//------------------------------//
// Reading Between Lines 
// Story: Reading Between Lines 
// by Harp's'ong 
//------------------------------//

     “Don’t forget your brush,” Prose said. The earth pony grabbed a pink hairbrush off the desk and trotted to the library door. Dream Weaver stood before it, a quirk to her lips as she let her colt-friend slip it into her saddlebag.
“It’s yours,” Dream Weaver teased.
It was, but Prose said, “I never use it anyway.”
Dream Weaver nuzzled his cheek. Her horn got caught in a tangle of his shaggy curls. Prose winced when Dream Weaver pulled away and said, “I know.”
Prose’s eyes shifted from her to across the room, the brown bangs of his curls falling into his vision a little. He muttered, “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“Yes I do,” Dream Weaver said. “It looks cute on you.”
Prose blushed and changed the subject, “Wish I could still go with you.”
She shrugged. “You know how my grandpa is.”
He pursed his lips. “Not my fault I can’t grow a horn.”
Dream Weaver said, “Hey, no pouting.” She opened the library door with her magic. “Now come on, walk me outside before I’m gone for a week.” The two of them stepped into the street together. The library sunk into the forest wall that made the western face of the town, leaves clung to the sills of windows and the curb of the sidewalk. A breeze nipped them with the promise of winter.
Dream Weaver said, “Maybe I’ll be back sooner,” and her tail brushed against Prose’s flank.
“You can’t keep from being the mare of my dreams, can you?”
The corner of her lips twitched. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Prose snickered. “All your puns are starting to get to me,” Dream Weaver accused.
“I get you, Dreamie,” Prose said and wrapped a hoof around her neck. He pulled her close and kissed her, then said, “I’ll see you soon. Tell your grandpa your friends said happy birthday. Think you’ll be back for the second Running of the Leaves?” Whinnywood’s neighboring forest took more than one Running to liberate its denizens.
Dream Weaver said, “We’ll see. But I have to go.”
Prose sighed. “I know…”
“You’re going to be fine.” She nuzzled his cheek. “Love you.”
“Love you too,” Prose said. She turned around to leave and Prose took a quick swipe of her flank. When she wheeled back around and glared at him he beamed. “Hurry back.”
“Just behave yourself,” Dream Weaver warned.
Prose winked. He watched Dream Weaver leave and trek up the hill to the front of the town. She disappeared over the crest before Prose sighed and turned back to the library. It was his. All his, his parents bought it as a “gift” when he told them he wanted to leave Canterlot. They thought it reflected his cutie-mark, it didn’t. Books didn’t make for a home, nor did all his poetry and words. His home just left town.
The blue stallion walked inside and pulled the door close behind him. The front room of the library was shaped in an oval with a desk in the center and a ledger beside it. Two windows flanking the front door allowed light, along with a lantern hanging a little behind the desk. The front of the library held a few display cases of old scrolls, and a small fire-proof safe set into the wall that kept copies of the town’s legal documents. One the deed of the very library. Three doorways, one on the left, another right, and opposite the front wall all led into various sections of the library. The left held a decently-sized fiction section with a table and typewriter in the corner, the right a cluttered non-fiction section with several large cushions laid across the floor that designated it as the reading room. The final, smaller room held two bookshelves along the walls left and right of the entrance. The shelves housed older texts in dialects forgotten to most ponies, including Prose. The back of the wall was a stairwell that led to the second floor and his tiny apartment.
Prose trotted into the non-fiction section and weaved his way around cushions to a bookshelf in the corner. On the bottom shelf, he hid his journal behind a set of books on historical accounts of changes in agriculture over the course of Equestia’s history. No pony ever touched the books, except for Prose, who nudged them out of the way with a hoof and retrieved a slim leather covered book Prose bound himself. He returned to the main room of the library, journal in mouth.
Another pony stood in the doorway, a grey unicorn with dapples a shade lighter and a silver mane and tail. His grey eyes stared for a moment, then he said, “Don’t suppose you’re the librarian?”
“Mm-hmmf,” Prose said before he trotted to his desk and laid the journal down. He faced the unicorn and said, “Are you looking for a book?”
“Nope.”
Prose blinked. “Um…”
“Okay, maybe I am,” the unicorn said. “I’m looking for something that might be able to tell me a little about the gryphon kingdoms to the north.”
“I think we have a few histories on them along with a book about their geography.”
The unicorn asked, “Which room?”
Prose pointed a hoof at the one he just came from. “You want me to help you find it?”
“I think I can wrestle with a few books,” he said before retreating into the non-fiction section. Prose sighed and flipped open the journal, his space saved by the small quill tucked inside. He took it out and read over the poem he wrote the day before. He soon began to mumble the lines under his breath, scanning over each word. He thought the week apart could perhaps be fruitful enough for him to really sit down and work on that manuscript he always dreamed of finishing. No distractions, just him and his poetry and—
“Poetry, huh? Never was a fan of it myself.”
Prose started backwards, that unicorn had gotten to the front desk without him so much as noticing a thing. A book floated through the air and settled on the desk beside his journal. He said, “Suppose I need to sign this out or something?”
“Uh… yes. I’ve got a list on the ledger over here. Can you give me a title and your name, please?” Prose went to the ledger where a scroll of parchment rested beside an inkwell and quill. He bit down on the end of the quill, and after he inked it looked at the other stallion.
He cleared his throat. “It’s Doctor Dapples, the book is The Greater Gryphon Kingdoms.” Prose recorded it, when he set down the quill Dapple said, “You know, you’re the first earth pony I’ve seen as a librarian, probably the first with that kind of cutie-mark too.”
Prose shrugged. “I write poetry, it’s not too difficult after a while. Kind of slow, I guess. Why would a doctor want a book on gryphon history, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I’m not a doctor, I just like to use it as a handle. Makes me sound sophisticated and stuff,” he said. “I’m actually a writer, too,” he shifted his back-side to flash the cutie-mark there. A simple “D” in a white key. “The book is research for a story I’m working on.”
“What’s it about?”
“Gryphons.”
Prose opened his mouth, closed it. Finally he said, “Guess I’ll keep my beak out of it, then.”
“Oh-ho-ho,” Dapples’ book levitated into the air. “That was clever, I like you, um…”
“Prose.”
“Yeah, I like you Prose, I might even remember to return this book here before I leave town.”
Prose asked, “You’re just passing through?”
“Just meandering from place to place for now. I kind of got a little hung up at my old home,” and Dapples brought his hoof around and rubbed the back of his neck. “So I’m looking around, seeing what the rest of Equestria has to offer. This place is pretty cozy, I guess, figured I’d stay a day or two.”
“Then I hope I get to see my book again.”
“Just not me?”
Prose grinned. “You said it, not me.”
Dapples laughed. “Guess I will return your book then, wouldn’t want you to part with it. See ya.”
“Yeah, see ya,” Prose said. When Dapples left Prose went back to his journal, his only comment being, “Weird…”

The rest of the day inched by into oblivion. A few ponies stopped in and he chatted with them for a while, it shaved an hour off his day. He tidied things up, dusted, read for a few hours, and tried to write again, but he couldn’t do it for too long. Hurt his neck, and he found the task of writing poetry by himself in an empty library to be too daunting. All of his poems came back to the same awful cage he trapped himself in with mixed metaphors and stupid imagery, the only thing that really worked was a ballad about an imprisoned gryphon.
He occasionally thought of his encounter with the morning’s stranger.
Prose pushed away the bowl of porridge he made for himself that night, his lips pursed while he thought of all the wonderful cooking Dream Weaver could do. Then he would wash dishes and they would go out or sit out in the balcony out back and watch the sun set. Do anything other than sit around in his stupid kitchen.
Prose sighed and left the bowl on the table. He decided it better if he had something more to do in the morning. He took the time to admire the view outside of his balcony where the sun tread the orange canopy of trees from the forest. The soft sea of auburn colors, the slow shift of its hues towards darker reds and violets. This, he thought, was real poetry. He just wished he could convey the dance of light on leaf, how the wind caught a few strays on every bough and branch, kicked some in the air and created little ballets there. Spinning, twirling…
A hoof knocked on the door below. Prose’s ears perked up and he went to his room to check out the window there. Typically no pony ever visited him this late at night, except maybe his friend Cookie-Doe when she needed someone to drag on a hare-brained adventure.
When he opened the window and peeked outside he found a surprise looking back up at him. It was the grey unicorn from before, now with a saddlebag on his back.
He asked, “You got a moment?”
Prose nodded. “Just a sec.” The bemused pony headed for the door, nibbling on his lip and wondering the motives behind this visit. He never expected to see the other pony again, he honestly thought he’d just drop the book on Prose’s doorstep before he left town. When Prose opened the door the unicorn entered the library without invitation. Prose closed it behind him. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
Dapples slipped out of his saddlebag and hung it on a rack by the door with his magic. He said, “My typewriter just broke on me, and wouldn’t you know it was my luck that it did just when I really got this really great idea?”
“That stinks—”
“Like you have no idea. I don’t do pens and quills and paper. You got a typewriter I could use?” Dapples asked and with his magic retrieved a stack of papers from the saddlebag. “I have my own paper and ink reels, I really just need something with working keys.”
Prose pointed to the fiction room and said, “It’s in there. And don’t worry about supplies and stuff. That old thing never gets used anyways.”
Dapples grabbed Prose’s head and yanked him close and kissed his forehead. He shoved him back and said, “You’re a life-saver, buddy. Next time you have a favor, let me know.”
“Um… sure thing?” But Dapples already dashed into the other room. The lantern in their came to life. Prose crept to the room and from the doorway watched the unicorn set a half-finished page, adjust the facing, and begin tearing into it. Prose felt a little envy welling up in the bottom of his gut and sneaking its way into his chest. He couldn’t remember the last time he could do that, but then again…
Prose shook his head and went back to the desk where his journal remained. After toying with the ceiling lamp and getting it lit he tried to go to work himself, remembering the whimsical play of colors and festivities of the leaves before. Trying to draw something out of that. But it wasn’t the same, his thoughts flew so far ahead of his writing that after the first stanza he stalled, train-off-the-tracks with a ten car pileup. He was just too slow, he could make a start and by the time he wrote it he was already finished in his head. A beginning and an end meant little if there wasn’t a journey in between.
He sighed and resolved to try again later. A stir of the old crick in his neck whispered it was time to stop anyways.
Prose peeked back in on his strange visitor and saw his pace slowed. Studying the unicorn made the librarian notice the tangles in his mane, a mat in his tail. His shoulders were a bit bony, in a way that spoke of a disjointed diet. Prose’s nose wrinkled, he tried to hold it back, but it’d been forever since he dusted this room and—
The earth pony sneezed. This startled the unicorn from his work, who spun around and stood in front of his work as if he thought Prose could read it from across the room. “Oh…” Dapples cleared his throat, “Hey… did you need something?”
“Just making sure you didn’t need anything,” Prose lied. He first worried he might have a stranger in his library all night. He couldn’t work up the will to ask him to leave, especially when he saw how important it was to the unicorn. When he reminded himself of facing the whole night alone again, though…
Dapples said, “I’m fine, I suppose. Little thirsty, you know, but it’s no big deal.” Even from across the room Prose heard his stomach growl. “Maybe a little hungry too, but I’ll survive.”
Prose thought his appearance said otherwise. The longer he looked at the unicorn the more he saw: calluses on his knees, bags sagging under his eyes, hooves caked in filth. Prose asked, “Where are you staying?”
“Place not far from here. It’s a pretty cheap tenement, but I’m not worried about it.”
Whinnywood had one tenement in the town, squashed between a failed bakery and an old apothecary converted into a warehouse. It wasn’t the kind of place anypony chose to live.
“If you wanted to stay here—”
“No, I can get by,” Dapples said. His papers flew off the table and into the air, they zipped past Prose in a neat stack and tucked themselves into the saddlebag hanging in the other room. “Thanks for letting me use your typewriter. I think I wrote everything I could.”
Prose stepped out of the way when Dapples made for the door. The blue stallion opened his mouth but closed it. When Dapples grabbed his saddlebag and opened the door he blurted, “Um—See you soon?”
“I guess,” Dapples said and the door slammed behind him. Prose cringed. Eventually he cleaned up and dusted, playing the whole affair in his head over and over again to better understand it. Eventually he settled there was nothing Dapples wanted done, so there was nothing Prose could do, so he went to bed resolved to forget about the whole night.

But when the next day came he didn’t. The library faced an even slower day, and it left Prose with little to distract his thoughts. Eventually he couldn’t stand it anymore. He needed to make amends, just to get this unicorn out of his head.
He closed the library early and visited a local café, got half a dozen sunflower and hayseed sandwiches and two thermoses, one filled with potato soup and another with filtered water. He hesitated getting anything too, specific, lest the unicorn didn’t like it. From there he took a u-turn and trotted down Maplewood Road to the tenement. It was a two-story building, slouching into the warehouse. He knew a dingy basement waited on the bottom, but typically during the winter it was parceled out to anypony who wondered into Whinnywood without a home.
Prose crept up to the front door, wrestling with his nerves and preparing excuses while he raised a trembling hoof to knock. “What are you doing here?”
Prose yelped and almost fell over. He caught himself and faced to his right. Dapples stood beside the corner of the tenement. He was unreadable, and his appearance fared worse in the sunlight.
Prose remembered the sack around his neck that carried his boxed sandwiches and thermoses. He said, “I thought I might um… well pay you a visit. Maybe share a meal with you.”
Dapples glared at him. “I’m not some charity case. I can handle myself.” Prose flapped his lips but a bunch of strained gibberish just flopped out. Dapples shook his head and turned his back on him. The unicorn stormed around to the other side of the building. The only entrance Prose knew over there was the basement. He had to help him now.
“Hey wait!”
Prose followed him around back, but he discovered Dapples passed through a backdoor to one of the actual rooms ponies paid for. He paused by the door, thought about knocking before he heard chains rattle and a bolt slide in place. The lock made Prose flinch.
The librarian scanned his surroundings for something he could latch onto for inspiration. He spotted a discarded ink real on the ground beside the door. An idea sparked and he said into the door, “I’m not doing some stupid soup kitchen. I’m not feeding you, some of this is for me after all, but um… I figured you might be able to pay me for it.”
Dapples didn’t respond. Prose nibbled on his lip a moment, waited, then forged ahead, “I didn’t want you to pay back in bits. I mean, I’m a librarian after all and I’ve read every boring book in that dumb old place. I was wondering if you might have something I could read, you know, in exchange for food and stuff. And if you like I could give you some feedback to make it worth your while. Everypony needs an editor right? I’m pretty good at that—”
The bolt slid free and cut Prose off. When the door cracked open Dapples said, “I don’t usually let just anypony read my work before I’m ready to share it.”
Prose had to swallow the knot in his throat before he said, “Yeah, well I don’t usually do any of this.”
Dapples snorted. “I can tell.”
The earth pony strained for a smile. “Huzzah for trying new things?”
The door opened all the way, but Dapples stood so Prose couldn’t look inside without being obtrusive. He said, “Best if we do this at your place, mine’s a mess. You head on back up there while I get my things.”
“You aren’t just trying to get rid of me, are you?” The unicorn pursed his lips. “Because one of my friends is the town’s most obnoxious pony ever, and I can tell her about you if you like.”
Dapples scowled. “Fine, I’ll be right behind you.”
Prose grinned. “Your stomach won’t regret it, I promise.”
“Don’t push your luck.”

Because of a lack of places to properly eat, Prose read Dapples’ story in the upstairs kitchen. When he finished he gingerly placed the last page of the story with the rest. From across the room Dapples sat outside on the balcony, with the sun-setting beyond him while he used the dwindling light to read the book on griffons. Prose asked him too to save on lantern oil, so he took the book out there. His hide and mane were a stark contrast to the sea of auburn and orange, even with how unkempt and filthy it was his mane shone behind the sunset.
The story he wrote was… was…
Dapples noticed him staring. He said, “I once let another pony read that, this stallion that published a monthly magazine of stories. He sent it back to me with a note that said, ‘I can sum this up with, “I’m sad! I’m drunk! I’m gay! Woohoo!” stuff like that don’t sell, it’s not bad. But we can’t take it.’”
Prose realized his opinion of the piece must be written on his face. He said, “It’s not that it’s bad… it’s just it caught me by surprise and well… I don’t know…”
Dapples’ eyes narrowed on him.
“It wasn’t bad! There was clear character development, concise language and imagery, but it was—”
“Colt-cuddling?”
“For a lack of a better word.”
“And?”
“I don’t typically read romances, and never something that was between two colts,” Prose knew his blush was in full swing now. It occurred to him that this unicorn’s sexuality might… and what if it was—what if he thought Prose was pretty or cute or whatever they called fellow stallions? And he let a stranger right into his home and there was no telling what could happen, Dapples was a unicorn and unicorns could use all sorts of magics and—
“That’s not a problem is it?”
“No! It’s great!” Prose exclaimed and screwed on a twisted grin.
Dapples raised a brow. “You feeling okay, Prose?”
“Great, great, great, and your story was interesting…” Prose glanced at it then back at Dapples, “It’s always good to expose yourself to something new every day.”
The unicorn stood, the book floating casually onto the guardrail of the balcony. He said, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to fluster you—”
Prose said, “No, it’s fine, really. If it made me uncomfortable I would’ve put it down. It was nice enough read, though. I think there were one or two things you could work on. You know, little stuff that’d help in the long run.”
When Dapples approached him Prose felt a succinct urge to keep his distance. He couldn’t very well walk away, though, lest he reveal his obvious apprehension to the unicorn now right next to him, their shoulders almost touching and—the smell coming off of him was awful!
There was an idea.
As Dapples began to sort the papers Prose said, “Before we talk about it, when was the last time you took a bath?”
Prose snuck a step away, using the smell as an excuse. Dapples looked over his shoulder and down his back, “I am a mess, aren’t I? It’s been so long since I’ve had to worry about my looks that I sort of stopped caring.”
Was he worried about his looks now? What did that mean? “Eh-heh-heh. If you’d like I can run some water for you. It’s a little off the beaten path, but last winter I had a small bathhouse put in behind the library.” An idea occurred to him that would set things straight and tell Dapples that he was off limits. “Me and my filly-friend, Dream Weaver, put it in. Her hair got into messes and tangles and knots if she didn’t wash it every day. So there’s plenty of stuff to help clean you up.”
Dapples leaned over to him and whispered, “You’re not trying to primp me up for something, are you? Dinner’s one thing but…”
Prose’s whole body froze up.
“Only kidding!” Dapples slapped his side. “If you don’t mind I would love the chance to maybe wash up. I think it would do me some good. And I’ll make it up to you, I promise. I do have some money lying around somewhere.”
Prose said, “It’s on the house, I mean library, whatever. Look, don’t worry about it. I’ll get my keys to the bath and we’ll head over there, when you’re all set up I’ll head back here and tidy up while you take care of yourself.”
“Sounds like a plan.”

“Thanks again for letting me make my mane smell fruity,” Dapples said. His hair was still damp, he spent a good half hour in the bathhouse, which considering his condition, didn’t surprise Prose at all. The earth pony had a chance to catch his breath by the time he returned, and after mentally preparing himself, sat down with Dapples and they talked about his story and everything he could do with it.
The two now stood outside on the library porch in the dark, the only light coming from the open doorway. Prose said, “You needed it. It was on the house, I’d do it for any friend.”
“Friend?”
Prose blinked, he wasn’t watching what he said and let that slip.
Dapples admitted, “You know, earlier today I thought you were somepony trying some stupid charity crap to make you feel better about yourself. But I am glad I unlocked the door. It’s just so weird for me to use that word again. I’ve been bouncing around so much lately and I’ve met a lot of ponies but… well…” Dapples glanced into the dark for a moment, then back at Prose, who stood closer to the light. “It’s good to hear again. Thanks.”
Prose felt something in his chest well up that left him feeling unsure. He said, “Um… no, it’s cool. You know, I just thought maybe you’d like something to eat, was all.”
“Well I’m glad you were so generous, and way too persistent.”
“Hey have you seen this library? With Dreamie out of town for the week it can get kind of lonely. This isn’t the hottest spot in Whinnywood, after all.”
Dapples chuckled. “Well I like it here. But it’s getting late, I need to be getting back. I may swing by tomorrow with another story.”
Prose nodded. “Looking forward to it.”
“Think you can handle another colt-cuddling fic?”
“I won’t make any promises.”

The next day Dapples came around at noon with another story. He explained as he gave the story over to Prose, “It’s not finished. Was wondering if you might have some advice on where I should take it next.” They spent an hour discussing the story, interrupted only by the intrusion of a visitor.
When the stallion left Dapples made the idle comment, “He was kind of cute.”
Prose did not look up from the notes he just made in the margins of one of the pages. He set the quill down said, “Um… right…”
They stood on opposite ends of the desk, Dapples turned away and leaning over to watch the stallion from the window. Then he realized Prose’s silence and turned around. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Prose shook his head. “No, it’s fine. I’ve just never known a colt-cuddler before, I suppose.”
“If it makes you any less uncomfortable I like fillies, too. I’m sort of an open book, really.”
“I’m not so much,” Prose said.
Dapples eyes flicked to the closed journal at the corner of the desk. “I’ve noticed.”
“I didn’t think you were interested in poetry,” Prose said, “I figured…”
“Well, I’m interested in your poetry,” Dapples said. The unicorn pulled the journal to the center of the desk with his magic, flipped it over and flipped it open.
“I-I really don’t think you should!” Prose slapped his hooves on the desk and tried to scoop it up from the unicorn’s prying eyes.
But Dapples stopped him by leaning over the desk and making a simple threat, “I could always um…” the pause was deliberate, he licked his lips, “convince you to hand it over.” The shield of Prose’s hooves withered. He backed away with his lips wound up and his brow furrowed. Dapples laughed and said, “Oh, that’s a cute face.”
Prose turned his back on the unicorn, flushing furiously. “Hey now, it was a compliment, okay? Don’t worry about it, I won’t try to seduce you or anything. I know you’re a taken pony.”
Prose released a sigh and faced his antagonist. Dapples levitated the journal right off the desk and it followed him as he retreated into the non-fiction room. “Don’t mind me, just going to see what embarrassing things you’ve written in here.”
“Hey—” Prose stopped, he took in a deep breath, released, and said, “Don’t play his games, Prose, be the bigger pony…”
“What the heck is this? Oh my gosh!”
Prose spluttered and dashed for the room. He almost ran into Dapples’ flank, but slid to a stop while Dapples read the journal in front of him. Prose caught his breath and demanded, “What is it?”
“Hmm?” the unicorn glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, like what you see?”
“I mean it Dapples.”
“Just trying to have some fun. You know, this is really nice. It speaks to me.”
Prose made out the poem on the page and said, “It’s kind of mediocre. I’ve done better.”
“I like it. Sorry if I freaked you out,” he faced the other stallion. “You know there is more to life than just these books and whatnot.” The journal floated to the nearest bookshelf and came to rest on it.
“I don’t go out much, unless it’s with Dreamie or one of my other friends decides to coerce me.”
“Ugh, well that’s boring,” Dapples said. “You know, I’ve gotten to know you without Dream Weaver hanging around your neck, and I think buried underneath these—” and Dapples flicked the rim of his glasses with a hoof, “is a pony who wants to socialize.”
Prose said, “I don’t have a problem talking with other ponies.”
“Well there’s a difference in talking with ponies and socializing with other ponies,” Dapples said. “Everypony has the chance to talk with other ponies, we don’t always get to mix and mingle, though. I’m gonna go out tonight whether you like it or not, but I think you’d like it more if you came with me.”
Prose backed away a step. “I’m not sure, I have a reputation in this town to keep up—”
“I’ll swing back round around dusk. We’ll go and have some fun.” Dapples passed him at the doorway, he gathered up his saddlebag and said, “I’ll just leave my story here. Figure I can come back for it in the morning.”
And he left.

Needless to say the rest of the afternoon left Prose feeling a little tight in the chest. Except for Cookie’s adventures and Dream Weaver’s mostly eccentric pranks, his life centered around the library. He’d only drank once before, and it only took a few drinks to make him barf all over somepony and pass out. He almost left town after that. He couldn’t walk certain streets without feeling like somepony watched him and talked behind his back.
He just needed to tell Dapples he couldn’t go. His stomach was upset, doing cartwheels even and it looked like moving more than ten paces at any time would set him off. Just stand up to the unicorn, Prose. Tell him what you thought and felt. You could do this. Yet…
He had a history of crumbling when unicorn asked him to do something.
This would be a disaster.
Furtive glances out the window told Prose when Dapples approached his door. He pretended to read one of his old texts. He couldn’t actually decipher the language. When Dapples knocked and asked from the other side, “You want to lock this place up?”
Prose fidgeted for a moment behind his desk, his one wall. He mumbled, “No.” He ground his teeth a moment. Dapples knocked on the door again.
Prose said, voice cracking, “I’m coming!” He trotted to the door and took another deep breath. He managed to still all but his bunched tail, which continued to tremble when he opened the door. He greeted Dapples with a now familiar crooked smile and said, “Oh, hey. You um… you brushed your mane.”
“Nothing wrong with looking a little good before you go out. Hey, how well can you see without those glasses?” Dapples asked.
“Not too bad,” Prose lied.
“Let me see.” The unicorn slipped the spectacles off with an agile hoof and put them on. “Oh wow.” Prose frowned as the few lines on Dapples’ face and the bags under his eyes blurred away. Beyond the unicorn everything came in undefined lines and colors. “That’s fine, don’t worry about it because I have just the spell in mind.” Prose gasped as he felt a tingling in his eyes, he involuntarily rubbed his left with a hoof. A binding force squeezed through them a moment, then disappeared. He could see perfectly.
Dapples floated Prose’s glasses past the earth pony and onto the library desk before he said, “Believe it or not, but my vision’s not much better than yours. Learned this spell a long time back, helped out a lot when I did fashion shows and the outfit I wore clashed with my glasses. I used to be a model.” Dapples made a mock attempt at throwing back his mane and fluttering his eyes. “Can you see it?”
Prose stared at him a moment. “Um… uh… if you mean somepony could play the xylophone on your ribs, then yes.”
“Hey!” the unicorn shoved the earth pony’s shoulder. “I happen to like eating.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Dapples glared at him a moment, then smiled. “It’s great you haven’t lost your sense of humor. You know, I worried you’d chicken out on me.”
Prose’s tail finally stilled. He chuckled. “Yeah… right.”
“You ready to go?”
“I just need to lock up and grab some bits, I guess—”
“Nuh-uh,” Dapples shook his head. “I’ve been working odd jobs all afternoon so everything could be on me tonight. I told you I’d pay you back for that bath.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll hit you if you try to pay a thing, how’s that sound?”
Prose said, “Guess you win.”
“Then enough talking, get walking.”

The bar Dapples dragged Prose to stood on the other side of town, a place Prose knew by reputation. It did not say much. Whinnywood had three bars, and only two were safe to frequent. This one was the most popular. A place called The Canopy, over its neon sign were stretches of flashing palm leaves. Dapples nodded to the bouncer when he looked at the two of them, Prose kept his gaze fixed forward until they entered the place.
The Canopy bathed most of its bar in dim green phosphorescence from alchemical lamps made in Canterlot. They floated around the ceiling, lighter than air and shifting the lighting around, but they never approached the bar itself, which rose above the rest of the floor and was grounded by fixed lamps that burnt brightly. A lingering smell of cigarettes wafted from the corner to their left. The tables were low to the ground with brown cushions around them. A DJ’s booth rested on the western facing wall, empty until later on in the night when the bar became crowded.
Dapples said, “For a place like Whinnywood this place is pretty…”
“Wow…”
“It is better than some of the bars in Canterlot,” Dapples relented. He headed for the bar.
Prose blinked and said, “Wait up.” Right now the bar was fairly open. Prose only saw a few ponies there, most around his age.
Dapples reached the bar and slipped into a stool. He said, “One Coco Loco for me, your lightest apple cider for my friend.”
Prose hopped onto the stool beside him. He said, “So you’re from Canterlot? I lived there most of my life, you know.”
“Oh? Yep, I’m born and bred,” Dapples told him. The bartender returned with their drinks, he took a sip and leaned over. “Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s been a while since I’ve been to a bar, been even longer since I struck up conversation in a places like this,” Dapples said. That made a knot form in Prose’s throat. Dapples took another drink. “Ah. Should be fun, though. Come on, drink up, get something in you up here before we get a little involved with the crowd.”
Prose nodded and downed the shot before him. When he set it down he gasped and tried not to cough. Dapples laughed at him. “Is this your first time drinking?”
“No, the first time was even worse.”
“I bet, lightweight,” Dapples teased. He spun the stool around and got back on his hooves. “Come on, let’s mingle. There’s a couple of fillies over there, some flirting would do you some good.”
“What about Dreamie—”
Dapples put a hoof over his mouth. “Nothing about your filly-friend tonight.” Dapples removed his hoof. “Besides, we’re just passing the time until the real crowd shows up.”
Prose followed Dapples across the room to two fillies, their colors diluted within the green light. One, a pegasus, looked white with a black mane and the other was a unicorn with a dawn orange coat and blond mane. The pair stopped their conversation when Dapples reached them and he said, “Evening fillies.”
“Evenin’,” the pegasus said, “Two of you look new ’round here.”
“Maybe a little out of place, even?” the other filly added.
“Oh, we’re new to town, name’s Dapples, this is my colt-friend Prose.”
Prose’s whole body went rigid. What? Within the dim haze of green light and lingering smoke no pony notice the color that came to his cheeks.
But the fillies warmed up to the idea. The pegasus said, “Name’s Monochrome, but just call me Mona, and my friend here is—”
“Dawn Fire,” the unicorn finished. “Dawn is fine for you two, though. Pull up a cushion, I’ll call for a waiter.”
“Sounds like a plan, make him a cute one.” Dapples used his magic to slide two cushions over before he leaned over and whispered into Prose’s ear, “Figured you might like it if there wasn’t any tension between them and us.”
Prose would’ve taken any tension than the one he felt then and there.
But Mona and Dawn became very friendly and open as soon as they realized neither colt would ask to buy them drinks. The two chattered on and on about how the town was, Dapples lied their way into recently being from Canterlot. Said they were on vacation to celebrate their yearlong anniversary. Prose put in the occasional input, wrestling with the turmoil worming through him and eating holes in his stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to drink much.
Mona noticed. “Hey Prose, what’s the deal? We’re all on our fourth drink and you haven’t bottomed out your first.”
Dapples leaned over and patted his shoulder, “Poor guy’s a lightweight.”
“No, I’m a lightweight,” Mona insisted, which incited a wise nod from her friend. “This is a bar. Getting a teeny-bit-tipsy is the point.”
“Yep,” Prose croaked and fumbled for his glass. He finished it off.
Dawn said, “You colt-cuddlers can be so feminine, even when it comes to drinking. And you’ve hardly said a thing.”
“Hey now, guy doesn’t get the chance to get out much,” Dapples said, “That’s why we’re taking this vacation.”
“Well what do you do typically do then, Prose?”
Prose blinked and said the first truth of the night, “I write poetry.”
Mona made a face. “Poetry? Eww—”
“How adorable!” Dawn squealed. She winked at Dapples, “He must write you all sorts of love poems.”
“Oh pages of them, it’s how he won me over.”
Mona rolled her eyes and took another drink of some kind of gin. Dawn said, “Aww… that’s so sweet. You must share one.”
Even though Dream Weaver was his only audience, Prose made a point of memorizing most of his poems and reciting them. He was a strong believer in poetry being something best conveyed when heard. He knew dozens, but he only had a few love poems. All personal things written for his filly-friend. He pursed his lips and quickly stalled by motioning to a waiter for another drink.
When he did Dapples told him, “You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with it.”
“Please, don’t,” Mona added.
“Shut it,” Dawn hit her friend in the wing. “I wish some colt would sweep me off my hooves with a love poem for me. You must say one, you don’t even need to say it to me, just say it to Dapples. How about that?”
“Make it a short one.”
“Mona!”
“Hey now don’t you…” the fillies argument faded when Prose looked at Dapples. The unicorn shook his head again and said, “Don’t do anything you don’t want to. It’ll hardly be romantic, anyways.”
And a poem that he wrote months ago for a laugh suddenly sprung forward and it was perfect. Prose faced Dapples. “Be sure to play along,” he whispered. Prose stole Dapples glass and finished it off. He let the warmth spread through him, then cleared his throat. Dawn said, “Shut up, shut up, he’s starting.”
Prose said, “This one’s called, ‘Getting Ahead’:

The stroke of this quill
And thoughts of you
Arcing across the great open blue
Living the dream of a meteorite
With wishes of a steamy night.

Which… I know isn’t romantic,

But dang it if I’m not a colt
For putting two heads together
And thinking forever
With one.”

Dapples sort of gawked at him, so did the two fillies. Dawn ruined it by making a loud, “D’aw! That was so romantic!”
Mona face-hoofed. Dapples made a choking sound, then laughed. He laughed until his eyes teared up. Prose laughed too, he didn’t believe anypony could be that stupid. They all ordered another round of drinks talked a little longer until Mona mentioned something about wanting to take a colt home, which prompted the two fillies to excuse themselves.
When they did Dapples said, “That was possibly the best worst poem I’ve ever heard.”
Prose smiled, feeling a little dazed by the whole experience. “Masturbation’s supposed to make you feel bad about yourself while it makes you feel good.”
The unicorn said, “I’m flattered, by the way.”
Prose shrugged. “Hey, I’m apparently a colt-cuddler tonight, what do I care?”
His friend scowled.
The librarian frowned. “What’s up?”
“Flirting with you’s no fun if you don’t get upset.”
“Oh, I see, you’re fault. Making me drink. Speaking of which, waiter!”

Things went downhill from there. Prose remembered the DJ popping up out of nowhere and the thrum of basses making the bar’s alcohol quiver, a dance floor was cleared and things converted into a club. Ponies poured in with the music, more alchemical lanterns went up. They reacted to the beat and changed colors to provide a cascading lightshow for The Canopy.
At first neither stallion was inclined to dance. But after a few more drinks Prose thought it might be worth trying. A drink later and he felt it a great idea. With a final shot he stood and proclaimed, “Moves!”
He heard Dapples through all the noise, “What?”
“Let’s show them!” Prose said and bumbled onto the dance floor. He only danced a few times in his life, and never in this setting. He didn’t care anymore. His head waltzed in a merry haze that told him his hooves could move. He jumped into the crowd, and things went faded in and out. He remembered a lot of shaking flanks, laughter and shouting. Bouncing up and down, trying to do a slide and falling over and knocking into another pony. Somepony threw a ring of glow sticks over his neck. The dance floor cleared to watch a gold mare do a fan-dance. The fans bedazzled palm leaves with the lights glaring off them every which way and blinding him. The smell of some pony’s booze-ridden breath and the press of something warm and wet to his lips, when he pulled away he saw from across the room Dapples gaping. The burn of some drink down his throat, a sweet rum that lingered on his palette. Then behind the bar, hunched over with somepony rubbing his withers while he wretched.
That’s when the night crumbled from memory.

Prose’s eyes cracked open. His side hurt, he wasn’t used to sleeping on something hard. A few paces away was a wall with flaking paint faded with mildew. A door with rusted hinges and a shuttered window were set into it. The door had several locks on it. Resting against the wall was a small table with a book fitted under one of the legs to keep it from tipping. Resting on top of it was a typewriter.
Prose lied on a foam mat less than an inch thick. He had a blanket over him, his nose tucked underneath concentrated a smell of sweat and musk. He felt something large and heavy running the length of his back. A gentle warmth spread from there. Prose drew his head completely out of the covers and regretted the smell of mildew that hit him. “Blegh.”
From behind him Prose heard another pony groan. The sound told him where he was: Dapples’ tenement room. And behind him… Prose’s mouth went dry. The night before, he let himself get drunk. So stupid. He started to pull it all back into a coherent piece, his stomach turning more and more as he wound the clock back to the moment everything went black. A whole gap of the night was missing, a page torn from the journal of his memory.
And now he lied on the same mat as—
The unicorn stirred.
Prose yelped and scrambled across the room. He spun around while a dazed Dapples sat up. He rubbed an eye with his hoof. “Hmm?”
Prose’s heart almost stamped a hole through his ribs. At the same time he managed to rouse a sleeping bear of a hangover. Still he tried to ask, “Did we—did we—I mean…”
Dapples shrugged, still half-asleep. “Pretty sure you’d still be able to feel it if we did. Hey, what time is it? Seriously, we must’ve slept half the day away.”
“Don’t joke about that!” Prose hissed. “I can’t remember anything.”
His friend got to his hooves. “Sorry, but it’s probably best if you don’t.”
Prose blanched. “Goodness, it couldn’t have been that bad.”
Dapples nickered and studied his friend, whose panic couldn’t be more apparent. The unicorn sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, but I do think it’s for the best if you know. Because, well, I’ve kind of thought on and off that maybe you were, but last night you really threw me for a loop.”
The earth wanted to walk away and not hear whatever the unicorn had to say. He even shrank back into the wall before he forced out, “What—what did I do?”
Dapples didn’t look at Prose when he said, “You sort of, well, grabbed another stallion you were just talking to and pulled him to you and kissed him. Pretty hard, too. And you definitely knew this guy was a colt. He kept bumping into you on and off on purpose.”
A stillborn, “Huh—” fell out of his hanging jaw. The librarian shook his head. He couldn’t draw breath to speak.
“Later on you started getting sick, so I took you outside. You vomited a whole lot and cried. Going on about how awful you were for cheating on Dream Weaver. I took you back here because I didn’t think you’d make it back to the library.”
Prose’s lips began to function before words spilled out. “Th-th… th-th-that night was a mistake. I didn’t want to go in the first place and I couldn’t tell you no. I’m saying no now, Sweet Celestia, what have I done?”
Dapples approached Prose and tried to say, “Hey now—”
“Don’t!” Prose snapped. “This is all your fault. You know I haven’t been able to keep my head on straight for the past two days because of you. I… I… I wish I never met you.” Prose darted to the door and tried his best to unchain it.
He heard Dapples say, “Come on now…” a hoof rested on his shoulder. Prose whinnied and bucked, he felt a hoof connect with Dapples’ ribs. The unicorn grunted and stumbled backwards. Prose snatched the chain in his teeth and ripped it loose. He ran out the door, his head pounding almost as hard as his heart.

When the librarian reached his cold fortress he locked it up and fled to his bed. He snuck underneath the covers and tried to sleep. He couldn’t. His thoughts kept spilling over the stupid unicorn. Prose wanted every memory of him banished to the moon. It was so pathetic and all just stupid chance and contrived idiocy. None of which made any sense but the feelings still ground like gizzards over his heart, shredding it into pulp.
He heard a knock on his door. The earth pony rolled over and stuffed his head underneath a pillow. “Go away, go away, go away.”
Prose didn’t hear another knock from the door. Instead a tapping on the small window in his bedroom. It was a stick floating right outside. Undoubtedly the meddling unicorn’s. “I don’t want to see you again!”
It still tapped on the window. Prose heard a muffled, “You’ll have to come out sometime!”
The earth pony growled. “No I don’t, I can just die.” The way that slipped out of his mouth, over dry tongue and past grit teeth, scared Prose. The unicorn was right. Prose would humor him, if only to make him go away forever.
Prose slunk downstairs to the door and cracked it open. Dapples did not move from his spot at the edge of the porch. He said, “I’m sorry. I think I know what you’re going through, though. A little bit.”
The impulse to slam the door came so hard one of the librarian’s forehoof’s twitched.
“I just wanted to ask you to read a story, the last story I have for you. It was the one I worked on that night over here. I’m not sure if it’s finished or not, the ending isn’t much of an ending. But I want you to read it. Please.”
Prose tried to keep a glare fixed on the unicorn. He couldn’t keep it up, something else rolled around inside him. He wanted to kick Dapples again, then cry and apologize and—
Why was he so pathetic?
“Leave it on my desk then leave,” Prose said, his voice sounding like it came from the other side of Equestria. He opened the door for the unicorn, but refused to look at him. Dapples crossed the library, from his saddlebag he retrieved a stack of pages and set them down. Across their top, in scratchy-ink was a quickly added title: Once. When Dapples returned to the porch he said, “Promise me you’ll read it. I think you’re the first pony I want to understand.”
Prose shut the door on his face.
The unicorn didn’t linger. Prose heard his hooves recede off his porch and away. The librarian locked his fortress of words and scanned the entire room again. He remembered the thought the day Dream Weaver left. The place was hardly a home.
On the desk rested Dapples manuscript, with all the foreboding promise of a festered sunspot discoloring the dawn.
Prose felt the whole library rear up and turn on him. The walls closed in and all the books and words edged off their shelves with their pointed ends jabbing into him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand being here by himself for another three days. He’d go insane, do something drastic. He needed some kind of escape, Dapples left it for him. The librarian took a deep breath and went to the manuscript. He read it there at the desk.
The first thing Prose noticed was the difference in voice. All of Dapples’ stories were third-person, this story spilled like a painfully written journal entry, the scenes scatter-shot and haphazard, reflecting a similar tone. An earth pony’s downfall, a blank-flank obsessed with finding a place within the rest of Equestria. He loved another colt, a unicorn with a rosary cutie-mark and a name after seashells. Yet the earth pony was so afraid of being out of place he married a filly as soon as he could. He broke the colt’s heart time and again, yet the colt waited for him until his lover turned on the unicorn to protect his secret from his wife. The unicorn committed suicide. And the rest of the story detailed how the guilt fueled the earth pony’s own self-destruction. Everything ended on a single jarring line, “I loved him once.” It felt so incomplete, like a whole other half was waiting to be found and told. Even a tragedy should end with closure.
Dapples had said, “It was the one I worked on that night over here.”
Prose stacked the manuscript together and left it neatly arranged on his counter. He left the library flushed with understanding.

When Dapples opened the door to his tenement, Prose shoved his way in and embraced the unicorn. The earth pony hugged him close, then pulled away and said, “I’m sorry.”
Dapples shook his head. “No, it’s fine, you were just upset and—”
“No I get things now,” Prose said. He stepped inside and Dapples closed the door. The librarian faced his friend. “I know why I couldn’t get you out of my head after that first day and why I had to go see you. I can’t stand being alone for too long, I realize. I don’t know what it is or how to really explain it. The closest I can come is this time when I was a little colt and I was in the Canterlot astronomy tower by myself. I started staring at the stars and I couldn’t stop. I stared until I felt white hot pinpricks sink into the back of my eyes and even when I shut my eyelids I saw those stars. The longer I stared the bigger and vaster the universe seemed, emptier and hollower too. I got to the point of feeling like an ant and pointless and contrived, like I held no meaning and no pony would miss me if I disappeared, but I never wanted anything to break my trance or that feeling…” Prose ran out of breath. He forgot what else he had to say, he got so wrapped up in finally pinning down a feeling he fought all his life.
Dapples jarred his thoughts. “Did something make you look away?”
“Yeah, a shooting star. And after that, when it started happening again it was Dreamie. And after that day of being alone and by myself—well, you stopped me from feeling that way. And I’m sorry that’s why I sought you out.”
The unicorn shook his head. “No, I’m not any better. You know, the reason I let you take me back to the library that day you was because I needed someone to care. I was just about to go out to look for some colt to buck. It didn’t matter who, how, or where. I just wanted this… emptiness to go away for a minute. That’s why I’ve been bouncing around so much, I suppose. Why—”
“You wrote that story?” Prose suggested.
“Yeah…” his gaze fell to the floor.
“We both just needed someone then,” Prose said.
“Yeah.” Dapples said again, only this time it came out as a croak.
Prose couldn’t let a silence just fall, so he let the first thing that came to his mind tumble off his tongue: “You know I don’t even care if I do have a thing for colts. I think what got me so riled was I couldn’t understand why it made me so happy when you flirted with me.”
Dapples’ head jerked up. Prose quirked a corner of his lips, “Maybe in another life, hmm?”
“Ha, right, you’ve got your filly-friend and I… I…”
“I think you do have somepony there in that big heart of yours,” Prose said. “And I think they still do too.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew how I treated him,” Dapples muttered. “I used to be a lot worse.”
“But they must’ve seen something in you to begin with.” At this Dapples snorted, so Prose tried a different tactic. He approached his friend and said, “You know how I think your protagonist’s story should end?”
Dapples nickered and backed away a step. “How?”
“I think you need to have him chase down all that guilt and face it and buck and kick and fight with it until he finds somepony who can help redeem him. I think that even if he can’t ever have that one lover back, he should find the best way to make up for the hurt he caused, and then find a new pony. And this time, he’s going to make sure that pony is the happiest pony in Equestria, and he’s going to do that for both his old lover and new lover’s sakes, but more importantly, he’s going to do it for himself.”
Dapples muttered. “You can’t expect me to do all that.”
Prose nuzzled his cheek and whispered in his ear. “But I can expect you to try your best. And I’ll help you in every way I can. It’s the least I can do for everything you’ve done.”
He backed away. Dapples told Prose, “His name’s Niki. He’s a pegasus.”
“He sounds cute.”
“Even cuter than me.”
“So almost as good looking as me?” Prose teased.
“Hey now! No need to get that up on yourself.”

Prose waited on the library porch, the sun casting long slanted rays over the street as Dream Weaver approached. He felt a smile spread his lips and an old warmth return to his heart. Doctor Dapples left Whinnywood that morning. He spent the remainder of his stay out of that moldy tenement and sleeping in the library. Prose had plenty of room and refused the unicorn’s attempts to pay him. Nothing too noteworthy happened on those intervening days. With a few straps of leather, a piece of tin he shaped with his magic and pair of buckles, the unicorn fashioned a quill holder so Prose could write with a hoof rather than his teeth. It was awkward and slow for now, but promising for his poetry.
Dapples helped him write more poetry in the past few days than the past month.
“Welcome home, pony of my dreams,” Prose said as he met Dream Weaver halfway. They nuzzled each other’s cheeks. Prose asked, “How was your trip?” as they walked back to the porch together.
“Meh. Another birthday party, another chance for my grandpa to try and set me up with other unicorns.”
“I met a unicorn myself,” Prose said.
Dream Weaver quirked a brow. “And is this a filly I should know about?”
“He was an excellent guest who—”
“What’s this hair in your mane?” With her magic Dream Weaver plucked a silver hair out of the bramble of brown. She examined it in the faltering sunlight, “He, huh?”
“I’ve got a lot to fill you in on.”
“So he’s not here anymore.”
“Left this morning.”
Dream Weaver’s eyes narrowed on her colt-friend. “How convenient…”
Prose kissed her cheek, “You know you’re the only pony for me.”
“I better be…” she growled.
“How about we go inside and get you off your hooves?” Prose suggested and opened the door. “Then I can tell you all about it.”
Prose started to head inside, but Dream Weaver snatched his tail and yanked him back around. She kissed him hard and forced him backwards into their home. She used her magic to slam the door behind them and broke away.
Prose gasped and said between breaths, “Right here… or in the bedroom?”
Dream Weaver said, “Upstairs, then downstairs, then the bathhouse, you need to make up for lost time, mister.”
Prose nodded furiously and dashed upstairs. He heard Dream Weaver follow him across the room, but she stopped at the desk. Prose turned around and asked, “What is it?”
“What’s this stack of papers here?” Dream Weaver asked.
Prose blinked and focused in on it. He wished he still had Dapples’ spell, but had to settle for the strength of his spectacles. He realized his friend left what he wrote the first day they met. Prose told Dream Weaver, “It’s just a story I’m waiting on a friend to finish.”