Twilight Sparkle rolled over in bed and stared out the window at the full moon. “You awake?” she said, but there was no answer. Why had she even entertained the possibility of one? The moon stared back, and Twilight sighed.

She could even imagine the feeling of warm breath on the back of her neck, a gentle hoof wrapped around her side. Just a light snore, though. It still made her smile. Rarity would never admit to snoring, and at least hers was quiet enough to stay within the realm of endearing.

“Rarity,” she tried again, “you awake?” She’d ask until she got a response, of course.

A brief stirring sounded. Twilight kept watching the moon, but she could envision Rarity taking off her sleeping mask and squinting at the clock. And Twilight trembled, just a little. From the cold winter air. No other reason.

It must have shaken the bed enough for Rarity to notice. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said. “Is it bothering you again?”

No. But Twilight didn’t say so. Rarity wouldn’t believe her anyway. She knew Twilight too well for that.

“I thought we’d talked this to death years ago, but it always seems to come up again, doesn’t it?” Rarity’s smile always crept into her voice. That beautiful voice.

“I just… feel bad for Spike. I can’t help it.”

“We explained everything to him.” She must have sat up from how the headboard creaked, but she hadn’t turned on the lamp. The moon gave them plenty of light anyway, and they both had always loved the peacefulness of the night.

Twilight drew a breath and pursed her lips. “I know. We had to tell him that his crush on you would never work out. It hurt, but he needed to hear it.”

“Yes, and our little gentleman took it with more than a modicum of maturity. He listened quietly, told us he understood, and never spoke of it again.”

Never…

For a moment, Twilight let those words hang in the silence. “I still felt guilty. I mean, only two months later, and we announced that we were dating? What he must have thought about that… He had to wonder when we started, whether… whether we were going behind his back, whether I’d stolen you from him. I’d never do anything to lose his trust.”

“Well, why didn’t you explain that to him darling?”

Never spoke of it again. Yeah, right. “I… I did. The night we announced our wedding, I made sure to have a talk with him.”

“Oh? Why did you never tell me that?”

“By then, it was a horrible position to put him in. Of course he said he didn’t have a problem with it, but how could I really know? I should have told him sooner. I should have told him when we first started dating, but then everypony would know, and—”

If that gentle touch had stopped her shaking, it wasn’t enough anymore.

“Surely he would have told you of any resentment by now. How long ago did he move out?”


“Seven years,” Twilight said quietly.

“And he has a mate of his own now, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then there you have it.”

Twilight shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What would you have us do? Break up over it? And wouldn’t way back then have been the time to do so?”

Twilight reached toward the hoof tracing circles on her shoulder but stopped short. “Of course not.”

“I know. But we have this discussion every few years. When can we finally put it to rest?”

Probably never. But Rarity always indulged her. Rarity always made her feel better. “You’re beautiful,” Twilight said.

A smattering of polite laughter sounded. “I must look quite the fright at the moment, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I didn’t say you looked beautiful.” Twilight’s breath almost caught on her throat. “Of course you are, but I meant… you’re beautiful.”

“You can’t even see me right now,” Rarity said from behind her.

“I never needed to see you to know you were beautiful.”

Rarity blushed whenever Twilight said that. Maybe she felt the cheek against her back turn a little warmer.

She hadn’t given Spike enough credit. He knew now, if he’d ever harbored a secret hope that Rarity could still love him, that his last chance had passed. Maybe he really had gotten over it. But in his place, Twilight wouldn’t.

Finally, she turned over to face the empty bed. Three years now. “I miss you, Rarity.”