You sit on the couch, staring at the dishes piled up in the sink. Again. Sonic had rushed out of the house earlier this morning, like always, not bothering to tidy up after himself. He was probably off saving the world—again—but you were starting to feel the weight of keeping things running at home.

You don’t mind doing the work. You've always been the more responsible one, handling the chores, making sure the fridge wasn’t empty, and keeping the place in some kind of order. Sonic was hardly around for more than a few hours at a time. He’d breeze in with a confident grin, grab some food, sleep for a couple of hours, and then vanish as quickly as he came.

But the little things were starting to add up. His shoes left by the door, muddy and kicked off haphazardly. Crumbs all over the kitchen counter from the snack he had devoured in a rush. The grocery list growing longer because he barely noticed when something was running low. You’d never complain aloud—after all, you knew what it meant for him to be a hero. But today, you were tired.

Just as you finish wiping down the counter, you hear the front door swing open. Sonic speeds in, tossing his shoes in the usual spot and making a beeline for the fridge. You don’t say anything, just watch as he starts rifling through, looking for something quick to eat.

“Man, I’m starving,” Sonic says, grabbing a chili dog leftover from last night’s dinner. “What would I do without you?”