Fillydelphia.

Ever since my first performance here, I’ve always felt a certain fondness towards it. I was a new face back then, barely known and with quite a few dismissive critics on my tail, despite my soaring marks and spotless track record; I could walk out in public, and nopony would’ve known my name. And it was during one of these idle walks around town, admiring the modern architecture and the ambiance and the general excitement of the populace for a Wonderbolt event, that I found myself here, at the Lunar Bean Café.

Although the Mocha Club is my personal favourite, this place serves the best caffeine in the whole kingdom, without a doubt; they never sell any brew unless Luna herself has tasted it and given her stamp of approval. Unfortunately, this means the majority of coffee on offer is dark, and the cakes on display are rich to the point where one’s jaw tires from simply chewing it. But I take what I can get, and there’s no denying the quality of the lattes. So long as I get some of that goodness in me, the rest is water off my wings.

In fact, this is the place where my infatuation with coffee began. We’d finished the show just the day before, and I decided to see what the early morning hustle and bustle was like here. But since televisions hadn’t been invented yet, and the papers hadn’t been distributed, nopony knew who I was. And despite myself, I actually liked the anonymity — I felt like a comic book hero, putting on the mask only when the situation called for it, and hiding in plain sight at all other times.

I strolled in, hearing the customary jingle of the doorbell, ordered a latte because the name sounded cool, then sat down at this exact table overlooking Mulberry Lane. The vines for which the street is named grow up the trellises and railing much as they did before, and the shoreline beyond is just as pretty as I remember, shimmering in the midday sun.

I’m wearing my sunhat again, and purple shades — a disguise so standard I may as well have gone without anything. Easily recognisable to him, no doubt, but anypony else in the café would probably have to take a second look, and to anypony in the avenue below, I’ll just be another mare enjoying a casual work break.

Could we have met in Canterlot, or at least a place closer to it? Sure. But he’d always complained about a lack of variety in his surroundings, and whatever spurred… whatever this is, I’ve a hunch it’s something to do with royalty. Space is what he needs, and while I might not be able to offer a solution, I can hear him out at the very least. If only he’d just hurry up and arrive already. This disguise won’t hold out forever.

I should’ve left my contacts at home. As alien as going out without them would’ve felt, it might’ve bought me an extra glance or three. Not that it’d matter all that much when he sits down and we start talking; seeing as that’s the case, may as well have forgotten the disguise altogether.

This isn’t right. Meeting a friend shouldn’t be this difficult, and I shouldn’t have to worry if this ultimately useless getup will in any way, shape or form make him think I’m embarrassed to be around him. I’m not. I just don’t want other ponies getting in my business.

You could just tell him that, word for word.

Yes, I could, but it’d be better if I never had to.

Too late, anyway: the doorbell chimes, and a member of the Royal Guard steps through, followed immediately after by Philip, and then a second guard, and a third. All three ponies are dressed in their golden armour, which is largely ceremonial — seriously, the mail hauberks and lamellar vests of the griffon housecarls offer far more protection and look just as nice.

My invitee, on the other hoof, wears simple olive cargo shorts and a peach-orange shirt, the arms and legs trimmed just below his elbows and knees. He doesn’t look too good, and as he approaches while the guards take their positions at empty tables, drawing the attention of quite a few ponies in the process, the damage becomes clearer.

He hasn’t shaved, for starters, sporting fuzz that hasn’t quite grown into a beard all along his chin, neck and around the mouth. Some shadow on the cheeks too. His hair’s scragglier than I remember too — not frazzled like he’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, but slightly longer and just that tiny bit more frayed than I’m used to. And while he’s always had dark patches under his eyes that never go away no matter how much he sleeps, his gaze seems tired now. Wearier. Like me after I’d saved him, but not nearly as panicky.

He watches me as he walks, and he smiles, and it’s genuine, but it’s obvious whatever happened at the palace really got to him, if the lack of letters in response wasn’t a big enough hint. “Hey, Fleet. Long time no see.”

His voice is croaky — a cold, maybe, or not enough water; his breath will either be infectious or noxious. I wouldn’t think our germs are the same, but no working nose can deny a bad smell. Shouldn’t be too hard on him, though, without knowing what’s the cause of all of this. “Indeed,” I reply with a smile of my own, forcing down my concern for the time being and letting the relief shine through; he can walk and talk, at the very least. “A full year, huh?”

“Feels longer.” He pulls out the chair opposite and sits down, scooting in and leaning back in his seat. “And shorter, somehow. I don’t know. Time’s weird.”

“That it is,” I hum, shamelessly glancing at the menus in the centre and wondering if now’s the right time to figure out what we want. I’ve been waiting close to an hour with the smell of coffee wafting from the kitchen. “Thirty-three. You never appreciate how far you’ve come until you’ve reached a milestone.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Just a thought.” I shrug, returning to him. “Nothing all that heavy behind it.”

“Hmm.” He puckers his lips and nods to himself. “Well, I think I’ve reached one myself.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“I’m happy to see a horse after… who knows how long.”

“Pony,” I correct with a smirk.

“A pony’s a tiny horse — that’s literally the only difference.” He peers up at me in a way that says he knows he’s nit-picking, and is enjoying it, but then he looks away as another thought crosses his mind. “Well, in your kind’s case, aside from the colours, and the wings, and the… overall physique, and the talking, and… everything, really. But you’re a tiny horse regardless.”

“Who you’re happy to see.”

“I am.”

I pause, but don’t let my expression change. I’ve never heard him use that tone before. It was earnest, but almost too earnest; not forced — no boldfaced lie by any stretch of the imagination — but genuinely heartfelt. Forthright. We’ve always been honest with each other, for the most part, but something seems… off about this. Whatever his problem is, this is the tip of that iceberg.

He seems to realise it too, and his smile falls. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, lifting my hoof from the table in a small, reserved gesture, then think better of my actions and take off my shades, setting them on the table instead. Better I look him directly in the eyes for this. “It has been a long time.”

We’ve gone in a figurative circle, I know, but an affirmation seems to be what he needs to hear, and his bashful gaze becomes appreciative. Subdued, but appreciative. And his smile grows a tiny bit wider.

“So, how have you been?”

And then his smile shrinks again, sighing, turning away. “I’ve seen better days.”

“I’ll say.” I chuckle. “You’re looking hairier than a yak’s fuzzy behind.”

He switches back to me with an eyebrow raised. “And how would you know what a yak’s fuzzy behind looks like?”

“World tour. Duh.”

“Oh no, that doesn’t answer the question.”

I snort. “Well, it’s hard not to when they’re twice your height and always throwing their weight around, and the prince insists on personally leading you everywhere.”

“Oh, so it was a princely behind.”

“Shut up, perv.”

“Hey,” he holds his hands up in mock defence, “it’s not my place to judge. I mean, whether I like it or not, I am stuck here, so…”

My ears perk up beneath the sunhat, and my grin fades in an instant. Even my wings and tail try tucking themselves in, and I feel the faint urge for my hindlegs to do the same.

He waits a few moments, knowing what he’d just said, but taking longer to process it, and when the fact settles in, he deflates with another, heavier sigh and looks away once more. He folds his arms and frowns, sucking on his bottom lip as he shakes his head. He’d let the cat out of the bag, and he hadn’t meant to.

I lean a little closer, brows upturned. “Philip, I—”

“Don’t.” He lifts a hand to silence me, but his tone isn’t scolding. Rather, surprisingly, he sounds defeated. “It’s not what you think.”

I blink, then angle my head curiously.

My wordless query doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t give me an answer. Not immediately; after a length pause, he shrugs dolefully and gives me a fleeting glance. “Let’s just… focus on you for now, alright?”

My expression doesn’t change. “You don’t want to talk about it?”

Another pause. “Eventually. But right now, I…”

I wait patiently.

For a whole minute, he sits there, staring intently at nothing under the table, troubled as he grinds his teeth behind pursed lips. And then he looks me in the eye and mumbles honestly, coyly, “I want to hear you talk.”

I blink again. “Excuse me?”

Yet another pause, wondering if he’d phrased it wrong. “I mean, for the past year, I’ve been surrounded on all sides by the same walls, same windows, same people… and I haven’t been allowed to live anywhere else, even when…” He lowers his gaze, then slowly shrugs once more and peers up at me. “It’s just… nice to hear your voice again. Lisp and all.”

I stay where I am, caught on the notion. Coming from anypony else, I might’ve easily mistaken the intent and meaning, but we’ve both made it abundantly clear we’re not after that — him less so, knowing his background. And since he’s now stuck here…

…Merciful Sisters, I’ve ruined this boy’s life.

But I can’t let it show. I just… need to distract myself, and the conversation at hand is as good as any. So, before I let the thought take hold and sink its claws into my chest, I give him another small smirk. Feigned confidence, like I do with reporters when they’re on their best behaviour and I’m having a bad day. But this is more… personal, for lack of a better word.

“Did you miss it that much?”

He stretches the corner of his mouth and gently nods. “More than I thought I would.”

I snort, leaning against the backrest, and that dispels the creeping feeling of guilt for the time being. “Didn’t peg you to be so whimsical.”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “I have my moments.”

“Hmm.” I glance at the menus again, then decide to turn it into an open query. “Did you want to order yet?”

“They serve lunch here?”

“Delicacies, mainly — unhealthy snacks.” I lean closer once more, as if to whisper something nefarious. “Unbecoming of an athlete such as myself, so don’t go telling the press.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’ll need my input for that,” he quips, nodding to the other patrons.

I follow his gaze, and one by one, the patrons who’re trying their best not to stare stop staring. I don’t feel any particular enmity towards them — it’s not like I wouldn’t have done the same if this were the first time I were seeing either of us in person. But none of them have any cameras out, which is good, though I’m sure there are some reporters waiting hopefully outside. I doubt they’d try their luck going in when they saw the three guards enter alongside him.

“Was this a mistake, coming to a place so public?”

I skew my jaw for a moment, then shake my head and return to him. “They’d find out eventually. Nothing we can do about it. And it’s not like our daily meetups at the Castle of Friendship went unnoticed either.”

“Ah, right,” he lifts his chin and squints in thought, “the infamous sleepover.”

“Argh.” I shut my eyes, slump forward and bang my forehead on the table, almost losing my hat in the process, forelegs falling limp by my flanks. “Don’t remind me. It took a whole month to clear that image from my mind, and I don’t need it resurfacing.”

“A month?” he exclaims incredulously. “You imagined me in compromising positions with you for an entire freaking month?”

“What, you think I wanted that?” I snap, tilting my head up and raising an irritated eyebrow at him from under the circular brim.

He pauses, and then glances away uneasily. “Well, no, but… now I have to wonder if you ever… you know…”

My eyes narrow, then widen in realisation and my whole body stiffens, sitting upright. “Oh, no,” I shake my head, “we are not going there.”

“Well, it kind of begs the question.”

“No, it doesn’t. I came here to have a nice, quiet chat with a friend I haven’t seen in a year, not discuss the very private details of my personal life. And for the record, no, I didn’t. Did I find time for myself? Yes, of course I did, but it was never to you. I mean, almost everypony wants to scratch that itch at some point. And you? You’ve had all the time in the world — I bet you’ve been jerking up a…”

His eyes are wide and his face seems paler.

This was the wrong line of thought. He couldn’t have made it any clearer just how uncomfortable the subject was to him, and I doubt it coming from me was doing him any favours. And the fact I’d started rambling on about it with such nonchalance, as if I were happy to discuss it on a whim… That kind of disturbs me as well.

“…Sorry.” I deflate and lower my gaze. “That… wasn’t called for.”

He stays like he is for a good minute or so, waiting for the extremely awkward moment to pass. “Yeah, so…” he tentatively offers a hand across the table, “if we could agree to just not talk about that, that’d be great.”

I pause for a moment, and then sigh. “Sure,” I say, reaching over to accept his offer. But then I hesitate, and then I switch hooves.

He doesn’t return the gesture, instead raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Cleaner.”

He looks down at the offending hoof, then withdraws his hand and sits back, averting his gaze with a wrinkled nose and puckered lips. “Okay, let’s just order something now before I completely lose my appetite.”

---

Apple juice for him, a latte for me. Few words spoken as we left the table and placed our orders. Now we’re sitting at our table again, waiting for the waiter to bring our drinks. It’s a mutual silence, neither of us willing to break it until the obligatory show of appreciation for a member of the café’s staff doing their job.

But I’d taken this too far — crossed a line we’d both established shouldn’t be crossed. And the next topic of conversation couldn’t very well be whatever news he wanted to share with me. So, it’s on me to end this quiet stalemate.

Sideways in my chair, hindlegs crossed and forelegs folded, I glance across to him.

He sits hunched over, elbows resting on the tabletop, absently staring with a troubled frown at the lacquer surface. The thing he wants to talk about, but isn’t ready to, it’s eating away at him, and while I’m not terribly eager to poke and prod anymore, if I ever was, I know it’s my duty as a friend to do just that. If only Princess Twilight were here — I know for a fact she would’ve avoided the conversation we’d just finished entirely.

“Nopony’s done that before, you know.”

He peers up at me. His frown softens, but doesn’t fade completely.

“My lisp. It’s not something ponies compliment. Most of the time, they barely notice it.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, quietly measuring me instead. And then he shrugs. “It’s the little things, I guess. Not as bad as it could be, that’s for sure, but… I don’t know. I just missed what we had before, you know?”

I nod. “There was comfort in routine.”

“Exactly. And now Celestia’s thrown a spanner in the works.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re still bitter about being relocated?”

He pauses, and then he looks away and breathes deeply. “Among other things.”

There’s the iceberg again. Definitely something to do with the princess, and I’m guessing it’s more than the fact she’s delivered him some bad news. “Has she been treating you well?”

“Yeah,” he says with an apathetic sigh, and then gestures to the guards — two stallions and a mare. “Always looking out for me, as you can see. Nothing but my complete and utter wellbeing in mind.”

Sarcasm. Not obvious, but I’m used to picking it out over the years. “Are they giving you trouble?” I ask, somehow hoping his woes aren’t being caused by the one pony I’m not sure I should criticise. Her sister might visit me in my dreams sometime and give me a stern talking-to, or far, far worse.

“Nope.” He gives a small, dismissive wave, dashing those hopes entirely. “They’re just doing their job, so I can’t blame them. And Brave’s been doing her best to fill your shoes ever since the news dropped, so… yeah.”

I raise another eyebrow. “You were trying to replace me?”

“No, I said she was.” He chuckles languidly. “Don’t go putting words in my mouth. But don’t worry, there’s only room for one Fleetybee in my life, and Brave has two limbs too few.”

I scoff amusedly, welcoming a slight deviation. “You’re segregating based on tribe?”

“Well, hey, she may be cute in her own loyal-to-a-fault kind of way, but she’s not the one who starts behaving like a bird when they feel threatened.”

I blink, stunned. There’s a lot to unpack there, and I don’t know where to start. I give a small, breathless laugh, but stop myself and look away before I let anything else out, and I desperately try to keep the fur on my chest from puffing out. “It’s… not cute, Philip, it’s just… a natural reaction to something.”

“Which happens to be cute.”

I pause a little while longer, then return to him and shake my head with a bemused smirk. “What exactly are you trying to pull?”

“Just lightening the mood, I guess.” He shrugs again, a smile of his own coming through. “Shits and gigs and all that crap.”

“Well, stop.”

“Make me.”

I shut my mouth and think for a moment, and then a horribly perfect idea comes to mind. It’ll mean breaking our pact, but it’ll be worth it to see the look on his face. So, I exchange my bemused smirk for a smug one, shift in my seat to face him more directly, lean closer, narrow my eyes, and murmur huskily, “I fantasise about—”

“Okay, timeout!” he exclaims, slapping the table as he sits upright, and then points a finger at me as he grins wildly, somewhere between outrage and amusement. “That’s harassment.”

“Well, if you’re trying to make me uncomfortable, why can’t I do the same to you?”

“Because we’re both supposed to be put off by it.”

“And I am, but you forced my hoof.”

“I’m not the one who chose to take it that far.”

“Karma’s a bitch, huh?”

He snickers and hangs his head into a waiting palm, closing his eyes as he tries to contain his toothy smile. “Okay, okay, you win,” he giggles, waving me off, “no more cute comments.”

“Mm-hmm, damn right.” I nod to myself and sit back. “So, are we finally ready to have a decent, grownup, mature conversation?”

He titters a little more, but it eventually dies down and he sighs pleasantly, as if reliving a cheerful memory. “I guess,” he says affably, dragging his hand down his face and looking at me again. “But that peacocking thing you do is still objectively adorable.”

“Philip, I swear, as Celestia’s my witness, if you think I won’t slap you right here, right now, you’re dead fucking wrong.”

His smile shrinks.

Mine does too. Whatever she’s done, mentioning her name is enough to kill the mood.

“Your drinks, sir, madame,” a kirin waitress announces, trotting up to our table with a glass and a mug levitating beside her. Rare to see one so far north, even on the east coast, but life takes us all in unexpected directions. Or maybe it was exactly what she expected — I won’t pretend to know her. “Latte?”

“Me, thanks.”

The mug floats to my side of the table, and the glass to his. “There you go,” she says to herself, and once it’s in place, she offers Philip a warm, inviting grin. “And welcome to Equestria, Mister Montreo.”

He stares at her blankly. “Thanks.”

She seems oblivious to the fact and trots off, a spring in her step, no doubt thrilled to finally meet him face to face. A commendable effort at being friendly and keeping her excitement lowkey, but being reminded where he is — read: not home — isn’t what he needed to hear. Not that she’d have known any better.

I slide my mug away from the table and bring it to my lips, tasting the sweet nectar I’d come to depend on far, far too much the longer I’ve been in the Bolts. Some could say it’s an unhealthy obsession, and some have. I call it my bread and butter.

Philip, however, merely watches his drink from afar, how the ice cubes rest at the top and tiny bubbles catch on the glass and in small air pockets. I doubt his appetite’s gone, but he’s not in the mood to take a swig, and so the juice continues to warm.

“It was a portal.”

I lower the mug from an attempt at a second sip and raise an eyebrow.

“That magical artefact that broke — the one Celestia told your captain about?” He looks up to me solemnly. “It was a portal. A mirror to another world. My world.”

I blink. “Oh,” I say, and it’s all I can think to say.

“That’s why Sunset was at Twilight’s when you swung by — to help fix it. And the guards were there to provide extra security, because it’s a state secret; no one can know about it except Sunset, the royal family, the Bearers, Spike, and Starlight… Glimmer, or something like that.”

I pause. “They… haven’t been able to fix it, I take it?”

“They have.” He nods impassively. “That’s why all those storms cleared up and everything.”

I frown in confusion. “Then… why can’t you go?”

This time, he pauses, then picks up his glass and lets it hover in front of him, staring absently at my end of the table. “Celestia won’t let me,” he mumbles, and then takes a long, slow drink.

I blink again, ears twitching beneath my hat and wings tensing by my sides, a small pit of dread opening up. “She what?”

He relishes the taste for a moment, then returns his glass to the table. “Celestia won’t let me,” he repeats dispassionately, a little louder and more articulate. “My arrival here was an accident, and for that, she’s sympathetic. But… if she were to send me back… she’s worried about just how I’d pick up my life where I left off. How I’d explain my absence, how… people would view even after I’d somehow explained myself… or heaven forbid, what would happen to me if I mentioned Equestria. And if I can’t handle the situation on my own, she’d have to intervene.”

I pause once more, thinking about my response carefully. “That… sounds fair.”

“Yeah.” He looks at me with narrowed eyes and nods. “It does, doesn’t it? Except, if I hadn’t gone snooping, she’d have gladly kept this from me.”

“…I’m not too sure on the ‘gladly’ part.”

“I don’t care. She wouldn’t have said anything it if I hadn’t stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, and she’s doing all this to ‘protect’ me. So, my family, my job, my old life, it’s all on the other side of some mirror down in Twilight’s basement, but I’m not allowed to catch a train to Ponyville because it’d be too much of a bloody inconvenience for her to represent her own damn country, like a leader’s supposed to do.”

I shut my mouth and look away, thinking.

“I don’t care if it’s better to let sleeping dogs lie; she’s not giving me a choice in this. And the fact she wouldn’t have said anything about his — that she expected me to just get over it…” His voice quavers, and he’s sniffling. “Maybe she means the best, but… I just don’t want to live with her anymore.”

A harsh judgement, but not an unfair one, if everything he’s said is true for both sides. I don’t imagine him being one to misrepresent the facts, though. “Have you said anything to her regarding that?”

He sighs, glancing about the café. “She’s sorry I feel this way, but… she understands. And she’s not against the idea, so long as there’s a guard on my six, twenty-four-seven.”

“You think she doesn’t trust you?”

“I think she’s being a dick.”

I draw my head back slightly, eyes widening.

He notices and sags his head, sighing again. “I don’t know,” he murmurs, looking over the balcony. “She’s not completely heartless, or she wouldn’t give a damn about me, but… it just sucks. Like a… vacation you never knew you wanted, but there’s no wi-fi and all the toilet paper’s gone.”

My eyes half-close. “Charming.”

“Well, you have to admit, it’s a pretty shitty situation.”

I blink, then narrow my eyes to slits and limply point a hoof at him. “Did you just…?”

He looks at me askance and smirks.

“You son of a…” I flick my forehooves up in defeat, glancing about with my mouth hanging open in exasperation. And then I lean forward again and jab at him with my wingtips. “Screw you. Screw you so hard.”

“Well, I mean, what was I supposed to do? Pass that opportunity up?”

“And here I was thinking you were taking the situation seriously.”

“Oh, I am, I’m just… lightening the mood.”

I scoff, folding my wings. “Well then, funny guy, do you have any locations in mind?”

He breathes out through his nose in a wistful sigh, inspecting his surroundings fleetingly. “Fillydelphia’s pretty nice.”

“Oh, wow, so inspired.”

“Hey, cut me some slack.” He shrugs, returning to me with a small smile. “I’m making a hasty decision I’ll probably regret, and I’m not exploring the whole kingdom just to find the perfect place that’s not Canterlot or Ponyville. And from what I’ve seen of the city so far… no joke, it’s… neat.”

A master wordsmith as always. “There’s more to a city than just looks.”

“Oh, I know. But if the people are as delectable this glass of apple juice here, then it’s as good a place as any.”

I snort, amused, but then the full reality of his words sink in and I can’t help worrying for him. “Are you sure?”

He pauses for a while, looking away and skewing his jaw in thought. “No,” he coolly admits, returning to me. “But I could be persuaded with a tour around town. See the sights, do the… other things you do on a tour. The last train for Canterlot departs around eleven at night anyway, and it’s a full day trip, so we have plenty of time.”

I pause too. Is he being reckless? Yes, probably. Do I agree with his decision? I’m not entirely sure. But if it means spending the whole afternoon walking through these streets, making up for the time we weren’t able to spend together over the past year… then why the heck not.

“Is that something you’d want to do?”

My smile emerges from its shell without coaxing. “Yeah. I think it is.”

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