Rouge the Bat leaned back against the marble counter of her expansive bathroom, her delicate fingers smoothing the last layer of moisturizer across her flawless skin. The faint scent of lavender and chamomile lingered in the air, her nightly ritual winding to a close. Her penthouse was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city below and the ambient jazz playing from her speakers.
A silk robe hung loosely over her shoulders, her wings tucked comfortably against her back. She admired her reflection in the mirror, tilting her head to ensure every inch of her face was perfectly pampered. Her lips curved into a satisfied smile.
"Flawless as ever," she murmured, reaching for her nail buffer. "Another night of beauty, another day of envy."
Rouge's nightly self-care routine was sacred. A ritual as important as any heist. No distractions. No interruptions. Just her, her luxury products, and the glow of the city lights spilling into her penthouse.
And then came the knock.
A loud, urgent pounding shattered the tranquility, reverberating through the apartment. Rouge jumped, nearly dropping the nail buffer. Her eyebrows furrowed in irritation as she turned toward the door.
"Seriously?" she muttered. "I have a doorbell for a reason."
She tightened the sash of her robe and padded toward the front door, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Her penthouse was secure—multiple locks, reinforced doors, and a state-of-the-art security system. Still, she hesitated, her instincts kicking in.
Another knock, louder this time.
"Hold your horses, I'm coming!" she called, irritation lacing her voice.
Rouge glanced at the intercom screen by the door, expecting to see a familiar face—or perhaps no one at all. But the screen was blank. Whoever was on the other side wasn't standing in front of the camera.
Her wings twitched uneasily as she reached for the door handle. Slowly, carefully, she unlocked the door and cracked it open just enough to peek through.
The sight that greeted her stole the breath from her lungs.
"Shadow?" she gasped.
The black hedgehog stood in the doorway, swaying slightly, his crimson eyes dull with exhaustion. His bandages were soaked through with blood, dark stains streaking his fur. His usually impeccable posture was gone, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them.
He said nothing, brushing past her without waiting for an invitation.
"Uh—excuse me?!" Rouge spun around, watching him limp into her penthouse. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Shadow didn't answer. He moved with unsettling purpose, his steps uneven but determined as he made his way toward her living room. Rouge's jaw dropped as he collapsed onto her pristine white sofa, blood smearing across the expensive fabric.
"Oh, absolutely not," she snapped, marching after him. "That sofa is Italian leather, you know. Do you have any idea how much—"
"I'll buy you a new one," Shadow interrupted, his voice flat, void of energy.
Rouge stopped in her tracks, her hands on her hips, her wings flaring slightly in frustration. She stared at him, taking in the full extent of his condition. His bandages were soaked, barely clinging to his wounds. Blood seeped through in multiple places, and his breathing was shallow, uneven.
"Aren't you supposed to be in the hospital for another week!?" she demanded, her irritation giving way to genuine concern.
Shadow leaned back against the sofa, closing his eyes briefly. "I'm staying here for a while," he said, as if that explained everything.
Rouge blinked, dumbfounded. "Oh, you're staying here, are you? Bleeding all over my furniture like some kind of stray dog? Shadow, what the hell is going on?"
He opened one eye, fixing her with a tired but sharp look. "I'll pay for the sofa."
Rouge threw up her hands. "I don't care about the damn sofa! You look half-dead, Shadow! Why did you leave?"
For a moment, he didn't respond. The silence stretched between them, heavy and tense. Rouge crossed her arms, glaring at him, but her concern only deepened as she noticed the way his hands trembled slightly, the way his chest hitched with every breath.
Finally, Shadow exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. "It's not important."
"Not important?" Rouge repeated, her voice rising. "You show up at my door in the middle of the night, looking like you've been through a meat grinder, and it's not important?"
Shadow's eyes flicked back to her, his expression hardening. "I handled it."
Rouge's wings twitched, her frustration bubbling over. "You 'handled it'? Shadow, you're bleeding out on my sofa. Whatever you 'handled' clearly didn't go as planned."
Shadow sat up slightly, wincing as he adjusted his position. "I said I'll buy you a new sofa. Let it go, Rouge."
"I'll let it go," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "when you tell me why you're here and not at the hospital."
Shadow's silence was answer enough.
Rouge sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. You don't want to talk about it? Whatever. But you're not staying here like this." She gestured toward him, exasperation clear in her voice. "You're going to bleed out before morning if you don't let me help you."
"I don't need help," he muttered.
"Clearly," she shot back, rolling her eyes.
Shadow shifted, trying to stand, but his legs gave out beneath him. Rouge darted forward instinctively, catching him before he could hit the floor.
"Damn it, Shadow," she muttered, her tone softer now. "You're as stubborn as ever."
Shadow grumbled something under his breath, but she ignored it, guiding him back onto the sofa with surprising care.
"Stay here," she ordered, her voice firm. "I'll get the first aid kit. And don't even think about bleeding on anything else while I'm gone."
As she disappeared into the bathroom to grab her supplies, Shadow leaned back against the cushions, his body heavy with exhaustion. His crimson eyes drifted toward the city lights outside the window, his mind racing despite the haze of pain and fatigue.
Rouge returned moments later, a first aid kit in one hand and a damp towel in the other. She knelt beside him, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern as she began peeling back the blood-soaked bandages.
"You're lucky I like you," she muttered as she worked. "Anyone else, and I'd have kicked them out by now."
Shadow didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the window.
For the first time since he'd arrived, Rouge's voice softened. "Whatever happened out there… you can tell me, you know."
He glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes.
"Not tonight," he murmured.
Rouge sighed but didn't press further. She worked in silence, the quiet hum of the city filling the space between them.
Whatever had brought Shadow to her door, she knew one thing for certain: it wasn't over.