He never thought he'd see her again.
And yet, there she stood, looking just as beautiful and imposing as ever. She was like a windstorm, bursting into his life without warning and composing him into fairy tales that the both of them knew wouldn't happen. That windstorm stood before him in a yellow sundress and white cardigan, the wholesome winsomeness of her triggering foggy memories of summers before. He couldn't be thinking like that - he shouldn't be, he wouldn't be had it not been for her suddenly appearing in his life again, standing before him in check out line of Fall-Mart
Of all the places to see her, he thought to himself. There he was with a basket full of diapers and bread, his sneaker's buckles un-straightened and fur uncombed and she was looking just as much like a spring pixie as ever. The juxtaposition of the two of them was stunning.
The man was about to wonder if she recognized him, too. As she was gathering her purse off the side of the counter she caught glance of his ungloved hand. Her gaze trailed up his arm, to his shoulder and then his face. She held her gaze for a long moment, the expression in her eyes almost unreadable; there was a subtle suggestion of wistfulness lurking around her greens. The strap of her mauve purse slid up the curve of her elbow onto her shoulder as her fingers rested on the pouch. He took notice of her gentle, nervous finger movements; was she worried? She didn't appear to be holding back any tears, though at the same time she wasn't exactly beaming at him.
"Hey, Sonic," she murmured. The maturity in her voice was evident, certainly different than the last time she'd seen him. Her eyes flickered to his basket and then lingered there.
She took a step back and then turned; he was suddenly acquainted with the back of her head. A case of deja vu smacked him in the face and in that moment he wanted to run after her and catch up. The force of the tether between the two of them tightened after being recoiled; he was reminded of the contents of his basket when the cashier said "seven fifty, please".
Diapers. Diapers.
Briskly, he shoved a ten at the teenage boy. "Keep the change," he mused quickly before gathering the armful and rushing out the doors, hopeful to still catch up with the rosy rascal. There was so much he could say, so much he craved to know about their time apart. His signature sneakers skidded across the unmopped, baby-blue tiled floor and suddenly he was outside and chin to chin with his first flame.
She gasped and took a quick, precautionary step away, cheeks bright. "I figured we could catch up out here easier than in line," she explained, though he was happier to see her than she probably expected. And here I was thinking she couldn't get any prettier, he internally snorted. Boy, was he wrong. He got the shaking need to bury himself into her skin like he had so constantly denied himself in his past. He wanted to feel her, to love her.. and then of course he felt bad about having such an urge after.
"Uh.. yeah," he responded, the bag brushing against his knees. It drew Amy's attention. "How've you been, Rosy?"
The pink rascal peered at him crossly; maybe calling her by her childhood pet name was a bad way to get on her good side. Their departure hadn't exactly subtle for either of them. As much as she may have disliked it, they both knew that it was for the best. At 20, Amy was certainly more mature and womanlike than she had been three years prior. He found himself stealing numerous glances at the girl, as if trying to convince himself that this was really the girl he thought she was. It had been so long and he'd never expected her to be in his life again.
He could tell by the way she looked at him that she'd be so easy to fall into. She was an ambitious trap of allure and passion, of sheer emotion and that was something he'd always been afraid of, something he always avoided. Without her his life was lukewarm; safe, without dangerous feelings getting too far in the way of anything. Nobody struck icy fear in his heart quite like she did. He may have been the blue wind, but she blew him away.
She let out a small breath, collecting her thoughts. Her plush, strawberry-flavored lips pressed together before she parted them again to grace him with an answer. "I'm taking college courses on nursing. I'm interning at Station Square medical for a while," she said quietly, shivering just a bit. He took notice and instinctively moved a step closer to her. "What about you? How are things with Sally?"
The sharpness of the intake of her breath informed him that this was hard on her - Amy, bless her soul, wanted to be strong for him. She wanted to be supportive, even if it meant swallowing her own feelings for him whole. He knew she would've given anything to be in his wife's spot. It was Amy's dream to be his little wife, something she cherished and held close.
He found it was hard to answer her question. It was a fatal mistake to look her in the eyes; traces of heartbrokenness, nostalgia, hope, worry.. it was hard to be the one to break it to her. Telling her of his mundane life married to a woman he didn't care about would have been what she probably wanted to hear. Lying to her would be so easy. Telling her what she so desperately wanted to hear would have been so much easier than breaking her heart all over again. Flashbacks of him at the altar, of her teary face as she smiled for him saccharinely... he could make up a story and take her back to a hotel...
No, she deserved the truth. She was too good for a lie. She deserved more than one measly night of cheap passion with a man she couldn't have to herself. Finally, he found it in him to respond. "She's fine. We had-" she cut him off.
"A baby, I know," she managed a bittersweet smile.
Any other words that he might have been able to will himself to say caught in his throat. His jugular was promptly clogged with indecision and questions, backing up and forcing him to swallow painfully.
Her expression was mysterious, clouded with mixed sentiment. "I read it in the paper. Ally Rae's a pretty name," she clarified. It was with a subtle tilting down of her face shyly that she continued on. "I bet she's pretty. Does she have your eyes?" she asked quite rawly.
His hands clenched around the fluttering plastic bag. The sound of it crinkling in the wind was distracting enough to bring his attention to it's contents. The pack of diapers drew both of their attentions; he found feel her eyes on him. Amy deserved an answer more than anyone else in the world. Why did she want to know, though?
The soft summer breeze fluttered against her soft pink knees. She looked to her left and rested on the cold brick of the superstore. Standing on the sidewalk with him brought back too many memories of their last summer together, of buying bubblegum and then swapping it between them. He'd been so indulgent with her that summer, something that he'd never dared to do before. They had been inseparable and shared everything - a nervous first time was no exception. She crossed her legs instinctually as the memory came back to her suddenly. He'd been so gentle and the experience was something out of an erotic, sensual fairy tale. She was first conquest.
More than anything, though, she remembered their promises. How silly they had been, swearing with their pinkies that they'd be together forever. How silly she had been, believing him when he told her that she was special and that he loved her, because in the September of that year he married Sally Acorn.
"She's beautiful, Rosy," he breathed.
His words drew him out of her suddenly lust-drawn nostalgia. The sincerity in his voice was both electrifying and heartwarming. If anything, she grew a certain fondness for him for speaking of his daughter in such a way, especially since in his past the idea of a baby sent him running. He'd grown so much since he married Sally; maybe she really was the best thing for him. Naturally, a flame of jealousy twinge at her heart but she fanned it as quickly as it ignited.
Amy stood up straighter and hugged her arms to her chest. "I'd love to meet her."
"Are you seeing anyone?" he burst.
It just sort of slipped out. Her expression morphed from shocked to understanding. Maybe he didn't love her, but there was still something there - some sort of insecurity that she'd always smothered in him. She was his rock, he often told her in that summer of their intimacy. With her he was always edgy with fear of what she sparked in him but he was also confident. She stroked his ego. There was something about Amy Rose that he couldn't find anywhere else.
To his relief (somehow), she shook her head. "No. I've.. slept with a few guys, but nothing serious," she admitted carefully, hesitant of his expression. He had no right to say anything. He was married. He had a kid. They hadn't been together in three years.
She fidgeted and looked across the street. Under the lowlight of the street lamp she was gorgeous, finally an adult and had she been older all those years ago he could have had her, but she was too young, too naive, too innocent. She was too pure of heart and love, and he had been tainted by indecision between her and his wife. It wasn't that he didn't love his wife, he did - Sally was a wonderful mother and a powerful wife, not like all those dainty ones the television portrayed - he just loved Amy too. As she gave him one last meaningful look he knew she was parting from him.
"Ames, wait - I've got a pen, let me give you my number," he said suddenly, pen in and and grabbing at her soft hand. She was warm under his touch, and his unsteady penmanship on the back of her paw-like appendage drew new heat to her face. She prayed her hardest that Sonic didn't look up and see the brilliant blush exploding off of her face; he could probably develop a sunburn from it. His face was so close that the dampness of his nose was almost pressing against her eyelid. He was taller than she remembered. Or maybe she just hadn't grown at all?
He clicked the top of his pen and slid it back into his shoe. Betraying his better thoughts, he looked at her. Her face was so accommodating, her lips welcoming. She was closer to him than he realized and the tempting thought that kissing her was just inches away was plaguing his mind. He literally shuddered at the thought of running his hands all over her. It'd been so long, and he really didn't expect such feelings to be fresh. She was just a summer fling..
Amy backed away from him quickly, lips buzzing with the thought of him actually kissing her. He was weak, she could see it in his eyes - he was reminiscing what they had. Of course it'd be a lie if she had said she didn't want it too. Her breasts were tingling at the thought of what he could do to her; but one of them had to be in adult in the situation and take in reality. Sonic was a married man. Sonic had a baby girl. Sonic was off the market. Wanting him, emotionally and sexually, was morally wrong. If he wasn't willing to move on then she should. It was ironic that the very girl who had chased him down for so many years was the one running away scared. Sonic wanted her. Wasn't that what she always wanted?
"I'm sorry," she mewled quickly. "Goodnight, Sonic. Send Sally my love," she turned and broke into a quick walk. And just like that September, just like when she was rushing out of the chapel in tears, Sonic was watching the girl who vowed to always love him run away.