//------------------------------// // Chapter 15 - Parallels // Story: Sensation - Appleloosa // by Vivid Syntax //------------------------------// There’s a beauty and a terror in how we learn from each other, and it’s amazing how we can find ways to try again when we fail. The tracks always feel parallel, but sometimes, we can change course. It might just take a few tries. I’m getting ahead of myself, but I have a lot of feelings about this next part. My parents were a lot more welcoming the next morning, and even though we still had a ways to go, I could breathe again. It wasn’t unlike after their first meeting with Bronze, but I told myself that Soarin’ wasn’t like him. And I still stand by that. Soarin’... … We took a carriage, since it was raining, and a reporter sweet-talked his way into our car. We didn’t know it at first, and when we figured it out, Soarin’ lost his temper. He threatened to beat that stallion’s face in, and he only stopped when I screamed. That was the start of the trouble, I think. No, the media scandal and getting chased out of Appleloosa were trouble, too, but they weren’t… relationship trouble. I saw Soarin’ in a light that I hadn’t seen before, and as hard as I tried to push the thoughts away, it reminded me of the worst moments with Bronze.  ‘He’s not Bronze,’ I told myself over and over. But it was hard not to see the resemblance, not just in their looks, but in how quickly I’d fallen for them and how scary they got when the world turned on them. I wish I’d had the discipline to banish those thoughts. Our next stop was Ponyville. The train ride was strained between us, and overnight, Soarin’ got a mysterious, giant bruise on his forehead, likely from sitting up too fast. I tell myself that if we hadn’t been fighting, if we hadn’t been so fatigued and cramped and exhausted from being constantly on the run, that I would have realized how bad it was. It was another head injury, and he didn’t even remember it. That’s about the reddest flag you could ask for. We met up with Big Mac in Ponyville. Soarin’ didn’t take too kindly to how I leapt on my cousin for support instead of him. He flew off in a huff, but really, I think he was as tired as I was. We made up, of course. I spelled out a message for him in a clearing from old rotten wood. He saw it and flew down because, well… Soarin’ always comes back. Soarin’ was as haunted by his rage as I was. He thought he was no good, and he worried that he could never be good enough for me, that I loved Bronze more than him and that he was nothing more than a replacement.  I wouldn't let him believe that. Yes, he had a bad day, but he’d been so kind to me, too. Soarin’ knew the pain I felt, and more than anything, he never left my side, even when he could have saved himself a lot of grief. I wanted him to know the truth. I didn’t feel like I owed it to him or anything. I’ve spent so much of my time keeping secrets, and Soarin’ was growing on me more and more every day. I wanted him to know. I told him everything about coming out and about Bronze. Including the violence. Understand, I had told nopony about the gory details of Bronze’s abuse, not even Big Mac, and I’d spared my parents the worst of it. Soarin’ was the first to hear everything. And my Big Blue held me through it all, listening without judgment. And in telling the story, in reliving all the joy and pain of my time with Bronze, it all felt so familiar. Soarin’ wanted to go to Cloudsdale. That was his orchard, the thing he wanted from me that I couldn’t give him. He didn’t have a plan. He just wanted to keep running and keep me beside him. Even though he cared about me dearly, he was going after what he wanted. What he needed. I resolved not to make the same mistake again. It wasn't just about me; I didn't want to let Soarin' and me drift apart like I had with Bronze. I wanted a clean break, time for us to take a breath and let the media frenzy die down. I believed in my heart that we'd have another chance, maybe long-distance, if we could only give ourselves a happy ending for now. So, I told him, “I wanna take you on a date, Soarin’.” He sounded confused. “Uh… sure, Applebutt. Whatever you want.” “Not whatever.” I cuddled up into him, there on the grass. “A real date. A nice one, just the two of us.” I’d already arranged for a stop at Auntie Crisp’s, and I promised myself I would make it perfect. After everything with his mother, his dad passing, and his troubles with the Wonderbolts, Soarin’ was sensitive to folks abandoning him. I had to be delicate. I had to take it one step at a time. The best-laid plans, right? We stayed in Ponyville for a few days, and I officially came out to my extended family. Yes, they knew. They’d seen the papers, but there was still the ceremony of it all. I still got to tell them, more or less on my own terms. Big Mac, Granny, AJ, and Little Bloom all gathered in the family room, and Soarin’ and I sat next to each other on a loveseat. Little Bloom was full of questions, but AJ kept her in check. I took a deep breath, and I held Soarin’s hoof as I said it: “It’s true. We’re together, and Soarin’ is my coltfriend. I’m gay, everypony, and I’m happy I can finally tell you the truth.” ==X===X===X===X===X== We take a seat at the top of a hill overlooking Braeburn’s orchard. In the light of the late morning, the leaves radiate a verdant glow, and the apples shine like gilded rubies. Braeburn smiles. “I draw so much strength from that pony. Think about it: I didn’t start off with ‘I’m gay.’ I started with our bond. Even then, I knew that as long as I had him, I could face anything.” I nod. The sweat collects on my back. “That’s still true, isn’t it?” “Of course. Together, there’s nothing we can’t face.” Braeburn looks over at the town. We can see a bit of Mane Street, and ponies are still hanging decorations for the jamboree. Tables are getting set out and filled for a big welcome feast. Two ponies hang up a few more streamers: dark blue and gold. Soarin’ flits all around. He slaps his face, then flies over and replaces the golden streamers with green to match the rest of the Foal Scout decor. “Ha! If he’d let me help him, that is.” I bite the inside of my cheek. “He looks stressed, but I think he can handle it.” “But wouldn’t it be better if we were together?” Braeburn turns to me. I feel the weight of his eyes on my shoulders, and he squints at me. “You’ve got something uncomfortable to say. You can say it.” He’s more than right, of course. There are a lot of things I want to say, but I settle on, “It’s hard to trust somepony with projects you care about. You mentioned parallels, and… that was a struggle with Bronze, too, right?” Braeburn groans, then shifts in place. “Yeah, I suppose so.” He adjusts his hat. “Sometimes it feels like I’m still the same rash pony I always was. But then, I think about that chat with the Ponyville Apples, how much better it went that time.” He smiles. “And I know I’m making progress.” ==X===X===X===X===X== Granny teased me, like is her way, and AJ figured out pretty quick that Big Mac already knew. Bloom ran off in excitement, but she promised not to tell. Here’s a tip: never trust a filly with your secrets. I should be grateful, though, because I got to see Soarin’ play with Bloom’s friends. He’s a hell of a lot better with foals than he gives himself credit for, and watching him give Scootaloo rides tugged at my heartstrings. And once we snuck onto the train out of Ponyville, courtesy of Big Mac and Miss Rarity, we were on our way east, riding in the lap of luxury with a bottle of lube that got used up real quick. We arrived at Auntie Crisp’s without any other drama, and we had each other. And I kept telling myself it’d be alright. The irony isn’t lost on me. Here I am, nearly a year and a half later, worried about the same things. But I’ve already lost him once. I know how much it killed me. I can't let it happen again. Our date went about as perfectly as you can imagine. I wasn’t afraid of what was coming, and neither was Soarin’. We were present and at peace with each other, whether we were racing to the swimming hole, making love on the beach, or cooking dinner together. I showed him how to make my Two-Apple Twirl, the first thing I ever made for him. We ate it after dinner, and it’s still my favorite pie. And then, we watched the sunset on a nearby hill. The evening was perfect, and there was a feeling in my chest that I’d only ever felt for one other pony. I’d felt it for a while, known what it was, but I’d been afraid to let it out. You can’t break something that doesn’t exist, and so you keep it safe by keeping it secret. But there was no denying anymore. I’d only known the guy for three weeks, but Soarin’ Windsong had already stolen my heart. No, not stolen. His heart had grown with mine. They’d intertwined, and I was finally ready to look at the majesty of what the two of us were becoming.  Soarin’ knew what I was about to say, and we teased each other, and he tackled me to the grass, and when I looked up at the big, beautiful sky, all I saw was him. He was the only thing in my world, and he was all I needed. I had so many plans about exactly the right time to tell him, how I wanted us to be holding each other and where we’d be. I didn’t need them. The words came out on their own, and they were as perfect as anything I could have imagined.  “I love you, Soarin’.” There aren’t words to describe the joy, the happiness, relief, pleasure, excitement, humility, and everything else that washed over Soarin’ in that moment. The only way he could say it was to reply,  “I love you, too, Braeburn.” We kissed again, and I wanted to be with him forever. And… so did he. But he didn’t want to think about the cost. I had, because I’d been through this already. I knew what was right. I broke his heart right on that hill, not three minutes later, all because I wanted him to know the truth. I hugged his head to my chest and breathed in that wild blue mane of his. "Today had to be perfect for you, Soarin'. I want you to cherish it. I want you to know how I feel about you, how good you really are, and how much you mean to me. Promise me, Soarin'. Promise me you'll remember it forever." "Of course I will, Braeburn, but… why?" I sighed and let him know what was in my heart. "Because it's time for me to go home." He ripped himself from me, and I suppose I got a taste of my own medicine. He looked just like I must have back when we first met, when I realized that no, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. He was in so much pain. I rambled. I told him it would be okay. I told him I wanted to make it work, but it was like he couldn’t hear me. And all at once, he said, “Come live with me.” He begged me. He pleaded like he was pleading with an executioner, and I… I didn’t want him to hurt. So like with Bronze, I relented, and Soarin’ was so happy that he scooped me up and flew me into the air, much to my chagrin. But as happy I was to see him relieved, I was disappointed in myself. Once again, I gave up some of what was essential to me, because I truly believed that this time would be different. I hoped that we could make it work. I still hold that hope to this day. The next morning, we made our way towards Manehattan and stopped at a balloon launch that would take us to Cloudsdale. I had to get those special magic horseshoes to walk up there, which meant a whole testing process. And… … I don’t want to say this part, but I feel like I should, for transparency. Soarin’ doesn’t know this yet. I’ve never told him. As soon as he hears it, he’ll feel guilty. I wish he wouldn’t. He didn’t know. When I was trying on my horseshoes, I was Celestia-damned terrified. I kept thinking back to the last time I’d been that high up. I trusted him, though, and I jumped onto the testing cloud. Soarin’ teased me and picked me up from off the cloud. He held me midair, and I-I… I had flashbacks. I thought of Bronze picking me up, dropping me, and breaking my leg. It all felt the same, even the way I couldn’t stop thrashing around, trying to break free. He nuzzled me, and that got me to relax a little, but he kept holding me up, even after I told him to let me go. And, well, I resisted, and I slipped. And I fell. It was hardly a fall at all, just a tiny bit, but in that split-second, the whole episode with my leg flashed in my mind. Time slowed down, I swear it, and I relived some of the worst moments in my life. I practically bit Soarin’s head off, but I still loved him, and he apologized. And honestly, getting to ride in that balloon may have been worth it.  We took a cab to Soarin’s house, and I realize I’m in no place to judge, but wow does that pony need to learn how to decorate. It was all cloud-white, and sure, there was a clean look to everything, but it all felt so sterile. Soarin’ says it’s part of being in the military: you learn to live without a lot of comforts, and you don’t need much to get by, especially when most of your meals are handled by nutritionists of the highest order. But as I explored my new home, there was one place that had all colors of the rainbow: the liquor cabinet. I stared at it, dumbfounded. It was all the good stuff, too; bottles of high-end vodka and imported rum that I could never even think of affording. There were liquors in there that I’d never tasted, and taking me by surprise like that, I was weak. My mind reeled with the possibilities. What cocktails could I make? Did the top-shelf stuff really taste better straight? Did it burn less, or more? How different were the imported varieties from domestic? I slurped up some drool and finally called Soarin’ over. “Mighty, uh… mighty fine selection you’ve got here.” Soarin’ fluttered over and cast a glance at it all. “Uh, yeah. Is… that okay?” Like the addict I am, my first thought was, ‘If I tell him no, he’ll get rid of it.’ Quickly, I reassured him and tried to change the subject. “Yeah. I promise, Big Blue. Like you said, if I ain't happy, I'll tell you. It'll be fine. Don't you worry about me." He saw right through me. “I can get rid of–” “It’s fine, Big Blue,” I snapped at him. That shook even me, and I talked myself down. “I promise. No need to get rid of it all for my sake.” I changed the subject again, and we went about our business, but every time I looked back at the kitchen that day, I could feel Soarin’ looking back at me, too. It had taken all of ten minutes to get paranoid. That first week up there was eventful as all hell, because we could never catch a break in those days. Soarin’ had to report to the academy, and he nearly got fired. He says I was a big hero that saved his job, but all I did was speak truth to power. We split a bottle of champagne that night, and… …and you understand exactly how much the alcohol was wound up in my life, right? It didn’t matter the occasion. Celebrating a victory? Drink. Need to forget your sorrows? Drink. Spending time with friends? Drink. Half a bottle of champagne was next to nothing for me. It was terrible. It is terrible, because I could get back to that same place if I’m not careful. My support group says I need to celebrate the small victories, too. I didn’t drink for the next several days, despite all the stress. See, Cloudsdale is a giant, open city, and since it exists in three dimensions, everything feels so much bigger and more spread out. And yet, I felt utterly trapped. I couldn’t go anywhere without an escort, on account of the mob of “fans” that would swarm me every place I went.  I broke down a few times. Didn’t let anypony see. Just couldn’t take it, like how a pegasus would feel without their wings. Something essential was missing from my life, and I hadn’t even had a moment to collect myself and, as Slate had put it, get my head and my heart right. I sugar-coated it when Soarin’ asked. Just a couple days in, and I was already lying. I knew I wasn’t happy, but I convinced myself it would all change. One bright spot was meeting Miss Holli. She’s one of my few friends from Cloudsdale, a waitress from the Bad Sun Rising restaurant. She swung by a whole bunch in those early days, and having somepony to talk to about cuisine made the long days without Big Blue bearable.  And on Friday night, after Soarin’s big return show at home, we hosted a party so that Soarin’ could introduce me to all his friends. I don’t remember it. There are little flashes of memories: sitting with Wave Chill on the stoop, trying to sweat away my frustrations on the dance floor, participating in far too many shot-drinking contests… But I can’t tell you much more than that. If Soarin’ hadn’t told me later, I would never have understood his kindness. Soarin’ thinks he failed me, but he stayed with me that night. He never stopped taking care of me. I resisted. I told myself I needed space. But the truth was, I had too much space. I needed my coltfriend close by, yet I kept pushing him away, because I knew how much it would hurt him to tell him the truth. I admitted that I wasn’t happy, I think, but maybe not in those exact words. I was crying over the lack of trees between bouts of puking into a garbage can. Plus, as they say, in vino veritas, I told Soarin’ that Bronze had called me a drunk and made me feel worthless. Soarin’ was gentle. I remember him being gentle. Like most drunks, I asked Soarin’ to never let me drink again, but that didn’t even last a day. Fire Streak finally came clean about something he’d noticed, and… Soarin’ came back and told me. We didn’t know the full story at the time, just that Soarin’ couldn’t read or write anymore. It felt like poisoned lightning through my veins. Terror struck me dead still as he lay there, quivering and explaining it all to me, while I desperately tried to comfort him. And I saw my part in all of it. How I’d not gotten help when he’d crashed in the orchard. The trouble he’d had reading things all over Equestria. The bump on his head from the train ride. I went through all the same little moments Soarin’ had, and even though Soarin’ told me otherwise, I blamed myself. So I tried to drink. That was… I think that was one of our first big fights. Just four days of living together, and we were at each other’s throats. Soarin’ talked me down, though, and we reaffirmed how much we loved each other. I’ll say this for the Wonderbolts: they take care of their own. Doctors Radiant Hope and Gentle Soul are some of the best in the business, and the fact that they’re husbands just brought a… an ease to the both of us. In the middle of our fighting and adjustments, here was a couple that was as different as Soarin’ and I, but they made it work. I think about them a lot these days. Shoot, I even reached out to Soarin’s therapist, Doctor Soul, for advice. He’s a good pony, if a little uncouth.  Once the nightmare of Soarin’s aphasia was laid out for us like that – a path to recovery, something that gave us hope – I had to battle with the second major challenge of Cloudsdale: boredom. And historically, I have not won those battles. In the next few days, I had to find things to do. Cleaning everything for the party had taken care of most of the maintenance, at least the things I could work on, since I’m not much for cloud masonry. I had books, but those can only take you so far. Miss Holli was busy during the day, and I couldn’t easily go out and make friends on account of the media ponies and, well, the fact that everypony in Soarin’s neighborhood had jobs or other ways to entertain themselves. The liquor cabinet sat there. Taunting me. Inviting me. Teasing me. It was like all I had to do was press a button, and magically, the boredom would go away. Parallels.  It got bad in just a couple days. I would open the cabinet doors just to argue with them. I’d scowl and say, “You ain’t gonna get the best of me. I’ve gotten rid of you before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.” But it wasn’t about standing up to them. I got a giddy thrill every time I opened the cabinet, like my brain was rewarding me for taking a step closer to it. That’s how addiction works. You build up the anticipation. It tingles your brain. You start to feel the drunkenness before you even touch the bottle, like your stomach is preparing itself already. Like your whole body is telling you, “Good, do it. You’ll feel so much better.” There’s power in refusing it, for sure, but the more you let it build up, the harder it gets, until you– … Until you relapse. I hadn’t gotten there yet, but I wanted to test myself, to prove to myself I could do it. I failed that test. I made Soarin’ a drink one night, and even though I didn’t drink it, per se, I gave him a long, slow kiss once he’d finished, just to get a hint of the rum and cola. And oh, my stars… I’d pushed myself past the limit at the Friday party, but that had just reintroduced it all to my body. Even just that little taste, from licking the booze off Big Blue’s lips, it gave me a high that I’d been missing all week. That was the tipping point, I think. The lies would come shortly thereafter.  But I knew it was wrong, and the fact that I’d hidden my failure from Soarin’ ate away at me. I turned to the only thing I knew could keep my mind occupied: Appleloosa. With Soarin’s permission, I started a communication with Slate, so that I could get my monthly report done and at least pretend to help the town.  That opened a whole new can of worms, though. I knew from Bronze’s letter that he was at my house, still vying for my orchard. I couldn’t write to him directly. That would have killed Soarin’. Anything to do with Bronze set Soarin’ on edge, really.  I sat in Soarin’s home – it never really felt like “ours” – on the couch I’d repaired myself. Soarin’ didn’t keep plants or pets, so nothing around me was alive. The air was cool enough that I considered grabbing a blanket, even with the sun shining through the biggest windows. It was still. The stasis seeped into my joints and my chest. I sat on that couch for twenty minutes, thinking how cold I was and how I should do something about it. But there was more to it than that. I’d felt this cold before, just that past winter, when the heavy drinking had started. Despite everything that Soarin’ was promising me and what he was trying to do, I was alone, completely isolated, just like I had been with Bronze. I reached out to a pair of comforting ears. “You there, Jonah?” He didn’t answer, but I knew he was there. I sighed. “This ain’t… what I’d hoped for, big brother.” I shook my head. “I can’t leave, and even if I could, I can’t hardly get around. I don’t know anypony. Nopony needs me. I don’t need me. Soarin’ keeps sayin’ he’ll take care of me. Hardly any work to be done. Just a lotta nothin’.” I pressed a hoof to my face in shame. “Listen to me, belly-achin’, like there ain’t a million ponies that would love to be in my position.” I ran my hoof through my mane. The enchanted horseshoe snagged a few of the hairs, a pinprick reminder of why I didn’t belong. I groaned, “This ain’t a way to be, though. Not for me. I… don’t even know where to begin.” My head reclined back onto the couch. It was cold. “Makes me nostalgic, I suppose. Thought I had it all figured out in Appleloosa. Fresh start, fresh ponies. Same ol’ Braeburn, though.” I sighed again. “But Bronze is back there now. I brought him into the community, gave him a place where…” My head shook. “He had a place where he felt like he belonged. He’s never had that before, and I took it away from him.” I swear I could feel Jonah poke my cheek, like he was telling me to hush. “Okay, you’re right. He drove himself away. But it’s hard to think about how I could have made it better.” I imagined Jonah asking if I would go back and change it if I could. “I don’t like leaving ponies unhelped, big brother, especially not folks from my town. And Bronze has been there most of a year. He’s an Appleloosan, like everypony else there. But I love Soarin’ more than Bronze. But I still love Bronze, too. Does that make sense?” Jonah didn’t answer that time. “I guess not. It hasn’t made sense for me, either.” I grunted and dragged a hoof down my face. My neck was getting uncomfortable, all craned back. “And I know, I know… I need to give it time to adjust, but… what kind of life is this? Look at this place!” I sat forward and gestured around. “Fancy, but it’s so sterile. Nothin’ dynamic about it. Where’s the adventure? And fancy choreography in a stadium doesn’t count.” I winced. “Please don’t tell Soarin’ I said that.” I had faith Jonah wouldn’t tell him. “But what’s my future like here, then? I know what’s waiting for me back home. There’s so much for me to do. So much I need to get done.” My eyes darkened. “And it feels weird puttin’ things on scales like this, but do I love Soarin’ more than I love Appleloosa?” My jaw clenched. “It ain’t nice to think about.” Jonah kept listening. “And there’s always a chance that Bronze really wants to get better. Maybe Slate or somepony can help him... Heh. Did you hear when Ma actually said he was marriage material? That was before she knew everything, of course. But maybe he could get better? And if he did, would it be better than…” I didn’t want to finish. I shook out my mane and snorted. “But I’ve only known Soarin’ for a month! I should give it all more of a chance! But time is precious, and…”  I went back and forth like that with Jonah for what felt like the whole afternoon. In the end, I did what I’ve always done: I hedged my bets. I wrote to Slate and asked him to give Bronze a job, but to keep him at a safe distance from my house. I made it clear that Bronze was supposed to be a worker, not an owner or a boss, but that he could learn while he worked and to go easy on him. I told Slate that I was staying in Cloudsdale, at least for now, and that I would try to visit to properly set up somepony to take care of the orchard, since it wasn’t fair to keep piling it on him, as much as he might have offered. It feels so horrible in hindsight, but it seemed so logical at the time. I was stringing along two stallions at once, because I couldn’t commit to a life with one or the other. I felt trapped between the two of them. That feeling hasn’t… entirely faded. ==X===X===X===X===X== My coat stands on end, and my jaw hangs loose. Unblinking, I stare at Braeburn.  He looks out over Appleloosa, into the distance. “Go on. Ask it.” His jaw quivers. His breathing is shaky. I swallow. “I’m not sure I–” “Don’t toy with me.” His body remains still, and his head turns to me. “Ask it.” Gentle as I can, I ask, “Do you… still think about going back to Bronze?” Braeburn blinks in rapid succession. A tear falls to the ground. He chokes out, “I betray Soarin’ every time I have that thought.” He gasps, then composes himself. “It ain’t often, but… I’m so sorry, Big Blue.” My blood runs cold. “Braeburn… Bronze abused you. You can’t trust a pony like that.” “Can you trust a pony that nearly beats a reporter to death? Or that toys with me when I’m afraid of heights?” He looks back at me. “Or how about a pony that steals my letters?” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I don’t mean to disparage Soarin’. Soarin’ Windsong is a gem of a pony, a wonderful stallion that deserves happiness and peace, but nopony is flawless. Soarin’ is better than Bronze on so many levels. I get that. But what if Soarin’ isn’t here?” His head hangs low. “And what if Bronze is?” I remain stunned. Braeburn huffs. “Do you wanna know the worst part about Bronze working the orchard for Slate?” He looks to his trees. “He learned. He learned about those trees and what it takes. Slate was surprised, but he said it himself: Bronze made progress while I was away. Worked hard for it.” He grits his teeth. “Was it just a ploy? Or did he really want to get better?” He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. Just like I don’t know what’s going to happen with Soarin’. It’s like with my parents: I want to know he’ll always be there for me, but I don’t. He always comes back…” He raises his voice. “...but why’s he gotta leave so damn much in the first place!?” Braeburn stomps a hoof in the dirt. “I hate it. I hate that I have these thoughts. But as time goes on, it feels like I’m trying to wrangle a cloud with a lasso.” My thoughts spin. “Braeburn, have you considered–” He waves a hoof and chokes up. “No, no, no, I’m not dealin’ with this now. I need… I need to remind myself why I love Soarin’.” ==X===X===X===X===X== The next month felt all too familiar. It was no better than winter in Appleloosa. That same ennui set in. Nothing to do. Nopony to connect with. Starting over in a new community after four years in Appleloosa felt insurmountable. Soarin’, bless him, he knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know how to fix it. The more he saw me spiraling downward, the more he panicked, and it made him paranoid. Soarin’ read one of my letters to Slate. He stole it in the middle of the night, and he didn’t come clean about it until after we’d moved to Appleloosa.  To be clear, I still think he’s better than Bronze. But we were both feeling it. Soarin’ was busier than ever between his training, his check-ups with the therapist, and his role as captain. And yet, he still made time for us. He arranged for a trip back to the ground, just for me, so we could spend the day on the grass. Am I greedy for saying it wasn’t enough? I missed Soarin’ dearly. I missed him when he was at work, and even though I had occasional visits from Miss Holli on Fridays, there was nothing to do.  C-Can you… Can you even imagine a pony like Soarin’? He was trying so damn hard. Gifts, time, conversations, bringing me to his shows personally and giving me backstage passes for the rest of the season. There was so much kindness, and yet every day, I thought about our date at Auntie Crisp’s, and I cursed myself for not telling him no. It got rough a day after the trip to the ground. I remember, because Monday had been hell. I’d tried to get some fresh produce – not even a full grocery list, mind you, just asparagus, herbs, lemon, and some turnips – but even with an escort, there was all kinds of attention, and by the end, my appetite had been spoiled. Tuesday morning found me in the kitchen, staring at the booze again, having the same conversation about how I was going to resist it. But I could feel it in my chest: I wasn’t going to resist today. This is the part where folks often say that they couldn’t control themselves, that they felt like they were disassociated from their own bodies and something else made the choice for them. I can’t let myself believe that. I have to believe that I’m always in control, because if I’m not, then my alcoholism wins out. At the time, I just grunted, “I can handle one shot. Just to take the edge off.” Bargaining. Rationalization. “Wine is supposed to be healthy, right?” Talking myself into it. It didn’t matter. Soarin’s not really a wine drinker, anyway, but he did have a high-quality bottle of Aviator gin stored in the back. “Fuck it. A toast to my new life.” Trying to spin it as something positive. “Yeah, that’ll do.” Agreeing with your own foregone conclusion. I found a plain shot glass without Soarin’s cutie mark or anything on it, which took some digging. I didn’t want to be reminded of him while I drank. I poured it, and the scent of juniper and herbs hit my nose, like a breath of lung-clearing air in the mountains at summertime. My brain fogged over, relaxed like it hadn’t been since the Friday party. I picked up the glass and swirled it a bit, like I was evaluating it, but I wasn’t patient anymore, and I downed it in one gulp. The juniper was forward. The burn on it almost felt like a limoncello with its citrus kick. The herbs mellowed it all out, though, harkening back to a cold summer salad on a hot day, tantalizingly refreshing and bright, with a sharp sour that cracked like a whip on your tongue on the back end. I moaned and rolled my eyes back in my head as I turned the shot glass over and set it upside-down on the counter. “There. Just one. Easy.” That ain’t how it works. Hell, I can probably still walk you through the logic right now. After the first one, you tell yourself that it hardly had an effect. You don’t feel it at all once the taste fades, because it takes time for the alcohol to get into your system. You tell yourself that you can handle a second, since the first isn’t pulling its weight. So you have a second. Then you start feeling warm from the first one, and it’s followed by a giddiness that asks, well, wouldn’t you like to be just a little naughty? Don’t you deserve it? You’re a big stallion, after all. You can handle three. And from there, you’re a goner. I didn’t drink myself stupid that day, but after a long afternoon nap, I panicked when I realized my breath absolutely reeked of alcohol, and since Soarin’ was giving a talk about safety as part of his penance for giving the team grief, he probably would be home a few minutes early. The room spun from the leftover alcohol in my system, and I rushed upstairs to the shower to try and sober up.  I went through two cold clouds and was on a hot one when I heard the bathroom door open. “Hey there, sexy!” “Soarin’!” I leapt in surprise and nearly tumbled, but I caught myself. My heart felt like I was running a hundred-day race. I babbled, “Hoo! Scared me. Sorry, I was gonna get dinner ready, but I got a little distracted.” My first lie of omission. “Just felt a little funky, ya’ know?” That one was just a regular lie. I could hear the smirk on Soarin’s face when he said, “Or maybe you just wanted to have some fun.” My brain snapped into place. He’d given me a way out without realizing it. I could keep my drinking hidden from him. I wouldn’t have to let him know my shame, and tomorrow, I promised myself, I would be better. “Heh. Well, then, uh… Grab a hot one, and we’ll get started.” I… blew my coltfriend in the shower, and before I let him kiss me, I asked to use some mouthwash. See, Soarin’s mouthwash has alcohol, and the mint is so strong that it would cover up and blend with the gin. He didn’t suspect a thing. I felt like shit, and I promised myself I would get better. But I only had one pony to hold me accountable, and you’ve seen that guy’s track record, right? I tried hard the next day, and I found myself staring at the cabinet again. I had to leave, or I'd fail again. There's a little coffee shop I'd seen just off the Sunrise Estates grounds. Same one Big Blue took you to, actually. I practically ran there so I couldn't look back.  Their food was divine. No idea how they got such fresh ingredients, and the cheese was spectacular. I felt a little awkward sitting alone there, early for the lunch rush, but I kept nibbling. It was expensive, but Soarin' had told me not to worry about that. I got an extra large, sugary mocha drink to go with it all. I told myself that I was avoiding my vices, so it was worth it, but really I was just swapping booze for sugar. It became my go-to spot. I would do my few chores in the morning, then grab a book and spend the afternoon at Coffee Shot. Of course, that wore thin pretty quickly, too, and it didn't take long to supplement my activities with a little hooch. It all fit together so well: as long as I only got drunk in the mornings, I could sleep it off and get a coffee eye-opener in the afternoon. Plus, the strong coffee smell covered up the booze.  I knew it was just a matter of time before I got caught. I think I wanted to. That's how it always works: the shame and loneliness pull against each other, with you in the middle. You don't want to bring in anypony that would make you face reality, but you desperately want somepony to answer your silent cries for help. So, you sabotage yourself, because it's almost a passive way of admitting the truth.  And the truth was that I was in a bad, bad way, stuck halfway between my love and my home, and I still couldn't make a choice. I drank more every day. Anyway, I think that's why I filled the old alcohol bottles with water instead of replacing them. That’s about the time we stopped making love, too, and I gained weight at an alarming pace from all the booze, sugar, and lack of exercise. Miss Holli noticed during her visits. She kept asking if I was alright, but I always waved it off.  Soarin' was in denial as much as I was. Even so, that stallion of mine is a treasure. He kept working harder and harder, even through his therapy and all my guilt and moping over the injury. He made more time for me. He got my friends in Appleloosa to send me a care package. He kept promising that everything would be okay, because he’d never stop trying. Soarin's had so many ponies abandon him over the years, and I promised both him and myself that I wouldn't do that to us.  It all came to a head when Soarin' poured himself a drink one night and spat out water. He knew right away what had happened, and it was a massive relief to finally have it out there what a huge failure I was. We fought. Or at least he did. I was so sick to my stomach that day that I hadn’t even bothered trying to hide it with coffee, and I didn’t have the energy to resist him. That killed him more than anything, I think, because he desperately wanted to be better than Bronze, to not lose his temper or insult me for my bad habits. He succeeded, mostly.  But me? I had already given up. This was as bad as it had ever been. "I'm sorry. You deserve more than me, Soarin'. I'm a lost cause." Soarin’ held his anger in and frowned. “I don't believe that.” My head thumped, and my heart raced. I spoke faster and faster. “Face the music, Soarin'. I've failed you. I failed you like I failed Bronze, like I failed everypony. I failed Ma and Pa by bein' a Celestia-damned faggot. I failed Appleloosa by not gettin' my shit together and leavin' when the reporters showed up, and I failed you by not bein' the coltfriend you deserve! You'd be better off without me.” He shuddered. “No, I wouldn’t.” Then he repeated the same thing he’d been saying for months. “I’m going to fix it.” I snapped at him, “How, Soarin'? How? We're sittin' here, goin' back and forth and talkin' past each other, and nothin' changes. It's like we're stuck in the mud here, and we ain't even got wheels on our cart!” We yelled until we felt drained, and I repeated my mantra. “I promise I won’t ever leave you, Soarin’, and I don’t want you to think I will. I’d never do that to you.”  I’d meant it to comfort him. I’d meant it as the truth, too. For what little it was worth, Soarin’ seemed happier most days with me there. He wasn’t the sad pony I’d seen in my parlor or the broken stallion begging me to live with him. At least, he hadn’t been. But that day, it failed. He wasn’t comforted by my words or my presence, and everything in the world felt broken. Soarin’ settled on the opposite end of the couch, collapsed in on himself, and mumbled, “You promised you’d tell me if you weren’t happy, Braeburn.” And I mumbled back, “Told you I was a failure.” I slept on the couch that night, away from my love. I didn’t make him anything for breakfast, and he didn’t ask as he flew out the door. I did nothing that day. Didn’t eat. Didn’t cook. Didn’t clean. Just loafed around like I was sick. I drank, obviously, but even that didn’t help, and I probably only had a few pulls, anyway, and that was only at the end of the day. And when Soarin’ came back that evening, I was in the kitchen, having a weak pull of whisky. I turned to him and said, “Hey.” Soarin’ looked different. Relaxed. “Hey. You drank less today. I’m proud of you.” I sneered at him, in no mood for more conversation. “Why? I didn’t quit.” He walked towards me. “But you took a step.” I got a vibe from him, not unlike what I’d felt when Bronze was angry, but this was calmer. “You’re actin’ funny, Soarin’. What’s goin’ on?” He invited me to the table, and once I joined him, he gently set his hoof on mine and looked me in the eye. I saw love there, still shining bright despite everything we’d been through. “Braeburn, I want to take you on a date.” My jaw dropped. It wasn’t lost on me what he was doing. He was inviting me on a proper date, using the same words I had. This was something serious. My mind spun with thoughts of him kicking me out, which I wouldn’t have blamed him for, but every time I wanted to panic, I saw those bright green eyes again, and their softness enveloped me. Breathlessly, I said, “Of course.” Soarin’ forced a broken smile. He stood up and kissed me, softly, and he held my head to his chest. His breathing was irregular. “Thank you,” he whispered. “It’s… going to be important.” He kissed my mane again. “Wanna order out tonight?” I looked up at him. He sparkled, radiant and calm. I felt close to him again, and not just because he was holding me. It was like I’d come out of a dark cave after a year. “Can we make something together?” He just smiled in response. And things got better. Soarin' was calm. He wasn't promising to fix things anymore, but he stayed supportive when I told him I went all of Wednesday without drinking. We made love again. I even got a sky cab to have lunch at Bad Sun Wednesday, just so I could see Miss Holli, and the sunshine felt like it was burning away a mold on my soul. But… something at the back of my mind didn’t sit right. Miss Holli stopped by to chat as she cleaned up lunch. "You're looking mighty bright today, Sugar. Things turning around?" I drained the rest of my coffee – black, no cream or sugar – and said, "I think so, Miss Holli. Soarin' has a big date planned, and…" I felt sad all of a sudden, seemingly from nowhere. "And I think things might change a bit soon." She paused, then sat down across from me. "What's going on, Braeburn? You're all over the place today." I sighed. "Don't I know it." I looked at her from across the table. "And I appreciate your visits. You've made me feel very welcome. I’ll never forget your kindness." Miss Holli frowned. "You sound like you're leaving." I looked out the window. Bad Sun is on the street level, and outside, hundreds of ponies were scrambling back to work out their next appointment, swarming the sky in high-traffic areas. And I didn't recognize a single one. "Yeah. I think I might be." There was never a dawning moment of realization that Soarin' was letting me go. It was more like a feeling that grew over the course of the day, and it seemed more likely as the day dragged on. After I wished Holli well and promised to keep in touch (and I have), I paid my bill and hailed a cab.  Flight has never lost its magic, as long as I feel secure, and I watched the city pull away from me as the cabbie flapped her wings. She turned her head and asked, "Where to?" "Sunrise Estates, please." "Sure thing, Mister Apple." I grunted at that, but at least she was polite and didn't act like a fan. "Bad Sun is a great choice. How are you liking life up here?" "Up and down," I sighed. She laughed at that. "Huh? Oh, uh, no pun intended." She shouted back over her shoulder, so I could hear her over the wind. "Missing your old home, I take it?" "Yeah." Home. I was lucky to have two, full of ponies that cared about me, even if I didn’t always feel it. Soarin’ didn’t have that. He had a big, empty house and teammates that he was just now letting himself get close to. "Might be worth a trip to refresh your soul, then. I'm going to visit my parents in a few weeks. Can't wait for that little break." I thought about Ma and Pa. I wondered what they'd think when I told them about Cloudsdale. I was excited to tell them the good parts, at least, and I could truthfully say Soarin' had kept his promise to be good to me.  But who would Soarin' talk to? He had his team, and he chatted up his father's ghost from time to time, but it can't have been the same. We'd talked so many times about his mother, and he'd always avoided it. I felt guilty, having parents to talk to and him still feeling alone.  An idea struck me. ‘Soarin’ doesn’t have any parents to talk to. But he could.’ I played our conversations about his mother over in my mind, and he’d always said that she wouldn’t want to be bothered. But he hadn’t even tried. I realized that was the scariest part for Soarin’, and if starting the conversation was the hard part, then there was still a way I could help him. I cleared my throat and asked the cabbie, "Pardon me, miss, but do y'all have a hall of records up here?" It took an afternoon of poring over books and sweet-talking some kindly clerks into helping me out, but I found her: Jetstream Nimbus. She’d remarried, apparently, and moved to Manehattan, where she and her husband had two pre-teen foals. That made them Soarin’s half-siblings, and I marveled at the idea of how he would react. I managed to sneak back home without any issue, and for lack of a better place to hide the paper with her information, I stuck it in Whitewing’s Big Score shortly before he got home. I knew he wouldn’t be reading tonight, since he hadn’t picked the book up in ages. We cooked again that night, and I showed Soarin’ how to make a glaze for warmed fruit, which my Ma always brought out at parties. He nailed it by the third try. We made love again, and after an hour of cuddling, Soarin’ fell asleep spooning me. I slept solidly that night for the first time in weeks. I woke up bright and early, snuck out from his grasp, and made a hearty breakfast of fried hay and cheese. The whole time, Soarin’s mother was on my mind. After he finished eating and walked towards the door, I got real sly and asked him, “You gonna be back at your usual time, Big Blue? I’m thinkin’ of makin’ vagrants’ bindles tonight.” I was probing, making sure he wouldn’t be home early. He nuzzled me. “I have no idea what that is, but I’ll be here, Applebutt.” Heh. I’d gotten too cute, and he hadn’t actually answered my question. He kissed me sweetly and left for work. And as soon as the door closed, I felt a jolt of electricity up my spine. I turned and looked back at our home. “Alright, clean up, then mission time.” Helping Soarin’ with his mother gave me something I’d missed since we’d left Appleloosa: a purpose. It was something only I could do, something that I cared about, because I care about him. I opened the windows to let the light in, and I felt the wind move through me like it had back in Appleloosa. The day felt refreshing and wide open. Time felt short, and my brain buzzed with all the little steps I needed to take to make this a success.  I latched onto it hard, because all that activity kept me from thinking about one cold fact. If Soarin’ was planning what I thought he was, then this was my last day at his house. Once I had double-dried the table just to be sure, I got my stationary out and took notes. The quill flew across the paper as I tried to get down all my ideas. “Set up a meal? Naw, that’d be too hard to schedule. Maybe his half-siblings have an event coming up, and he could meet her there? But no, that’d put them all in an awkward spot, wouldn’t it? I suppose they could meet someplace important, like their old house.” I snorted a laugh. “And get run off by the current owner. C’mon, Braeburn, think harder!” I settled on the simplest thing: I could write a letter to Jetstream, signed by Soarin’, and open the door for them to meet. I spent an hour practicing Soarin’s hoofwriting from the few examples I had, and I wrote down a bunch of phrases he liked and words he used when he was being official, just to make it sound like him. I really, really wanted him to feel like he could just send it and build up that momentum, like he always said was important in his shows.  My fetlock was tired by midmorning, and I went and got a coffee from Coffee Shot. Cream and sugar this time, because I figured I could be a little bad while I was trying to be good. And the fresh air did me good, like always. Thoughts and phrases snapped into place, and I came back and re-wrote the whole thing, just to correct a few pieces that felt off. Oh, it was magical. I was creating again, making something, and just that act brought such lightness to my body and so much energy to my bones that I thought I’d never stop. Once I’d folded the letter and addressed the envelope, I set it aside. “Now, when to…”  It was nearly noon, and gravity claimed me again. I was halfway done with my last day in Soarin’s home, because he was going to let me free.  And I didn’t want to leave.  The house suddenly felt full. I’d spent a month and a half – forty-six days – living in Soarin’s house. As much as it hurt to think about the boredom and the pain of fighting my addiction, I remembered all the little moments we’d spent together. Times we’d cuddled, when Soarin’ had given me the care package, cooking lessons, the times Miss Holli had come over, making breakfast on the weekends, preparing for his shows… Every little spot in the house had a memory attached to it. And here I was, the pony that wasted it all. “Wasted,” I huffed, as I felt tears come to my eyes. “Jeez, Braeburn, look at all the opportunity Soarin’ gave you, and–” I looked back at the blank piece of paper. I thought about what I wanted to tell him and how much it would hurt him to hear me beating myself up again. I didn’t want him to hurt. I never wanted him to hurt. My jaw quivered. “And you’re lettin’ me leave so we can both get better.” I picked up my quill and tried to get it all down. It was a jumbled mess of thank-yous and telling him I love him and apologizing for not being better at adapting. Halfway down the second page, I wrote the words, “I’m sorry for abandoning you,” and I froze. The words felt real, like they were going to leap off the page and strangle me. What would that do to him? Was he really going to call it off between us? Or… was he going to let me do it? Give me the chance to say goodbye like I’d planned at Honeycrisp’s, with the door open for a different future? He’d begged me, begged me to stay with him. Having another pony leave him is what he feared most. And yet, I had no doubts. “He’s gonna do it,” I said out loud. “He’s gonna let me hurt him so I can be happy.” I felt it deep down. I knew it was going to happen, and I… I-I f-f-felt so… … … I felt so loved. It was overwhelming, like a geyser that rose up from my chest, like the air itself had coalesced into one big hug, all around me. I could feel Soarin’, too. I could feel him holding me, folding us both in his wings, protecting me from all the dangers of the world, and when the time was right, opening those wings to let the sunshine in, so I could open like a seed and grow into the pony I needed to be. So I could flourish. “Oh, Blue…” I sobbed into my foreleg, then full-on cried when that warm feeling refused to go away. “You’re so good, Blue. I-I–” I bawled, “I don’t wanna hurt you, Blue.” I looked down at the page, then crumpled it up and threw it to the floor. It wasn’t good enough. Nothing felt good enough for Big Blue. But if that first one was a mess, the second one was a disaster. I spoke out loud, letting the words flow, and desperately tried to jot it all down. “Soarin’, my love, my Big Blue, my coltfriend, I don’t know what to say. I know what you’re planning, and I’m… humbled by it, and overwhelmed, and I don’t want to hurt you. But if I leave, it’s going to hurt you. But you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?” I grit my teeth. “You’re going to hold me tight, then let me go, because you’re my hero, Soarin’. You came back for me when I thought nopony would.” Tears dropped from my face onto the page, and my writing got faster and messier. “You came back for me, and you never abandoned me. You always tried to make it better. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work. You deserve love and a pony that can make it work, and–” I lost control and scribbled all over the page. It all felt so inadequate. I slapped the quill pen down on the table and walked to the window.  It really is beautiful up there, in the clouds. The sunlight bounces off everything, making the whole world bright, and there’s always a little rainbow in the corner of your eye. But I’d seen real beauty, and it was in the selflessness of my coltfriend. I made myself a small snack and stood looking out that window, determined to find the perfect words so that Soarin’ wouldn’t be sad. I thought to myself, ‘I can make it easier for him. I can keep the pain away if I do this right.’ I’d written so many letters to Canterlot, trying to convince them to help keep Appleloosa afloat. This was no different, I told myself. It was just a matter of massaging it all into place, and I spent an hour on the notes for it. The words were hard and cold as stone. “My Hero, Soarin’ Windsong,” I read aloud after I’d meticulously written each word from my notes. “They say that once in a lifetime, you meet a pony who can truly turn your world around. I’ve met that pony, and he goes by the nickname Big Blue. When I first laid eyes on him, I…” I rolled my eyes and blew a raspberry. “This is fuckin’ garbage.” I smashed it up and threw it over my shoulder. And I turned back to a fresh, blank page. It hurt to start again, to realize that I was at square one. My whole body felt heavy. The quill was like a barbell, but I picked it up anyway. This was my task, and Soarin’ needed me. My brain was fried from all the planning and notes. All I had left was what was in my exhausted heart, and well, maybe that was for the best. I started writing. Hey, Big Blue, Forgive me if I ramble. I've started four times now, and this ain't easy. I'll do it, though, because I love you, and you'll always have my love and support. It struck me how easily I’d told him that. But after I sat with that feeling, I knew it to be true: Soarin’ was special to me, and there’s a part of me that would always love him. I've figured you out, Blue. This date of yours over the weekend? I get what you're doing, and honestly, I couldn't ask for a better send off. I grunted at those last words. I didn’t like them, so I crossed them out and tried again.  send off way to be let go I nickered. “Dammit, not that either.” I sighed. “Sorry, Soarin’, I don’t think I’ve got another one in me.” I've figured you out, Blue. This date of yours over the weekend? I get what you're doing, and honestly, I couldn't ask for a better send off way to be let go way to spend our last few days together. (Sorry for the mistake, but I ain't starting again. It might kill me.) You're giving me what I need to grow, and I can't fathom how much it must hurt you. You're selfless, kind, sweet, brave, and all the other good words in the dictionary, and I count my lucky stars that you're in my life. I set the quill down, sat back and stared out into nothingness. ‘Is he in my life? Or only for another day or two?’ I thought about leaving him. I imagined what it would feel like, having my bags packed and walking out the door, and my heart tore in half, slowly but seemingly irrevocably. I whimpered again, “I don’t want to hurt you, Blue.” But Soarin’ deserved to know what his actions meant to me. With that, I took up the quill. Truth is, I'm scared, Blue. I don't think I can muster the strength of character to say goodbye when the time comes. I hope you'll forgive me if I falter, but then again, I suppose you reading this means we did it, didn't we? I'm already proud of you as I write this, Soarin', for so much, from how you've loved me to how you made me a better stallion to how you're taking care of me even now. You'll be spectacular, Soarin', no matter what you do, and I'm going to cheer you on the whole way. The tears flowed at this point. A few landed on the pages. I hoped Soarin’ would notice so that he’d know I was sincere. And I hope you don't mind, but I did some snooping. The hall of records is pretty good up here, so your mom wasn't hard to find. She hasn't gone too far, either. It looks like she's with a unicorn guy in Manehattan. Weird for a unicorn to be named Nimbus, ain't it? Must be part pegasus, but dammit, I'm rambling. I hope you'll contact her, Big Blue. I know it'll be rough, but I believe in you, and you need this. I don't know when you'll be ready, but when you are, I want you to know that I'm thinking of you and hoping and praying for everything to go smoothly, and I'm going to help out any way I can. To that end, I took the liberty of drafting a letter for you. Use it or not, it's up to you. There was so much more to say, and yet, my hoof wouldn’t move. It felt final, what I was writing, like once I committed my name to the paper, our fates were sealed. I didn’t want it to end. It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to be lonely or that I was afraid another stallion had come and gone. It was Soarin’. He was the only pony I was thinking about as I wrote my letter.  I felt possessed by the end of it. There wasn’t any logic to what I wrote. I just let it come. Ending this thing is proving harder than starting, so I'll just say this: I'll always love you, Soarin' Windsong. No matter what happens this weekend, you're in my thoughts and my heart, and you'll always be my Big Blue. Your Applebutt, forever, Braeburn The house was deathly quiet as I set down the quill. I stared at the page. “That’s… Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it?” A few more soft tears fell on the page, and before I could ruin the whole thing, I put the two letters into envelopes, which I labeled in the best hoofwriting I could. As I held them, I looked around. I hadn’t actually figured out when to give them to Soarin’, or how. I just knew he’d need them after I was gone, if in fact I was able to leave. But I saw Whitewing’s Big Score just sitting there on the table. Soarin’ hadn’t finished it, but he’d promised me he would one day. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I said, “Yeah, that’ll do.” Gently, I placed the envelopes inside, right where he’d bookmarked the page, and I carried it back to the bookshelf like I was transporting a holy relic. Before I placed it on the shelf, I kissed the cover and said, “I love you, Soarin’.” I hope he felt it. I hadn’t left myself much time to cook dinner, so I threw myself into preparing everything. The pastry took the longest, so I just did a rough puff pastry instead of the full one that I was planning. It took my mind off of… everything, but the sorrows weighed down my soul all afternoon. But in the evening, Soarin’ walked in. I turned to see him round the corner into the kitchen, and I just… marveled. He looked stunning. He wore his captain’s uniform, complete with the golden bars signifying his rank. His tie was crisp and clipped so perfectly it looked like he’d never left the house. His wind-blown mane still bounced with life, his wings were perfect as always, and his face… That smile of his lit up the room. It didn’t matter that I’d never see him like that again. For just that one moment, I got to pretend like everything would be like I’d always dreamed. “Hey, Blue.” ==X===X===X===X===X== Braeburn has his eyes closed. He remains steady. He breathes deeply, like he’s appreciating every mote of dust, every twist of air that curls around his ears. He swallows, and his eyes move rapidly beneath his eyelids. Slowly, he breathes in, then out. His head lowers a few degrees, and he looks to the town. “Soarin’ gave me everything. And on that last trip together, he worked so hard to give me one last beautiful memory to cherish.” ==X===X===X===X===X== From the moment we stepped off the train in Baltimare, I felt it: this was our last weekend together.  Friday night was comforting. Wonderbolt management confined us to our rooms, but Soarin' and I got to stay together. We made the most of our time.  I remember looking into his eyes. They shone like emeralds, as bright as the day I'd met him. I kept telling myself, 'It's okay. It's not happening yet. I'm safe.' And I did feel safe. I didn't know what Soarin' would do the next day, but on that night, I got to hold him again. That night passed in the blink of an eye, and I desperately grasped for a few more seconds wherever I could. The next day, our date was more spectacular than I can describe. It started with a big opening ceremony, where I got to see Princess Celestia herself raise the sun. She was the second-best part. Soarin' flew in a big display that morning to welcome the summer, and he was flawless. I swear I could feel my blue stud earring tingle every time he flew past. And afterwards, he dashed at me like a puppy and embraced me before we went on to what was next. It's one of the clearest memories of my life. I could walk you through every moment and every conversation we had that day. We went to the museum to see the history of Baltimare, and Soarin' made no secret that he expected Appleloosa to have a museum like that someday. My heart warmed, not just because he'd found something I liked, but because he knew I belonged back home to help it flourish. He supported me and what had to happen next.  If it wasn’t obvious before, I knew it there and then.  Soarin’ kissed the bottom of my ear. “You’re going to be more famous than me one day.” I snickered. “Hardly. There ain’t much of a market for historical figure lunchboxes.” Soarin’ shrugged. “Maybe not, but you’re doing something important. Lasting. I'm just here to make an organization look good. I'm not improving anypony's life or anything.” "One pony's, at least," I interrupted. I looked up at those eyes again, and I rested my head on his shoulder. He was warm. He was comforting. My mind kept coming back to what a treasure he was. The air was thick between us. We both knew what he wanted me to do. He… wanted me to break up with him. Or at least tell him that I was leaving. That I wasn’t happy. We both knew, but I hadn’t said it. I hadn’t stood up for myself. I’ve hardly ever stood up for myself, and the few times I had, Bronze… hadn’t taken too kindly to me. But Soarin’ wasn’t Bronze. He was making space for me to say it when I was ready. I didn’t know if I could. “I keep… askin’ myself if…” The words rose to my lips, but they stopped short. ‘...if this is what we really need, and I think the answer is no. I’m not–’ I couldn’t even think of the words, let alone say them. Letting them out would hurt Soarin’ beyond belief, the one pony in the world who kept coming back for me. I couldn’t do that to him. Weakly, he asked, “What is it, Applebutt?” But I’d already swallowed the words. “Never mind.” There was lunch at the museum, shopping in the big city, and a coffee break in the park. Big Blue even gave me one of his feathers to turn into a quill. I use it when I write to folks I love. Dinner was the fanciest (and only) 30-course meal I've ever eaten, and we finished the night with private seats at the Sapphire Shores concert, where we cuddled while waiting for the show. By then, though, my heart had sunk to my hooves, and Soarin’ had noticed. Gently as he could, he asked, “What’s wrong, Braeburn?” in that voice parents use when they already know the answer. “You can tell me anything.” I kept thinking about him, crying and alone, harkening back to when he was a foal and his mother had left. I was lost in my own head, and I sobbed despite my best efforts. The concert was starting, but not even an appearance by Princess Celestia could rouse me. Soarin’ could, though. “Braeburn, c’mon. What’s wrong?” He reached under my chin with a wing, and he lifted my face to his. “Please don’t hide from me. Not tonight.” I could read it all over his face. We both knew what tonight would bring, but as much as I wanted to hide it, my coltfriend had asked me for the truth. Of everypony in the world, I didn’t want to hide from him. “I know what this is, Soarin’.” He tensed, then breathed out and hugged me close. “I’m… not very subtle, am I?” “Heh. Not really, no. I… figured it out on Thursday. You were actin' weird, and I kept thinkin' about it all day, and… and I realized that you wanted to make me feel better in case I had to…” My breath caught in my throat.. “Y–… You want me to–” Since I wasn’t ready to say it, Soarin’ threw me a life preserver. “I want tonight to be perfect for you, Braeburn. We can be sad later.”  I don’t know if he wasn’t ready to face it yet, either, but he was right. There would be time for tears later. As the music started, I stood up and offered him a hoof. “Then I’ll be damned if I let you down.” Relief washed over his face, and he took my hoof. “I love you, Braeburn.” “I love you, too, Soarin’.” Truer words have never been spoken. We danced. We lived. We breathed the cold night air as our bodies shook and bounced and twirled, feeling the joy of being together. And when we’d danced ourselves stupid and collapsed into a pile, Soarin’ nibbled on my ear, just the way I like, and he asked, “You having a good night?” “The best of my life.” He ran his hoof along my sweat-drenched body. “I'm glad, Braeburn. That's what I wanted. I want it to be perfect for you. If there's anything else you want, I'll make it happen.” I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t a gift or a show or any of the experiences folks dream about at the Summer Sun Celebration. All I wanted was something that only Soarin’ could give me. I leaned down to his ear, and I whispered, "I wanna make love to you, Soarin’ Windsong.” He held me close. Even in the middle of a crowd of singing, dancing ponies, we might as well have been the only ones in the universe. “There’s nopony I’d rather do it with, Braeburn Apple.” That ride back to the hotel felt different. I wasn’t afraid. We had already synced up, him and me, one soul in two bodies. I had everything I wanted, and there was no tomorrow. There was just the moment we shared. And behind the closed door of our hotel room, we did as we’d said. We made love. Real love. The kind that’s not even about pleasure. My body enjoyed it, sure, but truthfully, I hardly noticed. The whole time, all I could think, all I could feel was my coltfriend, Soarin’ Windsong, and his desire to be with me, and my desire to be with him. Our bodies were just vehicles for our spirits. It was fluid, like a mixing of blue and yellow paint that creates the most beautiful green, the same green as the trees and the grass and all the life in the world. It felt like I was alive, like I had woken up for the first time in years. I was meant to be with Soarin’, and him with me. It was natural. It was in line with the stars. Our love felt like it could bring all the desert flowers into bloom all by itself, like it could fill all of Equestria with color. I’ve said it before: Soarin’ is so full of life. He shared that life with me, and he awoke it in me, too. And I want to share that life with him forever. But… … Even the most beautiful dreams have to end. We held on as long as we could. We were lost in each other and didn’t want to be found, but as we lay panting in the hotel room, the rest of the world, the story and the truth that we’d been running from ever since we’d left Appleloosa, it all finally caught up with us. There I was, the love of my life lying on top of me. I had felt everything I wanted, and when the moment came… I faltered. “I can’t do it, Soarin’.” I could feel his heart collapsing. He hugged me, and I hugged him back.  “Please don’t be mad.” And all of a sudden, I knew what he’d felt back at the orchard, on our first date. “Please just… Please just hold me tonight. I need you, Soarin’. I still need you.” Soarin’ wrestled with himself, and I could see on his face that I was causing him so much pain, maybe even more than if I had brought myself to say it. All he could manage was a choked, “Okay,” as he moved to spoon me. I felt exhausted. I felt like I had nothing left. And I felt like a failure, because I was. I held onto the one thing in the world I knew. “I love you, Big Blue.” He held me tight, and he whispered back, “I love you, too, Applebutt. I always will.” I cherish that moment. If Soarin’ had been any other pony, he could have gotten mad. He could have made it all about himself, accused me of messing up all his plans. Or he could have broken down and fought me over it. Hell, earlier in our relationship, he would have done exactly that. But not that night. That night, Soarin’ put aside his fears and his anger. He put aside everything, just so I would know I was loved.  How could I leave a pony like that behind? And yet, Soarin’ wasn’t done. He wouldn’t let me make a mistake that would cost me my future, my happiness, even if he was collateral. I fell into a fitful sleep, barely able to fight away consciousness as my heart ached for the pain I was putting him through. And Soarin’ stayed with me, and he let me know it would be okay. I could hear him that night. Maybe not all the words, but enough of them. They reached me in my dream. It was a terrible dream, the two of us huddled out in a cold winter with only each other to keep warm, but that heat felt like it was dying. But he kept saying, “It’s okay, Braeburn. It’s okay. I want you to be happy. I promise I’ll be okay. I love you. It’s okay to leave me. I love you. It’s okay. It’s okay.” And I shivered against the cold. I huddled tighter and tighter to Soarin’. I couldn’t speak, but I ached for him. I didn’t want to leave him like this. But he just repeated it. “I’ll be okay. I love you. You can leave. It’s okay.” I could feel his voice getting weaker. It terrified me, but in my dream, I finally opened my eyes. I could see my orchard. It was right in front of me, not two steps away, all sunlight and warmth. And I looked behind, and I saw the Wonderbolts flying through the sky, cheered on by thousands of ponies. It was just our little patch of earth, just the spot where the two of us were, that made us both shiver and feel so cold. I told him without speaking, “But how will I know you’ll be alright?” And Dream Soarin’ just kept responding, “I promise I’ll be fine. It’s okay. It’s okay.” And… … I stood up. I stood and walked two steps, and I was in my orchard. All the cold left my body, and as soon as I had feeling, I turned around to look at Soarin’, but he was gone. I squinted, and I saw him. He was free. He was soaring through the skies, true to his name, living life without me. I knew deep down that we both hurt, but he was happy. He had earned what he needed. He would be okay. I smiled, and my eyes fluttered open as the tiniest glimmer of morning dawn crept into our hotel room. Soarin’ wasn’t wrapped around me anymore. But even so, I wasn’t cold. I raised my head, and I saw my beautiful coltfriend. His eyes had bags. He snored. He looked like a lump of a pegasus with beautiful wings splayed all behind him. And he was beautiful.  My chest felt full, and a sob rose to my throat. I let myself be sad for just a moment, and I whispered, “I’ll do it, Big Blue. For both of us.” With that, I stood up to pack my things.