The brief sensation of absolute emotional numbness vanishes the moment that the tray that Wallflower was carrying hits the ground and she bolts.
I don’t even think about it. One moment I’m staring at the damp and disheveled face of my friend getting a meagre meal in a homeless shelter, the next I’m vaulting the food counter, knocking a couple of empty bowls to the ground in the process with a loud clangor of cheap metal on cheaper tile, as she darts away.
Wallflower isn’t what you’d call athletic, but she’s faster than I gave her credit for. Desperation puts wings on her feet as she scampers out of the cafeteria and towards the lobby. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and I half-suspect that she isn’t, but there’s no way she’s going to survive the night if she bolts out into the winter nighttime of Canterlot wearing nothing but some thin, mass-stamped-out pajamas!
Now I’m the desperate one, and before Wallflower can get halfway into the lobby I’m on her. I lunge forward and tackle her. My arms go around her before she hits the ground, though, and I turn as hard as I can, putting myself between her and the floor.
We hit hard, and my breath leaves me in a strangled gasp. Wallflower is struggling against my grip, but there’s no strength in her arms. The worst part, I think, is that if she had any strength, she might be using it, but she doesn’t.
She’s so frail, and I don’t know why I never realised it before.
“Wallflower? Sunset?!” Sister Willful comes sprinting over, moving quickly despite her skirt.
I drag air into my abused lungs as I try to keep Wallflower pinned so she won’t escape, while simultaneously getting up to flag down the sister.
“It’s okay!” I gasp.”Wallie, it’s okay!”
She freezes in my arms at the sound of my voice, and I sit up, half carrying, half dragging her with me as Sister Willful reaches us and lowers herself to a crouch.
“Sunset what…?” Willful looks between the two of us and trails off.
Wallflower is curled up around herself, shaking like a leaf, and I’ve got her bundled in my arms as much as possible, hugging her tightly and running my hands over her shower-damp hair as I look up at the sister over her head.
“Can… can we use your office, Sister?” I ask after a moment.
I can see the wheels turning in Sister Willful’s mind but eventually, she nods stiffly and stands, holds out a hand for me, and pull me to my feet. I pull Wallflower up with me, my arm still fastened securely around her shoulders to keep her anchored against me.
For all I know, the moment I let go she’ll bolt.
Not that she’d get very far.
“Wallie?” I say her name softly as I start walking her towards the Sister’s office.
My friend is still staring straight ahead, her thousand-mile gaze fixed on no point in particular as she walks in stunned silence beside me for all the world like a woman being led to her execution.
“I take it you two know each other?” Sister Willful says more than asks as she fits the key to her office door and pulls it wide enough to allow us both in.
“Yes, Sister,” I say quietly as I usher Wallflower inside.
I grab a couple of chairs and pull one out for Wallflower, sitting her down in it before taking my own seat next to her.
“If you need me, I’ll be right outside,” Sister Willful says softly, and I nod gratefully as she closes the door.
The sudden silence following the closing of the door is almost a force unto itself, and I find myself wringing my hands as I shift around in my seat while Wallflower just stares down at the floor like she’s going to bore a tunnel to Neighpon with the force of her gaze alone.
“I feel a little stupid,” I say after a moment. Wallflower doesn’t react, she just keeps staring, so I keep talking. “You would think that of any of our friends, I’d have seen the signs.”
I hang my head, bracing my elbows on my knees as a shudder runs through me. How long has she been living on the streets? How long have I not noticed?
I should have noticed!
“What are you doing here?”
Her voice is so small that I barely hear it. I look up and she still hasn’t moved, but I can feel her waiting for an answer, so I give it to her.
“I volunteer at Saint Easel’s when I can,” I admit, carding my fingers through my hair as I do and pulling the hair net out, along with the tie keeping my ponytail in place. “When I first crossed over I was homeless for a long while. Sister Willful and the others… they were good to me, even if I wasn’t very good to them, so I try and pay it back a little when I have the time.”
Finally, Wallflower looks up at me, her face pale and her eyes wide.
“You were homeless?”
I nod. “Yeah, I mean… I’m literally an illegal alien, so I didn’t have a house or papers or anything like that.”
My hands slip under my collar where my geode hangs around my neck and grip it tight.
“When I crossed over I assumed I’d have my magic to get me through whatever I encountered,” I continue with a bitter laugh. “So imagine my surprise when I came here, right? But I was too stubborn to go back and admit I was wrong, so I just… stayed. I made it through almost two Canterlot winters before I finally got the place I’m living in now, and I owe most of that to this place.”
Wallflower nods, looking pensive as she curls up on the chair, tucking her knees under her chin, and shivers. A soft knock at the door interrupts the growing silence, and we both look up in time for Sister Willful to crack the door open and step inside carrying a bowl of soup and a warm bun beside it that she sets on the desk by Wallflower.
“I expect that to be eaten before you leave, Miss Blush.” The Sister’s tone is a little hard but quietly playful as she leaves the room again.
For a moment, Wallflower just stares at the soup, then swallows hard and turns to start taking small bites of it, so I wait for her to finish. I remember what it was like to not eat for a while, and I didn’t want her to feel rushed.
As she sets the spoon down in the empty bowl and picks up the still-warm bun of bread, Wallflower pauses, then takes a tiny bite out of it and swallows.
“How did it happen?” I ask after waiting for her to speak and eventually realising she probably wouldn’t.
Wallflower shrugs. “I used the Stone.”
I frown at that. She used the stone… “On who?”
“My parents.” Wallflower’s voice has a cold, dead quality to it that sends a shiver up my spine. “And anyone who knew me… so I don’t really exist anymore.”
“Why?” The word crawls past my lips in a harsh plea.
Wallflower’s small, thin fingers curl into a tight fist, crushing the bun in her hands for a moment before she relaxes and lets go. Her hands are still shaking as she lifts the mangled bread to her lips and takes another small bite. She chews, then swallows, then takes a breath and looks up at me with eyes that are a thousand miles away.
“Because I’d rather live on the streets.”
They’re the harshest words I’ve ever heard come out of Wallflower’s mouth. Normally she’s so soft-spoken, so quiet and gentle. But those words are hard-bitten, cold, and metallic… there’s fear in them, and soft, bitter anger.
“Okay,” I say quietly. That’s probably not a wound I want to pick at, not yet, maybe not ever. “How… how long have you been homeless?”
“Since about a week after the Friendship Games,” she admits, and my chest goes tight.
Those were at the beginning of Senior year, so… four months.
She’s been homeless for four months, and if what she’s saying is accurate then that’s an improvement on where she used to live.
“So… so when we met-?” I start, and Wallflower nods.
“I lived in motel rooms, mostly,” Wallflower explains between small bites of bread. “I’d just make the staff forget I was there, but I wouldn’t stay more than a week at any one place.”
Otherwise, the other people who were staying there might start asking about her. I got that much easily enough. If she was in and out it would be one thing, but if she lived there for a longer period of time…
“Then I lost the stone,” Wallflower says. “I… I couldn’t go back, and even if I could I wouldn’t… so I’ve just been staying in shelters and stuff.”
“You could’ve said something,” I say wetly. “Any of us would’ve helped you.”
She doesn’t reply, she just curls up on herself again.
That was stupid of me. When I’d been in her position I hadn’t asked for help because of my idiotic pride. Wallflower, though? She wasn’t proud, not in that way. Maybe not in any way. No… I knew exactly why she hadn’t asked for help.
“Wallie?” I lean in and stretch out a hand cautiously. I don’t touch her though. Wallflower doesn’t like being touched, and now I think I know why.
She shakes her head wordlessly.
I get off of my chair and kneel down in front of her so I can look up into her warm, brown eyes as I hover my hands over hers. My hands are shaking now. I want to take her hands but I’m scared I’ll just hurt her more. She feels so painfully fragile right now, and if I ever actually hurt her…
“Please, Wallie, let me help, okay?” I beg her quietly. “I know some people… I’ve done this before. You don’t have to just live like this.”
“Maybe I do.”
The words are spoken so faintly that I almost miss them.
“Wallflower? Listen to me.” I settle my hands on hers, and thankfully she doesn’t flinch. “You don’t. Deserve. To live like this.”
I say it slowly and calmly, and I never look away from her as I do. I want her to- no, I need her to see the intent in my eyes when I say it. I need her to know that I mean it, because maybe if she sees that I mean it, she’ll start to believe it.
Even if it’s only believing that I believe it, that might be enough of a start.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to take you to see someone who’s helped me a lot, okay?” I say, curling my fingers around her palms as I do. To my relief, she grips my hands back as she lowers her head.
Her damp veil of morning glory hair sloughs over her face like a shroud, and a shudder runs through her that lasts only a moment before she looks back up at me.
“Why?”
“Because…” I start to say: ‘because you’re my friend’, but it’s more than that. The way she looks at me, with dry, sunken eyes and tense pain on her face makes my heart ache like nothing I’ve ever felt in my life.
So I take a breath, start again, and say: “Because you’re important to me, Wallie, so, please, let me do this.”
She bows her head again and shivers. I don’t let go of her hands. I don’t think I’d be able to, between how hard she’s gripping them, and how badly I want to keep holding on to her. I think I know how she feels.
How tired she must be.
You don’t sleep properly on the streets. You don’t even sleep all that well in shelters. Neither place is meant for restful sleep, although some shelters are a lot worse than others. Saint Easel’s is pretty good, but it’s still a shelter.
It’s not your bed.
It’s a bed.
There’s a difference.
“We… We have school tomorrow, though,” Wallflower says bitterly.
“I’ll call Principal Celestia, we’ll get it excused,” I say firmly. “This is more important, she’ll have to understand.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
Wallflower doesn’t know Principal Celestia the way I and my friends do. She has one of the kindest hearts imaginable, much like her Equestrian counterpart, and it’s something I know I haven’t appreciated properly until recently.
No, I’d be willing to bet Wallflower has a pretty instinctive distrust of adults in general.
“She will,” I assure her, and before Wallflower can rebut, I continue with, “and if she doesn’t then she can expel me.”
I put every sliver of steel in me into those last two words. Every ounce of practised authority I learned in elocution training under Raven Inkwell back in Equestria gets poured into those words, and the effect they have on Wallflower is clear.
She starts, straightens up a little, and nods.
There would be more pushback, but not tonight.
“We’ll go see him first thing in the morning,” I say, giving Wallflower’s hands another squeeze. “Once it gets into the later morning he gets really busy, so we’ll have to be up early.”
“Uhm… sh-should I just, wait here?” Wallflower nods out to the lobby, and I chuckle a little.
“No, Wall- Wallie, no, you’re… you’re not staying in the shelter tonight,” I say, although I probably shouldn’t be surprised that she assumed that. “You’re coming home with me, I have a couch you can crash on until we work this out, okay?”
“What?!” Now Wallflower looks upset, but I stand up before she can move.
“Think of it like this,” I say sharply, holding up a hand to forestall her. “My couch is just sitting there doing nothing but giving my butt a place to park while I play video games and watch webflix, but if you stay here, that’s a bed that someone else could have.”
Wallflower's expression twists. I can see the fucked up mathematics happening behind her eyes. On the one hand, she doesn’t want to impose herself on me, on the other hand, the alternative I just laid out for her is driving a nail right into the heart of her guilt complex.
I’m not going to claim to be proud of that move, but I know borderline suicidal stubbornness when I see it. I can also see the answer her tired, angry, self-hating brain is about giving her.
“I’ll just stay outside then,” she stands on shaky legs, her face twisted into a dogged rictus.
“Fine, then I’ll stay next to you,” I say, scowling as I cross my arms. “Where you sleep, I sleep.”
Wallflower’s expression drops into one of disbelief.
“That’s… that’s stupid!” She snaps. The stubbornness is gone and all that’s left behind in its wake is desperation.
“Sure is,” I agree, nodding. “But I’m that kind of stupid, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”
“So what?!” Wallflower’s voice cracks as she stands abruptly, sending the chair skittering backward to fall to the floor. “You’re just gonna sleep next to me on the concrete out of spite?!”
I let the belligerence fade slowly out of my posture. I shed the anger but leave the conviction. I stare Wallflower down; straight-backed, hard-eyed, and unflinching, arms at my side, shoulders tense and ready to bear the weight of whatever comes.
Just like ‘mom’ always taught me.
“For you?” I ask after a cold, quiet moment. I answer my own question a breath later. “In a heartbeat.”