Felicity

Yet again, Flash Sentry woke up, unfulfilled and melancholic.

It wasn't the first time his slumber was filled with such cryptic visions—if he could even call them "visions." For months—ever since waking from the blackout—he experienced them almost every night.

Lingering beyond all of that was the vague and somewhat haunting notion that he had actually experienced the visions during the four years that he was "out." This was something he couldn't possibly explain to anyone, and even still he wasn't entirely sure of it himself. Then again—almost everything was a mystery about those four agonizing years, and it didn't help that the lapses in his memory kept him from properly ascertaining the truth.

Typically, whenever Flash would have a brush with these visions, he'd envelope all of the negative emotions regarding them and would just... sink even deeper into the depths of his room, wrapping himself up with shadows and rejecting all textures of the day.

But on this day, things were... different. Flash couldn't explain how or why. He didn't even bother to put much thought to it. All he knew was that he felt energized after a long night's sleep and there were things to do.

So he did do things. This required getting up, which Flash did. He even went as far as to make his bed and put on something that was a bit more presentable than sleeping clothes. Granted—it still looked big and bulky on the boi's petite figure, but he at least made the effort.

This was not lost to the likes of Twilight and Sunset Shimmer. They were surprised—not just at him being up and about, but that he was up and about in time for them to catch him before they went off to their separate tasks for the day. Flash grabbed a bit of fruit for breakfast and asked if they wanted any work done around the house. Sunset—unprepared—merely directed him to the "to-do list" that Twilight always had posted on the refrigerator. And—once both women were gone—Flash found avenues by which to exercise his strangely uncorked energy.

Thus—throughout the day and the ones to follow—Flash Sentry found himself vacuuming the apartment, giving the bathrooms a long-needed scrubbing, cleaning the inside of the indoor fridge, and even mopping the kitchen floor. Being exposed to so much daylight was a queer thing indeed for the young man, and it attracted the interest of Spike—who found multiple reasons to trail Flash around and talk his hear off about all sorts of random magically-sapient-canine things.

Flash simply nodded and allowed Spike to get the ramblings off his furry chest. Either he was too good at busying himself that week or something unique was pumping through his bloodstream, but Flash actually didn't find the little talking animal all-too-terribly annoying. Once he realized that he wasn't literally required to remember everything that came out of the pup's mouth, he discovered that he could easily tolerate Twilight's pet/best friend. Spike had less reasons to feel lonesome, and it made a positive impact on the dog's day.

But between Spike and the apartment, Flash still found himself feeling restless. It was like a complete reversal of the last few months of his existence—in that his days suddenly felt so bright and so long that there wasn't enough to fill the hours with. Sleep—or the masquerade of sleep—simply didn't offer the same refuge, and it now felt like a crime to kill time so wastefully.

So...

Flash started straightening the things in his room. He soon discovered that this was more than a simple task, so he started rearranging things: furniture and closet space and wall decorations. This task needed light, so he pulled apart his black curtains—wilfully—for the first time in as long as he could remember. In so doing, he discovered hideous layers of dust and grime and filth. There was no going back now; Flash had to go full Cinderella mode.

As such, he dusted the bookshelves and cleaned his sheets and even gave patches of wallspace a good gentle scrubbing. As time wore on, he realized that he disliked the sunlight less and less. The brightness did not—in fact—stab his eyes, as his previous vampiric proclivities might have led him to believe. In fact, the more he progressively made his room spotless and presentable, the less excuses he had to obscure it all in darkness. Before Flash knew it, his little pocket of the apartment had become as shiny and resplendent as the rest of the rooms that otherwise fell under the charge of taller, saner beings.

Speaking of whom: Twilight and Sunset were beyond impressed. Perhaps even a bit concerned. More than once, the telepathic former-girlfriend of Flash took the boi aside and asked him how he was doing... how he was feeling... if he had been taking any substances.

Flash humored her as much as he could. The only reason the telepath never got a satisfying answer is because the boi had nothing legitimate to give. He simply... lost the bulk of his lethargy. Even after nearly a full week, Flash was still getting up relatively earlier than usual and accomplishing stuff around the house by pure will. There was no longer any desire to just... collapse and let the day die. He had things to do and an energy that could barely be expended.

Looking back, Flash struggled to find a starting point to this wave of self-assuredness. He found it strangely assuring that he couldn't find—much less label—a reason. The moment he understood what made himself tick, he cynically feared that the whole movement would cease.

Flash was no idiot. He did remember the day at the soccer fields... and the tiny, fateful, but altogether felicitous conversation with Cadance. But—in his mind—it was impossible to connect any dots to it, or to her. It just didn't make any sense. The Principal of Crystal Prep hadn't offered him any advice or encouraged him to change his regular schedule or laid the groundwork for a new habitual way of showing thanks and respect to his roomates.

She just... brushed through his life on a wave of pink and gave him something to smile about—at least on the inside.

Surely that wasn't enough to make a difference...

...was it?

After all, it's not like anything a virtual stranger could do or say would make any alteration to Flash himself, the state he was in, or the things he had lost during the blackout. Flash was simply experiencing a very... manic phase—he told himself—and in time that would fade away. If not on its own, then surely a spontaneous roadblock would come and knock everything about that week asunder.

And Flash was almost certain that moment would come... the morning that Sunset tapped his shoulder and kindly reminded him...

...that his regularly-scheduled doctor's appointment was at hand.