Sensation (SFW Version)

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 20 - Hot Off the Presses

* * * * *

Soarin's cheeks are flushed. He's looking down, but the sides of his mouth are curled up in a way that warms me inside. He breathes slowly, his muscles look relaxed, and he still has that glow about him. His mouth hangs open for a bit, and after a long pause, he finally speaks. "It's, uh…" He rubs one of his forelegs with his opposite hoof. "It's probably my favorite part of the story." Such a soft voice, too. It's gentle. It's tender. It conveys a sense of serenity that I rarely find in these interviews.

I smile, too, and I savor the lingering stillness. The world is frozen as the scene plays over and over in my head and my heart, this idea of the two of them in each other's embraces, finally willing to let go of their inhibitions and get what they want. I don't speak, lest I disturb the delicate crystalline image in my mind that I secretly hope will last forever.

I want to hug him, to somehow connect and show my appreciation for telling me something so intimate. And I don't even want to think about writing right now. Not a book deal, not an article, nothing. As far as I know, he hasn't opened up to any other author like this, but I don't care. I just want to hug him.

Then again, I really don't want to stand up right now. Is indecent exposure a crime in Cloudsdale?

Deep breath. "That sounds… incredible, frankly. I… Thank you."

Soarin' looks up and nods at me, and he says in a slow, even voice, "You're welcome."

A thought creeps into my mind: a tiny crack racing along the edge of my beautiful illusion. I try to call back images of Soarin' and Braeburn cuddling, cheek to cheek and without a care, but the crack spreads to a fracture. "It's a great story." I look down and knead at the cloud we lie on. The back of my neck has begun sweating in the sun.

Soarin' notices my trepidation. "You okay?" Still soft, but with a touch of hesitation.

"But…" I look up at him.

His eyes have lost some of their radiance. He knows what's bothering me, and he knows what I'm about to say, so he finishes for me. "But that's not how it ends."

My illusion shatters.

I nod. "I wish it was."

Soarin' closes his eyes and tilts his head skyward. He sighs. "You and me both." His wings flap out once, blowing wisps of cloud along my body. With a small shift of his weight, he readjusts himself and speaks to me again. "See, ponies have these ideas about us. They think that once you become a Wonderbolt, then everything starts going your way. You won't have any problems. You just fly around a few times a week and let everypony love you. The job's nice, sure, but…" He bites his lower lip and bobs his head back and forth a few times. Looking for words, maybe? After a moment, he finds them. "…but ponies on the outside see it as this ideal life. Not that that's a bad thing. We make a lot of bits selling them that image."

I crack my neck. "They need it, though. Some of them need to dream that one day, if they believe hard enough, everything will turn around for them and their problems will disappear." I feel both fear and relief when I realize I'm injecting my own opinions into the conversation, that I'm perhaps shedding some of my professionalism. "What did Braeburn say about his orchard? It helps them get through the tough days."

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "They need hope. Right. And…" He's rubbing his foreleg and speaking softly again. "And it's not just flying with the Wonderbolts. It's… romance, too." His eyes flicker up to me, but he has trouble maintaining eye contact. His ears are pressed against his head, and his tail flicks from side to side. He cracks a smile. "Heh heh. You know those words that just feel weird in your mouth? Those words you never say 'cuz you don't wanna…" He shrugs. "I dunno, sound too fruity?"

Screw objective professionalism. "I don't really like that word. It makes it seem like there's something wrong with saying how you really feel. I think a lot of our problems as a society could be fixed if we were a little more honest." I shift in place. "Of course, then we'd have to collectively give up on some of our delusions."

"Right. Everypony wants to believe that you find your soul mate after a long search, and you have your first kiss or you sleep together for the first time or whatever, and then everything is fine. They keep hoping the story will just end, right when the heroes fall for each other, and they'll live happily ever after. Only…" He trails off and looks away.

My words are suddenly very heavy in my throat. "Only that's not how the world works." He's quiet, and I continue. "You keep on living, even when the moment passes and everything begins to fall apart."

Soarin' takes a long, scrutinizing look at his forelegs. They sit there, the same color as the rest of his coat but lacking the muscle mass of an athlete. They are recovering but still enfeebled, skinny little things that act as a constant reminder of his accident. "Yeah," he says flatly, a sudden rumble in his voice. "You do."

Don't dwell. "So." The pieces of my illusion have blown away in the wind and become naught but a memory of a memory. I worry about how much time I'll spend chasing them, but I can't let us get bogged down now. The sun has crested and moved past its zenith, and there is still so much more I need to hear. "Sunday morning, then."

Soarin' chuckles bitterly. "Heh heh. You know, I could probably forgive the press for a lot, but I'll never get over how they won't let a guy sleep in."

* * * * *

Zip zip zip

…

Click.

I woke up slowly, a little bit at a time. The first thing I remember is taking a deep breath and inhaling that scent. It was the smell I'd wanted to wake up to since that stormy night at Honeycrisp's farm: a mix of me and Braeburn that told the whole story by itself. I swear I could still feel the endorphins in my veins. They mulled and smoldered in my blood, and I was happy to let them keep going. My hips were still sore, but in a really, reeeeally satisfying way.

I could still taste him, too. I probably had rancid morning breath, but my mouth still tasted just a little like him. I even ran my tongue along the roof of my mouth, too, and shuddered at the feeling. My eyes were still closed, but I could feel the gentle tug of the sheets with each breath he took. Yeah…

I could hear him breathing. With every breath, he made this tiny sound – it was barely anything at all. It was like a squeak or a hum or a moan, and he sounded comfortable.

Zip zip zip

…

Click.

I cracked open an eye. My vision was blurry, but some of the morning light poured in from the window behind me, and Braeburn's face quickly took shape, just like at the orchard. He lay there mostly under the blankets with one hoof up near his head. A few shadows danced across his face, and his eyes flickered beneath his eyelids, fighting off the sun.

I didn't want him to have to wake up, so I carefully raised one wing from under the sheets to shade his face. His eyes stopped twitching.

I watched him like that for a while. Maybe it sounds creepy, but waking up and watching somepony you care about still asleep? It's amazing. It's probably the most intimate thing you can do with somepony without touching them. We stayed that way for a while: me slowly coming back to consciousness with one wing raised and him still peacefully asleep.

About the time my wing started getting stiff, Braeburn sucked in a large, loud breath and let out long moan. "Mmm…" With a few quick blinks, his eyes half opened, and a smile spread across his face. His voice was raspy. "So it wasn't just a wonderful dream."

My voice was pretty quiet, too. "Nope. All real." I reached out with a hoof and began stroking his face, over and over again down his cheek and to his chin.

"Mmm…" He chuckled and closed his eyes. He let me keep stroking him for a long time, and he only opened his eyes again after I stopped. "Mornin', beautiful."

"Morning, Braeburn." I scooted over, flared out my wings to shield us from the light, and rolled on top of him.

Zip zip zip. Click.

"Dammit."

We were wrapped up in our own little world, still feeling everything from the night before. My body felt heavy, but I let myself lie down on him. He didn't mind. I stroked his hip with one foreleg and wrapped the other between his head and the pillow. Leaning down, I brought him forward, closed my eyes, and pressed our lips together.

There's a kind of sweetness to that first kiss in the morning. Not to run a cliché into the ground, but's like apple pie – it's warm and mild and complex with just a little spiciness. Your body hasn't fully woken up yet, and your senses can only really guess what's happening, but in a way, that's even better. There's nothing else in the world to distract you from enjoying him, from… reliving everything as you slowly suckle on his mouth and roll your tongues around together. Your head feels like it's floating away, and your body wants to be close again. It wants to absorb all the warmth that radiates off of him and hold it inside forever. I liked waking up that way. It made every morning wonderful.

You know something? You were right. It's not too fruity to talk about this stuff. We had something special that morning, and I'm damn sure it made me feel good inside. I'm glad we got to have that moment.

But every moment needs to end, no matter how wonderful. I pulled away from our kiss and rested my forehead on his. It hurt my neck, but getting to just lie there and breathe each other in was the most important thing to me that morning, and I wanted him to know it. "Braeburn, you're the most–"

Zip zip zip
Click-FLASH

A burst of light filtered through my wings, and Braeburn pulled his head away to face the source. "The hell was that?"

"Huh. Don't know. Are there–" I squirmed and tensed up suddenly. I knew what it was.

Braeburn twitched under me. "Geez, Soarin'! What is it?"

"Uh…" I looked down at his chest. 'Damn, that's nice.' I thought about burying my face in it again, but then I shook my head and snapped back to reality. I kept my wings carefully in place to obscure the window as I looked back Braeburn. "You're already out to everypony, right?"

His head stayed rock-solid. "Appleloosa, my immediate family, and some of my cousins." He cocked an eyebrow. "Why?"

I gulped and squeezed him tightly, afraid that he'd knock me off of him and expose himself. My voice got really high pitched and fast, and I slowly turned my head. "Eeeeeever wonder what it's like to be famous?" My face scrunched up.

His pupils constricted. "Tell me it isn't."

"Okay, it isn't." When he kept staring at me, I was forced to add, "But it totally is."

He blinked about a million times in two seconds, then violently shook his head and stared at me. "What? Soarin', I don't want my face all over the papers. What if they say somethin' bad about me?" He gasped a little. "Aw, geez! What if they slander the town?" He pressed a hoof to my chest. "Shit! Soarin' don't let 'em get any pictures! We gotta get rid of 'em!"

I nodded and slowed down my breathing back to a normal pace. I knew I needed to be calm for him – he hadn't had to deal with the press before, and I had. "Okay. Here's what you do: take a deep breath and shimmy down under me."

"Soarin', I'm not blowin' you right now!" He was totally serious, too. Never question the logic of a groggy, panicking pony.

I gave his forehead a quick kiss. "Cute, but no. I just need you to hide under the covers."

"Oh." He blushed and turned his head away. "Alright, then." He sucked in a deep breath and, after I'd arched my body up, he scooted down the bed and faced away from the window, covering his face with a section of the blanket.

My mind raced, but you don't get to be captain of the Wonderbolts without knowing how to think on your hooves. I grabbed the pillow Braeburn had been resting on and hitched up my wings.

Zip zip zip

'Steady,' I told myself. I peeked through a small break in my feathers, and I could see him – an orange pegasus with a giant, fancy camera aimed directly at us. His hoof was moving to the button.

I waited.

…

He lifted the camera to his face.

I waited.

…

His wingbeat faltered, and he dropped halfway down the window.

I fired the pillow at the window. "Asshole!"

Click-FLASH! "Hey!"

I kicked my way off the bed and hitched up my wings.

Zip

I bolted to the window just as the pillow made contact with the glass. It cracked a little.

Zip

I rotated my wings back to stop myself right by the glass, right in his face, close enough to see his awful beard.

Zip

I reached for the curtains on either side of the window.

He jerked his hoof to the shutter button…

…and I yanked the curtains closed, nearly pulling the rod off the wall!

Click-FLASH! "Dammit!"

Fanart by Soarburn_Forever (FIM Fiction| Deviant Art)

I flapped and landed half a trot back. My eyes rapidly scanned the edges of the curtains, looking for any place he could see inside, but there were no clear lines of sight. When I was satisfied with my work, I let out a breath and plopped onto the floor with a loud sigh. I finally relaxed my muscles.

"Soarin', who the hell was that?"

…aaaaaand immediately tensed back up.

Braeburn shuffled out from under the covers. "Some pervert from one of those rag magazines or somethin'?"

It took me longer than I'd like to admit, but I turned around to see a slumped-over golden earth pony staring back at me in the dim light that filtered through the curtains. His eyes were droopy. His frown was wide and open-mouthed, and his mane was an absolute mess with individual strands of hair sticking out all over the place. His fur was matted down. He wobbled, and he sounded like he had to blow his nose.

And he was still the most beautiful pony in Equestria. I didn't want to make him sad.

Braeburn cleared his throat and asked again. "Sorry. Why in Equestria would some reporter follow you all the way out here? W–" He paused and stared at me for a moment. "Were you trying to get some publicity or somethin'? Y-you weren't…" He leaned forward a little. "…right?"

The shakiness in his voice pierced me to the core. I think he worried I was using him, and I quickly spat out a bunch of explanations. "Dude, no! I hate those guys. They're parasites. I always try to avoid them. They just latch on whenever they think they have a story. They're barely even ponies!"

"Then why'd they follow you all the way out here?"

I shrank a little, closed my eyes hard, and shook my head. "I-I don't know! I mean, paparazzi only follow hot stories, and they wouldn't have any reason to–"

My eyes shot open. It felt like I'd swallowed a mountain.

Braeburn gave me a moment, but when I stayed silent, he asked, "Reason to what?"

I made the mistake of looking directly into those big, pleading eyes. They wrenched more words out of me, just to make it stop. "To want a picture of a Wonderbolt that unexpectedly missed a show."

"But you're on vacation." His head rocked back and forth a few times, and he gestured with a hoof. "Why would they care? I mean, it's pretty normal, right?"

I couldn't look at him anymore. "I… not… exactly." Everything on me drooped, and my wings brushed against the floor.

"Soarin'?" He spoke slowly, like he knew what was coming. "What's goin' on?"

"I sorta…" The words were like rocks I my throat. "…got temporarily c-cut from the team."

…

It was quiet.

"You lied to me."

I was crushed. My thoughts raced with images of his face on a tabloid, front and center, under a headline about "Soarin's Secret Lover."

"You lied to me."

I looked up again. My ears stayed flat against my skull.

He started blinking a lot and looking all around the room, and his breathing picked up. "Soarin', that ain't right. T'ain't right at all." He looked down at the bed and took a few deep breaths. "How many were there?"

I relaxed a little. "Just one. Pegasus dude. Keep it down, though. He might still be there." I tried to listen for flapping, but the blood pumping in my ears drowned out everything else.

Braeburn nodded and opened his eyes. "Well, the sheriff can probably give us a hoof, at least. He'll be on his way soon enough, and we can all move on, even if some trashy magazine has a… a-a few words about us." He shook his head and whispered, "Oh, Celestia…"

He didn't get it. Of course he didn't get it. "Uh, Braeburn?" I bit into my tongue when he gave me a hesitant look. I almost didn't say anything, but…

Braeburn snorted and furrowed his eyebrows. "You're thinkin' of lyin' to me again, ain't ya'?"

"S-sorry." I sat up and pointed a hoof at him. "Brae, what do you think happens next?" I'd asked slowly and quietly. Deep down, I hoped he already knew.

His voice was flat. "What do you mean?"

"That reporter is… probably just the first."

I almost didn't hear him respond. "…what."

"Once his agency finds out where I am, they'll be all over this place. I mean, I'm surprised there aren't more of them already."

His eyes grew wide, and I suddenly felt like I was trapped in a sinking ship. "No, they…" He chuckled nervously. "Heh heh. They wouldn't be interested in a small town like Appleloosa, right?"

I could practically see the front page: Fallen Star Retreats to Desert Hideaway! "They will be if they think a washed-up celebrity is hiding here." I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

Braeburn didn't. "Dammit!" He punched the bed. "What the hell is wrong with them? Ponies are just tryin' to live peacefully out here, away from all that bullshit!" He leapt off the bed and paced around the room. He was rambling again, but much more violently, and his hooves shook the floor with every stomp. "Why they gotta disturb everypony out here? Ugh, this is gonna be hell for our tourism. And what the buck am I supposed to tell the townsponies? Oh, sorry, some bugs are flyin' around. Just swat 'em and pray they don't publish all your personal information. Hope you don't mind losin' your privacy. Ha!"

"Braeburn, I–"

He whipped his head towards me. There was fire in his eyes, and he pointed them straight at me, his voice booming. "That kinda sudden exposure kills small towns, Soarin'! Always happens – buncha city ponies see a popular location in the paper, and in two shakes of your tail we've got all manner a tycoons buying up land and runnin' everypony off!" His voice shook, and he was on the verge of tears. "Everythin' I worked for – everythin' we worked for – gone! Poof! Just like magic! And don't get me started on what everypony's gonna say! They'll be on my case the moment I step outside – about how 'see what you did' and 'told you the tourists were bad news.' Soarin', I might not even have a home anymore!"

I couldn't move.

"What, that big mouth o' yours suddenly out of words? Oh, right, you wouldn't tell the truth, anyway! I'm in a heap o' trouble, Soarin', and it's all your–"

I froze like ice. My teeth clenched, and the silence was worse than the screaming. I had brought them there. He was right.

But his expression softened, and the fire died down. "T-this is…" He paused again and cleared his throat. He frowned. "This is some bad luck, ain't it?" He dove back onto the bed and buried his face in the mattress with a sigh. "Just awful."

It was like that moment between when you see the lightning and hear the thunder. Only the thunder never came, and that anticipation took a long time to fade away.

I finally found my voice. "Sorry. You're right. It's my fau–"

"Oh, don't you start." He sighed again, rolled onto his back, and covered his face with a foreleg. "How'd they find you, anyway? Can't imagine you advertised your lack of employment."

"I don't know." I lay down and curled up, thinking back to all the little details from my trip. 'Holli wouldn't have told anyone I'd been cut. Must have been one of the 'Bolts. Ugh. Figures. But how did they find me?' I grunted and decided to say something before Braeburn started worrying again. "I didn't tell anypony I was coming here. I bought my ticket at the bank and left, and the only time I was in public very long was when I stopped to eat some–"

A moment came flooding back: my mad dash from the restaurant to the train at the last second, when I saw a camera flash from a leery-eyed unicorn at the Manehatten train station. "…shit."

Braeburn let out a harsh chuckle. "And they say country ponies have weird appetites."

I looked up. "What?" I didn't get it.

"Never mind." His foreleg was still over his eyes. "What happened?"

"Somepony snagged a picture of me at the Manehatten train station. Probably a paparazzo. If they'd recognized me and been any good at their job, they could have easily tailed me to Canterlot and seen me dash to the train to Appleloosa. Wouldn't have been too hard." I settled back down into a little ball. "He probably went back to his publishing company, and they probably sent that reporter guy."

"Were you wearin' a disguise?"

I knew he wouldn't approve, but no more lies, right? "Just my sports cap."

I heard him mumble, "Nopony appreciates good hats these days."

I didn't know what to do, so I just lay there, letting my thoughts spin in circles.

A few minutes later, we heard a knock.

Braeburn sat bolt upright, and I jumped to my hooves. My eyes shot to the door, and my heart stopped when I saw it was unlocked. Yeah, I know. If somepony had wanted to barge in, they wouldn't have knocked. Cut me some slack, though. I was stressed.

Still, I finally unclenched my jaw when a low, familiar voice rumbled through the door. "Soarin'? It's Slate. You up?" He paused. "I'm alone."

My stomach sank. If he knew to say he was alone, then something had to be up.

I trotted over to the door and swung it open. His familiar grey coat was a welcome sight, and he had a small saddlebag over his back. "Come in. Quick." I stepped aside and waved him in, shutting the door behind him.

"Mornin'. Sorry to bother you this early, but–" He stopped in his tracks, and I turned around just in time to see Braeburn give him an awkward smile.

"Uh… Hi, Slate." Braeburn grabbed the sheet and gave a weird little wave. It was adorable. "You, uh… You look well."

Slate's nostrils flared. His nose wrinkled, and it became painfully obvious that our scent wasn't as appealing to everypony else as it was to me. I wished we could have let some air in. Slate blinked a few times and shook his head. "Glad to see you here," he said in a monotone.

I stepped up next to him. "You are? Why?" I chuckled. "Braeburn needed to get some that badly?"

A pillow hit the side of my face. At least I'd cut the tension a little.

"Naw. Was worried he was trapped in his own house."

Braeburn leaned forward. "W… What do you mean?"

"Big ol' crowd of ponies swarmin' the place. Silverstar and a few others are trying to kick 'em off your property, but no luck. Good thing you lock your doors and keep your curtains closed, I reckon."

Braeburn's face went white. "Did they… bother anypony? What do the tourists think? A-and the townsponies?"

Slate nodded solemnly. "They pestered everypony all mornin'. Somepony let it slip that they saw you go home with Soarin' last night. A lotta the folks 'round here are downright pissed."

Braeburn took a few shaky breaths. "You got your flask?"

Slate paused for a moment. "Yeah." He sounded unsure. "Yeah, I suppose." He reached into his saddlebag and tossed Braeburn a small metal container. "It's yours anyway, Brae. I'm still workin' through the stuff you gave me a couple weeks back."

With practiced hooves, Braeburn twisted the flask open and tilted it all the way back. He suckled on it like a newborn foal, and as he chugged, I saw his breathing slow down and his muscles relax. He drained the whole thing.

And I felt so, so inadequate. I wanted to be the one to comfort him and tell him it would be okay, but no. He didn't want my shoulder. He wanted some booze.

Braeburn finished with a big sigh. "Nelly…" A little of it dripped down his chin. He wiped it off with his foreleg. "So what do we do?"

Slate turned to me and asked, "Any chance they can be reasoned with?"

I shook my head. "Hell no. They're in it for the bits, and they won't leave until they get something juicy. They're here to stay."

Braeburn was tracing a hoof along the sheets. "Meanwhile, everypony in town's gotta put up with 'em." He mumbled something else. I think it was something about blame, but I couldn't hear. Slate and I both waited for him to keep going. Braeburn spoke slowly. Sadly. "They'll keep takin' pictures and disruptin' the harvests and bringin' in the tycoons and ruinin' everything." He looked up. "They're after both of us, right? Not just you?"

I nodded.

Braeburn looked toward the covered window, and a thin ray of light draped across his face. "Then we have to leave."

Braeburn once told me that trees need to stay planted, that you can't just move them around all the time and expect them to bloom. He hadn't been talking about trees. Sweet Luna, I wish I'd known how much it hurt him to say 'leave.' Maybe it wouldn't have changed anything, but at least I could have comforted him some more or something.

Instead, I just said, "Yeah, okay. How?" I was too focused on escaping. My wings itched and my stomach felt knotted. I wanted to fly just to work off the energy.

Slate spoke up. "Figured you might want to turn tail for a while. The Sunday train pulls out at ten."

"Sunday train?"

"Mostly for the tourists," Braeburn explained. "We were able to get the schedule modified a little. Some of the tourists just wanted a weekend getaway."

I smirked at him. "And by 'we,' you mean 'you,' right?"

He blushed and ran a hoof through his mane. "Well, yeah." He was smiling – just barely – and that made everything just a little better. "Any idea how we sneak outta here?"

Slate sat down. "Already talked to Minute Hoof." He turned his head toward me. "That's the conductor, Soarin'. She's a fine lady. Says you two can stow away in the front car until you're out of town."

"Slate…" Braeburn fidgeted and looked down. We both faced him. "I, uh… I… don't want my face in the papers." He paused. "You get it, right?"

Slate sighed and nodded. "Of course."

I took half a step forward. I had a plan. "Then we should disappear for a while. If we let them know there's no story here, they'll have no reason to stay. Meanwhile, we skip town for someplace we can be anonymous."

Braeburn cocked his head to the side. "Where?"

"Las Pegasus."

We worked out the rest of the plan: I'd create a distraction just before ten, and Braeburn would sneak to the train. Slate would keep the photographer outside our window busy, and one of his friends would be at the train to help Braeburn get in unseen. I gave Slate the name of a hotel the Wonderbolts always stay at, and he said he'd mail us some of Braeburn's stuff. When I offered to pay, he refused. We had it all figured out. Slate left to distract the photographer, and we had about half an hour to kill.

As soon as the door had shut, Braeburn gave me a flat, "Hold me."

I looked over at him. He was still on the bed. "What?"

His eyebrows were knit, and his mouth had flat-lined. "Get over here and hold me," he grumbled. He lay down on the bed with his back facing the window.

I walked over and slipped under the covers, spooning him. We stayed like that for a long time. I breathed in his mane and didn't say anything. Whatever he was going through, I figured I was too far removed, and the best I could do was just be there for him. At least he hadn't asked for another drink.

A long time passed. Braeburn broke the silence first. "You know, daddy always said that coltcuddlers get run outta town."

I felt a pang in my chest. Reflexively, I kissed the back of his neck and squeezed him. "Brae, that's not what's happening. We're leaving, sure, but it's not because you're gay. Everypony here loves you." I wrapped my wing around his middle. "I just messed everything up." I could feel him deflate in my forelegs, so I tried to be perky again. "Don't worry, though! Las Pegasus will be great! And we'll get out of here without any photos. Promise."

He scooted back into me a little further. We stayed like that until it was time to pack up and go.

I waited by the door while Braeburn packed the last of our stuff into our saddlebags. Six rhythmic knocks rapped on the door. It was safe. I slipped out. Daisy Springs was there, and she gave me a nod and led me out the kitchen door onto one of Appleloosa's side streets.

There was a high wind that day coming from the west, blowing dust and sand along the road. It was already getting hot, and I hadn't eaten or gotten any water. Terrible flying conditions, but I didn't have a choice. I galloped a little to pick up speed, then launched myself up into the air, flying in the opposite direction from Braeburn's house to cover my tracks.

The wind picked up even more. My wings strained from the effort of going at max speed from a cold start, and my pulse pounded as I flew against the wind. I wasn't there to enjoy it, though, and I wasn't there for training. I had a mission.

A few hundred meters up, I doubled back and headed for Braeburn's house. It wasn't hard to spot – it was the house at the edge of town, and holy cow were there a lot of colorful dots around it. They were swarming the place, some of them hovering a little in the air. You may think it's impossible to see small differences like that, but you need perfect vision to be in the Wonderbolts. Discriminatory? Maybe, but noticing small details quickly can be the difference between somepony dying and just getting away with another concussion.

I glanced down to the train station. Ponies were lining up to get on. I circled in the air like a buzzard, blue coat against the blue sky, waiting.

Below, a few of the dots were trying to push the others away. They were the good guys – they all had hats.

I looped around again, shakily maintaining a holding pattern in the deafening winds. The seconds took hours to tick by, but eventually, I saw a little golden pony with a brown vest and hat creep out the back of the hotel. It was time to move.

Quickly, I spiraled downward. 'Okay. Interview face. Don't let 'em see you sweat.' I psyched myself up – I had to convince them I was there to see Braeburn. 'Single-minded. Ignore their questions. They won't look away if they think the door will open. I just–' Something tugged at my hoof. "Hey!"

My eyes shot down to my hoof in time to see a faint blue aura disappear. Can you believe it? One of those assholes tried to pull me down with magic! That's so illegal! I hate those freaking media ponies.

Oh. No offense. I mean… you know what I mean.

Anyway, I had their attention. The swarm all gathered at the porch and moved around beneath me. Their murmur grew into a loud roar as I finally found a spot to land, right in the middle of a tight ring of a dozen or so ponies.

"Mr. Windsong! Is it true you've been dishonorably discharged?" Flash flash!

"Soarin', who is Braeburn? And how long have you been having this affair?"

"What does Sapphire Shores think of all this?"

"How will this affect the upcoming season?"

"Will Fire Streak officially take over your responsibilities as captain?"

'Don't react,' I thought. I remembered all the coaching we got at the academy and all the times I'd had to put it to use before. 'Walk towards the door, a few steps at a time. Don't look at anypony directly. They won't touch you if you go slowly.' I knew the rules, and so did they. As ruthless as they were, they knew what would get them arrested or, worse, get their agency permanently banned from interviews.

I made it to Braeburn's front door. 'Make it count.' I took a big, showy breath and let it out slowly. As I lifted a hoof, a hush fell over the crowd. Two knocks against the wood. Their cameras were pointed right at me. Another deep breath. "Braeburn? Braeburn, it's okay. Let me in." I had to choose my words carefully. They were already going to call Braeburn reclusive, and I needed to keep my words generic enough that they wouldn't have anything else to go by. "Braeburn? C'mon, please?"

Another wave of pictures. I knocked again, more loudly this time. The pictures stopped, and the mob behind me pushed in again.

"I said you folks gotta go! I have the authority to arrest every single one of you!" Good old Silverstar. He never let anything like the facts keep him from doing his job. I wondered if he even knew where Braeburn was.

A loud whistle pierced the air. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the train lurch forward and start heading north. I made my move. With a few quick flaps of my wings, I was hovering, and I moved to the south side of the house and up to the second-story window. A few of the reporters stayed by the door, but predictably, most of them followed me over. 'Perfect.' I pressed my face up against the glass, and two pegasus reporters hovered right next to me, one snapping pictures and the other waiting for something they'd never get. "Braaaaaaeburn. Braeburn?"

It was hard to hear with the house in the way, but the sound of the train's wheels rumbled quieter and quieter. I wanted to go, but I still had to wait. I told myself that letting it get out of earshot would be good enough – it would be a bitch to catch up to, but I knew I was the only one there that could even do it.

Doing my best to slump and look sad, I lowered myself to the ground and closed my eyes. In no time at all, they had me surrounded, babbling questions as fast as they could.

I held up a hoof. "I'll take questions now." I only had to buy a few more seconds, and the train would be too far gone for anypony but a top athlete to catch. I opened my eyes and pointed to a random pink pony.

"Soarin', we've heard a lot in the last few days. Who's Braeburn, and why isn't he answering the door?"

I took a few deep breaths. It was time to have fun. I made my lip quiver, pretended to sob, and spoke in a shaky voice. "I…" Pencils scratched paper. Pathetic, right? It was only one word! "I-I don't know." More furious scratching from a lot of wide-eyed, smiling ponies. I could see the gears turning in their heads, each one thinking of the best way to spin the story. I cranked up the sadness even more, and I even got my eyes to water a little. "It's p-probably… b-because…"

They leaned in, ready for my big heartbreak.

I perked up and gave 'em a big smile. "He's already left town!" Before they could react, I snapped out my wings, shouted, "Later, assholes!" and bolted into the sky, leaving them all coughing in a huge cloud of dust. As soon as I crested the top of the house, I was gone, and the pegasi that tried to follow me didn't stand a chance.

A Wonderbolt needs a lot of endurance, but we're good sprinters, too. A couple minutes of flying later, I saw the train, and I saddled up next to it. Now, landing on a moving runway is tough. The wind resistance shifts out of nowhere, you have to brace yourself for the change in velocity, and so many things can go wrong. I'd done stunts like this before, though, so I knew what to look out for. The train was only four cars long. I picked the first passenger car, and after four careful attempts, I managed to stumble onto it with all my parts intact. I crawled along the top to the front, climbed down the ladder, and knocked on the pilot car door.

It opened, and I was face-to-face with a grey pony in a crisp blue suit. She spoke in quick, clipped words and seemed to even blink efficiently. "Mr. Windsong, yes? Come in. Braeburn is here." She stepped aside to let me in with military precision.

I was so relieved to see Braeburn there that I didn't notice he was frowning.

The conductor didn't have time for feelings. "You are permitted to stay here until I return. I must collect tickets, and I will ensure the cars are free of reporters. It is my job to ensure your safety. Enjoy your ride." She disappeared behind me and shut the door, leaving only me and Braeburn in the cramped, dirty car.

I took a step forward, breathing a little heavily from my flight. "So, mission accomplished?"

"Not quite." His cold tone stopped me in my tracks. He looked up at me with wet eyes. "One of 'em caught me gettin' on the train. Looks like I'm gonna be famous."

"What?" I was welded in place. "No. No no no."

Braeburn was quiet.

And I lost it. "Dammit!" I stomped, sending a loud ring echoing through the room. "Those jerks! Ugh!" My jaw tensed up, and I swore, and I punched one of the walls. I don't know what had gotten to me more: the fact that Braeburn was sad, or that the press had gotten the best of me. Honestly, I think it was mostly the latter. I hated that. "Dammit! After all that? They just can't–" I caught sight of Braeburn.

He was slumped down, eyes dull and dark like a doll somepony had thrown aside. His whole body was limp, and even though he was still breathing, his body looked completely still. He looked weakened. Broken.

It hit me. Braeburn had been through this before, having somepony he cared about and trusted freak out at him, overreact about something he thought was his fault, and his emotional defense was to shut down. My heart split in half thinking about him all those times Bronze must have yelled at him and… gotten violent, all those times Braeburn had felt hopeless and weak. And I imagined he'd felt the same after I'd told him to say hi to his dresses.

That memory rattled me to the core, and there we were again – me yelling and throwing a fit and taking it out on him. I shook my head. 'No,' I thought. 'I have to be better than Bronze.' I gave myself a few seconds of stillness to calm down, and I asked him in the gentlest voice I could, "Hey, Braeburn?"

He didn't look at me.

"I'm sorry. I'll be okay. I shouldn't have freaked out." The space between us felt like it spanned all of Equestria. "It's… I bucked up." I lie down, covering my face with my wings. "I should have told you about the Wonderbolts. It's my fault."

Silence hung in the air for a moment, but Braeburn said, "I…" He sighed and nickered. "Soarin', I'm not angry about that, and there's no point in either of us mopin'."

I peeked out. "You're not mad?"

Braeburn rolled onto his back, gave a weak smile, looked at me, and patted his chest. His voice was soft and a little sad, but it still had that color that was all his. "C'mere, you. Let me play with that dirty mane of yours."

I think it comforted him to have something to fidget with. Just being there and not yelling, really, and letting him do what he needed to do. He was letting me be his comforter, and that raised me up like a hot wind at my back.

I scooted over and lay sideways with my head on his chest. His breathing was steady, and I felt like a little foal again. "But I didn't tell you the truth."

He ran his hooves along my head and neck, gently caressing and massaging the anger out of me. "Well, no, you didn't, but I get it." He rubbed a little around the base of my ears. "You had a secret. Somethin' you were ashamed of, and you were afraid somepony you cared about would be mad enough to hate you for it. Soarin', I've been there. Believe me. I get it." He craned his neck down, and I felt him nuzzle the top of my head. "And I forgive you. Just… don't do it again, promise?"

I rolled onto my stomach and stared at that broad, gorgeous chest of his before meeting his gaze. There was no judgment in those eyes. "I promise."

He smiled. "I believe you."

"You have to promise me something, too, though."

He cocked his head. "What is it?"

"If you're not happy…" I looked at him. "Like, if I'm doing something that makes you sad or I get too angry or something, and you're not happy, you have to tell me, okay? I… I wanna be better than Bronze." I flinched a little, but I was still looking at him.

He hesitated and tensed up, but he didn't respond.

"Promise?"

"…Yeah. Okay. I promise." He leaned back onto the dirty floor. "So, what's the story with the Wonderbolts? Anythin' else I should know?" When I didn't answer right away, he added, "I can keep rubbin' if it'll help."

I lay back down on him. "Thanks, Brae."

"No problem, Big Black."

I snorted and looked up to him. "Sooooo, I didn't disappoint, then?"

"Well…" He winked at me. "If you wanna be better than Bronze, you're off to a good start."

I leaned in and nuzzled under his chin. "You're the best, Braeburn." My whole body felt lighter, and I settled back onto his chest.

And I told him everything, from that night with Sapph to getting cut and wrecking my condo. He just kept massaging until the conductor eventually came back and kicked us out. We found a spot at the back of the train, where nopony could eavesdrop (or smell us), and I went over Holli and my trip to Appleloosa, and all the way up to getting Braeburn's door slammed in my face.

And he let me talk. He waited patiently, paid attention, and let me spill it all. He threw in a few little jokes here or there, and when I was finally finished, he smirked, shook his head, and said, "And they say celebrities have it easy."

"We do, honestly. I don't have to deal with a closed-minded town."

"They're not that bad, Soarin'. Yeah, they talk, and maybe a hoofful don't like the way I am, but they're not as judgmental as you think. Most of 'em just disagree with my policies or think I'm too promiscuous. They let the gay stuff roll off their backs." When I snickered, he jabbed me playfully. "Oh, you know what I mean. Really, though, they come around."

"Yeah, but ponies like Pridesong–"

"Are no exception. Heh heh. Who do you think Slate got to help me get on the train?"

I blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Uh-huh. He's mighty vocal about the tourists and the way I cater to Canterlot, and he certainly didn't like having a big-shot celebrity in town, but he's alright. Said I'd be missed and that I do a damn fine job, even if he doesn't always approve."

Ponies never stop surprising me. "Wow."

"Eeyup."

We both looked out the window to our right. Braeburn was in the window seat, and I leaned against him.

After a few minutes of letting our thoughts roll away with the scenery, he spoke up. "Never been to Las Pegasus before." He turned to face me. "You'll take care of me, right?"

"Always."

He leaned in for a quick kiss, and I obliged. We both quietly nickered and pressed our foreheads together, which turned into a long, warm hug. In spite of everything, we were together, and we were okay.