Chapter Text
As a housemate, Knuckles the Echidna is many things.
Anally retentive when it comes to household chores. You split them equally: doing dishes together, alternating between washing and drying (Which was an arrangement borne out of necessity just as much as it was fairness. His first week living with you he’d been so unintentionally heavy handed he’d smashed half the crockery to bits and bent the steel cutlery like it was nothing more than paper – so now you refuse to leave him unsupervised with fragile objects).
Some of the more undesirable chores like toilet cleaning are settled on with a good old game of rock paper scissors (He always chooses rock – but every other week you let him win, because you don’t have the heart to take advantage of him like that.).
He is honest to a fault, which proves a double-edged sword. He can dish out some surprisingly good life advice for someone so socially out of practice, mainly because he doesn’t sugar-coat anything. You’re being irrational or selfish? Too cowardly? Knuckles has no qualms whatsoever in pointing it out. You’re thankful for that, in a way. He makes you review your own decisions and outlook; encourages you to stop and think instead of acting rashly. You’re a better person for it.
Though sometimes, he is a little too honest: for example, when he decides he is suddenly an interior designer, and takes it upon himself to bluntly critique the apartments decor.
Such a lack of colour, he points out. Where is the greenery? What is all this… technology for? A… Play Station? This is the designated spot for the thing you call video games?
For the most part, he’s a good housemate. Quiet. He keeps to himself – you might even describe him as shy at times. In the first few weeks of his residence with you he hardly left his room, and barely acknowledged you in passing beyond any necessary questions, such as: where is your trash can located, Human – or, your personal favourite, Where is the nearest source of water? To which you directed him very graciously to the sink.
It was all very strange and grew to the point of unbearably awkward. After seeking counsel from Sonic and Maddie, who you’d griped to in great anguish, something along the lines of; “please help what do I do I think Knuckles literally hates me?”
Following their advice, you had called for knuckles to attend a mandatory household meeting to talk out your differences. He’d hustled himself up onto the couch and stared at you very gravely as you asked if he liked living here.
“I do not dislike it,” the echidna replied gruffly. Revealing absolutely nothing else about his innermost feelings.
“But you don’t… like it.”
A long stretch of silence. Knuckles does not respond beyond the slightest of shrugs, his expression stoic as ever. Well, this was getting you absolutely nowhere. You fretted with your hands, exasperated and nervous.
“Knuckles, if we’re going to live together, you have to talk to me. Communication is… sort of a big deal. You being so distant makes me worry. Tell me what’s bothering you, and I’ll try to fix it. Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”
“It’s no fault of yours,” he reassured, “However…I do find myself a little homesick. Earth is very different from what I am used to.”
In hindsight, you felt like a total ass. That was entirely understandable. You realised how intensely different it must be — living on a whole new planet. Talk about culture shock. You also discover, with a pang of guilt, that Knuckles had been alone for the majority of his life. This whole uprooting, living with a stranger thing wasn’t something one could come to terms within a day.
Things improve after that. Together, you fashion his living space into a sanctuary of sorts. A shopping trip to IKEA and a few other furniture stores later leaves you with a wealth of potted plants and exotic décor that he’d found to his liking. Himself, Sonic, and Tails also make a trip through the rings, back to his homebase to pick up a few old sentimentals. The sense of familiarity helps him assimilate to this new world; whilst also offering a comfortable place to retreat to when he feels drained.
As for his wariness around you – this is simply something that takes time to amend. He might seem brash and stoic at first glance, but you realise that Knuckles is actually just unused to existing in the company of anyone but himself. He’s shy – and a big ol’ softie to boot.
Slowly but surely, he opens up to you, till you breach the boundary of housemate into tentative friendship - and it is the most rewarding feeling in the world.
-
If there’s one upside to having the Echidna rooming with you, it’s the ease with which his fists also seem to double as openers for the most stubborn of jarred delicacies.
“Hey, Knuckles?” You call out, sheepish in all your weak humanness: “…Could you help me with this pickle jar?”
The echidna responds to your call with eager promptness, appearing from somewhere within the house to the kitchen doorway. In he swaggers; bemusement flickering in his purple-hued gaze. Between your love for the jarred snacks and your pointed lack of upper body strength, Knuckles has grown well used to the fact that rooming with you entails conforming to the role of Resident Jar Opener.
“Ah. It seems you’ve met your match. A worthy opponent,” Knuckles teases, eyes darting between yourself and the pickles.
He can be such a little shit when he wants to be.
“Not my fault they seal those things shut with, like, gorilla glue or something.”
“Perhaps if you accompanied me to the gym once in a while you might have the upper body strength necessary to open them.” Knuckles suggests wryly – and you think that he may only be half joking. Of late the echidna has been constantly peer-pressuring you into getting a gym membership, much to your horror.
Knuckles flexes his gloved fists in a comical but very serious display of strength. “Stand back, Human,” He warns, with an over-dramatic crick of his neck. You stifle a giggle behind your hand at his over-the-top antics.
With the slightest curl of his fist around the lid, a pop resounds as the seal breaks. He turns to you and offers up the now opened pickle jar with a smug expression.
“You might have bested my friend here – but you are no match for my fists, pickle jar.” He taunts. You burst into laughter, as he flexes his arm for added comedic effect.
He hasn’t always been so quick with a joke. As a result of all the years he spent isolated he can be a little socially backwards, slow to the punchline. But with the passage of time, you’ve seen some major improvement. Where he’d once stared at you in silent bafflement over your lame puns, he now seemed to be coming round to the humour of things, casually joking around with you in return.
“Oh, you brilliant Herculean creature,” You reach out and pinch his soft muzzle playfully, which he deftly swats away, button nose scrunched up with his smile – “How can I ever repay you?”
You bat your eyelashes and feign girlish adoration. Knuckles laughs – but his chest puffs out a little, and you think he really does enjoy the flirtatious banter, even if it’s half joking.
“Well… there is one thing you could do for me…” He replies solemnly.
“Oh?” You quirk a brow, “And what might that be, brave jar opener?”
He looks almost sheepish, shuffling around with his fists behind his back, sneakers scuffing the vinyl flooring.
“Seeing as you best me only in height, you could reach up to the top shelf of the fridge and bring me the grapes.”
You’d intentionally put them just out of his reach because he had a terrible tendency to eat them to the point of a stomach-ache. The number of grapes Knuckles could consume was long past concerning.
You shake your head, but nonetheless you shuffle over and retrieve him his favourite snack. The Echidna's eyes light up, reaching out with greedy grabbing-fists.
You hold it just tantalizingly out of his reach for a moment, and wagging your finger, warn him: “Your reward. As a treat, in moderation.” He doesn’t seem to be listening, too occupied by tearing the plastic packaging open and stuffing his face full with the berries.
“Any more jars you need me to open?” He offers earnestly, through a mouthful of fruit.
“Dream on, Knuckles.”