It hurt. Knowing she was a kid to him, knowing she was just another face in the sea of the people who loved him, who he cared about. Maybe she should have been satisfied with that, being important to him- but she'd never be special. She'd never be Sally. She could only imagine what she looked like to other people.

Sonic's fangirl, Sonic's starry-eyed friend, that poor little hopeless romantic...

And she wondered if they'd think she was a little girl, still, the way she laid in bed with the curtains drawn together. She wondered if they'd think she was a kid if they knew she'd been packing boxes the last three weeks, squirreling away the smallest objects (tarot cards, bathroom supplies, cooking utensils) to biggest (breaking down the stools, the bed frame, the photos of him and her that fit in one hand but felt the heaviest). She was, she decided, the little girl they all thought she was, running away. But what did that say about Sonic, then?

She said not a word to Cream, to Tails, to Knuckles, to Sally. She hadn't said a word to Sonic.

(Her stomach twisted and her eyes burned at the thought of telling him. He'd give her sad eyes that said "I'm sorry to see you go, any way I can convince you not to?" and that would hurt worse, because she'd want to see slight panic, nervous laughter and desperate rabbit holes in conversation about how much she'd miss when she left. But he wouldn't want her to stay, not that bad at least.)

Her plan was to be here one day, and gone the next; she'd say goodbye, but nobody would know until it was too late to put the brakes on.

She sat curled in her living room on the pink, pink rug, and glanced over the round, empty room- squares on bare walls where picture frames hung; the heaviest ones, she'd fought against seeking assistance, tumbled and tripped and fought her way up and down a ladder with her hands full. She was not helpless. She was not unable. Maybe she wasn't running away, maybe the most adult thing to do was to know when to fold, find another hand and hope for the best. She didn't need to lead armies, she needed to focus on new places, new things, new people. How could she grow in a pot with a ceiling? She could only get as big as the soil she planted herself in.

Her house seemed so small, now, and she thought she wanted to feel the air on her face; open walls, open windows.

There was a knock at the door, and she stood, hands once, twice, wiping down the wrinkles in herself.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" The inspector, maybe? Dropping by to give her an estimate? Three to four hours, he'd said, and she'd been waiting, drawing patterns on the carpet floor, bored now that she'd stuffed away her TV and her tarot deck.

"Yo! Amy!" Oh. She froze, hand at the knob, nails digging into metal. Sonic smiled at her as the door parted just a crack, wide smile, raised hand to wave, "Haven't seen you around in a while! How ya been?"

She swallowed, she smiled, "I've been good, Sonikku! Just busy!" She hoped he couldn't see her empty living room over her shoulder. She nestled herself closer between the door and the frame.

"May I come in?"

"Ah-! Wait-!"

But it was too late. Sonic was gently nudging her aside, eyes set on her empty, stuff-less house. Well, so much for the brakes, she was about to hit the gas. He whistled, low, "You moving soon?"

My first Sonic fanfic in years! Actually, what's probably a literal decade. If you're interested in this story, please check out my tumblr, iamwhelmed, to see when I post new updates, faster than here or AO3! I'm friendly, so don't be afraid to send an ask! There's already a second chapter up, so go check it out!