Fluttershy lands at the Boutique's doorstep silently and pushes open the door. She walks in and crouches down again, prompting me to dismount. I hop off her, being careful not to bump her wings. "Thanks," I say quietly.

"You're welcome."

I look deeper inside the Boutique and let my eyes adjust. The lights are off, just like before, but the weather has the interior look even darker. And sitting in the same place I saw her last is her.

As if for verification, I glance towards Fluttershy. She looks on and points her chin towards Rarity. "Go to her, Spike. She needs you," she whispers.

I look back and walk up to her slowly. She's still sitting on the same cushion, but her back is turned, head hanging down. The tea set has been put away and in its place is the vase of flowers I brought earlier today and a small pile of well-used tissues, many stained gray and black from her makeup. She's otherwise motionless. I would think that she were napping were it not for the occasional sniffles I hear from her and the twitches from her shoulders.

"Rarity," I say, phrasing it as neither a question nor accusation.

Her ears perk up at the sound, and she turns her head to the side to look at me. As if I needed any more confirmation that she was crying, the whites of her eyes are pink, her eyes are moist, and the makeup around it is not nearly so perfect as it normally is. "Good day, Spike," she says. But despite the prim and proper greeting, her voice is anything but proper. It's normally so confident and lyrical, but now it's weak and defeated, like it could break to silence and whimpering at any moment. She's even quieter than Fluttershy usually is.

It all casts an image of a Rarity very different from any Rarity I knew. Whether it be from the old Rarity I was friends with, to the new one who lied about our relationship, even to the dramatic one who liked ice cream a lot, I don't see any of them now. This one is just miserable.

Some part of me feels the urge to hug and comfort her and get her back to where she should be, but another part feels some perverse satisfaction that she's suffering right now, just as she caused so much suffering in me. At the very least, I feel a little bit better that she's feeling bad about what she said to me.

"Why were you crying?" I ask simply.

"Because I fear that I may have just lost one of my dearest friends," she says in a voice heavy and hoarse with emotion. Rarity sniffles again and levitates over a fresh tissue, dabbing it at her eyes.

I sigh. "Yeah," I say, pushing a cushion right next to hers. I sit down on it, my back to hers, so we don't touch and don't look at each other. "Me too."

We sit in silence for a long time, it only interrupted as Rarity sniffles again and uses up another tissue. Neither of us seem particularly willing to talk. Meanwhile, Fluttershy walks to other side of the table and sits on her own cushion, observing us silently with a sad and pensive expression.

Eventually, I say one word: "Why?"

I don't need to explain to Rarity what I'm referring to; she already knows. She sighs. "There are just . . . just so many conflicting reasons that it would take hours to explain, even to myself."

"I'm not going anywhere," I respond, even though just minutes earlier, I didn't even want to come. I want to hear what she has to say, and Fluttershy would be very upset with me if I left now.

She pauses. "I don't know how to begin, and I don't know how I can tell you any of this without you getting even more angry at me. But—" she sniffles again "—you deserve the truth. As far as I know it to be."

"Yeah," I say simply.

The silence grows longer. When Rarity speaks again, her words are halting and bitter.

"Why, you ask. Why did I remain silent? Why did I neither shut you down nor entertain your advances?" It sounds like she's explaining this to me and herself. She keeps going. "I thought it was a crush. You said it was as much yourself. An infatuation of passion and thoughtlessness, a fire that seems to roar brightly but is quick to extinguish itself as time washes over it. Oh, I had plenty of them in my youth and perhaps my not-so-youth. You, looking at me—I thought it was no different."

Rarity has a special talent in dressing up her words, I know. But I've been around her long enough to understand what she's saying. I growl, the roaring anger I had before rekindling. But when I see the smoke come out of my nostrils, I feel a hoof on my shoulder. Fluttershy's hoof. She looks at me again with the eyes that speak: Faith, she says.

I try to suppress my anger. "Is that what you think now?" I say, tone controlled and my temper in check. "That it was just a petty crush and that I'd get over it?"

"No, no, not at all," she says quickly. She continues in a quieter voice. "Not after what I saw today. The strong and always-helpful Spike, normally such a gentleman, thrown into a terrible rage I'd never seen him in before because I couldn't respect the depth of feelings he had for me." Rarity scoffs self-deprecatingly. "Foolish of me."

I snort. At least she understands that part now. "I don't know what part of having dreams of you and getting a plush of you and doing anything for you says 'petty crush' to me. Why didn't you tell me that it wouldn't work? Why didn't you just tell me you weren't interested instead of letting me think I had a chance?"

"Darling," she starts, the first use of that word I've heard in a while, "I just did, this afternoon. I feared what you would think of me and how you would react, hence why I held my tongue until now."

I can feel my hackles rising again at the fact she still delayed for so long, but I feel Fluttershy's phantom touch too. Maybe she was right in feeling concerned—considering, well, today. "But holding your tongue until you found someone else?"

"Of course, in hindsight, I would have liked to bring it up sooner. But just as youthful crushes might be fleeting, they're nice to have, at least for a little while. Young love is passionate and wonderful, even if it does—er, would normally—not last very long. Surely, the pining after me and the dreams you might have had gave you some amount of happiness?"

I grunt, not wanting to acknowledge that she's right. Maybe so, but it's only real happiness if you actually have a chance.

She coughs. "And you're very, well, cute when you show up with flowers and act the smitten gentleman. I thought it crueler to end your crush prematurely and shatter those dreams than to let it continue and dissipate on its own."

Cute? I read what she doesn't say. I didn't just show up with flowers: I kissed her hooves—sometimes literally—and did her favors, no matter how icky and distasteful they were. She thought that was cute too? Leading me on to win favors while knowing nothing would come of it, that's cruel. "Cute and useful?"

She takes in a breath as if to speak, but lets it out in a sigh.

"You can't just do that and expect me to be okay with it, Rarity," I growl, turning around, ready to tirade about my love lost, the things I've done for her, the things I could have been—

She interjects. "I know, I know, I know a thousand times. I've made horrible mistakes, Spike. I know I should have told you the truth. I can't defend my choices, only explain why I did what I did. My suppositions are not your experience, and I should have taken your feelings more seriously." Rarity turns around then, looking at me for the first time in a long time. She takes the words from my mouth even now, saying her own instead. "I am sorry, Spike. I am sorry I manipulated you. I am sorry I treated your feelings as I would a childhood crush. I am sorry I assumed the problem would solve itself if I just ignored it for a little longer."

Every acidic retort on my tongue dies at that—there's nothing for me to argue against. Rarity is really proud most of the time; she doesn't apologize that often, and never like this. She's doing it right now, admitting that she did me wrong and apologizing for it. Now is the time that I should . . . forgive her?

I don't know if I can. If it was just an everyday mistake of miscommunication, it would be easy to forgive. But not when my love is on the line. Rarity embodies all the love I ever poured at anyone ever, and I can't just let go of that after one apology. There's years of real hopes and dreams and feelings hung up in that love. It's hard to forgive when she takes all that away from me.

There's an impossible dream that shows me and her together—forbidden now—but there's still a part of me that wants it and won't let go. I try and test my luck with what could have been and look her in the eyes. Those beautiful, blue eyes. "Rarity, why is it that you don't want me?"

It's a question I never asked before. But once I say it, Rarity stiffens up and immediately looks away. Even Fluttershy lets out a tiny gasp I can hear.

"Spike," Rarity says in a voice tense and strangled, barely looking at me, "please understand that I am close to Twilight's age, and she could very well pose as your mother. It doesn't matter what I feel; I will not entertain your advances while you are still young and growing and learning about yourself and your interests. It's okay that you should want it, but I will not."

Does that mean she actually wants it, though? "But, but," I press on, "what do you think of me as?"

"I think of you as a young and courageous—"

"No, not that. You know, as, like, romantically."

". . . I can't answer that question, Spike."

"Is it because I'm too young that it won't work, or that you just don't like me? Because I'm growing now, Rarity!"

"Spike!" she cries, distressed. "I don't know! If you were older, things might—might!—have been different, but you are young now, and I've not even considered the possibility because of that. I know that you want me, and that is fine, but I will not reciprocate your feelings. And even as you grow, I am afraid that things will not change anymore. My heart belongs to Fluttershy."

"But—"

"Please do not ask me that question again!"

I've subconsciously scooted myself away from her, shocked at how strongly she said that. But it's just not—

"Spike."

I want to say more, but Fluttershy interrupts my thoughts. She's been so quiet this entire time. But her single word commands me to meet my eyes to her melancholy ones.

"Spike," she starts again, "I know how it feels to be excluded. How it feels so unfair that because of some rules, you can't have what you want. That maybe, just maybe, if the world was a little different, your dream would have come true. You feel like you missed your chance. Some things aren't meant to be, but you're powerless to change it.

"I've been there, Spike. You might not know, but I've wanted Rarity just like you for as long as you have. Maybe even longer. But I never said anything, and I never acted on it because I thought it was impossible that Rarity could ever have eyes for a mare, or ever have eyes for somepony like me. She wasn't interested, and anything I felt was just something else that wasn't meant to be."

Once again, there aren't any words I can say to that; she explained perfectly the feelings and misgivings I have but haven't given voice to. Fluttershy is where I want to be, yet it seems she's been where I am too. She understands me so well.

"It's miserable, loving somepony whom you know can never love you back, and you couldn't have done anything different to change it. I know how much it hurts." Fluttershy moves her eyes to Rarity. "I . . . still don't entirely know why she chose me at all."

"Sweetheart," Rarity whispers, looking back. "It's because friendship knows no bounds, and even in friendship, you've—"

"Let me finish, Rarity, please. Spike doesn't need to hear that."

Fluttershy's voice is quiet but powerful. Her words are more than enough to silence even her girlfriend, and Rarity only looks on in awe. I do too, again reminded of how much strength Fluttershy has when she's not overcome by fear or timidity. And it's touching that she's still looking after me, even now.

She turns back to me and continues. "But where we can't have our dreams and desires, we always have friendship. I'm Rarity's friend first, just like I'm your friend first, and I can't stand my friends getting hurt. Just because something won't go your way doesn't mean you're not their friend anymore. I want Rarity to be happy, and I've always wanted her to be happy—whether we were marefriends or not. That's why I never told her about my feelings; I wanted her, but I knew telling her would upset her. She . . . she figured it out herself." She glances at Rarity again, still silent, and looks back. "And I want you to be happy. Isn't Rarity your friend too?"

I don't know how to answer. It's a harder question than it has to be because just moments before, I was questioning whether she really was. Rarity was worried she'd lose me as a friend, and I was worried for the same. But she did apologize for what she did. If she really didn't care, and if our entire relationship was built on her manipulations, she wouldn't have been weeping about me. There is real friendship, and she cares about me. I am her friend. And I want to forgive her.

But admitting she's also my friend means accepting what Fluttershy said friends are supposed to do: care for each other unconditionally and strive to never cause them pain and distress. Admitting Rarity is my friend again means accepting that her heart is taken, and I can't take it back. Because asking for that—dreaming for that—isn't caring at all and is causing them pain. Both of them. It's challenging Rarity to let go of Fluttershy for me. Their relationship won't be at rest, and Rarity won't be happy for as long as I won't let go. It's okay for me to have my hand on her heart; that's what Rarity said. But I can't pull.

Friendship can be so hard sometimes. I've learned all of Twilight's friendship lessons right alongside her, but this is the hardest one I've ever had to learn.

Fluttershy is looking at me with that same sad look. I'm sure she knows what I'm feeling and what I'm thinking. She understands me, and she cares because I'm her friend. She's cared for me so much today already. But she's still challenging me to put my wants aside and do the right thing instead. I know that if I say "no"—that I'm not Rarity's friend anymore and can't accept caring for her when she will never reciprocate my feelings—I won't be Fluttershy's friend anymore, either. She'll be so disappointed in me, and she'll follow where her girlfriend goes. Away. The threat of losing her is almost as dire as losing Rarity.

And Rarity . . . She's only half looking at me. She glances at me for a moment before fixing her gaze on the floor. She looks scared—scared that she might lose one of her dearest friends, like she said. I don't want to lose her either. Fluttershy was right again: This is the old Rarity, the real Rarity. The one who genuinely cares for me, even when she makes mistakes. And the one I care for . . . whether there's romance or not.

I look down at the floor too. "Yeah," I whisper. The relationship I've always wanted is well and truly lost; I can't help but start weeping for it all over again.

A great rush of warmth quickly envelops me, followed by a voice I've loved and still love now. "Oh, Spike," she says, the heaviness in her voice telling me that she's weeping too. "Thank you."

I open my arms and hug her back. Not as a boyfriend—just a friend. Her hugs are still just as good as they ever were.

I feel another rush of warmth as Fluttershy embraces me from behind with her hooves and wraps up both of us in her wings.

I know I should hate her for a lot of reasons. She's why everything is unfair. But for so many more, I don't. She came after me after I got angry because she cared for me. She understood better than anyone else how it feels to care even when it hurts. And she did exactly what she said she would: she brought our family together. It takes a special pony to do all of that . . . just like it takes a special pony to deserve someone like Rarity. Of course I don't hate her.

"Fluttershy?" I ask in a quiet, heavy voice.

"Yes?" she responds just as quietly.

I sigh, exhaling all the fantasies I hung on to for so long. I'll never have a chance—or shadow of a chance—again. Of course it's not what I wanted, but it's not what I can wish for. I care for them. They're both my friends.

And . . . they make a good pair.

I can only manage to whisper, "Just . . . be good to her."

I hear a tiny gasp as she redoubles her hug and nuzzles my cheek. "I will, Spike. I will."