Purple Weed Cosmopolitan

Manehattan. November, 2028.

Sometimes Spike wondered why he even bothered.

The gray hoodie that he was rarely without these days was a garment designed for a dragon, but constructed by pony hooves. It had never fit quite right, and though the wool was cozy and the front pocket ample enough for his claws, he felt an itch on his scales within it that fuzzy ponies simply could not understand. Wool also had a habit for attracting hair, and since he had none of his own, nobody was as sensitive as he to the feeling of carrying along with himself a piece of every pony he happened to bump into. Wearing the hoodie in the rain was nonsensical given that his bare scales were better protection from the drops, but the item had been a hoofmade gift from a special friend. Spike treasured every fiber -- right down to the ‘Rarity for You’ tag printed just above the washing instructions on the inside hem.

The cool drizzle of a wet, pre-winter Manehattan night was soaking Spike via his outfit, but it would take a colder day - in Tartarus perhaps - before he chanced to go out without his beloved hoodie. Eschewing an umbrella, he was subject to the occasional blow to the eye by a single drop. Each occurrence transformed every city light to a sparkling show of kaleidoscopic crystals, which he enjoyed until being obliged to pull one claw forth from his pocket to rub the water out of his face.

His destination was familiar enough that he could have taken ten minutes off the trip simply by leading, but the white unicorn at point was marching with purpose, and he was well used to willingly placing himself in her trail. The glow of Rarity’s magic upon the ensorcelled umbrella above her head cast a pleasing sapphire glow, which flowed into the dark corners of the winding labyrinth of city streets. She had said little in the hour since he had hastily offered to set out in the rain with her, and he hadn’t offered any consolation for the number of high-class clients she was forced to walk out on at the boutique.

Rarity was taking the long way to Manehattan South Side Community College - the only route known by those who were visitors of, but not themselves students. Spike could have suggested one of the many shortcuts he knew by heart, but he knew also that it was best not to disturb the fabulous matriarch when her chin was held at an angle beyond ninety degrees. Rarity’s tail was flicking like a whip, and the young-adult dragon was mesmerized by it as surely as when he had been only knee-high to it.

Spike closed his claw around the tiny box in his front pocket and finally found his voice, but Rarity beat him to forming actual words.

“This is the best way to the dorms, isn’t it Spike?”

Spike pointed weakly at the narrow path through a park that Rarity had already passed. “Well, actually when you’re here every day, you learn about the shortcu--”

“In there?” Rarity wrinkled her muzzle at the dark canopy of trees. “Darling, you simply cannot be serious. Why, Celestia only knows what manner of roughians a Venus in Furs such as myself could run afoul of in such a place on the quintessential dark and stormy night.”

“It’s just students who go through there to get to the dorms…”

“Indeed!” Rarity agreed. “All the more reason, I think.” Her neck wrapped in faux finery, she slowed her pace until she came up beside him, and then flashed Spike a lavish grim from behind the blue-lensed glasses on her muzzle that were just for show. “It pays to be safe dear, but if any misfortune were to befall us, certainly I would be well-protected, no?”

Rarity was only in her thirties, but the veritable fashion empire that had kept her on the front page was no small task to maintain; not to mention the regular travel it required all over the country. Years of friendship with Applejack had even inspired the fashionista to open up a ‘country chic’ boutique as far south as Appleoosa. Thus, at her behest, sales of rhinestone-encrusted cowfilly hats were teaming up with bohemian shawls to create a whole new generation of farmpony style. Rarity had a reasonable amount of trust in her managers, but she was simply not the type to sit back and keep her hooves out of the pot while the bits rolled in. She was as a result possibly the hardest-working pony Spike knew, and she tickled every fancy he had, right down to his appreciation for honest labor. The differences in their aging processes meant nothing to him. Her sapphire eyes blended with her shades and glowed beyond the slight age-lines around her muzzle; shining as brightly as the day he had met her. The few strands of early gray in her mane were dustings of silver of fairydust above a purple midnight sky, all of which presided over the gleaming white perfection of her coat.

Spike had become a student at the encouragement of Twilight and he was happy with that choice, but he had been following Rarity for so long, she captured nearly all of his attention whenever she happened to be in town.

“O-of course!” Spike puffed up like his once-infantile self, though he was slightly taller than the average adult mare now. “It would take a hundred cities - a thousand cities full of thugs before a single one made it past me!”

Rarity lightly stroked a hoof just under Spike’s chin. It was a gesture more apropos to the dragon as a baby, but it elicited a shiver from him anyway. “I have no doubt that you will protect me come what may, my Dear.”

“I’m sure Sweetie Belle is just fine!” Spike blurted, caught up in the sunny moment. “We’ll just go and get her again, and everything will be great. You’ll see.”

The moment Spike uttered the word ‘again’, he realized he had said too much. Rarity’s expression eclipsed the sun faster than Luna could have done it from the heavens. She marched back to the front and continued on her roundabout path to the dorms, allowing a terse ‘hmph’ to pass for a reply.

* * * * *

While his ears remained in doubt, Spike had no doubts about the efficiency of his snout when compared to ponykind. His certainty was reaffirmed when he noticed Rarity’s muzzle wiggling in perfect time with his, the moment a certain odor that was permeating the quad invaded it. To him the scent was of minor concern, but he sighed when he observed the widened eyes of the adult unicorn, who had never experienced the world of undergraduate education.

Rarity looked shocked. “I-is that...??”

Spike brought down his damp hood and sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “Um...yeah, but it’s not what you think--”

“H-how can the school possibly allow this sort of substance to be here??” Rarity’s voice rose beyond a personal level, such that Spike wondered just how much it would amplify in the ears of the young, smoke-enhanced ponies strewn about the large room.

“W-well, they don’t...really allow it officially, but you know, being a student is stressful and this is technically off-campus, and, uh...i-it’s just not a huge big deal…”

“Not a big deal?” Rarity repeated. She took another deep breath and coughed, as if giving her nostrils dramatic affront somehow proved her point. In a flourish she stuffed her umbrella in a basket, stowed her artsy glasses in her stole, and swept into the room, heedless of the students she was stepping over until she tripped on one and nearly fell. “M-mother f--” She quickly collected herself, “--of Pearl! Is this a student dormitory or merely where they stack the bodies!?”

Spike tried to make his ‘keep it down’ gesture with his claws as polite as possible. “It was a party and it’s over now, so everpony’s sleeping…”

“On the floor?” Rarity’s head darted around, “and the couch? And the back of the couch? And the dining room table? And the ottoman?”

“That’s not an ottoman, it’s just a stack of pizza boxes…”

“And the stack of pizza boxes?” Rarity appended without breaking stride, “and the kitchen sink?” She paused then, blinking towards the kitchen. “My word, how did that young gentlecolt even get himself into that position…”

“Th-they don’t all live here,” Spike attempted.

“And one another?” Rarity went on with her checklist tirade of strange sleeping habits.

Spike glanced in Rarity’s direction and erked. In the ratty, gray quad, with modest facilities that were in need of cleaning, Rarity was staring at a young couple who were too busy making out on the floor to even realize they were being watched. Strewn about them were spent cans of beverages they were likely only barely old enough to imbibe, though their silly giggles and clumsy kisses proved that they had. Spike watched helplessly as Rarity’s cheeks filled with color and her ear twitched. He knew that the dissonant music coming from a record player in another room was not her style, but he doubted that was what she was reacting to.

Rarity’s brow narrowed. She spoke through gritted teeth, her voice low enough that it was no more likely to get the couple’s attention than her previous shouting. She did not phrase her inquiry as a question.

“Where is she.”

Spike stepped in, pulling Rarity’s attention from the young lovers. “I-I dunno, but try not to worry too much, I’m sure she’s not--”

Rarity thrust out a hoof to silence her companion. She stepped away from the inebriated makeout session, made to sit down, found a snoring colt with powdered cheese stains in his coat taking up the entire couch, and paused to collect her breath.

“Spike, you’re a student at this university too, yes?”

“Uh, yeah?”

She fixed him with a look. “And you have been to this place before, have you not?”

Spike withered, feeling as short as he had been the first time he came to Ponyville. “...y-yeah.”

Having collected herself, Rarity did not lash out. She was in fact quite calm, which only unnerved the dragon even more. “This is the third time in as many months I have had to pick Sweetie Belle up from one of these places, but I have never been to this one in particular. You’ll be a dear and show me where I can likely find my little sister in this quaint establishment, won’t you?”

Spike felt the words lance him as surely as the icy breath of a windigo. He swallowed and made slowly for the stairs. “Sure...yeah…”

Rarity fell in this time, matching two hoofbeats for every one of Spike’s steps as the pair climbed a set of creaky stairs. Every door save one was carelessly left wide open, allowing the aftermath of each debaucherous scene to be easily inspected for the elimination of Rarity’s quarry. Eventually there were no portals left save for the closed one, which by mere process of elimination had to be their goal. Rarity wasted no time. Ensorcelling the knob, she twisted hard to yank the door open before Spike could so much as brush his talons against it.

The room beyond was cast in a haze by the filtering rays of the moon through a worn window blind. The furnishings labelled it a student’s bedchamber, though all manner of clutter was strewn about the carpet, desk, and dresser in sufficient quantities to upset the sensibilities of the compulsive. It was enough of an affront to Rarity to find that the clothes belonged to a lady, but the scene upon the bed stirred in her a gasp that pierced the air and froze it solid.

There sat Sweetie Belle with her back against the wall. She had her hind legs spread in the manner of a stallion, and between them rose the slate gray spire she had often hidden beneath gym shorts as a youth. It was twitching, a bead of moisture formed at the tip; the shaft was enveloped in a deep vermillion glow of magic that matched the gaudy crusting of eyeshadow upon her. Black eyeliner in a thick layer matched the ebony t-shirt she wore, while the six silver rings piercing her right ear caught the glow of the magical light. Her horn was alive with the sage green unicorn magic she had been born with, making it obvious that she was not lost in the throes of masturbation.

Rarity thrust a hoof towards Spike’s chest. The dragon glanced down, realizing the gesture had been meant for where his eyes had been years ago, and politely took to examining the posters of rock bands on the walls. Tucked between Sweetie Belle’s hind legs was another young mare around her age. Dressed and painted almost exactly like her partner, the unknown differed only in position, the rust color of her coat, and the glow from her horn, was was distinctly vermillion. Her magic was clearly at work on Rarity’s sister, and the green glow emanating from under her elevated tail suggested the attention was mutual. The smiled from both students burned away like parchment under Rarity’s gaze; two sets of eyes turning to meet her.

“R-Rarity!?” Sweetie Belle blurted. An accusatory glare fell in the mousey dragon’s direction. “Spike! What are you...why is she…??”

Spike could only shrug. “You, uh...said you needed to be picked up.”

“I’m kinda busy!” Sweetie Belle waved dramatically at herself.

Spike forced himself to continue staring at the posters. “Y-you said you needed help! How was I supposed to know what you needed help with??”

“I never said--!” Sweetie Belle paused, her light and that of her partner winking out. She glanced at the telephone. “Wait...did I?”

“You most certainly did say, young lady,” Rarity cut in, her gaze hewn from granite. “And judging by the fact that there are even more offensive odors up here than downstairs, I suspect you simply forgot.”

Sweetie Belle looked down at her marefriend. “Did I…?”

The young pony only shrugged obliviously, slowly lowering her tail until Rarity cleared her throat.

“Excuse me, young miss,” The fashionable visitor oozed with no small amount of sarcasm. “But that is my little sister whose lower torso you have become so fond of. Would you be so kind as to allow a pair of siblings a moment to confer. A private moment?”

The mare sat up, fumbled for her glasses from the nightstand, and glanced between the sisters, a stray curl falling over her eye. “But this is my room…”

Rarity merely cleared her throat again, louder this time. Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes and offered her friend the most reassuring, lopsided smile she could manage. “Moony, uh...do you mind? Just for a bit?”

The rusty unicorn could have sworn that Rarity was on the verge of breathing fire. She returned the weak smile to her friend, slunk off the bed, and gave Rarity a wide berth on her way to the door. “S-sure. I...prolly should check on the house anyways.” She nodded with familiarity to Spike, who returned the gesture before she disappeared into the hall.

Rarity narrowed her eyes at her sister. “I’m waiting.”

Sweetie Belle rocked her head back against the wall and let out a dreamy sigh, her erection still proud. “What for?”

Rarity pawed at the carpet, restraining herself from stamping her hoof. “For an explanation, as well you can imagine.”

“Huh?” Sweetie Belle seemed genuinely oblivious until a substance-addled lightbulb flickered to life in her brain. She glanced at the door. “Oh, Moony? Eh, it’s not what you’re thinking. We’re just friends. She spins records with me at the DJ gig on the campus radio station.”

“Friends?” Rarity repeated, pointing unabashedly at Sweetie Belle’s thick girth. “Is that what you do when you’re ‘just friends’ with a pony?”

“Sure I guess,” Sweetie Belle shrugged. “Aw, you know how it is. College experimentation and all. It’s totally no biggie!”

Rarity scowled. “I’m sure you’ll both still be saying that when she winds up pregnant.”

Spike meeped and took a step back as the already frigid air in the room was involuntarily sucked away. Sweetie Belle bapped her hoof against the mattress.

“Hey! That’s not fair!”

Rarity huffed. “Isn’t it? One thing leads to another, and before you know it--”

“You think I don’t know how the birds and the bees work?” Sweetie Belle interrupted.

“I think you’re young. And young ponies plus hormones and drugs equals--”

“Ugh!” Sweetie Belle countered. “There you go again, mother henning me! It’s not like that, and I wouldn’t just go and do that to her like it was nothing! That’s not even what we were doing!”

“Maybe not tonight it’s not…”

“I’m not a colt!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed. “I’m not just gonna breed whoever lets me get close to them!”

Spike made a face. “Hey, I resent--”

“Quiet Spike!” Two voices sent the dragon further into the corner of the room, which he quickly determined was the safest place to be.

“You’re right,” Rarity retorted. “You’re not a colt. But a certain something seems to cause you to think that way often enough.”

“Psh,” Sweetie Belle spat. “You’re just jealous because you don’t have one!”

Rarity sputtered. “M-me? With a…? Oh don’t be ridiculous dear. It wouldn’t suit my couture one bit!”

“But it does suit my...coat bore?” Sweetie Belle slapped her chest with a hoof. “What does that word even mean anyway?”

Rarity was nonchalantly examining one of her own hooves. “You might know, if you weren’t languishing away in a community college.”

Spike stiffened. “Hey wait a sec, that’s not fa--”

A spark of something ugly ignited behind Sweetie Belle’s eyes, casting their normal emerald luster in the murky green of a changeling hive. She gritted her teeth, and her words came in a hiss.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know very well that it’s ‘supposed’ to mean,” Rarity replied with infuriating calmness. “Sweetie Belle, you’re just…” She gestured to the entire room. “You’re so much better than this! You have so much potential, darling. You’re adorable, you’re chic, you have a fantastic runway swagger, poise, a projecting voice...we can afford the absolute best in education for your future, yet here you sit!”

“A runway swagger?” Sweetie Belle spat, “Really? Is that what you think I want for my life? To follow in my big sister’s hoofsteps?”

Rarity backpeddled, but only slightly. “Well...no of course not dear, but you could be anything you want to be. Why waste yourself in a place like this…?”

“It’s community college, Rarity,” Sweetie Belle snarled. “Not jail! Spike goes here, so Twilight must approve of it! My friends are here, I like the curriculum...I’m happy here!”

“But your future, dear…”

“Did you go to college?”

Rarity paused. “What?”

“Did you? Did you even go at all? We’re not all fashion-savants, Rarity. I wanna get into broadcasting, and I need to go to school for that!”

“And I’m certain what you’re doing right now is a regular part of your studies,” Rarity sighed. “All the things you could be, Sweetie Belle…”

Sweetie Belle lewdly grabbed her extra organ and presented it. “What are you planning to do about this if I get a job as a runway model, huh? What are you gonna do about my big, thick, veiny, bobbing stallionmeat, huh? You know, the one I’m clearly gonna use to get all my friends pregnant?”

Rarity actually smiled. “Oh psh, don’t even worry about that. We can make you a nice cozy for it! Why, I can match the style of any outfit fo well that nopony would ever even notice!”

“REALLY, Rarity??”

“B-but,” Rarity sputtered, “you just asked what we could do about it, isn’t that just inspired?”

“Ugh! Don’t you even know sarcasm when you hear it?” Sweetie Belle scooted to the edge of the bed and reared, presenting herself. “Does it bother you that your sister has a girl hole and a cock?”

“You know I don’t feel that way about it…”

“Yeah? Maybe it would bother you less if we glue it to my stomach so nopony will see it whenever you dress me with your eyes?”

Rarity’s eyes narrowed. “That’s uncalled for. You know I love you.”

“You have an awfully ‘couture’ way of showing it!”

“Don’t point that thing at me.”

“Think you’re gonna end up pregnant if you stare at it too long? Look at this!” In a flash of movement, Sweetie Belle slapped the side of her head and shoved her sweat-matted mane out of the way. Beneath the hanging palisades of her pastel tresses was a barren field of shaved stubble. Dyed blue, the weeds covered nearly the entire side of her head, like some sort of gothic fungus had latched on and begun to seep into her brain. That was the analogy Rarity formed anyway, as the fashionista gasped and staggered, a hoof over her heart.

“Wh-what did you do to yourself!?”

Sweetie Belle turned her head to the weak light so her sister could get a good look. “See? I knew you’d overreact.”

Rarity felt a sudden, dizzying desire for her fainting couch, “B-but...but your beautiful mane, you...you cut a Daring Do machete jungle path through it!”

Sweetie Belle repeated her big sister’s last few words in a nasaly tone and then added, “It’s not a big deal. Moony and I did it together. It’s a friendship thing.”

Rarity presented a hoof as if it held the skull of Yorick and announced “Forgive me dear, but I fail to understand how mutually-inflicted grooming wounds factor into the magic of friendship.”

Sweetie Belle folded her forelegs, turned away, and angled her chin in a way she learned, ironically, from her big sis. “Of course you don’t understand. You never do.”

Rarity’s deeply-furrowed brows rose slightly. “I’m trying to understand dear, I just don’t follow how shaving your head and becoming inebriated at frat parties until lewdness ensues equates to--”

“Just go.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave,” Sweetie Belle didn’t move a muscle. “If that’s how you’re going to be about it, then just get out of here.”

“But you called me here, darling.”

The younger unicorn felt her voice cracking. “I-I know just...i-it was a false alarm...I’ll be fine, s-so since you’re probably here just to save face, you can save it better if we just pretend this never happened.”

Rarity grew dark. Spike mouthed Sweetie Belle’s name and cringed.

“I came here because I love you and I was worried about you!” Rarity cried. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t understand you completely. But how dare you accuse me of not caring! I wouldn’t touch a sewing needle again ever in my life if I thought it would make you happy, s-so for you to say...something like th-that…”

Sweetie Belle said nothing. Spike, a hard glare on his face, finally took over her for her, interposing himself between the sisters.

“Rarity, she didn’t mean it. She’s been drinking. She loves you, she just doesn’t know what to feel right now. Let’s just go. She’s staying with a friend, she’ll be fine, and cooler heads will prevail in the morning.” Spike found himself puffing up a bit as he delivered a speech his surrogate mother would surely have been proud of.

Rarity’s mascara was running. She ensorcelled three small objects on the desk before realizing none of them were her umbrella, and finally spun on her heels towards the door. “Oh, I’m going alright! I can see where I’m not wanted, and clearly it won’t do for one such as I to grace this five-star establishment with my lowly presence any longer!”

“I-it’s not like that…” Spike started, as was his habit, to fall in with his unrequited paramour. “Your umbrella is downstairs, let me get it for you…”

“Not now, Spike!”

The dragon found himself accosted by one of the elegant snowy hooves he had long adored. “Wh-what? But I...I can help…”

Rarity was in hysterics, and her venom was spewing liberally in every direction. “I am not an invalid, Spike! I do not require constant assistance with every miniscule task I undertake!”

“I...no, that’s not what I--”

“Doesn’t Twilight have something for you to do your assistant-ing with? You spend so much time following me around that it’s any wonder you have a mind of your own at all. You’re a dragon, not a dog!”

Spike couldn’t believe what he was hearing. At a loss, he fumbled for the little box concealed in his hoodie. The abject terror of loss welled up inside, and it forced to the surface the confession he had kept bottled up for years, just to have a reply.

“B-but Rarity...I lo...I lov--”

“Hmph!”

With an unflattering snort, Rarity smacked the door so hard it snapped back and slammed shut as she crossed the threshold. In an instant, the room fell back into the cold embrace of a skipping record at its terminus and the patter of rain just beyond the thin window blinds. As for the dragon, the sounds were as much lost to his ears as the sensation of the carpet was to his knees when he sunk upon it.

For at time, there was nothing. Unicorn and dragon sat in silence, backs to one another, each stewing in a marinade of their own emotional juices. Sweetie Belle kept her attention on the blanched stucco in between two rock band posters until she was certain the silence indicated emptiness. The therefore gasped with surprise when she turned to find Spike still sitting on the floor, watching the entrance as though in worship. He stirred, but only to wiggle his ear-crests.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I’ll go.”

Sweetie Belle turned swiftly away. “She didn’t mean it Spike. She’s upset.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell her about you,” Spike replied. “What was all that just now?”

Sweetie Belle shrank. “I...I dunno. When she gets all high and mighty like that it just...drives me up a wall, and...well…”

“AND,” Spike made a puffing gesture with his lips. “You’ve been doing more than just drinking tonight.”

The unicorn’s eyes were on her lap. She began, of all things, to pensively bat around her own flaccid girth. “It calms me down. It’s not hurting anything and it’s not like you’ve never done it.”

Spike rose to his feet and pulled up his hood. He smiled, but the gesture was as empty as his countenance. “I should go. I’ve, uh...got school tomorrow.”

“She didn’t mean it Spike,” Sweetie Belle repeated.

Spike paused, one claw on the doorknob. “I know, but she’s still right. I’ve been following her for almost twenty years. It’s never gonna happen. She’s just not into me.”

Sweetie Belle managed a smile. “I’ve never heard you admit it so brazenly before. You were about to tell her everything, weren’t you.”

“Yep. I...didn’t know what else to say. I just...needed to say something.”

“Something to keep it from ending,” Sweetie Belle drew the conclusion on her own.

Spike’s grip tightened on the doorknob. “What...do I do now?”

Sweetie Belle shrugged and flicked her weighted ear, her six rings tinkling. “You’re asking the wrong pony. According to my sister I don’t have it together either.”

“She didn’t mean--”

“I know, I know,” Sweetie Belle waved a hoof. “She didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. You didn’t mean it. Nopony meant it. Tomorrow we’ll talk again, make up, and everything will...just be the same again…”

Spike stepped back into the room until the sepia glow from the blinds cast his face in relief. With a great sigh, he deflated onto the bed, and his claw shot out to nab the bottle of spirits on the nightstand. He thought to sniff it before sending its contents down the hatch, and wrinkled his snout in confusion.

“What...is this stuff?”

“Oh, that’s, ummm…” Sweetie Belle leaned over to grab a whiff of her own. “It’s, well it’s…” she scooted to the edge of the bed next to her companion and tilted her head, scrutinizing the half-consumed concoction. “It’s...blue!”

Spike turned the bottle’s label toward the weak light and squinted. “This reads like something Twilight would disappear into her study and spend a week deciphering. And by that I mean, I have no idea what it says.”

Sweetie Belle looked sheepish. “Well, it has a picture of a yak on it and the clerk said only one in every ten bottles make it out of Yakyakistan, because the quality control yaks smash anything that’s not perfect. Real top shelf stuff! Moony and I wanted...you know...” she spun her hoof in the air, “the good stuff.”

Spike made a face at the bottle. “What does it taste like?”

“Turpentine,” Sweetie Belle observed. “The clerk at the liquor store down the street has a silver muzzle on his flank. Now we know why I guess, eh heh...”

“But you drank half of it.”

Sweetie Belle shrugged. “It was expensive. Can’t let it just go to waste, right? It’s so potent that it didn’t really matter what it tasted like, but that was hours ago and I’m totally fine nowwwhoa!”

The unicorn’s attempt to downplay her inebriation by standing up on the bed resulted in dismal failure. She pitched forward and might have smacked her chin against the bed frame onn her way down, had Spike not tossed the bottle aside and swept the hapless equine youth into his lap. In an instant they were muzzle-to-snout, each pair of eyes gaping at the other. Spike spoke first, his draconic irises occasionally making a futile attempt to dart away.

“I, uh...think I spilled yak juice all over your carpet. Sorry.”

“It’s Moony’s carpet. And that wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever got spilled on it.” Sweetie Belle blushed slightly. “Thanks by the way.”

Spike cleared his throat and broke up the moment by returning his companion to a sitting position on the bed. “S-sure. Uh...where is Moony anyway?”

“Moony? Psh,” Sweetie Belle snerked. “She probably got tired and shut herself up in the broom closet again. She’s bigtime agoraphobic. We always find her in the broom closet after a party. It’s safe and cozy for her in there.”

Spike pondered. The he grabbed a pillow and threw it on the floor.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a place to sleep.”

“Uh, okay...why?”

“Because even though you’re talking coherently to me, that yak junk did something weird to you. You can’t walk in a straight line and I bet you don’t remember what you did with your keys. Plus, there’s only one broom closet in this whole place and there are like seventeen drunk colts all over the building.”

Sweetie Belle couldn’t argue with the comment about her keys, but she found a retort all the same. “I know every one of them. They’re cool.”

“They’re all either drunk, high, or both,” Spike insisted. “I get that you’re not a colt, but...you must have some idea what it’s like when you’re feeling good and there are cute fillies around.”

Sweetie Belle rolled her eyes. “Now you’re starting to sound like my sister. I can take care of myself.”

“And you’re still being stubborn,” Spike shot back. “But have it your way. I guess I’m just staying because I don’t want to walk home in the rain.”

Sweetie Belle thought to defend her point again, but Spike was planted solidly in his place and didn’t look like he planned to be moved. His eyes were focused firmly on the door, as if he planned to leap into action to protect her honor at any moment. It was the thought that counted, after all.

“...well...thanks for, uh...not getting yourself wet walking home, then.”

“Eeyup.”

The two sat in silence until the patter of raindrops became deafening. Sweetie Belle slunk off the bed and reset the record player. She then flopped back down onto the mattress behind Spike to the cadence of smooth, jazz fusion rock. She exhaled and gazed up at the ceiling.

“I’m not wasting my life,” She justified aloud. “I’m happy with what I have. Rarity just says stuff like that when she’s trying to push my buttons.”

Spike still hadn’t moved from sentinel duty at the edge of the bed, but he changed the subject abruptly. “Bet you don’t know what my major is.”

Sweetie Belle’s eyes didn’t come off the ceiling. “Huh...actually no, I don’t. What is it?”

“Interior design.”

“...you’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“Why did you pick that? Do you like interior design?”

“Not really.”

“Then why--”

“Because I thought it would go well with Rarity’s fashion sense. My counselor told me majoring in that is a bad idea unless I back it up with a business minor or something. But I did it anyway, because Rarity. Because I’m an idiot, I guess.”

“You’re not an--”

“Sure I am,” Spike scoffed. “Rarity’s my friend, and I know she cares about me. But that’s all. She doesn’t love me, she never did love me, and hanging around her all the time is just me trying to make her love me, which is even worse. I follow her around anyway though, because I don’t want to admit to any of that, and...that’s all I know to do with myself.”

Sweetie Belle crossed her forelegs behind her head and reclined, her eyes on Spike’s back. In no more mood to pussyhoof around the issue than was the dragon, she spoke directly. “Why are you telling me this?”

Spike was taken off-guard. “I...can’t?”

“Sure you can, but why now? And why to me?”

“...because I’ve told myself all that stuff I just said a thousand times, but I can’t get it through to me anyway. I thought...maybe you could. I need somepony to talk some sense into me, and we’ve been doing that for each other since I got you to stop wearing those dumb gym shorts everywhere way back when.” Spike paused. “You wanna know a secret?”

“Sure…?”

“Remember that love poison you girls cooked up for Miss Cheerliee years ago?”

Sweetie Belle shuddered. “How could I forget? We didn’t think it would do all the stuff it did.”

“Yeah well, when I first heard about it, neither did I. And the first thing I wanted to do was give it to Rarity.”

“That’s...not so weird. You changed your mind when you found out it was really a poison, right?”

“Of course I did,” Spike admitted. “But...a tiny part of me still wanted to give it to her anyway.”

Sweetie Belle rose to her haunches. She closed from behind, until Spike caught her scent in the displaced air. “My sister is a good pony. But she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Spike harumphed. Sweetie Belle’s hoof found his shoulder, and she went on.

“My friends mean a lot to me. Back then my life was all about Apple Bloom and Scootaloo, but even they couldn’t get me to really come out of my shell. You did that. I love them both like sisters, but Scoots went to Cloudsdale University, and Apple Bloom stayed on the farm. You came with me. You’ve been around every time I needed you, even when I didn’t know I needed you.”

“I...uh...I did it for Rarity,” Spike dodged. Sweetie Belle was suddenly beside him, shaking her head.

“Bull,” she said simply. “You did it because you care. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Spike receded into his hoofcrafted hoodie. From it he produced the little box, which took the shape of a diminutive cylinder, clumsily wrapped in rumpled paper from a previous Hearth’s Warming. Sweetie Belle eyed it.

“Is that for Rarity?”

“It was supposed to be,” Spike admitted. A soft, curiously content smile crossed his lips, and he held the box out to her. “But you reminded me of a certain special day, and now I want you to have it. It’ll...keep either one of us from ever forgetting.”

The dragon watched as the tiny package began to glow with sage green light in his open claw. It took to floating, and under the influence of unicorn magic unwrapped itself. Beneath was a case not unlike those intended to store reading glasses, but as it clicked apart, it revealed contents that were anything but. Therein lay a hair clip in the shape of a three-dimensional sprig of lilac. Composed from masterfully-crafted transparent acrylic, each tiny, individual leaf and blossom from the little work of art caught the soft glow around it and reflected the light in all directions, like pure crystal from the empire in the north. The pinpoints of light dotted the walls such that the room began to look like a disco hall.

Sweetie Belle cast aside the container and held the ornament before her, turning it slowly as the spinning disco lights passed over everything in the room. Her expression was so analytical that Spike became worried.

“Don’t you like it?”

“...you’re as bad a liar as I am, Spike,” Sweetie Belle whispered.

“What?” Spike cringed. “I-if you don’t like it, I can--”

“You didn’t get this for Rarity.”

“S-sure I did,” Spike muttered.

Sweetie Belle shook her head insistently. “Rarity hasn’t been interested in lilac since that spread in Manehattan Cosmopolitan years ago called it a ‘purple weed’. There’s no way you wouldn’t know that.”

Spike fell silent. The green and purple pinpricks of light floating around the room matched his scales so perfectly that they mottled the blush on his cheeks and gave him away. Sweetie Belle held the faux sprig before her face and kept her eyes on it as she continued her sleuthing.

“The truth is, you didn’t need to be ‘reminded’ of anything. You were gonna give this to Rarity, I believe that. But you said it yourself - you know she’s married to her career. The reason you bought this particular thing is that you figured you could give it to me...if you couldn’t give it to her.”

Spike dipped his head low and stared at his twiddling talons.

“It’s all part of a master plan to appeal to one sister if you can’t get the other,” Sweetie Belle concluded.

The dragon looked mortified. “N-no! I wouldn’t--”

The moment Spike turned his head to reply, Sweetie Belle’s hoof shot out and covered his lips. “...which you did because you’re lonely.”

Spike didn’t move.

“Because when you were little all you needed were your friends and Twilight, who’s basically your mom. Now you want more, but you’ve been chasing my big sis for so long that you don’t know how to get it.”

The unicorn removed her hoof, and Spike found he couldn’t meet her eyes. “You...make it sound like I’m just settling for you...that’s awful…”

“Maybe you are,” Sweetie Belle said softly. “But that’s only a problem if it bothers me. Do you like me, Spike?”

“Well duh, of course,” Spike deflected. “We’ve been friends like forever.”

Sweetie Belle called upon her natural talent for voice, sweetening her words with a resonance that made them seem to be everywhere at once. “You know what I mean. Do you like me, Spike?”

“...yeah.”

The lilac sprig was suddenly floating before Spike’s eyes. Enthralled by it, he couldn’t help but follow it on its journey. Sweetie Belle brushed back the wisp of mane covering her blue stubble and gave the clip a home there, tasking it with holding her mane in such a way that both her pastel locks and the statement beneath could be seen in equal measure.

“What do you think?” She asked, turning her head and neck to him.

Spike inspected the side of Sweetie Belle’s head longer than was necessary, swallowing when his eyes strayed down to the gentle throb of her snowy jugular. “Very, uh...handsome.”

Sweetie Belle, black tee and all, scooted closer and batted the vermillion paint on her eyelids. “You know...I never forgot the confidence you instilled in me. I never would have stopped wearing those shorts if not for you. When I got a little older I thought...Rarity doesn’t know what she’s got, with someone like you around.”

Spike found a white muzzle drawing close to his snout. “Wh-what about Moony?”

“Moony’s my friend,” Sweetie Belle replied. “Just my friend. I can do stuff like that with my friends and we can both be cool about it, whether Rarity understands that or not. I’m...lonely too, Spike. Not in friendship though. I have plenty of friends, and I value that. But the truth is, well...I like guys. Stallions, drakes, dragons...do you have any idea how hard it is to attract one though, when you’ve got their equipment installed?”

Spike felt breath on his cheek. He was going cross-eyed trying to keep his friend in focus, and his vision was filled with the image of his old friend in bloom. Her lips brushed his.

“I...I can’t do this, you’re drunk. It...you might hate yourself in the morning, or me…”

Amid the din of pattering rain and soft jazz, Spike heard the unicorn’s voice emanating from somewhere under his nose. Her emerald eyes were the size of a lush green continent, and he found himself yearning to run free over her rolling, lush hills.

“I’m not drunk. I’m just a little tipsy. I know what I’m doing, and I know a good thing when I have it, even if Rarity doesn’t. I don’t care if I’m your second pick. You’re here...I’m here...she’s not.”

Spike slipped back from the edge of the bed. He tried in vain to escape the sticky web of equine emotion that pursued him, until his back came in contact with the headboard. Sweetie Belle fitted her body between his legs, and soon enough her face was close enough to feel her breath again.

“Sw-Sweetie Belle…”

The named unicorn drew close enough to release her warm breath on the dragon’s neck. Her lips were quickly at his ear. They were alone, but her voice was soft enough that only he could hear.

“Say no,” Sweetie Belle whispered. “Tell me to stop, and I promise I will. I also promise we’ll still be friends, and it won’t get weird. How many years did you spend never really telling Rarity how you feel? I bet you never did because you knew in your heart how she’d reply, and you couldn’t bear hearing it. So either say no, or say what you always wanted to say...and say it to me.”

Spiked opened his mouth, but a hoof to his snout again stayed his speech.

“Not with words,” Sweetie Belle whispered. “Say it with your heart. Show me all the passion inside a young dragon. I want to feel it.”

In his life, Spike had the opportunity to be many things. In the Crystal Empire, he would have lived as a hero. In the dragon lands, he would have been their lord. Yet he traveled neither road, nor had he ever looked back to what might have been. His small life, surrounded by his friends, had always been his contentment. He was happy, but at the same time he was incomplete, for he had never stood up to grab for the things he wanted most. One of those things was gone to him, but perhaps it had never been obtainable in the first place.

The other was but a heartbeat away.

Sweetie Belle felt claws close around her forelegs. Her hooves were pulled away, and she did not struggle as scaly cheek met fuzzy one, prying her lips from the vicinity of his ear and nudging her back. He claimed her lips, angling his snout in order to lock in with her muzzle. She murmured something incoherent as his reptilian tongue entered her - wrapping around her own and bonding with it in ways that no pony could ever match. She whimpered, held in thrall, but Spike knew his lifelong friend well enough to tell the difference between an unpleasant grunt and a squeal of excitement. Encouraged by the latter, he began to push out from the wall, tipping the balance and easing her onto her back. Each partner felt a stiffening swell against the softness of their stomachs, and they ground together, offering an affectionate squeeze to each engorging spire.

Spike ended the merging of their tongues to facilitate breathing, and Sweetie Belle rested her chin on his shoulder, her forelegs slipping around his neck as his talons linked at the small of her back.

“Mmhmm,” She cooed, giggling slightly. “That’s it...take it. Take me.”

At length Sweetie Belle lay prone on her back, the position most difficult for a pony to recover from. Her tail was pinned under her, and her soft paleness was in turn locked beneath the dragon, who planted his claws on the mattress to either side of her head. With her hind legs spread wide, she stroked his thighs with her shins, painting him with pre-release as he painted her in return.

There was no more hesitation in Spike’s eyes. He met hers, and they became lost in one another; his spire slipping down towards her slick blossom.

“Y-you...you got condoms...right…?” Spike laboriously inquired.

Sweetie Belle shushed her mate and took his lips again. He did not protest.

A chill rain pattered the windows of the dormitory, falling in time with the sighs from within.