Before I Sleep
Sunset Shimmer
I’ve never, in all the time I’ve known her, ever seen Wallflower Blush really cry. Prior to this, I’d have called that a good thing. Now I’m not so sure, because I have no idea what to do and I think I would have liked a little practice.
“Wallie?!” I clutch onto her as she hangs from me, sobbing her eyes out with the most heart-wrenching cries I’ve ever heard from anyone. “Baby?! What’s wrong?!”
She doesn’t answer, she just blubbers incoherently while burying her face against my chest.
Despite having faced down mad sorceresses, animated rhododendrons, realm-shattering wild magic, a pissed off campground owner with godlike powers, and one seriously hacked-off film major, I have literally never been more scared in my entire life.
I look around in a panic, scanning my apartment for anything that might clue me in on what I’m supposed to do. I missed a trick. I had to have done or my girlfriend wouldn’t be bawling her eyes out!
“Wallflower? I uh… Okay, uhm, we’re… we’re going to the couch, okay?” I stammer, wrapping my arms around her as best I can. She gives me something approximating a nod, which I take as a good sign.
Without much leverage to speak of, I half-drag-half-carry Wallflower to the couch to set her down. I drop into the seat beside her and brace myself as she curls up against me, sobbing long and loud against my shirt as I doff my jacket and toss it onto the coffee table before getting up onto the couch as much as possible.
I pull Wallflower into my lap, wrapping myself around her as much as possible as she curls into a ball to cry. Lacking any other plan, I just rock her back and forth while I mutter a silent prayer to Written Word.
‘Written Word, Scribe of Creation, bestow upon my dumb ass the clarity to know what the hell I did wrong that resulted in this!’
If I’m being honest, I forgot the cadence of the actual prayer ages ago, and even if I did remember, I still haven’t prayed to the Scribe in better than a decade. At this point, though, I’m willing to swallow some pride and take any help up to and including divine intervention if it stops whatever is happening right now.
I blow out a slow breath as I reel back my memories and try to track what happened… I came back home… I dropped off the stuff from the hardware store on the counter… then I… brought in the shelf.
And now Wallflower is crying.
Well, that didn’t help.
“Wallie?” I whisper, running my hand over her head and carding my fingers through her hair as calmingly as I can. “Hey, are… are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay, baby.”
Wallflower sobs incoherently, but she gives a few firm nods by way of answer. I let out a relieved sigh that at least she’s not injured or something. That doesn’t answer any other questions, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Okay, uhm, I… I guess we'll stay here for a bit?” I say.
Another nod. I bend and flail a bit to grab a blanket, and I put a crick in my neck in the process, but I manage to scoop one up and drape it over her, and then around me. Once we’re swaddled up, I pull both of us back until I’m leaning against the arm of the couch and can sprawl out more comfortably with Wallflower firmly wrapped in my arms.
She cries for several more minutes, and they're some of the most terrifying minutes of my life. Nothing feels worse than seeing someone you care about in pain and having no idea what to do, except maybe seeing it, and knowing there’s nothing you can do.
So I wait. I control my breathing and rock her gently in my arms. I don’t shush her, or try to talk to her. I don’t even know what I would say.
No, that’s not true. There’s only one thing I can think of to say.
“I love you,” I say quietly, my lips pressed against her soft, morning-glory hair as I rock her back and forth. “I love you so much, Wallie.”
Tears start to leak from my eyes as I cradle her. I know there’s nothing I can do, but hearing her cry is breaking my heart. The sound is so broken, so lost, and so, so lonely.
It’s the tears of someone who has nothing and no one in all the world.
She has me, though. She will always have me.
I’m willing to endure a little heartbreak if it means being the one who gets to hold her like this.
Wallflower is worth it.
She’ll always be worth it, to me.
By the time the tears subside, it’s almost like there’s nothing left in her afterward. Like floodwaters have swept through her soul and cleaned her out of everything leaving her, sodden and exhausted, to pull herself back together.
She’s breathing slowly and deeply, and the only reason I know she’s not asleep is because that little wheezy snore she makes is nowhere to be heard.
I stroke my fingers through the tangled locks of hair around her cheeks, tracing the shell of her ear as I do, and nuzzling against the crown of her head. I don’t know what else to do to remind her that I’m still here.
That I’ll always be here.
Her tears have soaked my top, mine have dripped into her hair. Neither of us cares. I certainly don’t.
“Wallflower?” I call her name softly after almost an hour, I don’t want to disturb her if she really is drifting off to sleep, but…
She nods vaguely, and I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Do you—? No, nevermind, it’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it.” I want to know. Maybe this time I’ll press the matter, but not now. Later. “Do you want me to take you up to bed?”
She shakes her head.
“Okay.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. It tastes like salt.
Her arms close around me with more strength than before, and she hugs me tight. I return the embrace, drawing her up a little more so her head is by mine and she can rest in her favorite place in the crook of my neck. I brush my fingers over her face again, clearing the strands of her hair from her mouth and nose, and away from her eyes, and as I do my heart hitches.
Wallflower’s eyes are open and staring up at me. Two warm pools of soft brown are fixed firmly on my face, and after a moment she raises a hand to trace a finger down and along my cheek, then up to trace around my eye, then down the curve of my nose.
I can barely breathe. I’m almost scared to.
Wallflower loves me. I know that. I don’t even need her to say it, but it always makes my heart skip a beat when she does.
But she’s never just… just touched me like this. Small, casual touches have always been a little beyond her, and I understand why. I don’t blame her or resent her for it in the slightest. She’s always happy for me to hold her and curl up beside her at night, and that has and would always have been enough for me, so long as it was her.
To have her touching me like this though is almost as alien as her crying.
“Sunset?” Wallflower’s voice is ethereal, not weak, just… very far away.
“Yeah?”
“Say it again?” She phrases it like a question, and I wrack my brain for a moment before taking an educated guess.
“I… I love you?” I say, and her tired face softens into a gentle smile, and I say it once more, with feeling. “I love you, Wallie.”
“I love you, too.” The words come out trailing a sob, and few small tears leak out. “I really, really do.”
“I know,” I assure her, smiling. “It’s… I know you do, Wallie, it’s alright!”
She shakes her head wordlessly and lets out a weak, strained sob as she buries her face against my shoulder again.
“Did you mean it?”
Wallflower’s voice is so muffled by my shirt and her own sobs that I almost miss her words. They’re pleading. She’s begging me for something, but what I’m not entirely sure.
“Did I mean what?”
She shakes her head again, and starts crying again. There isn’t much left in her anymore, though. Her cries are dry, painful-sounding things. I lean back against the arm of the couch again and pull her close.
When she finally masters herself again, the sun has passed its zenith by a fair degree and the faint orange spill of dusk is starting to edge across the cold city of Canterlot. Dusk in spring is a beautiful time of year, and I watch the colours wash across the little array of flowers that Wallflower has been cultivating by the window.
Daffodils, bluebells, and violets. I helped her pick them out but I wonder if she knows why. She never said anything about it, and I’ve never mentioned it either. I don’t think she knows that I know anything about flowers, and when it comes to caring for them, that’s pretty much true.
But weird esoteric details are my stock and trade. Knowledge that has little to no use in day to day life has always appealed to me in various ways. Knowledge like the language of flowers.
Daffodils, bluebells, and violets.
Love Without Equal, Constancy, and Faithful Devotion.
She’s been nurturing them. Watering them carefully, and giving each one enough light with a mindful hand and an expert eye. Wallflower really does have a green thumb, her complexion notwithstanding. I love watching her tend to the plants around the apartment, she’s so focused when she does it.
And she looks happy.
Sometimes she even hums while she works.
I love that sound most of all.
If I had my way I would buy a house big enough that we could fill every window with flowers. We’d have a garden that stretches around the whole yard, and it would have every colour and season of flower in the world. We would have great bay windows to let in the light, and my days would be spent hearing her hum quietly as she went from plant to plant, delighting in keeping them flourishing, and she would.
Wallflower is talented like that.
I don’t have that kind of money though. I don’t know if I ever will. The most I can afford is a few little houseplants and a new shelf to add a few more down the line. I want it to be enough. Enough that she’ll stay with me. But I’m not sure it is.
I’m so, so scared that it isn’t, and that one day I’ll wake up and we’ll have gone back to the way it was six months ago when she only came over now and again.
I hate the idea of waking up alone anymore.
I’m not sure I can go back to it.
But she’s here with me now. She’s stayed with me for months on end, only occasionally going back to her little one-room in the East End to pick something up. Slowly but surely, more and more of her clothes have ended up in my dresser, some of her toiletries have joined mine in the bathroom, and her favorite tea mug is in the cupboard above the electric kettle.
Maybe it’s overly optimistic of me, but I’ve let myself hope this means that she’s moved in.
“Hey,” Wallflower croaks weakly, her she chuckles on the edges of her words.
“Hey yourself.”
She takes a deep breath and squeezes me like a plushie for a moment before relaxing into my arms again.
“You okay?” I ask.
Wallflower nods silently, rubs at her eyes, and yawns. She squeaks a little when she yawns. Every single time. My heart just about pops every time I hear it. She smacks her lips as she works her way through a few more yawns, then nestles against me and sighs quietly.
“Ask me again.”
I raise an eyebrow and look down at Wallflower. She’s said the words with more strength than I expected, especially given she’d just finished crying her eyes out.
“Cryptic today, huh?” I ask with a small laugh. “Ask you…?”
I trail off as I bead on to what I’d just been thinking of before, and my heart leaps into my throat and lodges there. It takes me a moment to get it back into my ribcage where it belongs, and I swallow hard as I work the words out around a suddenly dry mouth.
“Stay… Stay tonight?”
Wallflower nods. I take a deep breath, feeling a cold weight of panic and dread clench in my chest and seizing up the next words. I force them through anyway.
“Stay forever?”
She shifts around in my arms, freeing herself from them and levering herself up so she can look me in the eyes. Wallflower’s cheeks are red and her eyes are a little bloodshot and a bit puffy from tears, and she sniffles a little before finally saying:
“Okay.”
Now it’s my turn to cry for real.
I start to sob quietly as I wrap my arms around her again and pull in her close. I bury my face against her neck this time, and my tears are soaking her sweater. I know she doesn’t care about it any more than I care about my top.
She’s staying. She’s really staying.
Then I’m laughing. I’m laughing and clinging to her and sitting up to pull her into my lap and hug her tight. She giggles softly as I lavish her with kisses over her cheeks and neck and face, and she pushes at me playfully. In the chaos, we tangle up with the blanket and—
“AH!”
We hit the ground between the couch and the table, and I’m laughing harder than I’ve laughed in a year, and even better than that is that she’s laughing.
Wallflower Blush is laughing.
When we finally catch our breath, we’re both red in the face and sprawled on the floor, and I’m staring up at the ceiling with a heady rush of adrenaline and bubbly flutters clogging up my head.
It takes a little effort, but Wallflower kicks at the blanket until she finally frees herself, and sits up in my lap. I sit up with her, working my fingers through my hair as I do, trying to get a few of the knots out that had tangled up in our impromptu, lovey-dovey wrestling match.
“Sunset?” Wallflower says softly, and I look up with a raised eyebrow. “Did you mean it?”
I shake my head to loosen up my hair and wrap my arms around her waist to pull her closer as I smile.
“Mean what?” I ask. “Asking you to stay?”
“Mm-m,” Wallflower shakes her head. “That night last autumn, and what you said… did you mean it?”
“Did I—”
If you’d let me, I’d marry you right now.
“I…” I trail off, then press my lips to a thin line, and steel myself as I look up at her.
At Wallflower Blush.
“Every single word,” I say finally. “I meant every single word.”
She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t gasp or cry or look terrified like I expected her to. Thankfully, she also doesn’t bolt, because if she had I think it would have actually killed me.
Instead, she drapes her arms around my shoulders, wiggles her hips a little to let my hands settle on them, and then leans in and presses her lips to mine.
My heart is burning and shining like a main-sequence star.
When she pulls back from me, her cheeks are flushed to her namesake, and… Written’s Quill… has her smile always been that beautiful? I think it has but it’s hard to be sure. All I know is that she’s smiling and so am I.
“Wallflower Blush, if you’d let me, I’d marry you right now,” I say with the broadest, and possibly dampest, grin I’ve ever given.
She wipes at her eyes, then turns and reaches for the Bromeliad on the coffee table. With careful fingers she plucks one, then another, of the long leaves. Ones that are softer and darker, and starting to wilt a little. Working with dextrous slowness, Wallflower takes one and twists it gently, turning it in on itself until it’s a thin, woven thread.
Then she ties two tips together, sets it aside, and does it again.
“There,” she says quietly, holding one of them out to me. “So uhm… it’s not much but…”
I sniffle, laugh, and shake my head. “It’s perfect.”
I take her right hand with my left and slide the little woven ring of green onto her finger. Then she takes mine and does the same.
We’ll have real ones one day. Maybe not soon, but we’ll have them.
“I love you, Sunset,” Wallflower says, as she links her fingers with mine, drawing my hands up and pressing a kiss to our joined hands across the knuckles.
Laughing, I nod, lean in, and do the same.
“I love you, too.”
Stats
Page generated in 0.118 seconds
Total duration
696 users online
1,029,524 hits today, 2,054,621 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Well, you've made me cry. Thank you, because I've needed something to push me over the edge in a good way.
As always, 11/10. Thank you for existing.
My heart! Amazing work as always.
Oh, very nice. I'm not sure how to properly describe the feelings from this, but they were good. :)
Thanks for writing!
Wow. I’m glad this story got a sequel plus a happy ending. Great story once again.
oh my god
oh my god
This is the exact story I've always wished existed but I could never find. This is it. It's the gold at the end of the rainbow.
I'm honestly just completely blown away. Everything about this was perfect, and then the ending transcends that and had me in tears. Not just like straining, teary eyes--I actually started crying. Do you know how often I cry when reading? Effing never.
You're a gift. Thank you so much for this. I'm gonna wave it like a triumphant flag in the faces of literally everyone I come across.
The one critical note in my mind is that there's not much to address Sunset's terror from Wallflower's crying. This is clearly a huge deal for both of them (for different reasons) and it being swept under the rug is a disservice -- that you distracted us about it so effectively is to your credit as a writer in other ways, I will add.
Were it me, trying to keep the flow of the story you've crafted, I would insert a section after "Hey yourself"/"You okay?", as Wallflower is collecting herself. Follow that question with some gentle probing from Sunset, expressing that she was scared and wants to understand what happened -- but more important than knowing that, really, you're okay? Wally's segue to her own questions would be reworded and perhaps collect the initial appearance of a deflection, but would otherwise change little and not affect the rest of the story.
That out of the way, let me say that this was in turns wrenching and adorable. Superb work!
They have such a special bond connecting them and now, they'll be together forever.
This is a lovely series. I don’t know what else I can say, to tell the truth, other than describing it as sweet and emotional without being saccharine or over the top.
Hot dang you can really get into a character's mind. Wallflower's anxious spikes are brilliantly described as being quite... ugly (that's a compliment!). Intense panic followed by that odd, exhausted spell, detached from oneself. Sunset's insecurities are a great contrast, with almost a sarcastic "oh boy here we go again" tone in the way you write her without undermining the more primal fear lurking behind it.
It's really sweet how the little things show that the two are on the same wavelength: Sunset immediately suspecting the significance of Wallflower using the word "home", and of course her bringing back the shelf (which was a wonderful little Chekhov's gun there at the start).
A minor thing: Common flower names generally aren't capitalised, but screw it, if it's a creative decision then it's a nice touch: Wallflower's thoughts revolve around the flowers and they're clearly so significant to her, maybe she would "mentally capitalise" them.
And that reveal about Sunset understanding the meaning of the flowers she helped pick out was absolutely chuffing excellent. Putting research into your work, tying it back to the pair being on the same wavelength, and the little things making all the difference - they all come together to deliver a proper kick to the heart. Fantastic stuff (though hopefully Wallflower isn't interpreting them to mean "rebirth", "becoming lost", and "modesty", eh?).
It was a bit shocking to hear Sunset's fears come to a much more sombre light at the idea of Wallflower leaving. But again, you've managed to get in Sunset's head and it makes sense, really. A character like Sunset thrives on the happening, so when nothing is happening, I suppose those niggling fears can rear their head. Might've been nice to see this explored - there's a lot of potential here that's cut off when Wallflower starts to talk again.
And the ending is just... lovely. Sappy, romantic, feel-good stuff but never does it feel empty or trite. You've taken us through the journey, through the struggle - they've earned the cuddles and laughter.
Every time I see that short description, “Obladi Oblada” runs through my head.
I shouldn't have laughed.
Been there, Sunset, LOL. Sometimes you just gotta call yourself a dumbass.
Sunset, you sly dog.
One of the advantages of using multiple perspectives in a chapter/story is that you can see the parallel approaches characters take to the same thing. I love how Sunset's fears match Wallflower's in opposite ways. All of these bits about Sunset being afraid she'll leave, hoping this means as much to Wally as it does to her, not wanting to imagine life without her... It's such a dramatic irony, but an honest one.
I teared up. You did this build up so well.
Using the Bromeliad for the rings was a stroke of genius. Bravo.
I think one of the things I like most about the SunFlower ship is the dichotomy between what Wallflower thinks and what Sunset knows. About Wallflower herself, about Sunset's feelings, about how much it all means. The space in between is approached with such tenderness and care—both by the writing, and by Sunset herself—that it makes those moments where it's bridged all the more heartwarming.
I think this is my favorite of the standalones so far. Fantastic work.
What a magical chapter.
Moving in, cute little rings, and gay gay home-of-homosexual gay sappiness is pretty poggers. Also, side note, but since there wasn't anything in the book to indicate it, this entry and Something Vague were pretty much the only ones that come across as everyone-rated in hindsight, but that's just due to all the themes, callbacks, references, and saying of the Bad Words sprinkled throughout. Seeing that this was mostly e-rated on Fimfiction was a shocker lol. This is the fan service that I read for: wholesome, genuine romance and organic, non-GMO banter. Delicious.
That was very sweet.