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Across the dance floor there’s a girl who could very well be the doppelganger of Rarity’s high school crush. The mannerisms are off, sure, but her face and hair color and the nervous tension of her shoulders make them twins.
It can’t be her, though. The girl Rarity knew would never go to an event like this. Even their homecoming dance, casual as it was, seemed like it made her a little anxious:
“I always feel like I’m missing something that y’all already know about these things,” she worried at a stain on her dress’s bodice, muttering her confession to Rarity so their friends wouldn’t hear.
“You’re fine, you look great and you’re not missing anything,” Rarity had gushed, helplessly obvious.
Before she delves deeper into this memory, no doubt beginning to remember looks that didn’t happen and hints that weren’t there, Rarity swipes another champagne glass from a waitress and downs it. She sheds all remnants of her teenage emotions. They’ll get in the way of her meticulous networking, and this gala is hosting way too many potential connections in fashion for Rarity to become distracted by the past.
There’s no reason to dwell on this, Rarity reminds herself. It’s not really her. It’s not Applejack.
She just has to keep telling herself. Why get hung up on a girl who’s not even here? And it’s definitely not her. There’s no way. Applejack’s pale blonde hair would never be caught dead in that high updo, and although the way her back muscles subtly tense and flex is making Rarity’s mouth dry, Applejack wouldn’t even wear that red silk dress if her life depended on it. So it's not her.
Rarity downs the other champagne, sets both empty glasses on a nearby tray, and approaches a man who owns a boutique in New York. She can’t change the past, but she can solidify her future.
It takes fifteen minutes of small talk for Rarity to realize the asshole’s more interested in her than her designs. And another five to escape once he and his wife start fighting about it.
While she’s discouraged, an older woman in a wheelchair and the most beautiful gold gown Rarity’s ever seen strikes up a conversation. She’s so knowledgeable about fashion that Rarity spends half the conversation working up the nerve to say she’s an aspiring clothing designer and the other half trying not to cry because of how supportive the woman is.
The woman introduces her to a few fairly big industry names, and Rarity’s so starstruck she almost doesn’t know how to act.
“Chantal Roux,” says a middle-aged woman in a forest green gown, extending a hand to Rarity.
She shakes it, trying not to buzz out of her skin. “Oh, goodness, you own Le Jardin de Chantal, I absolutely adored your Autumn coat collection. My name’s Rarity Belle.”
Chantal smiles and flicks her braids over her shoulder. “With a name like that, your designs will be walking the world’s best runways in no time.”
Rarity’s mouth opens and closes, but she can only laugh incredulously. Chantal’s a huge player in the New York fashion world, ridiculously successful, and she thinks Rarity’s got a future in the industry? Rarity can hardly breathe.
“Oh, yeah,” says a blonde man, his suit so perfectly made and fitted it makes her gawk. “‘Rarity Belle’ is the name of a damn good designer.”
Not just any blonde man, she realizes. The designer for EKHOLM, Manhattan’s newest men’s fashion empire.
Luckily, before Rarity can spontaneously combust from the sheer talent that’s speaking with her, a waiter with a young, nervous smile notifies them that the sit-down dinner will be starting in a few minutes, and asks them to find their assigned tables.
Rarity gets contact information from the three of them, and practically floats over to table nine. The first man she spoke to is far removed from her mind now, cleansed by her subsequent interactions, and the first thing she thinks of is how much Applejack loved to see her get excited about fashion and designing. Even when AJ herself couldn’t have cared less.
“Seeing you sew is like magic,” Applejack had said once, draped over Rarity’s canopy bed.
Rarity ignored her for a second, trying to do a lockstitch on an ankle hem. “Well, darling, all those tools and trucks you have are just as much a mystery to me.”
“Sure, but I’m not making any art with a screwdriver,”
“I didn’t know you thought of clothing as art,” Rarity said, abandoning the lockstitch to look at Applejack.
She shrugged. “You’re an artist, so what you make is art.”
“Oh, I’m an artist?”
“Yeah, ‘cause you’re passionate, and creative, and you make pretty things.”
Your parents made a pretty thing, does that make them artists? Rarity didn’t say.
“And,” AJ continued as Rarity flushed from her unspoken comment, “I don’t know, I like you best when you get really intense about a project, ‘cause I know when it’s done you’ll smile like this,” she clasped her hands together beneath her chin and sighed cartoonishly, her grin twitching as she tried not to laugh at her own joke.
Rarity smiled back at her, no doubt looking like a lovesick moron. “I don’t do that,”
“Well, you don’t see yourself like I do,” AJ had said, casually, like Rarity wouldn’t remember it for years.
She even remembered it now, sitting at table nine, still feeling like the version of herself who spent nights trying to put the pieces together to know if Applejack felt the same as she did.
There are no assigned chairs, just a number in the invitation that told them which table to sit at, so Rarity assumes a spot next to a sweet girl named Fluttershy who she remembers from college. Her boyfriend, who wears a scowl and is intimidatingly tall, speaks like a carnival barker but seems unmistakably in love with Fluttershy, so Rarity can accept his cold demeanor. Fluttershy’s multicolor-haired friend sits on the other side of her and introduces herself as “Dash”, shaking Rarity’s hand.
“I’m a military pilot,” she announces, looking excited to say so. “Me and my fiancee met in flight school. She couldn’t make it tonight but she would love this place. Her childhood dream is to go to a fancy ball or something like that, and she made me wear this suit since it’s hers and she wanted it to go somewhere awesome. She’s so jealous I’m here, it’s great, we get really competitive and—”
She cuts herself off but doesn't stop grinning. Rarity feels a longing she hasn’t felt in years.
“Anyway,” Dash continues, “I have to bring her to the next one. If Twilight even has another of these.”
“I will if it means I get to see all of you again!” says a familiar voice.
“Twilight!” Rarity gasps, and leaps up to hug her. She was Rarity’s best friend in high school, second only to Applejack, and not seeing her for a few months was harder than she thought it was going to be.
“I missed you, Rarity!” Twilight smiles at her when they separate, and side-steps to introduce her to Sunset, Twilight’s girlfriend of ten months who she’s been keeping kind of a secret until tonight. It’s a big step for Twilight, whose academic efforts have kept her from romance for far too long. Rarity’s beyond proud of her.
After greeting the rest of the table, including Rarity’s now-married friend Pinkie, who she hasn’t seen since high school graduation and missed dearly, Twilight turns her attention back to Rarity.
“How’s tonight been for you?”
“Oh, amazing. I just spoke with some established designers, and some even said I have potential!” Rarity crosses her fingers hopefully.
“I’m so glad,” Twilight says, then looks off to where the tenth seat at table nine is empty, her smile taking on a nervous edge.
Twilight clears her throat. “So, um, you haven’t really seen a lot of people tonight, then?”
Rarity looks at her a moment, and furrows her brows. “What are you—?”
At that moment, the event’s sponsor takes the microphone and Twilight’s ushered to her table, leaving Rarity to wonder why she was acting so strangely.
Celestia, Twilight’s philanthropic mentor, is funding the event as a partnership with Twilight’s education charity that aims to make schooling globally accessible. It’s a great cause, and one that Rarity would love to support more, if her bank account was less bleak. She currently works at a wedding dress store, but every dollar she makes is spent on rent, groceries, or stuff for Opal, her spoiled kitten. Opal is the closest thing Rarity has to a companion, considering the men and women she brings back to her apartment are either horrified by how cluttered her apartment is or are only tolerable for the night. So she hasn’t dated for a while. Does it make her lonely? Sure. But Rarity’s picky through and through, and she likes what she likes.
At the end of Celestia’s speech, the room breaks into applause, no doubt charmed by her. Rarity’s always loved Celestia, and has always wanted to ask how she gets her dark brown skin to literally glimmer gold in the sunlight. She thinks it might just be magic.
During the applause, Rarity notices a disturbance around the table. She looks up to see what’s causing it, and—freezes.
Not-Applejack is sitting down at their table.
She looks even more like her up close, Rarity realizes. The soft tan that collects at her freckled shoulders, the distrusting green eyes that targeted Rarity less and less throughout the years. Her red satin dress is backless, with thick straps. Her thin gold necklace is the only jewelry she’s wearing besides two small gold hoop earrings, and that only serves to make the dress the main event. It’s well-fitted, for sure, and a flare of jealousy runs through Rarity at not being the one to tailor it to Not-Applejack’s defined, inviting waist. She gets over it quickly, though, because the girl looks up and meets Rarity’s gaze.
What Not-Applejack finds there that makes her eyes widen, Rarity doesn’t know. Maybe Rarity’s gawking and she’s confused? Or maybe Rarity looks like her high school crush, and there’s been some sort of interdimensional exchange?
In any case, Not-Applejack looks away again quickly. And there, that’s why this girl couldn’t possibly be AJ—it’s in the way she walks, the elegant sureness of her handshakes, her meticulously curled hair and that red satin dress: this girl is sophisticated. She has none of AJ’s rough bluntness and severity. She’s measured. Rarity wants to be her, and also wants to take her home to Rarity’s apartment and see how much she can mess her up.
She wonders if Not-Applejack, with wild hair and no manners, would be good enough.
To avoid this train of thought she tries to listen to Twilight’s speech, where she reiterates her charity’s mission and gives profuse thanks to everyone. After, the first course of dinner starts to be distributed, and Rarity works up the courage to greet Not-Applejack:
“Um, I don’t think we’ve met? I’m Twilight’s friend from way back in high school.” Rarity tries, hoping her smile doesn’t border on painful.
The girl stares at her for a moment. Dash jumps in when it’s clear she isn’t going to speak, “Rarity, this is—”
“Nadia,” the girl interrupts, and fuck, she even sounds like AJ. “I’m Nadia.”
“Oh. It’s nice to meet you. My name is Rarity,”
Nadia almost looks taken aback when Rarity speaks. It’s weird, like a lot of things are right now—Dash is looking at Nadia oddly, Pinkie’s brows are furrowed as she looks between Nadia and Rarity, and Twilight keeps glancing nervously at table nine.
Rarity’s not stupid, but she is a little tipsy. And she can’t find a thread that connects all of these things, so she tucks the evidence away for now.
The rest of dinner is largely uneventful. Twilight was kind enough to give Fluttershy and her boyfriend a vegan meal, and she raves about how amazing it is. Although Fluttershy’s version of “raving” is a soft nod when Pinkie asks her if it’s good, accompanied by a quiet appreciative hum, Rarity knows that means she loves it, and her boyfriend seems to like his as well. The last course comes and goes with no fanfare, but all Rarity wants to do by now is curl up and sleep in her chair.
She didn’t want to admit it, but a part of her ached for Nadia to say “Applejack” when she introduced herself. And now, with nothing in front of her to distract from the fact, it hits her hard.
Rarity still loves her. Still loves her to the point where she’s projecting onto this poor stranger, hoping she’s someone else. It’s unfair to Nadia. But, Rarity rationalizes, understandable considering her and Applejack are mirror images down to their voices. Still, she needs to grow up and realize that whoever Nadia may look like, she’s not them, no matter how much Rarity wants her to be.
People reclaim the dance floor almost immediately, but Rarity doesn’t really feel like networking again, so she kind of hovers and hopes the unwelcoming expression on her face doesn’t invite anyone to come up to her.
“Hi,”
Unsurprisingly, this wish isn’t granted.
Rarity turns around to tell whoever weakly greeted her that she isn’t really in the mood, but she’s met with soft green eyes and Nadia’s awkward smile. It’s such a shock that she forgets to speak.
“Oh! Sorry, I don’t—hi,” she stutters. She hasn’t stuttered in years.
“Are you okay? I saw you over here, and I wanted to…I don’t know. I guess I wanted to check on you.”
“No, it’s…” Rarity starts, then sighs. “I usually love these things. But tonight has been a lot, you surely know, with all the people to meet and the etiquette to remember. Not to mention, I can’t even contribute to the fundraiser.”
“I’m sure Twilight just appreciates you being here.”
“How do you know her? Twilight, I mean.”
Nadia swallows, hard. It seems kind of dramatic for a simple question, but Rarity’s truly and completely in no position to judge dramatic people.
“Uh, we met through mutual friends,” she half-mutters.
Nadia doesn’t ask Rarity how she knows Twilight, but she answers anyway:
“Ah. Twilight and I met in high school. We lost touch with most of our friends, but even eight years after graduation, we’re still close. I suppose we did something right.”
“That’s nice.” Nadia says distantly. “That’s…that’s really great.”
Rarity realizes she’s staring at Nadia’s side profile a second after Nadia does. She averts her eyes quickly, but she knows she has to address it: why she’s scrutinizing a stranger’s face so closely. I can either lie or tell her the truth, Rarity thinks.
Applejack always hated liars.
“I’m sorry, darling,” she doesn’t mean to call her that, really she doesn’t.
“It’s okay,” Applejack—Nadia—interrupts.
“No, I don’t mean to be strange, only…” Rarity chews her bottom lip. “You look like someone I used to know.”
Nadia doesn’t respond. Maybe she has one of those faces, and she’s sick of hearing that? Now Rarity feels guilty. What if she’s offended Nadia beyond apology?
“That wasn’t a pickup line,” Rarity blurts.
“I didn’t think so.” Nadia says faintly, now avoiding Rarity’s eyes. Her voice has taken on a roughness to it, and it makes her sound far too much like AJ, so Rarity leaves her with a quiet excuse and escapes to the pier.
It’s getting darker, so not many people are outside, making it the perfect place for her to spiral.
Eight years of suppressed pining come out in seconds once she’s alone. Rarity feels like sobbing, and also like searching AJ up on one of those invasive criminal record websites just to see if she can find a phone number, a house, a city, a state, anything. They hadn’t called at any point during their freshman year at their respective colleges, and by the time Rarity graduated the only thing she heard about Applejack was that she’d moved away. Probably back to her family business in Texas, Rarity assumed, but was never sure. No one Rarity still knows has said anything. And she understands it’s different for herself, but eight years couldn’t have been spent alone, right? Is there any use even finding Applejack if she’s going to find someone who wants nothing to do with her? Or is Rarity wrong, and AJ’s been waiting just like her, been catching glimpses of Rarity’s features in a crowd and being so sick with hope it feels like she might shake apart?
Before, Rarity never let these what-ifs catch up to her. But now there’s Nadia, Nadia who looks like what Rarity always imagined an older AJ would. Rarity wants her and doesn’t—on one hand, she’s attractive and bears a striking resemblance to someone Rarity’s always wanted and can’t have. But on the other hand, she doesn’t want Applejack’s clone. Rarity wants her. All of her. Her stubborn beliefs, her messy life, the loving, sappy persona she keeps hidden too much.
Rarity doesn’t know she’s crying until she’s crying. Beyond missing what could have been, she misses her best friend. Their romance was characterized by hypotheticals, but their friendship was undeniable. Rarity still finds herself wanting that back.
Her best quality, the one that people point out to her over and over again, is her ability to see beauty in things that initially don’t seem so. What’s the beauty in losing Applejack?
Maybe, Rarity muses, the beauty is in finding her again.
The idea crystallizes and anchors itself in her brain. The more she contemplates, the more it seems like one of the best thoughts she’s ever had. She’ll look for AJ, wherever she can, and if she finds her taken, that’s fine. If she finds her different, that’s fine. As long as she finds her. Rarity’s spent eight years missing her, and zero years doing anything about it. It’s time.
She doesn’t bother to compose herself much. So what if her mascara runs? A teenaged Rarity would care, but in her adulthood she’s learned that there are times when her appearance matters and times when it doesn't. This is the latter. Down the pier, there’s a busker playing his acoustic guitar as a white kitten naps in his guitar case. Rarity walks over to drop some cash in his case. She smiles thankfully when he compliments her dress, and watches his kitten stretch and blink awake.
It’s only when the fabric of his shirt starts darkening that she realizes there’s a balcony over her head, blending in with the starless sky but protecting her—yet sadly, not the busker—from the now-falling rain.
He shrugs, and tells her he’d better head home anyway. The busker gathers his things and waves goodbye to Rarity, and although she returns the wave she’s more concerned with the blonde, satin-clad figure she spots on the shadowy balcony.
It might be Nadia, or it might not. In any case, there’s a convenient staircase to the awning-covered balcony and Rarity doesn’t feel like avoiding things anymore.
When she reaches the top of the staircase, she finds Nadia pulling at her updo until she wrestles out a hairpin. Her relief is palpable, and when she sees Rarity standing there, she looks almost pleased. It’s nice. Rarity misses Applejack a little more.
“Sorry, I just—that pin’s been digging into my skull for the past four hours,” she explains.
“You don’t have to apologize, darling,” Rarity hopes it’s dark enough outside that Nadia can’t see the tracks of eye makeup on her cheeks.
“I moved to the city a few years ago,” Nadia says, “and my girlfriend at the time forced me into etiquette lessons. They told me I wasn’t self-deprecating enough.”
“That’s terrible,”
Nadia shrugs. “She was just trying to help,”
“Learning courtesy shouldn’t remove confidence. It’s actually the opposite. Etiquette lessons should give people the self-assurance to interact with others in a formal setting. That’s really not right, what they taught you. I hope you can reverse that damage.”
Nadia’s quiet, but she nods slowly.
“I don’t mean to overstep.” Rarity winces. “Sorry about that.”
“No, no, it’s—thank you. I wish someone had stuck up for me like that, back then.”
“I’m happy to do it. And please forgive me for my invasiveness, but is that why you two broke up?”
“Partly. The other part was that I was…my mind was elsewhere. It wasn’t fair to her.”
“Ah,”
“What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” Rarity watches her fidget with her hands as she asks.
“No, I haven’t met anyone. I mean, obviously, it’s New York, I’ve had a couple flings but nothing real. Nothing serious.”
Rarity’s not sure why she tells Nadia this, but she doesn’t seem deterred:
“You’ll find someone, Rarity,” she says, “you’re charming and beautiful.”
“Charming?” Rarity laughs, mostly to forget that Nadia also said “beautiful.”
“Yes, charming. After you came outside I had five separate people come up to me asking where you’d gone because they wanted to speak with you. More than that, Dash wants you to meet her fiancee, which is ridiculous because she’s so protective of her that even I wasn’t allowed to meet her for months and I’ve known Dash since undergrad,” Nadia rambles.
She turns to face Rarity. “I’m trying to say don’t undersell yourself. You’ll find someone who needs you. Who sees you.”
A soft smile settles on Rarity’s face, her cheeks probably taking on a pleased flush. She didn’t know she needed to hear that until Nadia said it, and now she realizes how much she’d been craving that reassurance.
“Thank you,” Rarity says, and finally looks at Nadia.
At first, she’s confused why Nadia frowns. Then she remembers she’s got makeup running down her face from before, and she doesn’t think she can blame it on the rain.
“Sorry, I—” Rarity begins, hastily wiping at her cheeks.
Nadia’s hands twitch against the balcony railing, as if they want to reach for Rarity.
Forcing a laugh and a strained smile, Rarity apologizes once more, and searches Nadia’s eyes for a sign of judgement. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and Rarity sees her gaze soften in real time when she sees Rarity’s anxiety. Nadia sways towards her.
“What happened, sugarcube?”
Rarity goes rigid.
For a moment, she can’t breathe, can only feel her jaw go slack and then snap her mouth closed again. She’s unbelievably angry. Irreversibly furious. She’s nauseous with relief.
It’s her. It’s Applejack. Nadia is Applejack.
“Rarity,” says Nadia, says Applejack, oh god it’s her.
Rarity’s lips move but only an incredulous exhale escapes. Then she speaks:
“When,” she starts, tense and dangerous, “the fuck were you going to tell me?”
“Rarity, I—”
“Oh, fuck you to hell and back, Applejack, you knew it was me the whole night and you just let me embarrass myself—”
“That’s not—” AJ starts, but Rarity doesn’t let her keep talking.
“—while you just pretended not to know me? What in the world is wrong with you? And why didn’t you fucking call me?”
“Rarity, hold on, I—”
“No, shut up, I know you moved away—to my fucking city apparently!—but you could have called! Or I don’t know, maybe you couldn’t, but when you saw me tonight you could have said something! Huh! Isn’t that an idea? When I said my name was Rarity, obviously it was me, your best friend, because no one else is fucking named after a noun!”
Applejack just gapes at her. Rarity prays the music and rain is too loud for her to be heard inside, because she’s graduated to screaming and it would be really unfortunate to ruin Twilight’s night with a loud, public argument.
“You asshole,” Rarity continues, “I knew it was you but I didn’t want to believe it! You look—the same but different. And I’m so…I’m just…”
The tears start falling once Applejack’s hand makes an aborted movement to comfort her, and she realizes that she’s never loved anyone like she loves her, even now, even after everything she put Rarity through.
“Oh, fuck, I thought I was going crazy projecting onto—well, you.” Rarity says through her tears. “I missed you, Applejack. I missed you.”
She mumbles it a third time, but it’s muffled because Applejack pulls her into her arms, knowing exactly when Rarity needs it most. AJ hugs like her whole family does: all-encapsulating. She’s not a big hugger, not like Pinkie or even Twilight, but she always knew it made Rarity feel better. It still does now, after eight years apart, and that fact makes Rarity cry more.
The only sounds are the rush and drum of the rain and AJ’s nervous breath. Rarity itches to break the silence.
“Who the hell is Nadia,” she complains into AJ’s neck, feeling her laugh. Applejack always thought Rarity was funny, even when other people found her annoying.
“Rarity,” AJ says quietly, still holding her tightly. Applejack’s a bit taller than her now, with both of them wearing heels. Rarity doesn’t mind. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Yes,”
“No, it’s—don’t say anything, I have to be honest with you first.”
Rarity nods, stepping away and looking Applejack in the eye.
“I wasn’t…I mean, I didn’t want to lie to you. I wasn’t going to, I even planned what I was going to say to you in the bathroom—that’s why I came to our table late—but when you reintroduced yourself to me I panicked and forgot everything. I thought I was so different you didn’t recognize me. Or maybe you didn’t want it to be me.”
“No,” whispers Rarity, barely heard over the rain.
“But when you said I looked like someone you knew, I felt so guilty, Rarity. I was going to find you, I swear on my life—” her Texas accent slips into the syllables of her apology and Rarity wants to kiss her more than anything else right now “—and tell you everything. Don’t be mad at Twilight, by the way, she was just as much in the dark as you until a few hours before the gala. Dash invited me and Twi found out. I asked her not to tell you I was going to be here.”
“Excuse me? Why?”
AJ winces slightly. “I thought you wouldn’t show up,”
“No, Applejack, of course not,” it’s Rarity’s turn to comfort her now, “Are you kidding? I’d be the first to arrive if I’d known.”
Applejack’s lips part slightly, like she can’t believe it. As if Rarity’s ever been anything less than completely and totally enamored with her.
“Well, I—that’s. I didn’t know that.” She's blushing now, endearingly surprised, and Rarity wants to reach for her again. “But I don’t deserve that. I just…I had this weird hatred of my past self. The version of me you knew felt too obtrusive, and once I moved here I decided I didn’t want her to exist. I didn’t talk to my family for a while, either, and I tried to be this high society fraud. But that’s not…I mean, learning actual manners and becoming less averse to nice clothes was good, but I kind of lost the person I was.”
Applejack sighs. “I want her back,” she confesses.
“I’ll help you,” Rarity says after a beat, ”If you’ll let me, I mean.”
“I do. I mean, yeah, I will. Let you,”
Kiss me, thinks Rarity. “Okay,”
“I just—I mean, are you sure? I know you said you missed me but what if I'm too different and we don’t click anymore?”
Rarity, distracted by staring at AJ’s lips like she can will them to hers, snaps her gaze back up. AJ seems to notice this, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Tell me what hasn’t changed about you.” Rarity whispers.
Applejack swallows, and it’s now that Rarity realizes that Applejack isn’t just awkward, she’s nervous.
“Well, for starters, I still hate makeup.” AJ says dryly. Rarity laughs, stepping into Applejack’s space. The flustered look on her face is well worth it.
“Um, I bake. And cook. Do you still almost burn down the kitchen when you try?”
“Only every time,”
Applejack smiles, kind of absentmindedly, like she’s endeared by how little Rarity’s habits have changed.
“We can fix that,” she assures Rarity.
“What else?” Rarity presses. AJ hesitates. Rarity’s heart beats almost dangerously fast as she gently lays a hand on Applejack’s cheek. It’s risky, it’s so risky, but Applejack’s looking at her with her earnest green eyes and Rarity doesn’t think anyone more beautiful exists.
“And I’m still…” AJ’s voice shakes slightly, and her “I’m” sounds more like “ahm”, which means she’s nervous enough to revert back to her accent, “I’m still in love with you.”
Rarity doesn’t wait to kiss her. It’s odd, at first, because in all her time imagining this she’s never imagined AJ with anything but a scraggly braid and a pair of old jeans, but she finds that she doesn’t care either way.
“Me too,” she gasps when she pulls back. “The whole time.”
The kiss is halfway between familiar and awkward. It’s not some rom-com kiss with violins and firecrackers, but it’s the kind of drama that Rarity’s always wanted in a kiss. AJ sways into Rarity, snaking a hand around her neck and pulling her closer. Rarity wants to do this forever.
“Come home with me,” Applejack says after they separate the fourth (fifth? Sixth? Rarity doesn’t care) time.
Rarity raises an eyebrow, but smiles nonetheless. “Oh?”
“Just to catch up,” AJ clarifies, a red hue rising to her face. “I want to hear about the past eight years. And you can meet my dog.”
Her grin is hopeful and sincere, and Rarity falls a little deeper when she realizes it’s the same smile she remembers being met with every day. Except this time she doesn’t have to wonder what the smile means. She knows.
“I’d love to, darling.”
Applejack beams, and it’s then that Rarity realizes the rain’s stopped and made way for the pale orange glow of the moon, stark against the violet sky.
Later, when Applejack’s busy making their classic Applejack-and-Rarity late night meal of spaghetti carbonara with Winona at her heels, Rarity finds a framed picture from homecoming. It’s of Rarity in her dress, her face half-obscured by the camera she’s holding up as her mouth is caught in a laugh. Rarity’s never seen this picture.
In her possession, though, there’s a similar one. Except Rarity’s is of Applejack holding up her own camera and grinning, and it’s never left her wallet.
Rarity digs it out and props it up against the frame. She stares at the pictures together, grinning like an idiot, and knows that she loves every iteration of Applejack that exists. Every version. And in the kitchen, mumbling the words to a Duke Ellington song, is a version that Rarity can’t wait to know.