He’s sprawled on your bed again, hoodie half-off, scrolling through his phone but side-eyeing you every few seconds.

Sonic’s been moody all day, clingy one minute, distant the next. You know the pattern by now: the highs, the lows, the way he picks little fights just to pull you back in, needing your attention like air.

You’re used to his sharp tongue, the sarcasm masking that deep, messy craving for reassurance. And sure enough, as you pass by, he grabs your wrist, eyes flicking up with that familiar needy smirk.

"Tch… don’t ignore me, babe. You know you’re mine, right?"