Do Right by You

Chapters

Another Haze in Her Mind
Been A Rough Few Years
Even Harder To Admit
One More Photo

Another Haze in Her Mind

Starlight Glimmer scans a parchment glittered with dust and browns that splattered across its surface. Fresh words and fresh ink adorn the page, the faint scent of dragonfire lingering long after its delivery the day before. The words are a haze in her mind—an illegible, informal announcement that looped for the better part of an hour. She’s sure she has it memorized by now.

Light peeks through the window to greet her, and the letter burns yellow. She turns.

For a brief moment, the mirror came into view. Recent photographs were placed in its crevices, while the older ones appeared a little worse for wear behind it.

Starlight disliked how a new crease seemed to appear every time she checked, so she had stopped meddling with the pictures. Ironically, there was no mention of the alicorn, considering it had been a gift from her—or at least, nothing that would indicate they'd ever met in the present.

But exactly three months had passed since the ruler of Equestria conducted her annual check-in at the School of Friendship. Four months? The details were muddled, buried beneath the fissure she had carved for herself.

It wasn’t that the princess was cold or distant… Far from it. She had stood by Starlight the entire time the event occurred, as had all her friends, but it was entirely impersonal.

Compliments came as easily as breathing. You’re doing great, they’d all say. The sentiment was general, but she never failed to slip in a reminder that Starlight deliberately ignored: “I’m always here for you when you need me.”

Subtle hoofsteps permeate her stupor, the aimless walking grounding her to the room, reminding her that she is not in the company of its author.

Knock-knock.

“Starlight? Are you awake? I’m about to go,” a muffled voice calls from the other side of the door. Her magic effortlessly slammed it open as she trots toward her roommate.

Sunburst is taken aback by the abrupt swing, his glasses tilts askew in response and readjusts them to see her furrowed brow glued to the paper.

"You sure you don’t wanna walk me down the train station?" Sunburst asks.

“No, no, they could arrive here at any moment.”

“How many times have you read that? Even I have my limits.” He tries for a casual tone, but it comes across as more bothered than anything.

Starlight finally locks eyes with him.

“Sorry,” she whispers, placing the letter on her desk. The parchment flutters slightly.

They walk along the twists and turns of the castle hallways, as they have done countless times before. Its crystal walls seem to intermingle with summer's air, like iron against a seething anvil. If it were any hotter, beads of sweat would be dripping down her face in a matter of seconds.

It was a mystery how Sunburst never betrayed his signature cloak.

The foyer was now in plain view, and she stared for a minute, eyeing her friend's sparingly few belongings that lay near the front entrance. Over the years, Sunburst had learned to carry less with him, but this was less than usual. It appears as though he won't be needing the extra help.

“Say hi to Flurry Heart for me,” she starts. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled by your surprise visit.” Sunburst nods rapidly, his lips perked eternally at the notion.

“Yeah, can’t wait,” he says. “And I’m sure the princess and her royal advisor are going to enjoy their stay!”

“Well, whatever they’ve got planned is unclear, but I’ll bet on that,” Starlight puts on a half-hearted smile.

Sunburst steps closer and wraps a forehoof around her withers, she leans in to reciprocate, taking in the warmth of his hug before he let go. Magic encases the luggage, carrying it with him as he walks toward the open doors of the castle. Starlight follows leisurely behind, stopping just where the threshold leads to the outside.

“Hope you do. I think you'll need it,” he responds, adjusting his already-fixed glasses. “Hold the fort while I’m away.”

She rolls her eyes and nods. “Goodbye, Sunburst.”

He waves back wordlessly, his retreating figure already a memory in her mind—just like everything else in this castle. Now it was time to wait.

A pair of wings casts a shadow over a small town; the silhouette moves gracefully along the pathways. He heaves a cloud of smoke as the smell of home hangs in the air, then he lands.

The visitor strides through the dirt, each step bringing a solid thud to the ground. His golden medallion ruffles from side to side, its notable sigil says that he is important, and his brisk pace says that he is in a hurry.

He waves to the prying eyes seeking his attention, and they wave back, but nopony dares to call out to him.

The school calendar wasn’t difficult to make, as it already had a set schedule in place for the entire year. All that remained to do was plan out the events in between, manage the finances, handle class placements, and take care of everything else necessary to run the place. The quill hovered mid-air, pausing as Starlight leaned back to get a better view of her work. She figured she would start ahead of time as a way to, well, pass the time.

She stares.

And she stares for a long, long moment, until the words smear under the weight of her gaze.

Another blur, another haze in her mind.

Starlight feels herself blinking hard, then she blows a raspberry. One thing of note: her hornwriting has improved significantly. Four agonizing years of the same paperwork demanded it.

A faint knock on the door echoes through the castle and her ears twitch—an unmistakable arrival. She flashes out of the library and back into the foyer. If she hadn’t been lounging around waiting for somepony, she might have grown deaf to it from habit.

A strong turn of teal aura popped the door open, and light intrudes on the dim interior, save for the towering shadow before her that shields her eyesight.

"Starlight!" the dragon exclaims, her name garbled by the stuff he was carrying. He hastily set it down and closed the distance to hug her. "It's so good to see you.”

"Spike—" she staggers; the unrelenting embrace doesn't allow her to topple over completely. "Good to see you too.” His almost burly stature has her disoriented as the boy releases his grip. It's like that baby dragon is still piloting his every move.

"Do you want hayburgers?" Spike says almost immediately. "Homemade, that is. Bought the ingredients on the way here." He dangles the groceries to her face.

“Woah there, big guy, slow down. Where’s…”

“Oh right, she’s still in Canterlot taking care of a few things. You know how it is.” Spike puffs up his chest, a sort of pride seeping through each word he says. Oh, but of course, the princess remains occupied with her duties to Equestria. It's not unusual for her to come in late, and there's nothing to fault in that. Not now, not ever.

Starlight levitates the rest of the stuff he brought, one of them being an earthy-colored sack that had his claws full earlier. She gives it a shake—its weight making it a little difficult—but hears the sound of gems clashing against each other, pure noise rattling.

She shoots him a look.

“You’re not getting a piece,” he reassures her.

As they arrive at the kitchen, Spike arranges all the ingredients in a neat line. He begins working his way like clockwork, turning on the stove before he even starts on the chopping board, which he does right after, leaving the pan to heat up. He seemed to bet on it like a timer, and Starlight watches on, her mouth slightly agape.

She clears her throat. “D-do you want me to help?”

“Sure. Could you pass me a few things?” Spike points to several things. But nevertheless, her magical assistance aids in his rhythm; utensils and chopped tomatoes float in the air as he grabs them at every turn.

She'd never been stellar in the kitchen, more so the manual aspect of it all, but the way Spike has it under control isn't a foreign concept. Only now that the dragon is as tall as his pony friends, was he able to reach a lot of the stuff that he was unable to a few years back.

The boy slaps the hay onto the pan; it sizzles as the moisture burns to smoke. He breathes in the aroma.

Starlight decided to clean up the minimal mess he had left behind, much to her surprise. Afterward, she slid two platters onto opposite ends of the kitchen island, the ceramic scraping against fine wood.

She moseys over to Spike. “When did you learn to move like that?”

“The royal chefs are eager to have me under their tutelage,” Spike flips the hay to the other side, prompting another sizzle. “And my dear old sister barely has the time to help herself. I fill in on that front… as usual.”

“And all that for hayburgers. I’m charmed,” Starlight suppresses a smirk.

“Hah! I'll have you know that these aren't just ordinary hayburgers,” he says, elbowing her lightly. “These are Spike-made!”

The stove shuts off with a thwump as the pan tilts, dropping the main course onto a bottom bun. The mayo catches it like a fly trap while scaly claws swiftly build the rest of the burger. Once assembled, the chopping board tilts, sending the hayburgers flying onto their platters. Spike flashes a toothy grin at the unicorn. “Spike-made,” he reiterates.

Starlight stomps her hooves in applause as the dragon bows, his wings unfurling in a dramatic display.

They make their way to the hayburgers. Spike then opens the sack, sticking his tongue out as he grabs a clawful of gem bits, sprinkling them onto the top bun like sesame seeds.

He steals a bite. “So, Glimmer, what troubles you?”

Starlight has yet to touch hers. “Huh?”

“You've been kinda out of it the entire time,” he points an accusatory finger. A shadow is cast over his eyes as the light beams into him. Starlight forms an "O" shape with her mouth, and her ears droop as his pointer hovers just centimeters away from her snout.

“Sorry, I'm just really confused.”

“About what?” Another bite.

“Well, you both said you wanted to spend a few days here, in the castle, with me, but without really elaborating. What am I supposed to get from that? What does it mean?” She breaks eye contact, and Starlight pokes her hayburger. She wants to find the conviction to eat the meal he prepared, but her stomach churns at the thought of what he might say.

“It means what it says.”

She feels herself blinking hard, her eyes darting toward the boy beside her. An empty platter lies in waste, his claws retreating back to the gems like dessert. If it were anypony else, he might have seemed deeply unengaged.

“No thanks to my big mouth. Again,” he mutters, wiping off any excess that remained on his palms. “But, you know, we just do like old times.” Spike catches himself, placing a claw on her withers.

A weary smile paints his features, and it's not one of pity, nor the kind that tries for damage control. it was familiar, and it was quiet, and he seemed to know why she's even done the things she does. He reads her like a book. “Whatever you wanna say right now, save it for the princess. She'll want to hear it.” He slid her platter closer.

She exhaled, long overdue. It's funny how that works. This time, though, he doesn't prod, allowing Starlight to take her own steps. Even if those other times, when he did prod, had helped.

She takes a bite. The warmth never left as the flavors danced on her tongue. It was, indeed, Spike-made.

Been A Rough Few Years

Antiques and monographs lay scattered across the library floor, and bookshelves are squeezed in tight with the amount of paperbacks it tries to hold. Eventually, the overflow gets tossed along the ground with everything else—an unyielding mess that even Spike himself couldn't tame. But that was beside the point. As he wades through the clutter, the books range in different topics of studies that he was no stranger to, however…

He slides a book out, and it reads Histories in Rock Formations. The previous one he'd grabbed had something along the lines of A Magician's Guide to Guile and More. The dragon rolls his eyes—most of the selections were about facts rather than fiction.

“Should’ve brought my stuff coming here,” Spike groans as he shoves it back into the shelf. “I didn’t know Sunburst could be so, y’know…”

Starlight steals a quick glance before refocusing on her paperwork.

She lets out a light chuckle. “Yeah, well, he's made himself at home here.” The quill scratches against parchment. “Buuut I do have what you're looking for in between all the boring stuff.”

A vibrant cover catches his eye as it floats to him, plopping into his claws. The title, in bold red text, reads, The Madden Mares: Ride or Die. He finishes the thought aloud. “He reads action-adventure novels… with a side of romance?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, that's mine. I've got a few in here, it's just…” Starlight trails off, the memory of Sunburst moving in, with stacks of books reaching the ceiling (which eventually came crashing down on them), makes her shudder. She’d given up on tidying the place after that. “I try not to add to the pile, so I only bring in personal reads. We've got enough spellbooks as it is.”

“Hm, I see. Thanks.” He flips the book to its backside, noting a symbol indicating it’s for mature audiences. Spike brushes past one, two tables, and retreats to a beanbag in the far corner. It deflates slightly as he twists and turns, his feet kicked in the air like he were on a swing.

He riffles through the pages, dust particles swarm him and he sneezes.

“Just so you know, the most explicit thing in that novel are the mare leads sharing a kiss,” Starlight's tone is coy, she stifles a laugh as her hold on the quill falters.

A pair of emerald irises peek over the cover.
“Uh-huh? I knew that. I was mostly betting on the cool fight scenes.”

“I’d hope so.”

“Wow! You think so poorly of me,” Spike says with a mock sniffle. A speck of dust enters his nostrils, and he sneezes a second time.

The two drift into their own worlds, moreso Spike than Starlight herself. The sound of pages would flip, occasionally, and the work she'd do would only amount to at least five per page flipping. Granted, he was a slow reader. Perhaps half of it could be taken care of by her vice headstallion, with better precision. And less complaints.

She wonders back on what Spike meant, what he said about doing things like old times. This plays the part, maybe. But what else?

Starlight was never a morning pony, but on better days they'd ask how her sleep was, and on the more mundane days she'd listen to their banter as her eyes sank to a steaming cup, the heat swatting away any chances of falling asleep. Her roommate's voices, a soothing background noise.

Other times, when bathroom calls, she'd seldom walk in on the boy sticking his face in the mirror to marvel at his dragonishness, or so he says. He doesn't lock the door, ever, and she'd roll her eyes at how old it had gotten.

Then her mentor would summon her from the other end of the castle—a friendship lesson, perhaps, or to hone their magic together. That was always fun.

Or she'd ask Starlight to fill in for her when she has someplace to be. And Starlight would do so unabashedly, because her approval meant the world. To make her proud. To impress her.

It all paid off in the end because she was left with her school and her castle. Now what? Ask her childhood friend to move in with her, take up on her mentor's previous responsibilities, go on as usual.

But it was never the same.

The ink had run out, and her hornwriting started to look a little sloppy. That was that.

A regurgitating burp echoes in the library as the scent of dragonfire returns. Spike catches the letter in his hands and looks at Starlight before opening it to read. The dragon lets out a low, resonant hum, and his expression sours.

"She's here," he says.

"Oh."

"On the balcony," Spike adds, pointing upward with a claw. He seems a little annoyed at the prospect.

Starlight Glimmer needed to get more ink.

There was something about the trek upstairs that seemed like it was long, winding, and endless, or so she wanted it to be. She lets out an exasperated sigh in a jitter, the nerves thwacking at her hind legs that made each step slower than necessary. And that was perhaps on purpose.

But prolonging the inevitable felt just as bad; she's been through these doors, these steps, and these floors for years, and it's as though the walls are closing in. Why couldn't she use the entrance like a normal pony?

Once Starlight reaches the final point, she ambles through one room and another until an ardent breeze welcomes her to the face.

Golden rays danced with cirrus clouds, and there stood a figure gazing into the distance adorned with royal platings that reflected the afternoon sky.

No backing down in this instant, but slow has its, albeit mild, comforts. She moves forward in the same manner as she'd arrived—deliberately. Maybe something should be said first? This was wholly akin to sneaking.

However, no words could reach her, so closer still. The crown glints in the light that it's just about blinding, and she squints, making a bit of noise until—

The alicorn's head turns

"Twilight?"

"Starlight!" she nearly yelps. "You're here!”

She took one look at her, and—oh—it’s all there. Again. Her frazzled mane, that one lopsided ear, and eyes, which sank even deeper from years of leadership ushered in by her predecessors.

But despite everything that weighed on her visage, she stood tall and regal, her gaze ever so softly meeting Starlight's lavender ones that it tightened at her lungs.

Princess Twilight Sparkle is beaming, just as the sun does from behind, and she really, really can't help the small smile that tugs at her lips in return. “Why didn’t you use the door?”

She titters and raises an eyebrow at the non-greeting, “Well, I can't take a break yet, so I figured I could do the last of my work with you.”

Twilight veers back, eyes clamped shut in concentration as her horn glows that magenta hue. Steadily, the sun yields, descending into dusk and burning away at the gold with it. The sky becomes a dreamy shade of blue as the moon simultaneously rises atop it all, and one by one the stars twinkle in its wake.

There's a nightly chill that brushes the ends of their manes. She had half a mind to linger, when every other evening was spent sifting through pages by candlelight. It's a different kind of special to witness Twilight do it up close. Not that she's seen it before.

“Remember the first time I visited the school since my coronation?" Twilight asks.

“Hm? Oh-uh, yeah, we walked around campus,” Starlight drawls, glancing at her, “and talked.”

Fresh out of Canterlot Castle, a frantic burst of magic plunged through the doors of Starlight's office. Twilight's wings were unfurled, the ashen ends of her fringe singed as though she'd escaped from a fire. She looked ill, heaving each breath in ragged exhales.

Both were startled, making it clear that Twilight had thought of home when she escaped from whatever stresses awaited her back in Canterlot. With prior counseling experience, Starlight offered to walk her through familiar corridors, easing each exhale into equal amounts.

Soon after the formalities died down, they turned to casual chatter, ignorant of how long they had been in each other's company—not until Spike flew in to urge Twilight back, as things had gone awry in her little detour.

There was solace in that moment, where Starlight had forgotten that her friend wasn't the literal ruler of a country that most ponies knew her to be, but her mentor, with whom she spent her mundanes with.

Then she left for Canterlot again.

“There's a part of me that wishes it had stayed that way, before I made it out to be—”

“A whole thing?”

“Y-yes. A whole thing.”

Starlight swallows a scoff; a breath draws out instead. Framing it as a royal obligation made it feel imperative. The events Twilight demands to have happen are ones where she gets to be vacant and spend time with friends, even if it's practically a part of her resume.

But the check-ins themselves have, frankly, become redundant after a while. You're doing great, they'd all say. Starlight reverts her attention to the night sky. It didn't have to be.

“I appreciate what you do, always, but,” Starlight braces herself before the next set of words, “I guess it’s just a little contrived—for my liking.”

“I’ve noticed. That’s why we're here,” Twilight says, “I wanted to ask you, again, how you’re handling things.”

She was going for the kill; there was no reason for small talk, it seemed. Why would there be? They've barely seen each other or even had a proper conversation in forever.

“I have no problems with my position as headmare,” Starlight states matter-of-factly. Like a defense measure bearing its surface with practiced confidence. Breathe in and breathe out the same set of lines.

Twilight doesn't answer.

Not right away.

“Is that really true?”

“You know that well.”

“Not that, I mean, I know, but—” She pauses again, her hoof lifting to her chin in thought.

Starlight wants to fester in this silence, keep her sights onward, and not have to think about what she has to say. She'd been one of the ponies who were eager for the coronation, in the promise that Twilight would wear the crown in all manner of seriousness.

There was the memory book, moving out of the castle, and now the present. Same old same old but along the way, the thought never once crossed her mind until it did. Until it did, and until she started to reminisce about the past.

“You can't even look at me.”

Starlight allows a sidelong glance, “What?”

Her whites glisten in moonlight and her brow creased as she stares. It was biting, like the cold. “You never look my way,” Twilight chides, “whenever I ask.”

She jerks her head as her mouth falls open to—she doesn't know. Nothing could come out. Twilight stares, still, biting. Dark semicircles.

It was jarring to have this same sense of trepidation crawl back to her spine, when she thought she'd rid of it hours ago with Spike. But just as he said, save it for the princess. That was easier said than done. Or the other way around.

“I don't want to bother you, not with things that concern me personally.”

“Starlight—”

“And it’s not like you don’t have more important matters to tend to, so I’m fine with where I stand,” Starlight takes a second to pull away. “You shouldn't have to worry.”

Twilight's eyes fall to the ground, lips pursed as her ears are now in even match. “You make it hard not to.”

This was painful to watch. And ridiculous, coming from her. Like a kicked puppy. She keeps on insisting. Starlight places a hoof on her shoulder in consolation, but for whatever reason, her touch is so foreign against Twilight.

She huffs in response. “Every time I let you in on those reminders, I hoped that you would take them to heart.”

Starlight had an inkling of what she meant in those moments, that it wasn't just about the school. But to even take her up on that offer sounded a little selfish. To aid in her sleepless nights, and Celestia knows how her mornings go.

“I just can't, not to you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Twi, look at yourself.”

Twilight glowers, leaning far away from the touch. “I only ask that you reach out to me when you need to. And you don't. Why?"

There was something boiling over in each vowel—liquid venom on her tongue. Nothing was going as planned, or at least it just kept getting worse each time she made a point.

She chews on her lip, and thoughts clung for anything to convince her. And herself. She'd just been rambling for half of it. Even if she wanted to, she just couldn't, because, “Because you’re a princess-princess.”

Twilight's mouth snaps shut at the admission.

Starlight averts her gaze as the cold air seemingly dissipates. Crimson paints her cheeks. That was all she could manage. An immature rebuttal that culminated in every single thing she'd bottled up inside.

Maybe she could understand that.

Bouts of listless laughs pour out of Twilight. She shakes it off at the same instant, clearing her throat. Before Starlight could protest, a wing drapes around her, like a feathered blanket. She stills under its weight.

There's a familiar sort of warmth that tugs at the corners of her heart and down to her stomach.

She feels sick.

Worst of all, Twilight is sullen, and wears it in a sort of way. It's the same one she uses when she's about to lecture her.

“What else?”

“W-what? What else is? What?” she chokes, biting her tongue to save face.

“Talk to me,” Twilight emphasizes. She doesn't even notice. “What else?”

This isn't fair. She can't do that.

There's a part of her that wants to reject her advances, tell her off, and say that she doesn't have the right to pester Princess Twilight Sparkle for meaningless things. Things like how she misses her. Misses Spike. It's not supposed to work that way, but…

She deflates, her body pressing closer to hers. She feels sick. “You always look so tired,” Starlight murmurs, head down. “And when I try to say anything, I fear that I’ll be taking ten steps behind. I don't want you to stop moving just cause I can't, Twilight.”

There was a long silence after she'd said her name. Starlight could feel her friend's steady breathing from her chest, the gentle rise and fall. Then, she feels her exhale, followed by the subtle shift as Twilight's head came to rest on her own.

“You need to understand that I'm not only a princess,” Twilight says. “I'm your friend, too. I know that It's been a rough few years, but that shouldn't stop us from being there for each other.”

Her voice was low, almost a whisper. Starlight wasn’t helping. “I’m sorry,” she swallows. “I’ll do better.”

“I’ll count on it. Always have,” Twilight releases her from the embrace. “There’s one more thing.”

It was cold once again.

“More? You’re not done?”

Her lip curves into a smile—if one could even call it that. “Patrol the dream realm?”

“Oh, of course.”

She watches Twilight close in on balcony railings, and she inhaled, horn brimming and staring back at her.

Her mouth hangs open, long drawn out. It was clear she had more to say, but if she did, she’d probably tire herself out completely.

“Goodnight,” Is what she settled on.

“Goodnight.” The word flew out of Starlight's mouth, throat close to twisting.

Twilight nods, turning away as she finally relaxes.

And then, she was gone. Although her form remains, statue-still. The soft cadence of her magic as proof that she isn't carved from stone. It was unnervingly beautiful, in a way.

Starlight's lavenders never deterred. Not even for a second.

She was unable to tell how long she sat on the balcony, but each moment had her ward off the exhaustion through forced flickers.

It all happened so fast.

But knowing she’ll see her tomorrow, she…

She feels her focus weigh heavy.

Twilight starts to blur under half-lidded eyes. No matter. She allows the hum of magenta hues lull her.

The haze in her mind had become dormant by then.

And the last of her thoughts dwindled.

Author's Note

ive rewritten this chapter multiple times to the point where my mind is quite muddled to form any sort of opinion on it, so i honestly have no clue if i hit the emotional mark in the way i wanted it to. i hope it did.

Even Harder To Admit

There's a desert-like cavity that dries up in her throat. Sunlight’s warmth cradles the room, barely ripping open her consciousness. It would be mildly annoying at best, stomach empty as her mouth dry, to pry awake. That one form of solace was in the guise of a doughy mattress, and feathered blankets that hugs a half asleep unicorn… Feathered?

Starlight bolts upright, eyes snapped open as they scan her surroundings—kites, her desk, the parchment that had kicked off every piece that fell into place. All intact and exactly as she’d left it. She wasn’t on the balcony. Which should be a given, because Twilight wouldn't allow it.

Lastly, there was that gnawing pain in her stomach, curling around her in sharp jabs from the previously crisp flooring where she had likely spent most of the night. Starlight grinds a hoof to her face.

Never again.

It's peculiar, seeing her former castlemates be completely bare of all their sovereignty.

Spike had himself occupied on the stove, singing and chortling all the while flipping pancakes with needless vigor.

When she entered the kitchen, they both acted as if nothing had changed. There was no golden medallion helming his neck, nor armor binding her hooves and chest. It threw her off balance, but their morning greetings quickly pulled her from an otherwise spiraling train of thought.

Twilight sat beside her, tea in mid-air, and face partially obscured by a book pulled from Sunburst’s collection. The atmosphere held no tension; only her usual demeanor sprang through each page flip and hum that escaped her lips.

“Didn't I tell you?" Spike yawns, “That guy's made a total mess in your library.”

Twilight shakes her head, a faint disregard of his tattle, but her slightly miffed impression gives it away. “For one, it's Sunburst’s,” she corrects, “and everypony is entitled to their personal library. I'm not guilty of this.”

“That’s true,” Spike tosses another one in the air. “Do you think he'd be mad if we tried anything?”

Twilight lets out a sort of whine, “Maaaybe?”

The steaming cup was far too late. Her head narrowed to it still, relishing in her own sense of routine. Starlight didn't have the capacity to mention the events that came down yesterday; more or less had the energy to even say anything.

Some part of her jostles the guilt closely, even literally so, as the mare beside her never wavered from her misplaced judgment. Disappointed could be its name, if briefly felt.

Half a stack of pancakes slid to her side of the table, no taller than herself as the homecook smiles, “This one's standard protocol.”

Twilight rolls her eyes. “Do you have to do that every time?" She allows a bit of amusement to slip.

Arms crossed, a draconic pride took damage when he scorns. Playfully. “You act like that's a bad thing! I need to stay on brand.”

Despite his claims, the breakfast he'd concocted had that same touch to it. She can't be sure for certain, with yesterday's hayburgers to go off of, but the way they were fluffier than “standard protocol” was something worth mentioning.

Other platters accompanied her own seconds after. Starlight knew better than to feign ignorance of her emotions, and it seems that recently she'd been going against everything she stood for.

It was hard to admit it.

It was hard to admit that the room lit up in their company.

And It was even harder to admit that, with each forkful of cake batter…

Being a morning pony doesn't seem so bad.

By the time they finished their meals, Starlight finally got up and managed her first words about needing to run some errands. Her voice came out grating as she tried to quell the overwhelming urge to teleport off the castle premises then and there.

The dragon clears his throat and invites himself along on her little escapade, pleading in the way foals often do. Tentatively, she casts a glance at Twilight, who granted approval with that warm smile of hers. It makes Starlight's heart swell and sting all at once. An alienating sensation.

She searched her features, wondering if any trace of what had happened still lingers in her step. Perhaps she lingered too long, staring without regard for common courtesy, as the princess cocked her head to the side, almost fretting.

Starlight whirls out the door in light footfalls.

"Heavy on the heart, is it?" Spike flicks three bits in exchange for the same amount of tomatoes. The castle pantry had the ingredients he was talking about getting, but he insists that his way of meal preparation required fresh, out in the open. That could just be an excuse to have a certain conversation alone. She knows how terrible he is at lying. They both are.

"Hardly."

"Oh, you don't get to play that game. I know that face."

"What face?" She eyes him quizzically and scuffs a mouthful of insipid street food in one go. Her cheeks puff out into a chipmunk's.

Spike sours, mouth twisting in a manner of bemusement. He flicks another three bits at a nearby stand.

It. Was. Embarrassing. Leaving the kitchen with the boy tailing behind as he exchanged parting words with his sister.

She was the one to linger, in her every step, as painstakingly obvious as it was to him. She's Starlight Glimmer, for Celestia’s sake. Headmare of The School of Friendship. She knew what to say, and how to speak her mind. But this particular instance had her thoughts and words slurring all the same. So she, unwittingly, responds to his attempt at conversation with less-than-stellar appraisals.

Her reluctance wouldn’t stop the dragon from egging her on, though, as they arrived at an intersection that didn’t have anything to do with food stuffs. Which confirms that it was most definitely an excuse.

“So I'm assuming that you couldn’t get it off your chest?” he flips through comic pages mindlessly, like a prop to fidget with when something is bothering somepony.

The intimate smell of centuries-old library dusts the stand, its vendor looking anywhere but the nerdy articles displayed on a flimsy table that's on the verge of collapse. She bears in mind not to leave a stray hoof on its surface.

“Kind of,” Starlight mumbles. “Well, it was late, so I couldn't admit it to her in earnest. You know how it is, right?”

He stops at a page and opens it wide for her to have a look-see. “You think this one’s good?”

She's incredulous. “Action is your go-to, so I’d say as much.”

“Really now, you gotta look into it to form an opinion.”

She sighs and levitates the comic to full viewing experience. The colorful burst of action paints closely to real movement, she'd nearly been enthralled. Or should've. “Huh, I ought to buy this for myself.”

“Awesome! Thank you for your input!” he swipes the cyan out of the paper, tending to the vendor with more chosen in her distraction.

Spike pauses shortly, and rigid, like time does when it stops. She could see dim, candid flickers in his regard.

“I guess I’d hoped you two would reconcile on the balcony, but the way you both were at the kitchen didn't feel all fuzzy to me,” Spike's words seemed to tumble out unfiltered, jagged teeth denouncing the mind rather than being an admission to Starlight herself. Incidental.

Just as time would stop, time began flowing, and the market was louder than the moment before.

She had nothing to add to that.

This went on for about an hour or two, leisurely gawking at stands and filling up saddlebags (and bags) to heavyweights. Spike didn’t bring it up again, or at least opted not to. Starlight greatly appreciated his restraint, no matter how frequently his eyes darted in all directions when similar topics were brought to the forefront. Not when so much remained unsaid and the wall she had inadvertently put up wouldn’t allow for it.

Instead, he prattled on about their days in Canterlot. Apparently, having the ruler of Equestria stand on all fours 24/7 had taken a dangerous toll. That was nothing surprising, rather expected, as the Council of Friendship pried so often when it got harder to ignore. Like foalsitters, she recalls. Pressing for healthy eating habits, instilling curfew after curfew, and taking shifts with precariously long to-do lists each day. It reached the point where Twilight had been forced to take proper care of herself—with varying results.

Starlight wonders how long it had been that way and whether any deed on her part could have made a difference. She bites the thought down, the taste of street food mixed in her gullet. There was no way it would change anything.

The final stop brought her to the reason for the escapade: kite repair supplies, assorted essentials, and whatever else might catch her eye that related to this hobby, one that had become a lifeline. Perhaps Spike could muck around with.

“There’s one with your colors!” Starlight beams genuinely, and with effort, to lighten the mood. There's a basket holding discounted kites, and it so happens to have patterns of oddly familiar palettes that would rightfully be owned in coordination.

Spike doesn't answer right away, but looks as though a light bulb has gone off in his head, a choice reflected in a purple, sparkly design that matched somepony else. He hands it to her and flicks three final bits onto the counter. “I need to take these ingredients back home. I’ll catch up with you afterward.”

With newfound pride, Spike marches off, his silhouette fading into the teeming crowd.

A dragon's nerve is unmatched.

One More Photo

Suppose she was left in her own company, on the outskirts of Ponyville under a nice summer morning. Suppose she'd been waiting for about, let's say, 30 minutes, and by then had her kite set against clear blue skies. Suppose it should ease up the nerves, but it doesn't—kind of, not really.

It was tranquil, all things considered, if those considerations left her lounging around for somepony a third time. It was tranquil, but it wasn't fun. Two things could be true at once.

Just like how two of her friends were meticulously plotting, all the while talking about your best interests at heart. And not theirs, for whatever reason. A barrage of unwanted pretense blared after the dragon ran off with his other excuse dangling over his chest.

The purple, sparkly-designed kite taunts her from a sidestep away, beckoning for a second shadow to cover grass. The wind spits out a harder gust and Starlight regains control.

“It's fine,” she exhales, letting it run off her mouth to release the pressure. “You're only seeing things. Or, like, looking too deep into it. It's just the guilt talking.”

A soft voice steers clear above it all.

“Starlight?”

"Twilight!" she yelps, turning to see her friend standing behind. Where there should have been a pompous teenager, waving both claws as he chuckles in apologies for being so late, there is an alicorn in lieu. Twilight smiles, ever so longingly. It's perplexing—she had hoped a frown were in place.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Theee last part? Don't worry—I could barely make out what you were saying.”

“Right,” she coughs, unconvinced.

“Honest,” Twilight pads to her designated spot and waves, “Mind if I join?”

As though it were scripted, she hands herself the kite (suspiciously appearanced by its holder) as it begins sharing the sky with her own. This was an outside force at work, Spike was prodding—no, he was pulling. Pulling strings this time around, which was infuriatingly sweet of him.

The princess, as expected, doesn’t waver but looks at her in a way that’s almost impossible to digest. Lavenders flick every now and then, and cower skyward when met with Violets. It's the same case normally, when things weren't so rough between them. How does she do it?

It's the guilt talking.

She blinks hard.

“We've done this once,” Starlight points out.

Twilight leans, abashed, letting the demeanor slip to some degree. “We have…”

Being hypnotized offered the opportunity to do exactly that. Commanded more by accident than Twilight's intention. She giggles under her breath, struggling to stifle the sound. It can’t be helped—Twilight does the same.

But why now? For as long as she could remember, they were given space in their own pastimes, never necessarily hounding one another. If Starlight was off doing this, her mentor would ask for favors an hour later. That was the standard—unless, of course, a friendship mission signals flank, among other things.

This seemed to stray from their own words of old times, though there was no room to complain.

Her mind dwells to a couple of hours ago, quietly put off from top to bottom. The gesture felt unearned, performative in its worst the longer she thought about it. Yet they chose to strip bare. Royalty cast aside so unceremoniously that it's almost paradoxical in nature. A sight for sore eyes and…

Twilight's mane is neatly combed, her ears upright and stature poised. As if nothing had changed. How long has it been since she’s looked so much like herself?

What a weird way to phrase it. Twilight is herself, and always.

There's a knocking in her throat that drags on, like acting out the way she did warrants physical side effects, remedied only by winded apologies. That’s the core of most of her problems. Disregard logical thinking with, to her, logical action. And It dawns on Starlight a little too late.

40 minutes passed and Spike was nowhere to be seen. This is definitely his way of—whatever he needed it to be—a reconciliation of sorts.

“Sorry,” she sighs, the desire to bask in the winds nearly depleting. To be forthright about it, to stave off the growing haze, anything.

“Oh, it's okay Starlight. Your methods kind of worked, I may not be as scared of ladybugs—”

“I-It's not that!” She says, chagrined.

Twilight raises a brow, taking a second to click. Her hold on the reel loosens, or so Starlight imagined.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Yes, and I guess I haven't been completely honest with you on that front. Not exactly, not to that extent.” Starlight releases the hold and wills her kite to surrender, landing farther than she meant for it to be.

There wasn’t anything now; she couldn’t get a read on her. She faced that head-on, heaving the same pressure and releasing it for certain.

“It was wrong of me to neglect our friendship. I thought it would help, in a weird way, If I didn't talk about how I felt.” Her attention slinks to sunken eyes, unchanging before her.

Twilight took notice and gently cups her cheek to bury dark semicircles. There seems to be shame in there, somewhere. It wasn’t biting, but it was colder.

“I've already forgiven you,” Twilight murmurs. “However, I am keen on what you have to say.” She caresses her face like there is a wound to soothe.

What else? She jostles it closely.

Starlight relents, “I wanted to do right by you. It's like, if I said anything, then I wouldn't be much help. You know how I’ve—I try so hard to make you proud, to repay the good that you've done for me.”

“And you have, ten fold,” Twilight replies, reeling in her kite and holding it close to her chest as it, too, is retired. Forty minutes of, and ten with. She'd been enjoying herself.

Starlight scuffs the dirt underfoot, mired by her false sense of responsibility and squeezing out every inch of it there is. “I just—I miss you. Both of you. This weight I put on myself, your absence in the castle wasn't something I anticipated, you know? Not trying to insinuate that Sunburst doesn't fill that void, he's great! And he does, he's nice to be around. W-what I'm trying to say is—”

The princess lunges forward in a stirring motion, enveloping the smaller mare in what she perceives as, oh, so incredibly warm. She's soft, familiar, tight with her scent of lavenders. Not enough space to think.

Overhead, the clouds are like snails, past the ground in shadows and remarkably heavy. She never realized, after being out here for about an hour, how beautiful the landscape was. Cerulean blues reflects the sclera, canvas-like and calm. Watery.

“Twilight?”

“All right,” She pulls away, “I had a feeling.”

Mirth graces her lips, its relief colored in a way Starlight's never seen before. As opposed to last night, the face of defeat comparable to years of battle from her worst enemies. Starlight might be spitballing, she doesn’t care.

Twilight lifts her chin up in comfort, a steady gaze to her own blurring vision. “I should be apologizing for neglecting us, too. Even in my worst moments, I think back on my days in Ponyville with your memory book in hoof. The thought never crossed my mind to check up on you as a friend, rather than my school’s headmare.”

Rather than her school’s headmare.

It’s stupid to profess how good that is to hear.

But…

Not once had Starlight considered that she might have a fault for her shortcomings.

Why did it matter if all of that was true?

The ruler of Equestria, worried—being pestered for meaningless things. Things like how she misses her. Misses Spike. It's not supposed to work that way.

On the other side of that coin is entirely the fact of the matter. It is supposed to. Princess of Friendship, Twilight Sparkle, her friend.

Right now, she wanted nothing more than to chase after that warmth—leaning over as both mares teeter and fall to the ground, and she heard her laugh, and she felt purple plumes, and their bodies pressing together.

“Starlight!” she gasps, cordial in the ambush. Twilight eagerly welcomes it, wrapping forehooves around her as she strokes her mane, subdued under a nice summer morning.

In the far distance, Spike’s voice can be heard calling out, his excitement echoing through the wind.

“You know, I think that mirror could use one more photo.”

Starlight locks eyes with her.

“It could.”

Summer has come to an end. Twilight returned to Canterlot, her departure hectic as she first left her post. But that was okay—the status quo fit neatly into what they already had, and it would be a long while until they got to see each other again.

Light beams onto a photograph, three faces smiling back at Starlight, freshly woven into her memory like it had happened yesterday.

A knock at the door pulls her out of a stupor, and it opens.

“I’d say it was a good thing Twilight came over when she did. Her reorganization of the castle library has me finding my books two seconds faster,” Sunburst chimes, a knowing smile on his face as he leaned against the doorframe. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Right. And you better follow her orders to keep it that way,” she jokes, the image of Twilight running through her mind. The princess had been skittish during her lecture on library management, with Sunburst listening intently.

He grins at their shared reverie, turning out of the room to allow her a moment.

Starlight disliked how a new crease seemed to appear every time she checked, and that hadn’t changed. But old memories were what they were—just as new ones are—she muses, placing the photo they took together on the corner of the mirror.

Author's Note

suffice to say that i had a great deal of trouble with this fic, as i went in confident after a handful of writing lessons from a friend who worked as a guide and mentor (separate from beta reader friend, shout out to them)

i almost scrapped it and even tried to rework the whole thing from the ground up because in my head this didn't live up to my own impossible standards until i was told otherwise.

can't thank you enough for that. anyway, i'm excited to move on to two other fics that might loosely relate to this story :D