You are Floor Bored, and you are currently slurping juice boxes with your GramGram, the two of you sitting at the fringe of a tree's shade. It's been a few days since you and Anon talked about the potential future of your relationship, and frankly, you're still a little giddy about it. So much so, that you couldn't keep from telling GramGram when she jokingly asked if you and Anon had shacked up yet. You weren't even flustered by he sexual innuendo.

"Nope," you say with more cheer than the older mare expected, if the raised brow is any indication. "But we talked about it."

"You... talked about shacking up?" she asks. "Huh, never thought ya had it in you."

At that, you do blush a little. "We didn't talk about that," you clarify, nursing your juice box between your hooves. "I meant, we talked about, like, dating and stuff."

"Ah, my mistake," GramGram says, talking a loud slurp of her juice. "And? I reckon you aren't datin', or else that would have been the first thing ya said."

"Well, no," you admit. "It's kind of complicated..."

"I ain't a foal. I'm sure I'll be able to follow along just fine."

"Right," you say, taking a deep breath. "Um, we've only known each other for a little while, so Anon wants to wait."

GramGram is silent, turning the information over in her head, then nods. "Huh, guess that's the responsible way of going about. He's got a good head on his shoulders, for a colt."

"GramGram," you sigh. "Can you not say stuff like that? Especially about Anon."

The older mare chuckles. "No need ta get all protective on me. I didn't mean nothin'."

"Still, it's kind of disrespectful," you respond. "Anon's not just some colt. He's smart, nice, and... the best thing that's happened to me in a long time."

GramGram is silent for a bit, then says, "Phew, you've got it bad."

You chuckle at that. "Yeah, I guess I do."

Sighing, the older mare says, "Don't get me wrong, Floor, I'm happy for you... but don't get your hopes up too high."

"GramGram?"

"I just don't want ta see you get hurt, is all," she goes on to explain, looking you in the eye. "Love can be a dangerous thing, you know?"

Instantly, you are reminded of your mother, and your chest feels tight. "I know," you whisper.

You wish you could say more to reassure GramGram, but the truth is you've already tried to end it once, and that was before you had the hope of love in your life. You'd like to think you'll never fall that low again, even if everything with Anon falls through, but you aren't a psychic.

"I'll be careful," you say instead, smiling to try and match the older mare's slight one.

"You know, I'm starting to like beets more than I ever expected I would," Anon comments as he approaches, a mason jar full of dark red liquid in one hand. "This beet juice isn't half bad." You and GramGram turn to the man, and instantly snort at the crimson mustache smeared across his upper lip. "What?"

"You look like a vampony," GramGram says, getting Anon's brow to raise.

"Ah... What?" he repeats.

"Um, you have Beet juice on your face," you tell him with a giggle. "A lot of it."

Wiping the juice away with the back of his hand, he smiles proudly at you, revealing red-stained teeth. Amidst the proceeding laughter, Anon merely clamps his mouth shut and takes a seat on the grass next to you.

"Haha, laugh it up, funny mares," he says. "We'll see who's laughing when I live to the ripe old age of a hundred and two with perfect health."

"I don't care what that old coot says," chimes in GramGram. "Even if his beets are the secret to a long life, I ain't gonna be eating them with every meal."

"More beets for us then," Anon counters glibly.

"And you can have them!" snaps GramGram, and you can't hold back another fit of giggles. Anon joins in this time, and GramGram follows soon after. After a minute, you all settle down, merely enjoying the fresh air along with the other occupants of the garden.

"So, where's Taproot gone?" GramGram questions. "I doubt he'd let you go without takin' your ear off first."

"He had to use the bathroom, so one of the nurses took him inside," Anon explains. "Probably the two jars of beet juice he drank. I'm not even halfway done with one and he's just chugging the stuff."

"Crazy stallions," the older mare comments under her breath shaking her head in resignation. "Speakin' of crazy," she speaks up. "I heard you and Floor here are thinkin' about dating sometime soon."

You start hacking on juice while Anon sits a little straighter and looks down at you. "You told her about that?" he asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

"W-well, I just, um... yes, I did," you admit hunching your shoulders. "I... sorry."

"Ah, don't be sorry," GramGram says, smacking your shoulder. "I'm your grandmother. You should be telling me these things." Then, turning to Anon, she adds, "You don't want my darlin' Floor to keep things from her poor old grandma, right?"

"Of course not," Anon quickly assures. "Honesty is great, It's just... I'm surprised she'd bring it up. We only just talked about it ourselves a few days ago."

"It's not like I didn't expect somethin' along these lines," GramGram comments. "I mean, there ain't many places a stallion bathing a mare can lead other than the bedroom."

"GramGram!" you shout, face redder than Anon's juice as he rubs the back of his neck and looks away. "He doesn't even do that anymore! I took a bath last night all by myself!"

"Really now?" GramGram asks, then gives a little shake of her head. "Shame. That's every mare's dreams. I bet those wriggles of his felt mighty fine running over your wet body."

You groan into your hooves as Anon coughs. The truth is, Anon hadn't helped you with your bath because you could tell he had become uncomfortable with the idea after the two of you revealed your budding feelings for each other. He hadn't spoke out against it openly, probably willing to forgo his own feelings for your benefit since he's such an amazing friend, but you didn't want to make him do something he wasn't a hundred percent okay with, and so you volunteered to do it yourself.

It was a step in what you imagine is the right direction for becoming a stable pony, and Anon still sat in the room, the closed curtain between you so he could keep you company. That was definitely appreciated since you still can't help but think the whole bathing-process is boring and needlessly time consuming, especially without getting a cute stallion to do all the work.

You don't say any of this out loud, instead opting for, "Can we talk about something- anything- else, please?"

"H-hey?" Anon chimes in, seemingly sharing the sentiment. "Have you shown Floor Worn your drawings yet?"

"Hmm? Drawings?" GramGram comments, turning a curios eye towards you. "You still do that?"

"Um, yeah," you answer, partially glad for the subject change, and little nervous as you grab the old saddle bags from your high school days and pull them over. You had stuffed the apple juice boxes in for you and GramGram to share, along with your sketchbook at Anon's insistence. Now pulling the latter out, you offer it to your grandmother.

Intrigued, the old mare takes it, and flips it open. "I remember you always drawing when you were a little filly," she comments as she starts going through the pages. "Why, I even remember being called into the principle's office because you kept scribbling all over the desks at school."

"Heh, yeah," you say, moving closer so that you can see what works she's looking at. You can't help but cringe as she goes through your earlier, none-to impressive drawings Even when she gets to your newer stuff, you have to resist frowning as the brighter lighting from the sun makes you aware of every flaw. Still, you don't have to try hard to see your improvements, and you focus on that.

"You drew these?" GramGram asks, sounding surprised.

"Yep. Anon and I have actually been practicing together," you explain.

"More like she teaches me, and I try not to be complete trash at it," Anon comments.

"You've gotten way better," you tell him. "You should be proud."

"So should you," GramGram says suddenly. Shutting the sketchbook to give you a warm smile. "This is some really impressive stuff ya got here, Floorey." You blush, feeling a little of that pride as your GramGram compliments you. "I'm especially impressed by how little porn you've drawn," she goes on, instantly stamping out that pride with a heaping helping of embarrassment. "Noticed the book is missin' quite a few pages though. I take it you tore out all those drawings before showing me."

Yes, you of course did that, but that doesn't mean she has to go blurting it out for any pony to hear.

"You should have seen the stuff I caught her drawing when she was still in high school," GramGram says to Anon. "What she lacked in skill, she more than made up for in imagination."

"Why do you do this to me, GramGram?" you grumble, resigned to the older mare embarrassing you in front of Anon.

She ignores you, adding, "Her take on anatomy was especially impressive. Very surrealist."

You slump to the ground as you hear the human chuckle at that, but feel a gentle hand on your head. "Really now? I guess I shouldn't be surprised to hear it though. Floor's such a talented artist, I'm sure she's experimented with all sorts of styles."

"For sure," GramGram says with a nod. "Even as a little foal, she absolutely loved hoof painting. her mother called it abstract expressionism, if I'm remembering right. The whole front of the refrigerator was covered in her paintings."

"Now that's something I wouldn't mind seeing," Anon says. "Did you keep any of them?"

GramGram beams. "Sure did!" she exclaims. "I have 'em in my scrapbooks and photo albums. Let me just ask one of the nurses here; they're in my room, you see."

"I'll go get one," Anon says with a grin. "Be right back."

Once Anon is out of earshot, you sigh. "Really, GramGram?"

"Afraid so," she answers. "It's in the official grandmother manual. Gotta embarrass your grandfoals at least three times per visit, and show foal photos to any and all potential special someponies. It's the rules. And how I see it, Anon definitely falls under potential somepony."

You blush, but still smile at your GramGram's antics. Even when she's making you a mortified mess, she somehow makes you feel happy inside. Just how did you go so long without this pony in your life? No wonder you tried to end it all.

At the thought, your smile drops, and you look at GramGram. She still doesn't know. You still haven't told her. Swallowing thickly, you open your mouth. "Um, GramGram, there's... something I need to tell you."

"Hmm?" She's not paying full attention as she watches something, then tuts. "Poor colt, he's been caught."

Confused, you glance to where GramGram's eyes are pointed to see that Anon has been flagged down by a now-returned Mr. Taproot. The human smiles and nods, before casting an apologetic look over his shoulder at the two of you.

"That old codger won't be letting Anon go for the rest of the visit, I reckon, and the colt's too nice to tell him off. Guess we'll have to wait until next week to show him your pictures."

"Thank the Goddess for small miracles," you mumble under your breath.

"What was that?" GramGram asks. "Were you going to tell me something? Sorry for be distracted, dear."

"Oh, right, um..." You rack your meager brain for how best to tell the old mare this, but can't think of anything other than the plain truth. "It's... about how Anon and I met, I guess," you start.

"Yeah?" she says, turning to look at you. "I've been wonderin' about that."

"Right," you breathe, shuffling your front hooves. "It's... not exactly a happy story."

"I figured as much," she says quietly. "Whatever it is, I promise not to be mad."

You try to give a small smile, but it falls a moment later and you decide to just get it over with. You won't blame her for breaking that promise when you're finished. "Anon is a NEET Inspector who was sent to check up on me one day. When he came though, he found me after I tried to... to hang myself."

There's a faint gasp from GramGram, but you squeeze your eyes shut and power through. "He got there just in time to cut me down and get me to the doctors... He saved my life, and after, he volunteered to be the one to make sure I didn't try to do it again... That's why he's living with me now." GramGram is quiet, and you can't bring yourself to look at her as tears start to run down your cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry for what I tried to do, GramGram. I was so selfish and cowardly. I wasn't even thinking about how it would have affected you to find out I... I went and followed in Mom's hoofsteps." You chuckle darkly to yourselves. "Like mother like daughter, right?"

Then a pair of slender forelegs are yanking you forward by the shoulders and GramGram has your head held against her chest as she gently strokes your mane. "Don't talk like that, Floor," she says quietly. "You're mother and you both... you've been through so much, because I wasn't good enough to protect you."

"GramGram, no-" you try, but she cuts you off.

"When you were growing up, there were so many times I.. I held back. Affection. Care. I was afraid that I'd mess up like I did with your mother. That it was my rearing that lead to her death." She takes a shuttering breath. "I wanted better for you- for you to grow up without me ruinin' your life, and by the time I realized how much I was already messin' up, you were thirteen. You had pulled into yourself as much as I had been pulling away, and I didn't know how to... to fix it."

You faintly remember those first years after your mother died. Alone in your quiet room, in a quiet home. GramGram hardly talked, and the two of you would shuffle passed each other in the halls, like ghosts in a haunted house. Even during meals, before you started taking your food to your room, the two of you would eat without saying a word, eyes downcast towards your respective dinner plates.

"You were mourning," you say finally. "We both were."

"We should have mourned together then," she answers, squeezing you. "Instead, I let you be, and when I was finally ready to love you the way I should have been, you were already used to bein' alone."

"But you still loved me," you argue, snorting wetly as you continued to cry into her fur. "I was a weird little filly who didn't even know how to talk to others, and you started coming into my room and reading me stories. You took me to movies and bought me toys..."

"It wasn't enough. I should been doing more long before then."

"Maybe," you concede. "But you did what you could, and even if it was a little late, I'm thankful for it." You pull away and look her in the eyes, as tear-filled as your own, and give her the best smile you can. "We made mistakes, but you shouldn't blame yourself for mine. I don't blame you for how stupid I was trying to kill myself, so you shouldn't either."

"Floorey-"

"No, I mean it," you say firmly. "There was so much else I could have done- I felt so alone, b-but I wasn't. You were always here waiting for me, and I was the one who never came to talk to you. I was the one who choice to hold myself up in my room all day and never try to reach out to others. I thought it was because no pony would ever want to be around me..." At this, you look over to where Anon is sitting on the grass, his back to you, but head turned enough to notice the indulgent smile as he listens to the old stallion tell tuber-related stories.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "I know better now, though, GramGram. I was wrong about so much, but this? I'm not wrong about this, so please, please don't blame yourself for what I did. It's my mistake to own up to, and my mistake to fix."

The old mare stares, shocked, then smiles warmly. "When did you get all wise, eh? Growin' up behind my back."

"A little," you say. "I still have a lot to go but... I think I getting better."

"You have," GramGram confirms, running a hoof over your cheek and down your chin lovingly, expression warm and proud. "Despite everything, you've become a fine mare all on your own."

"It wasn't all me," you say bashfully. "Anon's been helping a lot."

"Somethin' I'll have ta thank him for every day," she says, looking at the human and chuckling. "Look at him. Too nice for his own good. Listening to that buffoon."

"Not to mention putting up with me," you agree, sighing wistfully. "I kinda wish I could pay him back. He says my friendship is enough, but I still don't feel like it is."

"I could think of a few ways..." GramGram muses, and your smile becomes a tad forced.

"GramGram..." you start warningly, but she just gives a confused look.

"What? I was just gonna suggest you bake him a cake. I'm sure the staff will let us use the kitchen again."

You blink a few times. "Oh, I thought you were gonna say something perv-"

"And maybe you can spit-shine is pole, too."

"GramGram!"

"Bwahaha! Ya really thought I wasn't gonna go there, Floorey? Haven't you learned anything about your dear ol' grandma yet?"

"You're the worst..."

"I am," she says with a proud nod. "Now come on, we've got a cake to bake for your coltfriend."

"Not my coltfriend..."

"Yet. But once he tries my signature floor layered cake, that'll change."

Author's Notes:

A Floor exclusive chapter. That's rare.
Anyway, here's a fun little comic drawn by EasyDays.

Amateur NEET move on Floor's part though. She should have switched seats with her ramen from the start so no pony could have sat directly next to her.