not-yet-dead, even with the hours he'd been sitting beside the lake.

(had he even put on music, though?  He couldn't remember if he had, or if he'd stopped it, or when- god, he was such a mess, it would be so much easier for everyone if they just let him self destruct in peace-)

"-'s here- he answered, finally, yeah- no, I can't hear anything, Luca, he hasn't said anything yet- yes, Vox, he's breathing, I can hear him, I-"

"Mysta..?" Ike doesn't trust his own voice- he knows how shaky he sounds, how small the other's name sounds, falling hesitantly from his lips.

"Ike!"

The reply is instant, stupidly relieved- Ike lets out as quiet of a sob as he can manage, hearing it.  He worried them, over stupid, personal bullshit-

"Hey, you're alright, man," Mysta's voice was grounding, firm.  "It's not 'stupid, personal bullshit', alright?  You're human- someone did something stupid and upsetting, and crossed a line, and you were upset.  That's fine, dude, it happens."

"I-" didn't mean to say that out loud, his mind finishes, but- he has to stop, has to catch his breath, even after just one word.  "I- I overreacted, Vox was just trying to help," he says instead,  "and-"

"-and he went about it poorly, and let his emotions get the better of him."  Mysta finishes easily.  "He shouldn't've used his voice on you like that, it was crossing a line.  Shouldn't've forced you into that conversation so quickly, either, but that's a little less bad, I think."

Ike hiccups, letting out a wet, pathetic little laugh.

"Maybe a little less bad," he agrees, nodding, despite the fact that none of the others can see him.  Distantly, he's somewhat aware that they're all on the other end- all listening in, waiting to see what he says- what he does- but right now, hearing Mysta's voice, he can't help but be reminded of that first panic attack that the fox snapped him out of, nearly a full month ago.

He can hear Mysta's grin through the phone, easy and comforting.

"D'ya want me to yell at him for you?"

"Wha- no, Mysta!" Ike giggles, and it's less of a sob, this time, though it's still too close for comfort.  "Don't yell at him any more than, I'm sure, you already have!"

"Guilty as charged~ maybe you should be the detective here, Ikey, you certainly figured that one out quickly enough!"

"I just know you," he exhales, and it's like a weight is lifted off of him, all at once.  Relieved of his duty as Atlas, even for just a moment.

"Mysta.. I'm cold."

"Well, you could fix that by coming home?"

Ike shivers quietly, casting his gaze back out over the lake once more.  His decision is made, he's pretty sure, at least.

"I'd like that.." his teeth chatter quietly.  "Um- can you come and get me?  Or, uh- sorry, I don't want to rush you guys, I can find my own way back- I know it's late and no one probably wants to drive, ignore me-"

"Ike-" Mysta cuts him off, snorting.  "Vox ran for his keys literally the second you started talking.  There's no way we're not coming to get you."

"-..oh." he blinks, frozen- for all that he's been aware, logically, throughout all this, that his friends care about him- it's another thing entirely to have this tangible reminder of it, to feel that care in such an immediate way.

..or maybe he's just cold and emotional and dramatic.  That is also an option.

It takes him a minute to register what Mysta said, though- for the actual words to sink in.

"Wait, Vox?" Ike bites worriedly at his lip.  "Is it.. really a good idea to have him pick me up..?  He won't be upset with me?"

Mysta's silence is practically tangible, even through the phone.

"..Ike."

He can hear the eyebrow raise- and can't help but smile at the fond exasperation in his friend's voice.

"That man is enamored with you, he was only upset earlier because he has control issues."

Ike laughs properly at the distant, "I heard that!", that echoes on the other end- and at Mysta's answering, "Good!"

"And anyways," the detective continues, like nothing happened.  "It'll be good for you two to have some private time to talk about what happened.  He has something to say to you.  Oh, but- if you're not comfortable, or something like that, then that's fine, I can come with too if you want!"

Ike shakes his head as he speaks.

"No, it's- it's probably fine, I just didn't want.. to upset him.  Again."

There's the distant sound of a door closing, a car starting, and he hears Mysta sigh.

"Fucking dumbass- mind sending him your location, so that moron doesn't just drive around aimlessly the entire time?"

"Oh- sure, yeah," Ike wipes at his eyes, where the tears have started again- he's not really sure why, but they won't stop, even if his voice seems less shaky than before.  "I'll.. let you go so I can do that, then.  I'm sorry, for making everyone worry."

"Dumbass," Mysta scolds him, but it's fond, there's no heat behind it.  "Dude, everyone in this group loves you- we want you to be safe and happy, we worried 'cause we care.  You needed some time to cool off, that's fine.  No harm done.  Just- let someone know before you leave, next time, yeah?"

Ike nods.

"Yeah, will do.  Thank you again, Mysta."

Texting Vox goes without a hitch- the demon doesn't acknowledge it, but it's barely ten minutes before he sees his car pull over, to a street nearby.  Ten minutes spent waiting- hands clenched into anxious fists, so tightly that his nails only barely avoid breaking skin.  Ten minutes of his anxious thoughts spiraling, of Ike having to consciously remind himself, even through Mysta's reassurances- Vox chose to be the one picking him up, he can't hate Ike all that much if that's the case.

..it doesn't really help, but he makes an effort, at least.

What finally breaks him out of his anxious spiral, in the end, is Vox texting him- a picture from the car, no doubt, of a blurry Ike framed against the prettily-frozen park, a single street lamp lit above him and casting him in an almost ethereal glow.

Or- that's what he would say, maybe, if the picture weren't taken through a foggy car window, the distance rendering everything about the scene just as foggy or grainy.

It's charming, though- endearing, in a way that brings a smile to Ike's lips, shakes him out of his stupor.  He snaps a quick photo in return, Vox hunched over his phone in the driver's seat of the car, his face illuminated but expression obscured.  He sends it in answer, before standing up and wincing at the pain in his legs.  Right.. that.

He hasn't bled through enough for it to be visible, but it's a (quite literally) painful reminder of what put him into this mess in the first place- though the cold has somewhat numbed it, in the same way that it helped Ike to numb himself, he supposes.

Approaching the car, he hears the doors unlock- before Vox hops out, haori draped over his arms.

Ever the mother hen, he wraps it around Ike's shoulders before he can say a word- and Ike can't help but let out a warm huff of laughter, despite his lingering worries.  He doesn't protest the extra heat, just gently grips the edges- pulls it tighter around himself, and lets Vox open the door for him, like he's some kind of princess and Vox his loyal knight.

When Vox re-enters, he doesn't start driving immediately- Ike's not quite sure why, but he's not going to complain about the warmth, especially after who-knows how many hours out in the cold.

The silence drags on, and when Ike glances over- he can see Vox working himself into an anxious spiral of his own, the demon's thoughts painted clearly on his ever-expressive face.

It's only a moment before Ike makes his decision- swallowing quietly, before speaking.

"Thank you for picking me up," he hums, snuggling into Vox's haori once he's sure he's looking over.  "And- for trying to help.  I know you meant the best, and- I was lashing out, I shouldn't have provoked you like that-"

Vox is shaking his head before Ike finishes, making little shushing gestures with his hands.

"Ah- hey, no, no apologizing.  Or anything close," he adds, when Ike opens his mouth to interrupt.  "I should've been more prepared for you to try and push me away, and no matter what, I shouldn't've used my powers.  That was seriously crossing a line- if anything, I'm sorry, Ike."

Ike worries at his lip for a minute, before shaking his head lightly.

"If I can't apologize, you can't either, deal?"

Vox raises an eyebrow, skeptical- and Ike amends, "No apologizing for everything up to the powers.  That one, I'll accept.  Happy?"

There's a moment of thought, before Vox nods, hesitantly.  It's cute- endearing, honestly, how openly he's wearing his emotions, right now.

Ike pokes a hand out from the folds of the haori- then lets Vox start the car, before gently reaching for his hand.  It's nothing new- the hand-holding, seeking small forms of comfort without the need to explain why.  Of course- normally, it's Vox who will initiate, and normally they're not in the car- but lots of things are normally different about this situation, so really, it's small potatoes in the end.

The drive back starts out quiet, the conversation not really going anywhere after their not-apologies to each other- until Ike spots a notification lighting up the screen of Vox's phone, and, by instinct, speaks.

"Want me to read out who sent it?" he asks, familiar and easy- it's how they've learned to do things, after all, all five of them- whoever is in the passenger seat will read things out to whoever's driving, if no one else gets to it first.

When Vox nods, not taking his eyes off the road or untangling his fingers from Ike's- it feels like the puzzle pieces have slid into place once more, like things are making themselves right.

There are still conversations to be had, of course- Ike isn't stupid, he knows Vox's enhanced senses can pick up the scent of dried blood even from his distance- and he knows he'll have to explain more when they get back home, will have to figure something out with the rest of Luxiem- but the idea isn't so intolerable, anymore.

He's not going to let them shoulder all of his struggles, of course not- and it's not going to be immediately, that he lets them have more than a glance at how he's feeling, when things get bad.  But small things- letting Luca drag him outside when he's working himself up, sharing meals with Shu, watching Mysta game while he reads quietly in the room, collapsing across Vox's lap like a cat starved for attention- they're not too hard to ask for, in the end.

He doesn't even really need to ask, not always- Ike knows, if he showed up in Mysta's room, that the detective would let him sit around and use him as background noise without complaint.  Luca probably wouldn't even need that much- the man has a sixth sense for when people need him, would probably show up before Ike recognized he was struggling, dragging him to touch grass and not taking 'no' for an answer.

For all that Ike Eveland may not believe in love-at-first-sight soulmates, if you asked him, he would say that he does, in fact, believe in soulmates- both platonic and romantic.  He'd say that soulmates are people that take time to find, time to know- but those relationships become unshakeable, as long as you let yourself breathe into them.

The past months haven't been perfect- far from it, in fact, full of difficult conversations and steps towards recovery- full of relapses, tears, and no small amount of blood and sweat.  Despite that- if you asked him, Ike would say that he does think that things are getting better, now- and, that he's found his soulmates, despite his struggles.  In the end, Ike Eveland has learned that people won't mind, if he asks for help- that he deserves to set down his burdens, every once in a while.  He's learned that soulmates are far more than an idea out of fantasy- that they can be every bit as real as the men he lives with.

All he needs to do now is try to let himself trust them.