Work Text:
IT'S RIDICULOUS HOW MANY TIMES YOU'VE HAD TO SWALLOW THE LUMP IN YOUR THROAT TODAY.
From arriving at the reception, to taking pictures at the photobooth set up free of charge for Mobius' favourite blue hero, there is no end to the knots of despair blocking your throat and stopping you from taking in even the smallest bit of air.
And it's ridiculous.
It's ridiculous—so profoundly pathetic—the way your smiles haven't been reaching your eyes today, and the way your laughter has left your mouth as though forced out at gunpoint, and the way your pillow was still wet from the very moment you woke up to this stupid fucking day you couldn't bring yourself to skip.
Because how could you? How could you skip this day when he was the one who personally asked you to come? When instead of sending an invite to your mailbox like he did with everyone else, he had asked for your attendance under the setting sun in the flower field you frequent with him and only him?
How cruel of him, to invite you to his wedding with another, while the two of you stood in your own little romantic scene together, the warm sky hugging your form with the comfort of a mother calming her heartbroken child, and the cool breeze sweeping his quills to the side with the pride of a father congratulating his son on finally finding the woman he loves.
How cruel of him. And how delusional of you.
How delusional of you to think that his touches were anything but platonic; that they lingered a little too long to be just an interaction between two friends. How delusional of you to interpret your little escapades to that flower field as something more; something just for the two of you and not a secret third party that somehow invaded despite never physically being there. How delusional of you to feel like his softened gazes and his warm smiles and his stupid adorable little laughs were anything short of reserved only for you.
How delusional of you.
And fuck, you can't even blame him, because somewhere deep down, you knew it.
You knew this day would come, that it'd be her in that gown and not you. You knew the second your breath first hitched when he held you that day, the second he cracked a joke that wasn't even funny, but laughter ended up tumbling out your mouth anyway.
It was this foreboding realisation, this giant trigger pulled the moment you figured out you had fallen for a taken man, one that was supposed to be your best friend no less.
It had shattered your world, and then lovingly picked up your broken shards to pocket in his non-existent pants so that wherever he went, a piece of you—all the pieces of you—would be with him.
But that left you with nothing. And now... now you would forever be nothing. Because you would never be his.
"There you are."
You blink, something wet weaving between the start of your lashes before you reach a hand up to wipe it away.
A familiar warmth coats your shoulder, urging your gaze to follow it to that dazzling pair of emerald green that haunts your dreams and cures you of nightmares.
"What are ya doing out here?" asks he, and his smile is that same soft one you thought was only yours, "Party's inside."
Something that can just barely pass as a laugh leaves your lips. "Nothing. Just wandering before the main event, y'know?"
His eyes crinkle a little at that, and he responds in what's almost a whisper, "Yeah, I know."
Nothing else leaves his mouth, and in the comforting white noise of the running fountain nearby, you find your eyes trailing.
He's wearing a suit—no pants though, because not even the fact that it's his wedding day could get Sonic the Hedgehog to wear the article of clothing he so loathes. Still, even without them, he looks good, handsome. But he always does.
He always looks good. The wind in his quills, a snide comment on his tongue—the manifestation of a freedom fighter through and through.
Sonic always carries himself with this confidence, this lax attitude that barely takes a single thing seriously. You remember it frustrating you to no end when you were younger.
Now though? Now you can't help but admire it, to notice it in all its little detail.
That's how you know when it's real...
…And when it's being faked.
"What's wrong?"
Sonic's ears perk up, twitching all cutely as his free hand halts its fiddling with his collar. "Huh?"
With a sigh, you turn around, and his other hand, the one that was still on your shoulder, falls to hang limply by his side.
"What's wrong?" you repeat—this time, facing him fully.
"What do you mean?"
His eyes dart to the side, and his fingers go back to fiddling with his collar, faster than before, but not quite with that super speed he's gifted with.
"I mean," you start, and it's soft and accompanied by your arms folding slowly over your chest, "You seem a little... perturbed."
He raises a ridge at that, his once tense shoulders falling as the corner of his mouth quirks up. "Perturbed? You been hangin' around Tails lately?"
You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving your lips—the first real one today. "Shut up."
His smirk widens, so you shove his shoulder—light, casual, normal.
But then he bounces back, and your breath hitches, and suddenly, it's not so normal anymore.
Suddenly, your heart is beating right out of your chest.
Suddenly, your pupils are blowing wide enough to plug a valley.
Suddenly, you're reminded as to why your mascara has been at such risk of running down your cheeks this whole day.
Fuck.
You avert your gaze from his own soft, and dare you say, fond one.
"Uh, congrats."
He blinks, and you catch the way his lips part and his eyes seem to still be in a bit of a daze when he responds with an airy, "Huh?"
"On you and Sal."
"Oh."
He blinks again, clears his throat, and looks down.
"Thanks."
A few beats pass in silence before you speak again.
"Is it—uh... are you nervous?"
A huff leaves his mouth, and his lips quirk up into something just short of that signature smirk of his.
"Who? Me?"
When you only continue to look at him with a raised ridge, that smirk falls, and his hand goes right back to his collar.
"Hella."
"What about?"
Sonic blinks as though in surprise, as though never having expected the question... or never having thought of an answer.
"I don't know..." he whispers softly, something breathless in his voice. Uncertain and ungrounded. "I guess I'm just scared I'll mess everything up."
You quirk a ridge. "And how would you do that?"
"I don't know," he says again, but this time, it comes out louder, firmer, and his ridges furrow harshly—but not towards you, no, not towards you at all. "Fuck... I don't know..."
Something in your chest clenches, like a hand's gone in there and squeezed your heart black and blue.
You don't think you've ever seen Sonic look so... conflicted before. He's always been so sure of himself. This beacon of hope when all is plunged in despair. But this? This is just uncanny.
Are mobians supposed to be like this at their wedding?
"Hey," you find yourself calling out, and his head rises just enough to peek at you from the top of his eyes. "It's okay."
He lets out a scoff, parting his lips to respond, but you make sure not to give him the chance.
"I mean it, Sonic. It's okay to be nervous."
Sonic huffs, and then he lowers himself down to the edge of the fountain, elbows propped on his knees and face hidden by his gloved hands.
"I know, I know," he murmurs, "It's just... I'm not used to this kind of thing, y'know? It's just not my style."
"What? A wedding?"
"No... Yes..? Ugh, I don't know."
He throws his head back, only to then slump forward and hang it between his knees.
"Hey," you call out again, taking a seat next to him and ignoring the way your heart quickens, "C'mon, don't shut me out. Talk to me."
It takes him a moment, but he does lift his head back up, and you're graced with those beautiful green eyes of his again.
"It's just... I guess I never really saw this for myself."
Your heart lurches in your throat, and something dangerously close to... hope burns inside your chest. "What do you mean?"
Is it bad of you to wish he means what you think he means?
Who are you kidding, [Name]? Of course it is. Stop being a shit friend.
"I mean, this"—he gestures around him—"this whole thing. A planned event... tying myself down to someone... it's just not free. It's just not me."
"But weren't you in a relationship with her?"
"That's different."
"How?"
Sonic groans, running a hand down his face before staring up at the sky.
He looks at it blankly, as though not really seeing it, like it's a placeholder for his thoughts, an excuse to get lost in the cavern of his mind. You know because you've done the same thing.
It never really works.
"That wasn't final." Sonic drags his face back down again. "This? This is."
You know.
Fuck. You know.
You've been aware of that fact all day, practically been drowning in it while everyone else swam freely, kicking and playing in the water like it's not just come from a tsunami aiming to end their lives, a tsunami looking to plan their own demise.
But of course they would react that way, because to them, this is just a sunny day at the beach—a beautiful event marking the holy matrimony of two of their close friends—and not the gloomiest rainstorm they've ever been apart of; the most gruesome flood they're sure they'll never escape.
"Shit... I'm sorry, [Name]."
You blink, suddenly met with the blue waist of your favourite hedgehog where his eyes once were.
"Was that too much?"
You blink again, vision clearing further as you furrow your ridges and tilt your head up. "Huh?"
He averts his eyes from your own, one of his gloved hands rising to scratch behind his head.
"It was, wasn't it?" The hedgehog groans, dragging his other glove over his face once again. How many times he's probably done that today, you're not sure. "Knew I should've kept my mouth shut."
"The hell are you saying?" You get up, continuing to talk before he has a chance to answer, "I was the one who asked."
"Yeah but—"
"But nothing, Sonic. I'm your friend. You can tell me these things."
His gaze softens, hand falling from his quills to hang by his side again as he smiles a smile so sweet and gentle and appreciative that you near melt on the spot.
"Thanks."
"It's what friends are for."
Yes. Friends. Just friends.
No matter how much you want it to be more.
"No seriously," Sonic cuts in before your thoughts even have a chance to spiral, "Thank you, [Name]."
He reaches for your hands, cupping them gently in his own, and it's like a wave of warmth washes over you, like someone just threw a lifebuoy into the water you're drowning in.
"I, uh—"
You think your brain's gone to static because you simply cannot compute anything other than the feeling of his warm gloves engulfing your own, the sight of his soft, unguarded gaze trained onto yours.
And then, holy shit, then, it's like he's trying to short-circuit your brain, because he tugs on your hands with enough force to crash you into his chest, and before you know it, you're wrapped up in an embrace so warm, your limbs turn to jello.
But that doesn't stop you from reciprocating it.
You hold him hard enough to scrunch up his suit, dig into his back like he's your lifeline, like this is the last time you'll ever be able to do this.
Because it is, isn't it?
It is the last time you'll ever be able to hug him like this, be close to him without taking up the handle of homewrecker, of a woman aiming to steal a married man, so you'll hold him however you damn-well please.
If just to say goodbye.
You stay like that, for a while, just basking in the heat of his presence, of his attention and affection all on and for you. You stay like that and allow yourself just a brief moment of pretend. Pretend that he's yours and that you're his and that all is right in the world.
But right can't be further from the truth. Because in your pretend world, the sun rises from the west, the sky isn't blue, and Sonic is yours.
It's not real. And you need to hurry up and accept that.
But how can you?—when as soon as you start to pull away, Sonic's grip on you only tightens?
How can you?—when as you make the move to let go of him, Sonic's breath audibly hitches in his throat?
How can you?—when even after he squeezes you tight one last time, the blue hedgehog you've known most of your life still refuses to fully pull away?
No... instead, he just keeps his grip on your forearms and gazes into your eyes like you've just strung up the stars in the night sky before him.
And it makes you warm, tongue like sandpaper as you struggle to gather saliva to gulp down and ground yourself.
Then he parts his lips, and it looks like he's about to say something, like something's hanging right on the edge of his tongue, but something else reaches both of your ears before his voice, and his lips purse once more.
In the distance, you hear faint chatter start to pick up, the muffled laughter of Tails and Knuckles nearing with every second that passes.
"I, uh, guess that's my cue to leave."
You turn back to Sonic, blinking at the way his gaze briefly casts to the side.
"Yeah..." you respond softly, causing his pupils to flicker back to you.
His grip on you lingers and he gives you one last look, eyes wide and shaking and, dare you say, pleading you for something.
But what for, you can only blink at, and so he sighs, and the tips of his fingers that still grazed your arms completely pull away.
And as he slowly walks away, from the fountain, from your arms, from you... he takes your heart with him.