Jun Yabriel: Guess what, my readers? Surprise! - Preview #2! MonCor is still O/H, though, but since it's on DevART anyway, I decided to post this here. (Why it took so long, I don't know.) But, anyway. Here you are, all!

Enjoy!

Mon Coryphée

Book II, Ton Sourire

"Middle Act"

"Shadow! Shadow! Where are you?"

Sonic didn't care about the bowtie anymore. Surely, it was an evil eye-warding accent, one that would protect Sonic from Merlot. The matching handkerchief had been forgotten. Topaz cufflinks, detached and barely hanging on. Sky-blue stitches in his white loafers were to ensure nothing offhanded could be detected. Until they decided to trudge through dirt and mud till reaching the one their wearer loved.

"Shadow! Shadow!"

It was shortly after the act finished and the theater patrons filed out when Sonic noticed the crowd's vague displeasure. They didn't like the performance? But why? Sonic didn't want to answer his own question, but he'd just seen it for himself. Everything about it was off. The music and venue weren't the problem.

It was the performance, the costuming, maybe even the choreography. Better yet, it was the performer.

"His stress has become so prominent now, it's interfering with the audience's enjoyment," came the quick quip from Sonic's shredding gears. "I know he's hidden it since he was a kid, but now…he's damn near losing his mind just trying to hold himself together."

Pristine loafers were no longer pristine: They were dirty, caked with mud. The melting snows had turned the ground to slush. In his suit of tough wool, Sonic ducked and dodged those leaving the Opera House. The pathways were clogged, so darting across the lawn was the fastest way to move.

He managed to stop at a crosswalk, just in front of a side gate, and cupped his hands over his mouth. He'd done the same thing he'd done in all points of the House properties. And now, Sonic was fearing for Shadow's safety.

"Oh God…! Please, let me find him—please!"

Sonic's panic was rising. It had been fifteen minutes, but it felt like fifteen hours. "He always does this…right after—every performance, now. It was more predictable during junior year, but now…!" Sonic snarled at himself. He slammed his fist against a wall. "He's roaming all over the place. It's getting harder to track him, because I can't tell which way he's gonna go." Eyes sobered by determination, the seventeen-year-old forced his feet back into drive. "I just hope he hasn't passed out somewhere…like in the middle of a street." He kicked them up a few gears. "I have to find him—'cause his dad sure as hell isn't gonna try!"

Theatergoers compiled into droves of chatter. Most were speaking in regard to Shadow's performance. Some questioned its quality, from his out-of-place costume to the general overtone. Something about the ballet prodigy mystified them, but in a more heartfelt way. "He looked emaciated," one woman couldn't help noticing. "My God, who in their right mind would put him out there like that?" a man wondered, his two colleagues shaking their heads.

High above, from an overlooking balcony, Merlot didn't see Shadow anywhere. His chauffeur, Clarence, approached his back meekly. "Sir, shall I make a call to the Young Master's cell phone?"

"That won't be necessary right now."

The graying terrier blinked in mild confusion; the hand Merlot showed him signaled disinterest. One ear rose to a sound behind them.

A throng of fellows had marched up: One, a stoutly man with a muted copper mustache, seemed to be leading them, in his sharp tuxedo and penny loafers. One other gentlemen appeared to be an age-progressed version of him, while the last donned a leotard, dance pants, and vest of his own.

Upon seeing the show director crossing his arms, Merlot Vermilion turned to meet them midway. Clarence followed, his head humbly bowed. "Gentlemen," the CEO greeted them, "what a pleasure. And for such distinguished patriarchs to grace me, as well?"

"Enough of your flattery, Merlot." The ballet troupe head wasn't having it. In authoritative grace, the silvery-mocha Fennec fox strode over to him. Despite his vertical disadvantage to the hedgehog, he stabbed him with a distrusting glare. "How dare you. That son of yours has worked himself to the bone, and you still expected a great turnout? He is 20 pounds underweight, barely walking, and now I cannot find him, Merlot; every security guard I asked has given me a negative report." His tail bristled, ears lowered. Tiny fangs were bared. "Your son, Shadow, is nowhere on the premises, Merlot. Find him—right now."

But the threatening façade was quelled. Merlot laughed, "My my, you don't need to work yourself up about it, my dear Claude. I'm sure he's waiting for me in the parking deck. Did you neglect to check there?"

"Did you neglect to see to him yourself, so he would not worry?"

Testy eyes narrowed. "Are you neglecting your position here, Claude?"

Challenging eyes slivered. "Are you neglecting your son, Merlot?"

Intensity filled the air around them. But Merlot's arrogance lightened it with a quick dab; a smirk, more like. "I do believe that should be none of your concern, Maître Claude. What I do with my son is outside of your control and it should stay just as it is: Outside of your control, as well as out of your mind."

His smile mocked him. Embittered, the troupe director snarled before withdrawing. He yielded, so the father-son duo could approach him in his stead. And, before he knew it, the son was spouting complaints at him. "What is the meaning of this, Merlot? I was promised a booming box office for this performance—!" and it continued on, even after he'd cooled down enough to realize something. "As much as I hate to admit it, I did not check the parking deck. But I can, now." His Fennec tail swished. Nervousness tinged his muzzle. "For this one blue moon, I hope he is right."

The cathedral's steeple stood tall in that night sky. Bells clanged the eleventh hour. Sonic was running out of places to look, so the church was his last chance. Obviously, though, it was locked; that eliminated his need to search the inside. But, as his sole beacon of hope, Sonic prayed that its tiny courtyard contained Shadow. Wilhelmshaven's Belsen Andiron dormitory was too far of a walk for Shadow, especially in his condition. He couldn't have walked that far, Sonic reasoned. He brushed past sleeping rose bushes. Scratches expressed their dislike of Sonic—an intruder to the church, an interrupter of their sleep. Only tearing into the suit's topmost layer, Sonic ignored it.

One thing he couldn't ignore was the face Shadow made prior to his departure.

Back in Room III-08, Sonic checked on Shadow. Fully dressed to attend a banquet, the black hedgehog didn't say a word or move an inch. As if he were frozen in time. Well, more like dread.

"Hey? Babe, it'll be fine. You're gonna be great—just like always."

Shivers. Just like the one from their childhood.

"Babe? Shadow, it's okay. I'm here." A gentle tug on the other's hand gave some reassurance. But it could only reach so far. "I'll be watching, too, so don't be scared. Don't worry about what they'll say." It reached further; Shadow's flinched. "Whatever I see on that stage won't matter, so why should what they see matter? I'm gonna be here, Shadow, I'll be the first person you see when it's all over." He gave a light squeeze. "I promise."

"Don't let go."

Sonic's eyes watered.

"Don't let me go."

He interlocked their fingers; the other's hands shook so badly. "I won't, Shadow, I'm here."

Another, more tearful, "Don't let go."

Hands hesitated a gentle embrace. Sonic frowned a little, before welcoming Shadow against his chest. A blank-eyed despair could be seen in Shadow's face. His dread was beyond anything Sonic had ever seen—ever known. The Blue Blur's warmth was so familiar. It was soft, caring, and almost big-brotherly. More "loverly" than anything else.

Tearful "Don't let go" whispers rasped into Sonic's ears. It repeated over and over. Shadow truly sounded like a broken doll. Teardrops leaked like rotted faucets.

Those empty eyes showed an empty soul.

"I'm not letting you go." The embrace became more defensive. His chartreuse irises simmered with heartbreak, worry, and readiness. "I'll never let you go."

Another thing he couldn't ignore was the spider bustle at his feet. Scattered scarves, scrapped. Toe shoes, lost in the night's shade, just like the lace veil.

Shadow did get much lighter over winter vacation. The reverse fluctuation in weight startled and worried Sonic. From what he recalled from his years in Northeaster Heights, some women he'd catch sight of—druggies, mostly—had been as small as Shadow was now. It was unnatural. It was unhealthy. It wasn't going to be as easy as stuffing junk food into his mouth. Shadow's diet was strictly regulated and monitored—unfortunately, by his father; did he not see the weight loss as too dangerous? If he had, did he care?

The doubt made Sonic seethe. "He's so light…even as I'm holding him, now." His sights moved to see Shadow's unconscious face. "I've been seeing this face way too much, now…!" He furrowed his brows. Then, closed his eyes. "But I can't just complain to his father about it. It sucks, since…?"

A car was pulling up, at the courtyard's rear entrance. Headlights shined in on it. The suit reflected the light easily; going by the sounds of two door slams, Sonic knew who had found them. Thanks to a text he had sent after finding Shadow. He gave Shadow a tiny smile.

"Shadow…Shadow, your dad's here."

A tighter clutch, and Sonic's heartstrings were caught once more. Shadow shivered feverishly; he didn't want to leave Sonic. Afraid to go alone but unwilling to make him wait, Shadow gave Sonic's cheek a tender nuzzle before snatching up his duffel bag, toe shoes, cell phone—and Sonic's hand.

A teary sternness filled the space between their faces. That stealthy hand crept into Sonic's jacket pocket. He pressed a firm hand on his chest. The gesture made Sonic's blush simmer; but then, as it moved, the money crumpled underneath. Their eyes locked again.

"He doesn't know I'm coming, does he?"

The black hedgehog's spines flounced at his single headshake.

A more solemn glaze entered his eyes. Careful hands made sure to stay in place. Concerned lips quivered at Shadow's ear.

Espio was keeping an eye on Shadow's vitals the old-fashioned way: Listening to his chest, taking his pulse, and tapping out the beats for that whole minute. Knuckles kept an eye out for any suspicious movements beyond the church's fence. It didn't seem like he'd been followed.

"…He doesn't know we're dating either…does he?"

Sonic bit his lip a little.

"Yo, man. Let's get going," Knuckles pushed. "It's only a matter of time before he'll de—?"

Shadow's phone rang: Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata" sounded from the danseur's duffel. All three boys went frigid. "Shit…!" Sonic felt his heart drop. The vibrations murmured in an eerie, strangely threatening sense. None of them dared to pick it up. The color in Espio's face drained as the ringtone finished and a voicemail proceeded to be taken. Whatever was left came muffled to all their ears. But Sonic motioned Espio to pull the bag closer to him. Hesitantly, Sonic unzipped the middle section, felt around the inside, and brought the phone to his face. "3 new messages" could be seen on its active touchscreen.

"What the—three new messages?!" Sonic blurted out. "When were the first two?" he asked, checking the phone. A fairly easy password—Shadow's birthday—he'd made sure Sonic could access his phone, in the case of emergencies. Although, that precaution had been planned by his father. It was the perfect double-edged sword. Despite being his father, Merlot Vermilion made it imperative to remember the boy's birthdate. Only, for more businesslike reasons—disregarding it as a celebration or acknowledgement of life. Shadow had figured out that his father forgot about the date, in itself, every year. Merlot wasn't ashamed to tell him that he remembered his birthday simply for health insurance, child support, and other financial obligations.

When Shadow shared with Sonic that he'd never received a birthday present from his father, it made Sonic's blood boil.

And it was boiling all over again. The recorded message made him bare his fangs, grit them, and snarl.

"You have failed me yet again, Shadow. My most esteemed spectators will re-tan my wallet for this substandard performance you've given them. This was your last chance, so it's time for my authoritative powers to come into play. You have an ultimatum, Shadow. We will discuss it tonight…after I bring you home."

Sonic's pupils slivered. "That bastard—!"

"Chill out, man. Let's just take him back to the dorm. He'll be safe there."

"No. You don't understand." Shadow's tiny frame could've broken in Sonic's defensive hold. "There's something you need to understand about Shadow's dad."

"…It seems I've been ignored, yet again."

Clarence drove with tense carefulness as nightfall steepened. Straggling theatergoers cleared out. The Opera House's courtyard regained its sparseness. In it, however, Shadow's silhouette could not be found. The terrier chauffeur made a nervous glower. "Sir? Shall we search for him by car?"

"There's no point. It'd be a waste of energy to try finding him in this darkness." Merlot clicked his tongue.

"…He watches Shadow like a hawk." That protective sheen quivered. "And, as much as he hates to do it, he'll go the ends of the Earth to keep him within earshot—at the very least."

"If he finds us here, he's just gonna take him back home." Knuckles' brows dipped lower. "If we play it cool, he might not get too suspicious of us…but if he does, we're screwed—!"

"Only if he finds out about Shadow's relationship with me." Sonic turned his eyes back down to the sleeping beauty. "And I'm not letting that happen!"

"Then, let's get outta here." Knuckles urged Sonic to get to his car, while he and Espio took up Shadow's things. After securing everything and themselves, Knuckles gunned the engine to his 1975 Pontiac Grand Ville Brougham and made the lamp-lit cruise back to Belsen Andiron.

Merlot's face calmed, forming a dismissive smirk. "He's probably wandered back home. Like a good little boy. To Wilhelmshaven, of course."

At a stop sign, Clarence made a suggestion: "Should we pay a visit, just to be certain, Master?"

Just as the car started rolling again, Merlot snapped, "Never mind it, Clarence. I need to get back to the manor. There must be miles of complaints training through my phone line. That wretched boy…! He's doing this to spite me!" He pulled out his own Smartphone and began pecking at it.

A bit nervous, Clarence minded the tone in Merlot's voice. "Forgive me, sir, but the Young Master has been nothing but obedient to you. He is not so unwise as to 'spite' you, is he?"

Afterhours windowpanes were gilded in light. Rich golden portals made the streets look magical, like anything could happen. Late-night owls chatted it up on bistro fronts. Exam studiers crowded café panoramas, with laptops and coffee as loyal companions. Even shops and boutiques featuring the latest fashions on glammed-up mannequins, fawned over by clerks and customers alike. A notable seller, a men's store Merlot himself frequented, was still open. Passive about stopping in, the hedgehog kept an eye on his phone.

Merlot's silence put Clarence on edge. His downward-set eyes blinked timidly.

"He isn't as wise as he leads on, dear Clarence. Do not let his social demeanor fool you. He's pretty conniving—or, at least, he believes himself to be. But he'll never outfox me. He likes to think he can, but it's really me outfoxing him." He brought the device up to his ear. "He's merely a sheep in wolf's clothing, Clarence. Remember that."

The terrier lowered his gaze after stopping at a stoplight. A worried gleam had entered it. He didn't mean to listen any further, but what followed after a moment's silence put the middle-aged driver back on edge.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Wilhelm. I hope I didn't disturb you; have you a moment?" A response. Then, Merlot gently laughed to sound embarrassed. "Yes, I'm very sure you're still irritated with me and very unwilling to talk. But, might I offer you…a different option, sir?" A dark smirk curved his lips.

Middle Act Set…