"Shadow?" Boots on the stairs, ascending. "My love, are you decent?" An unnecessary knock on his door, indicating that Rouge is nervous, because she rarely knocks. She's rarely nervous. Strangely, she's been nervously knocking these past few months. She says it's because she's getting old and uncertain of herself, but she's not yet old. She is getting uncertain, though. And increasingly nervous.
"I suppose."
"Shadow," the bat reiterates breathily, tossing open the door and entering his bedroom with a melodramatic flourish, advancing on him. "How do I look?"
"You're beautiful." He means it, because as far as mortal women go, she is spectacular.
She turns about. "Not too beautiful?"
He smirks fondly at that. "Not quite, though do be careful."
"Good, good."
"You're a treasure hunter. This is just another hunt."
"What charmingly sappy bullshit!"
A glance at the digital clock. "You're going to be late."
"Right! One more thing. Babe, listen, I've misplaced my glasses, again, and if I can't read the damn menu, again..."
"They're on the coffee table."
"See? This is why I need you."
"Quite." The hedgehog quietly sighs, but the sound is stifled once his jaw is expertly cradled in her capable hand, a gentle tilt upward drawing his eyes from the comforting normalcy of his book, as he had tried to lose himself in the words. "Rouge," he murmurs, ever astounded by his patient domesticity, "you'll be fine."
She nods silently, eventually letting him go. She isn't used to feeling this way. This out of control of a social occasion. This dreadful.
He demurely returns to his book, enjoying the sunlight that filters in from his bedside window.
"I'll get dinner on my way back, okay?"
"Thank you. Have fun."
"Hopefully!" She marches for the door, pulling it shut in her wake, heels clicking expensively, somehow, as she proceeds down the passageway. "See you in a bit, honey!" she shouts once downstairs.
"See you," he calls back.
She lets herself out, partaking in a bigger world, leaving him to the peace of poetry and a house that feels submerged.
And he is so tired.
Roused from an obscure dream, Shadow mewls in a way he would find normally find mortifying. There is the weight of his book spread over his chest. His arms are stiff, having been flung about his bent quills. He opens his eyes to behold Rouge's loving amusement, his head filled with her comfortingly familiar perfume.
"Sorry," she murmurs, leaning against the wall, hands in the pockets of her jeans. "Didn't mean to disturb you, hon." She didn't bother to knock. Simply opened the door, found him, and settled, staring.
"When'd you get home?"
"Just now. Go back to sleep. We'll chat later."
"It's fine." He slowly eases himself upright, burying his yawn behind a fist. "Tell me." He recovers quickly. "How'd it go?"
"It was passable."
"Passable?"
"Nice enough girl, but I won't be seeing her again."
"You say that every time."
"That's 'cause I mean it whenever I say it."
"What did she do wrong?"
"How do you know it was her? Could've been me."
"I know you. I don't know her."
"Ah."
"Well?"
"Well. She was intimidated by me."
"I see."
"Women usually are, though. I find it hard to make female friends, let alone girlfriends. Anything more than a casual romp and I end up rubbing them the wrong way. Heh."
"Perhaps she wasn't sure how to handle someone like you."
"Too beautiful?"
"Maybe. "
Fleeting aquamarine delves into crimson eternity. "Sex is so simple, honey."
"I wouldn't know."
"I do. I'm a simple creature. You aren't. Seduction's a breeze. Romance, though? Courtship? I think, if you gave it a chance, you'd be a wonderful companion."
"Aren't I, already?"
"You know what I mean, handsome."
Shadow shuffles over, making room for Rouge to join him on his bed.
"Come, now. I'm being serious."
"As am I."
Smirking, she pushes off of the wall, barefoot and without her fashionable jacket or handbag, having stripped herself of accessories on her way to his room. She's carelessly left belongings scattered about the house, again. She'll find them, eventually, or he'll find them for her.
He feels the mattress shift under her weight as she joins him on his bed. He grunts beneath the peck of gratitude deposited a little sloppily over his cheek.
"Hey, at least I've got you, eh?" She says this so often, nowadays, it's a joke that's starting to sound prophetic.
"At least, yes."
She sprawls on her back alongside him, one ankle crossing over the other, folding her arms beneath her head.
After setting his book aside, he reclines again, rolling over to face her, draping an arm across her middle.
"Dinner's downstairs."
He studies her profile. Up close, he can see how there are silver hairs emerging amidst the white, particularly about her ear. "Thank you." Perhaps he's wrong. Maybe she's older than he thought.
"You're welcome, hon. What's a few inches more to my waistline? Not like anybody else appreciates it. That's a lie."
"You look tired."
"Yeah. I think you had the right idea, before. I could go for a nap, too." She turns her head to rest against his, nuzzling him briefly. "Rejection sure is exhausting."
He closes his eyes. Lapses. A wave on a shore. Unearthing seashells and stirring bleached bones.
She says something, illegible, then she is silent, submerged.
Without provocation, he kisses her, thoughtlessly. She seems suddenly unknown. Different. But she shouldn't have changed.
She takes several moments to respond, as if tentatively returning the gesture. A caress of her fuller lips that should feel gentle, but there's nothing. All he feels are her breaths, hot and calm, passing from her nostrils as he observes their engagement.
He whines, growing tense, as if afraid, but there's no reasonable monster.
"Honey?"
He is shaken. His eyes flutter open, finding hers, staring, her hand on his arm.
"You drifted off, again," she says, when she feels she needs to explain.
His lips are a little dry. "Why'd you wake me?" he asks, as if he needs to know.
"Oh, uh." She frowns. This question is strange. Suddenly, this whole situation, which had been so akin to normal, is strange. "I thought you were having a bad dream."
He can't remember.