Princess Celestia visits Twilight at her small college apartment in the Crystal Empire. Twilight now wears her mane up in a Crystal Empire style, and sports a pair of square eyeglasses, which Celestia thinks make her look very refined.
Celestia asks Twilight if she's planning on inviting anyone to the Grand Galloping Gala this year. Twilight says that she's planning on going with a friend, as always, but Celestia presses her: she really should invite a nice stallion.
Twilight, hearing something more in her request, reluctantly agrees--but says that she doesn't know anyone. Celestia suggests that she invite Flash Sentry. Twilight rolls her eyes--"you're only saying that because I met him in the Other World"--but Celestia disagrees. She says that she's met him before, and he's a good stallion.
[Excerpt: Twilight and Celestia]
A few weeks later, Twilight arrives on the train from the Crystal Empire on the night of the Grand Galloping Gala, with Flash Sentry in tow. She's already regretting the date, and finds both his country accent and his old-fashioned manners grating. However, this is important to Celestia, and Twilight is determined to put on a good face.
After greeting Celestia, the two of them move to the dance floor. As they talk, Flash casually quotes a famous poem (perhaps Shakespony?); Twilight, slightly confused and alarmed, asks him about it, and he mentions that, despite appearances, he's actually quite fond of poetry. Twilight watches him for a moment before something in her brain flips. She suddenly realizes that Flash isn't trying to be irritating--he's trying to take care of her, as best he knows how. That's why he won't let her open a door, or get her own food, or even stand up out of her own chair--he's doing his best, in his own way, to pamper her.
As Twilight continues to talk to him, she suddenly starts to feel inadequate. Here is a stallion that's doing his damnedest to give her a good time, and she's done nothing but judge at him for it. She's just a student, from a poor family, that happens to have made a few important friends. She has nothing to offer--and yet, here he is, the perfect gentlecolt, fawning all over her. He's so good to her--and she can't figure out why he even gives her the time of day...
Eventually, Flash prevails upon Twilight to dance. Twilight, who has never really been a good dancer, is more than a little nervous, but Flash does his best to guide her, and says nothing when she kicks him in the shins. As always, he's doing his best to make sure she's having a good time, and she starts to fall for him. Hard.
Just as Twilight is getting the hang of things, another stallion cuts in. The stallion tries to chat up Twilight, asking her about her famous friends, while Twilight herself is frantically looking for a way out, and Flash is standing off to the side, absolutely fuming.
"Pardon me, Sir," he says icily, "I believe this is my dance."
"Just a sec, dude."
"Excuse me, Sir, this is--"
"Hold your horses, man."
"Pardon me--"
"Hey, what's your problem?"
And then, without warning, Flash snaps and decks the guy.
The other stallion drops like a sack of potatoes. Twilight is unsure what to do, until she sees Flash running from the room. After a moment of indecision, she goes after him.
Twilight finds Flash on a balcony overlooking the rose gardens, deeply troubled. Twilight tries to get him to open up, but he resists--until, suddenly, he heaves a heavy sigh.
“I don’t know why you even give me the time of day,” he said sadly.
Twilight’s eyes went wide.
“I mean,” he said, still looking away, “you’re smart, an’ you’re pretty, an’ you’re funny, an’ you’re important--heck, you could have any stallion in there.” He glanced over at her. “And most of the mares, too, if you wanted ‘em.” He looked away again. “But you picked me. Dumb ol' buckethead me--the old country bumpkin who don’t know much and ain’t never really left his hometown. And I never would’a thought…” He swallowed. “And then… when he tried to cut in like that--he, with all the fame an’ money an’ all that he had goin’ for him, I just…”
Flash sighs again. "I'll take you back to your rooms," he says gloomily.
Twilight is quiet for most of the walk home. There's so much going on inside her that she doesn't know what to say, or even how to say it. Flash takes her to the foot of one of the Palace towers, where Celestia has set aside a room for her, and is about to leave her there--when Twilight licks her lips, kicks at the ground a little, and nervously invites Flash up to her chambers.
Flash shoots her an incredulous look--and Twilight begins to babble anxiously. "I mean, you're so nice, and good, and handsome, and I don't want this night to end, and--"
And suddenly, Flash leans in and kisses her full on the lips. Twilight suddenly goes silent, then absolutely melts at his touch.
Flash pulls away slightly, then tells her that this isn't how it's done. Twilight nods numbly as Flash tells her that there's a process--first, they have to get to know each other, and then court, and then--
Twilight cuts in gently. "Does this mean you don't want...?"
He shakes his head vigorously. "No," he says, "I want to--more than anything. But..." He swallows nervously and hesitates a moment--before he bows deeply. "Milady," he says, "May I have this dance?"
Twilight grins, and offers him her hoof.
Years later, Twilight would tell their children about this night. She would tell them about how much of a gentlecolt their father had been, and how careful he was to keep her happy and safe. She would tell them how they danced, and talked, and danced and talked again, until the sun began to rise--and how they ended the evening (or would that be started their morning?) with a visit to Doughnut Joe's. And how, before they had even finished their first doughnut, Flash had asked to court her, and how she'd said yes before he'd even finished the question.
Of course, she always left out the bit about her propositioning him--she didn't want them to get the wrong ideas--not to mention that the memory still made her cringe, even all those years later--but she would always tell them that, for the first time in her life, Flash Sentry had made her feel truly loved.
Author Note, Parte Deux:
One idea I had for this segment (which I dropped out of concern for how it would make Twilight look) was to give Twilight "voices." That is, Twilight's brain would operates a little differently than others--she can concentrate on a number of different things at once, and she refers to each separate train of thought as a "voice". Sometimes, she could even put problems on the back burner and come back later to find them solved. This ability of hers would have helped her tremendously in her academic pursuits, but, whenever she got nervous, worked up, etc., her voices would build on each other--with all of them focusing on how badly things were going, Twilight would quickly spiral into full-blown panic.
At the climax of the story--when Twilight propositions Flash--she would have seen the look he gave her, and all her voices would immediately go into full red-alert panic mode. However, when Flash kissed her, all of her voices would have gone quiet at once--the first time she could remember such a thing happening.
The Twilight in this story is a little more reclusive and a little more socially awkward than canon Twilight, and, though she is indeed the Element of Friendship, hers is a quieter, deeper, longer-lasting friendship than most. I kinda like the idea of Twilight having these "voices," if for no other reason that it would help explain her in-fic behavior--and perhaps even suggest that she fits somewhere on the autism spectrum. Plus, I love the imagery of all her "voices" going quiet at once--maybe even joining in a quiet "ooooooooh..."
However, I ultimately decided against this idea, since it runs up against some issues I don't feel skilled enough to address, and because I feel it would have been very difficult to make it clear that, no, Twilight isn't schizophrenic--her brain just works a little different than yours or mine.
Also, just to be clear, Flash is a hyper-polite Southern gentleman, which is the reason for his "Pardon me, Sir"s. I might have got the phrasing wrong, but, as I understand it, that sort of cold, aggressive politeness is about as close to an "OI, F*CKFACE" as you're likely to get south of the Mason-Dixon line.
