Noteworthy was a stallion.
A stallion, an Earth pony.
A musician, a gentlecolt.
Noteworthy was many things, to both himself and to the other ponies around him.
The other ponies around him, all of whom the stallion knew personally. The small town he resided in wouldn't be a good one for an anti-socialist. Everypony knew everypony, that was just the way it was.
Ponyville.
That was its name.
The residence of Noteworthy, and the other ponies around him.
Noteworthy loved the town.
But Noteworthy also hated the town.
He took trips to Canterlot from time to time, packing a single suitcase with his essentials and heading for the train station, where the usual ticket puncher would greet him with the same big smile and the same cheery attitude as he had grown accustomed to for the past five years.
Noteworthy would stick his head out the window casually, finding the ever closer-growing silhouette of Canterlot appearing in the distance, its tall towers and royal palace filling up his vision as they drew near its train station, where the stallion would always trot right past the same ticket puncher, giving him a friendly shout of thanks, before turning his head to enter Equestria's capital, his brown suitcase bobbing and bouncing like a giggly filly on his side.
Canterlot was different from Ponyville.
In Ponyville, everything was accepted and celebrated.
In Ponyville, everypony knew each other as if they were brothers and sisters, barely anypony hated each other.
In Ponyville, happiness was everywhere.
In Canterlot, festivities and celebrations were held to a bare minimum.
In Canterlot, everypony knew each other as if they were strangers, only knowing other ponies from magazine articles or the newspapers on their latest scandals and endeavors.
In Canterlot, happiness seemed to be kept violently at the front gate, thousands of depressants barring it from so much as stepping a hoof inside the capital city like Royal Guards at the Royal Palace.
Noteworthy hated the city.
But Noteworthy also loved the city.
Not for its fancy behavior.
Not for its exquisite cooking and luxurious locations.
No. Not for any of that.
His happiness was of a single mare.
His only happiness.
His sunshine.
Every time he visited the city, he made sure to catch up on the mare, hoping that his visit would be the visit, the visit where he would emerge from it with a lack of regret and a lack of sadness. The visit where he would emerge with something to finally help him feel happy in his life, something that could give him eternal happiness.
Happiness was a word he considered constantly in his life. What was happiness to Noteworthy?
Happiness was what the ponies around him knew as his life, happiness was what they believed their dear blue friend had, what they believed their beloved Noteworthy to be constantly feeling every day and every night, every second upon the minute upon the hour of his life.
They all had good reason to believe so. Noteworthy had friends, many friends, all of whom appreciated his presence, whether he was actually present or not. Noteworthy was a funny, talented pony, always cracking the best jokes that would please and endlessly humor his friends. Noteworthy was a skilled pianist, a skilled musician, a skilled artist. His house was filled with collections of his own music and paintings he had made in his spare time, only to be marveled upon by his friends and visitors as they stared in awe at his accomplishments.
To his friends, Noteworthy was a friend to be had, a pony that could very well be one of the best ponies anypony could have ever met. To his friends, Noteworthy was a great pony, one always fighting for the greater good, one always setting a fine example for what a stallion should be.
Noteworthy was many things, to both his friends and the ponies around him.
Noteworthy didn't share these same views on himself.
Noteworthy didn't see himself like his friends did.
That was just the way it was, and Noteworthy accepted it.
Canterlot's streets were filled to the brim with posh, stuck-up aristocrats, ones who would walk with their muzzles held high, as if so much as staring straight forward was but an embarrassment, a sin, something to raise a fit about and ponder like a professional dealing with an imbecile.
Aristocrats who would constantly stare at him as he passed by in silence, as if Tirek himself were wandering aimlessly throughout their city, a place he didn't belong. Aristocrats who would turn their heads and whisper obvious rumors about the blue stallion as he passed, something Noteworthy took note of quickly, not even needing to look around to know that those aristocrats and those nobles were talking him up.
Noteworthy hated the city.
But Noteworthy loved it as well.
The city housed her.
The mare.
His happiness.
The one true reason for coming to the fancy city.
The only reason for coming to Canterlot.
Noteworthy was a very loyal stallion when it came to friends and family.
Noteworthy always took sides with his friends, no matter the situation and no matter the resolution. Strangers were strangers to him, ponies he didn't want to know, ponies he thought would ruin his life. Noteworthy kept to himself most of the time, but when it came to Canterlot, he took a leap of faith.
Leaps of faith.
Every month was filled with them, those dangerous leaps.
Leaps of faith, at seven 'o' clock sharp, as Celestia's sun itself decided to slowly disappear behind the Macintosh Mountains for its lunar cousin to rise and shed its own light among its citizens. A tag team, if you would.
Noteworthy made sure he was there. Always there.
No matter what. Even if it broke off from his loyalty to his friends or his family. Noteworthy was always there.
Sitting silently in the audience, watching them.
The Canterlot Orchestra, in all its beautiful sounding glory.
Noteworthy was always there, sitting among the audience, watching as the Orchestra filed into the theater, the attending ponies clapping their hooves lightly as the group set up their instruments, their music, their stands and chairs, as they had done hundreds of times before. Then, as they finished, the conductor trotting up to the single microphone sitting in the middle of the stage, he would see her.
The mare.
She would always be sitting on the right most side of the conductor, her bow perfectly upright and ready to play, her left foreleg perfectly positioned for perfectly making the notes that would always fit perfectly in their songs. Her bass perfectly polished, her posture perfectly presented.
The mare was perfect.
The mare was beautiful, standing idly as the conductor announced himself at the podium, introducing the Orchestra and proudly presenting what they would be playing that night. The mare was talented beyond belief, being the only Earth pony in the Orchestra who played a string instrument, something everypony who was anypony knew was an extremely difficult task.
The mare was the one.
The mare was the one, the only one Noteworthy loved. The only one he could ever love.
The mare was Octavia Philharmonica, and the mare was Noteworthy's sunshine. His only happiness in this wide, wide world of Equestria. The one thing he could, and has ever wanted in his entire life. He loved her, more than anything.
Noteworthy loved Octavia.
And Noteworthy would do anything for Octavia.
But Noteworthy didn't even know her opinion of him. Not even one bit.
Noteworthy had met her when he was in the fourth grade in Ponyville. A bright sunny day, full of potential and opportunity, as Noteworthy's father always put it. He could remember it, transcript it, and visualize it completely in his head, as if it were only hours before.
The young Noteworthy had tried to boycott the school's wall ball at recess, seeing countless fillies and colts walk out with bloody noses or scrapes from falling on the stone cold concrete marking the recess grounds. Mustering up his courage, he had trotted over to the usual colts playing it, the professionals, as many had seen them as, firing off insults and questions at a mile a minute.
Of course, this had made no effect on the colts, who instead pushed him down and caused him to face plant onto the concrete like so many before him, causing the young Noteworthy to lament on his failure. Sitting on his haunches on the side of the monkey bars, he had planted his face in his hooves and tried desperately to think away the pain on his forehead.
As a bird flew over his head, startling him, that was the moment. That was the moment, where he first saw her.
She had been in his class since the beginning of the year, back in the fall. But now, with the birds of spring calling their beautiful songs as they rode the wind fluttering about the fields, Noteworthy had noticed her.
The young gray mare strode casually up to the colts who had pushed Noteworthy down, prompting the young colt to gaze up from his despair and lament to watch in awe as the gray filly shouted at the professionals in broad daylight, the unicorn professionals stopping their professional wall ball game to listen to the filly.
Noteworthy couldn't make out what she had said, the young mare. All he knew was, was that it worked like a charm. As she trotted away from the back wall of the school house with a disgusted frown on her face, the colts back at the playing area dropped their ball and scurried off toward the playground, making sure to keep both the lamenting blue colt and the frowning gray filly in their sight as they escaped to safer areas.
Noteworthy hadn't even realized what was happening until the filly had sat her rump down alongside him, breathing out a long sigh and burying her cheeks in her delicate gray hooves. At that moment, in the bright Equis sun, with the cool wood under him and the clouds above nowhere to be found, with the lovely smell of pines and pollen mixing in with the lunch being prepared from indoors, the young Noteworthy had realized that this mare was something odd.
Something to be reckoned with.
Something to be close to.
Something special.
His heart had stopped, and the young colt hadn't even noticed. Looking over to the filly, he had scooted closer to her and began to talk to her, as if they had already been friends for years.
The first thing he had asked her was what her name was, and she had replied with a sweet, angelic sounding call of her name.
Octavia.
Just the simple mention of it had caused his young heart to flutter. He had quickly answered back that his name was Noteworthy, and began a thought process so fast throughout his mind that it would have made a Wonderbolt red with envy. Swiftly, he had begun to discuss the professional colts, which the mare was all too happy to talk about with him. Soon after, as the recess bell rang, she had become his friend.
Someone to talk to.
Talk.
Noteworthy wasn't a professional at it. He wasn't born a unicorn, and he surely couldn't play wall ball, and in no way, shape, or form could he so much as talk with ponies he knew. In fact, it seemed easier to talk to strangers than it was to talk to both his friends and his family.
Noteworthy was a hypocrite at times. Sure, he could talk. He could keep up a conversation if in the right company, and even if not in the right company, he would still be able to make an impression on the strangers involved. No. Talking was easy for Noteworthy.
It was talking to her that was difficult.
Talking to Octavia.
That was the most difficult task he could ever so much as think about performing.
They knew each other, that was easy to figure out.
Ever since the fourth grade.
She knew as well.
Octavia knew that Noteworthy liked her.
She had been told countless times when they were in grade school that little Noteworthy had a big crush on her. Noteworthy himself had witnessed this countless times then as well, unable to do anything in favor of not seeming suspicious, and for the well known fact of his that no matter how hard he would try, the reminder would find a way to yell the truth through Noteworthy's clenched hoof covering their maw as tight as duct tape.
Noteworthy didn't know what she thought of him. That was his number one problem.
Not one pony had ever told young, teenage, or adult Noteworthy whether or not the mare had liked him back. In fact, it seemed as if ponies were afraid to, one way or another. Even if asked to, the ponies would remain silent, instead diverting his interrogating and questioning like mosquitoes and changing the subject to the point where the blue colt would just harumph in defeat and trot off, unsure.
All Noteworthy had in his endeavor were rumors, gossip, and assumptions.
Saying that Noteworthy was going in blind would be a complete understatement.
As time went by, Noteworthy found himself more attached to the young mare, talking to her more and engaging in partner activities with her whenever he could. He had many times found himself jealous of her close friends, ponies such as the orange maned crop owner, or the all-knowing dentist-wannabe, or the spunky, toothpaste maned biped hunter. If not one of them, Octavia would pick all of them to be her partners, leaving the young Noteworthy to either be stuck with nopony in particular, or nopony at all.
No, Noteworthy did not consider himself a close friend of Octavia's, no matter how much he wished, wanted, and hoped for it to be true. Noteworthy talked to her, yes. Noteworthy liked her, yes. Noteworthy sat next to her throughout all of grade school together, yes. But Noteworthy did not consider himself a close friend of hers.
All that, he wanted to change.
Desperately.
And he got his result on a bright fall morning, as the now sixth grade young mares and stallions filed into good old Mr. Bon's classroom.
That year, as an exclusive for the sixth graders, they would be able to invest in learning an instrument in one of the two; band, or orchestra.
Now, Noteworthy had been a fan of both for years in the past. Band had held such legends as the Duke of Ellington, and the entirety of the smooth jazz genre. Thinking in his head, Noteworthy immediately thought of band as his way to win the mare over, to become closer to her, to become close friends and live happily ever after together.
That had all been changed when the mare had said to her close friends that she was thinking of joining the orchestra and playing a double bass at recess. Noteworthy did not consider himself a close friend of Octavia's, so this he had to eavesdrop on as they played near the swings, the young colt in an obvious position, just a couple feet away and sitting next to some colt swinging next to his marefriend, pretending to be listening to the two talk about hanging out that Saturday.
Noteworthy had found success, the mare only noticing him once, but seemingly not caring. She gave him a smile nevertheless, which prompted yet another halt of the colt's heart. Breathing heavily, he had looked desperately around for an escape route, for he had already recovered the info that he so desperately needed. Finding his few friends over by the monkey bars, he bid farewell to a confused couple and trotted swiftly over to his friends, knowing full well what he would be choosing.
Noteworthy was happy. He knew just how to get closer to the mare, just how to win her over with one fell swoop.
This was all crushed in one fell swoop as well, just as he had imagined for the exact opposite.
Now, Noteworthy was a fan of both jazz and classical music, and his mother and father knew this well. He enjoyed both the smooth sounding vibration of a trumpet, and the beautiful setting of a viola's strings against a bow. And when the colt had walked into their home, talking up his day about band and orchestra, he had been ushered downstairs expecting to find the gateway to his heaven.
He had instead been shown a dusty old trumpet, one that Noteworthy's father had played in his childhood.
Noteworthy didn't want to be a failure to his parents. Not one bit.
And Noteworthy wasn't one to refuse gifts, especially not one so special to his father like his prized trumpet.
So, Noteworthy had appeared the following week, a black and silver case in tow, walking disappointingly into the auditorium to join the new band recruits and their teacher Mr. Brochure. He couldn't even look at the old trumpet as he unpacked it from the dust-ridden trumpet case manufactured over a century ago. As he began to create notes with the mouthpiece, akin to a helium-infested mallard, he slowly accepted his fate, and after three weeks, even grew fond of it.
But the mental image of the mare playing her double bass with only seven other ponies in the cramped PTA room stuck in his mind like a consequence, finding small holes to hide in for the colt to be unable to both locate and dig into thoroughly. It troubled him greatly, and he could never really think of himself the same way.
As middle school started later that fall, the colt decided to try and move on with his life, knowing full well that it probably wasn't meant to be in the first place. So, he grew attached to a close neighbor of his by the name of Roseluck, and soon enough the two were a couple, always walking home with one another and sharing an almost mutual love.
But, Noteworthy wasn't happy with her. Octavia knew that he had moved on, and probably would have began dating other young stallions even if he hadn't moved on, but seeing Octavia with another stallion, one who obviously made her happy, one who would do things for her and one who would be her pillow as they walked down the halls made something in Noteworthy's blood boil to the point of bursting out of his veins, seeping through his blue coat, and pitter pattering down to the cold floor below.
She had dated two young stallions.
Two wrong moves, one of which she acknowledged.
The first was a drug user, a pervert, a sexual harasser, a player. Noteworthy had tried to tell her, but couldn't. She was happy with the bastard, probably not even knowing of his true nature. She had even talked to Noteworthy after school had ended on a Friday afternoon, telling the Earth pony how happy and great she had felt, being with the bastard. Noteworthy couldn't bring himself to ruin it for her, so he kept quiet.
Noteworthy hated the bastard. Noteworthy knew him for what he was.
Octavia didn't.
But her lack of knowledge didn't last long.
She had been used, thrown onto the side of the street like so many unfortunate mares before her.
He had stolen her first kiss, and had stolen her pride. He had left her.
Noteworthy had never really seen depression until he had seen what the bastard had left of Octavia. Sluggish, tired, and angry, she would shrug her friends off and walk home alone, to the chagrin of Noteworthy, who tried to help her.
She had confronted him over a week later, calling herself rude and meaningless. Degrading herself on her appearance and almost pummeling herself into the dirt by the two's hooves.
Noteworthy didn't have any of it. He had almost lost it, barely stopping himself from yelling at the mare and telling her that she was the exact opposite of what she was claiming. That seemed to only further trouble both his and her situation. She then opted to yell at Noteworthy about his mistake of crushing on the mare, being reminded that she would always remain the social butterfly, and being threatened that the stallion should just go and like another mare.
Noteworthy was crushed.
Octavia was angry, and told him that when she saw him the next day at school, it would be like they hadn't even talked that night at all. Noteworthy went home alone, conflicted, and sad.
The mare had held up to her word, seemingly unaffected by what Noteworthy had said, both the good and the bad.
As the months went by, the mare seemed to calm down, and eventually talked to Noteworthy yet again, as if not remembering what had happened. So, Noteworthy set out to find a way to win her over. Trying to find excuses, he eventually, out of luck, tried talking to one of her friends just to drop in subtle hints.
Her name was Lyra, and she had mentioned Noteworthy's redemption with one simple word.
Birthday.
Octavia's birthday was coming up later that month. And Noteworthy was going to do something special. Something memorable.
He settled on a surprise, one more fitting than anypony else could have ever thought of.
The two were in eighth grade, Noteworthy playing a skilled trumpet with another pony, and Octavia playing an almost professional double bass with three others. So, Noteworthy had asked both teachers of both classes for a favor. And on the morning of Octavia's fourteenth birthday, it was granted.
Noteworthy's period of band, with him leading, marched into the Orchestra room, blaring the Happy Birthday song to a shocked Octavia. As they hurried back to the Band room at the conclusion of their performance, Noteworthy thought that this was it. That this event, that what he had just done for a single mare, the one mare he loved, was enough to win her over. Enough to finally be happy in his life.
The mare didn't seem to even notice it, only mentioning to a friend that it had scared her, and only thanking the pony responsible the day after, with just a simple word of thanks. All that trouble, all that work for one kind, special thing, only for complete failure.
Noteworthy didn't understand it, but he didn't have to.
He had help.
Help, from a stranger to him.
Help, in the form of constant letters and confirming advice.
Noteworthy had taken to calling her Sparrow, which she acknowledged multiple times.
Sparrow had helped Noteworthy with Octavia. After all, she was going to the same school, and knew much about the two, and the ponies around them. She used this to her advantage, and actually found a way to encourage Noteworthy, telling him about her very convincing assumptions about the mare, and the facts and figures he had no idea of.
Sparrow had told him time and time again that it would work, that he would succeed. That she would finally realize who it was that was there for her, all that time.
Sparrow told him to wait.
Sparrow had helped Noteworthy for four straight months, before disappearing forever.
In her letters, she had mentioned many times that her time was slipping, but Noteworthy didn't want to believe it.
Noteworthy had assumed that Old Faust was Sparrow, helping in her own words the most important pony in the world with something more troubling than anything he could ever come upon. Her last letter had told him of an important date on the last day of that school year, the twenty second of May.
On that day, the stallion had kept his eyes peeled for whatever it could have been.
Walking home after that supposedly fun-infested day, he had found, uncovered, and been granted nothing of the sort.
Everything was the exact same as it was before, nothing changed, nothing altered, nothing fixed.
Fixed.
That's what Noteworthy imagined his life as, with her.
Fixed.
Just so much as thinking of having the knowledge of the mare being by his side as his lover was enough to make him want it more than anything.
And Noteworthy loved Octavia more than anything. And she knew.
He had told her, twice. Once by mail, once in proximity.
The first time was simple. He was depressed, lonely, and contemplating fleeing the town. Writing out a heartfelt letter, he threw it in his mailbox and waited for the inevitable. It never came, and only assumptions from his now close friend Roseluck were given. Octavia had told Roseluck about the letter, to which the rose-maned mare had given pure shock and awe. Octavia told her she didn't know how to reply, smiled, and walked away.
Noteworthy was close friends with Roseluck. He believed her. So, he set forth on talking to her more and more each day. Which led to the second confession on yet another bright spring afternoon.
Noteworthy hated the bastard. Octavia's first coltfriend. He hated him with a fiery passion, and wasn't afraid to talk bad about him in public with his friends. The bastard had caught wind of it, and sent one of his lackeys to threaten Noteworthy.
The bastard was a drugee, a cheater, a liar. And the bastard had dealers, dealers who were friends, dealers who led groups of ponies with shivs poking crudely out of their clothes.
Noteworthy didn't like to believe that drugs were possible in the seemingly peaceful and innocent country. But they were there, and a gang trafficking them would soon find themselves on the trail of a bad-mouthing blue Earth pony talking their close friend and high-paying customer up like Celestia and Discord.
Noteworthy knew very well that he could die. It wasn't an overreaction. He had been caught walking the same path that the stallion took to walk home with Octavia, when he usually would be picked up by his law-enforcing father and drug-addicted mother. Instead, he had walked Octavia's way with two of his lackeys, one of whom was close friends with Noteworthy as well.
Noteworthy knew very well that he could die. And he knew it more than anything. So, two Fridays after paranoia, he walked home with the gray mare, who knew very well that the bastard was after him. She knew, so Noteworthy didn't do a lot of talking with her as she walked calmly to her house, not suspecting the stallions next words until just a couple feet from her house.
I love you.
It was a simple, three word phrase.
And Noteworthy had spoken it, the gray mare it was directed to stopping midstep, stuttering out a failed response. Noteworthy had adjusted his saddlebag, spoken a quick farewell, and trotted to his house, where he collapsed on his couch and waited for his life to end.
The bastard had left a month later, not even getting a chance to lay a hoof on Noteworthy, who was all but happy to find out the news from one of his lackeys, now in suspension for being part of his crew.
Noteworthy was always there for her.
Through depression, anger, sadness, loneliness, alcoholism, and suicidal solutions.
And through her depression, anger, and loneliness as well.
Noteworthy was there for her concerts. Seven 'o' clock sharp, after the day was over and the moon was rising. Everypony in the Orchestra came to know why the blue stallion in the bleachers was there. They knew who he would always be there for.
The gray mare playing away at her double bass, as perfect as a professional.
He talked to her after every concert. Congratulating her, complimenting her ensemble for that evening, even so far as assuring her that she had done a good job, after realizing her nervousness, signified by the incredibly shaky hoof she always brought out to the blue stallion. Noteworthy had thought up many things he would do for the mare after those concerts. But he would never actually so much as begin the process of them.
He had thought of carrying her bass for her. Every concert after that, either her father would be carrying it for her, or she wouldn't even be carrying it at all.
He had thought of talking to her and starting an actual conversation. Every concert after that, she would always be next to her close friends, her family, or both at the same time.
He had thought of talking to her on her last concert, attempting a bit of a leap of faith. That evening, he had put on a red tie and a white collar, walked over a mile to the school, and watched in awe as Octavia finished her final concert of the eighth grade. He had tried so hard to talk to her. But, as before, both of his thoughts were spoiled. Along with two of his friends performing that night bugging him and calling for the mare, Noteworthy missed his chance, and walked home in sadness.
Noteworthy had an undying devotion to the mare, a devotion so strong, he was willing to go miles for her.
Risking his life.
Risking his grades.
Risking his friends.
Risking his happiness.
Noteworthy was nothing to Octavia.
But Octavia was everything to Noteworthy.
Noteworthy had went in blind in his attempt to win over the mare's heart. Blind, deaf, and illiterate, with no knowledge whatsoever of the other side's position on his own. And, when that event of nothing happened on that final day of middle school, Noteworthy was convinced of something.
Noteworthy grew distant from everypony he knew, from his friends, to his family, to strangers, to his colleagues.
Noteworthy grew distant from Octavia.
And Octavia grew distant from Noteworthy.
Noteworthy grew attached to the feeling of a full bottle in his hooves over time, and constantly found himself drunk beyond belief within the safety of his own home. A troubled artist. He knew that Octavia had started all of this for him, all of his misery, all of his depression and sadness, all of his anger and loneliness.
But Noteworthy still loved Octavia.
And Noteworthy still carried on the tradition of attending her concerts.
His leaps of faith, at seven 'o' clock sharp.
In a city he hated, but a city he loved.
For a mare he loved, but who didn't love him back.
For his sunshine.
His only sunshine.
His sunshine, who had grown into a beautiful, talented, social mare.
His sunshine, who had become a success, while he himself had succumbed to the lowest point of his life.
But Noteworthy still loved Octavia.
And Noteworthy still attended her concerts, hoping, praying, wishing, begging the powers that were that something, anything would spark in the mare, as Sparrow had said so many years ago.
And yet, even as he waited in the lounge, watching as the esteemed, critically acclaimed Canterlot Orchestra went round the guests, being congratulated and marveled upon, he would always see her. And she would always see him.
As they looked into each other's eyes, Noteworthy would see the love of his life. The one pony out of seven billion in the world that he wanted to be with, that he wanted to love and cherish for the rest of his life. He knew that she knew this. His friends weren't always quiet about Noteworthy and her, and Noteworthy knew that she knew.
And yet, even as Noteworthy stepped a hoof to talk to the mare, she would trot off, away from Noteworthy and into the growing crowd of aristocrats and nobles, who would recognize the stallion and begin talking rumors about him yet again.
And in her eyes, Noteworthy knew.
She couldn't be with him.
That would foil her reputation as a high-class, skilled, sociable individual.
Noteworthy wanted to believe that that was the sole reason, he wanted to believe so much that the only thing stopping her from being with the stallion was her duty to her reputation.
But Noteworthy knew better.
Noteworthy knew right, just as his friends would always say.
And they were right, and Noteworthy wouldn't see the gray mare for the rest of the night.
And, trotting off into the dark with his brown saddlebag bobbing like a foal in water, he would always walk by the same shop.
The same shop.
The same florist that haunted him in his dreams.
He could very easily buy a bouquet. One of roses, red and white. One he could trot back and quickly give to the mare, as a reminder of his love for her.
But Noteworthy knew it wouldn't work.
Noteworthy knew, and Noteworthy knew right.
So, trotting off toward the station, with an empty heart and a bag of bits, Noteworthy would leave Canterlot, being greeted by the same cheery ticket puncher, being given the same dialogue, and hopping onto the same train in the same seat to the same location as before.
And on that train ride, he would think of dismissing the idea of attending the mare's concerts, knowing full well its uselessness in building his very wanted relationship. And, the month after, he would find himself on the same train in the same seat to the same location to the same event as before, wondering if the event would be the one where he would emerge with happiness.
The one event where he would emerge with a lack of regret and a lack of sadness.
The one event where he would be able to see her.
Where he would able to talk to her.
To her.
Octavia.
His happiness.
His one, and only, sunshine.
