//------------------------------// // Lyra Heartstrings and Bon Bon // Story: Affection Therapy // by Blazewing //------------------------------// This is it. The day has finally arrived. As of this moment, you are now officially employed at the Ponyville spa. It’s nearly noon, and your first shift is about to start. You’re feeling that same level of nervous anticipation that you had when you were asked to come to Twilight’s castle. There really should be a word for this kind of feeling. Nervicipation? No, that sounds stupid. Nervousited, perhaps? Now that sounds like the kind of word Pinkie Pie would make up, and yet, it’s oddly fitting. To complete the feeling of employment finality, you're even attired in the official spa uniform: a white shirt with a broad collar, decorated with a red button, and a white headband to keep your hair back. Well, to be honest, only the collar and headband are part of the uniform, since most of the spa ponies don’t even wear shirts, with the exception of Bulk Biceps. You’d seen the massively muscular pegasus around town before, easily recognizable from a distance, either by his size or his loud, enthusiastic yells of ‘YEAH!’ The fact that he’s a masseuse is both humorous and terrifying; you’d rather trust the gentle hooves of the female spa ponies. In any case, you’d arrived early so that Aloe and Lotus could get you accustomed to what would be your therapy room. They must’ve taken advice from Twilight to ensure that it conforms to an adequate setting for affection therapy. The wallpaper is a soothing blue, decorated with beautiful landscape portraits, and the floor softly carpeted. A sofa is set in the very middle, wide enough for two ponies, or a pony and a human, to sit together upon it comfortably. A coffee table sits before it, a plate of fresh-baked cookies you’d brought set upon it, to allow for a slight relaxation in the spa rules: treats can be consumed only in this room, allowing you to prepare snacks for your clients. Quite a sweet deal, you have to say.  A gramophone occupies a corner of the room, to provide relaxing music, even though it’s not something you’ve employed before. That’s not to say you never would, just that it never crossed your mind before. You’ll have to see how well it works.  There’s a clock above the door, which has had its ticking magically muted so as not to be distracting, but which still chimes every hour. It even has a ‘five-minute warning’ chime, letting you know when an appointment is almost over.  Next to the door is affixed a clipboard detailing who has appointments on the given day. As Twilight had said, your schedule allows for a minimum of three ponies and a maximum of five. To be honest, you’ve been curious to know how many ponies would show up for your first day, considering that most ponies have at least heard about what you’ve been doing. Advertisements for the change have been posted around Ponyville over the course of the past week, and you’d seen ponies regarding them with interest, sometimes looking over at you, as though they’ve connected you with it.  One of the highlights of that time was Rarity running up to you just outside your home, looking as delighted as if a fairy tale prince had asked her to marry him. She practically squealed that she ‘knew it was a good idea’, and congratulated you heartily for putting it into effect. It made your face glow, being given such praise, and all you could do was mumble that it had been her idea. To this, she simply scoffed, saying it was only an idea, and that you actually made it happen.  Then she made your heart melt even more by giving you a peck on the cheek, thanking you for the gift you’d sent her. As thanks for her inspiration, you’d decided to send her a dozen purple petunias, specially chosen by Rose, who knew what the lovely fashionista loved best in flowers. Rarity then wished you the best of luck for your first day and trotted off, while you could only stagger back inside, giddy with bashfulness. In any case, the list of appointments for today came as quite a surprise. Not only are all five of the maximum slots for the day occupied, but Lotus had informed you, with incredulous delight, that there was already a waiting list for ponies who had signed up after the maximum had been reached. So many ponies wanted to try affection therapy for themselves. This was going to be one busy week. “Well, look at you, Mr. Big Shot. You managed to crawl your way up to a fancy-shmancy job in this town, and all you had to do was pamper and spoil a few ponies. It’s like I always said: you’re too soft to be anywhere else. If you had a cutie mark, it’d be a big bleeding heart, just to show the world the kind of mushy sap you are.” You give your head a vigorous shake. Why are you still thinking these things, and in that same voice? Manehattan’s far behind you, and everything and everypony that comes with it. This isn’t the time for those thoughts. It’s time to focus on your new job. The clock chimes noon, and almost as soon as the twelfth chime dies away, somepony knocks at the door. Butterflies surging in your stomach, you take a seat on the couch, clear your throat, and call out, “Come in!” The door opens, and in walks your very first spa client, Lyra Heartstrings. Lyra’s another pony you see around town quite a bit, usually in the company of Bon Bon, the proprietor of the local sweet shop. As for herself, she’s a musician, as you’ve also seen her occasionally playing a lyre. And no, it’s not a harp, it’s a lyre. You thought it was a harp at first, but you’ve been assured that it is, in fact, a lyre. It’s not just you, though. Seems ponies make that mistake all the time. In any case, Lyra’s a mint-green unicorn with a cyan mane and tail, both with white streaks running through them, bright orange eyes, and a cutie mark of a lyre. Like Rose, Lyra keeps her mane styled in a boyish pixie cut, giving her a sporty, carefree look. She also happens to be one of the, *ahem*, pudgier ponies in town, sporting a noticeable little belly, kind of like Starlight. You suppose it must come from being best friends with a candy-maker. That would tend to net you a few free samples now and then, which would impact your figure. While not intimate, you’re on fairly good terms with Lyra, though you’ve only really talked to her when she comes by the flower stalls to visit Rose, Daisy, and Lily. She’s a sweet, bubbly mare with a lovely voice, and can be quite energetic at times. You saw this for yourself when she first met you. She went into an absolute delirium of delight, since, according to her, it had been her lifelong dream to meet a real human, and you just happened to be that lucky human. She had to exercise a lot of restraint not to bombard you with too many questions, though you would’ve been only too happy to answer what you could, and you couldn’t help noticing that she seemed particularly fixated on your hands. Sure, other ponies sometimes gazed at them (living your life only seeing hooves will have that effect), but honestly, they’re not that different from Spike’s claws. You know, apart from the fact that he’s a dragon and you’re not. Knowing the kind of pony she is, you find it rather disquieting to see her wearing a more subdued, even glum expression on her face. Then again, if she was in her usual high spirits, or unless she was just curious, she wouldn’t likely have put herself down for a therapy appointment. Still, you put on your best smile for her. “Good afternoon, Lyra.” She looks up at you, and seeing you seems to brighten her up a bit, as she gives you a small smile of her own. “Good afternoon,” she says. “You’re one lucky mare,” you say. “You have the honor of being my very first client here at the spa.” Lyra giggles. “That is pretty lucky, I guess,” she says. “Please, have a seat,” you say, gesturing to the empty side of the couch. Shutting the door softly behind her, Lyra crosses over and hops onto the couch. You notice her steal yet another glance at your hands. Well, now she’ll get to see what they can do, as far as affection therapy is concerned. “Help yourself to a cookie or two,” you say, gesturing to the plate. “I always make it a policy to make my guests feel welcome.” Lyra glances at the plate. Contrary to the usual reaction of seeing readily-available sweets, her smile fades, and she looks askance. “Maybe later,” she mumbles. “I’m not really in the mood for sweets right now.” “Perfectly fine,” you say, not wanting to force her. “So, Lyra, you know how affection therapy works, right?” “Mm-hmm,” says Lyra, nodding. “It was in that update the spa had posted around town: making ponies feel better with ear scratches and belly rubs, right?” “Well, in a nutshell,” you say, with a half-shrug. “I help ponies relax from what’s troubling them with a bit of platonic affection.” You tap her nose when you say this, making her wrinkle her muzzle cutely. “So, if anything’s on your mind that’s weighing you down, feel free to let it out, and I’ll see if I can help.” Lyra looks at you for a moment, then your hands again, back to you, then she sighs. “I do need to get this off my chest,” she says, “and I figured this’d be a good place to do it in. I mean, you are a therapist, and you’re one of Rose’s friends, so I can trust you.” She places a hoof on your arm. Touched, you smile and pat her hoof. “I’m always here for a friend,” you say. She smiles slightly at this, then says, “It’s kind of complicated. Do you mind if I put it to music?” You blink. “Put it to music?” you repeat. You only just notice that she’s brought her signature instrument with her. Well, she is a lyrist, so you suppose it makes sense. “Of course,” you say. “Whatever makes you comfortable.” Lyra shifts her position on the couch, with her shoulders and back resting against the back of the couch, so that she’s sitting more like a human would, rather than sitting on all fours or on her stomach, like a typical pony. This makes her little paunch more pronounced than before. She holds her lyre in her magic, gives a few preliminary plucks at the strings to reach the right key, then, with eyes closed, and in a beautiful, yet melancholy voice, sings as she plays, “What do you do when your friend’s uptight When she’s strict and demanding from day until night When it feels like you can’t do anything right When nothing you do seems to please her What do you do when she gets in your face When she calls you lazy, a chubby disgrace When she yells ‘Just get out and give me some space!’ And all because you tried to tease her ‘Was it something I did?’ ‘Was it something I said?’ Your mind’s in a whirl as these thoughts fill your head And they daunt you from dawn ‘til you’re lying in bed ‘Just what did I do to unease her?’ What do you do when your friend’s uptight When she’s strict and demanding from day until night When it feels like you can’t do anything right When nothing you do seems to please her” She plucks the last few notes, her voice growing choked as she finishes the last verse. Even with her eyes closed, you see tears welling at the corners of them, and the sight goes right to your heart. With a sniff, she sets her lyre down and wipes at her eyes. You clear your throat; it’s feeling a bit husky after that. “So, from what I can glean from that song,” you say, “which was beautifully-sung, by the way, your friend’s been in a bad mood, and you somehow rubbed her the wrong way, without knowing why. Does that sound right?” Lyra nods glumly. Now, she hasn’t named who this friend was, but something tells you that you know who this friend might be. Still, if she doesn’t want to name her, that’s her business, not yours. “Did you ask her what you’d done to make her so mad?” you ask. “I should have,” says Lyra, “but she caught me off guard by exploding the way she did. I was too shocked to process anything else. Meanwhile, she was too busy criticizing me about things I do that annoy her, and that really stung me.” Her eyes start to tear up again. You put a hand on her shoulder. You’re about to ask what these things are, if it wasn’t impolite to ask of her, but she saves you the trouble. “I mean, sure, I crack jokes a lot,” she says, “but I thought she liked my jokes. She laughs at everything; she said so herself. And I can be a little lazy, too, when she wants something done and I don’t help her right away, but she’s the one always telling me to leave her to her work when I offer to help, so she’s kinda sending me mixed signals there. Then she brought up my weight.” She puts a hoof to her belly, watching it sink into the pudge. “Well, who let me be her personal candy taste-tester, huh?” she asked, bitterly. “If I didn’t, she’d be the one putting on the pounds. I’m doing her favor, and this is how she thanks me? She’s just so...Argh!” She lets out a growl of frustration as she covers her eyes with her hooves, pulling down her lower eyelids as she brings them down again. The fact that she mentioned being a candy taste-tester more than confirms your suspicions about who she’s had a falling out with. “When did this all happen?” you ask. Lyra’s momentary anger fades away, and she looks gloomy again. “About a week ago,” she says. “She made it clear she didn’t want to see me, so I’ve been doing my best to stay out of her way. I really miss her, though, and I want to apologize for...whatever it is I did to make her snap at me like that. I don’t know if she’d accept it, though. What if this was one time too many? What if she doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore?...” Sniffling, she leans against you, tears running down her cheeks. Hearing her story had already reduced your heart to a pile of aching mush, but this adds a whole new layer to it. You put your arms around her and hug her, as she nestles against you, seeking comfort and reassurance. “There, there,” you say, soothingly. “Let it all out. It’s ok.” Lyra sniffs and hiccups, but eventually, her crying subsides, though she remains cuddled to you. You softly stroke her back, and she lets out a sigh. “It’s never easy, having an argument with someone you care deeply about,” you say. “It feels like everything you had is blown to the wind in a matter of seconds, like it can never be mended.” Lyra sniffs again. “But you care about her enough to want to apologize, even if you don’t know what you did wrong,” you say. “That speaks volumes to how much her friendship means to you. And I’m sure she’d feel the same way about you.” Lyra looks up at you with those vibrant orange eyes of hers, tears still lingering beneath them. “The best of friendships are strong enough to withstand a few angry words,” you say. “No relationship is free of an occasional squabble or disagreement. It’s working through those tough times together that makes a friendship that much stronger, but it can only be together.” Lyra wipes at her eyes, looking awed at your speech. To be honest, you’re always amazed at what springs into your mind at these moments. Seeing these lovable ponies in distress really seems to bring it out in you. “But what if she’s still mad?” she asks, in a small voice. “Then talk things out,” you say. “Try to come to an understanding with each other, see where you’re both coming from, get each other’s side of the story. It’s possible this could’ve been a misunderstanding or just bad timing. You never know until you find the truth.” Lyra continues to gaze up at you, and then, slowly, a smile returns to her face. It’s a small one, but still a smile, and that’s always encouraging. “So, you feel up to some affection therapy?” you ask. She nods. “Absolutely,” she says, easing apart from you. “Apart from wanting to get that off my chest, I’ve really wanted to see how those hands of your work for this kind of thing.” Just as you thought. Well, you decide not to waste time in showing her, as you start scratching behind her ear. Like a charm, you see her eyes widen, then her eyelids droop, and her smile goes slack. Her head sways to one side, like a curious puppy tilting its head, but forgetting to right itself again. Her tongue even pokes out as you continue to scratch, adding to the overall adorability of the display. You eventually start on the other ear, and her head tilts the opposite way, still with that same silly expression. “So that’s how fingers work,” she says, her voice slurred. You can’t help but crack a grin at how goofy she’s being. Without further ceremony, she flops into your lap, twisting over so that she’s on her back. Then, all of a sudden, she reaches up and taps you on the nose with her hoof. “For the boop earlier,” she says, winking. Smiling, you start scratching under her chin, making her head tilt up. Her eyes close in blissful relaxation, and she lets out a deep sigh. Her hoof reaches up and grips lovingly around your wrist, as if she never wants to let it go. This kind of foal-like behavior never fails to make you want to go ‘aww’.  For a split second, you swear that she’s actually purring, like a contented cat. Then you realize that the rumbling is actually coming from her stomach. Her eyes open, and she glances down at it with a slight giggle. “My gut was feeling all knotted up from stress,” she says, “but now I guess I’m properly hungry. Are those cookies still up for grabs?” “Of course,” you say. “Help yourself.” Her horn lights up, and a large cookie floats off the plate over to her. She licks her lips, then chows down, sending crumbs everywhere. In three bites, the cookie’s gone, and she wipes her muzzle with her hoof. “Delicious,” she says. “One more couldn’t hurt.” So saying, she nabs another cookie, and it too disappears. “Your belly feeling happy again?” you ask, giving her paunch a pat. “A lot happier,” says Lyra, giggling. “I do try to eat healthy so I don’t get too fat, but I just love sweets too much. It also helps that I know a good dentist.” “Lucky you,” you say, with a chuckle. You give her belly a tickle, making her giggle again. “Don’t make me tickle you back,” she warns, playfully. “Well, I’m not about to start a tickle fight here,” you say, and she grins. There’s a pause, and then Lyra asks, “Do you think, maybe, you could give me a tummy rub now?” She looks up at you with the biggest pair of puppy-dog eyes you’ve ever seen, and she even pouts her lower lip. “Of course I could,” you say. “It’s your session.” Lyra beams. Your hand is still resting on her belly, so you immediately start rubbing circles along it. It’s not unlike Pinkie’s in its doughy softness, but you believe the pink party pony still has her beat in that regard.  Lyra sighs deeply again, stretching her hind legs and tail out. You use your free hand to pillow the back of her head, and she looks up at you through half-lidded eyes, a blissful smile on her face as you continue to rub. It’s a far cry from the glum mare who first walked into the room. After a time, while you’re still rubbing, her hoof reaches out and lays itself atop your hand, which stops, still on her belly. You glance at her face, and see that her eyes are closed, her mouth slightly open, her breathing indicating that she’s dozing. She must be dreaming, and yet she’s still unconsciously aware that you’re there with her, comforting her. You give her hoof a gentle squeeze, and she smiles ever so slightly in her sleep. Bless her. Eventually, the clock chimes, and you look up. It’s the five-minute warning. How the time’s flown. Lyra seems to have to heard it as well, as she stirs and yawns, sitting up and stretching. She smacks her lips sleepily, then turns to look at you, looking relaxed and content. “Feeling better?” you ask. “A whole lot better,” she says. “It’s exactly what I needed.” “I’m glad to hear it,” you say, smiling. “I’m happy I could help you.” Lyra smiles back, then puts her hooves around you in a hug. “Thanks,” she says. “It means a lot that you let me speak my mind and get it all out there, and I’ll definitely take your advice to heart. I’m still a little nervous, but I’ll talk to her, so thanks.” Beaming, you return her hug. “You’re welcome, Lyra. Good luck.” You ease apart, and she gives you one last warm smile before she hops down from the couch and heads for the door. She’s about to leave, when she pauses, turns, then magically lifts another cookie from the plate. “One for the road,” she says with a wink, then takes her leave. Chuckling, you wipe some stray crumbs away from the table and couch. It always does your heart good to see a smile back on a previously sad pony’s face, and you honestly hope Lyra does have luck in reconciling with her friend. Of course, that may come about sooner than she thinks, if your assumptions are correct. A few minutes later, one o’clock strikes, and there’s another knock at the door. “Come in!” you call. The door opens, and in walks Appointment #2 for the day: Bon Bon. As mentioned before, Bon Bon runs the local sweet shop, and she’s often seen around town with Lyra. Similarly to Lyra, while not very close with her, you’re on genial terms from running into each other from time to time. You’d even stopped by her shop one time to sample her wares; the caramels are simply divine. Bon Bon’s a cream-colored Earth pony with a blue and pink-striped mane and tail, done up in neat curls, blue eyes, and a cutie mark of three wrapped candies. Contrary to what one would expect of someone whose trade deals in sweets, she has a rather slender build, though recent history has given you an idea as to why that is. From what interaction you’ve had with her, you know her to be good-natured and inventive, always coming up with new treat ideas. She also has a rather clever knack for changing her voice. Judging by how punctually she’s arrived, you doubt that she ran into Lyra on the way out, since she’d had a few minutes’ headstart. Either that, or they had, and Lyra had still been too nervous to initiate conversation with her just yet. Either way, Bon Bon looks like she’s thinking something over as she steps inside, and doesn’t look up until you address her. “Good afternoon, Bon Bon.” She jumps a little. Apparently, she was in rather deep thought. “Oh! Good afternoon,” she says. “Please, take a seat, and help yourself,” you say, gesturing to the couch and cookies in turn. Bon Bon eyes the plate for a moment, shakes her head slightly, then gets up onto the couch. “I’ll pass for now,” she says. “I’m not much in the mood for sweets at the moment.” Now where have you heard that before? “That’s all right,” you say. “So, what brings you here today? What’s on your mind?” Bon Bon rubs her foreleg awkwardly with her other forehoof, looking as though she’s embarrassed about what she’s about to say. Then, with a rueful expression, she sighs and says, “It’s about a friend of mine, a very dear friend.” Avoiding naming names again. Your suspicions have been more than confirmed by now, but again, you’ll leave it to her if she wants to be more open about it. “Yes?” “I feel like I’ve been a bit unfair to her, and I don’t know how to make things right.” “How do you mean?” you ask. Bon Bon pauses, biting her lip, then says, “I’ve been busy trying to recreate an old candy recipe I heard about long ago, but I can’t quite get it right.” “Oh? What sort of recipe?” “Edible candy flutes.” You blink. “Edible candy flutes?” you repeat. “Yes,” she says, keenly. “Hollow fruit-flavored sweets with holes on top, that allow you to blow into them and make music, like a flute. It’s meant to combine dessert with playtime, a fun treat for foals and music-lovers.” Now that actually sounds like a pretty good idea. You’d certainly try one. “That sounds interesting,” you say, genuinely. “But you say you’re having trouble with it.” Bon Bon nods. “The trick is raising the boiling point of the sugar higher than normal. That puts holes in the sweets. The trouble is getting it in a way that puts the candy flutes in proper musical harmony. The sound just comes out all wrong whenever I blow into them, so that it sounds like either a dog whistle or a duck call. Plus, the taste is very inconsistent, and not in a good way.” “Oh dear,” you say. “It sounds like you have a lot on your plate.” Bon Bon nods again. “It’s consumed my thoughts for a while now. I’ve been desperately trying to fix the recipe wherever I can, trying to find where I went wrong. I’ve been at my wit’s end, and it's made me, well...a bit bad-tempered.” She looks askance, guilt written all over her face. “Last week, I was running over new ideas I could employ in making the next batch, when my friend just started talking away, cracking jokes and being silly. I suppose she was just trying to make me feel better, since I looked a pretty bad mess in my stress, but I wasn’t in the mood for distractions, and after one joke too many, I...I…” Bon Bon sniffles, and tears spring into her eyes. You instinctively place a gentle hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t shift it away, which is a good sign. “You snapped?” you offer, mildly. She nods, a tear leaking out. “It was as if all the stress I’d been feeling just...burst out of me, but my thoughts focused on...on her, so I...I lashed out at her. I...I said some awful things to her, but...but I was too angry to care if I hurt her feelings...I told her to get out and leave me alone...and I haven’t spoken to her since…” Now things are starting to make sense. You’re beginning to see things from both sides of the conflict, now that Bon Bon’s here to fill in the gaps. Gratifying as it is, however, you regret that it’s at the cost of her grief and guilt. Bon Bon wipes at her eyes, still sniffling. “After I calmed down, I...I realized what I’d done. I’d exploded at my dearest friend, when she didn’t even do anything wrong, and all because I couldn’t get some stupid candy recipe right. What good is some candy I can’t even make if it means driving away the pony I care about most? I didn’t really mean what I said…” No. Nopony ever does when they lash out like that. Well, most of the time, they don’t, but you know Bon Bon wouldn’t have. “I mean, sure, she cracks some corny jokes, but I laugh at everything. And sure, she doesn’t always help me out right away when I need something, but then again, I do tell her to just leave me to it, so that’s my own fault. And, ok, she’s gotten a little chubby, but I allow her to taste-test my sweets, just so I can keep my own figure, so of course she’s going to put on a few pounds. She really does look out for me.” This really is like listening to both sides of the same coin. It’s almost surreal. “Thinking about all of that,” Bon Bon continues, her voice growing husky, “really made me realize how much I took her for granted. I want to make things right with her, but how can I apologize to her after what I said? I feel like I went too far this time, and it’s not the first time I let her down…” Rather than collapse against you like Lyra did, Bon Bon simply covers her eyes with her foreleg, silently weeping into it. You sympathetically rub her shoulder, feeling that, unless she initiated it herself, a hug might not be warranted at that precise moment. Luckily, it seems to be doing the trick, as her crying quiets down after a time, and the two of you simply sit there quietly, as you let her let it all out. “It’s a harsh feeling, I know,” you say, “taking your anger out on someone, realizing too late what you’ve done. It makes you feel like you can never take it back.” Bon Bon sniffles. “But it’s never too late to make amends,” you say. “If you really want to make things right again, that shows just how much your friendship means to you, and I’m confident it goes the same way for your friend.” Bon Bon looks up at you, her blue eyes reddened and puffy. “A good friendship can withstand the worst of times,” you say. “No relationship’s free of an argument or two. That’s unavoidable. It’s getting through those tough times together that makes your bond come out stronger than before.” You’re really getting deja vu here, but in this case, since it’s two sides of the same story, it’s fitting. “You should go find her and talk things out,” you continue, “come to a better understanding. Avoiding her isn’t going to make the problem go away on its own. You both need to work through this.” Bon Bon looks at you in silence for a few moments, as though she’s taking in what you’ve said. Finally, she seems to make up her mind. She nods. “I will,” she says, resolutely. “I’ll find her and try to make amends for how poorly I treated her. For now, though, I could really use a hug.” Her voice breaks at the end of this statement, and new tears spring into her eyes. You give her a kind smile. “That’s what I’m here for, Bon Bon,” you say, opening your arms. She collapses against you, putting her forelegs around you and resting her chin on your shoulder, sniffling. You hold her close, rocking her gently and stroking her back. She nuzzles her cheek against yours, sighing as she settles into your embrace. This feels just like when you comforted Derpy; all she needed was a hug from someone who cared. Well, sometimes, all it takes is a simple hug. Some time later, her grip on you relaxes, and she settles under your chin, still nestling against you. Still keeping one arm around her, you begin scratching behind her ear. You can’t see her reaction, but she settles even more snugly into you than before, and you hear give off a sigh of contentment. She even mumbles something sleepily. “So that’s why she’s so obsessed with hands…” You chuckle to yourself at this, but say nothing. You just continue to hold her and scratch behind her ear, letting her relax. Eventually, you move to stroking her curly mane, which feels silky to the touch, and even gives off a faint, sweet smell, not quite the cotton candy smell of Pinkie’s mane, but one that reminds you of something sugary. You feel her head shift as she nuzzles into you, tickling your chin with her mane, nearly throwing off your concentration.  Before you know it, she’s twisted herself over, so that her back is against your torso. Her hooves grip around your arm, as though asking to just hold her there like that, still in a hug. You look down at her, and see that she’s resting against your chest, already looking like she’s falling asleep, her expression peaceful. Smiling, you put your other arm around her and hold her close anew. With her barrel resting against your arm, you can feel her gentle breathing, and the soft beating of her heart. It’s very soothing. As you sit there, holding the sleeping Bon Bon, you still can’t help but marvel at what an odd coincidence has been thrown at you. On your very first day as a spa-appointed affection therapist, your first two clients are dealing with problems with each other, and likely with no knowledge that the other has made an appointment to see you. This will make quite a story for them once they decide to meet again, and you hope they do come to an understanding with each other. It was hard to see how they couldn’t, when they both wanted to make amends with each other. Before the clock even reaches the five-minute warning, Bon Bon starts to stir. It seems she’d gotten the comfort she needed from that hug, and by the smile on her face as she sits up and turns to face you, it’s done her spirit wonders. “You look like you’re feeling better,” you say, smiling. “I really am,” says Bon Bon. “That hug was exactly what I needed, along with getting all of that off of my chest. Thank you for giving me that chance.” “You’re welcome, Bon Bon,” you say. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here for.” Bon Bon leans in and gives you a gentle nuzzle. “I’m going to find my friend,” she says, “and I’m going to apologize for what I said to her. I just hope she’ll accept it.” “I’m sure she will,” you say. “Good luck.” “Thanks,” says Bon Bon, smiling. She hops down from the couch, and has only taken one step towards the door, when she pauses, turns to the table, picks up a cookie from the plate, and gulps it down. “Mmm,” she sighs, licking her lips. “Now I’m back in the mood for sweets.” With a light laugh, she heads out the door, closing it behind her.  Smiling, you stand up and stretch. Bon Bon’s early departure has given you a little time before your next appointment, so you might as well stretch your legs a bit, get ready for the next one. You feel confident that Lyra and Bon Bon will repair their friendship, and that the next time you see them, they’ll be walking the streets side by side again, or else working together at the sweet shop. Those two tender-hearted ponies seemed made for each other, after all.  Still, with all that’s happened in only two appointments, you can’t help but wonder what could possibly happen during the next three of the day.