Author's Note
This is the last piece of short-form content I'll be translating from greentext before starting work on getting my larger project, The Wanderer, moved over here in a prose format. I thought it fitting to post what was effectively the blueprint for that story as a sort of run-up to its inevitable arrival here. Have a good rest of your day, everyone 
Train Troubles
Four hours past the estimated time of arrival… Where could he be?
Your exhaustion was beset by the worry you carried; where once you sleepily wondered when Anonymous would be back, you now pace idly while pretending to read the latest peer-reviewed scientific journal from the Canterlot Institute of Magical Studies. The implication that magic could be used to directly interact with the previously-untouchable aether of the world would be far more interesting if the safety of one of your closest friends wasn’t in question.
For a moment, you think about bouncing your erratic thoughts off of Spike again. A quick glance up the stairs and into the darkened corridor beyond reminds you that the poor sleeping dragon doesn’t need to be on the receiving end of another one of your famous one-sided ramblings right now; he’d already been through three tonight.
With a hearty exhale, you tremulously set the journal down on a nearby table before continuing to pace around the living room of Golden Oaks in restless anticipation. For what seems like the millionth time in the span of these four hours, you work back through what Anon said his schedule would be like.
His seminar in Manehattan started the second day of the week, so he had to spend the first day traveling to get there. It lasted through the weekend, so he should have left for home today. All situations and mishaps taken into account, he should’ve been home by six o’clock, and at the very latest, by eight. And yet, here you are, wide awake at midnight, having paced back and forth across almost every inch of your home.
You pause your endless march, listening out across the stagnant silence for any faint whisper of motion outside, of keys jingling or snow being packed down by his boots. Naught but the gentle pitter-patter of snow against the windows graces your ears. The sound of winter tapping on the glass grows louder as your thoughts continue to swell in their errancy.
He brought a bottle of Spike’s dragonfire along with him in case of an emergency, so he should’ve been able to send a letter if anything had gone wrong.
...Unless something terrible happened and he didn’t have the opportunity to write a letter or use the dragonfire in time, but you’d have heard about it if something like that happened.
Right?
You’re only three seconds away from taking off into the night in a frantic search before a familiar bipedal rhythm upon the entrance walkway enters the soundscape, muted by both settled snow and thick wooden walls. Not a second later, the sound of a key turning in the doorknob brings your thoughts to a halt as it reverberates throughout the living room, a lapse in the otherwise tepid silence. Your head turns just in time to catch the door swinging open to reveal your missing companion, whose gaze meets yours almost instantly.
He smiles softly, eyes half-lidded by exhaustion that is present in everything about him. He’s also dressed casually, which makes sense, seeing as he didn’t have to do anything but travel today. Still, you wish you could have seen him in that new suit Rarity made for him.
An acute awareness of the fact that you’re staring without saying anything starts to take hold of you. Before you start to visibly fluster, you deign to say something to dispel the silence.
“Sweet Celestia, I was just about to go looking for you, Anon! Are you alright?”
He sleepily drags his rolling suitcase in behind him and shuts the door before he answers.
“Oh, yeah, I’m alright,” he replies, a huff of exasperation expelling from his soul. “The trains, however, are another story.”
You stroll over to the couch, planting yourself on the far end while he releases his grip on the suitcase and falls into his seat closer to the middle, limbs going slack in the process. His head rolls back and rests against the cushion, eyes meeting the ceiling as he sinks deeper into his seat.
“Every single train I took today had a delay, and the train home was stopped for three hours because of a problem with the engine,” he utters softly. “Second longest day of my life, I think.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re home, in spite of all that.”
He hums an agreement before casting a look your way, turning his head slightly toward you.
“By the way, why are you still up? I thought you had a girl’s day out tomorrow.”
You squint your eyes at him in disbelief. Is he serious??
“Because I was worried something had happened to you! You said you’d be here by eight at the latest, and you weren’t, so my mind started wandering like it usually does, and, well… I couldn’t let it go.”
He picks his head up off of the cushion and fully directs his attention towards you, turning his body halfway to assist in that regard.
“I’d have sent you the letter if something bad had happened, Twi,” he reassures you, though it doesn’t really work.
“What if you couldn’t write the letter in time, or couldn’t use the dragonfire before something happened?
“I had my letter pre-written on the parchment you gave me,” he replies, smiling the same gentle smile from before. “And the bottle of Spike’s fire was always in the very top of my duffle bag just in case anything went awry.”
On any other night, that should’ve been enough to soothe your nerves, but for some reason, you can’t help but sigh and throw your own head against the cushions, closing your eyes in the process. Why are you still so tense?
“Hey.”
Anon’s voice brings you out of your stupor, and as you open your eyes, you see that he’s now fully facing you, sitting up completely.
“What can I do to make you feel better, hm?” he asks, genuine concern laden in his tone.
You search his features for an answer you can give him, but come up with nothing, settling for a shrug.
“I don’t know. I don’t know why I got so worried. I mean, I worry a little bit every time you or Spike or the girls head out somewhere on your own, but this was… intense.”
You shuffle a bit as you turn to face him in the same manner that he’s facing you. When you’re both sitting down, you almost reach his height, on account of the fact that he’s bipedal and you’re quadrupedal.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asks, care underlining his every word.
“I do, but I don’t even know where to begin.”
You hang your head and shut your eyes with a slightly shaky breath.
“I’m probably still a bit anxious, in all honesty.”
From the blackness of your closed eyelids, you hear Anonymous doing something in front of you. A second later, something small hits the cushion between you, judging from the negligible impact. Picking your head back up, you discover that he’s taken off his winter gloves, which now lie between the two of you. A warm grin spreads across his still-tired countenance.
“Want me to do the thing?” he asks in a comforting voice.
A warmth very quickly spreads across your cheeks, and you pray to Celestia that it’s not visible. He’s done this for you on a number of occasions when you’ve flown off the rails, and it’s worked every time. This is just the first time you’ve been nervous about it.
There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, of course. It’s just your friend helping you calm down. Sheepishly, you nod your head and hold out your hoof toward him, leaning against the cushion as you do, relaxing as much as possible.
Your eyelids shut once more as he takes your hoof in his hand, stroking it back and forth with his thumb. His grip is firm, but tender; the perfect amount of pressure to dull your stream of consciousness and root you in the here and now.
Never mind the fact that this is something that typically only couples do.
Never mind the fact that he’s the only one you’ve ever held hooves with. Well, hand and hoof, to be accurate.
Never mind the fact that you now realize you have a gigantic crush on him, and probably have for a while.
All that matters right now is that he’s home, he’s okay, and everything is fine. Before long, the nerves leave you completely, and pure exhaustion sets in. Your breathing becomes much more drawn out as your senses dull. Anonymous says something, but it’s muddled and hazy.
You don’t have the time or energy to decipher what exactly it was before the realm of sleep envelops you in its silky embrace.
