The night was silent, the groves by their house moving gently as the cold wind brushed against it. He was wearing a thick overcoat, tan brown, leather, long, his feet silent as he watched the hours go by, the 5 am to the 6 to the 7.
His heart had beat against him for so long. He had laid across from his body, wishing to kiss him gently on the cheeks, on the lips, but as he gingerly held his hand, listening to the flow of his blood, he wanted more than that. His love was unrequited. They had lived together for so long, but they couldn't show any affection.
Was something wrong with him?
Is something wrong with me?
The questions were asked many times in his head. They often thumbed and made crevices in his brain. He watched the morning glow a pastel blue, a pastel pink, outside the window, and he slept in the chair, softly turning his head, his overcoat warming him through the cold house.
Shadow, I wanted more from you…
He woke up, turning the sheets away from him, the snow falling like feathers to the earth. He could hear the sound of the heater turning on, yet he still felt cold, wondering what Sonic had done with his long thick overcoat he hid himself in when he didn't want to talk to anyone.
He felt alone, as the sun peeked overhead, the raw pink bleeding into the silky blue.
Shadow, what of it…
He imagined their last conversation in his head, the way they argued with each other, their spit flying, their mouths so large they were gaping holes against the universe. They were lost, friends who had no benefits other than to gaze at old wounds and imagine what it was like to be forgotten, their holes torn and seeping.
He saw Sonic, his hands tucked in the sleeves of the overcoat, his lids shut, his mouth drooling, as the snow piled on the house, as the Christmas lights continued to shine so brightly against their eyes, another Christmas coming and going, his love unrequited.
Unquieted, his hands reached out to his palms, soothingly, his heart beating against him. He was wont to do this for so long, but he couldn't. He felt too ill, too sickened and cold from the winter.
Shadow, what are you doing…
His lips were pressed against his, their hearts touching, becoming one. Sonic stirred somewhat from his sleep, but remained in his dreams, silent, dreaming of a white Christmas where they could give each other such nice presents and a nice steaming mug of hot cocoa, and Shadow let him dream of those things, and thought he would dream of peppermint snow and lithium white snowmen and sugary sweet cookies that melted in their mouths…
He watched the mistletoe dangle in the ceiling above them, Sonic smiling widely as he left the room, his feet not making a single noise as he slept back, wind whistling from his ears, the winter seeming so inviting to his eyes…