Alright, Twilight. Don't spiral. Do it like the Princess taught you: separate out the good and bad of the situation, alternating. Find balance, and seat yourself in the objective viewpoint between the two extremes. Then, make a decision — any decision, as long as it lets you move forward. Nothing's final.
Very good: I have a date with a beautiful mare who I have a crush on.
Pretty bad: it's at a fancy restaurant, and she's a fancy mare. I have no practice with either situation.
Really good: I have been specifically told, in advance, that if I'm good, she'll give me a kiss at the end of the night.
Discordantly terrible: all of the above points are moot, because this is a pretend date. Except the fancy restaurant. That's real.
Distantly, I note that this exercise has not centered me at all. In fact, it's acted more like a seesaw, which has now launched me into the deep end of panic. Somewhere at the root of my brain, Twilight the filly notes this down to discuss with the Princess. Twilight the full-grown and love-struck mare nearly chokes on her mint.
Decision: get Spike to tell Rarity I died.
No, she's too smart for that! She'd see through the ruse in an instant... And then she'd laugh it off, and tell me to stop being such a silly pony, and say it'd all be alright... Then we'd kiss, and it would be alright, and... Ugh. Why didn't I just tell her? I was so ready. It took weeks to build up the courage, days to try and find the perfect time, and a few panic-stricken hours to decide there was no such thing and show up unannounced. And then, the confession which I had been so close to getting out.
Cadence was right. Obviously. The good thing, the honest thing, would be to just say it outright, and get the rejection out of the way so I could move on. But then Rarity had to offer lessons, and with them, the temptation of getting to do... all the stuff I wanted to do with her. Even if it wasn't real, with the alternative being rejection and ruining my friendship with her, it was too tempting to just pretend. Just for a little while. Once she decides I'm ready, I'll... pretend to get rejected by the mystery mare. Ooh, but then she'll be so sympathetic, and comfort me, and maybe—
I'm bad. I'm a bad pony.
Decision: go to the fancy restaurant, be a perfect gentlemare, and kiss Rarity. On the mouth! Or did she just mean a cheek kiss? Why didn't she tell me what kind of kiss it was going to be?! I thought she was supposed to be teaching me!
Knock knock knock.
Alright. This part is easy. Open the door, say hi. Friend stuff. I can do this!
I open the door. "Hrk," I say. Brilliant.
Rarity looks gorgeous. What a fatuous statement! What a necessary statement. Rarity should have somepony following her around at all hours, announcing to the world the truth of the matter. That somepony could be me! I'm not busy, and she's most of what I think about lately, anyway.
Her makeup... It's one of a growing number of things I'm realizing I need tutoring on, but it's clear she's put in effort. Her mascara exaggerates her already thick eyelashes, which lead my gaze to her gorgeous eyes. I don't think they make makeup for the eye itself, but hers definitely seem accentuated somehow, drawing me deeper. I snap my stare away, my eyes wandering further down, past the lipstick that matches her irises.
She's wearing that slim and dark dress I've been lucky enough to see a couple times, the one that picks out her form with a constellation of sequins. With the way it hugs her flanks, it should be in the restricted section of the Canterlot Archives. Are there dresses in the restricted section? You can use magic in dressmaking, so surely there are dark magic dresses...
"Twilight. While this is certainly flattering, may I offer my first advice of the evening?"
"Uh-huh." I don't look up.
"Subtlety is an essential tool," she says, lifting my chin with her hoof to tear my gaze away.
I yelp, the thesaurus I was floating over to find 'gorgeous' synonyms thumping to the floor. "Rarity! I, uh, hi! Welcome. To my house! The library."
Electing to ignore my eloquence, she instead sniffs the air and smiles approvingly. "Mint, hm? Well done, Twilight. Now, another lesson: if you invite me in, it'll be an excellent opportunity to practice your subtlety," she says, arching an eyebrow.
I do, and she sashays in, and I do. I am nothing if not an eager student.
"So!" she exclaims, turning to me. My eyes snap to hers from wherever they were (not important.) "Our reservation is in half an hour. We have plenty of time to discuss... preparation!" With that, she floats the chain of her purse over her head and pops it open. Out comes makeup, makeup, and more makeup. I think I recognize the slender tube as lipstick, and the round thing probably contains... blush, I think? "Now, Twilight, I know you're not much of a makeup mare, and that's just fine. You have more than enough natural beauty, and there's no need to accentuate it.
"However, much of romance and dating is about signals. You've experienced how Pinkie sometimes just shows up on your doorstep with a cupcake?" I have. One time, I was working in the basement and Spike let her in. I nearly spilled a beaker of aqua fortis on her. "It's her way of reaffirming your friendship, and romantic relationships require more affirmation than platonic ones. It is not enough to simply establish mutual love; you must demonstrate it, and makeup is an excellent way to put a little effort in to accentuate something your partner appreciates."
I remember how I felt at the door, seeing her with makeup comparable to what she'd done for the Gala, just for a night with me, and nod. "Why don't stallions wear it, then?" I ask instead of thinking of the giddy warmth suffusing my body. Big Mac has pretty eyelashes, and a little mascara would do wonders for him.
Rarity pouts. "Darling, if I had my way, they would. Fortunately, with your affections being with the fillies rather than the colts, that's not a concern for you or I." She pops open the circular container, revealing a powder that matches my coat. Foundation, then. "Speaking of which, do tell: is the object of your affections very presentation-focused?"
I gulp. "Yes," I say instinctually. Lying would only come back to bite me, and the answer doesn't narrow things down too much. Besides, who else would awkward, nerdy Twilight Sparkle fall for but a mare fathoms out of her league?
"That's good! She'll appreciate that you know how to put a little care into your appearance. And she will certainly appreciate that lovely dress you're wearing. 'Dear, who designed that,' she'll say." Rarity levitates a brush over and begins applying foundation. After a moment of silence, she pauses in her work. "And you'll say?"
I roll my eyes fondly. "The incredible Rarity, owner of the Carousel Boutique in Ponyville." The gorgeous, generous, peerless Rarity, I don't say. There's praise, there's flattery, and then there's embarrassing gushing that will tip her off.
"Very good," she praises, resuming her work. "Then again, I needn't have asked after her preferences, since a less fastidious mare would instead think you'd worked some sort of spell to be so beautiful. A win-win, really!"
"I can see why you put so much time into it..." I murmur, keeping my gaze ahead as she works. "For your prince, and all." I manage to keep all traces of bitterness from my voice, somehow. Tonight's for the two of us.
"Mm," Rarity hums noncommittally. "For everypony, really. With fashion being my business, and my business being my name as a designer, presentation is key. Although," she says, winking at me, "that doesn't mean I can't spare an extra dash of effort for special occasions."
The rest of her work flies by with us chatting, and I absorb absolutely no tips on makeup. I only regret this when she guides me to the mirror and I see the mare staring back. Not an awkward filly, but somepony mature, who could trot up to the... the pony who stands at the front of a fancy restaurant, and say 'reservation for Twilight Sparkle'. Only Rarity's hissed disapproval stops me from touching my own face with a hoof, so wrapped up am I in awe.
"Now, Twilight," she says, leaning against me to better view her own work in the mirror, "I know we didn't cover much of the how this time, but I figured seeing the end result would motivate you to learn more." She's right, of course. Even my raison d'etre, learning magic, was the result of seeing Celestia use it to raise the sun.
I bet the word for the reservations pony is Prench, too, all the stuff at fancy restaurants is.
"You're incredible, Rarity," I murmur. My gaze catches hers in the mirror and I realize that I did not, in fact, say "it's incredible". Her mouth forms a little 'o' for a moment, before she treats me to another Rarity-brand smile. I figure she must have a patent on the thing, since I've never seen another pony smile like she does. Maybe I could become a lawpony and defend her trademarks in court... Attorney probably isn't the worst runner-up to marefriend. Is kissing a power of attorney?
She laughs, a light pink from the praise dusting her cheeks. "Yes, well, as I said, it is my business, hm? And I am nothing if not career-focused. Now, our reservation is in ten minutes. Shall we away? Punctuality is another vital part of appearance, after all."
I nod vigorously, that particular lesson already marrow-deep in me.
"Twilight," Rarity insists between giggles, "you must finish your dessert!"
I look down at it, doing a good job of looking forlorn, which takes effort because I really want that last bite. It's an amazing chocolate mousse, so rich and silky the first bite nearly knocked me out of my chair. But... "Must I?"
She snorts a little, hiding it behind a hoof. "That waitress has been staring at the back of your head for five minutes! They've started busing tables!" The disapproval in her tone is totally offset by the sparkling glee in her eyes.
I swirl the dessert spoon around in my aura, clinking it around the glass, then raise it, the last morsel of mousse staring back at me. I fix her with an extremely well-practiced expression I learned as a filly and abused whenever I was caught reading under the covers. Like most of my foalhood education, it was from Celestia, although the royal pantry was an atypical classroom. That particular pastry chef never denied her gateau again. "But if I finish this, our date will be over!!"
To my joy, this brings a renewed bout of giggles from Rarity. As I stare down the last bite of our date, I'm caught off guard by blue aura intermingling with mine, and then I'm too distracted by how well the colors match to resist the force pivoting the spoon around to face her. Before I can figure out what she's doing, she leans forward, hooves on the table, and mouths my dessert off it.
The spoon falls to the tablecloth as our auras leave, mine from shock and hers no doubt from satisfaction. "Mmm!" she hums, eyes sparkling. "Oh my, I really should have ordered a dessert..." I almost feel bad for the smug looks I'd been giving her over her long black. Then I remember her utter betrayal seconds ago and wish I had been smugger. More smug? Let's see, smug, smugger, smuggest... Smugger, I guess.
"Would ma'm like to see the bill." I yelp, then turn to see the waitress, a dusty pink mare with an updo that likely has more frizz than it was meant to. She opens her mouth and drops the bill with a thud, making it very clear that it was not a question.
My eyes lock onto it, and I can tell Rarity's do the same. Our gazes meet and my nostrils flare. A challenge crackles between us like lightning, and our expressions fall as one into masks of politeness.
She makes the first move. "As your teacher, Twilight, and the one who initiated this date, I can tell you that it is my responsibility — my pleasure, even — to pay for dinner." A bold opening, so bold I'm surprised she doesn't just put her hoof on the bill then and there. It's like she doesn't even expect me to disagree. Utter folly.
"Oh?" Smirk, feign disinterest by levitating the spoon back to its flute. "As a student, is it not my responsibility to pay tuition? I purchase all the personal textbooks in my library, after all."
"Puh-lease," she scoffs, "I mean no offense, Twilight, but a mare on a librarian's salary should hardly be treating others to fancy dinners." I didn't expect her to blunder into that trap so easily. Crest to croup, indeed!
"My my, Rarity, what an unflattering assumption," I say, long-abandoned lessons on diction flittering in the back of my brain. "I'll have you know my royal stipend is more than capable of covering the expense. Princess Celestia is very invested in my education, after all." I pause, then add under my breath, "and mousse consumption."
She's on the defensive now, her verve draining as she realizes I'm outmaneuvering her — or that I even planned to maneuver in the first place. Overconfidence is a slow-acting poison. "Well, of course, I never meant to imply it was outside your means..." she murmurs, gaze sliding away as does her chance at victory.
Take it before she can even think of mounting a new offense. "Of course not!" I say, graciously, placing a hoof on the bill and sliding it across the table toward me. She's still not meeting my eyes, instead chewing at her bottom lip, a nervous habit I've never seen on her. Her face is flushed, like she's embarrassed. Was I too aggressive? I figured that Rarity would be used to the little social maneuvers of high society, and while I'm no expert, I at least know the form.
I count out a few ten-stacks and place them on the bill, including a tip for the poor waitress. As we walk out the door together, Rarity manages to find her voice again. "Twilight, I didn't realize you could be so..." She trails off, still sounding dazed.
If I valued etiquette at all, I'd be insulted by how caught off guard she is. "Persuasive?" A little surprise at a hidden skill is understandable, but she's still having trouble finding her hooves. Is her opinion of me just that low? I swallow the fear and attempt to bluster through. "Well, maybe I'm more of a Canterlot mare than you thought! Do you think Princess Celestia would abide me not sitting through etiquette lessons? 'While armor protects a mare on the battlefield, decorum protects her in the chamber,' after all."
"I suppose that makes sense, it's simply... You see, you're usually quite..." She goes quiet again, fumbling for words.
"Rude?" I provide flatly.
"Darling," she chides, "you really should wait until at least the third date to start finishing another pony's sentences. I was going to say 'straightforward'."
I chuckle. "If you're trying to spare my feelings, try 'efficient'." Then, I remember myself, and look down, contrite. "I'm sorry if I caught you off guard, Rarity. I was just playing around."
She brightens immediately. "Oh, au contraire! I'm delighted that we may make a socialite out of you yet."
I roll my eyes in response. "I'd sooner chew off my left forehoof than attend another Gala, Rarity. Well, unless Princess Celestia asked me to, of course," I add hastily.
"Of course," she agrees with a mischievous look, no doubt already scheming.
We're interrupted by the waitress from earlier brushing past us and the slam of the door. I realize we're still standing on the restaurant's threshold, and Rarity's little look of surprise likely mirrors mine. Her recovery is faster than mine, of course. "Alas! As much as I would like to spend my life with you here as a doorstop" — just an offhand joke, Twilight, why in Equestria are you thinking of how pretty gold would look on her horn — "I do have a career and such to attend to in the morning. Won't you be a gentlemare and walk me home?"
Something about that term tugs at my memory, but it's been a very full night. "I'd love to."
The restaurant sits on one of the main boulevards of Ponyville, so we pass by some ponies despite the late hour. I nod at a few, and wonder if any of them notice that Rarity and I are walking a little closer together than usual — not quite brushing flanks, but enough that a sudden turn would send one of us knocking into the other.
"So, Twilight, what did you think of the restaurant?" she asks, pulling me away from thoughts of pony dominoes.
"Oh, it was great! I loved the radish ragout. The portions were a little small, though..." I admit.
"That little edge of hunger is essential for mares on the rise such as ourselves! It keeps you sharp. Would you rather feel bloated?"
"Yes," I grumble. "You're sure the Hay Burger isn't first date material?"
She scoffs. "The Hay Burger doesn't even qualify as tenth date material, dear. It's just behind 'leaving the bathroom door open', a level of intimacy I personally hope to never reach. Besides, do you really think your presentation-focused mystery mare would want to get all greasy? You have no idea what a poorly-placed hayfry can do to a white coat."
"I suppose so... She does have a pretty light coat," I murmur, thinking of the fur that Rarity always manages to keep pristine.
I realize she's stopped, and turn back to see her eyes glinting at me with the shine of pursuit. "Does she?" she asks in a high, singsong note. Then, she lifts her head and continues trotting toward the Boutique. "How very interesting!"
Ponyfeathers. How could I let that slip? I only said light, though, so that leaves a lot of options open, like... Vinyl? Yeck. At least she's not gauche enough to actually guess. I follow after, and before we know it we're standing outside her home. She turns on her doorstep to look back at me. "Thank you for the lovely outing, darling." she says, batting her eyelashes. "You've been a perfect gentlemare."
"Thank you, Rarity. It was..." My mind wanders back over the night, the makeup, the evening walk, the candlelit table where the wait for food felt like nothing at all. "Lovely," I agree, lamely. "Good night!" I turn to go, just proud for having survived anything romantic, and manage to only feel a little sad when Rarity doesn't return my farewell. Did she not have a good time?
I freeze, finally remembering her promise, and turn around. She continues batting her eyelashes like semaphore, and the message finally breaches my mind. With stumbling steps, I make my way back to her. She isn't going to ask, is she? If I want something... "Rarity," I say, a little more breathily than I intended to, "may I... kiss you?" It comes out as practically a squeak.
"Well," she replies, eyes wandering up and to the left as if thinking, "it would be remiss of me to not show my appreciation for such a nice evening... Of course."
This is it! She's closing her eyes, tilting her muzzle up a little... On the mouth? I'm going to kiss Rarity, the prettiest mare in Ponyville, on the mouth! How do I kiss? Still staring at her waiting face, I chew my lip. I just... go for it, right? What if it's bad? For her, I mean. What if...
She pauses, and her eyes open again. I took too long! Instead of disappointment, though, the look on her face is thoughtful. "I hadn't considered it before, but... This would be your first kiss, wouldn't it, Twilight?"
"Yep!" I pop the p in a threadbare attempt to seem disinterested, all of the rest of my faculties devoted to keeping myself from falling off my hooves from nerves. My first kiss! With Rarity!
"What a dilemma..." she sighs. "A first kiss is sacred. I'm not sure I can bring myself to steal yours, no matter how educational it may be... I'm only your teacher, after all."
No. Don't say that. I can feel the fantasy dissolving like a sandcastle at high tide, clumps of wet grain slipping out of my hooves. We're not on a real date. She doesn't love me. This is fake, and it doesn't mean a thing to her. But it means everything to me. "Do you not want it?" I ask, hating how small my voice sounds, how I can't stop it from coming out, how I can't stuff it back into my heart, how I can't turn and leave.
"Oh darling, it would be an honor, of course," pity, pity pity pity, "it's just— it's meant to be something special, don't you think?" She fidgets, forehooves crossing, uncrossing, crossing again. I shouldn't push her on this; clearly she's uncomfortable. But... She's wrong.
"This is special," I insist. "I don't know anypony else who would do this for me." I can't raise my gaze from my hooves. The silence is unbearable and, desperate to fill it, I ask, "... What was your first kiss, Rarity?"
She gives a nervous laugh. "Oh, it was an utterly trivial thing, with some other filly I don't even recall the name of at a slumber party. It never bothered me, really, I've had more than enough serious kisses to make up... for... it..." she trails off into a murmur, and hope buoys my heart as I look up to see the uncertain expression on her face. "Hm." She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. "I suppose that is a good point..." she says. "It's only practice, isn't it?"
No. "Yeah, only practice."
She considers a moment more, then smiles. "Well, Twilight, you've been a perfect gentlemare tonight," she says, slipping easily back into her role. The fantasy falls back around me like silk, caressing my mind with its promises, and I let it. "Thank you for a brilliant evening."
Wait, what? Did she change her mind? She's just looking at me, standing on her doorstep, waiting— oh. Right. I lean forward, slowly, and she closes her eyes, dark eyelashes fluttering. That silent permission reminds me to close my own, like I'm supposed to, and there's only darkness then. No sensation but our quiet breaths and my pulse rushing. Just a little further, just a little more, and...
My lips brush something covered in a fine layer of ticklish hairs. Not lips. I open my eyes. She's staring back at me. Crossing my eyes, I realize that I'm kissing her on the tip of her nose, rather inexpertly. I choke on my breath and stagger back, ears burning, cheeks hot, looking anywhere but at Rarity's smirk.
That's why I don't notice her step forward until she places a hoof around my withers and pulls me close, head turned a little to the side, and captures my lips with her own. They're so soft, so inviting, that I forget to close my eyes or do anything but think, just staring at her, stupid and unmoving.
Unbelievably, heart-stoppingly good: Rarity's lips.
Bad: nothing, not one thing in the entirety of Equestria.
Decision: kiss her!
I relax, eyes fluttering closed as my lips yield against hers, allowing her to push closer to me and find where our contours rest against each other, a goal that eludes us as each sensation draws little puffs of hot breath, mouths opening just a little, position of rest lost and found again. The thrill is in the chase.
Did you know the separation between lips and skin is called the vermillion border? Nearly any demarcation in the world has a name like that, even if it's not well-known. These boundaries, these this-that margins, let us identify and classify objects and concepts by their distinction from their surroundings. For a moment, there is no word for that which separates Twilight Sparkle and Rarity, for there is no separation there to name.
And then, it pops back into existence as we draw away from each other, remembering that we're two separate ponies who both need air. I just know my face is plastered with a giddy smile, but I can't bring myself to fix my expression into something more sensible. The blush on my cheeks, the way my ears twitch, all dead giveaways to the fact that no, this isn't just practice, this is real, I really do have a crush.
Rarity, however, takes no time at all to compose herself, the only evidence being a few stray hairs in her mane. Instead of being disappointed at how unaffected she looks, I'm proud that anything is out of place — that's an achievement with Rarity. Then, I notice something I wouldn't have seen if I wasn't admiring my hoofiwork: her nostrils (which I find myself thinking of as 'dainty', as if that wasn't a bizarre thing to consider nostrils) are flaring ever so slightly. Like she's clamping down what would otherwise be big gulping breaths of air.
"Well!" she says, drawing my attention back. "False start aside, that was certainly..." Her gaze darts down just below my eyes, pauses, then zips away off to some vague point to the left of me, then back. I realize she's looking at my lips, and I raise a hoof to them before remembering the lipstick.
"Did I... do poorly?" I ask, confused by her reaction. It probably only felt amazing to me because it was my first time, and it was with her... Maybe it was terrible! She'll give me a C- in kissing and flunk me! Ooh, and then she'll offer remedial lessons, and—
"Well, while I hesitate to use the term 'natural talent', it was... very enjoyable. You tempered your enthusiasm well — many beginners simply thrust their tongue in and go for broke, so to speak." I smile at the praise. Not quite a letter grade, but I'll take it. Her voice drops to a low murmur for the next part. "You also have, ah, good lips. Soft and... full."
I gasp a little, blush, step back. Just a compliment from a friend, Twilight. About how nice your lips feel. Not exactly actionable feedback. "Well, that's good. Can't teach that!" I say with a nervous laugh.
Rarity snorts, then joins me in laughter. Moths cast flickering shadows from the lamp above her doorway, and a chill night breeze reminds me how late it's becoming. The laughter quiets, and we spend a moment just looking at each other, and I barely remember to tamp down the obvious more-than-friends fondness in my gaze.
"... Would you like to come inside?" she asks, cracking the door ajar with her magic, and I'm not sure I know what she's offering. She apparently doesn't, either, as she amends her statement. "For tea?"
I blink. 'Yes', an electric impulse, threatens to eject from my mouth, but I clamp down on it and force myself to think. "... On the first date?" I ask, instead.
She flushes. "Well. We can't very well step through courtship at the regular pace, can we? Some things must be... accelerated." Her gaze wanders behind her, sorting through the half-finished projects littering her workspace. "Not to... that degree, of course, but we can't keep your special somepony waiting, can we? Unless—"
"No, I— that sounds good. Please."
"Manners will get you everywhere, darling," she says, turning and waltzing into the boutique. It's a grand opportunity to practice my subtlety once again, so I do.
We do just have tea, in the end (and a couple slices of lemon poundcake). I'd heard bawdy suggestions that any offers of hot beverages at the doorstep after a date carried a certain implication, but while there's tension in the air, obviously Rarity didn't mean that we should accelerate directly to the bedroom.
... Maybe not any hot beverage. Tea or coffee, sure, but I doubt anypony's ever made an advance under the pretense of a cup of cocoa. Yet another disadvantage of the uncaffeinated, I muse, taking another sip of tea. It's nice here, in Rarity's boutique. It's always been a space that held some comfort to me, the organized chaos reminiscent of my own workspaces, from the upper landing of the library to my foalhood room.
We're... I don't think this is a lesson, really. She's seated on the couch next to me, just close enough for our flanks to brush against each other. Our conversation meanders in the same way it typically does during a late night spent in each other's company, weaving from her work to mine, then wandering loosely onto our own little pleasures.
Still, something's different, just from having shared that kiss. Knowing we're each here for the other, even if the interest is... only pretense. It lends each interaction a little zest, some new flavor I'm unfamiliar with but crave more of. The boundaries have shifted, and I'm still finding my hoofing. Not in a bad way, more like the floatiness of a little rum on Hearth's Warming. To punctuate one little anecdote of a fight with a client, she scooches over and bumps me with her hip, and I nearly spill my tea.
Things wind down, as they must, when our cups run empty. It's then, in the moment where I'm meant to say goodnight, that I realize this is the first real lull in conversation not filled by thought or wonder. It's a comfortable little divot, though, nothing like the claustrophobic crevice of awkwardness I find myself in when one-on-one talk is drawn out until threadbare, even with friends. Still, every night ends. "Rarity, thank you for—" I start, looking up at her.
"The lessons!" she finishes, perking up as if she just remembered. Apparently we're accelerating to third date territory, if she's finishing my sentences. "Of course, Twilight! I..." She uncrosses then recrosses her forelegs. "I can't say how much it means that you'd trust me with this. For you to share something so vulnerable, so..." she swallows, "intimate, with me... I only hope the mare you've fallen for deserves a student as wonderful as you. But then, you've always had excellent taste."
I squint a moment. Her words seem defensive, like she's trying to cover every vulnerability of an argument in advance. But her voice... there's regret there. My chest squeezes my heart in its grip as I recognize this for what it is. "Of course, Rarity," I say, eyes flickering to her door. "And..." I choke back what I want to say, that it's the other way around, because how could I deserve her? Make it easy, Twilight. "I can't speak for her, but... I've never been more confident that I'm worth her love."
She hugs me tightly, delicate neck resting against mine, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the pressure threatens to collapse the hollow space left by the outright lie I just spoke. She's tidying up. Planning for the final lesson, my graduation, to send me off with teary eyes and good wishes. To end this awkward little thing she's stuck herself in because of her giving heart. I realize I'm trembling, torn between selfishly wringing every drop of possibility from what we have and being just, ending it here and now, saying she's done plenty for me.
That question follows me to her threshold. The moon hangs in the glassy night and the wind has died, leaving only cold air clinging close and sharp as shards. I turn, expecting her closed door, but she hasn't turned away to go inside. So, we find ourselves standing as we did before, the possibilities of the night closing around us like shutters on lit windows.
Stuck there by the reflected moonlight in her eyes, fear kicks at my gut. I was wrong — I'm not ready for this. How could I be, if it means facing down a look like that and not telling her? She's told me how much of courtship is display and demonstration, but equally, how much is restraint?
I close my eyes, attempting to find my center, and instead taste melancholy on my lips. I realize then, as Rarity kisses me, how finite these moments are. Anything is, of course, but her kiss has a new, indelible edge: the undeniable knowledge that there exists a deadline. Soon, she'll consider my education complete, and all of this will end. How can you enjoy something when you know how soon it will be gone?
I pull away, and she gives a little sigh, her eyes taking a moment to open. Just like that, another slips away from me. Two in my past, soon to be joined by all others. Our muzzles are almost close enough to touch. "It's only practice, isn't it?" she asks in a whisper, her hot breath washing over me, so quiet it's more a thought escaping than a question.
"Of course. Only practice," I reassure her, and deny myself.
She lifts a hoof, running it through the fur on my chest, pressing it close to my heart. "In a relationship... You'll have plenty of kisses, of all sorts. Each one expresses something, some simple desire or acknowledgement... Good night. Good morning. Good evening. I'm glad you're here. I'm glad I met you. I missed you. I want you. I need..." She stops herself, panting a little from the rushed list. Her eyes wander to my lips, again. "There are... many forms to learn. A whole language."
How many will you be willing to teach me, Rarity? She closes her eyes, again extending a tacit invitation. Which form is this? Good-night? Not quite. We'd said that already. Her lips only look more tempting from knowing firsthoof how soft they are. I lean in. I'm-glad-I-met-you? True, but... The questions fizzle away as I close my eyes and make contact with her lips once again, leaving only one thought as to what this kiss could be.
And I think, as I push closer to her, that I never want to have an I-wish-you-loved-me kiss again, no matter how good it feels.