Spinning.

Alcoholic Anon consistently breaks into Fluttershy's house at night and cuddles with her. She doesn't do anything about it but the mornings are always awkward. She makes him breakfast while he fixes her door.

 

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        Spinning.  Hmm, yeah and some good music, too.  Pushing past the crowds.  Hey there, you come here often?  Oh, don't give me that look.  Just a little spinning, babe.  

        Yeah, that's the good stuff.  How do you get your coat that soft?  Doesn't matter, babe.

        You're so soft though.  What's it all fucking good for anyway, right?  Come on, just a little closer.

 

 

        Shuffling.  Pushing.  Sighing throughout the room, first angry.  Then pity.  “You can't keep doing this...”

        Just five more minutes, babe.  More sighing.  More blankets, heck yeah.  Just five more minutes.

 

 

        Ice running in your veins, godforsaken headache.  Try to figure out again.  It can't be that hard — never is.  Pink sheets.  Faint smell of french vanilla.  No, that's three times this week.  Mild pressure on your stomach, big black eyes.  “Hey Angel...”  The sunlight burns your eyes.  The reflection in the mirror by the bedside burns even worse.  “I did it again?”  Nodding, big, floppy ears bobbing along.  “Fuck.”  The world used to be a simpler place.

 

 

        It's grown habitual at this point.  Crouched underneath the shower, using her shampoo.  Another day smelling like rosebuds for you.  It's not like she'd scold you for stinking the place up.  It's not like she'd scold you for anything.  And...

        >You can't blame her — not her issue.  But maybe if she'd tell you off just once.  Oh, who are you kidding?  It's not her issue.  Just her door.

 

 

        Somehow, you didn't fuck up your clothes last night.  They reek of hell itself, obviously, but it's nice that you can wear pants on your way home this time.  Rather rare, that.

 

 

        Stumbling down the stairs, each step another throb in your aching skull.

        “...H-hello, Anon.”

        “Toolbox in the basement?”

        Awkward shuffling.  “Yes.”

        “Door'll be fixed in no time.”

        “I'll make you some breakfast.”  With a small smile,  she sets off to the kitchen.

        “Thanks Fluttershy.”

 

 

        They aren't the greatest minds, these ponies.  You're not quite in a position to judge much, but still.  Too easy to unhinge a door here.  Not that it matters much, theft being just about nonexistent.  What a utopia.

        Just a little grease against the squeaking.  Perfect.

 

 

        “I, uh...”  She offers a free chair.  “Y-you like eggs, right?”

        “Sure, eggs are good.”  Anything edible suffices at this point.  Godforsaken headache.  “Hey, uh, could I maybe have some water please?”

        Her eyes widen, frightened.  “O-of course.”  Back towards the kitchen she went.

        “Sorry about, uh...  You know.”  Sound of breaking glass.  “Everything alright in there?”

        “Uhm...”  Glass scraping along the floor but nothing else.  Come on.  Say it.  Say it.  Say everything's fine.  Everything's fine, then you get out.  The same as always.  Say it.

        She sets a half-empty cup of water in front of you — down it.

        “Anon?”  Her voice is soft, a spring's first breeze.  “You—”  She closes her eyes, a deep breath soothing nerves.  “You drink a lot, Anon.”

        “Sorry.”  Just say it.  “Things got out of hand last night.  Won't happen again, Fluttershy.”

        Flourishing a smile.  “You, uhm...  Anon, you said that three days ago too.  And two days before that.”  Come on, just say it.  Just please say it.

        “...yeah.”  She's still smiling at you.  “I don't think I'm that hungry anymore.  Thanks though.”

        “Can we talk about this please?”

        “There's nothing to talk about.”  Then don't say it, fine.  Fuck you.  “Thanks for the food.  Won't keep you any longer.”  

 

 

        There's nothing to talk about.  With no one.  Just go home and sleep it off.  It'll be better tomorrow.  Has to be.

 

 

        “Mister Bear?  You mind stepping out of my way?”

        Barricading the door you just fixed, he shakes his head, paws crossed and nods behind you.  

        Again, “Can we please talk about this, Anon?”

        You can feel your face pull taut, jaw clenched — haggard skin tight over bones like ancient, sun-dried leather.  Knuckles turning pale.  “Talk about what precisely?”  

        “Anon...”  She's right in front of you now.  “You have a problem.”

        “Sure, yeah.  I'm the one with the problem.  Me, sure.  Who else, huh?  Just let me out of here already.”

        “I just want to help you.”

        You turn around, glowering at her.  “I don't need help with anything.”  

        She's more defiant than you've ever seen before.  Something in her eyes.  Nothing like the mare who awkwardly talked about what kind of flowers she liked as she made you waffles.  “You can't keep doing this.  You can't just keep coming in here in the middle of the night and... c-come in my bed.  Anon, you need to stop.”

        You can hear something cracking in your mouth.  “Just let me out.  I've never fought a bear before and I'm not going to, but if I have to jump out of your bedroom window to get out of here then God be with me, I will.”

        “Just let me help you.”

        Shaking your head, pushing through crowds again.  “I don't have time for this.”  Almost at the stairs.

        “No?!”  She's never shouted at you before.  Never.  “Why not?  Do you have to go drink again?”

        Two sets of eyes finding each other, doubtful which is the angrier pair.  “You don't know what the hell you're on about.”

        “Is that how you want to live your life?  Drinking everyday until—”

        “Fuck you.”  Hers were.  “Help me?  You want to help me?”  

        Squeaking and nodding.  

        “Then let me go home.  Real home.”

 

        Her face falls, eyes turning dimmer.  “We know y-you've been having a hard time fitting in.”

        “Fluttershy, we're friends and all but you really, really don't.  Not even a little.”

        “This isn't healthy.  You're hurting yourself.”  She takes a step forward.  You go back.

        “I'll deal with it.  Can I go now?”

        “No!”  She shakes her head, stomping the ground.  The floorboards rattle as her brow falls in an unforgiving frown.  

        She wasn't going to say it.  Not ever again.

        “I'm your friend, Anon, and I want to help you with your problem but you have to want it too.”

        “Why?”  Her head tips to the side, confusion sown across her visage.  “Why would I want to give it up?”

        “Y-you're hurti—”

        “I have nothing here, okay?”  She takes another step closer.  Almost tripping, you wind up sitting on the stairs.  “Nothing at all.  No one at all.”  She's about to speak up, but you never give her the chance.  “You people already took everything I had.  My house, my job, my friends.  My home.  You want to take this too?  It's all I've got left now and you want to take it too?”  Hurt shines in her eyes.  This time, yours win.  “You ʻunderstandʼ I'm having a hard time?  I'm going fucking mad, Fluttershy.  At least when I drink things make sense.  So what if I hurt myself?  It's my problem, it's my solution.”

        “Anon, please, all I want—”

        “Please don't take it away from me, okay?  It's all I've got left.”  

        Muttering, “You're hurting me too.”

        Head shaking, vision blurring.  “...I don't know what else to do.”

 

 

        “You could ask for help,” she quietly says, hiding behind long, rosy strands of her mane.

        “What good would that do?  That won't get me home.”

        “You could talk about it.”  She's trying to find your gaze again.  “It's okay to be afraid of things, Anon.  I'm afraid of a lot of things.”

        “Yeah, no s—”  Not even a little anger in those teals.  “Sorry.”

        Just a quiet shake of her head.  “I know you don't talk to a lot of ponies, but you could've come to me...  During the day, I mean.  A-and maybe without drinking?”

        Just how many times have you come here?  Drunk.  Harassing her.  Messing up her entire house.  Unhinging her doors.  Eating her food.  If it were any other pony, they'd have dragged you towards some sort of dungeon a long time ago.

        “I'm sorry.”

        Her hoof rests on top of your thigh.  “All I want to do is help you, Anon.  If I didn't have my friends, I'd still be afraid of my own shadow.”

        “I just thought...”

        “Yes?”

        “Just figured I should deal with my own crap on my own.”

        Softly rubbing.  “You don't have to do this alone.  I could help you with your cr—  issues.  And I'm sure if you'd let them, my other friends could help you out too.”

 

 

        Dead silent.  Not a single critter dares to stir.

        “I miss them, Fluttershy.”  The steadfast dripping on already tarnished denim.  “I miss them more and more every day.”

        The comforting embrace helps a bit.  A lot.  What pitiful defense you'd hidden behind crumbles as you let her hold you.

        “Anon?”

        Throat too hoarse to reply.  “Hmm.”

        “W-why do you come into my house at night to sneak into my bed?”

        “I—”  Croaking even worse than that time you ate sand.  She softly lets go, staring at you hopefully.  “I get nightmares sometimes.  It's easier to sleep if...  if I can just hold something.  I don't know why I keep coming here when I'm drunk.  Sorry.”

        “S-so I'm like a teddybear to you?” she asks, barely biting back an innocent giggle.

        “Yeah.  I guess.”

        “Oh.”

        “Just oh?”

        More nodding.  “Just oh.”  After a short pause she says, “That's sort of silly.”

        “Sillier than being afraid of your own shadow?”

        She just smiles in response, a tinge of red on her cheeks.  “I guess not.”

 

 

        “I, uh...”  She takes a step back.  Rising to your full length again.  “I think I've got some stuff to think over.”

        “Do you—”  Her voice stocks in her throat, calm demeanor of earlier seemingly gone.  She's hiding behind her mane again.

        “Do I...”

 

         

        A hesitant smile and an all but hesitant blush.  “Do you, uhm...  w-want to come over for dinner tonight? I could make you some fish, if you want?”  Her eyes peak out from underneath her hair, softly pleading.

        It's either that or another night drinking.  You'd probably wind up here anyway with how the week's been going so far.  “I, uh...”  

        Gone, that little hopeful smile.  She's heard you lie so many times before.  I'm sorry, Fluttershy.  It won't happen again, Fluttershy.  I promise, Fluttershy.

 

        “Yeah, I'll come.  I'll bring some good wine.”  Corners of her mouth twitching, brow furrowing.  “Just one bottle for the two of us.  I've got some that goes great with fish.”

        Hesitantly she nods, red tinges on her cheek brightening.  “Okay...  we'll take baby steps.”

 

 

        There was something odd about the way she said that.  Something oddly appealing.

        You liked how that sounded.  Baby steps.  

        All the way home.