Preview: Cloud Development Timelapse
(And yes this fic's theming and naming-conventions are also all named after Hello Meteor albums and songs, too.)
Steam surrounds him, but the scent of burning embers persists. Sonic pays it little mind as he simply slathers his quills with the conditioner Cream typically keeps stocked out for him. The heavy aroma of lavender helps dampen the lingering stench, and all but eliminate it after rinsing off five minutes after.
The nozzle creaks loudly as he twists it to the left, shutting off the flow. The last time Tails had done his routine maintenance on his house, he'd somehow gotten the hot and cold controls mixed up. It had taken months for Sonic to adjust to the change, and not get a blast of icy water in his face for his trouble.
Instead of silence, the rhythms of rain fill the absence of the overhead nozzle, steady as the night sky that hangs above them at night. The clouds must have gathered sometime in the night, long after they'd all gone to bed but before dawn had broken.
Beyond the glass of the shower nook, the gray of a stormy morning rolls through the foggy window beside the sink. The gloom is accented by a rumble of distant thunder. He steps out of the shower, the moss mat at the foot of the shower nook cushioning the pads of his paws, and snatching up a single blue towel from the nearby rack.
As the hedgehog runs it through the ends of his quills, working his way towards his ears until water stops dripping from his fur, the house begins to stir. He hears Cream's croning voice, humming a happy tune, rising first to prepare breakfast. It’s followed by the eager pattering of her granddaughter's feet as she follows her down the stairs to the kitchen.
Sonic's birthday had been the day prior. They'd done their usual picnic, cake, chili dog barbecue and campfire, surrounded by his friends and their families and now... grandchildren, dangling at his knees and begging him for a story. He'd been confined to his camp chair most of the evening as a result. This time around, the wind had seemingly taken quite a bit of pleasure blowing the smoke directly in his face, no matter where he moved around the fire pit.
He turns to the right, facing the mirror with the intent to straighten out his quills, and comes to a slow stop. A blurry blue figure is reflected in its surface, smeared and unrecognizable, by the condensation that has settled there.
His hand moves of its own accord, wiping across the foggy glass in three quick swipes. Sonic slowly lifts his hand away, and stares at the other hedgehog in the mirror.
Clear green eyes, faded scars peeking through the wet fur on his chest, barely even visible now. His quills stand long and proud, a brilliantly vibrant blue that shames the endless sky above this old home.
Sonic tries to smile. But the face in the mirror won't cooperate.
He turned seventy last week. It's been almost fifty years since Eggman died, since Sonic stood here and silently reconciled with the end of all he had known. Fifty years of lasting peace. Fifty years of watching all his friends live their lives, achieve their dreams, fall in love and start families.
Fifty years since he stood here in this very bathroom, staring into this same mirror and stinking of smoke.
And he hasn't aged a day.
