Chapter Text
It’d been a long time coming. They’d been living together for a few months now, and any conflict had been surprisingly minor. The typical ‘don't forget to take out the trash again’, or ‘stop leaving your textbooks out on the kitchen counter, I know its like super convenient for when you get in but seriously I'm trying to cook here dude. if you keep leaving them out you can’t complain if they get a bit of wear and tear!’.
But that was to be expected. They’d been friends for so long that stuff like this was pretty typical, and a few words usually solved whatever teething problems they were having.
Well, maybe it was naïve to think it'd stay that way. You always think, when people say ‘living together breaks friendships’, that’ll never be you. That is, until you're sat on the floor outside your room, staring down the hallway at the front door that your best friend of twelve years has stormed out of.
-=-
It’s some sort of special event night at ‘The Treasure Trove’, the closest student bar to his and Sonics shared apartment. People in sparkly costumes flood all morsels of available space around him, redirecting the strobe lights from the dance floor every which way and somehow hitting his eyes every damn time like some sort of homing attack. Knuckles lowers his gaze back to his drink with a heavy sigh, tipping the glass to watch the liquid shift with and against it.
Admittedly, he's not in the best mood. There's a twitch to his brow that's indicative of his headspace, despite the fact that he’d come to this bar in the first place to soothe his frayed nerves. It seemed like less of a good idea now he was staring down at his stupidly expensive drink, a headache already forming at the heavy bass of whatever club music was scraping its way through the speakers.
He’s so in his own head about how his life decisions previous had landed him here, that it takes him an embarrassing amount of time to notice his new company, sat in the stool beside him and leaned casually against the counter to stare at him. The company in question is in a black tank top, both arms folded over the counter and her head tilted forward and to the side in an attempt to catch his gaze. There’s a slick smile on her face as she eyes him up behind thick lashes, expressive eye makeup making his own eyes connect right onto hers like some magnetic force. Even being surprised, Knuckles only manages a grunt of acknowledgement, not one for many expressive gestures.
The woman chuckles, brushing a strand of her white hair behind a heavily pierced ear in a casual yet calculated move as she raises a brow up at him. “Your type is a rare find in a place like this. What brings you to such a scene, handsome?”
Knuckles is quiet for a second as he debates his answer. On one hand, he’s not usually one to talk to strangers- let alone about his issues. However…a glance down at his glass shows it half empty, and his steadily returning frustration pokes and prods at him like an annoying little thorn in his side. Whatever, she had approached him anyway, she had asked.
“My roommate,” he rolls his eyes, picking up his glass and downing the rest in one exasperated motion.
Mystery company hums, curious. Judging by her general presentation, Knuckles could guess she would fit into the type of ‘a gossip’, if he was to use one of the terms he heard Sonic often use to describe some of his own classmates. She glances at Knuckles’ now empty glass and lazily waves over the bartender “Oh yeah? An unlucky match?” she enquires.
Knuckles is hardly paying attention to the others actions, scoffing as he glares into his empty glass, studying the orangey droplets clinging to the curve of the bottom end. “No,” he huffs “My friend.”
A glass is slid his way, and Knuckles raises his head to glance over at the girl at his side. She's now nursing a drink of her own, something different than what she’d assumedly ordered for himself. It looked to be what he’d been drinking before, but he’s not so far gone as to not recognise the gesture for what it is. part of him hesitates, but fuck it, he thinks. He’s had a rough night, and he deserves some time to let loose. if a pretty lady wanted to buy him a drink, he’d be remise not to accept it.
He pushes away his empty glass, replacing it with the fresh one between his palms, before lifting it in her direction “Thanks.” he mumbles.
“Not a problem, darling. So, about your friend. What have they done to get you looking so miserable tonight?” She asks, resting her cleavage on the counter as she stirs the straw in her cocktail absentmindedly, eyes trained up at him with rapt attention.
Knuckles’ own eyes draw down her form, catching the line of her posture appreciatively. He hums at first, admittedly a little distracted as he feels his rash decision to down his previous glass fuzzing up into warmth in his cheeks. He turns his gaze back on his drink and watches the ice shift around the liquid, palms cold against the sides. “He’s a music student,” Knuckles starts, feeling his grasp on the glass tighten slightly as his brow furrows in irritation at the recent memory. “Thought practicing late at night would be a good idea.”
“I see,” The girl hums, taking a long sip through her straw, and making a show of not wasting a drop. She licks the end of the straw to catch whatever drops she hadn't managed to suck up, revealing a dainty metal ball in the centre. Knuckles does his best not to stare. “Is he the stubborn type, then?”
He pauses, re-attaching his gaze to hers. “Hm, yeah,” he mumbles, turning away and taking a hearty swig from his glass. his motions are a little clumsy as he does so, but he’s not one to drink, so it’s to be expected that he’d react this way so quickly…the cold liquid burns his throat and simmers on the frays of his nerves like acidic fire. He clears his throat.
“We had a fight.”
“Ah, I see,” the sweet voice drawls. “It must have been bad, to have you wearing an expression like that.” She sympathises, although even through such an innocent gesture, her voice is sticky sweet and drips thickly off her tongue like there's something unsaid. Knuckles can’t take his eyes off of her for a moment, and it takes him a while to find a response to her comment.
It’s true, that the fight had upset him. He didn’t enjoy fighting with Sonic, and before tonight, they hadn’t been at each others throats like that since they first met back in lower school. Back then, they were two stubborn kids with terrible articulation, and found it difficult not to get on one another's nerves. Still, the respect they’d managed to build for each other over the years had generally made hashing out their issues a lot easier. Even since moving in with him, they had managed to talk around their differences in lifestyles and live comfortably.
Which was why it was so irritating that this was something they had hit a wall with.
Knuckles frowns down at his drink. “We’re usually very close,” he crosses his arms over the bar, shoulders slumped in minor defeat. “I’m…disappointed this was the result.” he admits quietly. The girl sat to his side had leaned in to catch his mumbled words, straining to hear him over the loud music that Knuckles could feel reverberating through his forearms now that they lay on the sticky counter. As she hums, all he can think of is how far away he had felt, standing just outside the threshold of Sonics room as they spat useless drabble back and forth.
He cant help but click his tongue, eyes narrowing down at the counter. The flashing lights contour every spillage and shadow in dramatic lengths of glistening colour, and within the thrum of not quite motion he picks his glass up to slam down the rest of it. When it’s back on the bar, he pushes it away, avoiding a particularly shiny spot as he does. The action is heavy, and he’s mustering that pure liquid courage as he turns to meet the shocking blue eyes of the woman sat beside him. “Next round’s on me,” he offers in a deep rumble, offering a charming little grin that she matches with a sharp smirk of her own.
Knuckles falls into this new space between them easily as their shoulders touch to share hushed words. He hadn't come here to mope about his and his stupid roommates argument after all, he’d come to let off some steam; and here this lovely lady was, all eyes on him. What kind of man turns that kind of thing away? Well, not Knuckles, he’ll tell you that much.
Through the rounds of drinks, he learns her name is Rouge.
Rouge is a business student, apparently, and works at the treasure trove part time, which means she gets discounted drinks. That being said, they both knock back their fair share before the night has ended, and by the time they’re leaving the bar, both of their skin is marred with feverish bruises and bites. Rouge is forward, and friendly, and everything he tends to look for in a partner. He appreciates her bold approach, and her confidence, and it makes his cheeks flush when she makes a particularly provocative comment with no shame.
Knuckles takes her home.
It’s not a decision made in spite (or so he tells himself), he truly likes Rouge, and although in his slightly influenced brain he knows full well this isn't anything serious, he feels secure in his decision regardless. He doesn't consider taking Rouge back to her own apartment, his and Sonics is decently close anyway, and if he is going to take the noise anywhere, well…
When they enter the apartment, the lights are off. in the back of his mind, Knuckles notices no light from beneath Sonics door. Usually he has at least a few small novelty lights on if he’s still awake, so he notes that his roommate must have finally given up on practice. He’s halfway through a disjointed idea of ‘I shouldn't wake him up’, before rouge is pressing herself into his side, and Knuckles is right back on to his room again, all thoughts of Sonic left at the door.
-=-
Considering it was his playing that had gotten him into this mess, it was kind of ironic that it was the first thing he sought out after picking himself up from the hallway floor. Still, after plugging his headphones into the guitar instead of his amp, he had sunken into a comfortable state of plucking strings and spinning idly in his swivel chair. It worked well as a distraction, at least to a certain extent…it was difficult to practice hand eye coordination when your thoughts were elsewhere.
Usually, that is.
Sonic had finished practicing about an hour ago, so now he was running through tabs he could do with his eyes closed, which was handy since he had stubbornly turned off his lights to be alone with his frustrated fingers on strings, and that left plenty of room for his mind to wander right back to that argument. It wasn’t like he was innocent, he knew that much, and now he doesn't even know how they'd gotten to this point. Ruminating isn't helping, though, so he slips his headphones off of his ears with a sigh. When Knuckles got back, he’d apologise, be the bigger person.
Until then…
Sonic pauses when he hears shuffling from the other side of the wall. A glance at his alarm clock half hidden under post-its reveals its 02:33, which damn, how had it gotten that late already? Still, obviously Knuckles was home, which was good, because the more he waited the more guilt ate at him. Even if he was tired, which he probably was…it was best to get it out there now. Don’t go to bed angry, that’s what people always say right?
The guitar gets neatly propped up against the nightstand as he pushes himself to his feet, stretching to pop his back. Who would have guessed hours of sitting hunched over an instrument would make your body so stiff? He makes an effort to run a hand through his hair, because although messy has always kind of been his style, he doesn’t want to come across distressed. He knows, things like that, that usually go missed, Knuckles picks up on like a sixth sense. Behind that tough exterior, he really is just a softie.
Sonic makes his way down the hall, taking a breath. Honestly, he was eager to put all this hostility to rest. He knows he’s to blame for acting out earlier, he had been stressed to begin with and hadn't even considered plugging his guitar into his headphones instead of the amp, and when Knuckles had confronted him, he had been defensive.
Playing eased his nerves, it was nothing new. If you were to give an itemised list of all the things Sonic did to ease down the overbearing energy that built in his chest, it’d be right there after a nice long run. Still, being irritated at the distraction of his roommates anger wasn't an excuse. Knuckles had been forward with his opinions and feelings in the moment, which wasn’t any different from their usual methods of sorting out disagreements, so why had this been so different?
He could chalk it up to stress, or…he could apologise for being a dick.
He finds himself with a hand wrapped all the way around the handle before he knows it, and that's when the sounds register more clearly.
Its subtle at first, the way the noises form into something vaguely understandable through the heavy boundary of the door between them. Firstly, there is a second tone, not quite as deep as Knuckles’ voice and definitely more proud in its volume. Secondly, it is voices he’s hearing, not any sort of shuffling like he had first assumed.
Thirdly, they aren't speaking.
Fuck.
Sonic feels glued to the spot as he stares down at his hand, palm now sweaty but still squeezing the metal like a lifeline. He knows the noises he’s hearing, and he doesn’t have to open the door to know, undoubtably, what’s happening behind it.
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for him to finally pull away from the door, eyes cast down to the hallway carpet between his feet as he walks, blindly back to his own room. When he shuts the door he does it slowly, watching the mechanism squeeze into place in a way he hasn't examined so carefully since he was still under the fresh eyed wonder of a kid. He makes sure there is no sound to alert them, but his stomach sinks anyway when he realises he can still hear them next door.
This is ridiculous.
Look, he’s in College, it’s not like this stuff is exactly knew to him. in fact, he knew from experience it wasn't knew to Knuckles either, so why the hell was this messing with him so much? He had been just fine when Knuckles had told him about his (mind you very few and far apart) ‘cute girl’s at the bar. It wasn't that Knuckles was a party animal or anything, he was just a reasonably attractive guy, it wasn't any surprise that he was approached by so many girls, he’d always known that about him. And anyway, it wasn't as if he was jealous, even now, what he was feeling…
It didn't feel like that.
The usual burn of embarrassment at overhearing your close friend getting off wasn't quite it either. Sure, it was a nagging burden all the same, but there was something else there that threw his head through a tailspin.
Maybe it was because he had never overheard any of his escapades before. I mean, usually Sonic was a night owl all on his own, going to last minute concerts and gigs like a dog off its leash, so he had never been home before when Knuckles had decided to ‘get lucky’ with someone.
Still.
He was an adult, and he wasn't a stranger to the more adult content that snuck its way onto the internet. this wasn't his first time running into something like this, so why?
why was he feeling so…warm?
He finds his peace slid down with his knees pulled to his chest, back lent against the door.
The sounds in the following room echo in the silence of his own, and he finds himself not so focused on the sounds of his friends partner as he had expected himself to be. Instead, his ears lock in on the deep baritone of Knuckles’ own. The sounds were more reserved, breathless and fleeting. Hearing just one amongst the myriad of his partners made his heart flutter, and his throat close up all the same.
It was nauseating, but he didn’t feel sick.
Sonic couldn't tell you when the two had stopped going at it, one moment he was sat with his head buried in his knees, one hand draped over the back of his neck and into dyed blue hair, and the next he was taking a breath as silence fell between the walls. He tips his head back, letting himself stare at the ceiling as heat burned and coiled in his cheeks and chest.
The cooling and slowing of his racing heart came in fumbling, slow steps down from a precipice he’d never been at before.
It wasn't the fact he’d heard his best friend with a one night stand.
It wasn't even the fact he had heard the passion behind the voice of the woman in question.
It was the way he felt now, staring off into the nothing of his room, imagining himself in her place.