Braeburn trotted into the Appaloosa bar, smiling at everypony who greeted him on the way in. He made his way up to the bartender and sat on one of the stools. The bar was more lively than normal, mainly because the busy work week was done with. Many of the mares and colts gathered around, drinking salt water and having a grand old time.
Braeburn sighed, wiping his forehead. “I’ll take a glass of ale, if you don’t mind,” he said.
“A rough day, I assume?” the bartender asked, cleaning one of the glasses. “You don’t normally ask for something that strong, Braeburn.”
“Nah, just takin’ a load off tonight,” Braeburn said, putting his hoof on his chin. “Not the easiest job greeting new people to the town. One might think I have a harder job than the sheriff.”
“Well, don’t let him hear you say that. The old coot’s pretty defensive about his job!”
Braeburn chuckled. “Yeah, he sure is.”
“Well, give me a second, and I’ll have your drink ready.”
Braeburn relaxed in his seat, glad to be off his hooves after a hard day’s work. Glancing around, his eyes instantly caught the sight of some fine-looking mares in a booth by the side of the saloon. One of them waved at him while the rest giggled, whispering to one another while taking quick glances at him.
“Here ya go, bub,” the bartender said, laying down Braeburn’s ale before the stallion. “Don’t drink it all at once, ya here?”
Braeburn, in his usual showmanship style, chugged down all the booze in one go to impress the cute mares. Judging by their impressed awes, he apparently did so. Wiping his muzzle of foam, he winked slyly at the mares with a cocky grin.
The bartender rolled his eyes and continued wiping down his glasses, muttering under his breath, “The young ones always are morons.”
After finishing up his mug, Braeburn set the glass down on the table and trotted towards the mares, grinning confidently. The mares continued to giggle and stare at he approached the group. In range of them, he tipped his hat and lowered his head.
“Well, howdy there, pretty ladies,” he said. “Mind if I give you all some company?”
The mares stared at him, smiling warmly. “If you want. We don’t mind.”
Braeburn nodded and sat next to them, noticing that the mares were still giggling.
“Looks like you ladies are having a good time,” he said, winking at them.
“Oh, are we ever.” One of the mares smiled at him, stifling her laughter. The others followed suit, sharing smirks and all-knowing glances.
Gulping and feeling a cold bead of sweat travel down his neck, Braeburn attempted to play it cool by coughing into his hoof and saying, “So, what are a group of fine lookin’ gals like you all doing here?”
“Oh, you know, just passing the time. Enjoying ourselves,” one of them replied. “How about you, handsome? You doing well?”
Braeburn sighed and pushed the tip of his hat up. “Well, I’ve seen better days, that’s for sure. Ain’t no point in complaining though. Just seeing you lovely mares brightened up my day plenty. In fact, you ladies could brighten up my night as well, if any of you are interested?”
“You sure your coltfriend wouldn’t mind?” one of the mares asked.
“Oh nah! He’d be fine with it. It’s not like we—” Braeburn froze. His eyes began to twitch and his mouth became cracked. “C-coltfriend?”
“Yeah! You know, that cute blue stallion you always hang around with. You two look so cute together. How long have you been a couple for?”
“C-couple? We ain’t no couple!” Braeburn yelled, shaking his head furiously.
“Oh, I get it,” one of the mares said. “You’re keeping it a secret, aren’t you? What, are you afraid of what your family or friends would say if you came out of the closet?”
“I’m not in the closet!” Braeburn shouted. “And especially not with Soarin of all ponies!”
“Oh, so you’re dating someone else then?” another mare asked.
“What? No, I’m not dating anyone!”
“Really? Because I know this sweet stallion at my workplace, and you’re just his type!” The mares shared giggles and started to talk about how cute him and the other stallion would be together.
Braeburn watched their conversation with a gaze of a deadman walking to the gallows. Not only had they shot down his advances, but apparently he was also gay now. That was just putting salt in the wound!
Buck it! That’s it! Braeburn clumsily lifted himself from the mess of a impressment he pulled on the mares and walked out of the bar without a backwards glance. I am not about to let Soarin ruin all my future chances of dating! There has to be a way to make everyone know for a fact we’re not dating!
Glancing left and right once outside, Braeburn trotted to his home, which he just so managed to share with Soarin. We’re just roommates, and that’s it! Nothing else to it, and he needs to understand that.
Braeburn stopped and tapped his head with his front hoof. He felt as if a train had ran his skull over, and the situation he was in didn't help with the pain either.
“I shouldn’t have downed that drink so fast,” Braeburn groaned. His vision was slightly hazy and the world looked blurry and cloudy to him, but not enough for him to bypass his house. Or, more accurately, their house. With a heavy sigh, he trotted towards the hazel door and opened it.
“Braeburn!” Before he could react, Braeburn was tackled and sent tumbling to the ground by a heavy mass. His head took even more damage, increasing the headache he already had. Opening his eyes, Braeburn was confronted with the way too close face of Soarin, whose eyes were only inches from his own. “How are ya, buddy?”
Braeburn groaned. “I was doing half decently until you pounced on me.”
“I do it because I care,” Soarin replied, picking his friend up in a spine-bending hug. “Ain’t that right, buddy?”
Braeburn gently pushed Soarin off of him and walked inside the house. He shook his head in an attempt to ward off the growing migraine, but to little avail. “Well, yeah, you do it because you care, but—”
“Why do you smell like ale?” Soarin asked, flying over Braeburn’s head and sweeping his hat off his head. “Are you drowning your problems in booze again? Don’t you know about therapy? Which, actually, is much more expensive than booze. So good on you for being smart financially wise!”
“Ha ha! Quite the comedian aren’t you?” Braeburn snatched the stetson hat from Soarin and adjusted it back on his head. “But you see, the problem I have, I can’t drown with booze… even if I wanted to.”
“Is this about your mother again?” Soarin asked. “And how she loved your sister more than you and all that other stuff you write in your diary?”
Braeburn’s face went red embarrassment and anger. “You read my journals!?”
“No, I read your diaries.” Soarin rolled his eyes. “Sheesh, Braeburn, don’t accuse me of stuff I never did. It’s rude you know.”
Braeburn sighed and planted a hoof on his face. “Forget it. That’s not even the issue.” He walked to the cabinet to grab himself a glass. “See, at the bar, I saw a few mares. Quite the catch too. So, naturally, I tried to find me a partner.”
“You mean a quick one-night stand, right?” Soarin corrected him with a wink.
“You call it a one-night stand. I call it an attempt at finding a nice mare to hook up with.” Braeburn chuckled and walked towards the sink, pouring himself a little water. He held the glass over his mouth and downed it all in one gulp, sighing in satisfaction. His head still pounded though. “Really shouldn’t have downed that second mug so fast.”
“Dude, you’re such a lightweight!” Soarin laughed, stretching out on the couch like a cat. “No wonder the mares weren’t interested. You’d have probably passed out from a third glass. Not really that appealing to the chicks when a dude gets tipsy from just one sip.”
“That wasn’t why they weren’t interested, idiot,” Braeburn snarled. “And I so wouldn’t pass out after taking a third—” Braeburn cut himself off with a hiccup. Soarin continued to laugh. “Shut up, alright! It’s not the reason I struck out.”
“Okay then. Want me to tell you the possible reasons why you struck out?” Soarin withdrew a scroll from seemingly nowhere, which reached the floor. “I’ve been making a list. We can begin on body odor, or go to right to the heart of the problem at dependency issues.”
Braeburn pounded his head on the counter. “It has nothing to do with me… mostly. It’s actually you.”
“Hey now, I’m not responsible for the body odor! That’s you and your fear of soap! As for the dependency issues, that’s probably your mother as well.” Soarin tapped his chin and hummed under his breath. “Actually, I think I see where you’re getting at. It’s pretty obvious. And I gotta say, I’m really sorry about it, dude.”
Braeburn's ears perched up, and his eyes widened. “Really? Huh, I didn’t think you actually would understand.”
“Yeah, I really should’ve seen it coming.” Soarin sighed, one hoof held on his forehead in an over-dramatic expression. “All the mares want me, so they ignore you. I’m not surprised, of course, but I didn’t think it’d affect your dating potentials that much.”
And there went Braeburn’s sympathy. His head was throbbing and his embarrassment was high. He wasn’t in the mood for Soarin’s playing, and the pegasus’s comment pushed him over the edge. “Oh yeah, you’re affecting my chances alright. But it has nothing to do with how you look! They think that you’re my coltfriend! Half the town thinks that!”
Soarin snickered. “Dude, you’re probably just overreacting. I am known in this town and abroad as a stonecold marekiller.” Soarin blinked. “Not literally, though. What I mean by that is that the mares fall all over me.” Soarin shook his head. “And not that literally either. Though… I guess it can mean that to a certain extent too. Never thought of it that way…”
“I know what you mean,” Braeburn said. “It’s just not what ponies are thinking. And I’ve noticed this. Everytime we hang out, the others are either giggling or talking. I’m pretty sure it’s about us.”
“It could be you they’re giggling about,” Soarin pointed out, hopping off the couch and slinking next to Braeburn. Grabbing him in a headlock, Soarin lifted off Braeburn’s hat and put it on his head. “You are kind of a goof, you know.”
“Says the goof that suggested we wear each others clothing for a day,” Braeburn scoffed, grabbing at his hat once more. “And would you stop doing that? It’s starting to annoy me.”
“What, this?” Soarin asked, on the other side of Braeburn with his head back in his hat. “Your hat is just so comfy and warm.”
“This is what I’m talking about! Nopony is going to believe we’re anything less than friends if we keep acting like this.” Braeburn walked towards the fridge and opened it, browsing around for something to eat. “I mean, doesn’t what you just said sound a tad bit gay to you?”
“Wouldn’t you thinking it sounds gay make you gay since you took the connotations of my words as to be perceived gay only by your viewpoint, which I must say, sound a bit queer right now?” Soarin frowned. “Or would that be gay?”
“You know what, just buck it.” Braeburn continued to browse the refrigerator. Inside was a half pint of milk, an opened container of yogurt, salad mix, and the crust of a pie Braeburn was sure Soarin had left to go bad. However, there was something missing, something that agitated Braeburn further and helped his migraine grow. “You ate it, didn’t you?”
“Ate what?” Soarin asked, looking over Braeburn’s shoulder uncomfortably close.
“You know what I’m talking about!” Braeburn bucked Soarin off of him and glared. “I bought a rye sandwich with tomatoes, asparagus, and swiss cheese with a spread of hummus on it. It even had an olive poked through with a toothpick I could have sworn I saw you pick your teeth with the other day. That was supposed to be my special dinner. I specifically asked you not to bother it, and you ate it anyways!”
“You know, knowing all of those things that were in your sandwich sounds pretty gay,” Soarin pointed out.
“You’re gay!” Braeburn retorted, slamming the fridge shut with his back hoof. “You’re the one comfortable with wearing tight uniforms all day when we’re hanging out!”
“And who’s the one who notices said tights?” Soarin asked, sticking his tongue out at Braeburn. “I do it for the mares, dude, but if you get uncomfortable with staring all the time…”
“I’m being serious!” Braeburn interrupted, pointing a hoof in Soarin’s face. “This affects you as much as it does me! If you want ponies to think you’re gay, that’s fine, but I don’t want them to think we’re… ow! OW!” Braeburn turned around and rubbed his temple.
“You seem to be forgetting something, Braeburn.” Soarin lifted up one of his wings and brushed it across Braeburn’s muzzle. “I have these babies. Which means I can head up to Cloudsdale whenever I want and score entire crowds of chicks. You’ll just have to find another solution to your apparent crisis.”
“Just… forget it.” Braeburn gave up. Trying to explain anything to Soarin was the equivalent of trying to get a dog spade without any issues. Practically impossible. He somberly opened the fridge again and grabbed the opened container of yogurt. It was obviously Soarin’s. He was the only one who ever left a half eaten container of vanilla yogurt in the fridge. Braeburn sniffed it to make sure it hadn’t spoiled, relieved when it turned out not to be the case. “Soarin, I have to get up early tomorrow, and I have the biggest headache right now. Do you mind getting some groceries before you go meet up with your Wonderbolt crew?”
“Ugh, mom, do I have to?” Soarin complained.
“No,” Braeburn snickered. “You could starve to death while I go out and eat by myself until you do get the groceries.” Braeburn pushed his muzzle into the yogurt cup, lapping up the rest of it. “By the way, how do you eat this stuff? It’s just processed, gooey sugar.”
“You know, caring about what you eat sounds pretty…” Soarin snickered, “Gaaaaaaaaay.”
“Whatever,” Braeburn responded, tossing the cup in Soarin’s face. “Just do me that one favor and get the groceries tomorrow, will ya?” Braeburn stretched out his hooves and yawned loudly. “I’m gonna go to bed.” Braeburn walked towards the stairway, wobbling from side to side and barely keeping his balance.
“Hey buddy, need any help getting up the steps?” Soarin asked. “Wouldn’t want the lightweight to fall over and hurt himself!”
Braeburn ignored him and continued towards their room. He pushed open the door, smiling softly at the inviting, king sized bed. It was apparent which side belonged to who. Papers, wrappers, and clothing littered Soarin’s side, making part of the room an eyesore. Even the bed itself was partially tacky. Soarin’s side, which often transcended to Braeburn’s side, was messy. His pillow wasn’t fluffed, his covers wasn’t made up, and there was a noticeable sink in the bed.
But what really stood out in the room were the photos in frames. Most of them featured both Soarin and Braeburn enjoying each other’s company. The two had been pals for quite some time, knowing each other even before Soarin became a Wonderbolt. Each image showed a happy memory. The two were practically glued together; two peas in a pod. And it was starting complications.
Why do I put up with this?
Braeburn set his hat on the arm of the bed and plopped on his side, sighing heavily. His head was still throbbing, his eyes were heavy, and his body felt numb. All of his emotional backlash took its toll and tired him out more than he already was. Slowly, his eyes began to close and he drifted off to sleep.
Or would have if he didn’t feel the impact of a certain pegasus jumping on the bed, forcing him to bounce a bit.
“Nighty-night, lightweight!” Soarin laughed, already stealing more of Braeburn’s side of the blankets for himself.
Braeburn groaned and grabbed at the covers. “Yeah, you too, my annoying roommate.”
Soarin snuggled up closer and stole more of Braeburn’s space, just like usual. With a little more room being stolen, Braeburn ended up being kicked off to the floor. Out of agitation, and partial spite, Braeburn smacked Soarin on the head with the butt of his hoof and pushed him over. He was able to get back in the bed, but the stubborn pegasus refused to scoot over.
“You know, this could easily be solved if we just get two twin-sized beds, you know?” Braeburn suggested.
Soarin’s only reply was a snore along with a half awake mutter of, “Membe, beby… piiiiiiiiie.”
Braeburn rolled his eyes. “Well, that was quick.” He didn’t try to push Soarin over, as his attempts usually led to him being trapped under his arms. So he just dealt with Soarin leaning on him with his wings splayed while he snored in his ear. Braeburn sighed, rubbed his head, and slammed his head on the pillow.
“Right now, the floor isn’t looking like a bad place to be.”
