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                    In Perfect Harmony                     
                      -by psp7master-                      
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                    In Perfect Harmony                     
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In Perfect Harmony
In Perfect Harmony
~ to Matt, a great musician and a wonderful person ~
***
Take a deep breath.
The coffee brown unicorn sat at the piano, opening the cover, his hoof playing a few simple arpeggios, just to check if the instrument was still tuned. He wouldn't be surprised if it weren't; for as long as he could remember, the old black piano in the corner of the bar had never been tuned. He felt the keys bend beneath his hoof, obeying his will, sending him into a familiar tranquillity.
At least I have control over the instrument, he thought, his left hoof joining in, pressing some chords. Yes... this felt good. He had never understood unicorns who would play their instruments using magic. Couldn't they understand how amazing it was, how pleasant it felt to slide a hoof along the keys, to press and release them, creating the most wonderful gift in the world - music.
The world hasn't seemed generous with gifts lately.
The pianist chuckled sadly and shook his head, letting his black mane fall onto his eyes.
Yes, that's better... Cover the eyes. Cover the vision. The world can't see me now.
And life hadn't been generous with gifts indeed. On the contrary, life had seemed to choose Perfect Fifth to be its puppet, taking delight in playing with his existence. Destiny was an evil mistress - if she ever were a lady - but a mistress nevertheless. For quite a long time already, Perfect Fifth had come to terms with it. He lived his liife, day by day. He slept throughout the day and played the piano in a local bar at night. He gave himself in to the beauty of the music, of the real music, the masterpieces of the composers of the classical era in the daytime, and played soft jazz for drunkards at the bar - oh, who was he kidding! It was nothing but a dirty hut, not worthy of being called a bar or a pub -  at night. Every night he would begin with a classical composition, and every night he would receive groans of disapprovement and drunken yells, and he would switch to some soft jazz or raspy blues, just to please the crowd.
Just to please the crowd. He was just that; a jester, an actor playing his part. Sometimes, between his night sessions, he would muse that most ponies were simply playing the parts they were given by the ever-ironic hoof of destiny. Most ponies lived and died without knowing what their role was, and whether they were playing a part at all. Perfect Fifth found some sadistic solace in such pessimistic thoughts. Not that those made him warm inside; but at least they made the cold bearable. They made his job bearable. They made his life bearable.
Not opening his eyes, the unicorn lowered his head and began to play. His hooves stood prim and proud, yet relaxed, showing respect to the composer Coltbert, whose piece he was playing. He smiled solemnly as the endless sequences reminded him of his life's events.
Losing family at an early age. Dropping out of college. Spending a few weeks in the streets, until he could find a shelter. Working his way as a labourer, and a courier. Earning some money. Buying a small, unbelievably small studio flat on the outskirts of Manehattan. Getting a job as a bar pianist. That pretty much summed it all up. The unicorn couldn't say his life was rich in events; but those that had occurred were more than enough for him to lose hope. It was better to live without hope. It was easier.
He opened his eyes and looked around, not looking at his hooves, which continued to play with sheer proficiency. Music was the only thing he was good at, he assumed. Even his cutie mark - a treble clef with two notes - held some relatively trustworthy evidence to support that fact. Two notes - G and D. Two notes - two keys behind them.
G major, which is also E minor. A strange key. An enigmatic key. It isn't exactly major, and it isn't exactly minor. It holds a touch of uncertainty. A solemn sigh of dismay mixed with hidden hope of a new dawn.
D major, which is also B minor. The saddest key. The most solemn key. The key of broken heart and all-consuming darkness. A yell of despair lost in the void of eternity.
He took in the faces of the ponies sitting about the bar. Same drunken faces, having come here for cheap entertainment, unable to feel the music. All of them, all of them...
...Except for her. His gaze fell upon a grey earth pony  mare, who was sitting at a table near him. She was alone, save for a glass of wine, which she was holding delicately in her hoof, stirring the glass so that the drink wouldn't lose its flavour.  And she was looking at him. Her eyes - her beautiful eyes - pierced him, ripping through the structure of his body and soul. Her long black mane was resting on her back, and her other hoof was tossing from time to time, playing with it. She inspected the pianist with interest and... was that a hint of admiration? A shadow of admiration? A shadow of a hint of admiration?
Get over it. You're just a form of amusement; nothing more. She's too beautiful for you.
He kept playing, occasionally diverting from the original manuscript, adding a few tremolos here and there, enriching the simple accompaniment of the left hoof. He snuck a gaze from the grey mare, who smiled at him and nodded. That simple gesture was enough for him to lose his mind, the sheer beauty and shining attitude of the stylish earth pony blinding him, occupying all the cells of his brain at once. He gulped and closed his  eyes, managing to keep playing only by habit.
That was just a smile. Just a smile. Burn your hopes.
"Hey, you! 'Nuff with that crap! Play something real!" a shout interrupted his peaceful state of mind. He didn't respond; he was used to it. Soon, more ponies started shouting and yelling and throwing their hooves in the air. But the pianist had eyes only on her. The grey mare was shocked; she was visibly afraid. It seemed that she didn't know how anypony could dislike classical music.
Smiling sadly at the mare (Did I really do that?!), without stopping playing, without changing the key or the tempo, without looking at the audience - or, to be more exact, the crowd, Perfect Fifth momentarily converted the once classical composition into a jazz, adding modulation and fastening the tempo. Soon, he was playing dirty, bawdy jazz, on the edge of bebop, accompanied by loud cheers of approval from the crowd.
They are so easy to please... But what about *her*?!
He turned his head towards the grey mare. To his surprise, she was bobbing her head slightly in rhythm, in perfect unison with the music. Her eyes were closed, and a deep, thoughtful smile played upon her face. This fact gave the unicorn some cheer - or whatever it was; he wasn't sure he could feel cheer any more. In fact, he wasn't sure of anything. His hooves glided along the keys, relaxed, no longer respectful, feeling more like friends than servants to the talent of the blind jazz composer Coltring.
Block chords, dominant and secondary seventh chords rushed one after another, finally ceasing in an hour; or so it seemed to Perfect Fifth, who had got lost in time, bathing in the beauty of music. His time was over. His eyes opened and a weak sigh escaped his mouth. No matter how he disdained this place; no matter how much he disdained his entire existence, he loved music. And he loved the ability to escape the sad and deprecating thoughts that reality was so cruelly serving on a plate.
He rose from his place at the piano and trotted towards the exit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the grey mare stand up as well and trot after him. No, he stopped himself. Not after him. She was just leaving. Just a coincidence. He left the dirty bar, inhaling the bland, cool scent of the night air. The night was better than the day, he mused. The night gave salvation. The night gave ability. The night gave possibility. A polite cough coming from behind his back cut the string of his thoughts and made him turn round, only to see the grey earth pony mare standing next to him, a warm smile on her face, a smile that warmed the brown unicorn up inside, disposing of the darkness and cold around him.
"Good evening," the grey mare began, standing firm and straight, her accent betraying her being from Canterlot. "I happened to stumble upon this bar tonight and..." She paused to smile, making the unicorn's heart melt, his brain sending hopeless signals to his feelings. "...I  really liked your performance, especially the first composition. But while I am a devotee of classical music, I very much enjoyed your jazz improvisations towards the end. You see, I am a musician myself: I play the cello." She stopped abruptly and blushed. "Sorry, it's rude of me to talk so much. I don't know what has come over me." She shifted from hoof to hoof uneasily.
"I think I could listen to you for eternity," the unicorn said suddenly, not thinking about his phrasing, his eyes immediately widening at the realization of possible implications.
"Thank you." The grey pony blushed again, even deeper this time. "My name is Octavia, by the way. Octavia Philarmonica." She extended a hoof.
"Perfect Fifth," he replied, giving the hoof a quick, yet respectful kiss.
"Wow." Octavia's face turned completely red by that time. "Your manners are quite refined," she noted, and, after a moment of thinking, added, "Do you play here every night?"
Perfect Fifth nodded. "Every night," he repeated with a smile, more of a content one than the one forced by politeness. "Though, if I may point out, it is the first time I have seen you here," he added, his head for once clean of haunting thoughts.
Octavia waved a hoof in the air, smiling. "I've never thought to pay it a visit before." She looked into the brown stallion's eyes, her gaze warm and gentle. "Though, now I have a good reason to become a regular customer." She winked, and that simple gesture, coming from such a refined mare, made the pianist blush. He touched his cheek in surprise. For the first time in so many years, he had felt embarrassment. He had felt something apart from the empty and aching hollowness that seemed to have occupied his heart and mind forever.
"So... Until tomorrow night, then?" Octavia asked with another smile. Perfect Fifth could have sworn that he would do anything just to see her smile, again and again.
"Of course... Octavia," he said, calling her by name, the aftertaste of the word warm on his lips.
The grey earth pony nodded and turned round, beginning to walk away. The unicorn just stood there and watched her go, noticing with pleasure that she turned her head towards him once and gave him a wave, which he returned. As she disappeared round the corner, he sighed. The world had just lost its meaning - or gained a meaning. He wasn't sure. He didn't know whether changes would come, or what would happen to him, and whether it would be connected to Octavia. He was sure only of one thing: so long as the grey mare came to see him and listen to him play, he no longer needed to worry.
He turned round and soldiered along the dark street, his thoughts far from misery, towards his small, lonely, yet so inviting flat.
***
Sunlight.
Sunlight is a symbol of a ceaseless devotion and dedication to an invisible goal. Sunlight warms up the ground. Sunlight lights the air, igniting the invisible particles. Sunlight brings hope and laughter, laying a foundation for happiness.
Happiness.
While Perfect Fifth had never really contemplated happiness from this perspective before, it felt... good. If it was happiness he was feeling, lying in his bed by the window, eyeing the black grand piano placed next to the opposite wall. The flickering light fell upon the wall, gliding across it, drawing the unicorn's attention. For the first time in his life, he didn't want to think. He didn't want to think about anything. Something had happened the previous night; something important. Though, he didn't want to speculate. A certain grey mare had appeared in his life, just passing through, but occupying all of his thoughts.
He didn't need to bathe in self-deprecation. He didn't need to muse about the circumstances, or the past, or the future. He didn't need to think about anything. All that he needed was to think about the grey earth pony cellist, her beautiful eyes, her mesmerizing smile...
He jerked up in bed, sudden and unusual, even frightening determination taking over him, leading him to the small table near the piano, an old table overcrumped with sheet music and hoof-written notes. He stopped for a moment, looking at all those sheets of paper, the fruit of his labour throughout so many years, bracing himself against what he was going to do.
His horn lit with grey light and immediately one of the papers burst into flames, the paper once holding his music, the music he'd written, the music he'd worked so hard on, now mere ash.
He blinked a few times, gasping at the realization of what he'd just done. But as shadows and images of the past crawled into his head, fear was replaced with anger. He narrowed his eyes and set the rest of the suite on fire.
"This is for leaving me, you worthless shadows of parents!" he yelled and ignited a few more sheets, watching with glee as the magical fire danced upon the table, not damaging it, but destroying only the paper.
"This is for making me live in the streets!"
Another suite ceased, ashes taking it into the forsaken cave of oblivion. Smoke began filling the room, and Perfect Fifth coughed. As much as he was enjoying the activity, he couldn't risk getting the fire alarms go off. With a swift movement of his horn, the rest of the papers died with a soft whimper, interrupted by hissing of the flames.
The pianist looked at the pile of ash that lay before him. All his work, burned down. All those years, burned down. All his life, burned down.
He stared at the ashes dumbly, trying to get a slightest grip of any emotion. But there was nothing. He thought he would cry, but he felt no sadness. He thought he would laugh, but he felt no joy. Just hollowness, but not the kind of aching hollowness he'd felt before. A hollowness that longed to be filled, to turn into content tranquillity.
A single ray of sunlight fell onto the corner of the desk, where a pile of blank paper lay. Perfect Fifth smiled. He took a pen and placed himself at the table, drawing five horizontal lines. He knew exactly what to do.
***
Take a deep breath.
For the first time in a long time, Perfect Fifth was nervous. His forehead was sweaty just below his horn, and he gulped every few seconds. Everything had to be perfect.  Everything was bound to be perfect. As he sat at the piano, he remembered that he had forgotten to look for Octavia. A few quick glances around planted seeds of panic in his heart. She was nowhere to be seen: not a single table held sign of her presense.
Maybe... Maybe she forgot?
"I'm here," a sweet voice came from nearby, very, impossibly near.
The pianist raised his head in surprise and saw that a grey mare was sitting at the other side of the piano, on a stool, her front legs laid on the surface of the old instrument, which, to be honest, never really played in tune. She was wearing a  bow tie: a wonderful red bow tie that matched his, which, tonight, was purple. Purple. The colour of confusion. The colour of uncertainty and a bit of hope. Yesterday, the bow tie was blue. The colour of blues. The colour of sadness hidden deep beneath, a sadness that can only be cured by music, if music can cure anything.
"Octavia..." the unicorn exhaled and looked at the beautiful grey cellist, whose black mane was falling onto her shoulders and her back, almost reaching her fla-
Aaaaand stopping right here.
He shook his head to get rid of nasty thoughts that nature tried to establish in his subconsciousness. Octavia was too good for him. And she was too... regal? Too regal to have any relations with a mere bar pianist like him.
"Yes, that's my name." Octavia giggled, covering her mouth with a hoof, thus making the brown unicorn high on the single sound of her laughter. It was the sweetest music to his ears, and no composition, no suite, no sonata could compare to that.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said suddenly, his mind immediately scolding him for being so open and straight-forward.
"But I'm here," she said, a very thin blush covering her cheeks, the origin of which remained unknown to the pianist. "And I'm here because of you." At this point, she pointed at him with her hoof and looked straight into his eyes.
It is time.
Not breaking the eye contact, he placed his hooves on the piano and began to play. By now, he knew the melody by heart. It was a tune that spoke of love, and hope, and happiness. It was a melody that sighed in reminisce of the times long past. His hooves slid along the keys, playing for her, just for her. And his eyes were fixed on her eyes, just on her eyes. The world could wait.
The melody changed slightly: jazz elements entered the shrine of classical music, adding some easy-going pressure to the royal chords and even notes. He swung, and abused modulation, and used block chords: he did everything that classical music forbade him to do. He played jazz not because he needed to play jazz. He played jazz because he wanted to play jazz. And he played it for her.
When the composition ended, the two ponies sat in silence, unable to form clear thoughts. Octavia's eyes were slightly teary, but it was clear that those were no tears of sadness, but tears born by an intense feeling, a feeling of music... or maybe something more?
"Hey, you! You playing or what?" an angry yell echoed from the distance. However, this time, it gained no support. The visitors were just sitting in awe at what they had just seen and heard. Perfect Fifth rose and so did Octavia. Their eyes were still locked on each other, speaking more than words would have spoken.
And then the audience erupted into an ovation. The ponies stomped their hooves and cheered and clapped and raised their mugs in the air. But the unicorn didn't notice them. Taking Octavia's hoof in his, he led her towards the exit.
As the night air cleansed their lungs and lightened their heads, they were finally able to speak.
"Wow," Octavia said, looking at the unicorn with admiration. "This piece was exquisite. Who composed it?" she wondered, still holding the brown hoof in her own.
"Perfect Fifth," the unicorn replied with a smile, beginning to rub the hoof gently. Octavia blushed a little but didn't resist. He took it as a good sign. There hadn't been many good signs lately, so a single one wouldn't hurt, right?
"But that's... Oh." She nodded understandingly. "You are a brilliant composer," she said, rubbing his hoof in return. For some reason, this simple gesture was all that meant anything in the world, at that moment.
"You are a brilliant mare," he replied, and added, "It's not just a compliment. I really mean it."
The two ponies stood in silence, bathing in each other's presence. If this wasn't love, then there was no love in the world.
Say it. Just say it. You know she wants it.
"Octavia..." the unicorn said quietly and looked away, blushing a little. "Would you like to come to my place?"
In reply, the grey mare took the pianist by his chin and turned his head towards her, so that her eyes were looking directly into his. She smiled and nodded.
"With pleasure."
And so they marched along the street, towards the small studio flat.
***
"Home sweet home," Perfect Fifth said with a chuckle as he opened the door and held it for Octavia to enter. She looked around, her eyes shifting through the few objects that occupied the only room: a couch, a grand piano, a cupboard, and a writing table.
"What is this? You had a fire?"
As the unicorn closed the door behind him and turned round to see that Octavia was looking at the table. To his embarrassment, he realised he had left the pile of ash there, not cleaning it. But he didn't really expect her to come. Or did he?
"No, that's all right," he said, trotting towards the table and casting a cleaning spell, destroying the ashes in a second. "Just... getting rid of a few works of mine," he said, trying to maintain nonchalance. After the conversation they had held on the way here, he found it much easier to speak to the cellist mare. In fact, he had a strange feeling that he had known her his entire life.
Octavia gasped, her eyes widening.
"You don't mean...  You destroyed your compositions?" she asked, eyeing the brown unicorn in lack of understanding.
Perfect Fifth chuckled again, this time more solemnly. He shook his head and smiled weakly.
"They reminded me of the past. Too much to my liking," he explained, pointing his hoof at the now empty table.
Octavia reached him and put a comforting hoof on his shoulder, filling him with pleasant warmth.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, looking into his eyes. Only now he noticed that her eyes were greyish purple, matching the colour of his bow tie. A thought rushed through his head: he had probably chosen the purple bow tie because of her, subconsciously.
"I'd very much rather treat you to a drink," he replied, gently avoiding the painful subject. Fortunately, the grey mare understood him and looked around with a slight nod of her head, as if she were searching for a dining room.
He forstalled her, showing her to the single doorway that led to a tiny kitchen. For a moment, he felt shameful as they entered the kitchen and sat down at a minute table, scarcely able to host two ponies, but Octavia dispelled his concerns.
"Your place is lovely," she said when the brown unicorn stood up to open the refrigerator. "Small and cosy," she added with a genuine smile.
I wonder if my heart will ever stop melting from this... not that I want to, he mused and kept on with the role of a polite  and gracious host, afraid that shall he do something wrong, Octavia may leave.
And if she left... It would be like burning down everything he stood for, the very foundations of his  existence. It would be like crushing  the walls of the already shaking castle of his sanity. It would be like giving up all hope of safety, forever. Only now did he realise - not realise, but put in a verbal form; he had already realised it before - how much that mare meant to him. He had known her for a few hours in general but he knew for sure that to save her life, he would gladly give his own.
He closed his eyes for a moment and imagined Octavia performing. She takes centre stage of some conservatoire, of course, as a musician of such calibre. Strangely enough, he never heard her play but he knew - no, he felt, he sensed in a way, on the level of sub- or upper-consciousness - that she was highly proficient, in addition to being very emotional, yet strict at playing. She turns to face the audience - a real audience, not some drunken bar crowd. She gives them a gracious nod and takes her cello. She begins to play-
"Pardon my interrupting, but you've been standing by the open fridge for a few minutes," a voice brought him back to Equestria, a voice belonging to the very mare he thought about, all the time, now.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologised, turning to face her, her every facial feature making his heart leap and jump out of his chest. "I just got lost in thought," he explained, taking a bottle of wine from the refrigerator.
"About what, if I may ask?" Octavia enquired, pushing her glass closer to the edge of the table for the stallion to fill. Perfect Fifth sent a prayer to Celestia that he had two spare glasses, or else he would have found himself in a difficult situation.
"About you," he replied simply as he poured each of them a glass of fine wine - one of the few things he found it reasonable to spend money on - and sat down at the table, next to the grey mare, feeling the warmth inside his chest as he did so.
Octavia blushed and opened her mouth but he raised a hoof and continued. He wanted her to know - he wanted her to know everything.
"All my life, I've seen nothing but misery," he began, establishing a firm eye contact with the beautiful cellist. "I'm not complaining, though. Just telling the facts." He took a sip from the glass and saw the mare do the same. "My parents died in an accident when I was a foal. They promised never to leave me..." He chuckled sadly and shook his head. "But they did. I lived in the streets, and had to spend days without a proper meal or washing. I dropped out of college because I could no longer pay for it. Now I'm stuck with this job, in hopeless search for  something better."
They drank in silence for a few seconds. "All my life, I've seen nothing but misery," he repeated, emptying the glass. Octavia's glass was still half empty. Or was it half full? Perfect Fifth had never really contemplated his phrasing, for he had never connected words with feelings such as optimism or pessimism. "Up to moment I met you." He smiled at the blushing Octavia, who was still looking into his eyes. "When I met you, I saw a light in this world of darkness. I saw your eyes, and they brought meaning into my life." He paused, his cheeks turning red immediately. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just said what I felt. Nopony likes to listen to bar pianists usually," he added with a chuckle, but Octavia looked very serious.
She rose from her place and reached the unicorn, putting a comforting hoof on his shoulder, suddenly making his insides flutter. She raised his chin and looked into his eyes, her breath falling on his cheek.
"I like to listen to you," she whispered, bringing her muzzle closer, impossibly closely... "I like you."
With that, she leaned in and pressed her lips into his, her eyes closing in bliss. Following some subconscious, incomprehensible instinct, he sighed into the kiss and let his tongue replace his brain on the post of the captain of his body. He tried to be gentle, his tongue playing the role of a dance partner, asking his mare for a waltz, but, to his surprise, and even slight arousal, the grey mare wasn't half as gentle. Her tongue swirled furiously, pushing his own deep into her mouth, grabbing it, as if she were trying to take a grip of it and never let it go. Finally, he gave in and let himself be aggressive, joining in the tongue wrestling. Octavia gasped into the kiss, almost digging her hooves into the stallion's back.
In a few moments, she broke the kiss and looked into his eyes lovingly. "Love me," she whispered into his ear, and that was all needed for Perfect Fifth to make a decision. He grabbed her in his front legs very carefully and carried her to the couch. Moving on his hind legs was difficult, but he didn't want to ruin this sacred moment by letting magic take hold of her.
He placed Octavia on the small couch graciously, and tried to get on as well. Needless to say, he was utterly embarrassed by his attempts.
"Sorry for the couch," he said as he lay next to her, holding her in his hooves, their hearts beating in unison. "It's too small." He pressed the mare closer, the feeling of safety overwhelming him, her breath falling on his neck, her pounding heart telling him that he no longer needed to worry...
"Well, I suppose it's the only small thing you have," she whispered seductively into his ear, her hoof sliding down his body, straight towards his shaft which was now prodding her belly, vibrating from excitement. He had never thought - hoped? - that Octavia would be into dirty talk but, to his guilty pleasure, she totally was proving otherwise. As she began stroking his member slowly, he gasped, his eyes rolling somewhere into the back of his head, soft moan escaping his lips.
"Oh, you are so excited at this?" she murmured, nibbling on his ear, and neck, her head getting lower and lower... until her lips touched the tip of his erected stallionhood. The unicorn yelped and began stroking her black mane as she let her tongue prove its dancing skills on his member. Short loops were soon replaced by full-head sucking, and Perfect Fifth couldn't help but watch the mare take his entire length into her mouth, her tongue adding to the pleasure, her eyes smiling slyly at him.
He couldn't bear it any more. In an instant, his horn lit and, not paying attention to "ruining the sacred moment with magic" or, to be honest, anything at all, he levitated the mare, placing her onto her back, a string of saliva mixed with pre-cum dripping out of her mouth as his cock slid out with an audible pop.
He leaned in and dragged Octavia into a passionate kiss, this time taking the lead. He could see she enjoyed it; he could feel it. He could feel surges of lust and passion ripping through her body, and he didn't hesitate to finally do what they both longed for. Breaking the kiss and beginning to place small kisses on her neck, he let his shaft enter the moist opening. Octavia moaned, closing her eyes.
Perfect Fifth began to thrust slowly, rocking his hips back and forth, back and forth, not ceasing the kissing session. His hoof began massaging Octavia's flank, making the grey mare moan in sheer pleasure. He fastened the pace, now not only massaging, but rubbing, and kneading her curvy flank. He leaned in to place a loving bite on her ear, feeling the tension building up in his, as well as her, body.
"Oh, you like it, Octavia?" he whispered into her ear as the pressure in his balls became almost unbearable, making him lose his mind. "You like being dominated, right? I can see it, Octavia. I can feel it."
That was the last drop in the tidal wave of the upcoming release. Just as he said that, he felt the grey mare shaking beneath him, yelling on top of her lungs, such profanity escaping her mouth that he had never imagined it would ever leave her lips. As Octavia's orgasm subsided, he took his stallionhood out, and well in time, for in a moment a thick string of cum shot out of it, right onto the mare's face.
As soon as he regained the ability to think properly, his eyes widened in realization of what he had just done. He didn't plan to make Octavia's face dirty, by no means - he just got excited and...
Octavia licked her lips, tasting the semen and smiling. "Come here, love," she said, wiping her face and opening an inviting embrace. The stallion moved closer and hugged the cellist, shocked both at her behaviour and phrasing. Love... Could it be?.. But of course it's love. If this isn't love, then there is no love in the world, he thought, looking at the relaxed mare, who was gradually drifting off to sleep.
And her... um... last gesture... Now I've seen everything, he concluded, closing his eyes, falling asleep at once, for the first time in years.
***
Perfect Fifth woke up, rubbing his eyes. Sunlight was penetrating the curtains, and the room radiated the orange rays quite happily. He smiled, remembering the events of the previous night, and... his dreams. His dreams had been grey and black, but not the usual kind of grey and black. They were grey on brown, and brown on grey, and... Well, they gave some ideas what they should try in the future.
The unicorn looked around, only to find that he was alone. Alone in his bed. As always. His smile faded. Was it all a dream? A realistic, maybe lucid, but still a dream? Or maybe he was going insane?
The sound of the bathroom door opening and the sight of Octavia leaving the bathroom proved otherwise. The unicorn rose to his hooves happily, trotting towards the mare, but was stopped with a kind hoof gesture.
"Uh-uh," Octavia said with a wink, smiling at him. "Not until you have a shower, love."
Never in his life had he been so eager to have a morning shower, trotting to the bathroom immediately. As warm water ran down his spine, he heard Octavia's voice from the outside:
"Love, there is a letter for you!"
Quickly drying himself up with a spell - no time for towels! - he almost galloped out of the tiny bathroom, towards the grey mare. Nopony had ever written him before. He even doubted anypony knew his address. After drawing Octavia into a quick, yet loving and passionate kiss, he took the envelope from her hoof, opening it as a foal would have opened a birthday gift, making the grey mare giggle. But in fact, it totally was his birthday - the first day of his new life, life with Octavia, life without tears and pain and...
They must be kidding me...
"Love?" Octavia asked in concern, seeing the shock upon the unicorn's face, who slowly looked up and handed her the piece of paper.
"Dear Perfect Fifth..." she began to read aloud but then a huge smile played across her face. "I knew it! I knew they would agree!" She was almost jumping with joy, throwing her hooves around the confused unicorn's neck.
"Octavia, love, what does that mean? Equestrian Records want us to make a record as a duo?" he asked, still in dismay. "How do they know about me?" Of course, he didn't question how they knew about her. She was perfect, in any sense.
"You see, I'm currently signed to their label, and I asked the producer to come to the bar to hear you yesterday," she said, beaming with pride and happiness. "He dressed as a common pony to listen to you. As you remember, I forgot about him yesterday night..." She blushed a little at the memories. "...But now he writes that your music is 'exquisite' and 'mind-shattering' and we'll make a record - just you and me!"
Perfect Fifth smiled at the grey mare's joy. He didn't feel happy in the sense that he didn't want to jump with glee or laugh. But he was content just to have this mare nearby, just to stand next to her, and, well, lie next to her. And now they would be making music together.
"But in this case, I'd rather you moved in with me, love," Octavia said and quickly explained herself, "Not only because of music. I've been thinking all morning and I believe it will be very convenient for us to live together at my place, since we're dating now..." She pecked the unicorn on the cheek.
"You know, that's a good idea..." he agreed happily but suddenly felt a strange urge inside. An urge to... mock? "Although I haven't officially asked you out yet," he fulfilled the urge and winked at the mare, who gasped in mock surprise.
Immediately, the unicorn placed himself on one knee before the mare. "Octavia, will you be my marefriend?" he asked in a stately manner, extending a hoof towards the mare.
"I would have said yes..." Octavia began, smiling. "But I totally am your marefriend already," she concluded with  a grin. "Now go pack your things!"
Perfect Fifth rose to his hooves, smiling widely. He looked at the mare, his mare. He thought of all the times they would have together. He thought about the future. And the future seemed bright.
And then he looked at his piano. The symbol of the past. The symbol of his past. The symbol of his solitude.
Now, he was sure only of three things; but those three things were enough.
One. The piano will remain here. He wouldn't take it with him into the new life.
Two. Before him was standing a mare with whom he would gladly spend the rest of his days.
Three. They had just laid a foundation for something new; for something bright, and cheerful, and happy.
As he went on to collect his possessions, he felt something, a feeling that was definitely new, but very enjoyable.
He felt something like optimism.
He felt happy.
The End