The Cobalt Crescent was no ordinary restaurant. Erected out of solid, onyx marble and accentuated by cyan light bars, it stood out from the more homely restaurants that Canterlot had to offer. Rumors about it abounded, thanks in no small part to the prestigious patrons that often showed up at its front door. Actors, journalists, detectives, and politicians were among the most notable, and several names always jumped out: Songbird Serenade, Sapphire Shores, even the illustrious Fleur de Lis, the mysterious woman who was always beside Mr. Fancy Pants at every occasion and from whom even more rumors sprouted.

The Crescent, as it turned out, was the hub for many of Canterlot’s prospects. Those in the arts, in government, in public works, they all showed up at its door at some point, though that point was, in large part, only made at a certain pay grade. A. K. Yearling was thought to sometimes show herself, but nothing substantial could be generated to support that. So it was that other authors sometimes showed, including the illusive author known commonly as Prose.

Not that either of the two teens who stood in front of the building knew any of this, of course. This sort of knowledge was privy to a select few elite, shared seldom, returned rarely. This was an establishment well above a teenage date, so to say the pair was intimidated was a severe understatement. Ink and Mac gaped at it. The very building exuded societal pressure that no amount of positive reinforcement in Health class could ever barricade against. It did not help that the armed guards who stood watch in front fixated them with uncompromising, unforgiving glares.

Ink gulped. Maybe this was a mistake. She hid a little behind Mac, though he, despite his big frame, seemed just as intent on bolting just as much as she was. At least we’ll go out together, she thought, imagining the guards getting startled and firing off a few rounds into them.

On the bright side, Canterlot was not one for lack of excitement—that was for sure.

The dress-skirt combo that Ink had decided to wear was a sleeveless mix of deep violet and light turquoise, so she had opted to wear a thick winter jacket; but even that was not enough to prevent her from shivering. It had begun to snow some minutes before, and she was missing the warmth of Big Mac’s truck. But as much as she wanted to head on inside, where surely it was much warmer, she did not know if they would be allowed so much as a step onto the property.

Mac was frowning. He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly, a surprisingly affectionate gesture that made her blush and momentarily feel warm. Then he walked forward, and she followed.

The first guard glared at them from behind shaded glasses. He held up a hand, then reached around and pulled out a clipboard. “Name,” he gruffly said. Ink noted that his other hand rested comfortably on his gun, and she shivered again.

“Macintosh Apple.” Mac might have had a deep voice, but somehow it seemed meeker than ever before.

“Reservation ticket?”

Mac fumbled around his jacket, before finally procuring the item after several tense seconds. He gave it to the guard. The guard took it and looked it over front-to-back. Ink held her breath.

Then the guard nodded and tore the ticket up. “You may proceed. Have a good night, you two.”

The doors swung open, and they were through.

The sophistication rammed itself the moment they were there, literally—Mac swerved to the side and Ink ducked as a white-apron-wearing waiter carted a rolling shelf of lobsters and other delicacies over their heads, through the doors, and out into the December night. Ink could smell the fried calamari threading the air mixed with the smell of roasting meat, perfectly cooked and now being served. There was the clattering of dishes from the kitchen, somewhere farther off in the restaurant, and from that same place rose the garbled and foreign cries of belligerent and eccentric chefs and cooks alike.

Every seat was full— at least, it seemed that way. All wore the latest in fashion and the sleekest in attire that put the pair to deep shame. Voices carried like tufts of glittering laughter, light and poignant at the same time, the essential paradox that came with fame and fortune. As they stood at the front, awkwardly side-by-side, Ink knew: they really did not belong here.

A waiter came up to them: a young man, clean-shaven, lean and lanky. He offered a brilliant smile that was definitely the product of much grooming. “Table for two?” he inquired.

Mac wordlessly nodded, for he, too, was made speechless by the surroundings. The waiter nodded. “Follow me, then, mister and missus.”

They were led through a maze-like series of floors and seats and tables, all of which were filled with either workers or patrons, none of whom paid them any heed and acted as though they weren’t there. In a way, Ink was grateful; at least this way none would be the wiser to her growing embarrassment. Glasses clinked, plates were gingerly cleared, and conversations ebbed and flowed between them like the waters of a functioning society made of the little snippets of life that oh-so defined a human existence. It was glitz and glamour galore, and Ink, the young girl from a school of magical beings, had never felt like such a stranger in such a foreign land.

But Mac was still there, leading her by the hand, and she found his presence—its simplicity—comforting.

Their table was in a row lit by a series of ornate, ceiling chandeliers that could easily have passed as castle decoration. Paintings from a bygone era, still relevant today, covered the surrounding walls, meshes of bright and dark hues. They were seated in the finest chairs, so soft it was like sitting on air, and given utensils and napkins far fancier than the ones you would find at a home goods store, and it was then that Ink remembered something: how much was all this going to cost? Would she be in debt before graduating high school?

She cast a look at Mac. He was sweating. Perhaps he was wondering the same thing. Mentally she went over what she had in her purse; she doubted it could cover a quarter of the price.

Once seated, they were given two menus by the waiter, who rambled off quickly the night’s specials: none of them sparked an interest in Ink, for she did not understand half of what the words meant, but she tried to be polite and asked about the ingredients and half-listened to the responses. She hoped that the food would be good, whatever it was. The waiter asked for drinks. They both ordered water. He wrote it down then left them.

“Mac,” Ink said.

“Ah know,” he grumbled. “Ah didn’t choose this joint. Granny Smith did.”

“Granny Smith? The cafeteria lady? How’d she manage that?”

“Somethin’ ‘bout a favor. Ah’ve got no idea, Ink.”

Ink sighed. “Well, we might as well try to enjoy ourselves… at least until the bill comes.”

He chuckled, but it was brief.

The waiter came back some minutes later with their water, then asked for an appetizer. Mac and Ink exchanged glances, looked over the menus once again, then decided on a simple combination. The waiter nodded, wrote it all down, and walked away. They were alone for the moment once more.

“At least it’s a nice restaurant,” Ink commented.

“Eeyup.”

Too bad they both sucked at small talk. All of a sudden both found the ceiling, floor, and walls more interesting than the person right in front of them.

Ink’s phone buzzed. She checked it. It was Gaige: “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” she replied shortly, then put the phone away. Uncomfortable though she was, it would be rude to have it out during dinner.

Mac took a sip of his water. Ink tapped her fork against the table. Both wished for something to happen.

“So… how’s yer book going?” Mac suddenly asked.

Ink blinked at him, then gasped. “Oh! Uh, well… it’s not exactly going anywhere at the moment.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting her continue. “You see, I’m… sorta taking a break from writing it.”

“A break?”

“Yeah. I guess I kinda got burned out. Needed to just let it sit for a while, let the ideas accumulate on their own.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well… Ah hope you get back to writing it soon. Ah’m sure it was really good.”

“Thank you.”

Another silence. So much for that realm of conversation. She tried to pick it up again with a different topic: “How’s your leg? Healing okay?”

“Eeyup.”

She realized there wasn’t much left to say about that, and immediately fell silent.

Ink’s eyes wandered all around. She was tempted to start whistling some nameless tune, though knowing the clatter around them, she doubted she’d be able to hear herself. As her eyes traveled across the entirety of the restaurant, they came to rest on a table some distance away from them, where two people were being led. She watched them sit down.

That’s odd. They actually look really familiar.

They were dressed smartly. The woman wore a slinky black dress that clung to her figure and made all the right points stand out, and the man wore a vest and white undershirt combination finished off by a red tie. The woman was blushing; the man was, too. But they were both smiling, and their eyes had yet to leave the other’s.

Ink still couldn’t place the familiarity.

The waiter came back with the appetizers, and with it, a request for their orders. Mac ordered some sort of burger, but a Prench variant of it whose pronunciation he probably butchered. Ink, after a moment’s consideration, asked for an evening salad. Their menus were taken away afterwards.

Ink leaned a little over the table. “Mac, look at that couple over there. Is it just me, or do they look familiar?”

Mac offered a cautionary glance that way, then grunted. “Well, they sure do, Ink. Though Ah’m not sure why.”

Now they were both looking at the pair, who were talking quietly amongst themselves, enjoying a pleasant evening conversation. The man told a quick joke. The woman giggled; the word that came to mind to describe that giggle was royal. As Mac went back to his appetizer, Ink continued to watch.

And then, as the waiter returned with their food in hand, Ink suddenly sat straight up. “AH!”

The waiter raised an eyebrow. “Miss, are you all right?”

“U-u-uh, y-yeah! Yeah, sorry, just… I just remembered something.” Ink giggled sheepishly.

The waiter remained impassive. He placed the food down in front of them. “Please enjoy your meal,” he said, and then once again vanished into the throng of the restaurant.

Ink cast a quick look at the couple; they hadn’t heard her. They were too busy caught up with themselves, their moment together.

“Ink,” Mac intoned, not touching his food. “What was that all about?” He took a sip of water.

“I know why they look familiar!” she whispered back fiercely. “That’s Vice Principal Luna and Mr. Solil!”

“What?!” Mac choked, water spewing from his mouth back onto the table. Ink brought her hands up to protect herself. “Uh, sorry. Yer serious?”

“Yeah! Look over there!”

He did, taking a few moments to study the couple. She could see the gears of his brain working. His eyes widened. “Eeyup, that does look like ‘em.”

“Are they here on a date, do you think?”

“Ah reckon so. Didn’t know either would be into that, though.”

“Yeah. I always thought that they were too into their work.” Ink giggled. “That is so cute! Look at them, all lovey-dovey and giggling and everything!”

“Eeyup.” Mac faced her and was grinning. “Sorta the kind of material ya’d need in a book, huh?”

“Yeah! Oh my gosh, I’m so gonna tease Mr. Solil over this the next time I see him. Do you think they’ve been dating for long?”

“Hard to tell—”

And that was how their night really began: not with talk of commonalities or trivial things, but of gossip, intrigue, and fascination towards two authority figures. To say it was unorthodox was an understatement. It was anything but ordinary; but then again, was anything ever in Ink’s world?

The night drew on with a bated breath and the restaurant continued to run even as the moon rose far above their heads and the stars came out and the clouds rolled away leaving behind the heavenly glow of the eternal. Outside streamed stroves of people always refilling the ones who left like some human conveyor belt. The noises never ceased and the restaurant remained busy well into the deep night. The rest of the city mirrored this, for the lights were all on and the streets were cast in colorful hues and cars petered out into the horizon and snow was kicked up and the music of the holidays was playing. Everything was in good cheer.

The food had been eaten and complemented, though that was to really no one’s surprise. The dishes had just been cleared by the impassive waiter and now Ink and Mac were left waiting for the check. At another time they would have been worrying over it, but now they were preoccupied with the realization that Ink’s teacher and their Vice Principal were dating. Dating! As if co-workers dating was some rare oddity, though, Ink supposed, that it was; she had heard neither hide nor hair of either of the sister principals ever engaging in the dating game, nor with someone as charismatic and reserved as Mr. Solil.

She recalled vaguely that the pair had been seen at the Fall Hallows’ Eve Event all those months ago, but that had been told to her by Artifex, who had mentioned it offhandedly as if it didn’t matter; and up until now she had believed the same. So what had changed?

Perhaps it was the fact that the pair were now holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes, and it was so lovey-dovey and cliche and everything straight out of your typical romance novel—but Ink ate it up. And Mac was there beside her, perhaps not as loud, but just as enthusiastic, and together they gossiped and wondered and spread rumors between themselves, all in the company of their teacher and vice principal who would never hear the end of it if Ink had anything to say about that.

In that moment, she paused. I’m beginning to sound a lot like Hazel. And she found herself not quite hating the comparison, even as Mac teased her about it.

The check came, and at once their conversation evaporated. The waiter handed it to Mac, who took it slowly and held it out in front of him like bringing it any closer would immediately render him dead. Ink reached for her purse, anticipating being short anyway—but it was the thought that counted, right? And if they were to be in debt, at least they would be in debt together…

She did not let that thought stay much longer, banishing it from her mind with a flush of red embarrassment being the only sign it was ever there.

Mac was staring at the piece of paper. His jaw worked silent words. His face was unreadable. Ink took a sip of her water and watched him for a few seconds.

“Mac?” she asked. “Um… is there something wrong with the check? If it’s too much, well…”

Wordlessly, he passed it over for her to look.

She did, and was confused. Right where the total should have been typed was instead, in big, black lettering: PAID IN FULL. She blinked, then read it again. Then again. When she was sure she wasn’t seeing things, she looked back up at Mac. “Is… Is this for real?”

“Did you two enjoy your evening?”

Both of the teenagers jumped at the sudden voice. Next to their table was a—well, out of politeness, Ink would have called him an “older, stout man.” Indeed, he was vertically challenged but horizontally sound, and his silver-lined head was covered by a black bowler hat. A fat mustache masked his lips. His eyes were twinkling.

“Oh! Um, yes,” Ink managed to say, “we did, very much, thank you.”

“Eeyup,” Mac added.

“You were looking over the check, though, weren’t you? You are confused by it, yes?”

“A little,” Ink admitted.

The man turned to Mac, a big smile on his face. “Well, son. I’m sure you were excited by the prospect of having to pay a hefty fee for a four-hour dinner service.” Mac gulped. “But, a favor’s a favor, and I ain’t one to forget when I owe one, especially to your grandmother.”

“Y’know Granny Smith?”

The man let out a bellowing laugh. “‘Course I know her! That girl could give my family a run for their money when it came to pie-baking back in the day. She saved my behind a few years back from a money laundering scheme against me, and I’ve owed her a favor ever since. Well, until today, that is.”

“S-so you paid it all off?” Ink said.

“Right you are, little lady! And don’t you worry; I was glad to!”

“How much would it have cost if you hadn’t?”

He told her, and they both nearly fainted then and there. The man continued to laugh.

After many reassurances that they would not need to pay the man back (and many were needed, even as Ink imagined her purse being empty for a long while), they got their belongings and began to leave. “Tell your grandma Ol’ Santiago says hi!” the man called after them. Mac promised he would.

As they were leaving, though, Ink turned at just the right angle to see Mr. Solil and Vice Principal Luna again. Both turned to face her out of instinct; as Luna stared at her in confusion, Mr. Solil ducked behind his coat. Ink caught a deep shade of red coming out of his dark cheeks.

“Oh… hello, Ink,” Luna said quietly. “You came here, too?”

“Uh huh.”

“With Big Mac?”

“Eeyup.”

“I see… I hope you two had a good evening.” She was smiling, even as her cheeks flushed. Ink thought she heard Mr. Solil murmur the same thing, though it was hard to tell.

“Thank you.” She paused and looked between the two. A reckless thought overtook her, and she smiled. “You two make a cute couple!”

Mr. Solil groaned, and Luna offered an uncharacteristically girly giggle, and then Ink and Mac walked away.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Mac said as they neared the doors; but she could hear in his voice he also found it deeply amusing.

“Ah, whatever. Mr. Solil can give me extra homework for it. But they were a cute couple, don’t you think?”

“Eeyup.”

It was spitting snowflakes when they came outside. Ink put on her hat and coat and so did Mac. They kept close to each other as they made their way to Mac’s truck. He helped her inside (“Thank you,” she called), then stepped in to the driver’s seat, started the vehicle, and drove off.

Mac turned on the heat, but Ink found she didn’t need it. She felt warm already.

“As far as dinners go, that wasn’t half-bad,” she said, hoping to fill the silence.

“Much appreciated,” Mac responded kindly. “Though, to be fair, Ah don’t think Ah wanna go back there. Least not until Ah actually have the money for it.”

Ink laughed. “I’m with you there, Mac.”

A moment passed, and then Ink’s face burned red. Did I just say I’d go on another dinner date with him? She cast a look in his direction, but he was too busy driving for her to see if that same thought had occurred to him.

“Ah hope you had a good time,” Mac said as he rounded the corner, the truck bustling and bumping along the road. “Sorry it was so sudden.”

“I did,” Ink said. “But that just makes me wonder: why tonight?”

“Well, fer one, ya did say you wanted to go out on Friday.”

“I didn’t say that. Gaige did.”

There was a pause. “Oh.”

Ink began to giggle. “Oh, you poor boy. Did you really believe that girl? You know she’s eccentric.”

“N-now hold on fer a goshdarn second, there—”

“Are you telling me that you wouldn’t have asked me out to dinner if Gaige hadn’t said anything?” she teased.

They came to a red light. Mac hit the brakes just a tad bit too hard, and Ink knew that her teasing had found its mark. She giggled again and again as Mac turned redder and redder.

“Ah’m not gonna answer that,” Mac said.

Ink felt a sudden flash of disappointment. She masked it with a sigh. “All right. I’ll stop bothering you about it. The dinner was nice, Mac. Really.”

The light turned green. Off they were. Though Mac was still blushing fiercely, he was now smiling as well. And Ink felt herself doing the same.

When they reached Ink’s house, the snow had started to slow and now the world was a combination of dark and whiteness. Mac helped Ink out of the truck and together they began to trudge up to the porch, their boots pillowed by the velvety snow beneath them. Mac held her hand and she did not think once about letting go at all.

The lights were still on inside. Ink’s mom had set up a wind chime some time ago and in the brewing nightly gale that crested the frozen landscape it began to chime softly through the air and into their ears like a maiden’s beckoning call from a faraway land.

They stepped onto the porch. Mac touched Ink’s shoulders, then moved away. When she turned to face him, he had his hands in his pockets, his hood down and blonde hair swaying gently in the snowy breeze, unaffected by the cold. He opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it, closing his mouth and letting the wind be his cry.

Ink stared at him. She saw the green of his eyes and how they, in the low amber glow that came from the home, were like emerald pools of deep thinking. She found herself wondering if beneath those pools were the vestiges of this boy’s great quietness and gentleness such that she in all honesty had never seen before. They were pretty eyes, she decided; or maybe a better word was enchanting.

They were now both silent. Both waiting. Both unsure of what to say, of what to do, how to proceed with the rest of the night before they retired.

Slowly, Ink smiled. “Thank you for the night, Big Mac,” she said.

He nodded. “Of course, Ink. Ah’m mighty glad you enjoyed it.”

Still that silence prevailed again and it hung over their heads like a heavy cloud of tension. There was a push from behind Ink: invisible, from nowhere, from nothing, and yet it made her step closer to Mac. Because she was on the porch, she was now at even head-level with the farm boy. Her breath came out quick and shallow, just as did his.

Mistress Opportunity reached out a hand to push them towards Fate’s plan…

Only for Ink to push the hand away.

“I’ll see you Monday,” she said, trying for a smile. It didn’t feel right. It felt lacking.

But Mac returned it anyway, and seeing its gentleness made Ink’s heart twist up.

“You will,” he said. “Good night, Ink.”

He began walking away, whistling a tune as he did so—a Christmas song, how fitting. She watched him go, watched even as he got into his truck and drove off into the forever night. Then she, too, turned in for the evening, and entered the warmth of her home once more.

The wind chime sung of longing.