When I decided to tell Doctor Fay about myself, I felt fear. I wanted to tell, but I didn’t want to tell. Because there would be no coming back once I did it.

I already told Princess Luna and I thought it would be enough. But I needed to tell Doctor Fay because she is not a princess, she is just a regular person with no great magical power or status.

I regret telling but I also do not regret. She now knows, and it is scary. Scary because of what she can do with that knowledge. But, logically, it is nothing - Princess Luna is a monarch, she is a ruler of Equestria, and there is no one above her except maybe her sister. There is nothing anyone can do to me that is worse than Princess Luna can do to me if she ever wants to hurt me.

Princess Luna told me I can trust Doctor Fay. I guess this is a test of if I can trust her. And if I can, maybe she can help me. And if she can help me, I will become better.

Wild put down his pen and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply, feeling as if he had just climbed a mountain. He silently congratulated himself on figuring out that his fear of others knowing about him was irrational. Princess Luna could make his life hell if she so chose. But she didn’t, and he, if he thought with logic and not irrational emotions, knew Doctor Fay would not betray his confidence either.

Knowing it all, however, did not make it all that much easier to trust. Nevertheless, the words were out, his secret revealed to another person, and there was not taking it back.

What Wild did not put on paper was his ability to catch the thoughts of others. During his therapy session, he was attentive and careful, doing his best to see what Doctor Fay thought. There were many things, including a certain amount of disbelief, horror at what he told her happened to him, and a huge desire to help him. Among all those swirling thoughts, there was not a single one that promised him harm.

Wild would take comfort in that.

***

Things between him and Artful were normal, surprisingly for Wild. He expected some awkwardness - he certainly felt a bit odd about what happened between them - but there was little that actually changed. Perhaps Artful smiled at him more and was more thoughtful, but Wild couldn’t really pinpoint exactly how. Artful did not treat him like a fragile thing that could break at the softest touch, which Wild was grateful for because he was not fragile. He could cry sometimes, of course, and there was still a lingering sense of shame and weakness because of it. However, crying felt good, felt like a release, and Wild would not give it up for the sake of desired strength that he didn’t feel anyway.

Wild managed to speak more and for longer. It often felt like trying to drag a heavy rock up a steep mountain, and his throat hurt if he spoke for too long, but overall... it was inexplicably good. It also helped that no one actively thought that his voice was ugly. Some considered it odd, some silently wondered where his accent came from, but no one had any disparaging comments about it, which was surprising although not unwelcome. Not once did he get a sense of ‘please shut up already’ from anyone, certainly not from his... acquaintances.

Or could he call them friends already? Artful was a friend, without a doubt. Wild found he would not particularly mind if a hug happened between the two of them, but Artful was respectful of Wild’s desire not to be touched, and Wild was not sure how to go about it. Just asking for a hug, especially in public, was... not exactly what he wanted. He knew that ponies would not really pay attention to it because they touch each other in many different ways all the time, he knew that, but he still felt like any public show of affection would... hurt him, somehow. As if someone would grab the opportunity to call him dirty, nasty, and undeserving of it. This thought overwhelmed him once, and he did what he didn’t think he would ever do - he asked for another therapy session with Doctor Fay. It was far too soon after his last one, but he needed to... he needed it, and the sooner the better.

Doctor Fay found time for him, thankfully, and so he entered her office once again and took his seat. For a short while, he was silent as he gathered his thoughts. In the meanwhile, he paid attention to what Doctor Fay thought - she was ready for an emergency, there was a lingering sense of horror at what she had learned last time, and there was still a strong sense of determination to help him. The last feeling was enough to get him to start speaking.

“I want to know,” Wild began, “About... about age. I am...” he paused, considering. He was certain he was at least eighteen, but anything past that was a blur with an uncertain timeline. He was likely nineteen already if not twenty. His highest priority at the time was far from tracking time aside from keeping an eye out on the time of day and the day of the week, and those days tended to... blur together somehow, become uncertain as to whether it was Tuesday or Thursday because it simply stopped mattering after a while, “I am older than I look. I am over eighteen years. Maybe nineteen or twenty. I do not know. And... I want to know if, if... if I should be there. Here. If I should... have relationships with anyone.”

“I see,” Doctor Fay nodded, “You are afraid that any relationships you may have with other young ponies in the Royal Orphanage may be inappropriate because of the age gap?”

Wild nodded.

“Can you tell me how... humans grow? At what age are humans considered adults? Physically, mentally, socially.”

“It is... different,” he settled on saying, “In history, it was... younger. Twelve or fourteen, I do not remember. But now it is too young. Now it is eighteen or twenty-one. It is mostly eighteen around the world. In... uh, law, in my country, you are an adult at eighteen. With exceptions. Then you are full adult at twenty-one. Physically? Um... I think humans become adults physically at twenty-one? When we stop growing and start aging. Maybe twenty-five? I do not know,” he looked down shamefully, “I... did not study well.”

“That is alright,” Doctor Fay assured him, “Let us compare, then. First, ponies can start walking within weeks or a couple of months from their birth.”

“Um, humans... can’t,” Wild blinked at her in surprise. Ponies could do that? “I think... humans can walk when we are two? Three? I mean years,” he then remembered a fact, “Oh, we do not form... uh, permanent memory, until we are around three years. I think. I may be wrong, but I think it is right.”

“For ponies, they can often remember the first year of their life,” Doctor Fay said, “Ponies can understand spoken word within that same year, and learning to read is done at two or three years of age.”

“For humans, it is... different. I do not remember how, but it is later.”

“It appears so far that ponies age faster than humans do,” Doctor Fay said with a nod, “What is the average lifespan of a human?”

“Uh... it... depends?” Wild shrugged uncertainly, “Sixty-five years? Seventy? Could be eighty if, um, things are good.”

“That is surprising, I would think humans would live at least thrice as long considering the aging differences,” Doctor Fay replied, “Ponies, on average, live to over a hundred years, most easily pushing one hundred and fifty. Some are known to live up to two hundred. Ponies stay relatively the same appearance and with the same physical abilities for at least thirty, sometimes fifty years past reaching adulthood at fourteen.”

“We... age... all the time?” Wild said, “I guess we can be physically similar for, um, until forty, but you can see that twenty and forty are... different ages.”

“Well, then let us summarize it,” Doctor Fay said, “Humans age consistently while ponies age fast at first, then slow down. It is said that, at one point in history, and it was before written history as we know it, ponies were much more short-lived, but with the help of magic, it changed. I am not an archaeologist or a historian, so I do not know the details, but it is an accepted fact that skeletons of ponies from prehistoric times are all below fifty years of age.”

Wild nodded thoughtfully. Would he live up to one hundred and fifty years? He had never expected to live to his mid-twenties, and now he was told he could easily live more than any human ever did? That he would live for over ten times what he had already lived through? He honestly didn’t know what he would do with all that time.

“So, with that comparison now clear, it seems that you are, physically and mentally, not very far from ponies of age fourteen,” Doctor Fay continued, “Of course, your own experiences mark a stark difference between you and them, but I do not see an issue with you having a relationship with someone who is only chronologically younger than you. I would also like to know how you measure age. Our year is exactly four hundred days, and each day is twenty-four hours long.”

“Um, our year is three hundred sixty-five days long, but every four years it is one day longer. Each day is twenty-four hours long too.”

“Well then, let’s see...” Doctor Fay grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started calculating, “Let’s say your age is twenty of your years. If we multiply it by the amount of days... then we do this... It appears that you would be not much over eighteen in our years. That, of course, leaves you with a four years of age differences between yourself and other ponies here, but it is only chronologically,” she put the paper and pen away, “Physically, you are certainly comparable. Mentally, it is difficult to judge considering your circumstances and experiences. However, the biggest issue when it comes to age differences in relationships is power. If you have power over someone, trying to make a close relationship with them could be problematic or outright illegal if, for example, you were a teacher and they your student.”

“I would never do that!” Wild denied, his muzzle wrinkling in distaste at the idea.

“Very good,” Doctor Fay nodded, “Now, I must paint a clear picture - ponies of age fourteen are capable of giving informed consent. They know what consent is and they know how to apply it. They can, and will, say no if they do not want you. So, I would say that there is, ultimately, no issue with you being chronologically older. It will, of course, remain your choice whether you pursue someone younger than you, and it would also remain your choice whether you will accept anyone younger than you pursuing you.”

Wild nodded. That... put his mind at rest, if he were being honest. He did not hold any power over anyone, that much he knew. He might be physically stronger than many, but the thought of using that strength to make someone do anything... close with him was repugnant to the highest degree. He could understand the word ‘no’ and exactly what it meant.

“I... understand,” Wild nodded, “I think... I think it would be okay.”

“The golden rule in life is doing what makes you happy without infringing on the happiness of others,” Doctor Fay said, “Thank you for bringing this up with me, even on as short of a notice as this was. I hope that I was able to lay your worries to rest.”

“Yes... thank you,” Wild nodded once again, “I... um, I will go now.”

“Very well. I wish you good luck in your endeavors, Wild.”

***

After this short session, Wild felt a lot better about even considering having a relationship with anyone. Consent was important - his chronological age did not. Of course, he doubted he would ever consider a relationship with anyone much younger than him if he were, for example, forty. Anyone under the age of at least thirty if not more would be off-limits. Not that he ever had any experience with relationships anyway.

However, all of this opened a door to having a relationship with Artful. Wild was still bewildered by the fact that it was Artful who suggested it. What was there to like about Wild? He was awkward, he didn’t speak well, he didn’t have much talent in anything worthwhile, and he was just overall weird and maybe even at least slightly off-putting. What could Artful possibly find desirable in him? Did he initially approach Wild to see if Wild would live up to his expectations? Looking back at it all, it did seem like Artful’s intention was always to ask him out on a date. But why? It wasn’t like he knew who Wild was. Did it all start because of simple physical attraction? Wild could admit that, perhaps, being physically fit was enough for him to be considered... decent-looking, at the very least. And, as far as he knew, his face wasn’t particularly ugly by pony standards.

Perhaps Wild would learn what it all meant once he sorted himself out. Perhaps his lack of understanding of how relationships worked stemmed from the fact that he was broken. Others didn’t have these difficulties, now did they? He was, once again, unfortunately unique in that regard.

Wild replayed the conversation he had with Artful during that morning in the cabin.

“I, um, like you. You are, ah, nice, and... well, I like you.”

That was exactly what Artful said. Wild was, by him, somehow, considered nice. Wild desperately wanted to know what it meant, because he knew Artful wasn’t just humoring him, he knew Artful was honest. Missing Artful’s sincerity would be like missing the sun shining during the day, and Wild had been so physically close to Artful that there was absolutely no denying what he felt and heard and how Artful’s words were truth that came from within him. So, why did Artful say that? Why did he mean it? How did he mean it? He didn’t know what question to even ask to find out the truth, the real reasons behind why Artful thought Wild was in any way whatsoever... wanted.

Wild decided to find out the hard way. By asking.

By chance, he and Artful were alone as Wild mindlessly browsed the library while Artful was returning a book. Wild steeled himself even as his brain screamed at him to stop and turn around and leave.

“Artful, hi,” he greeted the young pegasus. He wanted to grab his own body and drag himself out of this situation, but a stronger part of him willed him to stay and to say the words that he wanted to say.

“Oh, hi,” Artful returned, “Good to see you.”

A tiny bit of warmth bloomed inside Wild at hearing it, and this warmth grew into a weak but steady fire when he felt that it was sincere.

“I, uh... I want to know a thing.”

Wild felt like an idiot. Could he not speak like regular ponies spoke? He inwardly cursed at still having trouble with the language, it made everything far too awkward.

“Oh?”

“Um... why do you like me?” he said, not too fast yet still fast enough he didn’t have a chance to stop himself from saying it. Now it was out, and the only thing he could do was wait for an answer.

“Ah, um...” Artful blushed. The two went to a quiet and private corner of the library where they settled down, “Well, um... when I first saw you, I thought you were, well, handsome.”

Handsome? Him, handsome? Wild could... perhaps see it. Not very well, but he could. He was no longer a malnourished balding human with an unfortunately-shaped face. But that, by itself, couldn’t have put him in the ‘handsome’ category. As far as he could see, he was maybe around average for a pony. Taller, yes, and more muscular, of course, but that didn’t really do anything, did it?

“Handsome?” he couldn’t help but say, and Artful caught his skepticism.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Like, um... you take care of yourself, so that’s good, you know? Your fur is, um, nice, kinda shiny in a good way, you know? Your mane and tail are, uh, nice too. Brushed. And, um, you have... nice muscles. Like, I can see, you know, their shape, and those shapes and nice and all. Your eyes, they ah, they are, um, the color of a nice, cloudy sky. I could gaze in them. Yeah. So um... yeah.”

Wild was sporting his own blush now, his face redder than anything red he had ever seen. To hear himself described this way, to see that, despite what he thought as the minimum amount of effort put into being decent, he looked nice... it felt validating. And his eyes described like that? He always considered his own eyes a bit dull and mostly lifeless.

“O-okay,” he managed to say, “That is, um... my looks. But... uh, there are, um... others. Better than me.”

“Maybe, but I decided to see who you are,” Artful said, and this struck a chord with Wild. His heart seemingly skipped a beat, and he found himself speechless, “And I, um... I like what I see. You’re not, you know, rude to anyone. You respect boundaries. You, um, don’t push, ever. You know what’s right and what’s wrong. You don’t want bad things to happen to others if they didn’t deserve it. So, um, as far as I’m, uh, concerned... you are perfect.”

You are perfect.

Wild could kiss him right there and right then.

You are perfect.

This was not what he ever expected to hear.

“Thank you for, for telling,” Wild said, getting up from his seat, lamenting putting any sort of distance between himself and Artful, “I, um... I will think.”

“Okay,” Artful nodded, and Wild went away.

You are perfect.

He wasn’t, he knew he wasn’t, but...

You are perfect.

He could help but, for the moment, feel happy and joyful.

You are perfect.

Author's Note

Wild is far too hard on himself.