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There's something about January that lets Amy know winter simply isn't her season. Something in the way the cold nips at her skin, something in the new beginnings that never truly start. Snow falls down around her in barely illuminated air as her breath turns visible, and a singular question crosses her mind.
Why?
It's much too cold for any sensible person to be out, the temperature surely somewhere around freezing. Still, Amy is walking idly through the town— and at night, nonetheless. The most reasonable conclusion is that Amy is not a reasonable person. It's not her favorite interpretation of herself, but one she isn't eager to argue. She's willing to admit that the 16 years of fighting and wars and aches have driven her to things far more shameful than cold walks.
But, of course, it's a little deeper than that tonight. It usually is, on these late-night walks where she must cradle herself for warmth. There's something about the cool in the air and the sound of silence that makes it a little easier for her to breathe, a little easier to think. And tonight she's thinking about them.
It starts off simple enough with thoughts about dazzling green emeralds and the brave echidna that stands in front. Knuckles is a very strange Mobian to think about, in that he is both a brother and a stranger. A brother in the way that every time he has lifted his fist it has been to strike the enemy behind her or to teach her to do the same. There is kind wisdom in his words, and something tells her that even if he wasn't so hellbent on integrity, he would still tell her the truth.
A stranger in that no one really knows Knuckles. It's the way he prefers it, she thinks, all alone on his island. He doesn't make friends for long because that typically requires spending time away from home, and that's a compromise he just can't afford to make. Or won't. It's something Amy doesn’t ask because while Knuckles is nothing but honest, it's hard not to lie when you've deluded yourself into thinking it's the truth.
(The only angel on his island— is he a stranger to himself as well?)
And, of course, that is only the beginning. The thoughts begin to bleed together into a sunset, and now she's thinking of workshops and the faint smell of oil that could only belong to one two-tailed fox. Despite her running joke that if her thoughts were worth a dollar, Tails were worth a million, his smarts are not her favorite thing about him. Far from it, really. Instead, she prefers the way he pretends not to laugh after one of Sonic's many corny jokes. The way he hoards mints like they're about to enter a new prohibition era. The way he takes hit after hit, cries tear after tear, and still gets back up again.
Then comes the blueprint reminders that the last time Amy saw Tails was... well, too long. Maybe it's an overstep— he isn't her brother, after all— but the lengthy hours cooped up in his workshop seem more than excessive. The fight against Eggman is one that never sleeps, she knows that more than most, but, God, she wants Tails to. The trembling hands, the dark eyebags, the lists— it haunts her. And, if she is to be honest, she just... misses him.
(If he had been just a little luckier, could he have traded his tools for the latest trending toy?)
Then morning dawn envelops her mind and all she can think of is blue, blue, blue. Hot summer days and the smell of chili and, of course, so fast it's blurry. Sonic is probably the strongest person she knows, which is very impressive considering the long list of those she's met "along the way". It's not as though the fastest thing alive cares for any of that, though. Thousands of lives saved with his speed, people jumping at the chance to see a glimpse of him, governments pulling money to make statues in his honor— all for Sonic to turn and ask if she wants to go on an adventure with him.
But in the same way that life stops for nobody, Sonic slows down for no one. He's always running, running, running, and Amy gets it more than she wants to admit. When you stop moving, there's a certain silence that catches up to you. It's louder than any alarm you'll ever hear, and it sounds a lot like the people you couldn't quite save. It's a horrid sound with an even uglier face, and she gets why Sonic never turns around— but it's hard to have a best friend that you never see.
(If Sonic didn't have people to save, would he ever stop running?)
(Would he start?)
A long exhale enters the freezing breeze as Amy stops in her tracks and turns her head, viridescent eyes locking with her reflection in the closed boutique window. Her pink bangs have collected some snow, and her lips have paled into purple. This time when the silence catches her, it doesn't scream. It just asks her yet another question.
Where?
If it was not for her friends, where would she be? Would she be anywhere at all? So many close calls, so many lives lost— standing in the snow is a privilege in itself. It isn't like it's a scenario she likes to think about; she loves her friends. To compare them to the world would be redundant— they are the world as far as she is concerned. They are light and water and oxygen and everything else she needs to live.
But it is undeniably lonely. There are days when Eggman pauses the war and Amy enters a battlefield of her own, one that nobody else gets to see. Days when Vanilla doesn't need help, the phone doesn't ring, and Amy wonders what it would be like to have a normal friend. A friend that goes out on the town, calls her spontaneously with no favors to ask, has hobbies that aren't overwhelming. A friend that isn't constantly saving the world.
But that isn't a reality she lives in, and the snow is beginning to really pile up on her quills. With one last look at her reflection, Amy turns and begins the cold walk home, thinking of pink skies and dreaming of springtime.