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Of Challenges and Kisses

by RavensDagger

Chapter 14: One Final Kiss

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Three taps rang out as the colt hit the door, the sound reverberating across the empty and desolate street before being drowned out by the faraway sound of a heavy bass.

Nervously, and with more than a little self-consciousness, Featherweight hopped down the steps leading up to the wooden door and waited. The bouquet of carefully-picked flowers he held sagged under their own weight, prompting him to tilt his head awkwardly to one side.

With a shuddering breath, the young stallion started ticking items off his mental check-list. I have my suit on, I took a shower this week, I have flowers from Miss Roseluck’s shop, I have some spare bits just in case, and... He glanced for the fiftieth time to the numbers hanging beside the seemingly massive door. Yup, it’s the right address.

He patiently stared at the door as he waited with mounting anticipation for the mare of his dreams to step out.

The handle turned with a creaking and grinding that was pure joy to Featherweight's ears as he lifted to the tip of his hooves and unknowingly allowed his wings to flutter recklessly at his sides.

With a single whoosh, the door opened, allowing a wedge of blinding artificial light to burn the image of a pretty golden mare into the eyes of the colt. Stepping out, Scootaloo descended the first two steps, her silky robes swaying around her as the last rays of the sun illuminated both her resilient coat and her dark purple mane.

She’s so... pretty, he thought as his mind reeled, trying to capture every last nuance of the image: from the tiny speck of blush on the filly’s face, to the tiny silver broach clipped into her mane, the latter holding her hair back and away from her eyes in a stylish coupe.

“Stupid dress; I’d rather go naked than wear this thing,” was the first thing she said, the almost spiteful undertone snapping Featherweight back to reality even as the filly blinked at him. “Oh, you’re here?”

He found himself standing, slack-jawed, in front of a very pretty Scootaloo with a bouquet of flowers at his hooves. Behind her was the very simple house in which the filly presumably lived. This is harder than I imagined it. Nonetheless, I have to woo her; it’s my last chance. I’m doing it for her, right?

“Um, yeah, I just arrived.” An hour and a half ago, and I just now got brave enough to knock... Maybe it’s best she doesn’t know?

She looked at him, forehead wrinkling uncertainly. “Well, why are you here? Weren’t we going to meet up at the Fling, instead?”

“Well,” he began, scratching his elbow, “I thought it’d be more... you know...”

“I know...” she repeated, encouraging him to go on with a roll of her hoof.

“I thought it might be, you know, romantic? If I showed up at your door with- with flowers and escorted you?”

“Didn’t I say none of that mushy stuff?” she asked, shooting a glare at him that didn’t last. “Thanks anyway, I guess.” She hopped down the step with a tiny flutter of her delicate wings, landing just in front of him before bending down.

What’s she doing? he wondered as Scootaloo grabbed the bouquet, flower end first. Tossing it up, the filly began to munch on the tulips and daffodils. “Is good,” she said between loud and obnoxious chomps, chunks of petals and stems falling to the ground.

“Uh,” he began, but chose not to question or even push the question of why she was eating the flowers. They were for her, so I guess that’s okay. The colt stood there, a chill running down his spine despite the jacket and warm sun beaming down on him. “M-maybe we should get going? I’m sure everypony’s waiting for us at the gate.”

Scootaloo tittered quietly. “Don’t worry, I’m hardly known for my punctuality. And, worst case scenario, I can blame this stupid dress for slowing me down.” She did a twirl, spinning around in a tight circle as she looked at her own flank.

Featherweight swallowed hard as she completed the gesture, her mane settling around her features gracefully. No wonder I fell for her. “So, we shouldn’t go, then?”

She huffed. “Yeah, I guess we should.” The filly stared at the sun, the giant orb like a half-lidded eye as it sank into the horizon. “It starts at sundown, right? That means we have plenty of time to get there before it begins.”

Without waiting for him, the filly trotted ahead, her hips swaying from side to side as she made her way down the pathway leading from her home to the nearby street. “Are you coming?”

Nodding dumbly, Featherweight skittered after her. This might be fun. I mean, it’s my chance to rekindle my... no, Scootaloo’s love for me. It’s the right thing to do, right? Right! No. He shook his head, banishing a few stray thoughts into far and deep corners of his mind. I have to be myself, not act cool for her. Just be me for her. I don’t need a mare who loves me for something I’m not.

With a determined huff of his own, Featherweight strode ahead, marching up to the filly’s side and keeping pace. Two sets of hooves clacked against the ground as they headed towards the centre part of town, ignoring the few ponies dotting the edges of the street.

I can be myself and strike up a conversation though, right? “So, the weather’s sorta nice tonight,” he said, looking up at the perfectly clear sky. Only a few puffy clouds dotted the sky with bright red and orange sides, the effects of the sun going to sleep. “What’s your favourite type of weather?”

Scootaloo rolled her eyes, sighed, then answered the question off-hoof. “Rainbow Dash says clear skies aren’t fun to fly in. No crosswinds and no clouds to gauge your speed with. I heard she could even fly through the toughest of storms and come out okay.”

“Uh-huh... So, uh, who’s your favourite Wonderbolt? Mine’s Spitfire; she’s pretty fast and a great leader, too.”

“Oh, my favourite's Rainbow Dash!”

“But... she’s not a Wonderbolt,” he said.

Scootaloo lifted a wing and pointed into the air. “She’s not a Wonderbolt, yet. But when she is one, she’ll be the best,” the filly said, her voice full of conviction and passion.

Is Rainbow Dash all she ever thinks about? Featherweight prepared himself to ask about the multihued mare when, from the intersection ahead of them, a full group of colts and fillies ran out, laughing and playing with each other as they all headed in the same direction.

“Ah, there’s Sweetie, and Apple Bloom!” Scootaloo exclaimed, not waiting a moment before charging ahead towards her two friends.

Featherweight watched her go, a tiny well of frustration bubbling within him at her lack of attention. His gaze shifted from Scootaloo to Sweetie Belle, before quickly and guiltily snapping over to Pipsqueak and the ever-present Chowder.

A welcoming smile on his minuscule features, Pipsqueak waved his friend over, tie flopping around limply as his hoof rubbed against it. “Hey, Feathers! Come on over; we’re all heading in the same direction, aren’t we?!” the colt asked aloud as Featherweight began to cover the ground beneath him with long strides forwards. From the corner of his eye, the pegasus noticed a certain white unicorn twisting her head around at the sound of his name.

“Hi, Pip, and hi, Chowder,” he said as he slid up beside his friends. “How are you guys doing?”

“We’re okay,” the small colt said. “Chowder’s a little under the weather, though.” He pointed at the large grey earth pony beside him.

“I am not!” the colt protested, snapping a glare at Pipsqueak. Featherweight took the opportunity to examine him. His dark brown mane was combed for once and not a trace of chocolate was seen on his fat lips that were as red as his blushing face.

“Do too, mate. You’ve got a case of Twisted mind; all you see is red, white, and candy canes,” Pipsqueak teased the blushing colt before giving him a mean smirk.

“Well, that’th not nithe!” Twists’ lispy voice said as the tiny mare strode out of her coltfriend's shadow. “Laughing at Chowder like that’th mean!”

Ah, so that’s what he meant.

Pipsqueak giggled. “Don’t worry, Twist, you both know I was only trying to bug you guys.” He turned his attention back over to Featherweight, his face affixed with that permanent smirk. “So, how goes your progress with Scootaloo?”

Featherweight sighed. “Not that good. I can’t seem to get to her; either that, or she really doesn’t care about me... I don’t even know if I like her anymore, the way she’s acting and all that.”

“Aww, well, there’s an easy solution to that.” For a while, the group walked on, Scootaloo and her friends laughing ahead of them while some others played an impromptu game of tag all across the busy street. More and more ponies were pouring in from every direction, all of them heading towards the same goal with a glee and excitement that seemed to permeate the air. “Just find another filly. She’s obviously not your type, or made for you.”

The pegasus bit his lower lip. “I don’t know. It’d be rude to just dump her like that, right? And I think it might be best to just see how things go,” he said, his gaze shifting gently from Scootaloo to Sweetie Belle before he gulped.

“See how things go, huh? Well, that might work; we’re the lucky ones, after all,” Pipsqueak said.

Featherweight’s brow furrowed, both in confusion and with curiosity. “What do you mean by ‘the lucky ones’?”

“We’re males. Have you seen the mare to stallion ratio around here? The moment the fillies realise that, they’ll be easy picking for us!”

Easy picking?! What a jerk. That’s not how love works, Featherweight huffed. “If they’re so easy to pick, why don’t you have a date?” he shot back, a little louder than necessary.

“I’m going to go say hi to the others. See you, Pip.” Head held high, the pegasus trotted ahead, gaining speed until he caught up with the three fillies in front of him.

Now what? he wondered as he kept pace behind Scootaloo, his attention inadvertently going to the banners and streamers hanging onto the street lights and arching from one rooftop to another.

“I mean, he showed up right at my door,” Scootaloo said to her friends, her head shaking from side to side. “Why do colts have to be so... mushy?”

“Ah know! Colts are so weird. I mean, they’re all so... touchy, and they have all these feelings. They should really stallion up!” Apple Bloom added, nodding sagely the entire time. At her right, Sweetie Belle blushed, biting her lower lip as she looked away.

I shouldn’t have gone to her house; it was stupid. I’m such an idiot, Featherweight thought as he allowed the fillies' voices to get farther and farther ahead of him. I shouldn't have gone anywhere near her house! I should've just stuck to the plan... meet her with the rest and then be quiet all night. This is what I get for trying too hard.

The pegasus colt plodded onward, not even noticing the second clack of hooves mirroring his own as he continued to beat himself internally.

“I thought it was rather sweet,” a soft, demure voice at his side said, one that made the colt jump, his wings shooting out and fluttering in fright.

Sweetie Belle walked alongside him, her silent hoofalls hardly making a thump as she kept pace with him. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said as he blinked at her. “I didn’t mean to... to startle you. It's just that you look sorta... disturbed.”

“N-no, it’s fine,” he replied, laughing her concern away. “I’m fine.”

“Then, why do you look so sad?” she asked before immediately recanting. “No, it’s none of my business, sorry.”

Well, this is getting awkward fast, he thought, rubbing a wing-tip on the nape of his neck. “Yeah, I just have a hard time with all of this.” He gestured ahead towards Scootaloo, the filly still trotting alongside Apple Bloom, both laughing at an unheard joke. “Relationships are... complicated.”

“Yeah, I guess they are,” she added, a quick sigh escaping her.

Come on, Feather, change the topic. Glancing at his side, the pegasus gave Sweetie Belle a quick once over. She was dolled up, a thin layer of makeup on her whiter-than-white face, giving her a permanent blush. On her was a simple dress made of a dozen slightly-crooked layers of purple and white cloth running along her form and ending in a simple skirt hanging a hoof length away from the ground. The entire thing was bedecked in bunched patches of lace and the occasional bow held together with stitches made by an inexperienced hoof. “That’s a nice dress you have,” he said, hoping the compliment would lead the conversation elsewhere.

Instead, the filly blushed madly. “Thanks. It’s not as nice as I would have liked it to be though. I made this for last year’s Spring Fling.”

“Oh, and why didn’t you make one for this year’s?”

“I-I was too busy making your suit,” she admitted, flushing red as she turned her attention away and to a couple lazily making their way to the event, as if the distraction had every importance in the world.

Why is it that every time I try to say something, I put my hoof in my mouth? I really should learn to shut up more. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” Sweetie Belle exclaimed, snapping back to him as she inadvertently closed the gap between them. “I made it for you, and I wanted you to have it. Please, don’t feel sorry.”

The colt worked his jaw, trying to find something to say as he looked into her piercing green eyes, idly noting that the edges of them were marred by a fine sliver of tears. “I-I...”

“Will you hurry up, already!?” Scootaloo called out, pulling the attention of the couple away from each other and to the orange pegasus. Scootaloo was standing near an archway leading to the front of the town hall, the entirety of the wooden structure covered in fresh spring flowers glowing in the sunset.

Big Macintosh stood near the entrance, a beige and white mare pruning the flowers nearby as he watched over those entering with a silent and firm gaze. “I’ve been waiting for you since forever,” the filly complained as she fluttered her wings in frustration.

“Oh, um, right, sorry,” Featherweight excused himself as he trotted to her, shooting Sweetie Belle an apologetic glance over his shoulder.

“It’s fine, I’ll see you later,” the unicorn filly said before adding “I hope” under her breath.

Featherweight perked his ears at her, only hearing the faintest undecipherable whisper of what she had said over the sound of a hundred anxious ponies within the ball-grounds. Arriving at Scootaloo’s side, she stepped up alongside him and led them through the archway.

Immediately, all five of the colt’s senses were assaulted in full force.

On the town hall’s stage, a DJ was bobbing her shade-covered head to the tune of some quick heart-pumping music thumping along with a synchronized light show. From the stage, a temporary dance floor had been laid out, a cordoned-off square made of wooden planks covered in raving ponies of every sort.

Beyond that, near Sugarcube Corner, were two gigantic tables covered in free food, the aromas of freshly baked desserts and delicacies wafting over to the suddenly-hungry colt as his eyes kept roving.

In another corner, Pinkie Pie was hopping around in gleeful circles as she oversaw a dozen party games: from Pin the Tail on the Donkey, to Competitive Twister. Everywhere she went, the mare tossed candy to wanting foals and had quick chats with every pony she met.

“Wow,” was the only thing he could think to say.

“Cool, I wonder where everypony’s at?” Scootaloo asked, twisting her head from side to side as she searched. Near Sugarcube Corner, a group of young mares had gathered, all of them talking up a storm. In the centre of that group was Rainbow Dash, the mare trying her best to dominate the conversation. “Ah, cool!” Scootaloo said as she began to gallop towards her idol.

“Wait!” Featherweight called out as he, too, sprinted forwards, wing outstretched in a gesture to stop the filly.

Scootaloo slowed to a halt, her hoofsteps quieting as she stalled in front of him and spun around, her eyes rolling even as they caught the light of a hundred decorative lanterns. “What is it?” she asked curtly.

“Well, um.” Featherweight slowed to a halt a few paces from her, huffing out a single puff of air. “Aren’t we supposed to be, you know, together? Since this is a date and all?” he asked, twiddling his wingtips together as he bit his lower lip.

She sighed, the sound coming out as a single whoosh of frustration. “All right, fine, you can come with me to see Rainbow, but don’t hog her, all right?”

“Sure!” With a quick smile, Featherweight slid up to the filly’s side. This isn’t too bad, I guess? She’s allowing me to be with her. Nonetheless, something’s wrong. I know what it is, don’t I? He looked at Scootaloo, practically seeing the single-minded determination she held. No, not now.

Spinning around, Scootaloo once more began to trot towards the shop, before freezing mid-stride.

The group had dissipated; Rainbow was gone.

“But... but I wanted to see her,” the filly whined, her face twisting into a teary-eyed pout.

“Aww, don’t worry!” a bubbly and intoxicatingly joyous voice shouted as a pink flash landed at Scootaloo’s side, a mass of balloons thumping together above her. “I’m sure Rainbow will be back in a Dash!”

The two foals blinked dumbly at Pinkie Pie as the mare giggled and snorted at her own joke. “Here, have a balloon! They always make me happy!” she said before grabbing one of her floating spheres and expertly tying its string around Scootaloo’s foreleg. “There you go! Now, you two have a good time, and no hankey-pankeying under the stage!” With that, the mare bounced away, leaving the two youngsters to stare at each other and blush.

“I still blame you...” Scootaloo said before sighing and giving up, her shoulders hunching forwards. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

I have to do something... something romantic, maybe? “A-actually, how about I get you something to eat? It’s only proper,” he asked, thinking quickly as he give her a curt bow. “You could wait near the table, perhaps?”

One of her eyebrows rose and she shrugged, the gesture rippling through her breezy dress. “Sure, why not?”

With that, the filly looked around, spotted the dozens of mostly-unoccupied tables set out beside Sugar Cube Corner, and made a beeline for them.

Featherweight watched her go, feeling as if a pile of bricks had been removed from upon him as Scootaloo got further and further away. She’s so... feisty. Not calm or reasonable at all. Did I really make the right choice? Bah, regardless, I asked her out and I have to stay with her; it wouldn’t be fair to just ditch her like that.

The colt headed to one of the buffet tables, the only one not covered in candies, pastries, and other -ies. With an absent mind, he picked up a tray and placed two bowls on it, which he quickly filled with salads, tiny triangle-cut sandwiches, and other delicacies of the average party. He spun around and headed towards the tables, avoiding a bustling crowd of giddy party-goers as he made his way to Scootaloo. Maybe a romantic dinner will help?

Scootaloo sat in the farthest seat, her eyes focused on a burning candle, the flame reddening her visage with the flickering motion of a phantom as he slid the tray in front of her. “Here you go, madam. I hope you enjoy your meal!” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

Without waiting for the colt to sit, Scootaloo dove head-first into her plate, bits and pieces of her meal splattering across her face. Not the cleanest of eaters, but at least she’s not picky.

“Ah, eww!” She backpedaled on the spot, hooves flying out like machine guns as she pushed her plate across the table. “Cucumbers! Those are nasty!”

Or maybe not, he sighed.

“How could you feed me those?” she asked, spitting the offending green fruit onto the table. “Those are nasty! Are you trying to kill me?”

“O-of course not! I-I just wanted us to have a good time.”

She harrumphed. “Whatever, I’m not even hungry anymore.” She leaned her head onto her hoof, the balloon’s string playing in her mane. “What should we do next?”

“I don’t know; what do you wish to do?”

The filly hummed, her eyes roving over to the centre dance floor where dozens were hopping to the beat of a heavy bass “We could dance, I guess.”

She looked at him, a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous smile on her lips. “If you’re up to it?”

Instead of giving her a straight answer, Featherweight slid off of his seat, walked around the table and pulled her chair back, allowing the filly to hop out. “You first, milady.”

Giggling, Scootaloo led the way through the crowd of chairs, tables, and ponies and straight onto the dance floor, her hooves thumping against the ground.

On stage, the pearl-white DJ unicorn gave the dancers a shark-like grin before levitating a disk onto her mixer’s spinning wheels. Immediately, a massive bark escaped the speakers, emitting a sound wave strong enough to frazzle the manes of nearby ponies and send a jolt through Featherweight's body. Not exactly the kind of music I’d want for a date, but it’s okay, I guess.

He looked at Scootaloo; she looked at him. The filly took a half-step towards him, her body already beginning to sway under the hypnotic beat of the dubtrot the DJ was firing. And that’s when the realization hit him. He didn’t know how to dance.

“Oh-oh,” he said aloud, followed by a flurry of mental blows. Idiot! Now what? He winced. Should I tell her? I mean, it’s sorta normal; this music’s niche and all that, and she probably won’t mind. We can always do something else... or she could teach me... The thought of the filly’s body next to his as she gently coached him into the complex steps both unnerved him and twisted his lips into a giddy smile. I’d like that. Anyway, any understanding mare would be okay with this, right?

“Something wrong?” she asked, shouting over the din as she kicked out in time with the music. “You’re not dancing.”

“Well,” he began loudly, scratching the nape of his neck with a forehoof. “I sorta don’t know how to dance, maybe.”

“You don’t know how to dance? Really?” Scootaloo asked, her deadpan carrying over even the strongest wubs.

“Not really. Maybe you could teach me?” he asked, taking a hopeful step towards her.

“Come on, show me what you’ve got, then we’ll see what we’re working with!”

That’s the best answer she’s given me all night. With a fluttering of his wings and an excited huff the pegasus began. Swaying his hips from side to side like an eager puppy, he began to bob his head and take alternating steps forwards and back. “Like this?” he asked a half-second before tripping over his own hoof and meeting the ground in a violent thump.

Scootaloo’s hoof crashed into her face, sending the balloon tethered to it flopping around as she sighed in exasperation. “No, no, not like that; like this.” With a quick hop back, the filly fell into a series of twists, bobs, and twirls, the music seeming to flow through her, moving her like a perfectly coordinated marionette. Eyes closed, the filly seemed to fall into a trance as the notes and cascading sounds swelled and dimmed around her. Then, as suddenly as she had started, Scootaloo stopped. “And that’s how you dance.”

“Uh-huh... Can you do the first bit again... but slower?”

The filly threw her hooves into the air, groaning in frustration. The tight little knot that held her balloon to her forehoof rent, sliding apart with a tiny zip that set the balloon free. Both of them stared up at the balloon as it wobbled and floated upwards.

“I’ll get it,” Featherweight said before he gave two strong beats of his wings. It is sorta my fault, I guess, the colt thought as he steadily climbed into the air and out of the speaker’s line of fire. Again, he flapped his wings, gaining some more altitude before he snapped at the fleeting cord attached to the balloon. Got it!

The spoils of his victory held firmly in his mouth, Featherweight allowed gravity to do its part and pull him back towards solid ground. With a muffled thump, he landed at Scootaloo’s side, happily noting that the DJ had taken a break. “Here you go,” he said, trying to hoof the object over.

Scootaloo batted it away, freeing the balloon from his clutches and allowing it to fumble through the air. “I don’t want it.”

“Bu-but you were just...”

“Why’d you have to be such... such a show off?” She accused him, her wings snapping out angrily.

“A show off?” he repeated. What’s she talking about?

“Yeah, with all your flying and stuff.” Scootaloo huffed, sitting down dejectedly and twisting her gaze away from him to glare at the stage. “You can’t even dance...”

But I... I mean, she... No.

I tried to show her she was important to me... I tried to make this night special, romantic, what all ponies dream of in their vision of a perfect date... I even tried to give her her stupid balloon back!

“You’re mean.”

The filly turned her attention back to him, blinking as she repeated his statement to herself.

“Not, mean mean, just... You’re not my type. You’re late, you don’t appreciate small gestures, you’re brash and cocky and think being cool is the best thing in the world. All you do is try to suck up to Rainbow Dash all day long, as if she was some sort of Goddess.” He stomped at the ground, his voice gaining strength as his confidence grew. “You’re real nice, but only to your friends, and you’re a hard worker, too. But instead of using that talent for others, you selfishly keep it to yourself.

“Honestly, Scootaloo, you’re one of the prettiest fillies I’ve ever seen.” Featherweight bit his cheek, allowing only an embarrassed smile to escape. “You’re athletic, resourceful, and you’re a bit of a tom-colt. You’re just...” He shrugged, “not for me. I’m sorry.”

Scootaloo stepped towards him, confusion and fear playing across her delicate features. “But- but you...”

“I don’t love you anymore. Bye.”

Featherweight walked by the filly, his chest pained, but lighter than it had been in days. This is for the best, he thought, not an ounce of doubt within him.

He walked, leaving the filly alone in her corner of the dance floor as the DJ started another song, this one a light melodious tune from a cello mixed with the weeping tones of a violin.

Now what? he sighed, the newfound well of contentment quickly running dry as he unconsciously made his way towards Sugarcube Corner. That's it? Years and years of crushing on her, and it just ends like that. He shook his head. No, it wasn't meant to be. We just weren't compatible... Why didn't I see it earlier?

His hoofsteps turned from dull thuds to excited clacks as he entered the pastry and candy shop. Within, very little had changed to accommodate the party. Streamers hung from more places than usual and a banner was strung across the ceiling with the words ‘Spring Fling’ printed across it, but no other decoration was present. Featherweight did a quick three-sixty, curiously looking around at the store.

“We didn't let Pinkie have her way for once,” a mature voice explained from beyond the counter. Blinking, Featherweight faced the yellow, apron-wearing pony at the register. “Hello, Featherweight.”

“Oh, hi, Mister Cake. How are you doing?” the pegasus blurted.

From behind the counter, a set of double doors swung open, allowing Miss Cake to sweep out of the kitchen, a tray full of cupcakes in mouth and the thick aroma of marshmallows and baking batter behind her. “Hi, hun. Just going to add some to the fill. I'll be right back,” she said.

“All right, my love,” her husband replied, stretching out to smooch her cheek as she trotted by. Featherweight sighed at the open display of care, prompting the older stallion to turn his attention to him. “Is everything all right, son?”

“Oh? Yeah, I'm fine.”

The stallion barked a laugh. “You don't look fine,” he said before leaning forwards on his elbows. “I'll betcha it's a pain in the heart, right?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

Featherweight returned a small smile. “Yeah, I guess it is. How did you two... you know... work?”

“My dear honey-bunchkin and I? Well, let me tell you, she was one of the cutest fillies I knew back in her day...” He blinked, face reddening a little. “Don't tell her I put it that way; I don't like sleeping on the couch.”

“Okay. But was that it? She was pretty? Cause I've tried with some really cute mares, and, well...”

“Ah, I see exactly what you mean, my young sir!” Mister Cake said, pushing himself up on the counter. “That's not how it works, you see. First, you need to find the right one, she has to like you back, and she needs to suit you. But most importantly, you need to suit her! She must be able to put up with you and your little quirks, like licking off the plates or giving candy to the kids whenever they ask. In turn, you need to be able to put up with hers. Like the nagging and the sleepless nights and the whole 'I want a third foal' things.”

“Uh-huh.” So that's why it didn't work with Scootaloo. I didn't like her for who she was deep down, and she didn't even care about who I really was. He nodded to himself, glad that he had vocalised it all to himself so simply, and yet, the visage of a certain white unicorn lingered in his mind, like an afterimage burned into his retina. Sweetie Belle. “Mister Cake. I think I made a really, really big mistake.”

“I see, and what would that be?”

“Well...” he began, drawing circles on the floor with the tip of his hoof. “There's this one filly that likes me, and I like her too, sorta. But I was kinda busy with another filly.”

Mister Cake winced in sympathy. “How'd she take that? Can't be easy seeing somepony you love fall for another.”

“Yeah... I guess not.” Sorta like how I felt between Scootaloo and Rainbow Dash, only far, far worse. “She was okay about it, and was always supportive, and I guess I started to like her, a little, then a little more...”

“Go on, lad.”

Featherweight sighed. “I want to see her again, tonight. I've said some things I regret, and I need to say sorry.”

“What about the other filly?” he asked, leading him on.

“It's over. We weren't... It wouldn't have worked out. And-and it's not like I'm going to find Sweetie just because I'm not with Scootaloo, it's-it's... complicated.”

“You don't look like a mean kid,” Mister Cake mused. “Do you want to know what my father once told me? When I was about your age? Once you've found the mare, the one you love, and who wants to cherish you, you never, ever let her be alone.”

Sweetie Belle. She's all alone. Featherweight spun around, eyes roving across the store in a blind attempt to find a trace of pink and purple mane. He's right; I can't just leave her like that. Sh-she's perfect. I need to see her, and I need to apologize and... and I need to...

“Kid, wait!” Mister Cake shouted at him before diving beneath the counter. Seconds ticked on slowly for Featherweight until the stallion popped back out, a heart-shaped box held in his square jaw. “Here,” he said, tossing it towards Featherweight who caught it by the bow wrapped around it. “Pinkie keeps them around, in case of heartbreak emergency. Sounds like your fillyfriend could use it.”

“Thank you!” Featherweight called over his shoulder, tucking the little box into the breast pocket of his coat. Spinning around, the colt galloped out of the warm shop and into the refreshingly cool night air beyond, filling his lungs as his mind raced.

Sweetie Belle. The single name rang in his mind, resonating with a chord that made him both shiver in glee and quake with fear. I’m such an idiot. I have to find Sweetie Belle. The single order willed him forwards.

His eyes searched ahead while his mind searched within. Both worked in tandem as he crossed pony after pony, taking note of nothing but the fact that they were not Sweetie. Can I... Can I even ask her anything?

Dejectedly, he marched on, eyes low as he scanned the buffet tables before skimming the dance floor. She was so nice to me... the entire time. A little pushy, but always there, like she really cares for me. He paused, stopping mid-step. She loves me. She honestly loves me.

But... do I even deserve her forgiveness after all I've done to her? Featherweight asked himself, trying and failing to come up with an answer anywhere near satisfactory. His hooves wandered through the party, taking him wherever he had yet to search. His eyes took in nothing but faint hints of pink and purple, sought nothing but a dash of white amidst the pastel crowd.

I have to tell her... She needs to know I’m sorry, that she needs to find somepony better than me to take care of her... because if I can’t forgive myself, how can I expect her to give me a second chance? How can I possibly deserve a second chance?

The colt had walked a full circle, touching every corner and every nook of the party and finally bringing him back to where he had been at the start: right in front of the gaudy and bright exterior of the Sugarcube Corner, the ever-present scent of baked goods doing little to lift his gloomy mood.

Gently, he sat, shoulders hunched as he vainly looked at the hundreds of seemingly happy couples milling around. Will I ever be like that? Happy? His eyes alighted on an orange streak, instantly focusing on it.

Scootaloo was walking at Apple Bloom’s side, both fillies smiling and giggling at their own jokes, the only snatches of conversation he could pick up faint and filtered out by the crowd. “... Colts, just can't make sense of 'em..."

Featherweight sighed, then pulled back up, straightening his back and puffing out his chest. No, I did the right thing. I only have to say sorry to Sweetie, then I can have my life back... All alone.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, preparing to get up and leave, before he heard the faintest of sobs.

Featherweight’s ears perked, twisting around as they tried to find the source. Just the wind, he idly thought before the tiny sob repeated itself, followed by the distinct sound of a filly sniffing.

Furrowing his brow and following some deep inner instinct, Featherweight spun around and trotted to the edge of houses running around the town hall, each one a unique building or shop adding to the town’s simple and homely feeling. One house in particular grabbed his attention: a two story building with a spiral staircase on its side, one that led to a balcony above. There, almost entirely hidden against the building’s pastel hue, was a tiny speck of balled up white.

The colt picked up some speed, hoofbeats thumping against the cobblestone roadway as he headed towards the house, eyes narrowing at the white shape as it came into focus.

Sweetie Belle wiped a hoof across her eyes. Tears rolled off her damp forehoof as she pulled it away and sniffled.

The simple gesture made Featherweight's heart ache for the filly. This is my fault. I’m the reason she’s sad. I'm the reason she can't even enjoy herself at the Spring Fling. I've turned what should be a fun, happy hang out with her two best friends into a terrible night of loneliness and heartbreak! Featherweight stomped at the ground, uselessly trying to vent his emotions. I am the one who caused her to sit up in a stranger's house all alone and cry to herself while her friends are going around and having fun.

Featherweight wiped his own tears away before he leapt into the air, beating his scrawny wings as he rose higher and higher; the self-hatred in his heart weighed the poor pegasus down like a hardened stone of guilt.

Sweeping upwards, Featherweight climbed over the house and circled around until he came to a light, clattery landing on the roof, hooves thudding on the thatch roof. With a huff, he let out a single panting breath that rushed out of him along with his reluctance to approach.

The filly beyond sobbed again, placing a shivering hoof on the bar of the handrail. “W-why can’t I be happy, too?”

What should I say? he wondered, biting his lower lip as he peeked over the edge. Below him, he could see the once perfect mane of Sweetie Belle now all tousled and frizzled as the filly sobbed and cried. Does it really matter?

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Featherweight stepped over the edge, his wings snapping out at his sides.

The filly jumped, gasping and blinking madly as he glided down and onto the balcony, landing with a thump that reverberated through the metallic structure. For a moment, both stood still, eyes locked in a mixture of shock, determination, awe, and simple companionship as they remained immobile.

Both opened their mouths at the same time, and both shut them with the same, uncertain, shiver. Featherweight swallowed his fear and took a tiny half-step forwards. “I-I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle.”

The filly looked at him, eyes watering over as uncertainty and fear crossed her face. “You-you don’t...” she stuttered, backing away.

No, I messed up, again. I can’t... “Please, please forgive me,” he begged.

Sweetie Belle took a moment of quiet, studying him while her breathing verged on a panicked panting. “I-I already told you, Featherweight, I-I-I...” She stopped, swallowing hard.

“I want you to be with Scootaloo; I want you to be happy,” she said, her eyes sliding to the ground as she gazed at her hooves, both of them twitching up and down as she shifted her weight from side to side.

“No! You don’t understand.” Featherweight took another step towards the filly, one hoof raising up as if trying to touch her, then hesitated and let it fall back down. “I am happy, Sweetie Belle. I used to love Scootaloo... No, I used to love her, with all of my heart. I wanted to be with her, to be near her, and for her to like me back.” He smiled innocently, shaking his head in denial.

“B-but then I met a filly that showed me compassion. She helped me with my goals, and I can never repay her completely. She was the only one that truly loved me, and could say it out loud. I was blind, an-and didn't notice that my true love, the mare of my dreams, was the one in front of my eyes. I couldn't even see it.” He looked at her. She looked back.

A pair of brown eyes locked with a pair of green, the two young ponies sharing their hearts and souls in that single glance. “Not until now,” the colt said in a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”

A slow smile crossed her lips as she averted her eyes, cheeks reddening as she blinked away some tears. “I-I forgive you. Gladly.”

“Um, thanks. Thank you very much. For everything,” he said, knowing every word was truthful.

“You’re welcome,” she said softly before both began to shuffle, at a loss to what to say or do. Sweetie Belle shifted her attention to beyond the balcony and the dance floor below.

Featherweight gently stepped up to her side, his folded wing whispering against her coat in a fashion that sent shivers down their spines. “Is that what you were looking at before?” he asked with a soft voice.

She nodded. “I was watching them dance.”

On the ground, dozens of couples were twirling in slow circles to the haunting refrain of a cello played by a stone-grey earth pony. “Isn’t it pretty?” she breathed. “The way they turn and play and dance. I find it beautiful,” she said, eyes locked on a young couple dancing hoof in hoof, standing tall as their bodies were held close to one another.

“It is...” With a flash, an idea crossed his mind. “I’m not much of a dancer, but... Well, would you like to dance, Sweetie Belle?”

Immediately, tears sprang back to her eyes, making the filly blink rapidly. Oh no, I said something stupid again.

“I’d love that,” she said, a gigantic smile spreading across her face and puffy, wet cheeks.

“So would I,” he admitted, a sheepish grin to match her own appearing on his face. “Although, you might have to teach me a little.”

What if I...? With a quick hop into the air and a beat of his wings, Featherweight hovered above her, then maneuvered until he was right beside her. Gently, and under the curious eyes of the filly, he lowered his forehooves and tenderly grabbed her beneath the arms. “I’ll be careful; just trust me, all right?”

Sweetie Belle twisted her head around, looking at him with not a sliver of fear. “Okay, I trust you,” she whispered excitedly, her breath coming out with a puff of smoke-like air in the chilly night.

His face mere millimeters from hers, Featherweight hoisted the light filly and beat his wings furiously. They lifted into the air, Sweetie Belle hanging below him with her rear legs swinging beneath her as she giggled. He glided forwards, taking his time and allowing her to enjoy the glorious view.

From their vantage point, the entire party stretched out before them, a collection of lights and banners that all waved under a canopy of brilliant stars. The shining jewel of the event, though, was not the banners and lantern-lights, but the ponies. Smiling couples and giggling friends, signs of joy and peace and love that abounded that night. All of it was accompanied by the constant beat of his powerful little wings.

Too soon, Sweetie Belle touched ground, her hooves skimming against the cobblestones as Featherweight deposited her before rolling to the side to land nearby. “Sorry,” he said. “I- uh, I just wanted you to enjoy that, I guess.”

She touched a hoof to her chest. “Thank you; it was beautiful.”

On stage, the cello-playing mare stopped, then reached out a hoof to her tiny podium, flicking a page over before raising her bow once more. “There’s going to be another song,” Featherweight noted, reluctantly taking a step towards the mare.

He bowed, one hoof folding beneath him while the other bent, supporting his weight as his head lowered to the ground. “Would you offer me this dance, milady?”

“With pleasure,” Sweetie Belle giggled, the simple sound of pleasure and mirth sending shockwaves through his bones.

As one, they made their way to the floor, weaving around the few couples present until they found a quiet nook for themselves at the far end. Close enough to hear the music, yet still far from the centre of attention.

Bow touched string, and the music began.

Blushing, Sweetie Belle stepped up to Featherweight and wordlessly showed him what to do. They reared up, both unsteady on their hooves, until they smashed into each other, Featherweight gingerly placing a forehoof around Sweetie Belle’s waist while his other touched hers. “Like this?” he asked, all of his senses attuned to the filly not a hair’s breadth from him.

“Yeah, it’s perfect,” she sighed as they wobbled in a quick circle. The music’s slow tempo and soothing melody played through the air around them, reverberating through their very hearts.

Again and again they stepped and twisted, slowly falling into the rhythm of the dance. I think I’m getting the hang of this, he thought, looking at the pretty filly held in his hooves. All of this.

Featherweight tripped.

It was nothing spectacular, just a simple misstep that sent him sprawling onto his back and pulling the reared filly onto him.

Sweetie Belle crashed into his chest, emptying his lungs in a single whoosh. Featherweight coughed and laughed at the same time. The oddly comforting weight of the filly above him moved around, her giggling joining his. “I’m sorry,” he said between laughs as he unfurled his wings beneath him, creating a canopy on the ground they were on.

A single low and piercing whistle seared through the air, making everypony freeze and look up to the single comet-like streak blasting towards the night sky. Featherweight followed the object’s trajectory, a smile crossing his features as the firework reached its peak and exploded, sending out a volley of twinkling lights accompanied by a pop.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asked, tracing the pattern of multi-hued lights against the sky until they whispered out of existence.

“It’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Featherweight’s gaze returned to the filly on him. Her eyes locked on his; they had never moved.

“I love you, Featherweight,” she said.

The colt moved forwards, his breath mixing with hers.

Their eyes closed as their lips met, the sounds of the pyrotechnic display and awe-struck ponies melting away as they became lost in each other. Featherweight had to struggle with all his might to break the kiss to speak to his new paramour.

“I love you, too.”

Author's Notes:


It’s not over sillies, there’s an epilogue, then Of Challenges and Kisses Two (if enough of you guys want it) It'll feature one Miss Dinky and one Sir Rumble.

Edited by:
-Frederic the Saiyan
-CPL Hooves
-StapleCactus
-Fluttersyke

and
-AnotherTimeLord

A bunch of others popped in to poke holes at me, the meanies.


Oh look, an author's note box, coolio.

Next Chapter: Pipsqueak's Mansion [Non-Canon] Estimated time remaining: 38 Minutes
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