Octavia and Vinyl were loosely tangled up under the covers.
Octavia hadn’t slept. And Vinyl hadn’t done much of that either.
A soft sigh escaped her, and Vinyl noticed with a frown.
“Sorry,” eased Octavia. “I really do feel a lot better.”
Vinyl cocked her head. ‘But?’
“But,” Octavia started experimentally. “I still feel bad about… Lyra. I don’t know if I can face her again. I don’t… I just don’t know what to do.”
Vinyl didn’t give much of a response, only watching and waiting with a look of deep sympathy on her face. She didn’t seem to have any instant remedy for it, or any more grandiose ideas. Perhaps she couldn’t come up with something helpful because she knew how hard this stuff had always been for Octavia.
She’d learned over the many, many years of knowing her that there was a certain point where there really wasn’t anything that could help. A certain, limited extent to which any words of encouragement and casual strategies she could come up with were able to help.
Octavia was still going to have to face Lyra, god or not, and she was probably going to have to navigate that situation all on her own, without the help of her sheet music or her wife. And she didn’t want her relationship with that nice mare to be built on continued silences, dismissive attitudes, and misunderstandings. She didn’t want that with any pony. She wanted to do better, but she just didn’t know how. It was so hard.
Vinyl tapped her hoof to hers. And when Octavia looked up, Vinyl was offering her most gentle smile of encouragement.
She could read it, of course. But it said so many things.
Octavia buried her face into her wife’s chest, and whispered through falling tears.
“Thank you, Vinyl.”