“Dude, we just hang out and shit. I’m sorry, but friendship ain’t rocket science.” Anonymous read on a low-hanging branch above Moondancer, the pair relaxing in the shade. Well, one was, at least. “It’s something you do, not study.”

“Excuse me for worrying, then, because it’s not something I’ve done in a long time.” Moondancer paced below the pegasus, his saddlebags full of studying materials that he hadn’t been able to touch the past two days. He’d spent it fretting over the specifics of friendship calculus.

“You’re doing it right now, though.”

“I don’t want to mess it up.”

“That’s all you need, Moonie. A willingness to learn. Right? We’re both losers, so as long as we admit we’re gonna fuck up from time to time, it should be alright.”

“I’m not a loser.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“How can you be so nonchalant about this? You’re in the same boat as I am, so why aren’t you freaking out?”

Anonymous set the book down on his stomach—more drivel from Posie Prose, Moondancer noted—and sighed, “Maybe I am? Not all of us wear our hearts on our sweater’s sleeves, Moonie. Don’t you get sweaty wearing those all the time?”

“No, it’s quite breathable. And how are you not cold? It’s chilly today,” Moondancer was punctuated by a breeze that swept a cold through the quad’s colorful trees, “and I find it hard to believe a pony that’s had a ‘successful social life’ like you is under any distress spending time with somepony like me.”

“Saying ‘successful social life’ like that was uncalled for, dude.”

“Sorry.”

“And I am ‘under distress,’ as you put it. The only ponies I’ve ever been this open with are… uh, none.”

Moondancer stopped his pacing, “Not even your parents?”

Anonymous bit his book off his stomach, swiveled on the branch and slid off, landing on his hooves, “Nah.” He set the book down spine-up on the late Autumn grass by the tree’s trunk.

“What do you mean, ‘nah’? Is that all I’m going to get? ‘Nah’? How are you being more open with me than your parents? Do you have family pro—”

“No, no, nothing like that. It’s just—uh,” Anonymous rubbed his mane, watching the college crowd lounge on the quad, “It’s hard to explain.”

Moondancer huffed, “We have all day. Time is not of the essence.”

“It’s not that.” Anonymous’ gaze traveled to Moondancer, then bounced off as if repelled, “Not that kind of hard, at least.”

“What other kind of hard is there?”

Anonymous snorted.

“Mature.”

“Sorry—well, back to the main thing. I’m always clowning around. So when I have to be serious, it’s… hard. I don’t like doing it.”

Moondancer chewed on the thought. Anonymous sat against the tree, crossing his hind legs. Moondancer noticed how his muscles moved under his coat, and looked away in a hint of shame, “I take things too seriously.”

Anonymous’ hoof paused as it picked up his book, “Wait, don’t tell me you were unironically defending toasted buns?”

“I wasn’t... entirely serious about the debate?”

“Sweet Solaris, you—” Anonymous paused. Moondancer could see the gears in his head turning, the tongue flicking in the hollow of his cheek. It had fascinating motions. “You could help me be… more serious? And I’ll help you learn how to clown around, since you really seem to have a hate boner for ‘pointless’ shit.”

Moondancer frowned, “Must you word it in such a crude manner?”

“Come on, that wasn’t even that bad. I could’ve said—”

“—that I have a penchant for not wasting my time on drivel?”

“If you wanna be a no-fun nerd about it, sure. I’m joking! See, you’re never gonna get yourself a marefriend if you’re so wound-up all the time.”

Moondancer rolled his eyes harder than he thought possible, “Why is it always sex with you?”

“To breed is to be, Moonie! Let me be your wings. We’ll get you hooked up before finals, guaranteed.” Anonymous slung a leg over Moondancer’s withers. He grumbled at the contact, but touchy-feely was a fact of life with Anonymous. The extra warmth on the cool day was nice, too, in its own way. As was the closeness...

“How am I supposed to go from friendless to marefriend in just three weeks? I’m behind on my studies enough as it is, I can’t commit to a relationship right now.”

“Two words, dude. One-night stand.”

“That’s three words.”

“Hyphens, dude. Hyphens.”

“I don’t care how many hyphens you use, I’m not going to have a one-night stand. Never.”

“Ever?”

“You couldn’t pay me.”

“I dunno, dude. I’ve got a lotta bits,” Anonymous nuzzles Moondancer’s cheek, “I bet I could find your price~”

Moondancer bolts out beneath Anonymous’ leg, flicking his blushing ears “I am not a prostitute.”

Anonymous laughs, “Bits in your purse, dinner and a movie, what’s the difference?”

“You know how warped that is, right?”

“I see things for how they are. But, fine, your world and bed will go unrocked tonight. What do you propose we do, instead?”

“I need to study. I’ve wasted too much time alrea—”

“Moonie,” Anonymous walked up beside Moondancer, “Do you have any homework left to do for the semester?”

“No, but—”

Anonymous’ neck craned toward Moondancer, “No essays, no papers? Only reviewing for finals?”

Moondancer leaned away, “Yes, but—”

“Are you in any danger of scoring less than perfect on a single one?”

“I—I still need to study for graduate sch—”

Anonymous throws a leg around Moondancer’s neck, pulling him in close, “Moooonie~. Live a little. Your career’s in no danger if you take a day off. Your future might be, though. All work and no play makes a dull pony.”

“I am not dull.”

“You want to study instead of party. You’re, like, a butterknife.”

Moondancer turned his head away from Anonymous. He was too close, his breath was on his cheek and it tingled in a way he didn’t like that he liked, “I have many interests.”

“Like what?”

“I enjoy studying history, economics, pottery—”

“Studying pottery.”

“Yes, extensively; for example, the material culture of ancient tribes of the Fertile Shoe is fascinating. There are distinct differences between pre-pottery and pottery life, foremost of which is the capacity for society to support potters after advances had been made in the understanding of earth pony agricultural magic, which lead to dramatic boosts in productivity, meaning fewer ponies were chosen by Harmony to be farmers; thus, pottery. Pottery, in turn, helped to further advance societies. It was actually responsible for the invention of the wheel, you know; our earliest examples—al-Aheimare in origin, naturally—were simpler, hoof-shaped pieces that lacked—why are you giggling?”

“Oh, nothing,” Anonymous patted Moondancer’s withers with his leg before taking it off, “I’m just enjoying you.”

Moondancer kept his head turned away, speaking to the dead grass, “I don’t understand what you mean by that.”

He felt a velvet snout run up his neck, making him shiver and flinch, “And that’s why you’re so enjoyable. Hey, I’ve got a bright idea! Let’s do pottery together.”

Moondancer stepped away, a cautious hoof hanging in the air, “You…” the hoof swings to point at Anonymous, “want to study pottery with me?”

Anonymous blows hair out from his eyes, “No, I want to do pottery. I know the pottery professor and he keeps the studio open twenty-four-seven. We can make bowls or whatever. It’ll be fun!”

“Hmm,” Moondancer hoofed his chin, relaxing with the distraction, “Perhaps. It can’t be that hard to make a bowl, can it?”

“If you’ve read as much as it sounds like you have, you’ll pick it up quick. Alright, let’s go. We only have a few weeks left, and good pottery takes a while.”

“Lead the way.”

Moondancer found himself watching Anonymous as he led the way to a campus facility Moondancer had never visited, the Prancis Haycon Center for the Arts. The unfamiliar paths had unique sights and sounds vying for his attention, but it was affixed firmly on the figure diagonally in front of him. Anonymous was handsome. That wasn't a new thought; it had been one Moondancer had when he first saw the pegasus. What was new was his appreciation of how good he looked.

The shine on Anonymous' hooves; how his legs carried him, fluid and confident; a sprinter's extensors apparent to anypony rippling beneath his coat, the subtle bulge of biceps at the base of flank. And what a flank it was. Moondancer wanted to touch it, feel it move, tense and relax underhoof, and he recoiled at the thought. He hung his head in shame, staring at the patterned brick path leading them to their destination.

He shouldn't be thinking about a friend like this. Because that's what Anonymous was; a friend. And that's all that he was. A friend Moondancer needed for his grade, a friend that was trying to help him, because Anonymous liked him. Did Anonymous like Moondancer like that? Romantically? Anonymous had no concept of personal space, but did that imply attraction? Had Moondancer ever seen Anonymous hanging out with another pony? No, he had not. He had no frame of reference for any of this and it was giving him anxiety and squeezing his heart and—

Dammit, Moondancer thought, why do I have to feel this? Be like this? Why do I have to go and ruin a good thing? … A good thing? Moondancer drew deeper within. Was it a good thing? Yes, he thought, my friendship with Anon is a good thing. I've had fun, despite the troubles, and I want more. I want more...

Moondancer shook his head, I can't have more. It's too dangerous. He doesn't like me like that. He's not into me. He wants to help me get a marefriend! That's not something a pony that... wants me would say. And every time he's been sincere, when he isn't teasing me, he said he wants to be my friend. Not a coltfriend, not a special somepony, but a friend. He has to be touchy-feely with everypony else; even Anon couldn't be that brazen.

He sighed, looking back up at Anon. Specifically, at his wings; they were folded. Moondancer saw little difference in the structure compared to passing pegasi, but he knew what they felt like, and they felt incredible. Like a hug, even when only spread over his back. Warm. Something he wanted, needed—no, wanted, it must stay a want—to be wrapped in. Wrapped in them someplace dim and intimate, on something soft, someplace quiet where he could close his eyes and listen to Anon's breathi—

A smooth, black hoof booped him, "Caught ya 'mirin."

Anon stood facing him with a smirk that made Moondancer feel ashamed. Red from ear to tip, he blustered forward, "I was not. I was thinking. Let's just go. This is it?"

"Yeah, this is the place." Anon trotted forward into a building Moondancer could only cringe at. He pitied the poor engineers that have to work with these 'artistic liberties,' and the crew that had to hold all of those heavy river stones in place while flying...

The pottery room was a disasterpiece. Tri-tone walls striped with orange, cream, and pale green were dusty and stained by dried clay and glaze. Clay splotches caked the ground, stools and wheels strewn about according to draconic formulae of friendships rather than anything rational, loose tarp hanging over drying shelves where a horn could easily catch and tear—or even topple. Moondancer marveled at the mess while Anon unhooked smocks from the wall, “How can anypony work like this?”

“Cracked Crock is all about self-expression, dude. This chaos is, like, the will of the creative unconscious manifest.”

“It’s an accident waiting to happen. How many students have lost their work over the course of this semester alone? Five? Fifteen?”

Anon slid the smock over his neck, careful to tie it beneath his wings and not over, “Only three. And one of ‘em could only blame himself ‘cuz he set his vase on top of a tarp somepony else was using.”

Moondancer rolled his eyes, “Oh, only three students have lost their hard work this semester due to completely preventable causes. That’s good.”

“Yeah, Crock usually says it’s way worse at the start, but our wavelengths really harmonized. Here, throw this on.”

Moondancer caught the tossed smock in his magic and slid it over his neck, making sure it covered his sweater. He rolled up his sleeves, “Wedging is first. Where is the clay kept?”

“Look at you,” Anon smiled at Moondancer as he sauntered over to a long work table with cabinets beneath, “acting like a pro.” He opened one and bit down on a half-filled bag of gray clay, dropping it onto the plaster surface with a thud. Moondancer watched him cut two chunks off the block with a wire, “So, given any thought to what you want to make?”

Moondancer walked up beside Anon, a hoof grabbing his slab of clay and stood it upright, considering it, “I was considering stoneware in the vein of Dingyao—ceramics made under Northern Song’s dynasty—but this is earthenware clay. Do we have access to lead glazes? A decorative green-glazed dish for my dorm keys and meal card would be nice...”

“And here I thought you’d blank when creativity was required!”

Moondancer frowned at his stupid grin, “Do you ever tire of being wrong?”

“When it comes to you, Moonie, I delight in it.” Anon got to work wedging his clay.

Moondancer turned back to his slab of clay and shook his head, “You delight in the strangest things.” He set his hooves upon the clay, mushing it together. It was thick, dense, and required effort to make malleable. He grabbed the sides of the top and pushed down and in, down and in, down and in, working up a sweat. The muscles in his forelegs stung, a burn setting in. His clay wasn't close to being wedged. A wandering eye saw that Anon's clay had been wedged into a textbook ram's head, complete with a frown and angry eyes. Moondancer growled, wrapped the clay in his magic, and kneaded it. The relief in his legs was welcomed. Anon resting on a hoof and staring was not.

“Stop watching me.”

"You want me to wedge it for you?"

"I can wedge it in my magic."

Anon taps his forehead, "You can't keep using magic, Moonie. I don't have a horn. How am I supposed to help you out later?"

"I don't need help."

"Not for wedging, maybe, but what about centering? Opening? Pulling? Your first throw is gonna be shit if you don't have anypony to help out. And if you're using magic, I can't help."

"I don't need help."

Anon shrugged, "Suit yourself." He scooped his clay up and walked away from the table. Moondancer levitated his clay and followed.

Anon weaved through the chaos. Moondancer lacked his deftness, bumping into stools and stubbing a hoof with a hiss against the pedals on a wheel. Credit where it's due, Anon didn't laugh at him. "You alright there, big guy?"

"Fffine." Moondancer walked on three legs, following Anon to the head of an oval of wheels and stools, seating eight ponies in total, covered with tools. He shifted equipment around so that his wheel and a spare were next to each other. Moondancer sat with a frown, sucking on his stubbed forehoof, "You seem popular for someone friendless."

"Jealous, Moonie? Hold on, almost forgot the water." Anon slapped his clay down in the center of his wheel and headed for the sinks, filling up a pair of buckets.

"I'm not—" Moondancer paused, tongue tying on his throat-lodged heart. He dropped his clay on the wheel and thought. There was nothing wrong with Anon having other friends; he was the type that needed to be around a lot of ponies, anyway. He was jealous, and that was irrational. So he needed to figure out why he was jealous, so he could stop being jealous, so he wouldn't ruin the friendship that Anon wanted to have with him. Jealousy is... his jealousy is rooted in—

Two buckets hit the floor with a slosh, knocking Moondancer out of his rumination, "Relax, dude. I doubt they'll last. I'm not gonna stop being your friend even if I make a few more, anyways."

Friend. The word hurt, his stupid obsession with Anon hurt, everything just hurt. Why couldn't he be normal, have friends, not get hung up on the first pony that was nice to him? There wasn't anything there. It was all teasing. Teasing. Friends teased each other. "I'm not jealous."

"The colt doth protest too much, methinks. That's not centered." Anon took his clay off the wheel. He plucked the sponge from his bucket and wrung it out, spinning the wheel slow to wipe it down and get a good work surface going. Finished, he wrapped wet hooves around the base of his clay, centering it.

Moondancer levitated his clay, mimicking Anon's process of wiping the wheel down, "I know." He concentrated on the clay, a wrung-out sponge wetting the top as his magic wrapped the base, bringing it in. He tried to focus on centering, but practice was different from theory, and the emotions buzzing in his head didn't help matters.

The clay wouldn't land in the center after several throws. When he managed that, he couldn't control his magic to make anything proper out of his clay. It fanned out when his magic went too high, or the top leaned away from the center, or he squeezed too hard and it forced through his magic, slinging flecks around. He huffed, looking to his left to see Anon's progress. He had already finished pulling and was ready to take the bowl off the wheel. It was wide, smooth, with walls that angled upward in increments instead of a continuous curve. It was good.

All Moondancer had was a sloppy pile spinning circles in front of him. He wilted.

“It’s okay to ask for help, Moonie. We’re supposed to be having fun, yeah?”

Moondaner wiped his sweating brow in disgust. It felt shameful to have this much trouble with a task so simple. He’d studied the techniques before, read countless books. So why was it hard? He needed help. “I tried.”

“Yeah, dude, you did. Let’s get your hooves dirty. I’ll be right back” Anon leaned over to an adjacent wheel and took a wire left over from a previous class, separating his bowl and picking it up with care. Moondancer watched his tail bob as he walked away.

Moondancer turned back to his clay. Coming here was a mistake. Being alone in private with Anon made him want to try stupid things, things he tried his best not to consciously think about, but did anyway. What would Anon say if Moondancer said he liked him? As more than a friend? No, he couldn’t do that. That was too risky, too bold, too prone to disaster. He needed something safe, something harmless. Something friendly.

What if Moondancer asked for a hug before leaving?

Are hugs something you ask for? Or is it something you just do? Anonymous hugged him a few times before, so it would be okay if Moondancer initiated a hug, right? Friends hugged each other, so that was okay to do. He wouldn’t be overstepping any boundaries, and he’d get a hug. How long could a hug go? He tried to think about how long their previous hugs had been, but time stood still in those memories. They made him short of breath and constricted his chest. Hugs had so many components he had never considered before. Of course there was the physical contact, the warmth, but did ponies normally think about how soft a coat was, or the lingering kiwi-scented shampoo, or the breath that swept across the back of one’s neck—

Anon draped across Moondancer’s back, pushing him forward. He started with a yelp, kicking the wheel off-balance. Anon saved it with a wing, snorting in surprise, “Fuck, Moonie! Calm down. I told you, you’re too far from the wheel. You gotta be right on it. Spread your legs.”

“Wh-wuh-what?” Moondancer’s legs fused together.

Anon pushed forward again. Moondancer could feel Anon’s lungs press into and pull away from his back with every breath, heat radiating through his sweater, the light aroma of shampoo making his head swim.

“You need to be right up on the wheel so you can brace your elbows for stability. Open ‘em before I open ‘em for you, and I know you don’t want that.”

You don’t know anything. Moondancer pried his legs apart and let Anon press him up against the wheel. He struggled to control his breathing. Count in your head, Moondancer. In, two, three, four… he thought, sucking air through his nose and regretting the fresh deluge of Anon invading his senses, five, six, seven, eight. Out, two, three, four. In, two, three four…

Anon moved a stool in front of Moondancer’s wheel, sitting down, knees knocking knees, “Alright. Your clay’s already wet, so we don’t have to worry about that. Let’s center it together. I’ll pedal.”

“Mhm.” Moondancer focused on the clay, watching as Anon picked it up and dropped square in the center, his legs snaking between Moondancer’s to work the wheel. Moondancer wanted to close his legs to feel Anon’s, but resisted.

He stayed focused on the clay, instead, as Anon’s hooves held his, pressing them into the base of the clay. “You’re too straight, bend over. You gotta use all your weight to make throwing easy as possible.”

“Mhm!” Moondancer felt his pupils shrink, gaze boring into the clay.

Anon shifted his grip, maneuvering Moondancer’s hooves to stand up against the clay, the toe of each pressing down and in on the top. “... There we go, now it’s centered. Next is opening the bowl up. Use your toe… yeah, like that.”

Moondancer dipped his toe into the top, slow and gentle, making a wide opening in the top. A laugh escaped him; he was actually throwing a bowl. All of that pain he went through to do it with magic was pointless. Anon would sit here and literally hold his hoof through the process. He didn’t even have to ask Anon to touch him. He just did it on his own. Of course he did it on his own, you moron, Moondancer thought. That’s the kind of pony he is. An inconsiderate invader of personal space and I don’t mind that at all. Moondancer shook his head. He almost messed up his bowl due to the intrusive thoughts. Stay focused, don’t think about that. About how Anon was taking this seriously, how he was eager to help Moondancer out, how he could be a good pony if he was around a friend he trusted.

“Alright, now to make the hoof and walls thinner… ...there. We’re ready to pull. It’s more like squeezing, but whatever.” Anon stood up from his stool, breaking Moondancer’s concentration on the rapidly progressing bowl before him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not gonna be able to help you pull this bowl out on the other side. Backwards, just won’t work.” Anon walked around and draped himself across Moondancer’s back again, his forelegs braced along Moondancer’s. His head was to the side, close enough that Moondancer could feel the warmth radiating off his neck, the air swishing as he spoke, “This is the make-or-break stage, but lucky for you, I’m gonna guarantee you make it.”

Words failed Moondancer, and he didn’t trust any noise he’d make in their place, so he nodded.

“The hardest part is pressure, but if you hang your legs for me—like, relax…” Moondancer let his legs go limp, allowing Anon to move them as he wished. He tilted the hooves, testing his range of motion, and gave a satisfied grunt that made Moondancer’s ear flick, brushing against Anon’s neck, “There—I can control your toe pressure for you. You’ll get a feel for how it should go and, by the end of it, have a bowl that doesn’t look like shit. Easy. Now, let’s start.”

Time seemed to slow down for Moondancer as his hindlegs worked the pedals, bringing the wheel up to speed. His vision stuttered looking at Anon’s clay-covered hooves and caked fetlocks hold his, tilting one so the toe pointed down inside of the to-be bowl, the other skimming the wheel to close in on the to-be bowl’s base, “The key is to pull from the bottom, where all the clay is. We’re gonna get about three pulls max before more pulling just kills it, so it’s important to use everything we have.”

He became aware of how the sweater’s fabric shifted as Anon rubbed across him, the specifics of his weight as it moved from side to side to control Moondancer’s hooves, and, he found, if he didn’t concentrate on Anon’s soothing voice, he could feel Anon’s heartbeat massage his back.

He lost himself in this private world, swimming in guilty pleasure as Anon wrapped him. He became aware of blood redirecting itself and thanked every star by name that his smock covered him so he could resist without being found out. Resisting desire proved difficult, and he was losing ground inch by hardening inch. There was too much Anon to ignore, too much intimacy. He needed a distraction. Math, he needed math. The HMS Mareope is preparing to launch from an unknown exoplanet whose radius is 7.21×10⁶ m and mass is 6.86×10²⁵ kg, he thought, which means the escape velocity would be...

“You are in the zone, dude.”

“Nuh?” Before him, Anon had pulled a beautiful, wide dish perfect for catching daily necessities discarded by a tired unicorn passing through the entrance to his dorm. Using his hooves. He was vaguely aware that Anon had been talking the whole time, but he had been lost in the calculations. Shaken from them, and encouraged by the energy in Anon’s voice and how the stallion hanged onto him a little closer, his erection mounted another attack against their friendship.

He had to get out of here, now. Before something bad happened. How?

“I’ve never seen anypony this focused on pottery, not even Dr. Crock.” Anon was still on him, resting on his back. “So, fun, right? Yeah?” Did he sound worried?

“Mhm.” Moondancer gave a curt nod and kept his head tilted down. It was difficult to make out through the folds in the smock, and it was tied low enough to hide if he was at an angle, but all bets were off when it came off. The pink length running along his stomach would be noticed with a moment’s glance. So what options did he have?

“Told ya it’d be fun!” Now Anon sounded relieved. What was he worried for? He wasn’t the one who agreed to traipse off into seclusion with an irrational crush and he wasn’t the one squirming in his seat, trying to think of a way to hide a serious, sensitive thing from plain sight. A thing that throbbed every time he stole a sideways glance at Anon, which told him no amount of waiting was going to help. That meant using magic to hide it.

Illusion magic was not Moondancer’s forte, nor was this a simple spell by any measure, but he should be able to get of—cast the spell without issue. It could render invisible specific parts of things, and required minimal concentration to maintain. Great for entertainers, and also helpful when inscribing the little details of magical circles and runes without the quill getting in the way. All he needed was for Anon to look away so he wouldn’t see the magic outlining Moondancer beneath his smock.

“Now, all we gotta do is take it off the wheel and check back on it in a few days. When it’s in the bark stage, we can trim, put a nice hoof on it, and all that good shit. It’ll be ready before finals, so you won’t have to worry about it cutting into your precious study time.” Anon let off Moondancer with a giggling chirp, then leaned over him before he could even sigh, a wire in his hooves to free the bowl.

The bowl. That’s how he was going to get Anon to look away.

Anon hummed with satisfaction as the wire bit into the bottom of the clay and pulled clean through. Moondancer focused on it, following it up as Anon lifted it over his head. He needed to behave normally. “W-Was it necessary to be on t—to lean over me like that?”

“I didn’t hear you complaining before~” Okay, Anon’s hoofsteps were leading away. Moondancer held open the top of his smock, greeted by his glistening flare. He concentrated on the spell, how the magic flowed through his horn, which curves to make it take and points to focus it into. When he opened his eyes again, he sighed. It was gone.

“Y-You needed to be to help me make the bowl. And I was ‘in the zone,’ as you said; I didn’t even notice you.” Moondancer looked down at himself again. There was a bulge where the smock was tied around his stomach, but even Anon wouldn’t notice that. It’s not as if he watched Moondancer all the time. Although, Moondancer wouldn’t mi—focus, focus…

When Moondancer dismounted his stool, his hindlegs about buckled; something had gone wrong with the spell because he should not be this sensitive. Oh no, what if he made a damp spot on the smock? Was clay covering it? He swiped his hoof on the wheel and smeared it over the smock covering his flare; a mistake. He landed on his flanks from the pleasure that tipped into pain. He felt himself dripping like an old faucet. He had to part ways before something really bad happened.

“You alright, dude? Trip on something?” Moondancer heard tarp being unfolded and refolded, his bowl, no doubt. He started for the exit.

“Y-Yeah! This room’s a m-mu-mess, hahahaaa.” Every movement tortured him. How the smock shifted as he walked, slowly, towards the exit; his inner thighs rubbing sensitive parts, forcing him to go bow-legged; even Anon’s voice made him twitch, as if Anon was whispering into his ear even though he stood clear across the room.

“Yeah, sorry. Like I said, we’d clean up, but… well, whatever.” The snap of wings, the flutter of feathers, and then Anon was by his side. His wings brushed Moondancer’s back as they closed. Moondancer froze in place, the drip turning into a leak. It got harder—the spell, the spell became harder to maintain, but at this rate, the dampness and smell would—

The smell. It was going to be noticeable as soon as the smock was taken off. He couldn’t do anything about that; he’d just have to book it as soon as it came off. “I r-really need to go st-study now, Anon. I’m w-worried about finals and—”

“‘Anon’?” Anon—Anonymous spun around, glowing, “Did you just give me a nickname?!” He pranced closer to Moondancer.

Moondancer backed off, wincing, “Y-Yes? What of it?”

“I was wondering how long it was gonna take you to drop that formality. ‘Anonymous’ is such a mouthful. I’m surprised it took you until now to get tired of gagging on it.” Why did he have to talk like that? Word things in that specific way? Why?

He continued to approach. If Anon touched him, he would explode. Moondancer held up a hoof, “We’re friends now, so I… thought it would be appropriate. There’s no need to hug me. Please.”

Anon stopped and rubbed the back of his neck, “Oh, heh… r-right. I guess you got tired of… earlier. Well, whatever. It means a lot to me, Moonie. Feels like we’re actually...” Anon trails off, looking at the ceiling. Look at that tuft. Look at it. Thick and poofy enough to cast a shadow, no doubt soft and hot enough to stave off even the most bitter of winter nights. Moondancer wanted to shove his face in it and smell.

He didn’t. He restrained himself. He didn’t restrain himself from staring, but from touching. “... Friends?”

“Uh, yeah. Friends. Like we’re actually friends now, heh.” Anon turned back to walk to the exit. Moondancer followed him, watching him untie the smock and bite the neck, standing up to hang it over a hook on the wall, “Hey, I’m gonna grab something to eat from the chow hall. You wanna come with? You can get a to-go order if you—”

“I really need to study, sorry.”

“... Right. Yeah, that’s okay. We’ve already wasted enough time here.”

Moondancer reached the smock wall. “I-It wasn’t a waste of time. I’m thankful for the newfound appreciation of the art of pottery you gave me. And, uhm, for… you going out of your way for me.” He started undoing his smock with his magic. Anon leaned against the doorframe, blocking Moondancer from a swift retreat. Well, he’d just have to hope he’d be able to brush past Anon without making a mess. He took a deep breath. It was time. He slid the smock off of, bit it, hung it on a hook, and was immediately hugged from behind by Anon.

“And thank you for giving me so many—”

Anon’s hooves met right on Moondancer’s tip, pressing in from both sides. Moondancer came with a shriek, a prodigious load shooting out and covering the smocks. He fell against the wall, Anon bumping against his back and flanks as he stopped. The collision urged another rope to splash beneath the smocks, staining the lower, orange stripe white. Anon’s hooves were still on him, squeezing him once in shock. The third load fell short, draping across the floor as it hit the trimming. A few final spurts left a puddle at Moondancer’s hooves. He shuddered, horn caught in cloth, breathing ragged against the wall.

“Chan… ces?”

The spell might have broken. Anonymous might have seen. The thump from Moondancer rearing back, scattering smocks, may have been Anonymous falling against something. Moondancer did not stay to see or look behind himself as he tore off. He galloped through and out the building, across the quad to his dorm, up the stairs, and slammed the door to his room shut, locking it. He sank against it and wailed.