For the first time in what felt like years, Octavia woke up well rested, and even content. Normally, it took half a bottle of wine and a day at the spa to feel this relaxed; and those didn't come with the wonderful haze of half-remembered dreams and the scent of pleasant exhaustion. She stretched out languidly, and nuzzled into the pillow under head. In response, the pillow tugged her back against another pillow behind her, as a third pillow gently wrapped around her chest.

Sleeping in another pony's bed isn't very proper, you know.

Oh, hush, Octavia. You will be mature about this. You did, after all, take him up on his offer; it would be uncouth to take to his bed, then panic upon waking up beside him...

Memories of the night before came back to her, like watching an old film. She remembered dancing in the dark, following his lead and eventually leading him. The simple joy of learning something new and doing well at it the first time around, the dream of any overachiever. Her favorite wine on her lips, his touch on her neck and against her flank. And then... Cole professed an attraction to her.

At first, the words had rung false. The words were part of another signature Vinyl Scratch prank, she had thought. Another cruel little thing the popular Vinyl Scratch was doing to taunt her lonely roommate Octavia. Even the spell might have been part of the setup, becoming the image of the stallion of her dreams. But Octavia was not going to take that sort of cruelty from her oldest friend. Octavia was not some frigid, stuck-up spinster. She would show him!

Her hoof rested gently over Cole's, giving it a little squeeze, remembering when it first wrapped around her in his studio. She had pounced him, almost literally throwing herself at him. Her kiss had been as gentle as a shark's, and her flaunting and flirting the stuff of terrible paperback romances. She was sure that Cole's words were going to be replaced with a grin or a laugh or even a flat-out insult, the joke having been seen through. Instead, he gave as good as he got - and better. When she stopped pretending to flirt and started actually trying to entice him, she wasn't sure. Eventually this only angered him, and he demanded to know if her flirting was sincere. In trying to call his bluff, she realized he had called hers. Well played, Cole.

She hadn't been quite herself, she thought; plied with drink and seduced to the sound of synthesized strings and drums. But even as she chided herself for being tricked, it felt hollow. She had, after all, turned the tables on him more than once that evening. She couldn't claim he was tricking himself on her when she was happily coaxing him, hoping she was doing her part right. If she had been coerced, she wouldn't have put such a production into asking him if he was ready to go again. And at the end their night together, when he invited her to stay, she did.

I didn't want to wake up alone again.

Her embracer cooed softly into her ear. No... hummed. A spontaneous melody, while one hoof traced slow circles in the fur of Octavia's chest, dips marking the measure. He made music even in his sleep. He was warm around her, and she wriggled back against that warmth, which was rewarded by being held even closer. She sighed softly and closed her eyes, hoping the morning wasn't coming soon.

For a while, she simply contented herself with feeling his breath on her neck, and his embrace around her. The relaxation continued, and soon the cellist dozed off again, enjoying fleeting dreams for a time. After a few minutes of restful peace, the feel of a hoof sliding lower on her belly roused her, gently ruffling the fur there in small circles.

So early, Cole? You are a beast, DJ COL-7...

The touch she tensed for never came, however; it stopped just under her ribcage, stroking slowly. She relaxed under his touch and gave a content little nicker, letting her head rest heavily once more onto his foreleg. His muzzle rested over her head as he tugged her a to his chest, murmured something into her ears. "Tavi..."

She flicked her ears back, and frowned. That sounded... odd...

She didn't want to wake him, so her eyes flicked forwards towards the shelves of audio equipment. In the reflective dome of a speaker, she saw her own reflection - and the pony wrapped around her. It was almost the same as the pony in whose arms she had fallen asleep. The differences, however, were subtle. His chest was no longer as big. The jaw was smoother and rounded, not angular and broad. The flanks were far less powerful, and the hips and belly were far pudgier, betraying a life of regularly stumbling into Waffle Taco after midnight because it was the only thing left open when the clubs were closed. In short, the spell that created DJ COL-7 had dissipated, and the DJ was Vinyl Scratch once more.

Well. That does... complicate matters, now, doesn't it?

She smiled wryly, and gave the foreleg around her belly a gentle squeeze under her own hoof before she started to climb out of bed. She brushed over Vinyl Scratch's mane, getting it out of her eyes; in return, the white mare nickered and smiled in her sleep.

Good morning, Vinyl. At least we found a way to keep you from tossing in your sleep.

It was some time later when Vinyl Scratch woke up. Her head was pounding harder than her beats, and her vision was still blurred, so for a few minutes, the world simply spun. This wasn't a new feeling, and she lay back in bed, groaning softly. Irritably, she chucked a pillow off the bed and into the corner. The stack of books the pillow flew into had nothing to do with the throbbing in her head, as it turned out, and they fell over irritably.

She grumbled, trying to count the drinks she had had over the course of the night. "How come I never remember this part..."

As she sprawled out again, a leg fell into where the mattress should have been. The depression was still warm, and it still had the scent of another pony there. In the haze of sleep, Vinyl slid her hoof across that odd depression. It took a few moments before her mind caught up.

I didn't go to bed alone.

Memories of the night before tumbled out of her sleeping mind, with a few intense ones foremost and the rest struggling to link in the right order. The first memory, of course, was when they joined together, when she felt what it meant to be a stallion, and the voice of Octavia's high-pitched pants in his ear. The next memory was feeling her fall asleep before her eyes, her body becoming still, a little smile on her lips.

On the rush of a job well-done and well-paid, he and Tavi had split a bottle of wine. Octavia, as Vinyl well knew from the one attempt they had at a bar crawl together, was a two-drink mare; she was well into her third by the time Vinyl had invited her into her 'studio'. Vinyl, herself, had had enough that when Octavia said 'yes', she hadn't questioned it. She didn't even stop to think why a mare who had never shown even a bit of interest in her would suddenly be all over her like she was made of chocolate -

No, brain! Stop! Don't think about tha-

Too late.

Then again, that particular image was improbable. Even when Vinyl Scratch had been brave enough to hit on Octavia, the cellist had completely failed to catch on the fact that she was into her - or, worse, derided the DJ for being childish. And so, Vinyl Scratch was content that her old friend was as good a friend as ever. Neither of them had done particularly well in finding anyone, but she hoped that even when they both had found their special someponies, they'd still be be the same music geeks they always were.

And then, she had to go and ruin that.

Vinyl ground a hoof against the base of her horn and sighed. "Man, I bucked up..."

The single bathroom in their apartment was cramped; it had a tiny washbasin, a small toilet, and a small shower-tub. Lying down in it was almost impossible, but Octavia was doing her best to do just that, curled up as the water came down. Her routine was to quickly rinse her mane and brush out her fur, then dry off and tend to her hooves; but for some reason, as soon as the hot water soaked through her fur, the sensation just overwhelmed her with how good it felt. Octavia simply stretched out under the water, unwilling to do anything but feel the water beating down.

After a few moments, she rolled over, and the spray hit her in a sore spot on her neck. Octavia bit her lip as she recalled just how she had got that bruise on her neck - how she had squirmed getting it. Even then, she could still remember the feel of his weight sliding atop her, busily nibbling her there.

Vinyl peeked from behind the curtain. "What's wrong, Tavi? Are you feeling alright?" The unicorn wore a bold little grin. "Sure you don't need any help?"

The face in her memories of Cole refused to be different from the face of Vinyl Scratch. His cocky smirk, his confused squints, the grins and laughs that could burst out at any moment, the professional pride when his glasses went on - the voice and the lines had been different, but the pony behind them was pure Vinyl Scratch, through and through. Even now, as her hoof slid down her belly and she thought a bit more intently about how it had felt to have him moving atop her, the face in her mind's eye refused to change.

The white mare slid into the shower, her mane falling wet to her sides as she stood, straddling Octavia and looking at her neck. "I see the problem here - it's uneven all over," Vinyl purred mischievously, the DJ's lips sliding just under her chin. "Luckily for you, I know how to smooth it out..."

Octavia whimpered just a little as she slid her hoof about, trying some of the things she had learned the night before. The DJ that had taken her, versus the roommate she teased and argued with and the friend she had grown up with; she wanted there to be some difference, something that set them apart. And she didn't want any of them to be the pony she couldn't get out of her mind, the blue-and-white unicorn that she was imagining helping her put her talented hooves to good use...

There was a quick rapping at the door, and the cellist froze mid-stroke. "Hey, Octy?" Another set of knocks. "You've been in there a long time."

if I say even a single word she'll know

There was a slow creaking just outside the shower, and the voice was now much clearer and much more concerned. "Do you need any help?"

oh hayseeds I didn't lock the door

The door shut quickly in Vinyl's face, stubbing her hoof, followed by the squelching sound of something wet landing just behind the door, followed by the rattling sound of a curtain rod being pulled free. Octavia yelped out from her landing, but whinnied in response. "No, really, Vinyl, I'm fine, everything's just fine here, how are you?"

"Oh-kay..." Vinyl muttered something about her hoof and trotted off with a slight limp, and Octavia sighed in relief, freed from having to answer questions about why she was hoofing off so early in the morning, and to whom.

Crisis averted, for now.

A DJ's life is based on residencies: land a gig at a club you can go to every month, and not only do you advertise, but you can count on that income. Most professional DJs built up their residencies bit by bit, as they worked for the day they had a club to call their own. DJ PON-3, however, only had the one - the Wednesday Wubs at the club Monochrome - and letting even a minute of dead air hit the club would ensure that somepony else would land her gig. And, thanks to the events of the night before, she was late.

Vinyl Scratch paced outside the door, impatiently tapping a hoof. She could already see the club's owner Vainglory ripping up her contract with a contemptuous little laugh, and Vinyl grimaced. "Come on, Tavi! I gotta get moving here!"

"I'll be right out," Octavia said. "Just gotta get this hung... up... again..."

Vinyl's hoof ran over her face, and she sighed. Breakfast instead, then.

Grumbling, Vinyl opened the icebox and searched for any leftovers. Finding a box full of cold hay fries with cheese and gravy, she laid it on the table and opened it, eating directly from the box like a trough. Eating right out of the bowl was brutish and uncouth, and Octavia positively hated it when Vinyl did it. And if she doesn't like it, she can get out of the bathroom already and say so.

The hangover and the shower issues were making her irritable enough, but she just couldn't stop thinking about last night. More than just getting off together, she had loved Octavia finally returning her attraction. But even though they had finally slept together - as awkward and full of missteps as it was - all her thoughts kept returning to the same point.

Would you have even taken me seriously, Tavi, if I had been a mare when I told you how I felt? Or did you just need a rutting so bad that you'd now try a round with your old friend?

It was illogical and unfair, but she couldn't keep the feelings from welling up inside her. When Vinyl chucked the leftover container into the bin, the crumbled paper made the can rock back, and she caught it with her magic before it spilled everywhere. It still managed to knock into the kitchen table, some scattered records falling to the floor - with the sound of a crack.

First your friendships, now your place. What else are you going to ruin today, Vinyl Scratch? Your job, maybe?

Vinyl trotted over and banged on the door. "Tavi, come on - I needed to be out five minutes ago!" When the response wasn't immediate, she grumbled loud enough to be heard through the door. "You know what? Nevermind. I'll go without."

Running up to her room, she grabbed the only thing she needed - her trademark shades. On her way back down the stairs, she heard the shower finally turn off, and a half-dried Octavia with a towel still around her shoulders met her at the foot of the stairs.

Oh Celestia, she's extra hot with her mane wet-

"Vinyl," Octavia spoke up expectantly, raising a hoof to grab her attention, trying to meet Vinyl's gaze through the lenses. "I'm sorry I took so long in there. I just had - had something on my mind -"

"Sorry, Tavi - I have to get to out Monochrome like now," Vinyl grunted. "I-" She snorted in frustration. "Look, we'll talk tonight, okay?" And with that, the unicorn trotted out, the door shutting a little too hard behind her.

"... and I was hoping we could talk."

Having slept through most of the day, Octavia was a free mare. She didn't have practice that evening, but she was tutoring later in the morning, and she had to stay awake through until the little colts had been taught their share of musical history. So, as she set a pot of Saddle Arabica brewing in the coffeemaker, she had nothing to do but think.

So where does this leave us?

Octavia looked halfheartedly over their pantry as she thought to Vinyl storming out. Obviously, something was on her mind, something more than just frustration at being late. This wasn't the first time the DJ had had a close call in her short career at Monochrome, but she had faced every other potential tardy with a grin and her trademark swagger.

We went to bed together happy, right? So why did she wake up so sour?

The last she had seen of Vinyl Scratch - before meeting her at the staircase, that is - the DJ had been sleeping happily, splayed out with all the grace and self-awareness of a discarded sock. It was that... lack of pretense that Octavia loved most of all; the ease she slipped out of her role to just live on her impulses.

Maybe I'm worrying over nothing. Maybe whatever she was so worked up about isn't even something related to... us.

Us.

That thought bounced around her head, teasing at the corners of her mind until she had to confront it: the way she thought of Vinyl had changed. Before, she thought of Vinyl Scratch as an old friend to split the rent with; they were, essentially, two independent mares, living two independent lives, that intersected at odd times. Now, she was thinking of Vinyl the way she thought of a date or suitor.

A suitor who was very good with her lips.

"We haven't even had a date yet," she groused aloud, as the coffeemaker popped up its lid to show it was done brewing. Taking the pot in her hooves, she emptied a generous amount into a coffee mug, adding lots of cream and a little sugar. "And here I go, thinking about-"

walking together - dancing with her at the club - finding fun ways to wake her up - just one more kiss

"- going out with her."

Then again, for all their similarities and their shared passions, they were different. Vinyl had an "on" and an "off;" at the push of a button she went from calculated and obsessive over minute details, to a layabout with the impulse control of a bored squirrel. Octavia had an "in" and an "out"; a neurotic perfectionist on the inside kept hidden under wraps of propriety and manners and the finer social graces. Neither meshed quite well together, but decades of friendship allowed them to trust each other with what they were really thinking - arguments could be free and open without affecting their friendship. Would that work if we were - well - fillyfriends?

Octavia took her mug with her to the couch, and rested it between her hooves, sighing. I wonder what mother would say.

The first words out of her mouth were a mockery of her mother Viola's proselytizing tone: "No Philharmonica has ever been a fillyfooler." Her mother had never actually said those words, but she could imagine the disparaging tones in her mother's voice as clearly as she remembered everything else she had heard in that tone. But as she thought about it, another one of her mother's moralizing lessons came to mind.

Viola Philharmonica had been an old gray nag before the color gray had been invented, little Octavia was sure. Her mommy was always grumpy about things and was really really mean when she was teaching. But she had never heard mommy yelling at daddy before. This scared Octavia, and the filly had spent the morning crying in bed, wondering if she had somehow made them fight. But a filly's boundless hunger drove her out of bed and to the kitchen, where her mother was busying herself at the table with her boring paperwork.

"Momma?"

"What is it, dear heart?" There was little warmth in her voice. Every word was clipped, the syllables ending as soon as they could so that the rest of the sentence could hurry up and get out of her mouth.

The small grey filly looked up, her eyes long since dry from running out. "Why don't you love daddy anymore?"

The quiver in her voice surprised her mother before he words did, and she turned around to face Octavia. When she had fought with her husband Strum Picker earlier that day, she had been certain that their children were snug in bed.

"Whatever gave you that impression, darling?" She climbed down out of her seat, looking to her daughter with worry. "Mommy loves daddy very much."

"But you were shouting with him and saying mean things," Octavia whimpered.

"I-" Viola sighed in frustration, and shook her head. "Yes, Octavia, we were fighting, and it was stressful, so Mommy said some things that - weren't fair. But we had to say them so that they could be said, and so we could stop arguing and start answering."

"You still love daddy?" There was hope in her face, and her eyes seemed bright again.

"Very much so." Viola looked down to her daughter, and sighed. If Octavia was old enough to question love, she was old enough to learn more about it. "Do you know why I married Strum Picker, Octavia?"

Octavia tilted her head. "... because you love bluegrass?"

Viola snorted. "Quite the opposite. I can't stand it." The older mare gave a sly little grin. "Do you want to know the real reason?"

Eager to share in a conspiracy, the little filly bounced in place, nodding vigorously.

Leaning in, Viola whispered into her daughter's ear, "Because your father knows how to be bold when I can't."

Octavia tilted her head. "But... why does that mean you love him?"

"Because he balances me out, dear heart." Viola smiled. "I can balance him out when he's gone to far, and he can pull me out when I've not gone far enough. And if that means we have to fight sometimes - well, at the end of the day, it's worth it. For both of us."

Viola smiled wistfully, and pulled her daughter close as she picked her words carefully. "If you... if you abandon everything I raised you to be - if you go off and become a-a carpenter in Trottowa - you remember this, Octavia Philharmonica." Her mother sat down in front of her. "Do you remember what I taught you about the oenophile's quandary?"

"Going without unnecessary things for as long as possible means you have more appreciation of what you have once you decide to enjoy them," Octavia recited from memory. It was a phrase she mostly understood. "But why is that important?"

"Because there are nuances I haven't taught you yet. When it comes to love, the oenophile's quandary is wrong. Time makes many things better, yes - wine ages, interest compounds, and stories go on - but a life without love doesn't make the love you find later better. It just means you lived your life not learning how to cherish the love you've found." Viola smiled, and ran a hoof over Octavia's hair. "When it comes to love - seize it, Octavia. Seize it and cherish it, and if it ends mourn it and honor it, but never regret risking your heart on love."

"Love isn't..." Viola bit her lip, and for a moment, Octavia thought her mother might be about to cry. "It's not about finding the perfect pony who you never argue with, who you always make happy, and spending the rest of your life together waiting for the gates to the Elysian fields to open up. There are no fairy tales in this life." Viola gave a soft smile, her ears twisting to listen to the hallway, where she could hear her husband's hoof clicking; she knew that her youngest daughter, Greensleeves, would be awake now, and Strum Picker would be bouncing the little foal on his knee, waking her up and making her happy so Viola could sleep in.

"Love is about finding someone it's worth making mistakes with. Tenderness, fidelity, forgiveness, passion, all are nice, but when things go wrong - and they do, Octavia - love means you both care enough about each other to want to make it right again."

Well, now, that's the question, mother. I've already made my first mistake with her. She drew in a deep breath, then sagged. Am I about to go make another?

Octavia looked into her coffee. Her coffee, however, refused to offer any insights, and instead just swirled around the mug like nature intended.

"Well, you're no help."

Author's Note

This chapter's title comes from Mahler's 3rd Symphony.