Morning Visitations


                                            >Celestia and Anon, having freshly started dating, spend the morning of Hearth’s Warming together. Cel arrives a little earlier than Anon expects her to. Luckily, she is nothing if not accommodating.


                                            >Cold caresses you from all sides, buffeted only partially by the fuzzy duvet tucked neatly around your limbs.

                                            >Your eyes slowly come open, crusted over by a visit from the sandman.

                                            >A mostly-dark bedroom greets you, dimly lit by the sleepy blue sunlight of an early morning creeping in from behind the curtains.

                                            >You shift slightly, searching your sea of blankets for any sense of warmth that can relieve you from the frost nipping at your extremities.

                                            >A great, shuddering yawn takes you suddenly, and your morning breath is ejected, thankfully, out and away from you.

                                            >You continue to twist and turn, searching for that fabled heat that winter had supposedly snatched away while you slumbered.

                                            >The Equestrian winter had hit hard this year, and its fury must have reached its peak in the middle of the night.

                                            >Eventually, though, you do find that patch of warmth.

                                            >Hiding among the mess of sheets and covers, a spot you had supposedly moved from is still radiating comfort.

                                            >It calls to you.

                                            >“Come on over,” it says.

                                            >“Five more minutes won’t hurt, Anon.”

                                            >Its offer is too strong to resist.

                                            >With great effort, you roll your tired body over, wrapping yourself up in the duvet in the process.

                                            >Holy shit, that’s nice.

                                            >Although you’re now a burrito, the warmth is potent enough to seep through the fabric and turn your bodily housing into an oven.

                                            >The soothing comfort is enough to add a couple of pounds to your eyelids, and in your current state, you’ve nary any strength to fight their fall.

                                            >Your eyes close again, and the blackness overtakes all.

                                            >Senses begin to fade one by one, but…

                                            >Wasn’t there something you were supposed to be doing today?

                                            >After a few seconds of thought, you decide that no, you did not have anything to do on Hearth’s Warming.

                                            >Not until later, anyway. You didn’t need to be ready for that party for several hours, though, so you don’t feel bad about getting some extra winks in.

                                            >As your thoughts fade into whispers of nothing, your breathing slows, and-

                                            >She’s coming over.

                                            >You’re thrown from your near-slumber as violently as possible.

                                            >How could you have forgotten?

                                            >With great haste, you fling your mountain of covers off of you, practically flying out of bed as you make a mad dash to your bathroom.

                                            >As fast as you’ve ever gone, you throw on deo, cologne, and brush the absolute hell out of your teeth.

                                            >With fresh pits and whites as pearly as snow (thank you Minuette), you rush back into your room and look for a decent ensemble of clothes.

                                            >Hastily, you withdraw an adequate looking outfit.

                                            >More than likely unfit for socializing with a princess, but it’ll have to do.

                                            >You begin your rush back to the bathroom. Judging by the light from your curtains, you probably still have time to freshen up with a shower.

                                            >Maybe, if you hurry, you can even-

                                            >Three knocks upon your front door catch your attention as you go to close the bathroom door.

                                            >You freeze in place.

                                            >Surely that isn’t her. She’s an early bird, yeah, but /this/ early?

                                            >She’s only done that once or twice, and she had let you know prior both times.

                                            >Still - she’s the only one who has any reason to be here at this hour.

                                            >You swallow a lump in your throat as you head for the front door, clad in your messy hair and wrinkled sleepwear.

                                            >You shiver slightly as you move through the chilly, stagnant air, morphing around you as its slumber is disturbed in a manner similar to yours.

                                            >Before long, you’ve crossed the decidedly compact living room.

                                            >You come to rest just before the front door, hand hovering above the knob.

                                            >Breathe, Anon.

                                            >One twist and you’ll find out if it’s her.

                                            >She’s never seen you fresh out of bed.

                                            >Agh, you must look a mess right now. Maybe it’s better to leave it shut?

                                            >Schrodinger’s pony, and all that.

                                            >Whoever’s on the other side will be neither here nor there if you just… wait until you’re done getting ready.

                                            >A renewed set of knocks, however, forces your hand, which comes to rest on the doorknob.

                                            >You give it a hearty twist, pulling the door open to the cold outside as you do so.

                                            >A frigid wind billows inside, drying your eyes as the sunrise on this side of the house does its best to melt your irises.

                                            >You give ‘em a good ol’ rub, blinking a few times to reacquire some sort of impaired vision.

                                            >When your eyes decide to stop being complete pushovers, you understand why you went temporarily blind.

                                            >Wherever you look, the town is blanketed by freshly fallen snow; rooftops, walkways, lawns, patios - nothing is spared.

                                            >It’s all you can do to squint until your eyes are barely open.

                                            >In front of you, among the sea of icy white, a form begins to take shape.

                                            >It giggles at you before you can quite make out who it is.

                                            >“Good morning, Anon!”

                                            >…

                                            >Well, shit.

                                            >You pray to anyone who’s listening that you at least look somewhat alright.

                                            >Maybe she’ll go for the whole disheveled thing?

                                            “Hey, Cel!”

                                            >Dear God, even your voice is hoarse as hell.

                                            >Pun intended, of course.

                                            >Before she can awkwardly dance around the obvious, you decide to nip the situation in the bud as best as you can.

                                            “Sorry about, uh… looking like this. I didn’t know you were gonna be over so early.”

                                            >“There’s no need to apologize, Anon,” she reassures, her voice a fair degree warmer than the weather.

                                            >“If anything, I should be apologizing for not letting you know sooner. It’s a bit unbecoming of a princess to show up unannounced, isn’t it?”

                                            >Her guilt comes easy, even over the littlest things. You’ll never understand why.

                                            “Doesn’t count in this case.”

                                            >Her polite grin turns into a mischievous smirk.

                                            >“Oh? And why is that?”

                                            “‘Cause I don’t see a crown on that pretty little head of yours, miss.”

                                            >It’s true - she’s here in casual winter wear.

                                            >Well, ‘casual’ might not be the best descriptor.

                                            >Her ethically sourced fur-collar coat and scarf combo stands leagues above your tussled PJs in terms of style.

                                            >Come to think of it, Rarity will probably beat you over the head if she finds out you answered the door for royalty in rags.

                                            >Or not. She sorta dotes on you like an older brother.

                                            >Celestia hums in approval of your compliment, breaking your train of thought.

                                            >“I suppose you’re right,” she replies. “It would’ve been ill-suited for a gathering of dear friends.”

                                            “In that case, it’s settled. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, Cel.”

                                            >You frown, deciding your previous sentence isn’t quite sufficient.

                                            “I mean, you wouldn’t even if you /did/ have your crown. I just- yeah, you know what I mean.”

                                            >A sigh from your nostrils blows steam into the air.

                                            >What a wordsmith you are, Anon.

                                            “Can you tell that I just woke up?”

                                            >She giggles openly, her body tensing with subdued laughter as her eyes scan you up and down.

                                            >“I’m afraid so. I must say, it’s quite endearing.”

                                            >Your inward sigh of relief is monstrous.

                                            “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

                                            >Her smile, infectious, makes its home on your own features.

                                            >You move out of the way, holding the door open for her.

                                            “Come on in, it’s a bit too frigid outside for my tastes.”

                                            >She bows her head to you slightly in a show of gratitude and heads inside, her hooves leaving behind perfect imprints in the snow.

                                            >As she passes by you, her perfume follows just behind her.

                                            >Oddly enough, it doesn't smell like ozone and sunflowers, which is her usual ensemble.

                                            >Instead, you get delightfully present hints of citrus, vanilla, and…

                                            >…Honeysuckle, if your nose isn’t lying to you.

                                            >Closing the front door wafts it about the room, and it brings with it a wave of memories, of a winter home drenched in the amber glow of a sunset coming to the forefront of your mind.

                                            “Love your new perfume, by the way.”

                                            >She turns to look at you, almost lucent with satisfaction as you shut the door behind her.

                                            >“Oh, I’m so glad you noticed!” she beams, the ghost of pride in her eyes.

                                            >“I almost went with my usual fragrance, but I remembered our conversation about nostalgia we had a while ago and decided to wear something that might bring some good memories forward for you.”

                                            >…Wow.

                                            >You’re rather caught off guard by how thoughtful her gesture really is.

                                            “You remembered the honeysuckle story?”

                                            >“How could I not?” she laughs. “The imagery you used for when it was stuck in your nose was quite colorful.”

                                            >You look at her in some form of blissful disbelief, which she returns with a confused smile.

                                            >“Is something the matter?”

                                            >Her question returns you to reality rather abruptly.

                                            “No, I’m alright, I just… Do you even know how sweet that is?”

                                            >She cocks an eyebrow at you, and from the way her smile twists, you can tell she’s suppressing a giggle.

                                            >“Remembering your stories?”

                                            >A brief, hearty laugh runs from your lungs as you shake your head.

                                            “No, not that - the reason you wore the perfume. I mean… I don’t even know what to say, Cel.”

                                            >Your dopey grin is beset on both cheeks by a heady warmth; a rosy blush, you assume - one that she adopts in kind.

                                            >“You don’t have to say anything, really,” she reassures, walking over to you. “I’m just glad you appreciate it, dear.”

                                            >Stopping just shy of you, she brings up a foreleg to her chest and holds her head high, closing her eyes as she leans in toward your right cheek.

                                            >You meet her halfway, bending over a tad and pressing your temple against hers, moving your head almost imperceptibly up and down in an affectionate nuzzle.

                                            >Your right hand goes up, fingertips delicately resting on the base of her neck.

                                            “I missed you.”

                                            >Her velvety fur mimics your motions, and the sensation on your bare skin feels like a lullaby made specifically for you.

                                            >“I missed you too, Anon,” she says right next to your ear, her silky voice reverberating through your shared contact.

                                            >After a few moments spent in each other’s embrace, you both reluctantly pull away from each other.

                                            “Give me just a few minutes to grab a quick shower, and I’ll be ready to go out.”

                                            >She nods, flashing you her seemingly ever-present smile.

                                            >“Of course, take your time.”

                                            >You smile back, content that you’ve got some time to get properly freshened up.

                                            >Turning back in the direction of your bathroom, you waste no time in-

                                            >“Actually…”

                                            >She catches your attention just before you cross the door’s threshold.

                                            >Rubbing her hoof with her chin, her gaze is affixed to nothing in particular as she appears lost in thought.

                                            >“I believe Pinkie Pie said her party was going to start in the afternoon, right?”

                                            >You nod.

                                            “Yep. At three, if I remember correctly.”

                                            >“And what time is it now?”

                                            >You crane your neck to check the clock in your living room…

                                            >“Seven thirty. Why?”

                                            >She smirks to herself, her horn coming alight with her aura.

                                            >“Well, since we have enough time,” she begins, a tinge of what sounds like satisfaction in her words. “Why don’t you get some more rest?”

                                            >Your perplexion is matched only by the steadfastness of her offer.

                                            “What, you mean, like… go back to sleep?”

                                            >She nods, confidence backing the motions of her head. She blinks once or twice, the very sight of her eyelashes flitting about giving you the faintest of butterflies.

                                            >You can’t help but laugh, colored by your bewilderment and decorated by the awkward nature of said reactive mannerism.

                                            “I thought you wanted to go out and do something this morning, though?”

                                            >“I did, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I had a moment of quiet where I wasn’t working in some way. I’d sooner abstain from sweets forever than pass up an opportunity like this.”

                                            “You can’t mean that.”

                                            >“…It would be a hard decision.”

                                            >Air is ejected from your nose, and the corners of your mouth reach as high as they can go.

                                            >This mare and her sweets.

                                            >Still, the idea of going back to bed now doesn’t quite sit well with you.

                                            “Wouldn’t that be rude, though? Leaving you hanging like that?”

                                            >You intend to wait for her reply, but a sentence that’s been bubbling in your chest for what must have been a while rises to the surface before silence prevails.

                                            “I just want to be with you as much as I can, you know?”

                                            >The words leave your mouth before you can curtail their intensity a bit.

                                            >It doesn’t sound desperate, thankfully, but it’s highly indicative of how much she’s been occupying your waking mind.

                                            >She notices, of course. You’d be surprised if she didn’t.

                                            >Her eyes widen just slightly - almost imperceptibly, if you hadn’t been getting used to her mannerisms.

                                            >Below her eyes, her pristine white fur turns the faintest shade of pink - it seems she wasn’t expecting that level of

                                            >The reaction passes just as quickly as it arrives, replaced by the mischievous grin you’ve become all too familiar with.

                                            >“Luckily for us, we don’t have to make any compromises.”

                                            >Before you can ask what she means, her horn flashes a brilliant light, making you cover your eyes with your arm to shield yourself from its intensity.

                                            >A few moments pass before the light dissipates, leaving your living room in a state of hazy dreaminess.

                                            >You move your arm back to your side, blinking a few times to regain the usual sharpness of your vision.

                                            >Nothing about your surroundings has changed; it’s when your eyes rest on her once more that you understand what she’s done.

                                            >Gone is her stylish jacket, her striking scarf.

                                            >In their place are a t-shirt of her favorite musical group, some particularly eye-catching socks, and a nightcap.

                                            >You’ve never seen her in anything other than casual outfits or her regalia, given that you haven’t been together for more than a few months at this point.

                                            >Seems as though today’s going to be a day of firsts, if nothing else.

                                            >“There,” she says after a hefty sigh. “Much cozier.”

                                            >You blink again, more out of surprise than anything else

                                            >She notices your lack of input and coyly locks eyes with you.

                                            >“Too much?” she asks, a bashful smile accompanying upturned eyebrows.

                                            >You can’t help but smile; she may be acting shy, but that look in her eyes gives you a hunch that she planned this.

                                            “Not at all. Although, if you wanted to take a nap together, you could’ve just asked me.”

                                            >She giggles to herself, content that you’ve uncovered her game at last.

                                            >“I’ll keep that in mind for next time, sunshine.”