A Chemical Reaction

by Silent Whisper

Rating: everyone
Tags: Slice of Life, Twilight Sparkle, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy
Length: 1050

Love is a funny thing, especially when contemplated at one in the morning in a run-down cafe over some truly terrible coffee.

Twilight began to realize at about midnight that her musing was asking more questions than it answered, but perhaps that was the point. So, maybe she wouldn't actually solve all the mysteries of love in one night, or two, or five, or a lifetime, but maybe it was about the journey, and not the answers.

Or maybe it was just the crappy coffee talking.

Published 2017-11-11 04:00:07 UTC
Last updated 2017-11-11 04:00:07 UTC

Serotonin, Norepinephrine, Dopamine

Love, thought Twilight, is a chemical reaction. Nothing more. It’s simply the presence of serotonin, norepinephrine, and dopamine, three neurotransmitters which can cause schizophrenia if release is prolonged. It’s nothing more than a chemical cocktail, a bunch of tiny molecules doing tiny molecule things in the brain all the livelong day. It shouldn’t mean anything, right?

So why does it hurt so much to be rejected? Why do ponies write songs and ballads and sappy romance novels about it? Twilight couldn’t figure this out, and, in retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea to be thinking over these hard questions at one in the morning in a dingy cafe in front of a mug of coffee.

It wasn’t even particularly good coffee; in fact, it happened to taste like expensive dirt mixed with amaretto. Amaretto, as far as Twilight was concerned, wasn’t nearly delicious enough to deserve such a fancy word. But it was either the Amaretto Cappuccino or Maple Spiced Latte, and she’d already had the latter earlier that evening, back when she was debating on the nature of snow.

That was a fun debate, but it had boiled down to “snow is cold and pretty, and even though it’s pure at first it all turns to soggy mush at the end of the day, just like most ponies.” Twilight was rather proud of that conclusion, and wished she had somepony to share it with. Maybe they’d put it on a motivational calendar and sell it for bits made of the metal of the earth they trod on every day.

Maybe they’d put that on a motivational calendar, too.

The pony at the coffee bar was playing a game on his phone. He seemed to be losing, because every once in a while he’d give a frustrated huff and tap furiously at the screen. Twilight hoped he wouldn’t break it, as then he’d have nothing to do but talk to her, and she didn’t want to discuss with him the meaning of life. He’d given her a funny look for staying in the cafe past midnight, most likely because her presence was keeping him from sleeping on his overnight shift.

That couldn’t be helped, though; some nights, it was just more important to think about the important things.

Things like love and snow and the flicker of a candle’s glow. Things like how suddenly her life had been more than her warm breath heating her scarf as the wind blew against her on the way to visit the store and back. Things like the way being around her friends made her feel, and the way being around certain friends made her feel so much more.

Those, she thought, are the most important things to think about, whether you’re in a cafe at one am or not.

Especially since that sort of thing had been happening more and more often. For all her reasoning abilities, Twilight couldn’t figure out why. Why did she blush when she was around certain ponies? Why did it happen around more than one pony at once, and why did it feel so different and yet so wonderful with each? Was there a rulebook that she should read, about this feeling?

Could it be called love, anyway? It wasn’t anything like the stories that Rarity had told her, and it wasn’t anything like the trashy romance novels had described. It was a gust of wind that kicked up the snow, spinning it round and around. That’s what it felt like, anyways. It was the milk swirling slowly around her coffee, tracing pale lines in the surface of deep murky brown. It was everything and nothing, all at once.

Speaking of coffee, Twilight raised her mug to her lips and took a sip. She made a face. Yeeuch. It was cold. When had she ordered it, anyways? Did she really buy it two hours ago? What was time, anyways? Nope, not getting into that argument again, Twilight thought, sipping and grimacing. That one took ages to reach any sort of conclusion on, which was kind of both ironic and the point, now that she thought about it.

What did it matter, if she even managed to answer one of those questions about love? Who would she tell? Who would care? Besides, once she thought she’d solved it, one of those special someponies would come along and she’d be lost in the feeling all over again.

Love. What a chemical disaster.

No, really, Twilight mused as she finished off her coffee, why bother with love, if it only drives you crazy? Why not just wander the world, empty as her amaretto-stained ceramic mug, unwilling to be refilled? Well, she reasoned, that would be a waste of mug. If you can’t be filled, then why have any empty space in you at all?

Well, that’s one question answered. More or less, anyways. Twilight’s muzzle split into a grin, and she looked up. Thankfully, the barista was too busy attempting his game for the zillionth time, and didn’t notice her smile at her coffee cup. The last thing Twilight needed was another pony judging her for her foalish trains of thoughts. That’s why she left Spike back at the castle to seek some solitude.

The coffee seemed to help too, now that she thought about it. How many times had she visited this run-down cafe? It wasn’t for the coffee, nor for the dingy decor, so what was it? Maybe it was just the perfect place to think. Maybe it was fate, or destiny, or some other awe-inspiring title that the cafe certainly hadn’t earned in any reviews.

Twilight stood slowly up, grabbing her mug in her magic, and made her way over to the counter to order the Maple Spice Latte thing; that had tasted slightly better. Maybe feelings would make more sense if she thought it all through again, and maybe “love” would mean a little bit more this time or perhaps make a bit more sense, after a third cup of coffee, sheltered from the snow.

Author's Note

Let me know if you have any idea what I'm talking about, because I don't. Love is the question and the answer. And cheap coffee sucks, but it somehow helps with late-night musings.