The sunlight poured in, golden, from the streetside windows into Remedy's crystal shop: a new day. Winter brought brutal cold to Manehattan, and the sunlight glistened on the piles of dirty snow cleared from the roads.
"Thank you again for all your help," Mixtape said to Remedy. She beamed at him.
"I can tell you're feeling better here," she said. "And I am very thankful for you being here. Running just one business is a handful!"
"Taxes are coming up," he said. "I can help if you want."
She gave him a sideways glance. He smirked. They both laughed.
"I don't want to be a felon, thank you!" Remedy said.
They lapsed into comfortable silence as Mixtape organized the new inventory into their proper spots. Remedy was asking for numbers of rocks and minerals for the store's record. It was tedious work, but it was work. It was something. Mixtape knew he could still feel fulfilled so long as there was somepony to talk to.
Remedy had gifted Mixtape peace. It was something he felt could never be truly obtained—what would he even do to do what Remedy had for him? She offered to take some bits from his check to give to the motel he was staying at until she found an appropriate apartment.
Mixtape was just happy to be warm, and he no longer felt strained carrying his old box. The box had been so badly damaged, he threw it out, but not the things inside. In his motel room, there was a small dresser; in it, he had placed his most precious things. They would be in a box again when he moved, of course, but it would be different then. He wouldn't lift the weight of the new box every day.
He was full; full of joy. Warmth, like the golden rays of the sun in the wood-paneled store. What he was meant to do was clear: remember. That was all. He simply needed to remember, and invite others to hear.
"I think..." Mixtape trailed off. He went back to polishing a crystal ball before placing it carefully on its stand, cloth draped over it. "I think—" He frowned.
"Tear it off quick, like a bandage," Remedy said.
Mixtape nodded and squeezed his eyes shut, and said, "I think I'm going to move out of Manehattan."
There was no reaction. Silence filled the space between them. Mixtape opened his eyes slowly, expecting anger or sadness from Remedy. Instead, he saw her smiling.
"I think that's a good path for you," she said.
"I don't know if I'll leave yet," he said, "but... it's crossed my mind—my talent, you know?"
"I do."
"I also need to get my shit together."
Mixtape looked over and up at Remedy, who was still smiling. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.
They went back to counting, walking every aisle in the store, depositing new inventory when necessary and placing anything "out of season" in the back room. The golden rays of sun were warm on their backs, and Mixtape paused in a beam.
Peace. He finally understood.