Here is a simple truth: the heart cannot help for whom it yearns.

It matters not one’s age, nor status, nor occupation, nor association, nor characterization. Above all things does this rise and it does so with triumph and glory. Much like all of the best and good things—the truly best and good things—in life, it is simultaneously the most questioned and most given item beholden to that of man, and for it do we solemnly provide nothing short of both contempt and curiosity.

For here is a simple, irrevocable truth: the heart cannot help for whom it yearns.

It is a shame, then, that most owners of hearts are pigheaded fools who cannot see the forest for the trees.

Ink had read that somewhere. She didn’t know from where. She was sure it was a book, or some sort of passage, but she had forgotten the author and the exact topic that it was discussing.

She had remembered this text only suddenly and it came when she had awoken in the odd and dark dawn of December, on that Monday, the 22nd. It was like the last fleeting memory of a dream she had been having but whose images and content she did not remember, holding onto her very soul desperately so as not to be lost beneath conscious thought. But try as it might, it lasted only until after breakfast; afterwards and then, it was gone, replaced with the dullness that accompanied those kinds of Mondays and those kinds of December dawns that few enjoyed and even fewer tolerated.

She leaned back and ran her hands through her hair as she sat at her desk trying to work. She knew she was distracted, and yet, strangely, she didn’t mind. A breathy sigh escaped her as she stared down at the words on the screen. There were plenty of them; she had made a huge amount of progress in the last several days. Most of it was just her retyping up her notes she had made in previous days, but a story was beginning to come together. She allowed herself a satisfied smirk; perhaps she had a future after all. It might be a little bit arrogant to think that before finishing her writing, but there was nothing more empowering than the quiet confidence coming from a strong belief that what was being written would soon be worth reading.

If only she could develop that same confidence for her characters; then everything would be falling into place. Characterization. That still seemed to be the biggest hurdle she had to leap over. Yet despite this, strangely enough, she felt detached from the whole thing.

It was not as though she hated the piece, or found it disgusting; no, she enjoyed what she was doing, that was for sure. She just didn’t… well, the best analogy she could come up with was the weeks after Gaige and Flash officially became and item and Hazel finally began shutting up about her perfect ship. (Did that mean Ink had been shipping her piece so hard? Then again, it was a romance story, so perhaps that came with the territory.)

She read over what she had written, then, and, satisfied with them, hit the SAVE function. Then she leaned back and crossed her arms, checking the clock. It was still a little early. She would not need to leave just yet.

So she sat there, looking at her computer screen, eyes running over the words written there, and wondering where she could go next. How best to create the characters who would trounce about her little world? How best to make them come to life, react to the life she had given them, and push the them together until they were, fluidly and gracefully, together as a couple?

In the past she might have obsessed over that detail, but this time, she didn’t. Instead, she shrugged. All would be well in time, she supposed. You could not rush art. You had to trust that what you were writing would develop on its own and would reveal to you its inner secrets—all in due time, of course.

With that, she powered down, closed the screen, got out of her seat, and prepared to head off for school.

They bumped into each other right outside of the school gate, a mirror-event of what had happened on Friday.

“Morning, Big Mac,” Ink said.

“Morning, Ink.” He was a bit red-faced, breath coming out white. “It’s a might bit colder than usual, don’tcha think?”

“A might bit,” she agreed. “But that’s perfect for the holidays.”

“Eeyup.”

They walked through the gate together, then into the school together, and then down the hallway still together. They talked about their plans for the holidays. Mac elaborated on what would be happening in Sweet Apple Acres: a bunch of other Apple relatives would be coming over to join in for the festivities. Even more surprising, a bunch of Pears would be showing up, who, according to the muscular farm boy, had been estranged from the family for quite some time.

“Really?” Ink raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like quite the story.”

“Eeyup.” He had nodded, smiling, but it hadn’t quite reached his eyes. She guessed it was a sensitive topic, and was fine with not questioning it any further. Perhaps, when he was more comfortable, he’d let her know just what had happened.

“What about you?” he then asked. “What are your plans?”

“I don’t think I even have any,” she said. “As far as I know, Mom and I are going to stay home. It’ll be a quiet evening, I think.”

“Not going out with Artifex?”

“We’re not dating.”

“Ah meant to Treble’s holiday party,” he said with a slight smirk.

“Oh. No, I don’t think so. That’s his friend group and, well, I didn’t get an invitation.”

“Oh. That’s a darn shame. I’m sure they’d love to have ya.”

“Yeah…” Her voice trailed, and her thoughts derailed. What does he mean by that?

“Not that I’m mad or anything,” Ink continued. “But I guess I would prefer to do something more… exciting. I do like staying home and watching Christmas specials on the telly with my mom and all, but I guess I feel like I should be doing something more. Y’know?”

“Ah think so.”

They paused in the middle of the hallway, in unison, though neither noticed this strange connection. Students walked past them, giving them odd stares and whispering amongst themselves. At one point, Artifex walked on by. He gave Ink a perplexed look, turned to Mac, gave him the same look, looked back at Ink, and then he smiled and shook his head before limping on forward. All throughout, the boy beside her appeared pensive, staring down at the floor as if he was trying to solve a puzzle that was found in its dotted patterns.

“Y’know,” Mac began slowly, “if you’re really bored, there might be somethin’ you could do other than just stay home.”

Was it Ink’s imagination, or was he blushing?

“Yeah?” she said. “What’s that?”

“Well…” His baritone voice gave way to silence for a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders, as if resigning himself to what would thus be said. “Not that I’m pushing you or anything, but why don’t you come down to Sweet Apple Acres? You and your mom?”

She regarded him, confused at first. “Really? You want me to come down to your home?”

He nodded. “Shucks, Ink, I’ve already been down to yours. Wouldn’t be too strange for you to come to mine, especially on such a nice holiday.”

“That’s a good point.”

“Plus, Applejack’ll be at that party o’ Treble’s. So you won’t have to deal with her tryin’ ta kill ya or anything.”

“That’s an even better point,” she said with a light giggle.

Then she said, “Isn’t this a bit sudden? Wouldn’t your relatives mind?”

“Doubt it. We’re a pretty big family already. What’s one more number to the mix?”

“Really? You really think that high of me?”

“Course I do, Ink. Yer a nice and sweet gal, and I wouldn’t mind having you over for Christmastime.”

“Aw, thank you, Big Mac. Tell you what.” She pulled out her phone. “Give me your number, I’ll give you mine, and I’ll let you know what I think in a few days. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good to me, Ink,” he replied, taking out his phone as well.

They exchanged numbers readily, and as they finished, Mac glanced up at the clock. “Aw, shoot. I gotta get going, Ink, else I’ll be late to my first class.”

“Oh, okay. That’s fine. I should get going, too.”

“So… later then?”

“Yeah. See you—and text you—later.”

He smiled at her, nodded, and then turned and walked off. She stared after him, the phone still out. She didn’t notice the smile that had creeped across her face.

Maybe this year’s Christmas wouldn’t be a bust after all.

The bell rang, signaling the end of first class. Conversations began up again, and the loudest came from Rainbow, who, alongside Artifex Frost, was busy hyping up Treble’s upcoming Christmas Special. Those who were interested tagged along, much to the icy-haired boy’s chagrin and the athlete’s excitement, and those who weren’t turned down another path. Perhaps they were turned off by the idea that another rich kid was holding yet another party in yet another mansion. Or perhaps they simply had better things to do.

Ink was about to do a mix of both—follow Rainbow and Artifex for a little while before turning off to her second class—when Mr. Solil called her up to his desk. At once, memories of Friday’s dinner danced across her mind, and while she tried to maintain a calm smile, inwardly she was in a panic.

I mean, I know I said to Mac that Mr. Solil might give me some extra work over this, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking forward to it!

Mr. Solil laced his fingertips together, his periwinkle eyes gazing at her. She could not read what lay past them, whether he was curious or cordial or customarily candid.

“Miss Ink.”

Ink gulped. His tone made it clear that he was not in a joking mood, and she replied as respectfully as she could, “Yes, Mr. Solil?”

“We saw each other recently, didn’t we?”

“Yes, sir. At the Cobalt Crescent .”

“Yes, that is correct. What did you think of the place? And answer me honestly.”

She paused. Searching his eyes, she didn’t find a trace of condescension. She relaxed a little, and took a risk: “To be honest, it was… a bit too much for me.”

He nodded, still not revealing his emotions. “I imagined so. It is a highly prestigious place. And you were with…?”

“Big Macintosh, sir.”

“Applejack’s older brother. A fine young man.”

Not knowing what to say, Ink nodded.

Mr. Solil was quiet. He stared up at her, as if waiting for a proper answer. With the knowledge that the clock was continually ticking down and the fact that she could not leave without his approval, Ink grew uncomfortable. Finally, she broke and asked, “Did you and Miss Luna have a good time?”

He didn’t respond, didn’t even react. Ink knew, then, that she was dead.

“Getting inspiration for your little romance novel, are you?”

She sputtered; then she nearly broke when she saw a smile across her teacher’s face. It was the kind of smile that came right as one was trying to stifle a bit of laughter. Thank God! He’s not gonna kill me!

“N-not, really, sir,” she stuttered. “I was just… he invited me and…”

He held up a hand. “Relax, Ink. I’m not going to grill you too hard. It’s not my place, nor is it my function as your teacher.”

“Then why did you call me up?”

“Consider that payback for Friday night.” She sputtered again, in indignation and embarrassment. He leaned back into his chair, sighing—she noted—quite happily. “Yes, I did have a good time. Vice Principal Luna is an incredible woman.” He paused, then winked at her. “The exact details I shan’t reveal, for they are between myself and her. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. For what it’s worth, you and Mac made a cute couple, too.”

She squeaked, and this time he finally did explode in laughter. “Ha! Well, I suppose this counts as double payback.”

“Gee, thanks, Mr. Solil…”

“Oh, don’t pout. You tease me, I tease you twice as much. It’s in the student-teacher handbook, believe me.”

He wrote her a quick pass. “Hand that to your teacher if you do end up late.”

She took the paper and pocketed it, thanked him, then made her way to the door, still blushing. But then she stopped. Her curiosity demanded to be satiated.

“Mr. Solil?” she called over her shoulder. “You like her, don’t you?”

He regarded her carefully, but she saw there was a familiar twinkle in his eye. “I do, Ink,” he said. “I like her very much. Run along, now.”

“Yes, sir.” She closed the door behind her.

“You WHAT?!”

Ink had expected a whole lot more from Hazel the moment she sat down at lunch. Two words of exclamation? Not even remotely close to Hazel’s average.

“Hazel, are you feeling okay?” Ink asked as calmly as she could. “Usually you’d be more… talkative.”

“Of course I’m not okay!” the girl shrieked, and Ink was thankful that the cafeteria was so loud that nobody could hear her. “My best girlfriend goes out on a date with a hunky dork and she doesn’t tell me until next week starts?”

“One: Big Mac’s no dork. And two: it wasn’t a date, it was a friendly outing, and I didn’t think you needed to know.”

“Besides,” Gaige popped in, “she didn’t tell you. I told you. So it’s not her fault, it’s mine.”

“Way to take responsibility, Gaige.”

“That’s besides the point!” Hazel was pulling at her hair. “Ink, you’ve got just as much charisma and luck as a shattered-mirrored black cat who looks like walking roadkill!”

“Hey! I take offense to that!”

But Hazel went on, “So how the hell did you manage to score with the hunkiest boy-toy in all of Canterlot High?!”

Ink blushed furiously. “I didn’t score anything—for Christ’s sake, Hazel, keep it down! I don’t want Applejack to kill me!”

“Agh! This ruins my ship so much! Here I was, totally thinking you and Gaige were gonna hit it off and you go off and be as straight as spaghetti! … wait, but spaghetti is straight until it’s wet… so there’s still a chance—Mmph!”

She had “mmph’d” because Gaige had conveniently decided that now was a good time to jump in and silence her, a hand placed over her mouth. “Yeah, no, there’s been enough fanservice, Hazel,” she said sunnily, “so we might as well wait a few chapters and give the readers a break.”

“Thanks, Gaige,” Ink said.

“Oh, don’t thank me yet. I’m gonna tease the hell out of you.”

“I figured you would.”

Ink looked back over at Hazel, who was struggling behind Gaige’s surprisingly iron grip. The girl had probably forced herself to contain her excitement since second block. Ink couldn’t really understand (since it totally wasn’t a date, no siree bob, of course not) the ferver; after all, Gaige hadn’t said anything about her date (not that Ink was saying she had been on a date on Friday), and whose fault was that? Plus, she didn’t recall it being Hazel’s business to know when Ink had been on a supposed date or not. Ships be damned, let the sailors swim to shore, for all she cared.

She blinked. That was somewhat poetic, actually.

“So!” Gaige said. “You’ve been out once with him. Any plans for doing it again?”

Knowing that lying would get her nowhere, Ink swallowed her pride and said, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. It’s like I told Artifex. It was very nice. Mac was very nice. So it’s not like there’d be anything wrong in having another outing.”

“And of course, it would be good if it were soon, right?”

Teases. Teases everywhere. It was like Adagio had come and infected Ink’s friends with that teasing smile. She wondered what Artifex saw in it.

“Well, yeah,” she said. “I mean, he invited me over to his house for Christmas—”

A poor choice of words, for once she had uttered them, Hazel somehow drew up an unholy amount of strength and broke free of Gaige’s grasp. “HE DID WHAT?!”

“... invited me over to his house for Christmas?”

“ALREADY?!”

“... yes?”

Hazel opened her mouth—probably to scream—but then stopped. Her eyes glazed over, and she fainted then and there into Gaige’s lap.

Gaige pushed her off. “Geez. Good going, Ink. Ya killed her.”

“Not my fault.”

“So, Christmas, huh? I swear this sounds like a crappy birthday gift.”

“Huh? Your birthday’s on Christmas?”

“Christmas Eve.” Gaige shook her head. “But never mind that. Point is, Big Mac just invited you over to his home for the holiday season, after your first date together.”

“It wasn’t a date!”

“Okay, your first dinner together.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make it sound any better.”

“What, was it supposed to? Anyway, doesn’t it sound odd that he would go and do that?”

“Now that you mention it, I guess it’s a little weird. But is it so strange of an idea that he’s doing it out of just kindness?”

“Nah. He’s too much of a softie not to be. But, still.” At this, Gaige’s eyes lost their usual fierceness. “Isn’t it a bit too fast?”

“What do you mean?”

“Ink, trust me. It took me forever to get with Flash. Like, twenty chapters and a lot of dragging. But he didn’t invite me over to his house after the first time we went out, you know. And most guys don’t do that. Not unless they’re—”

“Mac isn’t like other guys,” Ink insisted, a little too quickly. She crossed her arms. “So don’t you dare imply what I think you’re implying.”

“All right, all right. I take it back. And you’re right. Mac isn’t like other guys. He’s a lot quieter, much more gentle. Maybe I am being a little harsh on him, but can you blame me?”

“Huh?”

Gaige reached out and touched Ink’s shoulder. She was smiling, but only a little. “Ink, you’re my friend. You may be a stupid baka sometimes, but you’re still someone I care about. And I don’t want you to get hurt by some stupid boy, Mac or otherwise.”

Hearing this, Ink couldn’t help but smile back. “Thanks, Gaige.”

Their conversation turned to other things, and it wasn’t long before they settled back on Ink’s primary concern: her book. With burgundy eyes flashing, she took out her laptop and powered it on, before opening the document and showing it to Gaige. The pig-tailed girl let out an impressed whistle.

“Damn, that’s a lot of words. Way to go, Ink!”

Under her praise, Ink couldn’t help but blush. “Oh, thanks, Gaige. It is a lot. It’s like a faucet suddenly opened and all of a sudden there’s all these great ideas pouring in.”

“Sure seems like it.” Gaige reached over and scrolled down. “Oh, hey, looks like you’ve taken my advice on character to heart. That’s good—huh?”

“Hmm? Something wrong?”

There must have been, for Gaige’s mouth flopped open as her eyes scanned the words typed on the screen. She must have read it a dozen of times, double that even, and the longer she read the more confused Ink became. “Gaige? Hello? … did I somehow break you, too?”

Then Gaige snapped her mouth shut and turned to Ink with a terrifying grin. “Ink,” she called in a voice far lighter than normal, “you’ve really taken my advice to heart, haven’t you?”

“... yes?”

“Pfft, weak. You can’t even be bothered to deny it?”

“Deny what?”

“Dude, look!”

Gaige grabbed Ink’s hand and put it on the screen, right over where some text had been highlight. She read aloud: “Muscular build? Sandy-blond hair? The scent of sweat and farm work just as prominent as the lavender shampoo he had used this morning? Ink, all you need is a couple more colorful words and I’d say you’d be ripping from the real model!”

“W-what?” Ink stared at what was written. She wrote that? All of that? But it all sounded so…

“It sounds like you think there’s more to you and Big Mac than what meets the eye!” Gaige exclaimed triumphantly.

Her cackling could not be contained, and it was loud enough to rouse Haze from her dormant state. Ink’s blush was likewise unrestrained. She couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t even meant to be writing about Big Mac: she’d been trying to come up with an idea of a male deuteragonist and this was what showed up!

But then who was she trying to convince: Gaige? Or herself?

And yet, even as she protested and wailed to no avail, as a hand fell to her chest in indignation and supreme embarrassment, she felt her heartbeat; it was beating echoing drums in the chambers of her soul; and it excited her. Far more than she thought it would.

Now Ink sat on her bed. It was late at night and she was still up even after her mother had gone to bed hours ago. All she had on was her reading lamp and the neon-blue illumination of her phone screen.

She was staring at a particular number—Big Mac’s number. They hadn’t texted all that much. The only messages there were ones of greeting.

She had come home that day and had immediately decided to talk to her mom about what Mac had offered. She’d expected hesitance at the very least. But that had not been the case. Ink’s mom had simply said she would go along with whatever Ink wanted. A free reign over the holidays was being given to her. “Either way,” Ink’s mom had said, “we’ll be spending the holiday with people we love.”

Love.

A shame that that word, the sole theme of all that she had been writing, now caused her to wince. Every time she thought of it, somehow, someway, her thoughts strayed to Mac. Not enough for a clear picture, and, really, the thoughts were passing and brief, but just enough to warrant pause.

Love?

Ink shook her head. No, she was just being silly. There was nothing more to what had happened.

But what had happened?

There were two answers, of course, but Ink wasn’t willing to provide them just yet.

Nonetheless, she stared down at her phone, at the messages there, and wondered. There was a silent question hanging there that neither had written but both had definitely seen and read and were now thinking about even as the night passed into day. All it would take was one word. Just one.

Yes?

No?

A moment passed. Then another. Then suddenly enough had passed and Ink, in tired taps of her fingers, gave her answer.