"You know probability, right? Law of Averages and such?"
"Mhm."
Braeburn aimed a kick at a stone as he walked. "Then why is it that the train is always late when it brings you to Appleloosa, but always seems on time when it takes you away?!"
Hoofclid nuzzled him affectionately. He knew that reminding Braeburn that there was simply less far for the train to come from one direction and thus less chance for delays wouldn't help. The unicorn didn't want to go any more than Brae wanted him to leave. Still, he tried to stay cheery. Two gloomy ponies was not better than one.
"I keep telling you maths doesn't work!" Hoofy gave a roguish wink, which did pull a smile from his Brae.
The earth pony had still insisted on carrying the saddlebags to the station, but not Hoofclid as well, lacking the usual bounce in his step. Partly the slow walk was to delay the departure. Of course they just had to set off earlier to allow for it, but it felt like longer.
Reaching the station, Braeburn asked the conductor with a hopeful note in his voice, "Don't suppose there are buffalo blocking the line?"
The conductor just looked bewildered. "Why in Equestria would Chief Thunderhooves be blocking the trains?"
"Just a thought…"
A few grudging steps more brought them to the platform.
"I'm sorry that I have to leave, sweetie…" said Hoofclid, scuffling a hoof across the ground.
"Oh sugarcube, ya know I ain't mad at you…" Braeburn replied with a cheek nuzzle. "I'm just cross with that train there… on time again..."
Sure enough there was a puff of smoke on the horizon. Brae surrendered the saddlebags, but he wasn't going to surrender his last chance for a kiss this week. He pulled the unprotesting unicorn in for tender smooch. The train had pulled up next to them by the time the boyfriends pulled apart.
"Any longer and I'll miss the train…"
"That's the idea!"
A shared laugh was a good ending to the weekend. Hoofclid hopped up into the carriage.
"See you next week, Brae!"
"Good bye, my sweet."
And then the train left. As if it had no idea what it was doing. As if its schedule was more important. Braeburn watched it resentfully until it had become a mere wisp of smoke on the horizon.
Thinking that he didn't particularly want to go home to tidy up yet, Braeburn turned his steps towards the local watering hole, the Salt Block. His usual chair had a cider and a salt lick in front of it, but no pony seemed to be sitting there.
"Er, Salty?"
The saloonkeeper, Salty Molasses, didn't look up from the glass he was polishing as he replied. "They're for you, Braeburn."
The yellow stallion cautiously took his seat. "But… how?"
"Every other Sunday you come in here in a mighty sulk just after the last train leaves and ask for cider and salt," explained Salty. "Figured this one would be no different."
Brae licked at his salt block, still watching the barkeeper suspiciously. "I'm that obvious, huh?"
"Braeburn, you know you aren't one to hide your emotions. The whole town can tell when you're missing that charming unicorn of yours."
Braeburn stared into his cider, singing absent-mindedly to himself.
"We're far apart in every way, but he's the best part of my day…"
Salty Molasses put down the glass and sighed inwardly. Appleloosa was a small town, and a new one. The Salt Block had been one of the first community buildings to be built, and formed a core part of the town life. As such, he saw everypony often. Learned what excited them. Learned what put them down, and what might pick them up again. Salty knew more about the ponies in town than almost anyone, other than perhaps the Sheriff. He knew why the usually bouncy Braeburn was licking so quietly at his salt block, and why he was so distracted that he hadn't even taken his hat off when he came in. Fortunately he also had a solution, however temporary. There was one thing that would be important enough to snap Braeburn back to life.
"So Braeburn, you seen how the new schoolhouse is coming?"
"I painted some of the walls there the other day…" Braeburn didn't look up.
"I heard that folks needed some help there today making the schoolyard equipment."
A yellow ear had twitched markedly at the word 'help'. The rest of the head followed the ear, turning towards the saloon keeper, who had gone back to polishing glasses in a pretense of disinterest.
"Help?"
"Just some ponies who are good with their hooves to build some things for the foals to play with."
There was a curious draining sound as the glass of cider rapidly emptied into Braeburn's throat. A hoofful of bits clattered onto the bar and the saloon doors swung. Salty Molasses chuckled to himself.
Braeburn lingered long before he returned home. Doing honest work in the service of the town he loved was a thing worth lingering over, after all. The foals of Appleloosa watching from the sidelines under the careful eyes of their teacher, Braeburn had cut and shaped the applewood for a new seesaw, carefully sanded and polished a dowel for a hinge, assembled seats and hoofholds and painted the whole thing in a cheery shade of blue. Then painted it again after an excited colt learned for the first time that paint takes time to dry. Other ponies nearby were building other things, and Braeburn had a long habit of making himself useful in such times. It was an excellent way to clear your head, especially with the ultimate reward of seeing happy foals using their new schoolyard for the first time.
It was thus a much cheerier stallion that returned home than had stomped into the Salt Block that afternoon. A well practiced motion frisbeed his hat onto its stand. Surveying the room, Braeburn sighed slightly. There was always a fair amount of tidying to do after a visit from Hoofclid. It was his own fault of course. It had become almost a tradition for Hoof to offer to do the washing up or help tidy something, only for Braeburn to refuse him. There were better ways to spend a visit than cleaning, he said. Like wrapping your boyfriend in hugs so he can't escape and do the dishes.
Brae did the easier jobs first: taking the blanket upstairs that they had slept under, clearing the plates and pie dish from lunch… and then there was his least favourite job. He had to clean and put away his teapot.
Like most ponies in the hot landscape of Appleloosa, Braeburn had never really been a big tea drinker. In fact he hadn't even been able to buy a teapot here, he had had to send away for one. Twice, in fact, since the mail pony had brought him a potted tea plant the first time. But tea was something Hoofclid drank often, and since he had introduced the earth pony to it, drinking tea was very much something they did Together. Braeburn didn't really like making tea just for himself, nor did he like seeing the pot abandoned on the side for days at a time. So each time Hoofclid left, Braeburn had to put the teapot away.
Braeburn sat down to give the teapot a bit of a polish, then stared at it. He wasn't surprised that such a simple thing could conjure up these emotions in him. His Granny Smith had always told him that objects that are important to you, or to ponies you care about, have a way of holding feelings within themselves. Then you can always get them back again, and your loved ones can never really be far away. A hat, a scooter, a gemstone… no reason a teapot couldn't do the same. Brae squinted. Yesterday that teapot had held the reflection of two colts, happy together. Polish it just right, maybe he could catch that reflection again. Braeburn smiled. There it was.
A yawn reminded the yellow stallion that he had worked hard today and should probably hit the hay. He gave the teapot a fond nuzzle before tucking it in the cupboard. His warm breath fogged the surface, hiding the reflections—but not the memories.
