When Rarity woke up, she noted two things.
Firstly, she noted that Pinkie was already awake, staring out of the window into the sky.
Secondly, she noted the colour of said sky.
The whole of it was a canvas of light, warm pastel shades. Pinks, oranges, flashes of crimson and golden yellow struck through the backdrop of warmth and calm. Rarity let her eyes flutter shut again, and rather than turn away from the morning light she basked in it for a time, allowing the heat of the sun to lull her into a relaxed stupor.
“So,” she began after a couple of moments, “What kind of day is it today, dear?”
When she didn’t get a response, Rarity opened one eye, and found that a response didn’t seem necessary anymore.
Pinkie’s hair was fluffy and soft-looking. The light from the sunrise filtered through it in a kaleidoscope of sparkles that danced with every move she made. The way Pinkie carried themself was so smooth, almost choreographed, as they turned to face Rarity.
And when they climbed back into bed to envelop Rarity in an embrace, Rarity could tell that Pinkie had been up for a while.
It stood to reason, of course, that a pony with such boundless energy tended to sleep only the amount that was absolutely necessary for their day.
What clued Rarity in, however, was the floral scents in Pinkie’s mane. The reflective sheen of lipgloss decorating their smile. The curl and fullness of their eyelashes, which batted every time their sultry, lidded stare was punctuated by a blink.
When Pinkie opened their mouth, Rarity felt like she could have chimed in and said the exact same thing.
“Girl day,” Pinkie whispered, and Rarity nodded with a sleepy, yet still smitten grin.
She loved girl days.
She loved running her hooves down the soft, lithe curves of Pinkie’s barrel. The taste of their kisses, like confectionary and sugar, steeped in the lush fruitiness of Pinkie’s lipgloss.
She loved the bold strikes of Pinkie’s makeup, contrasting with the understated subtlety of her own. Pinkie would use her own inimitable, and utterly charming, madcap style, and line her eyelids with prismatic explosions. She’d paint her hooves in patterns so garish, so crass, that only Pinkie could possibly pull it off.
They went together like complimentary but utterly distinct forms of art.
She was the impressionist to Rarity’s realism, and Rarity loved her for that.
She wrapped her hooves around Pinkie and pulled her in, nipping at her neck lightly as Pinkie squeaked in delight.
“Shouldn’t we get up?” Pinkie asked, her tone clearly of a pony who wanted to do nothing less.
“It’s a beautiful morning, darling, I think we can sleep in a little,” Rarity replied with a feline grin, watching her girlfriend’s eyes flutter shut in contentment.
And as her eyes started to close as well, all she could see was pink, pink, pink.
When Rarity woke up, she noted two things.
Firstly, she noted that Pinkie was already awake, staring out of the window into the sky.
Secondly, she noted the colour of said sky.
Outside their sanctuary here, all that existed were greys and blues. The world’s symphony was comprised of bold strikes in minor tone. The pitter-patter of rain hitting the windowpane threatened to lull Rarity back into the arms of the slumber she’d just risen from.
Nearly.
But how could she sleep when standing there, by the window, was Pinkie?
How could she ever truly avert her eyes from her lover, standing there as the sole point of light in an ocean of cold tones, infinite cobalt and sapphire and indigo, earthy greys and blacks?
“So,” Rarity began after snapping herself from her reverence, “What kind of day is it today, dear?”
Pinkie looked over at Rarity, and she never wanted to close her eyes again.
Her lover’s mane was long, and flat, slicked back close over their head. Their eyes were steadfast, unwavering, pupils contracted against the explosion of cool blue that was their irises.
When Pinkie moved away from the window to come back to bed, their motions were bold and confident. Not without Pinkie’s characteristic gentleness, but without fanfare either. They were controlled, stoic, and when they pulled Rarity into an embrace it was all she could do not to swoon at the rustic scents of wood and mineral that clung to their pleasantly rough coat.
When Pinkie opened their mouth, Rarity felt like she could have chimed in and said the exact same thing.
“Boy day,” her lover announced, in a throaty, low tone that made Rarity bite her lip.
She loved boy days.
She loved the strength in Pinkie’s hooves as he held her there, head resting atop her own as if cradling her. When he kissed her, Pinkie’s lips were rough, and tasted like sharp mint.
She loved the way that he’d scoop her up into an embrace, such strength in his grip that was never overbearing, never anything other than a safe haven. She could simply curl into him and feel like the world didn’t matter.
And it didn’t, did it? Not when she had him, and he had her.
Her boyfriend’s chin was scruffy, his gaze was calm and self-assured, buoyed as one could only be by the knowledge that he had someone who adored him, and whom he adored in turn.
Outside there was a sudden flash, the rain picked up it’s relentless barrage against their window as the clap of thunder finally caught up with the lightning that had heralded it.
“Shouldn’t we get up?” Pinkie asked, wincing. His tone was that of someone who really didn’t want to have to contend with the weather outside.
But Rarity just smiled, and watched the world for a moment. The flashes and rumbling music of nature complimented the muted palette of the sky.
She thought it was spellbinding.
“It’s a beautiful morning, darling, I think we can sleep in a little,” Rarity replied with a deep, contented sigh, before nestling deeper into her boyfriend’s embrace.
And when her eyes started to close, all she could think of was the comfort of their two bodies pressed together, and the steady cadence of Pinkie’s breaths.
When Rarity woke up, she was surprised.
Pinkie was still in bed, slumbering softly. In their whole relationship, she couldn’t remember many times she had woken up first at all.
It was almost a ritual of theirs now. When Rarity would join her lover in the waking world, she’d always ask what kind of day it was going to be.
Except now, Pinkie was peaceful, slumbering and still undefined. They were no less beautiful for it. Their expression was placid and calm, the steady rise and fall of their chest coordinated with every soft breath they took.
It took everything in Rarity’s power to not place her hoof on that chest, to not kiss every part of that gently slumbering face.
She looked over to the window, and saw the colour of the sky was a perfect, unblemished white. They could have simply been removed from the world, such was the uniformity of it all outside. Blank and neutral, unburdened by tone or shape for as far as the eye could see.
Rarity thought it was beautiful.
She turned back to Pinkie, relishing in the opportunity to see a pony so known for their boundless energy at rest.
As softly as she could, not to disturb them, Rarity pulled Pinkie closer to her. She let her eyes flutter shut, basking in the perfect white of the morning sky, and the peace of her lover beside her.
Whatever day it was going to be, Rarity knew that she’d love it.
