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The musician sitting before him could not be more downhearted as he clutched a small coffee with both hands. His bright, golden eyes were downcast, but still, the man was a vision. Hassel sat with such perfect posture, his look of worry like a painting, furrowed brows, small frown, melancholic eyes…
“I love playing music. Music is so important to me, Brassie. When I play, it feels like anything is possible and the future is full of possibilities. That life is worth living. But lately…” His voice barely wavered even as he faded out. Lovely quality. Even as sad as he was, Hassel sounded like an angel.
Brassius nodded. “The Paldea Quartet is an auspicious career for someone with your talent, Hass. You’re beyond lucky. And you more than deserve it. What’s wrong?”
“After we finished a performance the other night, I was left with this odd feeling. I noticed the people in the audience, but I don’t feel like I’m reaching them personally. The music certainly is, but I’m not. I don’t feel accomplished.” Hassel met his eyes and took his breath away. “Do you know what I mean? Has anything like this ever happened to you?”
“Oh, Hass, you have an amazing job. But if you’re miserable! You should quit.”
“I can’t! It’s taken me years to be accepted into their circle. And they need me: I’m a viola!”
“Hassel, you’re free! You don’t have to stay there. Play anywhere you want. Play in a field where only flowers can hear you, play in a coffee shop for patrons looking for something to stimulate their minds,” play in the kitchen as the sun sets while Brassius cooked them both a warm meal in the late evening, “but don’t stay if you're not happy. Find something to give your life meaning. You deserve to be happy. Especially when you play music for someone.” Oh how his heart ached as his friend suffered!
“You’re right. Of course you’re right, you’re an artist. You understand self-expression more than anyone.”
Brassius smiled and melted a little. No one understood him like Hassel. No one else would say something like that. And he said it so casually. Even if Brassius didn’t completely agree, Hassel stated it as if it were fact. The self-expression that came from art was something that sometimes even eluded him. He could make a piece and forget to leave a piece of himself in it. But since he met Hassel, it’s been so much easier. Hassel could pick out the piece of him in it no matter how small the detail.
“But quitting? Would I regret that?” He might.
“Hassel, you’ll regret making yourself stay,” Brassius insisted.
After that discussion dissolved away, Hassel bought him a piece of banana bread and hot coffee. He turned the conversation to something lighter and even laughed a little as he spoke about trying to sketch.
“It’s so difficult. I don’t know how you get anything done.”
“Practice. It also helps to know what you’re doing.”
“I wish I could visit your atelier one day, but I know you’re a private person.”
Brassius almost offered him access, but luckily it didn’t come out. His sacred space needed to be just that, free from judgment and other people. He trusted Hassel but… what if he hated what he saw there? Or worse, what if he read too much into it?
“You have to find your own way. Going there isn’t going teach you who you are.” Brassius took a much too big of a bite out of the banana bread.
“Be careful not to choke—but, yes, you’re right. I just mean that seeing your space would help me figure out how to keep mine alive and maybe get some inspiration from you too.”
Imagine that. That he could inspire Hassel. Hassel, the muse himself. How does one inspire their own muse? That’s a contradictory question, isn’t it? Well, there wasn’t a rule that muses couldn’t have their own muses themselves technically—
“Brassie?”
“I’m sorry, I drifted off a little. I should probably get going, Hass. I have a few things to do this evening and the day is nearly over.”
“Oh, of course. Return to your affairs. Thank you for taking some time to catch up with me. I will be sure to tell you what I end up doing!”
Hassel stood up, towering over him with a height that made him feel so satisfyingly small. Brassius jumped to his feet too and stuck out his hand. He couldn’t figure out how to integrate another greeting or goodbye. He shook his hand when they met and couldn’t seem to change it anymore. Unfortunately so, because he found out later Hassel was a hugger.
Hassel took the hand in both of his, and Brassius had to look down to cover his reddened face with his hair.
“Brassius, take care of yourself. We’ll catch up later, okay?”
“Yes, of course. Farewell, until then.”
They separated.
It was always so chilly after his departure. Hassel was sunshine personified, and he carried the light and the warmth away with him.
--
Back in his atelier, Brassius uncovered some of his works in progress. Instead of pulling off the covers of everything right away he hesitated to uncover one of them, always a little shy after seeing Hassel. He pulled off a soft cloth and checked on the bust, a marble statue of Hassel that just depicted his head and shoulders, but in great detail.
He looked at Hassel for hours during their talks. Every time they met up with each other, Brassius memorized more little details of his face. He even captured his hair. He…
He was in love with his best friend…
It occurred to him one day that his idea of their friendship had changed.
The statue distracted him. He couldn’t focus unless he gave it some attention first. The muse demanded his attention, or it would not let him complete anything today. Like a charm. Like a sacrifice to an altar. He had to, or nothing would get done.
It started as a sketch, then a silly idea to try on his breaks. Once he finished the bust, he debated creating a statue in his honor. Yes, a tall statue. As tall as Hassel himself maybe. But that would be harder to hide…
Brassius applied some lipstick to himself, a bright color that would leave a mark wherever it touched. He pressed his lips against the cheek of the bust and looked at the color it left behind.
“It’s time for work, my muse.” Brassius smiled and kissed the lips, leaving a small kiss mark there too. “What shall we make today?” He cupped the cheeks of the image of Hass and rubbed the cheeks until they felt warm. One more kiss.
Once he felt the creative urge to move on, Brassius took out some sketches and picked one out. Creating was a process, one that took privacy and routine. Getting into the right mindset took time, and Brassius liked to control his routine. Much like a sacred ritual. He created a space free of the expectations of the world and worshipped only the muse.
He liked the company of his muse, the image of his friend. A nonjudgmental presence watching him work made good company. He gushed over his friend’s image and thought of him commenting on the different works.
“This is a glass sculpture of a rose. I’m still deciding what to make the thorns out of. I was thinking, actually, doing something with metal, a more durable material protecting a delicate glass. I’m afraid it won’t work together though, metal on glass.” He moved the display to be in Hassel’s view. “What do you think? Oh don’t be shy, you know I value your insight.”
He worked on some mugs while mulling over the other project. Unfortunately his muse had no ideas concerning it. Perhaps it was too far removed from nature? Hassel did once say his best work always alluded to nature in one way or another.
“You’re so right. Maybe implementing clay somehow, it’s more tied to the earth, isn’t it?” Brassius touched the stem of the rose and thought of how to do it.
Someone knocked on the door and he dropped the glass rose, shattering it and startling himself with the noise.
“Argh!” He went to pick up the pieces and remembered the statue behind him. He covered it up and looked at the door. “Go away!”
“Brassius? It’s Hassel. I’m sorry for disturbing you—did something break? I’m so sorry I scared you. Can I help?”
His heart raced in his chest. “No, it’s glass. I’ll redo it, it’s fine. Just go.”
He was never this short with Hassel, so the other must be confused at his snippy behavior. “Brassie… I brought you some food. I’ll leave it here. I’m sorry I frightened you.”
His guilty tone stung a little, and Brassius debated letting him in. Hassel probably made a decision and wanted support on it. He only had a handful of friends, and most of them pushed him into being the most important person he could be. Brassius always stressed that he should be happy first—advice he didn’t even take himself—because when Hassel was happy, he was magical. He did his best work when he was happy. He could move mountains with his singing, and his strength seemed to double, all because his joy made him unstoppable.
“Wait, Hass!” Brassius hopped over the crackling glass on the wooden floor, still charged from the fall, and opened the door. “I’m sorry, come in. I broke a work in progress and just snapped. Just come sit while I toss it out.”
Hassel looked wrecked by whichever decision he made; it showed on his face. He aged from it somehow. The tired man brought in a bag of food and sat where Brassius moved him, looking around at this place he’d never been before. He walked slowly and paused by the glass on the ground.
“Oh, Brassie, I’m so terribly sorry! Please allow me to help you.”
Brassius went to stop him, but he passed Brassius the bag and knelt down.
“Hass, don’t cut up your hands! Wait!”
Hassel picked up a shard of the petal with a light red on it. He stared at it like a curious child. “It must have been lovely.”
Brassius dumped the bag on the chair meant for Hassel and huffed. “Stop touching the glass!”
“Maybe you can reuse these pieces somehow? It seems such a waste. What was it?”
Brassius hesitated and was at once hit with the image of a clay rose with some colored glass inlay. It would look as if the color tried to come out of it. He could leave the clay uncolored or brown at the very least and have the glass shards represent the color. The thorns could be black painted clay, maybe a touch of green bleeding out of it. He could almost touch it, it was so vividly in front of him.
“That’s it, that’s brilliant. You’re brilliant, Hass, thank you!” He ran to the ground and picked up the larger pieces.
Hassel brought him a cloth to put the pieces in. “I don’t want you hurting your hands.”
“Yes, thank you.” Brassius hesitated when he saw the cloth. “Where did you get this from?”
Hassel gestured behind him, and Brassius froze seeing the bust exposed. Hassel didn’t notice, just grabbed and ran. He dared not breathe in case he turned his attention to it. Now what? Was he frozen here forever?
But the universe hated him, and Hassel turned to see exactly what Brassius hid from him.
“Wait!” He blurted out in a last ditch effort to stop the inevitable.
Hassel rose to his full height and walked to the bust. Brassius watched in absolute, utter horror as Hassel, almost in slow motion, approached his image. And of all days, he came on a day that Brassius left the kiss marks on the bust.
Brassius looked away, the red on his face reaching his ears, sitting on his legs surrounded by broken glass and already feeling his hurting heart.
“Brassius.”
His tone made him look up. Hassel should sound offended or shocked, maybe even disgusted. Instead he sounded light and cheerful. How? Why???
Hassel smiled at him and turned back to concern when he saw Brassius’s face. “Oh, you’re embarrassed. Don’t be. I’ve always wondered what you thought of me, and honestly, I didn’t think you’d tell me even if you were interested in me.” He touched the mark on the lips of the bust. “I crave your attention just as much, but I thought I might be crossing a line with my most loyal and precious friend. Now that I know… I have to admit, I’m a bit jealous that you had something to keep you satisfied all this time while I lacked affection.”
Hassel surprised him with a fake frown shot his way. The entire confession threw him really. He couldn’t react. If he did anything, he’d wake up from this marvelous dream. Don’t wake up now, this is much too perfect!
Hassel went to him and held out a hand. “Let me help you off the floor. You look overwhelmed.”
Brassius blinked up at him. “You like me?”
“Brassie, I adore you. You listen to me more than any of my friends, and you’re so unapologetically you, a talented and deeply intelligent person.” He took his hand and pulled him up, keeping hold when it was clear he’d fall again if he let go.
Brassius avoided his eyes still, the warmth definitely overwhelming him now that he couldn’t deny it all. But Hassel accepted it, he could confess too now.
Brassius forced himself to face the sun. “I’m in love with you.” He was sorry but couldn’t say that. One couldn’t apologize for ruining a friendship with love. His mind buzzed with so much, yet nothing else left his mouth.
“I love you too.”
Brassius was near tears and hated that he couldn’t say anything more romantic back to him. He should be wooing him with words right now.
“I can see how much you love me in this creation of yours. I hope I live up to the fantasy.”
“I treasure you much more than some image—I’ll break it if you want me too.”
“No! I want to make you one too. Perhaps I’ll need some help. I have plenty of time now that I’m not part of the Paldea Quartet anymore.”
“You quit? Good for you. I know it hurts, but you were not happy there, and…” Brassius faded out as Hassel neared him, closing the distance with intention until he eagerly met his lips with a kiss.