Artifex’s favorite color had been red. But, since he had had no wish to express that favoritism—and because red was now the color of his trauma—he had switched gears and had decided that yellow was his favorite color. Particularly, the kind of yellow that the sun smiled with, or that lemons dripped with, or the kind of yellow that dandelions in the springtime would sprout with.

Yellow was his jacket; yellow was his notebook. Yellow were his pencils, yellow were his highlighters. When he was younger, he might have yearned for colored contacts; now, older, he sometimes stopped to wonder what he’d look like with yellow eyes instead of cerulean ones.

How fitting, he would sometimes think, that the color most associated with happiness would become his all-time favorite out of the entirety of the color wheel. Even in his darkest of days, when he thought it unlikely he’d understand or experience that happiness, yellow was always by him; in that golden notebook he held like a cherished heirloom.

But he never forgot his original favorite. He couldn’t; he wouldn’t let himself. Sometimes he’d fish around for his keys, and stare at the ruby gemstone, thinking, wondering, reflecting. He’d travel to a distant place, a bright place, and remember when red had been his favorite color. When red had been his saving grace.

Yellow was his rebirth; red, his origin. If they combined, they would create orange; he sometimes wondered, would that make his life an orange tint? Would that mean he would taste the world as a citrus fruit? Would he see Francis’s coat in all things, living and dead?

These were, upon Artifex’s reflection, juvenile and random thoughts. He realized this as he walked down the halls of Canterlot High, alone. They were filler words and filler ideas, with filler phrases and filler thoughts. Sporadic; sparse; difficult to follow to the end.

As he walked, he did his best not to bump into anyone. Vaguely, he was aware of students rushing past and towards him. He stuck to the walls, sinking into that familiar feeling of anonymity. He realized what he was doing. He frowned. Why was he resorting to old habits?

The question was left unanswered, as his destination was in reach. He shifted around, trying to better his grip on his satchbag containing his extra clothes. Satisfied with the new hold, he tried to adopt a more casual approach as his destination grew closer.

Seeing that a certain, blue-skinned athlete was nowhere to be found, Artifex assumed she was already inside. It was slightly disconcerting that they had several classes together. While he supposed that wasn’t such a bad thing, he had to wonder if some higher power was decidedly lax about shipping fuel.

If No Clue is any indication of that… He frowned as he remembered. No Clue, once again, had been out of his reach. Sure, today they had no classes together (as had been the same case on Wednesday), but Artifex felt that there was something different. He couldn’t figure out what, and he couldn’t force himself to completely shake the thought.

Was it paranoia, or genuine worry? Too many times had the answers to those questions slipped away from him. Impatiently, he sought them out, despite thinking that he would most likely not find them.

Thinking that, he finally saw a flash of solid, hard-hitting orange appear in his vision, before it faded away into the recesses of his mind.

He reached the door to the gymnasium, and opened it, stepping inside while letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Met without stares, he was glad to see that the attention was off of him for the moment. He saw several boys walk towards a door; he assumed it was the male locker room, and followed after them.

It wasn’t his first time in such a testosterone-fueled environment, but that hardly made him feel at home. Thankfully, and much to his relief, the guys of the locker room seemed less eager on proving their manliness and more on getting changed quickly. Artifex himself opted to find a secluded spot, and quickly changed into a mellow-yellow shirt and black shorts. Remembering the scars, though, he dove his hands into his pockets, attempting to act casual, and leaned against one of the lockers, trying to not meet anyone’s gaze.

Eventually, the bell rang, and they all filed out of the locker room. Artifex, neither first nor last, was jostled and pushed along.

“Alright, kids! Listen up; Iron Will’s got some important announcements to say to you all!” a man in the center of the gym shouted, voice deep and reminding Artifex of a wrestler. The man was absolutely imposing, seemingly twice as tall as the shortest among them. Grey skin failed to hide his bulging muscles. Not that he wanted to hide them, as Artifex kept seeing him take every chance to flex.

So that’s Coach Iron Will… Artifex looked away, feeling strange.

The boys reached the coach first. They stood, most with arms crossed, with grins on most of their faces. Artifex was then aware of the size difference between himself and the others. Being the non-athletic type as he was (the limp only adding to that as a disability), he was much skinnier than the other boys. It was pure luck that he managed to be as tall as them. He didn’t feel, however, inadequate; he shrugged off the comparison, thinking it would do no good.

“Hold on a second, men,” Coach Iron said in his commanding voice that Artifex was now realizing more closely resembled a drill sergeant’s. “We’ve gotta wait for the ladies.”

They didn’t have to wait for long. The door to the female locker room opened up, and out piled the female portion of the gym’s student body. Artifex easily spotted Rainbow; she led the group, a grin on her face. Behind her, the girls looked much the same, with confident grins. Only a few, like Artifex, deigned not to smile, choosing instead to gaze around.

“Heya, Coach Will,” Rainbow said, saluting the older man as she and the girls finally them.

“Iron Will returns the greeting, Rainbow Dash,” he responded, also saluting. “Are we all here? Good, good. Very well! Let’s get down to business, ladies and gentlemen.”

Artifex raised an eyebrow. Quite the “hype-man,” this coach of ours. He caught Rainbow waving at him, and he nodded to her. When he looked away, he heard several other girls asking Rainbow about him.

“Now, as Iron Will is sure you all know, the gym has been under extensive construction and maintenance since school started. Due to this, only a few classes of students have been able to use it. However!” he added, waving his arm. “We have been fortunate enough to know that the gym is finished. Which means that gym class is up and running as it always has!”

The class let out several triumphant cries that mimicked the coach’s. Artifex kept silent, watching.

“Coach!” Rainbow said, once everyone had calmed down. “Doesn’t that mean we’re a day behind!”

“You are correct, Rainbow,” Iron said. “But, Iron Will has already taken the issue up with the school board. They will be deciding on how best to handle this situation.”

“Any ideas?” asked another student, a light-blue-skinned boy with wavy, navy hair.

“Well, Soarin,” said the coach, “if Iron Will had to guess, we’d either get an extra period for gym, or a special event to compensate.”

“Special event?” asked a grey-skinned girl. “Like what? A speed-muffin-eating contest?”

“Iron Will wouldn’t mind that,” the coach admitted. “But no, Miss Hooves. Iron Will thinks it will be sports related.”

“Speed-eating is a sport.”

“He means a physical sport, Derpy,” said Rainbow. “Like basketball. Or something.”

Or something indeed, Artifex thought.

“Anyway!” Coach Iron shouted over them. “With that out of the way, it is time for us to start gym class!”

He waved his hand in a circle. “For warm-ups, I want you all to do five laps, around the room! No slacking, either! Right, Mr. Swift?”

Artifex perked up. Swift’s in my class? Why hadn’t I noticed him?

Swift groaned. “Yes, Mr. Iron, I’ll try.”

“Good! Now, hop to it!”

Walking to the start line, Artifex managed to catch up with the blue-skinned boy. Swift saw him, and smiled. “Oh, hey! Artifex! I didn’t know you were in my gym class!”

“Likewise. You didn’t have gym when I first came to Canterlot High, though.”

“Yeah. Looks like they changed a few things on my schedule in order to do that.”

“Hey, you two!” They both glanced over their shoulder, and saw Rainbow Dash running towards them. She had a gleaming smile on her face. “Man! This is great! We’re all in the same gym class together!”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Swift said, rubbing the back of his head. “Though, we’ll see how long that holds up after this first class.”

“Aw, c’mon, Swift. Running’s not that bad!”

“Rainbow, don’t you remember last year? I nearly collapsed!”

“Actually, you did collapse. Right at the end, too.”

Artifex spoke up, “Is it really that intense?”

“Nah,” Rainbow said, looking at him with a smirk. “Swift here just sucks at physical activity.”

“Hey!”

“Unless it involves Pinkie,” she added slyly.

“… Damn it, I can’t say anything to that, can I?”

Artifex rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need to hear that.” He saw a bit of silvery-white flash in his vision. Blinking, he saw that it was gone, and he shrugged it off.

“Whatever,” Dash said, flicking her hair, creating a swipe of rainbow. “Let’s get going.”

“You get going,” Swift said, as the class began to run. “I’m gonna stay back here and not die from exhaustion.”

“Your call. What about you, Artifex?”

“I’m not a runner, so I’ll stay behind with Swift.”

“Fine, but don’t complain if I somehow pass you!” She took off in a sprint.

Artifex shook his head. “Wasn’t planning to.”

Swift gave him an odd look. “Really? You’re gonna stay back here and suffer with me?”

“I can’t leave my strange friend Swift hanging, now, could I?” Artifex said. “That, and, well, my limp makes it hard to run.”

“Oh.” Swift nodded. “We’ll probably be the last two, though.”

“Can’t be helped,” Artifex said, shrugging, just as people started passing by them. “We finish when we finish.”

Swift nodded again. “Well, thanks for the company.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

Much to both of their surprises, they weren’t the last to finish. The steady pace that Swift had kept, despite practically sweating buckets, allowed them to finish their laps ahead of a few other people.

Artifex was sweating as well, but not as much as his companion. He couldn’t help but look at Swift with incredulity. “You are really out of shape.”

“Yeah, I really am,” the boy agreed, wiping his brow with his arm. “But hey! At least I didn’t collapse this time!”

“Only because I’m holding you up.”

“Oh.” Swift nearly toppled, but Artifex held him up, walking the both of them to the center. Once Swift had managed to recover proper use of his legs, Artifex let go, and the boy slid off easily.

He wobbled for a second, then smiled as he managed to stand still.

Then his knees buckled. It was only because Artifex was close to him that he didn’t collapse to the ground. “Er, Rainbow? Lend a hand?”

“Sure thing, Arty.” Rainbow walked over, helping him prop up Swift, who had a dazed look on his face. Artifex expressed his thanks, and Rainbow walked back over to the girls.

“Arty?” he heard one of them ask her. “Is that like a pet name?”

“Ooh!” another girl exclaimed, giggling. “Are you two an item?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Rainbow muttered, glaring at her.

Artifex sighed. More rumors needing to be resolved. Glancing at the second girl, he saw she was a blue-grey color. He frowned. That seems… fitting, for some reason.

They waited a little longer for everyone to finish, before Coach Will began speaking again. “Everyone here? Good. Now we can finally get down to business.”

“Wait,” said Derpy. “You mean we’re actually going to go ahead and do sports already?”

Iron Will laughed. “Of course! We have to compensate for missing a day!” He tapped his fist against his clipboard three times. “The school year will consist of several sport lessons that this class will be partaking in! For the first quarter, it is…” His eyes trailed up and down the paper, and he mumbled to himself. “Hmm… Ah, there it is! The first sport will be—” His eyes flashed as he looked up and roared, “Volleyball!”

Met mostly with shouts of approval and excitement from the more athletic types, Iron Will smiled at them. “Now. I want you all to help set up the nets and equipment. Get to it, before I make you run five more laps!”

They all broke off into various groups. Artifex, Swift, and Rainbow helped inflate the balls with several others, while the rest of the class took to the nets, eagerly putting them in their place. Artifex maintained a steady frown on his face, slowly realizing what was about to happen.

“Hey,” Swift said as he pumped a ball full of air, “are you any good at sports, Artifex?”

He shrugged, placing down his own ball once he had finished. “I wouldn’t say so,” he said. “I can play, I guess, but I’m not sure how well I’d match up against others.”

“Eh, you’ll get the hang of it, I’m sure!” Rainbow exclaimed. Somehow she was pumping five balls for every one ball the two of them pumped; Artifex figured she must have been excited. “Volleyball is a pretty easy sport, too. You ever played it?”

“A few times in old schools.”

“Sweet! So you’ve got experience. Besides,” she added with a grin, “anyone can play volleyball. Even Sonata?”

He and Swift exchanged looks. “You sure about that?” Swift asked.

“Okay, maybe not Sonata. But I’m sure if she tried really hard—and got really lucky—she’d be at least able to play.”

“Anyways, you’ll be fine, Artifex,” Swift said, patting him on the shoulder. “I mean, you’re not too tired from the run. And sure, you’ve got a limp. But I’m positive that you’ll be able to play.”

“It’s actually starting to fade a little,” Artifex replied, indicating his limp. “But that’s not what I’m worried about, actually.”

“Really?” Rainbow said as they finished pumping the last ball. “What is it, then?”

He hesitated for but a moment, before raising his arms and facing his wrists towards them. They were confused at first, but then realization dawned on their faces. He tucked his hands back in his pockets, slouching.

“As you can tell,” he said quietly, “I’m not really comfortable with… showing these yet.” He shook his head. “Too many questions could come up. None of which I’d like to answer.”

Rainbow nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Well, if you want, we can put you in the back at first. If we get a streak going, you won’t have to change.”

“Besides,” Swift added, “nobody’s going to be looking at your arms while they play. They’ll be focusing on the ball!”

“Swift’s right,” Rainbow said. “So don’t worry, okay, Arty?”

“Artifex,” he swiftly corrected, but he did nod. “Alright. I’ll try not to worry.”

“That’s the spirit!” Rainbow glanced over her shoulder. “Looks like they’re about done setting up. Let’s head back over.”

Artifex, before following her and Swift, looked at one of the volleyballs on the floor. He noted, with a touch of surprise, that it wasn’t standard volleyballs. While certainly made of the same material, it had what appeared to be a reddish tint to it. He touched it, moving his hand down its surface, before raising his hand and himself, and following after his friends.

Iron Will had somehow procured a whiteboard and erasable markers, and had drawn up a quick diagram composing of two large rectangles. Just as Artifex arrived with the others, the coach quickly put several items on the board. Once he had stepped away, he revealed what he had places.

Twenty faces, or what could be assumed to be faces, were poised above hastily written names. Artifex raised an eyebrow at the one labeled “Swift;” it was a sloppily, colored-in circle with swirls for eyes.

“Hey, I’m not that ugly,” Swift muttered.

Artifex looked to Rainbow’s caricature, and noted (with great amusement), that it was also a sloppy job. With a crudely drawn, blue circle, and a bunch of colors thrown in her hair, it more resembled a child’s painting than a teacher’s.

He noted, with some alarm, that his own picture wasn’t present. Instead, there was simply a box spelling his last name.

“Er, coach?” a dark-grey-skinned boy with a blue-silver crop of hair asked. “Are those supposed to be us?”

Iron Will nodded. “Yep. My daughter made them once she found out who was in my class. Couldn’t say no to her face once she showed me.”

“I think it’s rather cute!” a grayish-lilac girl said with a smile. She pointed to a particular one, which Artifex saw was labeled as “FLITTER.” “See? She even got my hair right!”

“How did she know what we each looked like?” Soarin asked.

“She looked at my yearbook,” answered the coach, “and used the pictures as reference.”

Artifex nodded to himself. That explained why he hadn’t his own caricature; he had no school picture for the daughter’s reference.

“Okay, let’s get to it,” Coach Will said. “Now, I’ve split the class into four teams, with five people on each. The teams have already been chosen.” This was met by several groans from the more competitive bunch. “Now, now, this is only for today and next week. I want to see how well you each can do on a team you did not select. Considering last year’s problem, when Rainbow wanted to pass on choosing between Adagio and Trixie… well, this ought to fix that.”

Artifex let out a low whistle. Sounds like a tough choice, even though I don’t know who this Trixie is.

“Coaches are: Rainbow Dash, Cloud Chaser, Thunderlane, and Derpy Hooves. Coaches, come on up and take your papers. These have all the drills and exercises you’ll be guiding your team through, as well as a list of who is on your team.”

They each came up and took their papers, walking back over to the others. Rainbow shuffled out her list and read it. She nodded to herself. “Huh. Not bad.” Cloud Chaser and Thunderlane bore similar expressions to Dash’s. They looked at her, grinning competitively, and she smirked back, tapping on her list and mouthing “Gonna beat you!” to them.

Derpy had on a cheerful smile as she read down her list. Artifex found himself following her two, crossed eyes, wondering how she managed to read without direct focus. She caught him staring, and waved at him; he looked away with an embarrassed blush.

“So?” Swift asked him, once the blush had faded. “How do you think we’ll do?”

“If we’re lucky,” Artifex responded, looking at the number of physically adept people in the room, “we won’t get slaughtered and our teammates will be able to compensate for us.”

Swift groaned. “Great. We’re doomed.”

Four games in, three wins, and one tie, it seemed that Swift’s prediction was wholly unfounded. To the boy’s credit, each win was a narrow victory, and the tie game was nearly a complete loss. Only by sheer luck had they managed to tie the points.

And now we find ourselves on the fifth and final game, Artifex thought as they walked over to the court. In front of him was Swift, exhausted and sweaty, but with a proud grin on his face; his last hit had managed to give them the extra point needed to tie the previous round.

“And you said you were bad,” one of Artifex’s teammates, whom he now knew was Blossomforth, jostled the blue-skinned boy.

Swift blushed under the praise. “W-well, to be fair, that was a pretty lucky spike. A-and I wouldn’t have been able to do it if Artifex hadn’t set it up to me.”

Blossomforth turned to Artifex, grinning. “How could I forget? You’ve got some moves, Artifex. Almost a natural!”

He nodded his thanks, though he still felt uncertain of his abilities.

Ahead of them was Rainbow Dash, with her co-captain—she had readily come up with the term—Soarin. The two, Artifex had quickly figured out, were natural all-stars. Rainbow was fast on her feet, able to set and bump as soon as the ball came over. Soarin, physically bigger, could block and spike just as well. The two were a powerhouse pair, and complimented each other’s abilities brilliantly.

To himself, Artifex wondered if the two shared some history together. He knew they were on the same soccer team, but he had to consider the possibility of whether or not the two had dated. How else could they so firmly work together?

Maybe they’re just really good friends.

He saw Rainbow laugh at something Soarin said, then slap him on the back, causing him to stumble forward a little. The two laughed at the display.

Maybe really, really good friends. He found himself smiling. Hmph, No Clue might not have a chance.

His grin faded. He had not seen No Clue in quite some while. He shook his head; remembering that fact would do nobody any good.

“Okay, guys! Let’s get into our positions!” Rainbow called once they were all on the court. Derpy’s team was on the other side of the net; Artifex recognized only a few of them. He stood in the back with Swift and Blossom, while Soarin and Rainbow took the front row.

Volley for serve, Artifex reminded himself.

Derpy held the ball in her hand, then set it up with a light touch. It sailed over the net with a light whizzing sound. Dash was already on the move once she saw the ball. She jumped a little and set it over for the second hit. She hit it hard enough to send to the back row.

One of the opposing placed his fist in his palm and shrugged, letting his forearms bump the ball back over. Soarin was there; he jumped and attempted to spike it, crashing his palm down on top. Yet Derpy somehow managed to go underneath it, tipping it over before Soarin could recover.

“Down, Soarin!” Rainbow exclaimed. He obliged, and she leapt over him, setting the ball over to the left side, away from Derpy.

Another opposing student managed to set the ball. It flew over the net and towards Artifex’s left, where Swift was. The boy yelped in surprise, but managed to bump it back, even as he stumbled.

Flitter darted out of the corner of Artifex’s vision, a smirk on her face as she jumped up. She spiked the ball, hard; it nearly hit the ground. Luckily, though, Rainbow’s speed allowed her to dive for it, digging it up with the side of her fist. The action hit the ball light enough for Soarin to add his own, counter-spike.

Blossomforth huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her way. She looked at Artifex with a slightly annoyed expression. “Sheesh. We haven’t hit the ball once!”

“We will someday,” he replied, causing her to giggle.

Someday came too late. Derpy’s team tried to hit the ball back over, but Soarin’s spike had jarred them. The ditzy girl attempted to set it, but she hit it too lightly. One of her teammates attempted, with an upturned palm, to “carry” the ball over. She managed to do so, but, with Derpy in the way, she tripped, and fell against the net.

“You hit the net!” Rainbow cried. “Woo! Our ball!”

The teammate nodded begrudgingly, then hoisted Derpy up. She nodded her thanks, then rolled the ball to the other side.

“Blossom, can you serve?” Rainbow asked.

“Sure thing, Rainbow.” At that, the prismatic athlete tossed the ball over to the other girl. “Alright, zero serving zero.” She tossed the ball up, then hit it with her open hand. It made an arc as it sailed over.

Flitter set it up to one of her teammates, who set it up again. Derpy came in, setting it back over. The ball flew over to Rainbow, who set it up for Soarin to attempt a devastating spike. Unfortunately, Flitter easily dug for the ball, causing it to head back towards Artifex and Blossom.

“Got it!” Artifex called, backing up so that he could bump it. With a quick shrug of his shoulder, he bumped the ball to the far right corner. One of the opposing teammates returned with a bump of their own. She caused the ball to fly straight up, hitting the ceiling with a loud thud.

Iron Will blew his whistle. “Ceiling shot. Rainbow’s team’s point.”

“Nice job, Arty!” Rainbow cheered, high-fiving the boy.

He returned the high-five with a raised eyebrow. “I swear, you’re using that name on purpose. People are already thinking I’m with Sonata.”

She pouted. “You’re name’s not exactly the easiest to say…”

“Nevermind that. Blossom,” Soarin said, holding the ball out, “here ya go. Serve another good one!”

“Will do, boss!”

Blossomforth was an excellent server, and with the proper sets and spikes, Artifex’s team managed to score another three points. On the fourth serve, though, the opposing team managed to score by redirecting the ball towards Swift. He hadn’t been ready. The ball knocked him upside the head, and he fell.

Artifex—with Rainbow close behind him—rushed to his side. “Hey, you okay?” he asked as he propped him on his shoulder.

Swift’s eyes pointed in opposite directions. He raised a finger, then circled it around. “Hello, Scootaloo! Did you do your homework? Because if you didn’t, Mom will kick my ass!”

Artifex looked at Rainbow. “That… is new.”

“Swift, can you stand?” Rainbow asked.

The boy shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness. “I’m okay, coach, really. I’ll just shake it off!” He again shook his head as he stood, but made himself dizzy again, and had to hold onto the both of them to settle his head.

“Ookay, maybe you shouldn’t play for the moment,” said Rainbow. “Let’s walk him over to the sideline and let him rest, Artifex.”

Artifex nodded his agreement. They managed to assist-walk Swift over slowly, reaching the sideline within a few minutes. Iron Will, having witnessed the whole situation, had grabbed an ice pack from his office.

“Hmm,” Iron murmured as he examined Swift’s face. “Nose is a little red and swollen, but doesn’t look broken. Here, son, take this.” He handed the pack to him.

Swift took it and placed it on the bridge of his nose, wincing. “Agh. Somehow I knew this was gonna happen.”

The coach then looked to Rainbow Dash. “You’ll be down a player, Rainbow. Think you can still play?”

She gave a confident grin. “Of course we can! Don’t worry, Swift; we’ll win, just for you!”

He gave a thumbs-up in reply.

Artifex and Rainbow returned to their spots, ready to play. The other team, seeing this, called for the ball, and Soarin rolled it over to them.

“Okay, four on five. Is that okay?” Rainbow asked. There was a chorus of affirmation. “Alright, you guys serve.”

“One serving three!”

And so it went again. A fourth hit, a fifth. A minor fall, like a stumble, then a major lift; a return. Artifex’s team composed, bafflingly, a quadruple attack, somehow managing to make up for the lack of one player. Though, in his eyes, it was really a triple attack plus him; Blossom, Rainbow, and Soarin, all on their own, were the ones scoring the points. He was just the setup.

But the other team was either just as good, or the lack of a fifth member made keeping the advantage all the more harder. For each hard-earned point that Rainbow, Soarin, or Blossom scored (with Artifex’s help), a member of the opposite team managed to score their own. Each hit returned with another hit; each return, came a rebound; each rebound, was followed by a rebuttal.

Now they were tied. Artifex took a moment to glance at the clock. Only a few more minutes until we have to change, he realized. He glanced back, seeing that the other team was getting ready to serve. He tensed, finding himself crouching on instinct. Beside him, Blossom did the same.

“Eleven serving eleven!” the server called. She performed an underhand serve. The ball swooped over and fell towards Rainbow.

“Got it!” she called, setting it back over.

The ball was swiftly counter-set, with enough force that it went past Rainbow.

“Got it!” Blossom called. She bumped it up lightly, not trying to blast the ceiling.

It went over in a straight dive. Derpy called for it and bumped it back. Dash jumped to intercept, setting it up.

“That’s yours, Soarin!” she exclaimed as she came down.

The baby-blue-boy nodded. He rushed forward, and jumped, just as the ball was coming down. Swinging his hand down like a hammer, he let loose a deterring spike. The ball, under the attack, rocketed to the edge of the court.

Suddenly, Derpy was there. She dug the ball, and it went up. Another teammate managed to set the ball with a light touch. Then, Flitter appeared with a wild jump. An equally, wild grin spread across her face, as she slammed her hand down, delivering her own spike.

She hit the ball in its midsection, causing it not to fall straight down, but to fall in a more diagonal trajectory. Soarin should have been there, but he was too busy getting up from his last blow. The ball raced like a meteor, whizzing ferociously.

Artifex thought he saw it flash yellow. He realized that no one else was nearby; the others were too spread out, and too caught off guard, to assist.

It was down to him. If he missed, they’d lose their streak. A part of him thought that that wouldn’t matter. But one chance look at Rainbow and Swift threw that thought out the window. A surge of competitivity ran through him.

With it, he acted.

He dove for the underside of the ball, sticking his left hand out. He was aware of a jolt of discomfort, which quickly erupted in a firestorm of pain. His leg; he had done something to it, something that caused his limp to grow into a paralyzing condition. Artifex grit his teeth, trying to ignore the pain, even as it raced from his foot, to his calf, then to his knee. He closed his fist, and prayed that he wouldn’t miss.

His hand first grazed the ground, and his knuckles scraped against the polished wood. At the same time, the ball blasted into his wrist, practically punching it down into the ground. He felt his bones crack against the floor. The resulting pain, combined with the screaming burn in his limping leg, made him see stars.

But he had hit the ball nonetheless. As he rolled over, cradling his leg and left hand, he saw the ball fly into the topside of the net. Derpy’s team was too sparsely located to reach it. It teetered over, and landed with a resounding bounce. Twice, both without interference.

Iron Will blew his whistle. “Game! Alright, kids, tally up your points, then go get changed. We’ll leave the nets up for now.”

“Yes!” Rainbow boomed, pumping her fist in triumph. “We won!” Soarin and Blossom returned her enthusiastic cheer, and they came together for a group hug. “Hey, Swift! Come here and join in the festivities!” Swift, from the sideline, stood up, stumbling over with a grin on his face.

Rainbow looked around. “Nice job, Arty—” She gasped when she saw him on the ground, hunched over, wincing as he rubbed his leg. “Oh, shoot! Artifex!”

“I’ll get him,” said Soarin. He walked over to the boy, offering a kind smile. “That was an amazing dig, Artifex. Really saved our butts there.”

He tried to say something in response, but winced again, cutting himself unintentionally off.

Soarin grimaced. “Nasty spill, there. Here, let me help.”

Artifex saw his hand reach out. He noted, with severity, how close it was to his other hand. “No, wait, it’s fine.”

“Nonsense, dude, it’s the least I can do.”

“I-I don’t think—”

Artifex stopped the moment Soarin grabbed his right hand. Instantly, he felt himself go cold. He saw Soarin’s eyes widen in shock as his thumb rested at the base of his wrist. Artifex didn’t have to look to know what he was seeing.

The boy pulled himself up, seeing as how Soarin was currently incapable of doing much other than hold on. He propped himself on his good leg for a second. He glanced at Soarin; his face was a mix of emotions.

Soarin held on for far longer than Artifex was comfortable with, but for some reason, Artifex wasn’t able to muster the will to snatch his hand out of his grip. Instead, he held his breath, and waited for a reaction.

Rainbow walked over, concerned. “Hey, what gives—” She stopped mid-sentence once she realized what Soarin was doing. “Oh…”

Soarin’s hand loosened its grip, almost unconsciously. Artifex slipped his own hand through and away. He rubbed at the eerily familiar etchings with clear hesitance, holding both hands to his chest with the knuckles facing outward. His face burned with hideous emotion. Anger, shame, resistance, filled his entire being.

He saw the red again. It colored his vision and dripped down his eyes and onto his cheeks. His body trembled; his leg with the limp bent and collapsed.

Quickly, he placed his hands in his pockets. The action diluted the red, allowing him to see the rest of the world’s hues.

“C’mon, ladies, wrap it up and get changed!” Coach Iron shouted. Soarin’s attention was momentarily diverted by his voice, and Artifex took the chance to slip away.

He was alone. Finally, he was peacefully alone.

And he hated it.

Looking around the locker room, Artifex was treated to the empty sight. The students had all left without passing him a glance, and for that he was thankful. The less attention, the better—or at least, less people paying attention to him. The lockers, though, kept staring through metal eyelids, judging him, speaking to him in wordless tones. Their greyish-green schemes whispered sweet nothings, telling him false comforts in an effort to push him away.

He remained standing, too, as the benches placed there were also not at all quiet. Though immovable, he thought he could hear them whisper their own, voiceless words. False promises of rest, if he just sat down.

He worried that if he obliged either of them, he’d be unable to leave. Even though the rational part of his mind knew otherwise, he couldn’t help but turn that thought over and over in his head.

It was painful. But he could bear it.

He thought.

Artifex sighed, feeling regretful. Did he really have to act so nervous? It was only a few seconds; had it really been that bad? Perhaps Soarin had not seen the wrists’ scars. Maybe he was just surprised at Artifex getting up so fast.

Yeah, right, he thought, huffing with indignation. He couldn’t lie to himself. Soarin saw what he saw.

Why was that a bad thing, though? Hadn’t he made peace with those scars years ago? Or at least days ago? What made now different?

Because now, I had no choice in the matter. Because now, I couldn’t choose to hide or to show them. He grit his teeth and frowned, rubbing his aching wrist. The ability to choose those options was of the utmost importance to him; and to discredit those choices as chooseable meant that he effectively had no say in the matter.

He tried to push away the thoughts and grab his backpack and bag, but all he could see was the color red, and Soarin’s shocked face, and hear the roaring silence that followed. He was afraid to close his eyes, else the red become a metallic behemoth racing for him.

He wasn’t over it, that was for sure. How could he have let himself believe that?

With a shift of his head towards the clock, he saw that he still had some time before his next class. The block was not yet over; he felt that it shouldn’t have to end. He didn’t want to head out there, to see all those faces, and… and…

And now you’re being stupid! It wasn’t that bad! Get over it! Be a man and go to your next class!

He thought that voice was someone else’s, but he soon realized that was his own. It was dripping with crimson anger and bloody frustration; it was a magma-filled volcano that threatened to explode.

Was he mad at Soarin, or mad at himself? Did it matter who was to blame? All that he saw was red, and red, and more red; he could discern who possibly could have caused this.

Blinking, the color faded away, leaving him back in the empty locker room, confused, wary, drained.

He felt dirty. He walked over to the sink and turned the water on, then splashed his face. Grabbing a paper towel, he wiped and swiped, drying himself, before looking at the mirror.

There he was. Icy-blue hair, tan skin, yellow jacket. But something had changed—or had returned. The boiling, latent, raw emotion that was brewing behind his features; it was there. He could see it in the way his lips trembled, in the way his jaw locked. He raised his right arm, facing the forearm at the mirror so he could examine the scars.

Seeing them filled him with a morbid peace. Not because they were familiar, but because he was reminded that they were fading. He recalled distinctly that only a year ago, the scars were redder and more obvious. Now, they were a darker red, but also thinner.

I’m healing, he reminded himself. Slowly but surely, I’m healing.

Maybe that’s why I feel this way right now. Because I don’t want to disrupt the healing process any more than I already have.

He walked back over to where his belongings lay and picked them off, slugging them over his shoulder. He counted to ten three times, breathing in and out slowly. His hand fished around his pocket, bringing out the ruby accessory. He rubbed it; it was warm to the touch.

His arm trembled, and he put the accessory away, shooting his hands in his pockets. Now all he had to do was leave without another word—

“Hey.”

Oh.

He rotated at a snail’s pace, knowing who he would find, but was still surprised anyway. Soarin was there, his arms crossed, a pensive frown on his face. Behind him, to Artifex’s confusion, were Swift and Rainbow. The two shared similarly concerned looks, and watched him with uncertainty.

Artifex’s gaze shifted back to Soarin, and he nodded. “Hello.”

There was a moment of silence as the two regarded each other. Artifex wasn’t sure what to make of it. Hadn’t Soarin left a little while ago? What was he doing back here? Was this a confrontation? Artifex tried searching Swift and Rainbow’s faces for answers, but received none.

“I just wanted to say,” Soarin said, bringing the scarred boy out of his thoughts, “that you played great today.”

Artifex reeled back slightly, but recovered almost instantly. “It wasn’t that great.”

“I mean it! You made up for us missing Swift like a pro!” Soarin managed a smile, replacing his thoughtful frown. “Have you played in volleyball tournaments before?”

The conversation, Artifex realized, was lighthearted, and he was quick to respond, to the best of his ability, in a similar tone. “Not at all. I only played a little bit of recreational volleyball over the years.”

“Well, you could have fooled us!” Soarin laughed. “You’re probably good enough to get on the school’s team!”

Artifex looked away. “You think so?”

“Definitely, dude. You’ve a lot of potential.”

“Hmm. I’m not much of a sports guy, but… maybe I’ll consider it.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Soarin remained standing there, the frown returning to his face. Artifex knew that not everything had been said. He considered either waiting, or leaving; but fell for the former option. He crossed his own arms, careful to keep his wrists covered by his sleeves.

Swift and Rainbow continued to wait.

“… Hey,” Soarin said after a little while, “you know Flitter?”

Artifex quickly recalled the exuberant, grey-blue girl on Derpy’s team. “Not personally, but I do know of her, yes.”

“She has this cousin,” Soarin continued. He rubbed the back of his head, as if not sure what to say. “I’ve met her before, and she’s really a sweet thing. She likes to draw, incidentally.”

Rather than ask where Soarin was going with this, Artifex kept quiet.

“Her name’s Gale Rush. She’s about our age, and moved to Manehattan a year ago to attend one of the private schools. She’s pretty smart, all things considered.”

“Ivy league?”

“She’s planning on attending one of them, yeah.” Soarin chuckled. “Flitter and she are pretty close.”

Artifex nodded. “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah, it is.” Soarin became quiet, and for a moment, Artifex thought that he was finished. He shuffled his bag over his shoulder again, waiting for the athlete to move.

“She almost didn’t make it that far,” Soarin suddenly said in a low voice.

Artifex ceased his movements. He stared at Soarin with narrowed eyes, and said nothing. He knew what he meant.

Soarin’s eyes fell to Artifex’s pocketed hands, then rose back up to his face. “I… know that you felt really uncomfortable back there, and, well… I apologize for making you feel that way, is what I’m trying to say.”

Artifex relaxed his gaze, but did not say anything back. Soarin rubbed the back of his head. “I’m not so good with words, and I know this seems very sudden and all…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

The scarred, young man stared at the taller athlete. Blue. The color of calmness… but also of sadness.

He could tell that Soarin wanted to say more, but also knew that the man couldn’t figure out how to say it. For some reason, that was an immense comfort for Artifex. No false sympathies, no empty words. Just a guy who was as confused as he was, but more willing to try and make up for it.

It was nice. Like a pure, lovely white shine.

Artifex stepped forward, reaching out with his right hand. Soarin, after a quick, surprised look, took it. They shook, strongly, a period of understanding passing between them.

“I appreciate the compliment on my volleyball skills,” said Artifex. “Maybe I’ll see if I can try out.”

“It’d be great to have you on our team,” Soarin replied with a slight wink.

They released, and Soarin shuffled around on his feet. “So… see you next week?”

Artifex nodded. “Yes. Hopefully we’ll win the next few games.”

“With you on our team?” Soarin grinned. “I think we will.”

He waved goodbye, then walked off with a slight spring in his step. Artifex watched him go, feeling different.

He then looked at Swift and Rainbow. They looked back at him. No words were spoken at first.

Then, he simply said, “Thank you.”

They nodded.

Red still peeked out of the corner of his vision. Within his pocket, he could feel his hands shake. Then his hands settled on the ruby gem, and he felt himself grow still, comforted by its presence. For now, that was all he needed.