When Flash Sentry got into Fillydelphia State, nobody was more surprised than him. He never counted on having a future. Now that it's in front of him, he can't wait to see what it looks like. If only he can figure out how to break the news to Sunset.
When Flash Sentry got into Fillydelphia State, nobody was more surprised than him. He never counted on having a future. Now that it's in front of him, he can't wait to see what the world outside of Canterville has in store.
If only he can figure out how to break the news to Sunset.
Flash Sentry nods his head to the beat of the music. The clock behind him read 10:28 the last time he checked. It's a late shift for him, the kind he usually dreads; nobody ever visits the diner after nine. The kitchen closes at 9:30, and the other staff usually knock off before ten.
Tonight's different, though. Tonight, the Rainbooms are throwing a private afterparty, celebrating another successful performance, and they've chosen the diner as their venue. Sunset Shimmer's pulled Twilight Sparkle into an impromptu production of "Dance Magic," flawlessly hitting every step in the choreography, as the other five girls surround them, singing along to the song thunking from the jukebox.
Flash appreciates the party as a gesture. Sunset wanted to include him, let him know that he wasn't forgotten, but he has too much on his mind for a night of partying, and had wanted to use his lonely shift to think some stuff over.
But this is still good, even if he's just watching from the periphery. And it's not like he's alone – he has Timber Spruce keeping him company, seated in a barside stool in front of the register. He's knocking back a bottle of sangria, a specialty soft drink he bought from the diner's fridge.
Flash could take or leave Timber, but at least he's paying for his drinks.
"Y'know, you've been stuck back there all night," Timber says, after finishing a swig. "Why not join in, bust a move?"
"I'm still on the clock, but nothing's stopping you." Please, let nothing stop you.
"Would if I could. Curse my creaky old joints." Timber crooks his back and raises his voice to a high, exaggerated whine. "Young man, be a dear, hand me my acetaminophen."
Flash raises an eyebrow.
"...It's a painkiller. For arthritis." Timber waits for Flash's laugh, which doesn’t come. "For real, I don't know the choreography."
"Well, neither do I. Which means I have two excuses, and you just have one. That makes me... some kind of winner. I think," Flash says.
He leans forward on his counter to watch the show. His eyes are on Sunset; he loses himself in her motions. She's twirling, lining herself up with Twilight as the chorus kicks in again.
Her eyes meet his. She beams at him, a private smile just for him, at once brilliant and gentle.
The one Flash sends her is just as loving – but not nearly so easy.
He hopes she doesn't notice.
"Hiya, barkeep!"
Instantly, Flash's vision is filled with Pinkie Pie, her face pressed close to his. Flash recoils, yelping. Timber laughs.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Pinkie says. "Just wanted to check in and, you know, grab a refill, long as I was over here. How's the job treating you? Does Mr. Stonewall miss me yet?"
Flash shakes his head, his heart gradually settling. "If he does, he isn't telling me. He's always ranting about you two-timing him with Sugarcube Corner."
"Poo. Well, we'll get there." Pinkie leans on the countertop. "Now, about that drink?"
"Another rumless rum-and-coke?"
"Nah. Mix me up a ginless gin-and-tonic, instead."
Rolling his eyes, Flash steps behind the bar and retrieves a half-empty bottle of tonic water. He fills a glass and slides it to Pinkie, who somehow expels a dollar and change from her hair onto the register.
"We are so frickin' square," she snortles. Then she vanishes, reappears beside the jukebox, and bangs on it; immediately, it lurches from "Dance Magic" to a different tune. Pinkie leans against the jukebox and sips her drink as the girls gradually adjust to the change.
Flash scoops up the money and turns his attention toward Sunset – she's trying to help the now-confused Twilight pick up the rhythm. She takes Twilight's hand, and draws her into a jerky, improvised dance routine. It's awkward, stumbling, and lacks the smoothness of "Dance Magic" – neither girl can dance well without choreography – but they're both laughing and smiling.
Timber clears his throat. "So, Pinkie Pie... she's never, like. Killed anyone before. Has she?"
Startled, Flash looks at Timber. "What makes you say that?"
"You ever see American Psycho?"
Timber motions toward the jukebox; "Hip To Be Square" is playing. Flash shrugs – he knows the song, but not the movie.
Timber sighs and finishes off his sangria. "Man, I am zero for two right now..."
"That's what you get for hanging around teenagers, gramps."
"The arthritis thing was supposed to be a joke." Muttering, Timber adds, "Twilight would've gotten it."
Flash realizes he hasn't rung up Pinkie's drink yet. He does so, and says, "How much older than her did you say you were, again?"
"Ah... shoot, you know what? We should probably cool it on the soda; wouldn't want the manager to think we were stealing 'em." Timber sets his bottle down and hops off his stool. "I'm gonna make a snack run. Anyone want anything?"
Most of the girls shake their heads, or fail to hear him, but Twilight disengages from Sunset and bounds to Timber's side, seizing his arm and grinning. They bolt from the diner, waving hastily, and the party continues without them.
Sunset, short a partner, shimmies toward the register and extends her hand to Flash. Flash is tempted to take her hand, let her pull him onto the dance floor...
...Flash points at the register, smiles apologetically, shakes his head.
He isn't feeling the music tonight.
Before Sunset can respond, Pinkie drags her onto the now-crowded floor, joining the other girls. They move in time with the music, all smiles, proudly and gladly adding their voices to the chorus.
Sunset doesn't forget Flash, though. She blows him a kiss; he catches it, pockets it, and sighs.
This is far from the best night the two of them have had; he prefers not having to share her attention when the two of them are together.
But he never gets tired of watching the girl he loves sing and sway, carefree and content. It's a reminder of how lucky he is to love her, and be loved by her.
That, at least, makes it a good night.
Flash wonders how many more they have left.
"I'm not saying it’s pedophilia." Flash grips the steering wheel a little tighter with the hand at ten, while the hand at two lightly taps the hard rubber for emphasis. "I'm only saying—"
"You said it was creepy." The bag of chips in Sunset's hands rustles. "Your words."
"No, I said it was weird. That's not the same as creepy." They pull up to a stoplight, and Flash lets the car idle.
The Rainbooms' afterparty was such a hasty affair that nobody thought to make any carpooling arrangements until after. Applejack and Rarity took their own cars to and from the concert. Fluttershy's parents were good enough to ferry Rainbow and Pinkie home, and Timber drove Twilight. Sunset, whose bike was in the shop, had Flash.
He wonders if she'd planned it that way.
"Twilight has been so different since they got together, though." Sunset counts off points on her fingers as the light flips from red to green. "She's more confident, outgoing, assertive—"
"You're ignoring my point."
"He's good for her, Flash," Sunset says, drawing out her words emphatically. "You think I'd let my girl date some scrub?"
"Alright, lemme ask you this: do you know how much older he is than her? Because he ran off when I asked."
"Not... that much older."
"Very specific. So, you don't know either?"
The car passes underneath a street lamp; by the harsh orange light, Flash can see mischief in Sunset's eyes. "This state has a Romeo and Juliet law on the books, Flash."
"That's reassuring."
"Didn't you tell me that you liked Timber?"
"I do. Okay? I just... liked him more when he and Twilight weren't an item." He sees Sunset's knowing look, and bristles. "And no, it's not a remedial Princess Twilight thing."
Sunset pats his arm. "'Residual,' lover."
"I'm just saying," Flash sighs. "It makes me a little uncomfortable that he and Twilight are hooking up—"
"Oh, they haven't gone anywhere, trust me."
"That they're dating, then, considering how they met, and where, and the age difference..." Flash chews his lip and shoots a quick look at Sunset. "You're her best friend; you seriously find nothing weird about it?"
Sunset's jacket gives a leathery squeak as she shrugs. "Some people like older women."
They come to a stop sign. Flash slows to a halt, and looks askance at Sunset. Her lips are pursed, her face drawn.
"...Older men. And women. Some people like both. Maybe Twilight does, I dunno." Sunset tosses a chip into her mouth and crunches it. "You wanna talk about dating above your age range, Flash, and this ride's gonna get awkward in a hurry."
The question of precisely how old Sunset is rises to Flash's mind. He pushes it away with a shudder.
"Anyway," says Sunset, "I don't know how much it matters. Twilight might not be in town for too much longer."
Flash swings the car left, turning onto Sunset's street. Her apartment's still quite a ways away; there's plenty of time to talk. And we need to talk. "She's not going overseas, is she?"
"No, she changed her mind about Cambridle." Sunset's voice softens. "But... she's going out of state. MIT."
Flash whistles, awed, though unsurprised. Twilight's grades and reputation guarantee her a full ride anywhere in the country. Schools like MIT must be tripping over one another to woo her.
"Yeah," Sunset chuckles ruefully. "That was about my reaction, too. Good for her, right?"
Flash takes his right hand off the wheel and reaches for Sunset's, finding it without looking and lacing their fingers together. He squeezes. "Are you okay?"
Sunset gives another squeaky shrug. "I'm proud of her, don't get me wrong. MIT doesn't just hand out full ride scholarships. And I know she can't pursue her dreams here in Canterville – none of the girls can, really. They all had their own plans long before we all came together. But all the same, it's..."
The leather seats are suddenly chafing Flash. "Is anyone else going out of state, besides Twilight?"
"Rarity. She'll be close to Twilight. Fluttershy and Pinkie are going upstate. Applejack's staying with the farm for now, and Rainbow's staying local until she gets her two-year, but their long-term plans are... murky." Sunset sighs. "Am I selfish for wishing they'd all stay? I don't expect them to just drop their aspirations on account of me, but thinking about a life without them..."
Flash fidgets in his seat. He squeezes Sunset's hand compulsively, and counts the blocks between them and her apartment.
"Don't be so quick to reassure me." Sunset says. She pulls her hand from Flash's grip. "Is there something on your mind?"
Flash looks at her – she's folded her arms, her eyes narrowed at him. Sighing, he tries to phrase it as gently as he can.
"I know how much this must suck for you, Sunset. And I can relate, because I've got people I gotta say goodbye to, too. It's just—"
"If you're gonna say what I think you're gonna say—"
"—Maybe you should have applied to more than one school. So you wouldn't feel like you're getting left behind."
"Didn't even need to read your mind," Sunset huffs. "Sure, let's have this argument again."
"I wasn't gonna say anything, remember?" Flash clenches the wheel with sweaty hands. The smart thing to do would be to shut up now. "It just would have been a good idea to have a back-up if Canterville State didn't take you. Maybe you wouldn't have to say goodbye to Twilight."
"If CSU didn't take me, what makes you think MIT would?"
"Someplace close by, then, like Rarity. Or wherever Pinkie and Fluttershy are going."
"Again," says Sunset tersely, "none of them would have taken me. My grades in my junior year were trash, and I had to repeat my senior year; just one of those is a death sentence for an application."
"So, just don't try at all, huh?" Flash grumbles.
"I only applied to CSU because Celestia wanted me to – part of my redemption tour after the Fall Formal," Sunset snaps. "I didn't see a point; I told her there wasn't a point. All I wanted was to play out what was left of my senior year, and then..."
Flash prompts her when she doesn't finish. "And then what?"
"...Whatever, Flash. I always thought things worked out pretty good, all things considered. If you disagree, fine. You're entitled to your opinion." Sunset scoffs. "I thought you'd be happy we'd be going to Canterville Community together."
She's fishing for reassurance again. Flash doesn't trust himself to reassure her right now, not when his foot is leaving such an awful aftertaste in his mouth. He clams up until Sunset's apartment comes into view, on the other side of the street.
Flash parks and kills the engine. Intent on walking her to the door, he starts to unbuckle his seatbelt.
"Don't. It's okay." Sunset crinkles her half-eaten bag of chips up, and stuffs it in her jacket pocket. She huffs a bit, and then says, "Listen, I don't want you to make a big deal about this, okay? But since you're so worried about my future... I figure I should tell you, I got a job interview coming up."
Flash blinks. "You do? Where?"
"The county office. Health and Human Services. They need someone to work with troubled teens, and, well." She smiles joylessly. "I’ve got a PhD.”
Flash furrows his brow. "Why didn't you say so sooner?"
"Didn't think you'd care."
"Of course I'd—" Flash stops before he has to swallow another foot. "I wish you'd told me a little sooner."
"...I'm sorry." The door clicks open; Sunset steps out, and lightly shoves it closed. She crosses around the front of the car to Flash's window and peers at him, faintly visible in the night. "I'll tell you more about it later; right now, I'm beat. See you tomorrow?"
Flash nods, mutters an affirmative.
Sunset sticks her hands in her pockets. She turns to walk away.
Reaching through the window, Flash catches Sunset's sleeve and tugs. He releases her arm as she turns, and she smooths out her sleeve where he'd caught her.
"I'm not trying to nag you, Sunset. I'm sorry if I did. And I'm happy you've got an interview. You deserve it, you're..." Flash fumbles to get the words right this time. "You're the most amazing girl I've ever met in my life. I know how smart you are, how talented... I wanna see you get outta here, do good for yourself. Because I hate seeing you sell yourself short."
Sunset's expression shifts into a tender, sympathetic smile. She steps closer to the car, leans through the window, and pulls Flash into a long, slow kiss, the kind that always makes Flash feel like he's weightless and untethered.
Breaking the kiss, Sunset cups his cheek. "I promise, I'm exactly where I want to be."
A knot forms in the pit of Flash's stomach. "Sure you don't want me to walk you to the door?"
"I'll be fine."
Flash purses his lips, then nods. "I really am sorry. About you and your friends."
"At least I have you." Sunset beams that private smile at him. "Canterville Community won't feel so big and empty with you around."
The knot in Flash's stomach tightens.
"For real now, though. G'night, Flash." Sunset turns, looks both ways quickly, and crosses the street toward her apartment. From her front door, she looks at Flash one last time, to blow him a kiss.
He pockets it, and watches her slip inside. Satisfied that she's safe, Flash keys the ignition, and the car rumbles to life. He holds the wheel, still slick with sweat, and stares out into the night.
"'Exactly where you want to be,' huh?"
Shaking his head, he peels away from the curb, and sets off toward home.
Seated behind her desk, and a mess of ungraded assignments, Miss Cheerilee scans the paper Flash gave her.
Flash watches, squeezing the straps of his backpack and drumming his fingers on the stapled document he's holding. It doesn't take Miss Cheerilee long to finish reading, but every second feels like an eternity to him.
Finally, she nods approvingly. "Fillydelphia State, huh?"
"Yeah. Just like you, right?" Flash chuckles nervously. "Lemme guess, you're surprised?"
"I went to the University of Fillydelphia, actually. Different school. And I'd characterize my reaction as impressed, not surprised." She crisply folds the paper and hands it back to Flash, smiling up to her eyes. "But you're not just here for a victory lap, right?"
Flash takes a deep breath. He trades the letter of acceptance for the papers he's holding, which Miss Cheerilee promptly unfolds. She's greeted with a typewritten mess of poorly spaced paragraphs, inundated with great, swoopy strokes of her own purple ink. At the top of the paper is a C-, written large and circled.
"So," Flash begins, hesitantly. "The thing is, if I don't keep my GPA at a B-average, I'm not sure FSU will still accept me. And this paper – it's not my strongest work, and it definitely hurt my grade in this class. I was wondering..."
Miss Cheerilee raises an eyebrow.
"...If you could, you know..." Flash sticks his hand – the one not holding the letter – into his pocket, and shrugs, feeling small under her gaze. "Help me out? A little?"
"'Help you out.' Yes, 'tis the season, isn't it?" Miss Cheerilee hums a short, soft note and reclines in her chair, crossing her arms. "Do you have any idea how many students show up at this time of year, asking for 'help' with grades?"
"Uh... all of them?"
"Feels like it, sometimes," Miss Cheerilee snorts. She opens her hands expectantly. "Well, Flash. What sets you apart from the rest of the pack, hmm? What makes you exceptional enough for an exception?"
"I'm... charming?"
"That hardly makes you exceptional." Miss Cheerilee drops the essay on an unrelated pile. "That's not a dig at you; I only mean that you can cut the collective charisma of your graduating class with a knife. Try again."
Flash thinks, but can't come up with anything, not a single reason why he deserves an exception. He wonders if this is how Sunset felt, begging for forgiveness from the people she'd wronged. Shame burns in his cheeks as he reaches for his paper.
Miss Cheerilee's hand pins it down. "Flash. What does the syllabus say?"
"The..." Flash pulls back, and sticks his hand in his pocket again. "Honestly, I kinda didn’t read it."
"No one does," Miss Cheerilee mutters. She lifts her hand and sits up straight. "The syllabus says, quite plainly, that major writing assignments can be revised and resubmitted. The deadline is sometime in May; I forget exactly when."
Relief quenches Flash's shame. "Is that for all the essays? Can I do that for every one?"
"Any major writing assignment is eligible. You can, however, only revise and resubmit one – this one, I'd suggest. Mind you, I don't guarantee an improved grade; you need to earn it by showing clear progress between drafts." She looks knowingly at him. "I can't raise your grade simply because you're charming."
"No, I get that. I didn't mean— the 'charming' thing was supposed to be a joke." Flash thinks about his phrasing, and cringes. "Did I come across like I was just... asking for a higher grade?"
Miss Cheerilee pinches her thumb and index fingers together. "Teeny bit."
"I didn't mean to." Flash draws himself up. "I want to get a better grade. But I'm gonna earn it, like you said."
Miss Cheerilee stares, long and hard, at Flash, before returning his essay; he folds it back up and presses it against his acceptance letter. "I'm sorry for assuming, Flash. I get so many people asking for handouts that I suppose I lumped you in with them."
"We're cool. Uh – ma'am." Flash jerks his thumb toward the door. "I'd love to sit down and talk about this more, but I gotta give my friend a lift downtown today. She's probably wondering where I am."
Miss Cheerilee nods. "If you can stomach coming to school on Saturday, I'll be on campus tomorrow morning. There's a staff meeting at ten, but I'm sure I'll have a few extra minutes to talk one-on-one. Bring your paper, and we can brainstorm revisions."
"I've got tomorrow off from work, so yeah. Definitely. Thanks for helping me. Letting me revise, I mean." Flash backs away, toward the door. "I'll see you in class tomorrow."
"Until then." Miss Cheerilee waves him off, and draws an essay from the morass. She clicks open a purple pen, puts it to paper, but pauses before she starts writing. "Flash?"
He pauses, mid-step.
"Congratulations." Miss Cheerilee smiles, the fading sunlight shimmering on her hair. "I'm proud of you. Really."
Flash can't really speak to that – he's blushing so hard there isn't enough blood in his brain to respond. Mumbling something, he steps outside of the classroom. Away from his teacher, he slides the letter and the essay into his backpack, and breathes a sigh of relief.
"She seems helpful."
Jumping, Flash whirls, and immediately kicks himself for feeling startled.
It's only Muffins, leaning against a row of lockers with her hands hooked behind her back. She's wearing a sunny smile and a breezy white dress, with a gym bag hanging over her front. She doesn't seem to notice Flash's state of shock.
"Could you..." Flash holds a hand to his chest. "Not sneak up on me like that? You give me a heart attack, and you're gonna have to drive yourself to dance practice."
"Oh, yes. I'll drive myself. With that driver's license that the DMV would totally give me, because of my perfect 20/20 vision." Muffins's eyes swim in opposite directions; she blinks, and they swivel back into place.
"Well, don't scare me to death then, smartass, if you're so worried about it." Flash joins Muffins against the lockers, leaning beside her. "It's rude to spy on people."
"I wasn't trying to, believe me. You said you had to talk to Miss Cheerilee before we left so I figured I'd wait for you outside her classroom. I started overhearing, and I knew that I should probably stop, and then I didn't." Muffins screws up her face. "I wanna say I'm sorry, but I don't think I am. Does that make me a bad person?"
"No, but putting maple syrup on hot dogs does."
"Just because you don't like mixing sweet and savory doesn't mean nobody can." Muffins bites her lip. "For real, though, um..."
Flash looks quizzically at her. A fringe of blonde hair has fallen in front of her eyes.
"It's cool that you got into college. Congratulations." Muffins awkwardly brushes the hair in her eyes away. "Fillydelphia's pretty far. You gonna go?"
"Probably. I haven't decided for sure." Faint notes of piano music tinkle through the air – Miss Cheerilee's switched on her little CD player. "Listen, you're the only other person who knows about this, besides Miss Cheerilee. I haven't even told Sunset yet. And I kinda want to keep things quiet for a little while. So..."
Muffins hisses through her teeth and holds up her phone, the screen pointed away from Flash. "Wish you'd said that before I hit up MyStable. I liveblogged your meeting with Cheerilee."
Flash glowers at her.
Giggling, Muffins turns the phone – the screen's blank. She sticks her tongue out at him.
"Har har." Flash shakes his head and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "You wanna get going?"
Muffins nods emphatically and falls into step with Flash, a bubbly bounce in her gate. "Up to much tonight?"
"Besides hauling your ungrateful butt downtown? I'm picking up a quick shift at work. Before that, I gotta meet Sunset at her place. I'm taking her to a... a thing."
"A vague, nonspecific thing?" Muffins nods sagely. "I love those. They're my favorite."
"An interview, you nosy..." Flash huffs. "It's some junior social worker job with the county. Working with troubled kids, teenagers – normally, you need a degree for something like that, but the county made an exception for her."
"I guess when you can put 'foiled mass-hypnosis plot with the power of rock-'n-roll' on your resume, you open a couple doors."
"Not sure about that, but Celestia wrote her a letter of rec. Bunch of other people did, too. That opens some doors." He feels a swell of pride. "It's nice, watching her go places. I always knew she could do better than Super Sushi."
Muffins runs a hand through her hair. "Speaking of going places, if you don't mind my asking—"
"Always assume that I do." Flash glances at her, smirking. "Not that it stops you. Shoot."
Muffins points a finger-gun at him, pewing softly. "You don't want people to know you got into college yet. That's cool; I'm not gonna spill the beans. But why?"
"Guess it hasn't hit me yet, to be honest." They come to the end of the hall; Flash holds the doors leading into CHS's spacious atrium. "I mean, I applied to a bunch of schools, but FSU was the only one that took me. And I didn't think for a second I'd get into any of them."
Muffins sashays through the doors, her every step a dance. "Why apply at all, if you thought it was such a lost cause?"
"I dunno – it's what you do, right? You get into your senior year, and you apply to college."
"I didn't."
"Yeah, but you have that big... dance club... thing."
"It's a performing arts conservatory." Muffins mimics Rarity's posh voice. "And it's highly prestigious. Dahling."
"That's pretty good, actually," Flash laughs. "But yeah. You got into your confectionery—"
"Conservatory. Those words sound nothing alike, Flash."
"—but I figured I'd be waiting tables for the rest of my life. Suddenly, I'm going to college – how am I supposed to wrap my mind around that?" Flash tosses his hands in the air and lets them fall limply against his thighs. "I can't help it. Success comes my way, and I feel... lost."
Muffins edges up against his arm. "So, if I'm hearing you right... you don't want anyone to know about it before it's sunk in?"
"Pretty much." Flash pauses by a display case laden with plaques and trophies. His gaze drifts to the seven-pointed star of the fall formal crown, and he works his jaw in thought. Muffins isn't getting the whole story. There's a lot he could talk about, a lot he's not ready to talk about.
Secrets don't stay secrets for long at CHS. He trusts Muffins, and while he's not too close to Miss Cheerilee, he figures she'll keep it quiet, too. At the very least, he has no reason to think she won't.
Anyone else, though, and his secret is out for good, and any secret that gets out will wind its way back to Sunset.
She can't know about this yet.
Muffins snaps her fingers in front of his eyes, twice. Flash blinks, shakes his head, and looks down at her. "Sorry, I was, uh. Zoned out."
Frowning, Muffins holds up a finger. She moves her hand from side to side, slowly.
Flash's eyes track her motion. "Uh, what are you—?"
"Concussion check. You seem okay." Muffins drops her arm. "But I'm diagnosing you with an advanced case of the Saddy-Waddies."
Flash blinks. "That's not terminal, is it?"
"Not with proper treatment." Muffins twirls and makes for the exit, pulling Flash along by the wrist. He frees himself, and follows along under his own power.
"I know it sounds like I'm whining over nothing," Flash sighs, rubbing his wrist – her grip is surprisingly firm. "Believe me, I'm glad I got into college. Proud, even."
"So, what's the problem?" Muffins pushes the door open and holds it for Flash, bowing low and theatrically.
Flash steps through, Muffins in tow. "Like I said, I never really thought I'd even go to college. Seemed more up Sunset's alley. My parents keep asking me if we're gonna stay together once she moves away. Once she moves away, not me."
"That's gotta burn," Muffins says. "Where is she going, anyway? She doesn't really talk about her college plans. She, uh, going to FSU with you?"
"...I think she's still deciding." Flash feels a twinge that he tries to ignore as they approach his car. "Anyway, I didn't expect to get into college, and I don't think anyone else expected me to, either. Now that I'm in, people are gonna treat it like some big achievement."
"It is a big achievement."
"And my family's gonna want me to keep 'em coming. Y'know, hit the books, earn scholarships, graduate with a sexy GPA, and find some kinda job where I wear a sport coat or something."
Flash sticks his hands in his pockets and fishes out his keys, unlocking the doors and pulling the passenger side open.
"I miss when I was just cute and good at guitar," he finishes gloomily. "Now I actually have to make something of myself."
"Could be worse," Muffins says. She gives a dry laugh. "People could just expect nothing from you. Forever."
Flash snorts. "That sounds nice, actually."
"Sure about that?" Muffins dips her head, links her hands behind her back, and turns to give Flash a profile view of her willowy frame. "That conservatory I'm doing... you wanna know how people react when I tell them I got into it? Teachers, relatives, even my parents?"
Suddenly, she pivots toward him. Clasping her hands, Muffins rests them against her cheek, putting on a dreamy simper and raising her natural falsetto higher.
"'Oh, Muffins, you're so brave!' 'You've overcome so much!' 'You're so inspiring, with all your medals and grades. You're living proof that anyone can achieve their dreams!' 'Will you sign my sports bra, Muffins?'"
"You made that last one up."
"I'm making a point," Muffins says. "When people talk that way, they're faking confidence in me. No matter what I do, same reaction, every time. Nobody ever raises their expectations, because truth is, they never expected me to get anywhere in the first place."
"...That sucks," Flash says.
Muffins shrugs. She steps a little closer, close enough for Flash to take a reflexive step away from the door.
"Things could be worse for you, man. At least you’re not an inspiration porn star." Muffins punches his shoulder, and in a super-gruff macho voice, says, "So suck it up."
Flash glances at Muffins's hand. He raises an eyebrow.
They crack up at the same moment.
"Thanks for the pep talk, coach," Flash snickers. "Now get in my car before I start charging you gas money."
Muffins does just that, sliding into her seat and holding her gym bag against her lap. A look comes over her face – an uncharacteristically nervous expression.
"Hey Flash?"
"Mm?"
Muffins’ eyes are focused on him. "You've never just been cute and good at guitar."
Sunset's left the bathroom door open while she showers, letting steam roll into the living room. It's humid, but Flash feels comfortable enough. As he waits, he admires a painting of sunflowers, something from Sunset's art class.
"Can't believe you never hung this up." Flash raises his voice to be heard over the shower. "It's gorgeous."
Sunset's voice echoes off the linoleum. "What, the sunflowers? They suck."
"You're kidding, right? This is, like, professional quality. Everything about it is perfect. The colors, and the... uh... colors."
"The brush strokes are sloppy, and the perspective's all wrong. It looks like something a kindergartner made. I screwed up early painting it, made the most of what I'd done, took my A-minus, and was happy for it."
Scoffing, Flash says, "Why'd you bring it home, if you hate it?"
"Maybe I just love surrounding myself with reminders of my mistakes. Keeps me from dreaming big."
That's a great attitude to have before a job interview.
"You're being way too hard on yourself; you've got a lot of talent." Flash sets the canvas down, taking another moment to admire it. "You know, um... I was looking at some job-hunting websites the other day. Thinking of stuff you’d be good at."
Sunset laughs. The pipes groan; the steady cadence of water tapers into a gentle drip. "You my agent now, Flash?"
"Just keeping an eye out for you," Flash says, mildly hurt. There's rustling from the bathroom as Sunset towels off. "I saw a listing for a junior graphic designer here in town, thought it might be up your alley. Y'know, as a plan-B, in case this thing with the county doesn't work out."
"That's loser talk, Flash!" Bare feet slap against the floor as Sunset emerges from the bathroom amid a cloud of steam. She's wrapping her towel around herself, and Flash gets an eyeful of her ass as she walks past him.
Flashes manages to avert his eyes for a fraction of a second, before temptation wins him over.
Sunset tightens the towel around her body and fastens it as securely as she can. She turns to Flash, ready to speak. Seeing the look on his face, her expression morphs into something sultry.
"You're so damn cute, you know that? Nothing here you haven't seen before, and you're still blushing like a schoolboy." Sunset runs a finger down her neck, past her clavicle, to the middle of the towel, and tugs it just enough to bare more cleavage. "You know, you're allowed to stare."
"I'm, uh..." Flash runs his eyes over Sunset's body, marveling at how nicely the towel hugs her curves. "A gentleman."
"You don’t have to be." Sunset cocks her hip and plants her hand on it. "And I don't have to be at the county office for a little while. We have some time to kill..."
The suggestion sends shivers through Flash. He imagines how Sunset would react if he took that towel in his hands and pulled it down in one swift motion...
...His thoughts turn to the letter in his backpack.
"We don't have that much time, Sunset," Flash says. "And you'd have to shower again after."
There's hurt in her eyes – it's not often he turns down her advances. Stepping toward her, he boops her nose, and says, "Doesn't mean you're not a snack."
"...More like a banquet." She says it playfully, seemingly reassured. "Very well. For the sake of your delicate masculine sensibilities, I will retire to my chambers and clothe my temptatious flesh."
She pecks him and pulls away, ascending the stairs to her loft. There's enough furniture pushed up against the loft's rail to hide her from sight altogether, at least from where Flash is standing.
"Y'know," Flash says, leaning back against the wall. "I don't think it's loser talk to have another job in mind, in case this one doesn't come through. It's just good—"
A wet towel sails from on high and falls over his head, sinfully warm. Flash whips it off, blushing, and stares up at the rail. Sunset's grinning down at him, her body hidden behind a dresser that rises to her chest.
"Oh, go on," she purrs. "Don't let me interrupt you."
"...It's just good planning." Flash tosses the towel into the bathroom, fighting to keep a grin off his face. "You are not as cute as you think you are."
"Yes, I am." She retreats, again hidden from sight.
"...Yeah," Flash concedes, grumbling. "Still. You know I'm right."
"I appreciate what you're saying, Flash, but graphic design isn't for me," Sunset calls back. He hears rustling from the loft, drawers opening and shutting. "My art teacher showed me an ad for an entry-level job like that once. You need a portfolio just to apply."
"You can't put one together?"
Sunset peeks over the rail again, lacy black straps covering her shoulders. "A bunch of crappy paintings from a high school art class doesn't make a portfolio."
"So use some stuff from outside of class. That's where most of your art comes from anyway, right, Flanksy?"
"I swear, if I ever meet the editor that gave me that stupid nickname..." Sunset makes a sour face and vanishes again. "Anyway, underground art isn't underground anymore if you put it in a portfolio."
"So, no plan-B, then?"
There's a pause before Sunset answers. "Well, Super Sushi's not glamorous, but it's steady work."
"You hate Super Sushi."
"I didn't say I was gonna spend the rest of my life there. It's a stepping stone."
"Right, a stepping-stone to a job like the one I'm telling you about."
"I know that, lover!" Sunset's voice is chipper and sing-songy; her patience is wearing thin. "And I have an interview today for just such a job, so I don't know why you're harping on this graphic design thing."
"It's a—"
"A back-up. I know. Let's see how tonight goes first."
Sunset's feet pitter-patter on the stairs, and Flash comes to the landing to greet her. She's wearing a gray coat and matching skirt, a white button-up shirt, and nylons. Her hair, freshly brushed, is tied back neatly in a ponytail. The clothes are spotless, but a bit wrinkly; he can see the chain that holds her geode, but the stone is tucked down the front of her shirt.
She twirls for Flash, letting the skirt fan out. "I look okay?"
"I'd hire you." She does look professional, if not especially stylish. He'd been expecting something with a little more Rarity to it.
Then again, wearing sequins to a job interview...
Sunset hops down the landing, into Flash's arms. A lock of hair came loose from her ponytail when she twirled; Flash tucks it behind her ear.
"I hope this goes well for you, babe," he says. "I'm not trying to get you down; I really want you to get this."
"Me too," says Sunset, a little too quickly. "But even if I don't, it's gonna be okay. I'm gonna be okay. I promise."
Mixing drinks isn't normally part of Flash's job. He's a server, not a soda jerk. But Sugarsocks called out with some kind of yeast infection in her feet, so Flash is assuming her usual duties until Tip-Top comes in.
He's arranging three Italian sodas on top of a serving tray when he feels a buzz in his uniform pocket. Immediately, he grabs his phone, holds it underneath the bar, and peeks at his notifications.
Seeing nothing, he seethes with frustration.
He dropped Sunset off for her interview almost two hours ago; it shouldn't have lasted more than one. She knew he'd be working, so she'd have to hitch a ride home from one of the girls, but she promised she'd text him as soon as she was done.
By now, Flash's shift is almost over. And he still hasn't heard back from Sunset.
Once, Twilight tried to lecture him about some kind of... what was the word? Psychosemantic, that's it. A psychosemantic thing, where you expect a message so much that your brain tricks you into thinking your phone's buzzing. He's so worked up that his brain's pulling tricks on him.
Flash sends a quick message to Sunset.
"You out yet???"
Then he tucks his phone away and picks up the drinks, and stuffs down his anxiety as he delivers one last order to a trio of familiar faces.
"Let's see if I got this right," he says. "Scootaloo gets the blackberry, Sweetie Belle the matcha, and Apple Bloom ordered... apple. No surprise there."
Apple Bloom giggles and elbows Sweetie, seated beside her in the booth. "An' you thought he'd get mixed up."
Sweetie doesn't look up from her phone. No surprise there. Scootaloo and Apple Bloom are nice enough, but Sweetie's never taken a shine to him.
Flash sets the drinks down on the table, ignoring another psychosemantic buzz. "Anything else I can get you?"
"I think we're good, Flash," says Scootaloo. "Thanks."
She and Apple Bloom immediately start slurping. Sweetie listlessly stirs the cream into her soda.
Sweetie lifts the straw from her drink and watches greenish cream drip into the glass. "Pinkie Pie would sing us a song when she dropped off our drinks."
The other two girls stop sipping, and look at Flash.
Flash's carefully affected good mood wavers. "Should I wear a skirt and roller skates to work, while I'm at it?"
Sweetie hums and slides her finger against her phone's screen. "Couldn't hurt."
Flash's knuckles whiten against the serving tray.
The bell at the entrance chimes. Tip-Top strolls inside, holding her skates by the laces, swinging them loosely with one hand. Flash feels the phantom tingle of a tiny wheel smacking his skull, and rubs his head tenderly.
"Well, I'm out, girls," Flash says. "Tip-Top'll take care of you from now on."
Scootaloo beams. “You think she’ll sing to us?”
Flash fights down the urge to snark, and heads toward the back room.
He punches out, changes into his street clothes from a duffel bag stuffed behind the toilet, and slings the bag over his shoulder. Then he tugs out his phone to check his messages, expecting nothing.
His blood freezes. There's one unread message from Sunset.
"Got done a while ago."
Flash gets halfway into a reply before stopping, pulling up her number to call. She answers on the third ring.
"Hey, lover. You alright?" Sunset's voice betrays no emotion. She sounds perfectly, utterly, calm.
"I'm fine. Just confused." Among other things – relieved, anxious. "I thought you were gonna text me after you got done with your interview."
"Did I scare you? I didn't mean to. I got done about an hour ago; I didn't want to bother you at work." There's a rustling on the other end of the line. "You on a break?"
"Just punched out. What happened with your—"
A shrill voice in the background interrupts him. "Hurry up, Sunnybun; crepes are gettin' cold!"
A jolt runs down Flash's spine. "Was that Pinkie? Are you at Sugarcube Corner?"
"Be right there!" Sunset calls out, before dropping her voice back to normal. "Yeah, I'm hanging out with the girls, so I don't think I can talk right now. You want me to bring you a crepe later?"
"I— no, thank you." Flash fumbles for some way to express the precise combination of feelings running through him. "What I would like is to know how your job interview went. Could we maybe—"
Laughter from the other girls cuts him off. "Look, this isn't the best time. I'll call you tonight, okay?"
"You can't talk to me for five—"
"Later, okay? Love you, bye!"
The call ends before Flash can say her name. He stares at his phone. Then he stuffs it back in his pocket, grabs his bag, and storms out, mentally mapping out the fastest route to Sugarcube Corner.
He finds Tip-Top clearing the table that the girls were were sitting at; they've since left. Tip-Top skates up to him, all smiles. "Those girls left this for your troubles."
She hands him a folded note. Unwrapping it, Flash finds a pair of five dollar bills and a fistful of loose change. Flash reads the note.
Thanks for the drinks. Sorry about Sweetie.
A.B. and Scoots
Despite everything, he feels warmth kindle in his chest. It's nice to be appreciated.
And textbooks don't pay for themselves.
Flash finds Sunset and her friends sipping drinks around a table in the middle of Sugarcube Corner. There's a hot plate set up next to the table, where a batter-spattered Pinkie Pie spoons preserves into crepes, rolls them up, and tosses them onto her friends' plates.
Sunset's let her hair down, figuratively and literally, since he dropped her off at the county office. Her jacket's off, slung over the chair's backrest, and she's kicked off her heels and rolled up her sleeves. She wears a carefree smile as Pinkie slings her a crepe.
She spots Flash before the other girls do. Her eyes narrow.
The other girls take notice of him, one by one, and murmur their own greetings. Applejack dips her hat to him. "Hungry, Flash? Pinkie's whippin' up some mighty fine grub."
"Guaranteed to make you smile!" Pinkie chirps, holding up a plate.
"Not hungry, thanks," Flash says curtly. To Sunset, he says, "How'd everything go?"
"Peachy." Sunset crosses her knees. "Why?"
Flash shrugs. "You had me worried when we talked. I figured, if something went wrong, maybe you'd need a little time to yourself, but you seem pretty relaxed."
Sunset's lips stretch into a taut, insincere smile. "Any chance we could talk later, lover?"
"I think we should talk now."
Sunset's jaw shifts as she and Flash stare each other down.
"Anyone else missing the script here?" Rainbow mutters.
"Everything's fine, Rainbow." Sunset's clipped tone suggests that everything is definitely not fine. "We're just having a little misunderstanding."
"Misunderstanding?'" Flash snaps. "You left me hanging for an hour, and you're too busy hanging out with your friends to talk to me for five minutes. I just want to know how the interview went, but you're blowing me off at every turn."
"Interview?" Twilight's face comes alight with excitement. "You had a job interview, Sunset?"
Sunset glares with silent reproach at Flash.
Rarity hums thoughtfully. "So that's why I was picking you up from the Health and Human Services office. Here I assumed you were applying for public assistance. Not that there's anything wrong with that," she adds with a nervous chuckle.
"You applied to work with the county? That's awesome!" Twilight leans toward Sunset. "What's the job? Who did you talk to? How did you apply? Who were your references?"
Flash cuts in, gesturing sharply at the girls. "Why didn't you tell them?"
Twilight frowns. "Why didn't you? I could've helped you prepare."
"And I could have put together something a little more presentable than gray flannel," Rarity adds, examining Sunset's jacket. "Not that you don't look presentable, darling. But there's presentable, and there's presentable."
"I was going to. When I was ready." Sunset bunches up fistfuls of her skirt. "I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up in case I didn't get the job."
Flash doesn't need powers like Sunset's to see her answer coming. He asks the obvious question anyway. "Did you?"
"No, Flash. For your information. They thanked me for my resume, but said they wanted someone with more experience." She spreads her arms wide in offering, and arches her eyebrows. "Satisfied?"
The dining room falls silent. The girls glance quickly between Flash and Sunset, watching carefully, waiting.
Flash breaks the tension. "You sound real broken up about it."
He sweeps out of the diner before Sunset can respond. He’s nauseous, but he doesn’t know why. He didn’t do anything wrong.
She pursues him outside, grabbing him by the wrist. She’s gone red.
"What gives, Flash?" she growls. "You don't trust me, so you track me down and interrogate me in front of my friends?"
"I wouldn't have come if you'd just given me a straight answer when I called." Flash rips his hand free from Sunset's grasp. "I was worried!"
The hand Sunset grabbed him with clenches. "So you come stalking me when I don't answer the phone?"
"Forget the phone call!" Flash snaps. "Do you even care that you didn't get the job?"
"Of course I—" Sunset wipes her forehead, laughing bitterly. "I hoped I'd get the job. I really did! It's an important job, it pays way better than minimum, and you know what? That's exactly how I knew I wouldn't make the cut. I'm a part-time sushi cook who isn't even out of high school; I set realistic expectations for myself."
"That's why you didn't tell your friends? You didn't want them to set 'unrealistic expectations' for you?"
"It's not their business! It's no one's business but mine!" She gestures to him. "Hell, I only told you to get you off my back about college."
Flash recoils. "What?"
"You heard me!" Sunset pinches the bridge of her nose. "You have been riding my ass for weeks, trying to micromanage everything I do. My job, my school, my whole future! You're my boyfriend, not my father; you care way too much about stuff that isn't your business. It's my future on the line—"
"It's our future that's on the line!" Flash blurts it out and regrets it in the same instant.
"...Meaning what?" Sunset freezes, her posture tense. She doesn't even sound angry anymore. "Flash?"
Flash fights with himself, wanting to say it, wanting to say nothing. His throat tightens. In the end, he swallows his confession.
He rolls his sleeve up, and holds his hand toward Sunset.
Sunset fishes her geode out from her shirt. She grips it like a life preserver as she takes Flash's hand.
In all the time they've been together, Sunset's never used her powers on Flash. He's always wondered how it would feel. He imagined it would be something beautiful, like poetry. Like their minds would mesh together, and they'd know each other in a way they never otherwise could.
But there's no poetry to it. For an instant, Flash feels an itch in his skull, a set of thoughts that he knows aren't his. The instant ends before he can parse them; Sunset releases his hand, and gravity seems to falter. Flash takes a stutter-step back, panting, the world around him spinning.
The shock is plain on Sunset's face. Her eyes swim with unshed tears as she slowly releases the geode. She shuts her eyes, squeezes her tears out; her shoulders shake, once, with a silent sob.
Then she opens her eyes, her pain reforged into anger. "You lied to me."
Her words cut him to the bone. "I didn't lie to you, Sunset. I just—"
"You let me think you were staying in town. You knew you weren't. But you let me think that you were." She steps forward, her voice rising with her movement. "You're a piece of work, Flash. Acting like you give a damn about honesty, when you're keeping that a secret?"
"You were keeping secrets. You didn't tell me about your interview!" Even to himself, Flash's rebuttal sounds weak.
Sunset bares her teeth. "Don't pretend that's even on the same level as what you hid. You lying, self-righteous hypocrite. Stop trying to justify yourself, and get the hell out of here."
Flash feels his heart lurch. "Sunset—"
"You're leaving me anyway, right?" She makes a noise that's caught between a laugh and a sob. "Think of it as practice for the real thing."
Unsure of where to go, where he can go, Flash leaves the city behind.
He pulls onto an unpaved back road that slithers up a steep hill, trading the brick and concrete of Canterville for a dense forest of evergreens.
Flash breaks through the treeline at the top of the hill, and parks behind the rail that circles the summit. The downtown skyline blocks most of the city from sight, but the view is still spectacular, especially at this time of day. The fading sunlight catches the glass-paneled skyscrapers, and they shine like roaring fire. It's one of Flash's favorite views in the city.
Yet all he can think about is the irony of coming here at sunset.
Flash laughs a hollow, miserable laugh, and slumps forward until his head hits his steering wheel.
There's a timid rapping on his window, three sharp taps. A voice calls through the glass. "Flash?"
With a jolt, Flash rolls down his window. "Muffins? Uh... What're you doing? Here? On this hill? Tonight?"
"Yoga, yoga, yoga, and yoga. In that order." She's in a sweat-stained tank top and black tights; under her arm is a rolled-up rubber mat. "What's the matter?"
"Nothing. Just hanging out." Flash forces a laugh and strikes a pose, stiffly laying his arm on the passenger seat's backrest. "I had tonight off, so I drove out here to watch the sun— the view. It's nice. Isn't it nice?"
"You look like you've been crying."
Flash scoffs. He grins. He mouths the word 'crying' sardonically and shakes his head.
Muffins raises an eyebrow at him.
Flash crumbles. He presses his hand to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn't say anything for a little while; he's not sure he'd hold his composure if he tried to talk.
Muffins breaks the silence. "In, or out?"
Flash blinks. "What?"
"Of the car, dummy." Muffins shifts her grip on her mat so that she can rub some warmth into her bare arms. "It's cold out here, but I've been dancing all day, I smell like sour milk, and I'd hate to stink up your car. So, you tell me."
Flash stares at her, dumbly. Then he thumbs the button to unlock the door. Muffins drops the mat, comes around to the passenger's side, and slides in.
"Yeah, that’s what I was hoping for," Muffins sighs. "Nice to take a load off. And these seats are so comfy."
She shifts her butt in the seat, squeaking the leather.
Flash snorts. "What are you doing up here? Pretty sure I left you somewhere over there." He gestures vaguely at the skyline.
Muffins shrugs. "The bus to the observatory stops at the bottom of the hill. I come here sometimes for yoga, or to watch the... sun go down. It's relaxing."
Flash doesn't consider himself especially perceptive, but he still notes how deliberately Muffins chose those words. "Long way to walk for yoga."
"Well, the observatory's easier to get to, but they charge admission, and there's trash everywhere. Tourists. This is the only other place to go if you want a view this good."
"Don't most people come here to make out?"
"I'm not most people. Hashtag single-for-life." She smirks, a look that fades as she stares, seriously, at Flash. "First time I've seen you up here."
"I needed a place where I could think, too." Flash folds his arms on the wheel and rests his chin on them. "I've been up here a couple times, myself. Not always alone."
Scarlet rushes into Muffins's cheeks... or maybe it's the glare from the sun.
"Joking aside," she says softly. "If you need space to think, I can go..."
"And let you walk down that hill after dark? What if you met a bear?" Flash angles his head toward Muffins. "They get desperate when they're hungry. Maybe even desperate enough to go after you. Little Miss Skin-And Bones."
"I'm lean, not skinny. Jerk."
By now, the sun's drifted lazily toward the horizon. Flash cranes his head back to peek through the sunroof. Stars, like diamond pinpricks, stud the deepening purple sky.
"There isn't supposed to be a moon tonight." Muffins's voice falls to a whisper. "Gonna be a lot more stars."
"Yeah." Flash runs his tongue over his lips. He tries to say something else. It comes out as another sigh.
Slender fingers rest on his shoulder, squeezing him to coax him on. "Sunset, right?"
"...How'd you know?"
"I've seen you strike out enough to know the signs."
Flash laughs. A joke like that would be cutting from someone else. From Muffins, it comes as comfort. "You asked why I didn't want anyone to know that I got into FSU. I told you it was 'cuz I was still... processing. And that's true, but it's not the whole truth. Sunset isn't going away for school. She's staying here. And I didn't know how to break it to her that I'm... not."
"You don't think you could make it work long-distance?"
"I don't know, maybe. For a little while." Flash reclines the seat, folding his hands over his stomach. "But ever since I got this letter, all I can think about is how different my life'll be from now on. Part of me wishes everything could just be simple and easy forever, but when you cut away the bullshit? That future, whatever it looks like, I want it. Sunset, though... I don't think she wants what I want. I'm not sure my future and hers go together."
Flash thinks of Sunset, seated with her friends, laughing off a failure that she didn't seem to feel.
"I was trying to find some way around that difference, so we could stay together. I kept secrets. I... lied to her. Seemed like a good idea at the time." He laughs bitterly. "All I did was guarantee we'd break up sooner. Now, it's like... can I make things right? Should I even try?"
"Are you asking me?" says Muffins, fiddling idly with the radio knobs.
"Wasn't trying to." Flash shrugs. "Then again... why not? Everything I tried only made things worse."
Muffins doesn't say anything at first. Then her seat groans as she reclines it. "This is a very surreal conversation we're having, Flash."
Flash rolls on his side, pillowing his head beneath his arm. "What do you mean?"
"Well..." Muffins trails off, frowning. Then she rolls to face Flash, too. "I've seen you get hung up on girls before. I've been there for two flavors of Twilight, and I was there when you and Sunset were feeling each other out again. After all that drama, once you got back together, I figured it'd be for good."
Flash rolls his eyes. "This isn't making me feel better."
"What I mean is, your relationship— the second crack at it, anyway— always seemed so idyllic. Like the kind that I always wished I had." A melancholy smile crests Muffins's face. "If anyone at our school was gonna go the distance together, I thought it would be you two. She's perfect for you, and you're just..."
"I'm just?"
Muffins all but glows, red from her cheeks to her neck. Her lips move slowly, her voice feather-soft.
"Just perfect."
Her words chase every bit of feeling in Flash out of his system.
Suddenly uncomfortable, he rises in his seat and stares at her, numb. He knows what she's said, knows what she means, but like Sunset's angry barb, it loops back and forth in his mind, refusing to process.
The color drains from Muffins's face. She groans, rolling her head back to face the sunroof, holding her hands over her eyes. "God. I always thought you knew, that you were just too decent to say anything. Can't believe I..."
She laughs, thick and self-deprecating. Flash can't think of anything to say; he's afraid to even try. Words haven't been coming out right for him lately.
Instead, he reaches out, and takes her hand, pulling it away from her face. She looks at it, puzzled. A flicker of feeling crosses her face. She breathes, deeply and slowly.
Gently, she pushes Flash's hand away.
"I'm not bringing this up because I have any intentions, or whatever," says Muffins. "Y'know, swooping in and grabbing you when you're vulnerable? That would be scummy and awful and how dare you make assumptions about my good character. What I am trying to say is...."
Muffins brushes her bangs away and looks deeply into Flash's eyes, edging closer to the seat to close the distance between them.
"I want to be there for you. But if it's advice you want... I can't be objective when it comes to you and Sunset. I can say that, if I had the most wonderful guy in the world in my life? Whatever I thought my future looked like, I'd try to keep him around."
"Even if he screwed up?"
She hesitates before smiling. "If he knew how to apologize."
"Apologize," Flash echoes. "I ran off without even saying I was sorry. I don't know if she'll forgive me now."
"She might not," Muffins admits. "Are you gonna try?"
"...I owe it to her." Iron creeps back into Flash's voice. "I gotta try and make it right."
Miss Cheerilee flips through Flash's essay, pausing occasionally to scribble something in purple ink.
Flash, seated across from her desk, drums his hands against his thighs as she reads. He’s running on half a bag of chips and a bottle of soda, a midnight study snack instead of dinner. It's a struggle to keep himself awake.
He made a bad impression on Miss Cheerilee yesterday, and he doesn't want to make it a habit.
"You fixed the formatting," Miss Cheerilee says at last. "Presentation's much cleaner now. And your core argument is completely different." She flips back to the front page. "You've been busy."
Flash laughs. "There's a whole night's worth of work in there."
"It shows." Miss Cheerilee looks up from the paper. "Not just on the page."
Their eyes meet briefly, before he looks away.
"Are you okay?" Miss Cheerilee says softly.
"...I had a tough night." Taking a deep breath, Flash adds, "And I figured that if I wasn't gonna sleep, I may as well do something good with my time."
Miss Cheerilee's lips twist sympathetically. She returns to writing. Flash watches the motion of her pen; his head feels heavy, and gradually dips as his vision darkens...
He snaps awake at Sunset Shimmer's voice bursting from his phone, singing about friendship and redemption – her ringtone. Flash grabs his phone before remembering where he is; he looks at Miss Cheerilee, silently apologizing.
She nods, and returns to the paper.
Grateful, Flash rises and stalks out of the classroom. As soon as he's out, he takes the call.
"Hey," he says around the lump in his throat.
"Are you free right now?" There's no sentiment in Sunset's voice.
Flash licks his lips, nervous. "I can be."
There's a brief rustling on the other end. "You know the teahouse down the street from me?"
"Stewart's. Yeah."
"Can you meet me there soon?"
"Gimme a few minutes. I'll be right over."
The call hangs for a moment on the sound of Sunset's breath before cutting off.
Flash walks back to Miss Cheerilee, who waits expectantly behind her desk. "Hey, I'm sorry, but—"
"If you have to run, then run." Miss Cheerilee taps the paper with her pen. "I'll hang on to this, and we can catch up on Monday."
"Thanks."
Uniquely among Sunset's usual hang-outs, Stewart's has no cutesey theme, or even a jukebox – just potted plants and faded vinyl booths. The owners and servers only know Sunset as a regular, and she's neither old nor Bohemian enough for the other regulars to pay her any mind.
Maybe that's why Sunset likes it.
Flash spots Sunset in a booth, a steaming teacup in front of her. Her hair hangs lank and unbrushed, and she hasn't made up her face. There's a pile of sugar packets and a half-collapsed tower of Stevia in front of her, and she has her cheek pressed against the window. As soon as she notices Flash, she straightens.
Flash tries to think of something appropriate to say as he slides into the booth opposite her.
"Thanks for picking neutral ground."
Sunset's eyes immediately narrow. "Thanks for keeping your sarcasm to yourself." Her voice cuts like a frozen blade.
Flash nods bashfully, and mumbles an apology.
A server brings Flash a glass of water; he politely declines anything else. He watches, in awkward silence, as Sunset nurses her tea. Occasionally, her eyes meet Flash's; hers are red and puffy, framed by dark circles. Flash wouldn't be shocked to find out that she'd spent her night crying, too.
Guilt gnaws Flash's guts like a hungry vulture. "Would it be easier to read my thoughts again?"
Sunset finishes her tea in a long gulp, and swirls the dregs around. "Mind-reading is different with everyone. Depends on who it is, their state of mind. Sometimes it's like a world you inhabit with them; they're aware of you, and you can talk. Usually though, it's just... thoughts, feelings, memories that you get. I wouldn't learn anything new from you."
"Which did you get yesterday?" Flash takes a quick sip of his water; it's from the tap, and lukewarm. "I don't remember talking."
Sunset sets the cup down, leans forward, and folds her hands together. "FSU mailed you that letter weeks ago. Right?"
Guiltily, Flash nods.
"That's as much as I know. I blew up at you before you could tell me anything else. I'm sorry for that." Sunset swallows hard. "Are you going?"
There's an iron weight on Flash's chest as he nods again, once, simply.
Sunset releases a staggered breath. There are tears in her eyes, but resolve shines through them.
"Then you let me think we were going to Canterville College together. Every time I brought it up, you—" She chokes on her words; she swallows, hard. "A lie of omission is still a lie."
"I get that now."
Sunset's pose relaxes, noticeably, if only slightly, in response to Flash's admission. He wonders if she expected an argument, if this is going better than she thought it would, and he wonders if she was hoping for a fight.
A server comes by with fresh tea. Sunset pours a packet of sugar into her cup, stirring lightly with a spoon.
"I only have one other question,” Sunset says. “And I need you to be honest with me."
"You want to know why."
"Well. Yes. But the way I see it, all that nagging you did about me finding a job, showing up at Sugarcube Corner yesterday... you didn't start up with that until you got into FSU. That's how it breaks down in my head, anyway. I don't think that's a coincidence, but I also don't know how they fit together."
She pauses to take a long, slow drink. "So, I guess I actually have two questions."
Flash wipes some condensation off his glass and rubs it between his hands. He takes a sip of water, buying some time as he collects his thoughts.
"I should never have kept the truth from you," says Flash. "And I'm sorry for being dishonest. But if I had told you, right when I got the letter... what would've happened?"
Sunset raises an eyebrow. "Uh, we would have talked about it?"
"And said what?"
Sunset scoffs. "Are you kidding me? We're playing what-if games?"
"It's relevant," says Flash. "I promise."
Shaking her head, Sunset slumps back in her chair. "Well, I would have congratulated you. I would have asked if you wanted to go. And if you decided that you did... we would have discussed whether or not we could've made it work."
Flash chews his next question, grinding his teeth in thought. "Could we?"
"We'll never know now."
"I think we do. I think that, no matter what, we were gonna end up here. Whether or not I told you." Flash takes a drink and rubs a little more condensation on his skin for relief. "Maybe it wouldn't have gone quite like this, and maybe it wouldn't have hurt as bad—"
"Stop talking in hypotheticals," Sunset growls. "Just tell me why."
Steeling himself, Flash gets to the point. "This whole past year, I've watched you do amazing things. The Battle of the Bands, the Games, Camp Everfree... every other week, it seems like you're pulling some miracle or another."
Sunset rolls her eyes. "If you wanna tell that to the county, or CSU, then be my guest."
"That's the thing: You don't need that on your resume. Everything you do comes completely natural. You want to talk about jobs, schools?" Flash sweeps his hand toward the city out the window. "Forget CSU. A week at MIT, and you'd be running it."
"I really don't want to rehash—"
"But you won't even try. You don't apply to schools, you blow me off when I talk about finding a job. You're the most amazing, most talented, most brilliant person I've ever known. Nothing against Canterville Community, but you'd be slumming it there. You're slumming it at Super Sushi."
Sunset leans forward, clenching her fists. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't care?"
"Sunset, I saw you after the interview. You acted like nothing even happened." The more Flash says, the more Sunset's face darkens. "When I got that letter, the first thing I thought about was how to break it to you. I knew I wanted to go, but I wasn't ready to talk to you about it. I thought––"
"That we'd just end up here. Yeah, I've been paying attention."
Flash's face burns. "You asked me for an explanation. You want to let me finish?"
Sunset purses her lips tightly. She sits back in her booth and folds her arms, nodding for Flash to continue.
Flash had forgotten how scary an angry Sunset could be. He's impressed at himself for not backing down.
"I thought that me leaving, and you staying, would be the end for us. That we'd grow apart if I went away, and you stayed here, in this comfy little nishey you've made for yourself. Not going anywhere, not trying to—"
"It's 'niche,' lover."
Hearing his pet name stings. "When you told me about the interview, I thought, you know what? Maybe you'd prove me wrong. Even if you didn't get the job, it meant that you were trying after all. But when I saw you with your friends, just hanging out like it was another day... That was when I knew it was always gonna be like this."
When Sunset replies, her voice is deathly soft. "I shouldn't have to prove anything to you, Flash. Let alone how motivated I am to live my life, and pursue my goals."
Flash gulps down some water and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. "What're you gonna study in college?"
Sunset's expression wavers. "What?"
"What are you studying? What's your major? That social worker job, was that something you were interested in before you got the interview? Is social work what you want to do?" Flash pauses. "I'm asking."
"You can't expect me to know all of that off the top of my head. Not right now. Not with everything that's..."
Sunset trails off, her resolute facade cracking.
"You should know some of it," says Flash quietly. "Some of those answers, at least. Everyone we know is going off to something bigger, something better. Even me. You should be ahead of all of us. Instead, you're standing still."
Sunset presses her hand to her forehead, closing her eyes, silent and still. If Flash didn't know better, he'd think she fell asleep.
When Sunset does speak, her voice is a dry rasp that Flash strains to hear.
"You're right. I am gifted. That's all I've heard from anyone my entire life. My parents, teachers, Princess Celestia... and looking at Princess Twilight, you can guess what Celestia expected from me."
She chuckles bitterly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
"And this wasn't just in Canterlot. Even after I left... everywhere I've been, everyone has known that I'm special. There's always something for me to live up to. So I've spent my entire life running away, from ponies and people and great expectations."
There's a brief lull; Flash urges her onward. "Until you came here?"
"No. Here, I was a stranger in a strange land. That didn't change... I didn't change... until I found my friends. And I learned that I could be loved just for being me. Being special is just a bonus to them." She smiles blandly at Flash. "And I learned that just in time for everyone to go to college... and leave me alone again."
Instinctively, Flash reaches across the table, to take her hand. She lets him hold it for a beautiful instant before pulling away.
"So, I'm sorry, Flash, if you think I'm too comfortable in my little niche. I've never been comfortable anywhere in my life before now, and even if everybody's leaving, going on to better things, I am not ready to leave behind the one place I've ever felt at home."
"You don't have to leave. You don't have to go anywhere!" says Flash. "Stay here if you want, just... do something else, besides what's easy and comfy, and be the person I know you can be!"
"What about the person I want to be? After everything I've been through, maybe I deserve a life that's easy and comfortable; maybe I don't need to move forward to be happy." Desperate, Sunset leans toward Flash. “Is that so wrong?"
"No. It's not." Flash squares his shoulders. "But it's not what I want, either."
Sunset lets his words sink in, then eases back in her seat. "Well. Now we know that."
The server swings by and drops another cup of tea onto the table.
"Bottomless refills." Sunset chuckles, sad and incredulous. She stirs some sugar into her tea, withdraws her spoon, and watches the liquid swirl. "When are you leaving?"
"End of August. Probably." Flash runs his hands through his hair and releases a long breath. "We, um... we have all summer to..."
Sunset looks at him. "To what?"
"...Listen, I meant what I said. But, I mean... we got all summer to figure this out. Figure out if we could still—"
"There's nothing to figure out," Sunset says. "If you thought we could make it work long distance, then you wouldn't have lied in the first place. And now that I know you did... I can't trust you anymore."
"So, this is it?" Flash's vision goes blurry, but he can still see Sunset wiping her eyes.
"Yeah," she replies thickly. "I guess this is it."
Knowing what she was going to say makes hearing it no easier. He knows he should leave. There's nothing left to say, and nothing to save.
But leaving this place means leaving Sunset, leaving for good. And he's never been prepared to do that.
When he's as close to ready as he'll ever be, he rises from the booth and heads for the exit without a word. The door chimes as he pushes it open; he pauses for one last look at Sunset.
She's raised her cup to her lips. Their eyes meet. A silent look passes between them. Flash tries to think of something to say, some witty remark, like always.
Finding no words, he nods at her, and steps outside, alone.
Flash wouldn't have rented this tuxedo if he'd known how uncomfortable he'd be. He's baking underneath all the layers, his gait feels stiff and awkward, and while he's pretty sure it's not possible for his jacket to have pit stains, he wouldn't bet money on it.
Then again, the CHS parking lot is probably better lit than the auditorium will be during the dance. If he can't see stains in the glow of the street lamps, they probably won't show up in a room where the best source of light is a disco ball.
Being wrong would suck, though. Because Muffins looks really good tonight in her yellow gown, and all he wants is to look good next to her.
Leaving Sunset tanked his social life. She didn't gossip about their break-up, so no one actively excluded him, but breaking up with the most popular girl in school still hurt his standing, and he withdrew from most circles where she or the Rainbooms were active, which was basically any club or extracurricular activity.
His bandmates were there for him, sure. But it was Muffins who spent every lunch of the past few months with him; Muffins who lost sleep, night after night, talking with him on the phone; Muffins who talked him into coming to prom (and even bought the tickets) when all he wanted was to binge Neighflix in his underwear.
She deserves better than a sweaty, disheveled mess tonight.
Muffins's steps are long and carefully measured, atypically awkward for a dancer, and her hands are linked tightly behind her back. There's a gap of a couple feet between them, a respectful distance that Flash is trying to maintain. She looks at Flash from her side, her lips twisting thoughtfully.
Flash looks back, and quickly averts his eyes before he can dwell too long on the way she looks tonight.
"You're stiffer than that starched collar, Flash," says Muffins.
"Well, they say the clothes make the man. If the collar's starched, the guy wearing it will be, too." Flash opens the door for her, and catches her fiddling with her corsage. "Plus, I gotta pee."
"I told you not to drink so much water in the car."
"C’mon, did you want to bring a dried-up prune-corpse to prom?"
Muffins sighs. "Flash. It's a beautiful night. You have a beautiful woman on your arm. Faced with all this beauty, what do you talk about? Prunes. Corpses. And urine."
"Well, you're not exactly 'on my arm,' now, are you?"
"Harrumph," says Muffins, her hands on her hips. Then she snorts and breaks into giggles.
Flash laughs with her as they walk through the school, toward the auditorium. The distance between them has shrunk; they're almost shoulder-to-shoulder. He's about to take a step away, to not creep her out, when Muffins grips his elbow and hugs it close.
Fresh sweat beads on Flash's forehead as he looks down at Muffins, who peers back at him through her bangs, smiling and blushing. "Shut up," she mumbles.
She doesn't release him until they reach the auditorium. He doesn't try to make her.
Cheerilee's seated alone at a table by the entrance. In front of her is a half-finished cup of punch and a metal box; a few paper stubs poke through its lid. She smiles blandly when Flash and Muffins approach.
Flash digs into his pocket for their tickets and presents them with a grin. "Hey, Miss C."
"Flash, Muffins." She accepts the tickets, nodding back, and drops them into the box. "You look lovely together."
Flash's cheeks burn. "We're just here as friends. Together, but not 'together-together.' You know?"
He looks at Muffins for approval. She rolls her eyes, her lazy eye somehow staying on him. Smooth, she mouths.
"I only meant," says Cheerilee, "that you two look nice tonight."
Flash frowns; something about her voice sounds... off. Softer, even a little slurred. "Something wrong, Miss C?"
She laughs, but the smile that lingers on her face never reaches her eyes. "I'm fine, my dear. Enjoy yourselves, okay?"
"You heard the lady." Muffins steps up to the auditorium doors and pushes them open, holding them with a dramatic flourish; thudding beats and aimless chatter drift through the entrance, inviting him inside.
Flash hesitates, takes a step back with a nervous chuckle. "I'll be right in, okay? I got a pit stop to make."
Worry knits across Muffins's face, deepening the longer he hesitates. Finally, she nods. "Don't keep me waiting."
Flash takes the scenic route to the bathroom, bidding a private farewell to the empty school. It hadn't struck him until tonight how close the end is; after prom, all that's left is graduation. He wonders if he'll ever grow as attached to FSU as he is to Canterlot High.
When he finally reaches the bathroom, he's dismayed to find he's not the only one there.
Timber Spruce leans on the wall between the boys' and girls' rooms, smartly dressed and swiping through his phone. He looks up at the sound of Flash's footsteps, and widens his eyes.
"Hi, Timber," Flash says, hiding his displeasure. Of everyone he would rather not run into tonight, Twilight's boyfriend was at least number three on the list.
"Hey, Flash." Timber sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down, tapping his toes nervously on the tiling. "How's it hanging?"
"Pretty good." Flash coughs into his hand. "Lost the hat, I see."
Timber touches his hair and chuckles. "Your vice principal said it went against the dress code."
"She's like that."
"Yeah." Timber laces his fingers through his hair and runs them to the back of his head, rubbing awkwardly. "So, uh... my girlfriend is best friends with your ex, and I think that means I'm supposed to fight you if I see you."
"Oh."
Timber promptly defuses any possible tension with a shrug. "We could say that I did."
Flash sighs, muscles relaxing with relief. "Who won?"
"Call it a draw." Timber offers Flash his hand, and they shake, once, firmly.
The door to the ladies' room opens, and Sunset and Twilight emerge. Whatever conversation they're having stops when they see the boys shaking hands.
Flash's eyes find Sunset's. He nods, awkwardly, at her. She responds with an uncomfortable smile.
Twilight speaks first. "What's going—"
"Aikido!" Timber blurts. "We were fighting, and Flash got me in a deathgrip. I couldn't take him."
Flash glances at Timber, then back to Sunset. "I'm just here to pee."
Twilight folds her arms, smirking.
Sunset coughs into her hand, hiding a smile. "Uh, why don't you take Timber back to the dance, Twilight? Get some ice on that hand. I'll be along in a second."
Twilight nods, pushing her glasses up her nose when they slide down her face. She takes Timber by the arm and pulls him away, her fingers mingling with his. "I told you, you don't have to fight Flash Sentry."
"And I should've listened to you. Ooh, Twilight, get my acetaminophen..."
Their mutual giggles of nerdy love fade as they vanish down the hallway.
Flash wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, sighing. "That's... never not gonna be creepy."
"He's twenty, Flash. And Twilight turned eighteen a week before Camp Everfree. It's never been as creepy as you think."
"Why doesn't he just say that?" Flash turns to her, confusion screwed on his face. "Why didn't you ever say that?"
"Maybe you're just fun to screw with," Sunset says with a playful grin. "You got a minute to talk?"
Flash nods, his gaze traveling along Sunset's dress. She's done up in a shimmering green gown like back at Camp Everfree, a matching shawl draped over her shoulders. A nostalgic pang rings out in his heart. "You look great."
"So do you. But then, you always cleaned up nicely." Sunset's gaze lands on Flash's boutonniere, a pale white flower in a yellow ribbon. "You're here with Muffins, right?"
Flash nods.
Sunset's grin recedes to a wan smile. "I'm glad you two ended up together."
Shaking his head, Flash stammers, "We're just here as friends. We're not... together."
"Flash, please," says Sunset. "I've seen you two around school lately. And it's always been pretty obvious."
Flash shuffles his feet awkwardly. "Is this what you wanted to talk about?"
"No. I'm sorry for bringing her up." Sunset looks at her feet, biting her knuckle. "I mean, it's kind of in the same vein, but... if it's too weird, then we don't have to talk."
"Things always were kinda weird with us."
"Yeah, but..." Sunset sucks her teeth and flaps her arms lightly against her sides. "I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk before you left. Clear the air. I don't want it to be awkward, but... I don't like how we left things."
"I do." Sunset plays with a strand of hair, tucking it behind her ear. "But I'm not mad at you anymore. You were right about us. There really wasn't any other way for things to go. We're different people; we want different things in life. We could've saved ourselves a lot of heartache if we'd both been honest about that from the start."
"Isn't that what I said?"
"Yeah, I'm plagiarizing. Don't tell Cheerilee."
Flash scoffs, and scuffs his foot against the floor. "Y'know... I meant that when I said it. But the more I think about it, the less I believe it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, to me... it comes down to timing." Flash leans against the same spot where Timber had been. "I'll put it this way. Those first couple months after the Fall Formal, I didn't really know what to make of you. You spend three, four years with someone, then you break up with them, and suddenly they're a completely new person? It took me a while to figure you out again."
"You and me both." Sunset leans beside him against the wall. "And you were still hung up on Princess Twilight, too."
Flash nods. "You see where I'm going with this? If I'd gotten over Twilight, or given you a chance sooner—"
"By that logic, it's on me, too. I could've made a move on you. Tried to make things right with you sooner than I did." Sunset nudges his arm. "Or maybe if I'd been a good person in the first place, you wouldn't have had to dump me before the Fall Formal."
She falls silent, staring up at the humming fluorescent lights. Instinct tells Flash to take her hand; instead, he simply watches her.
Finally, Sunset continues. "Then again, if I was a good person when I came through the mirror, I never would have left Equestria in the first place. So, you were right. We were doomed no matter what."
Flash looks down at his feet. "You've been thinking about this a lot."
"So have you." Sunset pushes off the wall and dusts herself off, sighing. "But life's too short to indulge in hypotheticals, Flash. Things turned out the way that they did. Now, you have a chance at something else."
Flash touches his boutonniere, blushing. "I don't know about all that."
"That's for you and her to figure out. Whatever you do, though... don't let it become another what-if." She reaches out and cups his face, tracing his cheek with her thumb. Then she leaves, tugging her shawl around her shoulders.
Flash watches her until she's out of sight. Then, with a wince, he rushes into the restroom.
Flash, already baking in his tuxedo, finds no relief in the hot, stuffy auditorium. But seeing Muffins's face light up as he approaches her table makes the heat bearable.
"You took your time," she remarks, sipping from a half-full cup of punch. She slides another cup toward him as he takes a seat. "I was starting to wonder if you fell in."
"I did. Almost drowned." Flash sips the fruity mixture; it's tasty, but there's a hint of something in there that he can't put his finger on. Something strong, oddly sour. "Sorry about earlier, by the way. With Cheerilee. I know I could've handled that better."
"Probs." Muffins makes a face. "I can top it though. Snips and Snails were at the punch bowl when I got these drinks, and Snips asked if I'd 'Flashed you my Muff' yet."
Flash scans the room, his fists clenching. "You want me to kick their asses?"
"Kinda. You probably shouldn't."
"Well, the night is young." Flash swirls his drink around. "Funny how so many people keep getting the wrong idea about us tonight."
Muffins frowns. She chugs her punch, sets the cup down, and drums her fingers on the table. "Listen, Flash..."
Flash sips his drink and leans forward in his seat. "Yeah?"
"Would it..." Muffins takes a deep breath, her hands clenching and unclenching tensely. "Would it be so bad if, maybe... if they had the right idea, after all?"
Flash lets the question, and all its implications, wash over him. He reclines back in his chair, tilting his head to stare at the ceiling. A spotlight shines on a gently turning mirror ball, sending pinpricks of light, like stars, spinning through the room.
"...No." He looks at Muffins, at the hope and the dread mingling on her features. "You know I'm leaving soon, though. I don't know how often I'll come back. When I'll come back."
"I can wait," she says, a little too quickly.
"But you shouldn't have to. You don't deserve to..." Flash slumps forward, pressing his hand to his forehead. "God. Y'know, lately, all I can think about is my amazing sense of timing."
Nimble fingers cup his chin, tilt his head up, until he's level with Muffins. Her dress, caught in the starfield cast by the mirror ball, sparkles.
"You think too much," she says. "I know you're going away, Flash. You've got that big, bright future ahead of you; I know how much you want it. But all of that... just for one night, can't it wait?"
She sounds confident, but he can feel her hand shaking on his face. He takes it in his own, rises, and pulls her to his feet with him.
"I guess it can."
Muffins' face blanks with disbelief. Then she buries her face in Flash's chest and releases a long, shuddering sigh. Flash holds her, and marvels at just how right she feels in his arms.
He feels like he always should have known she would.
"I'm going to drag you onto the dance floor later," Muffins proclaims, craning her head back to look up at him. "I'm a professional, so don't make me look bad."
Flash laughs, and cups the back of her head with his hand. "Okay."
Then he pulls her close, and she rests her head on his breast. They sway against the beat of the music. Flash strokes her hair, and looks up.
He spots Sunset on the far side of the room, chatting with Twilight. By chance, she catches sight of him, smiling when she sees who he's holding.
Slowly, Sunset blows him a final kiss. Flash catches it, and pockets it, and rests his cheek on Muffins's head, closing his eyes.
