//------------------------------//
// Great Expectations 
// Story: Arrhythmia 
// by Posh 
//------------------------------//

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.