Nervous Young Stallions

by alafoel

Nervous Young Stallion

It was either a lot of courage or a lot of stupidity that got me to bring Soarin with me that day. It was probably a lot of both.

The Appleloosa train station had become a familiar sight to me, the number of times I’d seen trains pull in and shuffle out… Of course it felt a lot different when I was readying to head on one of the trains myself. Maybe it was just some bug in my brain from where I didn’t sleep the night before, but the planks of wood beneath me felt so soft. My hooves kept sinking into them, I had to shuffle about just to keep from falling right through. Pacing on the spot, side to side.

The train made its way in, our train, loud. A horrible scrape, metal wheels on metal track - some million pound beast getting orders to stop, that weight skidding to a halt. It was time to go. I was nervous, and Soarin knew it. That’s why he held me like he did. Tried to talk to me. I didn’t let myself speak.

---

It’s a small, small world - so much of it all seems to spiral inwards, point to that one little week. Those few horrible days. That’s when I first met Soarin, though neither of us realised it ‘til much later. That first time was… Nothing. Not to either of us. Places in mind and ponies in heart, and nothing to either. My maw was firmly stuck with the thistle bush, little prickles to spend all night pulling out. When your mouth is so stuck with thorns, you can’t eat.

It’s a curious feeling trying to dredge up those memories again - that week. It all filtered and flowed through me, it oozed from cuts and prickpoints for so long, ‘til one day I looked at the gash I wore ‘cross my barrel and the dust had been cleaned right out. That must be about when I met Soarin for the second time.

Wonderbolts were in town. It was magic. A hundred ponies hearts beating in unison, eyes pointed to some mass of impossible energy. Came to Appeloosa, part of the rodeo, I think. It was the anniversary, some anniversary of however many years doing the rodeo. Princess Celestia thought it bore celebrating - or just thought us dirt ponies would get a kick out of it, I guess. We did, of course. You never see a pegasus any day your whole life and then it’s the Wonderbolts come to do something special: The whole rodeo was on fire, practically. I was caught right in the middle - I was already doing rodeo stunts at the time, though I wasn’t anything like I am now with it.

They had us gathered, all the ponies helping to set up. It was late, last night of preparing before it was meant to open up, start proper. We were standing about in that show pen, work was pretty much all done. They could finish it off with a stallion or two in the morning, just making sure everything’s set up proper, making sure nothing’s gonna fall apart if somepony hits it wrong. It was more of a social thing, happened every year. I always stuck around, thinking there might be work for me to do or something. There usually wasn’t, of course, so I spent my time slinking about. As the day goes on you’d feel the heat leave the sand - all that time baking in the sun, then now it’s cool. I’d push it around, press my hoof into it. The coolness. I liked to wander round the side of the little section, walk by the fence. Sometimes I’d stop, say my Hi’s and How Are Y’alls to the other ponies, other times I’d just dig into the sand. Well, this night, we had the Wonderbolts coming, we all knew that. Opening celebration on the first day of the rodeo and then a special closing on the last day, I think we all thought they’d just pop and go. Either the mayor or Princess Celestia (I doubt it was anyone in the Wonderbolts) had decided they’d stay around a bit more, meet and greet with all the ponies working to put the rodeo together. That was the glow, the fire. Everypony standing a thousand times taller, eyes and awe. The chatter came up and all of it’s so loud, even I had something take me over, make me speak up a little myself, and this is all before they even turn up.

Then of course they do turn up, the Wonderbolts, and all this energy that built up, it sort of bursts. Quiet again. Like colts. And they’re there, other side of the pen, all in uniform even though they didn’t have a show to do. They walk in, and ponies are just standing. All of us, hooves stuck in the sand from where we fiddling too much, and now that sand is stone or brick. We just can’t move. And then they make their way around, say Hi, shake hooves. Some ponies start to break out, give their own greetings, try to pick back up some of that fire energy shattered on the ground. The Wonderbolts stand and say Hello and shake a hoof and churn out the next pony - set them free to move on to another. It was all very efficient, some sort of built in routine. Same way they’d spend hours practising the fastest way to fly a corner, here they’re doing the same, cutting off as much resistance as possible going between shaking every hoof. Get a new record.

I saw it all, and maybe everypony else did as well. Maybe they just didn’t care. I cared, I didn’t like it. But everypony else shook that hoof and welled back up, and picked up their broken little pieces. It was all the Wonderbolts, and soon enough they were just in their corner talking to one another. You could see it, all of them just in a little group to themselves as every other pony couldn’t dare to interrupt, but still that fire as if they did. Well, there were two or three that didn’t stick to that group, though. Actually tried to talk to ponies. I won't delay myself to say that one of them was Soarin - I'm still not sure why he came up to speak with me, but he did.

The strangest thing, he walks up to me and just says “Hi!” Like he had nothing better to do. “Hi!”, just like that. I give him a Howdy of course - I've always tried to be polite whether it's a pony I know or not. Just starts asking me about Appleloosa, about the rodeo. I love the rodeo. For a few nights, I get to be there. Be the lasso. I tell him this, of course. Keep a little more hush what I think of Appleloosa. He keeps speaking - telling me how he came once as a foal, always wanted to come back - and I feel I should be nervous but I think my brain was whirring too quickly on why he's even talking to me to have the time or space to get all scared and freeze up, not yet at least. I ask him, What’s it like being a pegasus? Not being a Wonderbolt or anything. Just being a pegasus, those wings. What’s it like to fly? And he can’t quite answer, he can say all the surface things - some feeling of air on you, some glide as you go on - but there’s that knowledge between us. A blind pony asking what it’s like to see. Anyway, the time goes on a bit and he has other ponies he wants to talk to so we say our Byes, he walks off. Afterwards, I just go back to playing around with the sand under my hooves. And that was that, I guess.

---

We sat next to each other on the train. I just stared out the window for a while, the sort of thing that calms you down. Forgetting, as that tall train station just shrank to some weak shimmer in the back of my eye. As that desert lapped up shore, drank back in and gave way to green and grass and trees. You don’t see a lot of trees in Appleloosa - a few, but not so many as I saw staring out that window for just a minute. For just a couple seconds. It set me back, cleared me for a moment. Let me look back at Soarin and finally say something.

“Thank you.” The words came out between gulps. “For being here with me.”

Soarin’s response was simple: “Why wouldn’t I be?” I was ready for the conversation to stop here. Soarin was not. “I’m dating you ‘cause I like you. I want you to be happy.”

I nodded. I’ve often found it hard to use my words. Me and Soarin, the unstoppable force and the immovable object. Eventually, though, I always move for him. Even if only a little.

“I know this is a big deal for you.” Looks at me with big wide eyes.

“It’s-” I sighed. “Thank you. I don’t- Thank you.” I feel my hooves against the train’s floor, the vibrations welling through - drummed from the track and wheel, sneaks its way to the cabin, the hooves (like the lightning rod in a storm), then builds up inside me. Just a little. Not so much as you can feel it hold you, just enough to feel… different.

“You’ve got me on the move, going all the way to Appleloosa THEN all the way to Ponyville.” He laughed. “Where to next? I could bring you back to Cloudsd- oh.” Another chuckle. “I forget sometimes.”

I do that dumb thing where I look away, rub on my neck with my hoof. “It’s best I don’t drag you along too much. Can’t keep you from the Wonderbolts too long.”

“Hey, they don’t give me time off for nothing. Plus, you can drag me anywhere you want.” In a more private setting, Soarin would probably make a blue joke around here.

I nodded. “Thank you.”

The jolts of the train continued to reverberate through the cabin, spill up inside me. It didn’t make me sick, or scared. It excited me: this energy working through, summoned by steel and friction, and then finds its way inside me. Some glow. Some sunlight, I don’t know. I kept it on me, through me, for a moment, before I just turned to sleep. I was tired. I needed that sleep.

We were just about pulling into the train station when I woke up. Well, when Soarin woke me up - shook my head about with his hoof. My head which seemed to be resting on his back and letting out a not insubstantial stream of drool: how he puts up with me, I never know. Anyway, I was jostled awake and saw Ponyville coming up in the window, faster than I could have thought. Rushed brushstrokes of half formed buildings and ponies and places and things skidding past before I got my wits about me to remember whether I asked Applejack and the others to meet me at the train station or at the farm. I didn’t even have the chance to say to Soarin “Hey maybe we should leave separately” by the time we were walking onto the platform together, and by the time we were walking onto the platform together my heart finally kicked into panic mode. My throat followed next and tightened and gave up its moisture, my brain wrung itself for a moment or two, and my hooves kept stepping on beneath me. This kept on for a bit til I just stopped, looked around. Took my breaths. I couldn’t see anyone I recognised. I kept up my breathing, slow and steady. Soarin taught me some breathing exercises not long after we met - apparently they learn them as Wonderbolts, helps with flying.

Soarin asked me if I was okay. I told him I was, I just needed a moment. He’s given me a lot of moments as I’ve known him - I wish I could give him a few back. We found some bench to sit down on, so we sat down. Right in Ponyville - I suppose it was a strange town for us both, though I’m sure I’d been there more than him. Just sitting in someplace unfamiliar, seeing ponies I never knew walking past… It didn’t really make me feel any better but it did make my heart calm down a little. I wondered what all those ponies were doing, going to and fro, living their lives. I could be seen in public with a stallion now. I don’t know how much of that is comfort with myself and how much is just the understanding that other ponies don’t care about me.

Now that my breathing was fine, I felt I ought to speak up. Say something. “I-... How would you feel about… Waiting. Just while I went to meet everypony first, then go and introduce you.”

“Waiting?” Soarin couldn’t quite put together what I was saying. “Like, waiting without you?”

“You just… Go to a cafe or something. I meet the family, get through all the boring how-do-you-dos and we can go and see you there. I can see, see how it feels. I don’t know.”

“Hey, if you’re anything to go by, I don’t think your family’s gonna be boring.” He chuckled a bit before he looked at me. Then he stopped, frowned. “You’re not ready?” He dipped his voice when he said this, brought it like somepony talking to a colt.

“I don’t-” I sighed. “It’s sudden.”

“Of course it’s sudden. They don’t know me yet.” He looked at me for a moment. Waited for me to say something. “If you’re not ready, you’re not ready. But if you are ready, I’m here. I’d like to meet your family, Braeburn.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say so I just broke eye contact with him.

“I was scared when I applied to the Wonderbolts. But I still tried, I went through that test. I’m a Wonderbolt now.” He was trying to help.

I didn’t want him to help. “That’s not the same thing. I’m not a Wonderbolt.”

“But you could be!” He put his hoof round me, held me that way he does. “You just gotta try, right?”

I didn’t look back at him. I just nodded. “I’ll meet them at the farm. Then I’ll see you afterwards.” I stood up and started to trot off. “Better find a cafe to meet at.”

It took a bit for him to respond, I guess he wasn’t expecting what I said. “Oh. Okay.” Then he got up and walked on too.

I barely had to knock before Applejack answered the door: “Braeburn!” She rushed out to hug me. “Now if this ain’t the grandest thing outside a Canterlot gala. How long’s it been?”

“Well, I was here for the reunion a couple months back.” I made no attempt to pry myself from her.

“I know, but the reunion’s one thing.” She let go. “I mean, how long’s it been just you, seein’ ya proper?”

I stopped and thought for a moment. “I don’t know, I don’t know. Couple years at least, I s’pose.”

“Well, there’s no use waitin’ out there. Come on in, everyone’s together.” Applejack cantered right off to the kitchen.

I stepped on through myself. Sweet Apple Acres is a warm place, you feel that when you visit. Not warm as in Appleloosa warm, where you feel you need a glass of water and a sit down, but warm like it is in books when Ponies are gathered together on Hearth’s Warming Eve. You step in and you feel that, you feel that first. Then you notice the wood beneath your hooves, this old, old wood that’s been there longer than you, that’s held up so many ponies on so many days and now it’s holding up you. And you feel that. I’m not sure what it is but you feel it. Some feeling words can’t say, held and dried and dispensed in this wood, and you’re there and you’re part of the family. It’s a nice place to be. It takes some weight off your back. Not all the weight, but some of it.

Anyway, I’m heading on through to the kitchen and I see everypony else. Granny Smith sitting in her old chair, probably about dozing off, Applejack there waving me through and then Big MacIntosh and Apple Bloom sitting at the table playing some game together, I guess, with a deck of cards.

“Uh, howdy.” I tipped my hat to greet them. Of course, everypony starts on introductions and Has it Been That Longs and How Are You Anyways and some To What Do We Owe The Pleasures. That last one was the hardest. I tried with something along the lines of “do I need a reason to see my family?” and all that, but I think we all knew if that were the reason I would have come back here a lot sooner. I never said why when I arranged to visit, of course. I guess I came to see them so I could tell them the reason I came to see them in person, so they didn’t just have to get some letter on Oh and By The Way, I’ve Got Myself a Stallion Now. No, I had to be there. If I could be there.

I know Soarin is in that cafe, and I know I can’t keep him waiting, so now it’s how do I get us over to that cafe? Us, I think, is me, Applejack and Big MacIntosh. Granny Smith, Apple Bloom? It’s not urgent. Just the four will do. So I say, “As much as I love Sweet Apple Acres, wouldn’t it be good to grab a bite to eat somewhere?” and that’s alright, it’s just I need to come up with some reason to leave the other two behind. If everypony was there… They say three’s a crowd. I don’t know where that leaves six.

Anyway, I try and stammer over some sorta excuse for a bit, but just give up. What’s the point, right? I’ll just say it - “I don’t mean to split us up, but I think if it’s just us three -” pointing my hooves about at the ones I wanted “- that’ll do for now.” There’s a bit of silence at first, this pony that ‘don’t need a reason to see family’ sure is taking joy in splitting them up, so I guess it’s just fair to be honest. “Sorry. I ain’t great with- I get a bit overwhelmed. Sorry.” And then that dumb thing again, looking towards the ground, rubbing that hoof across my neck. I guess that convinced them - much as I’ve tried to keep up over the years, they have realised I’m not ‘all that’ over time. And the others, there’s still that look. I guess not sour, just a bit disappointed, but they’re not gonna say anything much. I had a breakdown at one of the family reunion’s - a while back now, but that doesn’t just disappear. So we pile out on our way to the cafe.

“So, what brings you all the way out here?” Applejack says it almost soon as we leave the farm.

“I told ya already, didn’t I?” I try to laugh, but it doesn’t come out.

“Now I ain’t sayin’ I don’t believe ya, but…” She stops walking for a moment, lets the blood from her legs work its way to her brain. “I mean there must be somethin’ different that makes it ‘today’s the day’ an’ not… not just yesterday, or- or not jus’ any day for the last couple years. You gotta have that last apple of the stack finally weighs down the wagon to break.”

“I don’t know. I wanted to see you.” By now me and Big MacIntosh had stopped as well, so Applejack didn’t fall behind too far. “Anyway, we got the whole weekend for you to do your therapizin’ or what have you.” I start to walk on again.

“Therapizin’? Now come on, I don’t-” She just sighed and began to walk again.

“Sorry, sorry.” I looked back to them from when I was leading on - “I like you two. I like to see you two. You’re like the brother ‘n’ sister I never had.”

“We’re the cousins you do have.” Applejack seemed annoyed.

Big MacIntosh surrendered his first contribution to the conversation: “Eeyup.”

“I know, I know. I was jokin’.” We all keep walking in silence for some time.

At some point it occurs to me that I’m taking them to meet Soarin without ever telling them there was someone to meet. Not occurs, no - I knew I was doing that. Just without the background noise to tide me over I can’t keep up wilfully ignoring the consequences of my own actions. The crunch of hooves on gravel aren’t enough. What am I supposed to do, just walk in, wave down Soarin - Hey, Here’s Some Pony I Didn’t Trust You Enough To Mention. I dunno. I should tell them. I should mention it, shouldn’t I? I should mention it. I should mention it, and every step, every crunch of hoof and gravel, it goes back, cycles in. I should mention it. But my brain is too busy spinning thoughts round and round to form any words in my throat. My heart is too busy pumping an extra few beats in than it should to send the blood, as it should, to my vocal chords, let them stretch into this confession. I start up ready to speak, then I cut myself off. Then I start up again, form some half word in my throat, then it’s gone and back to zero. And it keeps on round like this, start up, throat manages a half meaning, then nope. Done. ‘Til one last time, words are right there, ready to be coughed up, launched out, and I’m about to say them - I really am - but first Applejack begins to speak.

“We care about you. I know we don’t see you much, but we got a lot going on over here, and…” She gulped, I think. I was too busy walking on and thinking of myself to look. “We care about you. Big Mac more than me, even if he won’t say it.”

This gets my attention. I crane round and sure enough, Big MacIntosh making some shy gesture to himself then works up that phrase, “Eeyup.” Quieter than this hulking frame should allow.

I just start on my way, only one thing I can say back. “I know.” Then and now, I’m still not sure if my words were true. We kept in silence the rest of the way to the cafe.

I think they might have been talking to me when we went in. Out of the corner of my eye, I’m sure Applejack was moving her mouth. I didn’t hear, I didn’t hear anything. Some silence had overcome me, started as some pit in my stomach then trembled through ‘til it filled my ears with nothing. I just kept my head straight and tried to do the same with my hooves, legs trembling as little as I could force them to. Just head on through, right through those doors. And I did, and I closed my eyes. Breathed deep as I could…

The air sucked in and cleared something in me, let my ears prick up to the sound around me. Were cafes always this loud? Ponyville cafes, maybe. But it was so loud, Ponies talking and eating and hooves clattering on the floor and plates being picked up and put down and the kitchen - the kitchen was the loudest! Ovens and orders and grills and food, chopped up and fried and shoved noisily about. Were cafes always so noisy? But I can hear, I can see. So I scan around, look for Soarin. A booth by the window, he’s sitting there. Milkshake in front of him - he’s sipping on it, pink straw in a pink drink, and has he always sipped so loud? But then he sees me and starts waving so I start walking. I look back to Applejack, Big MacIntosh and I almost say something but what is there to say? Just taking steps, steady and strong as I can, if I can. Step, step, tremble, oh goodness.

Then I sit in the booth, right next to Soarin. Shoot him half a smile, the only half that I can manage, and try my hardest to will back that silence. It’s so loud, I just need that silence again. Applejack and Big MacIntosh sidle into the booth too, across from me. They seem to be confused but I’m not completely sure, I wasn’t looking at them. I was staring at the table. Drumming some noise out with my hooves, trying to fight back against everything else I hear.

“I-” Applejack cuts herself off before she even finishes a word.

Big MacIntosh, evidently, has been staring down Soarin and come to some conclusion, voices it. “Do I know you?”

Soarin looked almost embarrassed. “Oh, uh, well I do some flying for the Wonderbolts. Maybe you saw that.” Do some flying for the Wonderbolts, he sure has a way to put things. I love him, I really do.

Applejack took a moment to process the information. “You mean you’re a Wonderbolt?”

Soarin just nodded. “You know, it’s nice to meet you. Braeburn doesn’t mention his family a lot but” - Soarin was running his hoof around his glass - “I think he really does love you guys.”

There was some staring for a bit. “Right, yes. Braeburn-” She cut some stare at me, some piercing stare. “Braeburn. You’re his- You two are friends?”

Soarin stared at me too. Stopped his hoof around that glass. “What, he didn’t say?”

“I-” I just go back to staring at the table. “We were busy catchin’ up, I didn’t quite- have the chance to fill in every step.” I look back up. No one quite has a nice look on their face - they’re not all pulling grand expressions, but there’s just some slight worry or discomfort or confusion or anger or, or something. Something, and it’s my fault, I know that. I close my eyes, tap out some secret message on the table. Take my hooves back. “Soarin and I are together.” Deep breath, open my eyes. I don’t look properly, I’m not taking anything in, but they’re open. “Dating.”

Applejack nods. Big MacIntosh just stares. Soarin places his hoof on me. Out of sight, but he does it. For me, I guess.

“You’re… datin’ a Wonderbolt?” This was what Applejack said. I guess she didn’t want to talk about the only thing there really was to talk about.

I couldn’t respond, I was still recovering from the acidic words that came from my mouth just a few seconds ago, nothing new could form in my throat. I just nodded.

“Rainbow Dash is gonna go crazy when she finds out my cousin is datin’ a Wonderbolt!”

I winced.

Big MacIntosh sort of furrowed his brow at her. Sent her some secret message the way brothers and sisters do, the way I assume they do. The way that bond builds up and beams itself to each other, whatever it is they have to say.

Applejack took in whatever it was, let some frown appear for half a second or so before she went back to some weak grin. “Well, she'll go crazy if you tell her.”

The bile is still making it’s way out of me. I nod again. I barely even know who Rainbow Dash is.

“Rainbow Dash…” Soarin’s muttering to himself more than speaking to the rest of us. Taps his hoof against his glass two, three times. “Rainbow Dash. I’ve met her, I’m sure. I recognise the name.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, she’s there for everythin’ Wonderbolts.” Applejack flung her foreleg about the table in some expression. “If y’all have ever done a meet ‘n’ greet you’ve met her. And gret- greeted her.”

I looked at Big MacIntosh. He looked at me. I could not crack through his expression to know what was inside. There was a bit of silence before he spoke. “How did y’all meet?”

Eyes turned to me. “Oh, uh, Soarin’s probably better at tellin’ all that than me.”

---

Most of the Wonderbolts went off home or wherever that week of the rodeo, that week between the opening and closing. Soarin stayed in Appleloosa that whole time. I saw him right in the stands of that rodeo half that time. Everytime I saw him some clot wells up in my brain, says “why not go talk to him?” Something about how he stayed and watched, how you saw him smile. How it seemed like he cared and he didn’t care that he cared. Unfortunately that same clot that welled up the thoughts in the first place stopped the blood from flowing to my legs and tongue to get the talking done. So I just kept on as I would, only finding myself staring at him every now and then.

Anyway, it’s some day after I’ve done a big lasso show - I wanna say the third day of it all - and I’m out getting a drink. Not drinking alone, I wouldn’t say that. I went with other ponies, but I was less part of their group, nothing offensive and nothing that hurt me. That’s how it is. They gave me their congrats for the rodeo, of course. I love doing the rodeo. The point is that I’m in there, nursing a hard cider, a little more to myself than everypony else. I’m not paying all too much attention as I hear it: “Hey!” - it’s Soarin. “Nice job out there!”

I give him my thanks, he says about how we met that first night. Apologizes for not being so great with names, and he’s Soarin in case I forgot too. I tell him thank you and I’m not so great with names either, and this isn’t true. I don’t know why I said it. I meet one pony a whole year and pretend like I forgot the name. But he laughs, tells me it’s a nice place here in Appleloosa. Tells me he’s enjoying the rodeo, then some sudden jolt kicks into me, a steam engine working its way inside my head and I think How about I get you a drink? While you’re here at least, celebrate the rodeo. He says that oh no, he couldn’t, it didn’t seem fair and so I say to hay with being fair, I got some bits I don’t need anymore. And he laughs - I never knew I was so funny - and says a lemonade will do him just fine. Then I’m off to get him a lemonade.

He doesn’t drink, is one thing about him. First I thought he was just trying not to get something so expensive, lemonade being cheaper there and all, but of course that wasn’t the case. I’ve never asked him why, I assume it’s a Wonderbolt thing, but I never asked. He’s on that lemonade, I’m still on my cider, I feel a little mismatched. I don’t try and upsell him, get him drunk. I can’t be that pony. So I just keep sipping on mine and feeling a little strange about it. Soon time comes that I’ve finished my drink and he offers to buy me another, even it out. I don’t want him spending more on me than I spent on him, so I just get a lemonade too. That was a queer sight, I’m sure of it, Appleloosa bar that late, then you have two stallions drinking lemonade.

Conversations on and he just can’t stop talking what he loves about Appleloosa. Can’t stop, he saw more in it that week than I had my whole life there. That’s probably why, isn’t it? That he hadn’t lived there. But I’m not trying to bring him down, I just say something on ‘If you ever come back again there’s a spare room in my place’. I say my place, but for as long as my father hasn’t lived there, it still just feels like his house. I don’t know if I really mean it when I say it, I guess it’s just something to say. Maybe I do mean it. That room sure as hay ain’t getting any other use.

Soarin can’t thank me enough, and it’s only now I realise what’s going on. Not that there’s anything going on, just that we’ve been talking a while and all these ponies here and he’s talking to me. It leaves me sort of out of the room, looking in on myself from somewhere else. And there’s drink inside me, some steam engine in my head and I’m watching myself and I’m hearing the words coming out of my mouth and I’m not sure if that’s me saying them: I’m asking, hey what’s it like in Cloudsdale? You got some special somepony you’re away from for this - that must hurt. And it’s not subtle at all, I’m sure of it, but for some reason he indulges me. Of course Cloudsdale’s great - it’s beautiful, apparently, but no, there’s no pony back there he’s missing out on. If he did, he’d bring them here anyhow. And I guess he’s asking me just to be nice and fair, even it out like he did with those drinks, asks me if I have some special somepony. No, no. I don’t.

That’s that for then. We keep talking of course but it’s not like somepony is gonna get out a ring and propose. No, but we carry on for a bit, soon enough he has to leave and I’m just sat there staring at an empty glass that used to have lemonade in.

That’s not the only time we talk that whole week, he sneaks up and says hi a couple times more. What really gets me is the letter: It’s a couple months since the rodeo’s been done and gone, and he’s asking about that spare room I have. That he wants to spend a little more time in Appleloosa. I can’t remember ever giving him the address, but maybe he asked around. Looking back, I feel I should be more put off by this than I am, I’m not. I just write back and say of course. Then soon enough it’s the two of us alone in my father’s house.

---

“Staying with him was one thing, but when I tasted his cooking? I knew I couldn’t just leave him.” Soarin chuckled - we all did. He’s better at telling stories than me.

The chuckle died off and there was some lull in the conversation. A silence, not awkward, really, more deserved. Chance to unwind. Then Applejack piped in, “Well, I’m glad y’all are happy. The family’ll love to meet ya.”

I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to this. If there is anything to say, even. Brought them out here - those two - but there was always gonna be four. Soarin is smiling, then he looks at me. Rubs his hoof across my back, not saying a word. And everypony can see it and I feel so stupid, so stupid right then and there. “I ain't-” I just stop there. Then it's a deep breath, I look over at Soarin. Put my hoof on his shoulder. Look right into him, those eyes of his. He's still smiling but not like that “fun” kinda smile, this other kind I've seen a lot. That smile he had earlier trying to convince me, show him to the family right away. My mouths open again, and I'm trying to talk but there's no use cause there's still no words left.

“Are you alright?” Applejack has this puzzled look on her face.

Am I alright? Looking at me like that and suddenly, no, I do have the words. No, I ain’t alright. Why aren’t you makin’ a big deal outta this? I have the words, this bile waiting in my throat now, but I keep it to myself - Why’re you pretending like this ain’t weird? - I couldn’t put that out in front of Soarin. No, I swallow that bile. Let it mix in with the stomach acid, just give them something instead along the lines of “I’m alright. I’m glad you like him. I must be the luckiest stallion around.” only with more stuttering and stammering since I’m still deciding what I’m meant to say seconds after I’ve already said it.

Applejack takes this, she’s happy with it. “This is gonna be the best family dinner in a long time.”

Soarin takes it too - or maybe he doesn’t. He knows me, but I know him and I know he wouldn’t want to make a fuss here. Or I know that he knows that I don’t want a fuss to be made in front of anypony but him. “Hey, with what Braeburn can cook, I’m hoping it runs in the family.” He grins as he’s speaking, that effortless grin he summons: the teeth perfect in their togetherness, confident in its composure, wide but not overbearing. I think summons is the wrong word, it’s a cynical word. Soarin isn’t cynical with his emotions and his expressions. Not like me. “What’s on the menu?”

And Big MacIntosh peeps up again in some grand play of serendipity, in some move from a poorly written novel I’m sure I remember putting down on my bedside table. “Well, d’ya like apple pie?” and the stars burst into the room, you can feel the heat as real as they are. You can see those little smudges in your eyes from where you stare at a light too much. The stars burst in with the weight of the memories they wrought - not for me.

Soarin’s head is playing catch up for a bit, trying to adjust to those twin suns coming in and out like that, trying to put back together everything they left behind. “You know I-” and he drifts off again. Now some eyebrow cocked, and he tilts his head to go with it, “You guys aren’t from Appleloosa too, right?”

Applejack and Big MacIntosh manage to give their answers in unison: “Nnope.”

“I just- Just had the funniest memory. I visited Appleloosa, back when I was a foal. Just for a day or so with my family. I remember there were a lot of ponies there that wanted to talk to me, kept asking me questions, and I swear - I’m just remembering this now, and I swear on my life one of them looked just like you, Big Mac. He asked me that same question, do ya like apple pie? I just… I thought it was funny ‘cause everypony else was asking me things about Cloudsdale and being a pegasus and things like that, and then this colt just asks me what sort of pie I like.” He laughed. “Maybe I’m remembering wrong, but I swear he looked just like you.” And now he’s shaking his head, like he’s trying to shake out this false coat of oil paint welled up in his brain, took over his memory.

Now Big MacIntosh is staring at Soarin like he’s crazy - like Soarin’s crazy, like Big MacIntosh is crazy. Either one, both. Maw is hung open slightly, eyelids pulled partway down as if blinds on a busy train. Then he closes that mouth and gulps - not the grand kind of gulp you have in dramas, just that small, reserved, genuine one. “I think…” and there’s a pause like he’s waiting for the punchline.

“I think that was us.” Now Applejack’s shaking her head as well. “I mean, that was us. Big Mac was there, Braeburn and me. I’m sure Apple Bloom was too. Well, my memory ain’t perfect but I don’t suppose there was another pegasus got asked the same question by some other Big Mac out there.” Silence finds it’s way between us for a moment too long. “I ain’t going crazy, am I, Braeburn?”

Here I am, looking at another chasm to cross. I guess I have no reason to lie, but that’s never stopped me before. “I remember y’all visiting, and I think I remember seeing some pegasus too that same week, but I’d be jokin’ myself if I tried to tell you what anypony said to ‘em.” And I look over to Soarin, “Ya really think it could be you?”

He’s looking back at me, then the next moment he’s looking right in me. Through me, through to my blood pumping around inside me. “Maybe some things are meant to happen.”

“Huh?” It took looking at everypony else for a moment to realize I was the one who said this.

“No, I… I think I know what he’s sayin’.” Applejack’s nodding while she says this, but not a confident one. “Braeburn, I ever tell you how I got my cutie mark? I mean I don’t need to go tell the whole thing now, we ain’t got all that time. But I was in Manehattan, right away from the farm, wanted to be myself for some time, y’know? Find where I was hidin’ in that big city, and I’m not findin’ anything. I don’t realise how rotten it is to be there, ‘til I’m lookin’ out that window and I see this impossible rainbow in the sky, right? Pointing right back home, telling me where I’m meant to be. So I follow it, follow this rainbow home and it turns out I was right back at the farm that whole time, cutie mark in tow. The point- the point is, I mean, that that rainbow was Rainbow Dash. Sonic rainboom -” out the corner of my eye, I saw Soarin prick up at this “- her sonic rainboom. Like it was meant to be, right? Like even then she was meant to be there for me. Like some things are meant to happen. Just not right away.” and I’m taking it in, all the while she starts to look shy, hangs herself in her lap - the words ‘nevermind, it was a dumb story anyway’ are practically audible even if they don’t actually come out…

It was sort of funny - your whole life you think you’ve lived the Great Equestrian Novel, then some day you find out it was just the prologue. I didn’t pay much attention to the rest of the conversation.

Applejack was right. She was right about a lot of things, really, but here I mean she was right when she said the family would love Soarin. They did. There was a little bit of confusion and clamor at first but that gave way soon enough to laughter and joking and Nice To Meet You’s. It was past afternoon now, about getting ready to cook and everything. I slipped into the cracks between conversations, let myself turn invisible. Right there, and no one can see you - a bad habit maybe, maybe just a skill. Sat and let it all run through me, let myself be grounded. The hooves I stand on and the floor beneath them. The sun outside - it’s presence fading, now - and the blocks of light that come through the windows, slowly tilting across the floor, waiting to disappear.

Granny Smith was in her chair, Applejack was by the oven, Apple Bloom and Soarin at the table, Big MacIntosh somewhere between them. I stood by the door. Apple Bloom, she was interested in Soarin, how he’s a Wonderbolt and all. Says she’s not got the dreams herself, her pal Scootaloo, though, does. Or not the dreams necessarily, but some kind of special interest about it all. So she’s curious. It’s nothing new to me, of course. I heard enough about the Wonderbolts the first time I asked.

“I’m gonna go check, make sure the room’s gonna be alright for the two of us.” and I leave the kitchen. Leave the farm house. The sun is setting, the sky has this deep, impossible red to it - such a strong, strong red, making itself known through the clouds. I find myself staring up at it, that scroll of fluff and color dusking past slow, a moment longer than I expected. Shake it out of my head, I’m not going there. Not yet, anyhow.

No, it’s a river just on farm property. I go there every time I visit. Funny to think that seeing a river’s such a special occasion, but you don’t get them back home - there’s a lot you don’t get back home. It ain’t really a special river (no bluer or browner than any other, runs slightly shallow from the bank, goes at its own speed) but I like it there. I like sitting on that bank and just looking. Hearing, hearing that rush and trickle, hearing the birds saying Good Morning / Good Night in the trees across the other side, hearing that slight wind whistle and rustle through the grass. Seeing a slight chop and splash as it makes its way past that rock, that pebble, seeing the slight brustle of the greenery in the wind, seeing the way every reflection ripples through that water. It never comes back the same, when that reflection goes in. It wobbles, shakes, warps a little, as each little stream of water goes against the others, bounces together and apart, each carrying their own little fleck of your face staring back at you. There’s something to that, right? Even in a proper mirror you’re seeing your face all the wrong way round, here it can’t even keep itself straight for you. Just back and forth, time doing the work. You look for two seconds and it never holds the same throughout that. You look even longer, how much will it change? I don’t think it stops. Just keeps going, never the same again yet you can’t help but to tell, it’s still the same as it always has been. And it’s murky, now, with the sun still peaking out, still eeking that muddy blue, that clear brown, into the water. Where it’s harder to see out of it as it is to see through it or stare right at it, but the sun’s going down and the night’s readying to make itself known and the murk is wanting to clear into that mirror, that real mirror that it gets to be so late on.

So I’m just staring and waiting. And breathing, I start to hear my own breath, feel it in and out of that chest, those lungs inside. Feel every little dot of air work up and down, in and out, feel every twitch and shudder of that maw, those nostrils, to let the rest work through. And for a moment I am that breathing, nothing more - that murky, dancing puddle of yellow staring back at me loses it’s form. Lets itself drift a little further down the river than it should have, and there’s just that breath making its way through some invisible work of architecture, this machine, this steam engine made just for that: just for those breaths. And it’s here that I hear Applejack and let myself fright harder than I have in my life.

Supper’s on, apparently. And I’m wanting to nod and go on back but there’s that bile from earlier, that bile mixed in with my stomach acid, this horrible regurgitation, choke it back up. And there it is now, I’m saying it - “Why’re y’all acting like this is normal?”, and I’m stuck back here in my own body, staring out of my own eyes, this face on of disgust or maybe genuine confusion. Even I can’t tell.

“Look, ain’t nothin’ wrong with needin’ to be alone sometimes.” It looks like she’s about to put out a hoof and comfort me.

“No, I ain’t-” Scrunch up my mouth, chew the proper words out. “Me and Soarin. Me.”

She looks a little offended by this, then takes on some squint. “I don’t think I know what you’re trying to say.”

“Turn up some day with a stallion, and then y’all just go on like nothing’s changed.”

“That’s cause nothin’ has changed.”

I don’t know how to respond so I don’t.

“Look, Braeburn. We knew you were gay.” And that’s word that spikes right through me, presses right into my heart. Throttles it.

“I ain’t- I mean, we don’t have to go around… throwin’ words.” I’m staring at the ground a bit before I can manage to look back up at her. “You knew?”

“It ain’t exactly detective work. I mean I had it pretty much figured when you’d never have a filly with ya, like, ever. That was a clue at least. And, I dunno. Y’seem the type. ‘Course the subject comes up one time and Big Mac says, yep.”

“Big Mac?” And I guess I’m trying to pretend like I care less than I do. “What do you mean, what’d he say?”

“Just said that you were.”

I narrow my eyes. “How’d he know?”

“How’d he know? I dunno, ain’t you folks supposed to have some kinda sixth sense about it? You’d be better askin’ him, not me.”

“Well, I guess… Supper’s on.” And I get up to leave, but Applejack isn’t having it.

“No, hold on. Hold on. I don’t mean to be prickly here but this is more’n just somethin’ to drop and go eat.” She starts to dig one of her hooves into the dirt. “I mean, you don’t- you-” and she sighs, lets her next sentence build up before she lets it out. “I’ve been there for Big Mac since day one.”

“That’s different.”

“Different how?”

“Well you know how he is. Find himself a filly, or- Or, y’know, he’s got that… Choice.”

“I-” She paused for a moment. Sat down next to me. “First off, that ain’t a choice. No, come on now. Think he’s any better’n you? Or worse, whatever it is you’re tryna say to me. Cut him and he bleeds, same as any pony. ‘Specially same as you. And you think maybe this is just about you keepin’ yourself, havin’ your own but it ain’t. You’ve got a partner now and I’ll be damned if you’re gonna keep this up, cause I don’t think he deserves this.”

I was about to speak up, but whatever I was going to say she’d already heard.

“Now I ain’t sayin’ it ain’t difficult for you. That’s not what I’m sayin’. All I’m sayin’ is if you’re gonna keep your head under the water, you ain’t bringin’ Soarin’ down with you.” She looked away for a moment. Off into that mess of trees across the river. I don’t know what she saw in there, but she must’ve seen something. Then it’s back to me. “Braeburn… Braeburn, we love you. Stop- I mean- I mean, we love you. I wanna help, we all do. I wanted to do you right, I didn’t wanna freak you out or push you down ‘cause I know you don’t take to that. I didn’t wanna be the one pointin’ at ya. If it’s somethin’ you need talkin’ about, it’s words you gotta say. Can’t expect me to say ‘em for ya.” She goes in to hug me, and I accept, I give in, I turn myself about her. Out of the corner of my eye, that reflection, we look like one. And I didn’t even notice I was crying ‘til I tasted the salt in my mouth.

---

It was the second, maybe third day Soarin was staying over. First time he stayed in that house with me. I was up making breakfast for the two of us. We weren’t anything yet, it just felt strange to have a guest over and not to cook for them - I imagine in some simpler world I would do well as a housewife. I’m cooking on, and there’s some thud on the window, right by the back door. Turn the stove to cold as it goes and inspect. There’s some rustling upstairs, Soarin’s making his way down to check out too (I assume he was worried somepony got hurt) and I look on, open that back door.

It’s a bird on the ground, must’ve flown into the side of the house. I’m about to close the door and get back to cooking but Soarin’s already by my side and trying to pick the bird up. Then he’s got it in his hoof, looking at it, the thing’s not moving. Doesn’t say a word to me, Soarin just goes in, puts it on the table. Then he’s off and finds a saucer, runs some water in it, puts it beside the bird. Standing there watching it now. I can see in his wings, he has one scrunched up the same way the bird hit its own. And it’s an eternity in a minute before that bird chirps again, scratches its wings against the air. Hoddles on to that little saucer best it can and takes a bit.

“You should probably leave that door open. Hopefully, it’ll fly out when it’s ready.” Soarin’s looking at me now. “Got anything to feed it?”

I think for a moment. “Don’t s’pose they take to biscuits ‘n’ gravy. I think I got some corn somewhere, probably’ll do.” I go look and, sure enough, have a few ears of the stuff. I’m not sure what I’m meant to be doing so I just lay it on the table by the bird. But this won’t do, no, so then I’m off chopping and preparing this corn the same time our breakfast is probably burning.

I can’t remember how long we stay staring at that bird, nibbling on the corn and trying it’s best to sip up some water from that saucer. Of course I plate and serve the breakfast in the middle, only slightly burnt, but that’s not the focus. It takes steps, hobbles about, works its wings (and, again, you can see Soarin working his in sync) and at one point tries to fly off. Something doesn’t come right and it just drops off the table, a small drop, luckily. So it’s back on the table and more time to stare and hope - put some coffee on the pot. Eventually enough, the thing does get moving, and it’s wings don’t fail it this time, and it’s out the door it came in through. Past noon by this time, I reckon. That much of the day spent on this bird. Soarin says one thing about it all: “I wonder if he’ll come back.”

Anyway, the rest of the week is passing. Soarin’s about and the folks are starting to get to know him. He’s enjoying his time there, and, surprisingly, enjoying his time back at that house. More than formalities, he’s actually trying to talk to me. I feel bad that I’ve pretty much nothing to say to him - in the time between that rodeo and his visit practically nothing eventful had happened.

Many conversations come and go, the one sticks out the most: I’m on asking him about him, sort of trying to get to why anyone who don’t live in Appleloosa - or have family in Appleloosa - would dedicate themselves to spending any amount of time here. I asked him if he’s lived in Cloudsdale all his life, and I get that seeing one place enough makes any other look exotic. But no, not exactly, not all his life. Just the most of it. Says he moved out (briefly) to Canterlot for some coltfriend of his, some pegasus in the royal guard. Wonderbolts got to know the royal guard well enough through their mutual work for Princess Celestia. I mean, that’s not the point. That ain’t the point, is it? Coltfriend, and the word for him was butter, not bile.

I think I crack some awkward joke - “I don’t suppose that’s what you’re tryna do here!” - and his laugh, you can tell, is more polite than it is genuine. And when you’ve only met the two - the one, the none? Well, when you don’t know any, here, now - that’s for sure - it pricks out even more than it must for the typical. Typical of us, I mean. And, I don’t know, some audience that won’t judge. Some pony who I’ll never see again. How did you figure out? and at first he’s not quite sure what I meant, I didn’t phrase it the clearest. Let myself fog over the words, have it harder to see all of them for what they are. But, you know, where you first realised, you know, with that other stallion. Or a other stallion, or what have you. But you know what I mean, but I’m not too sure if this is the right thing to say or and I don’t mean to say anything rude to you, you know, it’s just this ain’t what you… but I’m rambling on, at some point he feels it’s his turn to join in. He tells me, he does. You saw that colt on the edge that wasn’t quite sure, that drain he found himself winding down. I won’t repeat his words, they were there for him and (to a lesser extent) for me, but he shared and that’s the important part. I’m too absorbed into that to pick up on the silence for a moment - here we are in this room, it’s darker. The kitchen, sitting across from each other, no sunlight to make it bright, just the couple candles I put on in their holders. There’s that flicker, that shadow we lay on the floor. Two shapes, and they look so similar when you see those shadows. We don’t look similar, but our shadows do, and the same table that’s always been there, and the air sort of… filling the room. This air in the room with us, more than I’ve ever had for me before. I’m letting it all settle in my mind, scraping at the floor with my hoof and I don’t realise it, and then suddenly the silence becomes too obvious and I feel like I’m meant to paint over it. “Is it true y’all can tell each other apart?”

That’s that night, and others pass, and it’s the last day he’s here. And he’s not about to head off yet - there’s still time in the day for him - but he comes back to me and hands me this box. “It’s a gift.” A thank you for letting him stay here (like it was ever my choice) and it already seems so much. Oh no, don’t worry. Thank you, thank you, but really you don’t- but he does, and he wants me to open it. It’s a birdfeeder. “Now whenever that sparrow comes back, he’ll have something else to fly into.” and I don’t know why, but more than anything else, this is what sends me out. I mean, I never even cared about that bird in the first place, right? So why is this so sweet? I dunno. Just keepsakes I guess. Something to prove this ghost real. I guess I tear up, and he comes to hug me. That was him, I wouldn’t in a million years. You don’t in Appleloosa, shaking hooves usually does enough. “Thanks for letting me stay. Really.” He lets off.

I’m not sure what came over me - some emotional confusion from that gift, the feeling of another stallion still warm to my fur, the incorrect knowledge that I’d never see him again, maybe even the worse sleep I’d been getting on account of his snoring - but it was the best thing that ever did. I speak, for the first time in my life, with clear words. “I want to be the stallion in your life.”

He didn’t say yes right away, but he didn’t say no either. He called me sweet, said out of all the Appleloosans he met, I was surely the kindest - and he assured me that wasn’t nothing to say. As much as I’d like to snark and disagree with that, the ponies here are damn kind when you’re on their team. “I’m not a pony who likes to rush anymore. Ironic with my job, I know. I wish I had another week here to decide but I don’t.” He hugs me again, I’m not sure the intention behind this one. “It’s- I don’t know. I can leave on a later train tonight. I’ve- I’ve had a week already. I don’t know.”

I start to feel bad, I’ve put some tongs on him and squeezed. “Don’t worry about me, Soarin. I never meant… You should be livin’ your life and I’ve put some hot spike in the middle of it.”

He laughs at this. That hurts me right until he follows it up with, “Hot’s the right word.” Chuckles again. “I’ll write you.” And it felt like that fairytale moment where he should be walkin’ on out the door, some dusk coming down on us, some feelin’ in our hearts never known, some hopeless hopefulness and that bittersweet ‘the end’, but of course that ain’t what goes down. It was only just past noon. And I’m not clever or together enough to properly say anything back to him, so I just decide to start baking an apple pie. Another treat before he goes. Something, something, he loves it, I don’t know. He was probably thinking about it all that time, gears whirring in his head, but it’s fun to say the apple pie did it. It’s fun to say that a little bit of sugar and cinnamon can crank a heart and turn a ship. It’s fun to say the cooking made him stay, just that day. That one extra day. That was everything.

---

When I walked back into that kitchen with everypony else I had the horrible feeling I shouldn’t look at Soarin. I just… Trotted through, studying the pattern on the floor. The knots and weaves of wood beneath my hooves, the ones that creaked and the ones that didn’t. Kept my head down to it, ‘til me and Applejack had sidled to the table. We’d been so long everypony else had already started eating.

“Sorry about the wait, Braeburn…” I heard the gears work through her head on what she was supposed to say. “He wasn’t where I was lookin’ for him.”

I look away, rub on my neck with my hoof. “Forget how beautiful it is out in that field ‘til I get caught in it. Happens every time, minutes just slip me by.” Figured I should try and clarify. It wasn’t untrue.

They hardly let up to speak, mouths still full of corn and gravy. I find myself frozen as I stare round at the empty seats, the politics of it all too much. There’s a free seat next to Soarin, a free seat opposite Soarin and a free seat right at the end of the table. I look to Applejack and she makes some face to me like, What’s the hurry? I don’t know, I don’t know what’s the hurry. I don’t know why my heart is tugging right up to the edge of my chest. I don’t know why I always let ponies down Applejack’s words were a part of me now - they still are, that rose, but I’ve seen through the fog and tears and know where to hold the stem from the thorns. But those thorns, that grasp, some rush of adrenaline - some too-fast-to-care - and I sit next to Soarin. I still don’t make his eyes, or give him my words. I just stare at the plate passed to me.

From the edges of my vision I see Applejack sit opposite. Ponies are still eating, noisier than it ever was back home. My stomach’s either too full or too empty to let me start myself. It doesn’t matter, I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve got the best regiment when it comes to getting all my meals. I don’t know - I don’t, I’m not drowning him. I am not drowning Soarin. If anyone was drowning Soarin, it would be Soarin because it’s Soarin’s choice to be here with me but I am not drowning and neither is he. We’re fine. He’s fine. I respect him, I love him for the sake of everything between Tartarus and Canterlot. I love him. So why can’t I look him in the eye? And why’s he staring at me like that, and what is it he’s about to say with the way his-

“Are you alright? Just not… Not hungry?” And I have to look up to him, I don’t have a choice. There’s not a smile there, and I am hungry, of course I’m hungry. I haven’t even had lunch. I’m hungry, I’m starving, and I don’t really feel great and I swear I can almost see his wing crook the same way that bird’s wing does where it got sprained but the more I look the more it seems fine and I haven’t seen that bird in too many moons to count and I do really need something to eat.

“No, I’m alright. Big breakfast.” Nod at him as if the words meant anything, that plate for me still untouched. It’s times like this when I really wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Only when I don’t have the clear space to think properly about it. When I can just droop in the same circles over and over ‘til it’s done, where I can strike my hoof against the wall ‘til one of them dents. He seems to nod back, but he doesn’t look happy about it – he’s sewn his maw shut, stop any frown from making itself too known. Stop any water from seeping in. No, no. Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t worry about me. Your weird respect for me, your stupid damn love for me. He loves me, for the sake of everything between Tartarus and Canterlot. I’ll… I’ll try. Don’t breathe in that water, just let me try. “Aw, heck. It’s been too long since I’ve had some proper Apple fam’ly cookin’ to care how hungry I am.” Fade out my brain, the faces about me, just start shovelling and swallowing. It’ll be over before I know it.

It was dessert - apple pie - then talking with the family, and after that was bed. I’ve never held Soarin so tight in my life, I didn’t sleep a wink.

---

The funny thing is, as much as Soarin stayed with me in Appleloosa, I was never worried about ponies seeing us together. There’s something about Soarin - a magnet - where I don’t even matter going round with him. You let some Wonderbolt stay at your place every couple weeks? Who wouldn’t! It’s Appleloosa. You’re goin’ with him to some fancy dinner? Who wouldn’t! He’s a Wonderbolt - I sure wish I was that close with a Wonderbolt. That close? They don’t know, it doesn’t matter. I just like being with him. Braeburn and Soarin coming round again! You know you’re real lucky to have a friend like that, anyhow. You bet! Of course I never kissed him in public or anything (learned my lesson on that front, ha ha) but, despite my best efforts, I still couldn’t keep him from hugging me much as he wanted. It’s a Cloudsdale thing. Sure, why not.

I love him, everything about him. The way his wings flex right before he’s about to fly - it embarasses me, for some reason, that I still ask him to fly for me. Just to watch, watch him glide through the air. Much as I fancy myself good with a lasso, it’s nothing to nothing when you see him fly. Course, he’s a Wonderbolt. You have to be that good to be a Wonderbolt, but does that make it any less beautiful? Maybe it’s formed or fixed, or rehearsed one thousand times, but he’s still doing it because I asked. How selfish of me! But I can’t help myself, the warmest blue dot on the warmest blue sky, that grin he always has.

He’s always smiling, up in there. And on the ground, he’s still a force to be reckoned with. He’s not a poet but his words are just as beautiful. Poets are liars, I’ve learnt that. When you have that much control over the words you use, have that much thought and importance to them, you lie. You bend and twist the words and with them the truth behind them. Soarin’s not a poet, when he says something you know it’s true. That’s what’s beautiful. A poet could come up with a million ways to describe a sunset but they’ll never say as much as when Soarin told me “That’s a nice sunset.” And his hugs, and his kisses, and he’s not a cook but he can sure do a nice coffee. And every other little thing I don’t have the time to mention, but I do love him. I just wish I wasn’t so… me.

---

That first golden orange beam of dawn was what finally sent me asleep after the rest of that night just holding tighter than ever, willing my love into him. I'm sure it was less than an hour after I dozed off Soarin began to stir, and me again with him. Even in that short rest I'd managed to drool a river's worth on him. He puts up with me because he loves me, perhaps. Anyway, he's up and I know I could just go back to sleep, tired as I am, but… I don't know. Applejack's words from last night were still sore on me. Sore at first because I thought she was wrong, then after all that time to think, sore because I thought she was right. I wanted to be there for him today. Not the other way round, at least for once.

So, I’m cantering down the stairs, groggier than ever. Those steps, some of them creak and bend beneath you. Other’s hold on strong as possible. Like walking down a dodgy piano. It’s funny how some days you think the world is gonna end, then the next day you wake up still there. How the story keeps going, no matter if you look or not. Happened last time, happened this time, it’s gonna happen next time. Anyway, traipsing down, keeping it together. It’s the first day in a long time I haven’t cooked breakfast. Or where someone else cooked breakfast for me.

It’s not all clear, it’s getting a little jumbled, but I’ve got a trembling lip and a bursting heart. And I wanna be kind and good. I’m eating whatever food it is, it doesn’t matter, and I’m sitting across from you and I’m staring at you and I’m trying to look determined or something, but you’re laughing. And I wanna be mad but I can’t because I know if you’re laughing it must be funny, so I laugh too. And it’s us, laughing at nothing but each other. I don’t know, it felt just again. Whipped up into some warm pool of Gold and Honey and Spirit, floating there. Everything else slipped by, just us in this thick, sticky pool and I knew what Love meant. Then something or other, it fades, it’s drained. I’m back on the ground and the love is memory, ghost again. Not that it’s gone - that I don’t love him, I still do more than anything. It’s the most amazing, strong ghost I ever felt. But that moment held something… Perfect. I never believed in perfect ‘til it came and left me, maybe I still don’t. No sleep, half tired mind, hopped up on sugar… It’s a nice day. We decided to go for a walk.

The farm’s big enough just to wander through there, back and forth to whatever spots take your fancy. I played guide for Soarin, of course I wasn’t all too familiar with the place myself. But I was more familiar, so I led. We wandered here and there, led through the apple trees, past the barn, sidle along the fence, leave the best ‘til last: It’s been who knows how long, probably an hour at least, then it’s that river. Just us, the sun’s out properly - you can see it’s gleam on the river, that rippling mass of bright white. It’s a calm river, there’s not been much rain. I’m there, the stars in my eyes, my heart stuck downstream and I’m waiting to see Soarin - what he says, what he thinks. He doesn’t seem to think much. “It’s a nice river.” I could get all uppity and try and say something more - I don’t. It’s a nice river, it’s so much more, but it is a nice river. I want to sit and watch for a while, Soarin just wants to sit with me, so it’s a nice agreement. Sitting there, resting into him, him into me, one in the reflection and close enough outside it. And the lack of sleep is getting to me, the river is so calm. The birds are singing lullabies. I just drift off. I can almost tell you what I dreamt of, I’m sure there was a sparrow there. Other ponies, Applejack maybe? Maybe one I met at the rodeo a long time ago. I’m not sure it matters, all I know is it felt real when it was happening.

“Come on.” Soarin’s there, poking me, shaking me a little. Gently. He chuckles, “We should probably get back.” He’s looking down at me, my head still perched on his legs or something. No drool this time, a miracle.

“I’m sorry.” It comes out of that haze, that fog, when you first wake up. The half of your brain that’s meant to be smart is still dreaming, so it’s just the rest of you working. So I’m shaking my head and apologizing.

“What, for sleeping on me? I’ll admit I’d prefer if it was sleeping wi-” I like Soarin, he’s charming, but I couldn’t take that right now.

“No, for- For everythin’.” His smile wraps to some confusion as I look for more of the words I need. “First- First- First off, I’m sorry for makin’ you wait in that cafe yesterday. I don’t- I like you Soarin, I don’t mean to pawn you off and act like you ain’t there. I shouldn’t be, I mean- I don’t know. I’m sorry for that. And second-”

“Hold on. One at a time.” Soarin’s rubbing my back now, looking right inside me - those eyes, wide, serious but they’re not scary. “Thank you. It’s- I wasn’t… Really happy about that. Not- I was fine waiting in the cafe, but, I mean, you didn’t even tell them I was there? And this is- You’ve apologized. I accept it. It’s- I know things can be tough for you. I… Wish I had the words. To say what I mean, or-” He gulped. “Thank you. You’re here. With me, we’re both here. And I met everypony, and they’re all so nice - really, I mean it, I love your family - and we’re not dead.” This little small laugh, or maybe it was just him breathing.

His words said so much all I could do was nod.

“Just- Don’t leave me. Not like- Don’t make me be away from you when I should be by your side.” After Soarin says this, there’s a bit of quiet. Then the birds in the trees change their records over from lullabies to love songs, and it really is a nice river and Soarin and I go in for that kiss. Pull away, “C’mon. Let’s get back.”

---

We had a pretty bad fight one time. We didn’t hit each other - depths of Tartarus, neither of us could, I think. But there was a lot of yelling. It was grim. It was awful. One of us would probably have ended sleeping somewhere else, if there was anywhere else for us to sleep. I was sleeping poor on account of his snoring, I was working myself thinner than I had to - oddjobs around town, pony down the street was building a shed and wanted a helping hoof, among a couple other things - I had to cook dinner like I did every night. It’s no reason to snap, but what is? I said I wouldn’t cook, and he said what was he meant to eat and I said something along the lines of ‘I guess whatever you can make, cause I’m not doing it’. It wasn’t so much just the words, more the way I said them. ‘Would it kill you to help for once?’ The word slob came up at least once, among other far worse terms. It’s all a rotten memory, it claws at the heart but I keep going back to it. Some reminder, some warning sign. Mostly I just want to hear those words he said: “You’re better than this.” After that I went on some long thing about how no, actually, I wasn’t and it was his choice to be ‘rolling about in the mud’ with me. Again, I’m skipping over a lot here. I don’t like to think about the most of it, I don’t want to do over the worst of it. But, “You’re better than this.” I don’t know, it’s simple. It’s nothing special but I guess it’s just he means it, he really thinks I’m… good. And he says it straight to me face when I’m being bad. Is that special? It was an awful fight. I didn’t eat, I think he scrounged up something for himself. We slept in separate bedrooms. I’d never slept in my father’s bed before.

---

The rest of the day isn’t all too important. I stick by Soarin, for the most part. I find myself alone with Big MacIntosh for a brief moment: Say, remember…? “I’d rather not.” Back with Soarin. Talking with Applejack, Apple Bloom, Granny Smith, MacIntosh again. They’re a nice family, we’re a nice family. It’s that buzz, “Time flies when you’re having fun.” It does, flies right by - if you’re lucky it’ll do a loop-de-loop for you. Lunch, a great one. Applejack offers to introduce us to her friends. I say no, but thank you regardless. Some games with the family, card games mostly - I seem to remember a mention of “catch’im” that didn’t go anywhere. Lots of talking, laughing. Soarin can’t stop asking questions - a fair few about me. Has he always been like this? More or less. And the laughs fill the air so much you can barely see the clock, that when it finally fades you realise you should be on your way by now.

The time spins on, water down the drain. We stood on that train platform, all of us - gave our goodbyes, our hugs, our thank yous. Our see you soons. And I meant it, I did want to see them soon. Properly. Not just for the big gatherings, not wait years more than I really should. Actually go and see them. And write too. Then we pack onto that train - me and Soarin - and we’re waving out the window, train lolls out of the station, bumbles on like a dream, and we’re waving at the family and they’re waving back and it feels like maybe an hour before we get going, just this warm space between us. No words being said, but those hooves waving say more than words could. It’s whole, it’s true. It’s nice.

Finally, we’re in Appaloosa again, me and him, wrung about each other across some soft surface… I ask him what he thought of it, what he thought of them. He loved them, of course. He had a great time, of course. He loved their cooking, of course, of course. There’s just one thing, just one little thing. It was nice, it was great, and he doesn’t mean to make a big deal but it is just that one thing that soured it a little. He enjoyed himself, it’s just… “They’re nice ponies, but they can’t cook an apple pie anything like yours.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I copied their recipe.