“So, not to be so blunt, but how much does a first rate Wonderbolt like you make, anyways?”
Soarin blinked as the purple eyed mare ran a hoof down his chest, in a manner that was trying to be seductive. He was somewhat shocked that she could be so… forward. Last evening and night had been nice enough, but in the wake of the morning, he was regretting this unsuccessful, borderline obnoxious, date.
This girl, Rosabella, had seemed nice enough at first, chatty, outgoing and the life of the party. But now he held nothing but regrets. Why did it seem like at the end of every date, the mare Soarin was with just seemed to be after something he was attached to, rather than him. Be it money or popularity, or for pegasi, a spot in the Wonderbolts, it always left a path of disappointment in his chest. But why? he asked himself. He was practically married to the job, training, practicing, paperwork, meetings and parties. All his free time was spent with his friends, the team, or these days, going on dates and waking up in their bed the next morning.
Instead, Soarin chuckled a little. “If you’re looking for a fancy house, I don’t know if I’m your guy, Rosa,” he protested lightly.
It was true. While he had a delightfully high paying job, Soarin had never found retail therapy to be his thing. His money went to every day things, such as bills, groceries, and charities. Other times, like during birthdays and holidays, he spoiled his friends and family. He loved seeing the joy on their faces. He loved them dearly, and their happiness made him feel better than a fancy boat or house ever would. However, while he didn’t have a huge mansion like most celebrities, one of Soarin’s very, very rare indulgences were his house. It was a bit bigger than most, comfortably fitting a family of three or four, maybe even five. Two large stories, four bedrooms, a smaller attic for space, a nicely sized, open concept kitchen with a living room attached, an ensuite attached to the master bedroom, two other bathrooms, and a powder room. However, due to only spending about one week to maybe ten days there every month, nothing else was massively decorated besides his room and living room.
The house featured photos of his family, his friends, he, Spitfire, and Fleetfoot when they were younger, and a few photos of fans he particularly enjoyed meeting. Not to mention a bookshelf and a large, comfortable bed. The only thing his fridge when he was there was berries, lettuce, chicken, scotch, and of course, apple pie. The rest of it was left clean with minimum furniture. And as much as Soarin liked his house, the Wonderbolts Headquarters was his true home, it was where his dream job and his closest friends were. HQ was home, and he didn’t see that changing for a while.
He felt her trail her hoof down his chest and kiss his neck softly. “I didn’t want to be rude,” she whispered. “I just want a strong, successful guy to help take care of me.”
His eyes widened as her hoof trailed down and her lips brushed his softly.
It was painful, he thought, when no one wanted the true you. Painful and sad, sick and lonely. But maybe right now… he could forget that feeling of heartache for a bit. It was wrong, but they both wanted this for reasons that were anything but right. So when Rosabella rolled on top of him, he didn’t argue, and Soarin, disappointed in himself already, gave in and kissed her.
“Okay… almost finished,” Soarin muttered, squinting at the pile of paperwork on his desk.
While usually the team went out on Friday night to Feather’s bar, Soarin was stuck behind doing work that he had neglected for a couple days in order to sleep after the days of intense training. Being a ‘Bolt was hard work, and when you had to deal with all the other stresses of fame, and in his case, being second-in-command, it was even tiring to do what he needed the most: stay in tip-top shape to keep up with the new routines and exercises thrown in. However, age was on Soarin’s side. Being twenty-five, his muscles were strong and developed, heart and lungs healthy, and having a supportive team helped mentally, no matter how exhausted he got sometimes.
Still, the drinks were one of the breaks he got from work, and the disappointment he felt from having to miss it was still there. He loved laughing and talking and playing their games. It was a Friday ritual, after all. Should’ve just done the work earlier, he thought to himself. Sighing, he opened up an envelope that was sent from the military base outside of Canterlot.
“Dear Commander Soarin Skies, while we know you are busy, we hope you find time to come to our base and learn about leadership in the Air Force, things we have already taught your Captain. You may need to know this in case she is ever unable to perform. Sincerely, Major Gust.” He placed the piece of paper down and opened up his calendar. “Okay... I’ll go on the twenty eighth in... six days,” he decided, quickly scribbling that down.
After putting it away, his eyes scanned the last two documents, things that he, along with Spitfire and Fleetfoot, had to agree to to bring in new training equipment. Easy and quick, with his mouth holding the pen, he carefully signed his name and placed them in the ‘done’ box.
Finally, he slid off his chair in a lazy motion, pushing it back in and headed to the couch on the other side. His office wasn’t very big, but it was enough, handling a dark blue desk, a comfy grey chair, a coffee machine, and a small couch and armchair by the door, along with his achievements from school, and a picture of the team. Since he had had two cups of coffee to keep him going for the two hours of work at his desk, Soarin’s mind wasn’t tired, and he knew there was no point in trying to sleep, so he just sat there in silence, letting his sleepiness slowly over wash him.
Maybe he shouldn’t even try to get up to go to bed, maybe he should just fall asleep there, because while usually this couch wasn’t the most comfiest, it felt like heaven to his sore muscles. Usually when Soarin needed to think, he went for a fly, but after sitting on something other than wood, he knew there was no way that was happening tonight. He sat there until his mind ran blank and black, eyes fluttering as he drifted off into a deep sleep.
It seemed like thirty seconds that his eyes were shut tight, but unfortunately, the night was over too soon, and it was morning again. Soarin hated mornings, especially since the position he was in had his back aching. Maybe he should have taken that fly last night… Rubbing his eyes and flexing his wings a few times, he got up off the couch and did a couple stretches, somewhat easing the muscles.
A clicking sound interrupted his hazy thoughts.
“Soarin! You in there?”
He knew that voice. “Come in, Fleet.”
The wooden door opened and in revealed his turquoise friend, fuchsia eyes looking bright, white, swept back mane clean and brushed. “I was looking for you, come on! Me and Spitfire were wondering if you want to go for a walk before breakfast. Maybe grab a cup of coffee,” she offered, glancing around the room and eyeing him up and down. “Did you sleep in here or something?” she inquired, mouth in a straight line.
He shrugged. Fleetfoot was his best friend, she knew what he was like when there was lots of work for him. Stressed, obsessed, tired and lazy all at the same time. “Ugh, Fleet, honestly. I was doing paperwork for what seemed like ever.”
She motioned to him to follow her. “Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn’t have spent the night before last night with that girl. What’s her face, Rosabelle?”
Soarin blushed slightly. “Rosabella,” he corrected. “And it’s not like you’re one to talk about irresponsible, regrettable sexual encounters,” he added.
Fleetfoot just shrugged, clearly unashamed of her wild side. “Whatever. Come on, let’s go. Everypony missed you last night, Clipper!” she chirped happily, her walk moving to a trot.
Soarin smiled as she caught up to Spitfire, the two standing there waiting for him. Being a Wonderbolt was exhausting, and had Soarin wondering why this had ever been his dream. But then he remembered moments like these. Taking walks with his best friends, practicing routines, meals with his teammates, the exercises that burned so good and left his head clear, the dangerous adrenaline he got while performing stunts, the cheering crowd, the inspired children…
He lived for it.
Why did he live for it again? He did not live for this. The cheers and the show were over, and after every show and quick shower, there was VIP meetings for ponies that managed to get a backstage ticket. And of course, they were in Canterlot, one of Soarin’s least favourite places to do these. The capital city was big and elegant, mostly made out of rich unicorns with few of the other tribes. He did not hate unicorns. But he couldn’t help but hate the ones that were surrounding him right now, full of smug looks, telling everyone that they all had the money to get a behind the scenes pass to the Wonderbolts. And to what? Brag to their friends? Make themselves look good? He hated it.
Ponies were allowed to do what they wanted with their money, but a part of Soarin always believed that money should be spent on things for yourself, and not to merely impress someone. A part of him got it though, it was tough to fit in with Canterlot’s elite crowd. He certainly didn’t, and a lot of the team didn’t either. They were all used to the cafeteria food from HQ, getting up early, learning to do things themselves, with little free-time. The only reason he was accepted was because he was a Wonderbolt, a celebrity. That was why he hated them, impersonally.
“Excuse me, Mr. Soawin?”
Soarin’s ears perked up at the sound of a young filly’s voice, and he turned around to face a light purple Pegasus with her father, smiling brightly at him with big blue eyes. “Hi there.” He smiled genuinely. Soarin loved kids, and unsurprisingly, a lot of his favourite fans were fillies and colts.
“Hi! I was wondering if you would sign this?” she asked shyly, producing a piece of paper from her hat that had a Wonderbolt symbol on it, giving him a hopeful smile. The page had him, Spitfire, and Fleetfoot on the front, the first, second, and third in command of the elite squad.
“Sure thing!” he replied enthusiastically, taking the sheet and a pen from his shirt, signing his name in the corner before handing it back to her. “What’s your name?”
She grinned. “Butterfly!”
“That’s a cool name,” he offered, smiling at her and her dad. “I’m glad you guys could come.”
“Us too,” her dad said and held out a hoof. “I’m Butterscotch by the way,” he added. “I finally saved up enough money. You guys are all she could talk about.” He motioned to the young girl who was now approaching Fleetfoot.
Soarin instantly felt bad. How many fans were out there that desperately wanted to meet or even just watch them and were unable to because of money? If only the tickets were less expensive, or they could have meetings that were free. He would love to meet more that way. Later he would have to look through his fan mail for more ponies that could join if Spitfire approved. Taking out a notepad, Soarin scribbled something down and handed it to Butterscotch. “You guys live here?”
Butterscotch nodded. “Just on the outskirts.”
“Well, next time we’re here for a show or a derby, just give this to a security guard. They’ll ask for me and they’ll let you in,” he offered.
Butterscotch tilted his head before shaking it. “I can’t accept this, what about all the other ponies who pay to watch you?”
Soarin shrugged. “It’s great that they can pay. Obviously I can’t extend the same courtesy to everypony, but you shouldn’t have to miss out because of your financial state.”
The dad still looked reluctant, and in a world where stallions were supposed to provide, it could be hard to accept something like this. “I don’t give charity to ponies,” Soarin clarified. “Well, except for the official charities I donate to. Anyways, I’m not saying you’re unable to pay for yourself, but I’d like to offer it to you if you’ll take it,” he said softly. “I also don’t mean to offend you in any way, sir.”
After a long moment, Butterscotch nodded. “For Butterfly, anything.” He smiled. “But not again, Mr. Skies,” he warned, only a slight hint of seriousness in his voice.
“Of course.” Soarin grinned. He turned as another tap was felt on his back. “Hi,” he greeted to a few older stallions, all dressed in casual suits.
A pearl white stallion with a black mane and moustache spoke up. “My friends and I were waiting and wondering if you’d like to take a photo with us,” he explained, chin slightly raised in the air. “Fancypants is a verybusy man,” he added and offered his hoof.
Soarin plastered on a fake smile and shook it. “Right away…?” he hindered his sentence, unable to finish due to not knowing the male’s name.
“Swift Gale,” he harrumphed lightly, failing to sound polite.
“Alright, let’s go.”
Swift Gale lead Soarin and his friends over to where Fancypants was talkings to Rapidfire and Lightning Streak. His light blue eyes smiled kindly at Soarin. “Ah, Commander Soarin! Lovely to see you.”
Soarin nodded. He rather liked Fancy, who, despite was rich and famous, held an air of professionalism and elegance wherever he went, willing to help and was not a snob. Perhaps his friends weren’t so bad if the wealthy business stallion could stand them. “Thank you, Fancypants.” Soarin got into position as Fire Streak joined them, previously flirting with Misty Fly. “And thanks for coming as well.”
The photographer snapped a couple photos.
“I don’t miss a show in Canterlot.” Fancy smiled. “Spectacular as usual. And I see you met Swift Gale?”
Soarin nodded grimly, glancing over at said pony, who was in the middle of drinking a cup of tea and laughing at something Spitfire said. Didn’t he want a photo with them? “He seems very… cordial,” he managed politely.
Luckily, Fancy just chuckled. “That’s him for you.” He checked the clock. “Ah, I’m sorry. I must get going. Can’t keep the business waiting for too long,” he chuckled.
Soarin nodded understandingly, shaking his hoof again in the process. “I get it. Good to see you again.”
Fancy tipped his head, a show of respect. “Good luck, Commander.” He turned and headed back to his friends. “Come on gentlemen, let’s get going.”
They all followed him through the door, but Soarin still heard Swift Gale whisper to the blue stallion next to him, “What a disrespectful stallion. I don’t know how Fancy or any of the team puts up with him.”
Soarin’s nose flared in anger, but he swallowed down a smart remark and made his way to the balcony, in much need of fresh air.
“Okay, let’s see if there’s anything in here worth reading,” Spitfire muttered, tearing open an envelope and scanning it, only to throw it across the room a minute later. “Not that one.”
Fleetfoot cleared her throat. “Dearest Fleetfoot. Your vibrant eyes and that tight suit that covers your lithe body has me falling harder for you everyday. I love you, and I hope I’ll get to meet you one day. Signed, Darer.” Fleet snorted. “Gosh, I want to say I love our fans, but these letters make it a little hard to sometimes.”
Soarin chuckled amusedly. “Tell me about it. Listen to this, Dear Soarin and Spitfire, can I come to your wedding?” he read aloud.
He watched as Spitfire rolled her eyes. “When will those questions stop? You’re always out screwing or seeing someone anyways,” she said casually.
Soarin cocked an eyebrow, effectively glaring at her. “That is not true,” he defended lamely. “I’m exploring my options… I’m almost twenty six, and I’ve only had one serious girlfriend.”
Fleetfoot nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Bloom, and nopony liked her. No offence,” she added, turning to Soarin.
He waved it away. “None taken. Okay.” He picked up another envelope. “To Commander Skies, hi, my name is Azure, and I’m a really big fan. I live in Manehattan and hope to come see you one day, even though my mom and dad aren’t pegasi and don’t really have an interest. I really like the interview you did for the Cloudsdale News and just wanted you to know that you’re my favourite, though I still like the other Wonderbolts. Bye!” He set it down. “That one was sweet. Okay, another one!”
He picked up a green envelope from somepony in Vanhoover and tore it open, careful not to rip the paper. “Soarin Skies. You’re an asshole and suck as a flyer. I just wanted you to know that you don’t deserve Spitfire or Fleetfoot as best friends and that Rapidfire is way hotter than you. Anonymous.”
Spitfire shook her head. “Sheesh, Soarin. Sorry about that.”
Soarin shrugged it off. “Comes with the job, right?”
He knew it did. The Bolts were well received by ninety percent of Equestria, but to the same for all the members? He couldn’t. Some ponies hated one or another, and even though he didn’t understand why somepony would go out of their way to write nasty, unkind letters, there was still ponies like that, and it was just the way it was.
Fleetfoot also shrugged. “Who cares? Besides, that wasn’t even a good insult letter. Like, no details or explanations. If you’re gonna be mean, at least be decent at it,” she scoffed and smiled, hoping it would cheer him up.
It did, kind of.
“Everyone loves you though,” Spitfire interjected.
The turquoise mare waved a hoof. “Not true. Here, lemme read you this. Fleetfoot, I’m not going to give you my name, and to be honest, I have no idea why I’m writing this letter. But a friend wanted me to. Here’s the thing though, I’m not going to write a love letter or an adoring fan one. I’m an honest pony, and I’m not going to write a lie either. The truth is, I don’t like you. The way you fly with such confidence annoys me, the way you soak in the crowd’s love at every show you do bothers me. It’s like you have no substance. I’ve even read your interviews in hopes of finding something decent, but I hear the same stories of your childhood, how you just seemed like Spitfire and Soarin’s second choice. I’ve seen you in magazines posing, in those outfits that you seem so excited to be wearing, it’s childish. I wish I could say it’s because I’m not attracted to Pegasi, but then why is it that I have no issues seeing Spitfire or Misty Fly wearing those? I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, it’s just the way I feel.”
As soon as she was done, she cleared her throat and tucked it into the couch cushions. “See, Soarin? That is a good insult letter. It’s like they don’t even want to hurt you, but they just can’t help but say how they feel.” She turned to Spitfire. “Not everyone loves me, Cap.”
Soarin cringed. He had always been ignorant about assuming everypony loved his friend. She was fast and agile, friendly and outgoing. Sure, she could be a little pushy, a little in your face, but at the end of the day, that was part of Fleetfoot’s charm.
Spitfire sighed. “Okay, fine, not everyone. But a lot do.”
Fleetfoot merely shrugged and pointed a hoof at both of them. “Come on! Ponies love you guys, leaders of the Wonderbolts! They find you, Soarin, very charming. And Spitfire, they’re always impressed. You’re the most Wonderboltiest Wonderbolt out there!” She smiled encouragingly.
Soarin couldn’t help but smile too. It was true, for the most part, he was well received by the audience. Most ponies who had met him had loved his upbeat and friendly attitude, easily able to converse with most fans, while still flirtatious when he wanted to be. And he was a looker too. Hell, last year he was voted sexiest stallion in Equestria, much to his surprise. Many of the team were well up there in looks, be it for their nice, athletic bodies, and their swept back, sexy manes. They were appealing, and while he didn’t always like to admit it, looks had a certain role in drawing ponies in.
“Um, ‘Wonderboltiest’ is not a word, Flatfoot,” Spitfire replied.
Fleetfoot blew a raspberry from her lips. “Whatever.” Then she yawned. “I’m gonna go to bed, gotta get my beauty sleep,” she joked. “G’night!”
“‘Night!” they called.
Spitfire smiled at the space now left unoccupied. “That’s our Fleetfoot.”
“Right in her spirit,” Soarin agreed. He noticed she was now eyeing a letter with a frown. “What’s that one say?” he asked, scooting closer to attempt to read over her shoulder.
Instead, his captain pulled away. “Better not to read this one,” she explained at his confused expression.
Soarin narrowed his eyes. Usually they were pretty open when it came to letters, so this was something new. “What does it say, Spitfire?” he asked again.
She rolled her eyes. “Nothing.”
He scoffed and looked away for a few seconds. As she went back to reading it, Soarin used his quick reflexes and snatched it out of her hooves. “Hey!” she shouted.
He placed a hoof to his lips, hovering in the air. “Shut up, the others are sleeping,” he told her with a hint of mockery in his voice. In silence, he read it.
Dear Captain Spitfire,
Let me just say, I’m a huge fan of yours! I think you’re the best Wonderbolt and the best pony! I love how confident yet genuine you are, and some of your replies to the paparazzi are really funny! I also think it’s cool that you’ve known Fleetfoot and Soarin for so long as well. Soarin smiled slightly. I love Fleetfoot too, she seems really sweet, despite what other ponies think about her sometimes. Soarin seems nice too, but honestly? Why does he seem so confident? Not that he isn’t a good flyer, because he is. Skill wise, he’s really good and super strong. His smile disappeared. It’s just I can’t believe you’ve been friends with him for so long when he seems like kind of a dud, kind of boring. I don’t get why ponies think he’s so charming and sweet, when it seems like he says the same version of things over and over again. Besides, anypony who’s voted the sexiest has to be a little stuck up, right? I’m sure you’ll agree. Anyways, my mom says I have to go, but I sure hope you get to read this! Bye!
Soarin placed the letter beside her and sighed.
“Soarin…”
He put a hoof up. “Not everypony’s going to like me, Spits. Besides.” He attempted a smile. “It’s not like she said I was a bad flyer, so there’s no disappointment in the shows.”
She tilted her head, orange eyes flickering. “Still though, I—“
He appreciated it, he really did. “No, Spitfire. It’s okay. Not everyone likes me, not everyone likes you. It shouldn’t matter, right?”
She stood up and made her way towards her friend. “That doesn’t mean it doesn’t.”
He shrugged. Being a Bolt hurt sometimes. Physically and emotionally. Why did this letter hurt so bad that it left a squeezing on it’s heart? It’s like the girl wasn’t even trying, didn’t actually want to hurt him, but somehow, it did. Maybe Fleetfoot secretly felt the same way.
“I’m just gonna go to bed,” he added, stretching a little. “Don’t stay up too late.”
“Soarin.”
He didn’t reply, and Spitfire didn’t follow him. He needed to be alone. For one of the many times, Soarin regretted becoming a Wonderbolt.
“Hey sweetie!”
Soarin grinned and hugged his mom back. Cloudy Skies was a ferocious hugger when it came to her one and only son. “Hey mom, how you doing?” he asked, walking into the cloud home and settling himself down on the couch.
“I’m doing good,” she replied, making her way over to the kitchen. “Would you like some tea? Coffee?”
Soarin nodded. “Tea sounds good. Any kind.”
She nodded, head in the cupboards. “Chamomile okay?”
Soarin raised a brow as she looked at him. “Mom.”
“Sorry, sorry, making it!”
Soarin leaned back on the couch, looking at the photos on display. A few when he was a baby and a toddler, making funny faces or holding a piece of art. High school graduation, him and the Wonderbolts, one with his mom and dad, and one of just Spitfire and another of just Fleetfoot.
Spitfire and Soarin had met when they were merely five, getting grudgingly along after Soarin had seen an incident with her father that included a lot of yelling. It was his mom that had secured her a place at their house for the night, much to Stormy Flare’s relief. His mother had not wanted to hear that Spitfire had stuck out her tongue at called him a name the day before, and had sent them to his room where they played a game of monopoly. After that night, the two had become closer and closer, till eventually Spitfire was comfortable enough talking to him about her family and how her dad treated her and her mother. Soarin had promised her that whenever she needed them, they were there. And he always was, because she was his sister, his best friend.
“Soarin, honey? You okay?”
His eyes followed a blue hoof that was waving vigorously in front of his face. “Huh, yeah. Did you ask me something?”
She nodded and sipped her tea, which was in her usual cup, a mug Soarin had imprinted with a painted hoof when he was four years old. “I was just asking about Spitfire and Fleetfoot. How are they doing?”
He too took a drink, swishing the warm, delicately apple and honey flavoured liquid around before swallowing it. “They’re both good. We’re all coming up with a new routine for the end of the year. We’re about halfway through,” he explained.
“That’s good to hear.” Cloudy smiled. She considered the girls like daughters, and checked up on them almost as frequently as she did her own son.
“Yep, Fleet’s just as happy-go-lucky as usual and Spitfire’s yelling orders. They’re in their respective happy places.” He smirked, drinking more of the tea before it went cold.
“Classic. Anyways, how are you? How’s the job, things going personally? And the rest of the team? Is Wave Chill okay? He’s such a sweetheart, and poor him! Spitfire has no idea that he’s head over hooves for her! They’d make a great a couple, don’t you agree?” Cloudy rambled, smiling brightly.
“Woah, mom, there’s only so many questions I can handle,” Soarin chuckled. “But I can tell this might take a little longer to explain.”
She leaned back and clucked she’d tongue twice. “There’s some pie in the fridge I bought at the store.”
Soarin’s green eyes lit up. “Apple?!” he asked excitedly.
His mom through her head back and laughed whole heartedly. “What else?”
Placing his tea on the coffee table, Soarin eagerly made his way over to the fridge, taking out the pie and slicing it, setting a piece on plates for each of them, along with forks. He flew back over and put it in front of her, while he dug in.
Cloudy rolled her eyes. “Soarin, I raised you with manners better than that.”
Soarin smiled sheepishly, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a couple breaths. “Sorry,” he said, voice muffled.
“Anyways, go ahead.”
He swallowed the yummy filling and sweet crust, smacking his lips together and earning another disapproving look from his mother. “The job’s great. There’s been a few late nights recently, and the workouts have been more intense than usual,” he started.
Cloudy poked his arm. “Yeah, I can tell. Girls must be all over you.”
Soarin ignored that. “I actually have to go report at the military base in a few days, learn a couple more things about leadership in the force. I should only be gone for about twenty four hours, though.”
“What kind of leadership things?”
He scratched his arm before replying. “Not exactly sure, to be honest. They said it’s the stuff Spitfire knows, since if she’s ever unable to perform, I’d have to,” he explained. “I’m sure it’ll be the exercises with me leading them plus a couple other drills.”
“You’re already a Master Sergeant, surely they would have you perform acts by now,” Cloudy protested.
Soarin shrugged. “With every new level, of course they do. But with each rank comes more responsibilities, and I just earned Master Sergeant,” he said.
Unlike other ponies, Wonderbolts who first enrolled in the AirForce or Military were given higher ranks to start with, just like doctors. So for him, he had started out as a Senior Airman, and being that he took his job very seriously, he had quickly worked his way up over the past seven years.
“Makes sense. Be safe though. Are you all packed?” Cloudy eyed him up and down, like a soon-to-be twenty-six year old wouldn’t pack when he left in three days.
“You know it’s only for a day, right?” he questioned. While he loved his mom, she could be a little… expecting sometimes.
“Not what I asked.”
He sighed. He was a soon-to-be twenty six year old, and he had not packed, exactly like she assumed.
“I’ll drop by my house after I leave,” he mumbled, taking another bite of the delicious apple pie.
Cloudy grinned triumphantly, a certain look only a mother could truly accomplish. “Good,” she said, very matter-of-fact. “Now let’s go deeper! You seeing anypony right now? Didn’t that magazine show you and a girl talking at one of those formal parties? She had purple eyes and a soft orange coat and—“
“Ah, Rosabella. Nope, just a night of fun,” he quipped sarcastically, putting his finished plate of pie on the table in front of him.
“Soarin Skies, I don’t appreciate that tone,” she warned.
Soarin’s lips parted slightly. “What tone?”
“Nope, just a night of fun,” Cloudy mimicked, deepening her voice in an attempt to sound like a man. “Try not to be so disrespectful to a mare. Honestly. I know you’re a handsome stud or whatever, but still!” She shook her head disapprovingly.
Soarin rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that. We just didn’t have the potential.”
“That’s what you say about all of those girls. Though mind you, I had to agree on a couple of them. Some of them were very… highly hard to please,” Cloudy mused, trying to hold back what she really wanted to say.
He sighed. “I have plenty of time to find a girl, and even if I don’t, what’s the big deal?” He said this casually, but deep down, it bothered him a little that he hadn’t even come close to finding a mare that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever been in love before. Crushes, sure. Love, not so much. “Besides, Spitfire and I made a pact. Get married at forty if we find no one!” he exclaimed, fake cheerily. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he supposed it was better than being alone. They were stuck for life as best friends anyway.
Cloudy scoffed, making a gagging motion. “Please! You two are like siblings. Don’t ever bring that up again.”
Soarin laughed. It was true. It had been a while since anypony he knew personally had shipped him with Spitfire that way. They had such a sibling dynamic it was hard to see anything else once ponies got to know them. They argued over small things, taunted and pranked one another, well, save the pranking for Soarin, and were almost too different to work as friends. Almost. Their dynamic of laid back and goofy and charming, with sharp and serious and undoubtedly sassy clicked perfectly well, and they made great friends. Romantically though? A different tale.
Fleetfoot snorted. “You two wouldn’t have a chance in a relationship!”
“We know,” Spit and Soarin replied in sync.
Soarin felt his mom’s hoof on his. “Look, sweetheart. It’s not bad to be single. Not at all. Especially not right now. Hell, I’m divorced!” she added with a small smile.
He flinched. His parents had seemed so happy together, so it was a shock when they had announced they were separating back when he was sixteen.
Cloudy cleared her throat and Soarin looked at her ice blue eyes. “I just don’t want you to be lonely is all.”
He placed his hoof on hers. “I know, mom. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Soarin pondered it on the way to his house. Am I lonely? I have good friends and a job I love. I should be happy with that. He looked up to see a couple exchanging light kisses, and he sighed. But I’m not. For he longed for a connection with somepony, some mare, that just got him. Knew what to say, understood him, could talk freely with, and have that special bond. And while he loved Spitfire and Fleetfoot, they wasn’t his true ponies. One he could rely on through anything, who had your back no matter what. Maybe I’m doomed, he thought glumly. Maybe there’s nopony for me.
Author's Note
tell me how you liked this one! it’s a prequel to Moments That Brought Them Together, and just little clips of Soarin’s life. i know they seem a little depressing, but that doesn’t mean he was unsatisfied with every aspect of his life. just romantically. i’m a lil nervous but here we go. :D
