You'll Never Know, Dear

by re- Yamsmos

Rating: everyone
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Sad, Roseluck, Romance, Original Character, Noteworthy, Octavia
Length: 15695

Noteworthy finds solace from his long and depressing journey.

Noteworthy finds solace from his long and depressing journey.

Published 2014-12-22 14:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2014-12-25 02:24:00 UTC

How Much I Love You

He hadn't even realized it.

It had gone by so quickly.

Winter had arrived, and it had arrived with fury.

It was completely covered.

Shrouded.

Blanketed by the thick, white snow.

The blank white cloud layer and the blank, white snow it brought had arrived early.

And it had arrived with fury.

And it had covered, shrouded, and blanketed the town with thick, white snow.

The town.

Ponyville was its name.

The residence of Noteworthy, and the other ponies around him.

Ponies he didn't see. Ponies he didn't want to see. Ponies he hadn't seen. Not in days, not in weeks, not in months. He no longer ventured out of his house, the front door growing dustier and dustier with each and every single day that passed. He no longer left his house. No longer opened the curtains. No longer made food.

No longer answered the distressed sounds that sounded at his front door with the accompaniment of a rapid set of knock knock knocks that signified his boss' sorrowful arrival.

No longer went to sleep.

He was starving himself. He was exhausting himself. But he didn't notice, and if he did, he didn't care one bit. It wasn't like there was anypony to impress anymore. It wasn't like there was anypony who would be there for him. Anypony to love him.

He hated to accept it, to following the stereotypical and traditional steps of grief. But he had, and he was now in the acceptance stage, neither happy nor mad, and most certainly not sad. No. He wasn't sad. He couldn't be. He couldn't be sad over something so simple as one mare. One mare he loved.

Oct-

No. No. He wasn't sad. He wasn't sad, but he couldn't mention her name. Despite this, his mind drifted to her more than he was okay with. Or, more than he could handle.

Octav-

No.

Stop.

Noteworthy. Stop.

He must'n't drift into the same routine again. Every time. Every single time he thought of her, an overwhelming amount of pain drifted through him with the lash of a thousand whips, as if it was a sort of torture. Maybe to him, but maybe not. He didn't know all too much anyhow. Maybe he was going crazy, he no longer left his house, and he most certainly didn't open his curtains to let the sun in-

The sun. He hadn't seen it for a long, long time. No opening of front doors, no opening of curtains. No sun. His house was most certainly a mess to see in the sun, but he didn't let it in, so how bad could it look to him now? He still wondered, despite. He tried his hardest to keep it presentable, but he still found himself wondering how he still did anything like that. It wasn't like there was anypony to impress, anypony to bring into his house and rate it like a Canterlot aristocrat who would stick their noses high into the air as if staring forward was but a sin, a curse. It didn't matter to him.

He was okay with it. And that was enough for Noteworthy.

And Noteworthy was always right.... right?

Right?

Was Noteworthy always right?

He thought back to his past. All the times he was right, and all the times he was dead wrong. Octav-

No. School. Grades. Family. Friends. Octav-

Damn it all. That was no good.

Maybe thinking wasn't best for him. At least, not of his own rightness. It didn't matter anymore anyhow. He was where he was at, because of how he thought, and who he thought of. That gray, Earth pony mare-

Stop it.

His head hurt sometimes. More times now than before.

He clutched it, shaking the ringing in his ears to the floor beneath him, dispelling them and sending them to oblivion in a pained hurry. As he shook his head, he blinked once, twice, three times, and found himself in the present once again, no longer sitting and thinking. There was no hill to go to.

His house was dark. The curtains were closed, as always, their dusty blue fibers remaining at a stand-still, like the rest of Noteworthy's house. Yes, his house seemed to be at a stand-still. As if it were stuck in one part of time and would remain like that for eternities to come. What he assumed to be the sun's beating rays tried their hardest to peer through the thick silk, only to be stopped by the thick silk itself. It was, after all, thick silk.

Thick silk. Huh. He didn't remember when he had acquired such a luxury. Thick silk wasn't a rarity around Noteworthy's residence, but it was a sight to see. At least, it was to him.

Thick silk. Thick. Silk. Thicksilk. Thick. Thick, thick silk.

Thick.

He rubbed his head again, gritting his teeth this time.

And this time, he blinked away his thoughts even more, and finally peered upward, only needing to lift his head up slightly to realize what he was doing.

Lying on the floor. Again? It couldn't have been the umpteenth time, but it sure was a time. He didn't remember the last time he had actually slept in his bed. Or, really, the last time he had ever been in his room for more than ten minutes at a time. It was all mismatched, mixed-up.

That probably had to do with the bottles that clinked lightly as he shakily rose to all fours, golden eyes narrowed in exhaustion and a tiring so affecting that he had remained inside his house for months without any contact from anypony ever.

He was becoming something reclusive, something that could only seek solitude and loneliness in its entire life, but he couldn't quite place a hoof on it.

And it wasn't like his brain was functioning properly all too often anyway. Only one thing roamed through it constantly, which most certainly wasn't healthy as far as he knew, but then again, neither was starving, exhausting, and drinking oneself to death. Which was what he was doing. It worked out for him; if he didn't eat, there wasn't any food to slowly lose. He had a refrigerator, a freezer. He could keep food stored for quite awhile.

Octav-

His eyes wandered to the floor, finding the bottles in full motion, rolling circles, curves, or even away from him, as if sensing what the stallion was capable of. Sure, he wasn't a unicorn, and he was certainly not a wall-ball player, but he was not something to trifle with as far as he knew. If he had the chance, he would probably beat the tar out of himself in complete anger for no reason whatsoever.

Noteworthy wasn't a devil. He knew that well.

But Noteworthy wasn't a saint, either. He knew that even more, but that was most likely due to his low, if non-existent self-esteem. He hated himself, it was true. He was a horrible pony, and quite honestly deserved the position he was in. He was a horrible person. He thought so. And Noteworthy was always right, right?

Maybe.

Snow.

Snow snow snow snow.

Winter. It had arrived.

And it had arrived with fury.

He didn't open the curtains, and he did not open the front door and step outside, but he was able to safely presume how covered his residence was. He had lived there for more than twenty five years. He knew the residence like the back of his hoof, which he could no longer see in the light-less interior of his household.

He raised the hoof, and noticed that he could indeed see it. Scratch that then, but what of his face?

It hadn't exactly struck him, but it wasn't like he necessarily cared. He raised the hoof, higher this time, to assess his face.

He scratched at his chin, under his nose, and around his cheekbone. He scratched at what he assumed to be a beard, something he seemed to be growing from neglect for his face. He hummed at it, a low, silent hum, and raised the hoof even further up to assess his mane. It was scraggly, unkempt, practically wild, like an exiled lion's who fell in love with a mare and was subsequently subjected to heartbreak and failure at every turn and finally broke down one day and kept to himself for four whole months, not opening the curtains, not opening the front door, forgetting about his appearance for lack of a better word, forgetting about everything around, counting the ponies and the town and his boss and Octav-

Stop.

He rubbed his forehead and grimaced. His vision swam in front of him as he slowly stepped through his house, the darkness from the sun-blocking curtains shrouding any mess that may have been lying on the floor. He always avoided the drywall of art, knowing full well what mess was on the floor by it, and what mess would become of him if he witnessed the painting again. It would remain on the floor for as long as would transpire, and that was just the way it was. And Noteworthy accepted that without a single word of skepticism.

Faust, he was a mess. Faust, he was a mess.

Faust.

He should really clean himself up. But, then again, why bother? He was inside his house twenty-four seven, and it wasn't like anypony bothered to try to interact with him, save for the knock knock knocking of his boss' arrival, but that was it. Nopony else.

Truth be told, he had nopony else anyhow. Not the biped hunter, not the carrot farmer, not the dentist enthusiast. They weren't his friends, they were Octav...

...they weren't his friends. He accepted that, and truth be told it didn't affect him as much as he thought it would. They didn't knock at his door, and he hadn't talked to them in a long time anyhow. He hadn't talked to a lot of ponies in a long time, anyhow. Not even his boss, no matter how much she knocked at his door and insisted he talk to her. He just didn't, and she would soon leave his door, only to return the next day to rinse and repeat.

He wondered why she knocked.

Damned thing wasn't even locked in the first place.

Even when he thought he'd collapse on the floor and sleep, the idea of locking the front door never crossed his mind. Maybe it was because he didn't care if anypony came to rob him in the middle of the night as he stupidly slept, or if the bastard finally came back to finish the job in the middle of the night as he stupidly slept. He just didn't.

He wondered why she knocked.

Maybe it was because she didn't want to witness the monster, the beast, the mess that was her friend Noteworthy, or maybe it was because she simply couldn't stand to see him.

His head hurt.

The bottles probably had something to do with it. He, after all, consumed much of their kind as of late. He hated to admit that he liked the taste, even when, by the third or fourth, it was just simple cold liquid pouring down his throat. Bottoms up, after all. Just like a game.

Just like a game.

A game.

Game.

Noteworthy thought that maybe it was all a game in the start. Maybe everypony he knew, everypony he met, everypony he faced, maybe everypony in his life was just playing the same game of interaction with him, and were now laughing at the results they, together, had wrought. He didn't like to blame himself, but he still did anyway. When he wasn't, he was blaming his friends, his enemies, his acquaintances. He wouldn't necessarily call it blaming, it was more of a meek observation, a tender sight to discover.

Or maybe that was just the excuse he was pulling. He didn't quite know for sure. And along with the blinding headache, it was most likely the bottles' fault.

Octav-

Oct-

Octa-

Octavi-

Noteworthy blinked.

He had stopped in the middle of the open hallway. He stood, blinking occasionally, as he swept his vision across his darkened household.

Oct-

No-

O. What a good letter.

Octa-

Noteworthy-

O. Probably one of the best letters, when it came down to it.

Octav-

Noteworthy no-

O. A perfect circle. A perfect shape. Perfect.

Octavi-

No stop-

O. Perfect.

Octavia.

Octavia. Philharmonica. Absolutely perfect.

Yes.

Absolutely perfect in every way.

Octavia.

Noteworthy smiled, despite all he had been through. It wasn't ear-to-ear, but it wasn't small and stout.

It was just a smile, one of happiness through blackness, and one of nostalgia through suffering.

Oh, how she would never know.

Octavia knew. Octavia knew that he loved her. Octavia knew.

For sure, Octavia knew.

But, oh, how she would never know.

She would never know how much he loved her. How much he needed her in his life. How much she mattered to him.

Noteworthy smiled, despite all he had been through. He looked to the floor, eyes narrowed not in anger. Narrowed, like the eyes of a caring pony witnessing their newborn foal asleep for the first time, like the eyes of somepony who had something to live for, the eyes of somepony who could wake up everyday feeling bright and happy and look to their side and find their special somepony nestled next to them with smiles upon their faces, happy.

Happy.

She made him happy.

He woke up, groggy and achy, but thinking of her, and her alone.

She made him happy.

She was his sunshine.

His one and only sunshine.

The only thing he needed, and the only thing he would never receive.

It was sad to him, but he still felt happy. After all, he couldn't drag her down. After all, he couldn't be obsessive over her, he never wanted that. After all, he was happy for her, no matter what she chose and who she chose. He had to be happy for her. He was.

Right?

Noteworthy was happy for her. She was the Lead Bassist in the Canterlot Symphony. She was highly esteemed as one of the greatest double bassists who had ever lived. She had a nice house in Canterlot. Good company. Great friends. It was perfect, and he was happy for her. It was the least he could do after all he'd done.

Yes. That was it. He could be happy for her. He couldn't be selfish, or vulgar, or rude. And he most certainly couldn't be so sad.

But.

Why was he, then? Why was he sad? There must be a reason why he was keeping to himself in his own house without opening the curtains and cracking open the front door and avoiding everypony he could. There must be a reason he drank himself to sleep and why he didn't eat and why he didn't like to sleep in the first place. There must be a reason, and being sad was the most likely culprit.

He bowed his head and sighed. Maybe he was sad. But he shouldn't be. He had to be happy for her, and he couldn't be sad about her at the same time. No, that wouldn't do. It couldn't. Then, why was it?

He shook his head, then raised his hoof to assess his now swimming vision. He groaned again, then looked around his house and found a darkness, shrouding everything from the mess to the painting to his hoof- no not his hoof. He could see that. He wondered why he couldn't see everything else, though. Why he left the curtains closed, in the end. Maybe it was because he didn't like the light, or the sun, or seeing ponies roam about their happy lives while he himself was trapped in depression and anger and alcohol and starvation and dehydration and fatigue all by his lonesome with nopony by his side to help him through it. Sparrow no longer sent messages. Roseluck never opened the door, despite it never being locked. He hadn't kept contact with any of his other friends, or any of Octavia's other friends. There really was no need to, in the end.

He wondered why he suddenly thought of her. Of Octavia. Why, after all this time and after all this suffering because of his stupid decision in loving her, he thought of her. He knew it wasn’t good, thinking of something that made him hurt, but he couldn’t stop. It was obsession; that he knew. He was obsessed with her, and he never liked to admit it. He liked to believe that it wasn’t obsession, that it was merely just a case of falling so deeply in love with someone that she was on his mind constantly. He liked to believe that he thought of her because she was the thing that he needed, and that she was the only pony who could make him happy for once in his life.

And then he realized that it was obsession at its core, straight and true like the arrow through his heart. He thought only of her because he was obsessed with her. Octavia. He was obsessed with Octavia, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. It killed him. It killed him whenever he thought about it. And he thought about it a lot.

After all, he never opened the curtains, or the front door, and he hadn’t talked to anypony in months. There was always time to think, no matter how slurred or how damaged or how painful they were, through the bottles and the fatigue and the starvation. There was always time to think, inside his shrouded home with the curtains tightly shut, inside his home practically black from the sun’s shade.

He hadn’t seen the sun in a long time. There was no need to. There was always time to think, and thinking was all he could do.

There was always time to think.

Time to think about where he was, where he was now, and where he would be. It was a short time to think about before his sunshine took its place in his mind once again, but it was still a time to think about, and when he sat, he thought about it.

He thought to his past. All he had done, all he had went through because of one stupid decision. Because of one thing he wanted in his life, something so simple to anypony else that had turned into something so incredibly and indescribably difficult for him and him alone.

He thought to his present. All he was doing to get to where he was now, shutting himself inside his own house, shunning the sun, the front door, the curtains, and himself at every possible opportunity. All because he had worked for something in his life that he thought would make it better, only to discover its inevitable collapse and downfall for his life.

And he thought to his future. His future, the only thing he was unsure of. Sure, he accepted that he would be alone for all his life after what he had done, but he still clenched to something deep within him. Still clenched to hope, a small hope, an almost absent hope, that he would reach his happiness. He sure didn't deserve it, but then again, maybe he did in the end. Maybe Old Faust in the sky would show mercy. Maybe Old Faust was testing him for more than fourteen years, in hopes of watching a single pony lose everything in life for one thing in return. One little thing, but a big one to him.

It seemed odd to him whenever he thought like that. If, in the slightest chance, he succeeded, it would definitely not be the same. It would be better, of course, but it would definitely not be the same. Maybe it was because he hadn't experienced it before, having a special somepony in his life, somepony to wake up next to and smile at. Somepony to look forward to talking to everyday, somepony to enjoy life with. It was all foreign to him, but in the end, if he didn't succeed, he was okay with that.

But maybe. Just maybe, it would come to him. Maybe, just maybe, he would succeed. He sure wanted to, but he wasn't sure that fate wanted him to.

He cast another glance around his home, and his vision swam. He raised a hoof to his head to assess it, winced, and opened his eyes to find nothing in particular. Just his normal, darkened, shrouded, sunlight-evading house.

He hummed. He turned his head and looked at the bottles lying forgotten and empty on his floor. He looked toward the curtains, still closed and dusty. He leaned forward, craned his neck, and looked at the front door, expecting something to arrive that never did. He looked to the ground and sighed, then looked to his right and walked down the hall. He stopped halfway, turning to his left and looking right at his closet door.

His endgame. The finisher.

He reached for the golden knob that shone in a sharp contrast to his shrouded home.

Knock knock knock.

Noteworthy's eyes darted to his far left, through the drywall and toward the door.

Knock knock knock.

He didn't breathe. He didn't move. His hoof neither faltered nor continued.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

It was probably nopony.

The knock came only once.

It was probably nopony.

Another.

It was probably his boss.

Silence.

It was probably-

"Hello?" The voice sounded out, muffled by the unlocked door.

Noteworthy cleared his throat.

"Hello?" The voice came again.

"Is this the residence of one Noteworthy Blues?"

Yes. Yes it was. And the other ponies around him, ponies he hadn't seen.

Noteworthy struggled to speak. He hadn't any idea why. He coughed into a hoof, and turned his head.

There was no reason to talk to the pony at the door. Noteworthy had ignored visitors before. He could very easily just leave it be, and not respond so the pony at the door would simply think he was at an empty home. He could very easily just leave it be. But something, something he couldn't quite place, was different about this. He could very easily just leave it be.

But, he didn't.

"Y-yes?" His voice. Gravely, rancid, like a grumbling ghoul after a smoking session.

And he had no idea why.

"Mr. Blues, I hope you don't mind opening the door, I feel a tad uncomfortable talking to it, especially seeing as how it's locked."

It wasn't locked. But, there was that accent, he noticed it now. He had heard it before, it was familiar.

Noteworthy coughed again. "Of- of course. Gimme a second."

A Canterlot resident. A stallion at that. Who in Equestria was this?

Noteworthy breathed heavily out of his nostrils, his gaze returning to the closet. His hoof remained, shakily, until it fell to the floor, and Noteworthy turned and walked away from his endgame and toward his door.

He stopped in front of it. He walked toward it, sucked in a breath, and raised his hoof to turn the knob. He didn't care who it was, he would yell at them to get off his property if he had to. He didn't care, not even if it was the bastard who had come to finish him off, or even if it was Tirek himself come to drag him to Tartarus. He didn't care, maybe he would find salvation in death or eternal labor.

The door opened. A bright white light blinded Noteworthy, who raised a hoof to his eyes and turned away in response, seething all the while. He groaned as the light passed, and looked around his front door. The town was completely covered in snow; his suspicions were confirmed. After all, Noteworthy was always right, and he indeed was right about the snow. The sun was high in the sky, the feeling of natural heat completely forgotten and nostalgic now as Noteworthy looked up at its source. The sound of fillies playing in the distance sounded out, the joyous chattering of ponies not too far away either. It was all so foreign to him, as if he had stepped into a different world that he had only seen once. His house was silent before, but now he could hear things. Wondrous things.

Something coughed in front of him. Noteworthy turned to his left, golden irises staring into ocean blue irises, a tan colored Unicorn standing idly on his front door, a black scarf around his neck and a small grey hat reminiscent of an old chimney sweeper.

"Ah, hello there, Mr. Blues. Pleasure to meet you." He raised his hoof to shake. Noteworthy stared at it awkwardly, before returning the gesture and introducing himself into an almost unwanted conversation. Sooner or later, he'd make him leave. But, nopony had made him open the door before. He might as well have heard him out, so he did.

The stallion, obviously an older one, looked him over and said, "Might I say, you are looking sharp today-"

"Don't lie to me. What do you want?"

It was harsh. It was short. But it sent the right message, and the Unicorn stuttered.

"I-I am sorry if I am disturbing you, Mr. Blues-"

"It's Noteworthy. Call me Noteworthy."

The Unicorn cleared his throat and started over, "I am sincerely sorry if I am disturbing you, Mr. Noteworthy, but I have come to deliver a special message from Canterlot."

Noteworthy raised his brow. "Excuse me?"

The Unicorn smiled an admittedly odd smile, before he craned his neck toward his side and looked at Noteworthy from the corners of his eyes. "Yes, yes. You see, Noteworthy, I'm from the Symphony, the Canterlot Symphony, you realize, and I was told to send an invitation for our holiday concert later this week-"

"No."

The Unicorn's muzzle slowly withdrew from his saddlebag, turning toward Noteworthy as if he had just slapped him. "Sir- ahem, Mr. Noteworthy, I hope you realize the importance of this. The Symphony themselves have sent them out for ponies to see them, they have promised that it will be an event that anypony who attends will never forget-"

"I said no already."

"But, Sir-"

"No. I wouldn't ever consider it. Ever. Go away, and don't come back, no matter what they say."

The Unicorn looked at him, mouth slightly open in apparent shock, before he looked to the snow-covered front step and gave a long sigh. He looked up at Noteworthy with a pleading nature.

Noteworthy glared down at him, his hoof already extended toward slamming the door.

"Well, sir, if you ever reconsider, I would like you to-"

"Don't worry. I won't."

The Unicorn glared at him finally, before his horn lit a vibrant blue and a small envelope flew out of his saddlebag, his reply coming out short and slightly aggravated, "If you ever reconsider, take this anyway. It's later this week, the twenty-fourth, well, Hearth's Warming Eve. Seven o' clock sharp."

Those leaps of faith. Those leaps of faith, at seven o' clock sharp.

He gasped for breath. The Unicorn shoved the letter into his outstretched hoof with enough force to show his anger, but enough to not fully reveal its extent. The Unicorn tipped his hat, gave an almost unnoticeable smile, and trotted off with a simple call.

"Good day, Mr. Noteworthy."

Noteworthy watched as he left, his face blank with a mixture of shock and anxiety. The Unicorn turned a right at the far end of the street, toward the long forgotten train station. Noteworthy blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

He swallowed a lump in his throat he hadn't realized he was harboring. He cleared his throat twice in rapid succession, and looked down at his shaking hooves, the white envelope teetering on top of his raised hoof, its sealed backside facing him on his snow-covered front steps.

His breath made itself noticed as it floated in front of him and into the grey sky, whisping away into the clouds as Noteworthy stared down at the envelope in a stunned silence, his hooves shaking now to excess, almost as if they were quaking in their own boots at what could be inside the white paper their owner was currently grasping.

Noteworthy said no words, only breathing, and suddenly, slowly, began to sink to his haunches, the hot sun and the cold wind neither helping nor hindering him. He didn't care, in the end. It didn't matter one bit to him. He didn't care whether he would soon be freezing to death or getting heat stroke on his front steps, he didn't care if it rained, or if it snowed further, or even if the world were to suddenly be thrust into an apocalypse.

No.

That didn't matter.

What mattered was the envelope in his hooves. Something about it was off. Odd.

It was a plain white envelope, one expected to accompany a greeting card signed with scrawled signatures akin to a five year old filly with arthritis. He hadn't seen one in years; his family had stopped sending them a long time ago, but he wouldn't have been dissatisfied with receiving one.

But that was not what he had received. Sure, the Unicorn courier could have easily misplaced his other letter unbeknownst to himself, or he had accidentally given the wrong letter in the end. But that was not what he had received. It was not a greeting card for the holidays, it was not a house bill, it was not a letter.

No.

Noteworthy opened it, and his voice caught in his throat as he stumbled on his words, only coughing into a hoof as he stared down at the invitation.

It was a simple letter, he had seen many in his few years of attending the Symphony's concerts, it wasn't new to him.

But, what was written sure wasn't something he had seen before.

Written in purple ink at the bottom was a signature. A familiar signature that caused his heart to stop altogether, his eyes growing wide until they threatened to dwarf his untouched kitchen plates.

I hope to see you there!

Signed,

Octavia Philharmonica

Noteworthy struggled to breathe. He struggled to speak. He struggled to raise his hoof to his head to muddle his unkempt mane, but he succeeded to do so after a few delayed heartbeats. As his heart began to pulsate at a regular pace, Noteworthy felt a huge pressure rise from deep within his gut. He cleared his throat, then screwed his face up and cleared his throat again, and then once more.

There were no words.

No words as Noteworthy quickly flew through his house, packing his essentials into a single suitcase for his trip to Canterlot. He hadn’t a single idea why.

There were so many things wrong about what he was rushing into. What he was blindly running toward, as if it were the one thing in life that he could not, no, would not miss. It was odd to him.

He didn’t quite understand it.

But he didn’t have to.

Not for long.

He didn't have to understand it, because he didn't. And this lack of understanding came to him suddenly as he reached for the briefcase again to close it. His hoof raised on the top half, he halted and began blinking rapidly, as if attempting to convey something to the contents of the case in some kind of code. But it wasn't a code, and the contents were just that. Inanimate and unable to understand code in the first place.

His hoof faltered and fell to the floor along with his bottom, which collapsed onto the floor as Noteworthy fell to his haunches, staring straight forward in a thousand-yard stare, peering into something he couldn't quite see, but couldn't quite grasp either.

Why was he blindly going into this? Just out of the blue, he receives an invitation to a concert and it suddenly snaps him out of his depression, his longing. It didn't make sense to him, and he didn't understand it. He didn't need to. Or at least, he liked to tell himself that from time to time whenever the need arose. It comforted him that maybe he didn't need to understand what he had experienced and why he had experienced it in the first place for years upon years upon years of his life.

Maybe it was better not to know.

He shook his head slowly, dispelling the slight discomfort that came with it as his brow furrowed softly. He stared at the brown briefcase in utter silence, thousands of yards away from him but still in the same room. The same room he hadn't seen for months, just as the sun and the ponies and the sky, though those three had been broken, his room was something he had just witnessed and was still sitting in.

Ordinary. Boring. Those words described his bedroom, as his golden eyes scanned its bleak grey walls and its single white ceiling fan, dust and grime covering its every feature to the inch. Cringing slightly, Noteworthy's eyes flew back to the briefcase, its contents staring back at him with their gleaming surface, as if sensing his hesitation and beckoning him to pack them up and go.

Go.

To Canterlot.

A city he loved, but a city he hated.

Hated, but loved.

And vice versa.

And vice versa, once again.

No.

There was time for thinking later.

There was time for thinking later, on the train.

Why he was going he didn't realize, or understand in the slightest. But he was. He was going.

He was going. And not a single damned thing could stop him from going. To Canterlot.

To Canterlot.

To the concert.

To her.

He glared in determination, and threw his hoof onto the case, shutting it.

Clicking the case's locks into place, Noteworthy slowly backed away from it suddenly, as if being near it were nothing but a poison to him. He scooted away from it until his back slammed against the grey wall behind him. He scooted away until something stopped him, until something got in his way before he scooted his way across Equestria.

He blinked in silence at the closed case, not a single sound reaching the blue stallion's ears.

His breath came out short but heavy, slightly hitched as if he were in a room full of noxious gas. Looking toward the briefcase, he saw the piece of paper sticking out from inside. He scrambled to get up, and trotted over to it, unlatching the locks and grabbing at the envelope with a look of concern and hurt. Quickly attempting to undo the fold that had fallen upon the envelope's corner, he succeeded after a few painstakingly heart-attacking tries. Raising it to his eyes, he fell back to his haunches and proceeded to read it again.

He didn't know why.

Maybe he was doing it to reassure its validity, or maybe he did it for another reason.

But he did it. He read it over.

And then, once he was done, he read it over.

Again.

And again. And again.

He read it for the sixth time. And the seventh. And the eighth.

He read it until he could say its contents with his eyes closed, he read it until he had rehearsed every single word and every single comma and period and space and every single thing that was on the paper. He read the signature at the bottom the most. And every time he did, his heart would always skip, as if seeing it were the thing that would change his life forever for the best.

Big things started small. And Noteworthy believed it to be a small thing to the beginning of a big thing. It would happen. It would work.

Hopefully. Hopefully it would. The back of his mind practically bled into his ears and his conscious, telling him and asking him why he was doing something so stupid, why he was throwing himself back into this game he had stopped playing, stopped winning, stopped losing. The back of his mind was right most of the time, but Noteworthy needed only look at the letter over again to bear the strength needed to ignore the back of his mind.

It may be right most of the time. But right now it was not. Noteworthy believed that.

And Noteworthy was always right.

Noteworthy delicately placed the envelope back into the open case, before locking it back up once again. He stared at it for a few echoing heartbeats, before he bit down into the leather handle and trotted quickly out the bedroom door, shutting it with care as he turned to face a shrouded household. His attention was shifted to the curtains, still shut tightly and garnering dust idly. Looking at them with a hint of shame and regret, his hoof fluttered in its direction as he proceeded to walk over to a pair. The loud crinkling of bottles met his ears and shattered the silence he had grown so accustomed to.

His breath caught in his throat as he cast his gaze downward, finding the objects of his attention. Simple glass bottles, packed closely together like a can of sardines and lying forgotten and empty on the hardwood floor. Their worn labels told Noteworthy that they were hard cider, fresh from Sweet Apple Acres. Fresh as in months ago, most likely. He didn't quite remember when he had last drank his problems away with those bottles. He lightly kicked a vial, and watched in silence as it rolled an inch away from him, as if frightened by his presence.

He wouldn't doubt it if it was true. He'd be scared of him as well if he wasn't him in the first place. He was already a bit scared of himself anyway, but he didn't like to admit it. He could change. He could. Everypony does.

He bent toward the ground, coiling his hoof around the shifted bottle and bringing it up to his golden eyes. His expression fractured instantly as he gazed at himself in the surface of the glass, moving the bottle in his hoof around so he could properly see himself every which way. He sure was a mess. Large, dark bags nestled under his eyes marked his lack of sleep. The scraggly beard on his face marked his lack of cleanliness. The wild, unkempt mane atop his scalp showed him and the world his vast self-neglect. The soft, staring golden orbs marked his two eyes that had seen way more than he, and anypony else, would be okay with.

His expression darkened, until he found himself glaring at the glass bottle in his hoof. He grit his teeth violently, scraping his jaw together until he felt the bottle in his grasp about ready to blast apart. His grip tightened.

He quickly fell to the floor, scooping up the rest of the pile in one clean swipe and rising back to his hooves. With an angry scowl plastered on his face, he all but threw himself into his kitchen, violently forcing a nearby cabinet on the ground level open, narrowed golden eyes spying a small, dusty, black bin lying inside by itself. Taking one last glance at the bottles out of the corner of his eyes, he flung the bin out of its home and listened to its plastic clattering on the hardwood floor, turning tail and letting go of the pile of glass in his hooves.

Each shattered upon impact.

As the sound died out a brief second later, Noteworthy looked down into the bin.

He smiled. Picking the trash bin up with his teeth, he began to trot into his bathroom, flicking the light on with his tail and facing the porcelain toilet sitting in the corner. Unlike most of his house's luxuries, Noteworthy hadn't prohibited his usage of the toilet one bit. He may have forsaken anything else essential, such as eating, drinking, or sleeping, but using the toilet was something he wouldn't abandon. He didn't want his house filled to the brim with his own passed food and drink, or, well, the lack thereof. It sickened him whenever he thought against using it, he surely couldn't just become some kind of savage, no matter how close he was to it already.

Walking over to the toilet, he stood in front of it as he contemplated what he was about to do, and promptly turned the bin upside down, the now-crumbled glass splashing loudly into the water and floating at the top harmlessly. He gazed down at the shards with a blank look, before he glared in silence, his head darting to the small grey handle on the side of the toilet. Promptly slamming his hoof into it, he turned his attention back to the shards for a final time as they became enveloped in a twister, spinning around violently until they disappeared into a tunnel that led behind the toilet, a new batch of water replacing them and emerging, showing itself to Noteworthy.

Noteworthy walked off without a word, not even stopping at the door as his right foreleg swung at the light switch, the room suddenly turning pitch black, just like the rest of the house.

His mind moved to this.

And Noteworthy went back to business, trotting over to the curtains in his kitchen with a hint of anger in his step. His hoof flew to the thick silk and halted. Noteworthy stared at the silk for a brief second of his life, and threw the curtain open as if revealing the winning prize in a game show. A white light blinded him as he reeled back, raising a foreleg to his eyes and wincing in pain. As his vision adjusted to the sudden fixture of light, Noteworthy rubbed at his eyes subconsciously, giving a low yawn as if he had just woken from a deep sleep.

Brow furrowed, he harrumphed in defiance as he flew through his kitchen, cracking the curtains open as widely as he could to let in as much sunlight as was possible. Once he was done with the kitchen, he stopped to admire his work, feeling the warmth of Celestia's sun radiating against his body as he smiled a small smile. His brow elevated suddenly, and Noteworthy quickly turned tail as he went into his living room with similar intent, his golden eyes drifting to the next set of silk blocking the sun's rays.

He raised his hoof to fling it open as well, but found himself unable to do so. The blue hoof wavered shakily, as if doing so was something to be afraid of.

Perhaps it was.

Noteworthy lowered the hoof without a word. Perhaps it was.

Looking back toward the kitchen, he hummed quietly. There was enough light already, maybe he didn't need to open any more curtains.

Yes. The ones in his kitchen would suffice. Noteworthy gave a short, curt nod, and fell to his haunches, absent-minded.

Twenty... twenty...

Twenty... when again?

The Symphony's courier had told him at the door before he had stormed off, angrily at that. Noteworthy forgot when it was, when the courier had said it would be. Twenty.... twenty... was it the twenty-third maybe..?

Noteworthy's eyes snapped to the clock hanging above his fireplace, his ears taking form and standing tall as even his own heart stopped to listen.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Noteworthy stared up at the clock, eyes widened to their full extent and peering at their left-most corner.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Noteworthy licked his lips involuntarily.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

Tock. Tick.

Tock-

It was four o' clock in the afternoon. Nineteen minutes.

Tick.

Thirty-two seconds in.

Noteworthy got up and turned his head toward his kitchen, and his hooves guided him into it, and toward the wall adjacent to his fridge. Golden eyes scanned the blue wall and found the old piece of paper that Noteworthy had called a calendar.

The open section displayed the name October in bold, orange letters. A few of its days were scratched out with a black marker, stopping near the end on what Noteworthy noticed was the twenty-fourth. Squinting, his mind came to him and told him that that day meant something special, but its supposed specialty was lost to him somehow. He tapped his chin with a free hoof, but the specialty never reverberated into his mind, and he eventually sighed softly and lifted the piece of paper, revealing November directly underneath it.

Not a single mark was present on its surface.

Noteworthy lifted the calendar again, and found December staring straight at him.

A dry smudge lay on the eighteenth, a Thursday. Its importance didn't quite click either, but something in his mind told him that good had come out of it in the past. Maybe he would remember it, he had to. If something good had come out of it, well, he had to remember it. His good times were few and precious to him. He had to at least remember the eighteenth's good fortune, no matter what it was.

Noteworthy narrowed his eyes, scanning the calendar until he found the week in question. The twenty-fourth showed itself underneath the section entitled simply, Wed.

Wednesday. So it was a Wednesday, the concert.

His next leap of faith, at seven o' clock sharp.

A blue hoof rose to the twenty-fourth silently. Fur met cold paper.

It was Monday, then.

The courier had said later this week, not tomorrow.

So it was Monday.

The twenty-second. He still had two days until the concert.

His mind still told him that what he was doing was wrong. That nothing good could come out of what he was doing. That he would only experience sadness and despair from what he was doing.

Noteworthy shrugged to nopony in particular.

He had experienced it all before.

Sadness. Despair. Depression. Alcoholism. Loneliness. Anger. Resentment.

He had experienced it. All of it. Every single thing bad that he could have felt, he had felt. And he had felt it for a long time. He was sad for a long time in his life.

But he had gotten through it in the end, with nothing but a simple idea keeping him going and keeping him dying at the same time.

There were times where he thought all hope would be forgotten, lost, defeated.

But he had gotten through it in the end.

And if this were to bring it. This thing he was doing.

For her.

For Octavia.

For his sunshine.

If going to her concert were to bring sadness, and despair, and loneliness, and everything else, well.

He would get through it.

Surely, he would.

He always did.

And he would now.

He knew that.

And Noteworthy was always right.

Noteworthy's hoof fell to the floor with the rest of his hooves.

He sat on his haunches in the kitchen.

And smiled, before slowly, gradually, falling to the floor.

And sleeping soundly.

He was going.

He was going to see her again.

After he had sworn her off for so long.

He was going to see her.

He was going to see Octavia.

He was going to see the mare he loved, in a city he so desperately hated.

And how much she would never know.

How much she would never know, how much he loved her.

That's just the way it was, and would be.

And Noteworthy accepted that.

Author's Note

Take a quick look at that Incomplete tag, folks. There will be more in two days, on Christmas Eve. Hope to see you then. :raritywink:

Please Don't Take My Sunshine Away

Today was the day.

Today was the day.

Today was the day of the concert. Today was the day of the Symphony's final concert of the year.

Today was the day. Today was Noteworthy's redemption day.

Today was the day he would see Octavia again.

Noteworthy looked around his house, his dark, dark house.

While he had opened up the curtains two days ago, he was still not ready to turn on any sort of artificial light.

Natural light was all he needed.

Yesterday had been a blur. He had packed up all of his stuff and brought down his suitcase.

And as golden eyes swept the living room, the large amounts of trash and crumpled paper and glass and other such things stared back at him.

He had all but simply packed a single suitcase. But it was more than he had done in the past three months. More than he had done in the past three months other than lying around and moping, drinking himself to sleep and forgetting to eat and forgetting himself in the process.

He still hadn't eaten, he wasn't ready for it. His beard was still present upon his chin, he wasn't ready for its absence. His golden eyes were still tired, he still hadn't slept much.

But the scent of alcohol was not present upon his breath. His mane was back to its original appearance. The bags under his eyes were still present, but noticeably smaller than before. His body did not shudder from the cold. His golden eyes did not reflect sadness.

He bore a grin on his face. His ears twitched involuntarily.

He was happy, and excited.

He hadn't any idea why. He hadn't any idea how.

All he knew was that he was.

Happy. Excited.

It was odd to him. How he was completely depressed and torn not two days ago, and just a simple invitation was enough to lift his spirits up. He knew that it was for naught, that it would come back to him in the worst possible way to kill him inside and crumble his entire mindset and destroy his heart.

But he was doing it anyhow.

He was doing it.

For the sheer stroke of happiness that could come out of it.

It was beyond him. Opposite him, in fact. Any other day, he would oppose it wholeheartedly. But, this was not any other day.

Today was the day he would see her again.

Noteworthy cast one last glance around his home, and smiled thoughtfully, not a single word passing his lips.

He turned his head to the front door and stopped in his tracks.

It was the gateway to it all. To the outside. To the rest of his life. He could very easily just leave it be and stay home and not show up to the concert.

Very easily.

He pushed the door open lightly and felt the cold winter breeze blow against him. Golden eyes looked up, down, left, and right.

The snow fell silently to the ground in countless flakes, the ground covered in a blank, white sheet of snow, neither deep, nor shallow. The sounds of fillies playing sounded out, their uproarious cheers and yells filling the air and drifting up into the night sky, the grey clouds moving as slowly as was possible so the town could experience as much snow as was possible. Carols and choirs sang to him, large gatherings of ponies dressed up in scarves and hats and boots chanting Hearth's Warming songs on nearby porches and front steps.

Noteworthy himself bore a scarf as well, a simple dark grey one built of yarn.

He knew who had made it for him all those years ago.

Noteworthy turned his head to peer back into his house, and found the clock.

It was five thirty in the afternoon. A long one and a half hour until it arrived.

Speaking of which...

Golden eyes flew back to the street in front of him. The snow fell harmlessly to the ground. Ponies all around him were laughing, playing, singing, talking to one another.

And Noteworthy smiled. And laughed a short, but still present, laugh.

Making sure that his briefcase was securely tucked into his saddlebag, Noteworthy gave a confident smile and walked off his front porch, careful to avoid the small patches of ice that marked a quick stumble and fall to the ground with an accompanying amount of embarrassment and pain. His hooves fell into the snow, sinking in about two inches. Noteworthy looked down at the appendages, and smiled.

He laughed, again, and began to stomp his way across the street, the lights of the street lamps illuminating the otherwise slightly shrouded town in its wake.

Noteworthy passed by in a stunned, happy silence, ignoring the surprised looks coming from the local ponies as they looked his way, only taking notice once he passed by a certain stand, golden eyes facing to the right and staring into green.

Noteworthy's boss gazed at him, her jaw open in pause of a conversation previously held with the group of mares in front of her. When they noticed this, they as well turned their heads to find him standing there with a smile on his face.

Roseluck slowly lowered the bouquet of flowers in her hoof, the sound of their plastic casing crinkling against the wooden stand as her body turned to Noteworthy.

And then, quickly, she flew into his arms, embracing him as she whimpered in a surprised silence.

Noteworthy returned the hug, his smile never leaving his face.

The two remained like this for what seemed like hours, before Roseluck finally let the stallion go, wiping her eyes as her lip wobbled feebly.

"I... I'm glad to see you, Noteworthy."

"I'm glad to see you too, Roseluck," he replied, before peering over the mare's shoulder and looking at the three ponies currently looking at him as well, adding, "and you too, Lyra, Colgate, Carrot Top."

They gave soft smiles in return, greeting him as well.

Noteworthy returned his gaze to Roseluck, "I'm sorry that I have to leave so early, but I have a train to catch."

"I know," she said, sniffing, "I know. I'll see you, Noteworthy."

Noteworthy smiled and gave a short nod, before he began to trot toward the train station, only stopping once he heard the sound of four mares calling to him.

"Good luck!" they shouted.

They must've known what he was doing. His grin deepened.

Noteworthy didn't need to think too much about what he was doing anyhow. There was time to be happy, and he arrived at the train station in due time. A familiar pony met his gaze, dressed in a dark blue ensemble with a ticket puncher in their hoof. Approaching them, Noteworthy handed the pony his train ticket, watching as their ticket puncher flew across its side and marked his acceptance. Giving a thanks, Noteworthy trotted toward the train, hearing the customary, "Have a great day!" that marked a conductor's status.

Noteworthy loved trains.

Trains brought the real life, though cruel as it had been before. As cruel as the train could be after each consecutive trip to Canterlot, sitting alone in the middle of the passenger cart, nestled against the window and watching nothing in particular, his mind elsewhere and thinking of his spoiled chance, his lost idea. As cruel as the truth the train brought, Noteworthy still loved them.

Trains. With their incessant screeching as they halted, or how they rumbled along the tracks as they went, or the cramped carts, sure, they weren't without fault. Nothing was. Noteworthy sure wasn't, for sure. Noteworthy was full of flaws.

Noteworthy lugged himself through the passenger cart.

Noteworthy wasn't perfect.

He found his seat, empty, vacant.

Noteworthy was full of flaws.

He sat down.

Noteworthy was a pretty horrible pony when it came down to it.

He placed his saddlebags next to him. Leather against leather.

Noteworthy was arguably the worst pony he knew.

He gave a deep sigh and adjusted his position on the seat.

Noteworthy was horrible.

Golden eyes peered out the frost-edged window, a lamp-lit Ponyville staring him back.

Noteworthy didn't deserve anything.

He scooted closer to the window to get a better view.

Noteworthy didn't deserve her.

He reclined in his seat.

Noteworthy didn't deserve his happiness.

He smiled.

Noteworthy didn't deserve Octavia.

The train started abruptly. Noteworthy shook his head vigorously in an attempt to stop himself. Screwing his face up in retaliation, he looked outside yet again as the train began to pull out of the station, a short laugh escaping his lips when the whistle blew loudly, filling the train car with its high pitched toot. Coughing into a free hoof, Noteworthy's eyes pulled him once again to the outside world, one he hadn't seen.

Not in months. He never ventured outside his house.

Until today. And today brought this. This leap of faith, yet another one, at seven o' clock sharp. There were times for other things, but this was something else.

The landscape was beautiful. It helped that Noteworthy hadn't seen it in months, having never ventured outside his house, but its sheer beauty mesmerized him, not a single word escaping his mouth as the snow fell against the window leading to the outside, the entire area completely covered in a thick white sheet of snow, like a canvas ready to be painted on.

Really, there wasn't much to see. The trees were black and barren of leaves, standing crooked against the black sky, almost camouflaging themselves though little as they were. The hills were various, ranging from barely noticeable to almost dwarfing Noteworthy's long-forgotten one, neither hills nor mountains. The shrouding clouds had been left behind in Ponyville, but there was nothing to see in the sky apart from pure darkness and what little he could make out of the heavens above. The frost that scratched at his glass window voided any sight he could have.

That didn't matter to him. He'd be able to see them once they were in Canterlot. If he hated it, like always, he'd just look at the stars all night with himself. If he loved it, like always, he'd just look at the stars all night with himself. He'd never done it before, his memories only went so far back to her recent summer concerts, but it was always good to try new things. New things.

Watching the stars was something to look forward to, at least. The only thing he was sure of was that he would be able to look at the stars. That was it.

There was no way to be sure that yet another train ride and yet another concert and yet another time to see her was enough to win.

That's just the way it was.

And Noteworthy accepted it.

It didn't bother him. No. He couldn't go back to the way things were, how horrible the last three months had been.

The first step was admitting it, sure. But he admitted his troubles with the casting of glass and the flushing of a toilet. That was his first step, and Noteworthy now paid no mind to what could go wrong. He shouldn't, and never would ever again.

The best method to happiness was to believe in himself, and how he'd react once he succeeded. Winging something wasn't a strong suit of Noteworthy's, when it came down to it. He surely wasn't a Pegasus, and that was a bad joke.

Golden eyes suddenly became aware of a noise, and knowing that the entire train car was at an almost-scary silence, they peered up to the ceiling and followed the baggage trunks, ending at the front of the car, where a very peculiar clock made itself noticed in the audible form of typical ticks and tocks.

Noteworthy's eye twitched slightly.

The clock ticked over, the minute hand twitching lazily to the left.

Six o' clock.

Had half an hour really gone by so fast? It seemed like seconds ago that the train had pulled out of Ponyville. Noteworthy raised a brow, but didn't question it. There was no use arguing it. Time was time, and eventually, it would run out.

Time was important, and the clock was a clock.

Six oh-one.

Noteworthy's head drooped slightly. What if he didn't make it? There were only fifty-nine minutes left until seven o' clock-

Make that fifty-eight minutes.

Noteworthy bit his lip. What if he didn't make it?

He breathed out slowly and rested his cheek on a hoof. Well, for starters, he'd be depressed. It was plain and simple as that. He'd be depressed.

It was ironic, in a way to him. Equestria was an entire country filled to the brim with bright colors and beautiful views and wonderful, happy ponies and yet here he recently was, drowning his sorrows out in hard alcohol and barring himself inside his house. It all but outright betrayed every single aspect of Equestria, when it came down to it. It seemed to him that his house was practically an entirely different country, or even another planet. Everything about his house's setting was different, almost the exact opposite of the outside world. Maybe that's why he stayed for so long. Maybe that's why he hadn't ventured outside his house for months. He just couldn't bear seeing ponies go about their happy days while he was stuck in his worst.

Noteworthy shook his head slightly, only humming at the thought. Gold stared at the front of the car again.

Six oh-three.

Noteworthy bit the inside of his lip, but breathed out of his nostrils and calmed himself quickly. He'd be fine. He'd make it.

He had to.

And he would.

Noteworthy turned his head, finding a fog hanging outside his window. Wiping it with a free hoof, the black sky and the black trees and the hills and the almost unnoticeable heavens met his gaze.

Oh. Condensation. Of course.

Noteworthy coughed into his hoof again and let his eyelids shut themselves, breathing out a long sigh as he rested against his hoof.

Sure, he'd be depressed. Sure, he'd go home empty-hoofed like he had every consecutive train ride before. Sure, he'd most likely go back to what he was two days ago.

But he would be disappointed, too. Disappointed, mainly in himself. He couldn't blame the train or the conductor anyhow. It was the holidays, and there were no other scheduled riding times except for the five forty-five one he had taken and a four o' clock ride before that one. And that's where the train's participation ended and his began. He could've easily stayed home, or picked the four o' clock ride, or not even answered the door when the courier had come knocking.

But he had, and there was nopony to blame but himself if all went awry.

Which it did. And it probably would.

Noteworthy knew that. He accepted it.

And he didn't mind one bit.

The outside suddenly blackened. Noteworthy didn't need to look outside to realize they were going through the tunnel, but that didn't stop the other occupants of the car to practically throw themselves against the glass at the loss of their precious landscape.

Temporarily, of course. The tunnels shroud quickly disappeared, and the side of a mountain now stared at the ponies, until yet another tunnel engulfed the train in its wake. The silence was broken, a small amount of ponies behind Noteworthy giving off little "oh's" of realization. Noteworthy suppressed a laugh.

Probably newbies to the ride. It was the holidays after all, ponies were probably flocking to the train to vacation to other places, Canterlot included. If they were, well, Noteworthy hoped they loved the city, and he hoped that they hated it too. There were good and bad, and neither outweighed the other in terms of betterment. Then again, he didn't focus on the other parts of the city, the parts other ponies would come for.

No.

He wasn't there for the luxuries, or the food, or the famous ponies or the aristocrats or the gossip or anything really.

He was there for her, and only her.

He was there for Octavia, and that would never change.

The train suddenly halted.

Golden eyes widened, and flew to the window. The landscape was not moving. Not anymore. Instead, a familiar train station greeted his gaze, a familiar ticket puncher and a familiar city waiting for him to greet them. A smile found its way to his lips, and Noteworthy quickly got out of his seat and collected his saddlebags, trotting past the ponies still oohing and aahing at the capital city's apparent magnificence.

It was easy, really, and Noteworthy suddenly found himself walking off the train car's sidesteps, the snow crackling under his hooves as he adjusted the bags on his sides and coughed into a hoof yet again. Straightening himself, he trotted over to the ticket puncher, who seemed to recognize him as she said happily.

"Hey there! Haven't seen you here in a long time! Here for the concert, huh?"

Noteworthy looked up to the ticker puncher and cleared his throat, his voice coming out quietly.

"Yeah, I am. Glad to be here."

The ticket puncher took his ticket and punched it with her ticker puncher, handing it back to Noteworthy as she smiled and nodded.

"They promised it'll be one heck of a show, that's for sure! Have a good day, and happy Hearth's Warming to ya!"

"Happy Hearth's Warming," was his only response as he smiled and turned, stuffing his ticket into his saddlebags and trotting through the front gate, the idle but audible chatter of countless ponies welcoming him to the usual sounds of Canterlot. The streets were covered in snow, akin to Ponyville, ponies outside and talking among one another, holiday decorations dotting the houses and apartments of the city.

The city itself seemed to be at ease in light of the coming holiday.

Hearth's Warming Eve was today, after all.

Noteworthy's golden eyes suddenly widened yet again, flying around to look for the nearest clock. He'd never ask those posh aristocrats with their heads held high as if looking forward was but a sin the time of day.

Luckily, he didn't have to. The posh aristocrats were in their homes, ordering their servants to bring them buttered biscuits and warming up next to their fireplaces with their piles of bits sitting idly next to them.

Bastards.

Just like the bastard before them.

Hopefully he wasn't here.

Noteworthy approached the two ponies, whose eyes turned his way as he drew closer. They waved and greeted him, which Noteworthy returned as he asked simply.

"You mind telling me the time?"

The yellow one nodded and replied, "Yeah, sure man," and looked down at his hoof, a small wrist watch greeting his brown gaze. Looking back up to Noteworthy, brown stared into gold, "six-thirty in the afternoon. You going to the concert?"

Noteworthy raised a brow, but smiled and chuckled, "Seems everypony knows about it, yeah."

The mare next to the yellow stallion laughed, "Of course we do! It's the only reason some ponies are coming to Canterlot today! It's a lot bigger than the usual concerts, it's Hearth's Warming Season for Celestia's sake!"

Noteworthy nodded, and thanked the two with a thanks and a wave before he turned back to the street, a certain royal palace in mind. The wind was a little stronger than it was in Ponyville, especially seeing as how he was now higher up elevation-wise. The snow came down heavier as well, and as Noteworthy looked up, he could see gray clouds hanging high above the city, the moon casting a white light the various street lamps dotting the sidewalk could never hope to outshine.

So it was six-thirty. Or, well, around that time. It had been at least a minute or two of him walking since asking the time.

So it was around six-thirty. Noteworthy gave a soft smile as he continued onward, breathing an incredibly short snort of laughter out of his nostrils. Noteworthy bore a grin as he adjusted the scarf around his neck, feeling its warm fabric around his neck and causing his grin to deepen. Noteworthy bore a grin as his four hooves took him across the Canterlot sidewalk, a single destination in mind, one he had been waiting for for so long. One he had been wanting to travel down, and one he didn't want to see ever again in his life.

Noteworthy bore a grin, a grin of a stallion that had been so accustomed to his own failures for so long in his life that he had shut himself in and succumbed to the dangers of life, all for a longing, a wanting, a desire so strong that he would do anything to achieve.

A grin that was present on his face, ever so present, as Noteworthy trotted onto the grounds of the royal palace without a word, his breath flowing in front of him and into the night sky as he passed by countless ponies who were idly chatting in the courtyard about the event of tonight. None of those ponies began to talk as he did so, no even looking at him in the first place as they instead opted to talk to their own companions with genuine smiles upon their faces and a sense of atmosphere that Noteworthy sure wasn't used to in the last three months.

He may have been in Ponyville an hour ago, the ponies there were always so full of energy, probably packed to the brim with it, especially with that pink party pony around, but as Noteworthy trotted through the large crowd who kindly parted their way, he felt odd. Almost at ease.

Canterlot. The city he loved, but the city he hated. Hated, because of the aristocrats and the concerts and the garbage smell and really everything about its overly posh appearance. But mostly for the aristocrats and the famous individuals that would only be attending to garner an audience for themselves, completely separate of the actual event's, well, events. Sure, there were some here and there, but they sure weren't the majority, maybe even less than the minority as well.

There were actual, genuine ponies out here. Not those you'd see being bagged on in magazines, or the ones to be gossiped about endlessly, but actual living, breathing ponies who just wanted to have a good time instead of sitting at their fires and ordering their servants to get them some buttered biscuits and warming up by their fires with their stacks of bits by their sides.

These ponies had no paid servants. These ponies just wanted to watch a concert with their friends and have a great time in the process.

At this, Noteworthy smiled even more, and walked into the palace without a sound, betraying the loud noises of conversation that met him as his hoof crossed the royal, carpeted threshold. He continued walking, however, despite the amount of conversation that met him as his hoof connected with the royal, carpeted floor. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only, and that one thing in his mind reemerged with full force as he trotted to his right and found the entrance to the theater.

A lone guard, clad in golden armor, stopped him at the entrance silently, his eyes peering at him like a teacher attempting to understand a child. Noteworthy gave the guard a like glance, but quickly understood and reached into his saddlebag to retrieve his invitation. Holding it out to the guard, he watched as the Pegasus squinted his eyes tightly, overlooked what seemed to be the entire paper, and finally gave a curt nod, stepping away from the theater's entrance to politely allow Noteworthy to continue onward.

Noteworthy gave the guard a raised brow of annoyance before walking in, making sure that the armored Pegasus wasn't looking as he did so. He didn't want to have come all this way, all this time for all of this to end up crashing down onto him because he had made one simple mistake regarding an annoying guard who had possibly stalled him on purpose.

One simple mistake to ruin it all.

Huh.

It sounded familiar to him, to Noteworthy. One simple mistake of his doing to ruin something he was working toward.

One simple mistake.

There were so many things that sprouted into his mind, right then and there. The mistakes he had made in the past fourteen years. So many mistakes in fourteen years alone.

All because of one even bigger mistake that was either a mistake or a blessing to him.

All because of what had happened to him that bright spring day in the fourth grade all those years ago on the playground with the birds chirping and the wind blowing and the professional colts playing their professional games of wall ball as professionals of the sport would.

All because of something he couldn't control, but he had caused.

All because of the same reason Noteworthy now found himself being ushered further into the theater with the light shoving of hooves and the accompanying voices of annoyance now finding their way into his ears. Noteworthy issued a quick sorry to the bothered ponies behind him and shuffled himself into a seat in the middle of the theater's seating area. Sitting in back wasn't a big thing of his when he went to these, and neither was sitting in the front.

Neither fit him, and neither made him feel comfortable.

Too many heads to peek over in the back rows.

Too much to sit in the front rows. He envied the ponies who had the guts to sit in the first row, the ones the closest to the stage, and subsequently, the performing Orchestra.

Noteworthy wished he had guts like them. He sure could use them.

Noteworthy tilted his head up slightly, craning his neck to take his saddlebags off before placing them in the seat next to him. It was a wonder that the guard allowed him to take the bags in; an event as big and great as this surely deserved some sense of security, right?

Then again, Noteworthy doubted anypony would even think of the idea of storming into a concert and just ending others' lives.

Heh.

Noteworthy hated that he had chuckled at that thought. He especially hated how his chuckle dissipated into the hot, heater-induced air of the theater without a single word of regret or guilt. He even hated how uncomfortable the seat underneath him was, some kind of scratchy leather he hadn't felt before and certainly wouldn't want to feel again. He couldn't remember when he had last been in the theater, but he surely would have remembered such horrible viewing furniture. He couldn't complain though.

He was here.

He wasn't home.

And he was here for her.

Noteworthy was here for her.

Noteworthy sat in silence as he turned his attention to the theater's stage, bare empty save for the rows of chairs for the cello, violin, and viola players sitting in a half circle around a small circular space in the front.

He smiled. He remembered why the front podium wasn't up and ready yet. The conductor always had a mobile one. Dan was his name, he believed.

Odd name for a pony, when it came down to it. Dan wasn't really something to associate to anything talent-wise. Noteworthy wondered why his name was Dan, and, knowing what very little things could rhyme with Dan, how he ended up becoming the conductor for the country's highest-esteemed Orchestra and becoming the most loved conductor nationwide.

Noteworthy was about to think of more, but stopped as his ears grew suddenly aware of a loud, very violent pounding. Raising a brow, he turned his head to look for the source. Ponies upon ponies met his golden eyes. The theater sure was crowded. Noteworthy wondered for a brief second why nopony was sitting directly behind him or why nopony was cramped up next to him in his row, but he stopped himself as the pounding grew more evident.

Brow still raised, he slowly looked down and felt a hoof to his chest, feeling for his heart.

Nope.

Nope.

Bump- nope.

Noteworthy frowned.

Bump. Bump.

Golden eyes grew as wide as their owner's untouched dinner plates.

Bumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbump.

The hoof lifted itself off his chest, Noteworthy sitting silently on his haunches as they rubbed against the uncomfortable, scratchy leather seat in the hot, heat-stroking air of the crowded but not crowded royal theater.

Well.

That was worrying.

Noteworthy's head suddenly snapped up at the sound of thunderous applause, both from the racket in the viewing area above his head, to the loud stomping and clapping around him on ground floor. Golden eyes flew to the front, to the stage.

The curtains opened, and Noteworthy's smile on his face grew deeper and larger as the first pony stepped out, a light blue Unicorn with a violin engulfed in a light green aura hovering next to him, nine likewise ponies following him as they filled the left side of the stage to the audience. Another Unicorn soon trotted out of the right curtain as well, a pair of violas grasped in his magic as well, a mare and six others following suit as they filled the next row of chairs, the lead Unicorn passing his second viola to the mare next to him with a large grin on his face.

Noteworthy's smile deepened.

Up next were the cellos. The first Pegasus trotted onstage, her cello perfectly positioned on her back and encased in her wings' grasp. Behind her were the rest, who sat in the remaining chairs.

Noteworthy tensed. Up next were the double basses.

He swallowed a lump in his throat.

His heart pounded.

This was the moment he had been waiting for.

This was the moment he would never forget for the rest of his life.

The curtain rustled.

This was it.

A hoof stepped into view.

Noteworthy smiled.

This was it-

A light green Unicorn mare walked out, her horn a-lit as her bass hovered along with her. As she took her spot on the right side of the stage, the rest of the bassists trotted over and got into position, before all looked toward the lead violinist, who nodded, raised her violin, and began to play an A to get the Symphony warmed up.

They started after one another, ending in the basses as the entire theater was filled with the beautiful setting of strings from the entirety of the Royal Canterlot Symphony.

But there was one missing.

Noteworthy's heart beat in his eardrums.

The sounds of the Symphony seemed to become distant, growing farther and farther away until they sounded like they were at the opposite end of a Hoofball field.

His jaw went slack, remaining open as Noteworthy's mind began to creep to a halt, like a machine after years of non-stop service.

It creaked loudly until it remained still. Dead.

Noteworthy stared blankly into nothing in particular.

Not the stage, not the theater, not the ponies around him, and most certainly not at the Symphony.

No.

No. This couldn't be happening.

It shouldn't be happening.

It couldn't.

Noteworthy stared at a single spot thousands of yards away from him, a look of worry in his eyes and an anxious frown on his face.

Octavia.

Octavia... wasn't there.

There was no sign of her.

Not her bass. Not her stand. Not her friends.

Nopony even mentioned her name. Thinking suddenly, Noteworthy turned his head to find a suited stallion standing idly at the entrance with a grin on his face and a stack of papers sitting on a stool next to him. Calmly getting up, he trotted over to the stallion and didn't so much as even look at him as he picked up a flyer for the concert. Walking back to his seat in a shocked silence, he found himself shakily falling into his seat.

Pulling the flyer out, he flipped through its contents to look for the performing artists for that night.

Finding the page, he looked toward the bottom to find the bassists, skimming through them to look for one name.

One name. One name, the one name of the one mare that he had come here for.

One name, one absent, missing name. There wasn't even a single other pony in the bassist section with a P in their last name.

Her name was just... gone.

No no no no.

That couldn't be. Maybe Noteworthy had just gotten a flyer with her name missing.

Yes. Yes that was it.

Noteworthy craned his neck to peer over the seat in front of him, finding a yellow stallion sitting idly and listening to the grey Unicorn next to him as he talked. In his lap was yet another flyer, Noteworthy's eyes going wide as he bit his lower lip. Thinking quickly, Noteworthy's hooves flew to his saddlebags, coming back out with a single bit. Leaning forward, he slid the bit underneath the grey stallion's chair, eliciting a sudden gasp as the offending pony noticed it, the yellow Earth pony included.

Swiftly, Noteworthy flew over the seat and snatched the flyer, sitting back down before the other two ponies could realize what had happened.

Noteworthy opened the pamphlet as quickly as he had the first one.

And, as the first one, he received the exact same results.

Octavia Philharmonica was completely absent from the Performers section.

Noteworthy's expression flat-lined.

The switch in his head was one to not be trifled with. For most of his life it had remained off, never attempting to move, and never able to in the first place. The rare times it was on were times to be held as his best, and most certainly his favorite.

When he had helped her through her depression.

When he had the band play for her.

When he went to her concerts as a teenager.

When he gave her a gift for her birthday, and how much of a nervous wreck he was.

All the times he had done something for her.

Those were his favorite times. His best, no matter how much he claimed they were his worse, the exact opposite, completely idiotic of him to even do.

They were times when his switch was on.

And with receiving the invitation, with coming to this very concert, it was on.

And with finding the one reason to leave his house, with finding the one thing he lived for, with finding Octavia missing....

....Noteworthy couldn't even believe it himself.

He had no words....

...no words as he quickly gathered his things, throwing on his saddlebags and adjusting the scarf around his neck.

The sole reason he came was gone.

He wondered who would pull such a thing. Who would give him such happiness, such excitement, only to end it with utter destruction.

Noteworthy got up from his seat.

He sniffed.

And turned tail, walking right out of the theater.

Who would do such a thing?

Why would they do it?

For once, Noteworthy was happy. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Noteworthy was happy. He was excited for the future.

Octavia had contacted him. She had wanted him at her concert, something so important to her, and she was not there.

Octavia had not contacted him.

Noteworthy realized this.

It was a fraud. A joke, a cruel, cruel joke.

He had no words. His mind had halted and would not work, could not compute what he was feeling.

Was it anger? Disappointment?

He didn't know.

But he didn't care.

Noteworthy had gone through depression for years upon years. He had experienced so much that nopony should have ever experienced in their entire life. He had succumbed to alcoholism, he had sworn off eating and drinking, he had prohibited sleep. He had cried, he had lied, and he had suffered all because of some stupid mistake that he felt was right, that he felt he wanted. He had worked hard for something that would not for him. He had slaved away for years for something that didn't even care for or, hell, didn't even remember who he was. He had isolated himself from everypony; his neighbors, his friends, his boss, his family. He had made so many enemies, so many friends. He had went through fourteen years of happiness and hell. He had watched as friends left him, ignored him, resented him and his very existence. He had set his own life up for failure. He had made his life the way it was. He had made that decision all those years ago, to fall in love with a single mare that gave him the greatest joy in life. A single, Earth pony mare, who he wanted to fight for in life. A single Earth pony mare who was worth stepping out into the world after months of remaining in solitude.

All. For. Naught.

Noteworthy walked out of the theater, his head low and his mind completely numb.

All for naught. All he had done had led to this deception.

He had known this would happen. He had predicted it when the invitation had first come in.

He had predicted his failure, and still he had persisted and came anyway.

Only to succeed in failing himself. Once again.

Noteworthy walked out of the theater, past the guard and the front gate, past the houses and the ponies.

There was nothing for him.

Noteworthy realized it.

Why else would he not have the one thing he had worked toward for years and years? Why else would he have been stuck in a rut that he couldn't find his way out?

Why else would he be alive? Surely, his mistake had both saved his life and jeopardized it. When he was at a low point, he thought of ending it right then and there. He had been close before. But, when he was at a low point, his mind went out to her. And the thought of her kept him alive.

How it both threatened him and kept him well was beyond him.

Noteworthy said not a single word.

Not a single word as he walked toward the train and took his seat in the back.

Not a single word as his golden irises drifted to the front of the train car.

Seven ten.

Ten minutes for him to find his shortcomings. Ten minutes for his life to come crashing down.

Ten minutes.

Noteworthy fell back into his seat.

He didn't deserve Octavia.

Noteworthy threw his saddlebags off, not even caring for its contents as the bag spilled open and released the suitcase onto the floor.

He didn't deserve his happiness.

Noteworthy looked to the ground in complete silence, eyes dimmed and an almost-nonexistent frown on his face.

He sat there idly, not a single word escaping his mouth or a single sound reaching his ears.

The train moved after what seemed like hours.

The train was dead quiet as it returned to Ponyville.

Ponyville.

The shrouded, blanketed, covered residence of Noteworthy, and the other ponies around him.

It was all so quick.

But he had returned.

Maybe this was his punishment. Maybe Noteworthy was being punished for leaving the place he had grown so accustomed to for years upon years. Maybe it was wrong of him, stupid, idiotic in fact, to leave the place he had been trapped, confined to, for months. Maybe fate didn't want him to leave his house in the end. Maybe fate didn't want him to achieve his goal.

Maybe fate didn't want Noteworthy.

Noteworthy looked outside and watched Ponyville appear through the thick snowfall and the light fog; watched as the train halted, screeching its foreseen return loudly into the train station. Noteworthy got up without a word, walking right out of the train car, opening the door, and coming out into the cold air that bit at his body. He did nothing but look up into the starry, night sky, adjust his scarf, and sniff before continuing on his way back.

Back.

Back to his household.

A place he apparently shouldn't have left.

A place he shouldn't have even opened to a stranger. A stranger who only brought further trouble.

Noteworthy stepped through the snow, listening to the happy sounds of fillies and colts enjoying themselves. Listening to the various groups of ponies caroling on the front porches of various houses as various other ponies either watched in silence or joined them.

It betrayed him. All of it.

All of these ponies were happy. They had people in their lives.

Noteworthy did not.

And Noteworthy was always right. And he knew for sure that he was right about this.

If only he had seen it, discovered it, all those years ago.

Why else would he not have the thing he had worked toward?

Noteworthy found his house.

And Noteworthy pushed his way inside.

After all, he never locked the door.

And, as he stopped in the doorway with the winter breeze blowing into his house from behind him, Noteworthy looked at the darkness that was his humble abode.

He walked over to the living room, his saddlebag and scarf falling to the floor, abandoned.

He turned to his couch, walking over to it in silence.

And finally, finally, fell into it in a depressed hush.

And this way he sat.

He sat.

And he sat.

And he sat.

This was no substitute for the long-forgotten hill, so he did not think.

Noteworthy just sat.

Sat.

The house was quiet, almost too quiet, Noteworthy's low breathing being the only thing stopping it.

Gold stared into absolute nothingness.

His body was wracked with destruction.

And Noteworthy sat.

Sat for what seemed like ages, listening to the tick-tocking of his clock as it continued its horrible onslaught of time.

Noteworthy sat until the sun fell behind the mountains, when the ponies outside retreated to their homes for the coming morning, greeted with presents and good cheer.

Noteworthy sat until the clock ticked to eleven.

And then, suddenly, he got up, and walked around his living room couch to enter the hallway.

He walked for two slow, pained heartbeats, before stopping at his closet door.

His endgame.

He reached for the golden knob, and clicked it open, the door swinging outward with a loud creak.

Golden irises flew to the top shelf.

To his endgame.

Noteworthy's hoof reached for it.

Touching it, the hoof hesitated for a brief second.

Noteworthy grabbed the rope in silence, knowing what was coming next.

Looking down, he found the chair-

Knock.

The hoof around the rope shook.

Noteworthy turned his head slowly, peering at the doorway through the drywall.

His breath was hitched.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No. Don't answer it.

Knock knock knock.

Noteworthy, don't answer it.

The hoof faltered.

Knock knock.

Noteworthy, don't.

The hoof closed the door.

Silence.

Noteworthy, stop.

The hoof joined its brethren as they led their owner to the door.

Noteworthy, don't open the door.

Noteworthy walked around his living room couch. Past the wall of paintings. Past his kitchen.

Noteworthy, stop.

He walked through his living room and turned a left.

Noteworthy faced the door, the door his mind told him not to open.

His hooves shook violently as they stepped to the front door.

Whoever it was, he wondered why they knocked.

Noteworthy raised a shaking hoof, barely sustaining himself from throwing the door open.

Breath pained, he clenched the door knob.

He hesitated.

One, two, three.

He opened the door.

His heart stopped.

His breath halted.

His mind froze.

His eyes widened.

And his mouth went slack.

On his doorstep stood Octavia, a scarf around her neck and an instrument case sitting in the snow next to her.

Noteworthy struggled to formulate words. His breath was caught in his throat, as if he had swallowed gallons of cotton not mere seconds ago. He stood in the doorway, a hoof still pressed against the door. The winter breeze flew through the air, but it neither hindered nor helped him.

He could only watch in complete shock as the two ponies stood silently in the night, the only sound being the wind blowing through the air.

Neither moved an inch.

He stuttered.

"Oc- Octavia...?"

The mare laughed, smiling all the while, before she suddenly pounced, tackling Noteworthy in a bone-crushing hug.

Noteworthy gasped.

The two stood like this for what seemed like a wonderful eternity, locked in each other's embrace with smiles on their faces.

Octavia suddenly spoke.

"I love you, Noteworthy."

His world stopped.

The clouds above hovered in midair.

The snowflakes previously falling ceased.

The birds above halted mid-flight.

And Noteworthy smiled.

And Noteworthy replied.

"I... I love you too, Octavia."

And Noteworthy, for the first time in his life, after five thousand, two hundred and eight days, seven hundred and forty-three weeks, one-hundred seventy-one months, and fourteen long, hard years of his life, a part of his life filled with nothing but depression, anger, loneliness, alcoholism, want, need, and hope, Noteworthy was deeply, genuinely, and utterly happy.

And as the clock turned to midnight, Noteworthy's smile deepened.

For his Sunshine was here.

And here, she would stay.

Author's Note

What a sappy, sappy ending. Oh well, I still thought it was good. :twilightsmile: I apologize if you didn't think so, however, really I do.

Happy Holidays, everyone. Thank you, so very much, for reading. This has been one helluva long, depressing ride, I gotta admit. Just writing this has made me feel absolutely horrible inside, but now it's done, and the trilogy is finished. Thank you, all of you, for helping me write out three stories about a troubled stallion, something I have and always will consider my greatest works. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope every one of you enjoyed this, and are glad to see Noteworthy finally find his Sunshine. I know I have.

Thank you. :heart: