#fluttershimmer

Sunset moves ‘her’ seat (she used to sit by Rarity always, Gente Rarity with her forgiveness and tact and grace and endless, neutral topics) and gravitates toward Fluttershy, sits closer to her than she ever has with any of the others. Sometimes that hurt-animal hunger is back on her face, all sharp edges and tiny shivers and tell me I’m enough, and then Fluttershy can only smile gently, keep herself open and still and warm and safe like she wishes someone would be for her sometimes. But she never pushes, never asks, never even hints that she knows what she knows. She doesn’t have to.

Three Tuesdays after the first one Sunset crept into, they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and there’s a softness to Sunset’s posture that feels warm and right and oh-so-heavy. Fluttershy sets her bag of carrot-sticks on Sunset’s lap and munches on one like nothing’s different, but a bit of the spring-coiled tension leaves her shoulders as she sees Sunset eating some too. She knows exactly why Sunset always eats one wonder-bread, peanut butter sandwich and savors every bite to make it last, and she does what she can to get at least a little fresh food into the other girl’s life. She hasn’t pushed anything, doesn’t make it seem like smothering concern or unwanted charity.

And it’s working — On Friday, they split a salad while Rainbow and Vinyl discuss what should or shouldn’t go into a press release for the local club circuit in friendly but raised voices. Fluttershy sees how every word that’s close to shouting add more tension to Sunset’s willowy shoulders, how every excited squeak sends shadows flickering through her troubled eyes. If she were Applejack or Pinkie, she’d hug the fears away, but her arms don’t hold that kind of warmth. She’s not Rarity with quiet concern expressed through text message, or Rainbow who won’t even realize what she did for an hour, then spend a week making up for it. She’s Fluttershy, so she notices what’s happening before it’s too much to handle.

She’s Fluttershy, so she pulls out her math homework and asks Sunset to check it over — numbers are concrete and definite and follow set rules and keep Sunset calm. As Sunset mutters to herself and keeps track of calculations in the funny tap-TAP-tap way she must’ve learned with hooves, Fluttershy hits Rainbow with a stern glare and motions that they need to keep their voices down. When Fluttershy and Sunset leave the lunchroom together (Their next classes are in the same hallway, so there’s nothing strange about it, really), Fluttershy breathes in the fullness of their shared silence and savors it before she breaks it entirely.

“Sunset?” Sunset jerks slightly and looks at her with a dozen fears in her eyes, shoulders hunched and feet tensed, ready to be gone if need be. “Would…” Fluttershy cringes and holds her hand out, uncertain what she’s quite doing. “I’m volunteering at the shelter today, and if you’d, um…” Sunset waits for her to find words and Fluttershy’s so grateful, so very grateful that she’s not pushing or offering words that aren’t right because there’s no way she’d finish her thoughts if that happened, even a little. “I’d like it if you wanted to join me, is all,” she squeaks, hiding behind her bangs, guilty.

Sunset reaches out haltingly and tucks her curtain of hair behind one ear with a gentleness that tingles everywhere, and there’s some deep softness in her eyes again, and in her off-kilter grin. “That sounds like the perfect way to start the weekend,” Sunset answers, her voice husky and trembling. “I’ll see you after school? Tuesday steps?” Fluttershy smiles like the sun that’s shining in her chest and nods shyly. She floats through her history quiz on a tide of euphoria and catches herself humming something new and catchy while taking notes on specific heat calculations. When the last bell blares out, she switches out which books are in her pack and nearly skips outside. Sunset’s already there, arms crossed defensively, leaning against a pillar. She doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and she looks so small, caught somewhere between the girl she was and woman she could be, all humility and shame and anger turned inward for lack of a real focus.

But that uncaged sadness and tightly-bound power fades away as Sunset sees Fluttershy approaching, and the soft serenity she’s only just learning to show returns like the rising moon. It takes fifteen minutes to walk to the animal shelter, so close their knuckles sometimes brush together in whispered promises of warmth and touch. Sunset is twice as cautious with animals as she’s ever been before; washing out bowls and testing the tempurature of the water she refills them with, washing dogs with trembling fingers and worshipful smiles, mopping up puddles of urine with a quiet determination and airing out beds until the stink of fear is gone. At some point, when Fluttershy is supervising the play yard and refereeing the game of keep-away, she notices Sunset isn’t there. Curious, she tiptoes back inside the kennel area and giggles breathlessly. Sunset’s sitting against the wall helplessly, two scruffy puppies (Likely sisters, found in the same box a week ago) napping, their gangly legs tangled through hers. Sunset licks her lips silently, eyes full of fear and help me and shrugs the slightest bit while her eyebrow climbs up and her mouth twists in confusion.

“Can you wait five minutes?” Fluttershy whispers. “The older dogs need exercise.” Sunset nods and glances back down at the two sweetly sleeping dogs with watery eyes, and Fluttershy jogs outside as a yelp that sounds slightly pained for fair play echoes through the concrete hallway. Max, the ornery mutt no one wants, is biting Cinnamon’s ear only soft enough to avoid drawing blood.

“That is not okay,” Fluttershy growls, holding him down firmly and staring him down. “Got it?” He whimpers and squirms half-heartedly but becomes more gentle once she lets him up again. Soon enough, she herds them back inside and latches their kennel doors with the promise of food keeping them relatively obedient. Then she turns around to where she left Sunset, ready to help her out.

The browner puppy’s feet twitch with phantom dream-running, and she sniffs, huffs, and whimpers. “No, sweetie, you’re fine,” Sunset is whispering, tracing her trembling ears with one finger. “Please, cutie, you’re ok. You’re ok.” A loud yowl rips from the puppy’s throat and Sunset looks at Fluttershy, her hand gone from the puppy’s head like it burned her. “What did I do?” Sunset hisses, her face a mask of shame.

Fluttershy smiles indulgently and scoops the keening dog into her arms. “You’re doing fine, Sunset,” she assures, cradling the mutt a little closer. “She’s just having an exciting dream.” Sunset sighs in relief and slowly draws her leg out from underneath the other pup’s chin. She stands awkwardly and dusts off her skirt, then picks up the dog (not quite how she’s supposed to, but at least she’s not cutting off air supply or anything uncomfortable) and follows Fluttershy to their shared kennel, lays her charge down with a gentleness that even now is surprising.

They hang up their coveralls and sign out, say goodbye to Dr. Tenderheart, and as they walk out, Sunset lets out a huff of air and sweeps her fingers nervously through her frizzy hair. “Thank you, for sharing that,” Sunset says, and there’s that softness in her eyes again. “I was so sure they’d all hate me, or be scared, and then they just …” There’s something incredibly young about Sunset’s laugh right then, and Fluttershy’s stomach does a swooping drop.

“Thank you for all your help,” Fluttershy answers, suddenly, bravely bumping Sunset’s shoulder with her own. “Normally I have to do all that work by myself, so then it’s hard to gt my homework done on time.” Sunset’s smile is warm and sad all at once as she slows to a stop.

“I’ve — I’ve never taken care of something helpless before,” she mumbles, lost. And there’s so much wonder in her eyes that Fluttershy almost loses her breath, only just manages to keep her lungs working with the slightest hitch. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were weak, or helpless, or that I treated you the way I did. You’re the most amazing person I know, and you do so much for everyone and I—”

“Sunset.” She quiets immediately, before she’s screaming like a lunatic in public, before she says something she’s not ready for, as it sounded like she might. Before Sunset can start her usual routine of self-flagellation, Fluttershy smiles and continues. “We’re about three blocks from my dad’s apartment, if you want to come upstairs and do homework together. Sunset’s smile is blinding, and Sunset tucks her hand neatly into Fluttershy’s as they start walking again, boots crunching against the autumn leaves. Fluttershy almost looks to see how neatly their fingers slot together, and Sunset’s whistling the song she brought in to rehearsal two weeks ago and her face is so open, Fluttershy’s stomach won’t stop the swoop-and-fall and oh. Oh.

Sunset looks at home in her living room, scribbling calculations with a manic glee. Sunset fits in perfectly around her father in the kitchen, chopping vegetables gracefully with ink-stained fingers while Fluttershy fries the tofu and Dad tastes the miso stock, adds some pepper, stirs.

They talk Sunset into staying the night (It’s cold outside, somewhere around freezing and wherever Sunset sleeps there’s a chance there’s no heating). Sunset has to roll up the pajama bottoms Fluttershy lends her, and seeing that sends a thrill of something flighty and possessive buzzing through Fluttershy’s skull. She lies awake for close to an hour, listening to Sunset’s untroubled breathing, staring at her smooth, peaceful face in the moonlight. She wakes up to Sunset’s arm draped across her hips, to Sunset’s warmth against her back, and her secret little smile is back. Still just hers for a little longer, until she’s sure. Until she can share it in certainty.

Dad cooks them both breakfast, eggs and toast and fruit salad, and he gives Fluttershy the crinkle-eyed smile that means he knows. She flashes a smile back that means She doesn’t, not yet, and his eyes crinkle a little bit more.

“Sunset,” Dad says, after they’ve changed into day clothes and double-checked that practice is happening, “If you ever need something, or a place to stay, you’re welcome here, alright?” She flushes and nods, and her eyes linger on Fluttershy’s as she answers, “I know, sir. Thank you.”

Dad hugs Fluttershy as warm and strong and comfortable as she’s ever known and says, “Good luck,” and then they’re out the door, and the sky is so crisp and blue that it almost doesn’t feel real. Sunset grins, and then they’re sprinting down the street, side by side, and it feels something close to magic.

 Donny sez:

:D :D :D :D :D