You are Anon, and you are once again confused on what went wrong. Things had been going great since two days ago after giving Floor Bored her second bath. It had been kind of awkward, what with the one-sided sexual tension provided by Anon Jr., but you managed, if just barely. The pleased moans and shivers from Floor as you ran your hands over her body definitely didn't make it easy.

Still, you got the little NEET clean, and after a nice, home-cooked meal of spaghetti and canned sauce, the two of you chatted for a bit before she went to her room for the night. The next day went just as smooth, as did yesterday. You drew together, talked, and went out for coffee as had become a comfortable routine.

Today was shaping up to be similar, until you shook things up by mentioning your books again. Since the trip to visit GramGram and the library was coming up, you wanted to tackle your last book, and invited Floor to read it with you. She seemed a little down at the mention of having to return them oddly enough, but she still reluctantly agree. So you happily laid back, scooted as deep into the back of the couch as you could manage, and pat the space by your side.

A few adjustments and minutes later, and Floor was laying on her back, pressed against your ribs with her tail folded over her stomach and held between her front hooves. She quickly began to sweat, probably because she was fully clothed while sharing your body-heat, but you ignored it in favor of cracking open the Friendship Journal.

No need to embarrass her away when you finally got her to agree, after all. It was nothing a quick rinse off couldn't fix and you were pretty comfy yourself.

The journal itself was a little... juvenile with some of its lessons when considering the supposed age of the writers, but they were still good. Maybe the lack of cartoon shows made specifically to teach children this stuff early on is why adult ponies apparently have trouble with it. Really, there were little summaries before each lesson explaining how they came about, and some of the scenarios were just outlandish.

Like the showmare who used her magic to humiliate her hecklers when they challenged her, and Twilight being afraid to use her own magic in the defense of her friends. friends who were literally trying to show up the show off with their own talents, so why think they'd ostracize her for joining in and doing the same?

You said as much to Floor, and for a lot of the lessons, you two shared chuckles, but as you read through them, Floor laughed less and less. For some, she didn't laugh at all.

A lot of those were from the Flutter mare, and you could see why. Floor could probably relate to the shy pony pouring her heart out on the pages along with her friends. Then you reached a lesson about not letting fear stop you from doing what you love, and Floor got up with an excuse of being tired, going to her room with nothing more than a mumbled apology. It was too abrupt and sullen an action to be anything other than sadness. You didn't have much desire to read after that, so you began busying yourself with dinner preparations instead.

It's still a bit early, but the work has kept you from knocking on your friend's door, giving her time to recuperate from her sudden depression, and the extra time has also allowed you to go all out. Reheating some leftover, bland sauce from two nights ago, you've spiced it up with freshly crushed garlic, half an onion, a diced tomato, and whichever of the new spices you bought for the kitchen that smelled appropriate for pasta. Having let it simmer while you slowly stirred it for what felt like forever, you pull out a box of noodles and fill a pot with water. It'd come to a boil soon enough, and then it would be ten minutes before everything was ready.

"Floor, food's almost done!" you call, "It's the spaghetti sauce, but I kicked it up a notch!" You wait several seconds before finally hearing her door begin to creek open. "Hope you don't mind the leftovers, but it really will be good," you continue when there isn't any response. Glancing over your shoulder, you see the mare, eyes downcast, and bottom lip caught between her teeth.

Finally, she speaks, "A-anon, what do you think of that journal?"

"The Friendship Journal? It's okay, I guess. It's a good guideline for dealing with friends at least."

"And the stuff in it, like being honest all the time, what about that?"

"Well, yeah, mostly. I mean, it's not all black and white, but when in doubt, it's probably just best to tell the truth."

The pony falls silent once again, and you return your attention to cooking. With the water just starting to boil, you pour in a box of noodles, adding some salt and a spat of butter.

"Do you... like Page Turner?"

You blink a few times, wondering where that came from before answering. "Yes, I like her. We've only had one conversation, sure, but I think we're friends."

"... Do you like her more than me?"

"What? Of course not." You look back over your shoulder to see the littler pony's cheeks flushed in embarrassment, eyes wide.

"R-really? But she's so nice, and-and pretty, and has a job, and it's at the library too, and she likes reading and books like you, and she's probably really smart-"

"Floor, that doesn't matter," you interrupt, turning to the rambling mare. "I mean, seriously, you're like my best friend in Equestria. That's not something that can be replaced at the drop of a hat."

"B-best friend?"

"Obviously," you respond, smirking. "You think I go around bathing just anyone? What am I, a bath slut? Is that what you think?"

"I-I would never think that, Anon!"

You can't help but chuckle as your roomie's face burns. "I was just kidding, Floor." Your expression sobers as she breathes a sigh of relief. "I'm being honest though, you really are my best friend. Nothings going to change that, so don't worry." The small smile she gives helps assure you that she understands, but you can't help but think you see some sadness in those green eyes.

Before you can comment on it though, those same eyes widen, and she points a hoof. "Anon, the food!"

Whipping around, you see water boiling up over the edge of the pot just before hearing it sizzle as it's licked away by the stove top flames. With maybe a few too many cusses, you fumble with knob before turning the heat off completely. "Well... the noodles look cooked at least," you say, looking back. "Ready to eat?"

Be Floor Bored, tactical stealth NEET. You're hoodie is pulled up as you sit before your door. You turned the lights off fifteen minutes ago, and your eyes have adjusted to the dark.

It wasn't on purpose as you've simply been too nervous to make a move, but it'll help nonetheless. The day has passed, and you can hear Anon snoring cutely through the door, sounding like a two-ton dragon. It's very endearing. And useful for covering any sounds you end up making when you sneak out there and snatch the journal from beside the couch.

When you weren't internally freaking out over how close you were laying to Anon while he was reading, you were trying to imagine how the friendship lessons applied to your own life. The six mares seemed so close and so happy with each other. Could you have that with Anon?

He had called you his best friend, which was both heart-warming and wrenching at the same time, but you found it hard to believe. You'd never gone on a world saving adventure with him, or gotten into wacky situations culminating in a moral lesson, so how could you be best friends? This and many other questions swirled in your mind, and you hope finishing the journal will answer at least some of them.

Steeling your resolve, you complete your stealth suit by slipping a pair of black panties over your face, eyes looking out through the leg holes. They would not only hide more of your light coat in the darkness, but also help stifle the sound of your breathing for when you were closest to the couch and it's dozing occupant.

Luckily the lavender smell from the hospital detergent has almost completely faded. They'll be ready to wear properly soon enough, which, even for a stinky NEET like you, will be a welcome change. The ones you've been wearing since Anon moved in are in desperate need of washing. Mostly because of Anon moving in. Stupid sexy Anon ruining your panties...

Shaking your head, you slowly work the door open a millimeter at a time to avoid the hinges squeaking. After an eternity, there's an opening big enough for you to squeeze through, and you embark on your mission. Measured step after step, you inch your way across the dark room, pitch black save for a sliver of moonlight shining in through the curtains of the window above the kitchen sink. It's enough to illuminate the the rhythmic rising and falling of Anon's chest.

The sight is strangely hypnotic, and you snap out of a trance to realize you've reached your destination. You're standing directly beside the human now, staring down. You can make out his features in silhouette, memory filling in what's hidden in darkness.

So different from ponies, but still distinctly male. The sharp angles of his chin and slight slope of his forward are reminiscent of the stallion models from the fashion magazines you ogled in your youth, but with soft lips and hair that lightened his features from being purely handsome to cute, as well.

He grumbles and brings a hand up to scratch at his cheek, nearly smacking yours in the process. Without noticing it, you've brought your face mere inches away from his, and are forced to jerk your head backwards. Holding your breath, you watch as Anon flops his hand back down and smacks is lips a few times, remaining blissfully asleep.

Heart pounding in your chest, you remind yourself of your reconnaissance mission, and search for the info. It's easy to find, the journal sitting atop the other two books, and you quickly deposit it onto your back. Cargo secured, you retreat, resisting the urge to run so as not to drop the book and undoubtedly wake Anon.

This makes the trip painfully slow, but you eventually make it inside your headquarters and gently guide the door to its frame. You wince at the soft click of the latch snapping into place, and wait with bated breath. After a dozen seconds of silence, you heave a sigh and step back, feeling confident in declaring this mission a success as you flip the light on.

Slipping the panties from your head, you drop them besides the bed and kick them under before falling down onto the mattress, the book sliding from your back to lie next to you. Side-eying the innocuous tomb for a moment, you pull it to your chest and settle in under the covers.

Head flopping back onto the pillow, you stare at the book between your hooves, before cracking it open. "Okay, girls, help a sis out," you mumble, hoping these six wise mares could guide you to the correct path. The path that leads to Anon's heart...

And maybe inside his pants.

Be Anon, currently enjoying that wonderful time of morning where you wake up, but have nothing to do other than to lay there like a loaf for an hour, enjoying the peace, quiet, and comfort. Right until you here a scuffing sound right next to you and instantly become alert, anyway. "Wha's that!"

"Eep!"

Something tumbles loudly to the floor and your bleary vision catch a dark mass besides you. Jerking up, you raise your fists in defense, before the form skitters backwards and you get a better glimpse. "Floor, what are you doing?" you ask, lowering your hands. "What time is it?"

"I was just, ah, going to wake you up, which I did because... It's morning! Yeah, and you were going to show me how to make an omelette today, remember?"

You rub the crust from your eyes, straightening your back in a stretch. "I was, wasn't I?" you say, blinking wearily at your dark surrounding. "But it's a little early, isn't it?" Glancing at the window, you notice the faintest shimmer of daybreak. You suppose it is technically morning, but much earlier than you ever bother getting up, and especially early for your roomie.

"Oh, well, I uh, you know, went to sleep pretty early last night, so, now I'm awake... and hungry. How 'bout that omelette?" Floor sounds a bit anxious you note, but frankly, that's like her about fifty percent on the time, it seems, so you shrug it off.

"Well, I guess if you're really hungry, we can start breakfast now," you answer, swinging your legs off the couch as Floor steps back. Curiously, your foot bumps something on the floor.

"I knocked that over!"

"What?"

"The book," Floor explains hastily. "When you woke up and scared me, I hit the books with my hoof. That's why that's there."

"Oh," you answer dumbly, still a little confused. Leaning down, you pick up the friendship journal and place it on the seemingly undisturbed stack to the side of the couch. Something doesn't seem quite right, but you shrug it off. "It's fine, you didn't damage it at all, so Page Turner's not gonna kill. Now let's make that omelette. I'm getting pretty hungry myself."

Floor releases a breath and smiles, following you to the kitchen. Then a pair of underwear falls out of her hoodie's front pocket, and she chuckles nervously, spouting off a rapid excuse.

What a strange mare.

Author's Notes:

Aaaand here we are. I've hit a bit of writers block at this point, and don't actually know exactly how I want things to play out from here.
I'm thinking this is getting to the point where Floor admits her feelings, and Anon decides whether he can, does, or should return them, but I'm not sure of what the catalyst would be.
I'm thinking something with the kissy drawings in her desk drawer.

Really, how much longer can Anon resist this:

Artist is Shpace.