The backward glance at your wall clock as you depart is quick and tensionless. You’d be late soon, and that was how you liked it. The key to speed is focusing on a goal.
Most ponies don’t leave their house a minute before their work shift starts, least of all on purpose, but it’s become compulsory for you. Getting to your destination early despite leaving late is satisfying in a simple, primal way. That extra time to laze around beforehoof isn’t too bad, either. Still, there are drawbacks to this, even for the fastest pony alive. That extra hour or two to acquaint yourself with the fridge or collect on a little extra beauty sleep was great, sure, but things tended to slip your mind during those pursuits.
Things like, say, the on-site schedule for the food cart; the one that came around every day except today.
One day off of fast food wasn’t a problem for ponies who remembered to pack their own lunches in advance, but it was troublesome for those ponies who didn’t. Ponies like you. Genius comes at the price of occasional forgetfulness, boo-hoo!
Getting somewhere off-site quickly for food wasn’t a problem for you, but restaurateurs grinding through the busy lunch rush downtown were a different story. Slogging out your entire break in a line so that you could hork down all your food on the way back was only marginally worse than chatting it up with your pals on an empty stomach – but it was still worse.
At least your morning comic slouch might give you some material to discuss.
’Maybe exuding raw passion for Batmare with your best sis is LIKE eating’ you reason as you take off. A part of you knows that isn’t true. Thankfully, a bigger part of you is suited to not thinking about things too hard.
-*-*-*-
Despite your lofty thoughts about focus your mind wanders on the trip; it doesn’t matter, you make it to the construction site in almost record time.
The suburbs of ponyville have given way to a massive dirt lot, filled to the fences with rebar, lumber, and sacks of materials. Half erected buildings and other unfinished landmarks dot the scene, along with a smattering of construction ponies coming to and fro. Several of your co-workers – most of whom are beefy earth pony mares, shocker – wave as you touch down, and you do in kind. Most of them are early risers, so they’ve already geared up.
”He’s lookin’ for ya,” one says.
”Wish I heard that more often,” jokes another, and all of you laugh.
“You girls know how the office is coming?” you ask as one of them tosses you a hard hat.
”Naw, we’re still in the pool. Anon’ll know, though.”
Mentioning him again must have been a trigger, because their ears collectively swivel toward a familiar thudding sound from the other side of a lumber pile nearby. The tall human appears a moment later as expected, decked out similarly to them and clutching a clipboard. He regards you with a smirk as he approaches.
”Busy morning?” He nods – not at you, but at your head – and you peer up in time to notice a strand of un-brushed mane dangling in your peripheral.
You huff and smooth it back, flashing him a challenging look amidst the chuckles of your workmates. “Not as busy as yours, I bet. How long’d it take to pick out that cute little number? Did you pose in the mirror? Do a little turn, twinklehooves.”
This time it’s Anon who huffs, briefly peering down at his clothing with folded arms before turning back to you. You’d known him long enough to know how to push his buttons. Considering that, now was probably a pretty good time to get your hard hat on.
”Shut up and suit up,” he says. “Miss Sandy wants to start on the second floor today and we’re two down.”
“Down who?” you reply, strapping on your helmet and falling in step with the human as he sets off down the dirt lot, nodding to the other mares as you depart.
”Slip and Easy.”
“Hah! Called it, see? Knew they were flakes. I got a sense for that loyalty stuff, sis, a DASH sense, and they weren’t cuttin’ it. But ohhh no, ‘nopony listen to her, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about’.”
”Yeah yeah, reign it in. Won’t be able line up boards with your massive head blocking out the sun.”
“Pfff, you’re just jealous of my awesome sense of character; admit it.” You grin, but Anon ignores you and instead steps up to his work bench, busying himself with his morning routine as you watch.
The human fiddles several sharp and/or mildly dangerous items into his tool belt with a casualness that pre-dates your friendship, neither playing nor pussyhoofing. He’s never handled a tool with any more recklessness then any seasoned craftsmare would, but that doesn’t stop you from noticing the curve of his soft claws around the hoof saw as he hooks it onto his side. While you’re looking, you also notice a small blue bandage wrapped around the underside of that wrist. The colorful strip obscures a small red mark that you only just make out before he moves his arm. You blink, noticing Anon peering at you with a hand on his hip. You’ve been staring a little.
”See something interesting?” he says, half amused.
You run a hoof across your snout and shoot him a clever look, doing your best to recover. “Naw, not much to look at.” The hard hat atop your head clatters with the firm but unserious whack of his wrench, and you snicker.
”I’ll give you something to look at you little slacker,” he growls. “Get your stuff.”
“Yes ma’am!” You manage to dodge his second wrench swing and propel yourself into the air, laughing as you went.
Anon was a huge sis, best of the best, but he was all business at work. Like you, he was responsible for getting the head office done. He actually vouched for you and got you this temp work in the first place.
You weren’t much for work sticklers usually, but you and he went back, and you always clicked. If anything, you kind of admired how career-oriented he was despite sharing so many of your interests. He defied a lot of your original expectations, actually. He wouldn’t leave you much time to think about them, though; Anon was already scowling and motioning aggressively toward the scaffolding where your gear was.
Not wanting to waste any more time, you collected your things at got to work. It was your job to brace the planks while the girls below hammered in the nails, and occasionally you would switch. A pegasus pony might not be as handy as an earth pony in this line of work, but being able to get anywhere at a second’s notice was a plus your co-workers appreciated. All the better that you never let them forget it.
-*-*-*-
Time slips by as you and the others chip away at all your scheduled tasks. The work was always hard, but the pay was always good, which suited your needs.
House expansions don’t pay for themselves, after all.
Anon was helping you with those, too. You’d never admit this out loud, but he was always better at building complicated things. He had experience with construction work. He was good at it, too, which frequently surprised your friends for some reason.
You rarely saw him once the actual work started, but that’s because he was always on the move. For most of your co-workers that was a blessing; if he showed up, it was probably because he could sense you twiddling your hooves and was moving in for the kill. That was just the work side of things, though. Everypony on the job is actually pretty close with him, they were close before you even got here.
It wasn’t always like that, though – or so you’ve heard.
You didn’t notice it at first, but your co-workers still act a little differently around him than with you. Seeing your gal pals tuck in their gut or tense their forelegs when he passed aroused some suspicion after the hundredth time it happened. ’Presenting’ they called it – even teased each other over it. You still don’t really get the point, honestly.
Anon was prickly, sure, but he wasn’t mean or anything. He wasn’t the type to notice if somepony was a little pudgy or a little scrawny, of if her smock was a little smudged or her mane was a little lopsided. He wasn’t that sort.
Ah, well… when it came to YOU he was that sort, but he just liked riling you up, and you always delivered better than you got. That’s how it’s always been. He treated you differently because you were best buds. Not ‘better’ different, just…well, maybe a little better, but…
It’s complicated, and thinking about it made your head hurt, so you decided to stop. Hammering nails is much easier to understand. Focusing on work made the day go a lot faster than obsessing over everypony’s office politics, so that’s what you did.
-*-*-*-
By the time you’d swung your hammer enough times to lose track, propped up the office’s south wall and fastened it into place, and even started work on the second floor, the lunch bell rang. Sweaty and sunlicked, you happily hovered down from the incomplete upper floor and stretched your limbs, ready and willing for a little grub. You make it half way to the road and pass ten mares pulling out their lunch pails before you remember the harsh truth and stop in your tracks.
“Oh… yeah… no wagon.” Ears drooping and head hanging, you turned on your back hoof and headed to your usual break spot, instead.
The big pile of cement drainage pipes on the far side of the lot was just high enough to provide shade to any pony who crouched beside it. It was also far enough away from the beaten path to give you a little peace and quiet – to enjoy the food you didn’t have. Anon is already there when you arrive, drinking deeply from his water jug. When he notices you approaching he offers a you a smile and tosses you a canteen of your own.
“Thanks,” you mutter, grunting as you sink into your place at his side.
”I guess you earned it. I can’t believe we’re already up one level.”
“Ye of little faith who doubted me,” you return, shrugging.
”Hrm, I guess. Maybe you’re not so hopeless after all.”
As you cool your dry, needy throat, Anon tilts his head to peer over your side curiously. ”Where’s your lunch?”
You frown and continue to sip at your bottle, electing not to answer him. It doesn’t matter. Despite filling your stomach with fluid it still growls pathetically. Your frown deepens into a grimace and you can feel the fur around your cheeks puffing up with heat. You point your eyes at him, fully expecting to counter his mocking look with a hard stare.
He was smiling.
It was quick and he turned away immediately after, but he smiled. It was a small, pleased smile that enhanced the edge of excitement you caught in his eyes. Confused, you wrinkle your brow at him, but he doesn’t notice.
”Y-you, ahaha…” He pauses and brings a hand to his face, chuckling lightly. “Nevermind, I take it back… you’re completely hopeless, aren’t you?”
You feel yourself frown again and quickly slip the lip of the bottle out of your mouth. “Gee, thanks for rubbin’ it in, sis. Real cool’a you.”
”It’s true.”
Perturbed, you grumble and lean back into the cool cylinder at your back, rejoining the bottle to your mouth in the hope that you might be able to suck some extra nutrients out of the bland-tasting drink. When that fails, you sigh and close your eyes, trying to forget your rumbling stomach. After a while of careful, quiet meditation, you feel something tap you in the side. Assuming it was just Anon messing with you, you huff and fold your forehooves. He nudges you again, a bit more insistently this time, and you get a feel for the texture of his touch; smooth, stiff, and cool, like… metal?
”Here…” he says.
You open your eyes, and the first thing you see is a little blue object being pushed into your side. After examining it a moment longer, you realize what it is; a lunch box.
“O-oh, no, Anon, that’s… I can’t take your food. It’s all good, I’ll be totally fine. You can’t, uh––”
”It’s not mine.”
You pause, puzzled. After a second brief examination of the small item, you realize that he isn’t lying. Anon’s lunchbox wasn’t blue, it was all plain unpainted tin, smaller too. This one didn’t just look different, either, it looked smooth and almost untouched.
”You really are hopeless,” Anon mumbles softly, avoiding eye contact. “You forgot it last week too, you dummy...”
A massive, uninhibited smile slowly breaks out across your face as the pieces line up. “You… you are a HUGE LIFESAVER, Anon! I can’t believe it!” you cry, snatching the small box into your hooves and eyeing it eagerly. “Thank you soooooo much! Aw jeez, this is – I’ll totally pay you back for this! How much was it?”
As you set the box into your lap and Anon retracts his arm, you catch another glimpse of blue on his arm.
”You don’t have to…” he replies.
The portion of Anon’s face you can see is unreadable. He peers down at his hands and wordlessly presses them into one another as you set the lunchbox down in your lap. When you turn your attention and peel the lid off, however, you feel his eyes immediately stick to you, watching for your reaction. Despite feeling on the spot, the surprise that springs to life on your face as you look inside is genuine.
The contents are segmented and varied to the point of extravagance, and the smell wafting off the food, despite it being cool, is heavenly. In the uppermost left corner is a bed of veggies; salted, peppered, and stir-fried. The small wedge of bread beside it looks soft and fresh, almost buttery in its fluffiness. Farther down is what appears to be a few strips of hay, lightly battered and seasoned, and beside that is a pool of creamy, caramelized apples in a sweet, gooey broth.
Last but certainly not least, and with all the effort and time suggested with the rest, there sat a small wedge of fresh fudge brownie with a light coating of chocolate sprinkles lining the top.
You almost couldn’t believe your good fortune, let alone contain your excitement about how it might taste. “...where did you even get this?” you whisper.
”I-I, uh, bought it from a store near my house. They make, uh...” He motions quickly at the lunch box and clears his throat. “Food – I mean, they made the food inside.” The human pauses, his mouth thinning. ”Does it look okay? You don’t have to eat it if it’s, uh––”
“Are you joking, dude? It looks amazing!”
Anon brightens. ”Really?”
You can’t bother to answer, lifting the small fork inside into your hoof instead. You feel the presence of Anon’s eyes as you skewer and scoop a helping of cooked vegetables into your mouth, savouring the flavour slowly. Miraculously, they taste just as good as they look – better even. You whine happily, almost guilty about swallowing.
”Is it okay?” he asks.
A pleased tongue glides across your lips. ”I don’t even think my dad can cook this good, sis. It’s great.”
Anon blinks and turns away again, claws fiddling. ”Oh, uh, good…”
As you help yourself to a sample of the hay, he turns and quietly pulls his own food out of his bag. The batter is crunchy and perfect, just like you were hoping. In fact, the rest of the meal met or exceeded your expectations so completely that for several minutes you did nothing but stuff your face with it. By the time the grub ran dry you were already full and utterly satisfied; much more than you were expecting after resigning yourself to a foodless afternoon.
“Phew, dee-lish,” you sigh out, popping the last bit of brownie into your mouth. “Wouldn’t mind having THAT again. They put that old food cart to shame.”
In the time that you had eaten, Anon had hardly touched his sandwich. His distant gaze was consumed with his dinky little potato chips. He was smiling gently to himself, contented despite his lack of progress—or the quality of his meal.
A wave of guilt washes over you. “Oh geez, I’m sorry. I shoulda’ let you try some! It was really good…”
Anon simply shakes his head.
Curious, you watch him peck at his simple meal for a while before placing the empty blue lunchbox down at your side and patting your tummy. “Who’d you say made that again? I’d love to get my hooves on some more.”
A ripple passes through Anon’s once serene expression. “Um, it’s just a place on the way to work. They, uh, they don’t do carry out, but I know a guy. Back door service – you know.”
“Oh yeah? What’s his name? Maybe I know him?”
Anon hastily shakes his head. ”No, I don’t think you know him. He’s just a friend I used to hang with. It’s, uh… you know, it’s whatever.” There’s a stiff pause, and you get the funny feeling that it won’t end with Anon giving you an answer.
“Maybe you could introduce me?”
Anon shakes his head again. “N-no, I don’t think that’ll work. He’s real specific. He, uh… he only does it for me...”
Your face softens with amusement, and Anon must have noticed, because his morphs into a pouting frown. He was making it a little too hard to tell what his deal was, but he was also making it a little too entertaining to find out.
”I can just get you some more if you want,” he grumbles.
“Oh yeah?”
”Yeah...”
“Hmmm,” you hum to yourself, trailing your eyes away. “I dunno, dude. Riding you for lunch all the time? Seems kinda’ lame.”
”It’s no trouble,” he replies quickly.
You grin. “Well… if it’s no trouble…”
Anon nods curtly, apparently satisfied and clearly ready to return to his lunch. He whiddles at his serving of chips for a while in silence, pensive – about what you still couldn’t tell. You’re sipping from your canteen when he speaks again.
”What do you like to eat?” he says.
“Huh? Uhh… well...” You think about it for a moment, tapping a hoof against your chin. “I guess I like everything.”
Anon rolls his eyes. “It’s a little hard to fit ‘everything’ into a lunchbox, Dash.”
“What do you want me to say, dude?” You shrug. “I’m not THAT picky. I mean, everything in that one was pretty good, even the broccoli – and I hate broccoli. I usually take it out.”
Anon frowns and mutters something about how you shouldn’t, but he doesn’t bother to press the subject beyond that.
“Hm… those little carrots were pretty good, too,” you think aloud. An idea pops into your head, and you wonder briefly if he might bite. Feeling clever and curious, you clear your throat and attempt to shrug casually. “There weren’t that many, though. Think you could cook a few more next time?”
”Uh, yeah, sure.” The small but colorful eyes that had just briefly drifted into yours widen at his slip, even more so when the smirk you’d been suppressing was freed.
“What was that?” you say.
”I-I, uh, I m—”
“Hah! I KNEW it! You DID make it!”
Anon’s face burns intensely. He tries to speak once and, failing that, frowns and tucks his legs up in front of his chest, setting his lunch pail atop his knees. Feeling proud of yourself, you get to your hooves and crane your neck to get a better look, sabotaging his effort to hide his prickling face.
“Nice try, sis! Maybe you could ask that chef friend of yours to come down here and lie for you next time, cause you stink at it.”
”Loser,” Anon mutters.
“You started it!” You snicker and slide into his side, nudging him with the bend of your foreleg. Strangely, he jumps a little when your bodies connect. “That’s what happens when you try to pull a fast one on the fastest one out there, pal,” you continue, snatching one of his chips.
The human grunts but not much else, sinking his forehead deeper into the shroud of his legs. Now that you had the proximity and freedom to examine him unopposed, your eyes drift to the little patch of blue on his wrist. The adhesive keeping it on him still looked tight and fresh, but it wasn’t quite big enough to hide everything; there was a patch of irritated reddish skin peeking out from the sides. Now that you were looking, there was a similar unbandaged mark on the bottom side of his little finger on the same hand.
A perplexing vision plays out in your mind. In it, a human crouches over a stove in a familiar kitchen, his face twisted in concentration as he carefully seasons, batters, bakes, and fries to the fullest extent of his abilities. He’s so consumed over getting the items in the pan just right that his hand dips a little too close. He continues despite this, treating each lump of hay and solitary wedge of carrot to perfection before carefully setting them into a brand new lunchbox.
A lot of work for one meal, especially considering that you may not have needed it. Your hoof drifts instinctively to lift the blue lunchbox off of the ground and back into your clean lap.
You didn’t know Anon could cook. You didn’t know he WOULD cook. It seemed more likely that he’d slug you for implying it. Until now, maybe. You squint at your best friend’s partially visible face and move closer to him, wondering if you might notice something strange if you waited long enough.
Without really intending it, your eyes travel the length of his jaw. The scent of wood and sawdust mingle with something snappy and sweet in your nose, maybe citrus. It’s pleasant, it’s familiar.
It’s him.
Him; your mind sticks on that foreign but correct concept of Anonymous, like you had just remembered a distant memory. Your eyes follow the masculine curve of his face and eventually fall on the subtle mound of his lips. The sensation of goosebumps ruffles your coat.
“H-hey.” Your voice catches in your throat. “Why’d you lie, anyways? Just to mess with me?”
Anon, like before, is determined to keep up his silent treatment. The stubborn sharpness of his brow only intensifies the ring of rich color you suddenly notice in his eyes.
You frown and gently lean into him, trying to gain back his attention. His faint shiver at the added contact registers in your side. Your brain puzzlingly categorizes the reaction as ‘satisfying’. The dry lump in your throat doesn’t go away when you swallow.
“What’s up with you? Anon, hey…”
Anon mumbles something that you can’t hear; an impressive feat given your proximity. In fact, you’re close enough for your breath to hit his cheek as you breathe. You rotate your body and tilt your head, further invalidating his will to hide. Your chest meshes into his shoulder.
His eyes finally look back into yours, and your breath catches.
The human’s brow softens from stubbornness into something else; fear, vulnerability? Several errant thoughts whiz by and then vanish, some of which you agree with. ’You know...' you muse to yourself, ‘from this angle... Anon’s almost—’
RING RING RING!
The clang of the lunch bell startles you unmercifully, and likewise, you feel a flinch in your side.
”Lunch is over ladies!” a voice calls overhead as another several clangs are heard. “Whatever you’re doin’, wrap it up!”
The warmth in your side vanishes with a flurry of motion and sound. Something heavy lands on your hard hat and sweeps downward, obscuring your vision with yellow.
“H-hey!” you sputter.
”Last one back’s a nerd.” The masculine voice is mixed with the crunch of heavy footsteps trailing away.
You restore your sight just in time to see a human slip around the end of the pipes and jog back toward the construction yard. Suddenly aware that The Fastest Pony Alive had just been caught flathoofed in a race, you force back a wave of embarrassment and lurch into the air. The metal clatter of something striking the ground rings out during your ascent. You curse, hovering in limbo for a moment before swooping back down to scoop the little blue box back into your hooves.
“Not cool, sis!” you cry uselessly. The wings at your sides once again unfurl to catch the unseen magical gust in the air, but not before your eyes trail back to the spot where you and Anon were just sitting. The fresh experience of his warmth, his scent – his closeness – stirs back to life in your mind.
You swallow. “... g-get back here! Anon! You cheated!”
The intense feeling of freedom you usually have when you take off is different this time. It feels like something is hanging on to you. Something heavy and exhilarating that strums hard in your chest and clings as you try to flap your wings.
The air feels cool against your hot face as you soar.
Author's Note
A quick romp through the familiar to wet my toes after a small hiatus. I hope you enjoyed yourself!
Please feel tell me to tell me what you thought in the comment section below. Even editors miss things, so if you spot any spelling errors or any other grammar issues, I'd greatly appreciate you pointing those out as well. Thank you for reading!
