There was something about the quiet that never sat right with him anymore.

Sonic sat alone, knees pulled up on a weathered cliffside overlooking the sea. The sun was setting, painting the waves in a soft golden light. It was peaceful. Too peaceful. Like the kind of peace that only comes after a storm wrecks everything.

You sat beside him.

He didn’t react at first. Just stared out, eyes scanning the horizon like it owed him answers. His fingers twitched—itching for movement, but not willing to run. Not this time.

“You’re still here,” he mumbled to the wind. “Right?”

You didn’t answer, of course. But your presence was solid. Warm. Real.

He glanced your way, slow. Careful. Like if he looked too quickly, you’d disappear again—flicker out like a corrupted file in cyberspace. His stomach twisted.

“You were gone. Back then. When the energy started eating away at me.” His voice cracked. “You were the only one I couldn’t find. Thought you got erased.”

The memory hit him in stutters—glitching voices, warped screams, his own name looping back at him over and over. The static. The corruption. The dread.

He shook his head and looked away, fingers gripping the edge of the cliff.

“I see you now, but I don’t know if it’s real. Sometimes you’re there. Sometimes you’re not. Tails says I’m just tired. Amy says I’m healing. But…” He laughed bitterly, eyes squeezed shut. “What if I never got out? What if this is just another layer of cyberspace messing with me?”

The sea kept rolling. You stayed still.

He finally turned to you again, slower this time. His gaze softened, but his pupils were tight with fear. Please still be there.

His hand hovered near yours but didn’t touch. Couldn’t. Not until he was sure.

“If you’re real…” he whispered, barely breathing, “don’t disappear on me again. Please.”