who needs an algorithm

They had a whole needlessly complicated system now.

They could text. They could DM on PictoGram. Twilight would even go as far as being okay with calling—like the old times!–but she’d quickly learned Rarity Belle liked doing things her way.

First, she ‘politely’ knocked (see: insistently and impatiently knocked) her fist on the wall her bedroom shared with Twilight’s office nook, like so:

THONK THONK THONK!

Twilight looked up from the three-hour video essay she was forty minutes into, the corner of her lips pulling up into a little smile—especially when she tried to imagine the dent Rarity was forming on her side of the wall.

She glanced at the calendar, double-checking her mental review of what she’d planned for the day. She’d already finished her homework, done her errands, and planned to spend the rest of the day watching videos.

So, basically, nothing she couldn’t postpone.

She leaned forward on her desk, reached for a small ruler she’d outfitted with a foam ball, and then proceeded to reply.

(No knocks meant she was either not there, or too immersed in her affairs to be interrupted in any way. Two knocks, they’d established, meant she was busy. Three knocks meant she was open to being texted. Four knocks—which she replied with more often than she probably should—meant her apartment was open to visits.)

THONK THONK THONK THONK!

No sooner had she finished than she wheeled herself away from her desk, got up, and unlocked her front door. She half-debated going back to her chair, but settled instead on lounging about on her couch. She preferred it, not just because it was comfortable, but because Rarity usually sat very, very close.

(“Listen here, Twi,” Applejack told her while studying in the library, more severe than she’d ever seen her, “she’s straight. One of those straight girls. The ones who don’t know what physical boundaries are between them and other girls.”

“Applejack…” she’d replied, trying to focus on her book, just a little annoyed, “we’re friends. I’m not looking for anything.”

“You say that, but I just don’t want you gettin’ excited or misinterpreting anything, and then suddenly you’re both hurt.”

“I’m not misinterpreting anything,” Twilight replied, curtly.)

She’d only barely gotten comfortable before her front door suddenly opened and in strolled her apartment neighbor, a purple robe loosely covering her matching pink pajama top and bottoms. She had her phone clutched in her hand.

“Twilight,” she said, so urgently that Twilight sat up in concern. And then fell back onto the couch with a playful eye-roll when Rarity continued, “Have you seen the reels I sent you on PictoGram?”

“Which one?” Twilight asked, watching as Rarity closed the door before hurrying over. “You’ve sent me a bunch today, I think, didn’t you?”

Rarity nodded. “So, you haven’t seen them?” The serious voice remained. “Not a single one?”

“I… No, not yet,” Twilight confessed. She’d planned on seeing them soon, really, but more during the weekend, not a weeknight. The last time Rarity sent her reels, three were definitely open to romantic interpretation, and Twilight barely focused in class because she couldn’t stop dissecting the videos in her head.

So weekends it was.

“I was planning to do it later during the week,” she added quickly, apologetic.

Rarity blinked. “Oh.” And her lips curved into a delighted smile, Twilight’s heart somersaulting in her chest and then nearly stopping when Rarity threw herself onto the couch, cuddling up real close. “Good! I was hoping we could watch them together.”

“O-Oh.” She pushed up her glasses, trying to have some composure. Rarity’s pajamas were so soft. She also smelled really nice. This was fine. This was so platonic. She was not misinterpreting anything. “Okay. How long do you think it’ll be?”

Rarity hummed, distracted getting the app open. “Oh, not too long, it’s just a few videos. Maybe like twenty minutes?” She reached their DMs and began to scroll up. And up. And up. And up.

“…How many reels did you send?” she asked after she’d sworn Rarity had scrolled past fifteen.

“Oh, eighty or somewhere around there. Here!” She finally reached the last message Twilight had sent, and without another comment to the other woman, she snaked her arm around Twilight’s and pressed play. “I loved this one.”

It was not twenty minutes.

It was almost two hours.

And when it was done, and a delighted Rarity sauntered back to her apartment, awake from laughing so much, Twilight stayed on her couch long past midnight, not just wishing Rarity had sent eighty more videos, but reeling from not three, not five, not ten, but sixteen videos she’d now have to dissect.

She was not misinterpreting anything.

And yet.