You are Anon, currently scraping the burnt bits of egg from around the edges of a frying pan. Breakfast had been an experience, teaching Floor the ancient French art of omelette making. It wasn't a disaster, just a little messy.

Cracking eggs with hooves is understandably difficult, and the little mare honestly picked up the technique quiet quickly in your opinion. She only lost two eggs before getting half of the third into the bowl, and the next four were near perfect, with only a few easily picked out pieces of shell. Who cares if you break the yolks if it's for an omelette? You also let her beat the eggs, which left a little mess on the counter to be wiped up, but no biggy.

The actual cooking part was a bit stressful, and the eggs came out torn and a little darker than usual, but it was perfectly edible, and Floor was absolutely beaming after every bite. All you had to do was make the toast and cleanup afterwards, leaving you plenty of time before having to go see Floor's grandma.

"So, it was good?" Floor asked for the dozenth time.

"Yes, Floor, it was good. I liked it," you respond over your shoulder before setting the now clean pan in the drying rack along side the mixing bowl, spatula, plates, and forks. Might as well do everything now rather than let the dishes pile up. Some may call it responsible, you call it tactical laziness at it's finest.

"Good, good," she mumbles to herself. "I'm glad you liked it."

"Well, since we got up so early, what are we gonna do?" you ask, turning around. Floor shrugs as you rack your brain. The edge of a garbage bag peeking out around the corner of the couch catches your eye, and you're struck with inspiration. "Hey, is there a laundromat nearby? I'm kinda running low on clothes."

Floor tilts her head. "Um... Maybe? I've always just, you know, cleaned my clothes in the sink."

Understandable since she only has a few articles of clothing, but that didn't help you any. By pony standards, you probably have a massive wardrobe. A solution to the problem comes to mind after a few seconds. "You think we can look it up your computer?" you ask, getting Floor to look over at her closed-off room.

"Um, I guess," she answers slowly, moving to the door. You step up behind her as she opens it, but are forced to wait as she peeks her head inside and scans the room for something. Apparently being satisfied by what she sees, she opens the door the rest of the way and waves you in. The room is about how remember after Floor cleaned up. She's been doing a good job of keeping it neat; actually tossing her garbage away in the kitchen trash can, and you're proud.

She sits in the swivel chair and brings her computer out of sleep mode as you stand behind her. There's a web page open, but with an eep, she closes it before you can get a good look. "That- uh- that was nothing, just research," she says unconvincingly.

"Really? What were you researching? Anything interesting?" you ask, keeping your face straight as you tease the mare, who becomes flustered.

"Um... Anatomy, you know, in case I... ever need to know where an organ is... Yeah."

Smooth, now she sounds like an organ harvester for the black market instead of someone who was probably just looking at porn. Honestly, remembering some of the more experimental stuff you searched for back in the day, you can see wanting people to think the black market thing instead, so you end the joke there with a hum.

"It's always good to be prepared. Good thinking, Floor," you praise, before continuing, "But about the laundromat...?"

Stunned that you accepted her fib so readily, it takes her moment to register the latter have of the statement and snap her eyes back to the screen. "Right, right, just a second." Reopening the browser, Floor types laundromats into the search bar and goes to maps. "Hmm, it looks like the closest one is... here!"

Leaning in, you look to where her cursor is pointed, and run the directions through your head. "Great, that's just a few blocks from here, that means if I go now, I should be able to get my stuff washed and still be back by noon." Straitening your back, you continue, "Thanks for looking that up for me, Floor. Man, I nearly forgot how convenient the internet is. Wish I had my phone back so I could actually use it."

Floor looks back at you for a while before mumbling, "Maybe, until then, I could, um, let you use my computer, w-when you need it."

You blink. "Really? You'd let me do that?"

Fiddling with her hooves now, she looks down and nods. "Yeah, I mean, it's nothing after all you've done for me. It's the least I can do, right?"

Smiling, you plant a hand on her mane and give a little rub, which she leans into. "That's really nice of you, and I'll take you up on that later. For now, though, it's time for me to do this laundry."

Be an anxious, but happy Floor Bored. Anon asked if you wanted to go with him to do laundry, which was tempting just to spend more time with him, but the thought of sitting in public with nothing to watch except the spin cycle was just too much to overcome.

Instead, he left with a garbage bag of soiled clothing slung over his shoulder and a promise to be back in an hour or two, leaving you plenty of time to ruminate on your potentially disastrous offer. Even now, you are staring at the settings, preparing yourself mentally to add a guest account.

You trust Anon, you really do. You doubt he'll do anything stupid to load your computer up with viruses. And it's not like he'll be able to mess with your files or see your search history. But still, this is a big step. Perhaps too big a step for just friends. Even best friends.

...But don't you want things to change, a voice whispers in the back of your head. He's done so much for you already, so can't you do this one thing for him? How can you ever expect him to feel anything for you if all you ever are is a burden? That's why you've asked him to start teaching you to cook, isn't it? Dreaming of the day Anon would awake to breakfast laid out before him. How he would be so thankful that he'd pull you into a hug, ruffling your frilly apron as he smooches you on the cheek, just like in the Moonga you read.

You steel your resolve, and create the account. If you want Anon's kisses, you have to work for them, and sacrifices must be made. Sharing your lifeline to the internet will be the first. You'll let him use the computer whenever he wants, even if you really want to clop to porn at the time. Biting your lip, you really hope he won't want to use it too much.

It doesn't take long to get the guest account set up, and you push away from your desk with a sigh. Looking to the clock in the corner of the screen, you note you'll be alone for some time still. An odd concept since Anon moving in. Leaning back and placing a hoof to your belly, you feel a bump in your hoodie pocket, and your face goes red.

That's right, you stuffed the panties in there earlier before Anon could see. That was too close for comfort. Maybe if you ever meet the Elements, you can share notes about sneaking. Pinkie, Twilight, and Dash all had stealth-capades of their own according to the journal.

Why couldn't any of them have had love problems to solve instead? You can see some of the lessons being useful, but it's a shame none of them had a more direct answer for your current predicament. With a groan, you pull the panties free and toss them under your bed before crawling under the covers.

What with staying up late reading and then getting up early, you're pretty tired, and you don't want to be nodding off in front of GramGram. She'll probably share her own theories on what you stayed up all night doing in front of Anon, so it's best you just take a nap instead.

Be a fresh, clean Anon, ready to take on the world. You got home with forty-five minutes to spare, so you took a shower and put on a still-warm outfit.

The laundromat hadn't been what you expected, being a small building with only four washer and drier pairs, which were also small, but you made do. Though, it did kind of suck that you had to use two machines at once to clean the clothes, meaning twice the cost. It made sense, however, that a laundromat here wouldn't get a lot of business, nor need huge washers, so you couldn't be too angry. And you also learned that the laundromat did dry cleaning and clothing repairs, as well, which is good to know.

"Hey, Floor, you awake in there?" you call gently as you give the NEET's door a few knocks. "It's about time we get going."

The ruffling sound of fur on bed sheets reaches your ears, followed by a mumbled, "Just a minute." True to her word, the door opens a minute later.

"Took a nap, eh? Good idea, we've got a long day ahead of us."

"Yeah," she manages through a yawn. "It's noon already?"

"Just about, but I figured we could go early."

She seems to think a bit, yawning again, before nodding. "Sure, just let me use the bathroom real quick."

You agree, and move to the door to slip your shoes on, frowning as you notice the sole of the right one just starting to peel away from the rest of the shoe. You sigh, realizing you'll have to buy new sneakers sometime, and not having a clue on where to do so. Maybe you'll be able to call in a favor with the Princesses since you handed your phone over so freely. They owe you for jettisoning Equestrian electronics forward a few decades, right?

"ready to go?" Floor asks from behind you, head tilted quizzically.

"Mhmm," you answer, standing up. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know someplace I can buy duct tape, would you?"

The bus ride is much more enjoyable than before, with you asking questions about locations you pass, and Floor trying to answer them. Despite spending most of her life in the city, the little mare doesn't know much at all about it, but you assuage her embarrassment by commenting that it simply meant you'll have more places to explore together. An arcade stands out as a prime location to visit later.

Getting off the bus, you walk the three blocks to the nursing home and make your way inside. The same receptionist as last time is behind the desk, and she perks up upon spotting you. "Anon! Floor! It's nice to see you again!" she exclaims, smiling brightly.

"You remember us?" you can't help but ask.

"Of course," she says as if it were obvious. "Even if we did get more visitors, a big, tall fella like you is hard to forget."

Ah, that made sense. You almost feel embarrassed for not thinking of that, but even after all this time, it's easy to forget you're an oddity in this world after spending a lifetime of just being one human out of billions.

"You've got a point," you concede, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. "So, we just sign in like last time?"

"Yes, yes, just sign here, and you can be on your way. Don't want to keep Floor Worn waiting. Oh, and Taproot too. He's been asking after you, Anon."

You're smile becomes slightly strained. "He remembers? That's... great."

"Yep, he even talked some staff into letting him into the kitchen so he could make cookies. An old family recipe, he said, for when you visited again."

Family recipe, as in, turnip cookies. You're stomach is already quivering in fear. The receptionist waves the two of you off, Floor on the way to have a happy visit with her GramGram, and you to your own intestinal execution.

Be a mostly excited, itsy bit nervous Floor Bored. You aren't afraid GramGram will not want to see you or anything like that, but you are afraid she might try to embarrass you in front of Anon. Last time, she was too preoccupied with catching up to give the human her full attention, but now she'll be less distracted. Here's hoping Mr. Taproot can play sufficient interference to keep Anon far away from GramGram as much as possible.

Entering the gardens, it doesn't take long to spot the old mare on account of how, unlike most of the other senior citizens, she's sitting out in direct sunlight, far away from the shade, and reach, of any tree. You shake your head before walking over.

"Hey, GramGram-"

"Eek!" the brown mare's head whips to the side to focus on you, eyes wild for a moment before relaxing. "Floor! Stop sneaking up on your poor ol' grandma!"

You blink a few times, startled yourself. "Um, sorry? I guess I'm just always used to you knowing when I'm around. You always did when we lived together, after all."

"My nose must finally be going," Floor Worn says dolefully. "I always used to be able to smell you coming, and yet here you are, sneaking up on me twice now."

You hear Anon snort giggle behind you, and your face begins to burn. "Actually, I've been taking baths more often, thank you very much," you grit out, getting a surprised stare from your grandmother.

"Really?" she asks, shifting her gaze over your shoulder to Anon. "Really?"

"Yes, really. I do take care of myself, you know," you lie, and immediately get called out.

"Manure," GramGram says, pointing a thin hoof at the human. "What've you done to my grandfoal, mister? Brain wash her? Is that some sort of freaky power you humans have?"

"Aw, no ma'am, I've just been giving her baths. No magic about it."

"Anon!"

"Giving her baths you say, as in, you're the one washing her?" the old mare returns her gaze to your burning face when Anon nods and deadpans. "That explains it."

"Why, hello there! Is that you Anon?" a gruff voice suddenly calls, thankfully diverting attention away from you. "What am I saying? Of course it is! Who else could be that tall? Come on over here, lad, I've got a treat for you!"

Anon groans quietly before turning with a wave. "Hey, Mr. Taproot. It's... good to see you again," he says unconvincingly.

The old stallion doesn't seem to pick up on it, however, and just keeps waving him over, a wide grin on his wrinkled face. Anon turns to you and GramGram with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, girls, I would have loved to stay and talk longer, but it seems I'll be busy eating tuber-based baked goods for the rest of the afternoon."

"He made those for you?" GramGram questions, giving a commiserate shake of her head. "He tried to feed me that poison this morning, but I hightailed it out of there before he fit one in my mouth, the crazy goober. You're a stronger pony than me if you're actually going to eat one of those crimes against baked goods."

The human sighs. "Well, wish me luck."

As he leaves, you give him a sympathetic pat on the leg and encouraging smile, before turning your eyes back to your smirking grandmother. "What?"

"So... Baths, eh? What do you young ones call that? Second base? Two and a half?"

"I-it's nothing like that," you mumble, looking away to hid your burning face. "... Believe me."

Something in your voice must have told the old mare how true that was, and how saddened you were by the fact, because her expression becomes concerned.

"Really now? The boy's lathering you up, and there ain't nothin' behind it? Oh, I'm so sorry, Floor, I didn't realize he was a coltcuddler. I'm usually so good at picking up on that sort of thing, too."

"What? No! It's- it's not that, he's just not interested in that sort of thing with me. We're just... best friends."

GramGram winces. "Ooh, friend zoned."

"It's not that bad," you say, trying to convince yourself as much as you are GramGram. "I'm... mostly okay with it-Ouch!"

"When are you gonna stop lying to your poor ol' granny's face, eh, Floor? You're horrible at it."

"But I'm not lying!"

She holds a hoof up in a halting manner. "Nope, don't want to hear it. Now tell me what you've been planning to get in those weird pants of his."

"GramGram!"

"Me? I don't know what you expect me to do for you. I ain't as young as I used to be; I can't put on the same moves without breaking a hip. Guess I could teach you a thing or two, though..."

"GramGram, please..." The mere mental image of your wrinkly GramGram shimmying around Anon's shins is enough to turn your cheeks green.

"Well, okay then, since ya said please. Now, what'cha got to do is walk out in front of him and sway your hips. You want your tail to barely cover your bits, let the swing really tantalize them. Oh, and keep your eyes out for stray bits, that's real important. That way, when you see one, you can stop suddenly and bend down in front of him to pick it up. If you're lucky, he'll walk nose first into marehood and get a real big whiff. Bonus points if you leave his muzzle with a wet spot so he's gotta smell you for the rest of the day. You do that, and I swear he'll drag you into the nearest alleyway and rut your brains out before an hour's up."

Your jaw is hanging open as your GramGram walks you through the steps of seduction. Steps, you're sure, might qualify for sexual assault nowadays. "You... you've actually done that before?" you can't help but question.

GramGram nods. "Yep, how'd you think your mom was conceived?" She sighs wistfully. "You're Grandpa was quite the mustang then. I could barely walk back to the house, where we had another go. I was bedridden in more ways then one that day."

"GramGram, please, no more..." you plead, hoof in the air. These are things you absolutely don't need to know.

"What? I'm just giving you pointers. Then again, Anon is a tall fella, so maybe the oopsy daisy maneuver won't work right on him. Probably can't get a good view from so high up, and he ain't gonna get his nose damp unless he trips and falls into your backside."

"Cooking!" you blurt, wanting to change the subject as quickly as possible. "I've been trying to learn so I can make him stuff."

This peaks the older mare's interest as she hums. "Cooking, eh? A bit tame for my tastes, but a classic nonetheless. A good place to start for a beginner such as yourself. You make him anything yet?"

"Oh, um, I... made an omelette this morning... with his help... But he liked it!"

GramGram looks at you appraisingly. "An omelette huh?"

"Mhmm," you start proudly remembering the amazing breakfast you made. The dark brown color, with only a few black spots. The piece of eggshell that crunched between your teeth. And how about half of the cheese leaked outside of the fold. You slowly sink into yourself. "Well, it was almost an omelette, at least. Like, fifty percent that, and scrambled eggs. Still tasted okay though."

"Sure it did. Come on, let's go talk to an orderly."

"Why?"

"Because if that coot, Taproot, could get into the kitchen to make his so-called cookies, then I can give my granddaughter a cooking lesson while she visits."

"GramGram, you don't need to give me a-"

"Hey you, juicy glutes, come here! Yeah, I'm talking to you, colt, my granddaughter and I need to use the kitchens!"

You cover your face and groans as an orderly cautiously makes his way over. Peeking through your hooves, you can't help but wonder if GramGram was calling the stallion by name or just making an astute observation.

Hmm, they're nice, but you think Anon's are juicier.

Be Anon, pale white cookie hanging from between your lips as you wander the halls in search of the kitchen. Much to your surprise, Taproot actually is a pretty impressive baker, as evident by the fact that he somehow made turnip cookies palatable. They're more savory than sweet, but they'd make a good snack for between meals, and are probably better for you than chocolate chip cookies even with the large amount of butter you can taste in them.

You told Taproot as much, and he was tickled pink, shoving the whole box in your hands to go share with all of your friends. That only includes two mares and maybe the pony who helped you drag your couch to your apartment at the moment, so two dozen cookies is probably too many, but you're sure you can probably scarf down most of them yourself in a few days.

After the snack, you stayed and listened to the stallion as he told you about how he met his late wife, a blacksmith who made and maintained all the farming equipment of his hometown. The way Mr. Taproot spoke of the mare, as if she were an angel that lit up his life, honestly made you feel a pang of sympathy when he mentioned her passing. Even then, he had a smile, stating how glad he was for the time they had together.

Eventually, the old stallion began to nod off, and you asked if he needed to rest. You chuckled as he tried to deny his exhaustion through yawns, not unlike a child refusing to go to bed, but your promise to return in a week had him conceding. He was out like a light not a minute later as you walked away in search of your NEET-y comrade and her grandmother. Seeing you wander for a while, one of the orderlies finally took pity and told you where you could find the pair with some vague directions.

As you stroll through the halls, you can't help but reflect on your conversation with Mr. Taproot, and feel a hollowness dig at your heart. The thought hasn't bothered you since your first days in Equestria when you were generally freaking out about everything, but hearing the old stallion talk so reverently about his love reminded you of a sad reality of your life in ponyland.

There's a very good chance you'll spent the rest of your days alone with no women to form a relationship with. Sure the idea of settling down and starting a family has never been high on your priorities, but now that the option is pretty much off the table all together, you find the thought depressing. Well, technically, you could still have that sort of intimate relationship, but that meant you'd have to find a pony willing to be romantic with an alien ape from beyond the void.

Where would you find a mare like that? A sci-fi convention?

You're brought from your thoughts by a familiar voice, and zero in on the double doors up ahead. "But why not?"

"Because it'll burn, ya idjit, now leave it be."

"But couldn't we just take them out in half the time so they won't though?"

"Floor, I love you, you know I do, but I swear, if you don't drop it, I'ma smack you upside the head. Like I said, rule number one of cookin' anything is-"

"Follow the recipe, I know, GramGram."

"Do you, because I've had ta swat your hoof away from the nob twice. I mean it, Floor, I don't want to find out you died in a kitchen fire just because you couldn't be patient. Celestia knows I'm gonna be twitchy whenever I hear the fire department pass after this."

"GramGram-"

"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" you ask from the entrance, quirking a brow at the couple of hairnet-wearing mares. They even have them on their tails.

"Anon! W-what are you doing here? I thought you were talking to Mr. Taproot still."

You shrug. "He started to get tired, so I let him rest and came to find you."

"Oh, well, um sorry for not telling you where we were. I was kinda hoping I could come and surprise you when we were done."

"Done with what?"

"With my oughta-be world famous quiche, of course. I'm teaching my darlin' here the secret recipe so you two can make some real food at home." Floor blushes lightly at this while her elder preens.

"Really? Wow, Floor, you're taking this learning to cook thing seriously, huh?" you ask, giving her a proud smile.

She nods vigorously. "Mhmm! I even prepared all the ingredients myself! GramGram taught me this trick with cutting onions so they don't make you cry."

"You'll have to show me later," you tell her, moving to join them in front of the oven. Lowering yourself into a seated position, you stare through the glass port of the oven and ask, "When's it going to be done? I can't wait to try it."

"Fifteen minutes," the older mare informs, getting her granddaughter to cross her hooves petulantly.

"Could be seven, but nooo, we can't turn the heat up- ouch!"

Floor Worn lowers her foreleg, having not even looked away from her quiche. "Yep, just fourteen minutes and fifty-two seconds, now."

You can't help but smirk as your friend rubs the back of her head.

"I guess if we're waiting, you want to try one of Taproot's turnip cookies? They're better than they sound."

Author's Notes:

Sorry for the wait. Hope you still enjoy it.

Artist is Happy Harvey.