Running Out Of Air

Chapters

Thoughts Of Being Gone
I'd Even Do That Wrong
I Can't Turn Back
I Hold My Breath
Which Way-
-And Where
What Else To Say
Turning Around
Come Back
We Could Be
Now Or Never
Wish You Could
You Were Perfect

Thoughts Of Being Gone

Wallflower Blush

The call of the void.

I can’t remember the Prench term for the phrase, but that’s the translation.

It’s that feeling you get when you’re standing at the edge of a long drop, and something in the back of your brain leans in really close and whispers: jump.

I’ve never really felt that ‘call’, and if I’m thinking objectively, that’s probably a good thing. I'm bad enough without the encouragement of a disembodied voice telling me to do something like that.

A cold, biting wind blows across my hunched shoulders, and a violent shiver runs through me. The fourth level of the parking garage in the Commons where I’d hunkered down for the evening is one of the less open ones, but that's not a particularly high bar. It’s getting late, though, which means I need to get moving.

I’ve been pretty good about getting to one of the four shelters in the area before they shut their doors, but sometimes things happen and I can’t make it. Things like I just can’t work up the energy to get up and move my lazy butt the few blocks down the road to try to secure myself a warm place to sleep at night. Things like just trying to convince myself that I deserve one of those spots since I know for a fact that those shelters turn people away every night once the beds fill up, and if I’m in one of those beds then that means I’m the reason that someone had to sleep on the street that nights.

I have that argument with myself a lot.

I lose that argument more than I probably should.

Tonight, though… it’s a school night, and I’ve shown up to school enough times after sleeping outside that I think Sunset is starting to get suspicious.

It helps that I normally look like a complete mess, so it’s kind of hard to tell when things get worse. There’s a theory called ‘Broken Windows’, where if you see a house with broken windows then you know that house is more likely to get graffitied or have squatters or something because it’s already been damaged.

That’s the key. The damage is already there, so ‘Broken Windows’ says that once that happens people stop paying attention to more damage.

My ‘house’ has a lot of broken windows, I guess is my point.

I should at least make an effort though. Sunset has been so good to me since the whole Memory Stone debacle. She knows I don’t have any friends… or acquaintances… or people who remember that I’m in their class, including the teachers, which makes getting decent grades kind of difficult.

So she goes out of her way to include me, even though I know I probably smell a little… bad. But the girls’ shelter I’m going to tonight has a good laundering service that runs on Sunday evenings like tonight, which means I can get a decent meal, sleep in a safe bed, and have clean clothes for tomorrow.

That should help.

I shiver again as I force myself to my feet, and my stomach growls weakly at me as I start to walk. I haven’t eaten today, but that’s nothing new. I’m starting to get used to the feeling of being hungry.

As I start down the stairs, that treacherous little part of my brain drags my eyes over to the edge of the parking garage and reminds me there’s a much quicker way down, but I grab it by the scruff and push it back to the rearmost quarters of my mind where it belongs. It’ll stay there for a few hours, at least.

Until dark, anyway.

Things are always the worst at night when everything is quiet.

I tug my hoodie around myself and do my best to tuck my rat’s nest of green hair into the hood. It’s wearing a little thin, but it’s all I’ve got for the moment. Maybe if I’m lucky there will be some extra clothes in the bins tonight at the shelter. They let the younger girls have first pick, so maybe… maybe if there aren’t too many of us I won’t feel so bad about picking something out for myself.

Fortunately, it’s not raining today, but it is cold. Winter in Canterlot is always cold. Not much you can do about that. I’m lucky most of the shelters make an exception for snowy days and nights. They’re willing to keep the doors open a little longer, or let a few people sleep in the lobby after all the beds are full even though they’re not supposed to do that.

It’s probably the only reason I lived through the winter.

The closer I get to Saint Easel’s, the more I can pick out the ones like me. Better than a dozen, and they’re all women, all ages, although only a few that are around my age. We’re all shivering and dressed in as many layers as we can reasonably manage, although for some that’s clearly been too few.

There are fewer faces than last time. I hope it’s because they’re already inside. The alternative is grimmer than I like to dwell on.

At the front door is a woman with a periwinkle complexion whose age I’ve never been quite sure of. Her name is Sister Willful, she’s one of the nuns who operate the shelter, it’s just her and about four others, along with a slew of volunteers from the area. The ones who operate the soup kitchen change day by day, and I guess they’re part of some non-profit in the area that helps staff shelters.

The sister is wearing most of her habit, her headpiece covering her neck and her long, black and pink hair, but beneath that she wears a soft white blouse and a long, ankle-length blue skirt. Her expression is a little sad, with her grey-blue eyes turned down a little even as she’s doing her best to give me a smile.

“Good evening, Wallflower,” Sister Willful says with a small smile. “We have a bed for you tonight if you need it.”

She says ‘if’ but she’s not fooling anybody. She knows that I don’t have anywhere to sleep that isn’t cold concrete.

“Uhm, Th-Thanks,” I say through chattering teeth. “I uhm… I…”

“The showers are still open if you’d like to wash up before dinner,” Willful says before I can ask. “And there are still a few good coats in the bins… if you need one, that is. Yours is looking a little worn, dear.”

“Th-Thank you.” I step inside the shelter, past Sister Willful, and into the warm air of the lobby.

As much as I’d like to go immediately to the showers, I have to wait. There’s a line up to the registration line with ten other women in it. They have to get out names down on a registry before any of us can go in, along with a few other things like making sure no one they’re letting in has been using. There are other shelters for that, although they’re usually a lot worse, and fill up a lot faster.

I wait in line for almost forty minutes before I finally get up to the desk and go through the now-familiar process of signing in. They ask me their little bevy of questions. I sign a form saying I answered them all truthfully, and then, finally, I’m let into the back where I can head towards the shower stalls.

They’re bare, spartan things, but they’re practically heaven for me.

Each one is a little private stall stocked with brandless soap, a couple of disposable packets of shampoo, and a small scrub.

The water is hot though. That’s the important part.

Before I head in, I stop by the office near the bathroom to get one of the sets of pajamas. They only come in four sizes, and I grab the smallest one. I’m ‘petite’ if you want to be nice about it, and scrawny and malnourished if you want to be honest.

“Thank you,” I mumble as one of the volunteers passes me a bundle of cloth over the counter, and I clutch them to my chest as I make my way to the showers.

I can smell whatever’s cooking in the kitchens already, though, and it’s making the pain in my stomach unbearable. The worst part is, I know I’m not going to be able to eat very much. If I try to, I’ll probably just throw it up. I think my stomach is about the size of a walnut by now, and shoving a bunch of soup and bread into it is a really good way to have that soup and bread make a loud and unpleasant encore performance a little while later.

“Ignore it,” I say under my breath. “J-Just ignore it.

My teeth are still chattering. I’m cold but I barely feel it, which is a bad thing. Don’t get me wrong, it stinks to feel cold all the time, but you know you’re actually in trouble when you stop feeling cold even though you know you should be. That means your body temperature is starting to drop, and that’s how you go to sleep and just… don’t wake up.

A hot shower and some warm food will help though.

I claim one of the stalls near the back and crank the water on to lukewarm. The way I’m feeling, even that will probably feel scalding, but once I get used to it maybe I’ll turn it up a little.

The water pressure isn’t the best but once it gets warms up and gets going I step underneath the tepid stream and let out a soft sigh of relief. I soak for a good few minutes, relishing the feeling of the water sluicing over me for a moment before grabbing one of the scrubs and some soap and starting to work away at the layer of grime I’ve managed to accumulate over the past few days.

The shelter I went to on Friday was unisex, so I didn’t shower. Which means I haven’t showered in, oh, about five days. It’s a small miracle Sunset never noticed, but I guess I just kind of always smell like dirt. Plus, it helps that I spend most of my time in the gardens of CHS. There’s plenty of other, better, smells there.

Once I feel reasonably more alive, I try to use the small comb in the shower to work out the worst of the snarls and knots of my hair while I stand under the flower of water. The colour of what’s flowing out of that tangle is probably a bad thing, but I try to ignore it as I work through the mess, and eventually, I feel like I’ve got it to the point that using the shampoo won’t just be another waste.

Twenty minutes later, I emerge from the showers, shaking and starving, but clad in a set of their one-size-fits-all pajamas and ready to finally get something hot to eat. I put my shoes back on, a little happy to have found they’d left me a new set of socks.

The less said about the ones I’d walked in here in the better.

As I head towards the cafeteria, I pass by the bins and pause. There’s a nice green canvas jacket in one of them, folded up and freshly laundered by the look it. The cuffs are frayed and there are a few rips along the sides, but they’re all superficial, and it’s loads better than what I was wearing.

“You want it?” The girl across the counter manning the bins is a bored-looking twenty-something with a fair complexion and bubble-gum pink hair.

The way she says it isn’t mean, exactly. Just tired-sounding. I guess seeing people like me all the time would be tiring. Maybe just emotionally exhausting.

“Here, take it,” she says, scooping the jacket out of the bin and shoving it at me. “It’s probably one of the better things in here and you look like the wind goes right through you.”

I stare at it for a long moment. It does look nice but… there are so many others and… and the only reason I’m here is because…

“N-No, I’m alright,” I say after a moment, then step back. “I have something else, it’s just being washed, I’m alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. It’s clear she doesn’t buy it, but that’s okay. I don’t need her to. She won’t push the issue, anyway. There’s always someone else who needs things like that, and unlike me, they might actually deserve them.

I move past the bins, wrapping my arms around my stomach as I step inside the cafeteria. It’s a quiet place, despite the fact that almost twenty-five women are all packed in the relatively small space. This is one of the smaller shelters in the Commons, but you have to meet some pretty strict criteria to be let in.

The smell is almost unbearable in the cafeteria, but fortunately, the lines are already forming which means the cooks and servers are about to start coming out and setting the food out.

Everyone gets the same portion sizes, that way there’s enough to go around, so the staff does all the serving. Usually, it’s just more volunteers, and half the time it’s people doing community service for one reason or another.

I get into the line, situating myself at the back, and grab a tray. I hope there’s something that isn’t too greasy available. My stomach doesn’t handle that stuff very well. Worst case scenario, though, is that there’s always some kind of kosher dish or soup that will fit, though.

I’m not picky.

The servers are all chatting and talking and smiling, most of them are regular volunteers and I recognise them, as my gaze drifts over them before it gets swallowed by my hunger pains again. I pass by the greasy foods and wait for the stuff I know I’ll be able to keep down near the end of the row.

The line moves slowly, and everybody is polite enough to wait for their turn, but that means my stomach is practically eating itself by the time I get to the food.

Have you ever been so hungry that it’s a sound?

Not like, an actual sound. I mean like you’re so hungry you stop registering noise, and sometimes even sight. You’re just existing in this lightless void of hungry darkness and waiting, and hoping, that it will be over soon.

That’s the kind of hungry I am when I realise the mistake I’ve made, and that realisation is triggered by the sound of a voice.

A painfully familiar voice.

“Wa-… Wallflower?”

I look up from the line, the food tray shaking violently in my grip as I stare across the food counter.

Her hair is tied back in a tight, low ponytail, and she’s wearing a soup-stained smock and a hairnet. I’ve never seen her in a hairnet and at any other time it might be funny. Now though, with the shocked and horrified expression slowly growing on her face, I don’t think I’ve ever felt less like laughing.

A soup ladle crashes onto the floor from Sunset’s hand and her face goes pale, so I do the only thing I know how to do in situations like these.

I drop what I’m holding, then turn tail and run.

I'd Even Do That Wrong

Sunset Shimmer

The brief sensation of absolute emotional numbness vanishes the moment that the tray that Wallflower was carrying hits the ground and she bolts.

I don’t even think about it. One moment I’m staring at the damp and disheveled face of my friend getting a meagre meal in a homeless shelter, the next I’m vaulting the food counter, knocking a couple of empty bowls to the ground in the process with a loud clangor of cheap metal on cheaper tile, as she darts away.

Wallflower isn’t what you’d call athletic, but she’s faster than I gave her credit for. Desperation puts wings on her feet as she scampers out of the cafeteria and towards the lobby. I have no idea what she’s thinking, and I half-suspect that she isn’t, but there’s no way she’s going to survive the night if she bolts out into the winter nighttime of Canterlot wearing nothing but some thin, mass-stamped-out pajamas!

Now I’m the desperate one, and before Wallflower can get halfway into the lobby I’m on her. I lunge forward and tackle her. My arms go around her before she hits the ground, though, and I turn as hard as I can, putting myself between her and the floor.

We hit hard, and my breath leaves me in a strangled gasp. Wallflower is struggling against my grip, but there’s no strength in her arms. The worst part, I think, is that if she had any strength, she might be using it, but she doesn’t.

She’s so frail, and I don’t know why I never realised it before.

“Wallflower? Sunset?!” Sister Willful comes sprinting over, moving quickly despite her skirt.

I drag air into my abused lungs as I try to keep Wallflower pinned so she won’t escape, while simultaneously getting up to flag down the sister.

“It’s okay!” I gasp.”Wallie, it’s okay!”

She freezes in my arms at the sound of my voice, and I sit up, half carrying, half dragging her with me as Sister Willful reaches us and lowers herself to a crouch.

“Sunset what…?” Willful looks between the two of us and trails off.

Wallflower is curled up around herself, shaking like a leaf, and I’ve got her bundled in my arms as much as possible, hugging her tightly and running my hands over her shower-damp hair as I look up at the sister over her head.

“Can… can we use your office, Sister?” I ask after a moment.

I can see the wheels turning in Sister Willful’s mind but eventually, she nods stiffly and stands, holds out a hand for me, and pull me to my feet. I pull Wallflower up with me, my arm still fastened securely around her shoulders to keep her anchored against me.

For all I know, the moment I let go she’ll bolt.

Not that she’d get very far.

“Wallie?” I say her name softly as I start walking her towards the Sister’s office.

My friend is still staring straight ahead, her thousand-mile gaze fixed on no point in particular as she walks in stunned silence beside me for all the world like a woman being led to her execution.

“I take it you two know each other?” Sister Willful says more than asks as she fits the key to her office door and pulls it wide enough to allow us both in.

“Yes, Sister,” I say quietly as I usher Wallflower inside.

I grab a couple of chairs and pull one out for Wallflower, sitting her down in it before taking my own seat next to her.

“If you need me, I’ll be right outside,” Sister Willful says softly, and I nod gratefully as she closes the door.

The sudden silence following the closing of the door is almost a force unto itself, and I find myself wringing my hands as I shift around in my seat while Wallflower just stares down at the floor like she’s going to bore a tunnel to Neighpon with the force of her gaze alone.

“I feel a little stupid,” I say after a moment. Wallflower doesn’t react, she just keeps staring, so I keep talking. “You would think that of any of our friends, I’d have seen the signs.”

I hang my head, bracing my elbows on my knees as a shudder runs through me. How long has she been living on the streets? How long have I not noticed?

I should have noticed!

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice is so small that I barely hear it. I look up and she still hasn’t moved, but I can feel her waiting for an answer, so I give it to her.

“I volunteer at Saint Easel’s when I can,” I admit, carding my fingers through my hair as I do and pulling the hair net out, along with the tie keeping my ponytail in place. “When I first crossed over I was homeless for a long while. Sister Willful and the others… they were good to me, even if I wasn’t very good to them, so I try and pay it back a little when I have the time.”

Finally, Wallflower looks up at me, her face pale and her eyes wide.

“You were homeless?”

I nod. “Yeah, I mean… I’m literally an illegal alien, so I didn’t have a house or papers or anything like that.”

My hands slip under my collar where my geode hangs around my neck and grip it tight.

“When I crossed over I assumed I’d have my magic to get me through whatever I encountered,” I continue with a bitter laugh. “So imagine my surprise when I came here, right? But I was too stubborn to go back and admit I was wrong, so I just… stayed. I made it through almost two Canterlot winters before I finally got the place I’m living in now, and I owe most of that to this place.”

Wallflower nods, looking pensive as she curls up on the chair, tucking her knees under her chin, and shivers. A soft knock at the door interrupts the growing silence, and we both look up in time for Sister Willful to crack the door open and step inside carrying a bowl of soup and a warm bun beside it that she sets on the desk by Wallflower.

“I expect that to be eaten before you leave, Miss Blush.” The Sister’s tone is a little hard but quietly playful as she leaves the room again.

For a moment, Wallflower just stares at the soup, then swallows hard and turns to start taking small bites of it, so I wait for her to finish. I remember what it was like to not eat for a while, and I didn’t want her to feel rushed.

As she sets the spoon down in the empty bowl and picks up the still-warm bun of bread, Wallflower pauses, then takes a tiny bite out of it and swallows.

“How did it happen?” I ask after waiting for her to speak and eventually realising she probably wouldn’t.

Wallflower shrugs. “I used the Stone.”

I frown at that. She used the stone… “On who?”

“My parents.” Wallflower’s voice has a cold, dead quality to it that sends a shiver up my spine. “And anyone who knew me… so I don’t really exist anymore.”

“Why?” The word crawls past my lips in a harsh plea.

Wallflower’s small, thin fingers curl into a tight fist, crushing the bun in her hands for a moment before she relaxes and lets go. Her hands are still shaking as she lifts the mangled bread to her lips and takes another small bite. She chews, then swallows, then takes a breath and looks up at me with eyes that are a thousand miles away.

“Because I’d rather live on the streets.”

They’re the harshest words I’ve ever heard come out of Wallflower’s mouth. Normally she’s so soft-spoken, so quiet and gentle. But those words are hard-bitten, cold, and metallic… there’s fear in them, and soft, bitter anger.

“Okay,” I say quietly. That’s probably not a wound I want to pick at, not yet, maybe not ever. “How… how long have you been homeless?”

“Since about a week after the Friendship Games,” she admits, and my chest goes tight.

Those were at the beginning of Senior year, so… four months.

She’s been homeless for four months, and if what she’s saying is accurate then that’s an improvement on where she used to live.

“So… so when we met-?” I start, and Wallflower nods.

“I lived in motel rooms, mostly,” Wallflower explains between small bites of bread. “I’d just make the staff forget I was there, but I wouldn’t stay more than a week at any one place.”

Otherwise, the other people who were staying there might start asking about her. I got that much easily enough. If she was in and out it would be one thing, but if she lived there for a longer period of time…

“Then I lost the stone,” Wallflower says. “I… I couldn’t go back, and even if I could I wouldn’t… so I’ve just been staying in shelters and stuff.”

“You could’ve said something,” I say wetly. “Any of us would’ve helped you.”

She doesn’t reply, she just curls up on herself again.

That was stupid of me. When I’d been in her position I hadn’t asked for help because of my idiotic pride. Wallflower, though? She wasn’t proud, not in that way. Maybe not in any way. No… I knew exactly why she hadn’t asked for help.

“Wallie?” I lean in and stretch out a hand cautiously. I don’t touch her though. Wallflower doesn’t like being touched, and now I think I know why.

She shakes her head wordlessly.

I get off of my chair and kneel down in front of her so I can look up into her warm, brown eyes as I hover my hands over hers. My hands are shaking now. I want to take her hands but I’m scared I’ll just hurt her more. She feels so painfully fragile right now, and if I ever actually hurt her…

“Please, Wallie, let me help, okay?” I beg her quietly. “I know some people… I’ve done this before. You don’t have to just live like this.”

“Maybe I do.”

The words are spoken so faintly that I almost miss them.

“Wallflower? Listen to me.” I settle my hands on hers, and thankfully she doesn’t flinch. “You don’t. Deserve. To live like this.”

I say it slowly and calmly, and I never look away from her as I do. I want her to- no, I need her to see the intent in my eyes when I say it. I need her to know that I mean it, because maybe if she sees that I mean it, she’ll start to believe it.

Even if it’s only believing that I believe it, that might be enough of a start.

“Tomorrow, I’m going to take you to see someone who’s helped me a lot, okay?” I say, curling my fingers around her palms as I do. To my relief, she grips my hands back as she lowers her head.

Her damp veil of morning glory hair sloughs over her face like a shroud, and a shudder runs through her that lasts only a moment before she looks back up at me.

“Why?”

“Because…” I start to say: ‘because you’re my friend’, but it’s more than that. The way she looks at me, with dry, sunken eyes and tense pain on her face makes my heart ache like nothing I’ve ever felt in my life.

So I take a breath, start again, and say: “Because you’re important to me, Wallie, so, please, let me do this.”

She bows her head again and shivers. I don’t let go of her hands. I don’t think I’d be able to, between how hard she’s gripping them, and how badly I want to keep holding on to her. I think I know how she feels.

How tired she must be.

You don’t sleep properly on the streets. You don’t even sleep all that well in shelters. Neither place is meant for restful sleep, although some shelters are a lot worse than others. Saint Easel’s is pretty good, but it’s still a shelter.

It’s not your bed.

It’s a bed.

There’s a difference.

“We… We have school tomorrow, though,” Wallflower says bitterly.

“I’ll call Principal Celestia, we’ll get it excused,” I say firmly. “This is more important, she’ll have to understand.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Wallflower doesn’t know Principal Celestia the way I and my friends do. She has one of the kindest hearts imaginable, much like her Equestrian counterpart, and it’s something I know I haven’t appreciated properly until recently.

No, I’d be willing to bet Wallflower has a pretty instinctive distrust of adults in general.

“She will,” I assure her, and before Wallflower can rebut, I continue with, “and if she doesn’t then she can expel me.”

I put every sliver of steel in me into those last two words. Every ounce of practised authority I learned in elocution training under Raven Inkwell back in Equestria gets poured into those words, and the effect they have on Wallflower is clear.

She starts, straightens up a little, and nods.

There would be more pushback, but not tonight.

“We’ll go see him first thing in the morning,” I say, giving Wallflower’s hands another squeeze. “Once it gets into the later morning he gets really busy, so we’ll have to be up early.”

“Uhm… sh-should I just, wait here?” Wallflower nods out to the lobby, and I chuckle a little.

“No, Wall- Wallie, no, you’re… you’re not staying in the shelter tonight,” I say, although I probably shouldn’t be surprised that she assumed that. “You’re coming home with me, I have a couch you can crash on until we work this out, okay?”

“What?!” Now Wallflower looks upset, but I stand up before she can move.

“Think of it like this,” I say sharply, holding up a hand to forestall her. “My couch is just sitting there doing nothing but giving my butt a place to park while I play video games and watch webflix, but if you stay here, that’s a bed that someone else could have.”

Wallflower's expression twists. I can see the fucked up mathematics happening behind her eyes. On the one hand, she doesn’t want to impose herself on me, on the other hand, the alternative I just laid out for her is driving a nail right into the heart of her guilt complex.

I’m not going to claim to be proud of that move, but I know borderline suicidal stubbornness when I see it. I can also see the answer her tired, angry, self-hating brain is about giving her.

“I’ll just stay outside then,” she stands on shaky legs, her face twisted into a dogged rictus.

“Fine, then I’ll stay next to you,” I say, scowling as I cross my arms. “Where you sleep, I sleep.”

Wallflower’s expression drops into one of disbelief.

“That’s… that’s stupid!” She snaps. The stubbornness is gone and all that’s left behind in its wake is desperation.

“Sure is,” I agree, nodding. “But I’m that kind of stupid, so I guess you’re stuck with me.”

“So what?!” Wallflower’s voice cracks as she stands abruptly, sending the chair skittering backward to fall to the floor. “You’re just gonna sleep next to me on the concrete out of spite?!”

I let the belligerence fade slowly out of my posture. I shed the anger but leave the conviction. I stare Wallflower down; straight-backed, hard-eyed, and unflinching, arms at my side, shoulders tense and ready to bear the weight of whatever comes.

Just like ‘mom’ always taught me.

“For you?” I ask after a cold, quiet moment. I answer my own question a breath later. “In a heartbeat.”

I Can't Turn Back

Wallflower Blush

We left Saint Easel’s earlier than I think Sunset normally would. Certainly before dinner was over, but Sister Willful was pretty insistent. Unfortunately, my clothes were still in the laundry, so I didn’t have anything to wear.

Which meant the bins.

A pair of old jeans, a sweater, and that green canvas jacket later, I’m waiting in the lobby of Saint Easel’s with Sunset for a cab that Sister Willful called. I’d heard her and Sunset arguing about who would pay for it, with Sunset naturally wanting to take care of it herself, but it was an argument that, for once, Sunset lost.

It’s not often Sunset loses like that but I guess Sister Willful was named that for a reason.

My fingers curl around the jacket’s edges and I grimace. I hate that I’m wearing it knowing that someone else could be needing this. I have clothes, and if mine end up in the bins they’ll be much poorer substitutes than what I took.

I don’t have the energy to argue though. I barely have the energy to stand and shuffle forward. The soup and roll I had just served to make me sleepy. Now I’m barely managing to keep my eyes open, and despite myself I’m absurdly grateful when the cab finally shows up and we can both get inside.

The ride is silent and tense. Sunset keeps wringing her hands, and her eyes are fixed on the backside of the driver’s seat. I can see the gears turning in that genius brain of hers. She’s trying to figure how to deal with me, and that more than anything makes me certain this is the wrong decision.

But Sunset is smarter, faster, and just… just better than me.

Maybe tonight, after she’s asleep…

It’s late when the cab finally reaches Sunset’s apartment building. It’s nice, as apartments go, but I wouldn’t really know since I’ve never lived in one. The building itself is old, and not so much refurbished as it is spray-painted over with three coats of primer and then dutifully ignored even as it starts to chip and peel.

“The elevator is slow,” Sunset says quietly as we get into the small lobby through the double-locked entrance. "So we'll have to wait a bit."

I try not to wince at her tone as she goes to call the elevator. Sunset’s voice is almost always warm and lively, but now there’s a cold, hard edge to it that reminds me of when she was a bully. She even looks different.

Not physically, but… something in the manner of her is different. The way she’s holding herself isn’t quite angry, and I’d know. I know what anger looks like. She looks more like she’s getting ready for a fight. Her shoulders are squared and her head is raised, her chin cuts a belligerent angle on her profile, and all I can think is that the last thing I want to do is be in her way.

The elevator is a loud, ugly-sounding thing, and it descends through the floors less like a smooth-cabled cabin, and more like a corpse bouncing down a rocky escarpment.

As soon as the doors grind open, Sunset nods at me to go in. I hesitate, staring at it for a long moment, if-

“You first, you’re not bolting on me,” Sunset says, and I freeze.

My legs lock up, and my mouth goes dry at her tone, and I watch as her hard expression loses some of its steel and softens as she presses her lips to a flat, bitter line.

“Sorry,” Sunset says quietly. “But for real, I’m friends with Rainbow Dash, I know what it looks like when someone is about to do something stubborn and dumb, and I’m not letting you get hurt… you’re probably in bad enough shape as it is.”

I step inside the elevator with Sunset on my heels. She punches the sixth-floor button and the elevator sullenly rolls its doors shut and starts trudging upwards.

“And I’m sorry if I’m coming off mean,” Sunset says as we pass the second floor. “I’m… you scared me, Wallie… and I kinda react to being afraid by getting mean. It’s not my best personality trait.”

“It’s okay,” I mutter.

Sunset shakes her head as she raises a hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose.

“No, it’s not,” Sunset says. “It’s not okay for me to be mean just because I’m scared, especially not to you.”

The ride is silent but for the grinding of the elevator for two more agonising floors before Sunset speaks again.

“That was the old me.”

The words come out more than a little ragged as Sunset takes several deep breaths before turning to me.

“Look, Wallie, from here on, I promise I won’t ask any questions about why you were homeless, okay?” Sunset continues. “For now, let’s just move forward.”

I nod, grateful for that at least. I guess of all the people who could have found out about my situation, Sunset was probably the best. If any of her other friends found out they’d probably lose it, but Sunset… she’s never been that kind of person. She’s the type of person who sees a problem, makes a plan, executes the plan, and solves the problem.

This basically makes her the opposite of me since my ‘plan’, which is an extremely generous definition, is to run away from anything that seems even the slightest bit difficult.

Voice cracks when I say hello? Erase it. Trip and fall in front of the school? Erase it! Give the wrong answer in Algebra. ERASE IT!

I can’t even remember how many petty, stupid, selfish things I erased, which I suppose is appropriate given the subject matter.

The elevator creaks and rattles as it stops at the sixth floor, and the doors crawl open with the same distinctive lack of grace as the rest of it, and Sunset steps out. As she does her hand swings down towards mine, and an electric jolt of instinctive panic goes up my arm.

Before I can flinch out of the way, though, her hand stops, almost as though Sunset felt my reaction.

Then she turns, looks down at our hands which are inches from each other, and frowns.

“Sorry… again,” Sunset says as she pulls her hand back. “I know you’re not big on being touched.”

Sunset nods for me to follow as she fishes through her pockets before drawing out a keyring. We go down the hall and take a right before stopping at a peeling door, and she fits the key, turns the lock, and opens the door.

I’ve never been to Sunset’s apartment before, but it’s surprisingly… nice. It’s not big, consisting as it did of a single room, a half-kitchen, a bathroom in the back, and what looks like a loft upstairs that serves as her 'room', with a bed and dresser. It's small but plenty comfortable for one person.

It’s a little drab, though. The little den window could use some flowers, and my eyes linger on it for a moment before I look away.

“So uh… the couch is yours,” Sunset says awkwardly, gesturing at the beat-up blue sofa. “There’s a bunch of extra pillows and blankets under the coffee table for when the girls come over, so just, y’know, bogart whatever you need.”

I nod silently as I cross the room and put a hand on the couch. It’s soft and definitely more comfortable than where I’ve been living lately. As I run my hand over the back of the sofa, a thought occurs to me, and I look back at Sunset with a frown.

“I’m… I’m a little surprised you’re not telling me to take your bed,” I say cautiously.

Sunset just laughs and shakes her head, sending her scarlet and gold locks tumbling in a way that makes my heart do funny things.

Then she looks up at me with those deep, sparkling eyes of hers and smiles.

“If I did, would you take it?” She asks.

I shake my head.

“Bingo.” Sunset chuckles as she hangs up her coat on the small rack by the door and drops the rest of her stuff on the counter. “If I thought you’d actually accept, I’d swap in an instant, but you won’t, so I’ll take the bed and you can take the couch, and we’ll go from there, alright?”

Shivering, I nod sullenly as I pull the unfamiliar but comfortable jacket off. Sunset takes it from my hands and puts it beside hers, and I grab a few pillows and a warm-looking blanket from the stash under the table and toss them haphazardly onto the couch.

I won’t be here that long, but I guess I might as well get comfortable.

“Get some sleep, Wallie,” Sunset says as she starts to ascend the short steps to the loft. “If you need anything, I’m right up here, okay?”

“Okay,” I mumble, not looking up as I flatten out the blankets, then settle into them.

I can’t look her in the eye.

“Hey, Wallie?”

Sunset is looking down at me from the loft, and I glance up. Her hair is hanging around her face like the rays of light around her namesake setting sun, and she’s smiling.

“We’ll make this work, okay?” She says softly. “Things will get better because I’ll make them.”

I nod again, then turn and settle my head against the pillow.

I don’t even have time to yawn before I black out completely.

-stupid little… …get back here and-!

I jolt awake and panic floods my veins as my still-sleeping brain scrambles to remind me where I am.

Parking garage-? No. Too warm.

Shelter? No. The bed is wrong.

I’m-?!

I sit up, shaking, my gut clenching and roiling as I look around the room. Sunset’s apartment is dark, and the gentle ticking of the analog clock up in the loft is the only sound I can hear. Her DVD player has a little digital clock on it though, and it reads as forty minutes past three in the morning.

I slept for almost six hours. That’s pretty good for me.

It’ll have to be good enough.

I stand up as quietly as possible, fold the comforter, tuck it back under the coffee table with the pillow, and creep around the couch towards the door where my shoes and jacket are.

“I’m mean, not stupid.”

It’s all I can do not to scream as I start and whip around. My socks find no purchase on the cheap tile floor though and scrabble for a heartbeat before going out from under me and dropping me on my butt.

Sunset is glowering at me through tired eyes from where she’s sitting up against the back of the couch. Her arms are wrapped around her legs which are tucked up against her chest, and there’s a blanket around her shoulders for warmth, and she looks exhausted.

“We sleeping outside tonight?” She asks simply, not getting up and just staring at me as I work my jaw like an idiot.

“W-What-?” Is all I manage to get out, and Sunset just raises an eyebrow.

We stare silently across the room at each other for a long moment before I sit up, rubbing my tailbone which is aching from where I landed. After a moment, I shuffle awkwardly to my knees, wrap my arms around myself, and shiver.

Sunset sighs then stands, crosses the room, and drops down beside me before throwing the blanket over my shoulders. It’s still warm and it smells faintly of cherries, just like she does. On the rare occasions where I feel okay enough to let her hug me, it’s probably one of the better things I get to experience.

“Floor, couch, bed, concrete… it’s all the same to me,” Sunset says tonelessly, side-eyeing as she speaks. “So what’s the call?”

I hang my head, and a tremor sets up in my shoulders as I stare at my feet. My chest hurts, my stomach hurts… everything hurts, and I’m so tired, but…

“I don’t get it,” I say finally.

Sunset doesn’t answer, and when I look up she’s just resting her head on arms that are propped up on her knees as she watches me with tired blue eyes.

“Get what?”

“Why you’re here,” I reply. “I don’t get why you’re trying so hard.”

“I told you,” Sunset says flatly. “It’s because you’re important to me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense!” I snap, and my vision swims for a moment before steadying. “I’m not worth it!”

Rather than reply right away, Sunset sighs and turns to stare out over her apartment. Her eyes are fixed on something far away, far past the walls towards the edge of the horizon, and they stay there for several long minutes before she finally just shakes her head and turns back to me.

“You’re worth it to me,” she says quietly. “You always will be, Wallie.”

“Why?!” I hiss the word out, but Sunset just chuckles.

“Is it bad that I don’t really have a good answer for that?” She replies with a faint, weary smile. It’s barely an upward tug of her lips. “You just are.”

“That’s not good enough!” I say, and I hate how petulant I sound.

“It’s good enough for me,” Sunset replies without hesitation. “And that’s all I need.”

I hang my head and let out a weak, broken laugh. I’m not winning this fight. I don’t know why I even argued. Arguing with Sunset, at least when I do it, is like arguing with a brick wall that has your best interests at heart. It’s just trying to stop you from beating your head against it, really.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Sunset says, shuffling to her feet and holding out a hand to me. “Because I’m exhausted and so are you… so if you’re going to run from me, save it for when you’ve got the energy to make it past the door, okay?”

I snort, then nod, and reach out to take her hand.

Her grip is tight and her palm is warm and soft, and she’s gentle with me as she pulls me to my feet. I stumble a little as I stand, and I have to brace myself against her. My balance is pretty crap lately. I figure it’s because I haven’t been eating much.

Hopefully, Sunset just assumes it’s because I need more sleep, and honestly that’s probably not wrong.

Slowly, we make our way over to the sofa, and I drop back down onto it, grab the pillow I’d discarded, and the blanket I’d just recently folded up to shake out and wrap around myself and lay down.

And Sunset pulls a spare pillow under her head, wraps her own blanket around her, and settles in on the floor beside me.

“What… What are you doing?” I ask, looking down at her.

She turns onto her side, looks up at me, and grins. “Where you sleep, I sleep, remember? I’m that kind of stupid.”

I flop back onto the couch and drape my arms over my face.

This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

I Hold My Breath

Sunset Shimmer

My eyelids are like lead weights when I finally lever myself up from the uncomfortable position I’d contorted myself into on the floor beside the couch.

On the one hand, I meant every word of what I’d said to Wallflower last night. On the other, I kind of wish she hadn’t forced me to make good on it.

I mean, I knew she was going to try and sneak out. That was obvious. Just getting Wallflower to accept my couch had been the equivalent of pulling teeth out of an angry cragadile’s maw while it was trying to eat you. The odds of her not trying to renege on her acceptance of a place to sleep out of sheer stubborn self-hatred was practically a given.

That doesn’t mean I like sleeping on the floor of my own apartment, though.

“Ugh.” I smack my lips as I get to my feet. Wallflower is still dead to the world on the couch, and I’m not surprised. I feel bad that I’ll have to wake her up in a little while.

My eyes are burning behind my eyelids as I trudge over to the stairs going to the loft to retrieve my phone from the charging port. I turn it over and grimace.

Seven in the morning. We’ll have to get ready to go pretty quickly if I want to make it to the social services offices in the Commons by eight. Half-past eight is probably our last window, any further than that and I doubt we’ll have time to get any kind of meaningful meeting.

I unplug my phone and open up a text to Vice Principal Luna.

Back when I’d started to reform, she’d given me her number in the hopes I’d reach out rather than backslide or do something stupid. Something about understanding what I’d gone through. I never really made use of the offer, but we exchanged texts every now and again which rarely amounted to more than off-colour jokes and variations on the latest memes.

Turns out VP Luna is kind of a dork.

//I’m not coming to school today. Long story. Short - Wallflower Blush is homeless, and I’m trying to get her on the housing program I use, but I gotta move fast. Can I get my absence covered? If not, it’s okay.//

I grimace as I send the text. Playing truant is a great way to lose a lot of my standing in the programs that keep me housed and fed, but Luna will understand. She’ll have to, and if not? I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.

Trotting down the stairs, I go to the bathroom to wash up as quickly and efficiently as possible before pulling on a pair of jeans, a bra, and a long-sleeve top. I come out of the bathroom as I belt my jeans, and kneel by the couch to prod Wallflower awake.

She swats at me grumpily a few times before giving a squeaky little yawn and rolling over on the couch to go back to sleep.

“Adorable,” I say flatly. “But seriously Wallie, I need you to wake up.”

“Mmm…” Her only real response is to curl up in the covers.

I don’t blame her. I remember my first night in a decent bed after being homeless for a long stretch, and I hadn’t wanted to get out of it either. This is just a couch, but it’s miles better than sleeping on the concrete or on one of the stiff, unpleasant shelter beds.

“I’m not joking,” I continue, prodding her a few more times. “Look, I’ll make us some tea and some food, and then you’re going to have to get up, okay?”

No squeaky yawns come out, nor does she mumble or swat at me. Instead, she just starts to snore. It’s a small, wheezy noise that only comes out of one nostril, and despite myself, I start to laugh a little.

It’s probably the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Whatever.” I stand and walk over to the kitchen, and as I do, the phone chimes with Luna's understanding reply.

I owe her explanation after I get things settled, but she'll have to wait until after breakfast.

The electric kettle comes on first, mostly full since I’m making tea for two. I think I remember her mentioning that she liked green tea once while we were hanging out. I pull out a matcha teabag, one of four left in a box that had been a gift from Rarity and ended up shoved into the back of my tea drawer. Along with the matcha I draw out my own favorite, oolong, and take out two mugs for them.

Hash browns come next, frozen since it’s all I have the patience for, and then eggs which are scrambled for similar reasons. Halfway through those, I pour the tea to start it steeping, and by the time I’m plating the eggs, they smell mostly ready.

“Wallie!” I shout. “Breakfast!”

Wallflower sits up slowly, rising from the tangle of the blanket she’d been cocooned in like a vampire from her coffin at the scent of food. Her green hair is sticking out like the points of a wildly inaccurate compass, and she’s somehow contrived to look like she hasn’t slept at all and for far too long at the same time.

She slowly turns her head left, then right, like her brain is trying to geolocate and failing miserably. It only lasts a moment before the panic starts to reel her back in and her eyes go from an exhausted daze to a sharp, animal wariness as the tension that had finally leaked out of her comes slithering back in.

I finish plating out the hash browns so they don’t burn, crank off the heat, and move to Wallflower’s side carrying the two mugs of tea and kneel, setting them both on the table before reaching out to take Wallflower’s hands

“Hey, it’s okay,” I say softly. “You’re at my place, remember? You’re safe here, but we gotta eat quick, okay? Otherwise we’re not going to have time to see my guy.”

Wallflower swallows hard, then takes a deep breath and nods before shaking her legs free of the blanket and sitting up properly on the couch and picking up her tea to start blowing on it.

“Okay,” I say as I stand. “Want anything on your eggs and hashbrowns?”

For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything, but just as I’m about to turn and go back to the kitchen she speaks up in a tiny, tired, slightly croaky voice.

“Do… Do you have any Prench Dressing?” She asks quietly.

I raise an eyebrow as I turn back to her

“Like, the orange salad dressing?” I ask. “I think so, why?”

She shuffles her feet for a few minutes before blowing out a breath and looking up at me. “I uhm… I used to have it on my hash browns… I like it.”

Well, that’s a little weird, but it’s still progress in my book.

“Sure, why not?” I say with a shrug.

Prench Dressing on potatoes isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen someone eat, I’m friends with Pinkie Pie, and that’s not counting the weird crap that Rainbow Dash and Applejack will dare each other to try.

As I’m walking the two plates of food over, I see Wallflower take a sip of the tea and wince.

“Too hot?” I ask as I set down the plate.

“Oh, uhm, no.” Wallflower shakes her head and stares down the tea, then, without looking up, smiles softly. “It’s good.”

We eat breakfast as quickly as we can manage, and I try not to dwell on the fact that Wallflower only vaguely picked at hers, not eating nearly enough to satisfy me, but there isn’t time to confront that.

Fortunately, she doesn’t have to do much in the way of getting ready to go beyond taming her hair enough to fit under the hood of her new(ish) canvas jacket, and washing her face.

Outside the apartment, it’s still freezing, and we both shiver violently at the same time as a cutting breeze slices around us.

“Good old Canterlot,” I say with a thin-lipped smile. “The miserable old goon.”

Wallflower laughs. It’s a small, quiet sound, but pretty. She shivers again as another gust hits us, and I frown as I look her up and down again. She’s thinner than she should be, even given her petite frame, and I’m worried.

There’s nothing I can do for the time being, though. As much as it rankles I have to prioritise. She’s alive and… if not healthy at least stable, and the blind leviathan of bureaucracy can take weeks or longer to get moving so the sooner we start her on the paperwork the sooner she can get a place of her own.

Assuming she’s eligible. I can’t imagine she isn’t given that I am.

Wallflower shivers again.

No, she’s not shivering. She’s just shaking. In fact, now it comes to it I’d be surprised if she was producing much heat at all.

“Hey, c’mere,” I move closer and raise an arm, hovering it near her shoulders. “You’re gonna fall over.”

“I’m fine,” Wallflower says, wilting in on herself briefly.

“No, you’re not, you’re freezing,” I counter. “Just come here.”

I can feel the brief moment of stubbornness take hold of her, but another gust of wind slices between us before she can say no, and she jolts as her muscles seize up in the cold.

Instinct pushes her towards heat, towards me, and a moment later she’s pressed up against my side where I can drape my arm over her and start to rub some warmth into her arm and shoulders.

We walk the rest of the way to the offices, and as we do something else settles unpleasantly in my chest like a cold chunk of lead shot underneath all of my worry and concern for Wallflower.

I’m maybe a little too comfortable holding on to her like this.

I ignore it the best that I can and just do it. Whatever the situation, I highly doubt that me pushing her away after she willingly came into physical contact with me on her own would do her any good. She wants to be a little closer and that’s fine. It’s not uncomfortable, and she’s definitely cold.

That’s what I’ll keep telling myself.

We make it to the social services office a few minutes before my internal cutoff. I’d have liked to get here earlier but Wallflower is moving slowly and I don’t want to hurry her along. Best case scenario I think she’ll just feel bad, worst case scenario I make this whole upcoming conversation harder since I’m pretty sure if she could be moving faster she would be, if only so she didn’t feel like she was slowing me down.

“Okay, so, this guy,” I start out quietly as I put a hand on the door and start pulling it open. Wallflower stiffens under my arm as I say the last word. “He’s one of the good ones, Wallie, I promise.”

I look down at her and she’s staring at the ground. I can feel her heart starting to race, it’s beating with the staccato speed of a captured rabbit’s. I pull her inside the lobby and let the door close as I turn and put a hand on either shoulder, holding her in place as I look her in the eyes.

“Wallie, it’s okay,” I say. “Breathe, alright? Can you do that for me? Just swallow, and take one, long, deep breath, then blow it out slowly.”

She nods and follows my instructions to the letter, and although her breath comes out a little shakily, I can feel the tension leaking out of her, at least a little bit. I do my best to smile mostly to avoid pressing my lips into a grimace at how close Wallflower had just come to having a full-blown panic attack.

“Feel better?” I ask.

Wallflower nods and brushes her hair from her face with a shaky hand.

“Alright.” I let go carefully and smile again. “So, my friend is a social worker, and he’s pretty much the best at this stuff, okay? His name is Sticky Note, and he gets all the… problem cases.”

I bite my tongue as I see Wallflower start to wilt back but I hold up a hand and force a laugh that I hope sounds genuine.

“No, Wallie, I…” I shake my head. “I meant me, okay? Remember? This guy got stuck with me.”

“But you’re not…” Wallflower starts, then grimaces. I can only assume she’s recalling exactly what I used to be like. “You’re better now.”

“Yeah, now,” I agree, crossing my arms and chuckling. “Note is part of the reason for that, though. He’s a good person, Wallie, and I trust him, and I don’t say that about many people. So let me ask you this,” I hold out a hand to her and give her my best smile, “do you trust me?”

I watch the process happen behind Wallflower’s eyes. I see the million and one thoughts, worries, and paranoias, but I also see them losing, which gives me hope.

Eventually, she lets out another small breath, nods, and puts her hand in mine.

I try to ignore how nice it feels there.

Not the time, Shimmer. Really not the time. I shove those feelings into a little cardboard box and FedEx it somewhere deep into my mental warehouse. I can deal with whatever’s going on in there once I’ve got Wallflower with a stable roof over her head and I can be at least passingly certain she’s not starving to death.

Taking her hand and gripping it tightly, I turn and walk her towards the back. I nod to the front receptionist. Magnolia is a matronly woman with a chartreuse complexion, and she smirks at me as I pull Wallflower up to the desk.

“Hey Mags, I need to talk to Note,” I say, putting a note of pleading into my voice. “Please?”

“Sunset, you know the rules,” Magnolia says flatly.

But I see her eyes flick to the stretch of hallway going into the offices, then back and past me to Wallflower, and she sighs.

“His first meeting is in forty-five minutes, and I might be able to buy you another five,” Magnolia says after a moment, and my face splits into a broad smile. Before I can thank her, she puts a single finger up to my face “Be quick, alright? You know how busy we get, and I ain’t puttin’ someone else out, okay? A lotta people need help.”

“I know, thank you so much.” I lean in and wrap an arm around Magnolia who chuckles and pats my back before nodding her head sharply towards the hallway and sitting back down at her desk.

“Okay, let’s go,” I say quickly, moving towards the back.

“What are… are we breaking rules?” Wallflower asks, glancing back worriedly before looking over at me.

“Uh… technically?” I say weakly, then blow out a breath and wave a hand. “Look, this city’s service system is a mess, okay? It could take a month to get a meeting with Sticky Note the normal way, and this shit only takes like, half an hour at most!”

“I don’t want to—!” Wallie stalls, stopping cold in the hallway, and I bite my lip to keep back a retort. My temper has served me well— okay, decently— in the past, but it’s not gonna help here.

“Wallie, look,” I say, stopping as I turn to face her. “Either we do this and get you fast-tracked, or you crash at my place for a month or two while we do it the ‘right’ way, your call.”

Wallflower stares at me for a long moment, her hand still gripping mine tightly although at this point I’m not even sure she’s aware of it. Once more, that unpleasant pang of guilt hits me over aiming for that particular sore spot. Those grinding gears in her head are going at full chat again, her various complexes slamming into one another as her desire not to be a burden on me, which she isn’t, fights in extremis with her desire not to put Sticky Note in a compromising position.

“I’ll wait,” I say calmly. “If we’re here too long it’s a settled point anyway.”

“I can just stay at the shelter!” Wallflower says sharply, her voice quavering and cracking as she gives a weak, half-hearted tug on her hand. “It’s… it’s fine!”

Rather than answer, I just meet her eyes for a moment, then put on my hardest, most certain expression, and repeat the same words that I told her last night.

“Where you sleep, I sleep,” I say quietly.

The blood drains from Wallflower’s face, and she sags, and I swear I hear her cuss under her breath, but it’s so quiet I’m not sure. When she looks back up she just looks exhausted.

“Fine.”

“Okay,” I say, not feeling good about what I just did. I didn’t see any other way though. “Let’s go.”

I lead her back to the rearmost office, knock twice, then let myself in.

Sticky Note isn’t the type of person who stands out, and he likes it that way. He’s not particularly tall, but he still manages to look stooped when he sits and types at his computer. He’s rail-thin, with a dark red complexion and hair the colour of soot shot through with a lone streak of purple, and a pair of square glasses sit perched on his nose in front of grey, slightly watery eyes.

“Sticky!” I say cheerfully, then, through my toothy grin: “I need some help.”

He sighs quietly, his dexterous fingers pausing mid-type for a heartbeat before he continues whatever it is he’s doing, finishes, then taps the save key, and turns to me.

“Miss Shimmer,” he says wearily. “Why do I get the feeling this unscheduled meeting is going to double my workload this month?”

“It’s not that bad,” I say with a weak chuckle. “I just uh… need some help for my friend here, okay?”

I pull Wallflower up and put an arm over her shoulder. Sticky Note has been doing this a while, and I watch him assess her with a quick glance, and his mouth immediately presses to a frown.

“Homeless?” he asks, and I nod.

Note steeples his fingers, then frowns again and turns back to Wallflower and looks her up and down once more. Then he turns to his computer and gestures for us to sit down.

“You know the drill, Sunset, start talking,” Note says as he taps away at his computer.

I know most of Wallflower’s relevant information; name, birthdate, and things like that, and rattle them off. I have to get a few things from Wallie, which is like trying to drag a single mortared brick out of a mason wall, but I get it. Sticky Note is building her profile, and pulling information from his various sources. He’s faster than anyone would guess, and almost frustratingly good at his job, but that’s why I like him.

While I’m not sure I’d classify Sticky Note as nice, he’s a good man with a good heart, and he does genuinely want to help. He’s rough around the edges, but I guess anyone working in the social services sector of a city like Canterlot would have to end up that way or just burn out.

“Parents?” he asks, finally, turning his gaze to Wallflower who visibly withers back. “Right-” he pauses, taps a button, and his printer chugs for a moment and pops out a paper- “here, I need you to sign and date this, Miss Blush.”

He hands her a two-page form and a pen, then leans forward and takes up his own.

“Initial here, and here…” he says quickly, tapping the paper, “and sign here…” he taps another spot. I’m a little surprised at how easily he’s getting Wallflower to do it. Something in the timbre of his voice and his professional demeanor, I think. “And then sign here, and date.”

He moves quickly enough that I doubt she even had a chance to read it, and Note sweeps the paper back the moment she has the date down to fill in a few other points.

“Alright, I need to ask you a question Miss Blush, and it is an unpleasant one,” Note says as he sets the paper down and turns to her. “You… experienced a form of domestic abuse, correct?”

Wallflower freezes, but after a moment she gives a shaky nod, which Sticky Note mimics carefully. I’ve seen him do this before. Hell, he did it to me, and I didn’t even realise it until after the fact. The way he softens his expression and mimics the movements and posture of the person in front of him disarms them. It makes him almost like a mirror, and that’s a lot easier to talk to.

It’s a little galling that he got me with that trick.

“Now, the unpleasant part,” Note says, as much as I hate this line of questioning I have to admire him. His voice is modulated softly, but every syllable is carefully spoken to be as gentle and insistent as possible. “Was the nature of the abuse emotional?” A nod from Wallflower. “Verbal?” Another nod. “Physical?” She’s shaking now, and her hand finds mine again and grips.

A nod.

Note’s mouth cuts to a fine line.

“Sexual?”

The whole of my insides clench up and freeze for a moment as I stare over at Wallflower, silently praying harder than I’ve ever prayed for anything in my entire life.

She shakes her head.

I can’t help it. I go slack and let out a slow, trembling sigh of relief.

“Alright,” Note says, his relief evident only in the slight relaxation of the muscles around his jaw and in his hands. “Then we move to the next step.”

Which Way-

Wallflower Blush

My head hurts.

Actually, it’s not just my head. My whole face hurts.

When did that happen? And… where am I? My whole body feels heavy, and my eyes won’t quite open. My body has been aching like crazy for the past few days but when I woke up this morning in Sunset’s apartment it was worse than ever.

I try to open my mouth to ask, and I try to open my eyes with it, but I’m just so tired. I barely manage to crack my eyelids open and make a quiet hum of wordless noise that turns into a sharp grunt of discomfort as light spears into my eyes.

“Wallie?!”

I flinch at Sunset’s shout. She sounds equal parts scared and relieved, but I can’t put my finger on why. What’s wrong? What’s… Is something wrong with me?

“Miss Shimmer, I’m sorry but I need you to move.” I don’t recognise that voice, a woman’s voice, but it sounds soft.

Motion is coming from all around me. I still can’t account for where I am. I’m laying down, I know that much. Except I was sitting. Just a little while ago I was sitting in the office at the social services building with Sunset. We were talking to Sticky Note about… something. He was asking me questions. Lots of questions. After a while, I was just answering them on automatic.

I feel like it took a long time, but I don’t think it did.

What—

—“Okay, I think that’s all I need for now,” Sticky Note says in that colourless voice of his. He’s not mean, exactly, but I see why Sunset likes him. They’re both very stubborn.

It’s a little aggravating actually.

That’s right. I was being asked questions. Then we finished and Sunset said—

—“Thanks Sticky.” Sunset smiles as she stands. “We’ll get out of your hair, and I’ll give you a call later with an update.”

“Good,” Note says with a bob of his head before turning to me. “And Miss Blush, I’d advise getting checked out at the Urgent Care down the street. I’ll need something up-to-date medically-speaking.”

I don’t like doctors. I don’t like hospitals. Even if Urgent Care isn’t a hospital, it’s close enough, and I don’t like it. But I knew Sunset would make me go anyway.

I nod as I start to stand, but something’s wrong. My head has been pounding since I woke up, and I hoped it would go away by now but it hasn’t. My head hurts. Everything hurts. My chest, my stomach, my arms and legs… everything…

My memories start to get fuzzy. They go from real memories to something more like impressions viewed through the glass window of an aquarium. Everything is distorted and feels dreamlike and I remember I—

—stand, or I try to, but my vision swims and swings wildly.

“Wallie? Are you okay?”

Sunset is talking but I can’t seem to focus on her. She was right next to me wasn’t she? My eyes aren’t obeying me, and neither are my limbs. I open my mouth to say something, to answer her, but I—

“WALLIE!”

—fall.

I’m on the ground. Why am I on the ground? My face hurts. I can’t focus.

I can’t—

“Miss Blush are you back with us?”

My vision clears grudgingly, and I open my eyes. There’s a young woman in the blue scrubs of a nurse leaning over me with her brow furrowed with concern.

“Why does my face hurt?” I say, but the words come out thick and clumsy, so it sounds more like: ‘why dove m’fafe hurt.’

The nurse’s smile is a little tight but she looks relieved.

“That would be the broken nose, dear,” she says calmly. “But you’re alright, okay? Just try not to move, I’m going to get the doctor.”

The nurse leaves my field of vision, and she’s quickly replaced by Sunset’s tear-streaked and worried face as she moves in beside me and settles down.

“H-Hey, Wallie,” she says softly. “You uh… you scared the hell outta me.”

“Wuf ‘appen?” I still can’t focus very well. Doing anything feels like a massive drain, even just moving my eyes.

Sunset grimaces. “What happened?”

I nod as Sunset trails off and her expression turns down. I know that look because it’s one I see in the mirror all too often. It’s anger turned inwards. Self-hatred.

Guilt.

“You… you fell,” Sunset says finally. “We were at Sticky’s office wrapping up, you stood up, and then you just… you just fell.”

I fell? I narrow my eyes as I consider that. I can’t remember actually falling. One minute I was standing and the world was flailing drunkenly around me, and the next I was on the ground.

Face down on the ground.

“I… fell on m’fafe?” I mumble. I lick my lips and taste blood and something waxy. Some kind of sealant maybe? I guess I split my lip or something.

I angle my eyes down, and that effort costs me absurdly. My vision is covered by something large and white, like gauze.

Actually, I think it is gauze.

“M’nose,” I say as I eye the lump of white. “Wuf wrong wif… m’nose?”

“It’s uh… broken,” Sunset says sheepishly. That should probably alarm me but I don’t think I have the energy to be alarmed at the moment. “They already set it but- Hey! Wallie, you’ve gotta stay still okay?”

I tried to lift my arm but Sunset clapped her hand down on it. Even just lifting my own arm’s weight was barely doable, so Sunset is able to keep my arm pinned pretty much without effort.

“Wallie, stop! You’ll jostle the IV!” Sunset says, worrying pitching her voice higher, but that last word sends an unpleasant jolt through my heart.

IV?

Even with barely any energy left to me, I force my head to turn. Sunset has a hand on my right arm and there’s a bit of gauze over something protruding from my forearm.

There’s a needle in my arm.

THERE’S A NEEDLE IN MY ARM.

My breathing starts to turn ragged and staccato as I try to move, but Sunset is keeping me pinned. My vision tightens to a pinprick around the IV. I struggle against her, but that barely means anything. I’m all but paralysed. My body just isn’t obeying me anymore and between that and the needle in my arm, I feel like I’m about to lose my mind!

“Wallie calm down!” Sunset cries, moving close and almost laying on top of me as she wraps her arms around me and pulls my head close to bury against the crook of her neck. “It’s okay! It’s just an IV! It’s okay! You’re okay! I’ve got you, alright? You’re fine!”

The rapid starts of my breathing begin to slow down as the scent of lilacs and cherries, the scent of Sunset, fills my lungs. Something about that scent is calming to me. It smells like something soft and airy and unworried with the world around it. I start to breathe more slowly, and as I do my eyes start getting heavy again.

I’m so tired.

I’m so, so tired.

“I’ve got you, Wallie,” Sunset’s voice trickles through my fading consciousness. I think I should be a lot more scared than I am, but Sunset’s here.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Yeah. I can sleep. I… I’ll be just fine.

Sunset’s here.

My consciousness is like a piece of perforated driftwood on a river. Every so often it surfaces, but it’s more a lurch and a wobble than anything graceful, and inevitably it gets swallowed by the rapids again before launching back into the air briefly only to plunge back down again.

I don’t really remember anything from the short, stunted periods of waking, but there’s one common thread through it all.

Sunset.

Every time I wake up, she’s there. I don’t always see her, but I know she’s there because her hand is holding mine. Once or twice I try to squeeze her hand as I’m waking up, but I never keep a grip on reality long enough to see if she notices before drifting back down.

It’s funny. Even as I fall back into the awkward slurry of dreams and blackness, I’m certain that the next time I wake up she’ll be gone, but she never is. I’m so sure of it, too. So sure that the next time I open my eyes, Sunset will have left, and I wouldn’t blame her in the slightest.

So even though she’s been there every time I’ve opened my eyes, when I finally do wake up enough to claw my way out of the cloying stupor of sleep and stay that way, the first thing I say when I turn my head and see idly scrolling on her phone with one hand is:

“You’re still here.”

It’s not really a question, just a confused statement.

She’s still here.

Sunset looks up at me with a start, and I realise at that moment just how tired she looks. Her hair is ragged, and there are bags under her eyes. There’s a small folding table beside my bed that’s littered with papers and notes; schoolwork, I think, and Sunset’s backpack is sitting beneath it propped against one of the legs.

“Wallie!” Sunset says my name like a sigh of relief. “Oh man, I was uh… I was really starting to lose it a little there.”

I frown, then wince as the expression pulls at something and sends a twinge of pain across my face.

“Here, hold on,” Sunset says softly before reaching for a small paper cup and grabbing a straw from a nearby table before holding it up to me. “Drink, it’ll help.”

Nodding sullenly, I let raise the cup to my lips and start to sip. It doesn’t go down well, and I go into a coughing fit almost immediately. Pain wracks through my chest, and the movement seems to wake up all the little aches and pains that have settled into my limbs since I’ve been laying here.

Sunset waits patiently for me to finish coughing and catch my breath, then holds up the cup again. I take another, slightly more successful, sip of water, and let out a slow breath as I lay back against the pillows.

“What happened?” I croak.

“You fainted,” Sunset answers quietly as she sets the cup down. “Back in Sticky Note’s office, you stood up and your body just… it just gave out.”

“Why?”

“Malnutrition, mostly,” Sunset replies in a voice tight with strain. “The rest was just the punishment that your body took from living on the streets, combined with the mother of all adrenaline crashes, I guess.” She sighs and lets out a grim chuckle. “At this point, a list of reasons that aren’t to blame might be shorter.”

“Oh.” I guess that makes sense. “But I… I ate.”

“According to the nurse, it’s not about eating,” Sunset replies grimly. “Your system can’t digest the food you’re putting in it, so you don’t get any nutrients, hence the uh…”

She trails off as she’s gesturing to my arm, and freeze in the middle of the motion. I look down at where she’s pointed and see it again. The little gauze pad taped over a line that’s feeding into my arm.

My chest immediately starts to tighten.

There’s a needle in my—

My world is eclipsed in the scent of lilacs and cherries, underpinned by the faint smell of sweat. My face is buried in the crook of Sunset’s neck and I stay there as I shiver and try to get a hold of my nerves.

I know, intellectually, that there is nothing wrong with needles. I know that they’ve been used for centuries, successfully, and pretty much harmlessly. It’s just a tiny needle, a little pain, and that’s it.

I know all of that intellectually.

But that’s why phobias are defined as ‘irrational fears’. There’s no rational reason that a needle should make me lose my crap this badly but they do. They always have. I’ve never been able to get a shot without passing out or breaking down. I’ve never had an IV in me either, so the knowledge that there’s just a needle sitting in my arm is like having a warning klaxon going off in my brain at all times.

It’s easier to stay calm when Sunset’s here though because she’s calm. Because Sunset is competent, and I’m a mess, so if she’s here, and she’s alright with it, I can trick my brain into being kinda, semi-, sorta alright with it.

“It’s okay,” Sunset murmurs. “I’m right here, just don’t think about it, alright?”

I nod slowly, trying to ignore the weird feelings in my arm.

“Ye...yeah, okay,” I mumble.

Sunset shifts away from me, letting me go back to laying down, and she rests her hand in mine. I squeeze her hand to try and distract myself from what I know is just a little ways up past my wrist.

“So uh, malnutrition,” Sunset continues awkwardly. “I guess I should tell you, you’ve been out of it for about two days.”

‘D-Days?” I stare at her, then look over at the notes and books before looking back at Sunset. “Have… have you-? You’ve gone home, r-right?”

The incredibly stiff and sheepish smile that forms on Sunset’s face at my question is pretty much all the answer I need.

“Rainbow and Pinkie have been bringing me food and stuff,” Sunset says with an ungainly laugh. “And uh, Applejack and Rarity have been swapping out in collecting all my classwork, and then bringing it in the next day.”

“Two… Two days?” I say again.

“Well, I wasn’t going to just leave you!” Sunset counters, her back stiffening. “I said I’d take care of you and I am, and besides… don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?” I wheeze through dry lips and an increasingly drier throat.

Sunset’s cheeks redden as she mumbles something, leaning back in her chair and staring up at the ceiling with almost childish petulance.

“What… What did you say?” I ask, leaning forward as much as I can, which isn’t all that much.

“I said,” Sunset replies slowly, and without looking down, “where you sleep, I sleep… remember?”

For a long moment, I just stare at her. I’ve always known deep down that Sunset was the type of person who went to extremes very easily. Maybe dangerously so. I mean, anyone who knows her past knows that’s pretty much par for the course. This is someone whose reaction to having her teacher put their foot— well, hoof— down, about something was to flee to another dimension and plan a coup.

She’s kind of dramatic, is what I’m trying to say.

Being on the receiving end of that, however, is a little unsettling. On the one hand, yes, she did say ‘where you sleep, I sleep’ several times, making it clear she was doing it for my own good. With that being said…

“That’s crazy,” I say finally.

“I am aware!” Sunset says brusquely, still leaning back and staring determinedly up at the ceiling with her arms crossed and her cheeks red. “But when I commit, I friggin’ commit, okay? I can’t help it.”

“You have a life!” I croak. “You can’t just waste all your time on me!”

“It’s not a waste,” Sunset snarls, suddenly snapping forward with a blaze of intensity to her eyes. “And y’know what? Even if it was a waste, which it’s not! I damn well can if I want to! And I do!”

Tears are threatening at the edges of my eyes as I force myself to sit up. I don’t know what I’m feeling. I’m angry, I think, but I’m also overwhelmed and confused, and nothing about this situation computes.

Why doesn’t she get that I’m not worth it?!

“This is my fault!” I snap, my voice breaking as I use it with volume for the first time in days. “Everything is my fault! You can’t change that!”

Sunset scowls then stands and sets her shoulders in that stubborn way she does that tells me in no uncertain terms that she isn’t going to budge.

“I’m not trying to,” Sunset says after a moment. “I’m trying to change your future, and I’m going to.”

“So you're trying to f-fix me? Like I’m just… just a project?” My voice cracks and breaks again on the last word and I fall into a brutal coughing fit.

Halfway through it, I feel Sunset sit down next to me and put an arm hesitantly over my shoulder and pull me close. Out of some unnamed instinct, I bury my face in the crook of her shoulder again, covering my mouth and shaking until the coughing finally subsides.

“You’re not my project,” Sunset says. “You’re my friend, and you’re just… you’re precious to me, okay? I can’t really say it any better, but I’m not going to abandon you. Ever.”

Precious?

I’m not precious to her.

I’m not precious to anyone.

I’m a wallflower. I’m the literal definition of forgettable. I’m not a precious stone, I'm a piece of gravel that gets lost in any given driveway or thrown out of someone’s boot for irritating their foot.

“I don’t care if all of this is your fault,” Sunset continues, wrapping her arms around me again and pulling me closer. “Scribe knows pretty much everything wrong that happened in my life was my fault too… my point is that I don’t care, okay? Even if it is all your fault, I don’t care! Because I’m going to stay here anyway."

I sag against her, feeling my will to fight draining away. It always does when I’m up against Sunset. She’s just too strong. Her force of personality is overwhelming. I consider myself lucky she ignored me like everyone else back in her good old bad days.

“Why?” I ask in a raw voice.

Sunset just shrugs. She doesn’t answer right away, and when she does it’s in a hoarse whisper.

“Because you’re precious to me.”

-And Where

Sunset Shimmer

Because you’re precious to me.

Why did I have to say it like that?

I thump my head against the hospital’s cheap coffee dispenser that only seems to be able to generate something like thin, burnt, caffeinated tar as I wait for it to fill my cup.

What was that even supposed to mean other than that apparently my primary reaction to stress is to turn into a dramatic bitch. I’m lucky Wallflower didn’t take out a restraining order against me.

Hopefully, she just accepts my explanation at face value.

I don’t really have a good way to explain to her that watching her fade in and out of consciousness for two days without knowing if she was going to wake up for sure was like literal torture. I’d badly underestimated how malnourished she was. I’d been hoping that, worst-case scenario, I could get some canned vegetable soup or something, and she’d bounce back, but she didn’t.

She crashed.

“What am I even doing…” I grumble as I grab at the cup and start heading back to Wallflower’s room.

At least she’s awake.

“Sunset Shimmer?”

I look up at the sound of my name to see Doctor Hazel walking briskly down the hall towards me. She’s a tall, spare woman with a mauve complexion, auburn hair, and a lean face winnowed thin from the stress and responsibility of a lot of long shifts. She’s also the one who’s been taking care of Wallflower since being admitted through the Canterlot General ED.

Witch Hazel works with a lot of Sticky’s cases. Like I told Wallflower when we were going to meet him, he gets the tough customers, and plenty of them have issues that have landed them in the hospital more than once.

Fortunately, I was never that kind of self-destructive.

“Doctor Hazel, hey,” I say wearily. “You heard?”

“I did,” Hazel says with a curt nod. “She’s recovering, which is a good sign, but now that brings up another issue.”

I frown, stop moving towards Wallflower’s room, and turn to Hazel as I take a sip of the unpleasant cup of pitch in my hand.

“What’s up?”

Hazel presses her lips to a harsh line and nods for me to follow her into an empty exam room. As soon as we get inside she carefully shuts the door and turns to me with a hard look on her face.

“Sunset, I’m going to be frank with you, Wallflower’s condition is abysmal,” Hazel says flatly as she holds up a clipboard and starts thumbing through the pages, and it’s about all I can do not to drop my coffee. “She’s drastically underweight, and has been for longer than Sticky’s files claim that she’s been homeless.”

“What…” I swallow hard and straighten out as I meet Hazel’s eyes. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Sticky’s files indicate she’s suffered a pattern of physical abuse.” Hazel doesn’t ask, she’s just stating it, but I flinch anyway. I hate thinking about that. “And her imaging results all confirm what I expected: Miss Blush has dozens of old fractures and several healed breaks, none of which healed gracefully or well, and her BMI along with her blood work indicates that she’s suffered from chronic malnourishment, maybe for years, so her body simply hasn’t had the resources to heal correctly.”

If I had the time and mental space to lose my shit and throw up, I would, but right now I have more important things to do. So instead, I stuff that screaming panic that’s welling up in me into a jar and pitch into the darkest corner of my mental warehouse that I can find as I take a deep breath, and nod.

“Okay, so what can I do?” I ask.

Hazel raises an eyebrow, and the side of her mouth turns up very slightly into something like a smile.

“For one, what’s her current housing situation?” Hazel asks.

I grimace. “It’s not… at least not yet, it’s going to take Sticky some time before she can even be considered for the housing program, and even then it might be months before she actually gets a place.”

“Then you’ll have to forgive me for not sugarcoating this, Sunset,” Hazel says grimly, “but if Wallflower ends up back on the streets, in this weather and in her condition, then she will die.”

So that’s what it feels like to have your heart break in half.

Who knew.

I work my jaw a few times, before letting the tremor of panic pass through me in a shuddering wave as I let out a slow breath in an effort to keep myself from starting to hyperventilate. I can’t do that now. Not now, and not here. That won’t do anyone any good, certainly not Wallflower, and that’s who I need to be focusing on.

“So… she stays with me, then,” I say slowly, my eyes unfocused and staring past Doctor Hazel at a non-existent point on the wall behind her while my mind churns through options. “I uh… I don’t have a lot of money, but I can make it work…”

Hazel’s normally sharp, austere features soften considerably for a moment as she reaches out a hand and sets it on my shoulder.

“Sunset, I realise this is an awful situation, but…” Hazel pauses as she chews on her words for a moment before continuing in a slightly raw voice. “This isn’t your responsibility, you know that, right? You’re barely eighteen.”

“And?” I ask, and I only vaguely register how hollow my voice sounds. “It’s me or nothing, right? She has no home, she can’t get onto the program yet, and if she goes back into the shelter she’ll just end up on the street again!”

“There are other programs,” Hazel offers. “Half-way houses and foster—”

“Bullshit!” I snap, my temper suddenly surging. “You and I both know those places are garbage! Canterlot is a cesspit! She just got out of an abusive home. I'm not risking dumping her into another one! And what foster home would even take in an eighteen-year-old?” I gesture sharply in the direction of Wallflower’s room. “Go on! Tell me the rate for fostering out teens! To say nothing of someone Wallie’s age!”

Hazel draws back and crosses her arms.

“You’re talking about being responsible for someone who very likely does not want to be helped, Sunset,” Doctor Hazel says harshly. “Sticky is going to do his best, he always does, but he told me his read on her, which is that she’s the type who will fight any good will we offer her every step of the way. Is he right?”

I clam up.

Sticky’s dead-on, as usual. He has an uncanny ability to read his cases quickly and with unnerving accuracy, and I’d be willing to bet that Hazel’s description of Sticky Note’s read was probably heavily truncated.

Doctor Hazel didn’t need me to answer, though. She clicks her tongue and sighs, frowning deeply as she looks over what I can only assume are Wallflower’s charts.

“Miss Blush is extremely fragile, but between Sticky and I, we can find her somewhere safe,” Hazel says slowly. “However…”

“She’ll fight it.” I finish Hazel’s thought for her, and the doctor nods. “She doesn’t fight me.”

“Really?” Doctor Hazel crooks an eyebrow at me and I squirm.

“O-Okay, she doesn’t fight me much,” I admit. “And she always gives in eventually!”

Doctor Hazel eyes me carefully for a while, before sighing and nodding mostly to herself, I think. “Well, considering you got her all the way to Sticky Note’s office and signed into his caseload, I have to assume you’re not exaggerating, but let me reiterate this, Sunset—” Hazel jabs the top of the clipboard at me sharply, almost to my nose— “you are barely more than a child, and you’re talking about being responsible for someone who is dangerously weak, are you sure?”

I don’t hesitate for a second. The words are past my lips before even I have a chance to process them.

“Dead sure, Doc,” I say firmly.

Despite not looking fully convinced, Hazel nods and starts thumbing through Wallflower’s charts again before stopping on a set of pages.

“Alright,” she says quietly. “Fortunately, Sticky has you down in his system, and ours, as Wallflower’s primary point of contact, so it will be easy to discharge her into your care.”

“What about my lease?” I ask cautiously. “Can I have another person living there? Or should I ask Sticky—?”

“I already asked,” Hazel says wryly. “The short answer is no, but actually yes. Technically you can’t, but since Sticky is your caseworker he’d be the one investigating, and there’s no way he’d throw the both of you out. So as long as both of you stay healthy and safe, he won’t have anything clap back on him.”

“Tall order,” I mumble, glancing back towards the hall. “So basically if I mess this up, we’re both up shit creek.”

“Sans paddles,” Doctor Hazel agrees. “Are you still sure?”

“Yeah,” I say, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m sure, just… thanks for telling me the score.”

Doctor Hazel lowers the charts from between us and gives me an odd look. It’s almost analysing in its intensity, and after a moment she lets out a breath and speaks.

“You’re not going to tell Wallflower, are you?” She asks in a tone that tells me she already knows my answer.

“Obviously,” I say quietly. “If she knew she was putting my housing at risk she’d either run or stress out so badly she’d pop. I can’t tell her if I want her to get any better… she has to heal on her own terms, not mine.”

“You’re alright hiding something like that from her?” Hazel asks, her brow inching upward.

It’s my turn to smile back at her grimly.

“I have to be.”

After all, she’s precious to me.

By the time Wallflower’s discharge comes up two days later, I’ve left the hospital for the first time to make a run down to my apartment and to the little grocery down the street so I had something ready for Wallflower.

My rent is, for all intents and purposes, free, even if the actual building itself is cramped and crappy, so I don’t need to worry about that. Utilities aren’t on that same list, but I had a stipend for that which is also how I pay for my cell phone, so that shouldn’t be an issue either.

An entire other person’s worth of food, however? That might be a little trickier. Especially given that Wallflower isn’t going to be able to eat much.

Soup.

That’s what Doctor Hazel suggested. Lots and lots of soup. Simple broth and soft vegetables at first, then start adding in meat for better protein. Wallflower’s system isn’t up to digesting anything hefty.

I guess soup is easy enough to make, right? The ingredients should be cheap, and if I make enough soup I can probably just eat that, too.

Something cold and wet settles inside my chest as I walk down the grocery aisles.

It’s kind of funny that the most expensive thing for making soup is the bouillon. I hold two different brands that look damn near identical in either hand. Both are round plastic cups that hold three dozen little cubes wrapped in foil, both cups are the same shade of green. One is the store brand, the other is the more expensive brand name, even though I’ve never heard of it.

I scan the ingredients. They’re the same, but the store brand is something like two dollars cheaper. It’ll have to be that, and hopefully the ingredients really are the same. I can’t even figure why they wouldn’t be, it’s just some fucking soup cubes.

Two cups of bouillon go into the plastic carrier hanging from my arm.

Simple and easy… I just need something simple and easy that I can make a lot of, and that Wallflower will be able to eat.

Potatoes and carrots, a dozen of each, go into the carrier wrapped in thin plastic bags to keep them separate. Both are dirt cheap.

I go to the meat section next. For some reason, I’m having a hard time focusing.

Like, a really hard time.

I can’t really account for why, but I keep feeling like a stiff breeze is going to knock me over if I stop moving. My limbs are shaky and there are pins in needles in my palms and fingers.

Not good.

Swallowing thickly, I take a deep breath as I stop in front of the poultry section and stare down at the variety of cuts.

Breast meat, thigh meat, wings… gizzards? Chicken feet? Who in Tartarus makes soup out of chicken feet?! What do you even use a gizzard for?! I look down at the bundle of vegetables under my arm, then back at the meat. The breast meat is more expensive, but there’s more of it. I can probably afford it if I’m sparing.

But is that what I even use to make chicken soup? I don’t know! I’ve never made soup before! I… I just…

A tap at my shoulder shocks me out of my daze and I look up to see a woman with a vaguely familiar face staring at me. Her thick, dark hair is pulled back in colourfully beaded plaits that hang past her vibrant sweater to her jeans-clad waist. She’s a little older than me, with a coal complexion, and I swear I know those dark eyes from somewhere, but I can’t quite place them.

“You okay, honey?” She asks softly.

I blink several times, and it’s only as I do that I realise I’m crying because my vision suddenly blurs as I blurt out: “I don’t know how to make chicken soup!”

“Wuh-oh.” Is all she gets out before I lose it.

On my list of proud moments, I probably won’t be listing ‘that time I bawled my eyes out in the poultry section’.

To the lady’s credit, she doesn’t miss a beat. She just puts her arms around me and pulls me close until I’ve got my face buried against her shoulder while she shoos people away from us.

By the time I’m coherent again, I’m sitting in what I think is the grocery’s employee break room while the woman I sobbed my dignity away in front of sits beside me and runs a hand over my head while she talks to another young man who I think is telling us to take as long as we need before going back to his job.

“I… I’m so sorry about that,” I say wetly as I sit up and wipe at my eyes.

“Don’t be, baby girl, y’just fine,” she says in a softly accented tone. “Guess that answers mah question, though, huh?”

“I uhm, I’m fine,” I say as I catch my breath. “Just uh… it’s been a long week, that’s all.”

She gives me a broad, skeptical smile as she leans on the break room table with one elbow. “Oh yeah? Well, I’ve had a couple’a those kinda weeks, and from personal experience, I can say I wasn’t any kinda fine.”

I shake my head and swallow again as I rub at my face.

“I have to be fine,” I say. “I’ve got to… if I’m not then… then she might—!”

A hiccup escapes me along with another sob as I press the heels of my palms to my eyes in a futile attempt to stop the tears. It doesn’t help, so eventually, I give up and just wrap my arms around myself as I shake and cry quietly.

The woman waits for several moments until my sobs subside to something quieter, and then speaks up.

“Pretty sure I know you,” she says, her hand still moving in calming motions over my head. “Sunset, ain’t it?”

I sniffle, and nod, then look up and narrow my eyes at her as I try to place her. Files flicker through my mind; faces, names, places, until one of them sticks.

“Cuppa,” I say after a moment. “You’re Cuppa, from—”

“Cuppa’s, ayep.” She gives me a broad smile. “Cuppa Jo, at ya service, baby. You come into my shop a few times a week, one black coffee, ain’t it?”

“Yeah,” I say with a weak chuckle. “My uhm… one of my best friends works at Sugarcube Corner near the high school, so sometimes I go there, but— and uh, I’d never tell her this— she burns the coffee a lot, so I try to get my morning fix at your place.”

“My lips are sealed,” Cuppa says with a warm chuckle, that fades as her features turn quietly concerned. “You don’t look so good, baby… what’s wrong?”

“Long story,” I say shakily as I lean forward on the breakroom table. “I just… I think I’m in over my head, but I don’t really have any other choice. My friend is in trouble, and I’m the only one who can keep her safe.”

“Ain’t she got parents?” Cuppa asks, and I scoff.

“Yeah, and the damage to show for it,” I spit grimly.

Cuppa’s features darken immediately, and she nods. She doesn’t question or act skeptical, she just takes it in and lets it go, even if it spoils her mood a little.

“Gotcha.” Is her only real response. “No other friends?”

I shake my head.

“Rough patch, then,” she says. “She stayin’ with you f’now?”

“Mhm,” I mumble and nod. “There’s nowhere else, just a couple of shelters, or worse. There aren't many options.”

“So ya takin’ care of her on ya lonesome, then.” Cuppa frowns, then sighs and nods.

“Y-Yeah, and uh, she can’t eat much right now,” I continue, my voice cracking around my words as I wring my hands. “The uhm, the doctor said soup goes down pretty easy but I don’t know how to make soup… I figure it can’t be that hard though, right?”

“Thighs,” Cuppa says, and I look up at her in confusion. She smiles, though, and nods back towards the main store. “Ya use thigh meat in soups and stews, it’s fattier, and stays tender while ya cook. Breast meat gets all dry and nasty if ya soup it.”

“Oh.”

“Here, hold up,” Cuppa grabs a piece of lined paper from a pad on the tables, and a pen from her purse, and starts marking down notes. It takes her only a minute before she passes the paper over. “Chicken soup, mamma’s recipe, easy as pie.”

I hold it up and look over it. Four potatoes, four carrots, all chopped up, a pound of thigh meat, salt, pepper, and spice to taste, along with a few instructions that are sparse but informative.

“Ain’t cost ya much, and it’s good for ya,” Cuppa says.

“Thank you,” I say wetly. I can feel tears threatening behind my eyes again as I stare down at the recipe. “I… I really needed this.”

“No problem, baby.” Cuppa pats my hand a few times before standing. “Now, I gotta get goin’, but you swing by the cafe, a’right? Bring ya girl too, cuppa tea f’her maybe, and ya coffee’s free f’now, my treat.”

“Wh-What?!” I look up sharply. “That’s—! Why?”

Cuppa raises an eyebrow as she turns back to me.

“Well, I figure ya ain’t gonna have much money left over takin’ care’a her at y’alls age,” She nods down at me. “And ya gotta save every penny.”

“That’s not fair!” I scrabble to my feet, bumping the chair out from under me as I stand. “That’s your business!”

“Damn right it’s my business, baby,” Cuppa says with a flat, unmoving smile. “And it’s my business to say you get one black coffee on the house, along with a piece’a advice—” she turns from the door and leans closer—“that y’all’re gonna need all the help ya can get, so swallow ya pride. It’ll be bitter goin’ down, but everythin’ else’ll taste sweeter for it, a’right?”

I stare down at the recipe she’d handed me sullenly for a long moment before nodding slowly.

“Take from someone with’er own share’a damage,” Cuppa says softly. “Pride’s all well’n good til ya trip over it, now you take care, baby.”

“I… yeah,” I say weakly, wiping at my eyes with my jacket cuff as I do. “Thanks, really.”

“Anytime,” she says.

Then she’s gone, back to her shopping. Eventually, I trundle back out into the grocery toting my carrier of veggies and bouillon and hoping that the people who saw me lose my shit are done with their shopping and gone by now.

Hopefully, Doctor Hazel will have had time to go over everything with Wallflower, about her do’s and don'ts, and how fragile she is right now by the time I get back.

I swing by the meat section again and grab a pound of thigh meat. I’ll make a batch and see how long it lasts. No sense making too much and having it go to waste.

With my purchases tucked under my arm in plastic bags, I start walking up the road to my apartment. I still don’t know if I can do this, but I’m damn well going to try.

Maybe I’ll stop by Cuppa’s on the way to the hospital, though.

Coffee sounds nice.

What Else To Say

Wallflower Blush

I’m broken.

That’s the summary of what Doctor Hazel is explaining to me while I’m waiting for Sunset to get back and for the hospital to process my discharge.

She said a lot of things; things like, multiple hairline fractures, and badly healed breaks. Things like maintaining proper nutrition, getting enough sleep, and no more skipping meals or else my health could deteriorate.

But it all means broken.

The thing that really concerns me is that, according to Doctor Hazel, I’m being discharged to Sunset’s apartment. Meaning, I’m going to be living with Sunset for the foreseeable future, and that Sunset already agreed to it because of course she did.

“I’ve written you a prescription for some vitamin supplements and probiotics that should help,” Doctor Hazel continues as I stare straight forward.

I’m trying not to think about the fact that I’m going to be spending the next however-many-months imposing on— and ruining the life of— the only person in creation that can stand to be around me for any amount of time.

“One of each of these by mouth with food, every morning,” She says flatly. “Your first fill will go with you when you’re discharged, the orders are already in and they should be here in about twenty minutes. My advice is to take them with orange juice, it helps with absorption. Questions?”

A firm knock on the door rescues me from having to answer her, which is good because I’m not sure I have one. I’m still trying to process everything else.

“Hey.” Sunset’s voice is like a cold rag on fevered skin, and I honestly kind of hate how relieved I feel right now.

Every part of my overwhelmed brain just breathed a sigh of relief and said: Oh good, Sunset’s here, she’ll take care of everything.

And she will, because I can’t, because I’m an irresponsible dolt.

Of course, they don’t hear any of that. Hazel and Sunset just hear the sigh of quiet relief that comes out of me by reflex the moment Sunset Shimmer enters my hospital room and says ‘hello’.

I look up at her and she still looks a little ragged, but I think she’s at least had a shower now. I’d practically had to argue with her to get her to go home for a little while, and for once I’d actually won it, although now I realise the reason I won is probably because she was going back to her apartment to get things ready for me to come stay with her for a few months.

A few months.

The prospect isn’t just daunting. It’s terrifying and frustrating at the same time. I want to be fine, to be well enough to just go and keep doing what I’ve been doing, but Doctor Hazel made it clear that I’ve been pretty lucky up to this point as it is. The fact that I passed out among good company and not in a gutter or in the middle of an alley in the East End is a small miracle.

Yeah, a miracle.

A miracle named Sunset Shimmer.

She’s the only reason I’m here and not at Saint Easel’s or on the fourth floor of that parking garage in the Commons where it’s a little less windy.

“You ready to get out of here?” Sunset asks as she sits down on the bed beside me. “I know I am.”

“Mhm,” I mumble, nodding. “Just uhm… they’re gonna have to uh…”

I nod down at my arm without looking at the IV. If I look at it, I start to panic, and I don’t want to be any more trouble than I already am.

“Yeah, they will,” Sunset says softly.

“Now that you’re back,” Doctor Hazel says to Sunset, “I’m going to be removing her PICC line.” Then she turns to me with a patient look. “Given your aversion to needles, I’m going to advise you not watch.”

I swallow back a lump in my throat.

“What’s a uhm…” I trail off, and Doctor Hazel’s expression flattens.

“I’ll tell you if you want, but I can almost guarantee you don’t want to know,” Hazel says without inflection. “Ideally, I’ll tell you after I’ve removed the line, though, as this does take a few minutes and we’re on a clock.”

I nod shakily and turn away from my arm, and Sunset leans forward to wrap her arms around me. Instinctively, I find that comfortable place right at the crook of her shoulder, and rest my head there while Sunset runs her hand down my hair, then back up, then down, in soft petting motions that I’m a little miffed to realise are actually really comforting.

“So I think I’ve got the sleeping situation sorted,” Sunset starts as I feel Hazel start to fiddle with my arm, and I do my best to ignore the extremely uncomfortable tugging sensation happening under my skin. “Since I figure you still won’t take the bed.”

“The couch is f-fine.” I stumble over my words as the cold, tugging starts making my stomach to unpleasant flips. “I uhm… you don’t have to put me up.”

“Kinda do, Wallie,” Sunset says quietly. “She told you right? Doc Hazel? You’re not healthy.”

“I’m fine,” I mumble.

“You’re not.” Sunset’s grip tightens on me just a little, pulling me closer until her scent is all I can feel. “Don’t lie to me, Wallie, please.”

I raise a hand to her shoulder and cling to her as best as I can. I don’t want to lie to Sunset. That’s not what I’m trying to do. Doesn’t she see that? I’m just…

“You don’t even know when I’ll leave,” I say after a moment, and the words come out tight through a throat that’s closing up. “You don’t even know when you’ll be rid of me.”

“Hopefully never,” Sunset mutters.

I feel her stiffen then, and I freeze too. Then she chuckles, although to me it sounds just the tiniest bit forced as she pets my head.

“You’re my friend, Wallie, remember?” She continues as if she’d never stopped. “Why would I want to be rid of you? I don’t want to be rid of any of my friends.”

That’s… fair, I guess. It’s hard to argue with that, even conceptually. I don’t have any real friends outside of Sunset. Even Sunset’s own friends feel like they only tolerate me, even if they’re nice enough about it. The only one I feel like I actually get along with is Fluttershy, and that’s mostly because we can sit in total silence and pet her little bunny Angel without it feeling awkward.

“But you don’t have to live with them,” I say finally. “They’ll eventually leave.”

"Everyone always does."

I’m positive she didn’t mean for me to hear that, because she says it so quietly that I really do almost miss it. It’s the way she says it that puts a sliver of ice in my heart though. The words come out, and when they do something changes. I can’t really put my finger on it, but it does. It’s not exactly Sunset’s posture or her tension. It’s like an aura. It’s something ephemeral that hangs around her that suddenly gets so much colder, and grimmer, and… and sadder.

“So will you,” Sunset says after a moment, as if she hadn’t said anything prior. “You’ll get your own place, Wallie, okay? This situation? It’s just for now. A couple of months really isn’t that long.”

Then she hugs me tighter, pressing her cheek to mine, and I think it’s a little unfair how warm and comfortable Sunset is. I let her though. I let her hold me, and hug me, and run her fingers through my hair, because I’m tired, and I’m cold, and honestly…

Honestly, as much as it makes my gut wrench knowing I’m burdening her, it’s kind of nice to have someone care.

“Ahem.”

I glance up from Sunset’s shoulder at a blithely smiling Doctor Hazel, and I feel Sunset shift as she does the same.

“I’ve been done for about ten minutes now, so you can look up,” Hazel says drolly. “Your papers are there,” she gestures to a packet on the table, “and your medications are on the way, I have other patients to see to, so I’ll bid you good evening, and hope that if we do see one another again, that it’s outside this hospital.”

I give a clumsy nod as I pull away from Sunset, and selfish as it is, it’s a little gratifying that I have to try to pull away because Sunset doesn’t let go immediately. Maybe that should bug me, but the fact that holding on to me is an instinct for her is reassuring.

“Thank you, Doctor Hazel,” I say as I turn in the bed. I do my best not to look down at the little bandage she has wrapped around the hole in my arm.

Mm… yep. Definitely not going to think about that.

“Take care of yourself, Wallflower,” Hazel says softly as she makes to leave. “For all of us.”

Then she’s gone into the white, sterile halls of Canterlot General Hospital, leaving Sunset and I alone to awkwardly wait for my vitamin prescriptions to arrive.

“So uhm, I probably should have mentioned this before…” Sunset says uneasily. “But I really hope you like chicken soup.”

Despite days of recovery, I still feel drawn thin as I leave the hospital behind Sunset. It’s freezing outside, but the hospital called us a cab for the ride back to Sunset’s apartment. It’s not that far, but apparently it’s far enough that they’re concerned about me.

I hate that.

If the hospital is concerned, that means Sunset is concerned. If Sunset is concerned, that means she’s going to be walking on eggshells around me and bending over backward to help me.

This is going to be a long couple of months.

The cab ride is short and quiet, but despite the fact that the cabbie has the heater blasting I still feel cold, and the ache goes deep enough that even my bones seem to hurt.

Sunset is silent throughout the ride, although I can see her thinking. I’ve spent enough time watching her that I know what it looks like when she’s deep in thought. Her eyes go into soft focus and track back and forth like she’s reading an invisible book, and all the while she fidgets idly, tugging at her hair or at the lapels of her leather jacket.

It’s funny how animated she is all the time. Sunset really is my polar opposite. Even when she’s sitting still she’s moving, whereas even when I’m moving it sometimes looks like I’m not.

It feels like I’m not, too, and in more ways than one.

Sunset gently taps my wrist as the cab slows to a stop, and I look up. Her apartment building is looming over us, and an unwelcome shiver rolls through me as she opens the door and steps out of the cab into the freezing cold air which quickly floods inside.

“Come on, let’s get out of the cold,” Sunset says softly, holding out a hand.

“Mhm,” I mumble, unwilling to open my mouth as I take her hand and let her lever me out of the cab.

Sunset hands off a paper to the cabbie, who takes it and tucks it away with the ease of practice before pulling back out into the road and vanishing into the city street. I raise an eyebrow at Sunset as she comes back to me, and she smiles.

“It’s a voucher for the ride,” Sunset says, answering my unasked question. “The hospitals give them out sometimes, usually for people on social programs.”

“Oh.” I frown as I wrap my arms around myself and turn back to the apartment.

I guess it’s cheaper than me taking up a hospital bed for however many days it would take for Sunset to figure out a ride. I’m glad at least that much was easy.

A sharp whistle cuts through the icy air, and I jerk as adrenaline shoots through my limbs. Before I can react any further, Sunset’s hand drops onto my shoulder to stop me as she looks up with a broad smile and flags down someone stepping out of a red pickup.

I know her.

“Jackie!” Sunset grins and opens her arms as she moves away from me and she and Applejack meet in a tight bear hug.

The light coming off of them is almost blinding. The dynamism that burns in Sunset and makes her feel so alive is just as strong in Applejack, but in a different way. If Sunset is like a supernova locked in mid-blast, then Applejack is the potent heartbeat of a star.

And I’m barely a campfire ember.

“Hey there, sugarcube,” Applejack says fondly, slapping a hand against Sunset’s shoulder as they part. “Good t’see y’all’re gettin’ back home.”

“It’s been a rough week,” Sunset admits with a laugh. “Thanks for coming all the way out here.”

“Aw shucks, weren’t no trouble,” Applejack nudges her with an elbow before nodding back to the car. “Got deliveries t’make anyway, and honestly it’s nice t’get some’a that junk outta the attic.”

“I still feel bad asking—” Sunset starts, but Applejack waves off her apology.

“Nah, better someone who needs it gets some use outta it,” Applejack says, her laconic features warming into an easy grin. “That stuff was just collectin’ dust anyhow.”

Then she turns and cups her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Mac! Grab the stuff!”

I winch at the volume of her bellow, and it’s a little satisfying to see Sunset do the same. As Applejack heads back to her pickup, I intercept Sunset as she gets to the front door of her complex to punch in the code to enter.

“What’s uhm… what’s she talking about?” I ask quietly, looking between Sunset and Applejack who’s reaching into the cramped back seats of the pickup.

“We~ll,” Sunset starts with a weak laugh. “Basically, I didn’t have a lot of good options for your sleeping arrangements, and I… I don’t exactly have a lot of extra cash, so I asked Applejack if she had any spare bed stuff that’s a little nicer than my collection of sleepover junk.”

My expression falls lower with every other word.

“Please let them help,” Sunset says, her tone dropping to one of appeal. “I… Please?”

I lower my head as a tremor takes up in my shoulders and chest that has nothing to do with the cold and I ask the same question I’ve asked over and over and over.

“Why?!”

Sunset hits the last number on the keycode lock, then turns, wraps her arms around me, and pulls me in. I know she’s answered that question before, or at least she’s given me an answer. But no matter what she says or promises it just… it doesn’t feel real.

She sighs against my hair as I rest my face against her shoulder.

“They’re only helping me because of you,” I continue grimly. “They wouldn’t even care if it were just me. They never cared before.”

Another sigh, and for some reason that surprises me. I expected her to push back on that, or to argue with me, or something, but she doesn’t.

I draw back and look up into her face. It’s set into a gently taciturn grimace.

“Sunset?”

She doesn’t answer right away, she just hugs me a little tighter, and for some reason, I think she’s doing it as much for herself as for me.

“Sorry,” she says finally as she steps back.

Without another word or a real answer, Sunset makes her way towards Applejack. They’re hauling out a full-size mattress, along with what looks like knitted blankets, bedclothes in sacks, and a plastic garbage bag that, from the bulk, probably contains pillows. Between Sunset and Applejack, they get the majority of the smaller things together, with Applejack’s brother hauling the mattress by himself.

I scramble into the lobby, trying to stay out of their way and moving ahead to call the elevator as the three of them get inside. I let out a relieved sigh as the heat chases away the chill of the winter air while Sunset sets the bags down as we wait for the elevator to trundle downward.

“We might just have to cram the mattress into the elevator,” Sunset says softly. Her tone is subdued, and I think even Applejack notices. “Actually…”

Sunset glances around before settling her eyes on me and nodding back at Mac. “Are you okay riding up the elevator with Mac? Jackie and I can just take the stairs and meet you two up there.”

I swallow hard at the notion as I turn to look back at Applejack’s elder brother. I’d only ever seen him in passing, but I’d never paid him much attention.

For someone so large, he really blends into the background.

On the heels of that thought came a new one, and the panic that had been welling up in me at the notion of Sunset leaving me alone fades.

He’s like me.

“Uhm, okay,” I say, nodding to Sunset before turning back to Mac who gives me a slow, phlegmatic nod.

Sunset and Applejack head up the stairs toting the bags, and a few moments after they leave, the lobby elevator chimes atonally. The door opens with a grudging squeal and Mac maneuvers the mattress in with surprising deftness leaving just enough room to fit myself in with some space for comfort.

“Thank you,” I mumble as I settle in beside him.

Mac nods as he taps the sixth-floor key, and leans back, resting his weight against the mattress to keep it from shifting while the elevator kicks to life and starts to move upward.

As it does, I steal a glance over at him. He’s staring straight forward, his green eyes focused on nothing in particular. It’s strange. Normally, around men, especially larger men, I start to panic, but there’s none of that feeling around Mac. Standing beside him is more like standing next to an enormous tree. I’m sure, realistically speaking, that he knows I’m here next to him, but along with that knowledge is the feeling that me being here doesn’t really matter.

I can’t really say why I find that so comforting.

When the elevator finally reaches the sixth floor, I’m already starting to feel antsy. Not even because of Mac, but because…

Because Sunset isn’t here.

I don’t like that.

Even knowing that she’s just around the corner and that I’ll be next to her again in a few minutes, I still feel anxious, and that rubs me the wrong way.

Sunset doesn’t deserve to have someone like me cling to her. She wants to help me, I know that, and I also know that I can’t stop her from doing it. I’m pretty sure the last time someone stopped her from doing anything it required actual magic.

But all the same.

She deserves better than a burden.

Better than a leech.

Mac steps out of the elevator, hauling the mattress with a single, smooth motion that looks so much easier than it should.

There are a few people in the hallway, but all of them clear out quickly at the sight of Mac’s enormous form heaving a mattress through with all the impunity of a steamroller over asphalt, and I follow in his shadow until we reach Sunset’s apartment where Sunset and Applejack have already gotten the door open.

“C’mon in!” Sunset calls. “Jackie and I are getting everything out of the way!”

Mac nods for me to go ahead, and I give him a thankful smile as I scuttle past and into the apartment. The scent of the place is calming in a way that I know is probably unhealthy. To me, her apartment is a ‘safe place’ because it’s where Sunset lives, and Sunset is safe.

No one else. Just Sunset.

They’ve already dragged the table out of the way, and I move past as Sunset nods to Applejack and they move over to the small den.

“Where’s the mattress going?” I ask, trying to find a place to fit an entire Full mattress but I can’t—

“You got that side, Jackie?” Sunset asks, rather than answering as she moves to one side of the couch.

“Got it,” Applejack calls back.

My stomach drops down somewhere near my knees as I realise Sunset’s intention and, sure enough, Sunset braces the couch on her side as Applejack gets a grip underneath, lets out a low grunt of effort, and lifts. The muscles in her shoulders and arms strain as she gets the couch up on its side and Sunset shuffles it backward as she does until they reach the wall of the apartment.

“Alright, let’s swing'er t’the side on three,” Applejack says with a strained grunt. “One… two… go!”

Sunset and Applejack shift the couch in one concerted motion, tucking the piece of furniture against the wall and underneath the staircase that goes up to Sunset’s loft bedroom.

“Whew, that ain’t gonna be fun t’get outta there,” Applejack says dryly. “But we’ll get’er done.”

“You're supposed to say three! Not go!” Sunset gripes, panting around the words before smiling, leaning in, and giving her friend another hug. “I appreciate the help.”

“Ain’t a problem, sugarcube,” Applejack says. “Unfortunately, we can’t stay’n chat. Like Ah said, got deliveries to make.”

“No problem, drive safe, okay?” Sunset leans in and hugs Applejack one more time as Big Mac lays the mattress down on the floor where the couch used to be.

While Sunset sees Applejack and Mac out of the apartment, I can’t bring myself to unglue my feet from the floor as I stare down at the mattress.

Unreasonable.

This is completely unreasonable.

There is no reason for Sunset to go to this kind of extreme for me. There’s no reason for anyone to go to this kind of extreme for me. Sunset is turning her apartment upside to accommodate me, this is too much! I can’t—

“You’re right.”

I nearly jump at the sound of Sunset’s voice as she quietly closes the door, and I turn to her, opening my mouth to tell her I can’t let her do this, or to demand she put her apartment back the way it was.

The gray expression on her face stops me.

“About them only helping because of me, I mean,” Sunset continues as she sheds her jacket and hangs it up by the door. “You’re right.”

“I… am?” I say after a moment.

“Yeah,” Sunset says, nodding as she starts pulling the bedclothes free of the bag, shakes out the fitted sheet, and tosses me a corner of it.

“But they’re your friends,” I say cautiously, finding myself on the wrong foot as I’m suddenly defending them, but Sunset just nods to that too.

“I know,” she replies as she pulls the sheet taut from her end. “But—” Sunset gestures out towards the city— “that doesn’t mean they see us, and I guess the tricky thing is realising that that doesn’t make them bad people.”

It takes me a moment to realise that when Sunset says ‘us’, she’s talking about her and I, and every other homeless person in Canterlot. Somehow, I keep forgetting that she used to be in my shoes, homeless and alone. It’s almost impossible to imagine her that way because she’s so… incredible. Sunset is independent and strong and brilliant, and arguably she must have been that way even then because she got herself out of homelessness whereas I could barely plan as far as my next meal.

“Homeless people are a little invisible,” Sunset says as she straightens up from the mattress to toss me a few pillows. “They mean well, though.”

I nod as I set the pillows down and start laying the sheets out, followed by a warm quilted comforter while Sunset falls back to the kitchen to start pulling out dishes and ingredients for whatever dinner plans are. I’ve already got the bed made and tidy before I realise that Sunset had managed to neatly cut past my protests about the bed while I was lost in thought.

Scowling down at the bed, I look back up at Sunset as I try to work up the courage to make my demand except…

“What’s wrong?” Is what actually comes out of my mouth as Sunset is looking down at a piece of paper and a pile of ingredients.

“It’s uhm… it's a recipe,” Sunset says before looking up at me. “Chicken soup, except I’m kind of an awful cook, but this uh…” she nods down at the ingredients, “this looks simple enough, just don’t expect too much, okay?”

I step over the bed and into the kitchen, look between the ingredients, then over at the paper in Sunset’s hand.

“May I?” I hold out a hand, and Sunset raises an eyebrow, but nods and puts the paper in my open palm.

I read over it. She’s right, it’s really simple. Childishly simple, actually. It’s a little funny that Sunset, of all people, is so intimidated by the prospect of what amounts to browning some chicken and boiling some vegetables.

“I can do it if you want.”

The words pass my lips before I have a chance to stop them, and I freeze, then look up. The expression on Sunset’s face is one of surprise, and… relief?

“Really?” She asks softly. “You can cook?”

“This isn’t really cooking it’s more like—” I clam up, realising I may have just inadvertently made fun of Sunset.

“Thank the Scribe!” Sunset groans, sagging in relief. “Because I am a terrible cook!”

A tiny laugh escapes me then, and with it, Sunset starts laughing too. For a brief, brief moment I actually feel almost normal, and on the heels of that, I say something I don’t think I’d ever have had the courage to say otherwise.

“I know,” I admit. “That green tea you made was really burnt.”

Turning Around

Sunset Shimmer

“Are you alright, darling?”

I look up and over to Rarity. Her voice is low and almost disappears in the dull background hum of the school library. I realise why she’s asked that question a moment later. I’ve been staring down at my homework for almost ten straight minutes without reading a word or solving a single problem.

“I—” I take a deep breath, then let it out and nod— “I’m fine, Rares, sorry, where were we?”

Rarity raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me, and I try to give her a smile but it falters under her gaze. She’d asked me to help her with today’s maths homework but I keep getting distracted.

“Sorry,” I say again, lowering my head.

“It’s quite alright, darling,” Rarity says softly. “I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m fine, really, it’s Wallie I’m worried about.”

“Is she alright?”

I let out a quiet groan as I thump my head against the table, face-planting into my Pre-Calc homework before thudding my head repeatedly against my workbook. I can practically feel the odd looks I’m getting from the rest of the students in the library, but I don’t care.

“Ah, that good then, hm?” Rarity asks with a grimace.

“It’s like she doesn’t even care!” I barely keep myself from shouting by clenching my teeth around my words as I tangle my fingers into my hair. “Every day that it feels like she’s getting better, just ends with her backsliding the day after!”

“What do you mean?” Rarity asks, her brow furrowing as she sets her pencil down.

“So, the day before yesterday, right?” I start, getting a nod from Rarity. “I go out for a couple of hours to pick some stuff up at the grocery. Just some staples, like milk.”

“Okay, and?” Rarity prompts.

“And I come back—” I wave a hand sharply, almost swatting Lyra as she passes, and I mutter a quiet apology before looking back at Rarity— “And she’s made us both lunch, and made both beds!”

“Well that’s nice,” Rarity says with a smile.

“And then yesterday I found out she didn’t eat at all!”

I throw my hands up in the air, then sag and drop, planting my face back into my workbook with my arms hanging limply by my side.

“Oh dear.” Rarity reaches out and pats my head fondly as I let out a low, wordless groan. “I hate to ask this, Sunset, but… are you sure you can keep doing this? I mean, it’s only been a month and you’re already at your wits' end.”

“That’s not even a question, Rares,” I mumble, still face down. “I’m all she’s got, I’m not passing her off to someone, and I’m sure as Tartarus not giving up on her.”

“Darling, with the best will in the world, you’re only eighteen,” Rarity presses. “This isn’t your job!”

“This isn’t anyone’s job, Rarity,” I say flatly as I look up at her and narrow my eyes. “I’m not doing this because it’s my job, I’m doing it because I—”

Rarity’s eyebrow scoots up another quarter inch and her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. I said too much, I know that the instant I see her expression shift. Rarity is like a bloodhound with this kind of thing, and I just tipped my hand a sliver too far.

“Sunset,” Rarity begins cautiously, and a shiver goes down my spine. “May I ask you something personal?”

“If I said no would it stop you?” I ask grimly.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Fine.”

“Not to put too fine of a point on it, then, but might you have feelings for Wallflower?” Rarity keeps her tone as soft as possible, but I still wince.

That is a question I have been studiously avoiding for the past month and change since I realised the position Wallflower was in. She’s already dealing with enough stress and chaos in her life, she doesn’t need to add processing my feelings into the equation. She already feels like she’s a lead weight around my neck, and ironically that’s one of the biggest hangups I’ve run into.

“You don’t have to answer,” Rarity says gently.

I sigh and wring my hands as I lean back against the uncomfortable wooden library chair before pressing both hands to my face and letting out another quiet groan.

“No, I know, it’s… it’s complicated,” I say as I lower my hands. “Short answer? Yeah, I do. A lot of feelings actually. I have a lot of really confusing and frustrating feelings.”

“Romantic feelings?” Rarity ventures and although she’s being nice about it I can hear the gossip queen coming out.

“Yes, romantic feelings,” I admit, leaning my elbows on the table and hanging my head. “But you know that’s a bad idea, Rares. Especially right now.”

“Oh, I agree,” Rarity says quickly. “Wallflower is, and I say this with all the love in my heart, a very delicate disaster at the moment.”

“That’s accurate.”

More than accurate. Calling Wallflower a delicate disaster is probably complimentary.

“I’m trying, Rares,” I say, scratching at my head. “It’s a mess, though. Sticky says it’s going to take longer than he thought because she needs to sign some emancipation paperwork, then he has to backdate it because of reasons.”

“Ah, bureaucracy, the bane of the competent,” Rarity opines with a chuckle. “So how long?”

“If we’re lucky she’ll get in sometime in March,” I say.

“Not ideal, but at least you have a date,” Rarity says.

I did, and she’s right, that’s definitely better than a vague promise of housing. I know Sticky Note, though. I knew he would figure it out so long as I gave him enough time to do it. The man is a bureaucratic wizard. He’s spent enough time in the system to know how to mess with it just right so he gets what his clients need, but not enough to toe over the line.

“Yeah…”

I wring my hands and lean back again, and as I do a chime goes off on my phone.

“Oh, crap!” I flip my workbook shut and look up at Rarity apologetically. “Sorry, I forgot I have to go pick up Wallie’s refills at the pharmacy today, and I really need to get there before it closes or else I’m stuck using the shady twenty-four-hour one down the street.”

She just laughs and shakes her head, and her violet locks tumble fetchingly around her face.

“Don’t worry about me, darling,” Rarity says, waving me off. “Go take care of your… well, you know.”

“Yeah.” I stand up, gathering up my books and papers to shove them unceremoniously into my backpack before slinging the strap over my shoulder.

“Sunset.” Rarity stands as I start hustling out of the library, and I turn to look back at the expression of concern on her face. “Remember to take care of yourself too, alright?”

“Always do.”

I smirk before backpedaling out of the library and then sprinting the rest of the way out of the school, getting a shouted admonishment from Vice Principal Luna on my way out.

My alarm was necessary because I’d skipped taking the normal bus home which meant I had to adhere to the schedule of the city buses.

My time living in Canterlot has taught me that whatever eldritch relative of Discord is responsible for setting the metro bus schedules has only the loosest understanding of linear time and its constituent divisions. Little notions like minutes or sometimes whole quarter-hours are picked up and discarded at a whim which meant that, if I wanted to be certain of getting a bus that didn’t put me twenty blocks from my destination, I needed to be there on time.

Even then sometimes the bus would take weird and unknowable routes that I half-suspect venture into non-Euclidean angles whenever it takes them three hours to successfully go four blocks.

Despite my worries, I reach the bus stop a few minutes before the bus.

Per usual, boarding the bus means subjecting myself to a smell that’s somewhere between decaying rubber and day-old human effluvia. It’s sort of like if someone gave an alley behind a dive bar a set of wheels and a driver who was either far too excited to be there, or clearly dead inside.

I sidle through the narrow center to an empty seat, tuck myself into a comfortable spot, and do my best to keep my nose plugged for the forty-five minute drive.

By the time I get to the pharmacy and scramble out into the relatively fresh air of the Commons, I swear the smell of sick and sweaty armpits is stuck in my nose to stay.

You’d think the Canterlot city council could afford to have someone power wash the insides of those beasts once in a while.

I get inside and have to stifle a groan. I’d hoped to get in and out. I’m tired, my legs hurt, my nose is stuffed with moist napkins soaked in dumpster-water, and I really just want to go home. Against my wishes, however, there are a dozen people, most of them senior citizens, all queued up and waiting.

The pharmacy death march takes me another half-hour, and by that point the bus that I’d hoped to take back to my apartment is long gone. There are other buses, but none of them drop me fundamentally closer, so I stuff the white bag of medications into my backpack, trudge out of the pharmacy, and start walking home.

It’s late. Almost seven at night actually, and Wallflower went back to the apartment right after the clubs got out. She’s not actually in a club, but she likes to look after the gardens behind the school after classes get out which functionally makes her the only member of the non-existent gardening club.

I should have been home hours ago, and I’m worried.

I’m pretty sure she ate today. I try to encourage her to get something for lunch in the cafeteria, but the crowds give her pretty severe anxiety, which I guess is fair. I’ve been getting her a salad every day that I can, but I have no idea if she actually eats it.

Most of the time she just disappears into the halls during lunch, and I half-suspect she’s out in the gardens but I’ve never had a chance to follow her.

Wallflower is, unsurprisingly, really good at sneaking.

Sometimes I’ll manage to convince her to eat lunch with me out on the steps in front of the school. That’s usually not so bad. She’ll sit quietly and eat, and we’ll talk.

Okay, I’ll talk, and she’ll occasionally respond.

I usually spend those afternoons trying to make her laugh, and while I don’t usually succeed, the times that I do…

Wallflower has such a pretty laugh.

I smile on the heels of that thought. Thinking about Wallflower’s smile or the sound of her laugh, is a surefire way to get a smile on my face.

Rarity was right, I do have feelings for Wallflower. A lot of feelings, but I may have been less-than-truthful about them being confusing. I’m not confused. I know exactly how I feel about her, and that’s the scary part.

It’s not just because Wallflower needs a home that I’m okay with this. Part of me is just selfishly glad to have her around.

Too bad I can’t explain that to her without sounding incredibly weird.

By the time I get to my apartment I'm dead on my feet.

I punch in the keycode to my apartment, get inside, call the elevator, wait the requisite epoch for it to reach me, then ride up to my apartment because I’m too tired to take the stairs this time.

While the elevator makes its curmudgeonly way up to the sixth floor, I pull out the white bag of medications. Honestly, I probably should have checked them before I even left the pharmacy, but I was too tired to think of it at the time.

Knowing my luck, I’ll be missing something crucial and I’ll have to go back tomorrow. I thumb through the bottles, comparing the contents to my mental list. Two vitamins and her probiotics. I sigh in relief as I close the bag, satisfied that everything is there.

“Thank the Scribe for small mercies,” I grumble as the doors open and I drag myself out and down the hall to the apartment.

I fit the key and open the door. It’s quiet, and cold. I shiver as I shut the door, reflecting on how I should really tell Wallie that it’s okay to turn on the heater one of these days.

“I’m home,” I say quietly.

Wallflower’s mattress has a lump in it, meaning she’s probably asleep. She sleeps a lot, actually, and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. On the one hand, she hasn’t had a lot of safe places to sleep until lately, so it’s probably a positive, on the other hand constantly sleeping can be a bad sign according to Sticky Note.

I sidle into the kitchen as silently as possible and start to set the prescriptions down where Wallflower will see them, stop, then turn and open the small cupboard door in the corner of the kitchen to just put them away.

Closing it, I open the cabinet under the sink where the garbage is to toss the plastic and paper away, and as I do something niggles at the back of my mind.

The trash is empty.

That’s not bad per se, but it wasn’t empty this morning, it was half full. My mind whirls as a weird sense of foreboding settles into my stomach.

Wallflower is usually good about chores, but she doesn’t like taking the garbage out because it means going all the way to the chute at the end of the hall. I know how bad her anxiety can get so I told her a while ago that if she just clears the can and replaces the lining, I’m happy to just toss it, so that’s what she’s been doing.

Except there’s no trash bag by the door, meaning she took it out.

She never does that.

I glance back at the medicine cupboard, then down at the trash, then over at the door, my mind making a series of unpleasant connections.

“Let it go, Shimmer,” I mutter. “This is dumb, it’s… this is just your dumb brain catastrophising.”

Except I can’t let it go.

I lick my lips and wring my hands, a cold sweat settling down my spine as I look over at Wallflower’s sleeping form before slipping my hand under the collar of my shirt and drawing out my geode.

If I’m just being paranoid, then no harm, no foul, right?

I really hope I’m just being paranoid.

Tightening my grip on my geode, I let the magic ignite within it and spread through me like a gentle flame. Warmth suffuses me and with it the faint susurration of Canterlot. Minds and souls murmur silently all around, but I hedge them out with an effort of practice.

It’s been a little while since I’ve used my geode, but I kept on researching it. Twilight and I, the human one, have brainstormed about its uses. My geode is definitely one of the more esoteric of my friend groups’ version of the Elements, and she had a theory about its function.

Twilight’s idea was that my geode picked up wavelengths of emotional energy. Those emotions are strongest in people, obviously, but that doesn’t mean they can’t leave imprints behind.

Taking a deep breath, I reach out and touch the cupboard do—

—be worried. Be scared. Sunset is coming home. She’ll have them. Little pills, orange bottles, fresh and clean, and then she’ll know.

she’ll know she’ll know she’ll know she’ll know she’ll know she’ll know—

I stagger back with a gasp. The imprint was faint and disjointed, just vague leftovers of panic. But she was panicking. Wallflower was afraid that when I got back with the prescriptions I would know something.

That I would realise something.

Swallowing hard, I brush the lining of the garbage can away and put my fingers on the rim of the—

—be shaking. Be nervous as I wrap the secret up. It’s not important. I don’t need them. It’s not important. I’m not importa—

I snap out of the vision, my hand is shaking just like hers was. I saw fragments of the memory. I saw them just as she was tying up the bag.

Three orange pill bottles, each one still partially full.

“Damn it!” I snarl, pounding a fist on the counter as I stand, my breathing come in harsh waves.

On the edge of the impact I hear a brief squeak of terror, and I look up to see Wallflower sitting up, stock still, and look around in a panic. Anger floods my veins, raw and red. Using the geode always does this. It leaves me open and unsteady, flooded with emotions, only some of which are mine, and I can’t always tell the difference.

The anger is mine, at least. I know that much.

“S-Sunset?”

I swallow back the thick lump of anger as I look up at her, and from the way her eyes widen I know I haven’t done a good enough job. Her eyes trail down from my face to my neckline, and her pupils go to pinpricks as I realise my biggest mistake.

My geode is still hanging free and glowing from use.

She and I both know it’s useless to pretend.

“You haven’t been taking your meds,” I say flatly.

Wallflower’s expression falters as she wilts back in her bed. I shut the cabinet door, too hard, and it clatters loudly, drawing another flinch from her. I wince too, I hadn’t meant to do that.

“Th— They’re just vitamins,” Wallflower says in a brittle, shaky voice.

“They’re not!” I snap, and a weak sob escapes her lips. “Shit, no, I… I’m sorry, Wallie, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to—”

I step back from her and cross my arms over my chest. I’m tired and angry, and my emotions are raw from exposing myself to my geode without the buffer of the rest of the group.

“You haven’t been eating right for a long time!” I say, trying to keep the strain from my voice. “Doctor Hazel said your system doesn’t digest stuff right! That’s what the probiotics are for! You’re just gonna— Wallie you could end up in the hospital again!”

She doesn’t respond.

Well, not with words.

No, it’s much, much worse.

Wallflower Blush curls up on her mattress, buries her face against her knees, and just… shuts down.

“Sorry.” Her voice is pallid and hollow.

The anger that had been setting my teeth on edge and burning in my veins just a moment ago floods out leaving behind leaden, gray exhaustion. I blow out a slow breath, then walk over to her mattress and sit down, reaching a hand out to set it on the blankets by her legs as I settle in.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

“It’s okay, I deserved it,” Wallflower says tonelessly.

I have to bite my lip to keep from snapping again. I really need to get some sleep, but right now isn’t the time. There are days where the old emotional ‘turn it off and turn it back on’ trick of slumber is the best play, but this isn’t the time for it. I can’t let Wallflower stew right now.

“No, you didn’t.” I shift my weight up onto her mattress and lie down, tucking my arms beneath my head. “I was just mad.”

“I made you mad.”

“I—!” I cut off my words and rethink them. This isn’t working. So instead I approach from a different angle. “Okay, I wasn’t mad… I was scared.”

Wallflower raises her head just enough to look over at me. Her gaze is still dull and glassy, but it’s a little sharper than it was a moment ago.

“Why?”

I roll onto my side, keeping my hand right beside her as I do, and look her in the eye. “Because I care? And you know what I’ll say if you ask why about that.”

She doesn’t say anything for several long moments. It’s long enough that my eyelids are starting to get heavy from lying on the mattress. All my body wants to do is sleep, but I can’t. Not yet. Not right now.

“Because I’m precious to you.”

It’s not a question, just a repetition of something I’ve taken to saying over the past month any time she gets into one of her depressive moods where she tries to convince me that she’s not worth the space she’s taking up on my floor. Those are usually long nights that rarely involve much sleep, and with my luck they tend to be on school nights.

I don’t respond, I just turn my hand over so my palm is up, and wait.

After another long stretch of minutes, Wallflower reaches out and puts her small, warm hand in mine.

“I forgot,” Wallflower says quietly.

“You have a reminder on your phone,” I reply. “That’s one of the reasons we got it.”

She lowers her head and closes her eyes again, and I sigh again as I try not to let my temper rise back up.

“You turned it off.” It’s not really a question, but she nods. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she says shakily. “I just did. I kept forgetting, even after the alarm went off, and then I’d feel so… so stupid afterward, and so I just— I turned it off.”

“You can’t do that, Wallie,” I say, tightening my grip on her hand. “You’re just making it harder! If Sticky found out you weren’t taking your meds it could disqualify you for the program! He’d have to judge you unfit to live on your own! And he would because he wants you to get better!”

“Then I should just leave!” Wallflower says bitterly.

I squeeze her hand twice, and she looks over at me with bloodshot eyes. She looks like she wants to cry, but like there’s something stopping it up. Rather than sorrow, now it all just looks like pain.

“Where you sleep, I sleep,” I say softly.

The strain and tension go out of her, and she sags, then lies down and curls up facing me, and starts to shake. I scoot a little closer, not so close that we’re touching though, other than our clasped hands, but the moment I start to settle in, I feel her tug on my hand just a little.

I follow the tug and get closer, wrap my arms around her, and pull her in until her head is resting against the crook of my shoulder.

“You know I’ve gotta make sure you’re taking them every day now, right?” I say quietly.

Her shaking gets a little worse, and I swear I hear her cuss under her breath.

“You shouldn’t have to,” she says with her voice muffled against my shoulder.

“But I will.”

“Why?”

I sigh again and hug her tighter. “You already know the answer to that.”

“It’s not fair,” Wallflower mutters, then she finally hugs me back, holding on even more tightly than I’m holding her, and mumbles: “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But I gotta do it anyway.”

“I know,” she says after a shaky pause.

“Want me to stay here tonight?” I ask quietly after she shows no immediate signs of letting go.

She freezes at my question, then relaxes, lets out a quiet, almost angry sigh, and nods. I nod back, burying my face against her hair as I hold onto her. This isn’t a good night, but then again Wallflower doesn’t have very many good nights.

So I card my fingers through her hair, finding a slow, soothing pattern. The strands of her hair are like the bright green vines of a morning glory plant, and they tangle around my fingers before unfurling as I move my hand down.

“Thank you,” Wallflower mumbles.

I don’t say anything, I’m too tired to. I just nod again. Sleeping in my jeans and shirt probably won’t be the best sleep I’ll ever have but I’m okay with it. Wallflower needs me, and that’s worth any amount of poor sleep.

It always will be.

Come Back

Wallflower Blush

Under almost any other circumstance, I’d have a lot of hangups about having Sunset taking time out of her life to hold my hand in a stupid lobby just because my anxiety is going haywire. This particular time, though, I actually feel like I’m allowed to give myself a pass.

“You’re sure you’re alright with this?” Sunset asks for what feels like the twelfth time. “I can have them reschedule.”

“No,” I say shakily. “No I… you… you said that Mister Note needs the evaluation in order to put me on the housing program, right?”

Sunset nods silently. I can see the protest rising up in her. She’ll tell me it’s fine, that I don’t have to do it now. That I can just stay with her until I’m feeling together enough to do it, but that’s the hiccup.

She knows as well as I do that that day won’t ever come.

I proved it last week when I couldn’t even take my meds without her hovering over me like a mother hen. That was a hard night, and the knowledge that I disappointed her, rather than just the nagging suspicion that I might, hit me a lot harder than I expected.

I can’t do that to her again. Sunset is trying so hard to help me, and I’m just an anchor around her neck. Every single time I try to do something right, I mess it up.

“I can do this,” I say after a long moment. “I… I have to.”

Sunset frowns, but she doesn’t argue. Maybe because I so rarely put my foot down on things like this.

“I’ll wait out here for you,” Sunset says finally.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

Her gaze is soft but firm, and I know she won’t budge, and honestly the knowledge that she’ll be here when I get out of that room does make me feel a lot better. It shouldn’t. I should be able to do this on my own and be okay.

I should at least be able to do that much.

Oh, who am I kidding. I can’t even do a quarter of that.

“Thank you,” I say, leaning my head on her shoulder and letting out a quiet sigh.

“Wallflower Blush?”

We both look at the sound of my name. The receptionist is standing, and she has a clipboard with the papers I’d filled out clutched in one hand as she moves out from behind the small desk to walk closer. She’s young-ish, and pretty, maybe in her early twenties with a periwinkle complexion and mulberry hair, and her nametag says: Windlass.

“You’ve got this,” Sunset whispers, giving me a quick hug as she does.

I lean into that hug, burying my face hard against her shoulder for a moment. I think I take her off-guard by it too, because she freezes just a little right before relaxing and hugging me tighter, and I have to remind myself that she’ll be right here when I get out in order to force myself to let go.

Pulling away, I stand and Sunset gives my hand a quick squeeze. I squeeze back right before letting go and move to follow the receptionist who’s been waiting patiently.

“She’s very supportive, isn’t she?” Windlass says quietly over her shoulder as I follow her down the hall, and I force myself to look up at her. “Your girlfriend, I mean.”

I almost choke on my own spit.

Part of me tries to get a denial past the blockage in my airway, but I can’t. I have to stop to hack and cough until I can breathe again, and by then I’m hoping that the red on my cheeks can be chalked up to almost choking to death.

“Sh-She’s not!” Is all I manage to get out coherently.

Windlass pauses and raises an eyebrow.

“Well ya coulda fooled me,” she says, still smiling. “You might want to tell her that, though. But I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

Her apology goes in one ear and out the other as my world narrows around my skull like a bubble of pressure. The notion that Sunset Shimmer might be attracted to me like that is kind of laughable. Not only could she and I not be more different, she practically has to treat me like an invalid just to keep me from caving in on myself!

“Miss Blush?”

How anyone could look at the pair of us and think, yes, obviously that incredibly beautiful and absolutely drop-dead badass redhead in the leather jacket is clearly in a romantic relationship with the dour, dumb, lump of fuck in the frumptastic sweater beside her, is beyond me!

Seriously, have they even seen Sunset? Have they seen how amazing she is?!

Do they have any idea what it’s like to just lose themselves in those bright blue eyes of hers? Have they ever listened to her talk for hours because her voice is just so clear and perfect and confident that they couldn’t help it? Could they possibly understand what it’s like to have a decade of caked-on apathy and self-hatred punctured for a moment by her smile because if she’s smiling at them then maybe, just maybe, there’s something worth smiling at? Do they know what it’s like to— Oh my god I think I’m gay for Sunset Shimmer.

“Miss Blush?” Windlass repeats my name with more concern in her tone.

I don’t reply. I just shake my head and wrap my arms around myself as I take a faltering step forward, then another, then another.

Maybe realising that I’m not going to answer her, Windlass shifts uncomfortably for a moment before turning and leading me to a nondescript door set into the wall with nothing to give any hint as to what lay behind it.

I don’t like that, maybe because I know what’s behind that door, and what it will mean to step through it.

“Sorry again,” Windlass murmurs as she stops next to me in front of the door. “I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Without another word, she raps her knuckles on the door, then opens it and peeks her head in.

“Miss Blush, sir,” she says.

“Oh, good.” The reply comes softly carried by a pleasant enough voice that’s gently accented, although I can’t tell from where. “Please send her in.”

Windlass turns back to me and nods, offering me a small smile.

“You’ll like him, I promise,” she says quietly.

I don’t really hear her. I just step past her and inside the room which smells faintly of sandalwood. Everything in the office is done up in warm shades of brown and green, and against my normal instinct, I actually start to relax. There’s music too, but it’s turned so low that I can barely hear it, even inside the room, and it has an oddly low, distant quality to it.

At the rear of the room is a man sitting behind a desk, although it takes me a moment to realise he’s there. I’m not sure why either. Maybe because there’s not anything in particular about him that stands out, like Big Macintosh and myself.

His hair is a drab, dirty, reddish brown, and his brown eyes peer out through a pair of oddly effeminate cat’s-eye glasses with an expression of vague exhaustion. Everything about him looks a little feline, actually, from the way his lips are set in a low, content smile, like a cat in the sun, to the lazy regard in his eyes.

His outfit should probably have stood out more, now that I look at it though. He’s actually wearing a brown tweed vest over a cream dress shirt. The sole bit of real colour on him is the smartly-tied, dark green bow tie at his neck.

“Good evening,” he says with that weird, felid smile of his.

I look up and over my shoulder towards the office where the bright sunlight of the clear day is spilling through the windows of the lobby. Frowning, I turn back to him.

“It’s morning,” I say.

“I’m aware,” he replies, still smiling. “But I think it makes me sound a bit more dramatic if I say ‘good evening’, and I rather like that,”

Definitely weird.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestures to the chair, and I nod shakily as I move up and slip into the cushioned seat. It’s more comfortable than it looks.

The desk is less imposing than Sticky Note’s too, which I like. Where Sticky’s desk is large and blocky and covered with all kinds of official-looking business that makes me think that if I touch it I’ll inadvertently ruin someone’s life, this desk sits a little lower and it’s more… cluttered.

Yeah, I think ‘cluttered’ is the right word.

One corner has a pile of books that don’t seem to have anything in common. A few psychological textbooks are mixed in with paperback novels, and a slim copy of The Prince. There are knick-knacks too; a couple of origami cranes are sitting on the opposite corner around a faux Fabergé egg in its holder, and beside it is a silver spoon, and in the middle of the desk is one of those cradles with the little metal balls that clack against one another. Something’s Cradle, I think… I can’t recall.

“My name is Bright Eyes,” he continues. “I’m here to evaluate you, but before we get to that, if you don’t mind my saying, you look as though your world has had a bit of a shakeup.”

“I think I’m gay,” I blurt.

Dead silence descends over us and the temperature in my face rises in concert with it, slowly turning my face red as I realise I’d just said the thing that I had meant to think silently out loud.

Bright Eyes looks at me, unperturbed, for a short moment. Then his smile widens and it reaches up to his eyes.

“Well, colour me surprised,” Bright Eyes says with a small chuckle as he opens a drawer and draws out a slim folder, which he sets in front of him.

“Why?” I squeak, still trying to fight the mortifying embarrassment that’s clenching my throat.

“Because it’s not terribly often Sticky reads someone wrong,” Bright Eyes opens the folder and makes a mark, crossing a few things out. “He was under the impression that you already knew, you see, from how you behaved with Miss Shimmer.”

I bury my face in my hands and let out a low groan.

“Interestingly, I was going to limit this session to a quick evaluation, but I think this at least warrants a conversation.” Bright Eyes shifts some of the clutter from his desk and flicks through the papers that, presumably, Sticky had provided.

Almost five full minutes pass while Bright Eyes reads through my file. At least, I think that’s what he’s doing, he looks like he’s just flicking between the papers, but I guess he’s probably just comparing different things.

While he does that, I sweat.

Literally.

I can feel it rolling down my back, and it’s just warm enough in here that I’m slightly regretful that I wore my sweater. Then again, I’d be wearing something frumpy and baggy and heavy anyway because that’s all I wear, so I guess it doesn’t matter.

To distract myself from my weird, gross body, I reach out and pick up the little silver spoon next to the egg and the cranes and start fiddling with it. It’s shiny and catches the low light nicely, and it’s smooth under my fingers as I turn it back and forth.

“Interesting.”

I look up to find Bright Eyes looking at me with those odd, lazy eyes of his.

“Wh— oh!” I lower the spoon. “I’m sorry, I just… I got distracted.”

“Don’t be, that’s why it’s there,” Bright Eyes says calmly as I'm about to put it down, and I stop. “I’ve found people are a little more comfortable if they have something to fidget with, so you’re welcome to.”

“Oh…” I look down at the spoon.

I still feel a little uncomfortable, touching something that isn’t mine, but at the same time it’s just a tiny spoon. Bright Eyes just told me that its whole purpose was for his clients to toy with it, and nothing else.

“You can put it down,” Bright Eyes says, his voice still even. “But it doesn’t really do anything else.”

The moment stretches out for several more minutes until finally, I tighten my grip on it and nod.

“Okay, uhm, thank you.” I look up and, to my surprise, he’s smiling.

“It seems you’re further along than I thought,” Bright Eyes says, nodding happily. “It seems, whatever your recently discovered sexuality, that Sunset has probably been good for you.”

There go my cheeks again.

“You know, now, I assume,” Bright Eyes says, leaning forward, “how you feel about Sunset?” I nod slowly, not looking him in the eye. “Then the question becomes how do you feel about that? Take your time, and really consider it.”

Deep breaths.

I try to keep myself calm, the way Sunset always tells me to. I take deep breaths, in and out, and nod. I understand now, I think, why Bright Eyes is so good at his job. His voice is calming and low, and nothing he does feels overt or threatening. It’s more like he’s just curious, and in a soft and gentle way, he’s excited for you to be curious too.

His manner puts a little distance between me and everything in my head, and I appreciate that.

“I feel sad,” I say finally, and I realise that I do. The notion that I like Sunset as more than a friend— more than anything— makes me sad.

“Really?” Bright Eyes asks. “She’s really an incredible person, isn’t she? Why does that make you sad?”

I shake my head and sigh quietly.

“It’s not that,” I say quickly. “She’s amazing, and I—” my voice catches in my throat, but I force the words out on the edge of dry sob— “a-and I really, really like her… I… I think I might—”

I can’t say it. If I say it, it might become real, and I don’t think I’ll know what to do with that feeling if it’s really real.

“You think she won’t like you back?” Bright Eyes offers.

“I think she’ll try so hard that it’ll hurt her,” I reply wetly. “I think she’ll want to try and f-fix me, so if I say anything then she’ll force herself to stay with me just to make me happy and she’ll be miserable!”

“I see,” Bright Eyes says, leaning back. “Well, I think you’re right in part.”

Shock swells over me at Bright Eyes agreeing with me. I expected a lot of things; a quiet hum of acknowledgment maybe, or an assurance that I was just being crazy, but not agreement.

“Sunset Shimmer has a thousand and one virtues,” he says with a soft smile. “Virtues whose strength and number are matched only by her vices… that is to say, she is far from perfect and does have a tendency to go to extremes for others, due, I’m sure, in no small part to her past.”

Sometimes I forget how bad Sunset used to be. Like everyone else, she ignored me. I don’t even think she was aware of me back then, actually, which is probably for the best, so I avoided the worst of that.

But I understand. I saw enough to know how cruel she could be, even if I can’t really reconcile that version of her with the version that’s letting me stay in her home, and giving me food, and holding me at night when the darker thoughts get to be too much.

It’s hard to even think of them as the same person. One was borderline evil, the other would, I know, happily give up her bed and sleep on the couch if she thought I’d take the offer.

The only Sunset I know, though, is the one who’s trying so aggressively hard to save my life that she’s upending her whole existence to make it happen.

That’s the Sunset that I—

“What do I do?” I ask, finally.

Bright Eyes watches me thoughtfully for a long moment before blowing out a breath, the first sign of strain I’ve seen in him during this whole session.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I thought you were in a healthy enough place to handle a romantic relationship,” he replies, and I wilt back. “But, I’d also be lying if I said I thought you were very far from that place, so there’s that much.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Call it my professional opinion,” Bright Eyes says with a small smile. “I’ve been doing this a while.”

I settle back in the chair and continue to fiddle with the little spoon, running the pad of my thumb into the well of it, feeling the smooth, soft metal, and then bringing it back down, while I let my fingertips play along the textures of the handle. It’s antique, I think, and a nice piece. I’ve never held a piece of cutlery that was really nice before.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” I mumble.

“I know.”

“She’s better off without me,” I say a little louder.

“I don’t necessarily agree,” Bright Eyes counters.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I feel an unwelcome surge of bitterness swell up in my chest as I tighten my grip on the spoon.

“How would you know?” I ask through gritted teeth.

“Because I know how miserable she already is,” Bright Eyes says softly and, for once, sadly.

Miserable?

“What?” The word comes out hollow, but Bright Eyes grimaces and shakes his head.

“My apologies, this isn’t about Sunset,” Bright Eyes says, waving a hand briefly. “You’re here for evaluation, and we ought to be getting to that…”

What ought to have been a fifteen-minute appointment ended up lasting the full hour I was allotted, and then some. When I finally emerge from Bright Eyes’ office, I have to squint in the harsh fluorescent lights of the main office lobby. I hadn’t realised how pleasant the dim lighting of Eyes’ office had been until I was already out, and now a small part of me wanted to retreat back.

It’s a little galling, but I’m actually glad I came out here today, even though I’m exhausted. I feel like I’ve been drained of what little energy I start with, but for once it doesn’t exactly feel bad.

It feels like I spent that energy on something worthwhile, which is a rare thing for me. Most of the time I just feel like a waste.

“Sunset?” I look around as I step into the office, and Windlass glances up from the desk with a small smile.

“She stepped outside,” Windlass says, gesturing at the door. “She seemed kind of nervous.”

Probably because she was expecting to be in and out. I’m sure Sunset wasn’t planning on spending better than an hour babysitting me.

“Thank you.”

I move past the desk, through the lobby, and out the doors, and shiver in the colder air of the city as I look around.

I smell it before I see her.

Smoke. Cigarette smoke, and not the expensive kind. It’s cheap and harsh, and it leaves an unpleasant tickle in the back of my throat in the same way it leaves an ugly roil in my gut.

Too many memories flood back to me with that smell. Memories of mean, heavy hands, and breath stinking of cheap beer and smokes. Memories of pain and raised voices, and all of a sudden there’s an intolerable ringing in my head that I can’t get rid of and—

“Wallie?”

The sound of Sunset’s voice rattles the cage that my mind was trapped in a second ago, and I look up.

She’s at the corner of the building. I think she was leaning against it but now she’s straightening and smiling, and moving towards me. Her right hand is rising to take mine but her other hand…

Smoke is curling up from her other hand. Snared between her ring and middle fingers is a half-spent cigarette, the ash and embers dripping from the tip like poison from a viper’s fang.

I can’t help it.

She reaches out, and I flinch back.

Hurt crosses Sunset’s face the instant it happens. Hurt and confusion as to why I pulled back from her. I never pull back from her. Quite the opposite, actually. Sunset was, is, my safe place.

Because I’m—

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I say softly, trying to distract both her and myself from my own instinctive reaction.

“Oh, right,” Sunset grimaces and looks down at her hand before stubbing out the tip on the masonry wall and flicking the butt into a nearby bin. “Sorry, it’s a bad habit,” she says as she turns back. “I only do it when I’m starting to lose it a little, it helps with the anxiety.”

“Anxiety?” I repeat, although the word comes out sounding dull and stupid to my ears. “You aren’t anxious.”

Sunset smiles, but it’s a bitter, weary thing.

“Not so you’d know,” she says, shoving her hands in her jacket pockets.

Because I know how miserable she already is.

“So how’d it go?”

“It was okay,” I reply, moving beside Sunset and trying to ignore the smell of smoke that’s still hanging around her. “I like Bright Eyes.”

“Me too,” Sunset says. “I still see him once a month, did you get the eval?”

I nod silently. My mind is still whirling from the conversations I’d had with Bright Eyes. After his ominous statement, he’d cut himself off. I wanted to ask more, but I could see the wall go up between me and the information before I even tried. Probably, I think, because Sunset is a patient.

No, client. Bright Eyes calls them clients, not patients.

Either way, I’m not entirely clear on all the rules, but I’m sure there’s at least one about the therapist not talking about his patients with other patients. I hope he doesn’t get in trouble for saying the very little he did to me, even if I’m not sure why he did.

I don’t think he would have said what he did if it weren’t very important for me to know it. I just don’t know why he told me.

Maybe so I would understand Sunset a little better.

Because I’m too much of a coward to ask her myself.

“So uhm, Sticky and Eyes, they’re both people who helped you?” I ask quietly.

“Mhm.” Sunset nods then smirks at me. “You say that like I’d trust anyone with you that I hadn’t vetted personally.”

There’s that flush in my cheeks again. She’s so protective of me, and I think if it was anyone else it would upset me, but with Sunset it just feels… right. It feels like this is how it’s supposed to be, because when you’re with someone they’re supposed to be protective of you.

With. Capital ‘W’.

Except I’m not with her.

“They know each other?” I ask.

Sunset snorts, and it turns into a full-bellied laugh that warms me up from the inside out. I really do love it when Sunset laughs. It’s such a bright, lively sound, and I can’t help but smile a little while she does it.

“Well I should hope so,” Sunset says through her chuckles. “They’re married.”

I pause and stare for a long moment.

“Married?”

“Mhm,” Sunset says, pausing to wait for me. “They’re all part of the same friend group from high school I guess. VP Luna is actually the one who recommended Sticky Note to me, then after the Fall Formal, Sticky referred me to Bright.”

“Vice Principal Luna?” I ask, finally recovering enough of my brain to start walking about, and Sunset nods.

I try to ignore the fact that her hand slips easily into mine as we’re moving. She doesn’t know how I feel about her, and even though I know she was fine with it before, and so was I, things… they’re different now.

So I pull my hand back.

Not harshly, or sharply. I just don’t return the grip, and slip my hand free as I keep talking.

“They were friends in high school?” I ask, trying to move past the stilted, awkward moment while doing my best to ignore the look of surprise on Sunset’s face too.

“Uh, yeah,” Sunset says slowly like she’s trying to find her mental footing. “I, uhm, Luna said that, back then, they were all a bunch of delinquents, but they cleaned up before they spiraled too far and, after high school, they made a promise to look out for other kids like them.”

“Sticky Note was a delinquent?” I say, the awkwardness evaporating from pure shock.

Sunset starts laughing again, and I can’t keep the smile off my face.

“Right?!” Sunset shakes her head, sending her red and gold locks tumbling around her beautiful face. “I said the same thing! He’s so stuffy, but it turns out he was uh…” Sunset looks around nervously for a moment, like she’s afraid Sticky Note was about to pop up behind her. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me but apparently, Sticky Note’s nickname was Sticky Fingers, because he was a pickpocket.”

My jaw drops.

“I had the same look on my face,” Sunset says with a laugh. “His poker face is apparently god-tier, so he never got caught. Bright Eyes is super calm and zen now, but I guess in high school he’d pick fights just to fight. Luna was pretty much the instigator, and—”

Sunset cuts herself off and stops, and I stop with her.

“—can I see the eval? It has a medical referral, right?”

“Oh, uhm, y-yeah,” I shove a hand in my pocket and pull out the folded slip of paper and hand it over.

Sunset unfolds it, looks it over, and nods with that smile on her face like she’d just won a bet with herself.

“Yup, there’s the last one, and we’ll be seeing her tomorrow,” she says with a grin before turning the paper around and tapping the part of the referral that names the doctor.

Chrysalis Hive M.D.

We Could Be

Sunset Shimmer

The rain started falling again a few minutes before we got back to the apartment and we had to make a mad dash for the little vestibule dividing the lobby from the outside before we got soaked.

Wallflower is hugging herself while I punch in the code, and I miss the code about three times before I finally put in the right one.

I’m distracted.

I’m more distracted than I’ve been in a while, and it’s over the dumbest thing, because even though it’s small and probably means nothing I can’t figure it out.

Why wouldn’t she hold my hand?

It’s never bugged her before... unless it has and she just never said anything? Isn’t that an awful thought? What if I’ve been making her feel uncomfortable this whole time? Except… except she’s instigated it as much as I have.

Last night, we snuggled on her mattress because she kept having anxiety attacks over her upcoming meeting with Bright Eyes.

Finally, I manage to hit the right sequence and the door hisses open, and the two of us beat a hasty retreat from the weather into the warm confines of the lobby.

My jacket kept the worst of the rain off of me but Wallflower only had her sweater which didn’t do much more than absorb the water and make it hang heavily on her.

She’s shivering violently while I hit the button for the elevator, and the moment I’m sure the old beast is crawling down, I turn to her and move to put my arms around her.

And I stop.

I barely get my arms up past my sides when I stop. I have this feeling, and I don’t even know if it’s rational or not, but I feel like if I try to hug her then she’ll pull back and I am irrationally afraid of that. I don’t want her to pull away from me, I want her to stay close and…

“Here,” I say quietly, completing the movement of my arms, but rather than reaching for her, I shed my jacket and throw it over her shoulders, tugging it close around her. “It’s warmer than just your sweater.”

A shiver of my own rolls through me as I rub at my now bare arms. I knew I shouldn’t have worn a t-shirt but it was a semi-nice day out and I’d hoped that it would stay that way.

“Sunset, you don’t—” Wallflower starts but I cut her off.

“I’m not the malnourished one, Wallie, just take the damn jacket.” My teeth click as I shut my mouth the moment the last words leave my lips. That came out a lot harsher than I meant it to. Swallowing hard, I wave a hand. “Sorry, just… you’re more likely to get sick, that’s all.”

Her fingers tighten around the edges, and a small tremor passes through her that I’m passingly sure isn’t anything to do with the cold.

“Wallie, I’m… I didn’t mean to say it like that,” I say softly, raising my hands and holding my arms out. “I’m sorry.”

It’s slower than before. Just yesterday, all it took was opening my arms for Wallflower to fall into them, and wasn’t that a nice feeling? But now, she hesitates, and I’m on the verge of lowering my arms and swallowing another quiet rejection when she takes a halting step forward, then another, and settles awkwardly against me.

“It’s okay, I know,” she squeaks. “You’re just worried, right?”

“Pretty much always,” I reply with a wan chuckle. “But I’d rather be worried about you than not have you around, y’know?”

She goes quiet at that statement, and in the silence the doors to the elevator open. She shuffles past me the moment they do and slips into the cab before punching the button for the sixth floor, and I follow her a moment later.

“Hey,” I start quietly as the doors close. “Are… Are you okay?”

Wallflower shrugs, then sighs and shudders, wrapping her arms around herself as she does and pulling the jacket even tighter around her body.

She doesn’t answer for the whole ride up, and by the time the doors hiss open on my apartment’s floor my nerves are rattling something fierce. I asked if she was okay, and she didn’t answer me.

That means either she’s not okay, or she’s not sure if she’s okay, and I’m really not sure what to do with that information.

I step out of the elevator and Wallflower follows on my heels. I keep an eye on her over my shoulder, and the one thing I can say is that she doesn’t really look ‘not okay’, she just looks really deep in thought. That leads me to suspect the second option, in that she’s not sure, but that’s really not all that much better because what if the answer to that is ‘no’?

The deadbolt thunks loudly as I unlock the door to the apartment and nudge it open. I step inside and Wallflower follows suit, moving past me until she gets to the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

Not a word is said.

That’s not ominous or anything.

Great. Now I’m shaking.

I try to get a hold on my panic and anxiety. More importantly, I try to fight off the urge to sprint out into the stairwell and smoke.

Wallflower clearly didn’t like what she’d seen when she saw me smoking so that’s something I have to avoid around her now. Not that that’s a big change. I’ve done my best to keep my smoking private, which hasn’t been all that hard since I do it so seldom.

Less now than ever before actually.

The only one who knows that I smoke is Fluttershy and that’s only because, unbeknownst to anyone else but me, she smokes too.

Unlike me, though, she hates it. I happen to like the taste of cigarette smoke, but Flutters just does it to keep her anxiety down because her parents are, while lovely people, not what you’d call psychologically literate. They think psychologists and antidepressants are a bunch of hooey and that the cure for all that depression nonsense is to step into the good old fashioned outdoors and sunlight and blah blah blah.

Whatever. I can’t smoke now, so I won’t.

Instead, I go to the kitchen and I start tea: matcha for Wallflower, oolong for me, just like always. I set the bags in the cups and fill the electric kettle to start it heating just as the shower goes on, and a small sensation of relief wells up in me that at least she’s warming up.

“Deep breaths, Shimmer,” I say quietly. “In and out.”

I turn and lean my elbows against the counter.

“She’s fine,” I say to myself. “Wallie’s fine, she’s alright, everything is… is fine.”

I swallow back hard before letting out another breath and turning to pick up the kettle to tip the water into the cups. Hopefully, I don’t burn the tea this time, but I’m not really holding out hope. I really am an awful cook.

“Deep breaths,” I repeat softly as I set the kettle down.

My fingers are tingling and I wring my hands, and my chest feels vaguely fuzzy. That’s how I know I’m starting to hyperventilate.

“I-In… and o-out.” I force the words through clenched teeth. My skin is crawling, my vision is constricting, and none of my old stand-by’s are working. “In… and… and out,” I repeat. “In… in and out… deep breaths, in and o-out.”

A soft pressure on my shoulder snaps me out of my trance and I turn my head to see Wallflower standing less than a meter away with her hair damp and matted around her face, and half-covered in a towel. Her face flushed with warmth from the shower, and she’s wearing a hoodie and a spare set of pajama bottoms, both of which she borrowed from me, and she’s looking at me like I’m about to explode.

Funny, because I kinda feel like I am.

“Sunset!?” Wallflower looks scared and her voice sounds almost fuzzy.

Before I can say anything in my defense, Wallflower wraps her arms around me and pulls me close to her, and without thinking I hug her as tightly as possible. She smells like stormwinds and summer leaves, and it’s the only thing real for me in the world right now.

“It’s okay,” Wallflower says softly as she pulls me along with her, guiding me through the apartment.

Then we’re lying down. I can’t really account for the space of time between standing and lying down, but here we are.

I take long, deep breaths. In and out. I haven’t scared myself that bad in a long time. I can’t even remember the last time I had a panic attack that bad. Maybe at the high school in the weeks right after the formal, when I remember having a small meltdown in the showers of the girls’ locker room.

Even that, though… this is different because it isn't about me. It's about Wallflower, and I have no way to tell if the danger is real or not, or if I'm just imagining it. The thought of Wallflower being hurt though… it feels like dying. It was like that brief space of time between when Wallflower stood up in Sticky Note’s office, and then keeled over, and I thought my soul was about to vacate my body while Sticky was on the phone with emergency services.

“It’s okay.” Wallflower is still repeating her little mantra, and I have no idea how much time has passed.

Shifting in the bed beside her, I turn to look up at her. Wallflower is looking down at me with worried eyes. Those soft, brown eyes are so beautiful. I wonder if anyone has ever told her that.

I should tell her that.

Maybe when it’s less… weird.

“Are you okay?” Wallflower asks.

“Are you?” I counter. “I… I asked before, and you didn’t…”

Her eyes widen, then her face falls and her mouth twists to a grimace. I can see the guilt work it’s way onto her features and I shift out from her arms to prop myself up on my elbows.

“Are you okay?” I repeat.

Wallflower sighs and sits up, curling up and tucking her legs under her chin and wrapping her arms around her shins as she stares down at the ground. Her hair is a mess, the towel was lost somewhere amongst the sheets and blankets, and the result is a frizzy wad of green curls that are sticking out.

I think it’s cute.

“I’m scared,” Wallflower says finally. “Because I… I guess, I realised something kind of, uhm, unrelated to anything else going on and it sort of shook me.”

I frown and sit up, folding my legs over one another so I’m cross-legged, and I lean forward, elbows on knees, to listen.

“Tell me?”

Wallflower hesitates for a long moments before taking a deep breath, blowing it out, and saying:

“I think I’m gay.”

…

What.

WHAT?!

Let me offer some background.

Since the age of six when I was taken in by Princess Celestia, and beyond, I received the most thorough and extensive political education available via the tutors and classrooms of a thousand-year-old monarchy, through a curriculum developed by said thousand-year-old monarch. I was drilled mercilessly in dissembling, body language, microaggressions, advanced physiological reaction theory, and about a dozen other disciplines that require magic to discuss.

I was trained to keep a straight face and an even temper in the most cutthroat royal court on the face of the planet, and all of that training barely kept me from screaming: ‘WHAT’ at the top of my lungs.

Instead, I managed to keep my reply to a quiet, croaky, ‘oh’ that I think sounded suitably interested without being overly extreme, and I’m pretty sure it only cost me a lung.

Not bad!

Wallflower is silent for a while, and I take advantage of that quiet to try and rein in the chaotic storm that my brain has become.

Maybe it’s stupid, but I always just kind of thought she knew! I figured she was just already aware and that’s why she was so… so clingy with me. I thought that maybe she liked me, but now I have no idea!

“Sorry,” Wallflower says softly while burying her face against her knees.

What?

Oh.

It occurs to me now that I haven’t actually responded to her confession which probably took a lot of courage for someone like Wallflower to get out. Instead, I’ve been staring at like a gormless fuck for like a minute straight.

“Wallie, no! I’m sorry!” I stammer, reaching out to take her hands before pitching back as I remember what happened last time. “It’s not— it’s fine! That’s not wrong, I was just surprised!”

That’s putting in mildly while still remaining in the zip code of truth.

“Rarity and Applejack have been dating for like five months! It’s fine!” I say with a laugh that’s only a little forced.

Wallflower looks up at me and I realise, to my utmost horror, that her eyes are faintly red. She’s not crying, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually seen her cry come to think of it, but she’s clearly breaking.

“R… Really?” She asks in a quiet, cracked voice.

“Yeah!” I assure her gently, deciding to split the difference by awkwardly patting her shoulder. “They’re not like, super out about it like Lyra and Bonnie, but yeah, and they’re good together, too.”

She sniffles, looks down, and rubs at her cheeks for a minute before looking back up at me.

“So uhm, y-yeah,” she says slowly, “I just… I talked to Bright Eyes about it a little and he’s pretty sure I’m…” she swallows and looks down again. “He… he said I’m probably not in a good place to be with anyone, which is kind of like saying a little too broken, and… and I know that.”

Damn it, Eyes.

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me okay?” Wallflower continues. “I really don’t, okay? I won’t try anything, I promise, I just—”

“Wallie, no,” I say softly, finally pushing through the block in my heart to slip closer and put my arms around her. “You’re fine. We’re fine, okay? Nothing has changed between us, I promise.”

Wallflower pauses, freezes maybe, but eventually she lets out a sound like a dry chuckle, nods, and turns to bury her face against the crook of my neck.

“Thank you,” she mumbles. “I guess I’m, uhm, just a little more broken than I thought.”

“You’re not broken,” I mutter against her hair. “You’re just a little messy right now, okay? We’ve got this. Nothing has changed.”

She nods against my neck and squeezes a little tighter.

“Right,” she says softly after a moment. “Nothing… nothing has changed.”

There’s a clock in the loft that hangs from a nail right over my bed. It’s an older one, small, and actual clockwork, so it marks the passage of time with a quiet, steady, tick-tick-tick.

I think the reason I like it is because back in Equestria we didn’t have digital clocks. If you were poor, you had a sundial, which is a lot more accurate in a dimension where the sun is controlled by an immortal alicorn, but if you were a pony of means you might have splurged on a timepiece.

There were large ones for homes, and small ones you could wear, but they were expensive and required semi-regular maintenance, so naturally the palace had a clock in almost every single room.

Princess Celestia told me once that it was to help keep her on track. She had a schedule almost every day, planned to the minute, and thinking about it now… really thinking about it, I’m pretty sure that would have driven me insane.

No free time, except in the rarest of circumstances, no ability to control my own life, despite ostensibly having control of the wealthiest, most stable, and most powerful nation in the world, and no room to be myself.

I think that’s what drove us apart.

I was so obsessed with being perfect and, in the end, I think that she was too.

Like mother, like daughter, I guess.

But the ticking… I like the ticking because it reminds me of the castle, where you could hear the timepieces tick-tick-ticking away in every room. Each one was perfectly aligned with the others, creating a little mechanical concert. The ticking makes me feel like I’m home.

Normally, anyway.

Tonight, it’s just reminding me of how long I’ve been lying awake on Wallflower’s mattress beside her, staring at her stupid-pretty face while she snores wheezily in blissful repose while my mind goes about a billion meters a minute trying to keep itself sane.

In my defense, I pretty much knew she was gay from the get-go, the only problem is that I thought she knew it too.

This whole time I’ve apparently been creeping on her with absolutely no justification for it. She thought I was being a good friend, when in fact I was sitting there like a dumbstruck chungus over how beautiful she is.

The notion makes my skin crawl.

Wallflower shifts in her sleep, curling a little closer to me and burying her face against my chest before settling again.

Well, at least I don’t make her uncomfortable. If I did then I doubt she’d be able to sleep so easily around me. Maybe that’s just me projecting though. It took me months before I could get more than a few hours of sleep during Pinkie’s big sleepover parties because I just… it’s not that I didn’t trust them, but I’m naturally suspicious.

In both senses of the phrase.

Indulging myself a little, I reach up and slip my fingers into her messy tangle of green, morning glory curls to start teasing out the knots and snarls. They’ll be Tartarus’ own job to untangle in the morning if I don’t, and I know Wallflower hates having to brush her hair.

It would be a lot easier if she weren’t so perfect.

Because she is.

Wallflower Blush is kind of perfect.

She’s soft and smart and gentle, and she’s patient with me when I get overzealous, and when my anxiety hits me she doesn’t lose it or try and talk me down, she just rides it out with me until I’m better.

And she’s so pretty.

I don’t think she realises it, which is a little tragic. She is though… she’s pretty in a lot of different ways, and it makes me a little mad that I’m the only one who can see it.

Mad… and happy at the same time, because I’m that type of person. I’m torn between wanting everyone to know how pretty and amazing Wallflower is, and being secretly a little glad that I’m the only one who sees it because otherwise someone might… they might try to take her away from me.

Written’s Quill, I really am a horrible person.

I’m selfish, and I always have been. I want Wallflower all to myself and because of that I’ve been babying her and letting her take slower steps when I know she’s strong enough to be better and do more. Even with her problems with taking her meds, she’s tougher than anyone gives her credit for.

She’s lived through some bad shit, worse than me in a way, and she did it without the benefit of a five-star education.

Is it any wonder that I’m a little in love?

I just wish I wasn’t too much of a coward to say it out loud. I want her to know that someone loves her. More than loves her. Adores her.

The problem is, I don’t know how to tell her that. If I do I’m scared she’ll just retreat the way she did earlier. We’ve patched things up for now, but the idea of driving her away again like that genuinely terrifies me.

I don’t want to lose her.

Taking a deep breath, I savor the gentle scent of leaves and rain that hangs around Wallflower. She’s so close right now, it would be easy to just give in to the urge to kiss her.

Just once, and just on the forehead. It would be small and she probably wouldn’t even wake up.

Just a small betrayal.

Slowly, I pull my hand from her hair and bring it down to rest on her cheek, running my thumb over the soft lines of her face. My heart feels like it’s about to burst over how much I adore this girl in my arms.

Her eyes flutter open, her long, pretty eyelashes flickering a few times as she looks up blearily at me.

“Mm?” She mumbles wordlessly.

“Hey,” I whisper, “sorry, but uhm… I’m gonna move back up to my bed, okay?”

She frowns, but she doesn’t argue, instead she just asks: “why?”

It’s kind of charming how often she asks that. I think it’s because she’s always so certain she’s done something wrong. Either that or because she just can’t fathom why anyone would be nice to her.

I take it back, that’s not charming, that's tragic.

“I just…” I trail off, trying to find a way of saying it that won’t leave her feeling hurt. Best to just play to my strengths and be honest. “I want to give you some space, that’s all, today was a long day, and… and a big day, y’know? But I’m not leaving you, and if you need me I’m right up the stairs.”

She stares at me for a while, and it’s just about all I can do not to lean and try to kiss the little frown off of her lips. That would definitely be the wrong decision. Even if I was absolutely positive she felt the same way about me that I feel about her, and that is a massive ‘if’, tonight is not the night.

“I thought… is it—?” She starts but I don’t let her finish. I can’t let her complete that thought.

“No, it’s not,” I put as much strength and sincerity into my voice as I can without raising my volume. “I promise, it’s not, okay? I will always be here for you, Wallie, alright? Always, and you don’t need to ask why, right?”

She nods as she wraps her arms around me and hugs me tight. For a long moment, she’s quiet, and I don’t want to have to pry her off of me, but just as I start to get the feeling I might have to, she finally speaks up.

“Will you say it?” She mumbles.

My mouth goes dry.

She’s never asked me to do something like that before. It’s always something I’ve had to remind her of, or it’s felt that way anyway. Hearing her ask me to say it? Knowing she wants me to say it?

It makes me so happy and for some reason, it also breaks my heart.

“Yeah… yeah, sure.” I hug her back and bury my face in her hair so she won’t see me start crying when I say the words. “It’s because you’re precious to me.”

The moment the words pass my lips, she squeezes me even tighter. All the strength in her thin, narrow body is put into hugging me like she’s scared I’ll turn into mist and vapor.

Something happens in that space between heartbeats where she’s hugging me and I’m holding her and trying not to cry into her hair. I don’t know how to put it into words but in that brief, heart-wrenching split-second, I understand.

I’m going to lose her.

She’s going to leave.

Just like everyone else, Wallflower Blush will eventually leave. She’ll get up one day from this mattress, have all of her things packed into bags, and she’ll leave to live on her own.

She’ll have her own bed and her own apartment. She’ll have a job and a life, and I…

I won’t be in it.

Not the way I want to be.

“If you ever need me,” I hiss through my breaking heart. “I will always be there for you, Wallie, I swear it.”

Wallflower nods against my chest and shivers.

“I know.”

Now it’s time. I have to give her space so that when she leaves, it will be easy. So I pack up the little bits of my heart, put them in a little box, and I tuck them away somewhere close by inside of my mental warehouse. I can’t let them get too far, even though it hurts, because that heart? That’s Wallflower’s. It belongs to her whether or not she knows it, and so I have to keep it close, otherwise I might lose track of it, and I can’t do that.

With my heart put away, I take a deep breath, swallow, then pull back and sit up, surreptitiously wiping at my eyes as I do before reaching out and giving Wallflower’s hand a fond squeeze, wishing her goodnight, and then standing up from the mattress to go to my own bed.

It’s cold and it’s lonely, and that’s how I know it’s mine.

Tomorrow we’ll see Doctor Hive, and then Wallflower will be one step closer to having a home.

And one step further away from me.

That tick-tick-ticking isn’t so comforting anymore.

Now Or Never

Wallflower Blush

“So what’s she like?”

Sunset looks up from her coffee with a raised eyebrow for a moment before nodding and taking another sip, then setting it down.

“Doctor Hive?”

“Yeah.” I raise my own cup of tea and sip at it.

As much as I love that Sunset tries to make tea for me all the time, her attempts aren’t great. The tea here at Cuppa’s is much better, and I think she and Sunset know each other because they smile and chat a lot while she orders.

“She’s… interesting,” Sunset says finally, lowering her mug as she does and sighing. “I don’t know if there will ever come a day when I say that I like Doctor Hive, but I respect her. According to VP Luna, she’s like, one of the top diagnosticians in the nation.”

My eyebrows scoot up past my hairline as I lower my tea.

“Wow,” I say softly. “Why is she—?”

“Why is she doing hours at a medical dive like Old Town Clinic?” Sunset finishes with a wry smirk. “I think it has something to do with Principal Celestia, actually. I never got the whole story but I know there’s a history between them, and I know Doctor Hive had something to do with Luna’s bad girl years.”

I shake my head, still agog at the notion of Luna or Sticky or Bright Eyes being bad people.

Well, maybe not bad people. They definitely made some bad choices though. Fighting? Stealing? All of that stuff sounds like the kind of thing that’s supposed to end with the person in jail or doing something terrible with their life.

Instead, they came through and made a promise to help other kids that were like them. Kids who had nowhere else to go.

“Is she safe?” I ask after a moment. “Doctor Hive, I mean.”

Sunset presses her lips to a thin line and shrugs.

“I mean, yeah,” Sunset says finally. “If she weren’t I wouldn’t let her anywhere near you, she’s just creepy.”

As unsettling as the notion of a creepy doctor is to me, the outright statement that Sunset wouldn’t let anyone or anything near me that would hurt me is a gratifying thing to hear said out loud.

“She’s good,” Sunset says, sipping at her coffee again. “Like, really good… at least with the physical stuff. She’s no psychiatrist but she’s… I dunno…”

Sunset trails off, her eyes settled in the swirling dark liquid of her coffee.

“I trust Bright Eyes,” she says. “I don’t think he’d send either of us to someone who would hurt us, and Doctor Hive might be creepy but she and Bright and Sticky and Luna? They all have a history… a bond.”

“Friends?” I offer, smiling weakly.

“Or enemies,” Sunset counters thoughtfully. “I’ve always thought that maybe the reason I don’t like Chrysalis Hive is that we’re a little too much alike.”

“She sounds uhm… intimidating,” I say as I take another drink.

“Oh, yeah, that’s another thing,” Sunset says with a grimace, then sets her coffee down and looks me square in the eyes. “So this woman is creepy as Tartarus, smarter than me by a country mile, and if a glare could kill she’d be a war criminal, but she’s also… ugh, just, uh, bear with me here—” Sunset puts up her hands almost defensively— “she’s like, really hot.”

I stare at Sunset for several minutes over the slowly rising steam of my green tea trying to process exactly what it was she just said. Maybe sensing the four-oh-four error happening in my brain, Sunset tries to fill the silence, and unfortunately succeeds.

“Look it’s just— she’s got really strong wicked witch vibes, okay?” Sunset says awkwardly, rubbing the back of her head as she does. “If she had a blog that was just pictures of her, in four-inch heels, stepping on people, I wouldn’t be surprised, and she’d probably be making more money off that than her medical career!”

We stare at one another for a moment as I slowly raise my tea to take a sip, then set it back down and clear my throat.

“That’s uhm… kind of specific,” I say quietly.

I get a brief glimpse of a red tint colouring Sunset’s cheeks before she covers it with her broad ceramic coffee mug.

“It was just an example,” she mumbles into the brew.

She chuckles, and I smile. I always do when she laughs. Sunset’s laugh is a strong, husky sound that warms me up when I hear it. It’s the sort of laugh that only someone who’s lost a lot in their life can have, I think.

I know she’s young. We both are. We’re just kids really, but she’s so much more mature than me. So much more capable and ready for the world. If it weren’t for her, I’d probably still be scrounging for food and sleeping at Saint Easel’s two nights out of three, with the third night spent in that parking garage.

Sunset has rocked two realms with her ambition and intellect.

All I managed to do when I got my hands on some magic was almost ruin the life of the most wonderful girl in the whole wide world.

I take another sip of tea and grimace a little. It’s gotten cold. Not icy, just tepid, but it spoils the flavor a little, so I set it down. Maybe I’ll ask Cuppa to warm it up. I’d really like a full cup of tea before I go to this appointment. I don’t like hospitals or doctors’ offices, and the Old Town Clinic is a little bit of both: half urgent care, half primary, with a small pharmacy attached.

“What happens if she doesn’t clear me?” I ask, looking up.

Sunset frowns. “We wait for… for a little while longer, I guess? Probably another month.”

Another month.

Another month of draining Sunset’s limited resources. Another month of taking up space on her floor in an apartment that’s already too small for one person, realistically speaking, and far too cramped for two.

“But uhm, hey, at least your stipend got approved!” Sunset says a little more brightly. “It’s not much, and once you’re on the housing program you’ll have a little more for bills.”

“But I need a job.” My fingers tighten around the mug, but only briefly.

Sunset’s hand covers mine before I can spiral down any further.

“Only after you’re out of high school,” Sunset says calmly. “And only if you don’t start college, and even then you’ll still have six months.”

I lower my head, doing my best to turn it into a sullen nod. I don’t want to say I’m too stupid to go to college, because I know she’ll argue. I’m barely scraping grades in high school, though, so I don’t think I’m going to be much good in ‘higher learning’.

I can barely do learning at sea level.

“It’ll be okay,” Sunset says, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “Are you ready?”

No.

“Y-Yeah.” I swallow back the last of the tepid tea and give a firmer nod, and I think she might have even believed it as we stand up, wave goodbye to Cuppa, and leave the little cafe.

The walk down the rest of the way to the Old Town Clinic is a slow one, but at least it’s starting to warm up a little. At least by Canterlot standards anyway which I’ll admit are kind of abysmal, but I’ll take what I can get.

“Did uhm…” I start as we get close to the Clinic, but trail off.

I don’t need to finish the sentence or the thought, though. Sunset knows me too well, and answers anyway.

“Did I tell Sticky or Bright Eyes about you not taking your pills?” Sunset says more than asks. Then looks down at me with an expression of hurt. “No, of course I didn’t, Wallie, if I told them then you’d be rejected!”

“Maybe I deserve it,” I say softly.

Sunset lets out a tired groan and stops, then links her arm in mine and I squeak in alarm as she walks us both into an alley where she turns to me with a fierce expression on her face.

“Wallie, look at me,” Sunset says sternly, pointing up at her own face. “You’ve been doing just fine with your latest prescription, okay? You haven’t missed a single day!”

“Because neither have you!” I say tightly. “You ha-haven’t forgotten to remind me even once! Of course I haven’t missed a day! You won’t let me!”

“And I’ll keep not letting you!” Sunset says almost frantically. “If I have to come over every single day after you move out to make sure you’re okay then I will!”

That’s the last thing I want, but I don’t tell her that either. I know I’m pretty much useless on my own but Sunset worries so much about me that I’m scared I’ll end up hurting her even if I manage to get my own place.

“Wallie, please,” Sunset continues desperately. “I need you to understand, okay?” She reaches out hesitantly before setting her hands softly on either of my shoulders. “I am not going to let you hurt yourself alright? I’m going to stick with you and help even if you end up hating me for it.”

I lower my head again, then step forward and close the distance between us. I don’t know how to say it, so I just hug her.

Sunset stiffens in surprise. I know why. It’s because I so rarely actually show her that I appreciate her. It’s my fault she doesn’t expect it, but I try to make up for it by hugging as hard as I can.

She thinks that I don’t understand, but that’s the problem.

I do understand. I know exactly how far she’s willing to go, and it scares me because I’m afraid that if she does go that far, if I really am that useless, that she’ll end up driving herself right off of a cliff. I can’t let her do that, but at the same time I know she’ll try to anyway.

“I won’t hate you,” I say.

That much, at least, I know how to say, because I won’t. I can’t. After all, how could I possibly hate someone that—

“I promise.”

—that I love with all my heart?

Sunset hugs me back, and she nods against my head as she buries her face in my hair. I know she’s scared for me. I hate that she worries so much, but I understand why. If I was in her shoes and our positions were reversed, as absurd as that notion is, then I’d be worrying just as much if not more.

So I get it.

She steps back after a moment, and surreptitiously wipes at her eyes. I don’t think she realises that I see it, but I do, and I hate that I always make her cry.

It’s a small secret that Sunset actually cries kind of easily. Once upon a time I thought she was the type of person who never cries at all, like me, but spending so much time with her has made me realise how off the mark that was.

Sunset cries a lot, but never in front of people. She’s too proud for that. So instead, she bottles it up, keeps it clamped down, and then when she feels like she’s safe she lets it out.

Maybe it’s terrible of me, but I’m a little proud of the fact that she lets me see her cry. Sometimes, anyway. She doesn’t let me see it every time, but I’ve seen it enough now that I know the signs.

Not even Rarity or Pinkie can tell when Sunset’s been crying. I know, because I’ve seen them miss it, but I can tell.

I can always tell.

We walk the rest of the way to the clinic in silence, but I stay beside Sunset the whole time. I need to if I’m going to have the strength to do what’s coming next. I’m a weak person by nature, I know that, but being next to Sunset makes me feel stronger.

At least a little bit.

The Old Town Clinic doors are heavy, and a shot of relief floods through me when I see how few people are inside. At least I won't get crowded.

“Okay, let’s get you checked in,” Sunset says, stepping forward to take the handle of the door.

I move between them before she can.

“I… I’ll do it,” I say without looking up as I set a shaky hand on the handle. “You can go back to the apartment, I’ll be alright.”

Sunset doesn’t answer right away, and after a moment I force myself to look up at her. There’s pain on her face. She really does wear her emotions right out in the open. Or maybe I can just see them easier than other people.

I force a smile onto my face. “Thanks for, uhm, walking me here, though.”

“Wallie, I—”

“Go home, Sunset.”

It takes everything in me to say those words without breaking, and it’s doubly hard to keep it together as Sunset jolts in surprise.

“Please,” I say softly. “I’ll… I’ll be fine.”

I squeeze her hand gently before letting go.

Then I turn, push the door open, and step inside the Clinic, all while doing my best to ignore the vaguely antiseptic smell and the sounds of conversational chatter as I wrap my arms around myself and keep my eyes forward. I know she’s still behind me, still waiting at the door for me to look back and ask her to come with me, so I don’t look back.

If I looked back, I probably would.

I really can’t stress how much I don’t like hospitals and clinics, which is funny because stress is pretty much the only thing I usually do.

Sunset would’ve found that funny.

Or maybe she’d have gotten upset.

I rub at my arm and shiver as I sit on the exam table. I’ve been here for over an hour. The first fifteen minutes were a blood draw, and that was the moment that I wished hardest that I’d let Sunset stay. The only way I got through it was by almost crushing the nurse’s hand while clenching my eyes shut and pretending it was Sunset.

Otherwise I’m pretty sure I’d have passed out.

They told me after the draw that it would take a little while to process the results, and that Doctor Hive would be with me right after.

All I have to do is make it through this, and then I go h— go back to Sunset. I can go back to the apartment and I’ll be one step closer.

“In and out,” I mutter, taking a deep breath as I do and letting it out in an effort to quell the rising nausea and shaking.

A sharp knock strikes the door twice, and I jump. It wasn’t loud but the sound is almost… imperious.

The door opens a heartbeat later and the woman who steps through takes my breath away. I understand now, what Sunset meant when she talked about Doctor Hive back in Cuppa’s, although seeing her now I’d disagree with Sunset on one point.

She’s not what I would call ‘hot’. She’s definitely creepy, though.

The woman who steps into the exam room with me is intimidating on a number of levels, and all of them feel almost subconscious. She’s striking, certainly; tall and with pitch black skin the colour of a beetle’s shell that contrasts starkly with her white coat, and long, teal hair that hangs straight down across her shoulders, and has an oddly ragged quality to it.

Her whole body is made of sharp lines, like a statue carved from volcanic glass, and I think if it was just that much then Sunset might have been right about calling her attractive.

For me, though, her eyes steal all of that away.

Wicked, harlequin-green eyes pin me to the exam table with an expression of innate disinterest, and in that brief moment I wish I still had the Memory Stone if only so I could vanish from her.

She’s not ‘hot’. She’s terrifying.

“Wallflower Blush,” Doctor Hive says quietly. Her voice is strong and pitched with analytical distance as she shuts the door with a loud snap. “Another one of Bright and Sticky’s rabble of strays.”

She lifts a thick folder, one large enough that I’m sure it contains everything from both Sticky Note and Bright Eyes, in addition to my medical records. Doctor Hive leafs through the papers as she stalks around me.

Stalks is really the only word, too. She moves like a predator, and I am, without a doubt, her prey.

“Uhm, that’s me,” I say quietly.

Doctor Hive flicks her gaze up at me as the words leave my lips, and she pauses as if deciding whether or not to eat me.

“That wasn’t a question,” she says after a moment, then sets the folder down.

It’s open to a single white page that has the words ‘Medical Evaluation’ written in cold, formal block print. On top of the paper she sets two more small objects, and it takes me a moment to realise what they are.

Rubber stamps.

“Do you know who I am, Miss Blush?” Doctor Hive asks in a conversational tone that’s almost worse than her disinterest. “Do you know what I do?”

“You’re uh—” I think back as I try to remember what Sunset had called her— “a… a diagnostics?”

“Diagnostician,” she corrects me with a sneering curl of her lip that puts a shiver down my spine. “Do you know what that means?”

I shake my head.

“It means, Miss Blush,” Doctor Hive continues grimly, “that I am an expert in collating all of the data regarding a patient, from their habits to their medical history to their psychological profiles and more, and creating a diagnosis from which treatment can be devised and administered.”

“Oh, that uhm…” I swallow quietly as I try to find the words without letting them choke. “That sounds… hard.”

Her flat expression gives nothing away as she slowly raises an eyebrow, then smirks in a manner that makes me think that I definitely just did something wrong.

“It’s a job that requires more than intellect,” Doctor Hive says softly. “It requires the ability to… change. To not just think but to feel and for a moment become the patient, to understand them… so my next question is this—”

She taps a single, perfectly manicured fingernail on the paper between the two stamps.

“—what do you think my diagnosis is for you?”

I swallow hard. I’m not even shaking anymore. My stomach has twisted itself into a Gordian knot as Doctor Hive’s bright, awful eyes dig into me like the mandibles of some unpleasant insect.

When no answer comes out, her joyless smirk returns.

“Your full blood test results are still forthcoming, but there are some interesting factors to it that are immediately obvious,” Doctor Hive says finally. “Namely that your nutrient levels are abysmal, indicative of chronic malnutrition, which of course, is in your file, and so most would overlook it, except…”

She trails off as even the facsimile of her smirk fades, and she reaches beneath the evaluation sheet to pull out another piece of paper, freeing it from the stack, and narrowing her eyes as she examines it critically.

“This test suggests that you’re still weak. Far below what I would expect after the battery of vitamins and probiotics you were prescribed,” Doctor Hive says quietly before turning her eyes to me. “So answer me this, and I warn you, I deal with much better liars than I suspect you of being so stick to the truth… how many days of your prescription have you missed?”

“I… I’ve taken all of my pills from my c-current prescription,” I say cautiously.

“And the one before that?”

My lips clamp down to a line. She’s right, I’m an awful liar, and I know that if I try to tell her I took all of those then she’ll know in an instant.

“Did you know that self-starvation is an under-recognised but dangerous form of self-harm?” Doctor Hive asks in such a casual tone that it puts a sliver of ice in my heart. She continues without acknowledging me, speaking as if to a lecture hall. “It’s a cousin to disorders like anorexia and restrictive eating, commonly recognised as a method to regain control of one’s body.”

She turns her harlequin gaze on me, poleaxing me with the dark expression she’s wearing, and raises the results of my blood test like a blade to my throat.

“Physically speaking, other than malnutrition, you’re healthy,” Doctor Hive says. “But I know what you’re doing because I’ve seen it before, and if I approve your evaluation and you go on to spiral downwards then that will be a black mark on my record, and the records of Bright and Sticky.”

“I’m not—”

“I don’t want your excuses.” Doctor Hive cuts through my words like a razor. “The problem is that I’m in an… unfortunate position because of your current residence.”

“What?” The word comes out like a whimper.

My current residence? With Sunset? What does that have to—

Oh.

Oh no.

“I see the coin just dropped,” Doctor Hive says with a nasty smile. “Slow one, aren’t you? So yes, the problem is that if I deny you—” she taps the rubber ‘DENIED’ stamp that’s sitting on the evaluation form— “because I suspect you of self-destructive behaviour, then that will reflect on Miss Shimmer, whom I happen to like, and who, unfortunately, already has my stamp of approval… and Sticky Notes’, and Bright Eyes’, which will prompt an investigation.”

“No,” I say softly. “It wasn’t her fault!”

“But can you prove that?” Doctor Hive hisses. “No? I didn’t think so. So I’m going to approve your evaluation, but with a… let’s call it a caveat.”

“I’ll do anything,” I plead. “Please, just… just don’t let this come back to Sunset! Please!”

“Don’t beg,” Doctor Hive says flatly. “I hate begging. No, I’m doing this for me, and for a woman to whom I made a very particular promise.”

Doctor Hive sweeps up the ‘DENIED’ stamp and tucks it into a pocket before picking up the ‘APPROVED’ stamp, lifting it, and slamming it down on paper with more force than is, I think, strictly necessary.

“If~” her voice trails on that word like steel sliding from leather, “if you spiral, and you’re found engaging in that behaviour again, and it comes back to me, and Sticky, and Bright, then I promise you, I will make absolutely certain that it comes back to Sunset too.”

Doctor Hive picks up the evaluation form with the word APPROVED stamped across the bottom in bright red block letters like the blood on a Faustian contract, and hands it over to me.

“Miss Shimmer bet everything on you,” Doctor Hive says, and her voice is deadly and low. “You’ve repaid her poorly, so I suggest you get your shit together, Miss Blush, or I will be the one who makes sure that Shimmer loses that bet, are we clear?”

I swallow thickly, raise one shaking hand, and take a grip on the evaluation form.

“Yes,” I say in a paper thin voice. “Crystal clear.”

The tension leaks out of her like water from a sieve as she lets go of her end of the paper, passing it over fully to me, and leans back. I hadn’t realised until that moment that she’d literally been looming over me.

“Good girl,” Doctor Hive says with a wicked smile. “Now, I think that covers everything. I’ve renewed your prescriptions for another two months, you will take every single pill, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Doctor Hive reaches out and pats my head. “Now I suggest taking a walk, clearing your head, and maybe going home and telling Sunset how much you appreciate her good-natured idiocy, because Lord knows she’s probably the only one crazy enough to bet on you.”

I nod weakly as Doctor Hive turns, opens the door, gestures for me to leave, and I do. She follows in my wake for a moment before turning to go down the hall, while I make my way out to the lobby gripping the evaluation form like a lifeline in a tempest.

By the time I get back outside it’s started raining again, but only a sprinkle. The rain is cold though, it always is in Canterlot, so I tuck the evaluation under my hoodie, lower my head, pull the hood up, and start walking back to the apartment as I try to think about what I’m going to say to Sunset.

She knew.

She had to have known.

Sunset… why?

Wish You Could

Sunset Shimmer

Everyone has dark thoughts sometimes.

At least, that’s what I tell myself.

I snub out the remains of my fourth cigarette on the damp concrete curb of the sidewalk. The cold and the wet is soaking into my jeans, and I let the sound of the infrequent passing cars distract me from the noise in my head.

It’s not words, exactly. It’s just noise.

I pull out my fifth cigarette, tuck it between my lips, and draw out another match to strike and light the end of it. I never smoke this much all at once, but then again I’m almost never this stressed out.

I thought I’d have more time before Wallflower dropped me, but I guess not.

All this time I thought she wanted to be around me. I thought she liked staying with me, even if the accommodations weren’t what anyone would call ‘five-star’. Still, it had to be better than sleeping on the streets or on one of those hard and unpleasant shelter beds at Saint Easel’s.

Go home, Sunset.

Go home.

I take a long drag, filling my lungs with smoke before blowing out a stream of grey as I wrap my arms around myself and rub at my arms to get some warmth into them.

Maybe Wallflower finally realised just how much I’ve been babying her. Sabotaging her, almost. I mean, not really. I haven’t ever tried to stop her from getting her place or anything like that I’ve just been sort of… encouraging her to take her time. There’s nothing wrong with that! She’s fragile and after the prescription thing I…

I just want her to be safe.

Another lungful of smoke, another stream of grey. I pluck the cigarette from my lips and tap the ashes out before putting it back and drawing in another breath.

This is bad. I shouldn’t be smoking this much. Wallflower will be back soon and I know she doesn’t like the smell of smoke.

“Shit.” I spit out the rest of the cigarette, stamp it out, then pick it up and pitch it into the trash nearby before getting up.

I walk over to the little sandwich shop down the street and order a coffee. This place’s brew is crap compared to Cuppa’s, normally they just drown out the burnt flavor of the beans with creamer and chocolate, but I can’t stand the stuff.

It’s too sweet.

I order it black and slug down half of it the moment it’s in my hand. It’s hot, burnt, and nasty, but it also washes the taste of smoke out of my mouth.

Nursing the rest of the coffee, I walk back to the apartment doors. I haven’t gone in yet. I can’t bring myself to. Wallflower told me to go home, but that apartment has been feeling less and less like home when it’s just me.

Even though I promised her I’d help her get her own place, I’m actually starting to regret that a little. I know it’s not a realistic option, but I wish she could just stay with me. That’s selfish, though, because Wallflower deserves to have some agency in her life for once.

She doesn’t need me hovering over her for the rest of her life. She made that abundantly clear today.

Wallflower doesn’t need me.

So I pace back and forth in front of the apartment. I don’t want to go up the stairs, I don’t want to go back into the room where her mattress is. I certainly don’t want to lie down in my cold, empty bed, and think about how lonely I’m going to be when Wallflower finally leaves.

I’m not sure when it started, but a light drizzle of rain has begun to soak into my hair, and I cuss as I retreat back to the awning over the apartment entrance. I shiver as I shake the water from my head, carding my fingers through my hair to try and free the knots and snarls before they get unmanageable.

It’s all I can do not to reach for another cigarette. That would kind of defeat the point of the coffee though.

I’m waiting for better than half an hour, but I spot her before she spots me. Wallflower is walking as if in a daze, her head bowed and her arms wrapped around herself, and I start to call out to her.

I don’t though.

There’s something wrong.

I know that look on her face because I’ve seen it before. It’s the look she wore in the brief moment between distance and recognition when we met by chance at the cafeteria of Saint Easel’s.

The look right before Wallflower Blush runs away.

She steps out of the rain and joins me under the awning silently, and leans against the wall beside me. I stay where I am, afraid that if I do move it will spook her, or that whatever I do it will be the wrong thing because right now I know that something is wrong but I can’t quite account for what that is.

“I got approved.” Wallflower draws out a folded sheet of paper and lifts it up.

She fits her thumb between the folds and peels it open, and sure enough, right there on the front in bold red letters, is the word ‘APPROVED’.

“That’s great,” I say with a smile. “You… aren’t you happy?”

Wallflower shakes her head as she closes the paper and tucks it back into her hoodie pocket before wrapping her arms back around herself and going back to silently staring at the ground.

I don’t like this. My stomach is twisting and my heart feels like it’s about to beat right out of my chest.

“Wallie?”

“You knew, didn’t you?”

I blink at the accusatory tone in her voice. It’s soft, like every other time she speaks, but there’s an edge to her words that I’ve never heard before.

“Knew what?” I ask.

Wallflower looks up at me, and there’s a weight to her gaze… a hardness that catches me off guard and puts me back on my heels.

“She knew,” Wallflower says in that soft-edged tone. “Doctor Hive… she knew I missed my prescriptions.”

The bottom falls out of my stomach.

I know Chrysalis Hive well enough to know that if she was aware that Wallflower had missed her prescriptions then she should have reported it. But if she had done that then there’s no way she would have given Wallie the stamp of approval that would let her move on to the next step in the housing program. That basically puts Wallflower right on the doorstep of her own apartment! Now it’s just a matter of finding a suitable low-income project and signing the papers for the lease!

“You knew, too,” Wallflower continues quietly. “You knew what would happen if she gave me the other stamp, didn’t you?”

Wallflower’s gentle brown gaze drills into me and sends a sluice of ice water down my spine.

“You knew what it would mean if they found out I’d…” Wallflower cuts herself off and both of her hands tighten into white-knuckled fists. “You knew.”

“Wallie, I didn’t—”

“Please don’t lie to me,” Wallflower says wetly.

It’s the closest I’ve ever heard to tears in her voice.

I sag against the wall of the Commonplace Apartments and rub my face with both hands. Finally, I swallow thickly and wave a hand for her to follow me as I punch in the door code, open the gate, and step into the vestibule.

It’s a testament to her trust in me, however battered it might be at the moment, that Wallflower follows me in. I move into the lobby and start walking up the stairs. I’m in no mood to wait for the old dinosaur to grind down the elevator shaft to us, and clearly Wallflower isn’t either because she follows without a word of complaint.

Six flights of stairs later we’re both a little winded, but neither of us says a word to break the tense silence as I walk us to our, for now, shared apartment and fit the key.

The deadbolt slides free and I push the door open, step inside, and hold the door open behind me. Wallflower follows me in and makes her way slowly over to one of the stools at the kitchenette counter.

My jacket goes onto the rack by the door, and I brush some of the water from it before I step into the kitchen past Wallflower and start up water for tea.

“So?” Wallflower asks quietly.

I lean forward, bracing my elbows on the counter, and wring my hands as I hang my head.

“Yeah, I knew.”

Wallflower lowers her head and curls up against the counter. For a long moment, no one says anything. The silence is only broken when the electric kettle chimes. Before I can pick it up, Wallflower moves and takes up the kettle to start preparing the tea.

I let her.

I’d probably just burn it again if I tried to help.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” Wallflower says while she sets the mugs out with the appropriate tea bags, Oolong and Matcha, and pours the water.

“I disagree,” I say quietly.

The kettle is set softly back onto its heating element, and Wallflower stares at the gently steaming cups of liquid for several breaths before she finally looks back up at me.

“She approved it because you would have been kicked out of your home, Sunset,” Wallflower says quietly. “Doctor Hive only passed me because if she didn’t then you getting kicked off the program would have made her and everyone else look bad!”

“But you got approved, so…” I say quietly, then shake my head. “It doesn’t matter so long as you got approved.”

“It matters!” Wallflower says in a cracking voice. “Because… because if I f-fuck up again? If I mess up and get kicked off the program then she’ll—!”

“She’ll make sure I get kicked off too, right?” I fill in as Wallflower’s voice fails her, and she nods.

I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I’m sure it was the blood test results. I had to do one, so I’m sure Wallie did too.

It would be just my luck that the main Doctor that Bright and Sticky rely on would also be one of the best diagnosticians anywhere. I’m sure the test came back with enough subtle markers that someone as capable as Chrysalis Hive would be able to suss out why Wallflower is still malnourished.

“But she hasn't,” I say quietly, “not yet anyway.”

Wallflower stares at me for a long moment, and I see it the moment the shoe drops and she realises exactly what I mean.

“You knew.”

I can’t look her in the eye.

“You knew she would know I’d messed up,” Wallflower continues. “You knew she’d realise what I’d been doing and you… you…”

Wallflower takes a single step back from me. Just one, but even that one step hurts.

“You bet your whole life that Doctor Hive wouldn’t deny me,” Wallflower says hollowly.

“So what?” I say without looking up. “I was pretty sure she wouldn’t, and if you knew the odds then you’d probably have pulled a runner on me, or at least refused to live here, and then she would have definitely denied you!”

“I WOULD HAVE DESERVED IT!”

I startle backward a step at the sudden crash of volume from Wallflower. Admittedly, as far as yelling goes she still isn’t very loud, but I don’t think I’ve ever heard Wallflower raise her voice at me like that. Not like that. Not since the day we really met out in the parking lot, with the Memory Stone, when she...

Damn it.

“I… I would have deserved it,” Wallflower repeats, breathing heavily as she holds herself up against the counter. “You would’ve— you’d have been homeless, Sunset! If you lost your bet you’d have lost everything!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” I say, finally looking her in the eyes.

We’re both shaking. I’m shaking even harder than she is, but I can’t say that isn’t because Wallflower hasn’t just seized up completely with nerves. Either way, we stare each other down. Wallflower looks madder than I’ve ever seen her, her cheeks are ruddy and there are hard lines etched onto her normally soft face.

“If you got denied for… for self-destructive behavior, you could’ve been committed!” I say through clenched teeth. “So yeah! I bet everything on keeping you here! Keeping you safe!”

“I would have deserved it,” Wallflower hisses, backing away from me. “I don’t want you to destroy your life for me, Sunset! That’s not fair! You can’t!”

“Watch me.”

Those two words come out harder and angrier than they should have, and Wallflower goes pale.

In and out.

I take several deep breaths as I take my own step back from the counter, force myself to unclench my jaw, relax my shoulders, and just breathe.

“What would you have done if she hadn’t?” Wallflower asks in a tiny voice.

“If she hadn’t approved you?” I ask, and Wallflower nods.

I cross my arms over my chest as I take several more breaths. Then I step into the kitchen, past Wallflower, and take up my mug of tea. The soggy teabag goes in the trash, and I lift the mug to my lips, then take a long, slow sip.

Wallflower really does make it so much better than I do.

“Sunset?”

“I told you what I’d do months ago, Wallie,” I say while still staring at the swirling golden, oolong tea. “I told you… remember?”

I look up at her and she stares at me like I’m insane. That’s fair because I probably am. I’m really… really crazy for Wallflower Blush. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance to tell her that, but I am. I meant every word of it when I’d told her that I’d help her even if she ended up hating me for it, even if it broke my heart a hundred times.

“Remember?” I say softly.

Then I reach out and take the bag from Wallflowers tea, pitch it, then pick up her mug and offer it out to her. She takes it and cradles the warm mug in her hands before sipping it, swallowing, and nodding with a bitter, half-angry laugh.

“Yeah,” she says finally. “You said: ‘where you sleep, I sleep’, right?”

I nod before taking another drink of my tea.

The rain patters against the window panes of the apartment, and the sound melds with the ticking of my archaic old clock while we finish our tea. We don’t speak while we do, I don’t think either of us has anything else to say.

I’m not sure it’s fair to say that I fucked up. I don’t think I did. I think that I just did what I had to do to make sure I won, and what I had to do wasn’t necessarily pleasant. That’s okay though. So long as Wallflower is safe, so long as she has a roof over her head and so long as she can be taken care of it’s… it’s okay.

“You can’t do that anymore, Sunset,” Wallflower says quietly as she sets her empty mug down in the sink, then looks up at me. “You can’t, okay?”

“I can’t help it,” I reply, passing her my mug which she takes and sets it down beside hers. “Even if I say I won’t do it, I’ll just end up doing it again anyway.”

Wallflower sighs, then turns and steps close enough to wrap her arms around me and hug me. It’s not the tight, desperate hug she gives when she’s scared or anxious. It’s soft and gentle and comforting, and her head comes to rest at that spot in the crook of my neck that I know she likes best.

“I know.”

I hug her back.

I bury my face in her morning-glory hair, and I hug her back. This time it’s me who’s holding on desperately because I know I’m losing.

That bet I took was crazy, but not for the reasons Wallflower thinks. It wasn’t crazy because I could have lost everything if I’d lost the bet. It was crazy because I knew that winning that bet meant I’d end up losing something so much more important to me than my apartment.

But she’s worth it.

“You can’t do that to me, Sunset,” Wallflower says, and she starts shaking as she does. “You can’t just… just ignore me like that, and do whatever you want.”

The taste of copper trickles over my tongue as I nearly bite through my lip.

“You’re not allowed to turn me into a burden.”

I pull back a little, lower my head, and rest it against her shoulder. I’m shaking, and so is she, but she puts her hand on my head anyway and gently strokes my hair.

“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I didn’t mean to… I just… I— I’m sorry, Wallie.”

“I know you are.”

“I’m doing my best.” The words come out cracked and weak as Wallflower rests her head against mine.

“I know.”

She’s not crying, but I am. Tears are flowing hot and fast down my cheeks as I turn my head and let myself get lost in the scent of storm rain and summer leaves and soft strands of morning glory hair.

“I’m sorry.”

Wallflower nods against me as she strokes my hair slowly, up and down, and then hugs me again with gentle strength.

“I know.”

She says the words like she’s saying them for the last time, and it kills me. My heart is falling out of my chest in pieces onto the floor and I don’t know how to pick them back up again. I know I messed up, and maybe I didn’t make her hate me, but I don’t think she trusts me anymore and I’m not sure that that isn’t worse.

Part of me wishes I’d just stayed outside for this conversation.

Yeah it would have been colder, and wetter, and maybe we would have gotten some funny looks from all the people passing us by, but in the end maybe it would have been easier.

Maybe the rain would’ve washed away all the pieces.

You Were Perfect

Wallflower Blush

“It’s smaller than yours.”

They’re the first words out of my mouth as I step inside the small studio apartment and I’m instantly afraid that it makes me sound ungrateful.

I look over my shoulder at Sunset Shimmer who’s carrying in the two bags that contain the lion’s share of my worldly possessions, and she smiles at me.

There’s already a bed frame and mattress in the apartment, courtesy of Applejack’s brother. Big Macintosh put it together over a couple of days.

I’m always a little in awe of people who can work so effortlessly with their hands like that. There’s nothing particularly complicated about the bedframe, and I know it’s basically just a couple of posts and planks nailed together and given a good finish, but it’s still impressive.

“A little,” Sunset replies with that fetching grin of hers, ignoring the awkward moment. “I gotta say though, I’m not thrilled that it’s in the East End.”

“Why?”

“It’s hobo knife-fight central is why,” Sunset says blithely.

I chuckle weakly and shrug.

“It’s barely in the East End.” I gesture to the lone, small window that looks out over the city. “See? You can see downtown.”

Sunset moves over to the window and leans on the sill, looking out across the skyline. I join her a moment later and she nudges me with her shoulder.

It’s been a rough few weeks since I went and saw Doctor Hive, and things have been different between Sunset and I since that night.

I’m not sure if it’s a ‘bad’ difference, but it’s been different. I’ve tried to put a little distance between us even though I know I’m only doing it because I’m scared. The difference is that, unlike most times when my anxiety is just getting the better of me, this time it’s for a completely legitimate reason.

I don’t want to be the reason Sunset decides to pitch herself into the fire, and this is the best way I know to do that.

She cares about me. I know that and I’ll always love her for it, but she can do better than me.

“Are you sure it’s big enough?” Sunset asks after a moment.

“I’m sure,” I say. “I don’t need much room.”

Sunset wrings her hands. When she stops, she looks back up at me with the shadow of a pleading look on her face.

“There are still open studios at the Commonplace,” Sunset says quietly, looking over at me. “We could ask Sticky to resubmit the paperwork, you’d only have to wait a week or so.”

Have I mentioned that I love her?

Because I love her.

I really, really do.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, putting a hand on hers. “I uhm, I think this is… is better.”

There are days, like today, that I wish Sunset was a little better at concealing her emotions around me, even though I know that sounds selfish. It’s just that if she was, it wouldn’t be so easy to tell when I’ve almost made her cry.

“Y-Yeah,” Sunset says, almost concealing the shake in her voice as she nods. “Better… it’ll be better. And y’know, if you ever want to come hang out at my place we’ll finally be able to sit on the couch!”

We laugh softly together. It’s not what I’d call a happy laugh, but it’s a laugh, and it’s not faked so at least there’s that.

I don’t know how to tell Sunset that in my wildest, craziest daydreams, I’d like to stay with her. That if the world were perfect and if I weren’t so messed up, and if Sunset weren’t such a disaster about it, then I’d want to stay with her because just being around her feels right.

It feels better than right, it feels perfect.

Every day I’m not around her feels like I’m slowly suffocating under the weight of the world, and then suddenly Sunset is there and I can breathe again and everything feels okay again, right up until something happens and I remember that it’s not safe for Sunset to spend all her time around me because I’ll mess up.

I’ll mess up, and then Sunset will have to fix it, and every time she’ll burn up a little bit more of herself. She’ll take bigger risks, do something a little bit crazier, and if it happens enough I know that, no matter how great and amazing and brilliant Sunset is, she will eventually make a bet on me and lose.

And then she’ll lose everything, and it will be my fault.

“I uhm, I asked Principal Celestia if I can have the key to the gardening shed,” I say after our laughter trails off, and Sunset gives me a curious look at the odd change in topic.

“Okay,” Sunset says with a small laugh. “That’s… actually, probably for the best, since you’re a better gardener than our school’s landscaper.”

“The little garden in the rear copse behind the school,” I continue. “I’m going to start cleaning it up properly, and planting some new flowers.”

Sunset smiles a little more broadly at that.

“That’s great!” Sunset says. “Do you uh… I mean, I wouldn’t be much help I guess, but maybe… maybe you’d like some company sometime while you’re working?”

“I’d like that,” I say softly, looking over at her briefly before leaning against her and resting my head on her shoulder.

The rain has petered out over the last few weeks, so the sky is clear and the great steel-and-stone skyscrapers of Canterlot gleaming in the early afternoon sunlight. There are birds on the wing, and I watch them flick across the sky in lazy arcs, their heads cast downward as they search for morsels of bread.

“I guess it’ll be nice to have your apartment to yourself again, huh?” I say after a moment. “Sorry I took up so much of it for so long.”

Sunset doesn’t answer right away. Her arm just fits itself over my shoulder and she squeezes gently. I try to look up at her, to see the expression on her face, but I can’t. Her head is resting on mine and as she’s staring out the window, so all I can see is the edge of her graceful profile.

And what I think might be wetness on her cheek.

“Yeah,” Sunset says finally. “I guess so.”

This is okay. That’s what I tell myself because it has to be okay. Because now that I’m out of Sunset’s apartment, I can slowly drift out of her life. I can go back to being Wallflower Blush, the forgotten girl, and Sunset can go back to burning bright as a star, and never have to worry about the time that a silly flower fell in love with the sun.

She’ll forget about me, like everyone else, and she’ll go on to something absolutely incredible.

“You’ll never lose me, you know,” Sunset says softly, and I freeze.

For a brief, crazy moment, I’m sure she just read my mind. I know that’s crazy though. I know because she doesn’t have her geode on her. She keeps it stashed away somewhere ever since what happened with the prescriptions. She says it’s because she trusts me, but I think it’s also because the power scares her a little.

“I’ll always be here for you if you need me, Wallie,” Sunset continues, then she turns her head to look down at me, and I remember why I fell so hard for her in the first place.

That look in her eyes. Those fierce, fire-blue eyes that have the courage to take the world by the throat, and the set of her regal features that doesn’t just demand respect, but commands it.

She’s always so sure of herself. I don’t understand what that’s like, and I don’t think I ever will, but seeing it so clear and blatant on Sunset’s face is something I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of.

“Just say the word, and I’m there, okay?” Sunset says.

Then she turns and wraps her arms around me, and I lean into the embrace and rest my head in the crook of her neck for what I’m terrified might be the last time.

Even though I know tomorrow we’ll be back at school, and we’ll be that way for a few more months, so I know it’s not the last time I’ll be able to see Sunset, or to hug her.

But the end is coming.

Summer is coming, and with it will come finals, Senior Prom, then graduation, and then she’ll be gone to university or something else to do something incredible, and I’ll be right where she left me.

Forgotten.

But not yet.

She hasn’t forgotten me yet.

“Wallie?” Sunset says softly.

I realise I haven’t said anything for a little while, and I chuckle weakly as I pull back and look up at her again. I do my best to memorise her in this moment, while she’s looking at me, and there’s something in her eyes that I think might be more than just care.

For a long moment, I memorise the line of her straight duchess nose, and the soft gleam in her cerulean eyes, and the way her gorgeous, curling, red-and-gold hair falls around her face.

“I know,” I say quietly. “I remember.”

I move forward again, and this time I lay my head on her chest and briefly allow myself the selfishness of losing myself in the sound of her heartbeat.

Sunset wraps her arms around me completely and squeezes as she rests her chin on top of my head.

“Good,” Sunset says. “Don’t ever forget that I’m here, okay? Because you’re…”

“I know.”

I know what she’s going to say, because she’s said it before, and I feel a little bad that even now I have trouble believing it. But I think she believes it, and isn’t that just a little bit incredible?

I owe Sunset more than I can ever thank her for. She pulled me out of a dark place and gave me more than anyone has ever given, and now there are two parts of me that are at war trying to decide why. The first part is the old part, and I’m still not sure that it’s wrong when it tells me that Sunset did it because she pitied me, because she felt bad, and because I was a project for her to fix.

The other part though… I like it a little better even if I’m not sure I believe what it tells me. It tells me that the reason Sunset did what she did for me is for the reason she gave when she was holding me in the hospital.

In a perfect world, I hope that’s really true. Even if I’m not sure that it is, I hope it is, and it’s been a very long time since I’ve hoped for anything that nice. So maybe Sunset won’t forget me completely. Maybe she won’t because Sunset never lets anything she cares about out of her hand and if it’s true then she won’t let me go either because—

Because I’m precious to her.