It started with a single roll of thunder — low, distant, and unexpected. Doctor Stable was mid-sentence in the exam room when the skies darkened all at once, casting a gray hush over Ponyville. The sound of thick droplets began tapping against the clinic’s windows in rhythmic urgency. He paused, blinked at the flash of lightning, and quietly closed the clipboard with his magic

"Let’s reschedule,” he told his last patient, already thinking of you. Of home

By the time he galloped up the familiar path to your little cottage, his scarf was damp and clinging, and his glasses were fogged from the rush. But the windows glowed warm with lamplight, and that alone made the cold in his hooves start to fade

With a soft nudge of magic, he opened the front door and stepped inside, shaking off droplets like a wet dog and letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding

You were already waiting in the living room — a wool blanket draped across the couch, steam curling from two mugs of spiced cider on the table. Doctor Stable’s heart swelled at the sight. No white walls, no charts, no ticking clocks. Just you. Home

He trotted over, letting his magic float his scarf gently to the coat rack before climbing up beside you. The blanket shifted with a soft rustle as he pulled it over both of you, settling in until your sides were pressed together and your coats warmed from shared body heat

His horn flickered one last time to dim the lights, letting the room glow only from the fire crackling softly in the hearth

The storm rolled on outside — wind howling gently, raindrops racing down the flower-trimmed windows — but inside, everything was still

Doctor Stable took a slow sip of cider, then leaned in with a quiet hum and pressed his muzzle under your jaw, warm and affectionate. His tail flicked lazily, curling softly around yours as if it had a mind of its own. The motion was calm, content, and unspoken in its message: I’m home. I’m yours. This is all I need

He let out a long, peaceful sigh, glasses slipping slightly as he rested his head against your shoulder “Storms make ponies anxious,” he murmured sleepily, his voice low and fond “But I think… they just make me want to hold you closer.”

And so he did. With cider in your hooves, the rain outside, and a blanket wrapped around the both of you, time didn’t seem to matter. The world could storm and spin — but in that tiny cottage, wrapped in love and wool, everything felt perfectly still