My train of thought this morning was a bit odd.

"God, my fucking head...wait...since when was my bedroom wall green? I’m not in my bedroom, am I? Then whose bed am I in...oh fuck."

Yeah, it was something like that. Now if you’re confused, don’t worry. So was I. You’d be a bit out of sorts too if you woke up next to a coworker.

...Hm? Oh, that’s right. I didn’t give her name. On the upside, I just gave her gender. There it is again! Two sentences in a row. I’m on a roll now. Right, sorry, name.

Applejack. She’s pretty distinguishable. Orange coat, blonde mane, wears a hat that’s coolness is only rivaled by the almighty fez. Yes, a Stetson. Three apples on her ass, southern accent; that’s southern America, mind you. No, not South America, south America.

Am I prattling? Apologies, it’s in my nature to prattle. Or is it my biology? Wait, no, I’m thinking psychology. Is that the right - I’m doing it again. Derailing. Tangents. Cosine. No, that’s trigonometry. Never did pass trigonometry. Too many shapes. Or is that geometry? Did I pass geometry? Why am I apologizing to my journal?

Applejack. Bedroom. Me. Naked. Did I mention that I was naked? I only ask because I was. Naked, that is. At the moment to which I’m referring to. That being when I woke up next to Applejack, the southern apple ass girl. Although I suppose ‘mare’ would be a more appropriate word for her. Because she’s a horse. Pony, actually. Stunted from birth, all of them. I thought it was horrific, but they didn’t know what the hell I was talking about.

Right, naked, I was naked. I wasn’t quite sure why I was naked, but I was sure about what the aching pain in my head was. Hangover. Applejack found an unsold cask that Big Macintosh hid in the basement, and we fucking chugged that thing. Did I mention who Big Mac was? Macintosh, that is. Or Mac, whichever you prefer. Brother. Big brother. Applejack’s big brother. Big and red. Big Red. Juicy Fruit. Wait, no, those are gums...where was I?

Naked in Applejack’s bed, that’s where I was. So there I was, naked, in Applejack’s bed, trying to retrace my steps. I remembered drinking the hidden cask, and thinking that it was a tad rude that we were drinking Big Mac’s stash. I think Applejack had said something about him owing her anyways, but that didn’t really make me feel any better about it. Though I doubt someone as placid as Big Mac would start cracking heads over some cider.

I certainly wasn’t afraid that he would lecture me. Not with his vocabulary.

Naked. Applejack. Bed. Right. So...waking up naked next to some pony who is not only my coworker, but also one of my best friends, and also somebody that I may or may not have the tiniest crush on...yeah, it’s a bit jarring. I won’t lie, I spent about two minutes just repeating ‘oh shit’ in my head.

Once I finally regained my composure, to a certain extent, I assessed the situation. I’m lying on my back, and Applejack is on her side facing towards me. You know, it was actually kind of strange seeing her without her Stetson on. Not as strange as it was waking up next to her, but still. Strange. And adorable. But mostly strange. And also adorable.

Assessment. I was assessing. One of the things I noticed was Applejacks snoring. And it wasn’t one of those obnoxiously loud horrible snorting sounds, no. It was more like…white noise, I suppose. Like I could fall asleep to it. I hesitate to call it ‘cute’. ‘Endearing’, that’s what I’d call it. What I called it. What I just called it.  

Sorry to change the subject, but am I downplaying how much I was freaking out? I think I am. My freaking out was about fifty percent ‘I’m in the nude in a bed next to my friend and that holds some implications’ and fifty percent ‘If a misunderstanding goes down, I am multiple variates of fuuuuucked.’

Alright, plan. Needed a plan. And so I planned! The plan was that I would turn over in bed, get out, cross the room to the door, open it, walk to my room, and pretend nothing had happened, all the while making sure that Applejack didn’t wake up. It seemed like a good plan.

At the time.

But hey, hindsight is twenty twenty.

I got about one step though my plan before it collapsed like a bad game of Jenga. Or would that be a good game of Jenga? Either way, when I turned onto my side, Applejack mumbled something indistinctly, wrapped a hoof around my midsection, and pressed her muzzle into my shoulder.

“Well...this complicates things.”

No, wait, that’s not what I was thinking. Damn you ink and your ill erasability!

“Fucking dammit.”

“Shit.”

“D’awwwww.”

“Holy hell, that’s soft.”

“What am I going to

“How

“I’m so dead, aren't

You know what, I’ll just give you the gist. I felt annoyed, because she’d inadvertently thrown a wrench in my plans, scared, because I was pretty certain that she would wake up and get the completely wrong idea about whatever had happened, and embarrassed, because I felt her warm breath on my shoulder and her accented mumblings in my ear.

I don’t quite remember what she said. Something about apples, no doubt. Although maybe I’m profiling by saying that. She has other interests. Like, uh...why did I write ‘uh’? I’ll just think of something then write it down No need to hesitate in writing. Except for dramatic effect, or comedic purposes.

Interests. Applejack. Hers. She never tells anypony, but I’ve seen her buy a rose from Roses’ stall every morning whenever I man her stall. That wasn’t a sexual double entendre. I’m talking about her apple stall. Where she sells apples. At her stall. The apple stall. Of apples.

Applejack. Hoof over chest. Speaking of, her hoof felt surprisingly velvety. Like a cat’s paw. Rarity has a cat. Opal. Opalescence. She’s a bitch. The cat, not Rarity...although…

Another topic for another journal entry. Right now I’m talking about waking up next to Applejack.

Naked, in bed, Applejack, hoof over chest, muzzle pressed to shoulder, warm breath, cute incoherent mumblings. First plan didn’t work. Like, at all. Needed a new plan. Okay.

My second plan was pretty simple, but risky. I would pretend to be asleep until she woke up. That way, she’s less likely to buck me halfway across the known world. At least asleep, I’d look a bit more innocent then I would trying to walk out of her room naked.

The risk is twofold: that Applejack would hit me anyways, or that I would make her feel guilty about whatever happened. I think the first one was preferable. Wait, no, not at all. Applejack kicks trees for a living, and has four legs. Or are the front two arms? I wouldn’t think so. I usually associate arms with either hands or bipedalness. Is bipedalness a word? I don’t think it is. Oh well. Ink.

So there I was, laying on the bed, doing nothing. When given nothing to do, ones mind often wanders. Given that Applejack was right behind me, I thought about her. I tried to block out all the possible outcomes of the morning we’d shared, and instead thought of the pony herself.

Honest to a fault. Strong headed. Blunt. Stubborn beyond belief. Quick to kick anything that walks on two legs. Yes, I’m still feeling that bruise on my leg. Thanks Applejack. Real good foreign policy skills. Just kick anything that doesn’t look right to you. Yeah, that’ll get you far in life.

...Hard working. Caring. Strong, in heart and mind as well as in body. Accepting...eventually. After the kicking, which admittedly, she felt awful about. After that was all over and done with, she took me in like one of her own. Introduced me to her family, who were just as kind. Gave me a job. A purpose. Friends.

Giving. I guess I can add giving to the list of adjectives.

My mind had taken an odd turn. I had begun the morning confused and scared, but oddly...I was started to feel complacent. Secure. Safe, with Applejack’s hoof around me and her body lightly pressed to mine.

I kept thinking about her.

Her soft orange fur that positively glowed when the sun set. Her straw blonde mane; it was a crime that hat of hers covered it up all the time, with how much it complimented her winsome face. Her iridescent green eyes, always so filled with determination and confidence. Her muzzle, and the way that it would softly curve into a smile, or completely burst open as she fell into a fit of uproarious laughter.

And I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. I don’t think it had much to do with our close proximity anymore. For once, my mind kept on track, and didn’t divert into something absurdly unrelated. Even now, when writing about her, I find it easy to stay on course, something I haven’t been able to do for...as long as I can remember, I suppose.

I don’t know how long I stayed like that. Just thinking about her. Not about the night before, or my headache, or about the possible consequences I would face from whatever happened; none of that mattered anymore. It all became brilliantly clear.

I loved her.

I love her.

I felt the breath on my shoulder become irregular, her snoring interspersed with snorts.

“Wha...huh?” Her affable accent filled my ear, her morning mumblings sweet as honey.

I heard a gasp.

And all I could do was smile.

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