Costumes, Cakes, and Creampies

In all of his nineteen years of life, Pound couldn't recall a time when he and Pumpkin hadn't spoken for longer than they currently weren't.

He'd rarely left her side since they day they were born, the two of them playing together as babies and toddlers at every available opportunity. He'd even helped her escape from their cot on more than one occasion, if the stories told by auntie Pinkie were anything to go by. As small children, they were each other's best friends. As adolescents, even when they'd made friends of their own and branched off into their own specific interests, they stayed close. He'd saved her from bullies, and she'd covered for him when he'd eaten all the sweets mum and dad had hidden away. When they came home from school or a sleepover, they'd chat about their days.

That had been the case up to the day after Nightmare Night.

She'd wanted to know about his night. She'd trusted him with the knowledge that she'd sneaked away ingredients for her costume. "Don't tell mum and dad I used the frosting", she'd nonchalantly told him. She knew she didn't have to beg or plead. She expected him to stay silent about it, and he had. He would've anyway. She trusted him, and he trusted her.

Or they had.

She hadn't said a word to him in weeks. He didn't even see her more than every other day. When she caught sight of him, she usually turned away and went in another direction. Whenever she couldn't, she looked away or stared blankly ahead. In the instances where they had to work together, where they had to interact and talk, she kept it to a minimum, turning her body away from him as much as was possible. When she spoke, her tone was mechanical, rote, and were limited to urgent questions or requests, which were always laconic.

It was utterly new territory for Pound. He'd never had to deal with this before. They'd had maybe three big fights over the course of their lives, and they'd both broken within a week, running back to each other and hugging it out. They would've made up within a day, if not for teenage stubbornness, they both knew. Not this time, though. It looked - Pound feared - permanent. He hated it, but that wasn't the worst of it. He didn't know exactly how he felt. He was hurt that she was blocking him out, hurt that she wouldn't tell him exactly what she was feeling. He knew what had caused it, but he couldn't understand why she was so reclusive now. She'd never run away from him when she was troubled before. She always ran to him.

On top of that, he had his own problems. What was he going to do? He felt sick thinking about what he and Pumpkin had done that night, and every time his mind wandered to the image of her atop him, or recalled them vague memory of how she felt, the texture and curves of her body, he grew light-headed and started sweating. He didn't feel right about it, and he felt worse knowing that his support-line wasn't only not there, but wasn't there because she was suffering in the same way he was. Or maybe she wasn't. He didn't know, and that was the torture.

There was no way he could turn to his parents. What would they say? How would they react, knowing what had transpired between their two, innocent, wonderful children, to whom they devoted their lives, time, love, and faith? It wasn't fair on them, and it wouldn't turn out well for him. Certainly not his friends or acquaintances. He'd be labeled a freak, a disgusting degenerate. He'd lose Brick, he'd lose anyone with whom he shared his story, and when the news spread, he'd lose the respect of the entire town. Pumpkin would suffer, and his mum and dad would suffer. Even if his friends stayed with him, they'd be known as the friends of the pervert, and they'd suffer. Even if the news didn't spread and his friends remained his friends, would they truly let it go over their heads? Or would they disguise their disgust, side-eye him when he wasn't paying attention?

There was no Pumpkin, no parents, no friends, no town or community. No one could help him. He had to rely on himself. He tried, he really did, but there was a reason he was so desperate to find someone to confide in, to seek advice from, and he could only bottle everything up for so long before he needed an outlet. Maybe he couldn't confide in anyone else, but he could always confide in his own hobby; if he couldn't bottle everything up, maybe he could open a bottle.

"The way I see it," Reflection opined, pacing back and forth along Pound's floorboards, "the whole problem began with Venus Trap. You met her through Brick, and you like Brick. Brick isn't the problem. But she doesn't care about Brick, and she seduced you however long ago. And if she hadn't blue-balled you that night, you'd never have slept with Pumpkin."

"That does make sense," Pound concurred. "All I wanted was a handjob. Or a blowjob. I mean, getting off is getting off, right?"

"Yeah, that's right," Reflection agreed, taking a pull of the bottle of rum in his hand. "She was being selfish. I mean, beyond the selfishness of cheating on her boyfriend. If she was going to cheat, the least she could do was cheat in a way that benefited both of you. Like, she'd already gotten off, so she wasn't protecting her integrity or anything. She was just too lazy to give you a quick tug. I mean, I'm guessing it wouldn't have taken long?"

"She's gotten me off in thirty seconds before," Pound admitted, somewhat shamefully. "She was my first." He frowned. "I hated myself for it, but...what was I supposed to do? I was young, and she was mature. For her age, I mean. We were all...what? Seventeen? I dunno, but I remember she laughed at my jokes, and she said all the right things. She seemed so intelligent, and knowledgeable, and just..."

"Experienced?" Reflection suggested.

"Yeah," Pound agreed, snapping his fingers. "Experienced. She was like an adult, but our age. She knew what to do, how to avoid trouble, but she was fun. And she was gorgeous. Still is. When she came to see me, alone, I felt special."

"She played with your heart."

"Yeah, she did."

"See? It was her fault. All of this was her fault."

"She wasn't dating Brick when we first hooked up. But then Brick asked her out, and she said yes. I hated him for that, but I smiled and said congratulations. I wanted to ask her, but I just never thought it'd work. That's dumb, looking back on it, but I just didn't have it in me. Brick did. I couldn't even blame her. Brick's a great guy, and he's strong and tall and handsome."

"You were ready to cut it off, even though it hurt," Reflection pointed out, almost triumphantly. "But she came back to you, after letting you pine and stew in heartache. And what was a heartbroken teenager gonna do after his crush came to welcome him into her arms?"

"Fall into them without a second thought," Pound answered, sitting down with a pained sigh. Opposite him, Reflection mirrored his actions. The two of them drank at the same time. "I realised what we were doing was wrong, but I couldn't stop. She'd bat her eyes, and put hint of a whine into her tone, and I was putty. It was like being a virgin all over again, barely able to believe a woman actually wanted me, especially one as gorgeous as this."

"She's a seductress," Reflection informed him. "You've heard of the Sirens? Some say there was a fourth sister." The two of them chuckled at that, swigging a large gulp of rum together.

"And I'd hate myself for it," Pound continued. "I'd clean up afterwards, and I felt like I was stabbing Brick in the back. I think what really hurt me was how little she cared. When she first came to me after she started dating Brick, she'd assured me it was fine, that she wanted both of us and that Brick just wouldn't understand, and I bought it. I needed her, and she seemed to want to help me. She seemed just as vulnerable as me, somehow, and that made me want to do whatever she wanted. After we'd been together a few times, though, I raised it again, and she repeated what she'd said the first time. The third time, she basically told me to stop worrying. It occurred to me that I didn't want to hurt my friend a lot more than she didn't want to hurt her boyfriend."

"She already had you hooked," Reflection commented, guessing where the teen was going with this and intercepting his point. "She had you exactly where she wanted you, and she's a mistress of her trade."

"But I could see that was what she was doing," Pound rebutted. "I knew she was using me, that she was using Brick. I could tell at that point that she was a manipulator, and I still didn't tell Brick, or call it off. I still ran to her like a puppy whenever she called my name. At least before I could blame naivety, ignorance, or whatever you want to call it; what can I blame now?"

"Her," Reflection answered, predictably. "If you know she's a manipulator, and that she manipulates people to get her own way, how is any of this your fault? If she hadn't played with your heart, convinced you to help her cheat on Brick, and blue-balled you, would any of this happened? Would you have slept with Pumpkin, or slept with her behind Brick's back?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"And if you hadn't, do you reckon she'd have seen the error of her ways and stopped? Do you honestly think you're the only one she's playing? You said you grew out of your naivety."

"Yeah, I guess she would still cheat on people. She'd cheat on anyone. She'd cheat on another boyfriend with Brick if given the circumstance."

"Exactly," Reflection confirmed. "She's put you in a position where she knows what you'll say and do. If there was any chance you'd reject her, she'd never have targeted you in the first place. You, my friend, have been carefully groomed and abused. It makes no sense for you to beat yourself up over it. That'd be victim blaming."

"You know what? You're right. I shouldn't be hard on myself. This is entirely her doing, and why should I feel bad for enjoying the journey down the road life laid out for me?"

"That's the spirit," Reflection cheered, grinning as he raised his rum. Pound did the same, and the two drank, sighing at the burn it left.

"Thanks for the talk. You're really what I needed." Pound blinked, his vision starting to blur. From the glass, Reflection started to look a little dizzy too.

"I'm always here when you need me."

"Son?"

"Yes, dad?"

Pound was careful to avoid drinking when he had to work in the shop. Aside from his parents, he couldn't afford to let the customers in on his issues. He confined his hobby to his bedroom, always in the evening, and preferably when his parents were away. It wasn't like there was any risk Pumpkin was going to bother him, whether or not she was home.

Carrot Cake was halfway through rolling up his sleeves, a habit he had never grown out of from his earliest days of baking. He waited until his sleeves were fully over his elbow, his forearms exposed, before he spoke again. Pound guessed that his father was figuring out how to phrase what he was about to say. That made sense; the older man had always been cautious and careful.

"Before your sister and mother get back, I thought we should talk," he began, and Pound frowned. "It's nothing serious, I promise. I just figured you'd want to avoid any fanfare."

"Sure," Pound acquiesced, pulling on a pair of oven mitts. "What is it?" Carrot spent another couple of seconds considering his words before starting to talk.

"You've never not been an exuberant and outgoing boy," the older man began. "When you were born, your mother and I were over the moon. I can't emphasise enough how much your sister and yourself meant to us. We'd wanted to start a family for so long, but the time never seemed right. There was the mortgage, bills, issue after issue. When we'd cleared everything out of the way, we were worried that we'd waited too long, and that we'd never have children. Imagine our delight when we were gifted with not one, but two wonderful, healthy, bubbly children." He smiled warmly, and the teen himself couldn't help but smile too, the warmth from the oven nothing compared to the glow he felt.

"Of course, you put us through our paces," Carrot continued, a brief grin crossing his face. "You were indefatigable! Your mother and I had to jump through so many hoops just to keep your sister and yourself from destroying the house. In spite of all that, every second was worth it. You grew up to be two of the most beautiful children I've ever met. You were, and are, perfect. You're kind, you're caring, you're polite, you're charming, you've been an eternal source of joy to your mother and I, and I couldn't be prouder of you." He paused, and, for the first time in years, ruffled Pound's hair. The gesture caught the teen by surprise, and he blinked. "I love you, son."

"I...I love you too, dad," he answered, his voice catching a little. "I mean, thanks, but...why are you saying this?"

"Because I want you to know that I care about you," the older man answered. "You - and your sister and your mother - are the most precious things in the world to me. I would do anything for you. Anything." He moved his hand from his son's hair to his shoulder. "So why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"What?" Pound asked, caught off guard for the second time in just as many minutes. "What do you mean?"

"You've been acting off lately," his father elucidated. "You're not as vibrant and excitable as you usually are. The customers don't notice, but I'm your father. You need to give me a bit of credit about how well I know my own family."

The teen glanced at the oven again. "It's nothing, don't worry. I'm perfectly happy." He smiled widely.

"Pumpkin's fine too, I'm guessing?"

"Why wouldn't she be?" The strain of the smile was starting to hurt, and Carrot's stoic gaze wasn't budging.

"Pound Cake - what's wrong? Why are the two of you acting so distant?"

The boy let his smile slip and sighed, rubbing an arm along his forehead. "I mean...nothing much, we just..." He gestured vaguely. "We've sort of fallen out. I think."

"You think?" Curiosity played across the older man's aged features. "What do you mean, you think?"

"I dunno, I just...we just sorta...stopped talking. I want to talk to her, but she's just not willing to talk to me. Or maybe she is, but she can't bring herself to?"

"Why would you think that?"

Pound hesitated, a flash of fear shooting through him. "Because, well, I'm in the same boat. I want to talk to her, but I don't know what to say. I'm scared I'll make the whole thing worse, whatever this whole thing even is."

"It sounds like an easy fix," the other man suggested. "You're both too scared to take the first step. Neither are you are sure of what you're upset about, or even if you're upset. All you know is that something's not right, not complete, and you're anxious about it. It's driving you apart, and that's making you miserable."

"That's the problem, but what's the solution?"

"A leap of faith."

"What?"

"A leap of faith," Carrot repeated. "You two always got along so well. You were inseparable. Do you honestly think that bond's gone when you can't even name what's supposedly severed it? Don't you think she's worth perhaps confronting your fears to fix whatever's gotten between you?"

"Well, yeah," Pound agreed, wiping his forehead again. "But what if I do make it worse? What then? That's the last thing I want."

Carrot gestured to the oven, and Pound glanced around before hurriedly opening it up and pulling the cooked brownies from inside. Placing the tray down and shutting the oven back up, he turned back to his father, who was rubbing at his grey stubble in thought.

"Well, why don't you start by asking if there's an issue between you two at all? It might be that you're both overthinking it. Or it might be something minor. A miscommunication. Or it's something you're not doing or are doing that you need to fix. At the very least, it'll clear up the question of what's the actual problem is, and I'm guessing that it's that which is causing you the most grief?" Pound nodded, and his father returned the gesture. "Then start with that. If there's a problem, you can start fixing it. If there's not, then you can stop worrying about it."

"That's...that's actually a lot simpler than I was expecting," Pound realised aloud. "It seemed pretty insurmountable, but now it's a lot easier." He smiled, sincerely this time. "Thanks, dad. I-"

"And while we're on the topic of fixing problems," Carrot cut in, fetching a knife with which to cut the brownie batch. "A good place to start might be your drinking."

"My...drinking?"

"I'm not saying you have to cut it out completely," the older man persisted. "When I was your age, I wasn't so pure myself. Sometimes I'd go with my friends down to the inn and we'd end the night four pints in." Pound didn't have the heart to tell his dad that four pints was practically a diet. "So I know that it's not reasonable of me to tell you to stop. But you do need to cut down and not just reach for a bottle as a way to drown your sorrows. It's not healthy."

"Okay," Pound agreed. "I can do that. But, uh, how did you...?"

"I hear you talking to your mirror," the older man answered, an amused smirk on his face. "I don't stay to listen, don't worry. I heard you talking once and came in to check, and you were waving around a can of beer and singing your woes to your reflection. Answering yourself, too. It was something about how Pipsqueak and Dinky are lucky to have each other, and that you wish you could find someone who was just as devoted to you." Pound turned red, and the other man laughed, slicing into the brownies and letting his son stew in embarrassment for a little while longer. "I wouldn't worry. You'll find someone. There's no need to rush."

"I know, I know," the boy replied, trying to force the blood from his face. "I'm not concerned, really, I'm just..." He bit his tongue, accepting the white lie. "Yeah, I shouldn't worry."

"You've got an amazing personality," his father assured him. "You're well-liked by the town. You just need to find that special girl, that's all. Love finds a way." He glanced over at Pound, and quirked an eyebrow. "But she won't be impressed if she sees how much you drink. You're a charming boy, but when you drink, you can become unpleasant." He frowned a little. "You've said some things about Venus Trap that I know you wouldn't say sober." The redness in Pound's cheeks returned in full force.

"Wh-what did I say?"

"Let's just say you've referred to her in ways I won't repeat here," Carrot answered. "I've never heard you speak of anyone like that before, and I don't like it." He sighed, and then turned to face Pound fully. "You're not a kid anymore, and I can't tell you what to do. All I can do is continue to guide you, if you'll let me."

"Of course, dad."

"Good, that's the wisest-"

The chime of the bell at the front door marked the return of the two women of the house, and Carrot imitated drawing a zip along his lips to his son. Pound nodded back gratefully, and the two of them returned to cutting brownies.

Knocking on the door was far harder than it should've been. It was a simple back and forth motion, making sure to land his knuckles against the wood. When he went to move his hand, though, it was like something was holding him back, restraining his every attempt to continue. Eventually, after a good two minutes of standing in the hallway, psyching himself up to go through with it, he powered ahead, forcing past the barrier of discomfort.

"Giggle at the ghostie," he hummed to himself. "Guffaw at the ghostly."

knock knock knock

The raps seemed to reverberate as the silence pressed on, and he felt his throat tighten a little, tensing as he awaited either a response or just nothing at all. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Footsteps.

He tried to breathe a sigh of relief as she approach the door, but the sound made his nerves tingle even worse than they had before. It was too late to back out now though, and he winced as the door opened, and Pumpkin appeared in the doorframe. She sighed and glared at him.

"Yeah?"

The dismissive statement cut deep. Not a hello. Not a twinge of joy or regret or nostalgia in her tone. Just...irritation? Displeasure? He didn't want to think about it.

"Can I come in?" he asked, licking his dry lips. "I want to talk to you." He waited for a second, dreading the prospect of her simply turning him away. "Please?"

With a deep breath, she nodded and turned back into her room, leaving the door open for him. Pound swallowed and entered after her, closing the door after himself. Her room was just about as he remembered it, with signed posters of uncle Cheese and his old tour dates, as well as a number of stacks of comics on the shelves. It looked like it should, like her room. Pumpkin didn't look like she belonged here, though.

"What do you want?" she asked curtly, sitting on her bed. Pound opted to stand.

"Just to chat," he started, swinging his arms back and forth uselessly at his sides. "It's been a while, you know? Been a while since I've been in here too." He glanced around and forced himself to smile. "Feels like a lifetime, doesn't it, Red?"

"Don't call me that," she spurned, her face souring. He blinked, taken aback by her resistance to her nickname.

"Why not?"

"You've already tainted enough, don't take that away from me too."

"Tainted?" Pound let out a soft sigh. "Red...I mean, sis, l...we...need to talk about what happened."

"I'd rather not."

"We can't go on like this," he insisted, his voice cracking with desperation. She either couldn't or wouldn't respond to that, and instead remained silent. "I hate this. I hate what we've become. I hate that you hate this. I hate that I can't even talk to you any more." He rubbed his face with his hands. "It all started because of what we did. It was weird, and wrong, and disgusting. I feel...sick. Awful. I feel..." He paused, trying to find appropriate words to get his message across, and Pumpkin snorted.

"Good to know you feel bad that we've caused a divide and that your solution is to come to my room and talk to me about your feelings."

Pound let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I just want things to go back to how they were."

"Back?" she asked, incredulously. "Yeah, let's just undo everything that happened. Maybe we can grab one of Twilight's time spells and just change the past!" She scoffed and adjusted herself on the bed. "What's done is done, Pound. Let's just move on. I don't want to dwell on it."

"So we just...what? Ignore each other forever? Disregard the times we spent together? Throw away everything we had?"

"That's already been thrown away."

"Nineteen years?!" he asked, astounded. "Nineteen years of us just thrown away because of one night? An hour or two?"

"One night?!" Pumpkin seethed, and her glare forced Pound back a couple of steps. She was turning red with rage, the colour on her face exceeding that of her hair within seconds. "You think this is about how long it took?! Do you even remember what happened? What we did?" She looked at him in disgust. "It wasn't some cute little childhood memory, Pound! It wasn't just us laying in a bed naked, or taking a bath together, like the childhood photos mum and dad have! It wasn't cute and innocent and something we can be embarrassed about together when mum and dad show dinner guests! What we did was feral and vicious! It was passionate! It was something we never should've done! We crossed a line, Pound!"

Her voice assaulted his ears, even as she kept her volume low to avoid alerting their parents. The sheer contempt, the disdain saturating her words and tone, ripped into him with more fierceness than any Timberwolf could ever hope to match. His throat was dry once again.

"We stopped being siblings when we did...that." Her face wrinkled as she spat the last word. "That's not what siblings do. How can you think that we can ever wash that away? That we can just have a little talk about how it made us feel and we can hug it out? That you'll say your piece and I'll patiently wait my turn, and then I'll say my piece, and we'll walk away feeling better because we were honest and open, and follow some conflict resolution procedure to make it all seem normal?"

"Well, what are we meant to do?" he asked, the words struggling to make their way from his mouth. It was like he'd chewed on sawdust. Pumpkin shook her head and stayed silent for long enough that he wondered if she'd just finished the conversation then and there.

"What we had, that's gone," she told him, and his heart dropped. "Us playing together, being confidants and friends and whatever else, that's something we used to have. That's what we were. For your sake, keep all of that in the past. Keep everything we had safe from what we've done." She looked at him with pained eyes, and he took a ragged breath in. "I can't be 'Red' or your sis any more. Not after what happened. Not after what you did."

"What I did?" Pound questioned, his hurt bubbling up. It had sat, cold and weighty, deep down for some time. Now, her words were thawing it, and like a spring, it was bubbling to the surface from where it was buried. He couldn't stop it. "What I did? You think this is all on me?"

"Of course it's all on you," she spat back. "You got drunk, you took a random girl up to a bedroom without checking who she was, and you caused all of this!"

"And you did nothing wrong?" He glared back at her, holding her gaze defiantly.

"It wasn't me who started it," she snapped. "You approached me, remember?"

"And you were far too enamoured gushing about the costume," he reminded her bluntly. "You were so swept up that someone shared your interest that you just went along with the first guy to talk to you. Let me guess; you were hoping someone would come over and tell you how great your costume looked? Is that why you put all that effort into it? You wanted the attention? Well guess what, Pumpkin - you got it!" From the flustered look on her face, he knew he'd struck close to home.

"How dare you?!" She stood up and clenched her fists, balling her hands up tight. "You think you're so high and mighty? I was the first one to know about Venus, remember? I was the one you came to to talk about how you felt about her! You thought she was the best thing in the world because she actually paid you any attention, and now you're judging me for wanting to feel valued?"

"By sleeping around?" he shot back. "Yeah, I'm sure you feel valued having people yank your hair and bending you over to use. I'm sure they see you as an amazing human being, and not some cheap sex toy."

"Shut the fuck up!" she hissed, stepping up to him, her rage radiating from her face. "You shut your damn mouth, right now!" She went to bark something further at him, but her temper stopped her from forming sentences, and she stomped back to her bed, sitting down heavily on it. "You don't get to say anything about what I want or need! Not after how you acted! Why is it okay for you to throw yourself at the first woman to make you feel special, but I'm expected to stay pure and innocent?"

"Because I don't blame them for what I've done!"

She laughed harshly, a sound which sent a chilling doubt through the man. "You don't?" she asked, shooting him a scathing expression of skepticism. "You don't think Venus is a cheating whore? A stupid bitch who's used you?" He tried to formulate a rebuttal, but he could only stammer, and she pressed on. "You seem eager to run back to her every time she suggests that she wants you. I don't see you taking the moral high ground then."

"She's not my sister!" he blurted out. "I'm not throwing myself at my sister!"

"And I wasn't throwing myself at my brother!"

"And that's the problem, is it?" As soon as he'd said it, Pound realised the poor choice of words, and backpedaled. Pumpkin's look of disgust was probably mirrored by his own. "Not what I meant! You...back at the party, I could've been anyone. You assumed it was anyone but me. You're upset because it was me, not because someone decided to take you upstairs and maybe never talk to you again afterwards."

"What's that got to do with anything?" she demanded. Pound felt his anger flare up at her disregard.

"This entire situation started because you decided to be a slut!" Her face scrunched into rage, and he pressed on before she could get her words out. "You should be unhappy because someone saw you and decided you'd be a good lay for the night, because they didn't think you were more important than a one night stand, but you aren't! You're fine with that, by your own admission! You're fine with being a slut! But I'm getting all this shit from you because I decided to have the same lack of standards that you did! Because I was the one unlucky enough to pick you up for the night!"

"Get out of my room," she growled, standing up.

"You're expecting me to take the blame because you couldn't keep your legs closed!"

"Get out of my room!" she screamed, shoving him backwards. "Get out of my room, you total asshole!" Her hands struck at his arms and his back, the girl swinging ineffectually in her fury. The boy stumbled back and pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway to escape her barrage. The door was slammed shut behind him.

The house was oddly silent in the wake of her outburst. It was a weird contrast to the swirl of emotions in his head. Plodding back to his own room, he shut the door, headed for the loose floorboard, and retrieved a bottle of bourbon. Unscrewing the cap, he slumped down onto the floor and let out a low groan.

"Hey," he spoke up, taking a swig of the drink. "Reflection? Are you free to talk?"

The days grew colder and darker, and appropriately, Pound saw less and less of Pumpkin. He tried to avoid her as much as she tried to avoid him, and one of them volunteered for tasks that would keep them as far apart as possible. He didn't try to say hi to her anymore. His greetings and long, deep conversations were reserved for his drink and his confidant.

"Sounds like she wanted to have her cake and eat it too," Reflection told him, pulling at the bottle of vodka he'd chosen for today. "She wanted to sleep around but not take any responsibility for what might happen. Isn't one of the things you learn in school the ways to stay safe?"

"As far as I can remember," Pound hiccuped. "We were always told to take as many precautions as we could, and the risk of STD's and all that..." He lost his train of thought momentarily, burped, and then continued. "She just...she wanted to find someone who she could sleep with and forget about, but somehow it's my fault that she got exactly what she wanted, only to find out she couldn't just ignore the guy she slept with?"

"That's on her," Reflection answered, rubbing his temple with his free hand. "You can't account for everyone else being reckless. Even family."

He was hard pressed to disagree with that, and so they drank. It was comforting, if only moderately, and usually very temporarily. Still, it was the only thing getting him through the days. It gave him a way to understand his situation, and as long as he could hold on to that, he could make it through until the evening. Then he'd have another chat with Reflection, and the cycle would begin again.

It was such a successful process and did such a good job at insulating him from everything outside of his immediate perception that Hearth's Warming entirely crept up on him. He woke up one day, and it was a celebration. The shops were closed, the snow lay thick on the ground outside, and children were running around playing and shouting. It was a weird disconnect, but Pound tried to shove it aside. He'd gotten good at doing that in the past few weeks.

The morning and afternoon was actually fairly pleasant. It didn't feel like any Hearth's Warming that had come previously. Everything was the same; the gifts, the songs, the hot chocolate and the decorations. In spite of all of that, it lacked a certain spark, a warmth that had been so omnipresent every year prior. Pound went through the motions, of course - he unwrapped his presents, smiled and thanked everyone in turn, and shared in the jokes and the joviality of the day. He didn't even have anything in particular to complain about, other than that it felt unnaturally subdued. The morning coffee was burned, of course. He could see Pumpkin grimace, and his parents produced another batch when he went to the toilet, thinking he wouldn't notice. He heard the whole thing.

His mood worsened at dinner. Auntie Pinkie and Uncle Cheese had to leave to attend Princess Twilight's Hearth's Warming dinner, and they wished their farewells and pulled Little Cheese along with them. That left him, Pumpkin, and his parents. All of them, for the first time in a while, sat around a table. Pound poured himself a glass of wine, ignoring the side-eye from his dad. His mum didn't notice, so he could afford to carry on.

Pumpkin didn't talk to him, or even look at him. He tried not to look at her. For the most part, it worked, both of them sharing conversation with Carrot and Cup enough that there seemed to be overlap without either of them having to exchange words. Carrot looked suspicious at their relative silence, but didn't say anything.

Pound was pouring out his third glass of wine when his mum spoke up. "Darling, how about you offer some to your sister?" The teenager froze, glancing over to his mother. She was looking at him expectantly, gesturing with her eyes to the other woman at the table. Of course she'd say that - she'd always instilled the qualities of sharing and when they were young, and he'd taken two refills before Pumpkin had even had her first drink. Holding in his sigh, he nodded and stood up, edging his way around the table. His sister's eyes didn't meet his, but she watched him approach her.

"Would you like any wine, Pumpkin?"

"No."

"Okay." He went to sit down, but Cup stopped him.

"Sweetie, it's okay to have a glass," she assured the younger woman.

"I'm fine."

"But you haven't touched it yet." Their mother laughed a little, sweetly pushing aside the dismissal. "It goes well with the dinner. How about you try some?"

"I don't want to," the teen girl answered, sighing in frustration. Pound winced, noting the weight in her exhalation.

"How about just a drop?" Cup bargained, nodding to Pound, who winced again. "Just so you can say you've tried it? We choose it especially for the dinner today. It was a limited edition barrel." She nodded more firmly to Pound, who was now stuck between openly defying his mother, and partaking in provoking Pumpkin. He felt his heart thump harshly in his chest, rising in tempo.

"I really shouldn't," Pumpkin insisted, an underlay of a growl to her voice.

"Honey, it's Hearth's Warming, and-"

"Why can't people just accept a no?!" she shouted, snapping and shoving the bottle away. Pound managed to catch it as it started to slip, spilling only a splash on the floorboards. Carrot and Cup started at her outburst, gawking as the usually demure girl exploded on them. "And why can't you think for yourself instead of going along with everything?!" She glared at Pound who took a step back.

"Hey, I'm just doing what I was asked to do," he protested.

"You were doing what you wanted," she countered, baring her teeth. "Like you always do! You don't care what other people want, or what other people say! It's you first, everyone else second!"

"Pumpkin!" Cup gasped. "What has gotten into you?"

"It doesn't matter if someone else says no, or if you know they don't want it, you go ahead anyway!" she continued, ignoring her mother. "You're selfish, and you never have to live with the consequences of your actions! But some of us do!"

"Pumpkin, that's enough," Carrot tried to intervene, but he was roundly ignored too.

"Oh, give me a break," Pound retorted, narrowing his eyes at her. "You don't say no. That's your problem. You never say no, and then you blame everyone else when everything goes wrong. You don't think things through, and you expect everyone else to bail you out!"

"What has gotten into the two of you?" Cup demanded, casting her eyes between the two siblings.

"And you do?" Pumpkin shot back. "You think you can say no to someone when they tell you what you want to hear?" His jaw clenched, and he felt his restraint slipping. "You'll say yes to anyone and anything that doesn't make you feel like a total loser!"

His restraint fell away completely.

"I didn't hear you say no that night."

The silence hit like a bomb, muting the entire room. She glared at him, bug-eyed and jaw agape, and he glared at her, staring at her until it felt like one or both of them would spontaneously combust.

Then she was screaming, trying to grab at him, to claw at any part of him she could reach. The frantic, chaotic noise didn't seem any different to the silence that had preceded it, at least not to Pound. It was the same battering carnage he always felt, no matter how it was expressed. It didn't matter if everyone was chatting politely, or staying silent, or yelling and hollering. It was all the same.

"Enough! ENOUGH!" Carrot roared, struggling to hold back Pumpkin. She was manic, spittle dabbed across her lips and chin, and she wriggled and writhed, trying to get at Pound and tear him into pieces. "You're going to explain what's going on, right this second!" He glared at both of them. "This has gone on long enough! I've had it with both of you!"

"I'd like to hear an explanation too," Pound challenged, scowling at the girl as her pulling and twisting petered off. "What's gotten into you? Why are you like this? Why are you acting like such a possessed bitch?!"

"Pound, that's enough!" Cup warned him, her face a mask of confusion and hurt.

"BECAUSE YOU KNOCKED ME UP, YOU STUPID BASTARD!"

For the second time, the room fell into absolute silence, and this time, Pound felt it. It hit him like a blast wave, a rush of heat followed by an icy embrace. Time stopped, and the weight seemed to fall from all of his body. He started to sway, his legs worryingly unresponsive, and when he raised an arm to rest it on the chair to steady himself, it was sluggish. He barely registered Pumpkin running from the room, sprinting up the stairs, and slamming her door shut. The sounds around him were coming at him from far away, and he couldn't react to them. He couldn't process them.

He walked, somehow. His parents were talking to him, demanding to know things. He couldn't respond, even if he wanted to. He trudged, foot in front of foot, until he'd scaled the stairs and found his way to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It took him a few minutes to realise he still had the bottle of wine in his hand from downstairs. Staring at it momentarily, he upturned it, taking a long, hard pull.

"Reflection," he gasped, coughing and spluttering, and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "I need you again."