Chapter 2
The first thing I remember is the smell of pancakes.
It's funny the things you remember, isn't it? I can hardly remember anything from the night before. I try and I try, but nothing comes to me. It's all so vague, like smoke in the air. It's right there, I know it is, but I can't take hold of it. I don't remember walking home with Neon. I remember the path we walked, because we walked it again later, but I don't remember that particular night. All I do remember from it is this incredible, all-consuming happiness. Maybe that's why I don't remember anything else from that night. Maybe it just didn't matter. All that mattered was that I was happy.
I wasn't happy when I woke up. I must have thought that everything from the night before was a dream. I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t in my own apartment. Even then, the memory was so hazy and dreamlike. For a long time I just lay in bed, drifting in my thoughts. I wasn't really sad; I just felt... empty. I think that's worse, honestly. If I was sad it would have at least been something. All I felt was the weight of the blanket on top of me, pressing me into the mattress. It felt as though I was sinking, like the mattress was going to swallow me whole and never let me escape.
Eventually I did manage to crawl out of the bed, probably drawn out by curiosity. My roommates never really cooked. They would always just order out for something, or if they ever did cook it was those pre-packaged dinners, the sort you just stick in the microwave and eat when you don't have the time or energy to really cook anything. They would never have made pancakes. They barely even made cereal. I didn't really understand it at the time, but it was just so strange to smell cooking food that I needed to go see what it was.
I remember wondering briefly if one of them had had a mare over or something, and she was the one cooking. Or at the very least, they were cooking to try and impress her. The thought drifted away pretty quickly, though. Whenever one of my roommates wanted to spend time with a mare, they'd generally disappear for the night. They always referred to our apartment as “Not mare-friendly”. I guess in a way they were right. There was always... stuff, everywhere. Not like garbage or anything like that, just stuff. Clutter.
That was probably what made me realize that I wasn't actually at my apartment first. I stepped out of the bedroom, and almost instantly I realized it belonged to somepony else. It felt open. Not empty, or bare. Just open. I blinked at the wall across from me for a moment, taking the feeling of openness in. The wall was painted a soft, powdery blue, almost the same colour as Neon's fur. I could feel the soft carpet rubbing against my hooves as I shifted my weight, and hear the soft hiss of pancake batter on the grill from the kitchen.
It was slowly starting to occur to me just what was going on. I realized that the previous night hadn't been a dream, that I really had met Neon in the park and that he really had offered to let me stay with him. My heart started to race, and I'm still not sure if I was more nervous or excited. Part of me wanted him to be nice, to be as cool as I'd remembered from the night before, but I still barely knew him. He'd invited someone he'd only just met into his home. I couldn't put my hoof on it at the time, but something about that scared me.
My nervousness won out, as it always seemed to, and I started to creep the rest of the way into his apartment. The bedroom was in a short hallway, and I had to turn a corner to get into the living room. For a moment I just paused, staring. It was definitely different from my apartment. It was almost like something you would see on the cover of a magazine. There was this big picture window across from me, and the only light in the room was coming from it. It cut across the coffee table and sofa, almost like you'd see in a movie. It's sort of funny, in retrospect. I don't really know if that's what it was really like, or if my memory is just playing tricks on me. That's what the whole thing was like, really, was a movie. Not just the apartment, I mean, but the whole situation. It was like a scene out of a romantic comedy.
I've always really liked romantic comedies. My roommates would make fun of my taste in movies sometimes. They all liked big action movies, or science fiction, or horror. I don't know why, though, but I could never really get into movies like those. Action movies to me always seemed so distant, so unreal. A movie like a romantic comedy, though, I could get into. They felt closer to home than other sorts of movies, like they were the sort of thing that could happen to me someday. I liked that feeling: the thought that some day I could end up living a movie. I think it was always sort of a silly thought, but I thought it anyways. My mind drifted back there while I was standing in the living room, actually. I started to wonder if maybe I had seen something like this before. The nervousness was still there, but it was starting to slip away. I think if it were left on its own it would have faded completely, but it was completely shattered when I heard Neon start to sing.
It was so strange. I don't think I'd ever heard anyone do that before, just start to sing. He didn't even sing quietly, or to himself. He sang like he knew that people were listening, and he didn't care. He sang like he wanted them to listen. His voice was beautiful, so perfectly clear. It was like ringing crystal, cutting through all the other sounds and shoving them away. More than anything, though, it was just so incredibly earnest. I still remember the words he sang perfectly.
“I have set aside everything I love,
I have saved everything else for you,
I cannot decide what this doubt's made of,
Though I've thought over it through and through...”
He stopped singing, and for a moment it was silent. The silence seemed almost sharp, prickling in my ears and drawing out strange things, like a needle drawing blood. Thoughts and feelings, each seemingly omnipresent and far stronger than I had felt in years. They rushed through my mind and body, and for the briefest of moments I felt awake. He poked his head out the kitchen and grinned broadly. His mane was somehow messier than it had been the night before, and he was still wearing his sunglasses. He greeted me cheerfully, breaking me the rest of the way out of my stupor.
“Hey Sunny!” he said happily. “I was wondering when you were going to get up. How's it going?”
“Um,” I said, grappling with the word, “I'm fine. How about you?”
“I am fantastic!” he said, hopping, disappearing back into the kitchen. “I'm making pancakes! You want some?”
“Yeah... yeah, sure. Thanks.” I just kept staring at the door to the kitchen, as though I were expecting him to pop back out at any moment. Or perhaps I expected him to begin singing again. I expected something, at any rate. All I received were more disembodied words from the kitchen.
“Great, because I made waaaaay too many for just me to eat. I'll get you a plate. You want syrup with those? Peanut butter?”
“Just syrup is fine,” I said, walking cautiously into the kitchen. “I don't think I've ever had pancakes with peanut butter...”
“Seriously?” Neon asked, peering at me around the cupboard doors. For however neat the living room was, the kitchen was the picture of chaos. Dishes and utensils were left everywhere, covered in flour and pancake batter. A carton of eggs lay open on the counter, missing half its contents. Two half-done pancakes sizzled on the grill, and a stack rested precariously on a plate on the table. “Man, forget the syrup then. You're having them with peanut butter.”
“What?” I asked, blinking at him. Part of me was still focused on the mess. Next to the storybook perfection of the living room, it seemed almost offensive. “Seriously? Peanut butter? Really?”
“Yeah!” Neon said, “It's great. Trust me, you gotta try at least one.” He grinned at me expectantly, his eyes flicking back to the grill on occasion.
“Ssssssure?” Neon laughed, clapping his hooves together.
“Awesome!” His horn lit up, levitating a spatula and flipping the pancakes on the grill. After a brief inspection he removed them, placing them atop the stack on the table. “You've got great timing, you know that Sunny?” he asked me. “Pancakes are ready! Have a seat.”
I sat at the table, and as I watched Neon prance around the kitchen gathering utensils and toppings, I started to envy his enthusiasm. I know it seems stupid, but I couldn't help it. He bounced around the kitchen like he didn't care about anything at all. It was as if the pancakes were literally the only thing on his mind.
I've never had that sort of enthusiasm. I've never been able to just do something without worrying about what might happen, or thinking about what will come next. I've never been able to treat something like it was the most important thing in the world. Even when I was a teenager, when you're supposed to treat everything like it's the end of the world. I was always wondering about what would happen next. What would I do if this or that happened, what does this or that mean for me and my future? I think sometimes that that was where the problem really came from. That worry. It was always there, hanging over my head like a guillotine, ready to drop if I so much as smiled too widely. I could never be excited for something because of it. I wonder if I would have ever needed to go to Canterlot if I had let myself get excited sometimes. Maybe if I had been excited in Cloudsdale, I would have stayed. I guess that much is obvious.
Honestly, though? I don't really mind. I'm glad that I never got excited like that in Cloudsdale. I wasn't really at the time, though. It's funny that I'm thinking about this now. I was thinking about it then, too. About how I had never been excited for anything in Cloudsdale like Neon was. My mind was starting to drift back home. The strange thing is, it's hard to remember what I was thinking about there, too. It's the same as the night I arrived in Cloudsdale. It's this vague, almost dreamy feeling. I can at least remember the basics, though. I'm pretty sure I was thinking about my parents, which I guess makes sense. They were always the first place my mind went when I started to worry. I would always go to my parents for advice. All ponies will, I guess. I always figured that they probably knew what they were doing. I mean, they'd been through it all once before, right? They probably knew all about what came next, and what you should do about it. I figured I could learn from them. They figured I could learn from their mistakes, at least.
“Sunny!” Neon shouted, snapping me out of my stupor. I shook my head and stared at him.
“... Huh?” I asked. Neon cocked his eyebrow at me.
“You okay, dude? You kinda left us for a minute there.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, shaking my head again. “Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I’m still waking up.”
Neon nodded. “Not a morning guy, huh? Sorry–my roommate wasn't a morning person, and she hated when I got like this.”
“No, it's alright,” I said. I paused then, Neon’s words seeping in completely. The worry was back again, though that time I couldn't think of why it was there. I know now, of course, but back then it was baffling. “Your roommate was a mare?” I asked. “Was, uh... she your marefriend?”
“Huh?” Neon asked, for once visibly surprised. He paused for just a moment, then laughed.
“Hah! Naw, she wasn't my marefriend. Probably wouldn't have gotten a two-bedroom with her if she was... no, she actually moved out to live with her coltfriend.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
“Anyways, back when you were in la-la land I was asking how you were liking the pancakes?” I blinked at him.
“What?” I asked, looking down. I realized that I had been moving completely on autopilot and started eating without realizing it. The taste of peanut butter still lingered in my mouth, but I didn't really remember what the pancakes had been like. “Um...” I said, staring at my plate. It seemed to stare back, accusing me of some silent apathy.
“Ooh!” Neon shouted, clutching at his chest dramatically. “Ouch, that hurts. That hurts me, Sunny!” He grinned at me from behind his sunglasses and his horn lit up, sliding the plate of pancakes away from me. “If you're gonna be like that,” he said, “I'll just have to finish all these by myself.” He lifted the pancake on top of the stack, flopping it onto his plate and spreading it with peanut butter. I sat in silence for a while, watching him eat. I'm not sure if he noticed or not. His glasses made it hard to see what he was looking at, or even to discern his expression sometimes. I noticed then that his mouth was strangely expressive. It was always doing something, even more than just frowning or smiling. It was always moving, I guess filling in for his eyes. In a way it was almost cartoonish, but it was also sort of mesmerizing. I found myself drifting away again, but this time instead of slipping back into my head, I started to talk without realizing it.
“Actually,” I said, “can I have another? Another pancake, I mean?” Neon looked up at me, and laughed.
“That's the spirit, Sunny!” His horn lit up, and a pancake drifted off the stack and onto my plate. “You want the syrup, or the peanut butter?”
“Mm... the peanut butter, please,” I said.
“Of course!” Neon said, passing me the jar.
Some part of me was aware of what was really happening. At the time I just thought I was just slipping back into my head, like I had when I left my apartment. Slipping back into that comfortable vagueness, that strange dreamy silence. The thing is, though, I remembered. I was still aware of what was happening. I never switched off like I would every other time. The lights were still on, and I could still see. Some part of me realized that, whether I was doing it willingly or not, I was letting Neon draw me out. Even looking back on it now it feels amazing, the way he did it.
I was studying as a light technician at Cloudsdale University. It's the sort of job where you have to meet with a lot of ponies. Everything needs light, right? Everything deals with light. So I wound up talking to a lot of different ponies, and a lot of them I had a lot of stuff in common with. The thing is, I wasn't ever really that good at making friends. I could meet the ponies, and talk to them, but I never really made a connection with most of them. I had friends, I guess, but for the most part I just... slipped away. I just sat back and let it happen. I guess I don't really need to say that I'm a passive pony by this point, but I am. I was always fine with just letting things happen, and I guess all those other ponies never really felt like working to get through to me. They all had their own problems to deal with, I guess.
I'd never, ever met another pony like Neon Lights. I'd never met a pony who could make me talk like that. That's all that we did. We sat in the kitchen, talking over pancakes. We didn't even talk about anything special. We might as well have been talking about the wallpaper. I think even that would have made me happy. That's what I was. Happy. Purely, wonderfully happy.
“These are really good!” I complimented through a mouthful of peanut butter-covered pancakes. Neon laughed at my goofy grin.
“Good to hear it,” he said. “And good to see you feeling better.”
“Huh?” I asked. “What do you mean, feeling better?” I knew what he meant, of course, but I didn't really want to admit it. I could feel myself start to shrink back again, and I think Neon must have noticed that too. He waved his hoof nonchalantly.
“Better,” he said, adjusting his glasses and looking away, “more awake, less asleep. Whatever. You know what I mean.”
“Oh!” I said. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm starting to wake up a lot more.” Neon smiled again. It wasn't his usual grin this time, though. It was smaller, and softer.
“Good to hear,” he said. “You want any more pancakes?”
“Oh, no thanks,” I said. “I'm stuffed.”
This time, Neon grinned. “That's a pretty good place to be, you ask me,” he said. “Guess that means I gotta toss these things in the fridge, though.” He got up from his seat, opening the cupboards beneath the counter. He fished around in them for a moment before producing a small Tuppermare container, which he started to load the few remaining pancakes into. Almost without thinking about it I got up too, taking the dishes to the sink. I started to fill it up with soap and water before Neon set down the pancakes.
“Whoa, whoa whoa, dude!” He said, “What are you doing?”
“Uh, the dishes,” I said, taken aback. “Why?”
“You don't have to do that, Sunny,” he said, “I can get them.”
“No, it's alright,” I said. “I mean, you did make me breakfast and all...”
“Yeah, 'cause I was trying to be a good host. And, you know, being a host sort of means not getting your guest to do your dishes.”
“You also let me stay with you,” I said. It's sort of funny just how much I was pushing to do it. Any other time I'd have just done as he said, but I was sort of enjoying my moment of activity. I wanted to do the dishes. I wanted to choose to do them. “It's cool. I'm used to doing other pony's dishes anyways. My roommates aren't exactly as neat as you...” I must have sounded a bit sullen as I trailed off, but Neon simply shrugged.
“Well, if you insist. Just at least let me help you out there, okay?” He put the pancakes in the fridge, joining me by the sink. It was small, and tucked in the corner of the kitchen. We were close, almost bumping hips. My heart started to beat faster again, and that time I knew exactly what it was. I remember smiling awkwardly. The sort of smile that doesn't want to start, but you don't really have a choice in the matter. The sort of smile that creeps into your lips a little bit at a time, and makes you want to laugh even when you've got nothing to laugh about. We set to work washing the dishes, the soft clinking and clacking a soundtrack for our conversation.
“So,” he said, “Your roommates don't do much dishes, huh?”
“Eh...” I said vaguely, “yeah, not really. They honestly don't do a whole lot of cleaning, for the most part. I do my best, but four stallions just make too much mess for one to clean, you know? At least clutter doesn't start to stink, so that's not too bad, but the dishes sort of need to get done.”
Neon chuckled. “I hear that. Kinda sucks having lousy roommates, huh?”
I shrugged. My good mood was starting to fade, and I could feel that dreamy feeling slipping in again. “Well... I wouldn't really call them bad, just... I don't know. They're cool stallions, you know? It's just that being alright with somepony and living with them... aren't the same thing. It can wear on you after a while.” That was an understatement. The dreamy feeling was there, but it wasn't taking over. I still felt clear. I could feel things in a way that I hadn't before, see things more clearly. I could feel it building up inside me, trying to get out... I wanted it to. I let it.
“There's three of them. We live in a little apartment, so we have to double up in the bedrooms. That's the worst of it, I guess. I don't really get time to myself. Sometimes I have to sleep on the couch for some reason or another, but it's not like it makes a difference. I mean, it's not like I could really call my bedroom mine anyways. The guy I share a room with... he's probably the worst of us. His stuff just sort of spreads out. He's a really relaxed guy, so he doesn't exactly give much thought to picking up after himself.
“He was always telling me to relax, telling me I needed to 'chill out'. I mean, I guess I could get kinda short with him about picking up his stuff. I've always been a clean sort of guy. Not like super clean, I just don't like stuff lying everywhere. You get used to it, though. I just kinda wish I didn't have to feel like the bad guy for wanting stuff to be clean now and again. But I'm outvoted there, so I just went with the flow.
“They've all got a lot more in common with each other than me, I guess. I just feel like an outsider sometimes, you know? Like, they're all friends and I'm just the guy who's there. When they graduate they'll all stay friends, and I'll just move on. I'm 'temporary'. I'm just kinda drifting through their lives... I mean, I want to get to know them, but it's just so hard. We don't like the same movies, or the same music, they know what they want and they aren't changing it for anything. Hell, I don't even like m-” I stopped suddenly, as I realized that my talking had turned pretty quickly into ranting. I peered up at Neon. I couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, but he was still and quiet.
“I...” I said slowly. “Sorry. That, um... I didn't really mean to talk your ear off, like that.”
“Ah, don't worry about it,” Neon said, suddenly becoming animated again. “Everybody needs to get a load off now and again, I know what that's like. I know what it's like to be around ponies you don't have much in common with, too. It can be rough.” He nudged me playfully, and smiled softly–almost sweetly–at me. He seemed to radiate warmth. I imagined I could walk out with him into the bitter coldness right then, and feel as though it were spring. “Don't worry about it. I'm happy to lend an ear if you ever need it.”
“Thanks...” I said. I sort of doubted how much he was telling the truth. Neon seemed to be so confident, so strong, so sure. It was hard for me to believe that he'd ever felt the same as I did. Those feelings I was just beginning to realize I had.
“Don't mention it,” Neon said. “Gotta get it out, right? Especially if you have to go back...”
He kept talking, but I don’t know what he said. I had stopped listening. A feeling of sickness had washed over me, creeping through my veins like some evil bug. His words echoed in my ears, ringing in my head like a funeral bell. If I had to go back, he had said. I had to go back.
“Speaking of,” he said as I came back to equestria, “I'm gonna go get dressed. I still want to show you something before you end up leaving. You aren't in much of a rush to head home, are you?”
“No,” I said, maybe a bit too eagerly. “No, I'm not in a hurry.” I couldn't discern Neon's expression from behind his sunglasses, but he shrugged.
“Cool... you wanna hang out around the city before I show you the thing? If you've never been on the ground before, I bet there's a lot of stuff you've never seen. I'd really like the chance to show you around.”
“Yeah,” I said. “That sounds like a lot of fun, actually.” Part of that was the truth, but mostly I was just glad to have the opportunity to put off going home just a little bit longer.
“Awesome!” Neon said happily. “I'm just gonna go throw something on. Make yourself at home. The sofa's crazy comfy.”
“Thanks,” I said, following him into the living room. He trotted away, disappearing into the hallway, while I moved slowly to the couch. I slumped down, but I didn't take the time to notice whether Neon had been right about his couch or not. I felt like I'd just been stabbed through the heart. For however long it had lasted, I had been happy spending time with Neon. I didn't have to think about home, or university, or my roommates, or my parents. I didn't have to think about living my life, or about making a mistake that would ruin everything. There I was, though, worrying.
My mind started to wander again. My head was still clear, though. I didn't fade away. I didn't just passively accept it. I don't really know why, even now, but this time I thought about it. I had always wondered just how much a single moment of clarity can do... but apparently a moment can be enough.
I thought about my parents, first. My parents were strict. Not the sort of strict that punishes you a lot or puts a lot of limitations on you. The sort of strict that's disappointed in you when you do something wrong. The sort of strict that makes you feel guilty. All the time I was growing up, my parents would tell me about mistakes that they had made, or that their parents had made raising them. It was as though they had this list I never saw of mistakes that they were determined not to let happen. They would always step in if I was about to make one of their mistakes, whether it be trying to fly too high before I was strong enough, or to make the wrong friends.
Before too long I just got used to listening to them, I guess. I mean, they seemed to be right at the time. The few times I did make one of their mistakes it was always bad, so I decided they were probably right. As I got older, though, their mistakes started to get more confusing. They stopped being things like taking drugs, and started being things like not studying hard enough to get into a good university. I didn't want to make the mistakes, obviously, so I went along with it. I had always just accepted it. The same way I'd always accepted everything. I just passively let them guide me and followed their path. It wasn't always that dreamlike state, obviously. Not at first. It still happened from time to time, but only when things got really rough. My only relationship with a mare is like a dream. Breaking my leg when I was a teenager is like a dream. The thing is, the longer things went on, the easier it was to slip into the dream... and sitting on that couch, I finally started to realize it. Even there, I could feel the dreaminess. I lingered in the back of my mind all the time, waiting for it’s chance to slip in. The more I thought about it, the more I could feel it. It draped over my shoulders like a blanket. It had always felt warm, before, a comfortable silence. Sitting on the couch, though, it felt different. It just felt heavy, weighing on my shoulders and tightening over my chest. My head began to feel full, as though it had been stuffed with cotton. Bit by bit, I began to realise that these weren’t new feelings. I had always been feeling them, I just hadn’t noticed.
I was afraid. I think I had been afraid for a long time, in a way. So subtly afraid, for so many years, pushed down to the bottom of my mind. For once, though, I wasn't pushing it away. I could feel it, loud and strong. I know that it was Neon. I don't know what it was about him... but with him, I was happy. With him, my head felt clear. With him I wanted to do things. I wanted to be active, to be silly, to be excited. I wanted to gush over the way the light glinted off his sunglasses. I wanted to calculate the position of the sun based on the light through the window. I wanted to account for the refraction of the glass. I wanted to play with a prism like I did when I was little. I wanted to do so many things, things that I hadn't wanted to do in years. I wanted to things I hadn't ever done, like play in the snow. That weight hung on me so heavily, but for the first time in ages I didn’t want to give in to it. I didn’t want to slip away, or to forget. It felt as though I was finally beginning to understand, beginning to come out of a dream. I didn’t want to go back to sleep. I wanted to wake up.
I was more afraid than ever. I was so desperately afraid that the weight would pull me down, and that I would fall into the sleep again. I think I began to panic there, on that couch. I could feel the vagueness slip in. For a moment, it seemed like I would lose, and fall asleep... but I didn’t. An alarm came for me. Perhaps he woke me up. Perhaps he gave me the will to wake up on my own. Even now, I’m still not sure. It was beautiful, though. He was beautiful.
“Hey Sunny,” Neon said. His voice felt warm, like the summer sun on your face first thing in the morning. It was soft and smooth, like audible cream. I looked up at him from the couch and blinked. He even looked warm.
His mane was as messy as ever, falling haphazardly around his horn and down his neck. He wore a black button-up shirt with a small white silk tie hanging loose in the front. It was simple, but it suited him. The sunlight glinted off his glasses, and he was smiling that same soft smile he had given me over breakfast. In that moment, I could feel the vagueness slip away. The weight lifted, and my head cleared. I was awake.
“You ready?” he asked.
“Uh, yeah,” I said quietly. I got off the couch and trotted with him to his front door. As I wrapped my scarf around my neck, he slipped into the same coat and scarf he had been wearing when I'd met him.
“If you were going to cover it up, why get dressed?” I asked. Neon paused for a moment, then smiled sheepishly.
“That's... a really good question, actually,” he admitted. “I don't know. Principle, I guess?” His smile turned sly, and he added, “Or maybe I just like showing off.” It was hard to tell, but I think he winked at me behind his sunglasses.
I still wasn't sure what was happening, then. I was so confused, my head reeling with too many conflicting feelings and emotions. It was as if this were the first time in years I was really feeling something. There were two things I did know, though. I knew that when I was around Neon I was happy, and I knew that whatever else happened, I didn't want to go home.