He sits on the creaking stool. Nothing in here can bring itself to fall completely apart, though the veneer of the walls and other decor has long since vanished. What was once a place of importance in appearances is now simply a place, but it is a place with a firm understanding of what is right, contrary to the words that have filled it over time.

 Because there’s something everyone can sense, if they search hard enough.

The last strains of the piano finally vanish. The only sound is the bittersweetness of forthcoming tears—not abject in sadness, because he doesn’t feel sad. He feels an ache in his heart, certainly, and it’s not one he’s sure will ever go, but it doesn’t bring the tears by itself today. The tears come from the sound of the song in his ears that has sprung forth from what he can only guess is his soul. The tears come from the trickle of sunlight washing over him like crystalline brilliance around a single, shimmering rock. The tears come because, finally, he feels he can let them out.

A soft creak rings out behind him, the sound of a body removing its weight from a squeaking structure. The clop of hooves on the church floor follows, soft taps on the still intact wood, moving slowly in sequence until they stop behind him.

He cries still, unconcerned with whatever might be there. He cries because, if he doesn’t, then some part of the reason for his tears might still remain. He can accept the ache, but he doesn’t want to feel like crying anymore.

After a while, his sobbing softens. His foreleg is damp with the evidence of his exhaustion. He tries his best to dry his eyes on his hoof, but the firmness makes for a poor handkerchief. He looks like a mess. But he doesn’t feel like one anymore.

He turns, swivelling on the bench away from the invisible sheet music on the piano’s stand, and faces the source of the hoof-falls behind him.

The sun catches Applejack’s coat and adds glimmers of orange to its otherwise pure, vaguely golden glow. Applejack smiles despite her cousin’s tears. She knows that sometimes, everypony needs a good cry, and she’s sure that Braeburn’s is more than deserved.

She still has words inside her. Things she planned to say that didn’t quite make their way out over the last twenty-four hours. Speeches she’s rehearsed into bathroom mirrors, aided along the way by Rainbow Dash’s recommendations, needing to say something, but never sure of what. She wants to talk, and to apologize, and most of all, to listen.

 But right now, she has something specific on her mind.

 She raises her foreleg and places her hoof forward. Braeburn raises his own, and Applejack takes it between both of her hooves, rubbing it softly. Her touch quivers with the betrayal of her own tears, threatening to make their way out if she doesn’t pace her words properly.

 “That...” she begins, but clears her throat abruptly, choking back the salt-water deposits begging for release behind her eyes. She blinks, clears her head, and starts again.

 “That was real beautiful, cuz.” She nods to the piano behind Braeburn’s back, and Braeburn lets a tiny smile grace his lips. Applejack squeezes his hoof between hers before returning to a four-legged stand. She walks to Braeburn’s side and sits next to him on the bench.

 “I didn’t know you played,” she says, the faintest hint of a surprised laugh in her words.

 Through the drying of his tears, Braeburn raises his head and smiles at her.

 “Well, you’re just learnin’ all sorts of things about me lately, aren’t ya, cuz?”

 In the glimmer of his voice, the faintest hint of the piano’s highest note rings out.

 It sounds beautiful