Baggage Claim (Ch. 2) (Dusk x Audience OC, Incomplete)

Golden sunbeams flecked with lazy motes of dust speared their way through an abruptly opened curtain and through your eyelids, accompanied by an idyllic but wholly unwanted chorus of birdsong suddenly smashing it's way through into your consciousness.

Resentful of Prince Solaris's perfect morning, you roll over in bed trying to escape it's reach.
The voice of a peeping-tom female baby dragon worms it's way into your head, despite your attempts to trick yourself into thinking you're actually still asleep.
"Rise and shine, lover boy."

Your eyes fly open, and you immediately regret it. An indistinct but painful whirl of light and colours upsets your sore and tired peepers, and you groan quietly- blinking a few times to acclimatise yourself. You're tired as shit, what did you get up to last night? You feel like you got hit by a train...

Oh, right.
And oh, right.

You roll back over, meaning to stare down the window disapprovingly. You're acutely aware suddenly of how empty the bed is.
"Mmn... Where's Dusk?"

Barb is already half-way back to the staircase, but she still stops to give you a waggle of the eye brows.
"Oh, ho! Hungry already, huh?"

You try to fix her a steely stare, but you already feel the blush rising up, and you're sure she's noticed. "He's in the kitchen, fixing breakfast. He was insistent on it."
She continues her walk to the stairs, rolling her eyes. "I hope you like burnt eggs and runny bacon."

You chuckle a little.
"Sounds delicious."

She stops just short of going downstairs but steps back to address you.
"Oh, Dusk wanted me to tell you- if you're up to the journey, the shower's just downstairs and on the left. Butterscotch is dropping by to check your bruises and stuff, so... Yeah. Although judging by that 'show' last night, I'd say you can handle the stress." Another saucy grin cracks through her face. She's obviously far less afraid of teasing you than Dusk. "Although, if I were you, I'd play up the victim thing for as long as possible. You could probably get the two of them to give you a sponge bath or something."

You finally find your voice, and stammer out a defence, tapping your hooves together nervously.
"U-Uh, Barb, whatever you think you saw last night, just know that, um..."

Her eyes stretch wide and she waves her own claws in emphasis.
"Oh, no, it's okay. I'm totally into it!"
She coughs loudly, dropping her arms and fixing her face into a neutral expression.
"I mean, uh, I'm totally cool with it."

She turns and hops her way down the stairs.
"Later, 'Baggy-Waggy'. Don't tire yourself out."

Barb has already gone, so you do your best to roll your eyes as loudly as possible. Doing your best to get a sniff of your mane, it confirms your assumption that you smell like you've had a heck of a night. Or just that you're wearing an expensive and highly experimental perfume along the lines of Eau de Sperme. It's all the rage with the Canterlot elite. All the same, you probably owe it to Dusky to try not to smell like a discarded condom if his friend is coming over.

Or maybe that's the kind of thing that earns mad street respect for a stallion. You're not really sure.

Pushing back the covers, you flex your tired limbs and stretch them to your limits, testing for aches and pains. This is the point yesterday where you fell flat on your face with your ass in the air, you recall. But that also led to you getting your face slammed balls-deep into the crotch of the stallion of your dreams, so it's probably worth a shot.

Using the same technique as yesterday, you first ease yourself into a sitting position- noting with optimism that it hurts far less than it did the first time. Cautiously, gradually, you roll yourself off and onto all-fours... And stand with little difficulty. That's good. Now for the moment of truth.

You start to move for the stairs- make it a few steps- before your rear left leg shudders violently and gives way beneath you. You catch yourself, pushing onward- and the same leg betrays you again. Feels like you might have a bit of a limp.

But you quickly figure out how to compensate for the shortcoming, hopping slightly on your rear right leg and letting the left drag along, lifted gently off the ground.

You build up speed and confidence, and dare to crack a grin at your own mad walking skills.
And then, you're standing at the top of the stairs.

You gulp, and decide it would be best to take it one step at a time. It takes you a full minute to make it even halfway down the stairs, but you're able to get your first good look at the library. Dusk really does like his books. What kind of building is this, anyway? It looks like it's shaped like a massive barrel...

You almost lose your balance when you're suddenly distracted by the smell of smoke and the sound of shouting, but you regain your composure and double your efforts.

Before too long, you've reached the bottom of the stairs triumphantly. Now, where was the shower... Barb said first on the left, right?
You push the round, wooden door, and it swings open with a soft creak. Amidst maybe half a dozen crates and a spattering of cardboard boxes, Barb is lain back in her basket, the claws on her feet glistening with purple hoof polish and parted with balls of cotton wool. She's flipping through a magazine, cartoonishly large for her, which the throws over her shoulder when she notices you walking in. You didn't make out the title, though you're pretty sure you spotted at least one feminine stallion, slender and lithe, with exaggerated doe eyes. Or maybe it was just a doe. Seems she's making the most of her morning of not having to make the breakfast.

She glares you down, but smirks slightly, crossing her arms.
"Next door along, sugarlips."

You quickly shut the door before she can see you blush or get another word in, and you continue toward the next door with your limping gait- and then turn to call back through the door;
"O-oh, and thanks for the advice, but I'm trying for the shower all the same. You'll just have to work on hooking Butterscotch up with... Who was it? Uh, Elusive?"

You stand there waiting for a response, but you don't think she can hear you with the door closed. Shit, that would have been such a sick burn. If only you'd thought of it faster.

Pushing the bathroom door open gingerly, half expecting to find another sassy baby dragon hiding behind it, you're struck by how bright and clean the bathroom is. Glittering while tiles, accented by a graceful but understated strip of lavender. Not to mention not only a walk-in shower divided by a smoky curtain (lavender, again), but also a bath large enough to seat at least two ponies (you note with carefully checked excitement).

Oh, and a sink, toilet, medicine cabinet with mirror... All that jazz, too.

Limping your way into the shower and pulling aside the curtain, you're impressed by the comfortable amount of standing room. The handles on the shower aren't exactly designed to be hoof-friendly, but with your dexterity it's no problem. Soon, you have a refreshing downpour of hot water coursing down on you, already soaking into your coat and pressing down your mane until it's sticking to your face and cheeks. It's a bit uncomfortable at first, but you quickly get used to the temperature and let loose a long, rattling sigh of satisfaction.

Your cuts sting at first, but the water seems to at least rinse them clean, as the stinging subsides and becomes an inoffensive, subtle throbbing that you can handle. You decide against using any kind of soap or body wash- again, due to the myriad of cuts and scrapes- but hold your face up for the hot water to thoroughly since it clean, and soon decide to take a shot at washing your mane.

You peruse the assortment of bottles and containers lined up in the little metal basket hanging from the shower-head, as well as a handful sitting on the shower floor, in the corner. For a stallion living alone (well, sort of) he certainly does take care of himself. You notice some scale cleansers and moisturisers, but the vast majority of the bottles are Dusk's.

Neighbelline Lavender-scented shampoo... Lavender-scented body-wash... Lavender-scented conditioner... Well, this does seem to explain Dusk's astonishingly beautiful mane. And he definitely has a thing for lavender. Not that you're complaining.

You try to look for something that won't leave you necessarily smelling like a clone of your coltfriend. Lavender shampoo, lavender and pomegranate shampoo, vanilla and lavender shampoo, lavender an- oh, wait; cranberry and raspberry shampoo?

Worth a shot, you figure.

You squeeze a little onto the rim of one of your fore hooves and take a sniff. You have to say, it really does smell quite delicious. You squeeze a moderate amount more out, and set to work kneading it into your mane, trying to work up a lather. Trying... And trying...

Huh. When was the last time you actually washed your mane? You probably had shampoo in your luggage, but you're not actually all that sure.

You rinse it out thoroughly, having hardly foamed up at all as far as you can tell, and try again. This time you're definitely getting results, and you sigh again, enjoying the luxurious feeling of a shampooed mane.

You rinse it out, seeing the white bubbles flow from the top of your head and down the drain, and decide to try for one more. Squeezing another, slightly smaller line of the stuff onto your hoof (no sense being wasteful at this point), you rear up and rub sensuously as your head, a little moan of pleasure escaping you. "Yes," you think, "It's been way too long since I washed my mane".

You feel a sharp sting in one eye from the plentiful foam starting to dribble down from atop your head, and squeeze your eyes shut quickly, before continuing to rub your mane and working your way back down your neck.

Click.
Flash.

You almost slip and fall in surprise from the noise somewhere below the shower curtain, and the sudden spark of light penetrating your gently clenched eyelids. You quickly try to rinse the majority of the shampoo out of your eyes, already hearing the pitter patter of little dragon feet fleeing the bathroom, and throw back the curtain, bleary-eyed and blinking out water, but nothing is there but the bathroom door, carelessly left ajar.

Alright, now that's pretty far over the line, you think.

Seeing few other options, other than trailing water and shampoo all over on the library in what will likely be a fruitless and embarrassing chase, you draw the shower curtain shut again, and start to rinse your hair as quickly as you reasonably can while trying not to miss any.

Putting in conditioner does cross your mind, but after a moment you decide you can go without. So with a few twists of your hoofs, you halt the flow of water and step gingerly out of the shower, grabbing a lime green bath-towel in your teeth and swinging it over you before you have time to cool down too much.

You towel yourself as gently as you can manage, minding your bruises, and before long you've dealt with most of the moisture. Quickly wiping the condensation from the mirror, you see your mane has come out unfortunately frizzy, but you're sure it will settle down. Eventually.

Still with the towel wrapped about your hips to catch any stray droplets that may fall, you make your way to the bathroom door, already ajar, nudging it open with a hoof. You're hit almost immediately by the unmistakable scent of burnt eggs being boiled in bacon grease and then set alight.

You're about to take a few limping steps in the direction of the kitchen to see if you can find any survivors, when you dimly hear music from behind the door to Barb's brand new bedroom/storage-room combo. You scrunch your face in your best show of mild irritation, and put a single ear to the door. You're not sure if it's this weeks' generic top-of-the-charts pop nonsense or some of that new ungodly clopstep crap, but you can definitely make out little dragon feet pattering around in there.

You hammer on the door with a righteous hoof of fury and yell through the lock.
"Baaaaaarb! Open up!"

In response, you hear the volume of the music increase ten-fold. Definitely clopstep- the door is vibrating under your touch from the wubbing.

You're about to enter round two of door-pounding, but then you hear Dusk calling from the kitchen in a sing-song voice that makes your heart flutter.
"Sweetheart! Breakfast's ready!"
You feel all the anger drain out of you as a little smile and a big blush break out across your face. He called you sweetheart!

Your limp almost forgotten, you clumsily turn and half-skip, half-tumble in the direction of the kitchen before you get a hold of yourself and walk more sensible, calling back in a similarly bright tone.
"Coming!"

Passing the threshold into the quaintly decorated kitchen and dining room, you're greeted immediately by the sight of Dusk in a frilly pink apron emblazoned with a bright red heart, bent right over the sink trying to waft the smoky air through an open window with a baking tray. As far as greetings go, you've had worse.

Then you lay your eyes upon the breakfast spread upon a blue and white chequered tablecloth, along with a freshly picked daffodil in a slim yellow vase. You'd braced yourself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

Lain immaculately before you is possibly the most delicious looking breakfast you've ever been privileged enough to gaze upon- and you once stowed away in the overhead storage on the first-class carriage of the Manehattan's Pride railway service. Of course, a big difference between then and now (you realise with glee) is that you're actually being invited to eat it. And this breakfast is following you being thrown from a train, rather than preceding it.

Dusk, panting rapidly and covered in sweat, stops his manual ventilation of the kitchen and turns to grin when he hears you enter. Setting the tray down in the sink, he trots over to meet you.
"There's my sunshine!" he beams, giving you a smooch on the lips which you are still too stunned to reciprocate properly. His eyes betray anxiety, and he gestures to the table with a wide sweep of his hoof. "S-so, uh... What do you think?"

You rekindle the connection between your mind and your body, and wrap your forelegs about his neck.
"What do I think? I think this is the most scrumptious meal I've ever seen." You release him and give him that quick smooch you owe him "... So what's with the smoke?"

Dusk fidgets uncomfortably and doesn't quite meet your gaze.
"Oh, well, I just... Kind of burnt the, ah... Juice?"

That doesn't exactly sound plausible to you, but you're not sure if you should press him further or not.

Though you know something is amiss, Dusk has obviously gone to a lot of effort just for you, and it really does look like a nice breakfast. So you take a seat, and Dusk sinks into a chair opposite you (letting go of what you think was a sigh of relief). Barb's seat, you notice, is still guiltily vacant.

You start by plopping an eerily symmetrical and smooth fried egg down on your plate with a fork delicately levered between your hooves, and (just because it looks so lonely there on it's own) take on some toast, tomato and bacon for good measure. Cutting your toast into soldiers just the way you like it, with deftness defying both belief and probably most mechanical laws, you finally- cautiously- take a bite of the breakfast.

Dusk, still not having put anything on his plate, but electing instead to sit with his hooves in his lap and stare nervously as you take your first moutful, asks in a slightly hoarse voice
"W-Well? How is it?"

You stop, eyes wide as a stray blob of yolk drips from your fork onto your plate,  and answer his question by quickly piling a little bit of absolutely everything onto your plate, before starting to gorge yourself on the delicious, flawless, perfect meal laid out before you like a starving Zebrican orphan. This seems to be the answer he was hoping for, as he finally seems to relax and start to eat himself- though you still catch him taking quick glances at you as you feed, which only waters the seeds of suspicion already planted in your mind.

Barb finally picks this time to casually stride into the kitchen and take her own seat, before staring open-mouthed at the feast prepared by Dusk who, apparently welcoming the distraction, turned accusingly to face her.
"And what exactly took you so long, little lady?"

Barb did not seem to indicate any sort of concern, or indeed recognition that Dusk had asked her a question at all. Rather, she answered Dusk's question with a riddle of her own.
"Where the FUCK did this come from?"

Dusk's jaw drops, as does a slice of omelette previously suspended before him with magic, and Dusk barks back with in a harsh tone which seems undermined by equal parts shock and fear.

"B-Barb! Where in Solaris's name did you learn such language?!"

Barb cocks her head and one eyebrow, apparently not convinced by Dusk's authoritative charade.

"I'm not a hatchling, Dusk. Besides, you were already throwing pretty much every curse in the book at what was quickly becoming a charred mess when you told me to wake up sleeping beauty over here."

You give her a disdainful glare, but ultimately don't feel able to interrupt what is obviously building up to be a tense little spat.

"So how many little virgin colts did you have to sacrifice to Eris to pull this out of your ass, just to impress your new boy-toy?"

You can hardly believe the kind of disrespect pouring out of this tiny devil's mouth, and by the look on Dusk's hopelessly infuriated face, neither can he.

"How dare you? How DARE you?! Apologise immediately!"

"Not until you tell me where this food came from!"

Even with Dusk's righteous anger, it's plain to see that he's sweating bullets.

"I... I just referred back to Megan Baycon's Big Book on Making Breakfast in the cooking section! Simple!"

Barb's glinting smile widens slowly as Dusk talks his way right into her trap.

"Nice try, but even a trained shut-in like you couldn't just READ the three eggs left in the fridge into six fried eggs, two omelettes, a bowl of scrambled egg, and a stack of pancakes!"

Barb's accusingly outstretched claw seems to figuratively stab it's way straight through Dusk's lies and into his soft, vulnerable, exposed flesh even as you watch.

Perhaps feeling both your and Barb's eyes on him, Dusk's shouts turn to a serious of quivering excuses as easily as flipping a lightswitch. Barb, meanwhile, has slipped off of her stool and started opening and closing the kitchen cupboards, seemingly at random.

"W-well, I just popped out really quickly to buy some more eggs... Applejack had a batch, and he always arrives at the market early so... Uh..."

Without missing a beat, Barb continued her interrogation, reaching right into the back of the cupboard beneath the sink to pull out a partially unwrapped bouquet of daffodils.

"And I suppose Applejack's started growing flowers too, huh?"

You watch as Dusk squirms in his seat harder than any stallion has squirmed before.

"N-no, not... H-Honey Blossom's florist was open too, so I just-"

"Last time I checked, Honey Blossom didn't sell bouquets without his store's name on the wrapping."

"They were... Uh... P-part of a special offer?"

"Mr Blossom doesn't do special offers. Or daffodils."

By this point, Dusk seems almost on the verge of tears, and refuses to look at either of you. Even his voice has died down to a pathetic whisper.

"B-Barb, please don't-"

Finally unable to stand Dusk being put on the spot in this way, you speak up in your own solemn murmur.

"Barb, it's okay, I don't even-"

But Barb is already on a roll, and is almost giddy with excitement as she reaches her crescendo.

"... But I know who does both this early in the morning, and in a rush, for the right price- Chef Ironpan's Gourmet-to-Go! Ha! I win!"

Barb's victory over Dusk is short lived, however, as the silence that falls is enough to fade even her smile a little. Dusk, broken and humiliated, just sits staring down at his plate. You reach a hoof across the table, hoping he'll take it. In the softest voice you can manage, you talk to him.
"Dusky, you know it doesn't matter to me whether you can cook or not right?"

Dusk turns his head from yours a little bit more, and murmurs back in a hurt voice that makes your heart ache.
"... I just wanted everything to be p-perfect for you, Handle..."

You laugh slightly, in disbelief.
"Dusky, this breakfast is perfect! Everything is amazing! Just how much did this cost you, anyway?"

He tells you, and Barb intakes a sharp breath of air through her teeth in a long hiss. That's quite a lot.

"Dusk, come on, you know you didn't have to spend that much on me. That's silly."

Dusk finally looks up to meet your gaze, and you're horrified as you watch a tear roll down his cheek- not the first, judging from his soaked face and pink eyes. How could impressing you with breakfast possibly mean this much to him?

"I-I -huh- just... Wa-wanted it to be perf..."

You can't take much more of this. Sliding from your chair, you limp round to his side of the table. You wrap your hooves around him and rock him gently, but you can feel him cringing in your embrace.

"But Dusk, you could have just told me... Why was it so important that I think you made it all?"

He finally smiles and, sniffing a little, shrugs slightly.
"I-I doubt I could even make a sandwich without f-fuh-fucking it up... I don't know, I... I suppose I just didn't want to you think even less of me..."

Deja-vu kicks in somewhere in the back of your mind, and you try to recall where you remember those very same words from... And then you remember. And you hold him closer, running one hoof through his mane as you nuzzle his cheek with your own. His tears come unbidden. Barb just watches on in quiet awe.

With one hoof, you wipe a tear from Dusk's cheek.
"Dusky, I could never think less of you for something as silly as that. Never ever. I know we haven't been together all that long, but you're my whole world. I've never been so certain of anything in my life. Nopony has ever made me feel the way you do." Dusk throws his own hooves around you, and now it's his turn to squeeze you close. You carry on speaking, slightly shorter of breath "And I don't need a fancy-shmancy gourmet breakfast to know you care about me too. You can burn the eggs and make the bacon soggy all you like, but as long as you made it, it would taste like a royal banquet to me..."

Dusk Shine starts getting a bit teary again, though for all the right reasons. Despite yourself, you feel the moisture start to accumulate in the corners of your own eyes.

"G-good... Now... K-kiss..."

As one, you and Dusk turn to glare at a grinning, slightly sweaty Barb.

"... Barb. Why in Tartarus were you taking photos of me in the shower?"
Dusk's eyes boggle and his jaw flies open.
"W-WHAT?!"

His sense of righteousness obviously renewed by the chance to be your knight in shining armour, Dusk is up and marching towards Barb with fire in his eyes.

"Barb! I demand you show me that photo right this second!"
"But I didn- Huh?"
You think you can make out Dusk blushing slightly as he sighs in exasperation.
"You know what I mean. Hand it over."
Barb seems to have recovered some of her cheek, as she crosses her claws and smirks mischievously at Dusk's clumsy attempts to order her into relinquishing the picture.
"I didn't know you needed it that badly. I can get you a load more if the price is right-"

You stir uncomfortably in your seat as another argument escalates.

"I have no idea what's gotten into you lately, Barb, but it's going to stop right now-"
"What's gotten into me? I should ask what's been getting into you... But wait, that's not the right way round, is it?"

Dusk stamps an indignant hoof on the tile floor, and you're expecting another shouting match to start... But instead, Dusk seems to reign it in, swallow his anger, and speak in a calm, measured tone. You wonder if it's because you're watching.

"... Fine. If you're not going to own up and put things right like a responsible girl, then I suppose I'll have to take something else instead. We'll see if that gets the message across. I think the least you can do, given the circumstances, is to pay for breakfast."

Barb looks disbelieving, perhaps a little amused, but beneath the front she puts on, you can tell that Dusk has managed to scare her.

"You know my allowance is next to nothing as it is. It'd take months to pay that off."

"True. But I also know about that little hoard of bits you've been saving to buy something nice for Elusive. I'm sure you can dip into some of that. Or all of it."

Barb's jaw droops open, and her eyes stretch wide with the despair of a filly who's just been told that Hearth's Warming was cancelled. And that her parents were eaten by windigos.

"B-but you- you can't! That's so unfair!"
"Then I suppose you'd better give Handle back the photo you took of him. I'm not joking around here, Barb."

She scowls hatefully at both Dusk and you, and storms out of the kitchen (in the stormiest manner possible for a baby dragon who only comes up to about your flank), and a few moments later you hear the noise of her new bedroom door opening and slamming. Having a room of her own probably means she'll be doing a lot of that.

There's the sound of distant rustling and of furniture being disturbed. And then a pause. And then the same racket, only louder.
"I-I can't find it! I've lost it!"
Dusk calls back, in the same measured, matter-of-fact voice.
"Well, then you'd better find it, hadn't you?"
"T-this is so unfair! I hate you I hate you I HATE you!"

The harsh words are obviously painful for Dusk, and with no Barb present to hide it from, the uncertainty is showing on his face. He turns to look at you questioningly, obviously looking for some kind of reassurance or guidance. In a voice low enough for Barb to be unable to hear, he asks
"... You don't think I'm being too harsh with her, do you?"

Walking over to dusk, you frown to yourself. You were pretty angry before, but Barb definitely seems far more upset than you ever were about the photo.

"Maybe... Just a little?" you give Dusk a smile, which was also something of a wince "She just needs to learn to mind boundaries. Maybe you don't need to... You know... Go all the way with it."

Dusk nods solemnly.

"Sure, sure. As long as you're not upset. If she really can't find the photo, then I suppose there's no further harm to be done. And she has been saving for quite a long time. She doesn't need to pay."

You both stand together, nodding in quiet agreement.

"... But you don't need to tell her that yet, of course."
"Oh, no, no. Of course not."

You look at each-other and giggle conspiratorially. You almost don't hear a very soft, very quiet knocking at the door. Not Barb's door- the front door. Dusk perks up slightly, and starts to trot out of the kitchen. You follow at a walking pace, limping slightly.

"Oh! That must be Butterscotch!

Dusk swings the door open with a quick flash of magic, and you realise this is actually the first chance you've had to get a look at Ponyville. You still don't feel up to a tour, of course, but it looks quite nice from what little you can see of it- cute, thatched cottages, cobbled roads, and many happy ponies going about their business, chatting to each other in the street or over a daisy sandwich, laughing- you can see a few couples out there, too, walking side by side. That could be you and Dusk, you think, gleefully.

The main thing to catch your attention, of course, is the yellow pegasus who so daintily rapped upon the library door. And you thought you were a bundle of nerves when you arrived here.

The pegasus- Butterscotch, you remind yourself- is awkwardly hunched down with one hoof scratching at the other, a pair of brown saddlebags with red crosses emblazoned on them over his back. His eyes which dart between you, Dusk and the floor are half-hidden behind a pair of bright-pink bangs- the rest of his mane tied up in a bun with a little white nurse's cap atop his head. You decide you are not dealing with the most authoritative, self-confident of ponies.

"Um... Nee-naw...?"

Dusk doesn't seem surprised by the pegasus's nervousness, though he does raise an eyebrow at the modest attempt at a nurse's uniform.

"Butterscotch! Thanks so much for coming at such short notice. I know you're busy with the bear mating season and all."

Butterscotch seems to ease up when Dusk starts talking, and even smiles a little. This is probably just the kind of pony who isn't good at meeting new ponies. At all.

"Oh, um, it's no problem Dusk. I left Angel on duty..."

"Well... Okay then! Handle, this is Butterscotch- I've known him since I first arrived here in Ponyville."

Dusk waves a hoof between you, obviously intending you to shake. After a challenging moment of mutual fidgeting, you raise a hoof which Butterscotch shrinks back from at first, but then returns gingerly.

"Hey, uh, Butterscotch. Handle Baggage. I'm Dusk's new... Oh, uh..."

A purple hoof hooks itself around your neck and pulls you into Dusk's side, as he nuzzles your cheek with his own, unashamed.
It probably helps him to have known this Butterscotch guy for so long- but you feel the same sick, nervous excitement well up in your heart that you did when caught by Barb.

"Handle's my coltfriend!"

For the first time, Butterscotch turns his face up from the doorstep, giving you a full view of his quite girlishly-structured face, decorated with his obvious surprise. You must say, you've never seen lashes like those on a stallion before. You feel a slight pang of quiet jealousy.

"O-oh! Oh my... Dusk, I'm so sorry, I-I had no idea..."

Dusk leans his face into yours and rubs your mane absent-mindedly with his hoof.
"Well, it was... Really quite unexpected. But when me and Barb brought him in, I just... Couldn't keep my eyes off him. Heh... I guess it was, like, uh..."
"- Love at first sight." You finish Dusk's statement for him. It's just about how you would have put it yourself.
"Yeah... Yeah. Love at first sight. Just like out of a fairy tale."

Far from becoming more anxious at the change in tone of the conversation, Butterscotch actually seems to have forgotten his previous nervousness. Perhaps dropping something this personal just put him more at ease. He trips over his words and syllables just as much, though.

"Oh, um, no, I just meant, um... I didn't know you were, you know... Um... G-gay."

Dusk quietens down a bit, just starting to become slightly embarrassed.

"Well... That is, ah..."

Butterscotch quickly backtracks, shaking is head apologetically as he cringes back a bit.

"Oh, no, um... I didn't mean like... I don't have any problem with it, of course- I'm happy for you! Really! He's very, um, pretty."

The compliment catches you off-guard, but Butterscotch stubbornly avoids making eye contact with you while he gives it.

"O-of course, I knew you didn't spend much time with, um, girls... I-I mean I, um, noticed, that... But I sort of just, um, assumed you were too... Ah... Busy? With your books and... Things."

You've never really believed in 'gaydar', but if you did, you think you could feel it going off the chart right about now. He could just be a very effeminate, very nervous, but very straight colt, of course... Though something makes you doubt it.

And that steadily rising blush? That nervous stammering, speaking faster and faster as the words get more and more out of your control? You know that. You definitely know that. And that worries you, just a little.

"I-I mean, I had no, um, reason to... Know, of course... B-but if I had, I mean, I feel like I should have really realised something like that sooner or... Um, maybe... I don't know-"

Having heard enough, you step in to take control of the situation.

"Do you guys think we could maybe... Go upstairs? It's just that it's a bit hard to stand for too long, what with the, uh..."

Starting, Dusk relinquishes his hold on you and steps aside for Butterscotch to enter.
"Oh! Oh, of course, I'm sorry Handle. We'll get you off your feet, and Butterscotch can make sure everything's healing okay."

He trots ahead, stopping to tap on the door to Barb's room. Inside, you can still hear her throwing everything around frantically looking for the photo.
"I haven't found the damn thing yet, alright?!"
"Well, that's fine. Stop for now- Butterscotch might need your help examini-."
"I'll be right out!"

He shakes his head tiredly, and carries on upstairs, presumably to sort out the bed. You and Butterscotch hang back and walk more slowly- him weighed down by his bags, you weighed down with bruises and a limp.

Silence hangs in the air between you.

"You're... Um... Very lucky."
You look to him, smiling politely.
"I'm sorry?"
"I, um, I mean... Dusk's a very nice guy."

You look away again.
"Yeah. Yeah, I know."
"You... Seem nice too."
You answer a bit too late, a little bit of guilt breaking through. You could have been imagining what you... Imagined.
"... T-thanks."

Talking like this seems hard for Butterscotch too, but it's so hard for you to tell if this is just how he would act around any stranger...

"You're not going to... I mean, um... You do care about him too, of course...?"

That, however, was pretty unmistakable. A bit of indignant annoyance brushes over you, but you do your best to disguise any anger in your voice.

"Of course."

"R-right. Right. I might, um... I might just go to the little colt's room... No! That is, I-I mean, the, um, ah, bathroom..."