Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The wind wasn’t chasing him.
The world wasn’t ending.
And for once, Sonic wasn’t running from anything.

He was just running—because he wanted to.

There was something sacred about it, something unspoken. The rhythm of his feet against the earth, the way the trees blurred past in streaks of green and gold, the soft roar of wind curling in his ears—it all came together like a song only he could hear. A melody made of motion, of muscle, of the quiet heartbeat of the earth beneath him.

Sonic lived for this.

Not the spotlight. Not the victories. Not even the praise.
He lived for this —the freedom of it all. The open skies, the endless forests, the hills that stretched without end. He could breathe out here, in a way he couldn’t anywhere else. No voices telling him to slow down. No battles to fight. Just the road, the trees, and that endless horizon calling him forward.

He passed under the shadow of towering oaks, their branches clawing at the sky like they wanted to escape the ground just as much as he did. Ferns brushed against his ankles. Sunlight filtered through leaves in broken rays, warming his quills, painting gold on the edges of his thoughts. Birds scattered in his wake. Somewhere far behind, the world he was supposed to care about kept turning.

But Sonic didn’t care.

Not here.

He wasn’t thinking about anyone. Not Tails, not Eggman, not even—
No. He shook the thought away before it formed. He didn’t want to name it. Not yet.

He didn’t want anything right now except this: the wind on his face, the earth under his feet, and the pulse in his chest that told him he was alive . Really alive—not because someone needed him, but because he chose to move. To run. To exist out here, in the wild silence of the world.

It was the kind of silence that wasn’t empty.
It was full .
Of peace. Of meaning. Of being .

And Sonic reveled in it.

He broke through a line of trees, their trunks spaced wide like the ribs of some sleeping colossus, and the light grew brighter. He slowed, just a little. Not because he was tired—he never really got tired when he was like this—but because something in the air changed. The wind shifted. The scent of pine and moss gave way to something softer. Open.

The trees thinned. His stride shortened. The last few steps were almost hesitant, like he didn’t want to break whatever spell the forest had cast.

Then, he emerged.

A grass field opened before him, wide and breathtaking. Golden-green blades danced in the breeze, catching the light like waves on a sunlit ocean. Wildflowers dotted the earth in little bursts of color—soft pinks, shy blues, proud purples. The sky stretched above, impossibly wide, with clouds drifting like thoughts he hadn’t had yet.

Sonic stood there, the wind curling gently around his shoulders, and stared.

This. This was it.

The reason he ran. The reason he pushed forward, day after day. Not to escape, not to fight, not to prove anything—but to find places like this. Moments like this. Where the world didn’t ask anything of him except to be . Where he didn’t have to smile or speak or make sense. Where he wasn’t a hero or a legend or a symbol—just a boy in the middle of the world, small and real and free.

He stepped forward into the field, the grass brushing against his legs like a welcome. Every blade shimmered under the sun, bending and swaying like they were dancing just for him. He could feel the earth here—not beneath him, but around him. Holding him, gently.

And for once, he let himself slow.

He walked.
He breathed.
He listened to the way the wind whispered across the grass, like it had secrets too.

Sonic tilted his head back, looked at the sky, and smiled—not the smirk the world knew, not the cocky grin he used to hide behind—but something quieter. Softer. Almost sad.

Because in this moment, in this wide and gentle field, he realized something:

He wasn’t running to forget.
He wasn’t running to escape.

He was running to feel .
To remember what it meant to belong to the world. Not in crowds. Not in battles. But here—in open skies, wild winds, and grass that didn't care who he was.

And for the first time in days, he didn’t feel lost.
He just felt here .

The field didn’t ask questions.
The sky didn’t judge.
And the wind never told him to stop.

The wind had begun to settle, but Sonic hadn’t.

He stood in the center of the grass field like he was rooted there, a piece of the world just trying to remember how to breathe. The sun slipped in and out of clouds overhead, softening the light, casting quiet shadows across the hills like the sky was painting the earth in silence.

Sonic didn’t move. Not yet.

He just watched the way the blades of grass bent and swayed—how free they looked, even without moving fast. It was almost funny. He had spent so much of his life rushing forward, always trying to outpace the noise in his head, the responsibilities, the fears that clung to the edges of his thoughts. And here, the world was reminding him that freedom didn’t always mean motion.

Sometimes, it meant stillness.
Stillness without fear.

He closed his eyes, just for a second, letting the wind thread its fingers through his quills. He inhaled deeply. The air smelled of grass, sun-warmed earth, and distant water. It was beautiful. And it made him ache, somehow. In the soft part of his chest he didn’t talk about. The part no one really saw.

But then—
He opened his eyes.

Something shifted.

Not the wind. Not the clouds. Not the feeling inside him.
Something else.

A presence.

His gaze swept across the field again, just out of habit—until it caught.
At first, he thought it was a trick of the light. A shadow cast too long, too oddly shaped. But no. His eyes sharpened. The figure was real.

Far out, near the crest of the hill where the field dipped slightly in a natural fold of the land—someone was lying in the grass.

Someone with black fur and red stripes that caught the sunlight in fractured flickers. One hand lay curled in the grass like it was trying to hold on to something. The other rested limp on his chest, rising and falling slowly— too slowly.

Sonic’s heart skipped.

He took one hesitant step forward, then another, then another—
And then he ran.

Not the casual, aimless run from before. Not the kind of run that made him feel free. This one was sharp. Panicked. Urgent.

The grass whipped at his legs as he charged forward. The wind rose to meet him like it could feel the shift in his heartbeat, the sudden lurch in his chest. The world blurred again—but not the way it had moments before. Now it was streaked with something else. Fear.

His breath caught in his throat as he closed the distance. His feet pounded against the ground like they were chasing time itself.

Closer now.
Too close for it to be anyone else.

The shape. The posture. The color. The energy—
It was him.

“Shadow!”

His voice tore across the field like a crack of thunder, loud and sharp against the silence. The sound of his name felt too big, too raw, too broken, echoing into the wide-open sky.

And yet Shadow didn’t move.

He just lay there, still as the grass around him, the red on his fur blending into the warm hues of the wildflowers, as if the field itself were trying to swallow him whole.

Sonic’s footsteps thundered against the earth.

His heart beat faster.
Not from the run.
Not this time.

“Shadow!!”

And that’s where everything stopped.

The wind held its breath.
The sky blinked behind clouds.
The world, for just a second, went completely, utterly still.

The world felt quieter the closer he got.

Not the kind of quiet that calms you. No—this was the kind that made your breath stick in your throat. The kind that fills your ears with your own heartbeat, thudding over and over like a clock running out of time. Sonic’s feet didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.

The black shape in the grass slowly came into focus, and the moment it did, something cracked open inside Sonic.
It was Shadow.
But not like he was used to seeing him.

Shadow was lying flat on his back in the tall grass, surrounded by yellow wildflowers and bent stalks. One hand rested lightly on his chest, rising and falling—thank chaos , rising and falling. The other lay slack against the ground, fingers curled slightly, like he’d been reaching for something and stopped halfway through. His fur was matted in some places, messy in others, scuffed with dirt, dust, and dry blood. Not fresh. Old bruises. His muzzle looked scraped. His body, exhausted.

Yet his face—
His face was calm.

Relaxed, almost. Like he’d finally let go of something that had been gripping him for days. Maybe weeks. His expression didn’t match the way he looked, and that only made the worry in Sonic’s chest tighten like a knot.

“Shadow!”

Sonic skidded to a halt in the grass and dropped to his knees beside him. The panic hadn’t faded. If anything, it flared worse now that he could see all the little things up close—scratches along his neck, dried blood at the corner of his mouth, the way his fingers trembled slightly even at rest.

“Shadow,” Sonic said again, breathlessly this time, leaning over him, eyes scanning every inch of his face. “Hey. Hey, c’mon, say something. Don’t freak me out like this, man. I—”

But before he could say more, Shadow’s hand shot up. Not fast. Not violent. Just steady. Intentional.

It cupped Sonic’s face.

Sonic froze.

Shadow’s fingers, rough and calloused, brushed against his cheek—cool from the shade but warm from being real. His crimson eyes cracked open with the slow, lazy weight of someone who had just barely pulled himself out of a deep, difficult sleep. They locked on Sonic’s, half-lidded, unreadable, and far too calm for someone who looked like they’d been through hell.

“…The blue hedgehog,” he murmured, voice raw and low. “Of all places.”

There was no bite in it. Not really. No venom or sarcasm. Just faint surprise. Like he’d been expecting something else—someone else—and got Sonic instead.

Sonic didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he said quietly, voice catching just slightly. “Don’t… don’t do that. Just lying here like you—like you’re—”

“I’m not,” Shadow interrupted, dragging his hand back down from Sonic’s face. His fingers slipped away like he hadn’t meant to reach for him at all. “Dead. I’m not dead. Relax.”

Sonic scowled and dropped back onto his heels. “Yeah, well, you look like crap.”

Shadow exhaled through his nose. Not a laugh. Not quite.

“I just got done with something,” he said, closing his eyes again, the wind brushing over him. “Needed air. Quiet.” He turned his face slightly toward the sun. “This field’s good for that. Empty. Still. The kind of place where no one talks too loud.”

That last part? Definitely aimed at Sonic.

Sonic gave a dry, sarcastic little scoff. “Wow. Humorous. Coming from someone who practically dies in dramatic silence.”

Shadow didn’t respond. Not right away. Instead, he shifted onto his side, turning away slightly, one arm folded under his head, the other stretched out in the grass like he was letting it cradle him. The bruises along his ribs peeked through the torn seams of his fur. Still, he looked at peace. Like the war in him had gone quiet for a moment.

Sonic watched him. Really watched him. The guy was always like this—half storm, half graveyard, full of shadows and silence and glances you couldn’t read. But now, here, lying in this field, something was different.

He looked… tired. But not angry.

And that scared Sonic more than anything.

“…You gonna leave?” Shadow murmured suddenly, without opening his eyes.

Sonic blinked. “What?”

“You came. You panicked. You checked. I’m fine.” His voice was muffled, nearly lost in the breeze. “You gonna go now?”

Sonic glanced at the horizon, then at the ground. His fingers twitched in the grass. Something in his chest told him to bolt, to run again—not because he was scared of Shadow, but because this stillness felt too raw, too vulnerable. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“No,” Sonic said softly, and lay down beside him.

Not close enough to touch. Just close enough to feel the space between them.

“I’ll be chill. Promise.”

He settled onto his back, eyes on the sky. The clouds were moving again. Slow and wide and white like paint across a canvas. The grass around them rustled in the breeze, gentle and rhythmic. The world felt different now. Not so loud. Not so fast.

Just… real.

Sonic crossed his arms behind his head. Let the sun warm his fur. He didn’t say anything else. Neither did Shadow. But somehow, the silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable. It just was .

And maybe—for now—that was enough.

The clouds moved slow.

Like they had nowhere else to be.

Sonic lay still in the grass, arms folded under his head, his chest rising and falling with every long breath he took. The sky above him stretched forever—an endless wash of pale blue smeared with white, the kind of sky that made you forget time even existed. Every so often, a breeze would roll across the field, stirring the tips of the grass and brushing cool fingers through his fur. It was quiet. No cars. No robots. No voices. Just the wind and the soft breath of someone sleeping beside him.

Shadow.

Sonic’s ears twitched, catching the small, steady rhythm of Shadow’s breathing.

He’d fallen asleep not long after that last, sarcastic jab—rolled back onto his spine with one arm folded across his ribs and the other falling limply into the grass. He hadn’t moved since.

Sonic turned his head to look at him.

And then… he didn’t look away.

Shadow, asleep, looked impossibly still—like the weight he always carried had finally slid off his shoulders. The lines between his brows had smoothed out. His jaw wasn’t clenched. His mouth was slightly open, just enough to part his breathing, but not enough to seem vulnerable. He was still bruised. Still scuffed up from whatever fight he’d just been through. But in sleep, he looked… soft. Real. Human in a way Sonic didn’t often let himself notice.

Sonic swallowed and slowly shifted onto his side, one arm propping him up just slightly. He didn’t want to wake him. He just—he just needed to see him better.

The light brushed over Shadow’s face, and Sonic couldn’t help but trace the edges of him with his eyes—the curve of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell beneath his hand, the faint shimmer of his lashes in the sunlight. The cuts and bruises told a story, one Shadow would probably never talk about, but somehow Sonic could feel it. Not with words. Just… something in the silence.

And then—
There it was again.

That sound.

His own heartbeat.

Loud in his chest, pounding like he was running again. But he wasn’t. He hadn’t moved in minutes. He was lying still, barely breathing, and yet his heart raced like it was trying to get his attention.

Sonic frowned slightly and looked back at the sky for a moment, but it didn’t help. The clouds weren’t enough to distract him now. Not when Shadow was right there, asleep like a secret, like something rare and beautiful he wasn’t supposed to be this close to.

His eyes drifted back.

And stayed.

When did this happen? he wondered. When did I start looking at him like this?

Because it wasn’t just admiration. It wasn’t just curiosity or the slow thaw of old rivalry. This was something else. Something heavier. Something warm that curled in his chest and made his throat tight. Shadow didn’t do anything. He was just lying there. Breathing. Existing. But it was him. That mattered. Somehow, it mattered .

Sonic’s gaze fell to the corner of Shadow’s mouth, to the faintest fleck of dried blood there. He wanted to wipe it away. He wanted to reach out and take his hand, feel if it was still trembling. He wanted to tell him that he was proud of him for whatever he’d survived. That he was glad he found this field. That he was glad they found it together .

And somewhere in the middle of those thoughts, Sonic leaned in.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Not out of impulse, but inevitability.

He hovered there for a moment, just inches above him, his breath catching in his chest. The world blurred around the edges. It didn’t feel real anymore. Just him and Shadow and the rustling grass and the sky that stretched above them like a secret promise.

How did I fall in love with you so hard? Sonic wondered. When did you become the one thing I can't outrun?

His lips brushed Shadow’s.

Soft.
Barely there.
A whisper of a kiss, delicate as a falling petal.

Sonic held it for just a second longer than he meant to—long enough to feel the warmth, the shape, the silence.

And then he pulled away.

Guilt clawed its way into his chest almost immediately.

He didn’t know why he’d done it.
No—he did know. He just didn’t know if he should have.

Shadow was asleep. Unaware. And Sonic had just—

He sat up fast, hands running through his quills, his breath shaky.

He stood without thinking and looked down at Shadow, still peaceful. Still asleep. Still unaware .

Then he turned, and walked away—fast, but not too fast. Not running. Not now.

Because no matter how far he went, he knew the kiss would follow him. It would stay pressed to his lips like a secret. A moment that wasn’t his to take.

But still—he’d taken it.

And nothing would be the same after.

---

The world was loud.

Even when it wasn’t.

Sonic lay still. On his back. In his bed. Eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling that didn’t look quite right tonight. Maybe it was the way the moonlight poured through the open window. Or maybe it was just him.

His hands were folded on his stomach. His legs were stretched out and unmoving. His quills fanned softly behind his head, slightly ruffled by the breeze that crept in through the cracked window. It was cool tonight. Not cold. Not warm. Just… still.

And he hadn't moved for hours.

He hadn’t even changed out of the gloves and shoes he wore into the field. Grass clung faintly to the cuffs of his socks. There was a smear of dirt along his hip. A greenish-gold leaf caught in his quills somewhere near his shoulder, but he didn’t care. He hadn’t even noticed. His whole body felt too heavy, too full.

Of what? He didn’t know.

His heart had finally slowed down. It had stopped the frantic pounding from before—that wild thumping in his chest that had made him feel like he was running when he wasn’t. Now, it just beat quietly, rhythmically, and yet… every beat felt like a dull throb in his ribs.

He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. But he couldn’t look away from the ceiling. It felt wrong to look anywhere else, like the moment he turned his head, he’d have to think. Or feel. And he wasn’t ready.

But it had.

It had happened.

The kiss.

He kissed Shadow.

Sonic exhaled slowly through his nose, but it felt more like a sigh that’d been trapped in his lungs for years.

His eyes scanned the cracks in the ceiling above him. He’d seen them a million times. They formed patterns he used to race with his eyes when he was younger, making little games to see how fast he could trace from one side of the ceiling to the other. He used to pretend it meant something. That the cracks were roads, or rivers, or something bigger than him.

Right now, they were just cracks. Empty and still. Like him.

“What the heck did I just do?” he finally whispered aloud.

His voice sounded foreign in the room. Too real. Too raw. He almost wanted to take it back.

He brought both hands to his face, dragging them down slowly until his fingers curled over his mouth. He could still feel it. The press of Shadow’s lips against his. The warmth. The quiet. The ache.

The blue hedgehog, of all places.

Even thinking about it made his stomach turn.

Not because it was wrong. But because it was real.

Too real.

He groaned softly and buried his face in his palms. “Ugh… you idiot. ”

It hadn’t been impulsive. That was the problem. It hadn’t been some wild, sudden mistake. It had felt real . It had felt right. That terrified him.

Because what was he supposed to do now?

How was he supposed to look Shadow in the eyes after that?

The wall stared back at him—unmoving, blank, empty. Kind of like his reflection might’ve looked, if he could bring himself to stand and look in the mirror.

But he couldn’t.

He was still too afraid of what he might see.

What if he saw guilt?

What if he saw longing?

What if he saw love?

He blinked again, slower this time.

He didn’t even know.

Was Shadow really asleep? He looked asleep. He hadn’t moved. But what if he had felt it? What if he knew?

Sonic turned on his side, staring out at the moonlight streaming faintly through the half-drawn blinds. He didn’t pull them open. He just watched the shadows dance along the wall.

His heart beat a little harder.

“Why him?” Sonic whispered to the dark.

Shadow had looked so peaceful.

So unaware.

So…

Beautiful.

Sonic exhaled again, and for a moment, he thought about reaching for his phone. For something. Anything. Just to make this room feel less like a trap. But his fingers didn’t move. His arms felt too heavy. The silence remained, thick and still and unbearable.

There were a hundred things he could’ve done.

He could’ve apologized. He could’ve stayed until Shadow woke up. He could’ve run far, far away and not come back here to wallow in the stillness of his own room. But he hadn’t done any of those things.

He kissed him.

And then he left.

And now…

There was no answer. Only silence.

But he knew.

He knew.

It was the way Shadow carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still kept going. It was the way he stood still while Sonic ran circles around him—and somehow, that stillness had become Sonic’s anchor. It was the way he spoke like the world owed him nothing and yet still protected it, quietly, like maybe it owed him something after all.

Shadow was everything Sonic didn’t know he needed.

And now he’d gone and done the one thing he couldn’t take back.

“How am I supposed to face him now?”

The words felt hollow.

He curled onto his side, hands tangled in the pillow, and stared at nothing.

He hadn’t realized just how loud silence could be. Or how small his room really felt when the world outside stretched wide and free and full of sky—and Shadow.

His eyes burned.

Not tears. Just… that feeling you get when you’ve been holding something in too long. Like your chest doesn’t know how to be anything but tight. Like you’re waiting for something to break.

“Why’d I have to…” He trailed off, biting down the rest of the thought. It wouldn’t help. Nothing would help.

He’d kissed Shadow.

And Shadow didn’t even know.

Or maybe he did .

Sonic pressed his face to the pillow and tried to breathe.

But even now, he couldn’t stop hearing that heartbeat in his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, Sonic didn’t want to run.

He wanted to hide .

Chapter Text

The couch creaked beneath him again.

It was old, secondhand from some town they’d helped years ago. Tails had patched it up with spare fabric and reinforced the legs with scrap metal, claiming it gave the thing “character.” Sonic had never minded it. The cushions were a little lumpy, the armrest sagged on the right, but it had always been warm. Familiar. Safe.

Now, though, it just felt like a place to hide.

He lay stretched out on his back, arms folded beneath his head, one ankle crossed over the other. The soft ticking of a nearby clock was the only sound in the room. Tails had gone out earlier to meet with Knuckles—something about calibrating the power grid for Angel Island again—but Sonic had barely registered it. He just grunted when the door closed behind his friend and resumed his stare at the ceiling.

Another ceiling.

Another quiet.

Except this time, it wasn’t his own room. He didn’t even have one. Not really.

His home had always been the open air—the forests, cliffsides, meadows, and mountaintops. Places without walls. Places where he could move. Places where feelings didn’t follow him, where everything was in motion and nothing stuck too long.

But now he’d stuck himself here. Voluntarily. On this lumpy couch in this too-quiet room. Because the outside world didn’t feel like it usually did. Because he was out there. Somewhere. Maybe back in that field. Maybe not. Sonic didn’t know.

He hadn’t dared to find out.

It had been two days.

Two whole days since he kissed Shadow.

Two whole days of this.

He closed his eyes and tried not to feel everything at once. The soft hum of Tails’ machines downstairs. The warm scent of oil and fresh linen that clung to the blankets. The distant wind brushing against the windows.

It was too much.

Or maybe it was just him.

Sonic didn’t want to be here. But he didn’t want to be anywhere else either.

The thought of going back to his usual haunts—the cliffs, the waterfall, the valley trail near Windmill Hill—was unbearable. Those were places where he might run into him again. Shadow liked those spots. Not often. Not regularly. But enough.

And the truth was, Sonic wasn’t ready.

Not to see him.

Not to talk.

And definitely not to be seen by him.

What would he even say?

Hey, remember when I kissed you while you were unconscious? Hope that’s cool. Anyway, weather’s been nice, huh?

No. God, no.

He’d rehearsed a dozen versions of it in his head already. All of them were awful. Some were funny, in that sad, panicked kind of way that made him want to disappear into the couch cushions. Others were too serious. Too much like confessions. And he wasn’t ready for that either.

Because he didn’t even know what it meant.

Why had he done it?

Well… he knew why. But he didn’t want to know why. And pretending was easier than admitting that the feeling had been buried inside him for longer than he liked to admit.

It had just… built up.

Like a storm you try to outrun.

And in that quiet field, with the sunlight soft and the sky so wide above them, with Shadow breathing peacefully beside him, scarred and beautiful and himself—Sonic hadn’t been fast enough.

He hadn’t run from it.

He’d leaned in.

And now here he was, hiding in someone else’s house like a coward.

The worst part? Tails hadn’t even asked.

Sonic had just shown up with his usual grin—fake, bright, easy—and tossed out some excuse about rain clouds ruining his sleeping spot in the hills. Tails had blinked at him, half-awake from a late-night coding spree, and shrugged.

“Couch is yours.”

That was it.

He didn’t pry. He never did.

And Sonic was grateful for that. He wasn’t sure he could survive someone knowing.

The ceiling blurred for a moment, and he blinked hard. No. He wasn’t crying. He was just tired. That was all. Lack of sleep. Brain overworked. Heart too loud.

His ears flicked when he heard the wind shift outside again.

That field… it had been so quiet. And not the bad kind. Not the heavy silence of his room or the sterile hush of Tails’ lab.

That field was the kind of quiet that held everything in it.

The kind of quiet that made you hear your own heart.

He remembered the way the grass had swayed, long and silver-green in the breeze. The way Shadow’s fur had looked in the sunlight—black and red against a world of green, his eyes closed, hand on his chest like he was trying to hold himself together even in sleep.

And Sonic had looked. God, had he looked.

He’d turned onto his side to watch him, barely breathing, heartbeat thundering in his ears—and he couldn’t stop.

That was when he’d known.

That he’d fallen. Hard. Deep. Without realizing it.

And worse?

He hadn’t regretted it.

Even now, sprawled on this stupid couch with guilt gnawing at his ribs, he didn’t regret the kiss.

He just regretted not knowing what to do after.

Sonic turned his head and stared at the corner of the room.

He could leave. He should leave. Run, like he always did. Find a place to scream into the sky until it stopped hurting.

But he couldn’t.

Something kept him here.

Some part of him hoped—feared, needed—to know what Shadow had thought. If he’d woken up. If he remembered. If it had felt like something or nothing or everything.

Sonic’s chest tightened.

He didn’t know if he wanted to be remembered or forgotten.

He didn’t know which one hurt worse .

The soft creak of the front door opening stirred the quiet.

Sonic didn’t move.

He heard the sound of boots stepping over the threshold, followed by the distant whirring of Tails’ gear bag shifting as it hit the entryway floor. A gust of late-afternoon air followed the young fox inside, carrying with it the scent of pine sap, warm sun, and a hint of rainclouds building in the distance.

But Sonic still didn’t move.

He lay on his back, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it had secrets he was trying to decode. He hadn’t blinked in a while. His eyes burned, but he didn’t close them. Not yet. Not until he could breathe again.

He heard Tails make his way toward the living room, footsteps slower now. Quieter. Cautious. Sonic could feel him lingering in the doorway before the younger fox finally broke the silence.

“…You haven’t moved since I left.”

Sonic’s ear twitched, but he didn’t answer.

“You were in the exact same spot four hours ago. I even left toast for you.” Tails’ voice was soft, trying to be gentle. “You didn’t eat.”

“…Wasn’t hungry,” Sonic murmured after a moment, barely audible.

The couch shifted slightly as Tails sat down on the other end. Sonic didn’t glance at him. He kept his eyes on the ceiling. A tiny brown spot had formed near the light fixture. Water damage? He made a mental note to tell Tails about it later.

“I’m not trying to pry,” Tails said, more carefully now. “But you’ve been… weird lately.”

That word made Sonic grimace just slightly.

“Weird, huh?”

“You’re always weird,” Tails corrected with a forced smile, “but this is different.”

Still, Sonic said nothing.

The silence between them was full. Not awkward. Not tense. But weighted.

“You don’t usually stay this long.”

Another truth. Another weight.

Sonic shifted, adjusting how his arm rested behind his head. “Guess I just like your couch.”

“You said you came because your usual spot got rained out.”

“It did.”

“Two days ago. It’s been sunny ever since.”

Sonic clenched his jaw.

Tails didn’t push. He just let that silence linger, his tails lightly brushing against the edge of the couch as he leaned forward, clasping his hands in his lap. He didn’t want to make Sonic talk. Not if he wasn’t ready. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he couldn’t see the shift in him.

Sonic was always in motion. Always moving, talking, laughing, spinning through life like a windstorm too fast to catch.

But this?

This stillness?

It wasn’t right.

“You’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours,” Tails tried again, voice gentle. “That’s not like you.”

Sonic exhaled, sharp and tight through his nose. “Maybe I just like the ceiling.”

Tails looked up at it too.

“It’s pretty boring,” he admitted.

There was the faintest twitch at the corner of Sonic’s mouth. Not a smile. Not really. Just something tired trying to resurface.

“You wanna talk about it?” Tails asked after a pause.

“Nope.”

“Wanna not talk about it but, like, have snacks and pretend we’re fine?”

“…Maybe later.”

Tails nodded slowly.

He sat with him for a while longer. Not speaking. Not asking. Just being there.

That had always been one of Tails’ quiet strengths—he didn’t press too hard. He didn’t yank answers out of you. He waited. He listened. And when Sonic was ready, he always knew.

But this time?

Sonic didn’t feel like he would be ready.

Not soon.

Not maybe ever.

Because this wasn’t some villain to stop or ancient tech gone haywire. This wasn’t a problem that could be punched or run through or solved with a dozen chili dogs and a good laugh. This was him.

This was Shadow.

This was everything Sonic had been pretending wasn’t true for too long. And the moment he’d kissed him—soft, hesitant, terrified—he’d made it real.

He’d crossed a line he hadn’t even let himself admit existed.

And now it was all he could think about.

How Shadow looked asleep. How peaceful his face was, even bruised. How his chest had risen and fallen steadily beneath Sonic’s trembling hand. How his hair had curled slightly in the wind. How his lips felt—warm and still—and how the silence afterward had been louder than anything Sonic had ever heard in his life.

He hadn’t even breathed after it. Just pulled away like he’d done something wrong. Stumbled back in the grass and ran before Shadow could ever wake up and—

“Sonic.”

He blinked. Tails’ voice snapped him back to the room.

The ceiling. The couch. The warm smell of electronics and toast that had gone cold. He swallowed, his throat dry.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tails said softly.

Another silence.

This time, Sonic sat up.

It wasn’t a dramatic move—he didn’t launch into some wild grin or mask himself in banter like usual. He just sat forward, elbows on his knees, and stared at the floor. His quills drooped. His eyes were shadowed with something unspoken.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” he muttered, almost to himself.

Tails was quiet for a moment. Then:

“You’re not the kind of person who hides.”

Sonic flinched.

“You run, sure,” Tails added, “but not like this.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“You’re not here either.”

Sonic looked at him then, and it hurt. That look in his eyes—shame, exhaustion, a flicker of panic behind them. He opened his mouth, ready to say something—anything—but nothing came out.

“I’m not trying to get into your business,” Tails said quickly, backing off. “I just— I care, okay? And it’s hard watching you be somewhere else when you’re right in front of me.”

Sonic looked away again.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Tails stood, pacing toward the kitchen, letting the moment breathe. He rustled through a cabinet, grabbed a glass, filled it with water, and came back, setting it gently on the table beside the untouched plate from earlier.

“You need to drink something,” he said, voice soft. “Even if you’re not hungry.”

Sonic gave him a half-nod.

Tails hesitated, then turned to go. But before he reached the hallway, he paused.

“If—” He cleared his throat. “If you ever want to talk about whatever it is that’s got you staring at ceilings and looking like you’re lost in your own body… I’m here, okay?”

Sonic didn’t answer.

Tails gave it another second before quietly leaving the room.

Sonic sat there for a while, watching the light on the water glass. The ripples caught the sun from the window, scattering it in brief flashes on the table surface.

He reached for it.

His fingers curled around the glass—but he didn’t drink.

He just held it.

Cool. Steady. Real.

And suddenly, he hated how much he wanted to stay here.

He wasn’t supposed to be this person—the one who hid away on couches and stared into space like a ghost. He was supposed to be Sonic. Fast. Fearless. Free.

But ever since that kiss… he didn’t know what to be anymore.

So, he stayed.

Silent.

Still.

And listened to the wind outside the windows—like maybe, just maybe, it would carry the answers to questions he couldn’t speak.

The glass was cool against his palm. Still half full. Still untouched.

Sonic had been staring at it for what felt like forever.

The sunlight filtering through the window refracted in its surface, casting soft, moving patterns onto the coffee table—light caught in the rhythm of time. The rest of the world was moving. Slowly, yes, but moving.

He wasn’t.

His legs, made for motion, hadn’t twitched in hours. His muscles were stiff. His ankles ached from stillness more than they ever had from running. The house felt smaller with every breath. Too quiet. Too safe.

And far too loud inside his head.

Go.

The thought came in a whisper. Almost too soft to hear.

Just go. Go outside. Feel the wind. Breathe.

But the other voice—the fearful one—coiled itself around his ribs like vines.

What if you see him?

Sonic's grip tightened on the glass.

What if he did?

What if he ran straight into him, out in the open, where the sky was wide and his heart had no shield? What if Shadow was out there—on the edge of some cliffside again or lying in another quiet meadow, eyes half-lidded with that same calm ache Sonic couldn’t forget?

What would he even say ?

He’d run away like a coward.

Sonic the Hedgehog—who could face any villain, any apocalypse, anything —had turned his back and run from the only thing that had ever made his heart skip like that.

And now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

About him.

And the silence. That stillness.

Like he had been waiting.

Or like he'd already known.

Sonic's heart thudded once in his chest.

The glass clinked against the table as he set it down, barely avoiding a spill. He stood slowly, his legs sore from the unnatural pause. His body didn’t like stillness. It never had. It protested now as if angry at being ignored for so long.

His feet itched to move. His lungs felt too tight. He looked toward the window.

The sky outside was pale gold, the last edge of afternoon curling into something softer, something bluer. Birds danced between tree branches. Distant voices from other parts of town drifted like dust on the wind.

He took a breath.

Then another.

He wanted— needed —to run. Even if it meant the risk.

Even if it meant seeing him.

"Hey, Tails!" he called out, voice hoarse from disuse.

He heard a faint sound from the workshop—something clanked, then a muffled "Huh?"

"I'm going for a run!" Sonic shouted again.

There was a pause. Then Tails’ voice floated back. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t wait for more.

The door clicked open. Then shut.

And Sonic was gone.

---

Sonic ran.

The earth beneath his feet was damp and forgiving, a patchwork of moss, twigs, and rich, dark soil. Wildflowers painted the hills in streaks of yellow and violet, fluttering like delicate flags in the breeze. The trees stood tall above him, sunlight slicing through their branches, speckling the path ahead with shifting spots of light. Each gust of wind carried with it the scent of pine and earth, the sweet hum of life returning after rain.

It had been a while.

Too long, honestly.

The run wasn’t fast. Not at first. His legs stretched into the rhythm gently, reacquainting themselves with what it meant to move freely, without purpose or destination. The wind caught his ears, tugged gently at his quills, reminding him how it felt to simply exist in motion. The world moved with him, not against him. Not like it had been lately.

And for once, he let it.

He darted past a creek, the water chattering over smooth stones like an old friend trying to catch him up on gossip. He could’ve stopped, dipped his fingers in, splashed his face. But the pull of the trail was too strong. His body remembered what his mind had tried so hard to forget: that he was born for this. For movement. For wide open spaces and the music of wind rushing past his ears.

He didn’t think about him .

Not at first.

Shadow didn’t belong in these moments. Not when the sky was so brilliantly blue, when the birdsong was so persistent, when even the squirrels in the trees seemed to chatter with joy. No, Sonic told himself, this moment was his. Just his. He would savor it. Let the run burn through the ache in his chest. Let the world remind him that it still spun, even if he felt like it had paused.

His footfalls grew lighter. Quicker.

A grin broke over his face as he leapt over a log, twisting mid-air just to feel the thrill of flight. The wind roared around him. Grass blurred beneath his feet. Somewhere in the canopy above, a hawk cried out, echoing the triumphant beat of his own heart.

Faster.

The ground fell away into a sloping hill, and Sonic launched himself into it, letting gravity pull him like a comet down its curve. He whooped, loud and free, the sound tearing from his throat like laughter. His legs blurred beneath him, muscles singing, lungs stretching to match the rhythm.

He needed this.

More than he realized.

When the hill evened out again, he slowed. Not because he had to. Just because he wanted to.

The path curved into a clearing. Trees ringed it in a loose circle, the grass in the center tall and wild, dotted with dandelions and the occasional butterfly dancing on the wind. Sonic slowed to a walk, then finally to a stop, his chest rising and falling with deep, easy breaths.

He looked around.

Everything felt so alive.

The sun was high now, brushing against his fur with warmth. A few bees drifted from flower to flower nearby, unbothered by his presence. The air buzzed softly, thick with heat and scent and the low hum of summer.

He flopped backward into the grass.

The blades bent beneath him, cool and fragrant. His limbs sprawled wide, soaking in the moment. Above him, the sky stretched endlessly, impossibly wide and blue, only interrupted by the slow drift of clouds.

He tried not to think.

About the kiss.

About how close their faces had been. How Shadow had looked peaceful, vulnerable even, with one arm draped loosely across his stomach. How Sonic had leaned in like the world was silent and soft and waiting for something.

How natural it had felt.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Stop.

This moment wasn’t for that. It wasn’t for wondering what Shadow had thought. Or if he’d felt it too. It wasn’t for guilt, or confusion, or fear.

This was for him.

His breath slowed.

The wind rustled through the tall grass like a lullaby. The sun dipped a little lower, painting the world in richer golds. Birds flitted past, one nearly skimming Sonic’s outstretched fingers. He watched it go with a quiet smile.

He hadn’t felt this light in weeks.

It was funny. He’d spent so long avoiding going outside, too afraid of what he might run into. And now, out here, surrounded by nothing but sky and wind and green, he remembered why he always ran in the first place.

It wasn't to escape.

It was to feel alive.

And maybe, just maybe, to remember who he was without anyone else.

He didn’t know what would happen next.

Didn’t know if Shadow had thought about him. If he’d felt something in that kiss, or if he’d just laid there and let it happen like it meant nothing. Maybe Sonic would see him again. Maybe not.

But right now, in this golden sliver of time, he wasn’t afraid.

Not of love.

Not of silence.

Not of himself.

The world would keep turning. The sun would keep rising. And Sonic would keep running.

For the first time in a while, that was enough.

He let the grass cradle him.

And he stayed there, letting the moment stretch into forever.

The breeze still lingered on Sonic’s quills as he sat on a patch of sun-drenched grass, back pressed lightly to a tree, having just caught his breath after a long, exhilarating run through nature.

He hadn't thought about Shadow for the last half hour.

That felt like a victory.

The rhythm of his heart had finally settled to something normal, and for a moment, just a moment, he felt like himself again. The birdsong returned to the forefront of his hearing, the hum of bugs, the soft sigh of trees brushing each other in the wind. There was peace again.

But it didn't last.

Something restless stirred inside him, a feeling that his legs weren't meant to sit still too long today. He had nowhere in particular to go, no urgent reason to move—yet the thought of exploring the town tugged at him. A little noise, a little life, a break from the echoing silence that made too much room for thought.

So he shook out the grass, and dusted himself off. Standing up, Sonic gave the sky one last look and stretched. “I’ll just loop through the town. No harm in that,” he muttered to himself. “Might even grab a chili dog.”

He sprinted toward the town.

Wind rushed past him like an old friend, and the dirt beneath his shoes turned into paved road as buildings began to blur into view. The town was small—quiet most days—but it still held pockets of warmth and community, scattered like lights in the dark. As Sonic slowed into a jog to explore the edges of the plaza, he soaked in the colors, the voices, the scent of fresh food wafting from stalls. For a moment, everything felt normal again.

He wasn’t expecting anything, just wanted to pass through, to let his feet carry him somewhere without meaning. But then, a flicker of red and black caught his eye.

It was like a punch to the gut.

There, just up ahead—Shadow. Sitting casually on the edge of a curb, his gloved hand resting on his knee, posture relaxed like he owned the sidewalk. Next to him, Rouge stood poised with her usual confidence, her wings folded behind her back like velvet curtains.

Sonic’s heart dropped.

His body had already committed to a route before his brain could scream abort . He was moving too fast to pivot without making a scene. His eyes darted around wildly—an alleyway, a mailbox, a manhole cover, anything he could dive into to avoid this confrontation. But it was too late.

He was already almost on top of them.

He panicked.

Without thinking, Sonic waved and flashed a tight, awkward grin.

"Hey, Rouge!" he called quickly, mid-run, not even glancing at Shadow.

He bolted past them.

He didn’t stop, didn’t look back. His face was burning, hot and ashamed. It was the kind of red that spread from his cheeks to his ears, to his chest, to his fingertips.

He ignored Shadow. He actually ignored him.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought bitterly.

The town blurred around him as he ran faster, trying to lose the moment behind him, but the sting remained. That one brief second where he’d seen Shadow from the corner of his eye—calm, unreadable, and silent. That moment was now burned into his brain.

Sonic skidded around a corner, nearly knocking over a trash can. He kept running. He wanted to throw himself into the nearest bush and stay there until the embarrassment faded. Or until Tails built a time machine so he could go back and punch himself in the face before he ever stepped foot into town.

He cursed under his breath, the words swallowed by the wind in his ears.

Why did seeing Shadow do this to him? Why did a simple sighting ruin his entire day? He wasn’t even sure if Shadow noticed his cold shoulder, or if he cared. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe Rouge would make some sarcastic comment, and Shadow would just shrug it off like he always did.

But part of Sonic worried that he did notice.

And worse—that he knew why.

The kiss.

Even now, Sonic could feel the phantom warmth on his lips from that moment. The quiet in the grass. The stillness. The overwhelming ache that had made him do something so reckless.

He groaned and slowed down, finally veering off the path and into a quiet alley behind a bakery. The scent of bread filled the air, warm and grounding, but it didn’t help.

He leaned against the wall and ran a hand through his quills, closing his eyes.

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered to himself.

And for the first time in days, he wasn’t just thinking it.

He meant it.

---

Sonic didn’t run back to Tails’ place.

He walked.

His feet hit the pavement in slow, steady thuds, and for once, he didn’t care who noticed. Hands folded behind his head, blue quills slightly drooping, Sonic looked more like a shadow of himself than the vibrant blur the world knew.

He kept his eyes on the sky. Clouds moved lazily above him, catching fire in the golden hour light. A breeze tugged at the hem of his gloves. Still, the world felt muted. Distant. Like he was watching life unfold from behind a glass wall.

And he thought.

He thought too much.

Every step brought the moment back. The black and red blur sitting casually on the curb, Rouge standing beside him, the awkward wave, and then—nothing. Nothing from Shadow. Not even a glance.

Or maybe there had been a glance, and Sonic had been too much of a coward to meet it.

God, what was he doing?

If he was going to ignore Shadow, he had to do it right. He had to make it convincing—like he was too caught up in something else. Dazed. Distracted. Maybe a little tired. Not obvious enough to draw suspicion, but not subtle enough for Shadow to feel seen. He needed to hit the perfect balance of pretending not to care, while screaming on the inside.

He sighed deeply.

If anyone asked, he was fine. He was Sonic. He’d joke, he’d laugh, he’d crack something about chili dogs or sleeping too much. He’d play the part so well even he might start to believe it. But around Shadow, he’d be different. Not angry. Not cold. Just... absent. A little too busy, a little too preoccupied.

Yeah.

That would work.

His legs brought him to Tails’ front yard before he even realized it. The porch light was already glowing faintly in the early evening, casting warm tones over the small path leading to the door. The comforting shape of the place made something in Sonic's chest ache.

Home. Or, close enough.

Tails had always welcomed him without question. He never pried too hard, never asked why Sonic showed up muddy, or bruised, or with that distant look in his eyes. He just made space on the couch and handed him a blanket.

Sonic pushed the door open and stepped inside, toeing off his shoes quietly by the mat. The house smelled like metal and cinnamon—typical of Tails. There was a soft hum coming from the garage, where the fox was likely tinkering again.

Sonic slumped onto the couch, right back where he’d been that morning, as if the day had folded in on itself.

The ceiling greeted him like an old friend.

He placed his hands behind his head again and stared.

He was tired. Not physically—he’d run through fields and towns and alleys—but somewhere deeper. A tired that curled in his bones, stubborn and unmoving.

How did it come to this? One kiss. One quiet moment in a field. And now every breath felt like it teetered on the edge of a memory.

He shouldn’t have done it.

But he did.

And now he was pretending to be someone who could live with that.

He ran his fingers on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat, the one he used to ignore. The same heartbeat that had betrayed him when he’d leaned in too close. The one that was now a metronome to his regret.

He’d play it cool.

Tomorrow, if he ran into Shadow again, he’d look past him. He’d smile at Rouge, or at the clouds, or at nothing. He’d make sure to laugh a little louder around the others. Just loud enough to cover up the silence inside.

Because that’s what Sonic did.

He ran.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was running from something or to something.

He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. The hum of Tails’ machinery drifted in the background like a lullaby.

And all he could see was red and black and a field of quiet grass.

Chapter Text

The world was loud.

Not in the usual way Sonic loved—like rustling trees, whistling wind, or the steady drumbeat of his feet against the earth. This was the kind of loud that made your heart stutter in your chest and your breath catch in your throat. Smoke curled in the sky above him, thick and sour. Sparks snapped in the air like angry insects. The ground shook beneath his feet.

He turned his head slightly as another beam of energy sliced through the air, lighting up the trees in blinding white. It missed him by a foot and carved a molten line into the earth beside him.

Right. He was still in the fight.

Right now, though, it hardly felt like one.

He hadn’t even been trying.

Sonic darted to the left, the heat from an explosion licking at his side. His muscles moved on instinct. He wasn’t thinking, not about the battlefield, not even about the chaos around him. His mind, strangely, was elsewhere—somewhere quiet and green and full of things unsaid.

The clang of metal brought him back.

Sonic skidded to a stop and looked up, panting, eyes narrowed.

His opponent loomed, all wires and steam and laughter that grated against Sonic’s ears.

“Still standing? I thought you’d be scrap by now,” the voice sneered.

But Sonic didn’t respond. Not with words. Just a blur of blue, fast and cutting through the smoke like a blade. A spin dash cracked against metal, sending shrapnel flying.

He landed hard and stumbled, one hand digging into the dirt, catching himself.

A tremble passed through his shoulders.

He told himself it was adrenaline.

He didn’t have time to figure out what it really was.

Another strike. Another dodge. Another explosion. The landscape felt endless, like the battle itself was stretched across time. It didn’t matter how fast he moved—his mind kept dragging behind, tangled up in something much quieter, something that hurt in a different way.

Shadow.

The name was like a whisper inside him, even now, even here. It clung to the back of his throat, stubborn and sharp.

Why now?

Why in the middle of a fight?

He launched himself again, taking out another clawed drone that spun through the air like a dying firework. The sky lit up orange behind him. Another near miss. He hit the ground and rolled, then sprang back onto his feet.

He should be focused.

But the memory came anyway—uninvited and clear.

He could still feel that second.

It was ruining him.

He gritted his teeth, shoved the thought down, and pushed forward.

He was Sonic. He didn’t stop. He didn’t break.

But he wasn’t running from a villain anymore.

He was running from a kiss.

And that hurt more than anything Eggman could throw at him.

It tackled him from the side, slamming him into the earth. Sparks exploded where his head nearly struck a stone. Metal fingers clamped down on his arms, pinning him. A red laser charged beneath its chest.

Sonic blinked.

“Oh, right,” he muttered.

He pulled his legs in and shot both feet up into the robot’s torso with all the force he had left.

The bot flew back and hit the dirt with a deafening thud.

The red laser flickered and died. Sonic rolled over and lay there, staring at the darkening sky. The trees moved above him. The stars kept appearing, one by one.

He wanted to close his eyes.

Not to sleep. Not even to rest.

He just didn’t want to be here.

A blast roared behind him. He dove into a roll and came up breathing hard, sweat dripping down the side of his face. His quills were heavy with soot, his gloves scuffed and stained.

“You’re slowing down, hedgehog!” the voice mocked again.

Sonic clenched his fists.

“No,” he whispered to himself. "I’m just tired."

But not from this.

From everything else.

The final strike came quickly. A leap, a spin, a crash of metal and sparks. Sonic stood over the remains of the machine, chest heaving. The sky above was dark now, choked with smoke and twilight. He didn’t feel victorious.

He just felt... hollow.

And alone.

The wind picked up, tugging gently at his quills.

The battlefield was empty now. Just broken metal and scorched earth. The kind of silence that makes your thoughts louder.

Sonic stood in the middle of the battlefield, a blur of ash and ember curling around his silhouette. The remains of Eggman’s machines fizzled and sparked, a bitter metallic stench clinging to the air. Somewhere behind him, a gear gave a final shriek and clattered to the ground, motionless.

He didn’t look back.

His legs ached. His shoulders were tight. And still, his heart hadn’t slowed.

He turned his head slightly, scanning the surrounding wreckage. Craters in the ground. Soot-covered grass. Twisted metal and broken wire.

And in the middle of it all, the image of Shadow lying peacefully in the grass, eyes closed, hand on his chest, would not leave him.

That version of Shadow—the quiet one, the one who trusted Sonic enough to sleep beside him—haunted him more than anything Eggman could build.

But when he looked again there was no red.

No black.

No golden-ringed wrists or gleaming crimson eyes.

Sonic let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It came out shaky.

He was kind of grateful. Shadow wasn’t here.

Or maybe he was. Maybe he was watching from a distance, hiding in the treetops or on some high ledge like he sometimes did. Observing in silence. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike or disappear.

That’d be smart. That’d be like him.

But Sonic hadn’t seen him. Not yet. And that was good enough.

He didn’t want to see Shadow. Not here. Not after everything. Not when his mind was already so full it could barely contain itself.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked up at the sky. The clouds were beginning to thin, revealing stars in small patches. 

The chaos was over. The noise had stopped.

But in his chest, the storm hadn’t ended.

What he did feel was the weight of that moment a few days ago—one he couldn’t outrun.

And it wasn't the kiss itself.

It was what came after.

What if Shadow woke up and remembered? What if he didn’t? What if Rouge noticed something was off the next time they stood side-by-side and cracked some sly joke that hit a little too close? What if someone asked him what was wrong and he didn’t have the energy to lie?

What if Shadow hated him?

What if he didn’t?

"What the hell am I doing…" he whispered.

But the sky didn’t answer.

It never did.

Sonic shifted uncomfortably, his feet crunching in debris. Every piece of broken metal around him felt symbolic in the worst way—splintered, sharp, unfinished.

He started walking.

The forest line was just ahead, dark and quiet and still. Trees stood tall and wide, branches reaching into the sky like arms, swaying gently in the cool breeze.

It should’ve calmed him. Usually, it did.

But today, the peace outside only made the noise inside louder.

He rubbed at his arms, half from the cold, half from the gnawing edge of unease crawling up his spine.

He knew why.

He opened his eyes again and kept moving.

There were still others to check on. His friends, his team.

Tails had gone ahead of him to scout the eastern side with Knuckles. Amy had stayed near the frontline to help coordinate civilians. Rouge—he assumed—had kept close to Shadow, if Shadow had even shown.

Which he hadn’t. Right?

Sonic hoped not.

Sonic let the sound of their voices carry him—light and familiar and steady, like a song he’d heard a thousand times before. It should’ve calmed him. And for a few minutes, it did.

Amy’s laugh, Tails’s technical rambles, Knuckles’s deadpan jabs. It was easy to lean on. Easier than the silence in his head. Easier than thinking.

And yet, he was still thinking.

Through every joke he cracked, every nod and grin, every easy reply, he was aware of it—the way his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, the way his laughter stuck in his throat, dry and strange. He felt like a version of himself someone had drawn from memory. Mostly accurate, but not quite right.

“So,” Amy said suddenly, nudging him with her elbow, “you gonna tell us where you disappeared halfway through the fight?”

Sonic blinked, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“You were there one minute, and then—” She made a vague swooshing motion with her hand. “Gone. Vapor. Poof.”

Knuckles raised a brow. “We figured you ran ahead, but no one saw you for like… fifteen minutes.”

Tails tilted his head, curious now. “Yeah. What happened?”

Sonic scratched the back of his neck, heart skipping. “Uh… nature break?”

Amy gave him a look.

“What?” he said, laughing nervously. “Even speedsters have bladders.”

They groaned in unison.

“Okay, okay—gross,” Knuckles muttered, looking away.

Tails chuckled, but his eyes lingered, brows furrowed like he was still trying to piece something together. Sonic glanced away, pretending not to notice.

His gaze drifted across the field again—too quick, too practiced.

Still no sign.

The laughter came easy, like a shield.

Sonic stood,  joking like the battle hadn’t just ended an hour ago. There were bruises on their faces, soot on their gloves, tired lines beneath their eyes—but the mood was light. Familiar. It grounded him, gave him something to cling to when his thoughts started drifting into places he didn’t want to go.

He kept his stance relaxed. One foot tapped the dirt in rhythm with Knuckles’ teasing, and he threw in a few quips when needed, just enough to seem like himself. Not too much. Just enough.

Amy was telling a story from earlier in the fight—something about a Badnik exploding way too close to her boots—when Sonic’s eyes flicked across the field, distracted.

He noticed movement.

Two figures heading toward them.

His heart dropped a little, irrationally, because from a distance it looked like reporters—again. Their silhouettes were upright and direct, like people who had a purpose, and their pace was steady and annoyingly familiar.

“Ugh,” Sonic groaned quietly, rolling his eyes. “Not now…”

Amy glanced at him. “What?”

He tilted his head in the direction of the approaching pair. “Reporters. Probably. They’ve been circling the camp all night. I already gave them the ‘we did what we had to do’ line earlier. What more do they want?”

Tails laughed. “They probably want to ask how you manage to look camera-ready after an explosion.”

“I don’t,” Sonic said, brushing a smudge off his cheek with the back of his glove. “I just happen to look good while doing it.”

But the closer the figures got, the more his stomach twisted.

That walk.

That sharp sway of hips. That confident posture.

That was Rouge.

And behind her—

Tall, silent, shadowed in the low camp light.

That was him.

Shadow.

Sonic’s words died in his throat. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. For a moment, the air around him didn’t feel real. It was too quiet, too thin, like something in his chest was slowly folding inward.

He froze, shoulders stiffening.

Oh no.

He wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready for this.

He couldn’t face him.

Not now.

Not when his heart was still tangled up in everything that moment meant. Not when he was trying so hard to pretend it didn’t change anything—when it had changed everything.

They were almost there. Maybe ten steps away.

Sonic’s breath hitched.

He felt Amy shift beside him, her voice still breezy. “Hey, it’s Rouge!”

Of course she sounded fine. Of course everyone else was fine.

It was just him. Just his stupid nerves screaming in his ears.

Rouge raised a hand in greeting as she and Shadow reached the edge of the circle.

“Evening, boys—and Amy,” she added with a smirk.

“Rouge,” Knuckles grunted in reply, arms crossed.

Tails gave a little wave. “Glad you’re okay.”

Sonic didn’t say anything.

He didn’t even look at them.

He was too busy scrambling for an out. Anything. He just needed to leave, to get away from that stare he hadn’t even seen yet, because if Shadow looked at him—really looked at him—he wasn’t sure what would happen.

Rouge stepped fully into the circle now. Shadow was close behind, silent as ever. Sonic could feel him there. Like gravity had shifted.

And then—he heard Shadow’s voice.

Low. Calm. Controlled.

“Glad to see you all made it.”

That did it.

Panic surged like a bolt down his spine, and Sonic blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“Actually—uh—I think I saw some reporters earlier. Near the medical tent. They probably want some kind of statement.”

Everyone looked at him.

Amy blinked. “Now you want to talk to the press?”

“Yeah,” Sonic said quickly, backing a step away. “Just figured—y’know, I should make sure they’re not bothering anyone else.”

Tails tilted his head. “You okay?”

Sonic laughed, too sharp. “Totally! I’ll be back in a bit.”

And without waiting for a response, he turned and walked off—fast, too fast, but he couldn’t help it. His legs were already moving before his mind caught up.

He didn’t look back.

He didn’t dare.

He kept walking.

Away from the circle.

Away from Shadow.

The circle faded behind him in a blur of voices and warm lights. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t care. As long as it was somewhere else. Somewhere the heat in his chest wouldn’t burn so loudly. Somewhere Shadow wasn’t looking at him. Or worse—not looking at him at all.

The second he turned the corner of the med tent, ducking behind the pile of supply crates again, his legs finally gave out. He stumbled to a stop, half crouching, hands gripping his knees like his body might fall apart otherwise.

“God,” he muttered, voice tight, sharp around the edges. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

His breath came fast—too fast.

What the hell was he doing?

Running off like that. Spitting out some lame excuse about reporters. That wasn’t subtle. That was the opposite of subtle. It was like holding up a neon sign over his head flashing I’m avoiding him in bright, humiliating letters.

They all saw it.

Rouge definitely saw it.

Amy and Tails had exchanged a look. Knuckles had raised an eyebrow.

And Shadow…

Sonic clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms through the gloves.

Shadow had to have seen it. Had to have felt it.

What did he look like back there? When Sonic turned and bolted like some scared little kid? What expression had been on his face?

Surprise?

Annoyance?

Pity?

Sonic wanted to punch something. Not out of anger—out of frustration. At himself. At how he’d just short-circuited like a glitchy robot. He was Sonic the Hedgehog, dammit. He was fast. He was bold. He cracked jokes in the face of danger. He ran toward the impossible.

He didn’t do this.

He didn’t get rattled.

He didn’t dodge fights.

He didn’t run from hard conversations.

He met things head-on. That was who he was. That was the whole point.

So why couldn’t he handle this?

Why couldn’t he just look Shadow in the eye and say something?

Even just “hi.”

Even just acknowledge him.

Because you kissed him, he thought bitterly. And now you don’t know what it meant. You don’t know if he knows. You don’t even know what you want it to mean.

He sank down onto a crate, dragging his hands down his face until his gloves were bunched at his jaw. His pulse thudded behind his eyes. His thoughts were tangled, looping around each other like wires pulled too tight.

He was Sonic.

He was supposed to be brave.

But tonight, he’d run faster than he ever had—and not in a good way.

“Idiot,” he muttered again, softer.

He dropped his hands into his lap, took a long breath in through his nose. Tried to slow everything down. Just for a second.

But then—

The flash of a camera.

A voice chirping, “There he is!”

Sonic flinched so hard he almost fell off the crate.

What—?

Reporters.

Like a pack of wolves on fresh scent.

Two of them rounded the corner—one with a camera already raised, the other holding a microphone like it was some kind of dagger.

“Mr. Hedgehog! Sonic! Can we get a quick comment?”

“Oh my God—no,” Sonic muttered, standing up so fast the crate nearly toppled. “Guys, not now. Seriously.”

Another flash. Another burst of questions.

“Is it true Eggman escaped again? Do you think the GUN response was sufficient—?”

“What’s your reaction to Shadow being deployed alongside you today?”

That last one hit like a slap.

Sonic went still. His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

The reporter leaned forward, eager. “Did you two coordinate strategies together? You’ve been seen operating more closely in recent months. Is it safe to say your relationship has improved—?”

“ Okay! ” Sonic snapped, hands up. “Back it up. I’m not doing interviews right now.”

The reporter blinked, surprised by his tone.

Another one stepped in. “Can we just get a quick quote about the emotional toll this battle’s had on you and your team? A lot of the public’s worried after what happened last time—”

Sonic’s jaw clenched. “No. You want a quote? Here—” he pointed to the battlefield behind them. “Go take a look at all the wreckage out there. The scorch marks. The busted robots. That’s your quote.”

The flash went off again, catching him mid-scowl.

He turned away, muttering, “Great. That’ll look awesome on the front page.”

But they weren’t done.

The first reporter’s voice turned slightly softer, more calculated. “Sonic, is it true you had a moment of vulnerability during the fight today? Some accounts say you were seen alone—shaken—after the dust cleared.”

Sonic froze.

The air felt heavier suddenly.

His stomach twisted.

They were watching him. People had been watching.

He didn’t say anything.

The second reporter chimed in. “There’s some chatter about your emotional state post-mission. Is there anything you’d like to share with your fans to reassure them you’re still—well, still you?”

Sonic swallowed hard.

He felt like he was about to split down the middle.

He didn’t know what part to protect first—his pride, his image, or the secret still burning behind his ribs.

His mind raced with answers.

I’m fine.

I’m just tired.

I’m still me.

But none of it sounded true.

So instead, he shook his head once, sharp and small, and muttered, “No comment.”

He pushed past them, ignoring the last flurry of questions, and disappeared between tents.

The sky had started to darken, slipping from burnt orange into a deep navy. The stars were still dim—shy behind the smoke curling up from dying fires on the battlefield—but they were there, barely. Trying.

Sonic stood just half-shielded by trees. The wind tugged at his quills, and his arms stayed crossed tightly over his chest like he could somehow hold himself together if he just didn’t let go.

His hands wouldn’t stay still. His brain wouldn’t quiet.

Those reporters—those questions. The way they’d looked at him. Like they knew something had cracked.

And maybe something had.

He didn’t hear her footsteps at first.

Didn’t even realize someone had found him until a familiar voice, soft and just a little tentative, said:

“Sonic?”

His heart jumped.

He turned.

Amy.

Her silhouette stood framed by the slope of the hill and the faint glow of lanterns behind her. She looked unsure whether to come closer, one hand loosely curled at her side. Her expression wasn’t stern or demanding—it was gentle. Curious. Concerned in a way that made Sonic’s stomach twist.

He tried to pull himself together, smoothing out his face into something casual. “Hey, Ames.”

She gave a small smile. “You okay?”

Sonic laughed lightly—too lightly. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Amy raised an eyebrow. “You mean besides the part where you literally ran off when Rouge and Shadow showed up?”

He winced. “Wasn’t a big deal.”

“And then vanished for like twenty minutes.”

“Got lost,” he said, shrugging. “You know how it is. Trees. Tents. Same color. Real confusing stuff.”

Amy didn’t laugh.

She just looked at him, quiet for a beat.

“And the reporters?” she asked gently. “You hate reporters, Sonic.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

Amy tilted her head. “So why go straight to them like you couldn’t wait to be cornered?”

Sonic’s shoulders tensed.

He looked away, pretending to study the grass at his feet. “I dunno,” he muttered. “Maybe I just figured it was better than standing around.”

“You mean standing around with your friends? ” she asked, still kind but edging toward frustration now. “With us?”

He stayed quiet.

Amy sighed softly. She crossed the last few steps between them and sat down beside him on the low wooden crate he’d been pacing around earlier. Her presence was warm and grounded in that way it always had been, even when they were younger. He remembered being comforted by it back then—her quiet steadiness beneath the loud optimism.

Now it just made him ache.

“Sonic,” she said after a moment, voice lower now. “Whatever’s going on… you can tell me.”

He chuckled. “There’s nothing going on.”

She didn’t say anything.

Just gave him that look. The one that saw straight through the jokes and the cocky smile. The one she always used when he tried to brush her off but she knew better.

Sonic swallowed.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” she told him. “But if you ever do want to talk… I’m around. Okay?”

He didn’t speak for a second.

Didn’t know what to say.

Then—softly:

“…Thanks.”

Amy smiled at him, small and sincere.

And for a long moment, they just sat there. Quiet. The sounds of the camp buzzed behind them, but out here, it was muffled. It felt like being in a bubble. A pause in the noise. A moment where it was okay not to be okay.

Sonic sighed, finally letting some of the tightness in his chest bleed out through the breath.

Amy didn’t push.

Didn’t demand answers or explanations.

She just… sat with him.

And that meant more than she probably knew.

Eventually, Sonic tilted his head back and stared up at the barely-there stars. “You know,” he said, voice lighter now, “with the way I stormed off and started yelling at those reporters, I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up on the front page tomorrow.”

Amy blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded solemnly. “Yup. ‘Hedgehog Hero Snaps in Emotional Breakdown—Film at Eleven.’”

She snorted. “You didn’t have a breakdown.”

“I might’ve,” he said, eyes wide. “I mean, I told one guy to quote a scorch mark. ”

Amy burst out laughing.

“Oh my God. You didn’t.”

“I did! I said, and I quote, ‘go look at the wreckage, that’s your quote.’” He grinned now, eyes sparkling just a little. “I was very dramatic.”

Amy was wheezing now. “You’re so stupid.”

“I know.”

“Like cartoon supervillain monologue levels of stupid.”

“C’mon, don’t sell me short,” he said, putting a hand to his chest like a Shakespearean actor. “Tragic. Heroic. Deeply misunderstood.”

Amy wiped at her eyes. “You’re gonna be on some blog with that headline by tomorrow.”

“Oh, I better be. I didn’t sacrifice my dignity for nothing.”

She shook her head, still laughing. “You’re such a mess.”

“Yeah,” he said, smile softening. “But thanks for putting up with me anyway.”

Her laughter faded into something gentler. She nudged his shoulder with hers.

“Always.”

Sonic glanced at her, and for the first time in hours, he didn’t feel like he was about to come apart. Amy wasn’t pushing. She wasn’t prying. She was just there. And for someone who spent most of his life outrunning feelings he didn’t want to deal with, that kind of presence mattered more than he could say.

“Hey,” he said, voice low. “Just… don’t tell anyone I was being weird, okay?”

Amy smirked. “What, you mean don’t tell Shadow?”

Sonic flinched.

Amy’s eyes widened. “Wait. Is he the reason—?”

“Nope!” Sonic cut in, way too fast. “No. Not even a little.”

Amy didn’t believe him. It was very obvious.

But she didn’t press.

She just raised her hands. “Alright, alright. Not my business.”

“It’s not,” he said, quieter.

They sat in silence for another long moment. The stars began to sharpen overhead. Sonic could hear laughter somewhere back at the fire, the gentle clatter of dishes, the tired shuffle of GUN soldiers packing up supplies.

The battle was over.

But not everything was healed.

Amy stood up, stretching. “Well. I should head back before Knuckles tries to light something else on fire.”

Sonic smirked. “Tell him I said to aim for the food this time.”

She saluted, already walking backward. “If you stay out here too long, I will assume you’re crying and start a rumor.”

He rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll tell people you were crying when I left because you missed me.”

Amy gave a mock gasp and pointed dramatically. “ Defamation! ”

He grinned. “Prove it.”

She turned around with a laugh and walked off into the camp lights.

Sonic stayed sitting.

And for the first time that night, the silence didn’t feel so loud.

Chapter Text

It had been raining for days.

A slow, heavy rain—the kind that didn’t slam or storm, but lingered. Persistent. Like a sigh that never quite ended. It soaked the grass and trickled off rooftops, it drummed gently on Tails’ windows, and it curled around Sonic’s bones like a thought he didn’t want to face.

Maybe it was just the season. Maybe it was just bad luck. But if you asked Sonic—if he really stopped to think about it—it kind of felt like the weather was reflecting something deeper.

Because Sonic had been off.

Not in the way people might notice, not really. To the world, he was still cracking jokes, still blurting sarcastic one-liners when the lights went out during a raid, still disappearing into forests and reappearing hours later with mud on his socks and wind in his fur.

But inside?

Inside, he felt like the storm never stopped.

He’d been crashing at Tails’ place. Again. Not because he didn’t have a place of his own—well, okay, he didn’t technically have a place. Nature was his home, and that was fine. He liked the wind and the stars and the trees that whispered stories no one else could hear.

But lately… nature had felt too open. Too raw. Too easy to get lost in.

So he stayed at Tails’ house.

Curled up on the couch most days, the cushions half-bent from the shape of his weight, his form a fixture in the corner of the room like some forgotten plush toy.

Tails didn’t ask questions. That was the thing about him—he was smart, way smarter than Sonic gave him credit for sometimes, and yet he never used that intelligence to pry. He gave Sonic space. A blanket. A few muffins. An occasional presence in the doorway that said “I’m here if you need.”

Sonic didn’t take him up on that. Not yet. But he was grateful.

It was better than the alternative.

Amy had offered too—said he could stay with her for a bit if he wanted, that she had extra room, that she was trying this new thing where she organized her place like “a responsible adult.” Sonic had laughed at that, and she’d laughed too, but then she got busy. Meetings. Missions. A week on another continent with Blaze. He didn’t blame her.

It wasn’t her job to fix him.

No one could fix what he didn’t understand himself.

Sonic hadn’t been outside all day.

Which, for him, was absurd.

A week ago, he would’ve laughed at the idea of staying cooped up. The thought of being indoors, still, and silent for hours on end would've sounded like punishment.

And right now? Sonic the Hedgehog.

Was sleeping.

Well—napping. Kind of.

Maybe.

Who was he kidding?

He was out cold.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered Tails poking his head into the room earlier, saying something about heading into the shop to work on calibrating some new flight stabilizer. Sonic had mumbled something unintelligible in response and rolled over.

That was the last thing he remembered.

He figured it had been, what? Fifteen minutes?

Twenty tops?

But then—

A hand on his shoulder.

A voice calling his name, gently.

“Sonic? Hey, you alive?”

He stirred, groggy, blinking up into the warm light of the living room lamp. The window next to the couch was fogged from the inside, rain still dripping down the glass in lazy trails.

“...Tails?” His voice was hoarse, like it hadn’t been used in a while.

“Yeah, it’s me,” came the soft reply, with a chuckle underneath it. “You’ve been out for hours.”

Sonic pushed himself up slightly, squinting. “Hours? Nah—c’mon, it’s only been, like… half an hour, maybe?”

Tails gave him a look. The kind of look that was part amusement, part concern.

“It’s almost six, dude.”

Sonic blinked again. “What?”

“You crashed around noon.”

“No way.”

“Way.”

Sonic groaned, dragging a hand down his face. His quills were sticking up in weird directions, the fur on his arms warm from where they’d been pressed against the couch.

He looked down at himself, then out the window.

Sure enough, the dull orange glow of early evening was creeping along the sky, softening the edges of the stormclouds. It wasn’t dark yet, but it was getting there.

He sat up fully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I needed it…”

“Guess so,” Tails said, stepping back and giving him space. He didn’t sound surprised. Just gentle. “You’ve been looking kind of wiped lately.”

Sonic didn’t respond right away. He let that hang in the air a little too long before covering it with a shrug. “Rain makes me sleepy.”

Tails gave him a soft smile, but didn’t push.

Sonic appreciated that. More than he’d ever say out loud.

Then Tails added, “Amy and Knuckles are gonna come by soon.”

Sonic’s brows knit. “Wait—why?”

Tails was already turning toward the kitchen. “They just wanted to hang out. Nothing big. Said they missed everyone being in the same place.”

“Did they… plan this with you?”

“Kind of. Amy texted me a couple hours ago. Figured you’d be cool with it.”

“Okay, okay.” Sonic exhaled. 

He didn’t know why that mattered so much, but it did. Maybe it was the way the rain made everything feel heavier. Maybe it was the fact that he’d slept for six hours without meaning to. Or maybe it was because the last time he saw Amy and Knuckles in a group, he ran off like a coward the second Shadow walked into view.

And now?

Now he wasn’t sure how to be himself around anyone.

Still, he stood and stretched, his joints popping as he reached toward the ceiling. His stomach growled, and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything all day.

He made his way toward the kitchen, dragging the blanket behind him like a cape. “Think I’ve got time to shower before they get here?”

Tails opened the fridge, pulling out a water bottle. “You’ve probably got twenty minutes. Amy said they’d bring food.”

Sonic lit up just a little. “Real food or like… veggie wraps and disappointment?”

Tails grinned. “She said something about pizza.”

That earned a small, real laugh from Sonic. “Bless her.”

And for a brief moment, something warm tugged at his chest—not too painful, not sharp. Just a little glow.

He didn’t know how this evening would go. He didn’t know what awkwardness might come, or if his emotions would get the better of him again.

But he also knew this:

He was tired of hiding.

Maybe—just maybe—being around the people who cared about him wouldn’t be such a bad thing tonight.

Even if the rain kept falling.

He grabbed a towel and disappeared down the hallway, leaving little wet footprints on the tile.

The bathroom mirror was still fogged when Sonic stepped out of the shower, towel draped loosely around his shoulders, steam clinging to his fur. The rain still whispered against the windows, soft and unrelenting, like the sky had decided it didn’t mind keeping him company a little longer.

He reached for his gloves and socks, tossing them on slowly, rolling each one up with automatic motion. The hot water had helped — his shoulders didn’t feel quite as tight, his limbs not as heavy. There was still that familiar ache in his chest, but it was dull now, something quiet, like an old bruise pressed through cloth.

He ran a hand through his damp quills and looked at his reflection.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “Let’s not be weird tonight.”

He held his gaze a little longer in the mirror. His expression was unreadable — eyes sharp, mouth set in something between a frown and a sigh. But the fur around his eyes was a little less tired. The lines in his forehead weren’t as tense.

It’s just a hangout.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

Tails said Amy and Knuckles just wanted to see everyone again. It made sense. Things had been tense lately. The battle. The bad weather. The unspoken stuff that hung between people and never made it to the surface.

They probably just wanted to reconnect. Sit around the living room like they used to. Maybe play a few games. Watch a dumb movie. Eat something warm and greasy and completely unhealthy.

That sounded... nice, actually.

He walked barefoot (more like shoeless) down the hallway, towel still hanging from one shoulder like a cape, and made his way toward the kitchen.

Tails had lit a few lamps while he was in the shower, casting a golden warmth over the blue-grey evening. The rain outside made the lights look softer somehow — like they were glowing from inside something sacred.

The house smelled like cinnamon. Or maybe it was just the faint scent of whatever Amy had packed in that food bag last time.

Sonic leaned against the kitchen counter and stared out the window for a moment.

Maybe tonight would be easy.

Maybe for once, he wouldn’t have to pretend he was okay or lie to anyone’s face. Maybe he could just be there. Exist among his friends. Not talk about the things gnawing at him or the ache he still hadn’t named. Just… be.

He smiled faintly, almost in spite of himself.

It was a nice thought.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly 6:30. Any minute now.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since… what, last night?

He started rummaging through a nearby drawer for plates or napkins — anything to keep his hands busy — when he heard the soft click of the front door opening.

Tails’ voice floated in from the hallway. “They’re here!”

Sonic froze for just a second.

Not out of panic. Just… nerves.

He shook them off. “Play it cool,” he mumbled, and tossed the towel into the laundry basket as he passed.

The sound of footsteps, shuffling, laughter.

And then they came into view — Amy, arms full of takeout bags and paper cups; Knuckles behind her, holding a game console under one arm like it was some ancient artifact.

Amy spotted Sonic and immediately beamed. “There he is!”

“Hey,” Sonic greeted, leaning casually against the archway with a little wave. “You guys come bearing gifts or are you just here to eat all my snacks?”

“Both,” Knuckles deadpanned, walking past him.

Amy rolled her eyes and set the bags on the table. “We brought pizza. And fries. And Knuckles’ weird hot sauce he won’t shut up about.”

“It’s not weird. It’s essential. ”

Sonic chuckled. “Man, you guys know the way to my heart.”

Amy turned toward him, a knowing sparkle in her eyes. “We’ve always known.”

Sonic looked at her for a second longer than he meant to.

She hadn’t said it like a joke. Just… kindly.

And maybe he needed that more than he realized.

They all gathered in the living room. Tails set up the TV, Knuckles argued over which game to play first, and Amy unpacked the food with theatrical flair, announcing every item like it was a prize from a game show.

Sonic took his spot on the couch, food in hand, blanket around his shoulders like a cape, and for the first time in a while, he felt...

Warm.

Not just physically. Emotionally.

There was something grounding about this. About the normalcy of it. The way Knuckles’ grumbling made Amy giggle. The way Tails offered everyone drinks before sitting down and promptly getting way too competitive during the first round of kart racing.

Sonic let himself sink into it.

He joked. He laughed. He lost terribly in the first round and blamed it on the rain messing with his reflexes. Amy threw a fry at him and said he’d always been bad at corners. Knuckles gave him a smug high-five.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was real.

And for now, that was enough.

But still, somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought about the empty seat next to the window.

He didn’t mean to.

It wasn’t about Shadow.

Except maybe… a little bit, it always was.

Laughter echoed through the living room.

The floor was littered with game controllers, crumpled napkins, and an open bag of spicy chips that Knuckles swore weren’t that hot but had left him red in the face fifteen minutes ago. The TV was glowing with static between rounds, background music humming softly beneath the conversation.

Someone had found an old game from years ago — something half-broken and full of glitches that made Amy scream-laugh every time a character flung into the sky for no reason. They played anyway. That was the charm. It felt like being sixteen again, like none of them had responsibilities, like the world outside Tails’ walls didn’t matter.

Sonic was curled up in a blanket on the corner of the couch, legs up, socks peeking from under the edge. His plate was empty. His stomach was full. And for the first time in a while, he wasn’t thinking about everything. Not deeply. Just floating with the moment, letting it pull him along.

“Alright,” Amy said with a grin, reaching for a controller. “Winner of this next round gets the last pizza slice!”

“Bold of you to assume it’ll still be there by then,” Sonic muttered with a smirk, already eyeing it.

Tails laughed. “We should’ve gotten more.”

Knuckles adjusted his gloves like he was about to enter a championship match. “Let’s settle this.”

And they did — for another fifteen minutes, another round of chaos, ridiculous jokes, and half-muttered insults that only made them laugh harder.

Eventually, Sonic stood with a stretch, brushing crumbs from his lap.

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” he said casually, voice light, yawning mid-sentence. “Try not to crown a new king of fun while I’m gone.”

He was halfway to the hallway, walking past the coat rack near the front door, when—

Knock knock knock.

Three taps.

Light but deliberate.

Amy’s head snapped toward the door. She perked up immediately. “Oh! That must be Rouge!”

Sonic paused.

Amy was already rising to her feet, brushing off her skirt as she passed. “She said she might come by after her thing. And… maybe Shadow’s with her.”

Sonic froze.

A subtle chill rolled down the back of his neck. It wasn’t cold in the room. If anything, the air had grown slightly stuffy from all the bodies and laughter. But Sonic couldn’t breathe.

He turned slowly, standing just beside the hallway archway. He wasn’t in view of the door — not yet. But he could hear Amy’s cheerful voice as she unlocked it.

And then.

Then the door creaked open.

The sound of rain behind it, still gentle, pattering over pavement.

And against the dull blue-grey of the stormy evening, Sonic saw it:

Red and black.

Shadow.

He was standing behind Rouge — slightly turned, half-shadowed by the doorway’s edge. His arms were crossed, like always. The low light made his eyes seem darker, deeper, glowing faintly with that unnatural gold that always looked too intense for a quiet moment like this.

Sonic’s heart lurched.

Amy was talking — something about snacks and games and how glad she was to see them. Rouge responded, her voice smooth and amused as always. But Sonic didn’t hear a word.

His eyes were locked on the shape of him.

Shadow hadn’t seen him yet. Not really. His gaze hadn’t swept toward the hallway. But it was about to.

Sonic felt it — that slow, inevitable shift. He was going to turn. Their eyes were going to meet.

He couldn’t let that happen.

He couldn’t.

Before the air could move again, Sonic pivoted, disappearing down the hallway like a gust of wind. He didn’t run, but his steps were quick, quiet, practiced. Gone before anyone noticed the tension in his shoulders or the way his breath caught in his throat.

He ducked into the bathroom, locked the door, and pressed his back against it, staring at the sink.

Silence.

Or not silence. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears, hard enough to feel in his teeth.

He ran a hand through his quills. His fur was warm — too warm — and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air. He leaned over the sink, stared down at the drain.

Get it together, he told himself. You’re not thirteen. You’ve fought gods. You’ve outrun missiles. You can face Shadow.

But this wasn’t about fighting.

This was about something far more dangerous.

Feeling.

Sonic squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn’t even know what Shadow remembered. Maybe nothing. Maybe it was just a blurry memory from a dream, something that wouldn’t matter to him even if he knew. Maybe Sonic was making a fool of himself by running. Again.

But the idea of seeing those eyes again — of having to pretend nothing happened, or worse, face the truth — was too much.

You kissed him while he was sleeping, Sonic reminded himself. And you ran. And now you’re here.

The door handle didn’t move. No one called for him. The hallway was quiet.

He took a long breath and tried to calm the storm inside.

Tonight was supposed to be easy.

Tonight was supposed to be about not thinking.

But Shadow… just being near him undid all of that.

Sonic didn’t know how long he stood there.

But eventually, he turned on the faucet, splashed cold water over his face, and stared at his reflection in the mirror.

His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “What are you doing to yourself?”

And he had no answer.

The bathroom was quiet.

Too quiet.

Sonic had splashed his face three times now. The cool water did nothing. It couldn’t wash the heat from his skin or slow the pulse that thundered beneath it. He leaned over the sink, hands pressed to the ceramic, jaw clenched.

He hadn’t moved for minutes.

The light above the mirror buzzed softly, its hum joining the distant laughter from the living room. He could still hear Amy’s voice faintly, mingling with Rouge’s. Knuckles was probably making some dumb joke, and everyone was laughing like the world hadn’t just tilted beneath Sonic’s feet.

He’s here.

Just outside this door.

Shadow.

The image of him burned behind Sonic’s eyes—black and red and gold, glowing in the half-light, perfectly composed and haunting in a way Sonic couldn’t explain. He hadn’t even looked at him yet— not fully —but his body had already reacted like it had been set on fire.

Sonic let out a quiet breath and pressed his fingers into his temples.

He had to calm down.

Had to pretend he was fine. That nothing happened. That this wasn’t eating him alive.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts.

Three gentle taps.

“Sonic?” Tails’ voice. Quiet. Kind. “You okay in there?”

Sonic tensed.

He was tempted to say nothing. Just wait it out. But after a second, he forced his voice to work.

“Yeah,” he called out. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… taking a sec.”

There was a pause. Tails didn’t leave right away.

“Okay. Just… let me know if you need anything, alright?”

Sonic hesitated, then mumbled, “Thanks.”

Tails’ footsteps moved away, fading down the hallway.

Sonic straightened, exhaled again, and stared at himself in the mirror. His eyes were too wide. His fur was still a little damp from the earlier shower, clinging at the neck. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days.

Or like someone about to do something stupid.

Again.

He dried his face and opened the door.

The hallway was dimly lit, warm with the glow from the kitchen and living room ahead. He could hear the television now—menu music, light chatter, something low and familiar. The group was still gathered, playing a game or fighting over snacks. It should’ve felt normal.

It didn’t.

As he stepped forward, walking softly on bare feet across the rug, the voices grew clearer—and then he saw him.

Shadow.

He was standing near the edge of the living room, back turned slightly toward the group, arms folded, his stance relaxed but alert in that way only Shadow could manage. His head tilted slightly as Rouge said something to him. His quills were damp, the faintest sheen of rain still clinging to his fur. He looked… tired, maybe. Or unreadable. Sonic wasn’t sure anymore.

His throat closed up.

And before Shadow could turn—before their eyes could meet—Sonic’s body moved on its own.

He pivoted sharply, stepped back into the hallway, and turned toward the back of the house like he’d suddenly remembered something urgent.

He found Tails in the hallway.

Tails blinked. “Hey—?”

“I’m going for a run,” Sonic blurted out.

“What?”

Sonic was already halfway past him. “Just for a bit. I need some air.”

Tails looked completely confused. “Right now? Sonic, it’s pouring out.”

“I know.”

“But it’s late. And the storm’s—”

“I know,” Sonic repeated, louder than he meant to. “I just—I need to go.”

Tails frowned. “Is this about Shadow?”

That made Sonic freeze for a split second.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

So instead, he avoided Tails’ eyes. “It’s nothing. Just need to move. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I’ll be back,” Sonic said, forcing a grin that didn’t touch his eyes. “Don’t wait up.”

He opened the back door, and the cold wind greeted him like an old friend. The rain was heavier than before, sheets of water falling from the dark sky, tapping against the deck and soaking the grass below. Thunder rolled distantly—low and slow.

Tails stood in the doorway behind him. “Be careful, okay?”

Sonic didn’t turn around.

He couldn’t.

He just stepped out into the rain and let the door swing shut behind him.

The rain didn’t let up.

If anything, it got worse — like the sky itself had something to say and couldn’t say it softly.

Sonic ran, branches whipping at his sides, his shoes slick from the soaked earth, water dripping from the ends of his quills. He had no idea where he was going. His legs moved because they had to, because standing still felt like admitting defeat.

But the rain—

God, he hated the rain.

It wasn’t just the cold, or the sting when it hit too hard, or the way it soaked into every layer of fur and made his skin feel too tight. It was the weight of it. Like the world pressing down, reminding him that he couldn’t outrun everything. That no matter how fast he went, some things would always catch him.

He wasn’t even sure why he was crying.

He told himself it was the rain on his cheeks, but his chest said otherwise.

His hands were shaking. His breath hitched as he finally slowed, boots squelching in the mud, steam rising off his overworked body in the cold air.

And then he stopped.

Right in the middle of a clearing deep in the forest, where the trees swayed like ghosts and the sky above poured without mercy.

He stood there, panting, soaked, chest heaving, water dripping from his lashes.

He had just showered.

He had just showered.

And now look at him. Covered in dirt and rain, water pooling in the folds of his gloves, his socks squishing in his shoes. He looked like a wreck. He felt like a wreck.

And the worst part?

He had done it to himself.

Sonic’s hands curled into fists as he doubled over slightly, the weight in his chest finally pressing down too hard.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” he whispered.

The words came out cracked and hoarse. The rain muffled everything, but he heard it — that tiny, shaking voice — like it belonged to someone else.

Why had he run?

Why did he bolt the moment he saw him ?

Why had he made it so obvious?

He’d left Tails mid-sentence. Abandoned his friends. Slammed the door behind him like some teenager storming off after a tantrum.

Because of Shadow.

Because he couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t be in the same room. Couldn’t risk feeling something and showing it.

And now it was so clear. So painfully clear.

Of course Shadow noticed. How could he not?

Sonic let out a sharp, bitter breath and paced a small circle in the grass, kicking up wet leaves and mud.

“This is so stupid,” he muttered. “So fucking stupid…”

He ran his hands down his face. His gloves were soaked. His fingers were trembling.

This wasn’t him.

This wasn’t the version of Sonic the world knew.

The fearless one. The smiling one. The one who cracked jokes during battle and took hits without flinching and never, ever showed when something was wrong.

But this — this was something else.

This was a boy with a storm in his chest and nowhere to put it.

“I kissed him,” Sonic whispered, like saying it out loud would make it less real. “I kissed him, and now I can’t even look at him.”

It wasn’t like it had been some huge, dramatic confession. Shadow had been asleep. Peaceful. Beaten up, but peaceful. And Sonic had just… felt something.

A pull he couldn’t explain.

A warmth he’d buried for so long it finally clawed its way out.

And the second his lips touched Shadow’s — just gently, just once — something inside him had clicked, and it terrified him.

Because what did that mean?

What did it change?

He hadn’t meant to fall for him. Shadow wasn’t even nice most of the time. He was quiet and intense and stubborn and way too proud. He’s also brilliant. And loyal. And brave in ways Sonic still didn’t understand.

And seeing him like that — vulnerable, asleep in the grass, soft for once — it broke something open.

Now, here he was. Wet. Cold. Alone in a storm.

Running from someone who hadn’t even done anything wrong.

Just standing there.

Existing.

And Sonic couldn’t handle it.

He dropped to his knees in the wet grass, water sticking to his fur. His chest hurt. That ache he’d been trying to name for days was screaming now, crashing like thunder behind his ribs.

“I’m so stupid,” he whispered, barely audible.

The rain answered him.

Not with judgment.

Just silence.

He tilted his head back, eyes closed, and felt the rain on his face.

It was the one thing that didn’t ask anything of him.

Didn’t expect him to be fast or clever or okay.

It just… was .

He sat there like that for a long while, letting himself breathe. Letting the thoughts come and go — no running, no burying them. Not this time.

Yeah, he had messed up.

Yeah, he’d panicked. Bolted like a coward. Made things awkward. Made them worse.

He could admit that now.

And yeah, it was obvious.

Shadow was smart. Rouge was observant. Amy knew him too well. Tails had already asked.

He hadn’t fooled anyone.

And the more he replayed it, the more he saw how stupid it all was. How obvious. How him .

How he’d done the same thing he always did — ran first, asked questions later.

He let out a breath. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a sigh.

“This sucks,” he muttered.

He ran a hand through his soaked bangs, blinking up at the gray sky. The clouds were still thick. The sun long gone. The forest dim and shadowy around him, wet leaves clinging to his arms and legs.

But somewhere in his chest, something settled.

He always did this. And he always figured it out.

He didn’t know how yet. Didn’t know what he’d say or when he’d stop flinching at the sight of red and black. Didn’t know how to fix the mess he’d made by being too scared to face something real.

But he’d get there.

He had to.

He was Sonic the freaking Hedgehog.

He'd run through fire. Through time. Through the end of the world and back.

He could get through this, too.

Even if it was hard.

Even if it meant not running for once.

“I’ll figure something out,” he whispered to himself, more to believe it than anything.

The words felt small, but they were steady.

“I always do.”

It wasn’t bravado. It wasn’t a smirk or a catchphrase or a cocky throwaway line.

It was a quiet promise.

A reminder.

Because at the end of the day — under all the blue and speed and ego — that’s who he was.

The one who tried.

Always.

No matter what.

He stood up slowly, joints stiff, fur heavy with water. He didn’t brush himself off. Didn’t shake dry. Just stood in the middle of the woods, heart sore but still beating, and let the storm pass around him.

And then — finally — he turned.

And started walking back.