Ow.

The dream that put me in my current position is already fading from memory, but the pain in my jaw is not going away that quickly. Something about being chased by something, not getting away and then falling off a pile of lawn chairs and into a stream. Without being able to fly.

Whatever it was seems to have made me gallop in my sleep and get all tangled up in my blanket. Flaring out my wings then must have tipped me out off the bed head first. One of them also cleared my bedside cabinet of everything that was on it.

After de-entangling myself I pick up my alarm clock from the floor with a sigh and switch it off. It is late afternoon and I would very much have liked to sleep a little longer. It is just about late enough that trying to go back to bed is pointless though. That would only leave my brain even more mushy than it already feels.

I pick up the rest of the stuff on the floor. Nothing appears to have been damaged and I am happy that I do not need a bedside lamp. I doubt a lamp would have survived being propelled across the room and hitting the door the same way the book I was reading before going to sleep did.

The sun is still way too high in the sky for my liking when I open the roller blind on the roof window. My room really needs some fresh air though, so I open my secondary entrance to the house regardless.

The frantic flapping of small wings reminds me of the stupid birds that are trying to build a nest inside the old chimney just above me. It is incredible how loud these creatures can be when they are trying to impress each other. Not looking forward to them having young.

Come to think of it, I can hear a marten on the roof some nights as well. Maybe I should try and catch it and drop it on them for natural pest control. My hooves are not that pretty anyway, so a few bitemarks and extra scratches would not bother me. And now I am rambling to myself internally.

I shake my head with a sigh and draw a deep breath. Definitely time for breakfast.

***

I like our little communal kitchen. The whitewashed stone walls with the traces of cobwebs on the rough surface. Pinewood cupboards with greyish patina around the handles that no amount of scrubbing could ever remove again. The electric stove with its scratched top and flaking enamel.

Thierry is cooking dinner when I enter. That is, as much as you can call pot noodles dinner of course. Even art history students need to eat every now and then though, and I would be the last one to hold his diet against him. I have been there, albeit while studying a topic that couldn’t be much further away from his.

“Hi Night,” he says with a sideways glance and tips his baseball cap at me with two nicotine stained fingers. Asian style instant food and Gauloises cigarettes – I always know when he is around, whether I meet him or not.

Our little shared house just outside of the town of Maurecourt to the northwest of Paris is a good place to be. I could not afford it by myself, but splitting the rent between four people makes it a pretty good deal. Considering the location.

It is a little more than an hour by commuter train and metro to the city centre of Paris and Thierry’s college. It is also only ten minutes to the Euro Cargo Rail Paris hub at the Peugeot factory in Achéres a little south of here. That is about twenty minutes by wing, which I should do more often than I do. I am a lazy bat.

“Hiya. Not spending the night in town?” I say with a nod.

“Nah, got some exams coming up,” he says and then points at the pot on the stove. “Want some? I think I’ve made way too much.”

Cheap chinese noodles and soggy vegetables with pre-packaged sweet and sour chili sauce? The perfect breakfast. Also, free food. “Sure!”

He nods and points at the table. “Sit down, ready in a minute.”

“Where are the others?”

“Girlfriends.”

Huh, fair enough. I hop onto the bench along the wall to sit down at my usual spot. I have sat here so often by now that my hooves have left little indentations in the soft pinewood. There are also a few blue hairs on the wall. The rough surface works really well when you have an itch on your back or behind an ear.

There is a battered book on the table, ‘On n'y voit rien : Descriptions’. ‘We cannot see anything: descriptions’. Fits my mood perfectly. I still have not got a clue what to do or even think about that maybe, possibly, upcoming date with Irek. If it is a date. Do I want it to be one, or do I not, or do I simply want to have a drink with someone who could be a good friend or-

“There you go,” Thierry says and interrupts my pointless musing. He slides a soup plate full of steaming noodles across the stained table and sits down across from me. With a smug smile, he produces a pair of chopsticks and digs in.

Chopsticks, not even a fork. Showoff. I swear it is because of me that he has one pair of those on him at all times. Also spares in his shoulder bag, in case an unsuspecting chicken curry is unlucky enough to cross his path.

I look down at the hot food with a huff, resigned to wait for it to become cool enough to stick my muzzle into it. Sometimes I hate him, with his passive aggressive display of human manual superiority.

Then again, free food. “Thanks,” I say and smile regardless. “How’s college treating you?”

Thierry looks up from his plate and shrugs. “As I said, exams. Apart from that it’s okay.” A deep sigh, after which he blows one of his blonde curls out of his face. “Although I do question my life choices every now and then.”

“Heh, been there. Lonely? Everything too much?”

“Sometimes. Both, I mean.” He taps his lips with a stick, a drop of sauce running down the length of it and staining his fingers. “Which reminds me,” he says and wipes his fingers on his jeans, “We got another title in the course bibliography.”

His bag is never far away from him. The thing is not so much sitting beside him on the bench, but lounging there. I am convinced it has a life of its own. If he was a unicorn it probably would have. Always has the same dishevelled look as its master, yet radiating smugness from every seam in the worn linen and leather.

“I had to think of you immediately,” he says and pulls out a thin volume from its maw, presenting me with the dog-eared cover. ‘Initiation au langage des arts visuels. Hors Collection’.

I tilt my head. ‘Initiation to the language of the visual arts’? Doesn’t sound like anything remotely associated with me. I am just about to say so when I look at the publisher and sound it out in English in my mind.

He appears to find my groan and slow facehoof hilarious.

“By the moon, you’re such an idiot. Grow up,” I say with my hoof still pressed against my forehead.

“I’m trying to,” he replies with a grin.

“With moderate success,” I say into my plate with a little shake of my head. Because I’m so much more mature and in control of my life, come to think of it. I really do not want to think about that now. Too difficult so early in the day. With a sigh, I carefully dip my muzzle into the noodles.

If he had ears like mine they would be twitching around in uncertainty. “You alright, Night?”

Am I that transparent? Obviously. I lick the sauce of my lips and look up. “I guess?”

“Oh come on, I know that kind of sigh. It’s not because of your cutlery disability.”

If he gives me the line about a bowl with my name on it on the floor again I am going to bite him. Maybe the kick he received for it back then has faded from memory? Not that I have not thought about the comparison myself. I am still not prepared to splash out on custom made fetlock-compatible cutlery though, that would cost a small fortune. To me at least.

The occasional bowl of soup really is not worth that investment. Still, it might give a better impression with other people here on Earth. Still not worth it. It is not as if I am disgusting to look at, is it? Who would I want to impress with sophisticated eating habits anyway? And-

“Nightline? Hello?”

I blink and shake my head, almost pushing my food off the table.

“Never thought I’d see a pony go bluescreen,” he says with a small smile. “Hey. How about you kick that storm cloud over your head apart and tell me what's bothering you?”

“You need a pegasus for that.”

It is his turn to facepalm. “Yeah, forgot about that. I didn’t mean it literally!”

I give a deep sigh. “Okay then,” I say and push away my plate. It is still a bit too hot anyway. “How do I date a guy?”

“Uh… what?”

“You wanted to know what’s up. That’s up. Any advice?”

“Oh.”

Seriously? “Yeah.”

“Night, I don’t have any idea about how ponies date. How did you even find one? That’s gotta be a million to one chance around here and in your line of work.”

Maybe I should have thought about that specific bit of social awkwardness beforehoof. I can always use new problems though. Yay me. I take a deep breath but cannot for the life of me keep my annoyance out of my voice. “It’s not a stallion, it’s one of my human coworkers,” I say and look up at the ceiling.

“Ooohkaaay.”

I… really do not like that tone. “Something wrong with that?” That came out more defensively than it should have. I also cannot keep my ears from splaying back a little.

Thierry takes a deep breath and holds up his hands. “I- I guess not,” he says, not sounding very convincing. “Sorry. Please don’t take this the wrong way.”

Pretty sure I will. “But?”

“Well, I still have to make a conscious effort not to see you as a horse.”

“Still want me to graze in the garden or eat out of a bowl on the floor?” Now I am getting angry and I don't really know why. Why did I even bring that back up myself? That was low.

“No! Of course not. Sorry, Night. Let me finish?” He is blushing and looking at his hands.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Look, I know that was really shitty of me back then. Okay? Sorry I hurt you so badly. I just can’t get my stupid subconscious to accept that you’re an alien from another and very different world, not a dumb pony from earth. I don’t know why that’s so difficult. Sorry.”

“I had a friend who married a griffon. So what?” I have to smile at that memory. I mean, I get it, but the thought still makes me shudder. Also smirk, which is good against anger.

“Not for me mind you, but I don’t think it can get much more exciting if you’re into that. I mean, rolling in the hay with a predator with claws and talons, scratching your coat, gripping your neck from behind. That kinda stuff.”

Thierry leans back in his chair. “Too much information, Night.” He drags his hands down his face. “Okay, I get where you’re coming from. Figuratively, I mean. It’s just that here on Earth someone doing it with a horse or any other animal is one of the biggest noes possible.”

“You really think I don’t know that?” I say with a huff. “And I don’t fall into the categories Earth horse or other animal!”

“No. Ah dammit. Sorry. You’re not an animal! But you’re still a different species. At least some people will find that wrong and gross.”

“First of all, I have no plans to bed him the instant I see him again. I’ve got no idea where this is going anyway, if it’s going anywhere.” I drag a hoof down my face. “Secondly, you’re one to talk about preferences other people here on Earth think are wrong and gross.”

He blinks. “Huh? What do you mean?”

Oh come on. “That Swedish guy you study with every now and then?”

“Uh, Håkan?”

“Yep. You look at him and a second later the room is full of hearts.”

For a moment his mouth is hanging open. “Absolutely not!” he bursts out, blushing fiercely.

I raise my eyebrows and give him a long look before tapping my nose with my hoof.

“You- you can smell that? He asks with wide eyes before lowering his gaze. In a low voice he adds, “That obvious?”

Now I’m feeling sorry for him. “Hey. I don’t go around sniffing for these things you know? It’s just that I know your normal scent and the change is so pronounced I can’t ignore it.” I stretch my wings and sigh. “That’s why I asked you on how to date a guy in the first place. Thought you’d be able to help me.”

“Not even my parents know that about me,” he says while looking at the table.

Oh shit.

Being alone is not healthy in the long run, especially with something like this. I can attest to that. I sigh. Everything is better with friends and I think that Thierry needs one right now. I hop down from my bench and round the table. “Hey,” I say as I sit down on the floor next to him and look up at his sad face.

We may not always see eye to eye, but that is not so important right now, is it? I hold out my open forelegs and tilt my head with a little smile. “Hey,” I repeat myself in a softer voice.

Thierry gives a deep sigh, slides down from the bench and crouches before me. “Thanks, Night,” he mumbles as he puts his arms around me and rests his forehead on my neck.

Patting humans on the back is not always comfortable for them when you have hooves. He does not seem to mind though. “If it’s any help, I think your chances with Håkan aren’t half bad.” Now, I like hugs, but squeezes like this here get uncomfortable for my wings. “And you’re cute together.” Ow.

Thanks to this little intermission, my food has had time to cool. After returning to my place I grin at Thierry and dig in, making sure to noisily dip my muzzle as deep as possible into my noodles. It is quite unpleasant. Thierry’s disgusted half-laugh, half-groan is worth it though. Much better than his heart-wrenching expression from a minute before.

“I expect to get that bowl with my name on it when I’m back next time,” I say with a grin, sauce still dripping from all over my muzzle and chin. “On the floor next to the fridge.”

A very deep sigh, but he cannot quite suppress a grin. “Deal,” he says, looking up at the ceiling in exasperation. “Need a litter box as well?”

“Nah, I’ll just use the lawn.”

Thierry puts his head in his hands and groans. “Stop it!”

By now we are both laughing. Laughing is good. I have been doing that a lot in recent days. I guess I was a little starved of it.

All of this gives me an idea. “Could I ask you for another awkward thing?” I hold up a hoof. “Serious.”

“Okay, what is it.”

Now this is indeed awkward. Anyway. “Uhm… since we’re talking pets, you know this riding school a few minutes from here?

Thierry slowly tilts his head while raising his eyebrows. “Yeees?”

“Could you-” I begin.

“Your ears are flicking,” he interrupts with a grin. “You want a bridle?”

“I- what?! I’m not into that kinda stuff!”

I realise that was just a stupid joke. He didn’t mean it the way I thought he did, judging by his incredulous expression. Great. I can feel my cheeks burning all the way up to the tip of my ears while I try not to look at him.

He is doing an admirable job of not laughing. Must be hard. “Right,” he says after clearing his throat twice.

“You can laugh,” I say in a small voice, resting my forehead on the table.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m kinda intrigued now though. Anyway, what did you actually want?”

Well, at least this cannot possibly get any more awkward. “Could you get me some silage?”

“Silage”, he deadpans.

I sigh and look up again. “Yes, Silage. I know it sounds stupid, but you know what Silage is? Compressed bales of grass wrapped airtight and left on the field to ferment.” I tap my lips with a hoof.

“I think the Equestrian word translates to something like ‘sour weeds’. It’s a regional specialty back home. I mean, they use barrels instead of plastic wrap of course. And it’s better quality with no weeds despite the name and it’s fermented with salt in it and sometimes they add some cider when it’s done. It’s still kinda close though and I miss it.”

Thierry blinks twice. “So basically Sauerkraut?”

His German pronunciation is dreadful. Anyway. “Pretty much, but not with cabbage. Tastes very different and a bit sweet.”

“Okay,” he begins, picking up one of the chopsticks and pointing it at me.

I feel a ‘but’ coming.

“But I want all the details of that interspecies date. All of them.”

“Uhm…”

“No details, no treats for the pony. You’re not chickening out of this one, Night. Are you?”

“Of course not!”

Well, I might have. Dammit.