>A house
>Back on earth,
>Your earth
>Whenever you read one of those stories, the main character would be living in a house
>So when you found yourself on this earth, the equestrian earth, you expected to be able to find a house quite easily
>The logs clink as they tumble into the fireplace
>”That’s the last of the wood”, the blue mare notes as she walks back from the rack, taking a seat by your side
Great. Let’s hope it lasts.
>You weren’t so fortunate
>You, Anonymous, ended up in an apartment
>Not even a very good one. All things considered, it would be more accurate to call it a furnished woodshed
>And the worst part was you couldn’t even land the rental on your own
>You cracked a new beer, one of many you’ve had since the start of the evening, and raised the can to your lips
>Only for it to float away in a cloud of blue shimmering magic
Would you get your own beers?
>”Or what? You think you can stop Trixie?”, she sneered at you
>You growled back, and grabbed yet another beer from the large carton
>Again unlike the stories, you lived with Trixie, who you could very loosely consider to be a roommate
>Despite how hazy it may have seemed to other ponies, your relationship was simple
>She sexually assaults you, and you get to keep a roof over your head
>Why agree to such an arrangement? 
>Because despite the harassment she has subjected you to from the moment you arrived, she’s the only pony who sees you as more than just a strange kind of ape
>Perhaps that’s why she decided to assault you to begin with
>You take a large swallow of alcohol to drown the thought
>Outside, the wind howls against the thin walls of your small shared studio.

>In time, you drink enough beers that you have enough empties to build a sizable pyramid
>Trixie sits beneath a blanket, a next to a square made of her own empty cans
>”Trixie heard it would go down to -30 tonight.”
No it won’t. It’ll go to -15.
>You grabbed one of her cans and added it to the pyramid
>”The newspaper clearly said it would go down to -30.”
Yes. With the wind-chill. We’re inside, Trixie. -15.
>You grabbed for another of her empty cans, only for her to stop you with magic
Oh piss off, you’re not allowed to be upset because you misread the paper.
>”I can be upset about whatever I want.”
Ooooh, she’s ditched the self-referential third person. Scary.
>You feel the magic envelope heat your hand to scalding
>She’s done it often enough that you’re sure the nerves in your hand are damaged
>”There’s no need to be an asshole, Anon” she snarls as she dissipates her spell
Don’t blame your pissyness on me. Not my fault you can’t read
>Abandoning the pyramid, you retrieve a new can from the carton and place it in front of your roommate
>You wait for her to open and drink it before you grab one for yourself
>”Why are you still here, Anon?” Her voice gives you pause
>The can feels heavy in your hand. Heavier still is the urge to throw it
>You turn to look at the azure unicorn. There’s something in her eyes you’re not used to seeing
"Oh, because I have so many other options, right? Lil miss failed show-pony?"
>...is what you want to say. But that thing in her eyes stops you
>Instead, the beer remains in your hand and the tab is pulled
>It’s cold and flat as it courses down your throat. Trixie replies by returning to her own beer

>The fire is about half the size it used to be
>There’s perhaps a quarter of the case of beer remaining, about 8 cans
>The floor is littered by an assortment of empties, and several now sit scalded in the fireplace
>Trixie moves closer to you, still covered in her blanket
>Outside, the wind screams against the pathetic fencing surrounding your rental
“Do you ever think about how we met”, the thought rolls out of your mouth, directed at no one
>”Yes. It would be nice if Trixie had more money than she does currently.”
>She stays focused on the fire
Yeah. I think I’d prefer if I stayed in my tent, too.
>Another can gets tossed into the fireplace
>You reach towards Trixie and grab an end of her blanket, stretching it around yourself so that you're both sitting underneath it
>With her magic, Trixie grabs another two cans of beer from the carton and drops one in front of you
>The wind continues to race past the outside of the windows, a haze of cold static as the snow is thrown around
>Trixie's hoof starts tracing circles on your pants, in the fabric above your crotch
"No", you bark and smack her hoof to the floor where it makes a clop noise
>She places her hoof on your thigh, you leave it there, and you both continue drinking

>The fire, once proud, now glows feebly as it struggles to exhaust the last of its fuel
>Under the blanket, you and Trixie lay spooning, your face buried in her mane
>”You’d better not try anything funny back there,” she slurs out, “Trixie knows how you are when you’re drunk.”
>Left hand wrapped around her barrel, you move it to poke her in the stomach. Hard
Don’t put your issues on me, Lulamoon. Wouldn’t fuck you if you begged me.
>She doesn’t react. Not to the poke, nor to your retort
>But the pit in your stomach gnaws all the same, that she might react
>Your hand finds its way back around her chest, and you both are still
>The room seems to fill with the sounds of your breathing, the pathetic crackling of the fireplace buried under the respiration
>”Five.”
>The muscles in her neck shift as she looks at the ceiling, and more of her mane falls across your face
>”The tables, the bed, the bed frame, and the desk. And they wouldn’t blame you either, they knew my finances were variable when they took the application.”
>Her heart beats strong enough that you can feel it on your chest. She’s still looking at the ceiling, probably trying to make you feel like she’s talking to you
“You’re right. They wouldn’t blame you one bit,” you reply, staying buried within her mane
>You pulled your arm back from across her side so that it rested on your hip
>Her weight shifts, slightly, like she was thinking about thinking to stand up
>But it settles back deeper into your stomach than it was before
>A familiar sensation pulls your arm back across her body, and you settle your hand into the flat of her chest
>Silence returned to the room, save for the final whimpers of the embers in the fireplace
>And as the night carried on, and the air grew colder, the silence grew deeper still.