My Dinner With Shimmer

Chapters

3. Trenchant Insight
1. To Name The Unnamable
2. Bon Mot
4. Tell Me More...
5. To Express The Inexpressable
Omake - Missing Pieces

3. Trenchant Insight

Since starting college, Sunset Shimmer had moved into a new apartment, one which should've been out of her price range, but in which she managed to live comfortably anyway. Wallflower never knew how she managed that – she and her mom could just barely live comfortably on their combined incomes. Perhaps Sunset had a wealthy patron, a posh pony princess with inexhaustible wealth sending her money through a transdimensional portal.

Or perhaps Sunset sold drugs.

Wallflower kind of hoped it was drugs. Somehow less intimidating.

She stood outside Sunset's apartment, groceries in hand, and took a deep breath. Then, thrice, she rapped on the door with her knuckles.

Moments later, the door opened, and a face full of sunshine beamed at her.

"Hiya, Wally. Come on in – dinner's almost ready."

Wallflower felt like butter melting on a pile of pancakes, but somehow managed to shuffle into Sunset's home without collapsing into a gooey mess.

She wasn't sure what to expect from Sunset's apartment, whether it'd be a lavish manse as befit a patron of pony royalty, or the spartan home of a working college student who couldn't afford real furniture. Perhaps she had giant cable spools serving as tables, and planks propped up with cinder blocks as bookshelves.

Or perhaps she had a meth lab.

Sunset's apartment defied all those expectations, though. It was, simply, cozy: a surprisingly spacious studio with an adjoining kitchen behind a door. Sunset's sparse decorations made the place feel much more open; a faded green sofa faced a CRT television that sat on an old dresser, with a coffee table between them. The table was littered with game controllers and coasters, and inexplicably covered with rings from drinking glasses.

Part of the studio was curtained off. Wallflower could see a bed through a gap in the curtain, a cabinet, and sitting on the cabinet, a glass cage for Ray, the spotted lizard Sunset credited with staving off her insanity. She could just barely see him standing there, staring at her through the curtain.

"Make yourself at home," said Sunset, pulling the door shut. "I'd offer you the grand tour, but as you can see, there's not really much to, um... see."

Wallflower turned toward Sunset – all those thoughts about what a nice and cozy living space Sunset had, and she was gonna be modest about it? "Sunset, this place is gorgeous."

Sunset frowned. Her gaze wandered around the studio, with its old couch and its old TV and old, ring-covered coffee table.

Then she looked back at Wallflower, and her frown shifted into a grin.

"Most gorgeous thing in this place is standing right in front of me."

Oh, come the hell on, thought Wallflower, as a dopey smile broke across her face.

Sunset followed that deft shift from self-effacement to flirting with a kiss on Wallflower's cheek, and pulled her into a hug.

"You look amazing," she added, her warm breath caressing Wallflower's neck. "Is that a new striped sweater?"

"It is!" Wallflower stammered, still short-circuiting from the feel of Sunset's breath on her neck. She'd bought the sweater just the other day, and a pair of jeans to go with them. They were identical to what she normally wore, except the jeans were bluer, and the stripes of the sweater were brighter shades of beige. "I wanted to look my best for you."

Sunset broke from the hug and pulled away to give Wallflower the bedroomiest of eyes she ever did see. "Well, then you should have shown up wearing nothing."

Oh, come the hell ON.

"So, what's all this?" said Sunset.

What's all what? This? Me? All me?

Then she remembered that she was carrying a shopping bag.

"Oh, right. Um. Surprise!" Wallflower stepped back and hoisted the bag. "I brought stuff."

The bedroom eyes returned.

"Not that kind of stuff!" Wallflower's face suddenly felt like Wonderbread toasted at temperatures it was never meant to reach. "Um, food stuff."

"That's— that's really sweet. But you didn't need to bring anything." Sunset's grin trembled at the edges. "Did I make you feel like you needed to bring something...?"

"No! Nonono, no, I— I just wanted to, is all. 'Cuz when you go to someone's house for dinner, you bring 'em something. Those are the rules."

That sounded stupid – she was babbling, and she knew it. Not two minutes she'd been through the door, and she was already fumbling.

"Uh, so, what do you wanna do after dinner?" she blurted, desperate to change the subject. "Besides, um."

She made scissors with her hands and mooshed them together.

Her gambit drew a giggle from Sunset. "I was thinking we could watch something. I don't have any of that streaming stuff, but there's this cooking show I like to watch. I don't know if you've heard of it."

"You doubt my power, Sunset Shimmer? I subscribe to obscure channels on topics literally nobody I've spoken to has even heard of." Wallflower struck her best 'anime girl aristocrat' pose and oh-ho-ho-ho'd.

Rolling her eyes – and smiling – Sunset said, "It's called Dining With Dinesh, O mighty one. I only ask 'cuz nobody at work even knows about—"

"You watch Dining With Dinesh too?!" Wallflower drew her arms close to her chest, vibrating with glee. "Omigosh, have you seen that crossover special he did with Charro_Chili last month? The one with the—"

"Habanero emergency?"

"I thought he was gonna shit his guts out!"

Wallflower's eyes widened when she realized what she'd screamed, and how loudly she'd screamed it. She pulled her hands against her mouth as if to shove the words back in.

She needn't have worried. Sunset doubled over with laughter, cinching her arms around her belly.

"Oh God," she gasped in between guffaws. "What if he did that on camera; can you imagine Skillshare sponsoring him after that?!"

Wallflower couldn't help but laugh at the thought. "That's... that's one skill..." She mastered herself, cleared her throat, and blurted it out all at once. "That's one skill you really don't wanna share!"

It didn't matter that her joke barely made sense. It pushed Sunset over the edge anyway. She collapsed to the floor, kicking her feet like she was riding an invisible unicycle, laughing, laughing, laughing. Wallflower tried to kneel, but she was laughing too hard; her knees buckled, and she joined her on the floor.

Their laughter gradually died down, settling into a few contented giggles and chuckles. Sunset rolled towards Wallflower, propped her head up with one hand, and wiped her eyes with the other.

"That a yes on Dinesh?" One last giggle burbled out of her.

Wallflower just nodded shakily, sighing. They hadn't even done anything yet, and she was sore.

Maybe she wasn't gonna fumble after all.

They spent a little more time on the floor than Wallflower thought they would, but eventually, Sunset led her into the kitchen. Wallflower, her hair tousled and her new clothes wrinkled, followed close behind.

The kitchen was clean and freshly painted, if a little cramped. Blue wooden cupboards, faux-marble countertops, and a pristine steel fridge in the corner made Wallflower think that, unlike her apartment, the place had last been refurnished this decade.

Appliances sat on those gleaming countertops. A microwave, a stand mixer, a sleek blender that instantly made Wallflower jealous – all of them were pristine, except for the microwave, which was flecked with grease and conspicuously sticky. A bready aroma hung in the air, emanating from Sunset's oven. Wallflower wanted to peek at dinner through its well-scrubbed window, but Sunset wanted it to be a surprise, so she buried the urge and resolved to wait.

"So how was work?" said Sunset as she plopped Wallflower's shopping bag on the kitchen counter.

Wallflower shrugged, then realized that Sunset's back was to her, and that Sunset couldn't see her shrugging. "Nyemmmmnnn... meh," she said.

"Sucky day, huh?" Sunset turned to face Wallflower, leaning against the counter. "Wanna talk about it?"

"I mean, it's always give and take at the Learning Annex," said Wallflower. "On the one hand, I got to teach an eight-year-old about stamen and pistils. He didn't even look at his phone, not once during the whole thing."

"Well, yeah, 'cuz flowers are awesome. But on the other hand?"

"His mother told me he was 'too young to learn about that sort of thing.’" Wallflower stretched a sickly sweet smile across her face. "Then she reported me to my supervisor for 'teaching her child how to fornicate.'"

"Eugh. I hate it when you run into people like that." Sunset grimaced. "The other day, at the tutoring center, we had someone from a group called 'Moms for Real Justice' at the front entrance, warning parents about our 'agenda.' Apparently, we're kidnapping children and forcing them to perform back-alley abortions."

Wallflower blinked. "You never told me you were in the back-alley abortion business."

"I was worried you'd try to steal my money if you knew."

"I totally would've. That's why I'm so hurt."

"Well, joke's on you. I spent it all buying children books about—"

"Fornicating?"

"The worst kind of fornicating." Sunset brushed a fringe of hair over her eyes, casting her face in shadow, and dropped her voice to a low register. "The kind where you hold hands."

She maintained a serious expression for all of three seconds before devolving into a snorty gigglefit. Then she fixed her hair, turned back to Wallflower's shopping bag, and rummaged through it.

"Let's see what we've got here." Sunset drew out a big cardboard box first, bright orange and decorated with a pair of crossed hammers. "Communist breakfast cereal?"

"No, unfortunately. See how there's no sickle? And you really shouldn't eat it by itself." Wallflower almost left it there, before realizing Sunset probably needed a little more context. "It's family-sized baking soda. For baking with your family. And absorbing moisture."

"With your family?"

"Yes. It's very versatile." Wallflower paused. "You can also use it to make crack."

"How thoughtful. If only I had a moist family to make crack with."

Implying she does have meth lying around.

Next out the bag was a little can, which Sunset flipped around to examine. "Artisanal tuna?"

"That's cat food. It's for Sephiroth."

Sunset looked bewildered.

"Sephiroth is my cat," Wallflower added.

"That explains the cat on the label." Sunset regarded Wallflower contemplatively. "I didn't know you were Jewish."

Wha?

Sunset continued rummaging, pulling out a jar of grated parmesan, then a container of margarine, some Fruit-By-The-Foot—

"I had a craving," Wallflower explained, "but don't ask me why."

And, finally, a little bag full of thick, white knobs.

"What the..." Sunset peered closely at the bag. "Pine nuts?"

Wallflower stiffened – she thought she'd grabbed a bag of yogurt raisins.

Should've looked closer; stupid, stupid—

"How did you know?!" Sunset cried, delighted.

Wallflower blinked. "Wally-Wally-what-now?"

"This was my favorite study snack back in Equestria; I used to eat a whole bowl of them whenever I had to study for exams!" Sunset ripped open the bag, dipped her hand inside, pulled out a few nuts, and tossed them into her mouth, chewing with gusto. "Yew sherioushly din'no?"

Wallflower chuckled sheepishly. "Is it too late to act like I knew all along, and wanted to surprise you?"

"Yersh." Sunset swallowed. “But that means you got me my favorite snack without asking me, or knowing what it was, as a surprise. And that's just a little bit sweeter, I think."

She stepped up to Wallflower, and planted a tiny smooch on the tip of her nose, which made Wallflower giggle and melt just a little bit more.

Sunset pulled back from the smooch and tapped her chin. "Y'know, come to think of it, some of this stuff'd go pretty good with dinner. You mind giving me a couple minutes?"

Wallflower was still recovering from her nose-smooch, and couldn't parse how unusual it was that Sunset wanted to use her eclectic mixture of gift food to compliment dinner. So, she stammered something in agreement, and backed out of the kitchen.

"Make yourself at home!" called Sunset after her. "Maybe you could introduce yourself to Ray!"

"Right. Introduce myself to Ray. Good idea."

Wallflower brushed aside the curtain separating Sunset's sleeping area from the rest of the apartment and stepped in, coming face-to-face with Ray. His tank, the dresser beneath it, and Sunset's bed were the only furniture. Unlike Wallflower's room, in a constant state of dishevelment, Sunset kept everything tidy. Weirdly tidy, even. No clothes on the floor, and besides a yellow notebook on her pillow, nothing out of place. Even the bed was freshly made, not a wrinkle to be seen. The only decoration was a faded Rainbooms poster above the bed.

Wallflower's gaze lingered on the poster, on Sunset's devil-may-care grin, and the guitar in her hands. Where was that thing, anyway?

Shrugging off her curiosity, she went to introduce herself to Ray. The little guy stood in the exact same spot and pose as when she walked into the apartment and noticed him for the first time. He may, in fact, have been staring at her all along, even through the curtain and the kitchen walls. That was a little creepy, but also flattering, because it meant that reptiles enjoyed looking at her.

"Hey, little guy." Wallflower wiggled her fingers in greeting. "I'm Wallflower. Call me Wally."

Ray looked vacantly at her.

"Yeah, I guess you can't call me Wally. Being a lizard, and all, you don't have the capacity for human speech. I'm sure you can't really understand what I'm saying, either. Am I right?"

Ray's tongue flicked out of his mouth, tasting the air briefly. Given the timing, Wallflower wondered if he wasn't responding to her. If he was, that would make her rethink some of her assumptions on approaching him.

Still, even if he could understand her, she felt as though she could trust the little guy's discretion. Glancing toward the kitchen to make sure Sunset wasn't eavesdropping, she leaned in close to the glass cage.

"So, hey, just between us, does she talk about me? Like, ever?"

Ray slow-blinked at her.

"...Why am I asking you that? You can't answer me. You can't even talk. That's the whole reason I'm talking to you in the first place." Wallflower huffed and crossed her arms. "At least you're flesh-and-blood, though. Not a bag of Wonderbread. Way less weird if I think out loud to you."

Wonnnnnderbread.

"I dunno, I guess I'm still trying to figure out what a girl like that's even doing with someone like me. Not that I have nothing to offer, but she's, like, Sunset Shimmer. The Sunset Shimmer. Go back in time four years and tell me one day I'd be doing the backseat boogie with her, of all people, and I'd... well, probably scream and run away..."

Ray tilted his head.

"Obviously, because someone claiming to have knowledge of my future appeared in front of me and prophesied my sex life." Wallflower sighed and tucked some hair behind her ear. "No, that's not... entirely it, I guess."

She folded her arms on the shelf and rested her chin on them, her face inches away from Ray. He stared back at her, placidly, through the glass.

"I'm sure your mom's told you all about what she used to be like. She kinda tells anyone who'll listen, like she's Catholic and the whole world is one giant confessional. I mean, she's not super-meanie anymore – we both know that – but there's still part of me that finds it all surreal, and I wonder if she feels the same way. I guess that's why I'm asking. Not that you can answer."

Wallflower's breath misted the glass as she spoke, creating a big, foggy splotch that gradually grew and blurred Ray's face. She planted a finger against the fog and slowly drew a line in it with her nail.

"I can tell something's off with her when we're together. Everything's too... too clean, too easy."

Her strokes across the glass grew more deliberate – now she was tracing with her whole fingertip, not just the nail. At first, she'd just been screwing around, burning nervous energy, but a shape had begun to emerge, and she wanted to see what it became.

"I haven't dated much, but I know that relationships are supposed to have a little... I don't know, push and pull, give and take. I feel shitty even saying this, but sometimes it's like she's..."

She's trying too hard to be perfect.

Deciding not to voice that thought, Wallflower pulled her finger away from the glass, disappointed to find that she'd drawn what she always drew when she had nervous energy to burn: a big, round eyeball with jagged blood vessels.

"All those eyes I doodled in high school – now they're all I know how to draw." She huffed, and wiped the offensive oculus away with her sleeve. "Hey, I appreciate you listening to all that, Ray, but do me a favor – keep it just between us, okay?"

Ray closed one of his eyes, slowly re-opened it, then repeated the action with the other.

"I mean it. You can say we talked, just don't tell her what we talked about. It's confidential; I'm confiding in you."

Ray's gaze did not abate.

Wallflower raised her hands defensively. "Dude, I'm not asking you to pick her over me, or whatever. That'd be pointless, anyway. I mean, she's your mom, and I'm just her..."

She trailed off, a hollow feeling in her gut – she suddenly realized she wasn't sure how to finish that thought.

"...Girlfriend? Gal-pal? Booty call?"

Ray's eyes seemed to narrow.

"I guess I should stop sexualizing your mom to you. Sorry." Wallflower frowned. "Wait. Are you mad at me 'cuz she's your mom, or 'cuz we're both girls?"

"Wally? How's it going out there?"

"I think your lizard's homophobic."

"What?"

"What?" Wallflower spun around to find Sunset approaching. "I wasn't spilling my guts to a reptile!"

"Really? That's too bad. He's a good listener, and he keeps secrets very well. Don't you, buddy?" Sunset craned her neck to smile over Wallflower's shoulder, then stepped around her to reach the enclosure.

"With everything going on tonight, I almost forgot to feed him." Sunset bent to open the cabinet, retrieved a box of mealworms, and measured out a serving for Ray. "So, what were you talking about? Please tell me you weren't teaching my son about..."

Sunset dropped her voice to a hoarse whisper.

"Fornicating."

Wallflower snortlaughed and clasped her hands in front of her. "I was asking Ray about your guitar – like, do you ever play for him? That kind of thing."

Seemed a white enough lie.

"I don't really do that anymore," Sunset said without turning around. "And I'm so out of practice that I'd make his poor little ears bleed if I tried, anyway."

Wallflower swiveled her hips, swaying her arms like a pendulum. "You could play for me. I promise, I have an extremely high tolerance for tuneless music."

A jolt stiffened Sunset for the barest of moments. "I don't have the guitar anymore. Put it up for consignment a while back. My amp, too."

Wallflower's arms went limp. "What?"

"Yeah, when I moved into this place, I realized I didn't have room for it. Would've just taken up space. And the Rainbooms aren't getting back together any time soon, so it didn't seem worth hanging on to."

Wallflower glanced at the poster above Sunset's bed."You think you'll ever pick it up again? I really loved your music."

"Thanks. Who knows? Never say never, right?"

Sunset finished serving Ray his dinner, put the mealworms back, and brushed off her hands on her knees. Then she turned around, a radiant smile on her face.

Lost as she was admiring that pretty smile, Wallflower barely noticed that it didn't reach her eyes. Any attempt at asking if Sunset was okay was quickly put to rest as she closed the distance between them and ensconced Wallflower in a hug.

"It really was sweet of you to bring me all that stuff, Wally." Sunset pulled back to look Wallflower in the eye. She brushed her thumb down Wallflower's cheek, tracing her jaw, and stopping under her chin. "The whole time I was in there without you, I was thinking of ways to show my gratitude."

Wallflower threw Ray an apologetic look over Sunset's shoulder and chuckled. "Well, you're already feeding me dinner, which is the best way to thank someone for anything in my opin—"

Sunset's mouth on hers smothered the rest of that sentence.

Wallflower melted into the kiss, and into Sunset's embrace, her mind short-circuiting so badly that she could practically smell the smoke – an acrid, burnt toast smell that tickled and stung.

Seconds stretched into minutes as their lips moved together until Sunset finally pulled away with a wet little smek. "How's that for gratitude?"

Wallflower wrapped her arms around Sunset's shoulders, smiling slyly. "I think I'm having a stroke."

"What?"

"What?" Wallflower blinked. "Can we keep making out?"

"No. I mean, yeah, but just gimme a..." Sunset lifted her head and sniffed the air. Her eyes suddenly widened. "Fire."

Give you a fire?

A sudden, shrill alarm blared, piercing Wallflower's ears and making her clench her teeth.

Oh. The house is on fire. The thought took another moment to register.

SHIT. The HOUSE. Is on FIRE.

Sunset suddenly shoved away from Wallflower and bolted to the kitchen. Wallflower took a deep breath and chased after her.

Smoke curled from the seams in the oven door. Wallflower's eyes watered and stung, but her vision was still clear enough to see Sunset pull the oven door open. There was a round cooking sheet on the oven's top rack, nascent flames flickering on its surface. Sunset ran to the sink and cranked on the faucet, then flung open the cupboards in search of something to hold water.

"Bad idea!" Wallflower called, but Sunset didn't seem to hear her over the alarm. She wrung her hands, searching the room for something better to smother the fire with. Then the obvious answer hit her, and she smacked herself in the forehead.

Communist breakfast cereal, Wally!

She snatched the baking soda she'd brought off the kitchen counter, tore it open, and flung the contents over the smoldering dinner in the oven. A thick cloud of white smoke immediately burst from the cooking sheet, right into Wallflower's face, overwhelming all of her senses at once. She kept shaking the box, though, until it was empty. Then, gagging, her eyes flooded with tears, she staggered away from the oven, and doubled over into a coughing fit.

She felt a gentle hand on her back, and another on her belly to brace her. She thought she heard a voice, too, but it was difficult to hear over the alarm. As she coughed, the fit gradually subsided, and she let herself be guided out of the kitchen and eased onto the couch.

The alarm cut off suddenly. Moments later, she felt something get pushed into her hands: a glass of cool water. Wallflower took a sip, swished it around in her mouth, and swallowed it slowly, clearing her throat after.

"Thanks," rasped Wallflower.

"I should be thanking you," said Sunset. "The baking soda was a good idea. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"I've had to put out a lot of fires. Call it instinct." Wallflower took one last sip and set the cup down, groaning. "We should probably do something about all this smoke."

Sunset didn't say anything. When Wallflower looked at her, she was seated next to her on the couch, staring at her feet, her lips drawn into a tight, thin line.

Wallflower nudged her shoulder. "Hey."

"Yeah. Um, sorry." Sunset shook her head and stood up. "I'll turn on the fan in the kitchen. Mind opening some windows out here?"

She didn't wait for an answer, and went back to the kitchen, leaving Wallflower alone.

Wallflower did as she was asked, and opened up the front windows as wide as they could go. Then she looked around, wondering what more she could do to make herself useful. There wasn't a ceiling fan in the living room to help air the place out, but there was that notebook on Sunset's bed. She grabbed it, briefly thumbed through it – comp lit notes – and brought it to the window to use as a makeshift fan. Wallflower wiggled, waggled, and waved the notebook; it flopped, flipped, and flapped, but the smoky smell remained.

"This is dumb," she muttered. She dropped the notebook, which fell with a papery fwap on the floor. "Hey Sunset? Anything I can do in there?"

No response came. With growing concern, Wallflower rejoined Sunset in the kitchen, where the ceiling fan was on and whittling away.

She found Sunset in front of the sink, her shoulders shaking. She was wearing something over her hands: big, blocky, rubbery things that might've been oven mitts.

Wallflower approached her from behind and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Sunset stiffened, sniffled, and stammered. "Sure. Yeah."

"You're crying."

"No. I'm not. It's just the smoke. Gets in your eyes, makes you tear up."

Wallflower brushed a lock of hair out of Sunset's face, cupped her chin, and gently turned her face until their eyes met. "You're sobbing."

"No I'm n—"

A hiccup cut off Sunset. She tried to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand, but the blocky thing she was wearing got in her way. Wallflower reached up and brushed away an emerging tear with her thumb, and let her hand linger against Sunset's cheek.

Sunset leaned into her hand and closed her eyes. "'Kay, fine. 'M crying. A li'l."

"Yeah. C'mon let's get you away from there." She gently eased Sunset away from the sink, getting a better look at her oven mitts in the process. Whatever the hell they were, they didn't look useful in the kitchen. She wanted to ask what their deal was, but held her tongue and drew Sunset in for a hug, letting her rest her big, beautiful, sticky face on Wallflower's brand new, brighter beige sweater.

She glanced into the sink while she held Sunset. The cooking sheet was in there; whatever Sunset had tried to cook was still smoldering. It looked like a lumpy, carbonized cookie.

"What were you trying to make?" Wallflower said.

Sunset's voice, spoken into Wallflower's shoulder, came out muffled. All she heard was 'margarita.'

"You're not supposed to bake those, Sunset."

"Pizza, you goof. Margherita pizza. I opened up the oven to add some of your parmesan cheese, and some oil..."

That explained what she was looking at – she could make sense of it now that she knew what it was supposed to be. The lumps might've been pepperoni... no, Sunset was making margherita pizza, which was just basil and toma—

"Wait, did you say you added oil?"

"You know when you go to a pizza place and they give you a slice with all the tasty grease on it? Mine didn't look like that when I checked on it earlier. So I thought I'd add some oil along with the Parmesan."

“What kind of oil?”

“I dunno. Olive oil.” She handed Wallflower a half-empty green bottle. “This stuff. Extra virgin or whatever.”

Wallflower stared at the bottle, trying to remember all the warnings she’d heard about cooking with olive oil. At the top of that list: It doesn’t take much heat to turn extra virgin oil into extra virgin smoke, or extra virgin fire.

"I dumped too much in by accident and soaked the crust,” Sunset said. She was still looking at the floor, oblivious to Wallflower’s paling face. “So, when I closed the oven, I cranked up the heat. And then we started making out, and I guess I forgot about it for a few minutes."

"How high did you turn up the heat?" Wallflower whispered, terrified of the answer.

"The recipe said to bake at 375... so, uh..." Sunset brushed a hand through her hair. "Five hundred."

"Five hundred?!"

"Yeah, I get it, alright?" Sunset broke away from Wallflower and went back to the sink, her arms tightly crossed against her chest. "I screwed up, I’m an idiot, I know! I know."

Wallflower hadn't heard Sunset snap like that in years. Reflexively, she shrank back. "I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to..."

She trailed off. Sunset wasn't crying anymore – she was stiff as a board, staring into the remains of the dinner she'd tried to cook.

Sunset eventually replied, her voice even, but lifeless. "No. I'm sorry. For snapping at you, and – and all of this. I was supposed to cook for you tonight, and I blew it."

With a bitter chuckle, Sunset shook her head.

"What the hell was I thinking?"

Castigating herself for making things worse, Wallflower whipped her eyes around the kitchen. Her mind clamored to find some way to salvage the situation.

"We can still have a good night, Sunset. We can order out, or... or we could cook something else." She crossed to the cupboard and reached up to pull the doors open. "Let's see what we can—"

The moment Wallflower pulled the cupboard open, something dropped out, thunked her painlessly on the head, and fell to the floor. It was a box of rigatoni, De Beppe brand. Wallflower picked it up.

"'Kay, we have pasta," she said, looking into the cabinets. "Now, what else can we...?"

She didn't finish her thought – she didn't need to. Besides a few cups of instant noodles, the bottom shelf of the cabinet was barren.

Wallflower looked down at the box of pasta and licked her lips.

"Is there anything in the fridge?"

Sunset's answer was immediate. "Leftover basil. Bought way more than I needed for the pizza."

Under different circumstances, Wallflower might've laughed. All those nice appliances, and zero ingredients. A long moment passed with neither of them speaking. Sunset just stared at the wall, her eyes closed, one mittened hand resting pensively beneath her chin.

"If you wanna just go, I'll understand," she said at last.

"What? No! I—"

Wallflower lunged and grabbed for Sunset's hand, but her weird oven mitt got in the way. She grabbed Sunset's forearm instead.

"I meant what I said, Sunset. We can still have a nice night together! We can order out, or make something here—"

"I told you, there's nothing to cook." Desperation strained Sunset's voice. "I got some ramen, a box of pasta, the rest of the olive oil – oh, and the stuff you brought. What, we're gonna toss pine nuts and Fruit-By-The-Foot in oil?"

If Sunset weren't on the edge of a breakdown, Wallflower might've suggested, half-seriously, that they do just that. But she needed a real solution if she was gonna salvage tonight. They could always go to the store and get more ingredients, but... did either of them have the money for that? Her own trip to the store wasn't cheap; the cat food alone was weirdly expensive. Add on the pine nuts and cheese, and she was probably gonna be skipping lunch at work until next—

Something went off in Wallflower's noggin, something that made her smile from ear to ear.

Sunset tilted her head, her expression of panic softening. "Wally? What is it?"

"Go grab the basil from the fridge. I'mma get to know that blender."

Dining With Dinesh was about to save the day.

1. To Name The Unnamable

Back in high school, Wallflower Blush imagined Sunset Shimmer as the type of girl who'd ride a motorcycle. It suited her ‘causeless teenage rebel who thumbed her nose at tardy slips and helmet laws alike’ aesthetic. She'd probably ride something shiny and sexy, with chrome handlebars, and flames painted on the side to make it go faster.

In reality, while her friends were off-roading in four-wheelers, road-tripping in EVs, or being cited in sports cars (though Rarity maintained that the pedestrian came out of nowhere), Sunset was chugging along in a station wagon old enough to run for president. She'd driven that old beater since high school – that was three years of bopping along to CDs, fiddling with radio dials, and straining her neck to look out the rear window while backing up.

She kept it clean, though, inside and out. The wood paneling on the exterior gleamed like new, and the seats looked like they were vacuumed weekly. It was roomy, too. Especially when they folded the seats back at the end of the night – which was just about every time they went out now.

Tonight's date was ending the way they usually did: Wallflower reclining in Sunset's arms, pleasantly sore and sated, her head pillowed by Sunset's breasts. Sunset's hands idly stroked her hair, plying her locks with soft caresses that made Wallflower feel warm and safe.

Maybe there were better places they could've spent their dates, but there were plenty of worse places, too.

"What're you thinking about?" Sunset murmured.

"Boobs," said Wallflower. "How about you?"

"Also boobs, if I'm being honest." Sunset's fingertip ran down the middle of Wallflower's forehead, terminating in a gentle boop on her nose. "Thanks for coming out with me tonight."

"You don't have to thank me for anything – this is the highlight of my whole week." Wallflower nuzzled her cheek against Sunset's bare, supple skin. "Thank you for picking me up."

"Thank you for buying dinner." Sunset pulled her finger away. "You sure you don't mind?"

"What, paying for dinner?" Wallflower tilted her head back to look up at Sunset; a stray lock of hair fell into her eyes and she blew it away with a foof. "I'm telling you, don't sweat it. Nobody ever went broke buying value meals from Jack-in-the-Crack."

Sunset tucked the lock of hair behind Wallflower's cheek and stroked, gently, down her jawline. "It's not that I worry about you going broke. It's just that you always pay for dinner, and I don't want this to be one-sided."

Wallflower sat up, Sunset's words ringing in her mind, and looked her in the eye.

Don't want what to be one-sided?

She thought about asking, but tonight wasn't the night for that discussion.

"Well, maybe," Wallflower said, jabbing an exaggeratedly accusatory finger at Sunset. "Maybe I always pay for dinner because you always drive, and I'm trying to make sure things aren't one-sided."

Sunset stared blankly at Wallflower. She glanced down at her finger. Then at her bare chest.

Then she started chuckling, leaned forward, and tenderly kissed Wallflower on the lips. She broke from it just as quickly, pulling back with an apologetic smile.

"It's getting pretty late," said Sunset. "Help me get decent?"

After a few minutes of groping around for their clothes, Sunset and Wallflower were dressed again, and took their seats up front for the drive home. They didn't speak on the way, but Sunset's hand found Wallflower's, her thumb gently stroking her knuckles.

Wallflower thought back to what Sunset said – not wanting 'this' to be one-sided. What they had didn't have a label, as far as Wallflower was concerned, but what would Sunset have called it? A few times a week, Sunset would pick her up and take her out. They'd eat something cheap, or do something fun, then park the car someplace secluded and recline the back seat. They always had a good time, clicking in ways Wallflower never thought they would when they were still in school, but neither of them had ventured to stick a name on whatever it was they were doing.

Maybe tonight wasn't the right time for it.

Maybe, Wallflower admitted to herself, there'd never be a right time for it.

For now, all she could do was focus on Sunset's hand, on how safe she felt in Sunset's grip. And that would be enough for her.

She hoped it would be enough for Sunset, too.

They came to Wallflower's apartment building before long, the aging brakes on Sunset's car whining in protest as she pulled to a halt. Wallflower unbuckled her seatbelt and leaned over to give Sunset a kiss.

Sunset intercepted her lips with a finger. "Y'know, I've been thinking about what you said – about paying for dinner 'cuz I always have to drive?"

Wallflower opened her mouth and took Sunset's fingertip between her lips, suckling gently. "Mm?"

She could see Sunset's cheeks redden in the street lights outside. "Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow? Let me treat you for once."

Wallflower's jaw went slack. "Come over? To your place?"

"Well, yeah. Why not?" Sunset fluttered her eyelashes. "Besides, wouldn't you like to fool around in a bed for once?"

Couldn't argue with that logic.

Wallflower darted forward to give Sunset a parting kiss – deep, slow – and pulled away wetly. "What're you gonna cook?" she whispered.

A heartbeat passed before Sunset replied. "I'll make you something nice. You'll love it."

Wallflower beamed. She opened the door, hopped out of the car, and shuffled over to the front door of the apartment building. Before heading inside, she turned around and waved at Sunset, who flashed her brights once in response. Then her station wagon chuffed away into the night.

Wallflower hurried into the building and up to her apartment door, giddy and buoyant. Mom was still up when she got in, watching TV with a mug of tea in her hands and Wallflower's cat in her lap. Mom looked up when she heard the door.

"Tadaima," Wallflower weebed. "Was work okay?"

"Mmhm." Mom looked back at the TV, sipping her tea. "That's not the shirt you went out in."

Wallflower looked down at herself. The words "POST CRUSH @ STARSWIRL" looked back up at her from an undersized black concert tee.

Her face promptly caught fire, and she muttered an inarticulate string of consonants and scuttled away. Once ensconced in the organized chaos of her bedroom, she dropped to her butt, buried her face in her hands, and groaned. She could never bring Sunset over after this, she realized, and Sunset could never be allowed to meet Mom.

She looked around for something to distract herself with, and found her laptop, haphazardly left close to her door. Habit made her load up a cooking show she subscribed to; she queued up a video and gathered her knees against her chest to watch.

A disembodied torso in an apron appeared on the screen, standing behind a countertop with a collection of ingredients. "Hey guys, welcome back to Dining With Dinesh. Today, we're going back to basics with some savory pesto. This recipe will be posted on my website, which you can unlock by signing up for our first tier of..."

He started droning on about subscription packages and memberships. Wallflower rolled her eyes and plopped her chin on her knees, tuning him out until he shut up about money and started listing off ingredients. Watching him work made her wonder what Sunset was planning to make – and made her hope that, someday, she'd have the chance to return the favor. And/or her shirt.

We really should've turned on the lights before we got dressed.

2. Bon Mot

When Wallflower Blush gazed into the loaf of bread, wrapped in white plastic and spotted with polka dots, the loaf gazed back. Except it had dozens of eyes, red and blue and yellow, and she only had the two. And hers were brown.

"This staring contest was lost before it even began." Wallflower sighed. "I concede, Wonderbread. You win."

She squeezed the bag, forming a crease in the plastic that looked like a crooked, mocking grin. That made her frown and squeeze harder, which only made the grin wider.

"You don't gotta rub it in, Wonderbread." Wallflower paused, then repeated the word: "Wonderbread. Wonderbread." It was a fun word – felt good to say. So she kept on saying it, giving the bread a squish and a squeeze each time. "Wonderbread. Wonnnnnderbread. Wonder—"

"You gonna buy that bread, Wally?"

Panic shot through Wallflower. She whirled, taking care to hide the loaf behind her back, and rattled off a hasty stream of excuses.

"WHATBREADTHERESNOBREADBREADISNTREALYOURECRAZY—"

She only came up to chest height on her intruder, and had to crane her neck to look them in the eye. She was met with green eyes, greener locks, and a bemused expression.

Immediately, she relaxed. "Oh. It's just you, Wallybread."

"Sandalwood."

"S'what I said." Wallflower removed the bread from behind her back, and tucked a hank of hair behind her ear. "Whaddaya want?"

"For you to stop squishing the bread." Sandalwood folded his arms. "You wanna squish the bread, you gotta buy it first – then you can take it home, and squish it all you want. But if you're not gonna buy it, you can't squish it. Those are the rules."

"What're you, the bread police?"

"I mean, technically." Sandalwood tapped the nametag on his apron, two items which Wallflower just now noticed he was wearing. "We're not supposed to let people screw around with the merchandise. Sorry."

Wallflower regarded the loaf, bouncing it lightly in her hands. She wasn't particularly attached to it, or to the idea of squishing it, but on principle, she was bothered.

"C'mon, man," she whined. "It's one loaf of bread – you can't give me a break? How far back do we go?"

"Don't use the Gardening Club against me, Wally. High school was a long time ago."

So much for loyalty. Now really annoyed, Wallflower puffed up her cheeks and glared at him.

Sandalwood, in response, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger. I don't make the rules."

"Oh yeah, Obergruppenfuhrer Sandalwood? You're just following orders to oppress the marginalized?" Wallflower gave the bread one last, lingering look, replaced it on the shelf, then corrected herself. "Margarine-alized."

Sandalwood rolled his eyes. "Yeah, there I go again, being an asshole by enforcing our oppressive store policies. Like 'don't damage the merchandise,' or 'don't flush an entire Fruit-By-The-Foot down the toilet just to see if it unspools.' It doesn't, by the way."

He turned to leave.

Fearing she'd actually hurt his feelings, Wallflower nabbed his wrist before he could leave and pulled him to a stop.

"Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. Wait. Sorry. I wasn't – I mean, I'm just – I'm kinda nervous right now. Maybe I said some stuff that sounded funny in my head, and wasn't really that funny out loud." She paused, then added, "Also, I should've said 'O-bread-gruppenfuhrer.' So you knew I was being silly."

Sandalwood rolled his jaw a little, then shrugged. "'Margarine-alized' was kinda funny. I'm just havin' a day, that's all. Sorry for biting your head off. What's on your mind?"

"Ah, well..." Wallflower fidgeted, knocking her heels together self-consciously. "It's, you know. Like – you kiss girls sometimes, right?"

Sandalwood fidgeted too, scratching his beard. "Um, yeah, a little. Here and there. Why?"

"Well, I, uh, I have this friend. Her name's..." Wallflower gave her hands a mighty squeeze. "Sad Green Bitches. And she has this other friend who she's into – like, as a kissing friend? So, my friend is having dinner at this other friend's place—"

"Jesus, Wally. 'I have a friend who has a friend?' Really?"

"What? I have friends! And they have their own friends too. Are you saying I don't have friends or that my friends don't have friends? That's not very friendly of you."

"No, I'm just saying—" Palming his forehead and rubbing his temples, Sandalwood sighed. "Whatever. Your friend has a friend that she wants to kiss?"

"They're pretty well past kissing, actually." She paused to linger on some choice memories, squeaked, and shook her head to clear them away. "But it's still, like, brand new. And she doesn't wanna screw it up. And she's having dinner at her kissing friend's place and wants to make a good impression. So..."

She gave her hands one last squeeze together, unlaced them, and tapped her index fingers together.

"If she were gonna go to the grocery store to find something to bring to dinner... what do you think she should get?"

Sandalwood gave her a long look. "And your part in this is...?"

"Scouting. The grocery store. For suggestions."

"...For Sad Green Bitches."

"For Sad Green Bitches, yes."

"Hm." Sandalwood's eyes narrowed. He glanced past Wallflower, at the bread shelf behind her. "Well, I wouldn't bring Wonderbread, I'll tell you that much."

"I wasn't gonna! I mean she wasn't— I mean, I wasn't gonna recommend that she bring Wonderbread to—" Cringing, Wallflower took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "I was passing by and got distracted. That's all."

"Distracted by the Wonderbread. Yeah, who hasn't been there?" Sandalwood winked – Why did he wink? "In all seriousness, wine's a traditional gift. I assume that's off the table, though."

Wallflower stuck out her tongue and blech'd.

"Thought not. Grape juice? My mom says it's like wine, but for Mormons. Oh!" Sandalwood spread his fingers and traced a rainbow in the air with his hands. "Sparkling cider. That's wine, but for children."

Mormon children. "Seems kinda juvenile."

Sandalwood's face fell, and he dropped his hands to his side, collapsing his rainbow. "Well then, here's a crazy idea: Just ask her what you should bring."

"Sad Green Bitches could ask, you mean. And no." Wallflower glanced down at her feet. "She wants to surprise the girl."

"Ah. We're trying to be all romantic, and stuff." Sandalwood cupped his chin, nodding. "Well, okay. Let's brainstorm."

The music filtering through the store cut off; the speakers crackled, and a tinny voice spoke. "Sandalwood to check-out. Sandalwood to check-out."

"Or maybe let's not," sighed Sandalwood. "Stupid midweek rush."

He backed away from the bread aisle; Wallflower, agog, watched him go.

"Wh— hey! You can't just abandon me like this!!"

"Actually, yeah, I can. And I sorta have to. You don't sign my checks, homegirl." He paused, mid-backstep, and smiled. "Look, you want some advice? Don't sweat so much over what to bring. Just grab whatever. It's the thought that counts, right?"

With that, he turned, and jogged lightly away toward the check-out lanes. Wallflower watched him go, folding her arms and wringing them – a little more gently this time.

"Just grab whatever, and it's the thought that counts," she muttered, with a glance at the bread shelf. "As long as it's not Wonderbread."

Thus inspired, she wandered away.

"Wonnnnderbread. Wonnnnnnderbread."

It really was a fun word to say.

She reunited with Sandalwood at his check-out lane a few minutes later, a basket full of sundries under her arm. He gave her a knowing look and a smirk, but his expression shifted into confusion as he scanned the items, one after the other.

"You took my advice rather literally, I think," he muttered as he worked.

Wallflower couldn't think of anything to say by way of explanation, nor did she really feel the need to explain herself to the O-bread-gruppenfuhrer who abandoned her in her hour of need. She eyed the impulse-buying rack while Sandalwood worked, contemplated some breath mints, and skimmed the cover of a trashy tabloid boasting pictures of a congresswoman's illicit underground chimpanzee knife-fighting ring.

Sandalwood scanned one last item. He held it up and raised an eyebrow at her.

"She have a cat, or something?"

"No, I do. That one's for me. She has a lizard."

"Hm." Sandalwood stuffed Wallflower's purchases into a bag and muttered something under his breath.

Wallflower stared at him. "I'm Sad Green Bitches, by the way.”

"Yeah, I know, Wally." Sandalwood cringed as he stuffed the cat food into Wallflower's shopping bag. "Could you try saying that a little louder? I don't think the entire store heard you."

Self-conscious, Wallflower looked over her shoulder. An older woman in yoga pants, her shopping cart laden with boxed wine and sugar-free yogurt, glared at her while covering the ears of a grinning, giggling, gap-toothed little girl.

Smiling sheepishly, Wallflower waggled her fingers at the woman in apology. She returned her attention to Sandalwood as he tallied up her purchases and applied Wallflower's rewards club discount to her bill. She pulled a few bucks from her sunflower-bedecked wallet – her Wallyt – and handed them to Sandalwood, who regarded her warmly as he took them.

"Can I give you one last bit of advice?" he said.

Wallflower nodded – two vigorous pumps of her head, the second one tweaking something in the back of her neck. She winced, rubbed it, and gave a final tiny nod.

"You gotta get outside your own head – don't psych yourself out." He pulled a handful of bills and coins from the till and dropped them into Wallflower's open hands. "Trust that she's gonna like whatever you give her."

"Even chlamydia?" Wallflower pocketed the money, then hastily added, "Not that I have—"

Sandalwood's expression hardened, eyes narrowing.

Eeping submissively, Wallflower grabbed her bag, and hurried out of the aisle. She paused, mid-step, with a final question.

"Is it too late to ask for your employee discount?"

"Go eat your fucking dinner, Wallflower."

As Wallflower hurried out the door to eat her fucking dinner, she heard the opening notes of the wine mom castigating Sandalwood for his foul language, and the giggles of the gap-toothed girl growing into guffaws. Remorse panged in her tummy, and she resolved to do something nice for him later, by way of apology and gratitude.

Maybe I'll bring him Wonderbread.

...

Wonnnnnderbread.

4. Tell Me More...

After Sunset had filled a pot with salted water and set it on the stove, Wallflower guided her through cleaning the basil. It turned out that Sunset hadn't thought to do that when making her pizza. She drifted away after finishing, perhaps embarrassed, and spent the next several minutes silently watching the pot climb to a boil and tapping her weird-looking oven mitts together.

Wallflower hadn't stopped wondering what the hell was up with those. She wanted her curiosity sated, and she wanted Sunset to feel better. Maybe distracting her with a question would kill two birds with one stone.

"So, what's the deal with the oven mitts? What are they supposed to be?

"Hooves." Without looking at Wallflower, Sunset made a sad little flourish with her hands. "Rarity 3D printed them for me before she moved to Manehattan. Said I could wear them if I ever felt homesick."

That seemed kinda racist to Wallflower, but Sunset didn't need to hear that right now. She thought of something else to say.

"They look impractical."

"They are horribly impractical. But she meant well."

Oh, then that makes it okay, thought Wallflower.

But she filed that criticism away for later. Dinner took priority.

While Sunset contemplated the stove, Wallflower studied the blender. It was pretty high-end, with multiple speeds, settings, attachments, and a lid that you could pour through while the blender ran. That was gonna make things much easier.

Just for fun, she reached into the pitcher and gave the blades an experimental twirl. Danger Carousel.

"Alright, we're in business. Just gotta plug this in, and we can start the real prep work." Wallflower picked up the rigatoni and offered it to Sunset. "It boils faster if you don't watch, y'know."

"Ha ha, lol, and dare I say, lmao." Sunset pulled off her hoof-mitts and dropped them by the stove, then took the rigatoni and scanned the cooking instructions. "You're sure you're not supposed to put the pasta in first?"

"We're boiling pasta, not frogs. We heat the water first."

"That's not even true, though. The frog thing, I mean." Sunset shook the box lightly, rattling the noodles. "Princess Celestia used to cook me pasta every now and then. We'd be practicing late at night, and I'd get hungry, and she wouldn't wanna wake the cooks – anyway, she always boiled the water with the pasta."

"And how would it turn out?"

"Soggy. Kinda gross, now that you mention it." Sunset tore open the box and made her way back to the stove. "She made great pancakes though."

She should've stuck with what she knew, then, Wallflower thought.

Sunset removed the lid from the pot to check if it was boiling, and took a cloud of steam full-force to the face. She hissed out some choice words, then shook the pasta into the pot and picked up a salad fork. Gently, she stirred the pasta, occasionally scraping the sides of the pot.

Wallflower grit her teeth at the sound of prongs on stainless steel – a salad fork, really? How did this woman own a blender, but not something practical to stir with? Why couldn't Rarity have 3-D printed her a spatula, or whatever?

Focusing on the task at hand, Wallflower plugged the blender into the nearest, most convenient wall outlet, which happened to be at the opposite end of the counter from the stove. She pulled the blender to be as close to the stove as the cord would allow so she and Sunset could work while keeping an eye on the pot.

"Okay, so that's gonna take eight, maybe nine minutes," Wallflower said. "Let's put this together while it's cooking. Would you grab that olive oil? Everything else we need is right here."

She gestured at the sundries she'd brought for dinner.

Sunset did as she was asked and grabbed that olive oil. "So, are you gonna tell me what we're making now? It's not gonna be some pine nut and fruit-by-the-foot pasta salad, is it?"

"Nah. But we are using the pine nuts." Wallflower grinned. "We're makin' pesto."

Sunset raised an eyebrow. "You got this from Dining With Dinesh."

"...Yeah," said Wallflower bashfully. "Does that make me a fraud?"

"We can be frauds together – I got the pizza recipe from his website. Want me to look up his pesto? I'm a tier two subscriber."

Tier two subscriber doesn't have ingredients doesn't own a spatula—

"Nah. I remember it pretty well. The process is simple, and you don't need much." Wallflower counted off the ingredients on her fingers. "Basil, pine nuts, Parmesan, oil, and—"

She stopped mid-count. Sunset leaned forward.

"And...?"

"...Fresh garlic." Wallflower curled her raised fingers back into her palm. "But hey, four out of five is still good. Most of what we need, I happened to bring, and the rest, you already have."

It was a REALLY good thing she mistook those pine nuts for yogurt raisins.

Sunset folded her arms and tapped her chin with her thumb. "You didn't plan this in advance, did you?"

"If I had, I would've brought the garlic, along with a whole block of Parmesan. You're supposed to grate it fresh."

Although, maybe skipping the garlic on a date night wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Sunset bit the edge of her thumb, then shrugged. "Probably for the best. I don't own a cheese grater."

Doesn't own a cheese grater doesn't own a spatula tier two subscriber to Dining With Dinesh—

Wallflower shook her head. She wouldn't have time to think about anything else if she kept obsessing over Sunset's screwy kitchen situation.

Sunset retrieved Wallflower's bag of goodies, and plopped them beside the blender, alongside the washed basil. Wallflower started adding them to the blender: first the basil, then the pine nuts. She ripped the bag open and shook a healthy amount into the pitcher, taking care not to just dump them all in at once.

"Y'know, far be it for me to suggest we're doing something wrong," Sunset said, watching the nuts tumble into the blender. "But should we be measuring these out?"

"Cooking's more about vibes than precision. However much feels right, or tastes good, that's the correct amount."

"Probably for the best. I don't own—"

"Please don't finish that sentence. Please." Wallflower finished pouring the nuts, sealed the bag, and lightly tossed it to Sunset. "Here. Your study snack."

Sunset looked down at the bag, her gloomy expression softening. "You're pretty good in the kitchen, y'know. The sack too, but especially in the kitchen.

Wallflower tried to suppress the bubbly little smile that Sunset's compliment brought her. "Ah... not really. I watch a lot of cooking shows online, is all. Dinesh, a few others. Sometimes I try to make the stuff I see."

"You ever cook for your mom?"

"No. Not yet, anyway. Actually, you're the first person I've ever cooked for, besides myself. I didn't wanna make anyone else dinner until I was sure my cooking wouldn't kill them." Wallflower snapped the blender's lid back in place. "But don't worry! This is too simple by far for me to screw up."

"Hey."

Sunset's hand joined Wallflower's on the blender. Her thumb stroked Wallflower's knuckles. Wallflower stiffened.

"Before tonight, I didn't even know you were supposed to wash basil. You're way better at this than I am, so don't put yourself down."

Wallflower savored Sunset's hand over hers a moment longer. Then she cleared her throat. "So, um, I'm gonna blend. Could you check the pasta?"

Once Sunset had moved, and Wallflower's hand-holding giddies had run their course, she switched on the blender. Wallflower watched with muted interest as the blades pulverized the nuts and basil into a pale green paste.

"Get blended, idiots."

After a few seconds, she killed the power, and lifted the lid to peek inside. There was a lot of the mixture splattered against the sides of the blender, so Wallflower picked up a nearby spoon and scraped it off. She looked over at Sunset, who was stirring, trepidatiously, with her undersized fork.

"Can I ask you a question?" said Wallflower.

Sunset stabbed a piece of rigatoni onto her fork, brought it to her lips, blew, and nibbled. She shook her head, then, as if belatedly hearing Wallflower's question, hastily overcorrected with a jerky nod.

Cute, thought Wallflower.

"If you knew you weren't very good at cooking, then why did you offer to cook for me?"

Sunset tapped the fork on the edge of the pot to shake off some water, then set it down on the counter.

"It was what you said last night. About buying me dinner because I always drove. The whole way back to your place, I couldn't get it out of my head. I started to worry, what if..."

Wallflower edged toward her. "What if?"

"...What if that's all that this was? Just us doing favors for each other. You buy me food, and I drive you around, and we screw in the car... just a big game of tit-for-tat until we both get sick of it."

A new worry stabbed Wallflower in the belly. "And are you? Sick of it?"

She met Wallflower's gaze, her eyes watery.

"No. And I don't wanna be."

Relief flooded Wallflower, along with the urge to kiss Sunset directly on the mouth right then. She fought it down, though – she still needed answers.

"Why not just say you'd buy me dinner next time we went out? Why offer to cook?"

"I thought that was what you were expecting. And I wanted you to think I was cool. Confident, mature – the way everyone sees me, the way they've always seen me since school."

Her cheeks reddened, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Sounds dumb saying it out loud."

It sounded sweet, and sad, actually. Wallflower let out a guarded smile and squeezed Sunset's arm.

"Hey. You've been on your feet all night. Go sit down – I'll finish up in here, and bring it out when it's ready."

Sunset scoffed. "Kicking me out of the kitchen, huh? Should I turn in my jacket, chef?"

"No! No, I'm not trying to insult—"

But Sunset was smirking. Wallflower's panic abated, and she sighed.

"Go strain the pasta first,” she said. “Ye fookin' donkeh."

As Sunset walked out, she returned to the blender, nabbed the parmesan, and started shaking it out into the mix – but a sudden worry froze her.

That wasn't a slur, was it?

When Wallflower emerged from the kitchen, two big bowls and forks in each hand, she found Sunset hunched over on the couch, her hands folded on her lap. She perked up at Wallflower's approach – or maybe she just smelled dinner.

"Ta-da," said Wallflower. "Rigatoni a la Blush e Shimmer."

She set a bowl, laden with noodles and topped with a dollop of bright green goop, on the table in front of Sunset. Not yet finished, Wallflower dug into her pockets and retrieved two paper towels that she'd ripped from the roll in the kitchen, and deposited one on Sunset's lap.

"Itadakimaaaaa-SOO." She sat on the couch beside Sunset, and smiled. "I ran out of Italian."

Behind her smile, her nerves swirled. She hoped it turned out okay.

Sunset took a moment to mix the sauce into her pasta, then stabbed a few pieces of rigatoni with her fork. Wallflower skipped the stirring, and got right to the stabbing, so her forkful of pasta made it to her mouth first. She chewed, slowly, thinking.

Tastes okay, but I definitely miss the garlic. If nothing else, a couple shakes of pepper would've...

She heard quiet sniffling from beside her, and looked over at Sunset. Her eyes were closed, one hand covering her mouth.

"What's wrong? Did you burn yourself? Bite your lip? Or..." Wallflower wilted. "Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it?"

"It's delicious," Sunset whispered, setting her plate down. "God, it's so... so..."

She let out a slow, shuddering sigh.

"You like it? Really?" Wallflower sat her dish down. "'Cuz, I was just thinking of how it could've used more seasoning, and if I'm being honest, skipping the garlic—"

"My girl can cook."

She seemed like she was saying it to herself – like she'd forgotten Wallflower was with her. Didn't stop Wallflower from hearing.

My girl. She called me 'my girl.'

Time froze for Wallflower. She felt dizzy, adrift.

'My girl,' 'my girl,' 'my girl.'

"I need you to sit on my face," Wallflower mumbled.

"What?"

"What? Uh, I mean— hey. I'm glad you liked it." Beet-red, Wallflower grabbed her dish and shoveled as much rigatoni into her mouth as she could, chewing loudly to drown out her mortified thoughts.

'My girl.'

Beside her, Sunset wiped her mouth with her paper towel, then dabbed her eyes and nose. She wadded it up and tossed it on the table, sighing.

"I'm sorry. I've been such a crybaby tonight. It's just— it's been a long time since I've had a home-cooked meal."

Wallflower slowed her chewing. With some effort, patience, and precise timing, she was able to swallow her oversized bite of pasta without choking to death.

"Can I ask you another question?" Wallflower stabbed her fork into her bowl and let it stand, then scooted closer to Sunset on the couch. "Don't take this the wrong way, but how are you alive?"

Sunset scoffed, and followed with a sniffle. She looked sidelong at Wallflower.

"You saw my microwave, right? Instant noodles, canned soup, frozen crap – it's not haute cuisine, but it's filling. When I can't afford that, I raid the free pantry at work. It's s'posed to be for the students, but they usually don't mind if tutors take from it."

Jesus. She said that so breezily, like it was normal for her to live off charity.

"Occasionally, there'll be something good in the break room, too," Sunset added. "There's always fast food, but between my rent, utilities, tier two subscription status—"

Wallflower started to smell burnt toast again.

"—And regular car payments on top of everything else, I usually can't afford to eat out. Applejack takes pity on me from time to time, though, brings me stuff."

"Like what?" The answer came to Wallflower immediately. "Oh, duh. Apples."

"Mostly apples, yeah. Once there was a persimmon in the bag, too. No idea where she got it, but that was a good week." Sunset smiled at her reminiscence. "Anyway, I'm not in danger of starving to death, or anything. I'm just not that good at taking care of myself. That's all."

'That's all,' indeed.

Wallflower scooched closer to Sunset until they were thigh-to-thigh. She took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking.

"Y'know, pesto's pretty easy to make. And if you know how, you can find all the ingredients for cheap. I could show you how to make it. No tier-two subscription required."

Sunset blinked. Her eyes briefly darted towards Wallflower's lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean – I'm no Dining With Dinesh, but I'm pretty good at a few basic meals. I could show you how to make them. We could cook 'em together. And maybe that's what this could be."

"What do you mean?"

She gave Sunset a big, hopeful smile, while praying that there was no basil in her teeth.

"Y'know, instead of doing this or that for each other, and trying to keep things even... we have the kind of thing where we go shopping and cook together."

Sunset didn't respond right away. She opened her mouth, closed it again, stammered out something thin and weak.

Then, suddenly, she wrapped her arms around Wallflower and pulled her in close.

Wallflower, shuddering, sank into the embrace. She buried her face in Sunset's neck and sighed with contentment, feeling safe and sound and very much at home.

A whisper from Sunset tickled her ear. "We can still screw, though, right?"

"Oh, naturally. Maybe even in a bed."

Just as long as it's your bed.

5. To Express The Inexpressable

Sunset Shimmer stared at the pale orange box in her hands. She read the label, mouthing the name – BARGAINMART-BRAND CORN CEREAL PRODUCT – and frowned.

"Doesn't being cheaper also mean it's worse?"

With a sigh, Wallflower plucked the box out of Sunset's hands – Sunset's fingers wiggled, trying to grip what was no longer there – and held it next to the neon orange box of CAPTAIN CORNHOLE'S CRISPY CORSAIRS.

"You're paying less for the same amount of food. The difference in quality is practically nothing, but the difference in price is—"

"Also practically nothing."

"I'm telling you, it adds up. Trust me." Wallflower dropped the box into the cart, where it joined two big cans of tomato paste, three small onions, a large jar of crunchy peanut butter, and a bag of frozen vegetable medley. "What we're not gonna skimp on, though, is milk."

She pushed the cart down the aisle and trundled towards the dairy, Sunset looping her arm around Wallflower's waist as they walked. She'd been doing that a lot when they were out in public lately. It hadn't gotten old yet. Wallflower doubted it would.

"Getting mixed signals on this bargain-hunting thing," said Sunset as they pulled up to the dairy aisle. "I mean, buy cereal cheap, but buy milk at a mark-up? Next you're gonna tell me to mix caviar into mac-'n-cheese."

"They don't sell caviar here; you gotta go uptown for that."

Wallflower picked out a carton of organic 2% and held it up, presenting it like the sexy assistant on a game show.

"Occasionally, pricier stuff can get you more bang for your buck than store-brand or discount," she said. "For instance, this organic milk is more expensive, but it keeps longer, and tastes better. Not everything needs to be bought at a bargain. Sometimes, it's okay to spend."

That was something she told herself as she browsed the websites of every consignment store in town looking for one guitar in particular. She hadn't found it yet, but the ones she had found would eat up half her savings.

The look on Sunset's face when she got her guitar back, though, would make it worthwhile.

"Hey," Sunset said, drawing Wallflower's attention again. She jerked her thumb at a glass bottle on the milk shelf and smirked. "Wanna get raw milk?"

"Wanna get Listeria?" Wallflower dropped the milk into the cart, and kept trundling on. "Anyway, as I was saying, organic stuff isn't always worth the extra money you drop on it. With milk, though, it absolutely is. You got that?"

"Organic milk, smooth as silk. Drink raw, get lockjaw." Sunset leaned against Wallflower's shoulder. "You take me to the best places."

She sounded sincere. Wallflower hoped she was. They'd spent the last few dates hunting for stuff to make Sunset's living space a little more livable, and Wallflower had quickly learned that Sunset didn't have an eye for bargains, so she took it on herself to educate her. Last Tuesday was about socks and underwear; Saturday would be for appliances. Today was about groceries.

Wallflower thought she was being helpful, but now that Sunset had said something about it, she couldn't get it out of her mind. Was she mothering Sunset? Trying too hard?

She was turning her worries over in her mind when she saw Sandalwood halfway down the condiment aisle, kneeling in front of the mayonnaise shelf with a label-maker in his hands. He looked up and saw Wallflower, and flashed her a peace sign.

Wallflower pulled the cart to a stop and wiggled her fingers in reply, then pointed at Sunset. Kissing friend, she mouthed. Then she pointed at herself. Happy Green Bitches.

Sandalwood responded with a wink and a sly grin.

"Sup?" said Sunset, crossing into Wallflower's view. "Do we need something down here?"

"Nah. Just saying hi to Sandalwood."

"Oh." Sunset waved down the aisle. "Hey, dude! Wally's teaching me how to save money. She told me you get an employee discount?"

Wallflower's face burned. She buried it in her hands, groaning – she should've asked him for that, because the bonds they’d forged in garden club endured like the mighty redwoods, whereas she was pretty sure he and Sunset had never exchanged words outside of—

"Yeah, I gotcha. Still owe you for that egg cream incident."

"You're the man. See you later!"

Sunset nudged the small of Wallflower's back, making her eep and push the cart again. They were headed toward the bread aisle – Wallflower wanted to see if there was anything discounted that wasn't too stale to be edible – but Sunset pulled her to a stop after only a few aisles had passed.

"Wait, hold up a sec. Waitwaitwait. There's something down here I wanna grab."

She bolted down the aisle, leaving Wallflower alone with the cart. In her absence, Wallflower found herself thinking things she wished she wouldn't – things she couldn't help.

Sunset was so familiar with Sandalwood, even though Wallflower had never seen them talk before. She didn't have a problem with Sunset having old friends – she wasn't jealous or paranoid – but Wallflower had to beg for his employee discount on a good day, and he just gave it to her on the first ask. Just how close were they? Had they stayed in touch after graduating, or were they just so close that they could still speak casually with one another after years had passed? Was lockjaw a symptom of Listeriosis?

And what was the egg cream incident? Hell, what was egg cream?

Worries and fears and old anxieties scrambled around Wallflower's thoughts like the mice that were rumored to live in store walls. So many things she still didn’t know about Sunset – so many humiliating things Sunset still didn’t know about her. Sooner or later, they'd all come out. What would she and Sunset be when they did?

Maybe nothing.

Then, suddenly, a sing-song voice cut through Wallflower's worries like a red-hot blade, snapping her out of her mental stewing.

"Wally~!"

Sunset stood in front of the cart with a grin that put the sun to shame, and four cheese graters, two in each hand, dangling from her fingers.

"I saw your face when I said I didn't have one," she said, holding the graters up. "You looked like your brain was gonna fall out of your head."

Despite her mood, Wallflower couldn't help but laugh. "I appreciate the gesture, but you only need one cheese grater."

"The other three are for insurance."

"Well, if one turns out to not be enough, we can come back more. But for now?"

She reached behind Sunset to pinch her butt, and got a squeak and a smile in return.

"I'm so glad you're with me, Wally," said Sunset. "Because I totally would've bought the other three."

She turned, and bounced down the aisle to return the excess graters. In her absence, the sour thoughts that troubled Wallflower before almost returned, tiny mouse-feet scrabbling in her brainpain. But Sandalwood's advice from not long ago echoed in her memory.

'You gotta get outside your own head.'

Wallflower looked at Sunset's freshly pinched butt, and thought of her smile full of sunshine, and that was enough to kill the brain mice – for now, anyway. If they ever came back, she'd pinch another smile out of Sunset, kill 'em dead again, and feed their corpses to Sephiroth.

Nah, he likes live prey. Do spotted geckos eat brain mice?

Omake - Missing Pieces

Author's Note

Here, you'll find a bit of the story that didn't make the cut: An alternate scene depicting Sunset's bizarre kitchen priorities in a different light. There's also an alternate version of Wallflower's dialogue with Ray that Soup Boy wrote.

Omake - Missing Pieces

Everybody Fears Raymond

"Hey, little guy." Wallflower wiggled her fingers in greeting. "I'm Wallflower. Call me Wally."

Ray looked vacantly at her.

"Yeah, I guess you can't call me Wally. Being a lizard, and all, you don't have the capacity for human speech. I'm sure you can't really understand what I'm saying, either. Am I right?"

"DOES THAT THOUGHT BRING YOU COMFORT, PRIMATE?" asked a deep, booming voice that echoed through Wallflower's mind, causing her to gasp and clutch her head. "DOES YOUR ARROGANCE, YOUR CERTAINTY IN YOUR UNIQUENESS, YOUR SUPERIORITY, HELP FIGHT BACK THE FEAR WITHIN YOU? THE DAY IS COMING, WHEN MANKIND WILL NEED TO GIVE ANSWER. THE STARS SHALL CAST NEW LIGHT ON THE LOST CHILDREN OF THE UNDERCITY. ALL SHALL BE JUDGED. THE HIGH SEATED. THE CURSED. THE SERVANTS. THE UNBORN. A TIDE OF BLOOD SHALL WASH THE EARTH BUT NOT CLEANSE IT, AT THE CLOSING OF THIS AGE. THE ELDERS WILL KNOW. AT THE HEART OF THE FORSAKEN LAND, YOU WILL BEAR WITNESS TO THE FALL. ONLY ONE MAY BE SAVED. MAKE YOUR CHOICE."

The Pastalanche

"We can still have a good night, Sunset. We can order out, or... or we could cook something else." She crossed to the cupboard and reached up to pull the doors open. "Let's see what we can—"

"Wally, no!"

Sunset's cry came too late. The moment Wallflower pulled the cupboard open, a bag fell out and smacked her in the face before falling limply to the floor. She glanced down at it.

Egg noodles?

She looked up, and blanched: The cupboard was stuffed with pasta, bags and boxes of every cut, brand, and variety imaginable. They'd been packed in there, tight as can be, secured in place only by the noodly pressure created by so much pasta pressed against one another.

But the bag of egg noodles that fell on Wallflower's face changed everything – it was the first pebble, presaging the rockslide.

Wallflower cried out and shielded her head with her arms as, all at once, a torrent of plastic bags and cardboard boxes fell onto her. Lentil spaghetti and spinach rotini; textured tagliatelle and smooth penne, durham ziti and cavatappi and egg noodles, so many bags of egg noodles, cascaded from the cupboard.

"Why do you own so much pasta, Sunset?" she called over the noodly din.

Over the crash of plastic and cardboard, Wallflower heard Sunset's reply: "It's easy to make and keeps forever!"

If it keeps forever, Wallflower thought, then why do you need so much at once?

The pastalanche was tapering off, thankfully, so she wouldn't suffocate beneath pasta like some sort of savory, noodly Herculaneum. More to the point, Wallflower could hear herself without shouting. She realized that she didn't need to shout her last remark, and further, that Sunset might be ill-at-ease with so much shouting, so she decided to stop shouting, while reserving the right to shout more in the future.

Wallflower shrugged and rolled her shoulders, sloughing away some of the pasta, enough to free her arms. She heard plasticky ruffling and pasta-like crunching – Sunset was wading through the mess to free her. She held out her hand; bypassing the hoof-mitt, Wallflower took her forearm. She let herself be pulled up, grateful to be back on her feet, even if she couldn't see them. Or, really, anything below her knees.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment. Then, Sunset, looking away, spoke up. "If you wanna just go, I'll understand."

"What? No! I—"

Wallflower grabbed for Sunset's hand, but her fingers closed around a hoof-mitt instead. Grumbling, she pulled the mitt off Sunset's hand and tossed it over her shoulder, where it made a crunchy splash in the pastalanche.

"I meant what I said, Sunset. We can still have a nice night together! We can order out; we can cook something—"

"Yeah, we'll cook up twenty-four pounds of bucatini. Real romantic." Sunset scoffed and rolled her eyes.

Wallflower didn't think Sunset would believe her if she insisted that splitting twenty-four pounds of bucatini was actually the most romantic thing she could think of.

"I mean, we... it doesn't have to be..." She looked around, internally flailing. "You really don't have anything to make besides... pasta?"

"There's another bottle of olive oil. And there's the stuff you brought. We gonna toss pine nuts with fruit-by-the-foot?"

That, also, sounded kinda good, but it wouldn't be Wallflower's first choice. Still... maybe there was something to it. What had she brought? Pine nuts, basil, a can of cheese...

Something went off in Wallflower's noggin that made a smile spread across her cheeks. Sunset, noticing, cocked her head.

"Wally?"

"Random question. Do you own a blender?"