Celday, the day of rest. For many, this was a day of giving thanks to Princess Celestia. Some would send small gifts to the Palace. Some would state their thanks openly throughout their day. And a very lucky few, who lived in the capitol, would be able to give their thanks directly.
For you, this particular Celday meant taking care of your friend, who currently lay in your bed (which, come to think of it, you never really slept in) with a glass of cold water, a warm bowl of soup (odd choice of breakfast, but you figured it would help) and a forty degree fever.
She was awake, her occasional cough or groan would attest to that, but her breathing was shallow and her eyes were closed most of the time. She would look adorable if she weren’t currently suffering (aw, hell, she still did).
You sigh. You had done all you could. Illnesses like this were usually short, and would pass in a day or so, in the meantime, there was nothing to do but make sure Coco was in bed, resting, and to wait until she grew better.
You stand up from your position next to the bed, your hind legs slightly asleep from being sat on for so long. Walking into the main room of your flat, you gaze over at the piano in the corner.
A little practice would help pass the time. It does cross your mind to give the new harpsichord a try, but with the date of the play quickly approaching, it was probably best to stick to what you would be playing for the show.
Setting down on the leather seat, you reach your hooves out to the keys. And then, you play.
The music is slow and wistful, and slightly somber. Not sad, but calm. You close your eyes, lost in the sound. As the slow chords reach your ears, you’re given the sensation similar to that of a slow, gentle flight. Soaring high above the clouds, the wind gently blowing your mane, you feel your wings stretch out, as if in preparation to take off. The song ends on a seventh interval chord, dissonant, but not unpleasant.
“That was beautiful.”
You turn around in your leather seat. Coco is seated on your couch, her eyes slightly lidded (from fatigue or relaxation, you aren’t sure). A content smile is set upon her muzzle, and she’s even put her collar back on.
“Coco,” you stand up to go sit next to her, “you should really be resting.”
“But I want to be here, with you,” she says, her voice is very soft, “I’m fine to walk around, really, and I want to listen to you play, you’re very good.”
“Thanks,” you smile in pride, your cheeks feeling a bit warm.
You sit there a moment longer in content silence, listening to Coco’s soft breathing, still somewhat strained from illness. You suddenly feel her lean up against you. Her fur feels soft against yours, and she feels pleasantly warm (you really hope that’s not her fever). You let out a sigh, making sure it was soft enough for Coco to not hear it. Your face is burning up, you’re definitely blushing by now.
Knock Knock Knock
You gaze over at the door. Not wanting to get up from your position.
Knock Knock Knock Knock
“Hey, are you in there? You said we were practicing today.”
The voice is slightly muffled by the door somewhat, but it would be hard for you not to recognize its owner. Which means you also know that if you don’t answer the door, she won’t ever leave. You reluctantly stand up from your place on the couch, Coco slowly leaning further down until she’s lying on the couch belly-down, her head rested against her hooves.
You open the door before another round of knocking can occur.
“It’s about time you opened up,” Lyra groans, “Do you have any idea how long I was waiting there for?”
“Actually, yes,” you reply, “Since, knowing you, you started knocking five seconds before you even got to the door.”
“And how on earth would that be possible?” she asked.
“Magic,” you state, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world (yeah, take that, unicorns).
She huffs and rolls her eyes in annoyance. Entering you flat without much of an invitation.
“So,” she says, turning to face you, “since the new play is less than a week away, we need to start practicing now.”
“Lyra, I know how antsy you are about this play, and trust me, the solo has me pretty excited as well,” you state, “However, now isn’t exactly the best time.”
“What do you mean not the best time?!” she asks, furious, (Sometimes it’s kinda hard to tell if she’s actually this angry or just messing with you), “You were the one who scheduled practice in the first place, and now you’re just gonna back out?”
“Yes,” you answer, trying to keep your calm (though with Lyra…), “I did originally plan for today, however, certain circumstances have made today impossible. So, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“You can let her in.”
You turn around to see Coco, her head lifted to see who was at the door.
“I don’t mind if you two practice,” she says.
Lyra gives you a glance, a smug smirk painted on her face while her eyelids have dropped slightly, her subtle way of saying: ‘Oh, I so totally caught you with Coco’.
You look back with her, straight in the eye, your face staying mainly straight while your brows furrow slightly. Your subtle way of saying: ‘I swear by the name of every Alicorn, if you say anything at all about this I will personally grab you by the horn, throw you down the stairs, fly ten feet in the air, and land on your stomach as hard as possible.’
She apparently understands, as she rolls her eyes and keeps her mouth shut.
“Coco,” you chide gently, “I know you say you’re better, but you’re still sick. The best thing to do is for you to rest, me and Lyra would only prevent that from happening.”
“But, I don’t…I mean…I want you to practice,” she declares, “Not just to hear it, which I really do want to, but because, well…” she lowers her gaze to her forehooves on the couch, her voice becoming softer, “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t practice.”
You feel a lump in your throat plus a slight twinge in your heart at her words. They were so honest and kind, it hurt you to go against them, but:
“Oh, Coco,” you say, walking over to her and looking down with a wan smile, “You need your rest, Lyra and I can practice another day.”
“Please,” Coco pleaded lifting her head to look you in the eye, “Please practice today, for me?”
Everything right. The way she said her words, the slightly sad, but pleading, look on her face, the tilt of her head.
And her eyes. Oh, Goddess, her beautiful, beautiful eyes! They pulled you into a light blue sea of bliss and happiness, overwhelming you with love for this beautiful, kind, generous mare. You feel as if you could stare into those beautiful blue portals forever, and never grow tired, never lose interest, to be ever content for the rest of time.
However, with Lyra standing, like, ten feet away from you that would be kinda awkward, and you’d rather not look like a complete idiot to Lyra, nor appear foolish in front of Coco. So you reluctantly pull yourself away from that great sea.
“Okay,” you say softly, “for you.”
You turn back to your piano, once again sitting on its leather seat. Shuffling around the music on top of the instrument, you pull out the music for the play and turn to your solo.
“Did you bring your music, Lyra?”
Suddenly, Lyra blunk her eyes and shook her head rapidly, as if snapping from a trance.
“Wh-Wha?”
“I asked if you had your music.” you repeat. Was Lyra just…thinking? She does that?
“Oh, no. I’ve already got the whole thing memorized.” She states proudly.
“Really? What’s the fifth word in the third line of the second stanza of the bridge?”
“Um…it’s…uh…” she stutters, “That’s not important! I do have it memorized. Just, not that well.”
“Alright, then. From the top. Ready, and-”
The chords flow from your fingers as you and Lyra begin your session.
“That was wonderful, you two!” Coco praised from her seat on the couch.
“Thank you, Coco,” Lyra says, bowing her head in gratitude, “It’s good to know someone appreciates my talents.” Her eyes glance back toward you.
“Hmph,” you give her a smirk in response, “I never said you were a bad singer.”
“Yeah. But you never once praised me for it.” She argues back.
“So, if a person doesn’t shower you with constant praise, then they must hate your talents?” You question, raising a single eyebrow.
“That’s not- I mean- you- Shut up!” She scowls.
You smile wide and close your eyes in victory.
Suddenly you hear a giggle from the other side of the room. It touches your ears with a soft and gentle ring. Much like a bell made of purest crystal. You open your eyes and look over at the couch, where Coco is holding a hoof to her muzzle in a (failed) attempt to hide her laughter.
“Sorry,” she says past her mirth, “you two’s arguments are just…hilarious.”
You and Lyra meet eyes holding each other’s gazes for only a second, before the two of you join in Coco’s laughter.
“Yes, ours is a bit of an… odd friendship, but it works,” you trot over to Lyra, “We just make sure that the other one keeps from getting a swollen head, but we’re still always best friends, right Lyra?” you say, tousling her minty mane.
“Don’t touch me,” she growls.
“Always the charmer, kid,” you tease cheerily.
“Whatever,” She rolls her eyes, “I’ll see you two later, hope you get well soon, Coco.”
“Thanks Lyra.” The creamy mare smiles sweetly.
“Hey, wait!” You call out to Lyra before she closes the door.
“Whaaat?” she groans back.
“Can-Can I talk to you for a second?” you ask, your eyes drifting to the ground for a second.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
“Um, I meant outside…” you gaze back at Coco, hoping she’s not offended by your want for privacy.
“Drama queen,” Lyra smirks, “Come on, make it quick.”
Following her outside the flat, you make sure to close the door. You turn to look at Lyra. You needed to tell someone about this, or else it’ll eat you from the inside out. It may as well be Lyra, as much as you hate to say that. She’s going to make fun of you forever for this.
You sigh for confidence, lifting your head to look Lyra in the eyes.
“You were right,” you admit, reluctantly.
“What?” she seems confused.
“You were right, about Coco, about me. I, I mean, when you, the other day, when you said that…thing about me, and about her. I…I was thinking and, well I think…” Dammit, why can’t I just say it! You fall on your haunches in defeat.
You feel a hoof on your shoulder. You look up to see Lyra sitting next to you and smiling, her eyes calm and knowing.
“Do you- you love her, don’t you?” she asks. Her voice is surprisingly calming.
You nod your head.
“Awwww,” she rubs a hoof over your mane, like a mother soothing her foal, “That’s so cute.”
You feel your face start to burn up. You knew she was going to tease you, but not like this.
“What do I- I mean- how- What should I do?” you ask, not sure if she understands-not sure if you understand.
“What do you think you should do?” she asks.
“I- Should I, tell her?” You guess.
“Should you?” she asks back.
“I- I don’t understand.”
“You do whatever you want to,” she explains. “If you think you should tell her, tell her. If you want to kiss her, do it. It’s simply a matter of doing what your heart tells you to.” She stands up on her hooves, “I gotta go.”
“Huh?” you look up in surprise, “That’s it? No jabs? No bragging?”
“Nope.” She says, continuing to walk away from your door.
“Hmm,” you hum bemusedly, “Lyra Heartstrings…you know, you can be a real sweetheart sometimes.”
“Don’t get used to it. You’re still an idiot.”
You laugh, “Good, for a second I was almost going to reevaluate you.”
“Do it and I’ll slap you.”
She starts walking away again.
“Hey, Lyra?” you call.
“What? Am I just not allowed to leave?” she jokes.
“I just wanted to say thank you, for what you said.”
Her gaze softens, “Anytime.” She smiles and leaves.
Lyra Heartstrings. What a remarkable pony…
Standing back up, you turn and step back into your flat.
Coco is looking over at you with her wonderfully beautiful blue eyes.
“What did you want to talk with Lyra about?” She asks.
“I- sorry, Coco, but I don’t think that I can tell you right now,” you answer as honestly as possible.
“Oh, that’s okay,” she says, “If you don’t want to say it, then you don’t have two.”
“Thanks Coco, that’s very kind of you.”
You walk back over to the couch and sit down on its cushiony surface. It wasn’t late at all, but still you felt very tired. As you close your eyes, you’re vaguely aware of another pony sitting down next to you and leaning her head onto your shoulder.
The two of you stayed there, content. When the time came, you prepared a soup for both of yours dinner (despite Coco’s protest that she really did feel better). Afterwards Coco, after convincing you she wasn’t ill anymore, thanked you for your hospitality and left to her own home.
You lie on your couch, your throw-blanket providing a pleasant warmth. You turn over several times, somehow not feeling quite right. Reaching for your pillow, you hold it close against your body, basically snuggling with an inanimate object. Yet, somehow, this allows you to finally find comfort.
One day. One day it’ll be her, not just some pillow.
One day, I’ll be able to sleep with Coco in my arms.
I hope…