so ...um i wrote this fanfic to lighten the brain rot.
I'm honestly not sure if I'm going to complete it depends i guess? Shadow is like my all time favourite but not more then Maria and i have soft spot for amy i can see the appeal with shadamy. In fact i can see the appeal in every ship that is with shadow idk man he just clicks with everyone and makes almost every ship with him really interesting.
The air in the cabin was thick with tension, heavy enough to suffocate. Shadow’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and unrelenting, each word laced with a frustration and pain so raw it seemed to fracture the very space between them. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling as if holding back a storm.
“No, Amy. You don’t… you don’t understand.” His voice was low, almost a growl, but it wavered, betraying the fragility beneath. “Loving Maria… loving her was like chasing the light of a star. It’s still there, shining in the sky, but the star itself is gone. All that’s left is the cold, empty void it left behind. And I—” His voice broke, and for a moment, he looked as though he might shatter. “I’ll never feel her warmth again. Never hear her voice. Never… never see her smile. And every time I close my eyes, she’s there, haunting me. Like a ghost I can’t escape.”
Amy stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen Shadow like this—never heard him speak so much, let alone with such raw, unfiltered emotion. The usually stoic, distant hedgehog was unraveling before her eyes, and it was terrifying. His crimson eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were now glistening with unshed tears, the weight of his grief laid bare.
“Everyone says I’ll get over her,” he continued, his voice rising, trembling with anger and despair. “God knows I’ve tried. But I can’t. I’ll never get over her. So don’t—don’t you dare tell me it’ll be okay. I don’t want to hear it.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Amy’s breath caught in her throat, her mind racing. She had always known Shadow carried pain, but she had never imagined the depth of it. The way he spoke of Maria—it wasn’t just grief. It was longing. It was love. A love so profound it had become a part of him, etched into his very soul.
Shadow turned away abruptly, his shoulders tense, his entire body radiating a desperate need to escape. He couldn’t stay here. Not when he felt so exposed, so vulnerable. He hated it. Hated the way his chest ached, hated the way his vision blurred, hated the way Amy’s pitying gaze made him feel even smaller.
Without a word, he stormed out of the cabin, the door slamming shut behind him. The cold night air hit him like a slap, but he welcomed it. The sharp sting was better than the suffocating weight of his emotions. He walked—no, stumbled—into the darkness, his steps erratic, his mind a whirlwind of memories and regrets.
Maria. Her laughter. Her kindness. The way she had made the cold, sterile halls of the ARK feel like home. She had been his light, his anchor. And now? Now there was nothing but emptiness. A void that no amount of time or distance could fill.
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. She had dreamed of a life on Earth, of feeling the sun on her face, of seeing the oceans and forests. And she had been robbed of it. Robbed of everything. And he? He was left to carry on, to live in a world that felt so alien without her.
Every new experience, every moment of beauty or joy, was tainted by her absence. He would see something—a sunset, a field of flowers, a child’s smile—and his first thought would be, Maria would have loved this. And then the pain would come, sharp and unrelenting, a reminder of what he had lost.
Amy’s words had opened a floodgate, and now he was drowning. Drowning in memories, in grief, in the unbearable weight of his love for a girl who was gone.
Amy stood in the center of the cabin, her heart pounding, her mind reeling. She had never seen Shadow like this. The quiet, brooding hedgehog who always kept his distance, who never let anyone in—he had just shattered before her eyes. And it left her feeling… guilty. She had pushed him, desperate for answers, but she hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t expected the depth of his pain.
She took a step forward, her hand reaching out instinctively, but she stopped herself. Shadow wasn’t the type to accept comfort. Not from her. Not from anyone. And the way he had looked at her—like he hated her for seeing him so broken—made her chest ache.
She watched as he disappeared into the night, his form swallowed by the shadows of the forest. The guilt in her chest tightened, a heavy weight she couldn’t shake. She had gotten her answers, but at what cost?
Scarlett’s voice broke through her thoughts, calling her back inside. The night was growing colder, the woods darker, and the thought of being out here alone sent a shiver down her spine. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes still fixed on the spot where Shadow had vanished, before finally turning and stepping back into the cabin.
But even as she sat by the fire, the warmth did little to ease the chill in her heart. Where had Shadow gone? Would he come back? Had she ruined everything?
Later That Night amy was in her own room at the cabin she shared with shadow and Scarlett and Jess.
Trying to catch some sleep but found herself thinking instead.
Three months. It had been three months since they had been stranded in this strange, unfamiliar world. Three months of working together, of slowly peeling back the layers of Shadow’s guarded exterior. She had learned so much about him in that time. He wasn’t as cold as she had once thought. He cared, more than he would ever admit.
But tonight… tonight had been different. Tonight, she had seen a side of him she wasn’t sure she was meant to see. And it left her feeling unsettled, her mind racing as she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
He had always been so distant, so closed off. And yet, he had let her see a glimpse of the pain he carried. The pain of losing Maria. The pain of loving someone who was gone.
Amy’s chest tightened at the thought. She had always known Shadow was different—more guarded, more intense—but she had never imagined the depth of his grief. It made her feel… small. Insignificant. Like her own struggles were trivial in comparison.
Sleep wouldn’t come. How could it, when her thoughts were consumed by Shadow’s broken words, by the raw pain in his voice? She tossed and turned, the weight of the night pressing down on her.
Panicking she started to question her actions..Had she messed up? Had she pushed him too far? The questions swirled in her mind, a relentless storm she couldn’t escape. All she could do was hope—hope that Shadow would come back, that he wouldn’t leave her alone in this strange, terrifying world.
Amy slipped out of bed, the thin blanket falling away as her feet touched the cold wooden floor. The cabin was silent, save for the soft, rhythmic breathing of Scarlett and Jess in the next room. The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting faint silver streaks across the floor. She padded quietly to the kitchen, her mind still restless, her thoughts tangled like a knotted thread.
Maybe some warm milk will help, she thought, though she doubted anything could quiet the storm in her head. She moved carefully, avoiding the creaky floorboards, and set to work heating the milk on the stove. The soft clink of the pot and the gentle hiss of the flame were the only sounds in the stillness of the night.
As she sat at the small wooden table, cradling the warm mug in her hands, the silence felt almost oppressive. The steam rose in delicate swirls, carrying the faint, comforting scent of vanilla and honey. She took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through her chest, but it did little to ease the tightness in her heart.
Then, the door creaked open.
Amy froze, her breath catching in her throat. She turned her head slowly, her heart pounding as her eyes landed on the figure standing in the doorway. Shadow. His silhouette was sharp against the dim light of the moon, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. He looked… menacing, yet there was something in his expression—something softer, almost weary.
“Shadow?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She felt a flush of embarrassment and a flicker of fear. Why was he here? Had he been out there all this time?
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. His movements were deliberate, almost mechanical, as if he were holding himself together by sheer willpower. He walked past her and sank onto the sofa, not too close but not too far either. The distance felt intentional, as though he were keeping her at arm’s length even now.
“Why didn’t you sleep?” he asked, his voice low and neutral, almost detached. But there was a faint edge to it.
Amy fidgeted with the handle of her mug, her fingers tracing the curve nervously. “I was… um… waiting for you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a murmur. She glanced at him quickly, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression was unreadable.
Shadow exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I’m not leaving you, Amy,” he said, his tone firm but not unkind. It was as if he had plucked the thought straight from her mind, and the certainty in his voice made her chest tighten.
She blinked, surprised. “I… I didn’t think you would,” she lied, her voice trembling slightly. She took another sip of her milk, mostly to avoid his gaze.
He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes drifting to the window, his crimson eyes glinting like shards of glass in the dark. For a moment, he looked at her, his expression unreadable.
“I found something in the forest,” he said finally, his tone matter-of-fact, but there was a weight to his words that made Amy’s breath hitch. “It might be of help. But it’s too dark now. We’ll go explore it tomorrow.” He paused, his gaze flicking to her briefly before he added, “You need to sleep. We’ll leave early.”
Amy blinked, her fingers tightening around the warm mug in her hands. She hadn’t expected this—hadn’t expected him to come back at all, let alone with news that could change everything. Her heart raced, a mix of hope and anxiety swirling in her chest. But before she could respond, Shadow was already moving.
He turned on his heel, his movements sharp and deliberate, and walked toward his room without another word. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the stillness of the cabin.
Amy sat there for a moment, frozen, her mind racing. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding her breath until she finally exhaled, the air leaving her lungs in a shaky rush. Her shoulders slumped, the tension she’d been carrying all night slowly unraveling.
A strange warmth spread through her chest, a tingling sensation that started in her heart and radiated outward. It wasn’t just relief—it was something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name. Shadow’s words played over in her mind: “I’m not leaving you, Amy.” They had been so simple, so direct, but they had carried a weight that left her feeling… seen. Understood.
She glanced at the closed door to his room, her thoughts a tangled mess. Shadow was an enigma, a storm she could never quite predict. But tonight, for the first time, she felt like she’d caught a glimpse of the person beneath the armor. And it left her with a strange, aching hope.
The warmth of the milk in her hands had faded, but the comfort it had brought lingered. She stood slowly, her movements quiet so as not to disturb Scarlett and Jess, and placed the mug in the sink. The cabin was silent now, the only sound the soft creak of the floorboards beneath her feet as she made her way back to her room.
As she lay down, pulling the blanket up to her chin, she felt the weight of the day finally begin to lift. The worries that had kept her awake—the fear of being left behind, the guilt of pushing Shadow too far—seemed smaller now, quieter. She closed her eyes, the image of Shadow’s face lingering in her mind. He had looked so… human. So vulnerable. And for the first time in a long time, she felt like maybe, just maybe, they were in this together.
Sleep came easier than she expected, the darkness of the room wrapping around her like a soft embrace. And as she drifted off, the last thing she thought of was the faint, almost imperceptible sound of Shadow’s movements in the other room.
In his room, Shadow sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. The weight of the night pressed down on him, heavier than ever. He had let too much slip. Too much of himself. And he hated it.
But he couldn’t leave her. Not after what he had seen in her eyes when he walked in—the fear, the uncertainty. It had mirrored his own, and that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
He sighed, running a hand through his quills. Maria’s face flashed in his mind, her smile as bright as the stars they used to watch together. The memory was both a comfort and a torment. She had been his light, his anchor. And now? Now he was adrift, lost in a world that felt too big, too loud, too alive without her.
But Amy… Amy was different. She was stubborn, relentless, and far too perceptive for her own good. She had a way of seeing through him, of peeling back the layers he worked so hard to keep in place. And it terrified him.
He lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep wouldn’t come—it never did—but he closed his eyes anyway, willing the memories to fade, if only for a moment.
The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, painting the cabin in soft hues of gold and pink. Amy woke to the sound of birds chirping outside, their songs bright and cheerful. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and glanced at the clock. It was early, just as Shadow had said.
She dressed quickly, her movements quiet so as not to wake Scarlett and Jess. When she stepped into the kitchen, she found Shadow already there, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hands. He looked up as she entered, his expression unreadable.
“Morning,” she said softly, unsure of how to break the silence.
He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he looked away. “We leave in ten minutes,” he said, his voice calm but firm.
Amy nodded, grabbing a piece of fruit from the counter. She wanted to say something—to thank him, to apologize, to something—but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she busied herself with preparing a small breakfast, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable.
When they stepped outside, the forest was bathed in the soft light of morning, the air crisp and fresh. Shadow led the way, his movements sure and deliberate, and Amy followed, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and unease.
As they walked, the tension between them began to ease, replaced by a quiet understanding. They didn’t speak, but the silence felt different now—less strained, more companionable. And for the first time in a long time, Amy felt a flicker of hope.
Here you can read the rest :
https://archiveofourown.org/works/62938177
