• Published 2nd May 2013
  • 2,711 Views, 19 Comments

A Secret Crush - Kill Joy



The coltcuddlers writing contest winners!!!

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9
 19
 2,711

Third Place

I want him

By: Appleloosan Psychiatrist

It was his eyes, really.

That was the first thing Sorren noticed about him. Amid the surging crowd that flanked the marching Wonderbolts, it was his eyes that caught Sorren’s attention. The crowd was a swirling mass of smiles and colors and shouts, and Sorren reveled in the chaos. He bounced along the cloud with the rest of his team, hearing the shouts and screams. Every time he heard his name, he raised a hoof in the direction he thought it might have come from, and flashed a smile at the mare he thought might have said it.

All that fell from him whenever he saw that stallion’s eyes, though.

The stallion wasn’t waving, or jumping, or shouting. He was sitting as calmly as he could, right next to the rope that sequestered the crowd from the performers.. Sorren’s glance over him was accidental, and he would have completely missed the stallion otherwise. It was a plain looking pegasus, with a mottled brown coat and a mane that was wild and unkempt, framing his head haphazardly. He looked young – not a day out of university. There was nothing about him that demanded attention.

His eyes were golden. They weren’t bright, or shimmering, and just like the rest of him were subdued. Sorren never studied aesthetics or read poetry, but he was forced to a halt whenever his eyes locked with this stallion’s. He felt his hooves hit the cloud slower, and slower, until he was stopped completely, and could only stare at this stranger. The eyes hinted at something, they had something more behind them, and Sorren sudden felt an urge to know. They weren’t the sun, and they didn’t ask for his attention. For the first time since the frantic cries of his name rang out in the crowds of fans – for the first time since he joined the Wonderbolts, he felt small in front of the crowd. This stallion was bigger than he was, somehow, and Sorren wanted to walk over and introduce himself.

The stallion noticed his staring, but Sorren didn’t –couldn’t– stop. The stallion simply smiled without showing teeth. It was thin-lipped and calm. It suited him, somehow, Sorren realized without thinking about it. The smile made his eyes prettier. Sorren smiled back, matching the stallion’s demeanor. He didn’t want to be loud anymore.

The stallion raised a hoof and gave a small wave, like they were old friends passing each other on opposite sides of the street in downtown Manehatten. Like they knew each other but didn’t have the time to say high. Sorren wondered if he went to school with this stallion, somewhere, or if he was an old recruit or teammate. He was about to raise his hoof and response to the stallion’s wave, but then he felt something pushing him forward. His teammates body brushed up against his, pushing him forward. Sorren wanted to move out of his wave.

The stallion blinked, still looking at him, and Sorren fell into the crowd of Wonderbolts once again, and allowed himself to be pushed to the arena. He responded to the cheers absentmindedly. When the show was over hour later, and Sorren was panting and exhausted, he still had to scan the crowd for any sign of the stallion before he departed to the showers. He was absent, which only ensured he would instead have a place in the cyclic thoughts that echoed in Sorren’s mind.

Sorren saw him at the next show. How he could he avoid him, his eyes? He was in the crowd, same as before, Sorren couldn’t stop, he was in the middle of a show, he couldn’t stop and say hi. Was he going to hang around after the show and even if he did how could Sorren approach him? Just fly up and say hi? What’s up? It would never work, Sorren knew the ins and outs of dating and one night stands and hitting on a drunken mare in the middle of a bar but somehow he knew all of his wit and all of his charm would fall into those eyes and they would blink and he’d be gone and he has to focus on the show or his team’s going to yell at him, they’d notice something was wrong.

The next show was the same. Did this guy have a year long pass? He was a heckler, wasn’t he? Some guy just looking to his laugh by showing up at all of Sorren’s shows and making him fall in love, right? Sorren could get him kicked out no, problem. He’d never have to deal with thoughts like these again. Just a sentence to security and he could actually start to focus on the shows again.

At least the showers served as a catharsis. Sorren sat under the running water and let all the thoughts get washed away. He could at least say ‘hi’, right? He could at least say “hi, I’m Sorren. I’ve noticed you around and I was wondering if you wanted to get some coffee sometime,” right? Or should he fly down with a rose in his mouth and give it to him? What color of roses does he like? Red would be too traditional. No, of course, he couldn’t do that, what was he thinking, in front of everyone? In front of his team and the crowd and the world? No, it was out of the question. He couldn’t do that. Sorren wondered if the stallion kept his eyes open whenever he kissed someone. He hoped that he did, even if Sorren wouldn’t have been able to manage to do the same if their mouths touched.

He tore open fan letters with in a panic. Each one could be from him, a hint, an identification. He could tell him his name and where he lived so Sorren could show up and say hi and away from the crowds and Spitfire and everything they could talk and Sorren could tell him how much he’d been thinking about him or would that be too much? Should he just settle for “I like your eyes”? That’d be enough, he thought.

Spitfire noticed how strange Sorren was acting. He knew she would, they were too close, too coordinated that even a single misstep, a single stray from the pattern drew her attention. Sorren brushed away her questions with a cursory answer. He couldn’t get his thoughts clear enough to explain to himself what was wrong and he certainly wasn’t about to get another person like a Spitfire in on the situation even if they’ve slept together before no it just wasn’t going to happen he wasn’t going to tell Spitfire but what if she could introduce me to him?

If his presence disturbed Sorren, if him being at every single show and looking up at the sky as Sorren did flips and maneuvers and clapping calmly and smiling as Sorren waved at him, well, not at him because ponies would notice not at him but near him and Sorren hoped he knew that he was really waving at him, if that threw Sorren off then his absence only amplified it. Sorren noticed it immediately.

Where was he? The eyes didn’t peak out of the crowd anymore. They just weren’t there and Sorren felt his heart maybe racing but it felt more like it was skipping beats and threatening to stop. I was going to talk to him this time, Sorren thought. This time for sure, he was going to say hi. Did he do something wrong, was he not fast enough? The stallion’s been at every single show so far this season, he’s going to be at this one. He certainly wasn’t, and no matter how many times Sorren stopped to scan the crowd.

Sorren awoke to Spitfire calling his name. His body ached, and his skin felt clammy and wet. His eyes were a struggled to open. When he finally managed to gargle out a nonsensical word to his teammate, and he cracked open his eyes, he found an object flying at him and caught a faceful of fabric.

“Hey, stud, time to wake up. You’re late for practice,” he heard Spitfire say.

He grabbed the suit and pulled it out of his face. She was standing there, smiling at him, already zipped up her suit. When he pulled his aching body from the bed and wobbled on the floor, she turned to leave.

“Hey, Spitfire?” he said.

She turned back, her smile fading. “Yeah?” she said.

“Did you see a stallion in the crowd yesterday? One with pr-, one with golden eyes?”

Spitfire’s eyes narrowed. “You feeling okay, Sorren?”

“...yeah, I’m fine. Nevermind.” Sorren said.

“Maybe you should take a break today. You haven’t looked so hot lately,” Spitfire said.

“No, I’m fine,” Sorren said, and began to step into his suit. Spitfire turned to leave just in time.

Sorren didn’t see him at the next show, either.