Libraries were supposed to be quiet, but not like this. The silence around her was charged with an electric, angry undertone, so tense it made her feathers quiver and crawl with nervous adrenaline. And the worst part of the whole thing, the part that made this hurt so much, was that Twilight knew exactly what she’d done to deserve this.
She’d woken up this morning to find Spike furiously attacking the mountain of unwashed dishes that had piled up over the last week, scrubbing and rinsing and drying with a single-minded vengeance. She had tried to say something, anything, even just a ‘good morning’ or ‘sleep well?’, but nothing would make it past the guilt clogging up her dry and scratchy throat. Spike had looked up and seen her, and promptly closed the sliding screen in the kitchen before going back to his work. And so Twilight had cringed away and looked around the library in the hopes of finding something to do, something to begin making amends.
She had quietly picked up and reshelved the books in the main room, dusted the table, archived her old schedules and checklists, all the things Spike normally did. She made her bed and finally cleaned out the last of the storage boxes from what they’d decided would be Spike’s new room not even a week ago, before everything went rotten between them. At some point in her meek cleaning spree, Spike had left the kitchen and joined her in the main rooms. He blustered by, never truly acknowledging her presence except to step around her if she stood in his path. If it seemed he was looking at her, she’d flash an apologetic grimace, but for once, Twilight had to admit that words had failed her. Words, her greatest tool, had no place in this, no use in this.
Sorry wouldn’t cut it, not for something like this. She couldn’t claim she hadn’t known, since she’d held his secret for him for years now, from back when he truly was a baby dragon. She couldn’t blame the alcohol, not this time. No, this had been entirely planned, and she could have told him about it, could have given him a warning, anything to ensure he wouldn’t find out the way he did, but... she’d been scared of exactly this happening. Losing a friend’s trust was the fastest way to lose a friend. Losing Spike was unimaginable. Twilight couldn’t bear to think of life without her oldest friend, especially now that she would live past everyone else she held dear to her. And this silent treatment, as much as she deserved it, was the most painful part.
She would have welcomed more of last night right about now. When Spike had been screaming at her, puffs of smoke and flecks of spittle flying at her along with hundreds of awful insults and incriminations, at least he’d been talking to her. His eyes had been terrifying, full of a boiling, mercurial rage, but at least he was looking her in the face. But this, this terrible, awful silence, this low-simmering resentment sprinkled with baleful glances and furious huffs of air, was about the worst thing Twilight had ever gone through. Her heart was breaking a little bit more with each ominous, echoing tick of the grandfather clock.
The nerves and pain and worry left her stomach roiling, and she guiltily nibbled at the flowers left over from last night’s date. Spike had begun moving his things into the little room across from the balcony, and so it was easier for Twilight to sit still and stay out of the way while he did. The roses, still as fresh and sweet-smelling as they had been last night, turned to ash on her tongue. If hunger was the best sauce, then surely guilt was the worst seasoning. Twilight glanced over at the box marked Garbage and noticed a faint glint. She scooched over slowly as Spike catalogued his comics through the half-open door and peeked inside the stained cardboard. A begemmed bowtie and a single, well-cut sapphire lay nested in old homeschool tests and dust bunnies and the ratty stinky old blanket he’d used as a young whelp.
Twilight quickly lifted those two, precious things of his out of the box and hid them under her bed. When his head cleared up a bit, he’d want them again. Because it wasn’t Rarity he was mad at. He’d never been angry at Rarity, no matter how many times she toyed with him and cast him aside. It was Twilight he hated right now, and with good reason. Because he’d grown up beside Twilight, had loved Twilight as a sister, had spent years at her side, the only one who was always there to hlp her.
TIME---------
And she’d known, she’d known how he felt, and how she felt, and how Rarity felt, and she’d let it all happen anyways. She’d let it happen, and now Spike wouldn’t look her in the eye, wouldn’t even insult her. She was too far below him to be worth the effort.
The late afternoon sunlight beckoned to her, but Twilight felt bound to the library, trapped by her own sense of duty and the crushing guilt that weighed on her mind, on her heart, on her legs. She deserved every minute of this, deserved every second of the pain behind her eyes and in her chest. So instead she snuck down to the kitchen and made Spike’s favorite Goulash, enough for three hungry ponies. Her apetite spiked a bit as she sipped at her bowl, and she realized she hadn’t eaten today. She still only managed half of the small serving she’d given herself before she lost interest and ambled up to her bedroom, lethargic and tired to the bone.
She slumped sleepless on top of her now-wrinkled sheets, breathing slowly through her mouth and watching the sunset with a faded glimmer of interest. She watched as the sun went down and the moon raised itself slowly over the rooftops of Ponyville, calm and majestic. She watched the stars twinkling into existence, one by one, let her eyes wander across the drifting clouds. A sudden shift of her mattress and bedding caused her to roll over. Spike knelt uneasily on the edge of her bed, looking intently at the space beside her. She unfurled a wing and patted the mattress twice. He crawled over and nestled against her side, gripping her tightly with shaking arms. And he broke down, sobbing heavily into her coat, his sides heaving in sorrow and hurt. Twilight held him close and stroked him with her wings and nuzzled at his tear-streaked face, comforting him as best she could until he fell asleep. She tucked him into her bed and curled around him protectively as the stars twinkled above, and hoped above all else that things would be better when the sun rose once more.