Featherbangs already knew the take was going to be scrapped. As soon as two lines in, actually. As he sung the beginning of that second line, his producer’s smile wavered for the briefest of seconds. It wasn’t something that many ponies would be able to pick up on, but he’d been doing this long enough to recognise the signs. He was going to finish this verse, his producer was going to praise him for the requisite thirty seconds followed by the inevitable request for them to try again.

The quandary Featherbangs was in was that he couldn’t simply stop and demand another take without coming off as a diva. When a producer asks them to start again, they’re professional. Nothing more than seeking out the best performance from the star they’d been lumped with that week. But when Featherbangs stops and asks to start again, he was being obstinate, difficult to work with, overly sensitive.

So, he continued with the verse until he was finished.

“Wow Featherbangs, just wow. You really knocked that one out of the park. I’m talking chills, legitimate chills!” Featherbangs nodded politely and waited for the pivot, “I’m just thinking, and it was definitely great, but I think we could really make it sound even more Hearth’s Warming-y, you know?”

“Um, how do you mean?” he replied.

“You know! Just make it sound more festive?”

“You want me to sing more festively?”

“If we’re gonna get people in the holiday spirit! Let’s take it from the top.”

Featherbangs sighed quietly under his breath. He just wanted to leave, but the label were insistent to have a candidate for Hearth’s Warming number one. The swell of instrumentation that he’d been listening to for the past few hours rushed through the headphones again as he prepared to sing the verse.

It was one month to Hearth’s Warming, and he knew from the fourth line in that he’d be asked to repeat the verse once again.

“Wow! That was ‘Hearth’s Warming Lover’ by Featherbangs, and it’s currently the one to beat for Hearth’s Warming no. 1! Wouldn’t you believe it folks, he’s here in the studio with us now. How’s it going FB?”

“Life is good!” Featherbangs replied with a practised laugh.

“So, before we get into this track, me and the listeners gotta know. This beef between you and Shimmer Heart, what’s the latest.”

“Haha, Shimmer and me… what you’ve gotta understand is we give each other a hard time but it’s all love, you know?” It was the answer he’d been instructed to give whenever the question arose. He’d never met Shimmer and Shimmer had never met him. But neither could deny it was doing wonders for their respective careers.

Featherbangs would play the chill one, Shimmer the hot-headed mouthy one, and in a few weeks no one would even remember it had happened. That was good, much as he didn't have anything against Shimmer, he was the one with the better career, and he wouldn't risk it to help out a smaller fish. This business didn't run on charity.

“So tell us about ‘Hearth’s Warming Lover’ my man!” the disc jockey said with an enthusiasm and friendliness that was entirely artificial.

“Well, we wanted to capture the love, you know? Like, to me, Hearth’s Warming is all about love, ain’t nothing better than spending it with your girl, know what I’m saying? But also, I love Hearth’s Warming, it’s the best time of the year! So, like, the Hearth’s Warming Lover is the girl I’m spending it with, you know and we’re loving each other, but it’s also me, because I love Hearth’s Warming.”

By the end of the spiel he wanted to punch himself in the face, and he may have done just that if it weren’t for the fact that this was being recorded. It was the description his label had concocted when they wrote this song. It was all so beneath him.

Normally he wrote his own songs, but Hearth’s Warming no. 1 was too big a prize to leave to chance, they’d said. So, he grinned and bore it, even if it did make him lose his sense of self-respect.

“Wow man, that’s deep,” the DJ responded with a faux tone of cosmic awe, “Well, for all you lovers out there, here’s ‘Hearth’s Warming Lover’ one more time.”

It was two weeks until Hearth’s Warming, and Featherbangs had three more interviews that day.

“And of course that deadbeat father of yours hasn’t been around once,” Mayflower called out as Featherbangs brought in the last of the shopping. She was stocking up for the holidays and it had been a much bigger job than usual. By the time he’d got it all into the kitchen he was breaking a sweat. He flicked on the kettle and grabbed a teacup, saucer and biscuits. When it was finished, he took the tea through to her room.

“Oh Featherbangs, you know I’m not supposed to have the chocolate ones,” she immediately protested.

“It’s Hearth’s Warming, you can have a couple,” he replied gently, “I’m sure your cholesterol can take the hit.”

“Oh go on then,” she replied, and they both laughed. She picked up her tea in her forehooves and Featherbangs took to plumping her pillows up.

“I’m sorry love, I shouldn’t make comments.”

“Comments about what?”

“About your father,” she explained, and took a small sip of her tea. She always started drinking when it was so much hotter than Featherbangs could ever deal with., “He and I don’t get along, as you know, but he’s still your father.”

“Mum,” Featherbangs interjects, “He’s an arsehole, I know he is.”

“Is he getting you something for Christmas?” she asked, and he could have cried for the concern in her eyes.

“He’s sent me a letter asking about the new song. I think he was after money.”

“Oh I could kill that stallion, I really could,” she spat with a slight tremble. Whether it was due to anger or frailty was something Featherbangs preferred not to think about, “If he turns up, you don’t give him anything, okay? He can make his own bits, not bother his children.,”

“Mum, its fine, really. I know how to deal with him.”

“Yes but-”

“But nothing, you just enjoy your tea, okay?” he then grabbed her hairbrush in his mouth. Once she realised he wouldn’t have been able to respond regardless, she settled into a noticeably worried silence. Still concerned about him in spite of everything.

But she loved having her mane brushed, so he did it in gentle strokes and hummed to her. Her mane was thinner than it had been in her youth, but was by no means lacking. It used to be a fetching shade of dark brown, and she’d held onto that for a long while with dye sets bought from the pharmacist. Nowadays she’d let it grow into it’s natural grey, and it looked wonderful.

“So Dewdrop, Short Crust and I were gonna come here around eleven on Hearth’s Warming,” he began, setting down the brush, “We’re gonna do all the cooking and cleaning afterwards. All you need to do is relax, okay?”

“I can do the cooking-” she tried to protest, but broke down into a series of hacking coughs. Featherbangs gently but firmly took her tea from her and got her oxygen mask on. She inhaled deeply and he rubbed her back while she calmed down.

“It’s okay. We want to do it,” he insisted.

“I don’t want you coming round here if you’ve got somewhere else to be,” she replied, voice muffled by the mask, “Whatabout that filly you were seeing, are you still seeing her? What’s she doing for Hearth’s Warming? I don’t want you wasting your time around here. You’re twenty-three, Featherbangs, you should be enjoying yourself.”

“Mum, it’s not a waste of my time,” Featherbangs felt grateful, for the first time ever, for all of his interviews right then. Having to wear that mask allowed him to stop himself from breaking down. “I want to come here, we all do.”

“Well, only if you’re sure.”

“Of course we’re sure.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed abruptly, “There was something I wanted to show you love.”

She lit up her horn, and waved him away when he offered to just go and grab whatever she was bringing over. When Featherbangs saw it, he had to fight an involuntary eye-roll. It was the smallest battery powered stereo one could imagine. She’d bought it when he’d released his first single, and had been proudly buying every one of them since.

She placed it on the bed and clicked the play button. They sat in silence as ‘Hearth’s Warming Lover’ began to play, and Mayflower spent the whole time beaming her heart out. If it was anyone else, anyone in the whole world, Featherbangs would think she was being sarcastic.

And all he wanted to do was ask her what she really thought of it. To tell her it was okay if she stopped being his mum for a second and admitted she didn’t like it, because Featherbangs himself hated it. He hated its stupid, artless production and hamfisted lyrics, he hated the way it was bereft of all the passion he usually wrote and sang with, because at least with his other tracks he was being sincere.

More than anything though, did he hate the way it was his voice singing it, his words promoting it, his song filtering through his mother’s ears right now while she smiled. He wanted her to agree with him on all that.

But Mayflower could stop being his mother as much as she could stop her heart beating, and she’d reassure him. He wanted that reassurance, he wanted to talk to her about how much the song bothered him, about how much the business was bothering him lately. But then she’d worry herself even sicker than she was now.

He hadn’t always been a good son, but there was no reason he couldn’t try to be now. So when it came to an end, and she told him how much she loved it, he didn’t say anything. He swallowed it all back down, then leant forward and buried his head in the crook of her neck. She stroked his mane like she did when he was a colt.

It was a week until Hearth’s Warming, and Featherbangs was worried about his mum.

It was Hearth’s Warming Eve, and Featherbangs had bagged the no. 1 single of the season.

“Excuse me.” Featherbangs’ ear flicked, and an effortless grin began to form on his face. He knocked back the rest of his drink before turning around, and was confronted with exactly what he expected. She was staring at him with a starstruck expression. She was beautiful, of course she was. She distracted him from his song. It had played three times since he’d entered this bar.

“Are you Featherbangs?”

“Guilty as charged,” he laughed, giving a practised flick of his mane. And when she laughed back, it was heady, stumbling. Her face was flushed and she couldn’t get her words out. It truly was too easy. He’d not needed to say more than three words, and it was like she was under a spell.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she blurted out.

“Sure babe, I’ll take a whiskey and coke,” It wasn’t what he really wanted. Featherbangs had always favoured the sweeter drinks. He would have loved a Piña Colada, or anything pink and loaded with sugar. But he found these kind of encounters tended to go better if he ordered something a touch more rugged.

He led her to the VIP section, and she laughed the same way again when the bouncer ushered them behind the velvet rope. As they ambled to their table, he looked back to see her having one starstruck episode after the next. The assembled celebrity took no notice of the newcomer, of course, they never would.

“I really love ‘Hearth’s Warming Lover’!” she exclaimed the second they got to their table, and it was like someone had smashed the atmosphere with a sledgehammer. Featherbangs smiled politely, though after a month of the same compliments his mask was starting to show its strain more and more.

“That’s uhm… glad to hear it!” he replied, instinctively feeling like he was back in PR mode. He looked around at the crowds outside the VIP area as she continued, humming his agreement when it sounded appropriate. It felt beyond hope that someone in this club would both want to sleep with him and wouldn’t have heard that infernal song.

“... and I love how it takes this knowingly deconstructionist and satirical take on the Hearth’s Warming Anthem.”

“I… what?” Featherbangs asked between sips of his disgusting drink.

“Well, it’s so stereotypical as to become outright parody in and of itself, right? I mean, “Baby, you’re my present this year’. That had to have been done intentionally… right?”

Neither spoke for a moment. It was only after a good few seconds of this protracted silence that her smile ebbed and gave way to a look of abject horror.

“Oh god, is it not… I am so sorry. I mean the song’s really great I was just… I was nervous and I didn’t know what…”

And it was all he could take.

Featherbangs nearly spat his drink out as he started creasing with laughter. The one pony who actually looked into his song for more than five minutes and they realised what a derivative piece of garbage it was. At least, he was pretty sure she had. He hadn’t really understood a lot of those words. He was never one for book smarts.

“I… are you okay?” she asked, cringing slightly.

“I’m great, that is literally the best thing anyone has said about the damn thing.” he says, wiping a tear from his eye in what felt like the first earnest conversation of this whole last month, “You wanna know a secret?”

“Um, sure?”

“It wasn’t a joke, but it wasn’t genuine either. I didn’t have a thing to do with it. I hate that song so much, and I’ve been having to promote it for a month.” he chuckled, and only laughed harder when he saw her reaction. But it wasn’t long until she was laughing with him too.

“I mean, ‘Ooh come on baby, you and me. Ooh come on baby, underneath the Hearth’s Warming tree’? I nearly threw up when I read the lyrics."

“Oh thank god,” she said with audible relief, “I was trying to think of nice things to say about it. But I really do love your other music though.”

She placed her hoof on top of his, and his laughing stopped. She was staring at him with that same faintly intoxicated look of dreaminess. But Featherbangs could only think of what she said about that awful song and the catharsis it gave him. How she was the first thing to make him laugh without any worry in weeks. Then he thought about all the different A-listers and their assorted starstruck companions for the night.

He wondered what his plan was in bringing her to the VIP section, and it was nice to at least pretend it was still up in the air. No, he was going to charm this filly, then sleep with her and pretend she didn't exist the second it was over. And the only thing that had made him doubt this was that she'd said something he'd liked about himself.

He pulled his hoof away.

“I think I’m gonna head off,” he said, and though it wasn’t unkind she still looked devastated.

“Wait, is it… is it because of what I said about your song?”

“I wasn’t lying before, I hate that song. No, I’m going because I let you buy me a drink even though I’ve got a best selling single, and I never asked you your name. Hell, I only started being genuinely interested in you when you said something I liked about that song, even though you’re clearly a lot smarter than me.”

As he spoke, it seemed like everything caught up with her, and she suddenly looked much less happy in the VIP section.

“For what it’s worth, you might just have made my Hearth’s Warming,” Featherbangs said with a genuine smile, “I need to get an early night anyway, I’m headed somewhere tomorrow. If I were you, though, I’d go back to general section. It’s really not as much fun as they’d have you believe in here.”

With that he started away, feeling a little better about himself than when he entered. It was up to her whether she stayed there. He’d made his case, and didn’t want to pressure her either way.

Featherbangs got to the small entry corridor with the cloakroom and waited for his coat. As the pony on duty tonight looked through the racks, Featherbangs turned towards the door to the club.

He wondered whether he should poke his head in again to check whether she'd left the table. As he made up his mind and started towards the door, a voice called out behind him.

"Sir, your coat is ready. If you're heading back in you need to rejoin the line," said the bored sounding mare.

"I uh…" when he looked around, he found himself suddenly embarrassed as he was confronted with several pairs of annoyed looking eyes from queued ponies, "No, its fine."

With that, he took his coat and made his way out into the wintery streets. From behind him, the sounds of the Hearth's Warming no. 1 began to filter out from the club once again.