Sunset Shimmer looks upon her work: a pyramid of stacked, Styrofoam dipping sauce cups, soaring to chin height, the fruit of three hours' labor. Elegance befitting a pharaoh. She deems it good, and gives silent thanks to Super Sushi for financing her newfound passion for architecture.

Now, what worldly goods should Sunsetkhamen bury herself with? The year of my life I've sunk into this sushi cart that I'll never get back? Nah, maybe something more tangible. Like a cat!

She holds in her fingertips, sticky with sauce, the cup that will become the tomb's tip. Leaning forward, she positions it over the pyramid, and slowly lowers it into place.

Gently... gently...

"You look super bored."

Sunset's fingertips squeeze reflexively, popping the lid from the cup. Her left hand shoots out and catches the cup before it can strike one of the other precariously balanced cups, knock over the structure, and cause a spillage emergency that takes approximately as long to clean as the pyramid did to make.

Phew.

She hears gentle clapping, straightens, and peers over the counter at a grinning Sweetie Belle. From the enthusiasm she's putting into it, Sunset suspects a complete lack of irony in the gesture. Her spirits lift, and her lips curl into a smile. "Irasshaimase?"

Sweetie Belle laughs – with her, Sunset trusts. It's then that she notices just how heavily Sweetie's applied her make-up. Her face is sickly pale, even considering her usual pallor, though her cheeks are a vivid scarlet and her lips burgundy.

Sunset's about to say something when she loses her grip on the sauce cup.

"Son of a—"

She flails to grab the cup, misses, and the cup drops to the counter, spilling its contents all over the grimy surface. Sauce pools around the Tomb of Sunsetkhamen's Wasted Time.

Sunset, blushing, looks again at Sweetie Belle. "You forget you saw this."

Grinning wider, Sweetie says, "My lips are sealed."

The word "lips" drips with significance. Sunset glances at Sweetie again, and inwardly cringes. She’s seen that shade of lipstick on Rarity before – Cheerilee wears it, too. On Cheerilee, it looks professional and classy; on Rarity, it accentuates her firm, full lips. On Sweetie, it's a haphazard splash of color.

"You're staring at me awfully hard." Sweetie runs her hand through her hair, giving it a toss – a Rarity-esque move that looks awkward coming from her. "Notice anything different?"

It's impossible not to, Sunset thinks, eying the layers of foundation and blush, the caked-on mascara, and the garish lipstick. She snaps her fingers in a feigned eureka moment.

"It's the make-up, right?"

Sweetie beams. "Yeah! I'm experimenting this summer. Does it look good? Be honest." The request ends with a nervous little giggle.

Sunset sucks a breath through her teeth. "Well, it's..."

Sweetie seems to read meaning into Sunset's hesitation, deflating. "You hate it."

"No! No, not at all. Just, um..." Sunset fumbles for purchase. "That lipstick's Rarity's right?"

"She said I could borrow it," Sweetie blurts.

Sunset would find that suspect even if Sweetie didn't say it too quickly – Rarity would know better than to lend her sister make-up that suited her so poorly. "Maybe you should use a different shade than that. Try asking her for help when she gets back from her Bridleway thing."

Sweetie links her hands behind her back, fidgeting. "And the rest?"

"It's..." Sunset fails to blink for several seconds – her mind is too busy trying to come up with something even vaguely complimentary. "Not bad, but a bit much for a casual trip to the mall."

Perhaps to compensate for Sunset's failure to blink, Sweetie Belle flutters her overdone eyelashes. "Maybe I'm trying to get someone's attention."

"Well, you've certainly accomplished that much, Sweetie." Sunset grabs a rag to wipe up the mess. "You didn't just drop by for feedback though. What brings you out here?"

"Allowance. And an empty stomach. And too much free time." Sweetie reaches into her purse and produces a few crinkled dollars and way too many coins. "Plus, I haven't actually been here before. This is my first time seeing you in a yutaka. You look good."

"Is that what you call this get-up?" Sunset looks down at her work attire, lifts the hem of her top with her least sauce-sticky hand, and lets it fall. "I've been calling it a kimono in my head for the last year."

"Nope. Yutaka." Sweetie shrugs. "I think."

"Learned something new. Lookit that." Sunset sets to work on the spilled sauce, wiping in wide circles. "Lemme get your order while I mop this up. What're you having?"

Sweetie grins again. "Takoyaki, onnagashemas!"

Sunset chuckles. "See, this one, I've got over you – it's 'onegaishimasu.' Not that I'm an expert in the language, or anything; it's just a bit of lingo they make us memorize here. That, and irasshai..."

She trails off, and looks skeptically at Sweetie.

"...You want takoyaki?"

"Internet says you're the only place in town that makes it."

"'Makes' is too generous. It comes prepackaged and frozen." Sunset raises an eyebrow. "Have you had takoyaki before?"

"Nah. But, like I said, I'm experimenting this summer. Or... experimenting with experimenting. Experimentally experimenting?" Sweetie sticks her tongue out. "Bleh. That sounds dumb."

"Nah, I know what you mean. Far be it for me to stand in the way of self-discovery. Just gonna warn you, though. Set your expectations low."

Sunset tosses her soiled rag into a nearby sink. She scrubs as much stickiness off her hands as she can, reaches into the freezer, and plucks out six frost-encrusted balls of octopus. She glances at Sweetie. "No turning back now."

Sweetie clicks her heels together, standing straight, her face resolute.

Sunset snorts. She tosses the takoyaki into the microwave, punches in a memorized combination, and steps away. The machine nukes Sweetie's food as Sunset puts her payment in the till. Then she places her elbows on the counter and rests her cheek on her palm.

"You remember last Christmas, when Rarity was in the ER? It's 'cuz she ate our takoyaki." Sunset smirks. "She took one bite and checked herself in."

"Is that supposed to scare me off?" Sweetie plants her hands on her hips and leans forward. "There wasn't even anything wrong with her. She wasn't sick; she's just a drama llama."

"Just 'cuz it didn't kill her doesn't mean it isn't bad." Sunset drums her fingers against her cheek. "How're you holding up, Sweetie? You still doing that summer theater program, right?"

"Yeah. We're doing a kabuki show right now. My idea – we had a bunch of 'em, took a vote..."

"So you've got a Japanese theme in your life right now, do ya?" Sunset gestures at the menu of 'Japanese' cuisine. "You must be in heaven."

Sweetie looks away, rubbing one of her arms awkwardly. "More like purgatory," she mutters.

Sunset frowns. "Well, you can't not explain what that means."

Sweetie's already reddened cheeks get just a bit redder. Or maybe that's Sunset's imagination. "I don't wanna complain."

"Why not? You're Rarity's sister; it's in your blood."

That gets a giggle out of her. "I don't wanna, because it's not bad – it can be a lot of fun, actually. Just, it's the kind of thing I wish I could share with my friends. But Apple Bloom's on the road with her family..."

"...And Rainbow Dash dragged Scootaloo on her road trip, too."

"'Dragged' isn't right at all. Like she'd ever pass up a chance to hold Rainbow's jock." Sweetie Belle huffs. "This isn't the kind of summer I thought I'd be having."

"Me neither." A pang strikes in Sunset's chest. "It sucks being alone."

"You're not, though. Not like I am. Are you?" Sweetie's voice cracks, turning her question into a girlish squeak. "Did something happen between you and... you and your girlfriend?"

She's dancing around Cheerilee's name. CHS students and alum tend to with Sunset whenever the subject comes up. Sunset takes it as a slight, normally, but she's inclined to cut Sweetie Belle some slack.

"No, we're fine," Sunset amends. "We're just busy. She's got work, and I've got, uh, work. But tomorrow's our anniversary, so we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Sweetie's silent for a moment. "That's good," she says, quietly.

The microwave's chirping interrupts the turn the conversation has taken. "Order up," Sunset says, winking at Sweetie.

The takoyaki smells deceptively good as Sunset pulls it from the microwave. She drops the food onto a paper plate and squeezes a zig-zag of sweet, brown sauce over it. Sweetie doesn't say anything – Sunset suspects she still feels awkward after bringing up Cheerilee.

"Just remember, I tried to warn you." Sunset slides the plate to Sweetie. The younger girl's gaze is downcast, her face pensive. "You gonna be okay at school?"

Sweetie half-smiles and shrugs. "I guess. Thanks for the food – it smells yummy."

"So do scented candles. You're still not supposed to eat them." She bites her lip. "Hey, before you go."

Sunset reaches into the freezer again, and fishes around for a few hard lumps of mochi ice cream. She pulls a paper cup from under the counter and drops the mochi in, digging a tiny plastic spoon into the pile. "On the house."

"Seriously?" Sweetie's eyes widen. She shifts the takoyaki to her left hand, and accepts the dessert with her right. "Is this gonna come out of your paycheck?"

"Totally! But that's my problem, not yours."

Sweetie eyes the ice cream guiltily. "Sunset..."

"Oh, c'mon, take it. This is the only frozen thing we serve that I can guarantee doesn't taste like ass. Besides, we're practically family; it'd be irresponsible not to give you free food."

"Uh... right. Thanks, Sunset." Sweetie pivots to leave, only to hesitate, and linger. She glances down at her free ice cream, and squeezes her eyes shut for a second.

"You know... Rarity's gonna be gone all summer, so maybe you could help with my make-up instead? I mean, you're prettier than she is, anyway."

Sunset laughs nervously at the compliment. She writes off her unease – she gets weird remarks from customers all the time. Her mind's probably just in defense mode.

"Thanks, but Rarity would probably take it personally. You know how she is – she'd see it as 'depriving her of a chance to bond with her little sister.' Or something. She'd probably say 'darling' at least once, too."

"...Oh. Okay." Sweetie's shoulders sag, but she smiles back anyway. "Thanks for the food, Sunset."

"Anytime, kid!"

Sunset swears she sees Sweetie Belle shudder.

Cheerilee has done her best to make her one bedroom apartment clean and comfortable. It's one reason why Sunset prefers to be there, and not at home in her loft. Junk has a way of piling up in the corners of Sunset's place, and old paperwork lines the floorboards like cheap shag carpeting. But Cheerilee's place is tidy, and intimate, and feels more like home than anywhere else that Sunset's been.

Still, Sunset's been around Cheerilee long enough to know that her home isn't free of clutter. She merely shoves hers into closets and drawers instead of leaving it in the open. She doesn't criticize, though – that's necessary to accommodate the belongings that Sunset habitually leaves over. Clothes, toothbrush, a riding crop. Bare essentials, naturally.

When Sunset lets herself in that evening, she's greeted by a familiar sight. Cheerilee, seated on her sofa, hunched over her coffee table, with two stacks of papers in front of her. Naturally, one is considerably taller than the other. A worn leather purse rests beside her on the couch, the tip of a purple pen dangles from her lips, and her favorite piano melody tinkles through the air.

The sound of the door makes Cheerilee looks up. She spots the bag hanging from Sunset's arm, and smiles tiredly. "Oh... I thought you were working tonight."

"Got off early; decided to surprise you." Sunset pecks Cheerilee on the cheek. "I knew you needed me. You always forget to eat when you grade."

She finds a spot on the coffee table that isn't piled with essays and sets the bag down. Cheerilee pulls the contents from the bag, retrieving a bento box with a plastic lid.

"There's wood chopsticks in there, too," says Sunset. She taps the lacquered ones holding up her hairdo. "I thought about giving you these, but I figured you'd want a fresh set."

"Is this from Super Sushi?" Cheerilee's smiling, but her words are clipped, her voice strained.

"It's not their prepackaged crap, don't worry. I made it fresh! Used my own ingredients and everything. 'Course, I made it on company equipment, but I doubt that's enough to kill ya." Sunset watches Cheerilee with anticipation. "I figured you were tired of salami and mozzarella. Hope you're not sick of Japanese, too."

It's a frequent enough dinner for them that Sunset wouldn't be surprised.

Cheerilee takes the chopsticks in hand and undoes the lid. The food inside is sparse, but it looks, smells, and hopefully tastes delicious: sushi rice cooked with vinegar, pickled veggies, and a pork cutlet with egg. It's an assortment of Cheerilee's favorites.

Yet Cheerilee doesn't dig in.

Sunset slumps. "You are sick of Japanese, aren't you?"

Cheerilee shakes her head. "I just haven't had an appetite today. I'll eat it tonight, I promise."

Sunset bites the inside of her cheek. She secures the lid on the box, and lifts it. "I'll put it in the fridge, then. You can eat it whenever."

With her back to Cheerilee, Sunset lets her mask slip, mouthing words of frustration as she moves into the kitchen. She contemplates saying something out loud...

...I shouldn't guilt her into eating it.

"How was work?" Cheerilee calls. "You make anything fun today?"

"A pyramid. Didn't get to finish. Spillage emergency." Sunset finds the fridge more than empty enough to accommodate the bento: there's some milk, condiments, a half-empty bottle of wine, and not much else. That's not abnormal for Cheerilee, but she's gotten better at keeping food in the house since she and Sunset got together.

We might wanna go shopping soon.

"Don't spills come out of your paycheck?" Cheerilee's voice is distant, distracted.

"Seventy-eight cents down the drain. I'm really gonna feel that one." Sunset pulls the lacquered chopsticks from her hair and lets her tresses fall naturally before rejoining Cheerilee. "What about you? Anything interesting happen?"

"It's summer school. So, as a rule, no." Cheerilee scribbles something in flowing cursive on the paper in front of her, places it onto the smaller of her two stacks, and pulls a fresh one from the larger stack.

She hasn't looked up from her work in a while – and she hasn't looked Sunset in the eye yet. Sunset bites down on her thumb.

"Cheers, what's up?"

Cheerilee puts pen to paper, pauses, then scribbles a quick check mark. "Nothing. Sorry, I'm not trying to ignore you. I really wasn't expecting you tonight."

"Nobody expects the Sunset Inquisition," Sunset says weakly. "Don't worry, I wasn't planning to stay the night. I'll get out of your hair in a few."

"Mm." Cheerilee skims the paper in silence. Then she sets her pen down and looks up, smiling. "It's not that I'm unhappy to see you... or ungrateful for the food. But I'm trying to get all my grading out of the way now so that you can have my undivided attention tomorrow night."

Sunset's not sure she believes her – she's gotten used to deflection from her girlfriend. But she grins at Cheerilee's implication. "So we're still on for dinner?"

"Are you kidding me? I've wanted a romantic meal at La Bouche de Cheval since I was a starry-eyed grad student. I'm still amazed you could get reservations." Cheerilee picks up her pen and jabs it at Sunset. "How can someone who gives away so much free food – and spills so much dipping sauce – at a job that pays just over minimum, even afford their menu?"

"Super Sushi is a front for an illegal fugu trafficking business run by the Dazzlings. Adagio kicks five percent of their profits my way to keep me quiet." Sunset holds a finger to her lips. "Don't tell anyone, or I'll be disemboweled."

Cheerilee smirks. "I always thought there was something fishy about that place."

"Yeah, well, it pays my rent." Sunset rests her elbows on the counter, and her chin upon her palms. "Not that I really need to pay rent, given how often I sleep here. I haven't even cleaned my place in, like, a month."

Cheerilee flips her paper over, and scans her eyes across the page. "Perhaps I'll have to sneak over one of these nights and dust the place for you."

"I appreciate the offer, but nah. Dusting, I can do myself. 'Course, by now, I'll probably need a couple dozen cans of compressed air just to get it all off." Sunset snaps her fingers. "I'll swing by Twilight's lab – she's got a whole closet full of Dust-Off."

"I didn't know Twilight was back from her hike."

"She's not. She and Timber won't be home for at least another two weeks." Sunset reaches into her purse and fingers her keyring. "I got my own key, though. She won't mind me slipping inside."

Cheerilee looks up, startled. "Twilight gave you a key? To her house?"

"Well, her workshop. But it opens everything else. The house, the poolhouse, the doghouse..."

Cheerilee's eyebrow arches.

Sunset shifts awkwardly. "What, you can give me a key, but Twilight can't?"

"You're not sleeping with Twilight," Cheerilee says, narrowing her eyes.

Sunset folds her arms and smirks. "Not as far as you know."

Cheerilee's lips draw into a thin line. She sniffs primly, and returns to her work.

Sunset's heart skips – she lowers her arms to her sides. "Babe, it was a joke."

"Sure." Cheerilee's pen slashes across the bottom of her paper; she discards it in the smaller pile, and pulls a new one from the larger. "And it was hilarious."

Sunset sucks her teeth. She steps out from behind the counter, and stands in front of the coffee table. Cheerilee doesn't look up from her work.

"That was insensitive of me." Sunset waits, but no response comes. "I'm sorry."

Cheerilee scribbles a note in the margin of the paper, the motion of her pen slowly tapering off. She finally sets it down and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Forget it. I'm... a little out of it, I suppose."

Sunset crosses the table and sits on the couch's armrest. "Cheers, you've been acting funny all night. Spill."

She reaches out, and rubs Cheerilee's back tenderly. It takes a moment for Cheerilee to lean into the touch.

"I wasn't sure if I should say anything. I guess I don't really have a choice anymore." Cheerilee scoots to the side on the couch, making enough room for Sunset to slide in beside her. "I wasn't entirely truthful before. Something did happen at work today. Something unusual."

Sunset takes Cheerilee's hand, nodding for her to continue.

"...I found an envelope in my purse."

Sunset's eyes widen in momentary surprise. Then a sly grin crosses her face. "Wish I'd had the guts to slip you a love letter back in the day. What do you think? Should I be worried?"

"You don't understand." Cheerilee reaches into her purse, withdraws the envelope, and places it on Sunset's lap, face-down. Sunset flips it over – a label, typed and printed, is pasted to the front.

Sunset's lips form words she can't give voice to.

"You see, if it were addressed to me... I mean, I feel like I know how to handle something like that. But this?" Cheerilee shakes her head. "Part of me just wanted to get rid of it, pretend it wasn't even there. If I shredded it, or burned it, who would know, right?"

"You'd do that without telling me?"

"Thought about it." Cheerilee squeezes Sunset's thigh. "Better angels prevailed over me, I guess."

Sunset's hand finds hers, and she holds it, contemplating silently.

There's always been a certain level of awkwardness about parading their relationship in public. Cheerilee's always played it off – "it's only weird if we make it weird" – but Sunset knows how self-conscious she is. Nothing would make Cheerilee more uncomfortable than being used as a middleman for an anonymous letter to her girlfriend – her former student – by another student, at work. Having their relationship thrown in her face so casually... Sunset wouldn't have blamed Cheerilee for destroying the letter.

And now that the wheels in her head are turning, drawing connections between points that Sunset would never have thought of as connected, a part of Sunset wishes she had.

Because Cheerilee wasn't the only one who had something unusual happen at work.

"Rarity's gonna be gone all summer... so maybe you could help with my make-up instead? I mean, you're prettier than she is, anyway."

Sunset's throat is dry, and her voice raspier than normal. "Do you know who gave this to you?"

Cheerilee's hand leaves Sunset's. "I don't even know if it was one of my kids who did it – I left my purse unattended while I used the bathroom this afternoon. Anyone could have done it while I was gone."

Sunset runs her finger along the intact seal, and shakes the envelope, once – the contents feel light. If it's a love letter, it isn't particularly long. "Why didn't you open it?"

"I didn't even want to acknowledge it was there, Sunset, much less read it." She laughs joylessly. "Which the administration is going to do, anyway, when they get their hands on it."

"You're just gonna hand it over to them?" Sunset says. "Ten minutes ago, you were willing to pretend it never happened."

"Ten minutes ago, I was the only one who knew it existed – besides the author, naturally. Now that you know, it's harder for me to justify ignoring it."

"Doesn't mean you gotta give it to Celestia and Luna, either." Sunset twirls the envelope between her fingers before setting it aside. "Lemme open it first."

Cheerilee piques an eyebrow. "What."

"It's my mail, isn't it?" Sunset runs her finger beneath the label "Look, it's even got my name on it."

"It was in my purse!" Cheerilee snatches the envelope from Sunset. "This isn't a joke, Sunset!"

"Not saying it is," Sunset says placatingly, holding her hands up in surrender. "But, look, we don't even know what's in here, right? It could be nothing – could be a prank, or a gift—"

"Or a love letter. Or a threat." Cheerilee's eyes narrow. "It's some kind of statement, at least, if I'm being used to deliver it to you, and I doubt the sentiment is positive."

Sunset drops her hands to her thighs. "Okay, yeah, granted. Maybe it's on the up-and-up, and maybe it's not. Only way to find out is to open it, right? And if you don't wanna, then—"

"The administration can, and will."

"Babe. Think about it." Sunset leans forward, inching a hand toward Cheerilee; it gradually comes to rest on her shoulder. "That's gonna mean mixing me up with them, too. You really want that?"

Cheerilee's lips purse. She shakes Sunset's hand from her shoulder, crosses her arms, and looks away. "I'm sure you didn't mean for that to be as manipulative as it sounded."

"I'm thinking of you, here, babe. I'm sorry if I sounded selfish." Sunset sighs. "I'm not saying we don't pass it off to Luna and Celestia, but that doesn't have to be option number one. Gimme a chance to read it. We'll figure out what to do after that."

Cheerilee turns to shoot Sunset a look. "You're taking an awfully personal interest in this."

"It's the first bit of mail I've gotten in weeks that hasn't been junk. Or a bill. Although, who knows, maybe it actually is, and the collection agencies are trying to be cute."

"Still making jokes, I see."

Sunset frowns, then reaches for Cheerilee's shoulder again – she's relieved when Cheerilee doesn't pull away.

"I'm serious now: If someone's trying to intimidate you, then I want the chance to talk with them personally. You turn this in, and we pass up that chance." Sunset squeezes. "And I wanna make it clear to whoever sent this that nobody messes with my girl."

She means it comfortingly, encouragingly. All it gets from Cheerilee is a snort, and an eyeroll. But she passes the envelope back, dropping it onto Sunset's lap.

"This is conditional," Cheerilee says evenly. "You read it at your place. I don't want it here – I'm going to be grading all night, and the more I know about that... thing... the less focused I'll be. You tell me what it says tomorrow. Face to face. And if it's something we need to report, then we report it. Deal?"

Sunset looks down at the envelope again. Balances it, weighs it, in her palm. It somehow feels heavier.

"Deal."

Cheerilee takes a moment to respond. "Thank you."

"No problem." Sunset tucks the envelope down the front of her work outfit, and rises from the couch. "I'll take off. Let'cha finish up your grading. We have a big night tomorrow, after all. Don't we?"

The light in Cheerilee's eyes is a bit dimmer, and her smile, though warm and loving, doesn't quite reach them. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Sunset, darling, I can't stress enough how gratifying it is to hear you!" Rarity trills delightedly. "How long has it been – weeks? Months? Years?"

Sunset finishes tugging on her pajama pants and drops her butt onto her bed. "You called three days ago, Rarity."

"But it feels so much longer than that. The sheer distance between us magnifies the time; every second feels an eternity. Woe be unto the lonely fashionista, who, without her most grossly incandescent of friends, toils alone in the glitz and glamor of Manehattan."

"Are you on a fainting couch right now?"

"...Perhaps."

Her friend's theatrics force a smile onto Sunset's face. She almost forgets why she's called; a glance down at the envelope reminds her. "Bridleway's treating you well?"

"And then some, Sunset. I admit I had doubts about costuming for a musical, but Vignette has been nothing but welcoming, and the whole experience has been unforgettable! And the show – you've never seen such a spectacle in your life!"

"I think you and I have seen more spectacular sights in our time, Rarity."

"So jaded. I suppose you have to see it to appreciate it, though. Oh, how I wish you and the girls were here..."

Sunset shifts the phone to her other hand. "You and me both."

"They're all still gone, then?"

"Yeah. Pinkie's still off with the Apples, Twilight and Timber are still hiking, Fluttershy's doing that thing at the wildlife park..."

"...And Rainbow Dash is being feted by a dozen universities across the state. Yes, I've seen her feed." There's a pause on the other end. "How are things with you and your beau? You're both looking forward to tomorrow's festivities?"

"We are. Things're..." A heartbeat skips by. "They're good. I actually called about that – I wanted to thank you again for hooking us up with that reservation."

"No thanks are necessary. The owner owed me a favor that I'm unlikely to cash in myself anytime soon. Someone should benefit from it. That someone is you." She titters. "And Miss Cheerilee, as well."

Sunset's smile deepens. "Still. Fancy dinner at a place like La Bouche. It's quite a sacrifice."

"Not at all, dear. I'm on the cusp of fame and fortune as the world's premier fashionista, poised to take Manehattan! There are plenty of fancy dinners in my future – in both our futures, needless to say."

Sunset's eyes are unaccountably blurry. She wipes them with the back of her free hand. "I miss you, Rarity."

"And I, you." There's a sniffle on the other end of the phone. "I'm afraid I've little time to talk – my input is needed on a terribly under-sequined chorus outfit. Has anything else come up of late? Oh – are you still keeping up with krav mare-ga?"

"I am kicking ass at krav mare-ga. Literally. I should register my legs as lethal weapons. It's not the same without you, though."

"So few things are, dear. We'll spar when I return, fret not."

"Looking forward to it." Sunset hesitates before continuing. "Hey, uh, before you go... your sister stopped by my work today."

Rarity squeals. "Sweetie Belle! How did she seem to you?"

"A little off, actually." Fishing for information this way feels dishonest. Rarity deserves better than half-truths and misdirection. "I don't know if she's firing on all cylinders. Know what I mean?"

"All too well, I'm afraid. That stands to reason, given what she's going through."

Sunset frowns. "You mean in that theater program?"

"Nnnnot as such... perhaps by extension, but..." Rarity draws a hissing breath. "Oh dear. I really shouldn't be saying too much about this..."

"Too much about what?" A weight settles on Sunset's chest. "What's up with Sweetie?"

"...Well. No harm telling you, I suppose." Rarity's voice drops to a whisper – as if anyone could possibly be listening in. "I'm fairly certain Cupid's gone and shot my sister through the heart."

"She's got a crush, huh?" The weight thickens. "Why do you think that?"

"She's been blowing up my phone lately with questions all themed around romance. 'When is a good time to kiss someone on a date?' 'Will you proofread my explicitly romantic haiku?' 'Can I borrow your lipstick?' The last one's not inherently romantic, granted, but in context with the others—"

"Lipstick?"

"You know that shade of burgundy I wore to Twilight's soiree last Christmas? Sweetie wanted to borrow it – wouldn't say why. I, of course, told her no."

Sunset's head begins to throb. "Huh. Fancy that."

"Indeed. Not that I'm opposed to sharing my make-up with my sister, but that shade was not meant for someone with her complexion." Rarity pauses, and continues, sounding guilty. "You know, now that we're on the subject... there's something I should probably apologize for."

"What's that?"

"I... may have told Sweetie about your plans tomorrow evening."

Fingers digging into the mattress, Sunset barely resists the urge to scream into a pillow. "How could that possibly have come up?"

"Sweetie asked me if I knew any good dating ideas, and I mentioned that nobody would ever turn down dinner at an upscale restaurant. She asked if the owner of La Bouche still owed me that favor, and I told her that I'd already cashed it in—"

"For me and Cheerilee." Sunset's hand travels to her mouth so she can bite down on her knuckle.

"You're upset with me."

Sunset's teeth clench briefly against her skin. "No, I'm not."

"You're certain? I know it wasn't my place to blab about your plans."

It isn't her place to blab about Sweetie Belle's crush, either. All things considered, Sunset can't hold it against Rarity – she was just following her nature. "There's no harm in telling her."

"As I thought. At the time." Something on Rarity's end shifts; she goes silent for a second. "Sunset, I have to go. I'm sorry to cut this short—"

"It's okay. They need you over there." Sunset sighs. Despite present circumstances, it's good to hear Rarity's voice. She hates cutting it short. "We'll talk again soon, okay?"

"I'll hold you to that, darling." Rarity mwahs into the phone. "Nighty-night, Sunset Shimmer."

"Night, Rarity."

The phone goes silent. Sunset drops the phone on the bed and lifts the envelope. Her eyes drift over the label on the front, again and again. She'd hoped to eliminate Sweetie as a possibility before opening the letter, and called Rarity out of a sense of denial. If anything, she feels worse now.

"It might still be a coincidence," she murmurs. "Only one way to find out."

Sunset rips open the seal, reaches inside, and draws out a folded note. She unwraps it – it's typed on plain paper. A reasonable precaution.

"It's a haiku. And it's explicitly romantic. And it uses the word 'sakura.' And it sucks. Well, son of a bitch." Sunset groans and flops backward onto her bed. "I gotta break Sweetie Belle's heart on my anniversary."

Out loud, it sounds callous. Sunset regrets giving voice to the thought. Am I really that self-centered? She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.

A flurry of dust tickles her nose. She sneezes.

I really need to clean up in here.

Morning air kisses Sunset's bare skin as she spreads fresh cream onto a still-steaming crepe. She hums a tune, ignoring the cold, and spoons sliced berries from a serving bowl onto the crepe. With practiced ease, she folds it, sets it alongside two others on a plate, and wipes her hands off on her apron, yawning.

She's never gotten up to make breakfast this early. She doesn't intend to make a habit out of doing so, either. But today is a special occasion, and Cheerilee deserves a special breakfast. Especially since she's grading, and therefore less likely to feed herself – though Sunset's relieved to find the bento box hand-washed and drying in the dish rack.

And especially after the way things went last night.

She's putting the finishing touches on Cheerilee's breakfast – spraying a spiral of whipped cream on top of the three crepes – when Cheerilee emerges from her bedroom. Sunset smirks – she timed it perfectly.

"Sunny?" she says thickly. "Izzat you in the..." Her voice trails off, the sound of her footsteps stilling.

"Morning, babe," Sunset calls from the kitchen, craning her neck around. "I wanted to surprise you this morning, so I let myself in."

Cheerilee's hair, normally a meticulously brushed curtain, is a rat's nest. She's wearing a moth-eaten T-shirt with a cartoon cat on the front and ripped, baggy sweat pants that she's owned since college.

To Sunset, she's a vision of beauty.

She gets a similar reaction from Cheerilee. Her gaze travels from Sunset's face to her rear, her blush intensifying alongside Sunset’s feeling of triumph. After a year together, she still gets reactions like this from her girlfriend. All she has to do is show a little skin.

Or all of it, as it were.

Sunset cocks her hip and plants a hand on it, fluttering her lashes. "My eyes are up here, babe."

Cheerilee glances back up and coughs once. "Heh, um... what's this, now?"

"Part of the anniversary festivities." Sunset balances the plates on her palms and turns to Cheerilee. Her apron swooshes with the motion. "Naked breakfast."

Cheerilee raises an eyebrow. "'Naked... breakfast?'"

"Yeah." Sunset crosses to the bar counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, and sets both plates down. "You know. Like breakfast. Except—"

"Naked?"

"I was going to say 'clothing optional.'"

"Then why not call it 'clothing optional breakfast?'"

"Doesn't roll off the tongue nearly as well." Sunset drums her fingers on the kitchen counter. "I'm gonna get self-conscious if you don't get into the spirit of things."

"This is extortion, you know," Cheerilee scoffs. Still, with a look that hovers between exasperation and amusement, with a dash of arousal, Cheerilee strips off her shirt in one clean motion. She flings it away and dips her head at Sunset, brow furrowed.

"That's more like it." Sunset ogles shamelessly as Cheerilee swaggers toward a bar stool in front of the kitchen counter. "Of course, you're only halfway in the spirit of things."

"You're wearing an apron," Cheerilee points out.

"I'm trying not to get hot crepe batter all over my supple, vulnerable flesh." Sunset slides a plate of crepes toward Cheerilee. "What's your excuse?"

Cheerilee looks down at the crepes. Her tongue darts out across her lips. She glances up at Sunset, her eyes half-lidded and smokey.

Sunset's heart thuds in her chest. Without another word passing between them, she leans forward. Cheerilee meets her halfway.

They kiss, and break away – for only a moment, before Sunset kisses her again, harder. Cheerilee moans, opens her mouth, runs her tongue against Sunset's, weaves her hand into Sunset's hair...

Sunset's relieved. Kissing Cheerilee, first thing in the morning, was a calculated risk. Fortunately, her breath is minty fresh.

They break apart and rest their foreheads against one another.

"Are we okay?" Sunset whispers.

"I was never mad at you, Sunset. I think it's psychologically impossible for me to be, in fact." Cheerilee's fingers tighten their grip on the back of Sunset's head. "So, yes. We are okay."

Sunset breaks away, and kisses Cheerilee's forehead. "In that case, bon appetit. Better appreciate this – it's the one thing I'll cook today that I'll willingly take credit for."

Cheerilee laughs, and accepts silverware and napkin from Sunset when they're offered. Sunset pulls a plate toward herself and, standing, tucks into her own breakfast.

They eat in silence, the meal underscored by clinking silverware. Sunset relishes the moment as long as she can. Breakfast for two, with the woman she loves, on the anniversary of their relationship, is as close to perfection as she can possibly get.

"Dear," Cheerilee says, halfway through her meal. "Have you noticed how many of our interactions involve you feeding me?"

Sunset slices off a hunk of crepe, and spears it on her fork. "It's completely intentional."

"Because I don't eat when I grade?"

"No, I'm just unoriginal. I ran out of date ideas in March. Now I just chuck food at you and hope you don't get sick of it." Sunset nibbles her crepe. "You're not, are you?"

"You're safe." Cheerilee bites into a slice of strawberry and hums delightedly. "These are delicious, Sunset."

"Glad you're happy with 'em. I picked the recipe up from Pinkie Pie a while ago; I've been waiting for a chance to try them. Never have the ingredients at home, though. Knew I wouldn't here either, so I grabbed stuff on my way home last night."

"Is that a commentary on the state of my refrigerator?"

"No. But also yes." Sunset points her fork at the fridge. "That thing is empty, Cheers."

Cheerilee pouts. "You know I've been busy."

Sunset smiles around a mouthful of berries and cream, which she quickly swallows. "Well, now you've got some stuff to live off of. Flour, sugar, milk – and I didn't use the full carton of eggs. Consider it an anniversary present."

"You truly know the way to a girl's heart, Sunset." Cheerilee polishes off her second crepe, and digs her fork into her third. She pauses, disquiet flickering across her face. "Sunset, this is lovely, make no mistake. And I hate to cast a shadow on today, but..."

Sunset slides her plate aside, and folds her arm on the table. Cheerilee doesn't finish her sentence – she doesn't have to. Sunset knows what's on her mind.

"It wasn't a threat. Or a prank. At least, not as far as I could tell." Sunset toys with the end of her fork. "I've been invited to meet someone 'beneath sakura' at six PM tonight."

"Beneath sakura," Cheerilee repeats. She braces her knuckles under her chin thoughtfully. "So... cherry blossoms, then. I suppose it's referring to the grove at the tea pavilion."

"That's what I figured. There's an annual sakura festival there in April while the trees are in full bloom." Sunset rolls her eyes. "Of course, in the middle of June, it's not likely to look quite the same way."

Cheerilee tents her fingers. "Did it say why?"

Sunset blinks. "Why the trees aren't blooming?"

Cheerilee sighs. "Sunset..."

"...Sorry." Sunset averts her gaze from Cheerilee's. "Someone wants to tell me they love me."

Cheerilee doesn't respond right away. Then, in a soft voice, she says, "What are you going to do?"

Sunset plucks enough nerve to look back at Cheerilee. "I'm gonna show up. I'm gonna look this person in the eye, whoever they are. And..."

She pauses. Cheerilee seems to hold her breath.

"...I'm gonna let them down as gently as I can," Sunset finishes. "And I'm going to ask... politely... that they not pull stuff like that on my girl again."

Cheerilee exhales in a long, slow stream. She digs her fork into her crepe and drags it, leaving long, parallel furrows in its surface.

Sunset leans forward. "Are you okay with that?"

Cheerilee glances up, half-smiling – another look of warmth that doesn't quite shine true. "As long as you're not late for dinner."

A less pleasant thought strikes Sunset before she can bring herself to laugh. "Are you gonna want to know who it was?"

Cheerilee tilts her head, smiling softly. "I think it's best if I don't. Let's just put this behind us. Okay?"

She's projecting a sense of rationality that Sunset, frankly, does not believe. She doesn't doubt for a minute that Cheerilee's tearing herself up inside.

But Cheerilee's trying. So Sunset nods, and smiles, and the two of them finish their crepes in silence.

When the last of their breakfast is gone, Cheerilee stands and clears her throat. "You know. I don't have to be at work for another couple of hours."

Sunset looks up at her, wary. "And?"

Cheerilee turns her back to Sunset, and shoots a coquettish look over her shoulder.

"Well, I still have to shower. And we still have to make up." She saunters toward the bathroom, her hips swinging with every step. "Really make up."

Sunset gulps. She rips off the apron, flings it to the floor, and follows, powerless to resist.

Absent their usual festive pink canopies, the branches overhead look like skeletal limbs to Sunset, as empty as the pavilion itself. That only figures – nobody's going to visit a lifeless grove for a summer date.

Which might be why Sunset was asked to come here. No witnesses if someone made a scene.

She wore a dumb, sated grin through most of her shift at Super Sushi, but her mood had soured by the time she punched out. Food service is tedious enough on days when she doesn't have to break any hearts. By the time she makes it to the grove, at the stroke of six, she feels like she's on her way to her own execution.

At least I got to change – wouldn't wanna show up smelling like fish guts.

Sweetie Belle is already there, sitting on a bench beneath a low-hanging bough. She's kept the Japanese theme going with a red kimono, sewn from too-shiny red fabric and clumsily stitched with pink flowers. Lacquered chopsticks pin up her usually free-hanging hair, and her face is made up the same way as yesterday, though it's streaked and faded, with patches of skin peeking out. Either Sweetie sweated through it while waiting for Sunset...

...or it's the same make-up from yesterday. Sunset shudders.

The younger girl's head lifts as Sunset approaches. Her eyes widen, and she immediately stands, smoothing out the wrinkles in her kimono.

Sunset forces herself to smile, and waves stiffly. "Sweetie Belle, hey. Long time no see."

Sweetie doesn't say anything. Her toes, poking out from her kimono's hem, wiggle. Sunset guesses that she's trying her best not to run away.

"I'm supposed to meet someone here," says Sunset, with a quick glance at Sweetie from head to toe. "But it looks like it's just you and me. Hope I didn't get stood up. Nice outfit, by the way. Special occasion? Or did you just feel like breakin' out a... wait, that is a kimono, right?"

Sweetie's smart enough to recognize Sunset's words for what they are – a lifeline, a chance to back out. Sunset hopes, prays, that Sweetie takes it.

Screwing her eyes shut, Sweetie takes a deep breath.

"...Miss Cheerilee gave you the note."

Sunset had been bearing a weight since talking to Rarity last night. It's gone now, and that's a relief, but the emptiness it leaves behind is worse. She takes a seat on the bench, folds her hands on her lap, and bows her head.

"Figures it'd be you." Sunset looks up at Sweetie, whose kimono glints in the fading sunlight. "I knew something was up after yesterday. Just never thought..."

"Why not?" Sweetie's voice strengthens as she speaks. "Is it that weird? You must get tons of girls falling for you."

"I really don't."

"Well... you got me." Sweetie squares her shoulders. "You didn't even have to try, and you got me."

Sunset glances away, unable to look Sweetie in the eye. "How long?”

"...Long as I can remember. Even before I was in high school. I'd see you at, like, school events, or whatever. And I always thought you were... well, I'll put it this way. I figured out I liked girls by looking at you."

Sweetie sits on the bench. Sunset scoots aside; she's trying to put distance between them. Sweetie scoots closer, interpreting it as an invitation to get closer. A cloying, musky odor clogs Sunset's nostrils.

Same make-up. She hasn't bathed.

Sunset tries to breathe through her mouth.

"I remember hearing about your fights with Rarity," Sweetie continues, oblivious to Sunset's discomfort. "I remember listening to all the stuff she'd say about you, and thinking that nobody as beautiful as you could ever be half as bad as she said you were. Then she came home from the Spring Fling, crying about how you'd ruined her life. I knew I was supposed to hate you, but instead, I thought—"

"Sweetie."

"I could be the one to change you. I dreamed about making you as beautiful on the inside as you were outside. That's when I knew how I felt – how I really felt."

Sunset finally looks up at Sweetie. Earnest tears sparkle in the corners of the younger girl's eyes, and trace lines through her fading make-up.

"I tried to ignore it for a really long time – 'cuz it could never happen, right? Not the way that you were." Sweetie laughs to herself. "But when you changed, really changed, and made up with Rarity, that's when I thought that, maybe, someday, you and I could—"

Sunset raises a shaky hand, and Sweetie falls silent abruptly.

"Sweetie, I never knew... never even guessed you felt this way." She looks at Sweetie, who wears a cautious look. "And if you've really had a crush on me for this long, then I'm sorry, but—"

"Don't call it a crush." Sweetie balls up her hands, catching fistfuls of her kimono. "I'm being serious here."

"I know you are," Sunset says. "And I know it feels real—"

"It is real!" Sweetie grabs Sunset's hands, and holds them too tightly; her nails dig into Sunset's skin, just enough to be painful. "It's not some phase I'm gonna grow out of. I've felt this way for years, Sunset. I'm—"

"Don't say it," Sunset mutters through clenched teeth. Sweetie doesn't hear – or doesn't care.

"I'm in love with you." Sweetie's voice cracks on love. "And I wanna be with you – to really be with you. To be your girlfriend, for as long as you want me."

Sunset sees the kiss coming before Sweetie even moves.

She pulls her hands free from Sweetie's and bolts from the bench. Sweetie, leaning forward, cracked lips puckered, collapses against the empty space where Sunset had been. She looks at Sunset as though she's been slapped across the face.

"That wasn't okay." Sunset holds her stinging hand – Sweetie's nails clawed into her skin when Sunset broke free from her grip. "I'll forgive you, but it wasn't okay."

Sweetie gathers herself back on the bench, and sits up. "Sunset—"

"I'm sorry, Sweetie Belle. This is gonna suck to hear, but if I ever did anything to make you think we could have a future together—"

"You never had to do anything," Sweetie mumbles.

Sunset looks levelly at her. "We can't, and we don't."

Sweetie straightens on the bench, her head bowed and her face blank. For an instant, Sunset thinks she might just accept the rejection, and the pain it brings, and move on with her life.

Her hopes are dashed when Sweetie looks up, her eyes razor-slitted. "Why?"

Sweetie's voice is chillingly venomous. She doesn't sound like herself; she isn't acting like herself. Is it hormones, Sunset wonders? The sting of rejection?

If so, this'll only get worse for her.

"I have a girlfriend, Sweetie. You know that perfectly well. And even if I didn't..." Sunset breathes deeply, and chooses her next words carefully. "I don't feel for you the way you do for me. That doesn't mean I don't care about you; you're just way too young for—"

"I am not! I'm fifteen years old!" Her voice cracks on "fifteen."

Sunset's annoyance flares. "Then you're old enough to know what 'jailbait' means."

"That's rich," Sweetie Belle snaps. "Coming from someone who's screwing her teacher. I'm way closer to your age than she is, you know!"

"Not remotely the same thing." An old, familiar darkness creeps up on Sunset. "And I'll thank you not to talk about her that way. Using her to send me that crappy haiku, so that you could barf your delusions all over me, was bad enough without—"

Sweetie bolts off the bench. Tears stream openly down her rage-twisted face.

"You're the delusional one here," she snaps, thrusting her finger toward Sunset. "You're convinced you love your girlfriend for who she is, and not for who you wish she was. And you call me deluded?"

In her mind's eye, Sunset glimpses white teeth in braces, sparkling like diamonds. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. Cheerilee's a mess, she's lying to you about it every time she sees you, and you're lying to yourself if you say you can't see it." Sweetie's finger curls back into her fist. "And you wouldn't know good haiku if it bit you on the ass. Poser."

Relief hits Sunset, only to be dashed and replaced with anger. "I don't know who you are right now. You're not the Sweetie Belle I know."

"Maybe I'm being honest about who I am. Maybe you've spent so much time lying to Cheerilee that you don't know what that looks like."

"If this is who you really are, Sweetie..." Sunset sets her face in a scowl. "Then I don't have any interest in even knowing you, much less in loving you."

Rage and sorrow flicker across Sweetie's face. She whirls, and starts to run.

She gets one step before she trips on her kimono, and sprawls out on the ground.

Instinct wins over Sunset's anger; she takes a step toward Sweetie, arms outstretched.

Sweetie glares, furious, at Sunset, rips off her sandals, and flings them. Her throws are ill-timed and clumsy, and the shoes come nowhere near striking Sunset, but it stops her in her tracks regardless. Barefoot, Sweetie seizes her hem and rips the kimono up the center with a growl. Then she stumbles into the grove, her bare feet slapping noisily until she's vanished.

A gust rustles the dead branches above. Sunset tugs her jacket close, shivering.

Then she lashes out with her leg, and strikes the bench hard enough to split the wood.

It took ten minutes to meet Sweetie and break her heart. It takes twice as long for Sunset to calm down at home. She breathes, and stresses, and screams into her pillow, and copes as best as she can.

It's not until seven – past the time of her reservation – that Sunset's calm enough to get ready for dinner. She hastily showers, changes into black slacks and a sports coat, throws on her geode as an afterthought, and sweeps out the door at a quarter past the hour without drying or brushing her hair. By the time she arrives outside La Bouche, it's nearly a quarter to eight.

Cheerilee has been waiting for an hour.

Inside, Sunset sees gilded seats and immaculate tablecloths draped over tables lit by long, red candles. Cheerilee's sitting at the back of the dining room room, beside an alcove leading to the restrooms, applying fresh lipstick with a compact mirror in one hand.

Cheerilee eyes track Sunset's approach. She snaps the compact shut, replaces it and the lipstick in her purse, and folds her hands on the table.

Sunset smiles tiredly. "Hey. Sorry I kept you waiting." She kisses Cheerilee on the top of her head and takes the seat opposite her.

"You said you wouldn't be late." Cheerilee quickly appraises Sunset. "You're a mess."

"You know that thing we talked about?" Sunset brushes a hand through her hair – still damp from the shower. "It ended up taking a weird turn. I needed some time to process it."

"Sorry for dragging you away from your 'processing,'" says Cheerilee under her breath.

"Somehow, I'll cope." There are two menus on the table; Sunset picks one and scans the list of entrees disinterestedly. "Did you order yet?"

"Who was it?"

Sunset looks up, startled. Cheerilee comes into focus. "What?"

Cheerilee leans back, folding her arms crossly.

Sunset freezes. Love for Cheerilee vies with loyalty to Sweetie Belle, to preserving her dignity. "You said you didn't want to know."

"Well, I had a lot of time to think about it while waiting, and I changed my mind." Cheerilee crosses her legs. "I want to know who it was, and what happened to make you such a mess that you needed an hour just to clean up."

Sunset senses the accusation and fights to keep her flaring temper in check. "I don't even want to think about it right now, much less talk about—"

"Who was it? What did you say to them? What happened between you two?"

"Where is this coming from?" Sunset snaps, her temper winning out. "I already told you, I don't—"

"Ma'am? Um, ma'ams?"

The lovers divert their attention to a young, hapless waiter. He holds a notepad, sweating.

"May I interest you in, um... we have a lovely..."

Sunset's glare is withering. Cheerilee's expression hasn't changed, as it already conveys annoyance perfectly well.

“...Perhaps I should come back later." The waiter sheepishly meanders away, throwing occasional glances over his shoulder.

"Geez, kid, learn to read a room," Sunset mutters. She drops the menu on the table, and looks back at Cheerilee. Lowering her voice, she hisses, "What has gotten into you tonight?"

"My girlfriend was late to our anniversary dinner, because she was gallivanting about with someone else." Cheerilee rolls her eyes. "No, you're right. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Gallivant—" Sunset laughs harshly. "Did a paper ball nail you too hard in the back of your head today? Do you remember anything that we talked about in the last twenty-four hours?"

"I remember you being far too eager to get that envelope."

"What are you implying? Huh, Cheerilee? You think I'm cheating on you; is that it?"

"Your words," Cheerilee growls. "Not mine."

Sunset barks another harsh laugh that turns patrons' heads toward her table. "What could I have possibly done to make you think I'd ever cheat?"

"You never had to do anything. It just stands to reason that you'd seize the opportunity to trade up." Cheerilee scoffs and glances out the window, shaking her head. "What could a girl like you possibly want with someone like me, unless you couldn't do any better?"

"This is insane." Sunset's words, rooted in anger, are underscored by a desperate plea. "I didn't cheat, Cheerilee. I'd never cheat!"

Cheerilee's gaze flits back to Sunset. "Do me a favor and be honest with me. Because I am being honest with you."

A thousand responses rush through Sunset's mind – words of defense, of retaliation, questioning why she'd say it was a love letter if she was planning to cheat anyway. That seems good – she wonders how it'd sound out loud.

But what would be the point? I'm guilty in her eyes already.

"I don't know who you are right now," says Sunset, instead. "You're not acting like yourself. You're acting irrational; you're acting like... a teenager. Like..."

Something clicks for Sunset.

She peers closely at Cheerilee. In contrast to Sunset, she's cleaned up rather nicely. She's wearing the skirt and top from last year's prom; the significance of the outfit isn't lost on Sunset at all. Her hair washed and brushed, and her make-up modest. But her lipstick...

"Maybe I'm being honest about who I am."

"Be honest with me. Because I am being honest with you."

"Rarity has that same lipstick."

Cheerilee raises an immaculately plucked eyebrow. "It would be one of them, wouldn't it?"

Sunset snaps back to the moment. "That isn't what I'm—"

Some commotion from the restroom cuts her off. A man bursts out, his pants unbuttoned and his shirt half tucked in. The hapless waiter haplessly approaches; the man is frantic, wild-eyed, as they speak in hushed tones.

Suspicion grows inside Sunset. She pushes away from the table, and rises.

"Don't you dare walk away from me, Sunset Shimmer!"

Sunset's jaw tightens. She can feel Cheerilee's eyes on her as she heads toward the bathroom. The men's voices gradually come into focus.

"...Just calm down, please. I'll get the manager, and—"

"Manager?! Get the police! There's a pervert in the bathroom!"

"Hi, sorry to interrupt," Sunset interrupts. Both men look at her – the man thoughtfully, the waiter haplessly.

"I know you," the man says. "You work at Super Sushi, don't you?"

"Used to play in a band, too." Fame could be so fleeting. "What's this about a pervert?"

The waiter leans close to Sunset, whispering. "Ma'am, this is restaurant business. Please return to your seat."

"No," says the other man, looking at Sunset. "She needs to know what's going on here – she works in a restaurant, too! For all we know, hers could be that freak's next target!"

"Good point." Sunset gently nudges the waiter aside, and steps in front of the man. "How about you tuck in your shirt, zip up your fly, and tell me who's in the bathroom?"

"Some girl!" He points toward the closed door to the men's room with one hand; his other tries desperately to stuff his shirt into his waistband. "Some freak in a ripped-up red dress! She's hiding behind the trash can, watching guys pee!"

Rarity, you blabbermouth...!

Sunset pushes past the man and heads to the men's room door. The knob turns, but the door is bolted shut. Glancing down, she sees "OCCUPIED" above the doorknob.

Figures.

"Sweetie? Is that you?" Sunset pounds the door with her fist. "Come out, and let's talk, okay?"

There's no answer, and no one comes to the door. Sunset shoves against the door; it's solid, but the lock and the knob both rattle.

The waiter approaches, spluttering. "Ma'am, don't. A hard sneeze could break that lock."

And just like that, the door is one more board for Sunset to kick in half.

The waiter curses under his breath and quickly clears his throat to disguise it as a cough. "I really shouldn't have said that. Look, the manager has a key; in a moment, I'll—"

"Do whatever you want."

Sunset leans her weight on her back foot, spins, and kicks the lock. The door shakes; the lock creaks. Sunset strikes again, and the lock breaks apart; the door swings open with an almost shameful creaking noise.

"Bill me," she snaps to the waiter. Behind him, she sees Cheerilee, turned around, her arm over the backrest. She looks more confused than angry now.

Sunset swallows, and steps into the bathroom.

It's empty. It's also, both fittingly and disturbingly, horse-themed. The fixtures are shaped like horse's heads, with wide, gaping mouths, and even the trash can, spilled out on the floor, has a relief of a rearing stallion.

"La Bouche de Cheval, huh?" Sunset mutters. "They're taking that to its logical extreme."

She shakes her head, ignores the imagery, and focuses on the situation.

Above the trash can is an open window. A shred of shiny red cloth hangs from a loose nail, beneath the sill.

Sunset darts to the window and climbs up and over, landing in the alley outside. A family of mice scatter, regrouping behind some rusting garbage cans opposite the window. One end of the alley is blocked by a brick wall; the other is cordoned off by a chain-link fence with a locked gate.

Sweetie Belle is at the gate, rattling the links and growling.

It must have been open when she got here.

"C'mon, Sweetie," Sunset says, taking a cautious step forward. "There's nowhere to run."

Sweetie freezes. Her shoulders slump. Then she straightens, and slowly turns.

By now, Sunset's seen more magical possession cases than the average high school graduate. She likes to think she's inured to them. Seeing Sweetie, she realizes that she isn't – at least not when it's a loved one.

Her kimono's skirt and sleeves have been torn to pieces; the outfit just barely maintains her modesty. Her cheeks are streaked with muddy black rivers, flowing from her eyelids. Her foundation and eye shadow have run together, mottling her skin a sickly blue-green. Flecks of burgundy still cling to chapped, broken lips.

"Why won't you love me?" Her voice reverberates off the alley walls. "That bitch doesn't know what she has; she doesn't deserve you; she shouldn't have you! We could be perfect together; why can't you see that?!"

"Sweetie, calm down. Try and think rationally." Sunset moves closer, raising her hands placatingly. "You're being influenced by Equestrian magic. Whatever you're feeling, it isn't real."

"It is real!" Sweetie thunders. The light in her eyes grows brighter, and a faint glow builds around the rest of her body. "It's real, and it's beautiful, and it's forever!"

"Maybe your feelings are real. Maybe you do love me." The heat from Sweetie's aura washes over Sunset, making her sweat through her clothes. "But the anger, the hate – that isn't the Sweetie Belle I know."

"You don't even wanna know me, remember?"

"I never should've said that." Sweetie's close enough to touch, now; Sunset reaches her hand toward her. "Sweetie Belle, I didn't mean—"

Sweetie slaps her hand away, and in the same motion, claws at Sunset's face. Sunset backpedals; Sweetie's nails only graze her cheek. She feels blood trickling down to her chin, and notices, belatedly, that Sweetie's nails have curved and sharpened.

Hoo boy.

Sweetie shrieks and slashes again. Sunset's reflexes take control; she catches Sweetie's arm, pivots her hips and feet, and swings the younger girl into the nearby trash cans. She bowls them over with a clatter, scattering the mice again.

"Stay down," Sunset pants.

Shame and anger burn in Sweetie's gaze – burn, literally, a bright pink. She reaches into her hair and pulls out one of the lacquered chopsticks holding it together; her hair falls in greasy, threads around her face as she grips the chopstick like a pick.

Sunset bristles. "I don't want to hurt you."

Sweetie lunges, thrusting the tip of the chopstick at Sunset's belly. Sunset catches Sweetie's wrist, her free hand reaching up to strip the weapon—

"Sunset!"

Cheerilee's voice cuts a swath through Sunset's concentration – she's standing at the chain link fence, her purse slung over her shoulder. In that moment of confusion, Sweetie manages to free her wrist and push Sunset back against the wall.

Sunset catches her wrist as she stabs for her jugular again. The chopstick is inches away.

"Don't!" Sunset shouts as Cheerilee tries to open the gate. "Glad to see that you care, but you need to stay away!"

"Is that— Sweetie Belle?" Cheerilee cries back.

"Remember when I said that things got weird earlier?"

Cheerilee abandons the lock and hooks her fingers around the fence's links. "What am I supposed to do, Sunset?"

"Stay put, and let... me... handle it!"

Sunset's free hand darts up to her own neck. Her hand closes around her geode.

To think I almost forgot this.

Skeletal branches hang overhead like the claws of some feral beast. The rest of the trees are obscured by a thick pink haze which Sunset strains to peer through. Step by step, she moves through the foggy grove.

She finds what she's looking for quickly: a bench, where Sweetie Belle sits. Dressed in normal clothes, with her legs pulled close and her chin on her knees and her face starkly unmade, she looks like the forlorn little girl she really is. She spots Sunset, and turns away wordlessly.

Sunset ignores the gesture, and moves to the bench. "You're not gonna scratch me if I sit down, are you?"

"...No." As Sunset sits, Sweetie adds, "You should leave."

"I can't do that."

Sweetie scoffs. "'Cuz you're a hero, right. Helping hysterical girls with magic problems is what you do."

Sunset moves closer on the bench, close enough to touch her.

"I'm here because someone I care about is hurting. And in danger. And probably setting herself up for legal problems by climbing into men's bathrooms."

"The window was open. I didn't know where it went." Sweetie sinks her chin deeper into her knees. "I didn't even care – I just wanted to be close by. To watch what happened with you and..."

She won't even say Cheerilee's name. "How much did you see?" says Sunset gently.

"None of it." Sweetie sniffs. "Did you fight?"

Sunset doesn't answer. It's enough of an admission for Sweetie's shoulders to sag in shame. "I'm sorry," she mumbles into her knees.

"You knew that was gonna happen," Sunset whispers. "How?"

"'Cuz of the lipstick. That's just what it does."

"Lipstick?"

"At school, yesterday. I sneaked it into... into her bag, with the letter. Switched out hers with Rarity's. That wasn't what I was there to do – I just wanted to give you the letter – but when I saw she used the same kind..."

Sunset chews on her lip. "Why do you have Rarity's lipstick?"

"I... I went into her room the other day. To try on her clothes. I do that sometimes; don't tell her. I usually don't mess with her make-up. But I was curious what I'd look like with her lipstick on. When I saw myself in the mirror, I thought... I thought I looked like a grown-up. Like the kind of girl who could drive you crazy. The kind you'd go for; the kind you'd..."

She trails off.

"So the magic's in the lipstick," Sunset mutters to herself. "Must've come through the mirror sometime after Rarity left for Manehattan, and stayed dormant until you put it on. If it's the source of the possession, then maybe breaking it..."

Sweetie Belle's sobs remind her of why she really came.

"...You really do love me. That wasn't the magic talking."

"I've always loved you. So much, for so long. It was this happy little secret I kept in my heart – something that was mine, all mine, that nobody else could ever touch." Sweetie Belle's voice is a thin, brittle note, broken by sobs and sniffles. "Now it's like poison. Eating me up inside. And all I wanna do is let it kill me."

"Don't. Do you hear me? Don't ever." Sunset takes Sweetie by the shoulders. "You have to fight through it. You can fight through it."

"What's the point?" Sweetie mumbles. "Why should I?"

Sunset places her finger beneath Sweetie's chin, and tilts her head 'til their eyes meet.

"Because you're part of my life, part of this big, weird family I've found. Rarity, and Twilight, and all the other girls – you're as important to me as any of them." Tears of her own sting Sunset's eyes, blur her sight. "It might not be the way you love me, but I still love you, and I'm never gonna give up on you. So don't you give up, either."

The fog thins as Sunset speaks. Flowers bud and blossom along the branches overhead, casting Sweetie's mindscape in vivid pink.

"Do you mean that?" Sweetie whispers. "Do you really?"

"I do. And I'm going to make this right, I promise."

"That's gonna be tough." Sweetie sniffles. "I don't think I can stop myself. Outside, I mean. The magic's too strong – you might have to hurt me."

"I'll work it out." Sunset smirks. "This is what I do, remember? I fixed the hysterical girl, and now I gotta solve the magic problem."

Sweetie laughs through her tears, and wraps Sunset in a hug, as white light builds around them.

"I'll be cheering you on from here."

"Love me or DIE!"

Sweetie's tear-streaked, rage-twisted, black-and-blue face snaps back into focus as the material world solidifies around Sunset.

"Sorry in advance, Sweetie," Sunset groans. She drives her knee into Sweetie's gut. Sweetie makes a choking sound and doubles over, and Sunset breaks free, shoving Sweetie until her back hits the alley wall.

She snaps her neck around to Cheerilee. "Babe, your lipstick. You gotta break—"

Sweetie Belle interrupts her with another charge, and a frantic thrust with the chopstick. This time, Sunset's alert enough to catch her, stripping the weapon from her grasp and tossing it down the alley. She slams Sweetie's solar plexus; her stomach is soft, but hitting her chest is like punching a boulder. Still, Sweetie staggers back.

"Break the lipstick," Sunset pants. "You do that, and we can save Sweetie!"

Cheerilee casts a wary look at Sunset. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Sunset wants to scream. Cheerilee's not as far gone as Sweetie, not enough to smother her concern for Sunset, but she's still under enough magical influence to doubt her. "This isn't the time to—"

Sweetie flings herself at Sunset again, her claws a reminder that the chopstick wasn't her only weapon. This time, Sunset grabs both wrists and stands her ground. They strain against each other; the mottling on Sweetie's face spreads along her neck, down to her hands, darker and more pronounced. The more it spreads, the stronger Sweetie grows, and she gradually forces Sunset to her knees.

Whatever she's becoming, Sunset's sure she can't hold it back. She looks, pleadingly, at Cheerilee.

"Cheers, listen. Equestrian magic is screwing with your brain, and you've got the source of it in your purse right now. You're the only one who can stop it!"

"And if I don't?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm gonna die! And if she's strong enough to break metal, then I'm pretty sure you're gonna die, too! Because she really doesn't like you!" Sunset's eyes bulge as Sweetie's claws inch closer to her face. "You want honesty? I am honestly begging you to save both of our lives!"

Spittle and foam spray from the beastial Sweetie's lips. Sunset's muscles burn; her arms begin to sag. Her gaze never leaves Cheerilee's.

The lipstick falls to the ground. Sunset breathes a sigh of relief as Cheerilee raises her foot over it, and smashes it down. There's a burst of pink, and a crackle of lightning...

...and suddenly, the strength in Sweetie's arms vanishes. Light as a feather, she swoons and slumps forward.

Sunset catches her, and gently lowers her to the ground. "Sweetie...?"

The mottling on Sweetie's body recedes and vanishes; her skin returns to its normal pallor. She looks up, with a face covered in streaks and splotches of ruined make-up, her hair a tangle held together with a single, loosely dangling chopstick.

Her eyes meet Sunset's. She blinks once. And she cries.

Sunset pulls her close, stroking her hair, whispering softly into her ear. She plants a single kiss on the top of Sweetie's head, and peers up at Cheerilee.

The older woman hugs her midsection and looks away. Sunset realizes she has no idea what her girlfriend is feeling right now. She wonders if she'd get the truth if she asked – and she wonders if that would be better than a lie.

She just holds Sweetie tighter.

Sunset wants to see Sweetie, and needs to see Cheerilee. It's three days before she can bring herself to face either. She decides to start with the easier of the two conversations.

Rarity greets her at the door with a hug, and quickly invites her in.

"I came home as soon as I heard," Rarity explains as she guides Sunset upstairs. "I'm sorry for not telling you, but I've been busy with Sweetie, and with fending off Vignette. She wasn't pleased with me for dropping the production, and I'm sure I burned a number of other bridges..."

"So you're not gonna have a job when you go back?" If, Sunset corrects herself.

"Let's just say that it might be a little while longer yet before Rarity takes Manehattan."

Sunset shakes her head. "Any regrets?"

"Well, I left a lot of outfits unsequined." Rarity pauses on the stairs, smiling back at Sunset. "But this is where I'm needed right now, I think."

Rarity leads Sunset to Sweetie Belle's bedroom door. Sunset bites her thumb. "Is she okay?"

"She's... coping. But she'll hardly speak two words to anyone. Even me." Rarity folds her arms. "Mom and Dad pulling her out of the theater program and grounding her hasn't done anything to assuage her guilt or make her feel better."

"You explained to them that it wasn't her fault, right?"

"As best as I could. They've gotten better at accepting such explanations over time, but they still don't fully understand." Rarity sighs. "I'll keep trying."

"You're a good sister, Rarity." Sunset squeezes her shoulder.

"No. A good sister would have been there for Sweetie before something like this ever happened." Rarity looks away. "And I'm a poor friend, too. I never should have mentioned your reservation. If I'd kept my mouth shut—"

"Something else would have gone wrong, and we'd still have a crisis to deal with." Sunset digs into her jacket pocket, and pulls out a tube of burgundy lipstick, which she drops into Rarity's hand. "Here. To prove there's no hard feelings."

"Er..." Rarity glances between Sunset, and the lipstick. "This is...?"

"For the one we broke." Sunset thumps Rarity's shoulder. "I hope you like it."

"Why, Sunset, it's... um..." Rarity uncaps it, her mouth twisting critically. "Store brand..."

Sunset tilts her head. "Nani?"

"Nothing!" Rarity closes the lipstick and beams. "Thank you, darling."

The girls embrace one more time before Rarity leaves Sunset at the door. Sunset takes a deep breath and knocks.

"Sweetie Belle? It's Sun—"

"Yeah, I know. You weren't exactly trying to be quiet," a muffled voice calls back. "You coming in, or not? Dad took the lock off."

Awkwardly, Sunset turns the knob and steps inside.

Sweetie's room is painted pink and well-tidied. Anime posters and wall scrolls with Japanese characters cover the walls; a prominent scroll depicting a red sun – either rising or setting; Sunset can't tell which – hangs directly over her headboard. Beside the bed is a wastebasket. A shiny red kimono, shredded and tattered, is stuffed inside.

Sweetie Belle herself lies on her bed, in gray sweats and a T-shirt, her back facing the bedroom door.

Sunset's eyes linger on the kimono as she crosses to the bed. "Can I sit down?"

"Free country," Sweetie mumbles. "Except for my room, which is, like, fascist Italy now."

Sunset sits on the foot of Sweetie's bed; Sweetie scoots her feet aside to make room. "Wanna stage a revolution? I'll teach you how to make a Molotov cocktail."

"You don't know how to..." Sweetie trails off and sits up – her face is plain, and her hair, freshly washed, is unstyled. "Do you know how to make a Molotov cocktail?"

Sunset smiles slyly.

Sweetie flops back on her side. "You're full of crap."

"Viva la Revolucion."

Sweetie Belle doesn't laugh. "How's Miss Cheerilee?"

"She's... fine. She's not mad at you, y'know. Neither of us are." It's not a lie, so much as it is an assumption – Sunset isn't mad, but she can't speak for Cheerilee with certainty.

Sweetie curls into a ball. "You should be mad. After everything I did."

"That wasn't you," Sunset says. "It was the magic."

"Maybe partly." Sweetie sniffs. "But there was still a little bit of me in there, wasn't it? Those feelings didn't come out of nowhere." She rolls over and looks up at Sunset, her eyes dewey.

"I was never gonna tell you how I felt. But when I put on that lipstick, and I saw myself in the mirror, I thought – I felt – like I could be honest, like I could speak from the heart. Like if I did, we could be together. And when you turned me down, I... I went a little crazy."

"Because of the magic," Sunset insists. "That's just what it does. It takes some feeling, some desire you have, and it twists it around until it consumes you. Like what happened with Juniper, and Twilight... and..."

"...You?" Sweetie says meekly.

Sunset closes her eyes, and lets out a soft breath before opening them again. "What were you expecting to happen when Cheerilee put it on?"

"Well. Everybody has something that they hide from everyone else, right? And the lipstick, it made me wanna speak from my heart. Miss Cheerilee..." Sweetie shrugs. "She's sweet and kind, but even when I had her for English, it was pretty easy to tell she didn't always have her act together. It's like there was something going on under the surface that nobody ever really got to see."

Sunset looks searchingly at Sweetie, who shrugs.

"It was a vibe," says Sweetie. "She's good at hiding it. But I thought, if I switched out the lipstick, she'd show some of that to you – and it'd be bad enough that you'd break up with her over it."

Sunset forces herself to smile. "Well, we didn't break up. We're okay. All that happened is—"

"I was forced to live in fascist Italy?"

"Uh. Yeah. But, also, now we've both had our brains scrambled up by Equestrian magic. That means we've got something in common." She nods at the kimono in the wastebasket. "Besides our sense of fashion."

"That's a costume from the kabuki show. Shoot, I'm gonna have to pay for it." Sweetie blushes and covers her eyes. "Ugh, I can't believe myself. Everything I did, and I'm worried about, what, my allowance? Being grounded? I brainwashed Miss Cheerilee, I tried to kill you, I stole Rarity's lipstick—"

"Kind of a minor offense, that last one, isn't it?"

"And all I can think about is how bad I feel!" Sweetie's chest is heaving now; whatever stability she has is hanging by a thread.

Sunset gathers Sweetie in her arms and pulls her close. She holds her tight and strokes her hair, until Sweetie's breathing stills.

"Don't beat yourself up over your feelings," Sunset whispers to her. "You're gonna be all you can focus on sometimes – your pain, your needs. You shouldn't feel ashamed of it."

"You know a lot about this." Sweetie turns to bury her face in Sunset's neck. "Someone broke your heart once, huh?"

Sunset glances up at Sweetie Belle's desk, at a framed picture of her with Rarity. A younger Sweetie grins at the camera, baring a mouth of sparkling braces.

"Not quite, kid." Sunset clings, tighter, to Sweetie.

"Sunset?" Sweetie whispers. "Does love... always feel this bad?"

"...Only sometimes. Love's kind of a bitch like that. This is what it's like at its worst." Sunset pulls away and tilts Sweetie's chin back. "But at it's best, when you love someone, and they love you back – when things are good, really good? It's bliss."

Sweetie sniffs, and smiles broadly, baring a mouth of straight, white teeth. "Think I'll ever have that?"

"I don't doubt it for a second," Sunset says. "But don't try to force it. Let it happen naturally. Let it come to you."

"I will. No more brain-scrambling magic for me. I'm going cold turkey." Sweetie's grin becomes a smirk. "Unless you go telling my future make-out partner that I tried to shank you in an alley. Then I'm coming after you with ten magic lipsticks."

Sunset laughs, and pulls her close again. And Sweetie's laughing, and the moment, itself, is perfect.

"You know," Sunset ventures, when they've finished their giggles. "If you need someone to cover the cost of your kimono, I can afford it."

She really can't – paying off La Bouche over their broken door ate up most of her savings. Thankfully, Sweetie shakes her head.

"I appreciate the offer." Even through her jacket, Sunset can feel Sweetie Belle smiling against her shoulder. "But I don't need any more free stuff."

Summer classes end in the early afternoon; most students and teachers are gone by five PM. Cheerilee's car is one of the last in the faculty lot today. She's stayed later than usual.

Sunset waits, nervously, on its hood.

It's almost six when Cheerilee emerges from Canterlot High, overburdened with a purse and a book bag. Her eyes are on the ground as she walks; she's tucking a fluffy lock of hair behind her ear when she looks at her car and freezes.

Sunset waves stiffly.

Cheerilee tightly purses her lips and closes the remaining distance with quick, rapid steps. Without a word to Sunset, she opens her car and tosses her things in the back seat. Sunset's almost afraid Cheerilee will drive off without saying anything – or without even letting her get off of the hood – but she comes back around and joins Sunset, leaning beside her on the car.

"You haven't been answering your phone," Cheerilee says. She pointedly keeps her eyes off of Sunset.

"It's been off all weekend. I still haven't turned it on." Sunset, just as pointedly, keeps her eyes on Cheerilee. "How many times did you try me?"

Cheerilee licks her lips; seconds stretch on without an answer. "Have you seen Sweetie Belle at all?" she says abruptly.

"Yeah. She's doing better. Grounded, but coping. Rarity came home to be with her." Sunset experimentally shifts her weight toward Cheerilee. "She threw away the kimono."

"That's school property," Cheerilee says in monotone. "She'll have to pay for it.”

"She knows." Sunset shrugs. "I could always donate my work outfit to them. I have a spare yutaka at home."

"You mean your happi?"

Sunset blinks. "I mean, I've had better days than this—"

"Your outfit. It's called a happi." Cheerilee spares Sunset a quick glance. "Also, 'Yutaka' is given name. The word you wanted was 'yukata.'"

"...Oh." Sunset smiles and elbows Cheerilee playfully. "Lookit that. More than a year out of school, and you're still teaching me stuff." Her heart isn't in the comment, or the gesture.

Accordingly Cheerilee doesn't react to either. "I told the administration about what happened."

Ice crashes through Sunset. "Cheerilee, we agreed—"

"That we wouldn't report the letter unless something serious came of it. How would you define last Friday, if not as something serious?" She looks sidelong at Sunset, avoiding eye contact. "Don't worry. They consider the matter closed; they're not going to subpoena you, or anything."

"That wasn't what I was worried about," says Sunset, who absolutely was a little worried about that. "Is anything gonna happen to Sweetie?"

"Luna wanted her expelled for stalking and harassing faculty. But, in light of the paranormal circumstances influencing her actions, Celestia and I argued her down to suspension from the summer theater program. Which her parents already withdrew her from, anyway, so the punishment is redundant."

"How'd you manage that?"

"There were more than enough paranormal cases to serve as precedent."

Sunset doesn't know how to respond to that – she silently twirls a lock of hair around her fingertip.

Behind the car, the sun continues to plunge below the horizon. The lovers' shadows stretch, like ghostly fingers, toward the empty school.

"Are we okay?" Cheerilee poses the question in a soft, fragile voice.

Sunset wants to tell her yes. Wants to wrap her in a hug and kiss her, wants carry her home and make love, wants to forget all their responsibilities and spend the rest of the summer pretending that none of the last few days ever happened.

Instead, she pushes off the car with a sigh.

"I puzzled something out during that whole 'journey to the center of the Sweetie Belle' head trip. Something Sweetie confirmed." Sunset turns toward Cheerilee. "The lipstick she wore, the stuff she swapped yours out with – its magic didn't force thoughts into the wearer's mind. It just made them say what they were already thinking. Twisted up, sure, but on some level, everything Sweetie said to me had some kernel of truth to it."

The sky behind Cheerilee is a mural of purple, red, and gold. Cheerilee, herself, silhouetted by it, is a heart-achingly gorgeous vision.

Sunset knows where she's taking this conversation. That this is the last chance to stop, to turn back. She almost falters.

She almost falters.

"That means what you said to me at the restaurant had some truth to it as well." Sunset folds her arms. Her pose feels hollow, awkward, like she could break in a stiff breeze. "Tell me I'm wrong."

Cheerilee looks away. She says nothing. Denies nothing.

Sunset snorts to hide a sniffle. "Well, then," she says, scuffing her boots against the ground. She has no idea how to finish the sentence.

Cheerilee picks up for her. "I don't think you're cheating on me, Sunset. I don't even necessarily think you would."

"But you're worried I'm going to leave you?"

Cheerilee nods.

"Even now? Even after Friday?"

Cheerilee bites her lip, shuts her eyes, and nods again.

Sunset shakes her head. "We've been together for a year, Cheerilee. Why am I only hearing this now? How could you not trust me; how could you still not trust me?"

"There's really two questions in there, aren't there?" Cheerilee says, with a cool look at Sunset. "Why didn't I tell you, and why do I feel that way? The former is very simple: Why would I open up to someone who's going to leave me in the end?"

Sunset gets no chance to react – not that she knows how to – before Cheerilee continues.

"As to the latter... Well, the better question, the honest, naked truth of the matter is... What reason would you have to stay? You're young. Beautiful. Noble. A hero, how many times over now? And you're going to settle for a dumpy old schoolteacher?" Cheerilee laughs once. "I'm your future? Really?"

Sunset's confident posture fails her. Her arms hang by her sides. "You think I'm settling for you? As if I didn't spend all of high school pretending I wasn't falling in love with you? As if this year wasn't the best I've ever—"

Her voice cracks. She's drifting out of control – she fights to master her emotions before she falls apart. Slowly, more evenly, Sunset begins again.

"What... what could I possibly do to make you understand that I love you for who you are?" She laughs bitterly. "No, this – this is ridiculous. I shouldn't have to prove a thing. You either trust me, or you don't, and it's pretty damn clear that you don't. And if I haven't earned that from you by now, then..."

The sun drops below the horizon; the shadows chase forward inexorably.

"...I don't think I can be with someone who doesn't trust me. Who doesn't know how."

"What are you saying?" Cheerilee's voice is low and tremulous, and begs for an obvious answer.

Sunset stops short of giving it. "I think we need to take a break from each other."

Life drains from Cheerilee's face as the words hit her. Then she snorts, shaking her head.

"Ending a relationship without the emotional burden of actually ending anything is the kind of adolescent drivel I would have thought you beyond," Cheerilee says, voice jumping. She sounds like one of the academic papers she's always reading, but Sunset has seen this facade before. Her voice is thick with feeling, bending, but not breaking. "I'll make it easy for you. We're either together, or we're not."

"What, so you force the 'emotional burden' onto me? Make me decide here and now?"

"I'm simply returning the favor," says Cheerilee. "Those are the only two ways this can go."

"Oh yeah, ultimatums. That's not 'adolescent drivel' at all. And what wonderful options you've given me, too." Sunset's hands clench into fists. "Either break up with you, or stay together, knowing that you'll always be waiting for me to break up with you. Would you want a relationship like that?"

"I've never wanted that. With you – with anyone." Cheerilee's lip trembles. It's the only hint of emotion on her face, and it cuts Sunset to the quick. "But it doesn't matter what I may have wanted. Relationships don't last. No matter your intentions, they never last. And if you see the ending coming from the start, then it doesn't hurt so bad when it hits you."

"That's pithy nonsense," says Sunset in an empty, airy tone. "You're lying to yourself. Just to make this easier for you."

"No part of loving you has ever been easy for me."

Street lamps flicker on in the parking lot, bathing it in white fluorescence. The shadows pool beneath the car, beneath Cheerilee, beneath Sunset. They stare at each other, in the overlit parking lot, the sun long since vanished from the sky.

Both wait for the other to speak. Neither says a word.

They both know how this ends.

"History never repeats itself, but it often rhymes." -Various

Special thanks to:
-DannyJ, my longtime editor, occasional coauthor, and all-around partner in crime, for his feedback on the story and its prose
-Dubs Rewatcher, for helping me craft everything from dialogue to chapter titles to the story description (and helping me nail down more than a few finer points of dialogue), and patiently helping me cope with my crippling neuroses
-Majin Syeekoh, for once again helping me come up with a title and helping me plan the story
-AndrewRogue, whose considerable pre-reading and editing talents helped shape the content of this story
-GroaningGreyAgony, for giving me the name "La Bouche de Cheval" for the restaurant
-The Writeoff Association, for their constant encouragement
-Oroboro, for hosting the contest in the first place and giving me a platform for the sequel
-Any and all who read and enjoyed the first story enough to convince me that there'd be enough interest for a follow-up
-And all my other readers.

See you next year with "Live Free or Rhyme Hard"