Morning
Five AM.
The first hint of the sun was teasing at the window; the stars were dimming as the sky turned from black to a blue-gray.
Sunshine Smiles stretched out, being careful not to disturb the unicorn sleeping beside her.
She shifted around under the covers. It was too hot and she was already bursting with energy, eager for the new day, eager for the sunrise, eager for the chirping of the morning birds.
They were probably still in their nests, blinking their eyes open at the dawn of a new day.
Every morning full of promise.
She used her magic to lift the covers off herself and slid out of bed, tucking them back against her bed-mate to keep in the warmth. Her companion let out a discontented mumble, shifted around on the the bed, and pulled the covers tighter against herself.
It was hard to stop herself from galloping—Sunshine always had the morning zoomies. She trotted to the bathroom and turned on the shower, then regarded herself in the mirror before it could fog up. Bedmane? Check. Clumpy, disorderly fur? Check. Those little greeblies in the corners of her eyes? Yup.
She stuck a hoof in the shower. It was warm enough, so she stepped in and lofted her loofah.
Her bedmate slept on.
🌞
Fifteen minutes later, she stood on the bathmat, a damp towel draped across her back. She started currying her coat, frequently checking her reflection to make sure that everything was in order; when that was complete she lifted her mane-brush and started brushing it into order. Her mane-style was what her stylist called ‘laissez-faire’: no matter what she tried, it always turned into the same disorderly ‘do as soon as it dried. Hair spray had worked, once. She’d never tried it since; it felt like it turned her hair into a helmet.
Just like the sunshine, her mane would not be tamed.
She ran a file across each of her hooves in turn, smoothing any chips that had accumulated yesterday, and followed that with a quick coat of hoof polish, and like that she was ready to face the day.
Sunshine Smiles stuck her muzzle back into the bedroom to check on her bedmate.
She was still sleeping. She’d tucked a pillow into her forehooves and stuck her muzzle almost under the covers.
Sunshine didn’t understand it at all. Mornings were the best part of the day.
🌞
In the kitchen, she started the stove and filled the percolator, plopping it down on the surface to work its magic, then she rummaged through the cupboard until she found a tin of Bran ‘n Oats. She dumped them into a bowl and added some molasses on top for the sweetness.
That was half of breakfast; as for the other half . . . she tapped a hoof impatiently as the percolator kept percolating.
Just the smell was almost as good as drinking the coffee.
Once it had finished, she poured herself a cup and carried it and her bowl of bran out to the balcony, to the small table there.
Already birds were chirping and the sky was lighter, tinged with pinks and oranges and yellows along the horizon.
She’d imagined sharing breakfasts with her marefriend on that very balcony, but it hadn’t happened. The closest they’d come was when their relationship was as new and fresh as her cup of coffee; she’d rousted Moonlight out of bed before the crack of dawn and the two of them had sat out on the balcony to enjoy the sunrise and Moonlight had fallen asleep in her oatmeal.
It was cute and funny, but not the romantic morning she’d hoped for.
Sunshine nibbled at her cereal and sipped her coffee and listened to the birdsong and watched the sky as it turned technicolor and as the sun slipped over the horizon, bathing Canterlot in its glory.
When she’d finished her breakfast, she brought the dishes back in and washed them, tidied up the kitchen, and then went back to their bedroom to roust Moonlight.
That was a morning routine.
🌞
Moonlight had rolled over, still keeping the pillow between her forehooves. Away from the sun that spilled into their bedroom, away from the heat and light that it gave.
“Moonie,” Sunshine whispered, rocking the mattress with her hoof.
She got a grunt in reply, and her marefriend’s horn lit and pulled the covers all the way over her head.
“You gotta get up,” Sunshine insisted, tugging at the covers herself.
A brief fight ensued, but a somnambulant Moonlight was no match for a perky, wide-awake Sunshine.
Moonlight yawned and rubbed some of the sleep from her golden eyes, then rolled over and accepted a short nuzzle from Sunshine.
A moment later it turned into a proper good morning kiss, complete with morning breath.
🌞
Sunshine helped her get started; she turned on the shower and draped a fresh towel across the bar, then as soon as Moonlight had stepped into the water, she went back to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee and a bowl of steel-cut oats.
She also, reluctantly, pulled the curtains across the window, cutting down on the morning light. It took Moonlight a while to get used to it, and she’d said that she didn’t like a glare in her eyes when she ate her oatmeal.
One of her ancestors was obviously a batpony.
🌞
It felt like the light in the kitchen dimmed just a little bit when Moonlight came in, resplendent from her shower. Both her mane and tail had perfect curls at the end, almost like a crescent moon.
She hadn’t put on her eyeshadow yet; that would come after breakfast and it wasn’t always perfect because some mornings she was rushing to catch the omnibus and decided to touch up at work.
Getting up a little earlier was off the table.
While Moonlight ate, Sunshine flitted around their apartment, watering all the plants and making sure everything was in order; once she’d finished, Sunshine washed her dishes and set them in the rack to dry, emptied the percolator basket into the compost pile (she swore it made their daisies more perky; Moonlight disagreed) and then the two of them trotted out to wait for the omnibus.
Night
Sunshine’s first yawn came just as the sun touched the horizon.
The two of them were sitting on the couch, both relaxing at the end of the day. They’d already eaten dinner and cleaned up after—Moonlight had made a white lasagna with plenty left for a couple days lunches. They’d both giggled as they scrubbed the crispy edges off the pan, each taking turns and then offering it up for inspection until both were satisfied.
Moonlight had poured two glasses of red wine as a dessert, and they’d sat on the couch and sipped at them until they were empty and that had kept them going for a while, but by the time Moonlight poured a second drink, they’d both run out of conversation and gossip. Sunshine had picked up a novel she was working her way through and then stretched out on the couch, her rump pressed up against Moonlight’s flank.
She didn’t read novels; they’d never really interested her. She’d tried a couple of times and never been able to get into them, but at the same time Moonlight adored whenever Sunshine would read a tiny little snippet that caught her fancy, especially if it needed explanation. Sunshine was always so bubbly and happy and bright and always seemed to see the best in the world, and that was infectious.
Moonlight had her own evening hobby: needlepoint. It was tiny, it was fiddly, and it was the best way to end a day. Usually she’d already be thinking about it by the time she left work and waited on the street for the omnibus to arrive.
She turned her focus away from her workpiece as Sunshine’s head slumped then jerked back up.
“Are you ready for bed?”
“Um.” The book wavered in her field and then was held steady again. “No, not yet. You?”
Moonlight shook her head and rested a hoof on her marefriend’s flank, just beside her cutie mark. She ruffled her fur then turned her attention back to her work, focusing on the intricate pattern.
She loved quiet evenings, the feeling of everything winding down. The hustle and bustle of the city tapering off, the lantern light.
They had some crystal lamps but those were too harsh, in her opinion. They lacked the subtlety of an oil lamp, dancing behind its glass, as if the flame were a performer on stage. They washed out things which should be delicately touched.
Moonlight lost herself in the pattern, only returning to her surroundings when she needed to change thread.
Everything was neatly arranged in a toolbox of sorts, one she’d found as a teenager at a secondhoof shop, and over the years it had been populated with spools and bobbins of thread in every color and texture imaginable, from thick jutes to fine silks and a few metallic threads as well to cover every color of the rainbow.
Each new piece evoked a mood, and yet . . . she glanced over at Sunshine, who had drifted off to sleep against her book, her head resting on the open page. Moonlight set down her needle and gently tugged the book out from under the drowsy unicorn, setting a scrap of fabric between the pages as a marker.
“I’m still awake,” Sunshine protested, her voice drowsy.
Moonlight didn’t answer, just nuzzled her barrel and then used her magic to lift the blanket off the back of the couch and spread it across her slumbering marefriend.
🌙
Sunshine finally admitted defeat. She pushed the blanket back and stood up, wavering on her hooves, gave Moonlight a goodnight kiss, and then staggered off to the bedroom.
Moonlight finished up with the silver thread. Maybe finished; she could envision a couple more places it might provide a good highlight, depending on how things turned out. That remained to be seen; she needed to more fully realize her current creation to decide if it needed it or not.
She put everything back in the box and closed it up, then regarded the two unfinished glasses of wine.
There was no sense in letting it go to waste.
She took both wineglasses out to the balcony and settled down in the chair.
When they’d first gotten the apartment, she’d imagined the two of them sitting out there, sipping wine in the early evening, watching the moon rise together, watching the stars spread across the sky, listening to the sounds of the city taper off as ponies fell asleep until it was only the two of them in the crisp night air.
Sunshine had tried; her head had dipped before the moon rose, and then as the first stars speckled the night sky she’d knocked over her wineglass, spilling the rosy liquid all over the table, all over herself.
She’d jerked her head back up and apologized as Moonlight mopped up the table and she’d rallied long enough for Moonlight to name a few constellations, and then she was out again, this time still on her hooves.
Sunshine was not a night pony, and for a time that had frustrated Moonlight, had felt like an insurmountable wedge in their relationship.
And then she’d fallen asleep in her morning oatmeal and it felt like the kind of thing that needed a conversation, but it was also the kind of thing that they’d both grown to understand, that sometimes they had to embrace their differences and enjoy them.
She finished off the wine, enjoying the nocturnal solitude, the peace of the formerly busy streets below. The feel of the nighttime air, so different from the day. It was a time to be savored; a time to listen to the gentle hoots of owls rather than the impatient chirping of birds. To watch the soft light of the moon high above the sleeping city.
🌙
The moon had nearly reached its zenith when she went back inside, setting the two empty wineglasses in the sink. She could wash them, but the noise might disturb Sunshine and she didn’t want that.
The kerosene lamp had been turned down to the barest glow, and she watched it dance and flicker before turning it down all the way, then she padded across the apartment, her way lit only by moonlight.
Luna’s glow washed out Sunshine’s coat and mane, turning them greyish. Her marefriend was sprawled out on her back, the covers in disarray, just like her mane.
Moonlight lifted them up and smoothed them out, then climbed into bed. She nestled against her marefriend, resting a leg across her shoulder, her hoof just touching her barrel.
Sunshine muttered in her sleep and nestled into her; Moonlight pressed her muzzle into her marefriend’s mane and closed her eyes.
Nighttime was the best time.
