Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sonic’s head jolts to the side. His nostrils flare with a misguided inhale that causes some lingering discomfort as he pushes himself to breathe normally. His eyes flutter open. It is a slow process as he adjusts to the limited lighting in the dim room. When the street lamp’s light from the unveiled window becomes bright enough for him to see more details about the room, he stares at the ceiling. There are a few shallow shadows crossing the tiles from the light. He blinks rapidly. Those shadows stretch and shrink as the street lamp flickers with barely enough electricity. The street lamp subsists, however, and shadows will always fall where there is even a singular beam of light. Such is the nature of reality, he supposes, but that thought is far too heavy when he’s struggling to maintain a state of wakefulness.

His first instinct is to fall right back asleep. Even though he’s someone who sleeps until noon most of the time, he knows that this is not the right time to be awake. The street lamp proves that they are still deep into the night. He remembers that he went to bed late last night, so there had to be fewer hours till sunrise than there were fingers on his paw. Even if he wanted to be awake right now, he had literally nothing to do. There’s no one to talk to. There’s (probably) no one to save. Sure, there are adventures to be had at all hours of the day, but he would have to go looking for one instead of stumbling upon it. His hatred for boredom might lead him to venture for just that, but it also tugs him back to dreamless slumbers.

His second instinct, however, comes when he realizes that his arm is cold. He tilts his head to that side. The blanket hanging over his body has been pulled forward. Shadow is sitting upright in the bed, and he’s scooted slightly away from Sonic. The comforter is loosely wrapped around his waist, meaning that it’s not directly covering a portion of Sonic’s body. With a quiet sigh, Sonic realizes that’s probably why he woke up: the cold and Shadow’s distance.

Sonic reaches a paw toward Shadow. The other hedgehog’s ears twitch with the sound of Sonic’s movements, and the blue blur takes that as a good sign. Shadow is still with him instead of disassociating. Sonic would handle it either way, of course, but he much prefers it when Shadow’s mind is right beside him.

When the tips of Sonic’s night gloves (like pajamas for Mobians) touch Shadow’s shoulder, the hedgehog moves away. It isn’t exactly a flinch— Shadow rarely does that. But it is close enough that Sonic realizes this is going to be a situation. Sonic releases a breathy groan from effort as he pushes himself to a sitting position. He rubs a paw over the side of his face when he settles. He must forcibly hold down a yawn. When the urge to perform the sleepy action dissipates, Sonic hunches forward. His shoulders press closer to himself. His paws fold together in his lap. He stares in the same direction Shadow does— at the door near the foot of the bed— but he, like Shadow, isn’t really looking at it. It’s just a direction to point his eyes as his gaze slides further away from him.

There could be a number of reasons Shadow is awake right now. Sonic knows about nightmares more than he lets on, but he doesn’t think that’s what has driven Shadow to this position. At least, it isn’t the primary reason. Sonic could explain his reasoning (for one, Shadow rarely sleeps, just rests in the bed. For another, this isn’t his normal behavior after a nightmare, and while he could technically change, it’s unlikely), but for the most part, it’s just a feeling that carries with him as his mind slips between half-conscious and full awareness. When he finally snaps his attention into place, he comes to a conclusion based on the subtle changes in his body language and facial expression.

“You know, I hate touch, too,” Sonic whispers into the darkness. He finds it much easier to talk when everything is dim. It feels safer without the blinding lights that highlight both his appearance and that of his conversational partner. It’s also easy to talk when he isn’t making eye contact. There’s something freeing about pretending he isn’t talking to anyone but himself. He always knows what to say when it’s him, after all. It’s a toss-up if he says the right thing around other people. It’s a couple of toss-ups in a row if he says anything remotely right to Shadow specifically. Still, the darkness imbues him with a confidence he otherwise wouldn’t feel.

“Hate?” Shadow responds. He doesn’t whisper like Sonic, but his voice is quiet in all the appropriate ways for a late-night conversation where Rouge is asleep across the hall and Omega is charging in the room next door.

“Yup,” Sonic confirms with a nod, popping the ‘p’ for no other reason than his own amusement. “Present tense. Hate. I hated it when I was younger. I hated talking, too, if you can believe it. I couldn’t handle either of them. I didn’t want to. Not until Tails came along… Sorry, that statement is misleading. Even with Tails, I hated it. I just… He was a little kit. I wouldn’t talk to him, and I wouldn’t touch him. I knew it would hurt him in the long run, so I sucked it up and learned to deal with touch. I’m sure Tails would lecture me about forcing myself to do something that I hated just for his sake, but at the time, he was so… young. I had to give him something if I was going to keep him around. I got around to talking, too, obviously, but touch is still… hard at times.”

Shadow is silent, but Sonic knows he’s listening. Of course, he knows. Whatever they have going on now might be new, but their relationship has extended far beyond this point. Enemies, rivals, sparring partners, friends— whatever word properly defines it or doesn’t even come close, they had something going on. Sonic learned Shadow’s habits just as he learned everyone else’s little quirks. Shadow listens more than he lets on. He might say it’s because he’s the Ultimate Lifeform who needs to know everything, but Sonic thinks it’s just his way of showing he cares. He pays attention. He listens. He tries. And that means the world to the people who understand, including Sonic.

“It’s strange, actually. I still hate it. Every time we hold hands or cuddle, I feel like I’m going to vomit,” Sonic finishes, crossing his arms. He puts them over his knees. He slides his feet back to bend his knees. He leans forward slightly. He puts his cheek against his forearms. He tries looking at Shadow. It isn’t exactly easy. His ebony fur and quills blend in remarkably well with the darkness of the room. His red highlights stand out, however, and Sonic can easily find them. He can also find Shadow’s carmine irises. He blinks slower than normal people do, so they look like the bright beams of a lighthouse to Sonic. A comparison that brings a sense of peace to the otherwise turbulent mental state this confession is coming from.

“Why do you do it, then, if it makes you want to vomit?” Shadow asks. He firmly keeps his head forward and his chin jutted out. He looks like a statue standing vigil over some priceless treasure or unknowable secret. He also, to Sonic, looks like someone trying to hide that they are feeling emotions, particularly fear. Again, Sonic is starting to learn more and more about Shadow and the way his head ticks like a functioning clock.

“Other than not wanting you to kill me for getting vomit on you?” Sonic asks with a light laugh. It fills the room with a positive energy that was otherwise missing. As his laughter trickles to silence broken by breaths, it takes that positivity with it. In its place, however, there is a tranquil atmosphere that gives Sonic the motivation to continue speaking. “I need it, I guess. During the metal virus, I really wanted it. Someone to hold. Someone to high-five. Someone to feel so that I could understand I’m alive by proving to myself that they were. But after the pandemic passed, my aversion to it was even worse. I think I really hurt Tails when all he wanted was a hug. Emotionally, I mean. I would never hit him. Maybe he would have rathered that, though. I think I brought my aversion down, and right in time for the Starfall Islands. All I wanted was to touch my friends and brother, but I couldn’t. They were holograms. My paws slipped right through them. I was losing myself, and I couldn’t even ground myself with the solid weight of their existence. As you know, when we got back, they left for their adventures. I never could quite prove they were still alive. Probably how I ended up at your doorstep.”

“We fought,” Shadow recalls somberly.

Sonic snorts. “It was sparring. No one was out for blood. At least, I wasn’t out for your blood. But I guess I didn’t mind if you were out for mine. I couldn’t handle physical affection, but I needed touch, so my solution was just to fight someone. Punches and kicks already hurt, so there was no reason to be concerned about why it hurt me so much more intimately than surface-level bruises.”

“You—”

“Don’t worry. I realized that was unhealthy. And unfair to you. That’s why I tried to become your friend instead of your sparring partner,” Sonic quickly assures him with a half-smile appearing on his face. He isn’t even sure what he’s smiling about in particular. Perhaps it’s just the happiness nestled inside of him, waxing and waning with each adventure and tragedy and friendship and disaster that finds its way to him. “And look where that got me.”

While the statement was rhetorical, Shadow takes it as a suggestion to be followed. He starts looking around the room. His eyes land on Sonic last, but they don’t look away from him, either. Sonic’s smile grows a smidgen. There is absolutely nothing on Shadow’s face. It could barely be considered an expression. Unfortunately for Shadow, Sonic sees enough. He knows enough, technically. There is both fondness and satisfaction in those uncharacteristically bright eyes. Sonic thinks his own expression must be a mirror of that. It has to be, anyway.

Sonic is so unbelievably fond of Shadow. It has always been there, of course. Even when they first met as enemies, Sonic had respect for Shadow. It increased tenfold as he got to know Shadow’s past and complex motivations. Everything Shadow keeps hidden under the surface is something else for Sonic to grasp onto. He holds every precious moment shared with him against his heart like they are jewels worthy enough for Rouge to steal or Knuckles to guard.

Then, there’s the satisfaction. There are so many people on this planet. There are even more lifeforms beyond it. There are whole other dimensions. There’s even the path of solitude. But out of all those limitless options, Shadow— for reasons he himself only knows— chose Sonic. It’s the blue blur that sits in his bed and stares at him in the darkness. It’s the Hero of Mobius that gets looked at with such a personal amount of affection and understanding. It might sound a little odd to other people, but Sonic can’t help it. He feels proud of himself for being the one Shadow chose. There’s some satisfaction that might one day become twisted but has yet to reach that point for being in this position.

As a consolation, he’s certain Shadow feels the same way in some aspects.

With that in mind, Sonic decides to try something. This will either be the best or worst decision of his life. Sonic smiles to himself. Are there any other decisions that he makes? He doesn’t live his life by half-tones. He’s all in or he’s all out, and for Shadow— with Shadow, he’s all in all the time.

Sonic removes his gloves. He’s careful and unusually slow about it, giving Shadow time to focus on it and realize what Sonic is doing. Once the gloves are off (literally, in this case), Sonic sets them to the side. He knows they are going to fall off the bed, but he doesn’t pay attention to that as he pulls the blanket off him. He crawls over it. He stops when he’s in front of Shadow. He plops down on the mattress. Shadow eyes him warily, a certain level of hesitation as he keeps glancing at Sonic’s bare paws. Sonic scoots as close as he can get without touching Shadow, even if the blanket is still between their legs. Sonic folds one leg under him and folds the other to the side as he reaches out. With just as little speed as he used for himself (truly, what is he doing going this slow?), Sonic removes Shadow’s gloves. He leaves the inhibitor rings on, of course, since he doesn’t want to fight right now. But the gloves come off, and while Shadow is perplexed and more than a little concerned, he does nothing to stop Sonic. He tosses them over to where his gloves have been left behind.

Sonic gives them both a moment to mentally adjust. This is already a big step in their relationship. While it technically isn’t a romantic thing, it is an extremely intimate one. Only family members and close friends will ever see another’s bare paws (or hands, or talons, or whatever it is for the specific Mobian). They haven’t even talked about what they are exactly, so Sonic knows that he might be crossing several lines as he does his best to keep his eyes on Shadow’s face instead of his paws.

“Here we go,” Sonic whispers to himself. He reaches his paw out slowly. Shadow’s head jerks back when he notices Sonic’s approaching limb. Shadow’s lips curl into a snarl. His muscles tense and his quills flare like he’s about to be attacked. Sonic shushes him gently before he can start growling. Shadow’s eyes cut to Sonic’s face. The azure hedgehog gives him a patient, understanding smile, and finally— finally— he touches his bare paw against the side of Shadow’s face.

They are both tense. Sonic doesn’t know what it’s like for Shadow, but to him, it hurts. Nausea burns through his throat. The dinner Rouge made for them threatens to rise to the surface. More than that, his breathing grows uneven. He can feel each inhale tremble in his chest, and it leaves his body as a wobbling exhale. Sonic would dare say his body itself is shaking, but he refuses to pay attention to that as he pushes through the immediate reaction. It is always the immediate reaction that hurts him in the long run because once he adjusts, once he feels, once he understands, he doesn’t hate it as much. He either enjoys it, or he realizes that he desperately needs it, and when Shadow gently leans into the touch, Sonic thinks it is a mix of both.

One paw done, Sonic moves his other hand to touch Shadow’s other cheek. Sonic has to go through the process all over again. Shadow, in contrast, adapts much quicker. Sonic finds himself chuckling at the unfairness of it all, but he doesn’t feel much envy in his chest. He focuses on his emotions and bodily reactions. Both are visceral and nearly fatal, but once everything stills in his chest, he finds himself right back to both hating and enjoying the moment, blurring the lines of pain and pleasure once again.

“What does it feel like… for you?” Sonic asks. At least, he thinks he does. His words are so quiet and somber that he wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t come out at all.

“Like fire,” Shadow answers earnestly. Sonic hums, both a noise of acknowledgment and a request for Shadow to keep going— if he feels like it, at least. In the meantime, Sonic slowly moves his paws down. They move from the jawline to the throat. His touch never aims to hurt, but Sonic feels like he’s done something wrong when Shadow completely freezes. He doesn’t, however, pull away. His breath literally flutters against the pads of Sonic’s thumbs. Sonic could get addicted to that sort of power, but he doesn’t keep his paws there. When Shadow relaxes, Sonic continues downward to Shadow’s shoulders. At this point, Shadow answers the question like he couldn’t stand for Sonic to feel his words as well as hear them. “It burns. It digs deep like it wants to reduce everything to ash. Then, there is numbness. It has done too much damage. There is nothing left.”

Sonic feels Shadow’s fur go from standing on end to smoothing over the skin underneath as his paws slide down the upper arms. Sonic’s thumbs hook on Shadow’s elbows. Shadow stares at one of Sonic’s paws. He releases a deep breath that seems to dispel the remaining anxiety in his body. “Then, it’s warm. It doesn’t hurt. It… feels—”

Shadow cuts himself off. Sonic doesn’t know what word he is going to finish with, but he knows why Shadow couldn’t finish that thought. Sonic has reached the end of the line— the breaking point. The pads of his fingers barely press into Shadow’s palms, but their presence is there. It is felt. It must be considering Shadow’s reaction. Sonic is in the same boat. He doesn’t think he could talk as their paws are actually touching. This is the part of themselves they physically hide from the rest of the world, but in the quiet and dimness of Shadow’s room, they don’t have to hide. Instead, they can feel, and it hurts, hurts, hurts — heals. It heals some distant, hollow, breaking, possibly already broken part of Sonic.

Sonic twists his paws. He slides his palm right across Shadow’s palm. They both make their own noises over it, but Sonic can hardly pay attention to either of them as he intertwines his fingers with Shadow’s. This isn’t the first time they’ve held hands, but it is the first time without their gloves giving them a level of separation from each other. There is nothing but fur and body heat now, and Sonic doesn’t know how he feels about that. No, he does know how he feels about it. He just doesn’t want to feel like this is special even though he knows that it is. This intimacy, this mutual comfort, this insistence on straddling the line between self-annihilation and self-actualization, is so unusual for Sonic. It is unbecoming for the Hero of Mobius.

But he loves it. He loves it as much as he hates it. He thinks he could get addicted to this sort of thing, and he isn’t sure if he wants to or not, if that’s right or not, if that’d be a problem or not.

“It feels like water to me,” Sonic admits. The words are honest, of course. He just doesn’t know where they come from. Shadow raises an eyebrow at him. Sonic shakes his head. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t mean a cup of water. I mean… an entire ocean of it. Dark, foreboding, chaotic. And heavy. So, so heavy. The water rushes to latch onto you the moment you stop moving, the moment you let your guard down. You are brought beneath the surface without a second thought. Lungs burning. Muscles aching. Mind shambling. It’s nothing but darkness, loneliness, a sense of unease that continues until your mouth is forcibly opened by the desire to live even when there is nothing around that can help you. That’s what touch has always felt to me. It’s what it feels like right now. I mean, here, feel—”

Sonic tugs their conjoined paws together. He twists until the back of Shadow’s paw is against Sonic’s chest. Another pathetic noise exits him, but on the bright side, something similar comes from Shadow as he feels Sonic’s thundering heartbeat. While most people might have their heart rate increase with fear, Sonic’s heart has always slowed. And it feels like it isn’t even beating right now. Shadow can feel it. Sonic takes a steadying breath as he lets Shadow close. Is this what Shadow felt when Sonic’s paws were around his neck?

Honestly, Sonic could get addicted to this feeling of powerlessness as much as he can the inverse.

“If it hurts, why do we continue to touch?” Shadow asks. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he is leaning closer than ever. They are only connected by their paws (and Sonic’s chest), but their breaths are intermingling in the space between them.

“The same reason we love even though it hurts,” Sonic calmly states, watching Shadow’s eyes widen at the explicit usage of that specific word. Sonic doesn’t dwell on that particular sentiment, letting it hang in the air unbothered. “Because we want to. Because we need to. Because we have no choice.”

Shadow’s expression changes at the wording of Sonic’s admission. Sonic huffs. An ironic smile slips onto his face, more rueful than entertained. “Not a very romantic sentiment, is it?”

“No,” Shadow agrees. He tilts his head to the side. “I prefer it this way.”

Sonic’s smile widens, losing its melancholic quality in favor of something more happy, more hopeful. “I do, too.”

Since his first gamble worked out, Sonic decides to accept another one. He shuffles a little closer. The blanket stops him from actually touching Shadow’s knees with his own, but he does keep the pressure there. He’s even closer to Shadow now. He can see every emotion that lives and dies at the edges of Shadow’s irises, unable to exist near the pupil because Shadow doesn’t let himself feel them as deeply as he should. Sonic takes a deep breath. He lets the heavy water wash right over him. He speaks, and his words are so close that they gently move the fur around Shadow’s face. “How about this for a romantic thought: you’re worth drowning for.”

That single sentence is worth its weight in gold because Sonic means it. He speaks with such confidence and earnestness that Shadow has no choice but to accept it for what it is. While not a blatant confession of love, it might be even more special than that. This entire night is far more special than that, after all. It’s clear that Sonic loves Shadow. That was never in question. But to expose himself like this? To suffer the pain and pleasure of closeness? To touch and feel and understand in a way they haven’t before? That has to mean as much to Shadow as it does to Sonic.

Sonic, at least, hopes it does because, in the next second, Shadow takes the initiative. He tips forward to press their forehead together. It is so much worse for Sonic’s physical health than holding hands is. When Sonic finally gets his breathing under control and stops feeling like he’s about to disappear into oblivion, Shadow whispers back, “You’re worth burning for.”

And suddenly, Sonic can’t breathe. Oh, what a wondrous and terrifying ordeal it is to be loved by Shadow the Hedgehog! But even worse, even better, even more than that is to simply be known by him. To share his bed and his time and his experiences and his trials and tribulations. What did Sonic do to deserve this? What wrongs has he committed? What virtues has he maintained?

“Okay, let’s go back to bed,” Sonic hurriedly replies. It’s both a struggle and incredibly easy for him to slip his paws from Shadow’s grasp. The other doesn’t make an effort to keep their paws together until after they are separated, and even Shadow seems hesitant and conflicted about it. Refusing to make eye contact, Sonic adds, “We can… figure this out. In the morning. Later. Never. Just— let’s sleep. Or, well, I’ll sleep. You can lie there and overthink everything until Rouge tells you that you can come outside your room.”

“That is not what happens,” Shadow argues, also refusing to make eye contact. As a retort, Sonic throws Shadow’s gloves at the side of his head. Unfortunately, Shadow catches them. The glare he sends Sonic’s way causes the latter to giggle softly under his breath. He flops back onto the mattress, pulling the comforter around him. He tears it away from Shadow. The glare sharpens, but it dissipates when Shadow sighs. He shuffles back into place beside Shadow. Not touching, of course, because they both have their own side of the bed. 

Sonic slides his gloves back on. The familiar embrace of the fabric settles against his fur like a protective bubble keeping him from pain. It, unfortunately, also keeps him away from touch, in general. But he can deal with it. He has for a long time now.

And, glancing at Shadow’s side profile as the Ultimate Lifeform slides his own gloves back on, Sonic doesn’t have to keep himself away from touch anymore. It’s right there, ready for him to grasp when he’s ready. With that comforting thought, Sonic closes his eyes. He falls right back asleep. 

Chapter Text

The mattress beneath him is soft, losing firmness slowly but surely. The comforter covering his legs keeps them warm while his upper body is left to suffer the cool draft wafting through the room. There is a nightstand on his side of the bed. An unplugged, dusting lamp sits on the surface. There is a dresser against the wall closest to him. The top two drawers have clothes and other miscellaneous items thrown inside, but the remaining four drawers are devoid of anything. The closest is similar. There are a few hanging shirts and a box left in the back corner. The door to the hallway is at the foot of the bed. Further down that particular wall is a window that lets the saturated orange light of the streetlamp cast puddles against the hardwood floor. His desk is on the next wall, on the opposite side of the dresser. Arguably, the desk is the most decorated part of the room with his laptop, a cup full of writing utensils, and a few drawers filled with different office supplies. A few photographs are taped onto the wall above the desk including one with the scientists from the ARK, Shadow and Sonic standing in front of the White House, and Team Dark goofing off in the office (or, well, Rouge was goofing off. Shadow and Omega don’t really participate in her reverie). The final wall with his bed is completely blank.

Shadow looks around the room several times. He counts all the details as if they will change when he turns away and he must then identify the differences. They never do change. The bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the closet, the door, the window, the desk, the photographs, the blank wall. One, two, three. One, two, three. It’s like counting sheep, except Shadow isn’t exactly in the mood to fall back asleep. Or to merely lie in bed and rest until the rest of the world awakens because Ultimate Lifeforms need a lot less sleep than regular lifeforms. Even if he desperately wanted or needed to rest, his self-control has been lost in the harsh glow of the exterior light. He is letting his bodily sensations— emotions, even— control him, and that would disappoint a lot more people than he cares to think about when memories lurk in every dark corner.

But for every disappointed face, Shadow can see one that would be proud of him for listening to his body and heart. They repeatedly tell him that he shouldn’t force himself to be strong or brave or unrelenting or anything that he was designed to be. Shadow hardly believes them, but they talk so much and so incessantly that their words follow him even as his mind starts to wander away from his body. It’s their words and concerns that bring him right back to the synthesized shell the doctor made for him all those years ago.

And one of those faces is right beside Shadow. The bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the closet, the door, the window, the desk, the photographs, the blank wall, and Sonic. Shadow looks down from the blank wall to the hedgehog slobbering on Shadow’s pillow. Sonic holds it sideways so that it presses against his cheek and chest at the same time. His body is tilting to the side, however, struggling to be both on his back and on his side. It doesn’t look comfortable, but Sonic is completely knocked out. Shadow doubts anything short of an earthquake can coax him from his sleep right now.

Shadow narrows his eyes, and he hurriedly looks away from Sonic. This is a new development. Whatever is going on between them doesn’t have a name or a purpose, but it does have certain attributes and habits and activities that they both sort of fall into without thinking about it. When Sonic throws an arm around his shoulders, Shadow doesn’t shrug it off, and when Shadow reaches for Sonic’s hand, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. When one of them catches the other looking, there’s no need to look away. It’s strange for someone to stare at Shadow for so long without even a hint of observational curiosity in that gaze, but Sonic has always been of a stranger sort than most. He’s something beyond natural, yet he also needs to sleep. He needs to sleep, and he chooses to sleep in Shadow’s bed.

Sure, there are logistical reasons for it. Sonic has been coming over to Team Dark’s apartment more often than not these days. In the beginning, it might have been to spend time with Shadow, but the hybrid thinks it also involves Sonic escaping the loneliness of his own home now that his younger brother has gone off on some adventure on his lonesome. Sonic could sleep on the couch, but they don’t have any extra blankets or pillows. Sonic isn’t going to sleep with Rouge for obvious reasons. Omega doesn’t have a bed; he has a charging station. Shadow is the best option. He’s the only option.

And he… doesn’t mind, actually. It would feel too weird and raw to admit that, but Shadow isn’t going to make some deal about something that he thinks he might be learning to like. There’s something comforting about having someone’s breath so close to him when he’s resting in his room. Since he isn’t always sleeping when he’s in here, it’s nice to have someone’s subtle motions to keep him focused until dawn arrives. The body heat is also reassuring to an extent.

It’s the touch that drives him to one side of the bed, barely hanging onto the mattress. It isn’t Sonic’s fault, necessarily. He’s asleep right now. He moves as much when he’s asleep as he does when he’s awake, and he doesn’t have a consciousness to remind him that he shouldn’t shove his paws into someone’s face or press his knee against someone’s thigh. It isn’t cuddling. It’s barely touching, to be honest. But it grates at Shadow’s body like a lance piercing his gut. He tries to remain still because he doesn’t like being this weak (how can a simple touch that doesn’t even cause physical pain hurt the Ultimate Lifeform so badly?). He tries and tries and tries, but sometimes, he really can’t handle it.

Which leads him to his current actions. He sits up in bed. He looks around the room a few more times because his eyes are naturally able to see even with limited lighting. He can see everything, and blessing or curse, he uses it now to keep himself present when he wants nothing more than to crawl out of his own skin both in a literal and mental sense. 

The bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the closet, the door, the window, the desk, the photographs, the blank wall. The bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the closet, the door, the window, the desk, the photographs, the blank wall. The bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the closet, the door, the window, the desk, the photographs, the blank wall— a noise. 

Shadow can’t describe it easily. It’s breathy, nasally, and rapid like a snort or chuckle. Perhaps the noise is somewhere between those lines. What Shadow knows, however, is where it came from. He glances at Sonic as the blue hedgehog’s head shakes softly as if he’s denying something immediately upon waking. Shadow hopes Sonic is still asleep right now. He’s out of luck when Sonic’s eyes begin to lift. Shadow tears his eyes away. He stares at the door at the foot of the bed with narrowed eyes. He focuses all his attention on it. At least, he tries to. His ears still twitch as he registers Sonic’s movements as the blue hedgehog momentarily rises from his unconscious to the realm of the wakeful.

Shadow knows that Sonic will go back to sleep soon. The hedgehog does not like being awake before his body decides it’s time to rise. Shadow never thought he would see Sonic properly annoyed, but that was before he tried dragging Sonic out of bed one morning. Sonic’s grumbles and complaints were funnier than they were hurtful, though, so Shadow let it slide and adapted to Sonic’s sleep schedule. If Shadow does accidentally wake Sonic up, he will make a rough noise and immediately fall right back under without even remembering when Shadow tries to ask him about it later. It’s an expected response, and Shadow needs his expectations to be met yet again.

Sonic, however, only gives a quiet sigh. Shadow grits his teeth. Sonic is more awake than Shadow thought he would be. It alarms him, and he hates himself for feeling that way. What does it matter if Sonic isn’t following his usual patterns? What does it matter if he’s awake right now? Shadow isn’t doing anything wrong. He’s just sitting in his bed, looking around his room. Even though he doesn’t have to answer any questions Sonic has for him, he has a reasonable explanation for this that doesn’t count as an excuse or a lie because it’s plainly true. He doesn’t have to talk about the itch underneath his skin to Sonic. He isn’t misleading the other by saying nothing about that miscalculation in his genetic coding or his mental processing center.

But then, instead of talking, Sonic touches him. Shadow knew Sonic was moving around based on the sounds he was hearing, but he was too out of it to realize that Sonic’s fingertips are brushing against Shadow’s shoulder. It’s a light touch. It is a reasonable one. It is meant to be reassuring or questioning or just a way of getting his attention. No matter the underlying reason, Shadow decidedly tilts his body away from Sonic until that paw is a few inches away from him. Shadow doesn’t let his eyes leave the door as he realizes that he might have made a mistake. Maybe not, though. It doesn’t matter. Shadow didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was an action his body did without his mind ordering it. More than anything, he just feels disappointed in himself.

More noises. A sound of exertion as bright blue appears in Shadow’s peripheral vision. Sonic sits upright. There is barely any distance between them, but using the bed as a frame of reference makes it seem like they are trying to avoid making as much physical contact as possible. Shadow is doing that, technically. He doesn’t know what Sonic is trying to do, though. The hedgehog has made no effort to touch Shadow again. He just folds himself together on his side of the bed with a near-blank look in his eyes as he stares at the door.

There is silence for the longest time. Sonic’s ears flick in every direction. His tail thumps once behind him before falling motionless. His eyes narrow, and his nose twitches. He is thinking. It’s an expression Shadow is becoming increasingly familiar with. When the world goes still and silent, Sonic does, too. He stops. His lips press together. He assesses and thinks and observes, and eventually, he spirals. Further and further down with no end in sight. He falls apart right in front of everyone, and no one notices. Shadow doesn’t know why he never did before. Is it because he thought of Sonic as someone infallible? Is it because he, like everyone else, was fooled by the bright smiles and even brighter eyes that invoked the image of someone who’s never experienced hardship in their lives? But Sonic has experienced hardship. Over and over again. He throws himself right into danger, so people naturally assume he’s unaffected by it. He’s ‘too fast’ for it.

A bigger question than why Shadow never noticed it before is why he notices it now. What changed so that Shadow could now see the darkness that seems to always trail behind lights like Sonic? When did he realize that Sonic’s greatest enemy was never the world— it was himself?

“You know, I hate touch, too.” It’s a good sign that Sonic speaks. It means he hasn’t gone so far that the only way to snap him out of it is an adrenaline high. His words, however, don’t bring Shadow any sort of peace. Even if it wouldn’t work, Shadow was expecting some heart-warming speech. Chaos, he thought Sonic would assume it was a nightmare that drove him to this state. Why— how— did Sonic realize what it was really about? Has Shadow not been hiding it as well as he thought he was? Was he even bothering to hide it all? Or was he exactly like Sonic, trusting that no one would understand the pain he was feeling because of his relative position in their minds?

“Hate?” Shadow echoes with a somber quality to his voice. He doesn’t like how his voice sounds right now. Too quiet, too distant, too far gone. It doesn’t fit him. It detracts from his purpose instead of elevating him to a status worthy of his meticulous creation.

“Yup.” Sonic is nodding and adding amused tidbits to his words. Outside of the situation they’ve found themself in— a different setting, a different question to answer, a different conversational partner— people would think Sonic was happy right now. He’s not, though, and that half-heartedly hidden brokenness leaks into his words as he continues. “Present tense. Hate. I hated it when I was younger. I hated talking, too, if you can believe it…”

Shadow can believe it, strangely enough. Sonic talks a lot, of course. That is undeniable. There are times when he really should keep his mouth shut. But then there are times when he is silent. There’s no reason to be, yet he is. He is, and he looks like someone who could disappear at a moment’s notice. Shadow easily believes that there was a time when Sonic didn’t speak at all because he sometimes sees that version of Sonic locked away inside the hedgehog sitting beside him right now.

“...I couldn’t handle either of them. I didn’t want to. Not until Tails came along…”

Shadow tilts his head a little more towards Sonic at the words. Is that what it takes to feel better? To have someone that makes it easier to touch and communicate verbally with? Shadow is plainly out of luck if that’s the case. If he can’t handle it with people like Sonic or Rouge— the people he’s the closest with and probably won’t ever be able to replace— there is no one he could ever do it with.

Sonic, however, shakes his head a little fiercely. “Sorry, that statement is misleading. Even with Tails, I hated it. I just… He was a little kit. I wouldn’t talk to him, and I wouldn’t touch him. I knew it would hurt him in the long run, so I sucked it up and learned to deal with touch. I’m sure Tails would lecture me about forcing myself to do something that I hated just for his sake, but at the time, he was so… young. I had to give him something if I was going to keep him around. I got around to talking, too, obviously, but touch is still… hard at times.”

Sonic’s eyes flick over to Shadow for a moment. It’s easy to tell because they are almost supernaturally good at reflecting light. It would make him horrible at hiding in the darkness, but Sonic isn’t meant for that, anyway. He charges headfirst like a hedgehog with a dozen lives or little care for the singular one he has. Sonic, instead, is meant to stand in the light. Everything about his personality, both the natural and the manufactured parts, is designed to make Sonic a guiding light. He may not be the leader, but he’s certainly the one who holds everyone together. For better or for worse, he extends this light to everyone. It has cost him a lot like in the cases of the metal virus, but Shadow can’t forget that Sonic’s insistence on seeing the best in everyone is what saved Knuckles, Silver, and Blaze.

It’s what saved Shadow, too.

“It’s strange, actually. I still hate it. Every time we hold hands or cuddle, I feel like I’m going to vomit.” There’s a strange levity to Sonic’s voice like he’s in a good mood right now. The undercurrents of his tone stand in opposition as they make it clear Sonic is tearing this confession from the far dredges of his soul where he buries all of the darkness and negativity. In that ugliness, Sonic finds the truth, and though it might hurt them both to hear it, he presents that truth to Shadow without even a flicker of hesitation.

In the corner of his eye, Shadow can see Sonic move his body. He’s getting comfortable enough to stare at Shadow. He always seems to be doing this— staring. He looks at Shadow, and he never looks away. He never acts embarrassed or ashamed when he gets caught, either. Shadow could look back at him. Someone could call out Sonic’s behavior. He might chuckle and he might put his hands up innocently, but there’s nothing guilty in those emerald irises. He does as he pleases because, above everything, freedom is what’s most important to him. He doesn’t demand Shadow look back at him. He doesn’t insert himself into Shadow’s life. He just stares at him, and it’s always Shadow’s choice to give Sonic the attention he will never outright ask for.

Shadow doesn’t give it to Sonic now. He keeps his eyes on the door. He extends his chin forward. His paws grip the comforter bunched around his waist. He squeezes it tightly like it’s an enemy meant to be destroyed. And truly, there is an enemy meant to be destroyed. It’s just that Shadow can’t figure out how to give them a form so that he might shatter it. “Why do you do it, then, if it makes you want to vomit?”

“Other than not wanting you to kill me for getting vomit on you?” Sonic raises an eyebrow. He laughs quietly to himself. His eyes crinkle with the noise. Shadow exhales shakily as the noise fills the room around them. For a moment, he can pretend they aren’t talking about such heavy, undefined subject matter. But the moment passes. The laughter is gone. A ghost of a smile appears on Sonic’s face. His gaze feels like a steel wall covered by a pillowcase: soft on the outside and hard on the inside. “I need it, I guess.”

That avowal carries its own weight. Sonic, strangely, gives it just that. He sounds like a lawbreaker admitting his crimes with all the guilt of someone who had no choice. Who still has no choice. “During the metal virus, I really wanted it. Someone to hold. Someone to high-five. Someone to feel so that I could understand I’m alive by proving to myself that they were. But after the pandemic passed, my aversion to it was even worse. I think I really hurt Tails when all he wanted was a hug.”

There’s the guilt. It strikes so heavily in his voice that Shadow feels something he hasn’t felt in a long time: the desire to comfort someone. Maria was always the one to comfort him. She brought reassurance wherever she went. Even her smile would lighten the tension. But sometimes, she, too, needed someone to comfort her, and that was Shadow’s job. He doesn’t know if he was ever good at it, but it worked for her. It worked until it didn’t. Although he always wishes Maria was still alive, this is the first time he wishes she were here for someone else’s sake, not his or her own.

Sonic takes a shuddering breath. He glances at Shadow before looking away quickly. He corrects himself. “Emotionally, I mean. I would never hit him. Maybe he would have rathered that, though. I think I brought my aversion down, and right in time for the Starfall Islands.”

It is a place Shadow has never gone to. He remembers it vaguely from his studies on the ARK, and he believes GUN has mentioned it once or twice as a potential location for a series of missions or excavations. Sonic’s descriptions of the island make it sound like a vacation spot. His accounts of his adventure, however, always make it seem like he’s talking about a hellscape designed to tear him down bit by bit. And sometimes, the way he sounds, the way he looks, the way he faintly trembles, Shadow thinks it somehow did just that.

“All I wanted was to touch my friends and brother, but I couldn’t. They were holograms. My paws slipped right through them. I was losing myself, and I couldn’t even ground myself with the solid weight of their existence. As you know, when we got back, they left for their adventures. I never could quite prove they were still alive. Probably how I ended up at your doorstep.”

Shadow never asked Sonic why he came to the apartment. Rouge and Omega didn’t, either. It wasn’t important. Sonic was turning to them for help. Rouge said it was a good opportunity to get a favor from Blue, though Shadow knows she would have done this even if she couldn’t get anything. Omega was certain Sonic would be a good ally to have in his fight against Eggman, suspecting he would be the one to finally convince Sonic to turn his back on his no-killing policy. Shadow, frankly, didn’t care why Sonic was here. Sonic always does as he wants, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s crashed right into Shadow’s life without any remorse. But, then again, Shadow does like Sonic’s company, so it isn’t as if he desires some sort of penance.

But there’s always been this implicit understanding that Sonic wasn’t here to spend time with them specifically. He wasn’t here to upset them. He wasn’t here to help them, either. He was just here because he didn’t know where else he could be. He was here because he couldn’t stand being by himself. Years and years and years of people relying on him, looking at him, begging him for help and attention, and now, the consequences of that come to light when Sonic can’t understand who he is if not a hero.

The Starfall Islands only made that issue worse. Shadow is certain that if he never spent time on those islands, Sonic wouldn’t be here right now. And Shadow is one of the few people who actually knows why. Sonic didn’t tell anyone else, but his memories were slipping from him as he went from island to island. They would come and go. Sonic hated the constant tug-of-war his mind was having with his identity and memories. If the Cyber corruption hadn’t made Sonic question who he was on a very fundamental level, Sonic wouldn’t be there right now.

“We fought,” Shadow answers. That was the reason everyone pretended was real. After Tails, Knuckles, and Amy left for their adventures, Sonic got even more invested in stopping Eggman’s robots and other miscellaneous villains roaming Mobius. To this end, he sought Shadow out for some sparring. It wasn’t a race like they normally had. Sonic wanted to fight. The times he swung by the apartment to challenge Shadow increased in frequency, and eventually, he came inside at the end of their matches to treat his wounds. The times he stayed at the apartment grew longer and longer until he was eating dinner with them and staying the night. 

Strangely, barely anything changed with his added presence. For as much attention as Sonic demands, he lives like the wind.

Sonic snorts like he heard something funny. Shadow raises an eyebrow at him. Sonic shifts where he sits, trying not to look directly into Shadow’s eyes despite looking at his face. “It was sparring. No one was out for blood. At least, I wasn’t out for your blood. But I guess I didn’t mind if you were out for mine. I couldn’t handle physical affection, but I needed touch, so my solution was just to fight someone. Punches and kicks already hurt, so there was no reason to be concerned about why it hurt me so much more intimately than surface-level bruises.”

Shadow’s eyes widen at the blatant confession. Sonic sounds guilty enough, but Shadow knows what he’s guilty about. He doesn’t care that he got hurt; he feels bad that he made Shadow do that to him. He spends all his time reminding Shadow that he isn’t a weapon, and then he goes and uses Shadow that exact way. Shadow doesn’t know if he’s angrier at Sonic for doing that or for hurting himself on purpose. “You—”

Sonic’s lips rise with a half-smile. It looks strange on his face. It isn’t quite happiness, but Shadow doesn’t know what else could make him smile— even partially— like that. “Don’t worry. I realized that was unhealthy. And unfair to you. That’s why I tried to become your friend instead of your sparring partner. And look where that got me.”

Shadow does just that. He looks where that got Sonic. The bed, the nightstand, the dresser, the closet, the door, the window, the desk, the photographs, the blank wall. This room is nothing. It could belong to anyone. The photographs are one bit of personalization, and even those are merely taped onto the wall. A light breeze could knock them down, and then there would be even less of Shadow in this room.

But despite that, Sonic is here. He is lying in Shadow’s bed. He is a figure in one of those photographs. Some of the clothes in the dresser and closet came from him. The box in the closet came from him, too, a bunch of knick-knacks Sonic thought Shadow might want to decorate with. The lamp came from him even when Shadow insisted he didn’t need it. Sonic is coaxing Shadow to make this room his own. Shadow doesn’t understand why he’s doing that.

He doesn’t understand why Sonic is here at all. Mobius is filled to the brim with individuals who would pay money for even a minute of Sonic’s attention. There are all-powerful figures who acknowledge Sonic as being a diamond among the coals. He is special and pure and infinite, almost untouchable. And yet, he’s in Shadow’s room. He’s in Shadow’s bed. He slobbers on Shadow’s pillow, and he talks about the part of him that makes him as weak as the rest of them. He shares his secrets with Shadow and gives him gifts because he wants Shadow to have a place where he feels like he belongs.

And he looks at Shadow like that. Sonic doesn’t hide his emotions, not really. When he’s fond of someone, they will know it, and Shadow can’t deny that Sonic is incredibly fond of him specifically. Shadow would dare call it affectionate. Sonic is keen on spending his time and energy with Shadow. Despite giving him no reason to be, Sonic is enamored with Shadow with that starry look in his eyes.

Even beyond that, Sonic looks downright smug about his place at Shadow’s side. He’s proud that Shadow chose him as if it was ever a choice at all. Who else would Shadow have beside him if not Sonic? If anyone should be feeling satisfaction at being chosen, it should be Shadow. And he does. Of course, he does. It’s just that he should be the only one to feel that way.

Shadow briefly wonders if Sonic heard his thoughts because there’s a specific expression that ripples across the countenance. He is determined to do something. More than that, he wants to prove something to Shadow. It’s the same expression he wore when he assured Shadow that he couldn’t be a weapon because he had a heart. It is the same expression he wears any time Shadow says anything even remotely self-deprecating. Sonic defends Shadow like he’s personally offended when Shadow insults himself. It’s nice, usually, but Shadow gets an antsy feeling as he watches this expression come forth in the dimness of his bedroom.

Sonic flattens his legs. He puts his paws right in front of him. Shadow raises an eyebrow. He wants to question Sonic, but he gets his answer when Sonic starts tugging off his glove one finger at a time. Shadow's mouth suddenly goes dry. While he didn’t grow up in Mobius, he knows from his lessons and Rouge’s reminders that gloves are an extremely important part of Mobian culture. While clothes themselves are optional for Mobians, gloves and socks most certainly are not. They must be worn at all times. They can only be taken off when cleaning oneself, or in front of family or close friends. Lovers, too, technically, but Shadow doesn’t linger on that word as Sonic removes both of his gloves.

Sonic sets his gloves down on the edge of the mattress on his side. He pushes his bare palms against the mattress as he shifts from beside Shadow to right in front of him. Sonic is as close as he can be without their legs touching. Shadow tries to keep his eyes on Sonic’s face, but he keeps glancing at the hedgehog’s paws. Shadow didn’t have any expectations for what they looked like because he never thought he would see them. But now, he is allowed to look at them, and he doesn’t know what the proper etiquette is. Should he pretend this is normal, or should he give them attention? Chaos, what is Sonic even doing right now because he obviously isn’t thinking?

Shadow can’t say exactly what he’s feeling right now as Sonic reaches to grab Shadow’s gloved hands. With a carefulness that reminds Shadow that Sonic practically raised his younger brother, Sonic removes Shadow’s gloves one at a time. While he barely cared about it on the ARK, Shadow has grown used to the custom while living on Earth. He knows there aren’t many ways he can skew this situation, and he doesn’t know which option he would prefer to be happening right now.

He must prefer one of them, though, because he doesn’t stop Sonic when both gloves finally come off. Sonic throws them rather haphazardly near the pile he made with his gloves. Shadow watches them land and settle. He flexes his bare fingers, feeling the coolness of the room weaving through his appendages. He turns back to stare at them. For a moment, he is certain there is blood hidden in the black fur. Then, he realizes it’s just tiny follicles of red. They are similar to his highlights, but they are almost completely buried in the black instead of standing out against it.

“Here we go,” Sonic whispers, drawing Shadow’s attention to him. One of Sonic’s paws is moving toward Shadow. His fight or flight response activates immediately, but his trust in Sonic leads him to freeze on the bed. He can’t stop the snarl on his lips, though. He can’t get his muscles to relax or his quills to fall. Shadow is ready to growl some warning for Sonic to stop. He doesn’t get to because Sonic shushes him before the noise can even leave his maw. Shadow tears his eyes away from Sonic’s palm to his face to gauge what sort of expression Sonic has and what reaction he wants from Shadow. There’s only a smile on Sonic’s face— simple, soft, composed, compassionate. He knows what this is doing to Shadow, so why does he still do it?

Why does his paw actually touch Shadow’s cheek? The question lingers in his mind, but he can’t answer it. He would if his body wasn’t being set on actual fire. It burns, and burns, and burns. Like a devouring beast, the flames consume everything it touches. Fortunately, that touch remains against Shadow’s cheek. It doesn’t press down very hard, either. Sonic is hurting him; he’s holding him. Really, there’s barely a difference, but the slim margin between the two makes all the difference as Shadow resists the urge to bite Sonic like a wild animal. Shadow might be having some self-control issues, but he can maintain some sense of civility. He isn’t a weapon or a monster; he’s only a hedgehog. A hybrid, technically, but those distinctions won’t matter if he becomes a pile of ashes from a single touch.

Sonic doesn’t look collected. He struggles with this as much as Shadow does. As selfish as it is, that makes him feel so much better about the situation. If he’s going to burn, he is going to bring Sonic down with him.

But he isn’t going down. Not really. He hasn’t turned to ashes. The touch burns like fire, but it also soothes like a hearth during the long winters. Something rigid inside of Shadow actually melts with the touch. He doesn’t know if he prefers that to the burning or not. Both are signs of weakness, just in different ways. Shadow shouldn’t be capable of either, but he is, and they both hurt in their very distinct approaches. And Shadow might just like the second kind of pain because he leans ever so carefully into Sonic’s palm as if there’s some fear it will disappear.

There’s a visible reaction to Shadow’s actions. Sonic’s eyes widen slightly, and his lips definitely part with an exhale that only stabilizes at the last second. There is a smile hiding in the edges of Sonic’s expression. He does not let it appear on his face as he moves his other paw to touch Shadow’s other cheek. While Shadow could process the fire that licks against his fur as Sonic’s palm comes closer, he finds himself intently focused on the subtle changes in Sonic’s expression as he comes to terms with what he’s doing.

Earlier, Sonic admitted to using Shadow to hurt himself by sparring with the hybrid. Is this not another form of self-harm?

Shadow completely leans into Sonic’s palms as if he could comfort the azure hedgehog that way. All this serves to do is make Sonic chuckles under his breath and Shadow feels his entire head go up in flames. There’s the stinging. There’s the rapid hot-cold sensation. There’s the numbness. Then, and only then, there is the warmth. It is like a painful workout that puts a soothing ache in the muscles. It hurts and hurts and hurts, and then it feels almost right. It feels like something has been achieved or earned. Chaos, Shadow might actually like it, and he really doesn’t want to grapple with what it means to like one of his weaknesses.

“What does it feel like… for you?” So distant. Shadow can hardly hear it. He’s so lost in his own observations about what this touch feels like that he hardly registers Sonic’s question. But the words— quiet as they are— somehow find their way to his head.

“Like fire.” Should he lie? He only thinks about lying after the truth is already out. But then again, is there a point in lying? It feels like fire. It burns. It hurts. He likes it; he hates it. He wishes Sonic would pull away and never let go. He despises how this is his weakness because he isn’t sure why enjoys it. He doesn’t think he’s capable of understanding that. He merely does. It’s something he will probably have to deal with now.

Sonic hums. There’s some intentionality behind the hum, but Shadow doesn’t catch any of that as Sonic’s paws move across his jaw. Sonic goes down finger by finger like he’s mesmerized by the shape of Shadow’s jawline. For his part, Shadow is mesmerized both by the sensation of it and by the ever-shifting expressions flitting across Sonic’s face like feathers caught in a windstorm. Sure, there’s pain, but there’s so much more. It might not be exactly like Shadow, but Sonic is experiencing something right now, too, and that does almost as much as the touch itself does to Shadow.

Sonic’s paws continue moving down. They brush against the sides of Shadow’s neck. They don’t immediately leave. Shadow exhales. He freezes, prepared for Sonic’s grip to tighten at any moment. He is putting his life in Sonic’s hands— quite literally, too. If this was anyone else, Shadow probably would have taken their life instead. But this is Sonic. This is a moment between them. Shadow can barely breathe. His vision is blurring around the edges. His chest is burning both from fire and oxygen deprivation, and Sonic isn’t even choking him. Sonic is just holding him. Sonic is just keeping Shadow’s life in his hands without doing anything with it. Out of all his weaknesses, this must be Shadow’s worst one because how can he be okay with this? How can he so willingly give Sonic his life just like that?

Then again, Sonic has probably always held Shadow’s life. It’s just a little more literal this time.

Sonic moves his paws right when Shadow is on the cusp of comprehension. Instead of annoyance, Shadow feels heady with the pain and pleasure Sonic so effortlessly draws from his bones with a light touch against his shoulders. “It burns. It digs deep like it wants to reduce everything to ash. Then, there is numbness. It has done too much damage. There is nothing left.”

Too much. Too revealing. Too honest. Too— everything. This whole situation. That’s all it is. Overwhelming, intoxicating, irrepressible. All at once. Hate and love, pain and pleasure, more and less, triumph and defeat, strength and weakness, fire and warmth. Opposites converge in the same places where Sonic and Shadow touch.

Sonic listens attentively, but he doesn’t stop moving. His palms slide down Shadow’s upper arms at such an infuriatingly slow pace. He paces over the fur, brushing it downward. Sonic only stops when he makes it to Shadow’s elbows. His fingers wrap around and spread out across the back while his thumbs hook around the inner part of his elbows. Shadow stares with a strange intensity. It still burns, but only for a moment. The moment passes, and Shadow finds himself breathing out any of the lingering turmoil boiling inside his body like a pot ready to overflow with scorching hot water. The water settles, the heat settles, his entire body settles. Equilibrium is reached and maintained for a fraction of a second.

“Then, it’s warm. It doesn’t hurt. It… feels—”

Just like that, equilibrium is gone. Nothing is content anymore. It all rises to the surface, and Shadow would call the noise that comes from him pathetic. He would berate himself over it a million times if he wasn’t completely distracted by the pads of Sonic’s fingers drawing patterns against Shadow’s bare palm. Shadow’s senses are heightened and his hands are sensitive, so even though Sonic doesn’t apply any pressure, Shadow feels it. He feels it so completely and wholly that he worries, and aches, and burns, and loves, loves, loves—

Sonic intertwines their fingers. In an instant, they are holding hands. It isn’t an uncommon experience. They’ve held hands before for a large number of reasons, but none of those times were ever without their gloves. Shadow can feel Sonic now. It is personable and intimate. It, frankly, reminds him of the few times he’s been in his Super form alongside Sonic. The chaos emerald energy always creates a bridge between them, and they are able to actually feel each other like that. But this? This is a natural connection. It is emotions and physicality and so much affection and weakness that Shadow is going to be absolutely sick with it.

“It feels like water to me.” The words leave Sonic rather jerkily like he hadn’t meant to part with them. Shadow raises an eyebrow at the confession. Sonic’s expression sours with offense, but he readily fixes his expression with a rough smile and a shake of his head. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t mean a cup of water. I mean… an entire ocean of it. Dark, foreboding, chaotic. And heavy. So, so heavy. The water rushes to latch onto you the moment you stop moving, the moment you let your guard down. You are brought beneath the surface without a second thought. Lungs burning. Muscles aching. Mind shambling. It’s nothing but darkness, loneliness, a sense of unease that continues until your mouth is forcibly opened by the desire to live even when there is nothing around that can help you. That’s what touch has always felt to me. It’s what it feels like right now. I mean, here, feel—”

Shadow focuses entirely on Sonic’s words. Not only is he keenly interested in how Sonic feels about all this, but he also needs a distraction from their intertwined hands. But Sonic doesn’t allow that so easily. He pushes the back of Shadow’s paw against his chest. A rough noise leaves Shadow’s lips the moment he feels the heartbeat he’s been listening to night after night. It is slower than usual. Shadow doesn’t know what that means. He just mentally jots it down and sinks further into the sensation of being this close to Sonic’s heart. His lifeblood and chaos energy runs through that one organ, and Shadow is close enough to latch onto it. He could, if he desired to, and oh, that sort of power makes him realize why Sonic wanted his paws around Shadow’s neck earlier.

He can only hope Sonic feels the way he did.

“If it hurts, why do we continue to touch?” A simple, simple question. Easy to say; harder to answer. But he poses the question, anyway, because maybe Sonic knows.

“The same reason we love even though it hurts,” Sonic replies. Shadow’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t look away from his paw against Sonic’s chest. Love, huh? Is that what this is? Could it be anything else? Shadow doesn’t know. He’s never loved like this before. He loves Maria, and he loves Rouge and Omega, and he loves Sonic, but in all different ways. The one similarity is that they all hurt. But, then again, perhaps even that hurt is different from person to person. “Because we want to. Because we need to. Because we have no choice.”

Sonic looks sad. Shadow, unfortunately, understands completely. If he could, he wouldn’t love anyone. There’s too much pain involved. It makes him weak. It makes him irrational. But he does love. He loves Maria because he wants to. He loves Rouge and Omega because he needs to. And he loves Sonic because he has no choice. He just does. Some part of his brain or heart or soul or all three decided this would be the one for him, and Shadow is just along for the ride.

Sonic exhales quickly and sharply. He smiles at Shadow with more despondence than Shadow thought the azure hedgehog was capable of. “Not a very romantic statement, is it?”

“No.” Because it isn’t. They love each other because they have no choice. Because it just happened one day, and they’re dealing with the fallout. But maybe it isn’t all bad. Maybe it doesn’t need to be romantic, or maybe it’s exactly the kind of romance they have. “I prefer it this way.”

That reassurance is enough to bring a proper smile to Sonic’s face, and Shadow realizes that they are the right amount of romantic for each other. “I do, too.”

Sonic scoots even closer. The blanket around Shadow keeps them from properly touching. He isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or grateful for it. He doesn’t get a chance to parse through his immediate reaction as Sonic leans even closer. He stares right into Shadow’s eyes as if he can see everything. As if he can understand everything. “How about this for a romantic thought: you’re worth drowning for.”

Neither of them are perfect. Neither of them are infinitely strong or smart or brave or powerful. But they are right for each other, like two puzzle pieces snapping together. Shadow takes that as the special thing it is. As undefined as their relationship is, Sonic loves Shadow with all his heart, enough to suffer and drown and soar and live. And how could Sonic expect Shadow not to one-up his faker, to mirror his other half, to truly be the shadow that comes from Sonic’s glorious light?

Shadow presses their foreheads together. He both hears and feels Sonic’s quickening breath. The moment the azure hedgehog has it under control, Shadow whispers, “You’re worth burning for.”

And it does burn. Like hellfire, really. Shadow is just a stupid moth ramming right into what will undoubtedly kill him. But Shadow wouldn’t mind it so much if it was because of Sonic. His life, his purpose, his love, all of it could turn to smoke and ash, but Shadow wouldn’t be opposed as long as Sonic was the one holding the lighter.

“Okay, let’s go back to bed.” It’s been a long time since Shadow has seen Sonic embarrassed, but it makes him smile victoriously every time. He is less happy about Sonic completely slipping out of his grasp. The only reason he doesn’t chase after that touch is because he acknowledges that it’s probably for the best. There’s no point in dying tonight, not when he thinks they’ve achieved something remarkable. “We can… figure this out. In the morning. Later. Never. Just— let’s sleep. Or, well, I’ll sleep. You can lie there and overthink everything until Rouge tells you that you can come outside your room.”

“That is not what happens.” Shadow rolls his eyes. Rouge was technically the one who convinced Shadow to rest in his room and Omega to charge all night even though they both could go several days without it. Rouge gives some excuse about finding it creepy when they’re already in the common area when she’s awake, but Shadow thinks she just wants to give them some semblance of normalcy.

Shadow sees motion in his peripheral vision. He catches his gloves. He turns to glare at Sonic. The azure hedgehog giggles at Shadow’s reaction, not a single hint of admonishment anywhere. Sonic steals the entire blanket from Shadow. Not the first time— not the last, either (not after tonight). Shadow still glares at Sonic, however, as if that is going to convince him to stop stealing the blanket. It won’t. It never will. Shadow sighs when he recognizes this.

Shadow shifts a little closer to the center of the mattress. He’s still firmly on his side, of course. After everything, he thinks prolonged touch is going to hurt the both of them far more than it would bring them any sort of peace or enjoyment. Despite this, Shadow likes being somewhat close to Sonic. Close enough to sense in any way that isn’t touching.

Shadow finishes putting his gloves on. He turns to look at Sonic. An amused smile rises to Shadow’s face as he realizes Sonic is already asleep. Too much excitement for one day, Shadow supposes. Shadow slides down the headboard until he’s lying flat on his back on the bed. He keeps his eyes open for a while longer. He just listens to Sonic’s rapid heartbeat. The streetlamp flickers outside his window. There’s a low droning of Omega’s charging port. Normalcy, Rouge wanted for them. Peace, she wanted for them.

And happiness, Maria wanted for him.

The smile doesn’t fall from his face as he thinks he’s gotten some version of all three. Well, maybe not normalcy, but he doesn’t mind sacrificing it. All to stand by Sonic’s side. All to share in his warmth and burn beside a drowning man.

To love someone who loves him.