Sensation - Appleloosa

by Vivid Syntax

Chapter 13 - The Apple Thief

As I finished my letter to Aunt Honeycrisp, I heard three strong knocks on the door. I groaned and answered. What I saw was less of a pony and more of a tea kettle that some fool had sealed shut and put over a fire. I asked, “What is it, Pridesong?”

“Barely a day!” He stomped, and his back hoof kicked out. I’m surprised he didn’t throw his hat on the ground. “I mean, dammit, Braeburn! Couldn’t even wait one day?!”

Between my leftover anger at Bronze, my guilt over sleeping with Coal Shaft so quickly, and my desire to get the hell out of town, I didn’t have much patience left for Pridesong. “Mind your business.”

He snorted. “You got the gall to–” He grit his teeth. “Ugh! So this is it, Braeburn? Going back to sleeping with every tourist that waltzes into town?”

I saw red again. “That ain’t the way I do things, and you know it! And Coal Shaft came on to me, for your information.”

“Braeburn, this ain’t good for you! It’s not healthy!”

“Aw, what do you know?” I felt the ache on my cutie mark. “You don’t know what it’s like, what I’ve been through!”

He stared daggers at me. “I know I defended you when folks were callin’ you a damn slut and a shame to the community!” He shook his head, and his voice lowered. “And I feel like a fool for telling them they were wrong.”

That hit me deep, but I was too exhausted to avoid burning another bridge. My lips tightened. “Good day, Pridesong.” I shut the door in his face. He didn’t linger. He stomped away, and I wouldn’t talk to him again for weeks.

I got my letter sent off. Aunt Honeycrisp wrote back quick, and she invited me to come over as soon as I was ready.

And, well, I had some things to take care of before that. Namely, my orchard. That would take a few more days, at least, especially lining up somepony to help the new workers. Slate had offered in the past if I ever needed a break. He did a little of everything, and like me, he cared more about his community than the bits in his pocket, as long as his family was housed and fed.

It made sense to ask him, because, well… there was one more thing.

I stood in my kitchen that afternoon, staring at a cabinet full of booze. Most of it Bronze had bought with his mine money. My eyes pored over the selections, and I could almost feel each one in my mouth when I looked at them. Scotches, brandies, vodkas, rums, gins… Every flavor lingered in my mouth like a phantom, compelling me to do just a little taste test.

But I remembered what Bronze had said, how many times he’d insulted me for being a lush. I knew what I needed to do, but that didn’t mean I could do it. My hoof tapped on the floor. I stood welded in place, my mind reeling with all the different reasons not to go through with it. ‘That detox was hell. Will I really stay off it? Just a little won’t hurt. It’s an awful waste to get rid of it. I can be responsible this time. It’ll be different.’

I felt like I was falling, but this time, I caught myself. I sucked in a breath and said, out loud, “Yes. It’ll be different, because I won’t have it in the house.” I grabbed as much as I could carry and brought it to a wagon out behind my house. It took several trips, but I loaded it up and brought everything over to Slate’s.

It didn’t take many words. Slate understood, and by then, he’d heard Bronze had left and that he’d been none too kind to the workers. And, well, if that one day in the street was any indication, he at least suspected Bronze had a violent streak, too. I asked him to help mind my orchard. I offered him full-time pay, but he did it for a lot cheaper. He said, “Braeburn, you do more than your share for this community. Least I can do is return the favor while you get your head and your heart right.”

I shook my head. “Not sure if I’ll be able to do all that, Slate.”

He nodded to the pile of booze. “Seems like you’re taking good steps. Don’t doubt yourself so much.”

I smiled, and after I gave him a few more instructions and set up some time to go over the particulars of the orchard, I returned home.

I threw myself into my work again, teaching the new workers, getting Slate up to speed on my plans, checking on trees, and planting a few new ones in an expansion. It was smaller than I'd hoped for, but, well, I was down one very important pony.

And I thought of him every night. When I got back to my house, I would call out, "Miss you, Wings," hoping I'd miraculously hear a response. I wouldn't, and then I'd be sad all over again. I started writing him letters, too. Stacks of 'em, going on and on about my day and how I missed him and how I was embarrassed and proud of my night with Coal Shaft at the same time and how I'd find him again after my trip to Honeycrisp's. I couldn't send them, of course. Bronze never gave me his or his sister's address, so I had no idea where he was. I was writing them for me.

I remember one of them was just simply:

Wings,

You deserve better. I'll always love you, and I hope I can be the home you're searching for someday. I'll get there.

Please come back.

Applebutt

The week went by, and I kept blinders on. Work, chores, sleep. Merriweather and Copperline came to check on me after they heard Bronze was gone, and a few folks got angry about broken promises for clouds, but I just… tuned it all out. I didn't go to any town meetings, either. Merriweather at least said she'd lead them, and she does good work. Nopony asked about my bruise the whole week. Not to my face, at least.

We didn't get any tourists that weekend (a blessing, honestly, because who knows what would have happened), and with hardly a look back, I took the Sunday-Monday train to the station in Hoofenburgh, a few stops west of Manehattan. The trip took almost a day, but I didn't mind. They call it liminal space, I think, where nothing happens and nothing matters, and let me tell you, I never wanted to leave. I knew if I looked back, then I’d feel it all again. That was the last thing I wanted.

But Auntie Crisp pulled me out of my funk the moment I stepped off the train. "There's my big hero of the west!" Auntie Crisp is tall for a mare and built like a workhorse. She wears makeup, because she says it puts folks at ease, but she works out so they won’t get too comfortable. As soon as she saw me, she gave me a giant hug. "Now, I got us a carriage, and don't even think about carrying your own luggage while you're my guest. I won't have anypony accusin' me of bein' an imperfect host."

I laughed. "Wouldn't dream of it, Auntie Crisp."

With a satisfied nod, she picked up my bags. "Good colt. Let's roll!"

The carriage ride was pleasant, even if it felt much too fancy for little ol’ me. We talked about the state of Appleloosa, what was being built next, the condition of our orchards, a little gossip about the family (you can’t not talk about ‘em right?), and all about her upcoming trip. She’d decided to make it a double-header: while she was in the city, she’d swing by the bottling company for her annual visit. Auntie Crisp had her hooves in a lot of pies, and I was grateful that she had so much to talk about.

Because the truth is, I was back to wearing the mask, just like when I gave tours. I was used to it – you’ll find that most queer ponies my age are, I think – but at least it was easy around her. She didn’t pry.

Her farmhouse was as clean and idyllic as ever. It was actually her second: she’d turned her starter house into a break room and general-use building for her laborers and built a new, more perfect house for herself on the perfect hill in her orchard. It was like a fairy tale: surrounded by trees, far removed from everything else in the world, ideal for watching the sun rise or set on porches, and meticulously painted and re-painted to look spotless. Inside was full of awards and mementos from all her family members and friends, and she had a lot of them.

Once I got settled in, we took it easy for the rest of the late afternoon, and she filled me in on the orchard work I’d do to earn my keep. She knew me well enough to know I couldn’t sit around with no purpose. We had a slow-cooker wild rice soup that night for dinner. Not my usual fare, but it was savory, creamy, and filling. I had seconds on her recommendation. Auntie Crisp nodded at the liquor cabinet. "Digestif? I've got a fresh batch of moonshine."

A lump appeared in my throat. "I'm, uh… tryin' to quit the sauce."

She let it roll off her back. "Good for you. You'll be healthier for it. Need me to lock it up?"

I looked over to the cabinet. It would be so easy to sneak a nip. "Naw, I'll be good."

Auntie Crisp laughed. "Don't be too good, now, hon. I'd hate to see my shiny little nephew grow dull."

I blew air from my lips. "No chance of that any time soon." It came out flatter and angrier than I had intended. Sometimes the mask slips.

She paused and cocked her head. "Okay, I’m done pretendin’. What's got you all out of sorts?"

Immediately, I responded, "Just… lots going on." It was a standard answer, one that usually got folks to move on. I ran my spoon around the inside of my empty bowl.

"Is it related to that news you mentioned? From your letter a few months back?" When I looked up at her, she added, "You said you wanted to say something face to face, if I recall."

I stammered, "I… I might have– I don't know if it's really the right time to…" My head swirled. I remembered what I'd said, how I'd planned to tell her I'm gay. Shouldn't have surprised me that she was waiting for it.

Ever sly but kind, she reached over and gently grabbed my hoof. "Well, I'm just grateful that you wanted to come out." There was just enough of a pause for me to suck in a breath, look directly at her, and swivel my ears her way. She still wore the gentlest smile I could imagine. "To the farm, I mean."

I released my breath. "Ha. Haha! Uh… yeah. Of course! Thank you for havin’ me."

“Pleasure’s mine.” She gave my hoof a squeeze. "I can't imagine how hard it must be in Appleloosa: lots of pressure, projects all the time to lose yourself in… and from what you’ve said, you’ve got some big dreams.” Her voice was soothing, but she spoke directly, without a hint of hesitation. “I would guess that the way you live your life might even rub some ponies the wrong way, folks who don't understand how beautiful it is. How simple it is, really." She held onto my hoof and met my gaze. "And maybe this wasn't the best time to come out, and that's okay. I'm happy to see you all the same."

I gulped. I didn't want to tip my cards, but, well, she clearly knew. "Did… did you talk to my parents?" My eyes felt heavy and wet already, like the first few drops before a thunderstorm.

She chuckled. "Heck, you think my little brother keeps in touch? Mighty generous assessment. I bet I talk to Gal more than him these days." She took a deep breath, guiding me to take one myself. "But I hope you know: you can come out anytime you want, and I will always have a big hug and a shoulder waiting for you. I love my nephew no matter what."

My lip quivered. Tears welled up. I felt something that I don't know if I'd ever felt before. It was like… Imagine every day, when you left your house, you had to walk through a field of stinging burrs. But then one day, you find that all of them had been replaced with the softest daisies you’d ever seen. My skin prickled and my muscles tensed all the same, like they always had, because my body couldn’t reconcile with the tenderness that my mind told me was real. It felt soft and warm, and yet, a part of me was still afraid that those daisies held thorns beneath their petals. "Muh… I'm…"

But I was feeling things again. The dam was bursting.

Auntie Crisp stood up, walked around the table, and gave me a big hug. "Sh… It's okay. Let it all out, Braeburn."

I cried into her shoulder, much as I tried to stifle it, and it all spilled out. “M-my coltfriend broke up with me.” I hugged her back, tight as I could. “Bronze, he… I love him so much, but I screwed up, and now h-he… He’s gone, Auntie Crisp. He left. H-he–” I choked up.

Auntie Crisp stroked my mane, but she didn’t say anything. She let me go at my own pace. These daisies had no thorns at all.

The softness of it all sent more words tumbling from my mouth. “We were so happy, but it all went wrong, and he was my first real coltfriend, long-term, living together, plannin’–” I sniffled. “–plannin’ and dreamin’ of the future a-a-and…” I couldn’t get more out.

“Wow,” she whispered without judgment. “That’s a mighty pain to bear on your own, Braeburn. How long were you together?”

“Eight months,” I sobbed.

She squeezed me tight. “Oh, Braeburn… Yeah, that’s a long time. Heck, half the straight couples I know had gotten engaged by then. Plenty of time to fall in love.”

“I love him so much. And I’m…” I realized I hadn’t said it, and it felt like a lead weight in my mouth that I had to spit out. “I’m gay, Auntie Crisp. Colt-cuddlin’, stallion-lovin’ gay. And I want that to be okay. I like bein’ gay. It makes me happy. It feels right.” I thought of Bronze, and my heart broke all over again. “But I… I haven’t told Ma and Pa, because they’re just starting to come around, and if we broke up, then…” My mind spiraled, a tangled mess like a yarn ball that the cat got ahold of.

But Auntie Crisp was true to her word. She had nothing but acceptance for me, plus a pair of the most patient ears I’ve ever experienced. I told her nearly everything: when I’d known I was gay, coming out to my parents, and most of the story with Bronze. I… I didn’t…

…

I didn’t tell her about the abuse. I still wasn’t ready. I still didn’t want anypony to try to keep Bronze away from me.

Our conversation took us long past sunset, and Auntie Crisp was nothing but kind. I was exhausted from my travels and our talk, and I excused myself to go to bed early. She understood. Whether it was being in a new spot, the smell of those magical spring varietals, or the relief from knowing I didn’t have to worry about hiding around Auntie Crisp, I fell asleep immediately.

My life as a gay stallion came up a few more times during my stay. She never pushed it, but she always listened. I will remember her kindness for the rest of my life.

Work on Auntie Crisp’s farm is mighty different from my orchard. There’s more of a science to it. The trees she cultivates are hearty, but they take a lot of sun. The species is still so new, she doesn’t know all its weaknesses yet. See, she’s always been a scientist. First in the family to get her doctorate. Agriculture, naturally, and she’s been experimenting with apple trees since before I was born. Her life’s work is trees that can pollinate in the autumn when the late summer insects are going wild, hibernate over winter, and give fruits in the springtime. Apples are good for long-term storage, but nothing beats fresh, and the sales from her Springsweet variety have been plenty to fund more of her research. Heh. Folks will pay a pretty bit for fresh fruit when there’s none around.

Two days flew by in the blink of an eye. Auntie Crisp would give me lessons and let me taste test the apples. I’d work with the laborers most of the day, partly to learn, and partly to meet them, since I would oversee them while she was at her conference over the weekend. At night, we’d review her presentation and negotiation tactics. Now, I don’t claim to be a smart pony, but if there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s sell an idea to big wigs, and Auntie Crisp was very pleased with my suggestions.

And, in the quiet moments, I would think of Bronze. I took lunch alone out in the orchard, and I found myself talking to the trees. “I hope he’s okay, Ferdinand.” Auntie Crisp wasn’t sentimental enough to name them herself, so I just gave them names as I went. “I don’t… want him to suffer.” I deflated. “I want him to come back, and maybe we set some boundaries. Or, hell, maybe I tell him the expansion is his to do what he wants with. It’s small enough. I can take the hit if it goes to hell. Appeloosa can, too, if I massage my production report to Canterlot. Do you… think he’d like that?”

Ferdinand didn’t answer. I took another bite of his apple. The Springsweets lived up to their name, with a flavor that was almost grape-like. It reminded me of frost wine: something about the chill of winter made the sugars develop in a certain way. It made me think of the taste of Bronze’s lips.

I set the apple down next to me and sighed. “I bet I can find his sister in a directory somewhere. Dusk ain’t such a common family name…except, shoot, she’s married. Maybe I can leave him my letter somewhere? I bet he’d read it.” I got a little thrill up my spine. “He said he’d come back if I apologized. And then he’d…” I trailed off. “Well, he’d be the same as always.”

I lay back under the tree and looked at Ferdinand’s dense, healthy leaves. “Ferd, what do I do?”

Ferdinand still didn’t answer.

So, I thought about someone else. “You there, Jonah?”

Jonagold. My older brother, who passed away from a fever when I was too young to remember. I’ve seen pictures, of course, and he looked a lot like Big Mac.

I told him the whole story, start to finish, from the day I met Bronze. He listened, I think. I like to believe he’s always there, watching me and still trying to be the big brother he only got to be for a short while. Laying it all out for him, I got a pit in my stomach. “It’s… Hell, it’s a real messed up situation, ain’t it, Jonah?”

At least I was admitting it.

Wednesday night, we made a big batch of pie crust and baked a pie together for dessert. We ate half of it ourselves and stored the leftover crust while we did the last little touch-ups to Auntie Crisps’s presentation. She felt ready, her bags were packed, and I was set to watch the orchard until she got back Tuesday morning.

I had one more good sleep, and I dreaded returning home to the nightmares that awaited me.

The morning was like the others that week, except that Auntie Crisp was heading out early. She gave me one more big hug. “Now, I know you’re working, but you’re still a guest. Anything in the house is yours, whether you need it or just want it.”

I nodded. “Thanks, Auntie. It’ll be okay. You’ve got a tight ship running here, and it seems simple enough to keep it going.”

“You’ll do great.” She kissed my forehead. “Take care now, Braeburn. I’ll see you Tuesday.”

Another thing that separates her from most Apples? She can actually say a quick goodbye.

We parted: her heading down the road, and me out to the orchard to buck a few apples for the weekend farmer’s market. The bucking took a little more work: Springsweets have tougher stems, you see, to keep the nutrients flowing during late-winter cold snaps. But the exercise did my brain good. It got me thinking about my bucking technique, power versus accuracy and all that, which kept me from thinking about anything else.

With a full cart, I walked through the lines of trees, smelling the sweet scent that filled the air in the morning sunlight. It felt serene, except for a nagging feeling. You know how sometimes when you’re alone, you could swear there was somepony else there? It was that feeling, all throughout my body. Call it earth pony magic or whatever you like, but the trees seemed on edge. I resolved to examine them as I walked into a small clearing.

And right then, a big, blue idiot shouted, “Gotcha!” as he careened towards my cart.

I ducked, since I thought he was diving at me from the tree. I shouted, “Whoa, there!” right as he crashed into my apples and let out a confused, awful scream.

That blow he took was nasty. Apples ain’t heavy, but crashing into a pile like that probably wasn’t too different from a brick wall, to say nothing of the way he tumbled ass over tea kettle through the grass. His body bent horribly, and it was all the worse when he crashed head-first into a tree.

He went deathly quiet, and I screamed, “Holy hell!” as I unhitched myself as fast as I could. I rushed over to him, and thank Celestia, he was still breathing. I checked him over: no immediate damage, but he was groaning and barely conscious. His safety goggles had slipped down onto his neck during the crash, but at least he’d been smart enough to wear them. Yelling and tapping his cheek didn’t rouse him, so I poured my canteen over his face to try and wake him up. And thankfully, that got him to open his eyes, though only for a moment. The sunlight must have hurt him something fierce, so I gave him my hat and helped him to the cart, where he finally mumbled a word of thanks.

My mind and my heart raced. I tried to remember every little thing I knew about treating injuries, but it all escaped me. Plus, I wasn’t really experienced with checking wings for damage. If nothing else, I knew I had to keep him conscious, so I chatted him up as best I could while I brought him back to the farmhouse. Honestly, I don’t remember much of what I said. I just babbled and babbled, trying my best to keep him with me, though I think I steered the conversation into a few awkward spots from time to time.

Heh. It tickles me that Big Blue remembers that moment so clearly, almost word for word. He remembers a lot, and it's a joy to hear him tell our story. I suppose you know all about that already. Now, I don't wanna talk your ear off, so I ain’t gonna repeat everything Big Blue’s already told you. He tells the story well, probably better than I could, and I'm happy leaving it be. Mostly. But if you’ll indulge me, I’d like to fill in a few gaps and let you know what kind of pony he really is.

The stranger introduced himself as Soarin’ and acted all goofy. I assumed it was the hit to the head, but I’d have slapped him if I’d known what was really on his mind when he talked about eating my pie.

I was focused, though. He could have been injured. Hell, he was injured, far worse than we knew, but I wanted to get him back someplace safe where I could call for help if I needed to. And…

…

Well, I didn’t call for help. Outwardly, he seemed okay, like he’d just taken a light hit and that he could walk it off. I shouldn’t have let it go so easily. I should have worried that he’d had internal bleeding, or noticed when the symptoms came up later, when he was having more and more trouble reading, but there was so much going on, and I…

Big Blue says I shouldn't blame myself for his aphasia. He tells me that I did all I could, and that he has to take responsibility for his own decisions and mistakes. I admire that in him. It helps me feel less guilty. Most days, at least.

We got to the house, and he could already walk on his own by the time he crawled out of the cart. I offered, “You can lean on me if you need. Don’t want you fallin’ down again.”

Soarin’ blinked a few times, then stood taller and shook out his mane. He stumbled a bit, but he stabilized himself. “Eh, I’ll be fine. But do you have, like, a hose or something? I’m kiiiiiinda covered in applesauce right now.”

I shook my head in surprise at how quickly he’d bounced back. “Uh, sure thing. You need help?”

Soarin’ narrowed his eyes on me. He wore a confident smirk, the kind you always see big celebrities use when they’re posing for fans. I could practically read his mind: ‘Do you want to help?’

And I… dammit, no use denying who I am. Yeah. The thought crossed my mind, like it did with just about every guy I met. To say that Soarin’ is a handsome stallion is to say that the ocean is a little wet. Seeing him stand up, no longer in the middle of an emergency, I…

I told him, “It’s around back,” and I curtly walked around the house, assuming he’d follow. I cursed myself for falling for this again. ‘Dammit, I’m here to get away from all that, not to just throw myself at the first dolt who falls outta the sky.’ Soarin’ followed at a short distance, and I showed him the hose. I snuck a peek as I walked away. He was… testing out the pressure on his more sensitive parts.

But I walked into the house and sighed. We had some of the leftover pie from last night, so I threw it in the oven. I grunted and thought, ‘No, that won’t do. Auntie wouldn’t approve of serving old pie.’ So while it heated, I got out the peeler and some of the overwinter stock of red and golden delicious apples, and I started whipping up an old recipe of my mother’s. With all the tools and spices out from earlier in the week, I got it in the oven lickity-split.

Soarin’ came in through the kitchen door after shaking out and drip-drying, and he set his wet goggles and my hat on the hat rack. He’d taken his sweet time, and I was worried he’d passed out again. But when he walked in, his eyes fell right onto the leftover slice of Auntie Crisp’s pie that I’d set on the table. “Woah…” He sniffed in, and his eyes went wide, pupils dilated.

I jerked my head towards it. “I’m working on a fresh one. That one’s old and probably ain’t good anymore, but you’re welcome to it in the meantime if you–”

He flapped his wings and was at the table before I could finish.

Soarin’s got a… let’s call it what it is: a borderline sexual obsession with pies. On the one hoof, who could blame him? It’s the best dessert there is. On the other, wow, he just lets all decorum go when he gets his face on it.

He was literally licking the plate when I laughed at him and said, “Tastes good, doesn't it?”

“Yeah!” His wings flared up. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing! Better than Bad Sun, even! Got any more?” His tail wagged like a puppy’s.

I laughed again. “Comin’ right up. Sounds like you’re a connoisseur.”

We chatted about pies for far, far longer than I ever have with anypony else. Soarin’ went on and on about the different kinds he’d tasted, from exquisite, fluffy meringues in Manehattan’s finest restaurants to homemade fruit pies in run-down diners. I got the sense that he was somepony rich, or at least important, since it seemed like he’d been all over Equestria. Whenever the conversation turned to my own experience, I steered it back so as not to bring the mood down.

But he was so full of life. It was infectious. When Soarin’ talks, he uses his hooves and his wings and his whole face. He feels things strongly, and I found myself just watching him move. His gestures were smooth and graceful. His expressions were big, like he was in a theater show and wanted the back row to see. And gosh, his wings. I… have a certain affinity for wings, you might say. They flexed and flared and accentuated every little story he told. When he spoke, I didn’t think about my troubles or my home or even Bronze. I swear, the light from the window framed him like an angel, and I was completely enraptured from that first conversation.

We talked about pie for an hour. I know, because my timer went off, and I had to take my special Two-Apple Twirl out of the oven. He asked for another slice of Auntie Crisp’s pie while he waited, and even after that second piece, he absolutely tore into my fresh one. I imagine he burned his mouth, but he didn’t let on.

And the whole while, I felt like a shy filly in front of him. I remember I crossed my legs, all coquettish, and I asked, “So… ya’ liked it?”

He looked me over, then his face lit up like the sun. “I bucking loved it! Anything to wash it down with?” He pointed to my aunt’s liquor cabinet. “How about one of those?”

My heart stopped. I thought back to the winter: how easy it had been for me to fall into bad habits. I wanted so hard to be better, and as embarrassed as I was, the pain in my chest won out. “I-I’d rather we didn’t. Please.”

That beautiful stallion of mine… I could see it on his face: he knew he’d crossed a line, and he wanted to make it better. He made this goofy face and tried – terribly, I might add – to imitate my way of speech. “Aww, don't they teach yew tuh hold yrr liquor out west tharr?"

I laughed at that and poked fun back at him. I took his plate and moved it to the sink, and another thought crossed my mind: maybe having somepony else here wasn’t so bad. I certainly wasn’t looking for a new Bronze, but in many ways, Soarin’ reminded me more of Coal Shaft. He made my life easier by existing in the same space as me, and so, fatefully, I let myself ask, “Can ya’... stay a while?”

And to my immense joy, he responded with an enthusiastic, “Sure!”

I decided that, just this once, I could be bad and leave the dishes. We moved to the living room and shared the couch. Yeah, just like I did with Bronze. It wasn’t lost on me what I was doing, but I tried to keep my distance. For the moment, at least.

I figured out pretty quickly that he was one of the Wonderbolts, and it wasn’t long before I mentioned the Free to Fly books I’d been reading. Turns out Soarin’ is a big fan, too, and we lost ourselves in another conversation. I…

==X===X===X===X===X==

Braeburn stops in his tracks. He looks up at the sky, all smiles. I ask, “Everything okay?”

He keeps looking into the big blue yonder. “Yeah.” He takes a few breaths and closes his eyes. “It’s a pleasant memory. Things were simple, at least in that moment. Soarin’ and I… We clicked. We fit together like puzzle pieces.” He shakes his head. “I was dealing with so much shit at the time. But with Soarin’, it all melted away. He made me feel safe. He made me feel like I had a friend, somepony like me who liked to explore and impress and who was maybe a touch too enthusiastic.”

I chortle. “Maybe a touch.”

Braeburn shrugs. “Okay, a lot. But he felt like he was in my corner. And he… He did something special that day.”

==X===X===X===X===X==

A ways into our conversation, he started hitting on me. Oh, he thinks he’s all subtle, but I knew, and it wasn’t unwelcome. I’d been looking him up and down all day, and he was definitely my type: strong pegasus, massive wings, tall, well-built… Basically, he had the same body type as Bronze, but maybe a bit more lithe and streamlined. I liked that, too.

And he was checking me out. But he stopped, because he noticed something that everypony else had been too afraid to address. “You, uh, look like you bruised your apple there.”

My eyes flicked to my cutie mark. Sure enough, the bruise that Bronze had given me was still there. It was mostly healed by then, but it was still visible for anypony looking. My mind finally remembered Bronze, and the past few weeks rushed back. I tried to brush it off. “Aw, it’s fine. I’ve had worse.” That part slipped out, and sadly, it was true.

“Jeez, not too much worse, I hope.” Soarin’ reached out a hoof and gently set it on my leg. His voice got all quiet. Tender. Loving. “I… I don’t want you to hurt.”

…

Imagine, if you can, seeing the color blue for the first time. It would be beautiful, wouldn’t it? Gorgeous shades, natural, a component of so many things in the world. Soarin’... didn’t want me to hurt. He wasn’t afraid to point out that he knew I was in pain. He wasn’t afraid to address it directly. He was honest about it, and his honest feeling was that he wanted good things for me, devoid of any other worries or expectations or disappointments.

Our eyes met, and I saw something else. The way he looked at me, I saw past all the worries about his head injury, the lusting after my body, the easy chats about books… He was searching. Lonely. He was lonely like me. I could see it reflected in his eyes, like he was all at once reaching out for me to save him and promising he’d catch me from the freefall I’d been in since Bronze left.

So, I let him catch me. I leapt forward and kissed him with everything I had.

Was I attracted to him physically? Of course, but in that kiss, the way he latched onto me right away, I knew we both needed each other for far more than our bodies. We felt each other deeply. We rolled around a bunch, and I felt myself get more and more lost in his passion.

And then all at once, I thought, 'I'm doing it again.'

I froze up. Tears welled up in my eyes as all my past mistakes crashed into me at once. 'Why am I being so stupid? He's just going to leave, and I'll be heartbroken all over again. Why can’t I just be satisfied with a friend instead of ruining everything with my damn libido?' I found my voice and said, "Suh... sorry. I think I have to– Gotta. I didn't…" The dam was trying to rebuild itself, trying to keep me safe behind the stone. I wanted him to stay, but if he did, I felt like it would all fall apart. My thoughts were a mess, but I didn’t want to hurt him, and somehow my twisted logic settled on, "You should go."

Soarin' took a beat, but he was as far gone as I had been. "Aw, c'mon, babe. We were just getting to the good part." He bucked his hips at me. "Don't tell me you don't want more of this."

He tried to feel me up again, and in a sudden flash of anger, I slapped him away. Remember what I said about emotions always finding a way out?

He grabbed his hoof. "Ow! Fuck! What was that for?"

The dam had broken. "You some kinda idiot!?" I shouted through my sobs. "I told you to leave!"

He shoved me off of him, then shouted, "Fine! Have fun in the closet you psycho!"

He was shouting. They always shouted. What's more, he apparently thought it was as simple as me not knowing I was gay. If only. What hurt worst, though, was that I had been wrong. Maybe Soarin’ hadn’t understood me the way I’d thought. Maybe I’d been completely wrong, and if history was any indication, I’d probably leapt to conclusions again out of desperation, like I always did. I stumbled on my words. "I…" My head hung. I tried to finish, but I was lost in my thoughts, and it took a moment to find my way out. "I ain’t… closeted, exactly.” I sighed, and I realized what a terrible pony I’d been. “I'm sorry. Please don't go."

But by the time I looked up, he was gone.

All that anger came back, but now, I had nopony to point it at but myself. I stood there, in that big, empty house, feeling utterly hollow and cursing my stupidity. I hadn't learned a thing. Same as after Bronze left. Nothing was different. I laughed at myself bitterly to keep from sobbing more. "Yeah, same old Braeburn. Heh."

I looked all around, disoriented. "Never learns. Too dumb to keep himself together." I paced, going nowhere in particular. "Just a wreck who… who, who c-can't…"

I walked by the liquor cabinet. My mind raced with what I'd promised myself, but what did I have left? So I just sniffled and said, "Fuck it."

That moonshine tasted like Springsweet pie and relief.

After that, Aunt Honeycrisp's farmhouse felt even worse than my home had, because now, I was failing her, too. It hurt to be miserable. It hurt me to think I'd ruin her farm in the process, like I was risking ruining my own. It was a cold, growing pain, like a boulder rolling over your chest.

I was half-drunk by the time I decided to abandon my post. I got drunker as the alcohol seeped into my blood and I wrote Big Mac a letter, begging him to come and cover for me. And I was damn near flat on my face when I stood at the train station and finally found somepony traveling to Ponyville who would deliver it for me. I don’t even remember what they looked like.

But Big Mac came the very next day. I was drunk as a skunk, and I laid out everything, except, again, how Bronze had abused me. For once, he didn’t have advice. At least he was a good listener. He wanted me to stay off the booze, and I promised him I would. We both knew I was lying.

But there wasn’t anything else to be done. The thoughts about Soarin’ haunted me, and if I was going to be haunted, I figured I might as well do it with the ghosts who’d gotten there first. So, I packed up my things, plus a bottle of Auntie Crisp’s moonshine. When I was leaving, I saw that the big blue idiot had left his goggles hanging on the coat rack. I can’t tell you if it was shame or sentimentality that made me take them. I think maybe, I just wanted a reminder to not be so stupid again. So, I headed home and slept through most of the train ride. When I walked in my front door, I left the goggles on my coat rack, where I’d see them every day, feel a little pang in my heart, and try to just get through the day without being such a damn fool.

I fell into my old habits. I didn’t see much point in fighting them anymore. It was clear that this was my life: a lonely pony jumping from one fleeting encounter to the next, never finding the love he desired, and killing himself slowly with sweet-tasting poison.

That weekend’s stallion was named Mellow Harp. Nice enough guy, brilliant musician, bit of a scrawny unicorn. We had almost nothing in common. That didn’t stop me from trying to date him long-distance, though. He, wisely, declined.

I managed to stay sober enough during the day. I told myself that was the deal: work hard when the sun was up to keep myself distracted, drown my sorrows once it went down. The days were getting longer, and there was a lot to do, so thankfully my liver got a break for most of the day.

It was a long week. I hadn’t forgotten about Soarin’, or Mellow, or Coal, or Bronze, but I was pushing forward. Not moving on – hell no, each experience felt like a rock tied to my hooves – but like most burdens, you can learn to live with them, and you never expect them to go away.

But that’s the thing about Soarin’ Windsong. Noticing my bruise wasn’t just a fluke. He cared about me. Really cared. Soarin’ was special like that. He was different from all the other coltfriends and one-offs I’d ever had.

Because unlike them, Soarin’ came back.

Comments

[Numinos]

Gah, now I want to reread the first one. Then this. Then first one again. Thus I'll be in an endless sensational cycle : )

[jxj]

Seeing them meet from Braeburn’s point of view is cool. I didn’t realize that talked about pie that much lol.

[jxj]

11570056
I’m rereading the first one now actually. Now that there’s overlap I want to restart it again and do a comparative reading lol.

[Vivid Syntax]

11570320
I hope you'll continue to enjoy it as you revisit it. I want to be true to the original without rehashing it, and I want to fill in a few of the gaps.

[Vivid Syntax]

11570319
That's a new detail that I'd had in mind in the original. I wanted to add it here.

[Vivid Syntax]

11572408
I'm sorry that it his close to home for you, too. I hope you're safe and at peace, and I hope you continue to connect with the story.

[Vivid Syntax]

11570056
You can join me in re-reading it. I've been poring over it to make sure I can get all the important details. You'll get to see more of it in the next chapter.