Wishing You Were Somehow Here

by anonpencil

Rating: teen
Tags: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Berry Punch, Human, Granny Smith, Sad, Romance, Anon, Mystery, Other, Sex
Length: 13771

When Berry Punch is left alone after finally getting used to having love in her life, she searches for a way to keep the loneliness at bay.

A few weeks apart doesn't seem so bad. Well, that is, until those weeks of being alone are actually happening. Then it can feel like hell. Fortunately for Berry, her absent love has left something behind to help her pass the days before he returns.

Warning: Contains discussions of death, depressing topics, mild sexual discussion, and the name Anon.

This story is a follow up to When You Least Expect It, but does not require that you read the rest of the series to enjoy.
Coverart by johansrobot

Published 2017-12-04 20:10:06 UTC
Last updated 2017-12-04 20:10:06 UTC

Sometimes It Seemed

~*~

Let me tell you a story. It’s not the happiest story, and it’s not the most exciting action packed one, but I think it’s an important one, and right now, given the circumstances, I feel like it’s the right one for me to tell. At least… it’s important to me. I think that's worth something. There’s a lot that comes before now, and a lot that comes after, but I’ll start this story with just myself. Just me.

Alone.

Watching you leave.

~*~

I finally pull down my hoof as your train becomes a smaller and smaller speck on the horizon. The smile I’ve so carefully constructed remains poised on my lips for only a moment longer, before I at last allow my face to relax. It feels heavy, like I’ve been trying to prop it up with boards and crutches, just long enough so you wouldn’t see me crumble. Well, I’ve done at least that. Even now, Berry Punch isn’t someone who spoils the mood.

I wonder if you could see in my face how much it hurt. How many things I wanted to say, but didn't in exchange for set lips in a well-built smile. Were you lying too? Were you pretending to be okay, like I was? You’re not as good an actor as me, you’re not as good at holding those cheeks up taught, hiding your sadness, keeping your eyes from filling with tears and betraying you. But then again, I cry easy. You don’t. Maybe it’s a fair trade off then.

You’ll be back in three weeks, I tell myself. Three weeks. Tomorrow, it’ll be two weeks and six days. Repeat the length of time every day as it counts down, and it’ll feel like an eternity, I know. But at least it’ll remind me that you’re coming back at all.

You are coming back, right?

That’s a stupid thought. That’s a morbid, stupid, insidious thought, and I can’t give it any time or leeway, or it won’t leave.

There’s a doctor in Manehattan who wrote to you and asked you to come in for some tests on your immune system. It’s hard to say if it’s because you’re just a human oddity or if there’s an actual real possibility for a more steady treatment for you, but it’s something. I haven’t allowed myself to hope for yet, real hope anyway. I can’t allow myself believe that somehow, I can save you. That if I say the right magic words, concentrate hard enough, wish on the right star then poof! You’ll be fixed. If I let myself believe that, I’d spend every day reading every medical book there is, learning every magic spell ever invented. I would find a way to become a unicorn or alicorn, even if it seems impossible, all for you. And as I did that, you’d have to wait, alone, without me. There’s a dry comfort in the hopelessness of knowing you’re going to die too, like me. It means I can stop wasting my time on hope, and start using it appreciating every moment we have together.

Well, that thought does seem a little foolish now, considering we’re apart. Maybe in a few days, I’ll get lonely and foolish enough to start to ponder the what-ifs of magic, cures, and the purely-willed life-saving power of love. Not yet.

Right now, all I feel is a sort of tearing at the inside of my ribcage, like a part of me is struggling to break out and go elsewhere. Maybe it’s that broken part of me that called to you once, so long ago. Maybe it’s crying out for your brokeness again, and feeling the lack of it around me.

I wonder, can you feel it too, on that train, bound for cities far away?

This is the first time we’ve been apart for an extended period of time since we got together. Recently, you’ve even been sleeping at my house more nights than not, and I can feel a coming discussion where we’ll have to decide if we want to live together. Honestly, I don't know what I'll say when you bring it up. Things work this way, things are stable for the most part. Living together might complicate things, and I wouldn't want you to get sick of me. Literally, and figuratively. We haven’t quite hit that perfect sleeping stride yet either. You snore. I kick. I get more restful sleep without you there. Yet, if I’m honest? I know that when I get home tonight, the bed is going to feel desolate without you. I doubt I’ll get much sleep.

As I turn away from the station, sniffing hard to swallow the tears attempting a coup on my otherwise clear face, I resist the urge to look back. Some weird part of me thinks you might miraculously be there, if I do. It’s a stupid part of me, and I don’t indulge it, because the disappointment of it not being true might be enough to break me right now.

I’ll be fine without you, I tell myself. It’s only three little weeks. You won’t die yet and leave me alone out here. You’ll be with a doctor the whole time, and if your immune system goes on the fritz, he’ll take care of it. You’ll come back to me. You promised you’d come back to me. Please come back to me. I trust you.

Why, then, do I still feel so worried?

No. I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl, and I’ve been alone for a long time before this. I just have to get back into it, and it’ll all feel natural again. I repeat this new mantra to myself as I make my way back to my now empty home.

I’ll be okay.

~*~

I stare at the empty bed next to me. The morning sun is streaming in, making white horizontal lines across the bare mattress. I touch the place where you usually lie, still slumbering beside me come morning, but the sun has yet to warm the sheets. It’s cold. My whole room feels cold. I pull the blanket as close around me as I can, but my own body heat just isn’t enough to make me feel at ease.

I glance at the bedside clock, then groan as I see that it’s almost ten. I’ve been lying here for way too long, feeling sorry for myself, but I just can’t bring myself to get out of bed. What’s the point? I don’t have to work today, no one is coming to see me, I don’t have anyone to cook for besides myself. Can’t I simply say I’m feeling sick from the effects of liver disease, and leave it at that? No one would question me. Well… if they knew I had liver disease, of course. Until I’m ready to take that out from under wraps, maybe it’s best to just make do and forego any excuses.

With a further groan, I toss myself out of bed onto the floor with a thump. It almost hurts, but I’ve gotten so used to it that the shock of hitting the ground is more of a wakeup call than actual pain. I lie there for just one more brief minute, shutting my eyes and repeating my new slogan that I’ll be okay, before I finally rise to my feet and attempt to start the day.

I recite the things I need to do as I check them off my mental list, that way I won’t forget. Get a glass of water, you’re always dehydrated in the morning. Figure out breakfast, something high sodium because your body isn't retaining that well anymore. If there are leftovers, eat them first. Brush teeth, don’t forget again, and do a check of the color in your cheeks to see if things are looking less yellow. Take the meds. All of them. One might make you feel nauseated as hell, so wait about twenty minutes before you do anything else, just in case you need to puke and retake the meds you just expelled. Then… figure out what the fuck to do with yourself until it’s time to sleep again. Maybe clean, or read or stare at the ceiling and pretend you’re a rug on the floor, probably the shag kind, or maybe cable knit if you're feeling daring.

Yes, my day sounds exciting as ever.

Everything seems to be going pretty normally until I find that it’s pill time. I glower at the five different bottles sitting next to the sink as if they are my mortal enemies, rather than life-giving supplements.

“Back again I see,” I tell the group of them, my own voice scratchy from disuse.

They don’t answer. I don’t know what I was expecting. I haven't spoken to another pony in at least a day, so maybe I'm getting delusional from loneliness.

I open the first one and empty out the red and yellow tablet into my hoof, then go for the next. I like to swallow them all at once rather than one at a time. It makes me feel gluttonous or extravagant somehow, like some celebrity mare choking down pills at a party, to take the edge off. It’s a better storyline that me standing in the bathroom, hoping beyond hope that these meds won’t make me throw up or curl on the sofa with stomach cramps. Both scenarios sound like bad news in the long run anyway.

As I shake the third bottle, nothing comes out, and I feel something sink in my chest. Oh good. Am I out of meds? Do I need to actually go somewhere today, heaven forbid? A doctor’s visit was 100% not what I’d hoped for, even if it sounds more active than my planned rug imitation. Hopeful, I give the pill bottle a shake, and it rattles like there’s plenty of capsules inside. I frown and give the bottle a harder shake towards my hoof, thinking that they must be jammed or something. No sooner do I give one more violent shake, than there is an uncontrollable eruption of pills from the bottle. I squawk and, rather than having the presence of mind to turn the bottle upright, begin trying to shovel all the pills back up into the container from below, against the flow of gravity. It’s not very effective. My mind finally begins operating like a normal pony and I right the bottle and set it down, listening to the soft clattering of all the many many pills bouncing in the bowl of the sink.

Good. Great. Well there’s a paycheck’s worth of pills gone. I again glare at the bottle, then down into the sink, as I try to pick up any capsules that didn’t find their way down the drain. I almost think the bottle did that just to spite me, not liking my tone earlier. Why weren’t those damn pills coming out in the first place?

Abruptly, I see the answer sitting among the rogue pills. It’s a small, folded piece of paper, that must have been neatly tucked into my medicine bottle, and caused the traffic jam of pills that resulted in this mess. I want to be angry at it, but I’m honestly too curious and baffled to feel that way. What the hell is that? What is it doing in my meds? Is it added instructions I’ve never seen until now, is it part of the label come off? Did I put it in there when I was drunk, as a note for my sober self? I remind myself that I don’t do that anymore, so I can at least scratch one possibility off my list.

I eye the paper with caution as I gingerly lift it up and unfold it two, and then three times. The writing is a little smudged from residual water in the sink, but it’s plenty clear to make out. And… oh my god. My breathing catches, and stops as recognition swarms my senses. I’ve been with you long enough to recognize your handwriting by now.

Reading, but probably not fully understanding, I take in what you’ve written:

Dear Berry,

I figured you’d find this the day after I left, assuming you’re taking your meds like you’re supposed to. If you have found this, then congrats on trying to not die while I’m gone. Nice job. I wrote you this because I’ve got a little something for you, in order to keep you from going completely stir-crazy with boredom while I’m away. I’d like to think you’ll love it, I really tried to pick a good one. But you know I don’t play on easy mode, so you’ll have to follow a few instructions to get it. Or you can not, you know, that’s fine too.
Who am I kidding, I know you’ll be too curious to pass this up. I’m only, maybe, a little sorry.
First, you’ll need to find something in this room that I really shouldn’t have left behind.
Talk to you in a few minutes. Assuming you can figure it out.

Love,
Anon

I stare down at the paper, then re-read it a few times to try to make it clear. My heart flutters, knowing you’ve written it, but aside from that, the gears are turning in my brain trying to discern your intent here. From what I can tell, you wrote me this note, briefly made fun of my life-threatening disease, teased me for my curiosity, and then said some cryptic shit about giving me a gift, challenging my intellect.

See, this is why I love you. But right now, it’s also infuriating.

I feel a rage fill me, but I’m also smiling in a weird tight-lipped way. How dare you give me a shock like that and cause me to lose meds? How dare you be so glib and light-hearted, as if I’m not suffering like crazy without you around? And how dare you even suggest that I am ruled by curiosity?

How absolutely dare you be right about that last part.

I grumble to myself as I crumple the note and put it on the side of the sink, before gathering up my pills and taking my required meds. Medicate first, then begin infuriating treasure hunt nonsense. At last, once everything is back as it was before, I uncrumple the note and read the last few lines. Something you shouldn’t have left behind? Well, there’s me, but I somehow doubt that would ever be part of this treasure hunt's answers. No, it’ll be something more obvious. You’re a clever thing, but you also like to be straightforward, so it’s probably not some pun involving “behind” even though I am in a bathroom.

As I scan the room, my eyes fall on the counter right next to the sink, where I keep my toothbrush. It’s in a small porcelain cup, and usually that cup just holds my purple brush, which I really should get around to replacing one of these days. More recently, however, it’s held your green toothbrush as well, because you’ve been staying here overnight so much. Now, as I glance at that cup, I see that your toothbrush is still there.

Well, that’s a pretty obvious answer. But it also begs the question of why you would go about forgetting your toothbrush on purpose, for this little game? I can only hope you have a spare, and are not planning on going through medical tests with a mouth full of food residue. That doesn't sound like you, but you've been known to do pretty silly things out of spite or for a purpose, so I can't rule it out either.

I tilt the cup towards me slightly and, sure enough, there’s another piece of paper curled around the inside, so I would never have seen it unless I was really looking. I tug it out, uncurl it, and read your second note.

See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? We’re going to do a few of these, so I hope you’re up for it. Next, you’ll need to find a something I always try to steal from you. And no, I don’t mean your heart.

Love,
Anon

Well that’s sweet. It’s sweet and corny and cheesy and dumb, and I feel any anger I had towards you start to slink back into the recesses of my body, replaced with a sort of pleasant yearning. It’s the kind of feeling you get when you feel a caress on your cheek, or the sensation of hearing someone whisper your name as if they worship you. I feel parts of my body relax that I didn’t know I was holding taut, and my smile this time is far more genuine.

“Okay, you want to play?” I mutter at the note, as I fold it up and put it on the counter. “Let’s play.”

This question is a bit more difficult. It’s not isolated to just one room or type of thing, but you’re not the kind of person to steal things from me. Or anyone. You’re not a thief by any means, so I begin to wonder if you’ve been trying to steal from me and I just haven’t noticed before. Are you secretly trying to eat any of the special 'Berry-is-sad-and-needs-to-eat-her-feelings' cheese I set aside in the fridge? Oh… that would not end well for you.

My eyes narrow as I hastily turn from the bathroom and dash to my kitchen. With a grunt, I throw open the fridge door and seek out my dill havarti, nestled neatly near the back of the middle shelf. Not only is it completely untouched, and a little inviting, just from even glancing at it, but there’s no note anywhere near it I can see. Okay, so I don’t have to strike you down ninja-style in your sleep for stealing my cheese right under my nose, but that still doesn’t solve this little riddle. What do you always try to steal from me? Why would you ever try to steal anything from me anyway?

As I start to push images of myself clad as a ninja, attacking you and screaming vengeance for my cheese while you slumber, something in my brain stops me. It’s just for a moment, but it’s enough for me to put a few mental pieces together until they click. I’ll be damned. There is something you try to steal from me, without fail, every time you stay in this house. You don’t mean to, it’s not intentional by any means, but something in your unconscious still does it. I’ve even kicked you for it once or twice. How you managed to leave me a clue or gift there, however, is beyond me. It seems you’re more sneaky than I previously thought.

With an almost mischievous smile, I trot to the bedroom and reach for my pillow. Each night we sleep next to each other, you seem to end up sleeping with your head on the same pillow as me. Maybe it’s because you like being close and trying to cuddle me, or maybe it’s some subconscious territorial thing, but your sleep brain has decided that my pillow is also your pillow, and try as I might, I cannot dissuade you. You've even sometimes bumped me off of it, and I've woken up with one hell of a cramp in my neck.

I lift the pillow and poke it all over until I at last feel a crinkle in one corner. Somehow, at some point, you slipped a small bit of paper into my pillow, and I slept on it without even noticing! I’m not sure if I feel impressed with you, or disappointed in myself. I guess we now know I could never be in one of those Princess and The Pea stories, huh? I fish the paper out of my pillowcase, and fold it open.

Okay, the practice rounds are over. Staying at home is all well and good, but it’s time to get some fresh air. Next, you’ll need to find a creature that’s not from here, but is here, that reminds me of my old home while welcoming me to my new home.
By the way, we’re far from done, so pace yourself. Make sure you drink water, and get enough salt.

Love,
Anon

Now I give this letter a more earnest glare. Practice rounds? You mean there's a lot more of this? I had at least hoped to keep myself from going outside today, and somehow I suspected you knew that. So, you promise me a gift, a surprise, waiting for me out there in the world at large, knowing I won’t be able to resist going out to find it. It’s a clever method, and I’m instantly annoyed that you know how to play me so effortlessly well. I haven’t even begun to guess at the meaning of your riddle, which seems more difficult than the last one. I’m too busy just being frustrated at you for all this, and even that feeling makes me miss you all the more.

There’s nothing to it but to do it, though. I grumble all the way to the bathroom, where I splash my face with water and wait to see if my stomach will turn on me from the meds. I seem lucky today, so I gather a small bag of snacks and a bottle of water, as well as some emergency meds and a salt tablet. All the while, your words ring out loud in my head. An animal not from here? That is here? Hell, there are ponies all over the place that came from far away lands, if you count those. And Fluttershy has a ton of animals that come into town for her care, many from distant places. The key here has to be that it reminds you of home, while welcoming you home. What kind of animal does that? Again, I don’t think I’d be an answer to any of your clues, but I do hope I fit the bill for this description as well.

As I approach my front door, I again feel a stab of missing you course through me. I glance down at the last clue, trying to memorize it as I put it into my bag. Then, in a moment of weakness, I take the paper back out and hold it gently to my mouth. My lips press the place where your hands carefully scrawled out looping letters, where your fingertips creased a fold so neatly. In that moment, it’s the closest I can be to you, as foolish as it feels.

Then, I place the paper back in my bag, open my front door, and shut it behind me as I go. If nothing else, I get the sense that you’ve put together a bit of an adventure for me out here. I just hope that I can rise to your challenge.

~*~

If I Just Dreamed

~*~

I stand at the fence of the Ponyville zoo and stare out across the open field wildlife exhibit. The last time I was here, you were at my side, pointing out different animals, laughing as you bought me a container of popcorn, telling me not to feed it to any of the creatures, like I was a young filly. It had been a lovely little date, and we'd spent a long time at this specific pen, just watching the animals move and graze at their leisure, talking about nothing important at all.

Throughout the enclosure, numerous species of herbivores feed and wander at will, any one of them potentially suited to your riddle. The whole walk over here, I’ve thought about what you might have been getting at, and the zoo at least seemed like a good place to start. The animals here, for the most part, are not from here but do live here year round. However, the longer I stare at these animals, the more I feel I’m on the wrong track entirely. This is probably a dead end.

As I’d thought back at home, it seems the only really telling part of the riddle is the section about it reminding you of home and welcoming you home at the same time. By this, do you mean your home on Earth? Your home in Ponyville? Could it be the first place you stayed when you got here, some other completely different thing I am missing? It feels like it should be obvious to me, I should know you well enough for this, but even now my brain just spins in empty, fruitless circles. What sort of animal welcomes you home?

You don’t have a dog, or that would seem to be an obvious answer. And also, how would seeing a dog remind you of home, if you were already home in the first place? By that logic, you could only be reminded of your home on Earth, by something that would also be in your home here in Equestria. The riddle suggests two homes, that much at least I have gotten. But you don’t own any pets, so where could this animal be hiding? My stomach gurgles in protest of life in general, and I press on it briefly, telling it to be quiet and praying it won’t start to hurt. Thankfully, it does as I request this time, but it still leads me no closer to any answers I’m seeking.

I pound my hoof in frustration on the fence, sending a shush my way from one of the animal keepers, and a flinch from a nearby gazelle. What am I not getting? This whole treasure hunt sounded a little fun earlier, but now I’m just kicking myself, unable to give this up. After all, you made this for me, I’d feel so absurdly ungrateful to give up on it this early into the game! If only I were more clever, like you are. If only you were here and we could do this game together somehow. But there’s no point in even thinking about that, I remind myself. You’re far away, and wishing for you to be by my side won’t make it any more real.

My eyes dart upwards, and my body tenses.

Wait. Wait a minute… real.

I’ve been assuming this was a live animal, a real animal, in flesh and blood this whole time. I know now that I have been on the wrong track entirely. You never said the animal “lived” here, just that it “is” here. Perhaps I had it half right after all! The animal is at your home, there to welcome you, but it’s not a pet or a companion. In fact, I have a hunch exactly what your clue means now.

With a smug smile, I turn away from the animal pen and point my hooves in the direction of the zoo exit. The animal keeper watches me as I go, and I feel her eyes suspicious and admonishing on me as I move. I try to hold my head high, and walk as normal, but I wonder if she can see I’ve lost a little weight since the last time I visited the zoo with you. Or that my face is a little more gaunt. Hopefully, her slitted gaze is just because she's upset that I made noise and spooked the animals, and she’s not trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. I always feel like ponies are doing that, but I’ve never had the guts to ask any of them about it, so I’m left with my suspicions and nothing more. I'm probably wrong, but that doesn't keep the feeling at bay.

~*~

Your small cottage near the North end of town stands isolated from many of the other buildings as I approach. Perhaps the ponies originally gave it to you because they were initially afraid of this strange new bipedal creature and didn't want it in their midst. Perhaps you preferred your privacy, and asked for it specifically. Either way, the house is unique, just as you are, and it makes me think of how easily you always stood out to me, even before we were together. You always fascinated me somewhat when I spotted you at The Two Bit bar, and even now, when I think of you, I can’t help feeling bewildered about how you ended up with some pony like me. I’m certainly not complaining, though.

Just as I’d expected, the answer to your riddle sits on your front porch, to the right of your door. I remember asking you about the little statue only once before, then I’d pretty much forgotten it existed at all. If I remember correctly, you'd had it made for you, a housewarming gift by a local crafts pony. It's not your favorite animal, but one of them at least, from a region not quite close to your home. It looks like a rabbit with a modified long tail, but you've assured me (rather aggressively) it's not one. It's bigger, faster, more interesting you tell me, and if Fluttershy ever gets one in for medical care or rehab, I really should go check it out. But don't mess with it, you told me, as I offered childishly to fight one for you, because it could probably kill me. We'd both laughed at the prospect of me being offed by some animal I knew little about, rather than what we know is actually killing me. I like our morbid sense of humor, but I suspect others would probably cringe at hearing us say things like that.

I smile down at the little statue, a miniature of the creature, you've told me, and lift it in my hooves. Underneath, a piece of paper quickly catches a passing breeze, and begins to flutter off of your porch towards the road. Adrenaline spikes in me as I reach for it and miss, and it moves farther from my grasp.

"Shit, fuck, no stop!" I snap as I put the statue heavily down and rush to stamp a hoof over the thing before it gets away.

After a few attempts, I manage it, panting with more the nervousness of missing a clue than the actual exertion of trying to catch it. Very carefully, I pick up the paper and open it, my breath coming out heavily as I try to compose myself. As I suspected and hoped, it's another written clue. If you'd been trying to give me the statue as a gift, I'll admit, I would have been pretty disappointed. It's cute but... not exactly useful for me.

Once upon a time, there was a human who just wanted to find a place to sleep. Unfortunately, he got punched instead, right in the chest. He's never recovered. And he never wants to.

Love,
Anon

This one only takes me a moment, but I linger over the last two little sentences anyway, liking the way they sound in your voice as I read them in my head. I hope you mean them. I know you wouldn't lie or anything like that, but I hope you mean every letter and every syllable the same way I feel them when I think about you. We love each other, I know, but alone like this, it's hard to not let the little voice in my head suggest that maybe we don't love each other the same way. Maybe I love you more, or maybe you only think you love me but you'll wake up one day to find you're mistaken. That little voice is wrong. It has to be. Everything we've said, felt, the way you can look at me and make me feel completely naked and a little afraid, but more than willing to look back... that can't be faked. What we have is real. It's just hard to go without it for this long.

Your play on words isn't too subtle, and I don't think you've meant it to be. You're thinking back to when we were at Applejack's party, and you stumbled inside to find a place to rest away from all the noise. Little did you know that sober Berry Punch had already claimed that bed. We'd had a battle of wits, we'd talked, and then, out of the blue, we'd had sex. It had been everything I wanted and needed, and maybe even then I'd known I was in love with you. We'd felt a certain connection between us, a compulsion, one that made perfect sense and was still baffling to me. And now we were here. Well, now I was here.

The problem with this was that there was a bed, inside the Apple farmhouse, where all this had happened. If you'd left the clue there, what was I supposed to do? Oh, don't mind me Applejack, just passing through, can I go riffle through your guest bed? Why? Because I fucked Anon there about half a year ago, and he might have left me a note or a present or something on the exact spot we'd done it. Because that's something normal couples do, right?

Somehow, I don't think that would fly.

Maybe I could say I need a place to lie down again? Maybe I could make some sort of excuse to come inside and then "get lost" looking for the bathroom? I let out a long, exasperated sigh, and put this new paper in my bag along with the others. Again, it seems the only thing is to go there and see what I can do. With any luck, no one will be home, and I can sneak through a window or something. And not get arrested. That would be a fine thing for you to come home to, wouldn't it? That your treasure hunt had put me behind bars?

I turn towards the Apple's farm, a nice little walk from here. At least you're helping me get my exercise, I think to myself. Even if you are putting me at risk of becoming a felon.

~*~

Against all my hopes, I see that Granny Smith is out in front of the Apple home, sweeping up the porch and humming a tune to herself. I swear quietly to myself as I approach, knowing that things probably just got a lot more difficult. Now I'll have to make an excuse to get in, or maybe say I left something there. Maybe I could fake a fainting spell, so I have to lie down, or maybe...

Granny Smith looks up from her chores and spies me. Her eyes narrow as she tries to recognize me, and I freeze, somehow feeling scrutinized under her gaze. Oh god, does she know? She knows, doesn't she. I should greet her, act normal! But I feel like a criminal all of a sudden, caught in the act, and all I can do is just dumbly stand there. At last, her face brightens with recognition, and she waves at me.

"Why Miss Berry Punch, I thought that was you!" she says brightly. "Bring yer pretty little self over here! I got something for you. "

Okay. Well. That's unexpected.

As I walk to the porch, Granny Smith goes inside for a moment, then comes back out with a big grin on her face, a slip of paper, and a glass of water. She thrusts the two objects at me, still smiling. When I don't take them, still a little confused as to what is happening so quickly here, she winks at me and speaks.

"Anon stopped by here a few days ago, gave me this for you. Said ye'd be droppin' by today most likely, and that I should give it to you if that happened."

"Oh, uh..." I say haltingly. "That's... very nice of you to hold onto that for me."

She nods as I take the slip of paper from her. So, you anticipated all this and had a plan for it? Of course you did, I should have expected nothing less, but I'm still surprised you roped in Granny Smith on this rather than Applejack. Why Granny? She probably ran a risk of forgetting the paper altogether given her age.

"Don't rightly know what it's all about, but he said it's sorta like a scavenger hunt, and that this place was one of the clues. Might I guess it was a hint havin' to do with apples, farmin', or plowin' somehow?"

"...You might say that."

She smiles smugly and nods once more.

"I thought so. Always was good at them riddles and the like."

"Well, thank you. I appreciate you helping out with this, then, I'll just be-"

Before I can move away, she holds up a hoof to stop me, and again offers me the glass of water. I give her a polite smile and mime a 'no thank you,' but she doesn't move it away.

"I'm not thirsty, but thanks," I say, to impress the point.

"Anon told me that if you came by," Granny Smith says sternly. "Especially after noon, that you should remember to take yer vitamins. I take those every mornin' but I dunno, maybe there's some new fangled kind you gotta take in the afternoon now too."

My pills. You've instructed her, subtly enough, to remind me to take my meds, which, admittedly I am overdue for. Maybe that's why you picked her to give me the note, she doesn't seem the type to ask questions about what the pills are for, or why I'd need a reminder. Honestly, she's probably be a good drug mule, in another weirder darker situation. Applejack would probably get too suspicious, or figure out something was wrong with me. Either way, it's infuriating you know me well enough to give her a reminder to pass along when I came. Still, I have to thank you for that. I probably would have forgotten in all this excitement.

Begrudgingly, I take the water from her and again give her a polite smile.

"Ah, good thinking," I say, trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone. "Thanks I appreciate that."

I turn away and fish a pair of pills, one salt tablet for good measure, out of my bag, then down them quickly with a swig of the water so that Granny won't spot the prescription bottle and ask for an explanation. I finish the water as well because, heck, it's been a bit of a long walk. And who knows how much farther I have to go. When I turn to face Granny, she takes back the cup then continues to stare expectantly at me for a moment. I don't know what she's waiting for, did you give her some other instructions for me? At last she gives an exasperated sigh and speaks.

"Well go on now, what's it say?" she says excitedly.

Ah. The clue. I can't easily duck out of this one, so I can only hope that you were careful not to include anything too lurid in this hint. And she was nice to do all this to help with your treasure hunt. We probably do owe her this much. I unfold the paper and mentally wipe my brow in relief at seeing no expletives or lewd language on it. At least... I don't think it's dirty sounding. The meaning on the other hand...

Even before I'd met you, or even seen your face, I knew you were the sort of mare who could have a good time. The writing was on the wall, you were always a party pony.

Love,
Anon

As soon as I finish reading the clue out loud, Granny Smith claps her hooves together and gives a triumphant little cry.

"Ah, I think I got that one!" she exclaims.

"Oh?"

"Well of course! It mentions the words 'party pony,' and ain't but one of those in town. It's obviously talking about Pinkie Pie, over at Sugarcube Corner! You head over there and I'm sure she'll be greetin' you with the next clue."

She pats me confidently on the shoulder, and I give her the warmest smile I can manage.

"Hey, that's a pretty good thought," I tell her. "Maybe I'll give it a shot. Thanks for all the help again."

"Atta girl. Hope you find whatever prize's at the end soon!" she calls out, as I turn towards the road. "You come back and visit now anytime!"

I wait until I'm a good distance away from the porch before I again glance at the clue. Granny Smith's guess is a good one, but I get the feeling that you're pointing me in a completely different direction. The term 'writing on the wall' isn't usually an idiom that's an indication of something good. It's an ominous sign, a hint that failure is ahead. It's out of place in this little note of yours, so I suspect it has a different meaning or purpose in here. I wouldn't have even known that idiom bit, except for when I misused it in front of Cheerilee that one time, as I told you about. She'd corrected me so fast, damn teachers and their persnickety language rules...

In fact, the more I think about it, the more I'm sure that Cheerilee has something to do with this little riddle. The pieces begin to link together in my head quickly, as I remember an embarrassing bit of trivia from my younger, wilder days, one I don't think I ever told you.

Cheerilee and I had been friends when we were still getting near the end of school. That was when I'd first started drinking, first going to bars. Even though Cheerilee was studying to become a teacher, she had a pretty wild streak herself, and she really let loose when we were together. One night, we'd been out at my favorite bar and she'd had a little too much to drink. She got up to go to the bathroom, and when she'd come back, she'd had this huge, dumb, smug smile on her face. I'd asked her what was so funny, and she said she'd wandered into the wrong bathroom by mistake, but had decided to stay since it was empty. I'd laughed with her... until she told me that she'd 'left her mark' there, so to speak, and that I should thank her later.

It wasn't until a few days had passed that I'd started being approached by stallions asking if I was Berry Punch and if I wanted to go out with them or have a drink with them. I didn't catch on at first, but Cheerilee had later sheepishly confessed (and repeatedly apologized) as to what she had done. I'd outlived that particular little reputation ruiner, and I'd be lying if I said that I'd never taken advantage of any of the opportunities it presented me with. Given that you and I had frequented the same bar, even before we'd met, it stood to reason that you'd seen what Cheerilee had left behind.

I sigh and roll my eyes as I realize this is exactly what you're indicating. To be honest, I have no desire to go back to that bar. It seems cruel that you'd make me. There's so much wine there, beer, old happy fun times to think about. And to do it alone, without you? Probably the most cruel thing you've done with this little hunt. Never mind that it's pretty much right across the street from the hospital, so I'll have to endure that place looming down at me, whispering 'see you again soon.'

Still, as you probably expected, my curiosity drives me on. I put the paper in my bag with the other slips and turn my steps in the direction of my favorite old watering hole, The Two Bit. With any luck, no one from the old days is working today, and I'll be able to slip in and out unnoticed.

~*~

"Why Berry Punch, as I live and breathe!" Bourbon Barrel exclaims as I walk through the front door. "I haven't seen you in what feels like forever. How the heck you been?"

Excellent. Someone who knows me. This isn't at all what I'd hoped for, but as far as bartenders I know go, Bourbon Barrel is one of the easier ones I could have run into. He's always had that big jolly uncle feel, the kind of guy who when he asks how you are, you get the feeling he really cares about your answer. He's older, mostly grey in his mane and tail, and his eyebrows have always grown a little wild in that mad scientist kind of way. His body is a pastel grey-blue as well, making his whole form look like the backs of ocean waves on a cloudy day. In another life, I suspect he was some old fisherman, and far more grumpy than he is at the bar. What's more, he was always gentle with me when I was overdoing it around here. He made sure I got home safely, and that I never made too much of a mess. He's intrusive with his questions sometimes, sure, but harmless. I suppose it could be worse.

"Hey B.B." I mumble, hating the way the three other ponies in the bar instantly look up in my direction. "Been good, been doing good."

"You've been gone a long time, what have you been up to?"

I shrug.

"Oh, just this and that, got a new boyfriend, been at home a lot. Just the usual."

Bourbon Barrel cracks a knowing smile and gives a sharp nod, before following it up with a wink.

"Ah, I got ya, that Anon fellow, right?"

Has news really gotten around that quickly about us? I mean, I'm not exactly complaining, I'm just surprised that anyone would take that much interest in my life. It feels... weird. Given how much I've stayed inside lately, I wouldn't have been surprised if ponies had pretty much forgotten about me.

"Y-yeah," I stammer out. "That's the one."

"You always were one to take interest in odd sorts of folk. But heck, if he makes you happy, no judgement here. Can I get you anything? Something to drink? A snack? An ear for listening?"

"That's okay," I say, waving him off good naturedly. "Actually, I was hoping I could use your bathroom? I know it's supposed to be customers only, but-"

"Berry," he says quickly. "For you, I'd always consider you a customer, even if you didn't come in here for the next decade. Our bathrooms are your bathrooms, have at. Still remember where they are?"

I let out a little laugh.

"Yeah, I doubt I'll forget that any time soon. I spent enough time on the floor in there."

It's the truth, though not a pretty one, but neither of us takes it as too gross or morbid a joke. He gives a little laugh as well, as I sidle past him and try to slip unnoticed towards the two bathroom doors. When I'm sure he's not looking my way, engrossed in cleaning the glasses in front of him, I quickly step into the men's bathroom and pull the door quietly shut behind me.

I call a soft 'hello?' but I hear no sign of anyone else here with me in the bathroom. Thankfully, I won't have to explain my presence in this forbidden land to anyone, as long as I act fast. I make my way down the line to the third sink against the wall, then swiftly crouch down beside it on the left. Sure enough, as I run my hoof over the under side of the bowl, I feel the scratch marks where Cheerilee shoddily carved out the words "For a good time, see Berry Punch, party pony." Except...

My hoof pauses where the letters are supposed to be. It doesn't feel right, it doesn't feel like real words are even written there anymore. I lower my head to take a look, and to my shock, I see a series of gouges back and forth across the words so that they're no longer legible. What also meets my gaze is a small white square against the wall, pinned between the sink bowl and the tile behind it. I tug it free of its hiding place, and feverishly open it up to read.

The past is the past, we can let it stay dead. Instead, let's look to the future ahead. If you've done all this quickly and it's not gotten late, go to the spot where we had our first date.

Love,
Anon

Couldn't resist doing one in a rhyme, could you? I can't help but grin a little and shake my head at the thought of you getting into the poetic spirit with this.

So, you'd destroyed what I'd thought was a permanent record of me being in this bar. While I feel as though I should be mad, as if this was my immortality somehow, I also can't help but feel relieved instead. Ponies had long since stopped approaching me asking me for 'good times,' but knowing it was here still felt like this bar owned a part of me. That even if I had been sober for this long, there was some remnant of me here, a brand on the bar and a brand on me. It made this place feel like the bar haunted me, nipping at the back of my steps. Now? It's a little freeing. You know, despite the fact that I'm standing in a stallion's bathroom.

Remembering my current location, I place the paper with the others and quickly step back into the bar. It's an easy bit of riddle you left me, and I know that our first real date was to the pond, by the willow tree. It's, again, a short walk from here, but by the way you put it, it sounds like I might finally be reaching the end of this little game of yours. Besides, its not late at all, it's barely afternoon! I have plenty of time before sunset, all I need to do is...

My brain stops working as I catch Bourbon Barrels eyes fixed on me where I stand in front of the Stallion's bathroom door. He slowly raises one bushy grey eyebrow at me, and the corner of his mouth crinkles into a smile.

"I.... uh..." I stammer out, unable to think of literally any way at all to explain this.

All at once, he lets out a hearty, belly laugh.

"Ah, don't you worry yourself," he says as me meanders in my direction behind the bar. "Anon told me you might be coming in at some point over the next few days, and that you'd probably go to the stallion's restroom. Wouldn't tell me why, but then I don't suppose it's much of my business. Also told me that I shouldn't give you any alcohol, but also said you wouldn't ask for any. Figured out a possible reason for that one, though. Might explain some things. If it's alright with my asking, have you gone sober on us, Berry?"

As I said, he can be a bit intrusive sometimes. I feel my cheeks flush at how much information you've given him, and how careful you've been in concocting this whole adventure. The question is a rather pointed one, but with how long it's been, and with how things have happened... is it really so bad to tell this old drinking buddy that I'm off the stuff? Will he be mad? Judge me? Be disappointed? Question me further? It's hard to say for sure, but I'm here, and I'm in this situation right now. It's as good a time as any to tell someone, and Bourbon Barrel isn't that horrible a pony to tell.

"Yeah," I say haltingly. "Haven't had a drink in over six months now. Closer to a year sober I think, I'm trying not to keep track."

There's a moment of silence as Bourbon Barrel looks me up and down appraisingly. Then, all at once, he breaks out into a wide smile.

"Well now!" he beams. "This calls for a celebration! Let's have a toast shall we?"

"Uh, B.B. I think you may have missed the concept of the word 'sober.'"

"Oh come on, have a little faith in me," he says with a scoff, reaching under the bar for something. "I make mixed drinks too, you know, and that means I have plenty of non alcoholic stuff to share. Let me buy you a round, we'll catch up for a moment."

Before I can say anything, he swiftly produces a pair of tumblers and pours a splash of deep purple grape juice into each one. The sight of him pouring me a drink feels homey to me somehow, like the touch of a familiar hand. But it's different this time, lacking the kind of hunger and urgency it had in days and years before. He doesn't just feel like my bartender right now. It's... oddly nice.

"I really should be going," I try to protest.

"Nonsense, you can take ten or fifteen minutes can't ya? I need to tell you about my new grandkid anyway."

I blink. I knew he was old, but that old?

"Grandkid?"

"Yep, I'm a pappy now, would you believe it? Besides, you look like you could use someone to talk to, even being in this place looks to make you uneasy."

Then, he drops his voice to a near whisper and leans across the bar towards me as he passes me the drink. His face softens from its usual happy bravado, and he speaks to me very earnestly.

"You don't ever have to have another alcoholic drink in here, you know. I'll never even let any of our bartenders pour you one, permanent new bar rule. But I'm always here to just talk, if you like. Quitting the sauce, just like that, can leave you a little isolated. Don't want to let you end up all shut up in your house alone."

I stare into his face, and watch as it again creases and folds itself back into the usual smile. I feel the pressure of the glass of grape juice against my hoof, and after a moment, I take it and pull it towards me. Did you know, I wonder, that he'd ask me to stay and have a drink? Did you tell him that he should give me a little much needed company, so I wouldn't feel so alone? If you did, I do want to thank you for that, even if it's presumptuous. Because until that moment, I hadn't realized how lonely I'd felt. Not just for you, but for anyone. I miss my bar friends, I miss my old haunts, and I feel a prisoner, kept away from those things in order to avoid temptation. Then again, maybe you didn't tell him anything, maybe he just knew. After all, Bourbon Barrel had always been gentle with me. Maybe that was just the way he was, even before when I'd been too drunk to notice.

I find myself smiling back at him then, fighting down feelings of tears in my throat. I've missed him. I've missed having a life outside of the sick and outside of the sober. And that much I'm pretty sure you did know. That's why you forced me out of the house today, gave me some reason to brave the world. I always knew you were a clever one, and you've certainly proved it now.

I take a quick glance out the window, and still see the sun high in the sky. Your adventure is calling me, and I'm still curious what it is you've got waiting for me at the end of the trail. But it's been a busy day so far. I can take a rest, a break, maybe for half an hour or so. If I'm honest, I think I really need it.

"What the heck," I say as I pull up a stool. "Sounds like we have a lot to catch up on."

~*~

Somehow You Would Be Here

~*~

An hour and a half.

It's much longer than I'd meant to stay, but I think it was well-needed. Bourbon Barrel talked my ear off about the new foal his daughter had, how he hoped it wouldn't inherit his eyebrows, how proud he was. And he asked about you, how long we'd been together, what our plans for the future were. I dodged that last question pretty well at least. To be honest, I almost told him more than once about the liver issue. But he was so happy, and I was so happy, and all I really wanted was a break from everything. Including my own mortality. A brief drink with an old friend, and a chance to simply forget everything else outside of those walls. That's what that bar had always been for me before, and I didn't want it to stop now. Given how much lighter my chest feels after that short talk, I can't say I won't go back there sometimes from now on. You know, just to chat. Well, and that grape juice didn't taste too awful either.

The sun is getting lower in the sky, and the shadows around me are beginning to jut out like charcoal smudges on an ill-kept canvas. Ponies have mostly gone inside, and there's a light wind beginning to blow again, like it was doing earlier in the day. But at least I know where I'm going, and I won't take long to get there. With any luck, I'm right and there aren't a ton of clues left for me to discover.

I round the last turn past the houses of Ponyville, and spot the pond with the willow tree drooping low over it. Its leaves no longer shine with a brilliant red gold like they did on the day we had our first date here, even though the late afternoon sun shines and dances in the surface of the pond now. Most of the leaves have fallen for the season, and the nip in the air reminds me that winter will soon be upon us. I suppress a shiver as I hurry over the brittle grass towards the tree, hearing the way the wind rustles its branches together like some sort of wooden mobile. With one easy glance to make sure I'm alone, I slip between the dangling branches, and find myself standing alone within the dwindling shelter of the canopy.

I look up at the branches and slope of the tree above me, and turn in place so I can see the places we lay, kissed, laughed, fucked, all on that day which feels so long ago. There's a tugging at my chest, perhaps in the direction of Manehattan, where you surely are undergoing test after test right now. I wonder if you're thinking of me, missing me, or if you're just focused on whatever task is at hand, as you were always good at. I wonder if you're thinking about our date under this willow, perhaps knowing I might be here right now, just as you planned. I wonder if you're homesick.

Come home to me, Anon. The willow isn't as pretty in the winter, but I'd still love to show it to you.

I shake off the feelings that are beginning to weigh me down, and take a page from your book: Focus on the task at hoof. I scan the trunk of the tree and the branches, to see if you've tied a note on to one area or another, but nothing catches my attention. Besides, you would have wanted to make sure no one saw the note and grabbed it themselves, and you've been pretty meticulous so far. No, it'll be in the roots somewhere, near where I'd lay my head and tried to catch my breath after all was said and done.

Sure enough, as I look around the base of the tree. I see a glimmer of white amidst the shadows. With a triumphant little smile, I reach down and pluck it out. When I open it, it's far more simple than I had though, especially after your most recent poem.

The most beautiful thing in your home.

Love,
Anon

Well, at least you're being courteous enough to get me back inside before dark. The anemia that occasionally wracks my body makes me feel cold so much easier now, and my liver probably isn't doing my immune system any favors. I'm at least grateful for your thoughtfulness, even if I'm annoyed by the vagueness of your most recent message. The others were clever, witty, but this?

I grumble at you as I put the paper away and once more direct myself back to my home. It's admittedly frustrating to know that, whatever this final prize is, you probably hid it back in my place and I didn't even notice. However, there's one small, terrifyingly optimistic part of me that hopes you've gotten me out of the house because you're home, and were planning a surprise for me when I walk in the door. Maybe you'll be standing there, arms open, telling me welcome back and that you'll never go away like that again. After all, if I were to come back and find you in my house, I'd say you were definitely the most beautiful thing there.

But I know that's not how this works. As magical as this treasure hunt has been, you've got things to do in Manehattan, and you won't be back for quite a while yet. Whatever awaits me at home, I can't let myself believe it's you. Because otherwise, whatever gift you've left me will just be a disappointment.

~*~

I pull the door of my house shut behind me, and lock it with a satisfying click. It's good to be home, even if I'm home alone now, and even my breathing echoes in the room. My muscles are sore, and I realize I probably haven't walked that much in months, but hey, exercise is supposed to be good for you, right? I let out a long sigh as I recollect my thoughts for a moment, and try to figure out what exactly you were trying to get at with your clue.

If we're going strictly by what I think is the most beautiful, there's that cheese in the fridge. But I already checked that, and you haven't dared to touch it, thank Celestia. You might be referring to the photo I have of you and me together at the autumn festival out by the Apple farm, because to me that really is an image that melts my heart. But, from where I stand in the doorway, I can see the photo near the kitchen, and it looks untouched. To be certain, I wander over and pop the back out of the picture frame, but there's nothing there but the date that I scribbled on the photo, so I'd never forget it. I growl to myself in frustration as I replace the back of the frame and turn towards the rest of my home.

It's somewhere here. It's got to be somewhere here! Could it be the bed? You don't really like naps, same as me, but you do love to get a good night's sleep. I practically canter to the bedroom, but I again find that there's nothing suspicious there. Okay, then maybe it's the vase where I keep flowers you bring me, like you did before our first date. Back to the front of the house, but there's nothing amidst the still wilting flowers from the last time you decided to surprise me with roses. I really should clean those up, I note, I just haven't had the heart yet. Alright, alright, so not the vase. There's that really pretty pair of earrings you bought me, but I think I find those prettier on me than you do. Sure enough, when I pop open the little jewelry box, there's no sign of a note. That lamp with the stained glass? Nope. The record player that has your favorite tune still loaded on, ready to play? Nothing.

"Damn it, Anon," I hiss as I search the area pleadingly with my eyes. "What the hell were you getting at?"

Think Berry, think! You're better than to be outsmarted by some numbskull human, even an incredibly attractive one...

A bath? I love baths, even if you don't seem to like them, preferring showers to soaking for long periods of time. Maybe you would try to convince me to take a bath after my long day of walking, and it does seem suiting seeing as the hunt began in the bathroom. Maybe you'd want to end it there too. And I swear to god, if I find out that this whole quest ends in "your adventure was the real treasure!" then I am going to punch you in the face as soon as you get home. No regrets, right in the face. No one likes a cop-out ending.

However, the light of hope has begun to glimmer inside of me, and I hastily make my way to the bathroom, almost slamming the door shut behind me. I race to the tub, opening each shampoo bottle in turn, only to find liquid suds inside each. I check in the soap dish, under the tap, inside the drain, between the curtain folds. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing!

I can feel tears of frustration again rising to my eyes. I'm so close. I can feel that I'm near the end of all this and I've done so well, and to be stopped here in my own home? It feels so pathetic, so useless. I push myself away from the tub with a grunt of anger, more at myself than you, and put my hooves to my face to try to hold back everything I'm feeling. I can do this, I tell myself. It's here somewhere. Even if I can't find it right at this exact moment, I will find it, I am able to do that much. For now, maybe I should step away, take a breath, get a glass of water. Look at it with fresh eyes after some time has passed It's getting towards night, so it might be time to have dinner and refuel my brain so to speak, give myself some of the much needed self-care you'd remind me I need to have.

I give a little nod, just to reaffirm to myself that this is a good idea, and wipe at the budding liquid that was trying to leak past my tightly shut lids. My face feels sticky from effort, a little gross. Even without you here, I still don't like to actually feel gross, even if I'll occasionally skip a bath or two. Shaking off any lingering feelings of inadequacy, I turn to the sink and lower my face towards the bowl to splash water against my cheeks and eyes. As I bring my head up, I blink at myself in the mirror, noting the damp circles of purple beneath my eyes, the curve of my pale cheek bones getting more prominent. My...

My.

Me.

I stare at myself for what seems like hour, afraid to move or breathe, like I might lose track of the obvious thought screaming at me through every nerve. At last, I shut my eyes, trying and failing this time to hold back a new, fresh set of tears. You said I had to find the most beautiful thing in my apartment, and you meant by your standards. Of course you did. Of course you'd do this. You don't use that B word often in reference to me at my own request, but whenever you do I feel a tightness in my stomach, a pause in my chest. I blush, and you love it when I blush. You tell me I'm beautiful when I blush, which only makes it worse.

I had been wrong. You did use me as a clue after all.

"Damn it," I mutter as I hastily wipe at my face. It's to you, to me, to my own frustrations, to the fact that I didn't get this one sooner. "Damn it, damn it."

Even as I say it, I'm smiling.

I cough and swallow a few times, and everything threatening to overflow from me subsides somewhat. When I open my eyes, my own face is looking back at me. No longer pale, there's a rosy glow to my cheeks, a blush spreading across my nose and up to my ears. If you were hoping to make me blush with this, and I suspect you were, then mission accomplished.

Nowthen, where's the actual clue? I feel like I have the obvious answer, but there's still no sign as you what you meant by pointing me here. There's got to be something more. I sniff back any additional moisture, and search the edges of the mirror for hidden paper, but find none. I check the top, almost having to stand on the bowl of the sink to do so, but there's simply no paper there. Perhaps there's another mirror in my house I've forgotten about, or maybe I was wrong after all. Or maybe you wrote it with invisible ink somehow. Like...

No, you wouldn't do that, would you? It's too cheesy, even for you. And yet, it makes sense.

My eyes narrow in suspicion, and I check to make sure the door is fully closed before I turn my attention back to the sink. Keeping my eyes on the mirror, I twist the hot water knob until a steady stream is pouring out into the bowl. I even plug the drain, so it begins to fill slowly and surely with near-boiling liquid. After a moment, I see a hazy fog begin to creep up the bottom of the mirror, like frost turning water into ice. As it reaches the middle of the surface, I began to see shapes, unwilling to fog, take form. My eyes widen, and I feel my mouth began to twist into a smile. Ah-hah! I knew it! It's the old chapstick writing on the mirror trick. Still, pretty corny as far as your clues have gone so far, like something right out of a bad romantic comedy. Not that I'm upset, it's still kinda sweet, in its own way.

I give the cold water knob a quick twist as well, releasing a larger billow of steam into the air. Before long, your words become very clear:

"Read to me."

This clue only takes me a very brief moment to figure out. It's something I've said to you a few times when I've been sick. Sometimes, when there's cramps, and mucous, and chills, and nausea, it can be impossible to sleep. In one, nearly fevered night, I remember I called to you from across the room and asked for help, some help, any help in taking my mind off of what I was feeling. At first you'd been at a loss, just repeating that you wished there was something you could do. Then, like a lightbulb, you'd remembered that I had quite a collection of books in the room, and you'd grabbed one at random from my shelf. It had been Grimm's fairy tales, a rather macabre choice considering what I had been going through. However, it had done the trick. The sound of your voice, even, calm, and soft, had carried me through the night, and when I awoke in the morning, I felt better. It was probably the only way I would have gotten to sleep.

You also said you'd sung to me while I slept, though I don't remember it. It's still a nice thought.

Since then, when I felt really bad and couldn't sleep, I'd asked you to read to me. In that silly, childish voice that comes out when you feel really vulnerable, I'd given soft pleas of 'read to me,' and you'd rarely turned me down. A few weeks ago, you'd gotten a cold as well, and this time it was my turn to open a book at random. As it had worked for me, you'd fallen asleep to the sound of my voice. It was a gift I was only too happy to give, considering how many times you'd done the same for me.

The thought of it all tightens my gut, but I'm too excited about knowing this new clue to feel too broken over it. I turn off the water and rush out of the bathroom, practically hitting the wall as I round the corner to my bedroom. As I look towards the bookcase against one wall of my room, my eyes scan over every shelf until they find something odd. Something out of place. But something I never would have noticed unless I was actually looking for it. Where my volume of Grimm's fairy tales usually sits, there's what looks like a wadded up cloth stuffed between two books. I crouch down to sit on the floor, and use my hooves to tug whatever this strange thing is out of the shelf. As it comes free, it spills into my lap, several objects all coming loose between my legs.

The first thing I see is that the cloth object is one of your shirts. It's one of your relaxing day shirts, a loose and easy fitting one. You wear it around the house, even to bed, but you usually take it home with you rather than leaving it here somewhere for me to deal with. I've always said you look like a slob in it, and of all the shirts you could have left behind for me, I'm sure you could have chosen a better one. But at this exact moment, as I look down and see it, it's one of the most lovely gifts I could have ever imagined.

I hold it up to my face and breathe in deeply, and your smell fills my lungs. It's shocking how much it makes me feel less alone. I genuinely wouldn't have thought that just a breath of you would be enough to ease an aching part of me that I didn't know was in such pain. I take another long breath, like some sort of addict with a new stash of drugs, and breathe out away from it. Don't want to put my own smell into the cloth right now, better to preserve this scent for as long as I can. I'll probably need it multiple times during your absence.

As I lower the shirt from my face, I spot the other two items on the ground. One of them is a long, metal-tipped quill, probably a hawk feather from the striping on it. The other looks like a leather-bound book. As I open it, I instead find that it's a pad of fine parchment, encased in a fancy binding. It's lined, the way I prefer it, and the paper looks to be of very good quality, and smells of fresh balsa. I also quickly spot that the first few pages of the pad are not blank. My breathing stops, the air still tasting of you trapped in my lungs. Effortlessly, my eyes flit over the words you've left me, my body frozen as if each sentence is a spell you're continually weaving.

Berry,

Congratulations, you did it! Was that so hard? I hope I haven't made you too mad at me, sending you all over town only to bring you back here. You can yell at me for it when I get home, if you want. I wouldn't blame you.

But I wanted to let you know that I'm proud of you for everything you did today. You went to some very interesting places, some I'm pretty sure you didn't want to go to. I hope it was fun, and that you got to see some familiar faces, and I hope that by the end, this prize will be worth it. To be honest? The previous clue was actually the treasure, as far as I'm concerned. You're my treasure, Berry, and don't you forget it. The quill and the parchment and shirt are all just secondary things, trinkets to keep you company while I'm away.

But they're honestly not the treasure at the end of the map, either. You might notice something in common with all the places I've sent you. At least, I hope you did. If you think about it, before you read to the next line or two, you should see that I did have a purpose in everywhere I sent you. Try to guess it before I just come right out and tell you, if you can.

...

Give up?

Every place I sent you was a piece of our pasts. You get to see a piece of where I came from back on Earth, and you got to see a piece of where you came from, even if I scratched it out for you. You got to see where we met, back when we refused to be anything more than fuck buddies and friends. You got to see our first date, the first of many. They were all places with fond and maybe rough memories. And now I've brought you back here, to the present. And hopefully, to the future.

See, I hated leaving you. I hate being without you, and I know that in Manehattan, I'll feel miserable without you around. I know we'll call and write and everything, but it's not the same. And I don't want to be without you like that anymore, if I can help it.

If you're up for it, maybe, when I can get home, we can arrange it so that I don't have to leave anymore. Even for the night. I've always been bad at coming right out and asking for things that I want, but I don't think us living in two different places works anymore. At least not for me. So, if you want to, I'd love for us to pick your place or mine. And not just for sex this time. I hope me asking for us to, you know, live together is a prize rather than an extra source of stress for you. You can always tell me no, I'll be happy just to see you again. But I hope you'll say yes. It's a little selfish... but I'm rambling, sorry. I talk too much sometimes, even when I'm just writing I guess.

In the mean time, I have a request. I've left the parchment pad because I know I'll be missing you like crazy out here. Wondering what you're up to, how the treasure hunt went, how you're feeling, if you're healthy. So, if you want to, I'd really like for you to write to me. Write me a letter, write me a whole damn story if you're willing. If you're lonely like me, write about how much you miss me and how great it'll be when I come home. Tell me to come home to you. I miss you already just writing this.

Anyway, you'll wake up any minute now, so I really should finish this up. I look forward to hearing what you have to tell me (including an answer?), and reading whatever you write.

I love you.

-Anon

This time, as I read all that, I didn't even try to stop the tears.

I've slept with the shirt you've left me every night since then. It's losing your smell, but the feeling of it against my body still helps. I've been to the bar a few times too, just to chat with Bourbon Barrel. You'll have to go in next time with me, because he'd like to get to know you better. And boy, does he have stories about me that I'm sure you'll be dying to hear. I've tidied up around here some too, but I've left the chapstick on the mirror to greet me whenever I take a bath. It's soothing to see it there, even if you can't read to me from so far away. And I've made sure to take my meds every day, and try to eat regular meals, and drink water. So far, I haven't gotten nauseated more than once in your absence.

I'm doing okay here. I'll be okay, just like I said. Take care of yourself too, because I want you back in one piece. You're precious cargo, so handle with care.

I hope this story is enough to tell you everything I've felt, everything I still feel. I tried to get all the details right, all the feelings, sights, sounds, smells. I'm not the best writer, but I did my damnedest here and I think it shows. It's the least I can do after you set up that whole hunt for me. And yes, I did have fun, but I might still yell at you when you get back. Only a little. I hope that this finds you in good spirits, and it brightens your mood rather than bringing you down. You asked me to tell you to come home, and I have, and I hope you know I've meant every word.

I'll say it again: Come home to me. I miss you. I love you.

So, what is there left to say? Thank you for what you’ve done, thank you for loving me the way you do. I appreciate this way of keeping me company, making me feel cared for, wanted, less alone. All that being said, of course, I’ll still end this with a cliché sentiment that I feel every damn word of when I wake up without you here:

I love you. Wish you were here.

Love,
Berry

P.S. My answer is yes.

-END-

Author's Note

I miss you.

Thank you sincerely for reading.

-Pencil