Vinyl awoke to a loud pounding. She lifted her head up, the room shifting uncomfortably as she did, and began to search for the source of such a noise. A pounding in her ears had continued on after the initial pounding had stopped—but it was an altogether different noise that made Vinyl proverbially scratch her head for a moment, before a brief jolt shot through her and she sprung up.

Stumbling on over, she switched off the turntable that had been running all night long, and disengaged the arm. She flipped the record into the air to inspect it and, ensuring that it was fine, replaced it in its sleeve and set it to the side. Leaving a record spinning on the machine, even throughout the night, really wouldn’t pose a serious risk to Tavy’s record, but it wasn’t all that great for the needle of Vinyl’s turntable. How typically “Tavy,” Vinyl thought. And the second turntable in her set-up already needed its needle replaced, so this extra wear wasn’t all that welcome.

That small burst of adrenaline had served to kickstart Vinyl’s brain, though the pounding in it seemed to only amplify because of it. However, now thinking about the pounding once again, the source of the initial disturbance gradually became apparent to her, and she made her way across her apartment. Squinting her eyes, she opened the door.

“Good morning, Scratch! How are you today? Ready to go?” came an altogether more energetic greeting than Vinyl was prepared to receive. Before her stood a bright, sandy-grey pony, whose charcoal mane casually hung down, flowing around her face. She was bowtie-less, and almost too shiny to look at, with the sun streaming in from the window in the hall. Vinyl nearly averted her eyes.

“Do—do I know you?” asked Vinyl.

Octavia blinked for a moment, then broke from her brightness just long enough to give Vinyl a wry smile upon determining the reason for the remark. “I don’t wear a bowtie everyday, you know. And do you think my mane poofs naturally?” she asked, as she flicked her head, tossing her mane slightly.

“Yeah. Yeah, no, I know. You just look . . . different. Whatever.” Vinyl brought a hoof to her forehead, trying to coax some of the pounding out of it. “Anyway, what are you—wait, lunch right?”

Octavia patiently waited for Vinyl’s hangover-addled brain to catch up. “But, ya’know—lunch,” Vinyl explained. “How are you even here? It’s like . . . morning time . . .”

“Vinyl, it’s already half-past one.”

Vinyl peered out from around her hoof that had been eclipsing the sun, and saw, through the window in the hall, that Celestia did seem to be at least half done with the searing yellow orb, already. “Hmm . . . yes, that sounds plausible. Yeah, and I have to get that thing,” Vinyl recalled. “For my stuff,” she clarified. Vinyl motioned for Octavia to come inside. “Here, just give me a minute to get ready.”

Tavy trotted in while Vinyl plodded into the bathroom, the only other room separate from the rest of the apartment. “I can’t believe you’re here already—you should’ve just stayed over,” came Vinyl’s voice.

Octavia blushed and fell into a shy grin. “I thought . . . that maybe you would have forgotten last night . . .”

“What? Come on, I totally remember last night. You kissed me, I saw your gig, we were kissing, we listened to some kind of weird music, and at some point I found out you’re living in a hotel. Oh, and we totally made-out.” There was the sound of running water and splashing. Vinyl came out, wiping her face with a towel that was held in her magic’s light blue glow. “Alright, maybe I’m a little hazy on the exact sequence of events—but all the important things are there,” she said, running a hoof through her mane as she tossed the towel back in the general direction of the bathroom. “Kay, ready.”

“Vinyl, does ‘getting ready’ happen to be the same as ‘washing your face, and that’s all’?” Octavia asked.

“Um, maybe. No, wait—” Vinyl levitated up her purple glasses from the table beside the futon and put them on, covering up her reddened red eyes and blocking out the merciless sunlight. “—Kay, now I’m ready.” Vinyl turned to go out the door. Just as she was about to exit, she noticed Tavy wasn’t coming, and she looked back to her.

“So . . . you remember all of last night, then?” Octavia asked, not looking at Vinyl.

“Yeah, I said that already. I can totally handle the somewhere-between-four-and-seven drinks I had last night. That mostly all happened to be doubles. No problem.” Vinyl looked away from Tavy. “Why? Are you—were you . . . I dunno . . . expecting me to forget last night?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that!” Octavia said quickly. “I just meant—well I mean—so you’re okay with it, then?” Octavia asked. “Like does this . . . are we . . . ?” She looked up at Vinyl.

“Oh. Um, yeah? Maybe, I guess?” Vinyl glanced up, meeting Tavy’s gaze, then broke it again, looking off to the side and blushing slightly. “I dunno . . . l-let’s just go eat, or whatever. It’s just way too—morning right now.”

Octavia leaned in and kissed Vinyl on the cheek that was turned towards her. “Okay, let’s go,” Tavy said. She went to go out the door, smiling rather obviously.

Vinyl hesitated a moment before following. She was trying to fully process all of what was happening, and to file it away in the correct compartment of her brain where it could return some kind of concrete significance for her. As it stood, she had yet to do so with anything that had happened since Octavia had shown up two evenings ago.

The events of the past couple days flowed by Vinyl in a torrent, passing through and around her—but had yet to really sink in anywhere. She had half expected to wake up and for Tavy to be gone again, and for Vinyl’s everyday routine to just fall back into place, everything returning to how it had been like after Tavy had first left. But she now looked at the grey mare (who really didn’t seem that grey at all in the daylight), and she realized that a sort of something had kind of clicked.

Tavy was here. Now. Really and properly here. This fact had securely lodged itself inside of her, where it nested comfortably in a place where it gave off this simple truth. And it felt good.

As if in response to her thoughts, Tavy turned her head and smiled at Vinyl, brushing up against her slightly. Vinyl was worried for a moment that Tavy had somehow overheard her brain-noise—but reasoned this to be unlikely, as Vinyl felt the odds were pretty high she had not actually said any of it outloud.

“Where do you want to go for lunch?” Octavia asked, snapping Vinyl out of her head-space. But then Tavy’s eyes lit up and she answered her own question. “Oh! We should go to Sugarcube Corner! I definitely missed that place while I was living in Canterlot!”

Vinyl agreed, as she brought herself out of her thoughts. Octavia was here now—there was no point in worrying about how everything exactly fit together. This was good, just as it was.

They approached the bakery, and the bell above the door dingled as they went in. One of the store owners, Mrs. Cake, greeted them. Octavia barely contained her excitement as she all but skipped up to the counter to see what baked goods were awaiting consumption.

Vinyl strolled up to counter. “While we’re deciding, could I get a macchiato with two shots of espresso? But, like, with not so much foam on the top?”

Octavia managed to pull herself away from pouring over the baked goods long enough to mouth the words, “hoofster,” to Vinyl. Then she said it again out loud, in case Vinyl had missed it—it being hard to tell though Vinyl’s shades.

“Hey! It’s a more direct way of getting caffeine into the system! And the milk makes it taste better. But the foam is too . . . foamy!” Vinyl said.

Similarly unable to tell where Vinyl’s gaze was directed, Mrs. Cake responded as though Vinyl had addressed her. “Alright dear, it’s no problem, really!” She turned, a bit taken aback, to go prepare the beverage, as Octavia seemed no closer to making a decision, if her still-rapidly darting eyes were any indication.

“Hey, you made me look like a jerk!” Vinyl whisper-shouted to Octavia.

“Look like a jerk?” she quipped back, in a normal speaking voice. “Now, which one of these should I get. Ah! I can’t decide!”

At that moment, a pink pony came bounding down the stairs, perhaps intrigued by hearing a voice she didn’t immediately recognize. “Oh, hey Pinkie. How’s it going?” greeted Vinyl. Pinkie shot up into the air, caught in a windowpane-rattling gasp. “Same as always, I take it,” Vinyl said, without reaction, turning back to the baked goods.

Part way through Pinkie’s display, however, she suddenly stopped and returned to the ground, her expression switching instantly. “Hey, nevermind, I know you!” Pinkie said. “You’re Octavia! You totally used to live here.” Then her expression flipped again, just as quickly, now subjecting Octavia to an intense stare. Then she gasped again—loudly, but rather closer to the level of an average pony. “And if you were wearing a bowtie and playing a cello, I’d also recognize you from the Grand Galloping Gala!” At this, Pinkie’s face dropped into a shy sort of smile. “Oooh. I am so super sorry about how that turned out . . . oh, and the Canterlot Garden Party, too—though there was much less actual running and screaming at that one . . .”

Octavia laughed. “No, that’s alright! It made for . . . memorable performances.” She thought about it. “And I still got paid, in both cases, so, well, no worries!”

Vinyl looked between the two of them. “Yeah, I’m not even going to ask.”

They got their pastries, and Vinyl her coffee and Tavy a tea, and they went to sit a table, where Pinkie joined them. “Since you used to live in Ponyville,” said Pinkie, “I can’t really throw a ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ party—so obviously a ‘Welcome Back to Ponyville’ party is in order!”

“Pinkie Pie, thanks, but I don’t think I need—” began Octavia, but she was cut off like she had never been speaking.

“Oooh, and tomorrow night would be perfect! It’ll be a super big combo-party!” Pinkie glanced at Vinyl and Tavy, matter-of-factly. “Because a party that big will have more than enough ‘Yay!’ left over to go into even a completely different ‘Hurray!’, too, wouldn’t you think?” She didn’t give enough time for a response. “It’s just being efficient, is all!”

“Pinkie, what are you talking about?” Vinyl asked, though mostly aware of the pointlessness of her words.

“The party, silly!” Pinkie said.

“And which party do you mean, now?” asked Octavia.

“The party that’s going to be tomorrow,” Pinkie explained.

They left it at that.

Upon leaving Sugarcube Corner, they were satisfied, energized, and rather confused—a combination of feelings quite familiar to ponies who were in the habit of frequenting that particular bakery.

Walking outside, Vinyl was once again thankful for her sunglasses, as the radiant beauty of a lovely morning (well, a lovely early-afternoon) glared down upon her. She still squinted from the bombardment, though, even through her glasses. The bright cheeriness of Ponyville often was difficult to handle at this particular time of day, after a night sharing commonalities with one such as the last.

Octavia sharply mirrored their surroundings as she walked along beside Vinyl with an almost throttle-worthy skip in her step—but Tavy’s mood was rather transmittable, and a few gleaned fragments of beatitude kept Vinyl from falling into headache-ridden sourness, for now. Anyway, Vinyl would have had to come out today, Tavy or no, because of the new stylus she needed for her one turntable. She had a gig tonight, so there was no way to put it off—and it’d be a bother to try and mooch one off of another DJ before then.

They then came upon a building that stood visually apart from the others—primarily due to the large set of speakers on the front of it, tastefully blaring out a contemporary arrangement of some classical piece or another to all who would happen by.

“What is it you need here?” Octavia asked as they entered the music store. “A cable, or something like that?” She thought this to be a fair guess, going by the average number of important-looking cords that were always connecting all the various bits of Vinyl’s equipment together.

“Patch cords or mic cables, you mean? No way!” Vinyl shot her down. “I’ve got, like, twelve of those. As spares. And over half of them are mine!’ she said, proudly. There was a pause. Octavia gave her a look.

“What?” Vinyl continued, just a little defensive. “That’s a lot! Cords are like, communal property. Everypony knows that. Need-a-cord-take-a-cord. It’d be like . . . I don’t know . . . picks, for you.”

Octavia continued to look at her, but her brow had now fallen straight. “Right,” said Vinyl, “you don’t use a pick. Wrong kind of bass. Bows, then!”

“Vinyl, string players would never swap bows.”

“So, like . . . strings, maybe?” Vinyl tried.

“That doesn’t even make sense. Do you know how long it takes to restring an instrument?”

“Well, buck me sideways, I don’t know. It’s just a thing, kay?” Vinyl said, gesturing in apparent effort to somehow emphasize her point. “I’m not a thief!” She thought about this. “Well, except that one XLR cable—but that was due to extreme circumstances. I was under duress.”

They walked up to the counter. “Hey Lyra,” Vinyl said distractedly, “I’m gonna need—” but Lyra wasn’t looking at her.

“Lyra?!”

“Tavia?!”

Vinyl looked from one to the other.

“I can’t believe you’re back!” Lyra exclaimed. “It’s been such a long time!” She and Octavia embraced in loud excitement over-top of the counter.

“Yeah! It’s great being back! And it’s so good to see you again!” said Octavia, beaming. They digressed into excited chatter, catching up on what had been going on, and how their old music buddies were doing and whatnot—as Vinyl stood there, rather stunned. When exactly had those two become such good friends?

As Vinyl remembered, Lyra and Octavia had been formal acquaintances, at best. In fact, they had been quite the rivals, at times. And what about the part where Octavia had made it into the RCM and Lyra hadn’t? Vinyl was pretty sure Lyra had been more than a little bitter over that. The two now bubbled and giggled while they talked. Well, somehow, three years of being apart was just what the friend-doctor had ordered for them, it seemed. Vinyl would never understand girls.

Well, like, girly-girl things, like that. Vinyl was all girl, it was just . . . she wasn’t really all that girly, right? Because, she basically lived like a colt, going by the state of her apartment, that was pretty true. And as long as she was delving into gender-stereotypes, there was her brash, straightforward way about things. Not to mention the whiskey she could drink like it was a stiff apple cider. And the fact that she liked mares, of course. Her eyes went to rest on Octavia, who was still talking with Lyra.

But with Octavia, she realized, it was a bit different. Tavy really had swept her off her hooves, coming out of nowhere like a totally glamorous prince, like she had. Vinyl’s thoughts slipped back to last night. Closing her eyes, forelegs wrapping around her, Tavy leaning forward and taking her lips, and Vinyl just letting go of herself . . . and before Tavy had broken away, Vinyl had been tracing her hooves down the side of her, and then down her shapely . . .

“Vinyl, didn’t you come here to get some mysterious item?” Octavia said, with a half-smile, her eyebrows raised.

Vinyl snapped her gaze back up to Tavy’s face. “Yeah. That’s why we’re here. But apparently you and Lyra are mysteriously best friends, now. Like, so I wanted to give you time to catch up. Because I’m so awesome and considerate. Ya’know, like I always am.” Vinyl feared her comeback was noticeably substandard—and the fact that she had been completely blushing didn’t help her facade of altogetherness, either. Tavy was well aware of this.

“Something distracting you?” asked Octavia, still with the same half-smile. She turned her head a little to the side. “It wouldn’t happen to do with where your eyes had strayed, would it?”

Vinyl paused for a moment, then sighed dramatically. “Yep. Guilty,” she admitted. “You’re just way too sexy. It’s totally not my fault.” Octavia’s cheeks changed colour slightly, and though her grin held fast, her eyes grew slightly brighter with a glint of something else in them. Vinyl pressed on. “And your mane! What’s up with that? You should really poof it, Tavy—it’s way too hot when it’s down like that.”

“You think so?” Octavia asked, with eyes half-lidded. “Well you know, now that I look at it, your mane actually looks pretty good right now,” she said, taking a step closer to Vinyl. “Of course, I did help you style it like that . . . last night,” she added.

“Yeah? Maybe I should get you to help me with it again, sometime.” Vinyl closed the distance between them, their noses nearly touching. “But hey—how did you know I’d been checking out your flank? I’ve got my sunglasses on.”

“I just had this feeling.” Octavia’s eyes had fallen almost shut, and she spoke just above a whisper. Vinyl could feel Tavy’s breath on her lips. Vinyl’s lips had parted slightly, her breathing perceptibly quickened. “You know, Scratch, if you want to kiss me, you just have to ask.” Octavia moved passed Vinyl, her mouth brushing up against Vinyl’s ear. “Perhaps you don’t even have to do that . . .”

“Whoa! Guys!” Lyra’s eyes had grown progressively wider as things had escalated. “I remember the two of you always being a bit risque with your banter—but this? Are you two . . .” she left it hanging.

“That’s a good question,” Vinyl said. “What would you say, Tavy? Are we?”

“Are we what, Vinyl?” Octavia asked, raising an eyebrow, having moved back from Vinyl as Lyra had spoken.

“Hmm. I don’t know.” Vinyl brought a hoof to her chin. “Like, a thing, maybe?” she speculated. “Is that what we are Tavy? Are we a thing?”

Tavy looked to be considering this for a moment. “You know what? I do believe we are Vinyl.” She then moved closer to Vinyl once again, reaching up and taking off the unicorn’s glasses, their faces now inches apart.

“Alright. Good to know,” Vinyl replied softly. They were held in each other’s gaze, their lips parted and nearly touching . . .

“Kay,” said Lyra, “you guys better go ahead and just get it out of—” but Vinyl and Octavia had already started kissing.

On the whole, it was a rather long and drawn-out process—and it took several attempts before they parted and were able to remain that way. They stood for a moment longer, mouths hanging open slightly, eyes staring into one another’s.

“So . . . the thing?” Octavia said finally, her breath coming fast, putting Vinyl’s glasses back on the unicorn.

“What else about our thing?” Vinyl asked, adjusting them, also breathless.

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh! Yes. The thing.” She turned to Lyra. “Right, okay, as I was saying, I’m going to need a stylus for my turntable. You know the brand I like.”

“Yeah—I sure do,” said Lyra, who had a knowing but still a bit incredulous grin stuck on her face. But she stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing over to a far corner of the store. “Okay, come over this way, I think we’ve got one of those.”

Vinyl and Octavia followed the green unicorn through the store. As they did, Vinyl suddenly realized she herself had somehow picked up a sort of skip in her step, and was inexplicably taken over by a terribly good mood. She felt positively chipper. “What do you mean, ‘you think you’ve got one’?” She smirked at Lyra. “You’re a clop away from running this place, you know every single bucking thing the store has!”

“Hmm? Okay, that is mostly true,” Lyra admitted, considering this. “But you’d be happier to get it if you thought there might not be one, though, right?” she asked with a grin. “Anyway what the hay do you need this for? You just bought one about a week ago.”

“What kind of question is that?” said Vinyl, indignantly. “You know I go through those things fast!”

“Not every DJ does you know. Do you think maybe there’s a reason you’re going through them that quickly?” Lyra suggested.

“Yeah, maybe ‘cuz I get way more gigs than the other DJs,” Vinyl said, then raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I’m too hard on my equipment? I take great care of my stuff! Like how many times do I come in for a new pitch control unit, or something like that? That’s because of regular maintenance, you know!”

“Yes, yes,” said Lyra, waving a hoof. They approached a section on one of the walls that had an entire mess of miscellaneous-to-very-specific turntable parts and accessories. Lyra lit up her horn and pulled several boxes forward slightly, indicating a few different models of needles all made by one specific brand. “I know you take great care of your stuff. I was just trying to get you to admit you blow through them because you’re wild and crazy.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t because of that,” said Vinyl, not contesting the “wild and crazy” part. She hadn’t yet looked at the items on the shelf that Lyra had indicated, though, and instead continued on talking. “And I know how to fix all that other stuff if I needed to, anyways. You know, speaking of it, I totally replaced a buddy’s pitch control on his set-up just a little while ago. He hadn’t been cleaning it, and it gets all this dust on it—as time goes on, you know? Can fry the thing, eventually. Anyway, it’s not all that easy, replacing one of those. See, there’s a fiddly little bit of soldering you gotta mess with in order to take the—”

“Okay, I’m going to stop you right there—before the entire day slips away and I’ll have gotten nothing done,” Lyra said, bringing down one of the boxes and pushed the glowing object at Vinyl until a hoof unconsciously accepted the proffered item. “Sorry I said anything, I should’ve known better,” said Lyra, grinning.

“What’s this, now?” Octavia asked.

“Hmm?” Lyra looked at her. “Oh, Vinyl, you mean. She gets going about stuff like that, or some new little technical thing she’s found out about—and then she just doesn’t really stop,” Lyra said, ignoring an indignant exclamation from Vinyl.

“Hey, come on, it’s not that bad!”

“Yeah it is.”

“Vinyl!” Octavia began, a grin slowly spreading across her face. “I didn’t know you geeked out about stuff! . . . And frequently? For extended periods of time?”

“Wha—hey, it’s not like . . . it doesn’t really . . .” Vinyl began to blush.

“Oh, you’re speechless!” Octavia said, laughing.

“She’s still talking, though,” Lyra pointed out. Both mares took a moment to observe the spluttering unicorn.

“Well, as speechless as Vinyl is likely to ever be,” Octavia reasoned.

“Mmh. Can’t argue with that.”

Vinyl, who was still spitting out sentence fragments, then stopped. “What is it?” she asked, now catching Octavia’s gaze.

“Oh, nothing,” Octavia said, looking to the side. “It’s just—that’s really kind of cute, Vinyl.” Octavia smiled a bit.

Vinyl blushed a little deeper. “What? I’m not . . . I wouldn’t—really?”

Lyra rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Come on you two, I’ve got stuff to do today, you know.”

“Yeah, like what?” asked Vinyl, smirking once again, her brain now switching back in control of her mouth. “Oh sorry, is your chair going to get cold if we keep you away from it for too long?”

“Ha ha. Yes, Make fun of the pony who actually has a job.” Lyra said.

Vinyl now looked at the item that had ended up in her hoof. She frowned, returning it to the shelf and selected a different box. “Psh, whatever. Jobs are for squares.”

Lyra looked at Vinyl for a moment, then sighed, closing her eyes. “You know, someday you’ll have to join the real world, Vinyl Scratch.”

“I sure as hay won’t!” Vinyl said without a pause. “I’m quite happy where I am, thanks.” Vinyl turned over the package that she had grabbed in her magic aura, reading the back to be sure it was the correct one. She grinned at Lyra. “You know I don’t even believe in that thing, anyway.”

“What, the real world?” Octavia asked.

“Yep. Doesn’t exist,” Vinyl said, pulling her glasses off to toss a look at Tavy, subjecting her to a lopsided smirk with a half smile and a raised eyebrow. But Octavia caught a sort of glimmer in Vinyl’s eyes, beyond the cocky swagger, that she wasn’t sure she recognized. It was piercing—but also, maybe just a bit . . . pleading? No, Octavia realised, not pleading. It wasn’t begging for help—it was daring the world to disagree. Then it was gone. “It’s just a scary story they tell to frighten young college students,” Vinyl continued, looking back at Lyra. “It’s all in your head.” She finished with a nod and a grin.

“So, is that your motto, or something like that?” Lyra asked.

“Yes, now stop talking about it.” Vinyl turned to Tavy and dropped into a whisper, shifting her eyes conspiratorially from side-to-side. “Talking about it gives it strength.”

Octavia smiled at her for a moment. “Vinyl, I’m glad I came back. To you.” Vinyl winked at her in reply, and gave Tavy a quick kiss, then replaced her sunglasses.

“Alright,” said Lyra, “come back up to the front and pay for what you’ve got there. The sooner you do that, the sooner you can get out of my store—you sickening love-birds.”

After buying the stylus, they said farewell to Lyra, preparing to go.

“See you tomorrow night, for the party,” Lyra said, before they left. Vinyl and Octavia both stopped short and turned to look at her.

“Wait, you know about the party?” asked Vinyl.

“Well, of course.”

“My ‘welcome back’ party?” asked Octavia.

“Hmm? Oh, is that a Pinkie Pie Party? Well, yeah, that should be fun I imagine,” said Lyra, smiling at them. The two hesitated for a moment, but then left. The two of them walked out of a store for the second time that day, feeling a combination of sensations that were oddly similar to those they had felt upon leaving the first one.

Walking through the streets of Ponyville once more, Octavia turned to Vinyl. “How do you think Lyra knew about the party already?” she asked.

“Yeah, weird, right? I guess it’s a Pinkie Pie thing,” Vinyl said dismissively. She then raised an eyebrow and glanced sidelong at Octavia. “And speaking of Lyra, I thought you two didn’t get along!”

“Well,” said Octavia, thinking about it, “I suppose it’s true we’ve never really liked each other all that much—but we’re friends, and so we both just act as friends act, right?”

“You know what? I’m just gonna go ahead and pretend that makes sense.”

They came to a point where Tavy’s hotel was in one direction and Vinyl’s apartment was in another. Coming to a stop, both of them stood there for a few moments.

“So . . .” began Vinyl, but Octavia cut her off.

“Vinyl, did you mean what we were saying back there?” Octavia asked, looking straight at Vinyl.

Vinyl held her gaze for a moment, but then broke away. “What we said? When?” Though Vinyl had a fair guess, and felt a blush beginning to creep up on her.

“I mean . . .about how we’re—”

“Yes,” said Vinyl suddenly, “About if we’re a thing? I meant it. And if you did, too . . . I mean, I think that’d be great. Just, like, really. So good. We’d totally make the best thing ever.” Vinyl fiddled with her glasses and looked down, trying to hide her deepening blush. “Because, well—ya’know actually, looking back on it, I don’t know how I was even okay without you—‘cus now it’s all . . . and every time I’m around you . . . buck it all! I don’t know. Just ‘yes’. Yes, I meant it. Probably more than I usually mean things,” she added.

Vinyl felt a hoof against the side of her face, which then pulled it up and forwards, where Tavy’s lips met with hers.

It was slow, but strong—though most of all, as Vinyl felt Tavy’s mouth against hers, Vinyl didn’t feel a shred of doubt that it was anything but an overwhelming passion coming through from the other mare. Forceful, unrestrained—almost desperate. Stronger than any sort glint she’d ever seen in that pony’s eyes—and it was unmistakably directed at Vinyl.

It was then that another sort of something from the torrent of the past few days now clicked for Vinyl. And it, as well, lodged itself within her, where the feeling of it spread throughout her, permeating her, until she felt completely saturated by it. And it, most definitely, felt good.

As they broke apart, Vinyl Scratch found herself smiling in a way that was, for the unicorn, most unusual. It wasn’t a smirk, being free from irony or mockery, though neither was it cocky or exaggerated. It was just an honest-to-Celestia smile—an outward expression of the fact which sat inside of her and did nothing else besides simply making sense.

However, Octavia looked to the side, a slightly distant look in her eye. What Vinyl had felt during the kiss definitely wasn’t fake—so she had no idea what could be bothering Tavy. Vinyl’s smile fell a little, and she was about to say something, but Octavia spoke first.

“Do you want to go to The Double Double?” Octavia asked, looking up at Vinyl, not a trace of anything but brightness in her eyes once again. “If you’ve got time, of course.”

“. . . Yeah. Yeah okay,” Vinyl said, letting it go. If it was something important, it’d come up later, and they could deal with it then. She was fairly certain Tavy wasn’t going to be leaving again anytime soon—there were a few key things keeping her here, after all. And Vinyl would just have to be sure to keep on adding to that list in order to ensure it. “That sounds good. I’ve got a gig tonight, but that’s not until late, and it shouldn’t take all that long to put on the new needle before then. Seeking of which, you wanna come?”

They set off together towards the coffee shop. “To your gig?” asked Octavia.

“Yeah. It can totally be revenge for making me come to yours.”

Octavia laughed. “Yeah, okay.” A grin made its way to Tavy’s face. “Could it be that you want to hang out after?” she asked, giving Vinyl a look that left no need for guesswork in order to divine her implications.

“Was it that obvious?” asked Vinyl, leaning up against her as they walked, their cutie marks bumping up against each other’s.

“I just had this feeling,” Octavia said, and swished her tail where it brushed suggestively against Vinyl’s upper back legs. Vinyl felt a tingling shudder travel through her, and felt herself flush. She tried to remember whether it had been this hot out before they had gone into the music store or not.

As they came up on The Double Double, Tavy turned to Vinyl. “You know, I bet Arabica will will go completely crazy when she hears about us! She’s always seemed strangely invested in our relationship.”

“Luna’s sweet shiny moon, you're right.” Vinyl let out a disgruntled noise, her eyebrows falling straight. “That’s always chapped my flank more than a little bit.”

But, having said that—as they went in, without bothering whether or not there were any other customers there—Vinyl turned immediately to Arabica. “Hey, so, me and Tavy are a thing now. We make-out and stuff. Thought that’d tickle you bucking pink or something.”

Arabica squealed loudly, a few heads of ponies not so accustomed to this particular coffee shop, or the antics that it was frequented by, turned in surprise. (Those who were regulars didn’t so much as bat an eye, continuing with their conversations without missing a beat.) The proprietress beckoned Vinyl and Tavy over to come up and take a seat at the bar.

“That’s spectacular! It’s so great—I just always knew you two were perfect for eachother!” she gushed. “I can’t believe you finally—oh, was it because Octavia had just come back? And after seeing her again, feelings sprung up in you that you never knew—”

“Yes, yes, keep going,” said Scratch, waving her hoof at Arabica. “Just get it out of your system.”

“—or maybe Octavia came back because she couldn’t bare to be apart for another moment, was that it? Realizing her true feelings she threw away everything—”

“That’s the way, just let it all out.”

“—and you’re both just so cute together! You compliment each other so well! I bet Vinyl’s great in bed, isn’t she? Oh, I wonder, Vinyl, do you leave your glasses on, so Tavy can see herself reflected in them, all sweaty and—”

“Ho-okay, that’s probably enough. Time to stop now,” Vinyl said. Both she and Octavia had gone quite red, and couldn't help but glance around at the other ponies in the store. Most seemed not to have heard though—and the rest were making a pointed effort to appear as though they hadn’t, either—so they turned back to Arabica.

“I’m just so happy for you!” Arabica said.

“Yes, we’ve gathered as much,” said a slightly haggard Octavia. Then a thought occurred to Octavia, and, as it served the secondary purpose of changing the subject as well, she asked it. “Oh, say, you wouldn’t happen to know about a kind of party, of sorts, would you? One that may or may not be happening tomorrow night?”

“No, I haven’t heard about anything like that,” she said. Then the barista thought about it a moment. “Though . . . that would actually explain a fair bit. Now that I think about it, all day customers have been talking about something going on tomorrow, and that would tie all that together nicely.”

Octavia’s eyes went wide in disbelief for a moment, then she whipped around, putting out a general question to the floor. “Do all of you know about the party tomorrow night?” The ponies in the cafe looked up, for the most part, exchanging glances with each other, nodding or otherwise indicating the affirmative. They all were looking at Tavy as if she had sprouted hands.

“Well, there you have it,” said Arabica. “You know, I had been wondering what they had all been talking about. You’ve solved a bit of a mystery for me!”

“If it was such a mystery,” Vinyl said, “why didn’t you just ask somepony who’d been talking about it?”

“Oh, a barista shouldn’t overstep her boundaries! Wouldn’t want to seem like I was prying into the personal life of my customers,” she said with an indignant look, as if such a thing would be absolutely unthinkable. Vinyl and Tavy shared a glance. Vinyl opened her mouth, bringing up her hoof as if about to say something, but let it drop back down, just shaking her head.