"There are no beautiful surfaces without terrible depth." - Friedrich Nietzsche
Sparks fly from the blowtorch as he welds and no other sound can be heard in the workshop. On the workbench is a digital clock whose display mimics that of an analog one. Its digital hands being two tails and they show that it is 2:45 PM. A spark flies onto the white fur of his face and burns itself off on him, no damage to the fur and no reaction of pain occurs. Eventually, the stream of fire comes to a halt and he leans back.
"This will definitely turn one of your factories into smithereens."
The words are completely calm despite their subject matter, said in much the same way one would talk about their breakfast if it was cereal. He holds the blowtorch against a magnetic holster on the wall in front of him and, once it attaches, he begins flipping through his notes.
"Another transistor for Nicole, a tune up for Aunt Bunnie, me and Ant' gotta refit the armoury..."
There is more, but he doesn't continue reading, he gets the gist.
Busy, busy, busy
He smiles with his face, but not his eyes, at this fact; keeping himself occupied is essential. He knows why, but he won't think about it.
I don't want to
He doesn't want to think about a lot of things; above all else, his past and his future.
"In the moment" is the only place I want to be
Gloved fingers tap on the digital screen of a tablet as he runs simulations regarding what he's just finished welding.
"Incendiary accelerant longevity: Six hours. Detonator range: Six miles. Shell fragmentation efficiency: 87%; intentional efficacy reduction partially successful."
Although his voice recites the info with a strange deadpan delivery and an undeniably lifeless enunciation, he is still smiling, though his eyes still remain relaxed and unexpressive.
No eyes on me
He likes being in here, being alone; not all the time, but more than enough to be significant. His ability to be as he is right now, to speak the way he just spoke, lacking all the animation and innocence and cheeriness he usually displays. It's not that he isn't happy when he's with them.
It's not all a lie
But much of it is an act, though more exaggeration than fabrication regarding his happiness and other positive aspects. And every act carries a toll, though he has no issue maintaining it; instead, his guilt at doing so is what eats at him. But his strength remains, thanks in no small part to the lengthy periods of alone time he has. The intense positivity displayed in public life is counterbalanced by the intense apathy possessed in isolation.
Being alone isn't fun, it isn't great, but it is liberating
He knows why. And though he is certain to make sure he never has to explain it to anyone, he has an explanation nonetheless.
It's not you, never
The answer to why being alone is liberating to him is the same one as what he views as the crux of most every issue that exists in his life.
It's me, always
He wouldn't ever want any one of them to think they've failed him, that they weren't paying attention, that they were neglectful, that they weren't listening, that they weren't there to help him. They always are. But there's a bitter truth that puts a spotlight on the nature of his relationship with everyone; whether they are attentive or not doesn't matter.
You'd never see any of it; because you can't, because I won't let you, because I don't want you to
He knows what they'd all say if they knew that he was hiding things, knew how he felt about himself.
You'd badger me day in and day out about how I need to talk with you all, get help, to trust you all like you trust me
He knows in his heart that they'd be wrong to say that, and he somewhat knows why, but there is something more to it that he can't quite seem to figure out.
Don't think about it; thinking only leads to problems, it never fixes them, at least not in the way you ever want it to...
Fingers cease tapping on the tablet screen as he sets it down and he reaches for a screwdriver in order to begin working on something else.
Always working on something else
He emits a small chuckle at that.
Always asking me to take it easy, to take a break
He subconsciously shakes his head.
And I always say "Sure", but then I don't
He thinks about how many days in all the years that he's been with this family that have gone by without seeing another person for a whole day.
It's not because I don't love you all, but because I do
His smile faded some time ago, but he's only now noticing it.
I love you all, with all m-
His thoughts are brought to a halt by the sound of the door opening and the entrance of a vibrant and exuberant hedgehog, bursting with energy, into his workshop from behind him. He ceases working on the device and swivels his chair around.
"Oh, hey Sonic."