He hates his reflection.
He doesn’t talk about it. He’s never vocal about how much he doesn’t like the dark bags under his eyes, and his glasses that magnify them, doesn’t mention how much he hates his big nose and bony knees and he most definitely doesn’t bring up how much he looks like his father. He’s looking more and more like Sunspot every day—but an unattractive, malformed Sunspot, with shaggy hair and sickly sea-green eyes. Ironic, since Sunspot didn’t want anything to do with him, not since Sunburst yelled at his face to stop referring to him as “his daughter”, that this was not a phase, that this was who he is.
He hasn’t seen Sunspot since that night, and probably never would, not as long as Sunburst went around the world presenting himself as a stallion.
There’s always something new to hate about himself—mane, muzzle, neck, stomach. Sunburst’s never been open about his insecurities and demons, so he doesn’t say a thing, and never brings it up.
He hushes his disgust under a smile when Starlight shuffles her way into the bathroom, yawning as she leans over him to grab her toothbrush. She’s just rolled out of bed and she’s adorable, hair a mess—he’s told her a thousand times not to sleep with her mane wet—and eyes droopy with exhaustion. Her eyes are murkier in the mornings, which is good for him because she’s less observant and she won’t look twice if his expression slips and he outwardly grimaces at the stallion staring back at him in the mirror.
He looks like a freak.
His mane is an ugly orange color. His coat is yellow, but an awful, sickly shade that reminds him of dirty mustard and the sweat stains that cling to white shirts. He looks like a drifter. He looks like a failed science experiment, and sometimes he feels like one, years of potions and medication and doctor visits turned him into…this, a creature masquerading as a stallion.
His neck slopes ungracefully. His smile is uneven. His teeth are too big for his mouth and stain easily because he drinks too much tea and forgets to brush them.
He hates his reflection, but can’t bring himself to tell Starlight, because Starlight has faith in him and she looks at him like he’s the morning light when he’s not; he’s cracks on the sidewalk and outdated books left out in the rain, he’s nothing like her. She’s a supernova and he’s lucky enough to be allowed to stand so close to a mare as radiant and strong as her.
Starlight is pretty. He’s long accepted his attraction to his friend as a whole. He sneaked more glances at the curve of her hips when she walked and ogled the way she licks her lips after a cup of tea more times than he cares to admit. She’s lovely, wholesome, kickass, and even standing in her shadow is too bright and dazzling for him.
So he slouches. And he mumbles his answers and smiles with tight lips so as not to show his big yellow teeth because his father would always smile widely and laugh loudly, deeply, unashamedly. Sunburst is happy living as a stallion, happy when ponies call him sir or mister or professor, but he would be happier if he could escape his father’s shadow and stop putting a damper on Starlight’s life.
But he's the crystaller of the firstborn alicorn princess, he’s viceheadmare now. He should act more like it. He should straighten his posture and puff his chest out more like Starlight tells him to, like she still tells him to when she straightens out the collar of his cloak and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. He blushes and stutters. The physical affection is nothing new, but she can still catch him off guard sometimes and he loves her for it.
“Chin up,” she reminds him sweetly. She nuzzles his scruffy face and he feels like a giant compared to her, his tiny little girlfriend.
When did he get so big? He’s so obvious next to her, skinny limbs and bulky frame, and she’s cute and petite even when she’s in her headmare uniform looking all strict and serious. She’s a pretty mare and he’s a disheveled-looking stallion, and when she stands next to him and presses her side against his as she leads him into parties, he wonders what a unicorn like her sees in a pony like him.
Because he understands her now, he truly does, but he also knows himself and knows that a mare like Starlight can do better. She can do better than a whiny colt with body image issues, with family issues, with issues in general; she’s not perfect, but she’s put in the work and pulled herself out of her messy past and gone above and beyond anypony ever dreamed of. Her recklessness doesn’t haunt her reflection. Her body is beautiful, coat soft and clean and shiny and her eyes otherworldly. She’s a go-getter, she’s determined and ambitious. She’s gone horn-to-horn with a princess and only lost because Twilight’s compassion was greater than Starlight’s hate. She could lead anypony into battle and still come out victorious.
Does she really need him as he needs her?
She hugs him tight, because Starlight always knows when he needs an extra dose of comfort, and she smiles in a way that’s so warm he can’t help but smile back, truthfully this time.
His coat is damp with cold sweat. His mouth is dry and he gags when he shoves a mouthful of water down his throat. His legs are shaking as he stands over the sink and he’s quivering.
Nightmares drag him out of bed at three AM. It’s an ungodly hour and every time he closes his eyes he sees the darkness and the sharp, taunting words and not good enough, never good enough. He’s too tall, he takes too much space. He’s going to hurt her someday. He’s going to mess this up, or she’s going to realize what a loser he actually is and leave him for a real stallion.
He exhales a shaky breath; no, Starlight wouldn’t do that. That’s not who she is. Not defiant, compassionate Starlight. She gives her all when it comes to helping others.
But he wonders if anyone else looks in the mirror and wants to be sick, because who could love a pony with a face and body like his? He’s not attractive. He’s not charming. He’s not even funny—he’s shy and quiet and not good enough, never good enough. Not for his father, not for magic school, not for Starlight.
He feels Starlight before he sees her. He hears the bathroom door shut behind her, hears her gasp with surprise and horror. He feels her magic reach out to him, feels her calming presence before her forelegs even wrapped fully around his waist. She presses herself against his sweaty back and hugs him tight. Her lips find his spine and she mumbles his name softly, full of concern.
It is only then that he realizes that he’s crying, but he wipes his face and mumbles excuses that Starlight doesn’t buy. She’s steady against him, so small but so sure and easy for him to lean into.
Sunburst can’t remember the last time he’s cried. It certainly wasn’t in front of his marefriend.
But he’s a mess of tears and trembling limbs now. His mouth tastes like vomit and his cheeks are sunken and he’s gross, sweaty, and feels like death, but her body is cool from the autumn night and she presses her hoof over his erratic heart. It’s the only time she hesitates.
Her hoof rubs soothing circles over his chest and she kisses his back again. She whispers sweet nothings and reassurances, that he’s wonderful, that she loves him so much and why are you crying, Sunburst? Talk to her, please talk to her, she’s known that he’s been unhappy for a while now. Is it the relationship?
“Don’t be silly,” he croaks. He has the strength to shut that one down—it’s not her love that scares him, it’s not her love that he hates. He just wants to be worthy of her, worthy enough to stand by her side and not care about what others say. He just wants to be worthy to stand in her light.
Her hoof keeps tracing those soothing circles as she tells him that of course, he’s worthy. He’s more than worthy. He’s the smartest pony that she knows, that he is braver than he realizes and he is patient where she is short-tempered. She doesn’t care what anypony has to say, her coltfriend is amazing and she would choose him over any other pony again and again without a doubt.
Her voice is tender and soft when she whispers “I love you” against his shoulder. He can feel it echo in his bones, strong and true, and relaxes ever so slightly.
The tile is cold and unforgiving as he turns around and wraps his shaky forelegs around her. She nestles her forehead against his and breathes with him. He has to believe her—he knows that—but it’s hard to do sometimes when he doesn’t even like himself.
She cups his cheeks in her hooves and he covers them with his own as he breathes her name. His voice is cracked and wobbly but she doesn’t budge.
He knows she never will.