A Sleeping Rose

by Admiral Biscuit

Rating: teen
Tags: Slice of Life, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Human, Roseluck, Original Character
Length: 5786

After a day of work in Rose's flowerbeds, Sam winds up spending the night.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that that perfume wasn't my own, nor did it take any real effort to locate the source of both of my issues: there was a pony asleep on my arm.

I assume she was asleep, anyway. She was breathing slowly and shallowly, which was quite easy to ascertain, as my right arm was draped across her.

Published 2014-07-27 06:00:03 UTC
Last updated 2014-07-28 01:33:03 UTC

One

A Sleeping Rose
One
Admiral Biscuit

Even after months, I never quite got used to waking without an alarm. I'd always been a heavy sleeper, and had used my cell phone's ability to set multiple alarms to my advantage. Each had been a more annoying sound than the previous, and I'd even resorted to putting my phone face-down so I had to perform an additional step to shut it off.

Not that that was a flawless technique; it turned out that the human body can adapt to adversity pretty easily. More than once I'd had to rush in the morning to make it in on time, multiple alarms be damned.

But now that I was in Equestria, there were no cell phones. Alarm clocks, yes, but most ponies didn't care for them. Nothing, I'd noticed, got between a pony and her sleep.

The only exception to this rule was Twilight Sparkle, and her nocturnal habits were the subject of much discussion among other ponies. Some said it was because she was a Canterlot Unicorn, and therefore not in touch with the earth; others felt that Princess Luna had somehow laid a curse on her as she defeated Nightmare Moon—and there were other ideas, as well, but those two were the most popular. Not surprisingly, she'd been the one that had found me an alarm clock, and it was proudly set on my dresser, just out of reach of my arm.

These days, it was never set, but I kept it just in case. Old habits are hard to get out of. Plus the stupid thing had set me back two days worth of bits, and that was really saying something. I could have bought a wagon-load of produce for what that damn alarm clock cost.

No, it wasn't an alarm clock that woke me. Fact is, I'm not sure what actually woke me. Based on past experience, it was probably either the town clock or one of the free-range roosters that wandered through town. Normally, I liked to keep an ear cocked to determine which it had been—roosters kept crowing, while the town clock chimed and then was done for a half-hour—but this morning I had more immediate concerns.

The first was that my left arm was asleep. I could feel a vague, tingling sensation in my fingers, but that was about it. More interesting was the scent of perfume which assaulted my nostrils.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that that perfume wasn't my own, nor did it take any real effort to locate the source of both of my issues: there was a pony asleep on my arm.

I assume she was asleep, anyway. She was breathing slowly and shallowly, which was quite easy to ascertain, as my right arm was draped across her.

For the longest time, I just lay there, trying to remember how this had come to pass.

• • •

“That's all of them,” Rose said, looking down the neat row of roses in her greenhouse. She'd taken a while to warm up to me: from the gossip I overheard, she was afraid that I'd eat her or her roses—and I'm not sure which she considered to be worse. Eventually, though, she'd warmed to me, based on no small part how useful other mares had found my hands. While it was undeniably true that earth ponies were quite capable with hooves and mouth, there were plenty of tasks which a pair of hands made short work of.

While they were willing to hire unicorns when needed, I'd learned that the farmers—broadly applied to any earth pony who primarily grew things—wouldn't let a unicorn near their crop unless they had no option. Interestingly, they had no objection to a dragon like Spike or . . . well, myself.

Rose had led me back into her house, but she hadn't counted out bits with which to pay me. That wasn't unusual; most of the ponies I'd worked for before had insisted on getting a meal in me first. They felt it was their obligation to serve anypony who happened to be in their home around a meal time. I didn't mind; it helped stretch my bits that much further, when I didn't have to buy my own food.

She looked at me critically once we were inside. “You're covered in sweat,” she observed. It was true; I was. Not that weeding the beds had been that difficult a task, but a full day in the sun had been tasking. On the other hand, I had a great tan.

“You can use my bath, if you want,” she offered. “While I make dinner.”

She eyed me critically. I've never considered myself that much to look at, but of course to the ponies I was a unique specimen, and even after months they still hadn't really gotten accustomed to me.

It didn't help that I always wore pants. I'd given up on shirts not long after I found myself in Ponyville . . . it turned out that while Rarity was more than willing to make clothes for a human, they didn't come cheap. I'd toyed with the idea of going around nude, but just couldn't quite bring myself to do it. They wouldn't have cared—in fact, I might have gotten fewer odd looks if I had, but too many years of mental conditioning made it uncomfortable.

I usually slept nude, though. No point in wearing clothes to bed, especially in a world without washing machines. My grandmother would have been proud at how adept I'd gotten at the washboard.

“The tub's probably a little too small for you,” she said apologetically, “so if you want to wait until you get home, I understand.” Rose slid a hoof awkwardly across the floor. “Uh, what do you like to eat for dinner? Sam.”

She mangled the pronunciation of my name, but I'd come to expect that. It was just as well that I'd first introduced myself by a nickname, rather than give the ponies my full name. Heaven only knows what they'd have butchered that to.

“I don't mind,” I said. The only tub in town that was comfortable for me was the one at the spa, and while I'd treated myself a few times, it was expensive if I wanted to reserve private time. For routine bathing, I usually just went to the stream under one of the more-remote bridges. Their soap was biodegradable, after all.

• • •

I'd emerged clean enough that my sweat-soaked shorts were a real psychological problem, but I'd be damned if I was going to go without until they dried. Rose had whipped up a salad and casserole while I was in the bath, and I spared no time in getting a plate and tearing into it.

Once the meal was done, I insisted on doing the dishes, while Rose bathed. That was no easy task; like any matriarch I'd known in my life, the kitchen was sacrosanct, and guests were Not To Touch anything therein. It was only when I convinced her that she was paying me to help that I won the battle.

“Before I pay you,” she said, “I wonder if you'd like to share a glass of wine?”

This was another part of the ritual. Nearly all the farmers brewed their own alcohol, with their crop as a primary ingredient. At first, I'd refused, but the sad looks on their faces as I turned down their pride and joy was heartbreaking. I'd learned that nearly any crop could be turned to alcohol with enough ingenuity, and Rose's rose wine was no exception. At first, the perfumy scent of her wine turned me off, but after one glass it had begun to grow on me, and I didn't refuse as she pressed a second glass into my hands, and then a third. Before too long, we were sitting in the living room—me, with my legs folded under me on the couch, her playing the part of perfect hostess.

It was well after dark when we finally finished going through all the different varieties of wine she had in her cellar, and my head was spinning.

“I ought to be going,” I mumbled, setting the empty wine glass down. “It's getting pretty late.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Hold on a minute; I've still got to pay you for your work.” She trotted out of the room, swaying slightly on her hooves, returning a minute later with a coin purse. “Let's see, ten hours at two bits per hour.” Her hoof moved slowly as she counted out the coins. I couldn't tell if that was because she was reluctant to part with so many bits, or if it was an effect of the alcohol. Maybe a combination of both—but judging by the size of her coin purse, twenty bits was hardly going to break her.

She watched with undisguised fascination as I put the bits in my pocket. I'd seen that before, too. First, pockets in pony pants are rare—and with good reason; they'd hardly be useful. Second, ponies hardly ever covered their hips. I had always assumed that it was because they didn't want to cover their cutie marks, but I'd never asked anypony. Still, the fact that I always wore pants had led to all sorts of curiosity about what my cutie mark—if I had one at all—was, and any time I drew attention to that part of my body, it drew pony eyes like iron to a magnet.

“I—“ I began

“It's raining,” Rose said quietly. “Pretty hard, too.”

I looked out the window, but of course didn't see anything, since it was dark. I mentally kicked myself anyway. I'd looked at the weather schedule in the paper, but of course I had made the very human assumption that the weather report was possibility, not certainty. You'd think that after half a year in Equestria I'd have figured it out, but nope.

“You can,” she began, and then bit her lip. “Stay here,” she finally decided. “Ah, if you want. I know your house is all the way across town, and I'd hate for you to get wet and ruin your clothes.”

I didn't want to ruin my clothes, either, but I knew a little rain wouldn't do it. Still, not having to walk home after dark in the rain would be nice.

“That's awfully generous of you,” I said. Already I was sizing up the couch, and coming up a few feet short. I could maybe rest my head on one end, and hang my feet of the other, and it wouldn't be too uncomfortable. I started to move toward it, and Rose caught the motion.

“We can . . . share. I've got a big enough bed,” she said, and her cheeks were slightly red. “I don't mind.”

Two

A Sleeping Rose
Two
Admiral Biscuit

Almost of their own volition, my fingers moved on her coat. Even as the memories were coming back, it felt like primal instincts were taking over, and I scootched closer to her. Her fur was so unbelievably soft; she didn't feel anything like a real horse. Or maybe that's what a real horse felt like when it was thoroughly washed, shampooed, and conditioned. Maybe I'd never petted the right horse.

She shifted around, giving what I can only imagine was a pleasurable sigh. Still keeping up the gentle movement of my right hand on her barrel, I thought about my lot in life.

I hadn't asked to come to Equestria; it had just happened. I didn't know how, and in the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter, anyway. Might as well search for meaning in a car accident or cancer—sure, there were dozens of things that one might have done differently, but when it really came down to it, it was a totally random act, the culmination of a string of events that could stretch back days, weeks, or even years. And it could make a person insane just thinking about it. I am not ashamed to admit that my first few days in Equestria were spent in what was essentially a rubber room under the watchful eye of Nurse Tenderheart . . . and looking back on it, it's fortunate I rated such good treatment. The ponies would have had every right to assume I was a monster, and locked me in a cage. That they didn't was more a testament to them than to me.

I've always prided myself on being pretty resilient, though. So I eventually adjusted, more or less. We still meet every week, Tenderheart and I. Sometimes I just talk about how my week went, sometimes I complain about how unfair the universe is, and other times I ask her questions about Ponyville and Equestria. It helps.

I don't think I'm crazy, but I suppose I'd be the last one to know. If it's all in my head, my brain's got one heck of an imagination.

I moved my hand up her barrel and let it rest for a moment at a spot on her withers where I was nearly but not quite touching her raspberry mane. I wanted to touch it—but I hesitated. What if I woke her? What if she didn't like it—what if it scared her? I tried to put myself into her shoes, but the best I could come up with was imaging a dog licking my face, and that wasn't an apt comparison.

A dog doesn't know better. But a pony does—and I should, too. If I wanted them to treat me as an equal and not some strange bipedal pet, anyway.

In retrospect, that was obvious. At the moment in question, thought, I was hardly thinking clearly, and I slid my hand into her mane, moving cautiously lest I cause tangles. I followed her hair up to her head, maintaining a very gentle pressure. I paused beside an ear, curious if it was as velvety as it looked, but worried that I might get a similar reaction I had the time I'd rubbed Mimi's ears between my thumb and finger. If you looked just right—or if I'd just taken a bath—you could still see the scar on my hand from his hissing protest.

I instead kept my hand along the perimeter, my palm against her silky mane while my fingers were busy ever so gently touching the soft coat of her face.

Her tail began thumping against my leg—it was a weird feeling. There was a firmness to it, but at the same time unlike a cat or dog, a pony's tail was mostly long hair, and it brushed across the bare flesh of my thigh.

That also served as a reminder that I wasn't wearing anything. I pulled my hand free and rolled on my back—as far as I could go without freeing the arm Rose was covering—and groped around blindly on the floor for my underwear or even better my shorts, but they were not within reach.

I contemplated this new dilemma for a little bit, wondering if maybe I could pull my arm loose and find my clothes without waking her, or if it really mattered. It wasn't like she'd freak out at the sight of my body . . . probably.

Think rationally, I chided myself. Obviously, I took off my clothes last night. I don't remember doing it, but I must have. Probably as a routine part of going to bed. If she didn't flip out then—and the fact that she's asleep on my arm suggests that she didn't—she's hardly likely to be surprised at the lack of clothing now.

Just the same, I rolled back on my side, to where I was spooning Rose again. She let out a gentle sigh as my hand returned to her side, this time moving towards her tail. I rested my hand on the juncture of her barrel and hip. It felt so foreign—there was no human anatomy that was even close—yet it seemed right somehow. Comforting.

I could feel the strong muscles of her hindquarters under my hand, and there was a slight twitch each time her tail moved. She was still sleeping, and I didn't want to disturb her rest any more than I already had.

Instead, I listened to the sounds of the town slowly coming to life. The bedroom window was cracked open, and I could hear occasional voices on the street below, as well as the creaking and clanking of a wagon being pulled to market. Smells of cooking food occasionally wafted through the window, accompanied by the scent of rain-washed earth.

I moved my arm up and wrapped it around her barrel, just behind her forelegs, and pulled her into a tight embrace. I had to shift my head around—her mane was tickling my nose—but I eventually found a position that was comfortable for me, and closed my eyes again, shutting the rest of the world out, save her soft sleeping sounds and alluring scent.

• • •

I don't know if I drifted off to sleep again or not, because time had lost all its significance to me. We were two intertwined bodies frozen in a moment which could go on forever. But such moments don't last—they can't—and they're all the sweeter for it. The sunlight in the room got brighter, my left arm reminded me again that it was completely numb because there was a pony lying on it, and my bladder began to complain that it would want some attention soon.

On top of that, Rose was moving around more, and while I'm not particularly ticklish, her short coat gently brushed against my bare skin every time she moved. Just the same, I tried to stay still, to stretch the moment out just a little bit longer.

She snorted and yawned, arching her back and pressing harder against me. Mid-stretch, she suddenly stopped. I could feel taut muscles trembling under her coat as she angled her head downward, looking to see what was wrapped around her chest that wasn't a blanket or a pony leg. Just as quickly as it had come, it passed, and she relaxed again under my arm.

“Good morning, Sam,” she said softly.

I waited for a moment too long without replying. I'd expected her to add 'what time is it?' but of course she didn't. Their lives were not as ruled by the clock as human lives.

“Sam?”

She rolled onto her belly, so she could turn and look at me. Her green eyes locked on mine for a moment, and I gave her a sleepy smile. “Good morning, Rose.” I took the opportunity to pull my poor left arm free and folded it against my chest, wincing as the blood began its painful return to my extremities.

She didn't notice; her eyes had locked on to my bare hip. I resisted the urge to cover myself, but of course it was far too late. Judging by her small gasp of surprise, maybe she hadn't noticed my blank flanks last night.

“So it's true,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” I rolled onto my back, breaking her view of my cutie-markless hip. I'd never figured out why the ponies thought it was weird—Nurse Tenderheart had told me all about the other species of creatures in Equestria, and most of them didn't have cutie marks, so why should they have expected me to have one?

“That's kind of . . . sad,” she said sympathetically, resting her head on my chest. I reached up and brushed a strand of her mane back behind her ear.

“It's a human thing,” I told her. I'd never wished for a tattoo before I came to Equestria, but in retrospect, if I'd had one, it might have made me fit in a little bit better.

“No wonder you keep your flanks covered,” she whispered. I'm not sure she meant for me to hear that, so I didn't say anything.

“How come your coat—“

“Also a human thing.” I could feel the blush on my face as I rapidly re-considered my choice of positions, but then I hadn't expected her to lie down on my chest and examine my body, and there wasn't any way I could cover myself without first pushing her off.

On top of that, I was rapidly coming to the realization that I didn't care.

“Aren't you cold?” Her tail flicked across my thighs.

“A little,” I answered honestly. “But you were keeping me warm.” Without stopping to consider what I was doing, I put my hand in her mane and began gently scratching alongside her ear and down her neck.

Rose purred contentedly. “Your hands feel really nice. I bet you could get a job at the spa or at the mane and tail salon.” She shifted slightly, and rested a forehoof on my stomach, then began tracing it absently around my navel. “I don't know if a mare would trust a stylist without a coat, though.”

Her touch was incredibly soft, especially considering what her hoof was made of. Like so many earth ponies, she didn't wear shoes on her forehooves.

“You don't mind, though, do you?” I finally gave in to temptation and ran my finger gently across her ear. It felt just like a cat's.

She stopped tracing patterns on my stomach and lifted her head off my chest, briefly pushing her leg down to get leverage—something my too-full bladder protested vehemently. “It's weird,” she declared, studying my tanned chest intently. “But a mare could get used to it.”

Three

A Sleeping Rose
Three
Admiral Biscuit

Rose shifted around in the bed, getting her hooves under her. It looked awkward, and there was one moment where her body shifted when I thought she was going to fall on me, but she caught herself. “I'm going to use the little filly's room,” she said as she cautiously stepped over me.

“Don't take too long,” I muttered.

She paused, halfway across me, a look of concern in her eyes. “I can wait, if you—“

“No, it's your house; you ought to go first. I can hold it for a while longer.”

She didn't reply, just hopped off the bed and headed out of the bedroom. I watched her leave, already missing the warmth of contact, then flopped back down on the pillow. I idly reached over toward the wall and pulled the covers toward myself, but I knew in my heart that the time for sleeping was gone. The bed had turned against me, like all beds do when too much time is spent in them.

I stretched once, still lying on my back, before rolling upright and letting my feet fall to the floor. I gave my body sufficient time to adapt from horizontal to vertical mode, then stood up, one of my knees cracking. I hate that; I'm too young to have bad knees.

One step away from the bed I performed my first real stretch, lacing my fingers behind my head and arching my back. There were no further cracks or pops, which was a relief, although my right bicep cramped slightly. I sighed. I'd been having problems with muscle cramps for months. I couldn't remember if it was potassium or vitamin K that helped prevent cramps—whichever it was, it was in bananas. Which ponies didn't seem to have. Or maybe they did and they'd just always been sold out at the market. Whatever the case, there were no mares or stallions with banana cutie marks, and I hadn't seen any banana trees in town, either.

I gently massaged my aching muscle, while I looked around Rose's bedroom. It was a part of pony home I'd never seen before.

It wasn't surprising that it looked pretty much the same as any woman's. A mirror hung on the wall above a vanity, which was littered with small jars of beauty supplies and brushes and combs. Nearer to the bed was a small end-table, which held a pitcher of water and a glass, which had a rose in it. It was hard to tell if she'd meant for the glass to serve as a vase, or if she'd happened to have the rose in her room and wanted to put it somewhere. Based on my memories as a young adult, it could have been either.

On the far wall was a wooden frame that held a clothes rod; three dresses were hung from that. Next to it was a dresser, and I considered going through her drawers to see what she kept in it.

When I rented my house, I'd been surprised to discover that the small loft bedroom didn't have a closet. In hindsight, it made perfect sense that it wouldn't.

Like most peoples', the top of her dresser held a few framed photographs. Since she wasn't back yet, I decided to walk over and get a look. There were a couple of her with her friends—Lily and Daisy—a faded black and white of her as a filly with what I could only assume were her parents, and a fairly recent signed photograph of her standing beside some unicorn in a sweater who was wearing black glasses. He had the kind of face that you either love or hate, and I fell into the latter camp. Whoever he was, I'd never seen him around Ponyville. He was probably some sort of celebrity.

The one thing I didn't find were my shorts and underwear. I finally got down on my hands and knees and was peering under the bed when Rose finally returned. Oddly, I didn't hear her hooves in the hallway; instead, she announced her presence by snickering as she came in.

“What's so funny?” I pulled my head out from the under the bed and turned to face her.

“You look like . . . like a tail-less mare with no coat when you're standing like that,” she told me.

“I can't find my shorts,” I whined. “I don't know where they went.”

“They're in the little filly's room,” she said. “I—do you need me to get them?” She looked me up and down as I got to my feet; once again her eyes locked on my bare hips, which of course meant she was essentially staring at my crotch. I self-consciously moved a hand to cover myself, before giving up and pretending I just needed to scratch. She was going to stare either way, and it wasn't like I hadn't checked out a few ponies in the past.

“I'll just go, and use the bathroom, and get my shorts.” I shuffled out the door, to Rose's bemused look.

When I was halfway down the stairs, I remembered that I was fully nude, and Rose had two room-mates. She'd said that they were gone yesterday, but that didn't mean they still were. Maybe she'd spent a little extra time catching up with them . . . and while I'd become enough of a fixture in town that they didn't scream and run when they saw me, how might they react if they saw me in their house wearing my birthday suit?

I couldn't turn around and tell Rose that I was afraid to use her bathroom on my own, so I was committed. Still, I hesitated when I got to the foot of the stairs, peering around the wall to make sure there were no unexpected mares to view my progress.

There were none. I safely made it to the bathroom, where my shorts and underwear were indeed tossed into a corner. I was sure I knew why I'd left them there—the squat toilets the ponies favored had given me all sorts of trouble, and undoubtedly last night I'd simply removed my clothes to prevent accidentally peeing on them.

One of these days, I thought as I took aim, I'm going to convince a craftsmare to build me a human-style toilet. An actual flush toilet might have been beyond what I could afford, although such things did exist, but maybe just a seat would make the smallest room of my house feel more like home.

The unisex bathroom in the hospital had a urinal for the mares. That still struck me as odd.

“Sam?” A hoof gently tapped on the door. “I'm going to make breakfast. Do you want anything?”

“Do you have milk?”

“I think so.”

“Cereal or oatmeal will be fine.”

“Okay.”

“Are Lily and Daisy home?”

“No; they won't be back until tomorrow. Why?”

“I. . . .” I looked over at my clothes. How could I explain that I'd actually begun to get used to not wearing them? I wasn't ready to go out into town without—maybe one of these days I'd get up the courage to—but I actually didn't feel like putting them on just yet. I couldn't quite work through it in my mind, but somehow it felt as if the act of not getting dressed was an important step towards fitting in socially.

Maybe I'd ask Nurse Tenderheart about that next time we met.

“Sam?”

“Sorry! I just didn't want to, ah, surprise them.” I picked up my clothes and opened the door. Rose took a step back. She glanced at my hips again before she looked up into my eyes.

“You're just . . . I'm sorry, but you know that monsters come out of the Everfree sometimes.”

I rubbed my hand in her mane. “I know.”

“How come you didn't put on your clothes?”

“I didn't feel like it.” That statement felt oddly liberating, especially when it wasn't met with outrage from Rose.

“Okay.” She turned and headed for the kitchen, with me trailing behind. There was still a small part of my mind insisting that this was in no way normal, but that voice had been getting quieter and quieter for months.

Rose busied herself with sorting through the cupboards, while I set our places at the table. Last night when I'd done the dishes, I'd put away the salad bowls, so I knew right where they were. Since she was an earth pony, she didn't have any silverware. Once upon a time, that would have been a problem for me, but now it was just another social convention I'd managed to unlearn.

Mostly.

I had a set of silverware at home, and I ate my meals with them. The dichotomy of pony society was subtle, but always present. Unicorns invariably used eating utensils, while the other two tribes normally did not. I could only imagine what sort of planning went into hosting a mixed-tribe formal dinner.

I'd grown used to the raw oats that ponies loved so much for breakfast. It really wasn't bad with a little milk added to soften it up, although I always got odd looks when I emptied my glass in the bowl and stirred it around, and Rose was no exception. She, bless her heart, didn't say anything, but the raised eyebrow got the message across just fine.

We ate breakfast in silence. I washed the dishes over Rose's protests, arranging them neatly in the dish rack beside the sink. I thought about drying them and putting them away, but it seemed politer to give her something to do later.

We both looked at each other. It was that awkward silence when both people know it's time to part ways, but neither knows quite how to phrase it. Wordlessly, I stepped into my underwear, doing a one-legged hop around Rose's kitchen as I got both legs through the appropriate holes.

“You could—“

“I'm just not ready,” I said. “Not yet. Baby . . . uh, foal steps, Rose.”

Rose sighed and hooked my shorts with a hoof. She lifted them in front of her face and looked at them thoughtfully. I could hear the clink of bits in the pocket, and I suddenly had a vision of the golden coins falling out of the pocket one-by-one while I chased them through the kitchen.

We stood that way for at least a minute. I was too polite to demand that she hand over my shorts, and I could tell that she had something she wanted to say.

She moved her hoof forward, and I reached my hand toward her. Just as I was about to touch the fabric of my shorts, she spoke. “You're a nice human.” Her pupils shrank as if she'd just confessed to replacing the mayor's mane dye with Nair. “You just don't fit in.”

“I wonder why not?” I muttered sarcastically as I took my shorts.

“It's because you act like you're hiding something all the time,” she said, clamping a hoof over her mouth as I glared at her.

I've been told I have a withering glare. Some of the effect is probably lost when my shorts are around my ankles, but it was still enough to get Rose to back up a step.

“Mules don't have cutie marks,” she said defensively. “And we get along just fine.”

“That's not what I'm covering,” I told her.

“Well, if it's your weird coat you're concerned about, ponies would get used to it. Besides, you've got a thin coat under your arms and you don't cover that.”

I can't believe I'm having this conversation with a pony I just ate breakfast with, after sharing a bed. “It's not—“

“What, then?” She shook her head. “What are you hiding? You can't help being human.”

“Rose.” I buttoned my shorts and then put a hand on her head. “It's okay.”

She sighed and leaned her head against my hip. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't judge other ponies.”

“Come on, Rose.” I knelt down in front of her and looked her right in the eyes. “You're a wonderful mare. I really enjoyed working with you yesterday, and I sincerely thank you for letting me spend the night.”

Her ears perked up and she looked me in the eye before gently nuzzling my face. “I didn't want you to get wet, and . . . and. . . .”

“It's okay,” I said again, gently stroking her mane. “Hey, listen—I wonder if maybe you could come over to my house later, and give me some advice on a flower garden? Could you do that for me, Rose?”

She sniffled, and then leaned forward and rubbed her muzzle against my cheek. “I . . . it's going to rain this afternoon.”

“I, ah.” I cleared my throat. “It's okay. I've got a big enough bed to share.”

Author's Note

Who wants to see Rose's side of this story?