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“What happened to you,” slips past Silver’s lips without thinking at The Sight.
The Sight, of course, is made by Sonic. Sonic who’s entirely lost his blue colour, because endless clusters of flowers sit tangled together on every single millimeter of his body and leave all his quills obscured.
Somewhere within the bundle of blooms, a laugh resounds. “Aw, come on! I look pretty!” Sonic protests, green eyes barely able to be picked out from the daisies and dandelions and poppies and forget-me-nots. He blends in perfectly with the slope of the hill he’s standing beside, that is similarly dotted with all those flowers and their gorgeous colours. In that regard, Sonic’s words are a statement that Silver does have to agree with: Sonic is always pretty, but now he truly looks like a flower princess. Not a sight that the psychic would have expected to encounter today when he’d just been out and about, but it’s a welcome one nonetheless.
That is, until Sonic scrunches his nose and sneezes.
“Your fevers,” Silver remarks as a more sheepish look takes form on his flower princess’ face, which forms a stark contrast with the gorgeous cause of that sneeze. “Aren’t you allergic to flowers?”
“Allergic, allergic… That’s such a big word,” Silver’s worries get waved away. Except Sonic’s credibility is not helped by the fact his hand shoots over to his nose next and clamps it shut, and that’s enough signs for Silver to step in and take action.
Within a fraction of a second, Sonic gets covered in cyan and yoinked into the air. “We’re cleaning those out of you,” Silver didactically speaks over the indignant squeak his actions elicit, rummaging through his own quills to find the little hairbrush and comb Amy had given him ages ago for when he was ‘on the move’, or whatever. Prying about what the heck she meant had informed Silver that Amy desired he brushes his quills more often than once a week or less. Silver has yet to see the point to that, but now he’s grateful that he’s got these tools, that shine pristine and untouched as he grabs the comb first.
“No! My flowers,” Sonic bemoans from where Silver takes to floating too, because keeping speedy blue hedgehogs with their feet on the ground is guaranteed to have them disappear off the face of the planet in a second at best. The psychic chuckles at the dramatic look sent his way; Sonic is joking, if he looks this sad about the upcoming flower-removal.
And any dramatic looks dissipate the moment Silver presses the comb into the top of Sonic’s tallest quill.
“How did you even get like this?” the psychic inquires, moving him and Sonic both until the speedster is laying belly-down on Silver’s chest with his face fully in Silver’s mane. For some reason, that always keeps Sonic nice and quiet. Also this time Sonic doesn’t respond for a while, which Silver gladly uses to comb through that one quill first and dislodge all the flowers in there, then the second and the third…
By the fourth, Sonic’s head has shifted upwards a bit. His nose peeks out of Silver’s mane most cutely. “I jus’ wanted to frolic,” Silver can make out, muffled from amidst the tufts of white fluff Sonic has to talk into. “Don’t you ever roll down a hillside for the fun of it?”
With a shake of his head Silver tackles the fourth quill. “Never have.”
“You’re missing out on so much!” Sonic protests, his cheeks flushed from where he rears up a bit more. That must mean rolling down hill is pretty important if Sonic’s getting so heated about it, Silver mulls to himself as he didactically pushes the other’s face back in his mane anew so he can keep working uninterrupted. That fifth and sixth quill get freed of their flowery companions easily enough as well, and then getting the rest out of Sonic’s back is a cinch too…
Sonic produces some odd noise as Silver grabs the brush next. “Shhh. I’ve got it with me anyway, so might as well use it,” Silver soothes him, rubbing gently behind a twitching blue ear until it has calmed down again. And then he brushes, ever so carefully: every single one of Sonic’s quills gets trailed over. Eventually all lay sharply pointing away from Silver, sleek and shiny and strong as always, but the psychic can’t stop himself from running the brush through them a few times more. Sonic’s gotten all droopy on top of him, it’s adorable.
And that means Silver keeps brushing, and brushing, and simply enjoying the quiet motions and how he can feel Sonic’s breaths against his skin. Every once in a while he tenderly scratches behind one of Sonic’s ears, that droops right into his fingers as he does so. But alas, all good things need to come to an end, and after another scratch Sonic’s ear remains standing upright while the speedster stirs.
He wants to be put down, Silver knows, and thus he gently lifts Sonic upwards again before turning him right-side-up and depositing him on the ground. “Whew!” the speedster smiles, before his mouth splits open in a big yawn and his muscles ripple under his sleek pelt as he stretches. “I think I fell asleep for a second there!”
“You were very quiet,” Silver nods pensively as he pries any wayward blue quills out of his comb and brush before tucking them safely away.
…It’s only after he’s done that that he notices the cheeky way with which he gets beheld.
“Makes me feel like doing something fun to make up for that,” Sonic says in an oddly innocent tone of voice. “Something all active and silly.”
“Knock yourself out,” Silver shrugs back-
Before shrieking indignantly as he gets snatched, right around his midriff, and tore away from where he’s floating as Sonic races up the hill, and then Silver’s entire world turns topsy-turvy-upwards-downwards-left-and-right as endless colours overtake his vision.
It’s only after he and Sonic have chased each other up and down the hill a dozen times more that Silver realises he must have become quite similar to The Sight from before, based on Sonic being similarly cluttered with flowers again, and the fact Silver can easily grab a full handful of flowers from his own head by only running his fingers over it once.
But it matters not. Because Sonic sits down and pats his knee and Silver gladly sprawls out over his lap and lets Sonic comb-then-brush every single one away, while the speedster’s other hand keeps his nose firmly clamped shut.
Rolling down a hill and being like The Sight is more fun than Silver had thought before and definitely is up to be repeated, the psychic concedes with a purr; but for now, he’s happy to remain laying against Sonic still, and let the brush lull him in a content slumber.