COLIN

It's summertime, and it's my seventeenth birthday. Coincidentally, we also defeated Robotnik today. The Doomsday tower went up in a breathtaking explosion that could be seen for miles.

The mission required everybody: not only those of us in Knothole, but three other Freedom Fighter regiments as well. Since I'm a runner, I was elected for the main team; our job was to lead the SWATbots away from Sonic and Sally. Taylor was part of the diversion team, whose simple but very dangerous task was basically to get captured. The ideal scenario, of course, was that the mission would be successful and we'd simply spring the prisoners before they were roboticized, but it was still a pretty risky proposition. Thankfully, we didn't just make it out—we totally won. The euphoria is overwhelming. Robotnik is gone forever, and the remainder of his empire is in ruins.

Amidst the congratulatory uproar of our return, Taylor had asked me to meet him at our secret tree-house. I'm climbing up the ladder now. Just as I reach the top, he pokes his head out the door. We touch noses.

"Hey," he says, smiling wide. "Brought you dinner."

"Heh heh, I'll bet you did." I feel a little dumb, though, when I notice the lunch box with sandwiches. "…oh."

"Why, what did you think I—" He blushes suddenly, giggling. "Stop it! You're so dirty!"

"Hey, it's me."

"Here," he says, shoving a sandwich at me. "Bologna and cheddar with mustard. Sound familiar?"

"Cute touch," I say, taking a bite. I shared half of my bologna and cheddar sandwich with Taylor on the first day we met.

"Well gee, don't sound too excited. I was thinking about feeding you dessert."

"Now that's more like it."

"Rowr."

As I sit down and recline against the back wall of the tree-house, Taylor curls up warmly against my chest. He rests his cheek just above my collar bone, guiding my left arm around his waist. I'm still holding the sandwich in my right hand.

"So why'd you invite me up here? Special occasion?"

"It's your birthday, silly."

"Pfft." Munch.

"And besides that, I figured you'd want some quiet time. You must be tired."

"Mmm?" My mouth is full.

"The mission"

I swallow. "Oh yeah. You mean running around aimlessly so the SWATbots would chase after me? Hell, I'm up for another round."

I tickle him a little bit—just underneath his belly-button. He spanks my hand. "Stoppit."

"Aw."

I tighten my arm around his waist, and he wiggles a little closer into my chest. He likes it when I hold him like this.

"But what about you?" I said. "It's not like you were just sitting around on the sidelines."

"You're right—I was just a helpless prisoner waiting for you to rescue me. It was exhausting."

"Heh. I think my sarcasm is finally growing on you."

"That's not the only thing that's growing." He lazily pokes the warm bulge in my lap, giving me puppy eyes.

"Oh god, I've created a monster."

"Shuddup." He begins playing with my zipper.

"So I was thinking," I say quietly, relaxing myself, "that maybe later we could go to the lake. Watch the fireworks. Beautiful night."

"Mmm hmm," Taylor says, taking my penis into his mouth.

"Or maybe… uhnn… maybe we should stay in. Watch from here…?"

"Mmm," he agrees.

"Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Mmmm."

"I betcha would…"

"…mmm!"

"Huh…"

"Mphh."

"…whew…"

"Rrrmm, mmm…"

"Uh… uh… ahh! Almost there…"

"Mmhmm…"

"…ooo."

"…imm!" That last one is barely a squeak as I tighten my ass and blow my wad down his throat.

It takes a little while for our breathing to slow down. After a moment, when my erection softens, I can feel the comfortable warmth of his mouth slipping off of me, muscles contracting and tongue dragging behind. He rests his cheek on my stomach.

"Fireworks, huh?" he finally says.

"Yeah, pulling out all the stops. Rotor and Tails are in charge of it—everyone's pretty stoked. We should be there. Make an appearance, at least. We don't have to stay."

"Who's gonna be there?"

"Like, um, the whole village."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We should totally go."

"Only if you carry me."

"Fuck you, carry yourself."

"Bitch."

I yawn sleepily, letting my eyelids rest for a bit. "But seriously, Taylor," I say, trying to be as gentle as possible, "you really should get out more."

"Yeah," he says, sounding a little sad. "I know."

"I mean, y'know, I'm not saying it's bad to have your privacy and all that. You're always gonna be you…"

"Right."

"…but there's some really nice people around here, if you'd give 'em a chance…"

"Yeah, okay." The way he says that is conclusive; it's obvious he doesn't want to talk about it.

Awkward silence. "Um… well, hey, Sonic and Sally are giving a speech. Can't miss that."

"Whoopie."

I usually get a chubby when I mention the name "Sonic." This time my penis just twitches. I hope Taylor doesn't notice.

"There might also be alcohol," I say, nudging him.

He sits up immediately. "Alright, let's go."

I laugh. "Serious?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'm only going because you want to."

"Okay, fair enough."

"But before we go, there was something else I…" He trails off, looking down a little sheepishly. He shakes his head. "Nevermind. Forget it."

"What?"

"Forget it. Let's go."

"Oh no. No no no. You know I hate it when you do that."

"Seriously, it's nothing!"

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"You're making this a bigger deal than it really is…"

"I'm not leaving," I say, sitting back down, "until you tell me what it is."

Taylor sighs, frustrated. "Fine. It's in the loft."

"What is?"

"Just follow me, dumbass."

I do. When we climb upstairs, it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust to the light. I suddenly blink.

"This is… did you…?"

He smiles, blushing.

"You did this…?"

It's a mural—an elaborate landscape depicting the Great Forest beneath a canopy of stars. The dusty pastel colors appear to be chalk of some kind, but what really grabs my attention is how bright it is. It's glowing in the dark.

"Rotor let me borrow the stuff. 'Phosphorous chalk,' he calls it—says he alters the chemical components so it can absorb light and retain it. He only had like five different colors, so I did the best I could."

"The waterfall," I mention excitedly, pointing to it."

"And the lake, too—see?"

"Oh hey, there we are, skipping rocks. And there's the tree-house!"

"Proportions are wrong," he says, sounding annoyed with himself.

"Oh, what the hell. We'll say it's Impressionism."

I expect a laugh, but he shrugs instead. "Anyway, I was hoping you'd come up here and notice it on your own, but… well, y'know. I was getting impatient. And since it's chalk, it obviously won't last forever."

The emotion of it overwhelms me unexpectedly. Taylor senses it and gives me a tight hug.

"…You did this for me," I say, feeling tears.

"Happy birthday, Colin."

I love you, I think immediately. I love you, Taylor, I love you so goddamn much…

But why can't either of us say it?

ALEXIS

As I wake up, the first thing I notice is the throbbing pain in my left forearm and wrist. I check for protrusions, but there aren't any. Probably just a hairline or greenstick fracture, maybe even a bad sprain. Impossible to tell without an X-ray, though.

Sitting up, I realize my head hurts, too—especially between my eyes. Maybe my nose is broken. I instinctively expect to see my reflection in front of me, but I suddenly realize I'm staring at a bunch of wooden planks. To tell you the truth, I'm relieved; if I never see another mirror again, it'll be too soon.

In spite of my injuries, I find it astonishing that I'm not in worse shape. The fall down the stairs should have killed me—or snapped a few of my limbs, at the very least. Naturally, I don't believe in angels or higher beings of any kind, but that was the closest facsimile of a miracle I've ever experienced.

I'm in a tree-house somewhere in the Great Forest. That dingo must have taken me here when I was unconscious. Maybe he used to live here. Odd, though, because it appears that we're somewhere outside of Knothole. Maybe this is a lookout post or something. Or a hideout. Whatever.

I find the dingo sitting by himself in an upper portion of the tree-house. He's staring at the wall, where a chalk drawing has faded with age. I can tell he's been crying.

"You're awake," he observes quietly. "I was worried that you were paralyzed."

"I should be, after a fall like that. I might have broken my wrist, but I'm fine otherwise."

He nods, looking down.

"Thank you," I say, shifting my weight awkwardly. "If you hadn't found me, I—"

"Too many people have died," he says, his voice nearly a whisper. "I couldn't just leave you."

I deflate a little, remembering. "You know, it's almost funny. For a moment, I wasn't sure I wanted to live. I'm not even sure I deserve it."

"I don't think any of us do," he says, looking away. "But maybe we survived for a reason.

"Maybe."

Silently, the dingo climbs down from the loft and heads for the door.

"I noticed a small group of survivors gathering around Knothole. You can meet up with them if you'd like."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't wait for me," he says. And then he's gone.