Phantom Love

Chapters

A

Warmth. That's what I feel. A bit of warmth by my side that holds me tenderly while I juggle these thoughts in my head, thoughts of you, and thoughts of her. Being sent here, or, well, taken from my home, lying next to you in a few years, you replacing her back home, a place I used to know down by the River-a-ssippi; you made me better than I was before. Hooves wrapped around my bare chest—you like it like that—your soft purrs as you snuggle into me more, thinking of me like that big ol' pillow at night, rustlin' against that human of yours.

And yet clashing is her face, her from home. Blonde hair, kissable lips, a smile of highs that told me of pleasure both in and out of the bedroom… What a temptress, my temptress. She had that groove when she stepped into the room, that hip swing that made the engraving of her body last in my mind forever. I could not keep my eyes off her, she made fantasy a reality, a reality far gone.

The spine-tingling reflection keeps me at bay. I want to hold you, the you next to me closer, but that mind of mine wants to run, run far away from this being that replaces her. But she can't be you. She can't be you.

Quick, stop dancing around. My mind dances while you murmur in your sleep. You mention my name with a silky smooth tone of your voice which makes my heart melt and my knees liquefy on the satin bed sheets. Despite this love of you my eyes go adrift, looking at you, then back at the image in the corner—she stands ghostly in the shadows of the dark—then at the pictures of us—she smiles gracefully with that blonde hair dangling just past her shoulders—before staring at the ceiling, groaning sharply.

Fists make their marks against the sheets, sinking deeper into the fabric of reality—a new one filled with life from a realm of fantasy. The blend scares me, knowing that I'm crossing over, so to say. I see a blend of the past, little inklings of her in you, and then I see the friends you made, similar to the friends of a past time too. It scares me. I sometimes tremble when I'm near them. But then you come and nuzzle me back together from all these messed up pieces that I am. You keep me standing tall instead of falling like a poorly built Jenga tower.

The cracks in the ceiling tell me a story similar to myself. Back when I was fourteen, I watched those cracks march across the plains of white plaster, traveling down the road of Broken to turn right on the avenue of Removal. Sometimes I took a rather speedy exit onto highway Seventy-Two, reminding me of an age buried beneath the soil for which my rock was built on. It was only a chance that happened, when my mind reflected on how I sat at his house, watching old Western shooter-ups on the tele, scoping out those blasted varmints with their tails wrapped between those retreating legs, each man's spurs clacking as they hobbled down the old American West.

Sometimes I feel that way too. I feel like a desert being trampled on by some different kind of varmints. And then there's you. And then there's her. And then I think of you and her and I, and then I'm back at square one as you nuzzle me again. You wish I would stop moving, but the guilty only asks to be alone, shifting from the people they care about in order to hide their insignificant shame. For me, I am hiding my shame of being a doormat, but the borders of the bed are limiting me in my quest. One more shift and I'm going to fly right off, away from you. The floor will creak as I hit the ground, the thud echoing right in those white ears of yours. You'll pop off that pillow faster than any woman I knew, and you would bolster out a "Oh my CELESTIA!" before sliding off that mattress and aiding me in my misadventure. Of course, who am I kidding? Aiding to you is like a lecture to me: I am a child whose knee is scrapped and instead of administering aid to the proper place, I get shackled by the one who wishes to aid me.

I sigh. Maybe I should give into you. Maybe I should let this puzzle be unsolved and just snuggle my way into this permanent stay on the planet Equis. And yet I want to hold onto her too. I want her to not forget me, to not forget our times together, to not let my family go, to not let us go into an ether filled with nothing but dread and despair. I imagine tears rolling down that fair skin of hers. I imagine the shrill cries of my mother, and my father's sad gaze addressing the already crystal clear fact that I'm gone. Long, long gone.

You, the mare beside me, purrs once again, before those eyes begin to show.

"Darling…" your voice oh-so-meanders over. "Why are you moving away?"

I smile at your tired haze. Eyelids crooked open with a slight crinkle on each. A slight dampened mark by your mouth suggests a bit of drool. I am surprised I do not feel a bit of drool on me, but maybe that fur of yours soaks up the liquid like a sponge under the sea. I shake my head and cup your cheek.

"It's nothing, dear," I say, smiling through my pearly whites. "Don't fret."

Adding that makes you open your mouth once more. "Then stay near me," you murmur, your eyes fluttering to a close.

You breathe deep into my side, your breath tickling the hairs on my body. I hold onto you, staying near as you proposed, but my mind is still so far away. I should just tell you that I am not okay, that I am still juggling this whole Earth to Equis thing. But, maybe I shouldn't. I would just be lying to you again. It wouldn't be the truth, what I really feel right now.

So I stay here, awake, holding on desperately to that bit of warmth that I love so dearly.

D

Awake. Skin crawling as my eyes glaze over the sleeping form of a mattress reforming. You're gone, probably downstairs to work on those dresses you make. I cannot keep myself from staring a bit more the mold you form, the mattress hugging those curves you have. I smile, slightly, before she enters again. A shiver adds to the already disgusting self I am, crawling what seems like an endless loop of myself attempting to breathe with this uncomfortable mind of mine.

I take a deep breath and sigh. I must join you too. You must think of me as a dozer, someone who stays in bed all day and never gets up, surfing in and out of sleep without any end in sight. I do not doze but rather sleep to keep myself from waking up like this. But I do, I do every time, because my heart aches instead of letting myself hide behind the shame that you never see.

Slowly, I pick myself up. The mattress leaves an imprint behind. An imprint of me, and an imprint of you. We merge together from what it looks like, but I don't know. I see an outline sometimes of you, separate pieces combined to look right. Maybe I'm wrong in seeing that. Maybe I'm wrong in being this way. But, trudging toward that mirror, looking into the soul of a man whose eyes are downtrodden and shifting each second in a rather unstable manner, I see that my life has made me numb to the new reality I live. I remember that time, when I used to be alive, feeling my heart beat every second, feel that arm that used to wrap around me to tell me that I'm okay, that I'm not someone whose mind is so cemented in place. Yet, I'm here, walking through that door, without a second to think otherwise. I do not wish to stay here bottled up in this room where my new lover once was.

Each step down these stairs keeps me alert. I hear you humming in the kitchen, your mind probably tuned to making breakfast. You've been a one-track mind in terms of content, but everything around you is in motion: dishes clacking against cold metal, a spoon stirring contents in a bowl, and as I approach, your magic encases a glass cup filled nearly to the brim with cold milk. You turn and place it on the table, nearly hitting me in the process. You lightly gasp, and slowly gaze up at me with a tired smile encompassing that muzzle of yours.

"Good morning, darling," you say groggily. "I have made breakfast for us."

I smile and take a seat at the table. The chair screeches against the floor, causing you to slightly jolt to the sound. Your body subsides though, but a twitch lingers in your neck. I ignore that little twitch, knowing that it's a force of habit. Maybe I should stop that, though. I know it makes you mad.

I settle in my seat, and look at the scrumptious meal. Eggs, and—

"Babe?"

"Hmm?"

I stare at my plate. "Sausage?"

You nod and takes your rightful seat at the table. "I made them because I remember what you used to eat on Earth. You told me that you had scrambled eggs and sausage, so I decided to ask Twilight about it. According to her, the Griffon Kingdoms has a trade route that comes into Equestria with meat of all kinds. They usually deliver cold cuts of fish, but, thanks to Twilight, she asked if they would arrange a small cart to bring sausage into the area for… you. So I caved in and bought a bit so I could indulge you a bit. Maybe bring back something from your home on Earth!"

"Really?" Your voice retires its groggy haze, now electric with glee. It creates friction in me, echoing your happiness that I cannot seem to reach.

"That's amazing!" It's only a good thing, not amazing.

You keep that friction going, smile greater than before. "I'm glad you enjoy it, love."

The friction dives deep in me. Pure happiness, but it does not heal me. It only stays there temporarily. I dig into the food, chewing on the tasty scrambled eggs and sausage patties. The taste allies with the happiness to battle my thoughts, suppressing any despair lurking within me.

"So, dear…"

I look up at you, hopefully not wearing any of my food. "Yeah?"

"What are you going to be doing today?"

Silence. Another day on the farm? Chat with Dash? Your day is full of nothing, admit it, you're no—

"I think I'm going to stop by Big Mac's today, see if he needs some help with harvesting," I reply as calmly as I can, the aching stem of descent surging within me, an adrenaline rush shaking my core and sending ripples that once pleasurable electric friction down my spine. I grimace, slightly, causing you to gasp.

"Darling, are you alright?"

Through a grimace, I reply, "Yes, Rares, I am fine." You're not fine, you're not. Do not fool yourself.

The hint of concern rises through that smile of yours. I see it. A bit of distance mixed in that wonderful, natural beauty. She sighs. "Be careful, dear. I do not want to have visit the hospital again because some human couldn't take a moment to breathe." You say through a delighted smirk. You send your plate and cup into the sink with your magic. "Leave your dishes in the sink, darling. I'll clean them later," you add.

"Okay," I say through the final bite of my last piece of sausage. "What are you going to be doing today?"

You put a hoof to your muzzle and gently rub it. "I do not know," you begin, before noticing my mouth about to open in response. "I know, I know dear, you know that I know what I'm doing. I just need my brain to catch up with the rest of me. Let's see…" You pull out your calendar from the nearby drawer and flip to the current month. "Ah… Today is filling in the order for Mrs. Upper Crust. She wants a couple of new outfits for the upcoming Canterlot Spring Festival. Then, after working on the order, I will be meeting with the girls at the Sugarcube Corner to chat for the night." You shove the calendar back into the drawer and look at me. "You know, you could always join us later tonight if you're bored at Big Macintosh's."

I shake my head. "No, no, it's a girls night, I won't impede on you. I'll find something else to do, trust me."

For a second, I thought I saw you frown, but it might just be me. If you did, you're still smiling like a trooper would, although rather weakly, I suppose. Your lips never quake like that unless you're upset or something.

Maybe I should go—

"Okay, whatever you want to do is fine with me," you murmur, your lips holding strong. The quaking disappears. All that's left is a surefire smile. "I will see you later on tonight?"

"Of course," I say with a smirk. "Wouldn't want it any other way." You're lying to Rarity. You want her from Earth more. You want *her** more.*

You flip your hair and give me a sultry glance through those half-lidded eyes. "The same for you, darling. The same goes for you." With that, you turn, rather slowly, and leave the room, your hooves clip-clopping to your station without any hesitation.

Meanwhile, as I lay my plate in the sink, I wonder of what you will do if I do come to your get-together. Would you be happy? Overjoyed? Astonished?

Or would you think I am a liar?

Dancing, dancing my thoughts lead the journey to a land filled of make-believe. A place where ponies fly and behave like humans. And here I am, breaking the mojo that they have created for themselves, loving some pony because I could never go back to the way things were before coming here.

I could never go back.

I leave those thoughts behind closed doors and breathe in the near Spring air, hoping that my friend from the apple orchard will keep my mind at ease.

Away from her.

Away from you.

R

Fresh air. Breathe in. Breathe out. I'm fine. You're not.

I just need to talk to Big Mac, air this out. You're using him as a distraction.

Just a few moments to breathe. You're thinking too much.

Breathe.

It had only been a sliver of time. Standing outside the door of The Boutique, and my hands are shivering. My body is trembling as I take the next step towards the orchard. Doing what I said, doing what you thought I would do. To get away from you, for now.

I breathe deeply, shaking through the clouds of my inner mind, trying to find the sun that shines brightly on this cloudless Spring day. I shift my focus to the path in front of me, the first reach of many. Step by step on this ground I walk, a brown path that weaves in and around the stalwart trees of the Apple Farmstead.

I have been here before, once, with you in tow. But now, being alone, walking through the forest of trees, setting a distance between me, and her and you sets us apart for what seems to be an eternity. A lovesick puppy left astray, to get this damned sickness quelled for now.

For now.

The quaint property of the Apples reminds me of a time when I visited her farm. Her name was Veronica, or Vert, since she reminded me of the color green. No, she was not an ogre who believes onions are representatives of a mammal's layers. No, she reminded me of a new day, a new time to just jump out and be free together. She and I ran through the cornfields that encompasses the majority of her property. There was a dirt track that she and I used to ride on, since she was a tomboy that loved dirt-biking, but the best memories was made sitting under the big ol' Oak tree. Our first kiss, and our first time—under a tree. Au naturel, mon amour et moi. In the eyes of the beholder, a giant orb in the sky shining the last moments of creation, wrapped in a promise to stay there, hold her, love her, forevermore.

Yet, yanked away from reality like a feather—

"—plucked from the universe's wing, Tia."

Shivers from before flourished within me. I am sensitive to even the single touch from the gentle caress of nature's breath, gliding across the hairs of my arms and legs.

Each step feels like I'm crossing a minefield full of antique, worn S-mines, still waiting for that one unaware foot to press its button, to send that man into the sky, a direct passage to the stairway called Heaven's Reach. Soaring through the sky, arms not torn out-stretched, eyes wide to the light that keeps the distance between I and her—

"—he may never return to his home planet, sister." Downtrodden her gaze. "Once the mind is struck with a new frequency, it descends into a rather… new form of malice. Until Scott is free from what plagues him, he—"

—forever stagnant, the light so close to reach, but the storm that covers it soon after strikes me every time with a new bolt, a new shock that knocks me back to Equis, to a mesh of an Earth far removed from the current timeline of Earth itself.

My head pounds the same old tune. I hold my head momentarily as it pulses and pulses to the memories of my arrival.

"Tia, please keep him still. His body has not readjusted—!"

On my shirt, the name I hold dear falls to the ground before disintegrating into a black ash.

"Veronique…"

And mine falls in too, fusing into the mess called the past.

The sunlight beats down on me, despite it feeling formidable weather. I walk down to the giant farmstead, my body no longer quaking. My friend, Big Mac, is standing outside, hauling a basket of what I can only assume is part of the latest harvest over to the barn. I call out to him, in hopes of getting his attention. Thankfully, Big Macintosh is not a jumper, or the poor pony could've jumped right out of his own hooves. Luckily, he turns his attention to me, and with a smile, walks over to me, basket set near the porch of his family home.

"Howdy, partner," he greets me. "What brings you 'round these parts?"

I withhold a hearty laugh, only showing him a smirk. "You know I live in town, right?"

He laughs. "Eyyup, I just foolin'. Still the same question for ya, though."

Oh. "Just wanted to see if you needed any help with the harvest. Heard it's been pretty hefty work for you and AJ."

Although these two don't like to admit it, they do need some farmhands. I hear Rarity always chattering about these two hardworking ponies handling the whole orchard almost by themselves. They do sometimes ask for help, sometimes from Apple Bloom, their little sister, and from other friends, but they insist that they don't need any outside farmhands. I think the problem lies within the fact that they do not want to pay another farmhand. It's a family farm, after all. But see, back on Earth, even family businesses hired others into the lot. Sometimes they weren't even family, but yet they hung that banner on the front of the store, just to attract those folk who fancied the "locale" feel. Grocers did it mostly, attracted those who knew the family, and those who didn't want to traverse several intersections both large and small just to reach a Walmart or Jewel. Either way, they make due, sometimes extremely well. So, caving in would be nice, especially in AJ and Big Mac's case.

"Nope, not at all," he replies, before beginning to turn around.

"Why's that, might I ask?"

That gets him to pause, to stop turning around and freeze in place. He turns to face me once again and with a grunt, he adds, "Because, AJ and I can handle it—"

"Big Mac. Rarity and the rest of the girls can see right through you and AJ. Just yesterday, Rarity told me that AJ looked so tired, the rings underneath her eyes had rings underneath them. And, from what I'm seeing right now, you're starting to have the same problem."

Darker tinted fur rings around the slightly lighter rings. And there, the eyes that peer at me, asking why I'm prodding so much, asking why I'm nitpicking, asking why I care stare at me as if they cannot process immediately what they saw, what my mouth movements made. His ears twitch too, guessing they're still registering the sounds that I made, each syllable, each vocal transition, each point of emphasis.

Big Macintosh stares and then he opens his mouth. "You see right through us?"

Nodding is the only response I need here.

He sighs. "I guess ya made your point." He turns around and begins walking away. Is he leaving me here?

He motions to me with his hoof. "You comin'?"

I smile and chase after him. "Of course!"

The varmint chases the farm pony into its own habitat.

It's odd, apple collecting has cleared my mind. Partially because I have to climb the tree, since my kick is not as strong as Big Mac's buck, but maybe that's because he's a pony, and I'm some human with skinny arms and legs. Growing up, part of my own little dig was to climb trees. My friends would watch as they dared me to climb Old Jenkins's tree, who was an infamous neighbor with a bad attitude. He was that cliché grandpa, whose anger for kids climbing on his tree or stomping on his property tripled as his age increased. On this day, though, I got stuck in his tree. Climbed to the top of that tree. Old Jenkins couldn't believe it either.

Still, the process of climbing the tree is the easy part. Plucking all the apples off huge trees? I had to gage my inner ancestors and just swing over to each individual tree. First time doing it too, so I knew I would slip a couple of times. Big Mac helped me back up too, warning me that if I fell on it wrong, that back would be broken, and he would be rushing me straight to the clinic in town if that were the case. Luckily, I didn't break anything yet but man, my back is sore right now.

I walk over to the next tree and prep myself to climb it. Steady, one foot in front of the other, and dismount!

CRACKLE, SNAP!

"Umfph," I sputter between my lips as I land straight onto the ground once again, my back hitting first, pushing all the remaining air out of me. I breathe heavily, gasping for air. Big Mac, who was a few yards away from me, rushes over. His head comes into my vision, and his big ol green eyes peer down at my pitiful effort.

"Fell again?" he asks the obvious.

I nod slowly. My spine is screaming right now. "Fell right on my back."

"Eyyup," he replies, and nudges my head up. I begin to sit up, only to fall back down on that grass again. My back has quit.

"Looks like you're out for the count right now," he begins, taking a seat next to me on the ground. "Might ought to just lay there for a couple winks. You look exhausted."

I frown at the statement. It's true, I am utterly exhausted. I am not going to give up right away. Until this body says no, I keep going on with my day. That's how I've been since I was little, working at home with my pops. We would work on any project big or small. Needed a car fixed? We got you covered. Need to build a gazebo? Home Depot is having a sale on planks, and we got the nails and hammers to do it. Got a leaky pipe under your sink? No problem, just give me a couple minutes and maybe an apple to eat and I'm set. I learned everything from my pops, and I can't respect him enough.

Speaking of apples, Big Mac hands me a fresh apple from my basket. He smiles and says, "Here, might be good to give you a bite to eat, while we chat."

I take the apple rather hesitantly from his hooves. What does he want to talk about? I'll bite into the apple, but that last bit has me worried. So I bite both into my apple, and into my curiosity. "What do you want to chat about, 'Mac?"

He looks out over the expanse. In front of us is the house and the other orchards that have been plucked of their fruits. It's beautiful here. The sun behind us shines what light it can spare as it begins its descent into the background, projecting an orange hue over the landscape. I look over at Big Mac once again, and he sucks in a big breath.

"It's been a while since I had company knocking down apples from the lot," he begins. His forlorn expression has me thinking what's coming is not going to be the best. "I thought that just AJ and I could hold the fort for so long. And, seeing ya like this just reminds me of how I have been." He readjusts that yolk of his, just to show me a mark of where it once was: swollen. "I wear this thing to keep me from losing step, and yet its swellin' up like a balloon. I bet ya that I'm going to have to take off for it if I tell the clinic or what not. But, ya see, we don't got anyone to take this position right now."

I look at him, puzzled by his announcement. Why is he telling me this now?

"I think you know by now how we are since Miss Rarity told ya. Eyyup, we're stubborn, but we're stubborn for the right reasons. We want the most for each other and just to live well. We enjoy what life brings." He looks at me and points his hoof at my stomach. "And from what I saw today, you've been struggling with what life is giving." How does he know? "You been punching these trees on this last orchard. Either you're upset that the apples won't fall, or something's eatin' ya up."

I look down at the ground. He's reading me well too. What should I say in response? I'm just doing dandy. He isn't a love expert, or a psychologist. I don't think he'll help me out.

"I can't help you in what's eating ya," he continues, his eyes set on me. "But if you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you. I've seen you with Miss Rarity before, and it looks like ya'll are two apples in a bushel, but anypony could put on a mask and wear it well. Besides, after today, I wouldn't mind callin' you a friend."

I smile and angle myself up. I teeth through the pain and lay up against the tree. "I wouldn't mind that either, pal." I bring my hand out to shake his hoof. At first, he looks at my hand with confusion, but, I think he remembers when I did the same to his sister, who grabbed my hand by her hooves and shook it. Maybe he'll do the same.

And surely, with his own hooves, he gives my hand a firm shake. "Glad I got do that," he says with a laugh.

I chuckle along with him. He seems like a great guy to talk to. Maybe I should at least give him a sliver of what I'm feeling.

Maybe I should tell him the truth.

No, telling him the full truth right now would be rude of me. I'll give him a short diversion. Stop prolonging the truth.

"I-I guess you're able to read me well too," I begin nervously. "I came here to really see myself through. I had to get out of the Boutique, just being around her lately has been driving me up a wall. Thought fresh air from the farm would help me clear my head."

I watch as his muzzle scrunches up momentarily like an accordion about to release a long string of notes. And yet, no notes come out. The muzzle returns to its normal state. He brings a drawn out hum to the conversation, and then opens his mouth. "Is she been rude to ya?"

I shake my head almost immediately. "No sireee. She's a wonderful loving pony who wouldn't yell back at me even if she tried."

Big Mac takes pause. Wonder what he thinks of when I say this stuff. Does he believe it?

"Hollarin' doesn't mean rudeness…" Big Mac begins, only to look at me with a slight head tilt. "Shafer?"

I shake my head oncemore. "Scott, but you're way closer than what Rainbow Dash was."

He smirks. "What did she call you?"

I chuckle. "She called me Soarin' by accident. Apparently her head was in the clouds at the time, but she wouldn't admit it." He laughs at what I assume would be the mental imagery of a blushing tomboy pegasus. "She nearly broke a wing with her Freudian slip!"

Full blown gut-busting laughter under these trees. Boy, did I need that badly.

The laughter subsides, and right away Big Mac returns full circle. "My point still stands. I only asked if she's rude, not if she has an angry tone. Is she rude?"

"Nope," I reply lamely and readjust my back on the tree. "Back's feeling better by the way."

He stares at the farm house just below us. "Don't want to rush it. Better just to take a load off."

"Alright," I say. "So?"

"Right, so if she ain't rude to ya, is she at least supportive?"

I think I know where he's prying. "Yeah, she is."

He smiles. "Then what's there to worry about? She'll be by ya side through thick and thin. Knowing her, she'll want the best for you both. So, why not just live through her, not around her?"

I take pause. The question makes sense, in retrospect. I get that she will be by my side, and she always has. I remember specifically when I was told I could never leave, Rarity was by my side, holding me close in a hug that made me begin my love for her. I could tell her all my worries and she would not laugh. She may cry with me, and sometimes she would keep me from worrying about it—she made me a model once. I about died. She poked me a few too many times with that needle of hers.

Regardless, what does he mean by living through her instead of around? Does he mean that I live through the works of what she does? Do I live in the scope of it all? Do I live because she's there, waiting every day for me to come home, to come back to her with a loving kiss on the cheek? Or is there something more to this little question he proposes to me now?

I sift through the questions to reply, "What do you mean by living around?"

Then, I hear it. I hear something within him snap. And then, he says what I need to hear, chilling me to the bone:

"You're not alone in this world."

There, I look up at the now standing stallion. The sun brightens his face, showing his disdain for asking my question. He frowns as he realizes his duty, but the words have already been said. I stand up and I tell him my thanks, before hobbling off. He does call my name once, but I think he knows that there is nothing else that needs to be said. He hit me with a truth punch that hits my gut repeatedly.

I have to tell her tonight. I have to see what she thinks.

I'll tell her at the Boutique.

With a simple plan made on the spot, I walk on, hoping to ease this body of mine. Maybe a visit to the clinic wouldn't be a bad idea after all?

B

After a quick checkup and chat with one of the nurses at Ponyville's clinic, I step out into the night air. The ascension of the moon keeps my heart at ease, but that mind I hold still races on. Each thought tries to register within me, but pieces only survive momentarily. Glimpses of what I should say, what I need to do, what I keep hold of; everything appears as if they were gasps of air, breaking into the thick smoke I breathe in.

Walking in the middle of the night. I am approaching that place called home. She must be there by now.

"You know, you could always join us later tonight if you're bored at Big Macintosh's."

I freeze in mid-step. She did offer me the chance, and she said she'll be happy either way with my decision.

My confliction is at stake: home or to the Corner of Disaster and Pastries? I know I said home, but maybe it would be easier to break the news if I get some coverage first, a break of nerves through natural conversation among friends.

Maybe that's the route I should take.

So I do, slowly, hesitating to just head home, but my body leads me elsewhere, taking me to Sugarcube Corner without any time to think. I stand at the door, thinking if I should knock or not, when the door begins to creak open. It squeaks as it hits the door frame, and in front of me is my darling, my love. I hear you gasp.

"Why, darling, you're here!" she lunges at my legs, grabbing them. I nearly break my stance, but I keep myself strong, knowing that I have to hide the bandages from her that are beneath my clothes. If I fall, I may wince if I hit my back.

I smile at her and pet her gently. "I am, glad you're happy to see me."

She chortles slightly. "You must be joking, of course I am happy to see you! Been missing you dearly, darling. Why, Rainbow Dash here spoke of your latest shenanigans with her and Pinkie." She jabs my right leg. "I say, don't stick any more caramel in other ponies' manes. That is ruthless of you!"

I keep a hold of my stance. I am afraid that these tired legs will collapse any second. I need to get to a chair.

Wobbling, I poke you in the side and say, "Rares, can you let go for a second?"

Her muzzle ruffles up slightly. "Why?"

"Oh, just need to take a seat, that's all."

She let's go. Suddenly, I feel weightless. My legs feel like jello. I slowly wobble to the seat and collapse in it. The girls, who were watching the event unfold, scurry over to my side, and you come in tow.

"What's wrong, Scottie?" Rainbow Dash asks.

The others nod, apparently wanting to ask the same question.

I sigh. "Worked hard today at the orchard. I—"

"You worked on the orchard?" Applejack asks. "Shoot, I told Big Mac we don't need more—"

"AJ, you do need help," I interrupt, making Applejack sputter in shock. "Your brother was thankful that I came over today. Besides, I am hoping that I can make this somewhat of a routine. Didn't know collecting apples kept my nerves at ease."

Applejack smiles. "Applebucking is the best thing to do when you're all stressed out and such! And if my brother said thanks, he must've became friends with you. Did he say a lot? It's not often that he pipes up."

I snicker. "I can agree with you there, the job helps clear the mind. It's nice to chat with someone like Big Mac once in a while, keeps the job fun."

I turn to see Rainbow Dash raising a brow. "I don't know, sleeping in those trees is a much better experience."

"Shut your trap, Dash. When you come over to try and help, you take one kick and then mosey on up the tree like a squirrel late to hibernation!"

"What can I say, AJ? Your trees are just landing zones for tired pegasi!"

Applejack smirks, and points her hoof at Fluttershy. "Then what about Flutters? Ain't she a pegasus too?"

Fluttershy simply squeaks before hiding behind her mane.

"Yeah, well…" Rainbow Dash responds, rubbing her hoof awkwardly behind her neck. "Not every pegasus needs to be in your trees, do they?"

AJ laughs. "That's true, but not every pegasus uses a tree when they're tired."

The rest of the girls laugh with her, leaving poor Rainbow Dash to her own misery. Of course, they're not laughing at her, more like the girls are laughing beyond her. You would know that well, Rares. Back when I goofed up similarly. You tried to hold it in your laughter, but the chuckles turned into a full-blown giggle-fest. You could not keep yourself contained when I tripped on air. What a goof, you said back then. Yes, but I'm your goof, so that's okay with me.

I watch as Rainbow Dash begins with her retort, her blush on those cheeks of hers. She hollers at AJ, before giving her a friendly jab. The conversation then flows elsewhere, leaving you and I alone to ourselves. We stand near them, but not with. Your laughter has died, and now you look at me inquisitively. It looks like you want to say something, your mouth slowly opening like a drawbridge that is slowly lowering itself for the common driver to get across. But that reality stays shut, your mouth snapping to a close.

I look on, between you and the ponies beside us. What is there to say? Should I just pipe up now and let you hear my thoughts? We have our privacy now.

Take the chance.

"Ra—"

"So, working on the orchard was fun?" you say rather mouse-like.

I smile. "Yeah, climbing trees was something I did when I was younger, so it wasn't much of a hassle."

I look down at my legs. The wobble remains.

You look at those legs too. "Something wrong, dear?"

I keep that smile on. "There's nothing wrong."

It's easy to lie.

"Are you sure?"

"How could I not be sure?"

The snap-reply keeps you from responding automatically. You stop, look up at me, and, with a tone similar to Big Mac's final line that made me rush away, run to that clinic to distract myself from reality; you say, "Sometimes, you look unsure of what you're saying, that's all."

My legs freeze. You gently bring your muzzle to them again and lightly, your cheek grazes my jeans. You sigh, and bring your gaze to me. We stare, somewhat, words being said unspoken between those irises of ours. Purple talking to brown, brown rebuts with a glare, an eyebrow raise: just elements of a topic that those around us never hear.

You nod and dash towards your friends. You say a quick goodbye to them all, and they give you all the love they can in return: a hug, a nuzzle on the cheek, and a glare at Dash (she said something akin to "don't hurt your stallion"). With a punctual ta-ta, you return to my side. "Care to leave with me, darling? Or do you need to catch yourself?"

My legs are no longer wobbling. My mind is no longer racing. My head is no longer conflicted. I am about to nod—

"You're not alone in this world."

I stop myself, and sigh. "Mind if I catch myself?"

You shake your head. "Take your time then, dear. I'll wait outside for you."

You turn and head towards the door. There was no hip sway in this walk, just an innocent stride as you make those hinges speak. They open and close within a span of seconds, and then you're gone behind those doors.

And here I am, wondering how I got someone like you: so kind, so gentle, and so understanding. I see you well, but I also see her too. And right now, I'm waiting for that nuzzle. All I feel is the warmth of friction, the warmth you caused.

The warmth you use to remind me I'm not alone.

Time flies. We walked rather quickly home. I'm now with you on the couch, petting you softly to the tune of your lungs. You breathe rather lightly, but the contrast of your heart makes me think otherwise. You would like to feel calm, but your heart knows there's something off. Either that, or your heart needs more practice—that walk wasn't that strenuous.

You look at me with all the love in the world. You purr softly when I gently graze your ear just right. You nuzzle into my hand when I come towards your cheek. You are nothing like her.

But yet you remind me of her so much. She liked it when I held her close. She liked it when I softly grazed her ear. She loved it when I cupped her cheek and whispered sweet nothings into those ears of hers, the hot breath tickling her to the point of her shaking in my grasp. Then it happened: the heat of the moment where we sat: me pinning her there and loving her to bits.

And we don’t do that. You don't want that. You want to take it slow. You know how it is. You want that ring first.

And yet I'm not ready to figure that out. Even after all this time, these two to three years of just living with you, cherishing what we have. We haven't even kissed for crying out loud!

My mind stops. We haven't even kissed.

"Darling…"

I stop to think.

Your lips puckered once or twice.

The candles were lit to a calming hue. Gentle orange covers the room. A serveur graces us with menus. You look a la carte, bracing it with the words it has. You look for the right dish, hum when you find it, gasp when you like it, and shut that carte quicker than I. The server drops off your drink, a glass of the finest of wines. I think I ordered mine, but he hasn't come back yet. Shoot, I'm still at step one while you're already sipping on your drink.

"Still looking?" you ask, your drink now sitting on the table.

What do you expect from me? "Yes, there's just so much to choose from."

You look at me oddly, but you nod anyway. "Take your time. The night is still young." You bring your drink to those lips once again.

So young, I know. But that does not mean that I'm drinking coffee, because you drink a vulgar wine that keeps you intoxicated for the rest of your days. It stains your lips. I see it now, as you nuzzle my hand once again.

The rest of the date flashes on by—ordering, eating, talking about our days—they are gone before I even react. I just see you, coming closer. You shut your eyes. You lean even closer. Your lips are now puckered. You wait for me to return it.

I come close, and I close my eyes.

And then, like that, you retract your move. You sit there, red-cheeked.

"Sorry about that, darling. The wine is speaking for me."

The wine has been speaking for you since the day you wanted a kiss from me. You deny yourself of it. Why haven't I asked you about it? Why am I sitting here okay with it? Are you conflicted too? I just watch you nuzzle, then take pause, then nuzzle again, like my form repulses you momentarily. Maybe the feeling of that ear graze keeps you from leaving my grasp.

We need to talk.

So I open my mouth. I open it now.

"Rares?"

You let out a throaty moan—my hand had grazed your ear in the most alluring of ways. "Y-Yes?" you say, recovering from the intoxicating touch. "What is it?"

I withhold a smile. I cannot pander to someone like you. You notice my gaze, how blank it must appear: those lips are not curled in a smile of love, those lips are shut and flat like the plains of Nebraska. You nearly lurch back at my gaze, but you keep yourself calm. You wait for my voice.

So I deliver in kind:

"We need to talk."

Your eyes widen. "Talk? About what, de—"

"Drop the pretense, Rarity. We need to chat about us."

"Us?" you breathe out. Your heart is racing again, but not of adrenaline or pleasure. I feel its nervousness peaking ever-so-slowly, despite the speed of which your heart beats. You are worried.

You spur out of my grasp. You slide yourself on the other edge of the couch. "What is it about us?"

I frown. There's a lot about us. And yet there's a lot about her. I don't think I ever told you about her. I left her omitted from my past, so you did not get jealous. After all, you felt deeply wronged by a stallion cheating on his wife. You felt repulsed by the sheer thought on being cheated on yourself. You told me that one night, after we went to go see a play with a similar plot line. And yet you are about to hear me tell you about her.

I hope you like stories.

"It's more about myself. I, need to be honest with you, because I feel like I haven't been honest enough."

You gasp. Water forms in your eyes. You are probably thinking of the possibilities: "Is he cheating on me?" "Is he breaking up with me?" "Am I not good enough?" You should realize by now that those are normal atrocities we commit when we feel in doubt, but we still do them because that doubt reigns superior over the soul of a conflicted individual.

So you ask the first, then the second, then the third.

"Are you cheating on me?"

"No, I—"

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"No—"

"Am I not good enou—"

I snap. My patience no longer weighs in. I growl and pinch your hooves, causing you to writhe on this couch of ours. "Stop talking and let me speak!"

You gasp and painfully nod. Your heart still races on, despite hearing my responses. So I let you have it.

"I do not love you like I should."

And there, you sigh. You jump off the couch to open up another bottle of wine.

And I do not stop you. My mind filled with her and you, screaming out loud. She's crying for me to come back, and you are asking the wine to assist you in saying your distaste, your displeasure of my thoughts.

"W-Why?" you ask.

"It's a long story, I—"

You growl at me. "I don't care. J-Just tell me."

"Okay," I say softly. "Back on Earth, there was this girl named Veronica that I loved. We were in a relationship for a while, since high school, in fact. We dated for four years, kind of like us, except she and I did a lot more than what you and I have done." I look at your lips when I say this. "We kissed, we snuggled under the tree at her farm, and we did more than just rustle under the sheets."

Your face turns red. I admire that look: the way you blush when I say something. But it looks like a different tint: a cross between love and hatred. Jealousy? I shake my head and continue on, "But those things do not matter, the fact that I still think of her and feel that love regenerate within me every time we touch… I can't help but feel this love slowly pull me away from you. With the fact that you're afraid to kiss me already adds to that distance."

You gasp. "Darling, I'm not a-afraid to kiss you," you say with a slight slur. "I just…"

You turn silent. You gaze at my lips. You try to lean in, but something stops you. You look away, ashamed of that reaction. And then, you murmur four words.

"You're different than me."

And that sets me off. I stand up and turn to open the door.

"Where are you going?!" she says with alarm.

I open the door swiftly, the door slamming against the wall. I turn to face you once more, and with a growl, I say, "For a walk."

And before long, the door slams shut, leaving me to my thoughts, and for you, a chance to drown yourself in wine.

T

I don't know where I want to walk. It's been a while, not knowing what to do without being asked on what I could do. There's no prodding here, just me, myself, and I, walking somewhere in hopes of getting the events previous out of my head.

"Where are you going?!"

SLAM!

I hear the door echo in my ears. It rings loudly, playing a haunting tune that reverberates with each step I take. I remember a time that was similar to this, only there was no love interest in the romantic sense. My father walked out the door too when my mother wasn't telling him the truth. He was worried that my mother was seeing another man, a friend from a construction company that my father worked for. Turns out, she was telling the truth, but not all of it. She didn't want him to find out that she was no longer feeling in love with him like she should.

It almost sounds like my mother is echoing my own point of view. The love I once had for you is now dying by this reverberation known as her. She whirls around in my head, swirling the perspective of you and I into a her and I that defeats the bond we had shared on this planet. It probably is because of my connection with her.

You see, because of Veronique and I doing more than kissing, we treaded uncharted territory known as sex. For both of us, we were virgins wanting to extend our experience into love. So we did. As a result, I put myself into the position of ring-leader. She and I stood on the steps of this marvelous Church, staring into each other's eyes, letting the world around us turn into a white glow. And, by the blinding light, we bound together a pact to stay together for as long as we shall live, until that day where we perish, or till the divorce papers were thrown into the view of either one of us.

And when I was taken from Earth, she was showing growth.

I look back at that blonde hair beaut. She always looks at me in wonder. I assume she wonders about how she got a catch like me, where we were standing at a bar those years ago, flirting casually in hopes of just getting on equal footing with another. We were just folks looking for a companion in a place where companionship dies, or where fellows drown themselves in pure drink for the sake of forgetting the past. Change would clink and clack on glazed wooden countertops, and bartenders would create concoctions and sweep them down the tops to the users who desired their remedies. And we found love, we found love there.

And now I am here, finding love with someone who sees me as different.

"You're different than me."

You're different than I, too. And does that stop me from loving you? No, but I stop loving you because you stop loving me.

I stop where I stand. I have wandered into a park, a park where you and I once walked on a sunny day, where we would walk side-side to show others that we weren't joking, that this couple of differentiation would work. But look where we are now: separated by difference. I am out here, standing still, while you are inside, wallowing in your own shame. Maybe you aren't wallowing, I need to give you some credit. Maybe you're thinking it over, on the verge of wallowing on that couch of yours, before you dig into your icebox and pull out what remaining ice cream you have, so you can regret your decision of ever even opening your mouth to say those words that you oh-so-tossed into the air. Or maybe you're not even regretting those words. Maybe you're worrying about how I took your words, and how I am now out here, alone, walking with destiny as it sees fit.

I stand out here, alone, with myself and I.

A shiver shatters what little thought I have left. The cold air of the night has made me rush for shelter. But where? I cannot visit any of the girls, they'll ask questions that they shouldn't be asking. Yet again, they have all rights to, but maybe it's safer to just not cross that bridge yet. So where can I go?

I look over to a lone, little, white house near the outskirts of town. Its brown shutters closed slightly, and its dark brown door secured shut. A sign dangles under the overhang of the roof, reading the favorite bar in all of P-ville.

I smile. It's time I paid a certain friend a visit.

Knock. Knock.

The door rattles against the frame.

Pause. Hooves pitter patter on hardwood.

Knock. Kn—

With a loud SCREECH, the door crept open. A light purple head cranes out from behind the wooden shield. There she is: Berry Punch. She, along with the atmosphere of a dead-night bar-crawl, some addicted drunks still sipping at what little alcohol stills in their glasses, stay in her small-town tavern. I've always remembered her looking a bit rough around the edges: her face always wore wrinkles and grey circles made residence under her eyes, and her smile struggles to stay full, while her gait weakens to a slow hobble down on that hardwood floor, her hooves lazily clicking to an irregular beat. And now, she still wears her standard tired haze. It must have been a long day for her.

"Hello?"

Meek is her voice, but tender as her face lights up in recognition.

"Oh! It's you, Scott! Come in, I was just about to close-up for the night!"

Her volume roused overstayed customers whose dates with mind benders would be sent out into the world, away from the makeshift reality they construed in their minds. Each pony heard her call and took it with ease. One by one, they fell into line and out that door. A snore only kept company: a brown mare with alcohol stains ruining her sheen.

"One moment, Scott," Berry says, before turning to the last remaining customer at her bar. She sighs and gently glides her hoof over the mare's muzzle.

The reaction is nearly instantaneous. With a yelp, the mare jumps out of her deep sleep and crashes on her rump. She groans and tries to push herself off the ground. Once stable, she rubs her eyes, before gazing at the hoof who roused her from her sleep. Then, groggily, she gazes at me with a brow raised. "Is the bar closing for the night?"

Berry Punch nods. "The rest just left Sugarfly. You need some help getting home?"

A quick shake accompanies Sugarfly's slurring reply, "No, I see you have company over. Just leave my dues on my tab for tomorrow morning, I'll be swin' on by some bits in your direction, Berry Punch."

"You're sure?" Berry asks once again. The mare in front of us is stumbling as she approaches the door.

She swiftly turns her head to Berry and quietly says, "I am sure. I do this most of the time anyway." With that, she exits with what little dignity she has left.

I look at the door. The mare that left reminds me of a friend back home. He used to be my drinking pal from college, where we sat in his dorm and listened to his old albums on his stereo. He'd invite some girls over too, and we chatted about the shenanigans on campus. From disgusting aftermaths of parties, to the tee-peeing of the entire college campus, including the dorms and offices—him and I heard it all. I miss that sometimes, but I always remember him having too much, and him stumbling down the hall and crashing made me sick to my stomach. I hope he's doing well now, and I hope he's still with his girl too.

The mare by my side nudges me with her hoof. "So, what brings you here, buster?"

Buster. A nickname from the first time I entered her bar. Sounds satisfying in a way, like it ring deliciously off that tongue, and yet, it also doesn't. It sounds sickly now, almost routine. Most comparable to a swig of beer, the generic kind. It tastes okay until it drops down the hatch, burning impolitely and causing the acid to slowly rise.

I watch as Berry brings herself to the counter. She slips a rag across the top, cleaning off the mess her customers left behind. Her muzzle contorts as she puts more emphasis in her cleaning. Swipe after swipe, rubbing obnoxious stains off her aging stand. She sighs.

"Apologies for the last one here. Sugarfly has been down on herself lately, ever since her stallion left her."

"…since her stallion left her."

"Where are you going?"

My heart twinges at the reminder. I imagine that's how you are. Your mind is deciding whether it should panic or play safe, but since you're not used to a relationship still, your mind gathers itself for a fit of empty bottles and impending doom. Each sip reminds you of a memory of us, and how you should have just been honest, but every opportunity you had fell to the wayside, underneath that made-up rug you created for our relationship.

Nonsense, nonsense, I know you well. Your mind did not create it out of spite. Maybe I need a drink too, just for a moment. My nerves are acting up again. But, yet again, curiosity needs to be sated first.

"When did that happen?" I ask.

The rag dances on a top to a beat that never exists. "About a couple weeks ago, I'd say," Berry Punch replies, her beat never missing now. "I think she came in right after the deed was done. The girl hasn't been the same since. Worried that she'll be spending her days here, and I've been generous enough to keep her tab minimal."

"At a minimal?"

She looks at me to take a pause in her dance. "I stop her at four, Scott."

Four drinks. She knows something's wrong, especially when the mare pours all her anger into a drink. Same with others on my world. Whatever they're feeling at that moment is poured in a transfer of cash to glass, and they sip that guilt down to keep in still for a while. I do that too sometimes, especially here. The need to see her again passes me by, and I take a few sips to calm it down for a while.

And now? I just want to drown myself too, but the better of me wants to have a chat. A simple one that does not need alcohol to start.

I nod in Berry's direction, before taking a seat at one of the non-spilled stools. In Equestria, the dang things are not even tall enough to feel like a bar on Earth, so, to accompany visitors like me, Berry had to get a stool custom-made. Nopony touches it, unless another being the size of me comes along to snatch it for a while. There was a griffon once who took a spot there for a little, but that was a while ago now. My names on that guy until he or she comes back.

I take my seat at the stand and look at Berry, who looks at me with intrigue. She moseys on over and walks up to me. "What would you like, Scott?"

"How about a chat?"

She looks at me funnily, like I said something that jostled her. Her muzzle scrunches up, and a lone brow raises up, while the other stays stagnant, twitching. "A chat?"

I smile. "Is it bad to talk with a friend?"

She rolls her eyes. "No, it's just… really late and I need to make sure lil' Ruby's in bed."

Ruby. The foal that resulted from the relationship. The 'was' left her years ago, heading straight to another city, probably with his tail between his legs. She has never told me why. Bastard didn’t want to deal with the foal? Did he want the relationship? Or was there something else?

No matter what, he left without a trace. Without any support to spare. Just a inkling to keep her company while he saddled off into the distance, the varmint. I sigh.

"Make sure the kiddo is in bed first, then come back," I say politely.

Her eyes scan over me momentarily, before giving me a quick, "Okay, thanks!" She scurries up the stairs to check on her little youngster, who she hopes is snoring away, or so I think.

It reminds me of something I left at home. A little mini-me is supposed to be walking the Earth now. Veronica has to deal with him or her too, alone. She'll see him or her crawl, walk, talk, shit in the sandpit, and bathe in the sink. She'll change those diapers, train him or her not to miss the toilet, and heck, Veronica will see him or her succeed in whatever he or she desires.

And meanwhile, I am here, moving on in another city with you.

I hear the pitter patter upstairs, a slight rouse from my train of thought, which only pulls me back into it with a much violent-er tug. Am I a bad husband for not being able to control my actions? Am I at fault for not being able to be there for her? Am I guilty of my departure?

My fist hitting the counter shakes me to the core. I look at the fist, the red buster-brown now aching fiercely. It is, as if, my body is crying with me, feeling the pain I have felt for so long, but never have recognized until I sat with it now. Guilt stares me in the eyes, bringing me back to adventures with her under the oak tree, then to a future that I could have had, being the father I always wanted to be. But yet, now I'm dealing with a relationship that probably won't last because I'm different. I am different because I need a stool tall enough to feel like the bar back home. I am different because I was whisked away from her long ago, now dealing with the aftermath with a pony who loves me partially. I am different because I am the only one of my kind here.

I am different, because the real me is dead on Earth.

Slowly, I hear Berry Punch approach the counter. A subtle gasp in the dark tells me that she's seen my hand.

"Does that hurt, Scott?" she says, poking it with a hoof.

I wince. "Slightly, and more-so when you touch it!"

She smiles. "Don't be such a baby, it's just a flesh wound."

"What war was I just fighting in?" I ask.

She smirks as she reads my face. "According to me, you've been in a war with yourself for some time."

The second time I am read like an open book. I want to open my mouth in reply, to say that I am not fighting with myself, that I'm not doing this alone, that you are too, but I stop, give pause, and look at my red fist again. Maybe the jig is up and these ponies found me.

"What do you mean, Berry?"

She looks at me with a downcast gaze. Then, she joins me, her hoof smacking the countertop with unrelenting rage. "Don't give me that crap, Scott!" It is, as if, someone had flipped her switch. "I have never seen you like this before! In the three years you've been on this planet, and for the year and a half that we've been best friends, I have never seen you hurt yourself in the bar, and I never seen you more down on yourself. What the ever-living heck is going on in that brain of yours?"

"What the ever-living heck is going on in that brain of yours?"

"Where are you going?"

"You're different than me."

I stare at the enraged mare in front of me. A best friend, someone who I can open up to, someone who I know won't run off with my secrets, my lies, my truths—here I am. Am I to deliver the message? Am I to tell her that you and I are fighting? That our war does not involve long rifles being cocked, loaded, and fired on a battlefield surrounded by the innocent deaths of many, but involves the reality that you and I are different, that you can't love me like those other folks do because of what I am, not who I am? And I am not a victim, but an instigator, who has failed to let the one who he loved on Earth drop off the face of the planet, to let the existence I once lived die in a fiery blaze called fate.

I look at her directly in her eyes. My arms slowly move to her hoof, and I gently grasp it, caressing it with care. She looks at my hands briefly, her mind reeling from what she's seen, and quickly her hoof retreats to her side. Just like I did when I was on Earth.

"S-Scott?"

I see her face and I sigh.

"Maybe it's time that I let her die."

"What do you mean, let her die?" she asks rather calmly.

The look of care, how her eye-lids move just slightly down, how her hoof returns to my hands, and how another binds them just right. Her sigh feels angelic to my ears, not in a loving since mind you, but how I hear the sense of comfort reaching out and taking my soul into a state of nirvana, keeping me in place to let my soul finally come out of its fortress, and have my body stay here, instead of running away.

It's fine, I can say. It's fine. Berry Punch is here to help me, to help you and I. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I have to help myself to help you and to help her too.

I look at Berry in her eyes. For some reason, I see you in them, and you're pleading for me to speak, to tell you all the answers.

So, finally, I will.

"I think it's time I tell you the truth," I begin, making Berry Punch lean back, yet keeping those hooves on my hands. I try to crack a smile, to show her that I care for her soft glides over my skin, but then it falters, as the reality I see hits the ground with each word my mind conjures…

"You're different than me."

I am juggling this whole Earth to Equis thing.

"Then stay near me."

"Why are you moving away?"

Maybe I should give into you, but I want to hold her too.

"It all started when I came here. I…" I pause, my mind shooting those thoughts rapidly in my brain. I need to keep calm. A box full of matches doesn't explode without a fire to ignite the destruction. "I was but a twenty-seven year old man, taken from my home world that I did not register at the time. I was found in a forest nearby, burnt to the crisp. You remember that, right?"

Berry Punch winces. "How could I not? The town was in a frenzy, but some like I chalked it up as normal, until we saw you come in from the forest. It was horrific to see how you looked—I've seen strikes happen, but ponies only had a slight burn, not a full blown skin-bust…"

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

"Yeah, I was a mess for a couple of months, right?"

She takes a bit of a staggered breath. She must've remembered how I looked, given that she stopped talking to look away from me to let out a slight acid-ridden burp. She wasn't ashamed to let out a burp in the past, so hiding it must be because of me.

"You were, Scott," Berry says plainly. "And then you were transferred to Canterlot's Hospital, because the clinic did not have the supplies necessary to keep you stable."

"Come on, we have to move him!"

"Get a hold of Canterlot's emergency unit now!"

"We're losing him!"

**BEEP…

"Your heart was irregular," Berry continues, her voice lowering to a haunting soft tone. "I never thought Twilight would be in tears over something that wasn't even her fault. She was in dismay when they were moving you away."

I raise a brow at this. "Why was she upset?"

Berry looks at my hands again. "Probably because she wanted to establish contact with you. You were completely new to Equestria, and losing something like you would be like having a story never told to you when you were so close to getting it."

"Berry, I never knew you were so poetic," I say mockingly. "Are you going to become the next Ponyville librarian?

She socks me in the shoulder with her left hoof. "Goofball, you know I rarely read. My minds all on the brewing of alcohol, not on novels and poems."

I smile slightly. "I'll have to get you a book from there sometime. Maybe we'll read it together when you're not so busy dishing out drinks."

Berry responds in kind, a small smile intoxicating my mind. "I'd like that."

For a moment, silence reigns. My eyes tread westward, down the alley that bowls to the end of the table. I imagine lights shining bright, letting me know that I can get a strike. So I do, watching a virtual ball rush down the valley and into the inevitable clash with the army of pins. The world of inanimacy suddenly bursts as they cling and clang off the wood floor. The ball hits the backboard, and rolls down the shadows of yesteryear, rolling without a regret in the world. Cheers from a time past lets loose in the tavern: a cheer of mine, a cheer of hers, and the cheers of our friends. And then, just as they appear, they fade into the ether, a realm of fantasy.

My gaze turns to Berry once again. She must have been looking down where I was, her eyes set on the rows of empty mugs and goblets at the end of the counter. The dimmed yellow lights lend to a bright reflection on those mugs. Maybe she sees something different than I. Or maybe she's imagining something too.

"So…"

Berry Punch snaps back to me. She looks at me, a flush tinge on her cheeks. "S-Sorry, I was wondering why you were looking down there that I got caught in the view of the glasses. I just imagined how cleaning them will be, and then I imagined just having a drink myself and—"

I silence her by putting a finger to her muzzle. She stops and watches as my finger stands near her lips. Her eyes gaze into mine, awaiting for me to say what I want.

So I do.

"It's okay. There's no need to apologize. Besides, aren't I the one who's telling you what's going on up here?" I take my finger off her lips and point straight at my noggin. "After all, you're wondering what's up here, not what's down there."

She nods and sighs. "You're right. Continue, Scott."

"It was odd waking up in a throne room of the two Princesses. Yet, after having a freak out session and a sad talk with the two, I realized that I was going to be stuck here for a while. I lost the shirt that had my soon-to-be-wife and I's names on it due to what doctors diagnoses as a result of a lightning strike, but I can't really believe that. I should have been dead if that were the case."

A slight caress of my hands brings me back to Berry again. A tear gently glides down her red emblazoned cheek. She notices that I see her tears, and brings her hoof to her face. I stop it momentarily, wiping the offender with a slight flick of the finger. The tear no longer runs down, only the trail remains.

"You did almost die, Scott," she says through watery haze. "You nearly flatlined twice."

**BEEP…

"CLEAR."

**BEEP…

"Analyzing heart rate. Please stand clear…"

"I know, so I was told from Rarity and her friends," I flatly reply.

"CLEAR!"

She sniffles and shifts in her seat. "So why is this whole thing important to say compared to what's going on now?"

"He's breathing again! Keep his airways open! Where in Celestia's mane is that EC group?"

"Because that shirt was the only thing I had left of her. Everything else I had with me was completely destroyed by whatever hit me."

"Veronica…"

My voice wavers. The pain still stings sometimes, knowing that nothing here will ever be from Veronica. I have nothing but memories to remind me of her.

"And what I have left, those memories I love dearly, they torment me. They affect what relationship I have here, because I see Rarity, and then think of her again instead of Rarity—"

"So you're homesick?" Berry asks.

I slowly nod. "Partially. Homesick of her, since she was home for me." I feel a tear slowly escape my right eye. "And I'm struggling to let her go, so that I can love Rarity—"

"But you do love Rarity, don't you?"

"Of fucking course I do!" I shout, my mind losing itself. "I love her so much, I would sacrifice myself for her if it came to be that way!"

"And would you do the same for the her on Earth?"

My eyes widen. Of course I would…

…but I can't, not anymore.

"I would."

Berry brings a hoof to the tip of her muzzle. She rubs it gently, much like how a person would groom their chin, questioning how thick the little hairs on the chinny-chin-chin grow so fast. Or maybe they're wondering what they will have for breakfast. No matter what, Berry is pondering over my words, much like a man does when she wishes to whisk those whiskers off.

"You wouldn't," she concludes lamely.

"What?"

She simply repeats herself, and then adds, "Your heart is not with her anymore. It's with Rarity."

"How the fuck do you know? I've been sitting here wondering—"

She, with swiftness and care, shuts my trap with her hoof. "Because you didn't use the same tone of voice as you did with my questioning of your love of Rarity. You hesitated when you said you would sacrifice yourself for your previous wife-to-be." She smiles and turns away from the stool she was sitting on. "Give me a second, I need to prep a drink for myself, because this will sound awful coming out of my mouth completely sober."

Oh, Berry, never change.

She pours herself a mug of cider and sits back down at the counter. "So, are you ready for some hard-hitting truth?"

I kick my chair's leg with a slight tap, and nod. "As I will ever be."

I watch her take a long swig of that cider. She pops that damned mug on the counter, and then opens her mouth to say,

"My take on this shit is that letting her die would only solve part of your Celestia-damned problem." She takes a huge gulp of cider, and slams the mug on the counter again. "In order for you to move on, you need to kill whatever is in that fucking brain of yours from your past."

"That's easier said than—"

"Scott," Berry Punch addresses me with a slur. "Did I tell you you could interrupt me when I'm spitting absolute hard-hitting truth?" I shake my head. "Look, you're not on Earth anymore, so why are you fucking about with a reality that is now fantasy?" She looks at me with a glean of rage in her eyes. "You know, you can answer that rhetorical question, wise guy."

I just shrug, my shoulders plummeting as they had rose. "I don't know."

She stops, her chest heaving. Each breath reminds me of a time when I thought of her, a gasp of breath being shot out from my body, an exhale that desperately clings to a situation out of reach.

Out of reach, that's the ticket. Maybe I should stop reaching for something that gives nothing back. Maybe I should be reaching for you, somewhere out there in the ether. Just to find you is a few steps away. Each step represents a day that I would have to be away from you, so you can take time too, to respond, to cry, to think about what you did too. This relationship ain't some one-way street. It's a two lane road, where cars pass each other at an alarming rate. It's like being on that country road, interstate seventy-two. She remembers that well, driving fast just to get back to reality, now fantasy.

Yeah, that's the ticket. I'll start reaching for you.

"I guess it was real at one point. And now it's long gone, and I can't do anything about it now since the spell has taken me away from my family."

'B-But," Berry begins, her breath inhibiting her to talk for long. "You were—"

"Hit by a strike, I know," I say rather dryly. My mind wraps around that fact, that the strike may be real, but there's still something missing. How does a spell create a lightning strike like that? "I'm not sure how the whole spell thing works. Luna never told me about how it worked either. I just hope it didn't create a lightning strike that nearly killed me." I stare at her empty mug down the lane. "You think you're going to drink anymore?"

She waves a hoof at me noncommittally. "Nope, I needed a bit of a shot to take the edge off." She takes a moment to stretch and to yawn, her leg stretches matching the duration of her yawn. "I think I'm going to go hit the hay now. I'll take care of these pesky mugs tomorrow." She hops off her stool, and slowly comes around the counter.

I watch as she makes her way to my side of the counter. She smiles and nudges me. "Off," she punctually demands. "You got some work to do."

"What work?" I ask.

"Love work," she replies. "Get that head straight, and if you need anything else, let me know. I'm always here for you, Scott."

I hop off my stool and bend down to nuzzle her. "Wouldn't have it any other way, BP."

She frowns. "Not even if I add a beer to the mix?"

Little fruitful laughs come from within me. "Not even that!" I pet her mane for added effect. "I'm glad you're friends with me, Berry."

She wraps a foreleg around my neck in a hug. "I'm glad you're friends with me too, big guy."

I let the embrace stay momentarily. It feels warm, to just have someone be around like this. And yet, it reminds me of that time when I was in the bed with you, our bodies rubbing together in warmth. I would pull away, but you cling onto me.

I pull away from Berry first. "Mind if I crash here? Got to stay away from the house for a while."

She smiles. "The couch is always free. Let me give you a pillow and a blanket to work with, Scott." She trots away into the back area, probably smuggling the pillows and blankets she got. While she pulls the supplies from her magical pillow and blanket firm, I move over to the couch. A black leather couch glares at me. I slowly lay on it, sinking into its reaches. Then, I slowly drift.

And then I feel the warmth snare me again. A blanket surrounds me. A pillow props up my head. And to top it all off, a light concentration of warmth resides on my forehead. I know who did that.

"Goodnight, Scott."

And I lay there quietly, drifting to the music of hooves clip-clopping to bed.