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For fifty-one weeks out of the year, Shadow was on top of the world. During one particular week in the winter, however, he was nothing less than undone entirely. Every never-ending year was the same.
He made a habit of saving up his money for these blissful seven days, knowing every penny spent was a coin he earned from doing G.U.N.'s dirty work. Never did he imagine himself as so much of a bootlicker, but when it came to money, he was an emaciated dog foaming at the mouth for scraps. So he'd take another mission, he'd pay his rent, and he'd bide his time.
It was all worth it in the end, holding that palm-sized, cyan baggie in his hands.
Shadow had learned better than to ask questions on its origin, or even its true contents. Scaring off the one dealer in town willing to supply him would destine him to go into this long battle on his lonesome. They were drugs. They made everything go away. What else did he need to know?
His back pressed against the grimy brick wall of the alleyway.
Considering it was only the one bag, his heightened metabolism would work through it quickly. Typically, he'd space it out over a few hours, but his body was itching, urging him to begin the chaos. His mind sought the same. The sooner he could erase himself from the presence of his own nagging conscience, the better.
Opening the bag, he gazed at the flattened pearls— his means of release. And they stared back patiently, like old friends. There was no need for a heartfelt greeting, not when they knew each other so well.
With a tilt of the bag, Shadow poured a dozen pills into his mouth. It was disgusting— bitter beyond belief— but familiar all the same. He crunched the medicine between his teeth, shivering at the sensation of his stomach recoiling, but he pressed forward, knowing the serenity that came after. A thick, metallic flavor stuck to the back of his throat that he washed down with the last of his beer.
It hadn't killed him yet. And if it finally managed to, well, Shadow figured it'd be poetic to die during his annual bender; maybe he'd even go out on the same day as her. The concept was even sweet enough to briefly consider, before Shadow shut it down.
That wasn't what she wanted for him.
Knocking the rest of the medicine back, he straightened himself out before returning to the world's coaxing hand. He had enough practice to know that he had about ten minutes before the chemicals hit his stomach lining. Then he'd be seeing stars. That gave him plenty of time to do what he does best.
Once again returning to the pub, he ordered another beer. And an old-fashioned. And he managed to knock both back just before his guts began to clench around the poison he forced down his own throat.
The warmth began. As it always did. It was like stepping into the deep end of a pool that had been heated in the light from the sun all day. Each inch of chlorine water overtook him, lapping at his ankles, soaking into his t-shirt, until he became detached from the mass of flesh he called his body. And it breathed without him, moved without him, as he was a ghost beyond the realm of control.
Shadow preferred it that way.
Somewhere in that fog, Shadow had the vague recollection of the events that followed. He wasn't sure why— perhaps he had thought it inwardly, though he had no recollection— but he could remember an insult passed his lips. It was something to the bartender— something about how his mustache reminded him of a bald, fat man he knew. And then a chorus rose up around him like a song the entire bar had practiced in his absence. Vaguely, he could recall the image of his fist cracking against someone's skull, and a bottle being flung at his head.
His vision was red. Not with anger, no, Shadow couldn't be more happy. A wet, crooked laugh bellowed from him as he struggled to get up from the dirty curb outside. He wiped the blood out of his eyes. He moved on.
Moved on to where? Shadow had no idea. Each step was a dream, each gulp of air a new outlook on life, and suddenly the despair he felt earlier seemed hilarious. A man with limitless power, who wanted nothing to do with it, had set himself loose like a dog without a leash. He couldn't return his gift. Gerald had burned the receipt. He could still make use of it, though.
Looking down from the tallest building in Station Square, Shadow clicked his heels rhythmically against the shiny, metallic exterior. And he'd play the same game he always did. He closed his eyes, turned his back, and allowed the starkly cold air to cocoon around him as he fell. Sometimes he'd take a peek, just to watch the world melt around him, only to zip back to the top again. Like a carrot on a string, his entire existence was a mockery of death.
At some point, he could remember dry heaving on top of the roof as a tiny sliver of bile dripped from his lips, but the visual was scrubbed away before he could ruminate on it. And then he wiped his mouth. He moved on.
The rest of the fine evening was shuttered behind the black curtains of his drug-fueled haze. All Shadow knew for certain was that when he woke the next morning, his world was on fire. Every light too bright, every step too arduous to take, he rolled off his couch, coated in sweat and the stench of depravity.
Despite the close call with death, he craved to edge closer. He wanted to become friendly with the entity that destroyed his life. Being ageless, it wasn't often he had the chance to close that eternal gap. And maybe, he thought quietly to himself, if he reached close enough, he'd be able to see her again— just one last time.
Shadow marked the date off the calendar. Six days left. He moved on.
He would repeat this wild tempest of a cycle for two more days, blowing his money on drugs to coat his insides. After waking, shivering, his clothes soaked through from the night before when he dove into a lake, he decided to remain home just for the day. That choice would come without peace.
She was everywhere; her waxen smile on a photo in his sock drawer where he hid it for safekeeping, a bracelet she had woven for him on the ARK, a bow he procured from the floating hunk of metal that used to hold back her golden hair— and then his eyes fell on his jacket. That G.U.N. patch. That stupid G.U.N. patch. A reminder that he served the ones who killed her.
Only a second passed, and before Shadow knew it, he was ripping the jacket to shreds with his bare hands. A cacophony of sounds too uncomfortable to be alone with— gnarled growls, fabric torn cleanly apart, panicked huffing. Shadow couldn't breathe. His throat was too tight, the air was too thin, something had to give. He screamed into the ball of fabric nested in his hands. Terror struck him as he realized he was unraveling again, and he very desperately desired to keep himself together.
Short, uneven puffs of air rattled through his chest. Her form surrounded him wherever he looked in the room. As if curious as to why he crumbled at her feet, her lifeless eyes were relentless in their goal of coaxing out a response from him despite his avoidance.
Then, perhaps a little too hopeful, he met eyes with the shadowy idol. "Maria?"
No response. They never responded.
Digging the heel of his palms into his eyes, Shadow attempted to rub the hallucination from his retinas, but she remained in all her bloodied glory. It had been several years of keeping this routine, so he forgot whether or not these images were caused by withdrawal or the nearing calendar date. Either way, Shadow had a cure for his affliction.
Same drug dealer, fresh bag of pills.
He downed the full contents at home. From the safety of his couch, he drifted into the warm water of semi-consciousness, giving himself over to the lapping tidal wave that tempted to draw him under. Rolling his head to the side with a smile, he gazed out at the empty room around him. The shadows were gone. The water shimmered with disembodied glee. When Shadow tried to lift his head, he found he could only breathe water.
Though he neared the border of his reality, digging his claws into the funeral pyre earth of the dead, he could still hear the slow beat of his heart. He was not lucky enough to see her there. He was not lucky enough to die.
He couldn't move on.
⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆
Shadow's heavy eyes shifted languidly over his surroundings. The curtains to his bedroom were drawn back far further than he'd like, letting the natural light from outside soak in. There was no escape from the fresh sunlight, even if he desired nothing more than to imprison himself beneath his own covers. He could hardly move.
Never before had Shadow pushed himself to such a limit— pushed far past it, rather. To be perfectly honest, Shadow was unsure if his body truly had a hard limit. He hadn't ever considered testing it. Until earlier, that is. He had tested it, and he had ended up bested by the mystery concoction of pills.
He prayed silently for some odd reality where he had tucked himself into bed after blacking out on the couch.
Distantly, he heard a shuffle in the kitchen. The sound of two pieces of porcelain knocking against one another. As always, his prayers remained unanswered.
She appeared with a creak of his door and the shuffle of her fuzzy slippers. Like an angel, she was the brightest thing in the room by far, despite holding such a sullen gaze. Her expression shifted upon noticing his state of awareness— first shock, then joy, then her scowl preceded the smoothing over of it all, back to sullen neutrality.
"I say this every year— I know— but can't you at least give me a warning?" Rose placed a tray in his lap. Her shaking hands gave every carefully contained emotion away. "The wounds, the vomit— it usually doesn't phase me anymore— but you— you—"
"I overdosed," Shadow finished, stitching her broken speech back together, though his voice was just as shattered as hers. Only then could he feel the tender rawness of his throat. When was the last time he ate food? Or drank water?
His fingers grazed the cool edge of the glass of water provided on the tray. Steadying the tremor in his hands, he brought it to his dry lips and took a few hesitant sips. The way his stomach strained, he was sure he had forgotten to eat in his delirium.
Rose's brows knit together, her bottom lip bobbing with restraint. "You could have died. Honestly, with everything I saw, it's a miracle that I'm not at your funeral right now."
She witnessed everything. A twinge of shame overtook Shadow's features as he swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Forgive me for having put you in that position."
"It's not a matter of forgiveness," she said, smoothing the duvet with one swipe of her hand like turning another page in this routine of hers. As always, she sat beside him, that same pitiful look on her face. "I have no ulterior motives— I gain nothing from this song and dance we do. I just want you to get better. Every time this week rolls around, I dream of the day when you realize you don't have to face this alone."
"I'm not facing it alone," Shadow stressed.
"The pills are certainly not your friends, and they won't help you in the end. Unless," she paused, a glint of hard-fought hope in her eyes, "Have you told Rouge yet?"
An arrow through his chest. Out of pure guilt, Shadow shifted his eyes toward the window. "She'd only laugh. Or worse— if she took it seriously, then she'd— she'd—"
"Harass you like I do?" Softening her gaze, she leaned close enough for Shadow to be able to smell the fragrance his shampoo left in her hair. She had gotten more use out of his shower than him that week. How long had she been taking residence in his house, watching over him?
"Just between the two of us, I go way too easy on you," she chuckled, lifting her fingers to her lips. "Rouge would put you in your place. She'd hunt down your dealer and knock some sense into him, before beating you up herself."
"Like you've done yourself, many times already."
"Hey!" A quick smack to his arm snatched his full attention back to her. "I've never beaten you up. I wouldn't dare."
The quiet admittance to what Shadow had already figured out— she was the reason he had garnered a local reputation in town. For a moment, he considered he'd have to go out of the country to find someone willing to supply him, but these events would repeat until every dealer in the world knew of the infamy he brought with him in tow.
She went through such great efforts to help a scoundrel like him.
Scowling, he lowered his eyes to the tray again. A plate of eggs, hastily scrambled (had she broken the yolks by mistake?) and heavily peppered, alongside toast, bacon, and half an orange. Despite how starved he was, the clenching of his guts left little room for an appetite. The gesture in its entirety was a slap to the face.
Shadow shook his head disparagingly; first at the meal, then at her. "Why are you doing this?"
"Sitting here, on your bed?" Artfully dodging his question, Rose grinned and laughed through her nose. "I just happened to be in town."
Her dodging wasn't as precise as she'd like to think, however, as Shadow could see a crack in that armor of hers. The duvet that she had smoothed over so lovingly was balled up in her tight fist— it was the only part of her that was tense.
Shadow took her hand, stroking his thumb over her knuckles until her grip relaxed and he could lace his fingers between hers. His voice came out much more desperate than he intended. "Rose."
"Shadow, come on." Her laugh grew a little more nervous as her tension drew from her fingers to her expression. Beneath her knitted brows, her eyes danced around his face, eager to pick through his brain to sort out the correct answer to his patient goading. "What am I supposed to do? I care about you. More than— well, more than most things."
"Even after the events of last year?"
Amy's posture sharpened. Though she was caught off guard for a moment, she returned quickly. "What happened wasn't your fault— Shadow, you were going through withdrawals, and it was only because I pressured you into going cold turkey, so—"
"Don't you dare," he darkened, his voice ragged from wear. "My actions are mine alone."
The dust in the room settled, pressed down with the insurmountable weight of that evening's acknowledgement. Shadow had made many mistakes in his life. To say that he had many days he regretted having lived was an understatement, but that day, he could never take back. It rocked both of them to the core.
And then she said it with a sense of ease that made him want to scream.
"So, you kissed me. So what?"
"So," he began, his tone serrated, "you should keep your distance."
It was as if she hadn't even heard him. "You were right, anyway. It was time for me to grow up and get over whatever little crush I had on Sonic— no one had been honest with me until that point. It was always a matter of patience. We just needed to get older, everyone would tell me. But emotions don't just appear, not after that long. You were the only person who told me the truth."
"Rose, I was wrong!" Snapping forward, his cup of water tipped over with a clatter. The motion and sudden sound combined sent a jolt of pain through his skull, and he reeled, grasping his head in his hands. Cursing between his teeth, he continued. "I am the last person you should be taking advice from."
Taking his tray, putting it on his bedside table, her eyes scanned over the bed for patches of water. Always vigilant, always doting; it pissed him off to no end. It was a mercy he didn't deserve. He had every right to storm out of the room right then and there, but he could feel a dry heave challenging the idea, and he knew better than to trust his legs during withdrawals. So he sat there like a stray dog in a kennel as she cared for him from a safe distance.
The words slipped through his lips before he could contain them. "What did I look like?"
Cocking her head, she looked at him oddly. "When?"
"When you found me," he said. "When I overdosed."
As if there were a mirror behind those widened pupils of hers, he could see the vile images filter through her mind, reflecting on her soft features harshly. Then those beautiful mirrors filled with dew; silent tears streamed down to her chin. Drawing in a shuddering breath, she replied, "You're trying to scare me away—"
"No, no, you misunderstand. Please," Shadow urged, "I need to know what further harm I've caused you."
"So you can have more regret to hang onto?" Her sharp snark surprised even herself, as her shoulders drooped. When Shadow lacked a reply, leaving his eyes to bore into her, she forced out a response. "Cold. You were cold, and I couldn't wake you. You had puked in your sleep— if you hadn't tilted your head, you would have suffocated before I could find you. For that, I'm grateful. If I had found you dead, I— I—"
"I'm sorry." Sorrow crackled through in his words. He had promised himself a thousand times he wouldn't— there wasn't much worth shedding tears for anymore— but his eyes welled up all the same. "My intention isn't to scare you, Rose, but if you can find it in your heart to go against your nature, for just this once, it would do you well to stay far, far away from me."
Immediately, she was shaking her head, nearing him with that same pitiful look that could cause him to burst into flames. "There's no way. You'll kill yourself."
"And would that be so bad?"
That knife cut her deep. She recoiled from the blow, clutching the invisible wound on her sternum. With two quick puffs of air, an onslaught was released from her chest. "You're supposed to live in her honor! You promised her you'd protect this planet!"
Unable to meet her scornful gaze, Shadow lamented, "What happens when I've served my purpose? We're in an era of peace— and I— I find myself more unwilling to be here, year after year."
"Served your purpose?" It was astounding to Shadow that this particular notion seemed to be the line to break her, as she stuttered and halted for half a minute. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, speaking with clarity, "Your purpose is here— with us." And then, as tiny as she could form the two syllables, she whispered, "With me."
"Don't say that if your only intent is to convince me to stay. To get my hopes up— you'd only be doing me a disservice."
"It's not like that." Now it was Rose's turn to tense up at the confession that was primed to burst, if she so allowed it. And seemingly, she did. "You never gave me a chance to say anything— after that kiss, I mean. One moment I was yelling at you… It was something stupid, wasn't it? I was feeling down on myself about Sonic, and you just— told me it was childish. That I was wasting my time. And I think, if I remember, I called you an asshole," she paused to chuckle into her fist. "And without even hesitating, you kissed me. And then you were gone. Since then, you've hardly looked at me, let alone revisit the subject."
Shadow grimaced. "I could only avoid you for so long." A statement couldn't be more true. Even if he refused to volunteer to be in a room alone with her again, she was at every get-together, mentioned consistently by Rouge, a mirage in his peripherals everywhere he went. She was around every corner and facet of his mind. It was this week in particular where they both knew they'd meet once again.
Amy pursed her lips. Despite the attempt to appear formidable, she still carried with her that angelic weight; her touch was as light as a feather when she lowered her hand onto his shoulder. "You should know better than to try."
"Forgive me for trying to spare you the trouble," he chuckled, his expression as stoic as he could force it to be.
All his stoicism melted, however, when the warmth of her palm pressed against his cheek, and with great tenderness his head was turned in such a way to where her eyes were inescapable. It had been an entire rotation around the sun since he had last breathed the same air as her. With every gentle puff of air grazing his skin, he sank deeper into her very presence, absolutely frozen and moldable to what she desired. So when she placed her lips against his, he didn't fight it at first.
If anything could breathe life into him, it was her. Her affection was a gift from a dream, something he desired abstractly, but it was always too distant, too unreachable. He had nothing to offer in return.
Parting from her returned him to his bitter reality. His head ached, and his vision swayed as the light pierced his corneas, and Shadow was faced with the truth that he could never earnestly turn away from.
"I can't allow you to make this mistake."
"Mistake?" she faltered, her voice soft.
"This will end with you hurt— no matter what."
"I'm only getting even. Don't you think that's fair?" With a smile, she stole another kiss from his bated breath. "You can't expect me to wait an entire year for my next chance."
It was Shadow's turn to be taken aback. "Next chance?"
"Two kisses in a row means it's a habit! This ritual of yours has to end, though. It's been nearly a decade now—"
"You want me to recover— I'll fail you— I'll relapse more times than you're prepared for. You'll get sick of me."
Strangely, Rose cracked a smile as he went on, spilling out his woes. Not a smile of mockery, no, it was sweet. Enduring. "And we'll put together the pieces again, every time. I don't care how long it takes." A moment of sheer silence passed, and then she giggled. Pressured by Shadow's raised brow, she continued. "You said that emotions don't just appear— and you were right, though I can't stand how you phrase it. It's not quick. It's not painless or clean. You made a mess of me… and you're all I've been able to think of this past year."
A saccharine confession; it was everything he had lucidly dreamed of, but something held him back from rejoicing. "You're not scared?"
"Terrified," she breathed out. "I was terrified that, when I found you, you'd never wake. And I realized that I couldn't spend another moment complacent in my own silence, risking the loss of you every day. I may wake one morning, and you could be gone, without ever knowing—" she sharply stopped, taking a deep breath, "knowing that I love you."
Shadow's full heart pounded beneath his ribs. Every atom in his body screamed to reciprocate, to declare himself to be hers for all eternity, but aware of the weight of those words, he asked, "And you're choosing not to allow that fear to govern you? Fear has its place in our lives— it keeps us safe—"
"I'm allowing it to guide me," she interrupted. "And I see no other course of action."
Taking all that information in, Shadow breathed a shivering sigh and drew his attention toward the uninteresting window. Speckles of dust floated in the heavy air. Outside of those four walls, all was calm. It was Shadow alone who wrestled with his inner turmoil, all beneath the prying eyes of Rose.
She smiled, placing her hand on the curve of her hip. "You're going to keep a girl waiting?"
"I wouldn't dare." The words were automatic, coming out with surprising ease. The next few came out with some struggle, like honey through a sieve, sweet and stubborn. "You know that I love you."
All at once, her expression lifted. She was aglow with joy— a light that Shadow had seen dim within himself many years ago. It was an honor to be a witness with his own eyes. It was a gift so precious to feel that light flicker to life within him once again.
Rose lifted her hand, jutting out her pinkie finger toward him. A childish gesture, but one she took very seriously. "We'll stick together, then."
Without hesitation, he curved his pinkie around hers. "Always."