Chapter Text
By the time she made it back to Sugarcube Corner, her mane hung limp around her shoulders, half-deflated. She didn’t have the heart to reinflate it to its full, let alone the energy; even if the Cakes couldn’t help but ask her if everything was alright as a result.
She hadn’t known how to answer them.
If she said things weren’t, and that she felt sicker than sick and sadder than sad, they’d ask why. And she didn’t know why. She tried replaying the events that had happened over and over in her head. She really did try! It was a constant loop, even if she wasn’t trying. She searched for answers in her own mind but they faded into obscurity.
She didn’t know why her heart ached so much.
She didn’t know. She didn’t know.
All she knew, was that…
Rarity was lucky.
*
She called in sick for work. (As in called downstairs that she was sick.) So, that was that.
All that was left to do was to mope in bed.
At least Gummy was there to keep her company. His constant chewing on her mane helped.
Honestly, she should just ask somepony else what’s wrong with her again. The Cakes had known before, and now that she couldn’t work, they had come up to check on her every so often, bringing her soup and the like. She could ask them. They had known before. They were right there, she just had to ask for more soup.
…
But…
She didn’t want more soup.
…Heh. That was an excuse if she’d ever heard herself come up with one! She could always shove extra soup in the drawer for later. (In the drawer because if she stored it under the bed then Gummy would probably get to it.)
No, she didn’t really want to talk to anypony about this. Anypony that it wouldn’t bother otherwise. If she said nothing, then it was her problem, and her problem only—as far as the rest of the world went, it didn’t exist.
To the rest of the world, maybe, for just a precious moment, she wouldn’t exist.
…
The only pony she really wanted to talk to about anything, was Twilight.
Which…
. . .
Twilight was the smartest cookie ever. She knew everything about everything! It might not be so out there to ask her…
And, Twilight always had been keen on figuring out what made Pinkie tick, so, she probably wouldn’t mind if…
Before she knew it, Pinkie Pie was at the Castle of Friendship’s door.
Huh. She must have taken one of her many shortcuts unconsciously while mid-internal monologue.
Almost without thinking, even further, her hoof hovered in front of her like it had a mind of its own.
An odd feeling struck her, right then, threatening to deflate her mane even further, and she had to suppress a sudden laugh out of habit.
This! Was a stupid idea! The stupidest, most brainless, most silliest idea she’d ever, ever had!
And that was saying a lot.
But, what else was new, really?!
Haha! Ha! Ha…
…
She should have really just gone home, at that point. Her body was being silly, taking her places only her insides wanted to be. At least one of her insides. Not her brain. Her brain wanted to be anywhere but there.
…Wait.
What if,
what if Twilight wasn’t even home to begin with?
Because…
Because Rarity.
Now she really should go—
The castle doors creaked open, loudly, and the insides of her that had initially wanted to be there (I.E. her heart) dropped to her stomach. She panicked for all of two seconds until…
“Uh. Pinkie Pie?”
…It was just Spike.
He gave her a once-over, looking somewhat suspicious—and a bit concerned.
“Noticed you… Out here,” he said, somewhat awkwardly. “Did you need to talk to Twilight? ‘Cause uh, she’s not here right now.” He managed a friendly smile, “But you’re welcome to come inside anyway if you want! There’s some hot cocoa somewhere around that I could…”
Hot cocoa.
Hot cocoa did sound good right about then…
Pinkie nodded her head, much more enthusiastically than she had felt the entire day. “Hot cocoa sounds reaaaaallly nice! If it’s not too much trouble!”
“Nope! Come on in!” Spike stepped aside, waving her in, and she trotted up the steps into the inviting warmth of the castle. She hadn’t even realized how cold it had been outside, now that the toasty air greeted her. It felt nice. Inviting. When nothing else seemed to right then.
“I’ll be right back!” Spike’s voice from right behind startled her a bit. “Make yourself at home!” he added over his shoulder, giving her a little wave before speeding off towards the castle’s kitchen. She smiled at she watched him go, but it faded the second he disappeared from sight. It had felt more hollow than anything.
She glanced around. For a moment that lasted no longer than three seconds. The interior didn’t interest her all that much; though, there were two cushioned chairs nearby, next to a fireplace and some bookshelves. She walked over and sat her rump in one of them, letting herself mindlessly drift a bit.
Her eyes settled on the fireplace itself, lit with a cozy glow of warm flames. Her thoughts swam, and burned, and mingled with each other as she gazed into the fire. The orange and red colors, normally so vibrant to her, seemed dull, somehow.
It was… Funny. How one different mindset could change everything in its wake. How easily one could change their view about the world, and about themselves, all because of a silly little thing they saw.
The world seemed colder than it did. Darker. More bitter, like dark chocolate after you put it in the freezer. She was not sure why you’d put chocolate in the freezer, not to mention dark chocolate, but she felt like dark chocolate thrown into a freezer haphazardly. All cold and dark and bitter and…
Able to be broke in two.
If you used the right amount of force.
Clawsteps clacked on the polished floor nearby, and Pinkie quickly rubbed at her eyes, before turning her gaze.
“Thank you,” she said with another hollow smile, as Spike handed her a mug. It was a plain purple one. Brown liquid was inside, with dozens of little marshmallows floating on the surface. She had half the mind to down it right then and there and take the risk of a burnt throat, but—
“It’s really hot right now, so be careful,” the small dragon warned, setting a mug of his own down on the coffee table that separated the two chairs. He hopped onto said other chair, across from her. “I gave you extra marshmallows, just the way you like it!”
. . .
Tears flew to her eyes faster than she could help it, and as her mane collapsed the rest of the way, a single sob wracked Pinkie Pie.
The reaction was almost instantaneous. A cushioned shuffling sound and then claws hurrying across the floor once more, before a one-armed embrace quickly surrounded her—briefly, as she felt Spike take her mug and set it down for her. She would have thanked him for that. She should have, but instead, when he hugged her with both arms now, she just…
Couldn’t.
And she didn’t even know why.
She didn’t know why she was crying like this. What was happening to her brain, why she felt this way, why she was even here to begin with.
She should have gone home. She should, she should, she should.
Yet
She hugged Spike back, crushing the dragon to her chest with her hooves. She wept into her little friend’s scales as if she’d known him a lifetime. As if she was allowed to. As if she was allowed to cry at all.
Pinkie Pie wasn’t supposed to cry.
Never her.
Never, ever her.
The thought sobered her up. Just enough. Barely, but enough. Her shaking stopped. Her sobs died down. All the while, neither of them said a word. Spike only soothingly stroked the dead hairs on the top of her head, tentatively, hesitantly, but all the same.
She was grateful for that.
She didn’t want to hear everything was alright, or that it was okay, or that she was okay for letting herself break like a dark chocolate candy bar.All lies. Well-intentioned lies, but lies all the same.
Pinkie let out a single breath, it stuttering through her lips. After some time, Spike pulled away, only so he could look at her.
“Are you…” He winced, as though figuring that was a bad question to ask right then. His eyebrows were furrowed with a deep, deep worry, and she swore she saw sweat beading above his forehead.
It made sense.
It wasn’t everyday Pinkie Pie was having a breakdown in front of him.
“D-did something happen?” he managed, nervously. “Was there an accident in Sugarcube Corner? Did somepony die?? Did the apocalypse happen???” His eyes blew wide open, as the idea of it further hit him. “Oh dear Celestia, Twilight and Rarity are still out—!”
Rarity.
Pinkie wanted to recoil.
But, she quickly shook her head, a sadder smile taking up her snout as she gently patted the top of his head to calm him. “Oh, no, nothing like that. Everything’s fine!” Once again, her smile faded. And despite the assurance, Spike’s expression of concern didn’t falter in the slightest—in fact, it only hardened, looking a bit more desperate than ever before.
Some warmth flickered in her at his concern for her, for just a moment.
She wasn’t sure what to say.
Should she even say anything at all?
“I’m… Really, it, e-everything should, be fine,” she laughed. “I don’t know what isn’t fine! Or why it can’t be fine, i-if, if there’s anything wrong! I don’t know why that wrong something can’t be a right something! I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
Tears started to well in her eyes again, but she slapped a hoof to them, much like an invisible cupcake to the eye. It hurt.
It felt somewhat better than the hurt inside her chest.
She lowered her hooves, meekly meeting her dragon friend’s anxious eyes.
And then it hit her.
A realization, of sorts.
Something that might help bridge her words into something he would understand. (Not that he wouldn’t understand regardless, maybe, but…)
But, there was that name again.
…
If it somehow did stem from her; this dull, aching feeling that made the world go gray all around…
Pinkie wanted to get an idea as to why.
She didn’t want R… Her to be the reason.
It sounded awful, but… Like it might be true.
That wasn’t any good at all.
They were all friends.
If she suddenly didn’t like one of those friends so much anymore, then…
. . .
“Spike,” she began. “You like Rar…”
Rarity.
Rarity.
You like Rarity, don't you?
“…You like Rarity, don’t you?”
It wasn’t so much the name anymore.
It was the image of her, in Pinkie’s mind, once she associated it with the name.
In any case,
Spike’s frown turned into a sudden scowl, as he stepped back from her.
“Didn’t you Pinkie Promise not to—”
“YES!” she nearly screeched, making him flinch. “I would NEVER break a Pinkie Promise!”
What a thing for him to even consider!
…
…Although, to be fair, she wasn’t given him much room to work with. Of course he’d think of the worst possible scenario in a situation like this.
“Sorry, um, I just… I wouldn’t,” she said, a bit sheepishly.
Spike looked just as sheepish.
“Right. Sorry.” He didn’t meet your gaze. “Just thought you were gonna say you… Told her, or something. I dunno.”
Again, Pinkie shook her head. “I would never. I would rather die before I did something like that and lose our friendship!”
Spike nodded. A small grin crossed his face, just briefly. “I trust you! So, uh, what were you gonna say?”
Oh.
Yeah. That.
Pinkie fidgeted.
“So, when you… You know!” No. He didn’t know, Pinkie. “When you! Look at… Her! What’s it like?”
Spike blinked.
“Uhhhh…”
“Does it ever feel like you’re the only two ponies in the world, and that everything’s a dream that you never want to wake up from?”
He opened his mouth, but Pinkie wasn’t finished.
“Or is it, you feel like you’re on the biggest sugar high of your life because, because she just makes you feel so happy and wonderful and nice but then when she leaves it’s like the high’s over and now you’re crashing and everything else seems kind of boring in comparison and you feel sick in both cases but they’re different?”
“Pinkie,” Spike said.
“A-and,” Pinkie nudged her hooves together, nervously, “what’s it like when you see her with somepony else? Is it a whole other kind of new sick? Does it make everything else bad? Does it make the world dark and dull? Does it make you want to—”
“Is this about Twilight?”
“—cry for the rest of forever and— Huh?”
“Is this about Twilight?” Spike asked, again.
What?
“Who’s that?” Pinkie squeaked.
His eyebrows shot down as he narrowed his eyes at her, giving her a flat Really? look.
She gulped.
“Oh! Y-you’re talking about Twilight Sparkle!” she giggled. “YEEEEEP, now her I know!”
He rolled his eyes. “You like Twilight Sparkle, don’t you?”
Oh.
…
. . .
Was… She really that obvious?
She couldn’t be.
Right?
“I mean,” Spike gestured a claw at her. “You literally just described what it’s like to like somepony. And I’ve seen the way you look at her.”
“You have?” Pinkie swallowed.
“Well, duh!” He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re Pinkie Pie! You’re the most like an open book than, like, anypony else!”
“Really?” She tapped her chin. “I thought Twilight would be more like a book. ‘Cause, y’know,” she snorted, “she lives and breathes them.”
“Actually…” Spike rolled his eyes. “She’s not much better. She’s super easy to read too. In fact, speaking of you she—…”
For some he cut himself off right then, eyes widening a bit.
“UHHHHHH nevermind! Forget I said anything!”
Pinkie blinked.
Then she smiled, even if still, her heart wasn’t in it.
“Okie dokie Loki! Anyway,” she hesitated, glancing to the side. “Can I… Ask you another thing?”
Spike nodded, a bit too quickly. “Sure!!”
“You mentioned Twilight and Rarity earlier, how they’re… Together.” Together. Together. Celestia, it put such a sour taste in her mouth. “And you said, um, that you can read Twilight really well?”
He nodded again, looking uneasy.
“Is there— Do you think…”
No. No crying. No. Crying.
She swallowed again.
“D-do you think Twilight likes Rarity?”
She shut her eyes, as though to delay the inevitable answer she’d get.
But then,
she only heard laughter.
A bit bewildered, Pinkie Pie slid her eyes open, staring at the guffawing dragon in confusion.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, glancing around for the cause, ears flicking every which way.
Spike only laughed harder.
“R— You, y-you think, Twilight—” He broke off into a snort, then even more snickers, “Tw-Twilight, liking, Rarity?!”
The longer he went on, the more lost Pinkie felt. Even a little upset made her ears flatten, and a deep frown graced her muzzle.
“That's not very nice, Spike! I mean, why not? Twilight’s super pretty! And so is Rarity! I know they say opposites attract and all, but…”
“No, no no it’s not that it’s—” Spike wiped a tear from his eye, wheezing. “It’s just—! I mean, well first of all,” he seemed to sober up a bit, expression flattening, “I’d kill Twilight if that was the case. Second of all…” The mirth returned to him, “Trust me, I’d know if she liked Rarity that way. And she doesn’t.”
…
That… No.
That couldn’t be right.
“But she… She gave Rarity her sweater!” Pinkie blurted. Spike’s face furrowed a bit, as he seemed to think it over.
“…Yeah, okay, I’ll give you that much,” he hummed after a moment. “But really, Twilight’s just nice—and weird—like that. I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave her sweater to a stranger. She probably didn’t mean anything romantic by it.”
Somehow,
that only made Pinkie feel worse.
Everything in her felt like it was drooping, as she mumbled,
“Yeah. You’re probably right.”
Spike’s face fell, as he saw her own fallen face.
“What?”
Instead of responding Pinkie glanced away. Her eyes found the mug. She snatched it up, and downed it in one fluid gulp.
Then, she rose to her hooves.
“Thanks for the hot cocoa,” she murmured.
Her dragon friend looked at her with the strangest look, that she couldn’t begin to decipher.
(Not that she felt particularly up to deciphering anything else today. She just wanted to go home and sleep forever.)
“I should probably get going now.” She turned for the door. Spike joined her, following behind slowly as she trudged along.
When she opened the door to step out, Spike nudged her shoulder from behind.
“Hey, um… Want me to tell Twilight you were here?” he asked. “I mean, you never did get to talk to her. You probably wanted to…”
She was still out with Rarity.
It didn’t really matter anyhow.
Pinkie just smiled at him.
“It’s okay! Maybe I’ll catch her another day,” she lied. As if she would try again another day. She didn’t think Applejack would be happy with her if she knew the amount of lies she was telling lately. (Then again, Applejack never had to know to begin with.)
She trotted back out into the cold. The door creaked behind her, and she looked back to see Spike leaning on it, watching her with big, worried eyes.
“You know, you don’t have to leave, you could spend the night and—”
Pinkie reinflated her mane.
“No thanks! Maybe another time!!” she giggled, waving brightly at him. “Bye-bye, Spikey Wikey!”
He managed a smile in return. It seemed good enough.
“Bye Pinkie! Make sure to stay warm!”
She nodded, giving him another wave, before bouncing off.
And that was that.
As soon as she heard the doors close shut in the distance, she stopped bouncing.
What little motivation she had left drained entirely.
Her mane gave out instantly.
The sky grew darker ahead her while she headed for Sugarcube Corner once more. Snow started to fall from clouds above. Thankfully, no pony was around to question the discoloration in the mare’s appearance. Not like she’d be able to come up with a solid excuse anyway.
There was no point. No use. Spike had only confirmed her fears.
Twilight liked Rarity more. The sweater was proof of that.
It didn’t mean anything when given to her. Twilight never had liked her in that way. But it had to have meant something when given to Rarity. It was different. Rarity was different.
But of course.
But, of course. But of course. But of course!
Rarity.
It was Rarity.
It was Rarity.
It made tons of sense. So much sense that… That Twilight would like her.
Pinkie Pie didn’t hate Rarity. Not even a little bit. She loved Rarity very much.
But, right now…
She wanted nothing more than to invite her to a fake party.
A party that wasn’t even going to happen!
The worst part?
She didn’t feel guilty for it.
Not one.
Little.
Bit.
…
Until that night, anyway.
The instant she let her head hit the pillow of her bed that night, it was like the distaste for Rarity drained out of her.
And it was distaste, to a point, she realized.
She wasn’t sure when it had become that. It didn’t help that she now knew why there were ill feelings at all.
Then the guilt soared through her like a rain cloud.
A horrible, nasty rain cloud—a rain cloud that wasn’t ideal, but that was deserved all the same.
…
She didn’t hate Rarity.
Kind of.
Sort of.
Maybe.
…Maybe a little.
Maybe a lot.
She didn't really know.
She didn't really know anything, apparently.
But she knew she was ugly.
She knew she was ugly for it. All of it.
Especially if she hated Rarity.
She wasn’t even half as pretty. Of course Twilight liked Rarity. Of course.
Rarity was beautiful.
That was why Pinkie might have hated her.
.
.
.
And because she might have hated Rarity,
she hated herself, too.
…
Well.
At least there was that.
That, at least, gave her some semblance of relief.