Parents.

Not a day goes by where I don’t roll my eyes at them, either while I’m with them or remembering some distant memory I’d rather forget, but can’t for reasons unknown to me. Maybe they’re events that shaped me into the pony I am today, or maybe they’re just plain traumatic. I don’t care. All I know is we’ve had our ups and downs, and today is looking to be an up day.

Hearth’s Warming has come and gone, but the stores here in Fillydelphia haven’t given their customers any respite — they’re already preparing for the next major holiday. And despite the gushy, sentimental nature of Hearts and Hooves Day, I’ve always appreciated the sweets they break out for the occasion. I know I’m missing the point entirely, but what can I say? I see chocolates, I get a craving, and I may as well share the joys of confectionary goodness with the two ponies I really should be spending more time with.

I stare at the box of rainbow truffles poking from Dad’s saddlebags with a ravenous hunger as we exit Sweet Talkin’ Filly. He’ll share them with me, I know, but if I’d gotten to them first, I’d be doing my best to keep them hidden. Selfish, sure, but I’d forgotten how much I missed their taste — that perfect blend of sweet and savoury with a hint of spice and crackling candy.

“Well, that was fruitful,” Mum croons, holding the door open for both myself and Dad. She wears a straw sunhat fastened by a lavender ribbon — our sense of fashion must be genetic — and a floral blouse with a maroon cardigan; prettied up for a stroll around an ‘exotic’ city. “We’ll be stocked with toffee for weeks to come.”

I roll my eyes and smirk as we pass through; of course she’d focus on the toffee. “You’re welcome, Mother dearest.”

“I most certainly am!” She flashes me a smile and lets the door close, following us out into the perimeter of a massive greenspace — Equinox Park, if memory serves me right. I wouldn’t have the foggiest as to why it’s called that, but there are sculptures and fountains dotted all over the place, and plenty of trees and lawn between. Even a skate park. Miraculously, Sweet Talkin’ Filly found itself in the middle of it all; a slice of heaven in paradise.

Clumps of snow lie here and there, reminding us that winter hasn’t completely gone. I’m dressed for the occasion in a red parka, and a white scarf and beanie. Not that a pegasus would need clothes to survive in air as cool as this — I’m just using the season as an excuse to switch up my disguises, and this one’s proving quite effective; it’s not so easy to see my cutie mark. I’d have kept my shades or worn a pair of phoney glasses for an added layer of anonymity, but today, I have to keep myself at least somewhat recognisable, and not just for my parents.

“So, where to next, Fleety?” Dad chimes in as he turns around and starts walking backwards. He’s carrying everything, as he always does, and wears only a flat cap and festive Hearth’s Warming sweater, long after its time has passed. “Didn’t you mention there’s a roller-skate rink somewhere around here?”

“Mm-hmm.” I nod, but then narrow my eyes at him in playful suspicion. “Wait, you’re not actually planning on going there, are you?”

He shrugs with a smirk. “You never know. Could be fun. Certainly wouldn’t mind seeing your mother try her luck at it again.”

“Oh, Slipstream, you stop that right now,” she scolds with just as much mirth. “You know those days are far behind me. Besides, it’s not like you fared much better. This pot shan’t be called black and let the kettle get away with it.”

“Except you let me get away plenty of times. I wouldn’t have gone to the hospital if you’d just kept a steady grip.”

“Hush now, honey. Let’s not bicker in front of Fleetfoot.”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me,” I defend myself with a genuine chuckle. “Just pretend I’m not here. The more dirt I have on either of you, the better.”

Dad cocks an eyebrow. “You’re planning some legal action against us, hey?”

“Only if the situation calls for it.”

Mum looks over her shoulder, nose up. “And what, pray tell, would that be?”

“Oh, you know, this or that.” I wave a wing dismissively. “I prefer to keep my evil schemes private, if it’s all the same to you. No use telling your victims the plan before it’s in action — ruins the tension.”

Dad snorts, then turns to Mum. “Mistral, honey, I believe we ought to sleep with one eye open from here on out.”

“Indeed,” she agrees, meeting his gaze. “She’s probably after the life insurance.”

“Transfer our savings to the offshore account.”

“The one in the Griffish Isles?”

“No. The one in Swayback Atoll.”

“Slipstream, darling!” She puts a hoof to her chest and gasps. “You hid this from me?”

“Love of my life, there are many secrets I keep. You have some of your own, I’m sure.”

“I’m quite certain I don’t know what you mean.”

“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow at her and smirks. By this point, he’s already gone back to walking forwards. “Then what was that magazine I found stowed away in the closet about—”

“Slipstream,” Mum gently warns, maintaining a smile while making it clear he’d almost crossed some kind of line, “we have company.”

I don’t need to connect the dots to understand this is something I don’t want to be hearing, and my pace slackens for a few steps as I cringe, instinctively glancing about for a distraction. Skyscrapers surround the park and there’s not a cloud in the sky; an almost perfect day if it weren’t for whatever these two had just cut themselves short of saying.

And then I spot the tell-tale glint of golden armour polished to perfection through the trees just ahead near the main fountain. Seriously, if they ever planned on being an actual military unit, they’d better learn from the other nations stat.

“Actually, why don’t we wander around here for a bit?” I suggest, glancing between my parents. “Maybe there’s an event going on and we missed it coming in.”

Dad looks at me unsuspectingly. Mum, on the other hoof, is clearly doubtful. “If there were an event, Fleetfoot, I’m sure it’d be clear to us the second we stepped out of the shop.”

I resist the urge for my eyelids to lower halfway. She knows full well by this point talking like that to me doesn’t do her any favours, but still she does it, and I imagine it’ll only get worse the longer she thinks I haven’t matured. And I know, deep in a dread-filled part of my heart, there’s only one way to convince her otherwise — a way I’ve made perfectly clear I’m not interested in whatsoever. And if I were, I could easily be convinced to pick somepony she’d never get along with, just to spite her.

Not that I actually wish to make things worse, or would ever take it to such an extreme. I don’t know. Just idle musings, I guess. Ones I really shouldn’t be wasting my time on.

“Well, a nice, idle stroll certainly couldn’t do us any harm,” Dad offers in my defence, a staunch defender of my sanity as always. “What’s wrong with a little solid ground for a change?”

“You say that as if we don’t go out often enough.”

“And we don’t. When was the last time we took a trip for ourselves, and not because we wanted to see Fleetfoot perform? We’ve never been here as proper tourists before, and if Fleety’s our guide, then what’s the problem?”

Their guide. Yes, that’s what I advertised myself as. It’s just a shame I’ll have to cut my tenure short as we approach the paved, circular clearing of the largest fountain in the park.

The marble statue of a mare in a chiton — some historical figure from the city’s founding, I reckon — pours an amphora down upon rolling hills and plains. Smaller ponies till fields and tend to their homesteads, gradually increasing in development the closer to the pool they come, like a walk through time. A humble monument, and I like the aesthetic; it reminds me of the dioramas you see in museums depicting scenes from ages past. I’ve always adored them, no matter what they’re about, and the attention to detail can truly be astounding.

But as much as I’d like to stop and admire the miniatures, there’s another sight that draws my attention: three members of the Royal Guard — two mares and a stallion — huddled around an ice-cream kiosk. Two stand on watch while the third deals with the vendor, alongside the VIP they’ve been guarding for the past few months. Their faces have grown as familiar to me as his, even if I don’t know them as well as him, and I can list their names off by heart: Brave, Phalanx and Stella.

The last one’s a fill-in from the Lunar Guard, meant to replace Ironside after he suffered a pretty bad case of gastro.

It wasn’t pretty.

The VIP in question turns away from the counter after thanking the vendor, hands her what appears to be a generous scoop of vanilla in a cup, and swings around a little further with three waffle cones; mango, strawberry, and cookies and cream. He wears a plaid hoodie patterned in various shades of grey, a festive beanie — a leftover from Hearth’s Warming — baggy, blue jeans, and a new, tailor-made pair of sneakers he’d commissioned for himself when his old pair finally gave out.

And a smile. He wears that too. Clean-shaven and back to his cheery self. A changed pony once more, and no doubt for the better.

“Fleetfoot?”

My ears perk up and I look away from the scene on my right to Mum and Dad just a few seconds ahead of me. Apparently, I’d stopped and fallen behind without noticing.

“What’s the matter, dear?” Mum queries as they stroll back to me, but briefly following my gaze answers her question immediately and she stops dead in her tracks, eyes wide and lips parting.

I return to the kiosk and those in front of it, and they’ve all turned their collective attention towards us. I start feeling quite exposed, even with the layers of clothing, but as soon as I see him watching me with a widening grin, I remember to keep a level head.

I am in control.

“Fleetybee!” he cries, standing up and striding forward, a look of very convincing disbelief plastered on his face. “Bloody hell, how long has it been? Fancy meeting you here!”

Indeed, what are the odds?

“Oh my stars, you?” I exclaim, trotting toward him and closing the gap, and as soon as we’re close enough, I rear up and spread my forelegs, and we embrace each other in a tight, welcoming hug. His arms wrap around my neck, my hooves link behind his back, and our heads hang over the other’s shoulder. And it feels nice. So nice it’s almost like we haven’t seen each other for weeks on end. I shut my eyes and press my cheek to the crook of his neck. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“Right back at you, sister.”

My smile widens further, giving him a gentle squeeze, which he returns in kind, and then we both let go and step back, and I fall to all fours once more. “So, fetching supplies for the troops, are you?”

He nods. “Absolutely.” But then he pauses and ponders the notion more deeply. “Well, I mean… they’re the ones paying for it, but it still counts, right?”

“Not on your life, dipshit!” Stella chimes in from behind the other two guards. Her muzzle’s already caked in white, in stark contrast with her grey coat and dark armour.

Without looking at her, he rolls his eyes with an amused smirk. “Don’t mind her, she’s just crabby I didn’t get her a cone as well.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow. “Has she been naughty?”

He puckers his lips and narrows his eyes. Not at me specifically, but in an expression that tells me more or less all I need to know. He leans in, though, and whispers, “Let’s just say she has a rather… ravenous appetite and leave it at that.”

I sigh and roll my eyes in turn. Straight from one unpleasant imagining to another. But for all the distaste I feel, I know the rest of the day will more than make up for it. He’s not getting rid of me that easily.

“Mister Montero, I presume?”

Except he just might, if we don’t tie up a certain loose end.

We turn to look at Mum, and with a grace and ease that may seem to anypony else like confidence, but says to me he’d practiced for this moment all throughout the week, he bows forward and offers his hand. “The one and only, Fleetfoot’s mum.”

She glances from him to his hand, perhaps in mild hesitation, perhaps in quiet scrutiny, but after a moment’s pause, she accepts it with a hoof all the same, smiling diligently. “Mistral, please.”

“Of course, of course.” He lets go and stands to full height once again, the other hand still holding his strawberry gelato, having given the guards their own. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Nor I you.”

“Mum,” I preemptively interrupt, in case I’d heard something judgemental in her tone, “this is Philip. Philip, this is Mum. And that’s Dad over there in the silly sweater.”

“Guilty as charged,” Dad admits, strolling over to Mum’s side with a far more genuine smile. At least, it feels that way. I can’t tell anymore. Maybe I’m just being too on edge about it — this being the first time either faction has seen the other in person. “So, you’re this human we’ve been hearing so much about.”

“That I am, Mister…?”

“Slipstream.” He offers his hoof. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Likewise.” Philip accepts and they shake. “And if I may say, you raised her well.”

“Hey,” I whine, squinting with a smirk as give him a soft jab in the hip with my wing, “don’t make it sound like I had no say in anything. I’m my own mare now.”

“Not always, dear,” Mum corrects. “Why, I remember when I could still cradle you in my foreleg. You were so sweet an innocent back then.”

“Oh, and I’m not anymore?”

“You lost that privilege the second you swore in front of your father.”

I raise another eyebrow in jest. “Do I need to remind you where I learned it from?”

Her smile falls, unimpressed.

Dad coughs. “So, uh… Philip… has life been treating you well?”

“For the most part.” He shrugs. “People here are finally starting to get used to me. Press has died down, as you can see, or I’d be getting swamped by photographers and microphones. That, or my guards are doing their job.”

“Too bloody right we are, you piece of—”

Stella is suddenly shushed by a hoof to the mouth from Phalanx. By the deadly look in the her eyes, I don’t doubt she’d have broken his foreleg if they weren’t in public and trying to maintain a modicum of professionalism.

“What lovely company,” Mum deadpans.

“Yes, indeed, wonderful,” Philip quickly mutters like he’d dodged a thunderbolt, then gives his gelato a lick around the cone to clear up any melting dregs, and that appears to calm him. “Anyway, um… you wouldn’t mind if I steal your daughter for lunch, would you?”

She switches to him and blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, that’d be fantastic,” I gush with a sigh for extra emphasis. “Lunar Bean, like last time?”

He smirks at me. “As if there’s really a choice.”

“No, wait, hold on,” Mum interjects, blinking a few more times and drawing her head back a little way, lifting a hoof to silence us. And then her focus lands on me, and I detect a hint of betrayal in her gaze. “You’re… abandoning us already?”

I stifle an attempt to roll my eyes and turn it into a quiet huff and a petulant glance to the left. “No, Mum, it’s just… it’s been so long. There’s probably a lot we need to catch up on.”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” he confirms to my slight surprise. “Found a little something while browsing my phone — thought you might like to see it.”

“Browsing your phone?” Mum echoes.

“Oh, yeah.” Philip nods, but decides further explanation is needed upon seeing her blank expression and whips out the device with practiced precision. He presses a button on the side, and the screen lights up. “Mobile, see? Like a TV, but smaller, and it’s a phone, and a camera, and a bunch of other things rolled into one.”

Mum stares at it with a perplexed frown, blinks once more, and then returns to him with a curious squint. “What ‘little something’ do you want her to see, exactly?”

My smile falls and my ears point back. Is she seriously trying to coddle me, right here, right now, in front of him? Really? A friend she’s known about for more than a year, and now she finally gets to meet him, she basically tells him to his face that she doesn’t trust him, and I’m not even a yard away.

Philip seems caught off-guard somewhat. “It’s… nothing to worry about, Miss Mistral.”

“Then surely you wouldn’t mind showing me too.”

“Mistral, honey,” Dad plods a little closer, “let the adults have their space.”

“But Fleetfoot was showing us around,” she complains, glancing at me as she turns to him. “This was supposed to be our time.”

“And now she wants to spend time with somepony else.” He drapes a comforting wing over her withers. “We wanted the same when we were younger, didn’t we?”

I try forcing down a grin. Trust Dad to come to my rescue, and if I’m not mistaken, this is one of the boldest steps I’ve seen him take with her. Probably the public setting; there are still a few dozen ponies passing by the fountain, most looking our way as they go, and most giving us a decent berth. That’d be the guards’ doing, I imagine, and as Philip clearly said.

Mum doesn’t appear too convinced however, so I decide to help things along. “There’s a roller-skate rink down on Topaz Street, just by Farrington Square,” I announce, pointing south with a wingtip. “The hospital’s just around the block from there, if you need it. We shouldn’t be more than three hours, I don’t think, so what say we meet again at Farrington at four?”

Dad beams at me and nods. “Sounds like a plan.”

Mum shares an uncertain, apprehensive look between us all, but seems to know the argument’s swung away from her. She sighs, resigned, and returns to me with concern in her eyes, as if I’d volunteered to brave a twister on my own. “If this is what you want, dear…”

“It is,” I affirm, glancing up at Philip and trying to keep my enthusiasm from showing too much. “It’s been long overdue.”

She pauses, and then slowly nods and steps back. “Well then, I suppose this is goodbye.”

“Just for a few hours, Mum.”

“I know, I know, it’s just… I really hoped we could’ve spent more time together.”

And this is coming from the pony who wants me to me more socially active. “We will, Mum. Just not right now. Besides, there’s plenty of time before the sun sets, and we still have flight back to Cloudsdale. We’ll talk more, don’t you worry.”

Her expression shifts to a light smile. Not completely satisfied, but appreciative all the same. “I hope so,” she says quietly, and then pulls away from Dad and wraps me in a hug of her own. “Stay safe, Fleety, dear.”

“Mum, it’s just lunch,” I drone as I squeeze her in return, pressing my neck against hers. “I’m with a friend, and the Royal Guard will be just around the corner. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I know, dear, I just… love you so much. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do.”

She snags a peck on the cheek before letting me go.

I thought we’d grown out of that, but apparently not. Not that it matters, anyway; our plans have been made, our destinations set, and all that’s left to do is bid my parents farewell. “See you later, Mum. You too, Dad. Have fun, and try not to break anything.”

“No promises,” Dad quips with a smirk, then turns away and starts wandering off. “Come on, honey, let’s leave them be. Maybe you can show me what moves you still have.”

Mum scoffs and rolls her eyes in amusement, but doesn’t follow or even look back at him, watching me instead. She seems almost overwhelmed by a sense of admiration and longing, as if she’s realising for the first time how grown up I am. She had the same look when I became a Bolt.

“Don’t worry, Miss Mistral,” Philip assures, “Fleet can handle herself. Take it from me: she has a mean right hook. Doesn’t know her strength half the time.”

“Excuse me,” I exclaim, peering up at him bemusedly, “since when have I ever slapped you?”

He raises an eyebrow at me knowingly, a hand on his hip. “Well, maybe it wasn’t a slap.”

Ah. Right. The Incident at Hole Eighteen. One of the few sore spots in our otherwise smooth history. I lower my gaze and suck on my bottom lip for a second, sighing through my nose, letting him know he’s made his point.

“Anyway, she’ll be fine.” He gives his gelato another lick and savours the taste. “We’ll just fetch some ice-cream here, go to the Lunar Bean, grab a coffee, maybe a chocolate croissant, talk a bit, and then she’s all yours. Heck, I might even be able to convince her to get a haircut for once.”

Mum snickers. As much as I want to take a jab at him for that, it seems to have done the trick. “No harm in that, I suppose,” she says with a smile, the sunhat shading her eyes and giving her a shy, reticent look. And then she brings her hoof up and clears her throat. “Anyway, yes, time to, uh… depart, as it were.”

“Four o’clock, Farrington Square.” I wave a casual salute and smile, then turn around and start walking for the kiosk. “Bye, Mum. I’ll see you soon.”

“You too, sweetie. I love you.”

“Love you too, Mum.”

And with that, after a short pause, I hear four hooves start trailing off, and a pair of sneakers striding across pavement to reach my side.

“Well,” he begins after another short pause, “that was interesting.”

“You’re telling me. Now, when does Ironside get back?”

“Not for another fortnight, I think. Why?”

“Nothing. Just… remind me never to swing round with Mum and Dad again before then.”

I sit in my chair with a stunned expression, staring at my equally stunned reflection in the blank phone screen; mouth open, eyes wide, brows slightly higher than normal, and I can feel my wings limp against my sides. I blink, and then, slowly, take the buds out from under my beanie, set them on the tabletop, turn my attention to the human on the opposite side barely keeping an idiotic grin from splitting his face in half, and blink again.

“Philip…”

“Mm-hmm?”

I hesitate, lowering my gaze and squinting at the tabletop, practically lost for words. I know what I want to say, but it just seems so ridiculous — so positively dumb compared to the horrifyingly beautiful work of art I’d just witnessed, if one could even call it that. But if there’s nothing else for it, then dumb will just have to do.

“…What exactly was that?”

His teeth show. I kind of want to kick them in. “That, dear Fleetybee…” he begins as he pulls the phone closer, switches it off, then rolls up the earbuds and stows them away, “was myself, Luna, and three of her magical clones… performing AC/DC’s Let There Be Rock in her personal suite. And besides getting to know you, that right there… is the single best thing to have happened to me since I arrived. Change my mind.”

I let out a breathless laugh, still squinting, and still trying to process everything. “But… she’s… a princess.”

“Yeah, and she likes rock and roll,” he chirps happily, and then cocks his head. “Considering she’s the most metal of the Big Four, I don’t see how any of this is surprising. I mean, Princess of the Night. How much more goth can you get?”

“But she’s old-fashioned,” I desperately defend, knowing deep down I’m fighting a lost cause. “A thousand years of isolation. Heck, she still addresses herself as ‘we’ from time to time, like… I don’t know. Since when has she ever have the privacy to warm up to that sort of thing, and how the heck did she learn to play the electric guitar, the bass guitar, and the drumkit without the whole kingdom knowing about it? And how in the world did you, of all ponies, convince her to let you make this video?”

“Actually, she was the one who suggested it.”

“Bullshit.”

“I shit you not.” He shakes his head and chuckles as he brings a tall, half-empty glass of apple juice from the table to his lips, then takes a gentle sip and savours the taste for a moment before continuing. “I can’t answer all your questions, Fleet, but you know I’d never lie to you. Luna is… a very unique character. And a talented musician, somehow, and has a majestic voice, and a sharp wit, and… just…”

I smirk as I listen, but his trailing off raises a question. “Do you miss her?”

He aloofly stares at the coffee cup on my end of the table, chewing his cheek as he thinks to himself for a while. “In a way, I guess,” he says with a sigh, sitting back in his chair. “Lady was like a living history book — a lot of interesting stories from ages past. Court politics aren’t what they used to be, let me tell you.”

“But do you think you’ll ever… you know…”

He looks up at me without moving his head, and with another sigh, he appears to understand what I’m getting at. He leans forward and runs a hand from his jawline to his hair —freshly shaven and recently trimmed, respectively. “One day, maybe,” he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. And then he shrugs. “I don’t know. I liked her as a person, but… not what she did. And as for her sister…”

I wait patiently. Months had gone by, but I’d only asked this question a hoofful of times, for clemency’s sake. The process would be slow for him, I always knew, but it’s healthy to leave him some breathing space — to make it clear that I'm not trying to rush him along.

“…I keep thinking back to that unicorn Spike mentioned — the one who’s still travelling… somewhere with her girlfriend. Longest honeymoon I’ve ever heard of. Anyway, she stole Twilight’s world, like… a hundred times over… and Twi stuck through it all, never once giving up hope of going home.”

My eyebrow rises curiously. He’s never made this comparison before, and although I’m slightly worried this might turn into a rant where I’ll have to intervene, I keep my concerns to myself. I want to see where this goes.

He pauses for a long moment, watching my cup again, and then rests his chin on a waiting palm and sighs yet again. “I don’t know where she found the strength to just… forgive her on a whim. Because if I’m having this much trouble dealing with my situation, I can’t imagine what kind of pressure she’d have been feeling.”

Still, I remain quiet.

“I’m not Twilight, I’ll say that much. Never have, never will be.” Another pause, and then he takes another sip from his glass. “I just wish things had turned out differently.”

“In what way?”

He shrugs again. “In a way where I wouldn’t have to be mad at anyone. But when I say that, that probably means never coming here.” He looks up once more and, after a beat, offers a small, subdued, but otherwise warm and inviting smile. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

I give a light snort and smile back. “Life would certainly be less interesting without you, that’s for sure.”

“You’re telling me.” He chuckles, glancing over the balcony to his left and at the rest of the café to his right. “An alternate universe full of talking, colourful ponies with magic and butt tattoos, and a whole heap of other races we humans thought were just myths and legends? This is a fantasy land come to life. You’d have authors from my Earth lining up in droves to get the full scoop on what makes this world tick, and I’ve been here for more than a year and I’m still learning things.”

But I’m only half-listening — hearing, but not processing; instead, I’m caught on a thought.

Life would be less interesting without him.

That’s a line I never thought I’d find myself saying about anypony else besides those I already knew before him: Spitfire, Soarin, Mum, Dad, Rainbow, Thunderlane, the rest of the team. It seems strange to think that, for almost seventeen years, my whole world revolved around myself and less than twenty other ponies, and I was perfectly happy with it. And now another’s been added to that circle, I can’t imagine how I’d react if this new routine suddenly… stopped.

Spitfire and I had come to an agreement: I’d do all the paperwork and nitty-gritty stuff for once in my life, if I were allowed a day in the week off. No exercise, no training, no anything of the sort, just some time for me to do me things. It took her by surprise at first — the workaholic athlete requesting a desk job in return for some free time — but I explained it away as me starting to take my leadership responsibilities seriously. After all, it wouldn’t do for the third in command to not know how to run the ship.

And each week, I spent the morning and evening of that day off flying to and from here, in Fillydelphia. I’d knock on his hotel door, or meet him at some predetermined destination, and no matter what we decided to do that day, we’d eventually find ourselves at the Lunar Bean Café.

In essence, it’s become a home away from home as much as the Academy, or the Wonderbolt airship, or Twilight’s castle ever was. This table and how it wobbles slightly, the railing to my right and all the mulberry vines growing along it, the wooden floorboards and how smooth they are on my hooves…

I like it here. I like the coffee, I like the food, I like the ponies, I like the company. It’s peaceful in its own way — provides an ambiance a stray cloud high in the sky lacks — and I’ve visited enough times that I’ve stopped being a sensation. Ponies know who I am, who I’m meeting, what I’m after, and they just… let me be. No requesting my autograph or a photo with me, just a few extra glances and whispered words.

Practically speaking, I barely need a disguise anymore. I wear one out of habit anyway, but…

I blink and return to him from staring off into the café interior, and I notice he’s watching me with a soft smile on his lips and a fascinated glint in his gaze. “Is something wrong?”

He doesn’t react immediately, but eventually, and gently, shakes his head. “Both your parents’ eyes are purple, but yours are green… and you hide them behind those contacts.”

I cock an eyebrow pryingly. “Turning into a critic, are you?”

He shakes his head again. “Not in the slightest.”

“Then what’s with the staring?”

For a long, long while, he doesn’t reply; he merely sits there and thinks, eyes slowly scanning me up and down, from beanie to parka and all regions in between. And as his attention wanders, his smile faintly widens. And then me meets my gaze once more, and he answers calmly, quietly, and as far as I can tell, truthfully, “You just… look nice.”

I blink, surprised to say the least.

Had he complimented my looks before? Yes, of course he had, just as I had done the same with him, and we’ve done that dance a dozen times over. But something… feels… different about this, somehow. It’s as if somepony had lightly brushed their wing over my shoulders, withers, and down my back all at once, but it feels neither warm nor cool.

“Thanks,” I mumble automatically, and decide maybe it’s for the best if I put whatever thought I’m having to rest with a nice mouthful of latte.

I pick my cup and saucer. Halfway finished, it seems, and milky design in the froth still matches my cutie mark — a ‘gift’ from the barista, Java Blend, who’s apparently taken a liking to me and ignored all signs of indifference. So long as he doesn’t get in my face about it and the coffee’s good, he can entertain his delusions to his heart’s content.

But then another thought strikes me, and I watch at my drink with creased brows.

As soon as I’m done with this, I won’t have any reason to stay. That is, besides the social norms all ponies are forced to abide by, chief among them in this context being you don’t leave prematurely. And I don’t want to. In fact, every time we’ve been together, I’ve found myself enjoying the occasion, and wishing I could’ve stayed longer. Every time, no exception.

We still have an hour and a half left, by my reckoning, but I already feel it’s not enough. I can almost guarantee it, actually; as soon as I get home from an outing like this, I check the clock, and the end of the next week can’t come soon enough. One hundred and forty-four hours later, I’d be up before dawn making my breakfast, warming myself up for the journey east, happy — or rather, glad — to meet him. I’ve never felt that way to anypony else before, even Soarin and Spitfire, great friends as those two may be.

It’s… an odd thought. One that begs further inquiry. And by some silly flight of fancy, I wonder if I’d find my answers by looking up at him. Which I do.

He peers over the balcony, watching the hustle and bustle of the street below; ponies dress in winter gear trot along the sidewalks, and carts trundle down the street itself. In the background behind him, distant and shimmering in the afternoon sun, is the ocean, and before it, the white sands of the shoreline. The light catches in his hair, trims his nose and brows, and picks out the details of a faint smile — small, yet enticing.

Once upon a time, it was rare to see him so outwardly cheerful. Not anymore. Now, he lights up like a firework anytime we see each other, and I can’t help grinning like an idiot alongside him. He makes a bad week good, and a good week great. And if this routine had to end…

I blink. I’m staring. If he’d seen me like that, he might’ve gotten the wrong impression. And that’s something neither of us need — the wrong impressions. No lies, deception, false pretences… and if I’m being honest with myself… this is the first time I’ve put somepony else on equal standing as my love for being a Wonderbolt.

I may not need his affection, but… I’m definitely starting to think I need him in my life.

Wait.

…

…

…

…

…

…Sweet Celestia…

Do I have a crush?

Stella is an OC loaned by Flammenwerfer. He's asked me to link this back to him so he can "funnel you into a bad decision".

Make of that what you will.