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.