Walking.

When you have a pair of wings, the ground isn’t where you go when you want some time to think, either by yourself or with somepony else. As a consequence, walking along the Fillydelphian shoreline in the afternoon sun with Philip by my side, the guards a few paces behind, and the countless ponies scattered around us, is a very… interesting experience.

What’s stranger is that nopony seems eager to heckle me for an autograph. I wear my purple shades, a gold bracelet, a striped bathing singlet, and a pair of white swimming trunks long enough to cover up my cutie mark, but I doubt my disguise has anything to do with it; there’s only one pony who isn’t a Royal Guard that regularly hangs around the world’s first, and only, human.

Outside the Lunar Bean, I’m still a spectacle, so why everypony seems so blasé today, I haven’t a clue. I’m not about to question it, though, since I could use the peace and quiet. Relatively speaking, at least — a few seagulls squawk overhead or trundle along the warm sands, parents chat while basking on their towels, and children chase each other, build castles or splash in the surf.

Now that the snow has gone and spring has arrived, a new wave of tourism has flocked to the shores. Native ponies make up the majority, but yaks and griffons aren’t uncommon, and I even spy a diamond dog couple lounging in the shade of a parasol.

Maybe it’s the diversity at work — what’s so special about a human and a celebrity when there’s so much variety already on show?

…Great, now it sounds like I’m shopping for whatever species takes my fancy, if the concept of crushing on him wasn’t weird enough. And on top of that, I’m questioning the very thing I just said I wouldn’t question. Perfect.

“So, you… like-like me, right?”

I quietly sigh to myself. At least he’s here to keep me grounded. And the second the pun sinks in, I snort and smirk. “Indeed I do,” I agree, my head bobbing lightly as we amble onward. “At least, I’m pretty sure I do.”

“How sure?”

I lift my head and swing my attention right. He’s similarly dressed for the beach in a white swim shirt, black trunks, and a grey bucket hat fastened beneath his chin, but he’d look better without the coloured streaks of sunscreen on his cheeks and nose. “Eighty percent, or something like that. Getting close, that’s for certain.”

“But not quite there yet?”

“Well, it’s near enough that I know I can’t ignore it,” I assert, and then immediately worry if I’d said that too harshly. “I mean… you’re not like anypony I’ve ever met.”

He quirks an eyebrow and glances down at himself.

“Barring the obvious, dingus,” I gently scold, trying and failing to suppress another smirk. “And what I mean by that is… I’ve met ponies like you, but none I’ve ever really… well… connected with. Not like we do.”

“Not even Soarin? Or even Spits?”

I wince and roll my eyes. “They’re friends I’ve known since I was little. If I felt anything for either of them, I’m sure I’d have done something about it by now.”

He nods thoughtfully and looks ahead, scanning the way forward for obstacles and giving himself time to think. Two colts and a filly gallop and fly for the water, where they dive into a crashing wave, quickly followed by a mare who I can only assume is their mother. He coughs. “So, how long have you felt this way?”

Talking so openly about this doesn’t feel completely comfortable, but I promised to be honest with both him and myself. I haven’t let anypony down yet since this whole thing started two years ago, and I’m not starting today. “Hearts and Hooves Day.”

“Two weeks ago?”

“Two and a half, and that’s only how long I’ve known. Count the times I’ve missed being around you and you may as well…”

He returns to me, curious.

“…You may as well go back to when you were sent off to Canterlot,” I mumble, my ears lowering and gaze coyly drifting away from him, somewhat embarrassed.

Again, he nods. “Between a year and a fortnight ago, and you’re still not sure.”

“Well, what do you expect?” I snap, though it lacks any real biting power. “It’s been a long time since any of this has happened to me. I’m out of practice.”

He quirks another eyebrow and the hint of a cheeky smirk leers down at me. “It’s been so long since you’ve known what love is?”

“Oh, buzz off,” I retort with a chuckle, bumping into his hip with a shoulder. “I’m dealing with enough problems as it is that I don’t need your entitled ass telling me what a melodrama my life’s become.”

The smirk falls and his brows furrow. “What kind of problems?”

I pause for a moment as I process my answer, and when I realise what I’m about to say, my smile fades as I sigh and look away. “The usual, I guess.”

He rolls a hand encouragingly. “That being…?”

“My family.” I sigh once more. “Mainly Mum.”

“What about her?”

“I never told you?”

“You’ve hinted at stuff in the past, but never went into anything terribly specific.”

My wings slacken, my neck slumps and my ears and eyes lower even further as I feel a small but noticeable weight quietly rest upon my withers.

“So… what’s up?”

I sigh yet again. “She wants… grandkids.”

His eyes widen and he stops dead in his tracks, mouth agape in muted shock. “No way.”

“Unfortunately, yes way.” I stop and turn, facing him at an angle. “She… respects my choice to be a Wonderbolt, but… she doesn’t think it’s what I need for my life to be complete. She thinks… if I brought joy to her life, then… obviously, a foal of my own would do me some good as well.”

“That’s a load of bull.”

“I know, but that’s how she is.” I shrug. “And since I’m reaching my mid-thirties… in her mind, time’s running out, because she had me in, like, her mid-twenties, so the longer I put it off… the more agitated she gets. Add to that the fact I don’t want kids, and as far as I’m concerned, will never want them…”

His exasperation turns to something more sullen and his gaze wanders to the sand beneath his bare feet. “And then there’s me.”

“…Yeah.” I slowly, dejectedly nod. “I’ll admit, getting to know you was supposed to be a stepping stone, or something — my dad’s idea. Like, if I could convince myself getting to know you wouldn’t be so bad, then maybe I could meet other ponies too. It just… turns out you might be the be all and end all.”

He returns to me. “Might.”

I roll my eyes again. “Well, yeah, there’s every possibility this is just some passing feeling I can’t control, and I’ll get over it soon enough… but if it isn’t, and I keep feeling this way… then don’t you think it’s worth discussing?”

He pauses, his expression unchanging, then looks up and observes the shoreline behind me with a sigh of his own, a hand on his hip. “I suppose.”

“Then that’s all I ask — that we hash things out.”

His eyes return to mine. “But is that all you want?”

My breath threatens to hitch, but I force the urge down and quietly gulp, wings shuffling back into their normal positions at my sides. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One step at a time.”

Another pause, then another nod, and soon, we’re walking again.

A massive family plays a game of hoofball on our right — or football, or soccer, depending on who you ask, both from this world and Philip’s. The goal posts are marked by water bottles and the boundaries by unused towels. Four adults divide their strength among two teams mostly consisting of teenagers and children — twelve in total, I think. Currently, the ball lies in the possession of a giddy little filly with daisies in her hair, who’s far too young to understand how the game works, but is also far too young to be tackled.

Win or lose, I’m sure she’ll be a deciding factor.

And then I realise what I’m doing might be a little inappropriate considering the context and I look away. It’s not that I can’t appreciate kids — heck, watching their faces scream with glee when they see me in person and say they want to do what I do when they grow up is one of the highlights of being famous — but… that doesn’t mean I want one of my own. Even sparing a thought for it makes me feel icky; all that pain and anguish for months on end, only to be followed by years, or a potential eternity of disappointment afterwards…

I know I wasn’t the best daughter to my parents when I was younger. In some ways, somepony could say the same of me today, and I’m sure there’d still be some merit to it.

But in order to even be a mother, I’d have to…

I narrow my eyes and look off to the left as my tail tucks in. I’m not breeding stock. And even if I wanted kids, I’d be sorely tempted to simply not try by the simple fact that somepony else wants the same; it’s like a damned prophecy, and I’ve been doing my best to keep others from dictating my life. Whatever happens only happens because I want it to happen.

I am in control.

But the more I complain, the more I think about it, and the more I think about it, the worse it seems. I need a distraction — something that doesn’t relate to families and the process of building one. “Philip…”

“Yes?”

“…How does it make you feel, knowing this?”

He hesitates. He doesn’t show it — a quick glance reveals that much — but I can tell he’s taking the time to pick his words carefully. “Strange.”

A perfectly valid, yet perfectly vague answer, but I can work that to my advantage: the more time I spend talking and listening, the less opportunity there is for more unsavoury thoughts to take root. “Strange how?”

“Well… strange.” He shrugs, glancing at me in turn. “Not a bad kind of strange, but I’m not sure how else to put it. I mean, you know what I’ve said about how people back in my world view this sort of thing, right? It’s just… not something you ever properly, really, genuinely think about.”

I look at him properly and raise an eyebrow. “So, what do you make of it?”

He looks at me in earnest as well, raising an eyebrow of his own. “Am I supposed to make anything of it?”

I blink. “That’s not really an answer Philip.”

“Well, what do I say? I don’t mean to be blunt, but… it really falls back to you. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give you a better answer.”

Great, now the ball’s in my court again, and I can’t pass it back without seeming clueless. Which, to be fair, I somewhat am, but saying that outright wouldn’t do either of us any favours. So, I sigh and ponder my response; better to start with what I know. “I know I don’t want us to stop being friends.”

“I agree.”

Good. That’s something. “I also know I don’t, nor have I ever planned on us… being a thing. You know, a couple, a pairing, or whatever you’re supposed to call it.”

“A couple, and I haven’t either.”

Also good. Very much so, I’m pretty sure. Stars above, if he’d said anything else, that would’ve been so awkward. “Okay, so that’s half the picture. As for what I want…”

Now comes the hard part, and with his eyes on me, I’m feeling a little pressured. I know he doesn’t mean to, but it’s unavoidable — I’m deciding where I want the line in the sand drawn, and he’s going to draw its actual position. While there’s not a lot riding on this, it certainly feels that way.

“…I want things to stay as they are,” I carefully answer, pausing for a moment afterwards, then nodding once in affirmation, looking up at him again. “I like what we have, and I don’t want to change that.”

He slowly nods in turn,, his gaze lowering and expression growing thoughtful. “I like what we have too. It’s just… interesting how things work out sometimes.”

Interesting is definitely one word for it. “Well, believe it or not, I’ve never imagined myself with anypony, period, for almost seventeen years, or something like that.”

“Oh, I believe it. You’ve made your love for the job emphatically clear.”

“Then it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that this is surprising for me too?”

He looks at me, and then looks away, watching a colt give his mother a back massage while she reads a book in the shade of another parasol. “It doesn’t, I suppose. I just never thought about it, really. Or at least, I tried not to think about it when we weren’t yanking each other’s chains.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “You tried not thinking about what, exactly?”

Even with him looking the other way, I can tell he rolls his eyes before returning to me. “Relationships. And by extension, all that implies.”

Of course. Not only was there the species barrier to deal with, but the fact that others were living what he might never have. Granted, that’s only because he’s denying himself the opportunity… but the point still stands. And I shouldn’t expect nor should I want him to change, which I don’t. I said as much before. He’s perfect the way he is.

…Wait, that didn’t sound too smitten, did it?

“It’s not a great feeling, you know, knowing you might never have another chance.”

I can only imagine. This side of things is new to me, so it’s actually quite hard; I only know what it’s like to think I’m crushing on somepony and know they’ll never like me the same way. And even then, the feeling’s barely three weeks old.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t… entertain the idea, for lack of a better term.

“Has it ever crossed your mind?” I quietly ask, mostly curious, but perhaps motivated by some abstract, vague, and frankly rather pitiful sense of hope.

“Has what crossed my mind?” he questions, though his furrowing brows tell me he already suspects my answer; I’m echoing Spitfire from a few nights ago, after all.

My pace slackens as I bob my head from side to side. “You know… finding somepony.”

He matches my stride and watches me closely with his eyelids lowered — not halfway, but low enough to show a lack of enthusiasm. However, he appears to give the concept some thought, and before he looks off into the distance once more, I already know the answer. “Once or twice,” he begrudgingly mumbles. “Never really imagined myself going native, though.”

I’m not sure if that was supposed to be a warning or an idle remark, but I don’t dare ask for clarification. “Do you think you’ll ever consider it a possibility? Finding a partner, I mean.”

He peers down at me from the corner of his eye, perhaps trying to guess what my angle is, but seemingly dismisses his suspicions and returns to the horizon. “I don’t plan on it, honestly.”

I thought he’d say something like that, and despite the probability, something in my chest feels… heavier. Funny how the body and the mind work against one another; even if I’m respecting both our wishes, part of me presumed that laying the truth out for all to see would accomplish something… well, more than mere acceptance.

How does that work, anyway?

Another question for another time.

“But that doesn’t mean things can’t change.”

My ears perk up and I refocus on him, coming to a halt.

He stops as well and faces me directly, a hand on his hip as he stares with creased brows at the sand between us, lips curled as he chews the inside of his cheek. “I mean… you thought you’d never feel that way about anyone for at least as long as you had your career, and you were happy with that.” He shrugs and meets my gaze, reluctant but accommodating. “Now, you’re not so sure, and here I am almost saying the exact same thing.”

I blink. This was unexpected. And I’m honestly not sure what to make of it.

My-my, how the tables have turned.

“So, as much as it doesn’t appeal to me now… who knows?” He glances away and shrugs again. “Maybe, someday, that need — that… longing — will outweigh my wants. I’m only human, after all.”

For whatever reason buried deep within my psyche, I hate that line — perhaps because it echoes how exclusive it is to call other species ‘ponies’ in casual conversation. But coming from him… I think I understand. Not as well as I could, considering these feelings are a dusty, old tome I’ve only recently rediscovered, but well enough.

Still, there’s the chance he’s not being completely sincere, isn’t there? That he’s fuelling the tiny ember of hope inside me because he thinks that’s what I want to hear. And I can’t decide if it is or isn’t. I lower my gaze to think a little more.

“I’m not just saying that,” he assures as if he’s read my mind, squatting and sitting on his heels so we’re roughly eyelevel. His brows are upturned, his elbows rest on his knees and a hand grips the other’s thumb. “I love you, Fleet, but… not the way you might want me to. Not yet, at least.”

I don’t respond immediately, unable to determine on whether or not this stings. “But what happens if you do?” I quietly ask, a cursed sense of diffidence seeping through as I return his sympathetic look with a troubled one. “What if we… start feeling some mutual connection, or something? What do we do then?”

“Well then, we talk about it, don’t we?” A small, subdued, but kindly smile plays across his face, and it doesn’t feel forced. “We pick a pace, set some rules. Be honest with each other. That’s more or less how we’ve always done it anyway, isn’t it?”

Okay, that stings, and I do my best to not let it show. Conveying my feelings accurately is proving hard enough as it is; he doesn’t need another heavy truth heaped on his shoulders today, and certainly not in a place so public. Soon, though, when it’s appropriate. He deserves to know.

“I guess.” I sigh through my nose, hoping the context conceals a sudden bout of dejection. “But if things change, we’ll… take it slow, won’t we?”

“Well, obviously.” He chuckles. “What, you think I wouldn’t need time to adjust? That I’m so desperate for intimacy that ancient taboos would just fly out the window?”

I spy an opportunity to lift my spirits, and after a short pause to gather my wits, I give him as much of a cheeky smirk as I can manage. “I don’t know. Are you?”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, looking somewhere off to the right and shaking his head, though I could’ve sworn he took a second I’d have expected to react the way he does. “No,” he says in a good-natured, but fairly decisive tone, returning to me with his smile having fallen just a fraction. And then he reaches over and gives me a soft knock on the shoulder. “But if I ever need a good time, I’ll know who to call.”

I give him a solid punch to the chest.

He flops onto his rump in a fit of coughing and laughter. “Hey, don’t act surprised!” he exclaims almost breathlessly, grinning as he nurses the point of impact. “You started it, and you should’ve seen that one coming a mile away.”

“I still have nightmares, Philip!”

The laughter continues a few seconds more, ending in another cough, and then he pulls his legs in close and sits up, arms resting in his lap. A sly and mischievous smirk beams at me, just out of swiping distance. “And yet, somehow, you’ve fallen for me all the same.”

Oh, he’s practically begging for it, but as my muzzle contorts into a playfully irritated expression, I also become acutely aware of how many pairs of eyes are watching me. Mares and stallions, colts and fillies, other species and their respective genders; some watch out of idle curiosity, some watch more intently and urge others to turn their heads my way.

The human and his Wonderbolt friend — what a lucky sight. What must he have said, one must wonder, to warrant him getting knocked flat on his arse? And why does she seem a little embarrassed about something? They couldn’t possibly be discussing something extremely personal, could they?

I’m making a scene. My wings tighten against my sides and my chest tingles with the shameful impulse to puff up my fur. My muzzle’s no longer twisted, but my ears are angling back as my eyes widen anxiously — hopefully not too noticeable behind my shades.

“Hey.”

I look back to him.

His gaze has lost its smugness; earnest, heartfelt admiration has taken its place. “You look cute when you’re flustered.”

The tingle in my chest rises to an itch, but I grit my teeth and force it down, slowly shaking my head with a mixture of annoyance and appreciation. “You’re not making it better, you know.”

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow, and the smugness returns with a vengeance. “Is that so?”

I keep my mouth shut and try my best not to react, and especially not in any way he’d like.

After a brief pause, he leans a little closer and reaches out.

I freeze. It seems like he’s going to cup my cheek, or lay his palm on the back of my head, right in front of everypony on the beach, and for whatever reason, I make no move to stop him. My breath doesn’t catch in the back of my throat; I simply lack the attention to focus on both his hand and breathing at the same time.

But he doesn’t do what I thought he intended, and instead, he grips the edge of my shades between a thumb and a finger, and lifts it up and away from my snout, resting it in my mane. And then he sits back and observes his work appraisingly, the smugness fading once more to admiration.

I stare at him in turn, somewhat confused, but at the same time, an indistinct sense of excitement bubbling through my barrel, withers, and along my back. My head feels slightly lighter, and I think my cheeks and ears are starting to burn.

A few more seconds pass, and then he gently nods to himself. “Green suits you more.”

I blink, and some strange, misty sensation evaporates. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He nods again, then cocks his head, brows creasing in thought. “Matches better with your coat and hair, I think.”

I pause a little while, my focus drifting, trying to remember what shade of green my eyes are, and wondering for a brief moment whether I’d been getting it wrong this whole time. But then I blink once more and squint, cocking my head at him in turn. “Why do you care if you’re not into me? Or any pony, as a matter of fact?”

“What, I’m not allowed to offer my artistic opinion?” he playfully scoffs, and then gives a casual shrug. “I just like the aesthetic more. And it doesn’t hurt getting to see the real you. Fleetfoot the Wonderbolt. My friend and saviour. And future lover, should she have her way.”

“Oh my stars, I’m not after that.”

“Whatever you say, Fleeybee.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Whatever you say.”

I smirk despite myself, and despite all the onlookers, who seem to have grown fewer now the action has stopped and it’s just us talking again. My nerves probably exaggerating the whole thing anyway.

“You know, it’s my birthday soon,” he coolly announces, then nods over to his left where Brave, Phalanx and Ironside are keeping a pack of excited children at bay. “Besides the usual suspects, I don’t have a lot of guests to invite. You wouldn’t happen to be interested, would you?”

I pause again, and then my smirk widens to a smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Conflicting schedules, or something like that. You have a job, after all.”

I’m drawn back to the night I told him, how myself and the whole team bid him farewell at the train station before we headed for our airship. I also remember Spitfire pulling me aside from the rest of the group, and telling me something I never thought I’d be happy to hear. “Trust me, that won’t be a problem.”

“No?”

“No. Because starting four days ago, so long as I get the paperwork done, I can take all the time off I want.”

He blinks with widening eyes, pulling his head back a little way. “Really?”

I shrug. “Nepotism has its advantages.”

He blinks again, and then breaks into a bemused grin. “Well then, congratulations, Fleetybee! Look at you, sobering up from your workaholism.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not take it that far.” I giggle as I wave him down with a wing. “That’s one addiction I don’t want cured.”

He nods to himself, lowering his gaze for a moment as his grin lessens to a contented smile. And then he peers up at me once more. “You want to know something I can’t get enough of?”

A soft snort escapes me, but I resist the urge to roll me eyes. “Hit me.”

He waits for a beat, and then leans closer and reaches out for a second time. But instead of an open palm, it’s a single finger limply pointed directly at me.

I stare at the appendage, and then at him, lips slowly parting and eyes slowly widening, a warmth radiating from my chest and up my neck to my cheeks and ears. My legs feel a little less steady as well, and my wings certainly droop. If I stay like this, a blush is going to show for sure.

But then something changes in his expression; his mouth puckers in an absolutely piss-poor attempt at hiding an impish smirk, and his finger darts forward and pokes my snout.

My whole body stiffens with a surprised bolt that runs as far as my tail, hooves, ears and feathertips. My head yanks back as far as it’ll go, the fur on my chest puffs out, and my wings shoot out to half-mast. And for a few short moments that may as well be an eternity, I stay like that, tightly wound as a steel cable, struggling to process what exactly had just happened. But then I blink, and while it doesn’t completely end the spell, I can at least share my shock with him.

But it only seems to make him giddy.

“Tag,” he whispers, and then scrambles to his feet and bolts at full speed for the ocean. “You’re it!”

I watch him with a gaping mouth for a second or two in utter disbelief, trying to wrangle control of my body, and trying to form a response of some kind — any kind; anything to properly express just how gobsmacked I am. He pulled the hardest bait and switch in recent memory, and I’m not even mad.

That’s what makes me mad. Except, I’m not really mad.

“You son of a…!” I cry, twisting round and bounding after him and a full-blown gallop. “You don’t get to toy with me like that, you bastard! I’m not some emotional pincushion!”

“No, but you’re a cutie patootie, that’s for sure!”

“You take that back!”

He does a cartwheel followed by a sloppy backflip, and finishes off by running backwards while giving me two middle fingers. “Make me, bitch!”

If I weren’t on the warpath, I’d be impressed, but he’s thrown down the gauntlet and I can’t let it slide. I lower myself for the next bound and launch myself straight for him, so hard and fast I leave a small crater in the sand, wings out wide and cutting through the air like scythes.

The last thing I see before I tackle him in the gut and send us both into the surf… is him realising he’s made the biggest mistake of his sad, sorry, pathetic life.

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