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Shadow the Hedgehog’s reputation at GUN was built on ruthless efficiency. If there was a mission that needed to be completed with zero margin for error, you called him. He didn’t boast. He didn’t brag. He simply executed. Fast. Precise. Unrelenting. Often alone by preference. The quiet of solitude sharpened his focus, steadied his breathing, and kept the ever-creeping chaos of the world at bay.
Unless, of course, you counted the rare times he was seen with his long-time field partners: Rouge the Bat and Omega. The only ones who somehow figured out how to exist within the tightly regimented storm that was Shadow’s world.
Within GUN’s halls, his name was spoken in a tone of respect and fear. “Shadow the Hedgehog” wasn’t just a name. It was a warning.
He was known as the best field agent they had—ruthless, efficient, and terrifyingly precise. When assigned a mission, Shadow didn’t question the objective, didn’t fuss over logistics, and didn’t fail. He executed.
No fanfare. No conversation. No backup, unless forced.
He had an uncanny ability to pick the most direct path through any operation, often completing assignments ahead of schedule and with minimal damage—unless someone got in his way. Then all bets were off.
“Grumpiest agent in GUN,” whispered one recruit during lunch. “They say if you try to make small talk, he’ll give you a look that’ll freeze your blood.”
“Or,” their partner added, “he just walks away while you’re still talking.”
Both were true.
Shadow thrived on routine and control. Predictability. Chaos, unless tightly contained, grated on his nerves like sandpaper. He avoided fluorescent-lit conference rooms where bulbs buzzed and flickered. The click of cheap pens, the hum of faulty projectors, the chewing of gum—the shrill ring of a phone left unanswered, the high-pitched whine of computer fans on the fritz—these were all things that could and had earned low-ranking agents a soul-piercing stare that silenced an entire room. The clattering of chairs scraping against tile, the faint, irregular ticking of a clock, and the droning voices of teammates chewing through irrelevant details—these were all stimuli that could fray his nerves beyond repair. The sudden, loud jolt of unexpected noises, the flash of bright lights overhead, or even a sudden shift in temperature left him feeling like the world was closing in.
Changes in routine were particularly grating, though Shadow had learned to handle them. His mind craved the predictability of a structured day, the comfort of knowing what to expect next. When something was moved around or rescheduled, he could manage—barely—but the disruption would gnaw at him until the day fell back into its normal pattern. A meeting scheduled outside of his usual hours, an unexpected adjustment to his mission briefing, or a last-minute change to a training session’s objective would leave him tense and unsettled. He would handle it because he had to, but it always took longer than necessary to regain his focus.
Social situations were another minefield. Shadow hated crowds—too many voices, too many movements, all competing for Shadow’s attention. Even in the calmest of rooms, a casual conversation could feel suffocating. When someone approached him with unnecessary small talk, his patience quickly thinned. He would force himself to endure the pleasantries, but his body would betray him—his breathing quickening, his focus slipping. The nervous energy in the air, the uncertainty of social norms, was like an invisible weight pressing down on him. Even a simple greeting could cause his mind to spiral into discomfort, a place where control slipped from his grasp.
Even minor disruptions could throw him off. Once, a cadet bumped into him during a training session—accidental, barely a brush—and Shadow had gone rigid, nostrils flaring, quills bristling, breath caught like he’d been jolted. He muttered something clipped about personal space before disappearing into the corridor without another word. Another was the tension that crept into his shoulders if he had to wear gear with certain textures. Once, someone tried to swap his standard gloves for a “superior” set made with a softer lining. Shadow didn’t say a word. He just dropped them on the floor like they were radioactive.
The world, it seemed, was always on the verge of chaos, and only Shadow’s rigid control kept it at bay.
Most of the human GUN personnel gave him a wide berth, unless mission protocol demanded otherwise.
Commander Abraham Tower, tall and broad-shouldered with a clipped voice and no patience for nonsense, was one of the few who could speak to Shadow without hesitation. Their shared history on the ARK gave him an edge over others in GUN, though even he treaded carefully. “Report, Agent Shadow,” Tower said one afternoon, meeting him outside a returning dropship. “Was the Wombat camp fully neutralized?”
“Yes,” Shadow said without looking at him, already moving past.
Tower raised a brow. “Any hostiles escape?”
“No,” came the curt reply. “Intel was outdated. Their movements were predictable.”
“You’re sure?”
Shadow paused just long enough to glance over his shoulder, the hesitation brief but sharp. Open-ended questions grated against his instincts. “I do not speculate, Commander.”
Tower gave a low grunt of approval. “Good. Debrief in thirty.”
Director Rockwell, head of operations, didn’t even flinch when Shadow quietly corrected her mid-presentation. “That data point is incorrect.”
There was no sarcasm or smugness in Shadow’s voice—just a simple, factual statement, but it was enough to irk Rockwell, who straightened up, locking her gaze on Shadow with a steely focus.
“Agent, I expect you to wait until I’ve finished speaking before making corrections,” she said, her tone firm and professional. She didn’t allow her irritation to show, but it was evident in the precision of her words. “That’s not the way we operate here.”
Shadow didn’t flinch, though he could sense the sharpness in her words. He merely nodded in acknowledgment, unwilling to engage further.
“I appreciate the input,” Rockwell continued, her tone still commanding, “but let’s keep things orderly.”
Commander Walters, though still strict, took a deep breath, softening his approach as he regarded Shadow. His tone was firm but not harsh. “I understand you completed the mission, Shadow, but you still need to follow protocol. We all have to play by the same rules.”
Shadow met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “I did what was necessary.”
“I know you did,” Walters said, his voice quieter now, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “But you’re not above the team. We need to make sure everyone is on the same page, especially with something as important as this engagement.”
Shadow’s gaze flickered briefly, though he still said nothing. Walters gave a weary sigh. “You’re effective, no doubt. Just… try to remember we’re all in this together. That’s all I’m asking.”
Topaz, one of the most experienced field agents in GUN, had learned to take a gentler approach. She often handled Shadow’s reports herself, knowing she would get more out of him by keeping things quiet, fast, and simple.
She tapped on his office door once—only once, sharp and quiet, not the impatient rapping that others used. “Got your tactical summary here. Can you confirm what you—”
Shadow looked up, noting the steady calm in her voice, the lack of intrusion. Easier to respond to that. “Page seven. The second target was a decoy.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You saw through it?”
“Patterns didn’t match the others. It was sloppy.”
Topaz smirked. “Noted. Thanks, Shadow.”
He gave a short nod and returned to cleaning his gun, silent once again.
Two people in GUN didn’t find Shadow unbearable and actively enjoyed his company… though “enjoy” might have meant something different to each of them.
Rouge the Bat sauntered into the dim, mostly abandoned breakroom with practiced ease. “You should’ve seen Tower’s face after you pulled out that chaos emerald and left,” she drawled, flopping into a chair across from Shadow. “All red, puffed up, trying to lecture us like he runs this place.”
Shadow didn’t look up from where he was lining up gear on the table with surgical precision. “He talks too much.”
“I think he’s trying to assert dominance,” Rouge teased. “You keep undermining him by... existing.”
“I’m not here to manage his feelings,” Shadow said flatly.
A low, mechanical hum signaled Omega’s arrival. The heavy android settled beside them, red optics flickering.
“SHADOW IS FUNCTIONAL. TOWER IS NOT.”
“See?” Rouge grinned. “Omega gets it.”
Shadow’s lip twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.
The three of them had found an odd rhythm over the years. Rouge respected his space. Omega didn’t care about social cues in the traditional sense. And neither of them asked Shadow questions he didn’t want to answer.
It was only with Team Dark that Shadow’s edges softened—if one could call it that. He never smiled, as far as anyone knew, but his posture relaxed, just a little. He spoke more, asked questions. Not conversational ones, but questions meant for understanding: "How long will the drop take?" or "Can you carry the payload alone?"
With Rouge, there was considerable coordination. They moved in sync, rarely needing words. With Omega, it was tolerance—an odd mutual respect forged in shared destruction.
“You will not survive the blast radius,” Omega once stated in the middle of a mission.
“I’ll move faster,” Shadow replied, deadpan.
“ACCEPTABLE.”
Rouge called them her chaos twins. Shadow rolled his eyes every time.
Back at headquarters, Team Dark often gathered in one of the lounges. Omega had claimed a reinforced bench and was humming the melody of a Top 40 song in a low, metallic tone. Rouge lounged across two chairs, idly scrolling through a dossier.
Shadow paced nearby, fidgeting with his gloves. The air was tense with quiet routine—until the overhead speakers chirped.
“Reminder,” came a cheerful automated voice, “The GUN Annual Gala is one week away. Formal attire required.”
Rouge glanced up from her datapad. “You dragging yourself to that this year, or faking your death like last time?”
“I’m going,” Shadow said, voice neutral.
Rouge blinked. “You’re... going?”
“I promised my husband.”
The breakroom fell into a stunned silence.
A file folder hit the floor just outside the door.
Shadow paused. “He was upset I didn’t tell him about last year's, and I promised I would take him this year.”
Topaz, who had been walking by with a cup of coffee, stopped dead in her tracks. “…Husband?”
Shadow turned, his expression flat, as if it were obvious. “Yes, husband,” he said, clearly confused by the reaction, “is there a problem with that?”
“No! No!” Topaz squeaked and rushed out of the breakroom before she could make more of a fool of herself.
Rouge covered her mouth with a gloved hand, trying— trying —not to burst out laughing. “You really just... dropped that like a bomb, huh?”
“DID YOU MEAN TO SAY THAT OUT LOUD?” Omega added.
Shadow blinked. “Did I say something strange?”
“No, sweetie,” Rouge cooed. “You were perfect.”
Omega leaned in dramatically. “THE CHAOS HAS BEGUN. I AM DELIGHTED.”
Topaz wasn’t the only one who heard. Within twenty minutes, the entire GUN base was buzzing like a disturbed hornet’s nest.
Shadow the Hedgehog. Married. Not just dating , but married and to someone , to anyone . Theories exploded like popcorn in the microwave.
“Did you hear him say it? Are you sure it wasn’t a joke?”
“He doesn’t joke , Cathy!”
“No way someone married him willingly. He probably scared them into it.”
“Maybe it’s some poor, emotionally exhausted Mobian he rescued and just kept?”
“Or it’s a tactical alliance. You know. Like a royal thing. Politics.”
Topaz sat down in Commander Tower’s office. “Shadow. Has. A husband,” she muttered.
Commander Tower folded his arms. “God help whoever it is.”
For most GUN agents, the week leading up to the annual gala was usually an excuse to complain about dress codes and make awkward bets about who would show up drunk first.
This year? It was a full-blown conspiracy investigation.
Because Shadow the Hedgehog —grumpiest, moodiest, most terrifyingly competent agent on record—had casually revealed that he was married . Married. As in, someone said “I do” and meant it.
And now, no one could focus.
Commander Walters was in the middle of a strategy briefing when an agent–Costa, he believed–whispered it under her breath. “Did you hear? Shadow’s bringing his husband to the gala,” she said.
“I heard! Can you believe someone wanted to marry him?” Another agent —Reynolds—whispered in return.
Walters sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this going to be a thing now?”
Topaz, sitting in the back with a clipboard, said, “I believe so, sir, until the Gala, that is, until then…until Shadow decides to give us more information on his mysterious spouse, which we know he won’t, everyone will have questions, and speculation will run rapid, " she said. Topaz had questions, too—so many questions.
Across the compound, Rockwell was sitting in her office with a migraine blooming behind her eyes from the stress of this new and unforeseen variable, “He’s never even shown interest in people. People! I didn’t even know he was capable of that kind of relationship. What if it’s a robot? Or a GUN clone project?!”
“Maybe he married his bike,” Her assistant offered helpfully. “He named the bike,” said another agent. “Wouldn't be the weirdest thing he’s done.”
Tower tried to ignore it at first. He prided himself on professionalism, putting his personal feelings aside, knowing that the same hedgehog who would build blanket forts with Maria and read fairy tales to her and dream of marrying their Prince Charmings would form an intimate relationship with anyone.
But even he cracked eventually.
“Topaz,” he said gruffly one afternoon, storming into the surveillance room, “I need everything we have on Shadow’s contacts outside GUN.”
Topaz arched a brow. “You’re opening a file on his... husband ?”
Tower bristled. “It’s not official. I just want to know what kind of liability we’re dealing with.”
“Is this about liabilities,” she deadpanned, “or are you just freaking out like the rest of us?”
Tower opened his mouth. Closed it. Growled. “...Just get me the file.”
Meanwhile, theories flourished. Speculation became law. One whiteboard in the mess hall displayed the growing theories.
PROJECT: HUSBAND GUY
- Some poor Mobian who doesn’t know better.
- A GUN diplomat is trying to win him over for political reasons.
- A Chaos cultist who sees marriage as a sacred bond of war.
- OMEGA in disguise.
- Rouge in disguise.
- Rouge and OMEGA together in a trench coat.
At some point, Agent Bell swore he’d seen Shadow smile once while reading a message on his communicator.
Smile .
It sent the entire east wing of the base into meltdown.
“Do you think it’s cute ? Like, soft and domestic?”
“Shadow? Domestic? The man lives in an armory.”
“I think he has a secret flower garden.”
“You’re projecting again.”
Topaz found Rouge lounging in a private training room, filing her claws with a crystal-tipped file. Omega stood nearby like an oversized, smug toaster.
“Let me guess,” Rouge said without looking up. “You’ve come about husband guy .”
Topaz raised a brow. “You know?”
Rouge smiled sweetly. “Oh, darling. I know everything. ”
“Then tell me.”
“No.”
Topaz blinked. “Why?”
“Because it’s fun watching you guys lose your minds.” Rouge flicked her file. “And it’s adorable how scandalized everyone is. You’d think Shadow confessed to harboring a Black Leech and is planning to raise it as his child.”
Omega chimed in, voice booming: “STATISTICAL ANALYSIS: 82% OF GUN STAFF EXPERIENCING EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY DUE TO HUSBAND REVELATION. I AM PLEASED.”
Topaz narrowed her eyes. “So he’s real.”
Rouge grinned. “Oh, very real.”
“Someone we’d know?”
“Define know .”
Topaz leaned closer. “Is he in GUN?”
“Nope.”
“Mobian?”
Rouge said nothing. Just slowly, almost imperceptibly, smiled wider.
Topaz scowled. “You’re loving this.”
“I am a creature of chaos.” Rouge purred.
“CAN CONFIRM,” Omega replied.
Meanwhile, Shadow remained entirely unaffected by the swirling speculation. He showed up for missions. Trained in the gym. Ate his coffee beans whole. Polished his weaponry as usual. No one dared ask him anything directly.
Except one.
Topaz found him in the shooting range late one evening, arms crossed. “Shadow.”
He didn’t turn. Just lined up another perfect shot.
“So you’re bringing someone to the gala,” she continued, watching him reload with mechanical precision.
“I am,” he replied without looking up.
Topaz hesitated. “You’ve never talked about them before.”
“I don’t talk to most people.”
“Right.” She shifted. “They treat you well?”
At that, Shadow paused.
A moment of silence hung heavy in the air.
Then, with the smallest—softest—dip in his voice, he said, “He makes me feel... peaceful.”
Topaz blinked.
But before she could ask anything else, Rouge strolled in with the world’s most wicked smirk.
“Careful, Topaz,” she drawled. “You go digging too deep and you might end up being the story.”
“I just want to know who could handle him .”
“Someone very fast,” Rouge winked, then walked off laughing.
Shadow holstered his gun and followed without another word.
Omega waited at the hallway junction, arms crossed dramatically.
“GALA COUNTDOWN: FIVE DAYS.”
“They’re losing their minds,” Rouge purred.
“I CALCULATE SEVENTEEN ACTIVE THEORIES. SIX INCLUDE ALIENS.”
Rouge cackled. “Let’s see how long we can keep this going.”
And Shadow? He didn’t say a word, but he did glance at his communicator again.
A new message blinked softly on the screen:
[SONIC 💙]: made it through tux fitting. Somehow didn’t punch the tailor. Proud of me?
Shadow’s mouth twitched. His reply was immediate:
You threatened to.
[SONIC 💙]: Yeah, but i didn’t. love me anyway?
He typed slower, more careful.
Always.
A pause.
Then a new message pinged in:
[SONIC 💙]: can’t wait 2 c everyone’s faces when they realize. u ready to break some brains and scandalize the world, babe? 😎
Shadow’s lips twitched again—just barely.
But it was enough.
Three days until the gala. The base? Unhinged.
No one could accomplish any real work. Commander Tower had threatened to suspend half the intel wing if they didn’t stop gossiping about Shadow’s mystery husband . Agent Topaz was sleep-deprived and a little feral. Commander Walters had started stress-drinking from his emergency tea thermos. Director Rockwell had tried to wash her hands of the whole thing; she had too much work to do, but even she ate up every new gossip.
Shadow the Hedgehog was married, and the identity of his spouse had become the most classified mystery at GUN. Even the damn betting board —now shoved into Storage Bay B—had twenty new entries pinned to it.
Somehow, every agent was convinced they were close to cracking the case.
No one was.
The PROJECT: HUSBAND GUY has new theories pinned to it every day. The top theories at the moment were:
- An undercover prince.
- A Mobian ninja.
- A genetically engineered Black Arms double agent.
- "That mysterious blue guy Bell swears he saw in the parking lot last week."
Rouge thought it was funny. Shadow thought it was ridiculous. Omega didn’t care and much like Rouge just enjoyed the shitshow GUN had become because of Shadow.
Rouge swept into the security room in a red trench coat and five-inch heels like she owned the place because she did.
Topaz looked up from her fourth cup of coffee. “You're here to gloat, aren’t you?”
“Who, me?” Rouge said sweetly. “Never.”
Behind her, Omega rumbled past, muttering something about thermonuclear disruption being a preferable method of gossip suppression if they wished to use it.
Rouge turned to Tower. “What’s the latest theory? Is Shadow’s husband a time traveler now?”
Walters didn’t blink. “No. Dragon mobian. Ice-based. Possibly blind.”
Rouge’s smile widened like a shark. “Bold.”
Reynolds leaned in. “We saw someone. Bell swears it’s him. Blue guy. Hooded. Real fast.”
“Like… Sonic fast?” someone muttered.
The room went dead quiet.
Bell blinked. “Wait. Could it be Sonic the Hedgehog?”
Everyone burst out laughing.
“ Sonic?! ” Reynolds nearly fell out of his chair. “The Sonic who Shadow gets into a death match with every time they’re in a five-mile radius?”
“You mean the same guy who Shadow called a ‘blue gumball son of a bitch’ on live TV?” Costa added.
“The guy who once replaced Shadow’s mission dossier with pictures of chili dogs?” said Topaz.
“The guy who—”
Rouge raised a hand delicately. “Alright, alright, that’s enough slander.”
Bell frowned. “I’m just saying. He was blue, and he laughed like Sonic. Sounded like him.”
Rouge tilted her head. “Maybe it was just a regular blue hedgehog.”
“Name one other blue hedgehog.”
Rouge blinked slowly.
“Exactly.”
“Nicky the Hedgehog, a pretty good Sonic impersonator, me, Amy, and Blaze saw in Spagonia,” Rouge said.
“Dammit.”
Topaz, however, was the only one approaching this like an actual investigation. After days of hitting dead ends, she started looking into mission logs—not Shadow’s, but other agents'.
That’s when she found something weird.
Six months ago, Shadow had taken three consecutive weekends off . No mission reports. No field work. No explanation.
It was unheard of.
She slammed her hand on the table. “He met him there.”
Tower looked over. “You’re obsessed.”
Topaz ignored him; she wasn’t obsessed, just…had a healthy amount of curiosity like everyone else.“He never even takes a half day,” Topaz muttered, “Unless he’s shot. I’m telling you,” Topaz said, folding her arms. “That’s when he met someone. Or started seeing someone seriously.”
Walters leaned in. “Where was he?”
Topaz pointed. “Green Hill Zone. Every time.”
Tower blinked. “Isn’t that where—?”
Rouge walked by at that exact moment, hips swaying, and said, “I wouldn’t dig too deep unless you want to be vaporized. Or emotionally destroyed.”
They all froze.
Topaz narrowed her eyes. “You said he wasn’t in GUN. So who is he?”
Rouge winked and disappeared down the hallway.
Walters looked mildly ill. “What does that mean?!”
Sonic had indeed been spotted—several times, in fact.
Technically, Sonic wasn’t supposed to be there.
Practically? No one moved fast enough to stop him.
He'd slipped in wearing a zipped-up black hoodie, Shadow’s of course, his quills half-tucked, chewing bubblegum, and walking so confidently that even the guards assumed he was cleared. Shadow had taken him through the lower training wing, silent and calm, like escorting a VIP.
Shadow met him in one of the lower corridors. He didn’t say anything—just gently tapped his hand against Sonic’s as they walked.
“I saw the theory wall. You know they’re starting to think I’m a dragon now,” Sonic whispered.
Shadow sighed. “You were almost seen yesterday.”
“Rouge said the camera was disabled.”
“She said it was mostly disabled.”
Sonic grinned. “You owe Rouge dinner. She’s kept your secret better than you.”
“I already bought her shoes.”
They paused near the observation windows of the simulator room, watching as Team Dark trained together—Rouge mid-flight, Omega launching suppressive fire, a GUN team awkwardly lagging behind.
“Should I feel bad they don’t know?” Sonic asked softly.
Shadow shrugged. “They’ll find out soon enough.”
Sonic leaned against him, just slightly. “You’re not gonna tell them early?”
“I want to see their faces.”
“You’re terrible.”
Shadow smirked. “You married me.”
Sonic smirked. “You worried they’ll figure it out?”
“No,” Shadow replied. “They won’t.”
Later, someone had added Sonic the Hedgehog to the board. Someone else immediately crossed it out and added “Too stupid. They’d kill each other in a week.”
Bell pointed furiously at the board. “I’m telling you! I saw them together! Sort of!”
Topaz rubbed her temples. “We need evidence.”
Reynolds raised a hand. “What if Shadow’s husband doesn’t exist? ”
Tower grunted. “Shadow doesn’t lie. He just makes you wish you hadn’t asked.”
“He sounded fond when he said ‘my husband.’ I’ve never heard him sound fond. He sounded like a real person. ” Costa said.
That quieted everyone, just for a moment.
Then Bell whispered, “What if it really is Sonic and they’re in love and they’ve been hiding it for years ?”
Rouge walked past again at that exact moment and said absolutely nothing.
But her smile?
Her smile was criminal .
Shadow’s apartment was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows.
That rare kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty—it felt settled. Comfortable. Familiar. The kind of quiet that came after battles and before storms. The kind of quiet Shadow clung to his whole soul because Sonic was in it.
Shadow sat at the edge of the bed, already dressed in his GUN formal uniform. The deep black and crimson trim hugged his frame too tightly, too stiff around his shoulders, the regulation medals at his chest gleaming like targets. His gloves flexed restlessly in his lap, fingers twitching in anticipation.
“Still trying to psych yourself into going?” came the familiar voice—light, teasing, warm.
Sonic walked in from the bathroom, toweling off his fur. His joggers rode low on his hips, water still beading along his arms and chest, but draped over his forearm was his actual outfit for the night: a sleek, form-fitting navy-blue blazer tailored perfectly to his lithe frame, with a black silk shirt when worn unbuttoned just enough at the collar was scandalous but still somehow elegant. Shadow knew Sonic’s slim black dress pants would cling to his legs just right, showing off toned muscles without being obscene, and his silver cufflinks would gleam whenever he moved. Sonic had shown Shadow the day the suit was finished, unable to wait until the gala to present himself. Casual, sexy, effortless—like he wasn’t even trying to look devastating, but he absolutely, unapologetically did. Shadow had caught himself staring. Hard.
Sonic grinned that cocky little grin. He tossed the towel aside, moving toward him.
Sonic wasn’t even fully dressed yet, and still, he was the most breathtaking thing Shadow had ever seen.
Sonic stepped between his knees and leaned in, cupping the sides of Shadow’s face with both hands, his thumbs stroking just beneath his eyes. “Hey. Breathe, babe, you’re tense,” Sonic said softly, stopping in front of him.
Shadow didn’t look up. He didn’t need to.
Sonic crouched, just enough to gently rest his forehead against Shadow’s. The contact narrowed the world down to a single, steady point—Sonic’s touch, Sonic’s breathing, Sonic’s warmth. Anchor points against the creeping edges of noise and expectation. “You always pretend to be,” Sonic murmured. “But not with me.”
Shadow finally exhaled.
His voice dropped to a low, hoarse tone. “I keep thinking about them. The way they talk about you, like you’re some ghost. Some impossible person.”
“They don’t even know it’s me,” Sonic grinned, brushing their noses together. “That’s the fun part.”
“It’s not fun,” Shadow said, but his voice was lighter now. “It’s idiotic.”
“You married an idiot,” Sonic said fondly.
“I married you ,” Shadow corrected, finally lifting his gaze—and there it was.
That look.
That utterly unguarded, open, reverent look that Sonic saw so rarely outside of these stolen hours. Shadow’s eyes softened like melting glass. Red flickering to wine-dark and back again. Not cold. Not calculating.
Just in love.
“You did,” Sonic whispered. “and I married you ,”
Shadow sighed, “I just…don’t want them to look at you the way they look at me,” Shadow murmured. “You deserve better.”
“They can’t look at me the way they look at you,” Sonic said with a grin, leaning forward to brush a kiss against his forehead. “Because I’m walking in on your arm. And they’re going to know exactly who I belong to.”
Shadow blinked, stunned by how easily the words lodged right into his chest. “You belong to me?” he asked, voice low.
Sonic smirked—and then, slowly, leaned down, cupping Shadow’s face even more securely in his palms. “Every inch,” he whispered. Then he kissed him.
It wasn’t a kiss of heat or hunger—it was something far deeper. Slow, certain. A kiss that said I see you. A kiss that said I’m here. A kiss that said Always.
Shadow’s hands came up, one resting on Sonic’s chest where he could feel the strong, steady heartbeat under his palm. He let the contact ground him. The steady thump-thump-thump like a rhythm only he was allowed to hear.
“You don’t have to do this,” Sonic whispered against his lips. “If the gala’s going to overwhelm you, we can stay here and watch a movie, maybe start the Star Wars series, release order, of course. Just us.” Sonic stood slowly, one hand sliding to cup Shadow’s jaw, thumb brushing along the corner of his mouth. Shadow leaned into the touch, eyes half-lidded. “We don’t have to go,” Sonic murmured. “If it’s too much—if it’s going to make you spiral—”
“No.” Shadow’s hand came up to cradle Sonic’s cheek, holding it there, “You asked me once if I’d ever let the world see what you mean to me.” Shadow touched Sonic’s cheek, his gloved fingers uncharacteristically gentle. “I want them to see. I want them to know. I’m not ashamed of loving you.”
Sonic’s throat bobbed. His eyes shimmered for a moment. He kissed Shadow again, more urgently this time—still soft, still slow, but with the weight of everything they’d ever been through folded inside it.
When they parted, Sonic leaned his forehead to Shadow’s. “You’re my home,” Sonic breathed. “So wherever you go, I’m good. Gala or not.”
Shadow stood slowly, straightening his uniform, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves. A breeze pushed past Shadow, and when he looked up, Sonic was dressed, more stunning than ever. Shadow could swear his heart skipped a beat. Shadow held out a hand. “You wanted to dance with me in public. You deserve to be seen. With me.”
Sonic smiled, slow and radiant. “I want you , not the crowd. But I do love the idea of showing you off.”
Shadow scoffed, eyes flickering away—only to be drawn back in by Sonic leaning down, brushing his lips against Shadow’s. A kiss like a promise. Then another, slower, firmer—Shadow’s hand tightening slightly at Sonic’s waist as he leaned up into it.
They kissed like no one else mattered. Like, there were no missions. No GUN. No masks. Just them.
When they finally broke apart, Sonic stayed close, breath warm against Shadow’s lips. “You ready?” he whispered.
Shadow looked at him, really looked—the way Sonic’s tailored clothes hugged his form just right, how the navy and black made his fur even more vibrant under the low light, how the affection and certainty in Sonic’s eyes shone brighter than anything else—and nodded.
“Yes.”
Sonic took his hand without hesitation. Fingers intertwined. And Shadow—ruthless, stoic, unflinching—smiled. Sonic grinned. “Then let’s go blow their minds.”
The gala was in full swing.
The main hall of GUN Headquarters had been transformed—polished marble, glittering chandeliers, crisp black uniforms, and flowing gowns, the air abuzz with low conversation and the occasional awkward laugh. Agents milled about in tense little clusters, drink glasses in hand, eyes flicking constantly toward the entrance.
Still no Shadow.
Commander Tower had given up trying to look casual and stood stiffly by the refreshments table, arms crossed. Walters was half-heartedly pretending to enjoy a conversation about weapon upgrades, while his eyes scanned the crowd like he expected Shadow to crash through the ceiling. Director Rockwell, ever composed, stood near the podium with her data pad, tapping notes, though even she had looked at the front doors more than once.
Topaz, meanwhile, was on the prowl.
She had combed through every personnel file, every mission dossier, even a few maintenance logs, looking for clues. She’d cornered Rouge earlier in the night, subtle as a tank.
“So. Any idea who the lucky guy is?” she asked, swirling her drink.
Rouge barely blinked. “Maybe he’s imaginary,” she said coolly, dabbing her lips with a napkin. “Shadow is very creative when he wants to be.”
Topaz rolled her eyes. “Shut up. You know exactly what is about to happen and you’re not saying.”
A cat-like grin spread across Rouge’s bright red lips, “I know a lot of things, darling. That’s why you love me. Hey, Omega, how’s the betting pool going. You all are no fun letting Omega and I not join in.”
“And have you win the whole pot?” Topaz scoffed, “Nice try sister.”
Omega stood like a glittering monolith, watching the agents spiral with increasing delight. He had already cycled through 42 incorrect theories tonight. GUN’s confusion was delicious. “CURRENT FAVORITES: REFORMED CRIMINAL, GUN SCIENTIST, OR A POTTED FICUS. ” He boomed.
Then—
The doors opened.
And there he was.
The ballroom fell into a stunned silence when Shadow and Sonic entered. Their presence was commanding—Sonic’s easygoing grin, Shadow’s unflappable, cool demeanor—and it was obvious something had shifted. The GUN agents, standing in tight, professional clusters, couldn’t help but stare, their minds racing with all the theories they’d conjured.
They hadn’t expected this.
Sonic, casually leaning into Shadow’s side, shot a grin at the assembled agents. His eyes glinted with mischief as he squeezed Shadow’s hand—just the smallest gesture, but one that made Shadow soften imperceptibly. Shadow’s usually tense shoulders relaxed in that instant, and for anyone paying attention, it was impossible to ignore the subtle shift in the air. This wasn’t the usual cold, calculated agent they all knew.
He was relaxed .
He was at peace.
“...No,” someone whispered.
“Wait—is that—”
“Oh my God .”
Shadow had not brought a ghost. Or a criminal. Or a weirdo with a death wish.
He had brought the Hero of Mobius.
And from the way they stood—close, entwined, completely synced—it was very obvious that Sonic wasn’t just a date.
Sonic was Shadow’s.
“Holy shit,” murmured Tower, staring in stunned awe.
“No way,” Walters. “They hate each other.”
“Do they look like they hate each other?” Rockwell hissed.
“They look like they’re married, ” Tower muttered.
Topaz turned slowly to face the nearest agent. “…Alright,” she said, deadpan. “Which one of you called it?”
“Bell,” Reynolds said simply, too shocked to say anything else.
From somewhere behind the punch bowl, Agent Bell let out a single, smug ha! and raised both hands in victory. “I TOLD you!” he hissed, pointing both fingers like guns. “I said— what if it’s Sonic the Hedgehog —and y’all laughed! You all laughed!”
“They try to kill each other!” Costa objected weakly.
“And now they’re probably going to kiss on the ballroom floor,” said Topaz, raising an eyebrow. “Congratulations, we live in a soap opera.”
Rouge, nearby, sipped her champagne with all the grace of a cat watching birds fling themselves at a window. This was comedy gold, and she couldn’t wait to tell the other girls the next time they had a girls' night out.
Shadow stopped just a few feet from his superior officers—Commander Tower, Commander Walters, Director Rockwell, and the ever-watchful Agent Topaz. He turned to Sonic, his face softening, and then, without missing a beat, he dropped his gaze to the floor, almost shy.
“This is... unexpected,” murmured Commander Tower, his voice betraying his shock as he tried to keep his professionalism intact. “Shadow, I—”
“I’d like to introduce you to my husband,” Shadow interjected, his voice steady, with a hint of tenderness hidden beneath the usual cool exterior. He turned to Sonic, looking at him with something unspoken in his eyes. “Sonic. Sonic the Hedgehog.”
A wave of disbelief swept through the crowd. Agents blinked, their minds racing to catch up with the reality of what they’d just heard.
Sonic grinned, standing tall with his usual charm. “Yup, that’s me,” he said easily, flashing a bright smile. “Nice to meet you all.” Sonic teased, even though he had met them all a million times on different missions, through the Freedom Fighters, the Restoration, even Team Sonic, all of these instances where Sonic and Shadow had interacted, worked–fought–side by side, and they never let on that their rivalry turned into… this .
“Wait, wait —you’re married to each other?” Topaz’s voice was a whisper, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and awe.
Sonic laughed, a lighthearted sound that rang clear through the air. “Yup. Married for a while now. I know. It’s a bit of a shock. But Shadow and I, well, we’ve been through a lot together.” He looked at Shadow with a grin that could melt anyone’s heart. “He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. He and Shadow, against all odds, were here . Together. Their bond was unshakable.
Shadow’s usual icy façade melted just a little. His gaze softened, and for the first time that night, he allowed a small, almost imperceptible smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.
“Just... don’t try to figure out how we met,” Sonic added with a wink, clearly enjoying the collective shock around them. “It’s a long story,” Sonic said, as if they weren’t there from the beginning. As if GUN, in the simplest terms, hadn't arrested Sonic because they thought he was Shadow, causing trouble.
The agents around them stammered, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but before they could gather their bearings, a familiar voice interrupted.
“Well, look who decided to show up,” Rouge said, stepping forward with a smirk that lit up her face. Her eyes sparkled as she gave Sonic an exaggerated once-over, clearly enjoying the moment. “Hey, Blue.”
Sonic grinned widely. “Rouge! You’re looking as glamorous as ever.”
Rouge chuckled and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, leaving behind a bold red lipstick stain. She pulled back with a sly smile, but the second she saw Shadow’s gentle, almost possessive gesture of wiping it away, her smirk widened. “You two are adorable,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice. “You always did have that ‘I’ll steal your heart’ vibe, Blue.”
Sonic just shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? Shadow’s irresistible.”
Shadow’s grip on Sonic’s hand tightened for just a moment, a rare flash of protectiveness in his eyes before he masked it with a cool, steady gaze. He let out a quiet sigh—half annoyed, half affectionate—as he gently wiped the lipstick off Sonic’s cheek.
“Rouge,” Shadow muttered, but there was no real edge to his voice. It was soft, a contrast to his usual clipped tones. The subtle fondness that radiated between them was unmistakable.
“Just having some fun,” Rouge said with a wink. “But hey, it’s good to see you two finally... officially together.”
Then, as if on cue, Omega stepped forward, his booming voice unmistakable as it filled the space. “CONGRATULATIONS. YOU HAVE OFFICIALLY BROKEN GUN SYSTEM’S PRIMARY DATABASE: WHAT DOES SHADOW LOVE .”
Sonic let out a laugh, clearly unbothered by the massive droid’s bluntness. “Thanks, Omega. But I think Shadow’s been answering that question for a while now.” He shot a playful glance at Shadow, who was now standing a little closer, his body language protective and calm.
Rouge, with a glance at Shadow, “Well, I think we can officially say the gala just became a lot more interesting. Good to see you two finally showing the world what we all already knew.”
As the conversation shifted, Topaz, Walters, Tower, and Rockwell exchanged looks, still grappling with the reality of Shadow and Sonic’s relationship. But it was clear—their connection wasn’t just a rumor. It was real. The affection they shared was undeniable.
Shadow glanced at Sonic, his expression softening again. It was a brief moment, but it spoke volumes. As the tension in the air dissipated and the agents began to mingle again, one thing was certain.
Sonic and Shadow, together, were unstoppable.
The atmosphere at the gala had shifted, like a quiet storm had passed through. The room, still buzzing with hushed conversations and sidelong glances, was now filled with a subtle undercurrent of realization. Shadow and Sonic, side by side, weren’t just another couple to gossip about. Their connection was undeniable, and for those who had only seen Shadow’s cold, calculated persona, the sight of him so openly affectionate with Sonic was a revelation.
The agents slowly began to realize something they hadn’t quite understood before. Shadow, the grumpy, taciturn agent who’d long been a fixture in GUN’s ranks, wasn’t just a professional machine devoid of emotion. No, there was a deeper side to him—one that was clear for all to see when he stood with Sonic.
They were... together not just in mission, not just in mutual respect, but in something much more profound. It was almost impossible to ignore the way they interacted with each other—the way their hands found each other without hesitation, the subtle smiles exchanged only for one another, the quiet moments when they shared nothing but the space between them.
“Wow,” Topaz murmured under her breath, her eyes still locked on Sonic and Shadow. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shadow like that.”
“I know,” Tower said, his expression slightly stunned. “I thought... I thought it was all just rumors. But they’re...”
“Happy,” Rockwell said, her voice quieter now. “I never imagined Shadow could be so... happy. Or that he would let anyone see it.”
“The phrase don’t judge a book by its cover certainly comes to mind,” Walters agreed.
Rouge, who had been watching the couple with a knowing smile, leaned back with her arms crossed. “Shadow’s actually a big softie. Just had to find the right person to bring it out of him.”
Omega, ever the blunt force, stood beside her, scanning the couple. “AFFIRMATIVE. SHADOW DOES NOT REGULARLY DISPLAY THESE BEHAVIORS IN PUBLIC."
As the evening wore on, Shadow found himself lingering in the periphery, observing the mingling of agents and officials. Shadow’s usual instinct was to distance himself from the crowd—their overlapping conversations, the bright gleam of chandeliers catching at the corners of his vision, the too-heavy scent of cologne curling against his muzzle. His sharp eyes scanned for threats, but mostly, he stayed near Sonic, where the world compressed into something smaller, safer. He wasn't alone. And it felt... okay.
Sonic, ever the social butterfly, was doing what he did best—charming everyone around him with his infectious grin and quick wit. He moved effortlessly from conversation to conversation, making sure to include Shadow in every exchange. Even though Shadow never quite felt comfortable in these large social settings, with Sonic by his side, he didn’t feel as... out of place.
But there was one moment, one moment in the evening that stopped time for them both.
The lights dimmed, and a soft murmur swept through the grand ballroom. A violin sang the first tender notes of a familiar tune, its melody warm and aching, threading through the crowd like a whispered promise. Conversations faltered as the music filled the space, and a few agents turned toward the dance floor, curiosity flickering in their eyes.
The opening chords of Lover by Taylor Swift floated across the room, and Sonic’s face lit up with unmistakable recognition. His ears twitched, and a slow, fond smile curved across his lips. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned to Shadow and extended his hand, palm open, inviting.
“May I have this dance, my husband?” Sonic asked, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes.
Shadow felt a familiar warmth stir deep within him, spreading from his chest outward, tingling at his fingertips. For a fleeting second, he hesitated—but the look in Sonic’s eyes made resistance impossible. Silently, almost reverently, Shadow placed his hand in Sonic’s, letting himself be pulled forward into the soft glow of the dance floor.
A hush fell over the watching agents. Whispers fluttered at the edges of the room, incredulous and stunned, as they witnessed something they had never dared to imagine: the legendary Shadow—the stoic, unapproachable, feared agent—stepping willingly into a dance.
Sonic guided him effortlessly, one hand resting securely at the small of Shadow’s back, the other threading their fingers together. Sonic’s touch was grounding, sure, and unhurried. Shadow, usually rigid in the face of public attention, found himself relaxing, tension bleeding out of him with every step they took. It was as if the music and Sonic’s steady presence built a shield around them, muffling the rest of the world.
Sonic moved with easy grace, swaying to the beat, and Shadow, despite his inexperience, fell into step beside him. The steady rhythm—predictable, reassuring—smoothed the static noise in his mind, anchoring him in the slow, certain pattern of Sonic’s presence. Shadow focused on the steady warmth of Sonic’s body, the soft cadence of his breathing, and the way Sonic’s gaze never wavered from his own.
With every slow turn and measured step, Shadow felt himself shedding old armor. His hand tightened ever so slightly at Sonic’s waist, pulling him closer, and Sonic answered by brushing his thumb gently across the back of Shadow’s hand—a silent reassurance that he was exactly where he was meant to be.
“You okay?” Sonic murmured, their foreheads almost touching now, his voice a low caress.
Shadow’s gaze flickered, the usual walls around his heart crumbling. Here, under the soft lights and softer song, he wasn’t GUN’s ultimate weapon or a soldier bound by duty. He was simply a hedgehog—falling, deeply and irrevocably, for the only soul brave enough to see him.
“Yeah,” Shadow breathed, his voice barely audible. “Just… don’t get used to this.”
Sonic chuckled, the sound wrapping around Shadow like silk. “I could get used to you, anytime.”
Before Shadow could find a retort, Sonic lifted a hand to gently cup his cheek, brushing his thumb over the line of his jaw. Without urgency, without expectation, Sonic leaned in and pressed a kiss to Shadow’s lips—soft, steady, lingering longer than necessary. A silent promise woven between them.
The world faded to nothing.
When the kiss broke, Sonic nestled closer, resting his head against Shadow’s shoulder. They swayed in time to the music, the weight of Sonic’s body against Shadow more reassuring than any words. Shadow closed his eyes briefly, breathing him in—the scent of clean air, the electric undercurrent of speed, the scent of a far-away forest, and the quiet, abiding devotion that always lived in Sonic’s touch.
“You know,” Sonic whispered, his breath warm against the curve of Shadow’s neck, “this feels right. Like we were always meant to be here.”
Shadow didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lifted Sonic’s chin gently, his thumb brushing tenderly along Sonic’s jawline. He met Sonic’s gaze fully, and whatever remained of his carefully crafted distance shattered. In its place was something deeper—something raw and beautiful.
Love.
Without hesitation, Shadow leaned in, pressing another kiss to Sonic’s lips. Slower this time, deeper. A kiss that spoke of everything he could never say aloud—gratitude, devotion, an aching need to belong to someone who loved him without condition. Sonic melted into the kiss with a soft hum of happiness, his hands curling into the fabric of Shadow’s uniform as if anchoring himself there forever.
When they parted, their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.
“I love you, you know that?” Sonic said, smiling in that crooked, heart-stealing way he always did.
“I know,” Shadow whispered back, his voice rough with emotion. “I love you, too.”
They continued to dance even after the song’s final notes faded, swaying together to a rhythm that now belonged solely to them.
Across the room, the GUN agents watched in stunned silence. Topaz, standing beside Walters, shook her head slowly, her earlier skepticism having dissipated. “I didn’t expect this,” she said, voice low with wonder. “He’s… different.”
Walters crossed his arms, his gaze still fixed on the pair. “More, for lack of a better word, human than any of us gave him credit for.”
Even Rockwell, usually sharp and cold, could only mutter, “Never would’ve believed it. Shadow… with Sonic the Hedgehog.”
None of them spoke much after that. Words felt too small to capture the quiet miracle unfolding before them.
Rouge, standing off to the side with Omega, watched the scene with a knowing smirk. When Sonic caught her eye, she offered him a small nod—silent approval from someone who had seen every crack in Shadow’s armor and had waited years to see him let someone in.
Omega, ever the observer, simply scanned the ballroom and declared in his mechanical rumble, “UNPRECEDENTED DISPLAY OF AFFECTION. HIGHLY SATISFACTORY.”
When the music shifted again, Sonic and Shadow slowly made their way back to their friends. Shadow kept Sonic close, their fingers still loosely twined.
“You sure are good at this, Blue,” Rouge teased, crossing her arms with a smirk. “Don’t let him fool you. Shadow’s been this soft for a while now.”
Sonic shrugged, an easy, mischievous glint in his eyes. “What can I say? He’s got a soft spot—for me.”
Rouge chuckled. “Guess it’s about time the rest of the world saw it.”
Shadow, still holding onto Sonic like he might float away if he let go, didn’t bother to argue. He didn’t need to. For once, he wasn’t concerned with how others saw him.
For once, he was exactly where he wanted to be—with the hedgehog who loved him for all that he was, and all that he wasn’t.
And for the first time in a very long while, Shadow allowed himself to exist simply. To love. To be loved.
And to be at peace.
As the night wore on, the GUN agents continued to observe Sonic and Shadow, each of them coming to a quiet understanding. The hedgehog they had all known—the stoic, detached, often grumpy agent—wasn’t just that. He was more. He was someone who could love deeply and without hesitation. The coldness they’d once associated with him wasn’t all there was to Shadow the Hedgehog.
It was like peeling back a layer of the enigma that was Shadow, revealing something that no one had expected. Shadow’s capacity for love, his tenderness, his ability to care so deeply for someone else—it was all there for those willing to see it.
Sonic had given him something precious: the ability to let go of the walls that had once kept him isolated. And in return, Shadow had given Sonic something that couldn’t be quantified—his heart, given freely, without fear.
As the agents slowly left the gala, their minds still processing what they had witnessed, they began to realize that Shadow’s reputation had been one-dimensional. They’d all seen him as the gruff, efficient soldier. But now, they understood that there was another side to him—one filled with love, tenderness, and a fierce protectiveness that went beyond anything they had known.
Shadow wasn’t just the grumpiest agent in GUN. He was a hedgehog, a husband, and in his quiet, steady way, he was more than anyone could have ever expected. And Sonic, standing beside him, was the perfect match.
In the end, it wasn’t just the mission that defined Shadow. It was the love he shared with the one person who truly knew him, who saw beyond the gruff exterior and embraced him completely.