Christmas stockings were worn, his feet adorned with mistletoe and holly. The snow fell steadily outside, Shadow working on clearing the road to their home. So strong, Sonic thought, as he was becoming sore, his arms red with strain, his eyes decorated with the silhouettes of the pain they went through to become together. To wake up every morning, to see their backs next to each other, their eyes sparkling in the moonlight, his fur rippling with glass, the blue hedgehog thought they were here to stay, with no one able to say anything else to their arrangement.
His father left him. But his heart was still cold towards him, as cold as the clouds that shrouded the sun.
The frying pan hissed! Pancakes glued to the griddle, frying, becoming real, more tangible for their gullets! He whispered secrets into it. He whispered even the government falling, of why soon they would die by their own hands. But Shadow would never hear it. Because ears were deaf and eyes were blind to anything we didn't want to see and hear.
His lips have felt too strenuous, kissing him all over. They needed to relax.
His stockinged feet were warm as he walked in the house, lying in bed, his eyes too enlightened by the light. The world was too euphoric for him to swallow it all.
Snow kept falling, whispers kept telling secrets, his feet felt vulnerable, by monsters sinking down further in his bed…
Eyes were awake, staring at the pastel paint, flaking off in the ceiling. Paint chips in their coffee. In a house with no heat.
The pan had ceased hissing. He turned it off, had lied in the bed, his breathing slow, deep, REM-filled.
Felt the ghostly hands reaching out, grabbing a hold of his stockings, and Sonic had awakened with a fit of laughter, kicking and bouncing in the bed, seeing the attacker of his swift fingers was Shadow, continuing to tickle him, tickling his chest, scratching his ears, as the snow fell slowly, heaven's angel feathers dropping further into the earth…
"Stop!" he cried. "Stop it now! Stop!" His laughter was harmonious, sounding like jingle bells in the freezing, frosting air. Shadow had held him close, kept him warm in his marks that held the fires of passion inside him, and they lied awake, listening to the fireplace kindling their old memories, their pain frozen, then defrosted, melting away, their lithium crystals that kept their voices quiet.
"Are we doing anything this year?" Shadow asked.
"I don't know." He listened to the sounds of the cars passing by, that were close to sounding like the ocean waves in a beach. Sometimes he wished to be back on the beach, with the warm, sultry air.
"You wanted to see Miles, right? He's living back at Station Square. The guy is working as a technician. Can't you believe that? All that tinkering with tools got him somewhere."
His passion had got him nearly nowhere, as the tide ebbed in and out, the snowy beach locked up with frozen memories.
"I'll try harder next time, Shadow."
"Hm?"
"I said I'd try harder. For you."
"You don't have to do anything." Rustling in his bed, he smelled the smell of burnt breakfast, and was getting up, Sonic holding onto his arm, never wanting to let go.
"Stay here, for a little while longer."
"But breakfast…"
"Stay."
He stayed.
And they wrapped each other in blankets and stocking socks, wishing and whispering away the entire winter.