Magenta's stomach rumbled as she unlocked the door to her apartment. She didn't know why – she had just stuffed it with confectionary goods that Cream had prepared that evening. She stepped inside. The place was dark.
"Honey?" she called into the empty hallway. No answer.
Carefully, Magenta put down her keys on the sideboard and walked further into her home. There was a muffled humming noise coming from the living room. She guessed it was the TV. She slipped into the kitchen and prepared a pop tart. She ate it in silence, having faith that Manic was okay.
Once her appetite for pop tarts was satisfied, she went into the living room and found that an old rerun of The Dogsbournes was playing. Magenta watched half-heartedly as the Dogsbournes bantered at each other over dinner and how Doggy Dogsbourne, the father of the canine pack, was advising his son Jock about safe sex. After a minute or two, she turned the television off and retired to the bedroom. She held her breath slightly as she went in.
The door wasn't barricaded up – that was a good sign. The room looked like the wardrobe had projectile vomited over the carpet – not such a good sign. Curled up and faced away from his girlfriend in the middle of the double bed in the centre of the room, still fully clothed and slightly haggard-looking, was the bright green hedgehog himself.
Manic the Hedgehog. Living up to his name.
Magenta had a brief scan of the room for drugs and alcohol. No stench of pot – good. No needles – very good. No suspicious white powders on the dressing table – also very good. Quietly, she checked the soles of Manic's shoes that had been kicked off. The soles were still intact, which meant he wasn't carrying any suspicious substances inside them. This was relieving. The open bottle of aspirin and the empty beer bottles weren't. Magenta's stomach plummeted. She darted towards the aspirin. Thank God, it was almost full. Manic's breathing was even and deep. It was the mark of a peaceful sleep, in contrast to the chaotic scene.
Magenta prepared for bed in the en suite bathroom. By the stab of the citrus light in the small room, she had a surprisingly settled view. No sign of injury in there. Magenta had not felt comfortable about leaving Manic for the whole weekend. Something in his eyes had died – a spark that she knew so well had disappeared. The depression was returning. Ten months off the meds and the depression was coming back.
"Oh, Manic," Magenta sighed solemnly into the stale emptiness of the room.
She dressed in Manic's Shag Rifles t-shirt and carefully got into bed next to him. He smelled faintly of booze. As she nestled nearer to him, her side came into contact with something. She pulled out of the sheets a tape player. It made Magenta smile to think of Manic being so retro to still be using tape players. It was a Nine Inch Needles tape and the earphones were still in Manic's ears. Magenta curled up behind his sleeping form and, with a sorrowful current channelling down inside her chest, she forced herself to sleep.
Halfway through the night, Manic stirred. Magenta was aware of it immediately. She watched her most loved intently. Slowly, the green hedgehog turned in bed to face the vulnerable mink.
"Hey baby," he said quietly.
"Hey," Magenta whispered back. No point in asking if he was okay.
"Missed you," he sighed as they both sank into dreamless sleep once more.