Archive of Our Own

Hotel's bar was cramped, stuffy, and filled with smoke. After being there a bit too long and drinking a bit too much - the time when he drank for social purposes was long gone, and for some time he was numbing himself instead - Brassius' head was spinning.

He needed fresh air.

Everyone was in a state as well, it made avoiding curious glances and dismissing another “congratulations” from some surely important personages quite easy. Somehow, instead of feeling proud, he was just annoyed with them, and alcohol only reinforced this feeling, making it really hard to conceal his true emotions.

They don't have to pretend anymore that he did something big. The official ceremony was finished, business cards exchanged, photographs taken. The city has its own new sculpture from a foreign artist, oh, how exotic, surely something to brag about in updated travel guidebooks.

Brassius made it to the bar exit, pushed the door leading to the hotel lobby and almost ran out, thirsty for the cold night air to sober him up a little.

But he didn't make it to the outside of the building - instead of the cool breeze, it was something else that hit him.

At first, Brassius thought, that due to his intoxication, he accidentally bumped into the corner of the wall. But then the corner of the wall said something - not exactly the typical behavior of an inanimate object. He shook his head and looked up, confused.

Although the stranger was quite tall and the case that he wore on his back made him look even taller, he was definitely not a wall.

“Oh Mother, oh no,” Brassius mumbled, wobbling on his feet. He didn't register the stranger's words at all, only an intimidating figure dressed in a leather jacket. “Don't hit me please, I need my face intact… for photos… w-wait a sec…”

He checked his left pocket, but it was empty. Then his right, from which he attempted to pull out the wallet.

“What are you doing?” A dash of laughter knocked Brassius out of rhythm. “I've had a rough day, but to be instantly regarded as a thug....”

The sculptor looked up and squinted. The face framed by a waist-long blurry brushstrokes of yellow seemed to be smiling. It was hard to tell for sure.

“Sor… Sorry,” Brassius said anyway, wanting to pass him, but tripping over his own feet. He felt a strong hand catching his arm in a surprisingly gentle manner before he had a chance to fall on his much-needed face.

“You don't seem well. Let's get you outside.”

The man was not asking, and while Brassius was tired and annoyed, he was also too drunk to argue and, admittedly, trusted this guy more than he did his legs. The firm grip on his arm was probably the only thing that kept him together. He tried to nod his head, but he might as well be falling asleep while standing up.

Instead of the outside of the building, he was dragged to the elevator. Some word of objection wanted to break out of his mouth, but he was quickly shushed.

Brassius barely remembered the next few minutes. The repetitive music in the hotel's elevator, the overly loud “ping” signaling the arrival at the destination floor, the gentle pull thanks to which he was able to exit the elevator, the… garden?

And the air, finally, fresh and floral.

He couldn't remember whether he sat down himself or was seated, whether he lay down further on his own or simply fell. All he remembered was gazing at the stars swirling above him, something swirling in his stomach as well, and a comforting touch of grass beneath his whole body to counterpart that. When, after closing his eyes, the whole world kept spinning, he clenched his fists on a clump of grass as if it could stop this merry-go-round.

And it helped… or rather, it was the moment he dozed off.

Fortunately, his sleep was for once dreamless.

When Brassius opened his eyes, he was welcomed by a low voice humming some unfamiliar tune. At night, this melody sounded as if a mantra to ward off nightmares.

It was quite beautiful.

The sky seemed slightly brighter, although he could still see the stars. They were still this time and he breathed a sigh of relief at this realization.

His awakening must have drawn attention because the humming momentarily stopped. What a shame.

“Feeling better?”

The sculptor glanced to the right from where the voice was coming. Now, with more calm, albeit aching head, he was able to take a closer look at the man. The stranger was sitting on the grass, some kind of bag and a large case lying behind him. He wore grayish wide-leg ragged jeans with a Discman clipped to its white belt, a plain black T-shirt exposing tanned arms, and a red sweatband on his left wrist. His light blonde hair was waist-length, with ends curled outward. A fringe peeked out from under the backward-turned trucker hat on his head, framing his face - especially big, golden eyes - in a rather cute way. There was a small notebook and a pencil in his hands, although, given the fact that the garden was lit only by some small lamps, the tools were probably used more as a way to occupy his hands rather than sketching or… writing musical notation, maybe?

Brassius lifted himself up on his hands to the sitting position, noticing with surprise a leather jacket on his legs, which definitely did not belong to him.

“This is so embarrassing…” He groaned to himself and hid his face in his hands, gradually moving them to his hair which he ruffled in frustration, ignoring the fact that he will make a mess out of it. 

“Please don't worry about that,” a sincere voice tried to reassure him. “I'm just glad to see you're better. I hope you don't mind I took you here. It just seemed like a better place to sober up than on a street.”

“Yes…”

Brassius took a look around the roof garden. It wasn't large, but cozy. The entire rooftop was planted with grass, and in some seemingly random places, wildflowers seemed to grow at their own pace. The red of the poppies and the blue of the forget-me-nots, normally a clash, looked fairytale-like in the night light, their intense colors standing out even at night against the natural, green carpet. A little farther away, low bushes and a few shorter trees grew in even rows, offering some privacy from the sight of people from other buildings. Between them, hand-built wooden benches provided some space to sit and relax.

There seemed to be no one else there - probably due to the late, or early - depending on how one looks at it - hour. 

“Yes, it definitely is better,” Brassius said again facing the stranger, his voice more confident. “Was someone looking for me?”

“No, no one came here.”

“I see,” Brassius replied. No wonder - the official ceremony and goodbye party were over. There was no reason for anyone to have to make sure he was safe or even alive at this point, since the job was done. “I didn't even know this hotel has a roof garden. Which is…”

Weird , he wanted to say. Normally this would be a safe place for him, yet he was so stressed and preoccupied with the handover of his latest sculpture, that such information flew past his mind.

“Ah, never mind. Thank you,” Brassius said, sinking uneasy feelings before they have a chance to float. He grabbed a leather jacket from his lap and passed it toward the man, noticing a lack of goosebumps on his forearms despite the cold. “You really shouldn't have.”

“No problem, really.” The man almost beamed, taking his belonging back and putting it on. This worn-out black jacket fitted him so perfectly, it must have been a faithful piece of clothing. It seemed almost new, the only mark of time visible on the metal buckles, which have completely lost their luster.

“I think… I should go back to my room,” Brassius said, standing up.

“Do you need any help?”

“I was only drunk, I haven't lost my mind or my legs,” Brassius replied bitterly. Venom in his own voice took him by surprise. All the stress accumulated over the past weeks - tiring preparations, interviews, travels, pressure, forced smiles, and an overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction, had its finale yesterday, but the emotions have not yet left him.

“Sorry. Again. Ughh.” Brassius winced, once again hiding his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes as if that could make him less irritated.

This night was a disaster. He was a disaster.

“Surely you had better plans than to be insulted by a random you selflessly helped.”

“It's… fine.” The blonde man said, tucking the notebook into his bag, probably getting ready to go as well. He stood up, putting the bag over his shoulder. “I wanted to offer a jam session at the pub to pay for the night, but I think there was some kind of party going on there. My services would be unnecessary anyway. So my schedule was rather empty.”

Brassius stared at him blankly, wondering how such a person seemed intimidating to him.

What a strange man it was.

“Are you saying you can't pay for the room?”

“I did pay for this night,” he waved his free hand, suddenly his gaze fixed on something far away. “What I was saying is that I didn't have any plans.”

“What you also meant is that you paid for a night and it will be morning soon. That's-”

Brassius shook his head and reached into the pocket, taking a wallet out. He pulled out two bills - more than enough to provide for a night and a dinner in a luxury restaurant - and handed them to the man. A raised eyebrow asked the silent question, like the answer wasn't obvious.

“Just take it. As a thank you and apology.”

“It hasn't been a few hours since we met, and this is the second time you've tried to give me money when I'm not asking for them. Is it just me, or-”

“Geez,” Brassius sighed, his shoulders dropping a little, “You Galar people are too kind.”

“I'm not, I can't—“

“Listen, I don't have energy for this,” Brassius interrupted, feeling his headache starting to act up even more. “I had an awful week. Month. A year, maybe. I really don't need the extra worry of whether you'll have a place to sleep tomorrow. I know you didn't help me for a profit even when you need one, no offense, I just know well how a life of an artist can be. Let me repay you somehow for my own mental comfort, then we'll part ways and never meet again. Okay?”

The taller man furrowed his brow. It was clear he was fighting with himself, but Brassius was not going to wait and see which side would win - he simply pressed the bills into the stranger's chest and moved towards the elevator, ignoring the vague gibberish that was meant to be either a sign of protest or surprise.

He entered the elevator and chose his floor. Standing there, he saw the stranger leaning down to pick up his guitar case. Whenever he took the money or left it on the ground remained unanswered. Brassius hoped he did take it in the end.

Just before the elevator's door closed, the guitarist looked him in the eye, the intensity of his gaze almost throwing Brassius off balance again.

He was smiling. This was not a smirk, a pleased grin, or even a joyful grimace.

This smile was kind. Full of compassion. Grateful, maybe?

He blinked, and the door was closed, the elevator going down. For a moment, a strange feeling overwhelmed him, but he did not find the strength to face it.

It's not like they would ever meet again. Brassius' cruise back to Paldea was booked for tomorrow's, or rather today's, evening.

He reached his hotel room and fell on the bed, not bothering to change.

In a half-asleep, half-awake state, his mind blurred his real experiences with imaginary scenarios, imaginary experiences with real scenarios.

When he touched his face, it moved as if it was clay. Fingers altered the flesh with ease, deforming it. And it should be fine - he was a famous sculptor after all - but no matter how he tried, he couldn't get it back to its original shape.

Something was off.

Something was always off.

He woke up abruptly, reaching for his wristwatch to check the time. He sighed with relief seeing that he has a few hours until the ferry's departure.

Rubbing his eyes didn't help at all with his persistent hangover state. Brassius' head pounded with a dull pain, his mouth was dessert dry, he felt dirty after sleeping in his daily clothes, and the awkwardness of the wild encounter was still fresh in his mind.

But well, he cannot afford to lie and despair there any longer, as much as he wanted to.

He managed to get up, take a quick shower and change clothes - a dark green T-shirt over a purple, button-down shirt and cargo pants, a shiny knee-length, black coat, and a scarf on top of that. He was already tired of wearing so many layers, but fortunately, his home country will be way warmer.

Dressing up boosted the remains of his spirit and he was able to pack smoothly, checking out at a reasonable hour.

The cruise to Paldea was scheduled to leave in a few hours, so he had a chance to grab something to eat downtown. Nutriments aside, he wanted to see this thing once last time.

With his breakfast (or rather “breakfast”, it was just some coffee since Brassius wasn't too fond of Galar cuisine) in hand, he once again visited the square where his latest creation stood.

And oh, it was huge.

The sculpture was bigger than a life-sized human, it was his largest one to date. The fruit of his more than a year's work, dozens of letters with photos documenting the process of his work, one foreign delegation to his studio, all that fuss and paperwork involved in transporting such a huge structure to another country.

Bronze Gossifleur was basking in the strong Galar's wind and rare sunlight. 

The heavy sculpture looked as if it defied the laws of gravity. It was a tricky thing to do, making it stand on a single leg like that, with all the weight concentrated on top. But thanks to Brassius' technical skills and the material used, he was able to maintain the Pokémon's shape with almost no deformation.

He was told that this one's dancing and singing has charmed many into raising their own Pokémon. He could agree that Gossifleur has some charm, yes, but it was rather thanks to its Grass-type rather than to that joyous song. Maybe it was a sign of cultural differences or his own preferences differed, but Brassius was generally more captured by the Pokémons' combined strength and beauty, their little traits he discovered when he observed them long enough, got close enough, those things that were visible only after some time, and not revealed to everyone.

And although he would love to grasp just that, he got a brief. There was no room for depicting subtle emotions or abstract forms.

And so he did what he had to do.

There was almost no trace of yesterday's ceremony - flower petals still laid on the ground in some places, but most had been swept away by the wind or shoes of locals. A couple of people stood nearby, pointing fingers at the new attraction. Some of them were taking pictures with analog cameras. He even spotted one Gossifleur itself, running in disbelief around the sculpture.

He stood there, a little on the sidelines, tucked up to his ears in a scarf, resembling a bit of that popular snowboarder prodigy that everyone was talking about back in Paldea.

It should feel good, right?

Brassius took one last look, trying to remember this image for a better time. Part of him did feel a certain pride looking at it. Obviously. He was so well known for his Grass specialty, technical mastery evident at a glance, that even foreign countries wanted his services.

But one day, he thought, he would like to recall this moment feeling the pride only, without the accompanying self-loathing.

But when, if…

Well.

He turned around and headed toward the port, not looking back.

After checking in - he was pleased to see that his cabin was actually larger than he expected - he came early to the dining hall, securing one quiet, dark corner, where he intended to observe people and at the same time act mysterious enough to scare potential extroverts away.

The supper was fine. Nothing special - watered-down tomato soup and burned bruschetta with olive oil - but since his diet was horrible lately (he really wasn't too fond of Galar cuisine), he ended up eating quite a lot.

After dining, Brassius didn't really know what to do with himself. He was supposed to spend almost three days here, and he specifically chose the cruise and not the airplane, explaining that this decision was more affordable, but the truth was he longed for some much-needed time alone.

Yet when that “much-needed time alone” come… it was dreadful. As if other people were not the problem.

Curious.

His headache managed to calm down, so sitting like this, his hands ached to do something. Being used to working all days with them, the need to mingle, twist and pinch was simply irresistible. At first, he drummed his fingers on the countertop, but quickly stopped upon noticing that the sounds were attracting the attention of fellow travelers.

You wanted “mysterious” , he scolded himself, not “weird”!

That resolve didn't last long, however, and his nature took over.

Brassius took ten individual butter packets from a basket and opened them all. With his own knife, he pulled the contents of all of them onto a plate and started to work with it. He wasn't able to take clay on the travel - it weighs quite a lot after all - so it was some kind of a replacement. With an accent on “kind of”.

He subconsciously registered La Mer playing somewhere… How fitting. And how convenient! Classical music seemed to enhance his creative mood.

Allowing himself to play with the butter without any specific goal in mind, he finally began to relax a little. After just a while he become almost comfy, and with the soothing piano in the background, he was on the very edge of calling himself happy.

Piano…

La Mer ended, and the melody played now sounded familiar, as if he heard it recently. But it was definitely not from a traditional classic repertoire, he'd know it. There was something cozy in this song, music that could serve as a backdrop for some pleasant memory. No, it was something more. Not a supporting actor, but a lead itself.

Was it from that commercial? No. Yesterday's pub music? Also no. The…

He jerked his head to see over other passengers' heads.

Grand piano standing in the middle of a scene was occupied by a single musician.

The way he looked was a bit different. No leather jacket and baggy jeans this time, but a simple, dark gray suit. The formal attire looked almost like a costume on him, and if it wasn't for the distinctively long and light hair, now tied neatly in a ponytail, he might have mistaken him for someone else. But then, he had no doubt.

This guy from yesterday. And the song, too.

Brassius stared at him, mesmerized.

His heart pounded with the rhythm of the music. Flawless harmony, deliberately vague tonality and meter… It was perfectly imperfect. Filled with an entire universe of love and longing.

The musician had his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed in complete concentration. Long fingers glided through keys, knowing the instrument as well as Brassius knew his own tools.

It was weirdly intimate, and even though the man was playing for the whole dining hall, Brassius, sitting in that dark corner, felt like he was spying. Looking at something private, something he wasn't supposed to, shouldn't be allowed to see.

The song's tempo quickened, ready to climax, then slowed down abruptly, ending on a low note before silencing completely.

The table next to him applauded courteously, and the intimate sensation Brassius felt burst suddenly like a soap bubble.

Brassius was surprised to see that except for some individual travelers, most seemed to pay no attention to the music, immersed in their own conversations, flirting, eating, drinking. But “surprised” didn't quite catch his feelings, then. He was more… angry.

This piece was beautiful. Art in its purest form. An original, probably, which was even more mind-blowing.

Are they all deaf, or what?

The pianist didn't seem to mind that lack of attention, however. His eyes were fixed on keys instead of public, not a glance spared for the audience. Same for a smile, it was not directed to anyone spare at himself and the piano.

After a short breather, the musician resumed playing.

Waltz of the Flowers … What a nerve. As if he was doing it on purpose.

Brassius wanted to sit there and listen to the man all night long, but the mix of emotions overwhelmed him, activating a flight response. Before Tchaikovsky's suite was over, he slipped away quietly to the deck, cooling reddened cheeks in the wind.

To be moved so much by a song...

Now he was no longer surprised by people who fall for Gossifleur's charm.

The sea was calm, as was the sky. If this was a sign of an upcoming storm, he didn't care. That future was yet to come, at this point, he tried to focus on current issues.

He stood leaning against the railing, looking out at the disturbed water.

Brassius pondered how many unknown creatures were hiding in those depths. The farther away from the land, the less Pokémon could be spotted beneath the sea's surface, and their forms became less and less recognizable.

Wherever he looked, there was nothing. No land, no other ferry, nothing to hang his eye on, nothing to fill his thoughts. He was left with his own. A blank sheet without inspiration or motivation did not foretell anything good. Only frustration. He needs to find something to do before the thoughts become intrusive and-

“Hello there. I didn't expect to find a familiar face here.”

Brassius jumped in place as a familiar figure appeared out of nowhere at his side.

“Oh. It's… you.”

“Yes.” The tall man smiled. “It is I, Hassel.”

The name suited him. The vibrant color in his eyes really did resemble these small Hassaku oranges. Cadmium orange , with a hint of Aureolin yellow to lighten them up. But that wasn't all. Being this vivid they not only looked like fruits, but felt as comforting as freshly squeezed juice during a hot summer. While he could easily reproduce the color with paints available in his studio, the feeling itself - now, that would be a challenge.

To see them in the daytime, this close and with a clear mind…

“Am I'm Brassius,” he said after snapping out of his thoughts. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

As soon as he spoke his name, Hassel's eyes got even wider.

Oh no , he thought. He knows me.

“That can't be… This Brassius?”

He nodded, bracing himself for what was about to come.

“I love your work!”, “You are really talented”, “That installation is really amazing”, “I'm a big fan”, “Do you have a patron?”, “I've read an interview with you”, “I make art too, you know, I will show you-”

“Oh! I saw your sculpture in Galar. I hope you are proud of this achievement!”

…What?

He had answers prepared for many questions and compliments, respectively, “Thanks”, “I know”, “Obviously, I spend a lot of time and effort on that one”, “Appreciated”, “Would be easier if I did”, “Did they omit the burnout part as well? Haha, just kidding…”, “Now that's an interesting one, but I'm just so, so busy-” 

But for this one, he was not prepared.

“Don't you like it?” Brassius asked.

“That's… Ah,” Hassel laughed nervously. “That's not important, really. What matters is that you enjoyed working on it and it makes people smile.”

“But did you like it?”

“Why would you want to know?”

“I'm just curious.”

“If my own opinion is any of use…”

“Yes!” Brassius interrupted a little too fast. “I mean, it's rare to be able to hear a truly honest opinion. So please. Entertain me.”

Hassel opened his mouth, then closed it.

“Okay, fine, if you really want. I am a fan of more unconventional, avant-garde even, works myself, to be honest. So your Gossifleur didn't really speak to me that much.” The taller man tucked his hair behind his ears - he was quite easy to read, as this was clearly a sign of embarrassment. “But I can appreciate good work, I swear! I have no criticism regarding your skills, I really admire your craft. My taste is just a little different. I only do art as a hobby, so a layman's opinion could not possibly—”

“No, no, no!” Brassius almost shout. “Thank you for telling me this.”

“It's just that looking at you, I would have expected something more bold from your art as well. I hope you don't misunderstand me, I mean this in the best way possible.”

“Bold, you say. Is it because of my hair, perhaps?” Brassius smirked, touching his short, vein-like hairdo.

“That too, but you also made a certain… impression on me yesterday.”

“Oh, Mother…” Brassius shook his head. “But you are not wrong. You said you are an art amateur, and yet you just saw more than most of the experts. That Gossifleur's sculpture was an important commission, so I just did it. As a craftsman, not an artist.”

“Ah, that explains a lot.” Hassel nodded with understanding. “I don't always get to play what I like either. I had to play Trenet yesterday, and I'll tell you this in confidence, since it may be perceived as a desecration, but I'm not the biggest fan.”

“Speaking of which!” Brassius exclaimed, recalling the piece that had charmed him. “What you played after La mer .... Was it your original piece?”

“Yes, it's— Wait, were you watching me yesterday? And you didn't say hello?” Hassel said in a pretended, offended tone, putting his hand over his heart.

“I had to leave sooner, but—”

The wind suddenly howled, and Brassius tightened his folded arms to protect himself from the merciless weather. The blond man's hair fanned out in all directions, creating one big chaos around his face. One exchange of glances was enough to decide their next move.

Before they know it, they were inside.

Hassel's cabin was more compact than his - there wasn't even a separate bathroom, but a shared one on the corridor. They were sitting together on this one tiny bed, probably too small for Hassel to sleep comfortably on.

They chatted casually, topics varied from art movements through concerts to travels, laughed and ate snacks that were laid out everywhere on a bed, and drank from cans of soft drinks laying on the floor since there was not enough space anywhere else.

The taller man was holding a guitar on his lap, and whenever the quietness has arisen, he started playing random chords or song fragments - not to fill the silence, since it wasn't awkward for any of them, but to express himself in the way he knew the best - yet another way to communicate.

Only for a moment did Brassius have concerns that his strange not-crush and not-fascination would be any kind of obstacle, stopping him from thinking or speaking logically. But the conversation with Hassel went as smoothly and naturally as if they had known each other for years.

“...left-handed?”

“Yeah, but it's quite hard to find a guitar like this, so I learned to play on a normal one.”  Hassel patted the guitar box. “They are more expensive anyway and I bought it with my allowance when I was... I don't know, thirteen?”

“So you've been playing for 20 years. I have no rhythm whatsoever, but even I can hear you're just so, so good.”

“Thank you! I've been playing piano for a bit longer actually. But guitar is much more mobile, so when I run away- I mean, moved out the day I turned eighteen despite my family's objections and never looked back, it was an obvious choice. Now I play the piano only occasionally.”

“Wait, a day you turned eighteen...” Brassius did the math in his head. “It's been fifteen years? You've been traveling all this time? That's—That's crazy! You must have a ton of stories.”

“Oh, I sure do! If we have some time I may… But ah.” The musician waved his hand dismissively. “Enough about me. Do you travel a lot too, Brassius?”

“From time to time. I quite enjoy it, but honestly, I miss my girls badly whenever I have to leave for a week or more. They feel happier at home so I don't bring them with me, only something to remind me of them.”

“Girls…?”

“Yes, the small one is especially anxious, and splitting them would do no good to anyone.”

Only after a while did he notice Hassel's questioning gaze.

“Ah—Girls—I mean… I mean my Pokémons!” Brassius explained quickly. “I call them my girls since it's an all-female team right now... I don't even know why. That's stupid.”

“Not stupid, but it sure did confuse me,” Hassel laughed. “I just wasn't sure whenever to picture daughters or a harem.”

“I wouldn't mind adopting a daughter one day, but a harem... no, no. Just my lovely Grass Pokémons, please.”

“Grass! Well, I suppose that was quite obvious. I'm a Pokémon trainer myself, if you'd ever be up for a battle.”

“Really?” Brassius' enthusiasm only increased when it became clear that they had another common topic of conversation. “Do you have a type?”

“I sure do! Guess.”

Brassius pondered, stroking his chin. If he were to pick his preferred type based on personality and appearance alone…

“Electric?”

“Nope,” Hassel smiled slyly. “But I hear that a lot.”

“Fire, then?” He went with his second guess.

“No, no!”

“Rock?”

“Stop, that's not fair! You're going to list them all!” He said laughing, a Poké Ball in his hand. “Look.”

Right at their feet appeared... Gible.

Brassius went speeches for a moment.

The little Pokémon grinned widely, showing all its sharp teeth, then immediately jumped into Brassius' lap, getting acquainted with a new friend.

“Oh my!” He managed after a while. “All of your team?”

“Yes,” Hassel nodded, suddenly taken a bit aback. “A family thing, you can say.”

“You are a dragon dragon tamer.” Brassius put it all together and shook his head trying to process that information. “This is huge! There are almost no dragon-type trainers in Paldea, at least not in that traditional sense that exists abroad. If you are any good you could easily apply for an Elite Four instead of living like that.”

“Living like what?”

A frown crossed Hassel's forehead. Instead of looking at Brassius, he fixed his gaze on the guitar's head.

“I mean...” The words suddenly stuck in Brassius' throat, but since he had already started, there was no point in suddenly dropping the subject. “You could have a secure place and work. Not having to worry about life mundanes. Every person would know your name, not even the trainers, but regular folks as well. A real dragon tamer in Paldea would be a sensation!”

“You know, I love my little dragons, I really do. Sometimes I take side-gigs with them, if the situation is far from ideal - and I don't hate it, I may even like it. But if I can do something I love instead?” Hassel turned his head to face him, his eyes burned with intensity, fist almost hit the guitar as he gestured, seized with emotions. “That's what I strive for! When you live your way, most of the inconveniences fade away. And sure, you have to survive somehow, and I have long since learned that living the dream will not feed me. But to abandon what makes you truly happy, what makes you feel during this little time we have here on Earth, for a sake of conformity and stability of a secure, full-time job… I couldn't have! I couldn't!”

Hassel lowered his fist, resting his hand on the guitar's body. It seemed as if he had cooled down a little, grounded with his trusted instrument.

“But you of all the people should know that.”

Should he?

He should. Oh, he should.

“Yes… I know what you mean.”

Not in the way you think, though.

“But in all honestly, I won't deny that living in constant travel can be tough.” Hassel sighed. The intense emotions he had shown just moments before seemed to be history already. “Maybe I'm slowly getting too old, or too tired for this after all.”

“You are not old,” Brassius said, rolling his eyes.

“I am not getting younger too,” the musician dismissed with a smile, although it was clear that this was not a topic completely indifferent to him. “Ah, I feel like I brought the mood down with my little monologue. Please, never mind that.”

They parted soon after that, as Hassel needed to get ready for this evening's gig (“the suit was one of my first purchases since I've been on my own - not many people will hire someone who looks like a metalhead, unfortunately”). Brassius only assured him that he would stop by to see him play.

For a song or two. Sure. When he'll find a spare moment.

As if he was not looking forward to it since the day before.

Hassel's gig ended up very late, and so they didn't have a chance to talk more after that, going straight to their own cabins.

Brassius couldn't sleep well that night. It wasn't about the conditions - the rocking of the ship had a positive effect on his sleeping comfort - he was just thinking too much, constantly rolling from side to side.

After waking up before sunrise, he ate an early breakfast and went for a stroll to pass a time before- Ah. Just pass a time.

The ferry wasn't the biggest, but there were still areas he hasn't seen. Like a casino!

Ferry's worker was standing near the entrance, making sure that the current players are behaving properly, and that no minors use those machines.

They bowed to each other in a greeting, the staff member didn't even bother with checking his ID. Those last couple of nights was not gentle on him and it showed.

Cigarette smoke was filling the room, making it grayed out. Machines standing in neat rows were shining with bright lights visible clearly even through the toxic mist, attracting desperate players like a peacock looking for a mating partner.

Initially, Brassius wanted to just walk around and observe other peoples' playing, but it got boring quite fast. Without the thrill of potentially losing slash winning money, those machines did not offer anything to a bystander.

But hasn't he got paid recently?

That's right, he had!

Oh, he was a man with a plan now. One game, just to see how it is. If he could win something, that would be nice, but if not, whatever. It would be a new experience.

With a special vending machine, he exchanged coins for tokens. Just a few, obviously, he was not some nobody who would throw all his earnings away. He was aware that the odds of winning anything were almost non-existent, and that ferry earns there like a cinema on selling popcorn.

One game caught his eye. It was a simple casino slot, but entirely Grass Pokémon themed. To win, he'd have to match four Bounsweets in a row. Seemed easy enough.

One game, he told himself.

He's not stupid.

…

…

Oh, Mother.

He was so stupid. So, so stupid.

The screen yet again stopped at three Bounsweets and the staff worker got so accustomed to his loud “Noo! Come on! One more!” that he didn't even turn around to check on him.

Desperate, Brassius leaned his elbows against the top of the machine, burying his face in his hands. He was on a verge of tears, body shivering as if in a fever. It was his second breakdown already.

So much money...

He groaned painfully, frantically searching all his pockets, only to realize that he had one last chip left.

“Please, Mother… show me there is hope out there… or end my suffering…”

He whispered his prayers to the plastic chip before inserting it into the machine. When he was about to push the lever one last time, he was startled by a hand on his shoulder.

“Are ya winning, Brassie?”

Hassel appeared out of nowhere. Curious about the game's screen, he bent down to see the symbols, and while doing so, leaned against the only one element that was sticking out.

The lever.

Before Brassius could react, the wheels were spinning.

“Oh no!”

One Bounsweet. Brassius held his breath, clenching his hands.

“That was, uh, clumsy of me.”

Two Bounsweets. 

“Can I make it up—”

Three Bounsweets. Brassius' eyes got bigger, fixating on the spinning wheels.

“—somehow?”

The fourth wheel spun slower and slower, Pokémon's symbol that flashed with each rotation mocked him. It seemed like it was taking forever to stop.

But when it finally stopped…

Four.

Fucking.

Bounsweets.

When the machine exploded with triumphant bep-bep-be-boops and flashy lights, he was staring at the screen in disbelief, his head empty.

“I… did not break it, did I?” Hassel asked, uncertain.

Brassius' blank gaze turned to him.

“No,” he said weakly, a mad laugh building in his core. “No, you didn't. In fact, you did brilliantly. Splendidly. What you just performed was either a natural technique that could easily make you famous, or a miracle, a blessing, or some higher power's guidance! You just made us-!”

Rich, was what he wanted to say. That was until he saw coupons that were printed from the machine. Coupons… yes, that was a correct word.

There were two of them.

Brassius took papers, carefully inspecting each side. They were real. But again, only two. He looked expectantly at the hole from which the coupons showed up, hoping that maybe, maybe the machine got stuck and he will be gratified with hundreds more.

But no.

That was to no one's surprise. After all, he bet only one coin, and so the winning was proportional to that. And while he wasn't too familiar with this whole casino business, even he knew that two coupons can't possibly mean much, if anything at all.

He wiped his eyes with the top of his sleeve.

“Is… everything fine?”

“These are… tears of joy,” Brassius shook his head mournfully, his voice so fragile that it could smash against the edge of a pillow. With head and shoulders lowered, he slid off the stool. “You just made me… happy… It's so nice… winning something… right? Let's… Let's just go and get the prize…”

A few minutes later they were sitting on a ferry's stern, legs thrown overboard.

Brassius' clothes and hair reeked of cigarettes after spending so many hours at that damned casino, so he was quite content with the mercilessly cold wind tarnishing his hair and scarf flying all around. Hassel, on the other hand, was simply hot-blooded. His half-zipped leather jacket gave the sculptor additional chills.

“I hope you didn't spend too much on those?” Hassel leaned a bit closer, so as not to shout over the sound of the moving ship and the rough sea.

In Brassius' hand laid a small pendant. A cheap, plastic imitation of a Poké Ball, filled with some glittery liquid whirled with the smallest movement. Two coupons were enough for only one, but after witnessing Brassius' awful luck for many hours, the casino's worker took pity and added one more, as a consolation prize. Hassel was entrusted with the second one, and it was now attached to one of his front belt loops.

“No, of course not…”He snorted as if he had been insulted. “I'm not stupid.”

Hassel looked at him doubtfully, brows frowned.

His Gible was sitting on the taller's man lap, and although railings were close enough to prevent him from falling through them, Hassel hold him protectively anyway. Gible was looking with amazement at the waves that the speeding ship was leaving behind, white foam on the turquoise water looked like the mane of a giant Gyarados. The little dragon was different from the typical Gible and seemed to have taken over the insensitivity to cold from his trainer,  it seemed like the icy wind didn't bother him in the slightest.

“What were you doing there, anyway?” Brassius asked. “Surely not gambling?”

“No, of course not!” The musician answered, some bitter undertones piercing through his words. “I'm not stupid.”

Hearing his own words, lie, threw at him like that, Brassius flinched. He suddenly felt foolish lying to someone who had so far shown him only care and support.

“Sorry, I was—I don't know, really. I got some cash on me and wanted to unwind.”

“Did it help?”

“No. It got out of hand.”

“Can I help?”

“…I don't want to talk about it.” Brassius leaned his forehead against the railing. “Besides, you should take care of your own problems first.”

“That's… fair enough.”

They fell silent for a while, neither of them bringing up the topic again. Even at that moment, when they were not yet close enough to talk about the depth of their problems, at least they were honest with each other about that.

Brassius' fingers, stiff from the cold, turned the pendant, playing with its shiny content. When the sun broke through the darkening sky for a moment, illuminating the spot where they sat, he lifted the toy up which, in response, gifted him with colorful reflections playing on his skin.

“You know…” Brassius started, swiftly changing the subject. “Now it kinda looks like I was about to Terastallize a Pokémon.”

“Ah, I heard about that. Can't wait to finally see it with my own eyes!”

“I… I completely forgot you are not from here!” Brassius shook his head. “But hold on! You don't have to wait. We should be close enough to Paldea to try this, actually.”

“Try what?”

“Terastallizing a Pokémon, obviously.”

“But don't you need that—that...” Hassel snapped his fingers twice trying to remember the word. “Tera Crystal thing… to do it?”

“We call it Tera Orb, but you are not wrong, it has a small crystal inside. Anyways, it'd be easier if I just show you.”

From the pocket of his cargo pants, he pulled out a small purple ball. He carried it with him at all times as a good-luck charm.

“No, you don't!” Hassel gasped. “Is this a real deal? Aren't only selected trainers allowed to carry these?”

“Well, you are not the only talented trainer here.” Brassius wiggled his eyebrows. “But seriously, I've received this one as a reward for one installation project I made for the Academy, probably the only time I requested something over money. They are quite rare, but I always found the effect inspiring. It's a motivation. An inspiration. An art, really.”

“What are we waiting for? Come ooon!”

They barely got up, heading to the middle of the deck, and Hassel was already excited beyond measure, stimming happily. Gible, taken in his embrace, seemed equally curious about what was about to come.

Brassius found the view quite charming.

“Okay. So...” Having found enough empty space, Brassius turned on his heel and leveled his gaze with Gible, addressing directly the Pokémon. “Mr. Gible, since we are already acquainted with ourselves, would you like to try? I'd love to know your Tera type.”

“W-what? Him?” Hassel interrupted, panic visible in his eyes, even though his Gible nodded his head without hesitation “Would it work for a Pokémon from another region? Is that safe for sure?”

“Yes. And it's hundred percent safe.” Brassius assured. “I've done it many times and I've seen it on foreign Pokémons as well.”

Hassel was clearly battling with himself, glancing anxiously at Gible.

“Trust me,” Brassius added quietly.

This seemed to tip the scales. Hassel nodded, putting his little dragon on the ground.

Gible jumped, excited. A few passengers wandering on a deck turned their heads, sensing a free show. The sculptor's extravagant manner awakened a little. He cleared his throat before loudly announcing:

“Behold!”

Extending his hand in a theatrical manner, Brassius held out the crystal in front of him.

The rock got slightly warmer, a sign of energy flowing from the land - it was faint here on the sea, but still noticeable. Then, the crystal got warmer and started vibrating, Brassius' hands tightened on the accord to keep it secure. He squinted the moment the first ray of a sharp light followed by a gust of wind escaped the crystal. It was a process so well-known to him, yet every time it amazed him all the same. Just as the ray of light has come full circle, he threw the crystal on the Gible. The timing was perfect.

Then, the light only got brighter. Shiny shards filled the space, curving the sunlight, making the floor shimmer with hundreds of tiny rainbows.

Accompanied by soft crystal sounds, the majority of shiny shards fell, and the light dimmed enough to uncover the real highlight of this scene, Terastallized Gible.

There was a floral composition on his head, and Brassius felt his chest tightening with fondness at that sight.

Hassel's hand was covering his mouth and the sculptor at first read it as a sign of worry. But his fears were unproven when he heard the stifled words:

“I-It's... It's so... Beautiful... S-so…”

Breathless, Hassel fell on his knees, extending hands toward Gible who, after the initial shock of novelty, was in his element already. The little creature quickly ran up to his trainer, turning around as he did, showing off his new decoration.

“Can I?” Hassel pointed at the crystal flowers on top of his Pokémon.

“Sure!” Brassius said, feeling the corner of his mouth rising in amusement. He had never before encountered someone so gentle about Terastallized Pokémon. “Until it faints or goes back to the Poké Ball, it's like an extension of the body. Ah! It also sounds different.”

“Sounds…?”

Long fingers hovered near the crystal petals. When Hassel tapped them, gently, as if still disbelieving that they would not disintegrate at the lightest touch, they gave off a high-pitched, metallic sound.

Hassel took a sharp breath, trying to keep his excitement in check. It went poorly. He could not help it, not when there was music involved.

They must have spent an hour or more playing like that together. Hassel was half stunned and half touched with his Grass Gible, and his musical talent even allowed him to compose a simple melody using crystal flakes.

It turned out that little Gible was quite a showman! Every now and then he would run up to other travelers and entertain them with his unique look and moves. For those of them heading to Paldea for the first time, the sight of Terastallized Pokémon was an excellent foretaste of what attractions would await them on land.

All of this was… almost too good to be true. Soon enough, Brassius noticed raindrops on the ship's deck. Great.

 “It's starting to rain,” the sculptor said, raising his hand in the air.

Hassel lifted his chin up, confirming the observation on his own face. Not even the rains could spoil his mood, not after he was filled with all that positive energy after the new experience. He crouched down next to his Pokémon and patted its new form one last time.

“I guess that's enough fun for today...”

Making sure he remembered the unusual sight, Hassel returned Gible to the Poké Ball.

The rain went from a light drizzle to a downpour fast - the rapidly changing weather was one of the sea's charms, Brassius thought - and all the other passengers instantly rushed inside the ferry.

“Let's go, too,” Brassius gestured toward the entrance.

“But it's getting so nice here. A storm at sea is like the purest form of water art!”

“That's…”

You are right. I feel it too.

Brassius once more glanced at the travelers hiding in a dry place. He and Hassel were the only ones left on board.

“We're about to get completely drenched!”

“I thought that grass beats water,” Hassel did not move from the center of the deck, strangely amused, as if throwing him a challenge. “Or is your hair going to melt?”

“I use a waterproof styling gel, so not that fast, but—”

“Wait, isn't your hair like that normally?” The musician started laughing as if he had just heard the finest joke.

“Did you really think my hair looks like that?” Brassius asked in disbelief, gesturing at his short, thorny vines-like hair. He had to say it louder, trying to outshout the noise of the heavy rain hitting the ferry. “How would that suppose to work?”

“I have no idea—ahaha! You truly are something else!”

The storm intensified even further, and within seconds, they were soaked to the skin. While Brassius was still trying to cover his head - without spectacular success - Hassel was laughing loudly, letting his long hair stick to his body like ivy. He was not fazed at all.

To think that a moment ago Brassius was afraid that the rain would ruin the rest of his day? What nonsense.

He stood there freezing, with his hair slowly turning into a disaster, having just lost a mass of money, away from his Pokémons and studio, defying common sense by standing in the middle of the storm...

“I just wanted a hairstyle that is unconventional… avant-garde even.” Brassius mumbled, too quiet for Hassel to hear, feeling his voice breaking down.

He was himself and seemed to be accepted like that. At home, with all those masks and restrictions he self-imposed, he had no such freedom.

Pathetic. Just pathetic.

Underneath a darkened sky, tirelessly despite the harsh weather, Hassel's smiling face was the only sun, his laugh warming as one's rays.

No matter how much water you provide a plant, Brassius thought while feeling the cold streaks running down his neck, it will not grow without sunlight.

He dropped his head, overtaken by a sudden sadness.

Only that plants are everywhere, while the sun is only one.

“Please tell me, I know you see it too.” Hassel turned around, stretching his arms out like he wanted to catch even more rain in his embrace. “What a sight to witness! A raw force of nature! It's just so beautiful!”

That would be pretty selfish of a mere plant, wanting the whole sun for itself.

Brassius sniffled, but it was not the low temperature's fault.

“Hey… Is everything okay? Do not feel pressured to stay here, go inside and I'll join you in a bit.”

And at this moment, Brassius started crying.

He wanted to turn away so as not to embarrass himself more in front of Hassel, but before he got a chance, the strong arms surround him in a tight embrace.

There was no strength left in him to pretend he didn't desperately need it. Brassius hid his head into the familiar leather jacket, allowing himself to vent. Hassel said nothing, letting him cry as much as his heart desired.

It wasn't just one thing that led to that, but a combination of poor life choices, stress, social obligations, burdens of the past, career expectations, and a fear of losing a person who had become so close to him in such a short time.

Like thousands of single drops. By themselves, they didn't mean much. Together, they overflowed.

There were days just like that. He thought he managed, telling himself everything was fine so often it should become a truth. Holding all doubts and fears inside for just a bit longer, because surely better days will arrive.

But they did not arrive.

People would only see what you show them, and what he presented to the world was a poor caricature of himself. And others bought it, because why wouldn't they? They didn't even know what the real deal looked like.

But would a true one sell as well as a caricature... That was a scary unknown.

The vision of being rejected for revealing his inner self was frightening. But so was the vision of persisting in a mask for his entire life.

Crying allowed his head to clear a little. He didn't know how long he had been like that, but over that time, he felt the negative energy drain out of him. The mind gained clarity, the future was not painted in murky colors anymore. When his body stopped shaking, he even noticed that the rain had weakened significantly.

Deep breath. And one more, chasing away the headache that always followed such episodes.

He stopped crying completely, as if unable to get any more tears out of himself. The man's body, tired of trembling, finally could rest, and he managed to slip out of Hassel's embrace.

“Thank you,” Brassius began, trying to hide puffy eyes behind his hand. “And I'm sorry for this—”

“Let's get some hot tea,” Hassel interrupted softly like he had not witnessed Brassius' breakdown at all. “I'd hate for you to catch a cold.”

Brassius only nodded, grateful, letting himself be dragged to the inside of the ferry.

He would like to... No.

He will bloom one day.

If only to give the sun something to admire as well.

“So...”

“So.”

Despite the storm, the ferry arrived at Paldea on schedule early in the morning.

A quick breakfast, and even quicker packing - they didn't have the opportunity to exchange many words that day. Before they know it, they were standing on land. Many other passengers have already gone their separate ways, tired after three days at sea.

The recent sunrise painted the sea in red and oranges, there was no trace of yesterday's nasty weather on it. The view of the water was beautiful, perfect for capturing in a painting... But the men weren't looking at the picturesque landscape at all.

“You will enjoy Paldea. It's like a small world enclosed on an island.”

“So I heard. I'm planning to visit all the Ten Sights… and more, of course.”

Hassel adjusted the bag he held in one hand - it seemed rather heavy, after all, not counting the guitar on his back, it contained most of his possessions - with the other he clumsily brushed back his hair.

“It was nice meeting you.”

“Likewise.”

They exchanged smiles, unsure how to proceed. It seemed as if each of them wanted to add something more, but didn't know how to put it into words.

But they couldn't stand that way forever. Hassel cleared his throat, improving his grip on the bag once more.

“I… will be going, then. Goodbye—”

“No. Wait,” Brassius interrupted, unable to accept such a farewell. His hand reached for a business card hidden in his chest pocket. Without hesitation, he pulled it toward the musician, suddenly finding the right words. “Sometimes freedom is knowing you have a safe place to go. Or a familiar face - a friend, even - to listen. You'll find them both here. Anytime.”

Hassel took the card - soft touch, dark green piece of paper with a name and address written in a golden foil - and stared at it for a while, not saying a word.

“See you,” Brassius added, this time confident in his final word.

“Thanks, I... I appreciate—” Hassel finally answered, something in his tone shifting in a way Brassius' own voice broke down the day before, but he was determined to hold his emotions inside for just a bit longer. “See you.”

They parted ways then, Hassel heading to the city center, Brassius for a train station.

Not yet.

But the unspoken “soon” hung in the air, comforting them both.