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