Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was on this day Shadow the Hedgehog was bestowed the award and honour of Most Emphatic Sigh. With his stare fixed on the sign above the establishment, he expelled such a mammoth sound, letting it peter off into a poorly disguised grizzle. It was apparent The Clawfee House deserved vehement scorn on sight, whereas coachman and scheduler, Amy, cooed from the driver’s seat.

“Here we are!” she announced, leaning over his shoulder from where they were parked to join him in observing the controlled mayhem of the venue they’d be spending their afternoon. “C’mon, I want the window seat.” Without a moment to spare for Shadow’s perplexed, disdainful expression, she bounded out of the car and took him in tow.

Amy gave Shadow a long-winded exposition as they slid through the door to the café, how this was the newly renowned ‘place to be’ in Central City, where the coffee should be to his refined palette (a statement noticeably jesting in tone) and the four-legged patrons were cute beyond imaginable. The former, he begged to differ, looking at the menu made indiscernible by the plethora of cat puns; the latter, however, he felt more inclined to attest to, directing his attention to a tabby in his peripherals that was wrestling with feathers dancing on a string. Amy then addressed her booking and when she got around to ordering herself a ‘Meow-chaccino,’ another petulant huff left his lips. Undue disgruntlement, when he thought about it — he did allow Amy to drag him here — but the wordplay was nothing short of a blooming headache.

She must’ve ordered for him, for the next moment she took a table number from the counter and skipped them over to her sought-after spot.

Amy gibbered merrily about how lucky she was to land them a booking time, given the nightmarish online queues and how this — hopefully — would be a nice change of pace. Shadow agreed. Amy’s jam-packed calendar had an incompatibility with Shadow’s near-empty one. Now that he was thinking of it, he didn’t even own a calendar — time was now moderately at his mercy.

Rouge was always imploring him to get out and ‘live a little’ after what she rightfully dubbed the Couch Comatose Incident, so perhaps she was right again in saying it was good for him to experience life outside on the occasion.

Too bad the company he craved most was from the one person who had to carve a time slot for him. As much as he was content in his own bubble, a day spent with Amy was a day well-spent. Something growing rarer and rarer; a rarity inviting his heart to sink to alarming depths. Could he be blamed, since they were, well… them?

Even if he remained in a theatrically foul mood over the egregious cat puns and the extended wait time in getting his caffeine fix, he’d do his best to focus on what mattered. Do, not try. (Therein began the growing inkling he may have watched too many films in recent months).

They were served with expedition by a feline, droopy-eyed and deadpan, reaffirming their order with an air Shadow ascertained as either, ‘I haven’t slept in weeks,’ or, ‘Enthusiasm is above my pay grade.’ In tandem, they thanked the waiter in hushed politeness. Shadow imparted his sympathy in the form of a strained smile, a wasted gesture as their lethargic server meandered off to take a lonesome cup away from its tabletop domain. He reminded himself then and there never to bother with something so unappreciated ever again.

A quietness accompanied the sipping of their respective Long (Haired, Minus the Hair) Black and Meow-chaccino, ill-suited for a supposedly popular venue. Though in no universe Shadow would ever condemn the place for it. He might’ve called this place serene, if he spent long enough absorbing the muted energy it housed. Though he doubted he’d make himself frequent anywhere other than the small supermarket mere blocks away from Team Dark’s shared unit.

To join their party of two came a short-legged cat, fur like cinders, peering up at Shadow with intent strong enough to transmit telepathically.

“You want uppies?” he regarded the cat, leaning a short ways down to better communicate, almost allured by the pearly black pupils briefing him on its unmet needs. “Okay.” He scooched over with no sudden movement, in case he’d underestimated the creature’s temperament, and the cat, proving him wrong, sprung up and made itself at home on his lap. His lap, like it was comfortable.

When his attention switched from his newfound friend to Amy, he was met with the puffed cheeks of endearment restrained by the shortest tether. He raised a brow to inquire about the cause of the reaction but he’d worked it out: he was speaking to the cat how he would to a Chao or an infant. Amy tackled a squeal at the sight but an ‘aww’ debuted without censorship.

They shared a few subdued giggles between drinks and Amy had made some weird, reflexive withdrawals. (Drink too hot? His was tepid). Once exchanging their fluffy companion, Shadow admired the sight of Amy cradling the cat, turned to the waiter moseying past, then back again. He took another look. Then another.

“Query,” he began to Amy, who cracked an absurd smile at his opening. In its wake, he associated the speaking pattern with Omega, a fact that now decided to sit awkward and lumpy in his chest. Redo. “If I may, I was just pondering on the distinction between these creatures, and… say, your friend Big. How is it they are both classed as ‘cats’? Is it evolutionary? How is it we live in a world where cats can be both bipedal and quadrupedal and seem like two completely different species?”

Amy laughed, incredulous to the point it was sprouting the wish to have never dared ask. When she’d regained some composure and confronted Shadow’s pursed mouth and furrowed brow, her humour confronted the chopping block.

“What, no, you’re serious?” He nodded, dead so. “Isn’t it obvious?” The line separating his brows deepened. “One can hold a fishing rod and the other doesn’t even have opposable thumbs. Imagine this little guy trying to hold a fishing rod.” She snickered her way into another bout of the giggles and Shadow’s chest vibrated, then he found himself joining in airily. Partially to cover up the sting of embarrassment.

“The water would claim the line far sooner than the cat would reel something in,” he surmised, trying his imagination with the nonsensical premise. She still hadn’t answered his burning and very-much- not -stupid question, though.

“Reow-reow?” Amy perched her hands in a precarious fashion over the far edge of the table, seemingly to imitate what was perhaps a cat attempting to hold a fishing rod. “Reow?” Her fingers splayed out, retracting her hands as if it were involuntary, yelping in surprise as her mimed rod vanished.

“You two doing all right over there?” The woman at the counter asked from over her phone. Shadow squinted. Was that… judgement or concern? He didn’t exert himself to reply, just stared blankly enough in hopes she’d go back to minding her own. Amy, eyes blown wide, replied,

“Yeah, just fine, haha. Thank you.” When her focus returned to him, she applied her hands as makeshift blinders, fumbling with her tongue, cheeks so ruddy Shadow could name the precise colour beneath her natural peach fuzz: mauve. “Oh my gosh. I totally forgot they were there, ugh!” she hissed. As Amy further tilted her head down in mortification, Shadow slouched forward in his seat to find her face.

“Well, I think you’re funny,” he uttered, mouth curling with a warmth that felt near lost to time. She looked up, glowing.

And reminded Shadow exactly how fitting her surname ‘Rose’ was.

—

“So. You know why I brought you here, right?” Amy gazed across from him, eyes twinkling with the expectation for him to mind-read. It was probably an announcement of some kind, something she was ecstatic about, something that’d cause him inadvertent disappointment… Work thing? An old friend’s moving into town? She’s moving away? Oh… What if she’s moving? A robust knot began to form in the pit of his stomach. She’d be even further away than she was now.

He shook his head, slowly, trying to ignore the seizing of his joints.

“Okay.” How could she be so cheery about this? He wanted to be sick. “I’ll just tell you. You know it’s been forever since we’ve properly spent time together, right?” His throat was parched as he affirmed. If ‘forever’ was four months and eighteen days — yes, he was counting, and yes, it was because he had nothing better to do, and yes, that was why he was making deliberate notches into the wood of their cutlery drawer… but Omega picked that one up already — then sure, it’d been a lifetime plus some. What was this about? Was this the butter-up to soften a harsh blow? Was this coming to the slaughterhouse after being well-fed?

What if she wanted forever plus more? That knot twisted, tightened.

Amy’s lip quivered. “Um. Sorry, I didn’t think it’d hit me this hard just now. Uh…” She flapped her hands in front of her face as if it would hold off the welling of tears. She didn’t want to say it. Nor did Shadow want her to. It would kill him. It would surely kill him.

“You know how busy I’ve been and— Ugh, this is not how I wanted this to go! Okay.” He heard a wet inhalation. A stabbing in his chest followed. He couldn’t have felt more helpless if he tried. “I’ve just been so busy and we never get time anymore and… I feel so bad. G.U.N. doesn’t have that leash on you anymore and all I’ve been is busy.” True, but it wasn’t like Shadow was going out of his way to accompany Amy places or offer to spare her some hours in his infinite time off. He’d been selfishly sitting at home, doing nothing and feeling sorry for himself. Purposeless.

Wait. This wasn’t where he thought this was going.

“I haven’t been there for you because of work… I’m so tired, I’m just so tired.” Amy choked on a couple of tears, burying herself in a knitted wad of sage green sleeves before (literally) shaking her blues away. So… this was about her? “Anyway, my leave has been stacking up and I decided to draw the line.” Her smile, although wobbly, was true. Excited, even. “So, big news: I have the whole week off work! No plans — nothing. And if you wanna, it can just be me and you. For the whole week.” This Shadow couldn’t say he was anticipating. Amy, free time? It was like the clouds parted for the sun to kiss him on the crown.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispered, “so much.”

Shadow sat stupidly guffawed. Or the equivalent of, for his typically unreadable reactions. One whole week of undivided time. No obligations. From that announcement, it appeared all too clearly Amy was overdue for a break. Good. She needed one, working herself to the bone the way she did. But for her to say she wanted to spend her week, her week of respite, with him…? 

Could he hear a euphoric crescendo playing in the background? Perhaps thinking so was a tad dramatic and completely unrealistic, but what was this, a movie? A dream? His personal heaven? His pre-emptive defences liquified.

“So have I.”

—

As their blissful few hours drew to their inevitable conclusion, slivers of skyline seen through gaps in concrete towers dulled to a near inseparable grey. A telltale sign for pleasant weather ahead.

“Hm, looks like rain’s coming in,” Shadow mused, semi-absent while Amy was teasing a calico with a laser pointer. Yeah, it looked like a storm was brewing.

No one could have possibly sounded more disappointed about it than Amy Rose.

“Aw, no, really?” A sorry look washed over her as she turned to him. “Guess we should start heading home, then. Don't wanna be caught out in it on the walk back.” Returning to the cat, she said,

“Sorry putty-tat, maybe we'll come back one day and play again. Be good, ‘kay?” She gave her newfound furry friend a thorough pat and Shadow could feel his bones transmute into jelly at the tender expression on Amy’s face. She really was ‘the sweetest thing since sugar’ (Offhand words of Rouge’s, yet, not wrong). She picked up her clutch, giving him a butter-melting smile, probably to affirm their departure, but the only thing rolling around in his head was how he'd return to this place a thousandfold if she'd go on smiling like that.

“Shadow?” Oh, she was waving a hand in front of his face. He could imagine how dumb he looked daydreaming just then.

“Sorry, yeah.”

Arm looped through his — like he was going to get lost if she let go — Amy thanked and farewelled the staff, whisking them out the door in double time.

—

Outside presented a new kind of cold to the board. The kind that hit one like a forceful slap to the cheek, spreading in a cool tingling fashion until hurting like hell broke loose (and Shadow had technically lived through that once, so he would know). It didn’t bother him much. Temperature drops never had much effect on him anyway, his body naturally regulated to keep him at ‘optimal performance’ — he likened it to Omega’s cooling systems, since Omega had a penchant for making inappropriate likeness observations without prompting.

Over coffee one morning, Rouge explained it was Omega’s way of relating and bonding with him. Where true, Shadow reckoned Omega was more bored senseless and liked to occupy himself with spouting data than pursuing a meaningful friendship. Else he would have offered to work on Shadow’s bike with him, or decimate some straggling Eggman bots in one of his old bases, or , hell, even bother to sit down with him and watch trash on TV (he might even learn a thing or two about organic behaviour). But he didn’t, and Omega never did anything if it wasn't completely intentional.

He wondered what Omega was doing now, seeing as he wasn’t lounging on the couch vulnerable for analytical pestering. No, wait. He didn’t care. He had a whole week away from it and he was going to take advantage of it. That reminded him, he needed to ring Rouge, else there was an eighty-seven percent chance she would eventually send a search party for him… And then kill him for ‘disappearing’ on her.

Where the hell did he get that number from? He could take one teeth-grinding, educated guess. Maybe he needed this break too. It was getting increasingly more glaring he’d spent far too long cooped up at home.

By the time they got into the car, hurried off and cranked the heater to full blast, Amy had stopped shivering in her woollen jumper. Shadow played mental air hockey with the urge to change the direction of the air flow (the angle, of course, had to be right in his eyes), and in the end, he thought himself more respectable if he teared up quietly. He himself would be insulted if someone thought the configuration of his vehicle was ‘wrong’; an irrational ego niggle he had no intention of passing onto Amy. She looked so content at the wheel, what else was he to do?

“So,” she cut through the silence, after he began to notice pin-prick specks dappling her windscreen. “What have you been up to lately? I feel like I’ve just talked about myself the whole time.” Warmth rippled in his chest. Sweet of her to consider, she always managed to open a space for him to speak, judgement free. Yet the breath in his lungs struggled to release.

What was he to tell her? That he’d wasted months of his newfound freedom on learning how to grow brain fog, rotting away on the couch and sending himself into depressive comas? That his next steps for aiding humanity came in the form of sleeping past lunchtime and ideas left abandoned in the mixing bowl? Should he really tell her he’d fallen down an irredeemable avenue where his music preferences were now obscure indie folk bands he listened to specifically when he sat on the floor of his shower, contemplating his existence? Did he need to inform her that the only way he had a grasp on what day it was was because The Real (laughably fake) Housewives of Empire City aired on Thursdays? He didn’t want to.

Still, by the powers that were, he couldn’t lie to her.

Though his entire body blazed with shame, he told her anyway. Honesty was going to spew from his mouth whether he wanted it to or not. He laughed halfway through to shield himself from an anticipated pitiful titter at his expense… but nothing. She just said,

“You’ve got to lend me the album sometime!” (The look on her face was irreplicable when he told her the album was digital ) and, “Ooh, then you’ll totally be into this other show I’ve been watching. Remind me to show you later.”

The lead-heavy feeling lightened.

Just like that.

—

Irony played its hand exceptionally.

Beyond the windscreen was less than a metre of road and footpath. The rest? A pure mystery. The idiom ‘raining cats and dogs’ had never made much sense to Shadow, but the term ‘bucketing down’? He was getting the idea. He couldn’t recall if he'd ever seen rain this dense. It was hard to receive this phenomena as anything but tranquil when the sound of torrential downpour against metal was oddly soothing.

Amy threw herself back in her seat, blurting a watered down curse. Must've thought she could outrun nature. 

“Did you know it was going to rain today?” Not an accusation, just a question, to his relief.

“Not a clue.” Weather happened to fall very low on his priority list. “Central City's weather’s notoriously unpredictable, though.” Which caught him in some less-than-ideal situations on the milk run… That needed no further elaboration.

“Hey, I thought you were the fortune teller; thought you would've seen this coming,” he ventured the joke, receiving an eye-roll that couldn’t be paired with a straight face.

“Clairvoyance doesn’t normally include the weather forecast.”

“I see.” The pelting sheet of rain kicked up in intensity, thickening to near unseeable. “Skill issue,” he stage-whispered, acting innocent thereafter, as if the racket would conceal the witticism. Amy gasped, smacking a hand to her collar, which she shook away with the slightest cringe.

“What was that? Did you just say ‘skill issue’ ?”

“I did.”

Amy’s clutch collided with his lap. After she hurled it at him, of course. “I’m so gonna hunt down whoever you learnt that from.”

“Good luck facing a war-machine in close-combat, then.”

Who he was referring to dawned on her fast. Her head tossed about. “No! Nooo! I take it back,” she wailed. Shadow accepted her plea for surrender, because in all honesty, he and the world at large was by no means ready for that cataclysmic row.

Somehow the rain proceeded to get worse the longer they sat sheltered by the car. It wasn’t looking good.

“Should we, uh…” He gestured out to where he guessed Amy’s building would be, if he could see it.

“Run the gauntlet? I guess we have no other choice.” Well, unless Amy could manifest the rain ceasing… but Shadow preferred not to have another object chucked in his direction for his wisecracks. “Wait! Maybe I have an umbrella around here somewhere.” She rooted around every possible cranny, and when her head popped up her eyes were wide and her mouth agape.

A less diluted obscenity was mouthed to him. Just their luck. He didn’t know whether to laugh or trick her into repeating herself aloud (just to hear how she’d enunciate the vulgarity. He hadn’t yet bore witness to that angle of her frustration).

“It seems we just have to make a break for it.” They didn’t really have another choice. He took a sideways glance at her. “Ready?”

“Let's do this.”

Made a break for it, they did.

Amy rushed to his side and gripped his arm — now really worried he might get lost — and began walking. Quickly. The rain didn't let up for them, gracing every inch of them with dewy baubles which evolved into soaking bullets in less than a minute. Shadow was fumbling around like navigating a dark hallway, all the while Amy was squealing and shivering around his bicep, trying to lead him in the right direction.

Probably not how Shadow thought this afternoon was going to go. Then again, what did he expect? Because it wasn't a week with Amy and yet…

He was willing to count himself lucky. Rain wasn't the worst of his issues and the closeness Amy never shied from was a therapeutic shift from homemade hell.

He was willing to count himself very lucky. An acceptance that felt wrong to feel right about. He hadn't earned it or deserved it and if he was to operate on himself, his internals would have ‘useless’ inscribed on them. He hadn't been particularly the best to her. But she'd been saying the same thing, vice versa. Inconceivable, in his opinion.

This was the pinnacle of their collective neglect and now they were on their way past it with the help of warm drinks, cute cats, a soggy walk and seven nights to themselves. Seven nights.

Seven nights for him to prove himself suitable.

—

They’d dried off and settled in for the night. Amy insisted on ‘The Whole Shebang’, treating them with an Adabat-inspired meal (that she argued was not leftovers, even though he saw her nuke the dish in the microwave), plush pyjamas (though she didn’t have much to offer Shadow, except a pink, heart-speckled dressing gown that was a smidge too short in the arms) and the beginnings of a binge watch of yet another reality TV show he knew would become dangerously addictive.

It was on the cusp of eleven-thirty when one of the suntanned women on-screen got startled by a ping from their phone. Amy yawned from the spot on his shoulder she had employed as a headrest; fully clocked out for the night. Excited screams emitted from the tinny speakers. Amy roused.

“I don’t think I can make it through this one. I might go to bed,” she groaned, nuzzling her nose into his shoulder as if that was something she’d always done. “What do you wanna do: wanna stay up and watch some more or…?”

“It’s polite if I retire, too, I think.” She smiled, drowsy, but no less charming. Fatigue had become well-acquainted with him recently. “Should I sleep out here?” He pointed to the couch they were cozied up on, figuring a blanket would be suffice for him to crash.

“No, silly! You are not staying as a guest and not having a bed. You’re coming with me and you can sleep in my bed.”

He blinked. Once. Twice.

“I forgot to call Rouge,” he said, a little too abrupt. “You got a phone?”

“Uh, yeah! There’s a landline in the kitchen, if you know how to use it.” He thanked her for remaining the one sane person in the world to own a landline. “You do that, and in the meantime, I’ll go grab you a toothbrush, huh?” Her breezy grin descended into a vacant stare, and when he was about to ask why, she scurried off with no explanation, leaving him to his own devices.

Unhelpfully jammed in a hidden spot between the fridge and the archway, was the aforementioned landline phone: cream-coloured, yellowing with age and garnished with a repulsive, orange splodge of something. Shadow tossed up whether he even wanted to ring up, with the state of the thing, but before he could decide, he was punching in numbers left, right and centre and ended up startling himself with the drones of a pending receiver.

“Hello?” She sounded as knackered as he was.

“It's me.” No need for pleasantries, Rouge could probably identify his voice through a soundproof wall and a paper bag.

Her tongue clicked, loud enough for Shadow to jerk the phone away from his ear. “Want to finally tell me where you've been? I almost sent Omega out on a hog-hunt for you.” She reacted exactly how he knew she would. He supposed the validation was nice, despite the little huffing noise she made to exert her vexation.

“With Amy.”

“Oh!” She perked up, sounded relieved, even. “Well then, tell her I said ‘hi.’”

“She's offered for me to spend the week with her,” he explained, “and —” Needless to say, he choked on the words that got overlapped by Rouge.

“You don't need my permission, sweetie, I'm just glad to know where you're at.”

“— sleep with her.” A half squeak, half scoff rang over the line mid-way through analysing that he wasn’t asking for permission. He didn’t need it. He was doing the latter, informing her of his position, which was a rare courtesy, and —

“What you get up to on your little retreat is none of my business,” she answered, voice lowering to a sultry timbre she often used to test his tolerance. Wait… No, wrong wording! He banged his forehead against the archway. “Just don't do anything stupid.”

“No! Argh, I meant ‘share a bed,’” he hissed into the speaker. Why was he whispering? Why was he whispering?

It wasn’t that big of a deal. Amy appeared quite relaxed about it. Too relaxed. Did sharing a bed have different implications than they used to? Utterings from long ago had resurfaced, taking up arms to conflict with the multitude of rubbish he’d consumed from the television. He really didn’t know where he stood on the ordeal. In all honesty, it wasn’t something he’d needed to consider until now; he had become too used to his single bed in the corner of his cramped room.

“Oh, gotcha.” Rouge seemed to have read his mind, or he was predictably this clueless. Either way, frazzled as he may be, he was grateful to not have to piece together jumbled thoughts in order to articulate to her. “Don't overthink it, hon. In this day and age anyone can get a bit of shut-eye in the same bed. Besides, I think you both could do with some cuddles~” His heart raced and he swore he could hear the smirk on Rouge’s face.

“Goodnight, Rouge.”

“Nigh—” He hung up.

“Everything okay?” Amy skipped back in, swaddled by a blanket so big he easily mistook it for a cloak. He affirmed, with not much to say about his conversation with Rouge, other than relaying her cheeky salutation, to which Amy absorbed by squishing her cheeks into her thrown-together cowl, mentioning something cute about wanting to catch up with the bat.

“Your toothbrush is the purple one by the way,” she told him. “You still like purple, right?”

“Yeah.”

She remembered.

—

Bedtime came easy, especially since Shadow’s whirring thoughts came to a stop halfway through brushing his teeth.

Amy had smothered herself up to the neck with copious bedspreads (on the left side, he noticed) and Shadow invaded the sacred space on the right with subdued apprehension. The lamp illuminating the room in a warm glow flickered slightly as he cast his eyes to her. She shimmied over to lend him a brief cuddle, pressing a feather-light peck to his collar. He was powerless to it, his pulse quickening, his skin scorching to what he couldn’t determine as flustered or bashful or a third adjective he was unable to conjure.

She chirped, “Goodnight.” Light vanished from the room.

Shadow hadn’t been able to assess his reality to the full extent.

He fell asleep within the span of ten minutes.

Chapter Text

At six in the morning, a severe weather warning was issued for the Central City area. Widespread, heavy rainfall and strong gales were to be expected until late evening and residents were urged to remain indoors. The previous day was simply the commencement of a two-day flash storm.

Amy had awoken a round three and a half hours later to the cacophony of whistling wind and never-ending precipitation. Believing a silly little storm wouldn’t trample her pep, she slipped out from under her sheets (and the comfortable black and red-striped arm that she may’ve let instinctually drape over her during the night) to start her day right.

A new foe intervened to challenge her: blistering cold. It revealed its fighting style as ‘no mercy’ and ‘anything goes’ and sent a kick that froze her very bones. But Amy, Amy was a fighter. Let it never be said that she surrendered quietly.

As she did the night before, she gathered a blanket from her bed and suited up in her fluffy armour. Into the kitchen she waddled, recoiling at the ice plane that was now her floor, grieving she really should have bought a place with heated flooring. Hobbling about with her feet arched to combat the chill, she made it her mission to brew a couple of coffees.

Amy ‘debatably’ liked coffee, according to Shadow, who’d said just that back at the cat café, to which Amy gave him a playful, but undeniably a little offended, kick under the table for. She didn’t prefer her coffee at full potency, was all. She liked her syrups and her spices and her creams and the colour of the liquid to be fawn — sue her for it! Sure, her preferences leaned more towards herbal and fruit teas or smoothies most days and she genuinely adored her water, but she didn’t ‘debatably’ like coffee. She loved the art of experimentation.

And Shadow liked dirt water.

Murky, grainy, dirt water.

So she made him his cup of soil soup and her three-sugars-and-eighty-percent-milk concoction, threw together a bowl of cereal, and did not skimp on the throwing aspect, only to realise she could not cart all her items in one go. The drinks went with her first. Just the drinks, seeing as her faux mink defence abandoned her for the kitchen floor, making her journey a fool’s errand. She shivered — trembled quite violently — on her quest back to bed and within two steps she already had coffee of both varieties sloshing and dribbling down the back of her hands. Dang it. (Not to mention the agony —)

Trail of droplets and carpet stains aside, she arrived back into the room. Shadow had finally risen from sleep, propping himself upright to greet her. His quills were mussed, the pristine of its usual shape not to be found. He had Amy daring to think he looked well-rested, rejuvenated by the softness in his cheeks. His acknowledgement was wordless, but he communicated with his unwavering eye contact — just letting it all sink in. She placed his cup on his bedside table (ow) and hers next to her (also, ow), and as she made the crawl back into bed, she remembered her missing items. Blame the eyes! Or her flimsy attention span.

Once back in bed with all she could ever want, she asked,

“How'd you sleep?”

“Well, thank you.” His voice croaked from its natural, smooth baritone. A small detail that warmed Amy’s chest to an inexplicable degree. Seeing him the furthest he's been from put-together was… refreshing. Sweet. She hoped he felt as safe and vulnerable as he looked, because she was.

She'd never spent the night with him, ever. Not that there was any underlying awkwardness or tension to be addressed — their level of comfortability with each other was definitive. Time had played unfairly, as it did with Amy. She had yapped endlessly about organising a stay-over even before they connected as deep as they did, then… things happened. Like always.

But no more. This week was to fix all that. Or that was her aim, anyway.

His gaze trailed from his beverage to Amy’s plentiful helping of breakfast and had the gall to comment,

“No beans?” As if she was going to pay a whopping fifteen dollars for his Coffee Connoisseur Premium Beans he takes to munching like they're a snack or a meal or an after-dinner mint!

Knee-jerk reaction. In reality, she forgot. She wasn't stingy enough to abstain from being a respectable host, and Shadow wasn't the type to demand to be waited on hand and foot… He must've thought better of her than she did. Great host you are, Amy. Things had been slipping her mind lately.

“No beans,” she resigned herself to, “only instant. Sorry, it was all I had.”

“That’s alright,” he replied, completely unbothered, taking a modest draught from his cup. “Tastes fine.” Somehow that gesture made her feel worse. ‘Fine’ could have been a much nicer descriptor, had she kept on top of everything. Her head spawned a dull ache; the fretting was tiring. For it, she gave herself a mental slap. She was on holiday for Gaia’s sake! If Shadow said it was fine, it must be. He wasn’t one for telling fibs, anyway. That reminder soothed her a lot more than she thought it would.

That feeling didn’t last long before it was overthrown by the vengeful temperature, sending a shiver rippling down her spine. An attack that drove her to withdraw into her sheets. Not today. Nope, not today.

She saw Shadow watching her with a quizzical eye and raised brow, taking wary sips of coffee as she brawled with the covers to get comfortable. She thought she’d found the perfect arrangement. Thought. Cold air seeped through without regard. Never mind, her pep was squashed. Forbid anything be sacred and blissful.

“I’m cold,” she hissed to Shadow, as if the explanation was going to erase the smile poorly hidden behind his mug.

Deadpan, he responded, “I can see that.” She squirmed, in a furious attempt to thrash about in frustration, but her expert wrapping had her rightly tangled.

“It’s fine for you because you run like a radi…” Like a radiator! Hadn’t even crossed her mind. “Can you help me for a minute?” She referred to the mess she was in and Shadow undertook the task without a word. How chivalrous. How foolish.

He undid the last of Amy’s self-made prison and she relished in the opportunity. She pounced, curling her arms around his torso and dragging him down atop her ( OW) . An easy feat, really.

“Well, excuse you,” he breathed, a small laugh rising in the inflection like soft thunder. She felt it resonate beneath his ribs. Her skin buzzed with it. “I feel like I might have walked myself into that one.” Resisting a giggle was near impossible.

She was already so much warmer.

The covers went back on, properly this time, right over their heads, creating their own pocket of paradise; the perfect shelter from the cold. There was almost a nostalgic feeling about their linen bivvy, but with Shadow it felt like a whole new experience in a vast, unfamiliar world.

“Aww, look at us! Under-cover agents with a license to chill,” she joked, so quick off the mark that she had to refrain from laughing at her own spontaneity. There was no need.

For a joke so bad, Amy was granted the most wondrous sound she’d ever heard.

Shadow snickered quietly, as if not to disturb, then unravelled into uncontrollable, rolling laughter. Amy could feel his stomach contracting as he was pressed against her and a grin broke out onto her face. She’d never heard him laugh that liberally, nor that loud, nor that deep. She knew he scoffed, and tsk ed, and she could get him to chuckle from time to time, but this? In all the years she’d known him, she’d never heard him roar hysterically. And all for some awful wordplay? What a first.

He was gasping for air when he surprised her with an equally enthused ‘yes and.’

“Enough of the pillow talk, Miss Rose. To catch the bedsheet bandit we must… we… must…” His head slumped onto her shoulder and let out a terribly overacted snore.

Amy laughed so hard she snorted.

As they declined from the high, Shadow said to her, “I think you’d make a fantastic secret agent.” She took a pause from caressing his dorsal spines (again, ow).

“You think so?”

“Yeah. A little rash in the action, but eloquent in disguise. Master infiltrator… I think you could expertly fool your enemies.” Although positioned awkwardly from how she trapped him, Shadow felt far more relaxed in her embrace today than he did when she bade him goodnight yesterday. Maybe he just needed time to adjust, and maybe, if that remained unchanged… Don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Are you sure you’re talking about me and not Rouge?”

He groaned, like her response bored him. “She has the experience, but she doesn’t have your magnetism. Every Double-Oh-What’s-Their-Name needs to have an unassuming mask to hide their intentions. Rouge is, uh — what’s it? — femme fatale. She’s trouble from the get-go. You’re everyone’s friend in a crowd. Little more coy. Perfect for lulling the enemy into a false sense of security.” Amy didn’t quite know what to say. It felt like it had subtext she had no want in unpicking for the time being. She looked to Shadow for some kind of clue, but he stared off to the side of her, clearly analysing something himself.

“And you’d make a good doris,” she finalised, seeing that the lighthearted tone was benefiting them. And the image of Shadow sporting a slip dress just made her cheeks swell. His eyes found hers again and he squinted, unimpressed. “Okay, fine. You’d be a great partner… and doris.” Okay, she decided, he’d wear the hell out of a slip dress. “Well, if I’m working the room, I might as well have a pretty face on my arm who’s got my back when I need it!” Now he scoffed.

“How would that work?” Ideas were already flowering in her head. She smiled.

“I’ll tell you how.”