I’m always terrible on first dates.

Okay, so this isn’t exactly a first date, but it might as well be one with how we have things set up. I wait at home, he comes by my door and knocks, gives me a bouquet or something cliché like that, and then we go out together for a picnic in the shade of a willow tree by the pond. It sounds like something fillies in grade school would squeal about to their friends, something right out of a young adult teen romance novel. Nothing too stressful there, right? But for me, if I’m being honest? It’s terrifying.

It’s only been a week since I thought I might lose him. One week since I told him that what I felt wasn't just lust anymore, and he said he felt the same. We’re both still the usual, slow kind of sick, we both still have our expiration dates, but something just… kind of… shifted on that day. That confusing, tense day in the hospital when I stood crying like an idiot at his bedside, I felt things change a little. At that moment it was a rush, a high unlike any wine I’ve ever drunk, a dizziness that I felt in my chest rather than my head. And I knew that was what I wanted, made even better by the fact that he wanted me back. It was a good different, even if it was a scary different.

Now, as I stand before my mirror, trying to make myself look like a date-worthy pony, I can still feel it’s different. I feel nervous in a way I haven't before, and I'm lacking my usual heady confidence where I don't give a shit what happens. I mean, I always seem to care what others think, at least a little, whether I like it or not, but it's far more oppressive this time. And why shouldn't it be?This isn’t another trip to an inn for a late night of play and passion, and this isn’t a casual lunch together at a café, where we make fun of the poor pony moms who have screaming foals that don’t understand the word “hush.” It has a weight now, a depth that it didn’t have before.

This is our first real date as a couple. And I have no idea what to do with myself.

It’s okay, Berry. You’re a big girl now, you can do this. Maybe.

I frown at my reflection in the mirror and poke at the dark circles under my eyes. My liver failure is progressing slowly enough that I generally don't feel it, but a few of the symptoms have started to surface. I’ve lost weight, and the skin of my face has yellowed beneath the fur just enough for me to notice, and no one else. Sleeping has become more difficult, and I occasionally feel nauseated for no apparent reason. These dark circles are yet one more addition to the symptoms, and if anyone will notice them, it’s Anon. He picks up on that stuff way too quickly, and for this event, I’m inclined to try to hide my own mortality.

The idea that he may be staring into my eyes lovingly, leaning in for a kiss, then suddenly notice the discoloration, irks me, to say the least. I don't want him to bring it up, even once, and I'll try not to bring up his condition too much either. I don’t want to think about how sick he is today, or about how sick I am. Today, I just want to think about us. I want to do this right. And I can honestly say that I’ve never had a first date go right before. Ever.

Maybe if I do my hair differently? I pull it up as best I can, and turn my head one way, then the other. I don’t look bad in a ponytail, but it does make my face seem thinner somehow, perhaps too thin. Maybe a loose braid instead, even though my hooves are clumsy and it usually falls out. I blow upwards against my frustratingly long bangs, and glare at my reflection as they fluff up like the fur on a poodle.

Why didn’t I get a manecut? I told myself I should have, why didn’t I take my own advice? Already things aren't going as I'd like. I’m just going to screw this up again.

On my first date with Lucky, when he asked me out in school, I spilled a bowl of hot tomato bisque on him, and he had to go to the hospital with severe burns. When I was working at the party store, my coworker, Saddle Blanket asked me out to a bar, and I got so drunk that I danced on the bar and kicked over at least one hundred bits worth of cider. Lucky him, I’d forgotten my purse. There was not a second date. At least Caramel had the decency to stick around for a year, even after our first date involved me setting my tail on fire and then crying for an hour about how I was ugly now.

But this time, things are different, I tell myself. This time is special, we’re a special case. We already know each other, we already like each other, and we’ve even already slept together. The mystery and questions are out of the way. Things are going to go fine.

I opt for the ponytail after all, pulling one long lock of hair free to hang down against my cheek, hopefully detracting from the subtle signs of liver failure. Besides, I look coy this way, I muse, and try smiling coquettishly into the mirror. Just because this is a first date doesn’t mean I shouldn’t look sexy, and being sexy makes me feel a little more confident. Without my usual liquid courage, I need as much confidence as I can get.

It seems I’ve taken too long trying to be coy, though, for I hear a hasty knock on my front door.

“Crap, crap, crap,” I continually mutter as I dust my cheeks with blush and give a brief swipe of eye shadow across my lids.

I throw a quick glance to the mirror, decide I don’t look too much like a bathroom clown, then check the clock. To my surprise and dismay, I find that he’s actually about five minutes late, which means I'm the one dawdling and potentially slowing things down now. So yeah, this look will have to do. I look pretty. Sort of pretty. Passable. Definitely passable.

Fuck this is going to be a nightmare, isn’t it?

I trot to the door and pause in front of it to collect myself for a moment. Deep breath, Berry. You’ve got this. You’ve already told each other you love each other, you know you’re sexually compatible, and the worst thing that could happen is that one of you dies suddenly while leaning in for a kiss. Totally manageable, not nerve wracking at all. I shut my eyes, give myself one more deep breath, then put on my best smile, and pull the door open.

“Hey there,” I say, hating the way my voice cracks on the ‘hey.’

Then I take him in, and my mind stops working for a moment.

He’s wearing black pants that look perfectly creased, and a button up shirt with a turned down collar. Around the collar is a simple, well-tied blue tie, that really brings out a certain brightness in his eyes. His shoes are shined and gleaming, his shirt is tucked in, and it’s apparent that he’s taken time to do his hair. And he’s smiling, this sort of half-smile that looks almost smug and almost embarrassed, but can’t pick between the two.

He looks… impeccable. I’ve never seen him like this, certainly not when we've been out together. Before it’s always been casual, relaxed, clothing just for the sake of not being naked, until the naked parts happen. Messy hair is part of the program, especially by the end of the night, and if his pants or my fur had a smudge or a stain, it was no big deal. Hell, the last time I saw him he was in a hospital gown! But standing on my doorstep, dressed like this, smiling the way he does, he looks like a gentleman. So proper and suave, and my eye is drawn to every part of him at once. It’s almost overwhelming how good he looks, and I forget to smile, in exchange for breathing out in a short, noiseless “oh.”

He’s so eye catching that it takes me probably a full minute to notice the bouquet of roses he’s holding out to me. He looks at it, wiggles them slightly to get my attention, then watches recognition and embarrassment sweep over me. His smile broadens as I feel my cheeks get warm, and I feel the blush creep across my nose, forehead and even ears. So much for needing to pink my cheeks up with makeup. He holds out the bouquet a few inches further, maybe trying to get me to blush more deeply, and I suddenly remember that I’m staring, on top of it all. I blink quickly a few times to snap myself out of it, and glance to my ever-so-interesting hooves.

“Hey to you too,” he says, and this time the smug is palpable.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say quickly, and allow myself to glance up at him. “You just look… really nice.”

Now it’s his turn to be caught off guard.

“Thanks,” he says, and he flushes a little too. “So do you. Anyway, I brought roses, so…”

“Right, yes. Flowers. Thank you.”

I practically snatch them away from him, and again try to smile politely. Just gotta pretend I’m being normal now. Yep. Normal. This is a normal smile, this is a completely normal reaction, and I’m totally not crushing these roses in my hoof from the stress. Of course, he turns his head a little and gives me an affectionately disapproving glance.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to fake smiles for me anymore,” he says chidingly.

I sigh, and let the smile go.

“Hey, I said I wouldn’t do it for your benefit anymore.”

“And this isn’t?”

“Are you kidding?” I groan with a roll of my eyes. “This is definitely for my benefit. I’m just trying to be charming and shit.”

“Well, I already think you’re charming. And shit. So relax.”

I take a deep breath in and out, then shake my head. I can feel myself relax just a little as I try to settle back into my usual, more me, frame of mind.

“Okay, okay, you’re right. I’m just no good at this.”

“Greeting people at the door? Receiving flowers?”

I glare at him as he grins at me. He’s good at teasing me, and even now, when I’m stressed, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it a little.

“Dates, jerk. I mean dates.”

He gives a fake scoff and rolls his eyes at me.

“Oh, I see how it is, I’m a jerk. I’ll just go then.”

“No, that’s not what I meant, you know that.”

“No no, I get it, I’ll just go home and try to practice being nicer. Sorry to have disturbed you, miss.”

He exaggeratedly turns to walk away from me and, with a grumble, I reach out and catch the shoulder of his shirt. He stops and waits patiently, knowingly, for me to speak.

“Oh come on, please stay. You look great and you’re not a jerk, and I’ve been looking forward to this date since you got home from the hospital. There, happy?”

He pauses, then turns back and takes my hoof off of his shoulder. He gives it a quick squeeze as he grins down into my eyes.

“Yes, now I’m happy.”

I can’t help by smile back, and his grin widens a little as I do.

“There, now you’re not faking.”

My cheeks get warm again.

“Jerk.”

“Okay, then I’ll just-”

“No, ugh, stop,” I say as I again catch his shirt when he turns to leave. “Look, let me put the flowers in water and we can go, okay? I assume it’s still all like we planned, right? No surprises, last minute changes, weirdness, disasters, flash floods, brain hemorrhages, and so forth?”

“Yep,” he says. “The willow by the pond, like we discussed. No promises on the surprises, you never know.” I don’t like the sound of that but he goes on before I can comment. “I even packed everything we need to eat and drink, complete with a few bottles of antibiotic pills. Doctor’s orders that I take them with food.”

I glance to the ground and notice a fairly large wicker basket there with fold down lids in front and back, a checkered blanket peaking out of one side. It feels like it’s magically appeared there abruptly, right as I went to glance at it. How many other things did I not notice while staring at him? But he looks so good the way he’s dressed…

As I glance over him again, I notice that I’m pretty damn naked by comparison. Not even a necklace, earrings, bracelets, nothing. I’m only normal purple me, plain as ever. I realize suddenly that maybe I should have tried getting some nice clothes, because he’s way outshone me in the looks department today. Besides, if anything can distract from dark circles, it’s a sexy gown or skirt. I really want to be sexy today, for me and maybe for him too now.

“I’ll get my pills too, we can take them together,” I say, in probably the most unsexy way possible.

He laughs briefly.

“How romantic.”

“Oh shut up.”

He shuts his mouth and pretends to zip it shut with his fingers. I glare at him as he smiles tight-lipped back at me and shrugs.

“Now,” I say slowly. “Before we go, do I need anything? A coat?”

Silence.

“Is it cold out? Do you want anything for yourself?”

Still silence.

“Okay! Fine! Stop shutting up already!” I practically shout at him. He takes a deep breath in and out through his mouth to show he’s compiled, the smug son of a bitch. I groan as I continue. “And I’ll go put these stupid beautiful roses down and we can leave before I make this worse.”

“You’re doing fine,” he calls after me as I turn to head to the kitchen. “And your hair looks really cute!”

I scowl a little at the comment as I make my way to the cupboards. Cute is hardly sexy. Baby ducks are cute, fillies are cute, this was not what I was going for. But at least he’s telling me I look pretty, in his own way, and that’s a start. And, true, things are already feeling more natural between us.

Fuck, I hope I didn’t just jinx that.

It’s just a date, I remind myself once more. And we love each other. He’s not going to go running away in fear, and he’s not going to discover some horrible secret about you that will change his view. He knows the rules of this game, and the outcome. We’re already in love. The worst thing that can possibly happen is death. Perfect.

I set the flowers in a vase, fill it with water, and then return to him at the front door, trying not to think about how tragic that worst case scenario would be. He looks me up and down as I set the vase on the side table by the door.

“See? Look at you, all competent with putting flowers in vases. You’re a regular pro at this.”

“Oh my lord, are you really being that patronizing to me right now?”

“Someday I’ll teach you to take a compliment.”

I bite my lip to keep from retorting back. The game of verbal cat and mouse we usually play isn’t generally one I win, and I’m already feeling on edge. Maybe it’s better to calm myself down, and simply try to be sweet. And nice. And not let him rile me up the way he’s enjoying doing right now. The fight instinct begins to fade in me as I order my heart to beat slower, my lungs to fill more easily.

“Okay, all set,” I say with a sigh.

As if noticing my tone has changed, he smiles affectionately down at me and extends a hand for me to take. I look at it, then back at him, suddenly self-conscious about the idea of physical contact with him in public. We’ve always been so secretive before, never showing our affection for each other in front of other ponies. But we’re not hiding anymore now, we’re going public with our relationship, right? It doesn’t matter if ponies know we’re together, and it doesn’t matter if they talk about us. We’re a couple, a real one, and that’s no one’s business but our own, and I don’t have to justify that to anyone.

Still, old habits die hard, and my hoof resists moving towards him.

“Then shall we?” he says, prompting me, moving his hand closer.

I bite my lower lip again and gingerly place my hoof into his hand. It’s warm, and I feel a soft flow of electric sensation ripple through my body, almost like it’s the first time we’ve touched. Then I step outside with him, shut the door behind me, and pick up a slow walking pace at his side. Our feet find a rhythm, so that our bodies move up and down in unison with each stride.

It feels unnatural to be like this so openly. But I’m glad it’s finally happening.

In spite of myself, I lean my shoulder on his hip gently, liking being so physically close to him. It feels exposed, very apparent, like everyone will stare. But the rest of me doesn’t care. The rest of me feels giddy and young, like I’m a filly with a crush, and that part of me doesn’t give a damn if people see us or not. That part of me still can’t believe that he actually wants to be with me, and that’s the part of me I choose to listen to. I can feel my brain going into nervous, excited, and sentimental date mode, and not a moment too soon.

Hoof in hand, we move through town towards the pond.

——

Author's Note

Just a brief warning: if you're here for a quick clop, this is kind of a slow burn. Just so you're aware.