Chapter Text
Larry and Rika stared at Hassel with stone-neutral expressions on their faces. Larry always had that expression, but he wasn’t even avoiding eye contact. Rika was giving him the “stern proctor” look.
“I feel like I’ve interrupted something.” Geeta remarked as soon as she opened the door.
“Nothing.” Larry shook his head.
“Nothing that makes sense.” Rika elaborated.
Geeta looked down at Hassel. He nervously gripped the arms of the office chair, but didn’t lose face.
He finally told her “It’s not official league business, nor will it interfere with league business.”
Geeta closed her eyes in a catlike grin and clasped her hands behind her back. “Then why were you discussing it in the league meeting room?”
“I was simply making small talk.”
Rika reclined in her chair, folding her arms against her chest. “I attended the academy more recently than you, so maybe I remember better: absolutely not. Those kids will tear you apart.”
“And then we’ll never get anything done.” Larry sighed.
Hassel waved his arms to defend himself. “We’re not getting anything done to begin with until we find a new fourth member.” He turned to look up at Geeta. “Primera, have you found any leads?”
Geeta shook her head. “Not quite yet. But I would still like to know if you’re making any big plans in the interim.”
“It’s not a big plan.” Hassel hunched over a bit, almost pouting. “It’s just a play.”
“‘Just a play’, like you’re going to do something simple? A one-man monologue that lasts twenty minutes?” Rika shook her head. “Even if you tried, within a week, you’d be planning an original rock opera with a three story set.”
Larry looked exhausted at the mere suggestion.
“I’m not! I’m really not!” He shook his head, “I wouldn’t even be directing the thing. There’s a visiting instructor at the academy who’s actively asking for help.”
“She’s in for a rude awakening. I spent a lot of time around theater kids.” Rika said this like that was a coincidence, and not because she had once been involved in the school’s theater program herself. “It gets nasty. You’re definitely too sensitive for it.”
“If I may—“
The Elite Three fell silent and nodded. Of course Geeta may.
“I can’t determine whether or not our Hassel can handle it, but the visiting instructor certainly can. It’s Opal.”
“The Wizard?!” Rika exclaimed.
Larry mumbled “Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Rika continued to let her inner theater kid slip past. “She’s Galarian, but she’s one of the most famous theater professionals in the world!”
“Yes, she’s just retired from her gym leader position and decided to do some traveling. We’ve already arranged some meetings to see if we can find a new fourth member among our mutual connections.”
Rika turned to Hassel. “Did you know about this, Hassel?”
He seemed caught off guard by the question. “I didn’t, actually. I only heard there was a visiting instructor, I didn’t know it was Opal… the Opal.”
Larry felt incredibly out of the loop, but didn’t show it.
“Have you always been interested in the theater, Hassel?” Geeta asked, seemingly in good faith.
“Casually.”
Nobody pointed out that “casually” to Hassel was “verging on obsession” to most other people. Especially not Rika, who herself had gone through a pretty intense acting phase around the age of 12. It died down when she got slightly older, and acting became mostly about impressing girls. After all, a truly great actor needs range, and some roles in that range won’t impress girls.
“I was simply thinking I’ve put a lot of time into painting and music, but I’ve never personally participated in the theater.”
“There’s other arts.” Larry had his arms folded as well by now. “Why not just… write a poem or something?”
Hassel smiled excitedly. “I have written poetry.”
“Way to go, Larry!” Rika threw her arms up in frustration, “Now the most annoyingly married person we know is going to share his poetry.”
“I’m not.”
Everyone was already too busy preparing to not listen to Hassel’s poetry to register what he said.
It took a good thirty seconds before Larry went “What?”
“I’m not married.” Hassel clarified after another few beats of silence, “I’m not legally married.”
“How did I not know that? Wait, did I not know that?” Rika looked at the ceiling as she thought about Hassel’s paperwork to herself.
“I knew that.” Geeta offered.
Larry shook his head. “Does it really matter at this point? What about common-law marriage?”
“I’ve never looked into it, but there was never any kind of paperwork or ceremony or anything.”
“That’s what common-law marriage is. You don’t need a ceremony.” Larry said.
The room was silent again as everyone but Larry thought “yes, they do.” Hassel and Brassius were both way too dramatic to go to city hall and be done with it. That also answered the “why”: they were way too dramatic to have a ceremony. Brassius would be thinking of something new and strange he absolutely needed well into the eleventh hour, and Hassel would probably cry so hard he passed out on the altar.
“I’d rather not discuss this further. It’s a sensitive topic.”
Rika and Larry looked panickedly at each other and Geeta, while Geeta stared serenely into the middle distance. One could only imagine what Hassel considered “sensitive”. He was a little evasive around some subjects, like his family and early childhood, but how could his relationship with Brassius possibly be in a similar category? He would regularly be moved to tears while describing a mundane outing with Brassius, to the point where only Geeta would still ask him questions like how his weekend had gone (or Rika would ask him to intentionally annoy Larry).
"Moving on." Hassel, for once in his life, read the room, "I simply think it would be... a good way to use creativity to give back to the community. Maybe those children would be less menacing if they could properly express themselves."
"Yes, I believe there are studies to suggest this." Geeta nodded.
Rika slumped in her seat, half-resigned. "Listen, boss... can we compromise? Can we agree that... if he's crying because he saw an inspiring audition, or a kid called him something groundbreakingly horrible, it's not our problem?"
"I don't recall ever making Hassel's mood your responsibility."
"Whose else is it? It's not yours." Rika pointed out.
Geeta considered this, and nodded in agreement to Rika's proposition. "I'll make sure he's in good shape myself, then."
Hassel wasn't sure when exactly they started talking about him like he wasn't there.
22 years ago
Brassius didn’t want to see Hassel standing at his door so soon after he got back from the hospital, but he also couldn’t think of anyone else he would prefer.
“Hello, neighbor! I just moved in downstai—hey, I know you from somewhere, right?”
Brassius hesitated before nodding. He’d never really spoken to Hassel before, but they hung around in the same social circles… or they had, at least.
“I’m Brassius. Uh… I used to hang around Ferroseed Coffeehouse, maybe from there?” He tried to answer quickly to get the conversation over with.
“That’s right! I remember now! I don’t go there much anymore, either. The staff is alright, but all the regulars are tools.”
That was one way of putting it, and not one Brassius disagreed with. Hassel had always stood out to him precisely because wasn’t considered cool . He wore t-shirts for new wave bands that hadn’t been relevant in years. His hair was dead from bleaching it poorly by himself. He didn’t know everyone and all the gossip about them. He picked fights whenever someone got too mean. He cried if they were mean to him, but he wasn’t even good at telling when people were making fun of him behind his back.
Brassius once had half a mind to think all of that was refreshing, but now had some larger issues in his life to deal with.
“That’s some coincidence, though! I moved in downstairs a couple weeks ago and the landlord told me I should introduce myself once you were back from the hospital. I brought you a gift!”
Hassel extended a box of bagged tea. It couldn’t have cost more than a few hundred Pokédollars. Jasmine green. At least it wasn’t chamomile.
“I figured I should get you something on the relaxing side, but if you were in the hospital, you’d be sick of stuff like chamomile.”
It was meant as a dry chuckle, but Brassius was only able to muster something more like a “humph”.
Actually, he’d been told to completely avoid caffeine, but he was never planning on avoiding anything other than coffee. It wasn’t the caffeine that really gave him trouble, it was the lack of sleep, and the lack of sleep happened to result in him drinking several shots of espresso a day. Then the cycle repeated.
Hassel seemed to be getting nervous from how quiet Brassius was. “I hope you don’t get mad at Mr. Espinosa for telling me you were in the hospital. He didn’t tell me why or anything! I’m a musician, you see, so he wanted me to make sure I wasn’t disturbing you.”
“What do you play?”
“Mostly guitar and piano.”
“Acoustic?”
“Yes. Well, the piano is an electric keyboard, but I assume you meant the guitar.”
“It should be fine, then.”
“I’m serious! Here, I wrote my phone number down, so you don’t even have to come downstairs to tell me to quiet down.” He paused. “If I don’t respond, it’s because I only get 50 texts per month.”
Brassius looked down at the box. It was already open, and among the tea bags was a slip of paper with a phone number on it. He wasn’t going to count, but he was also pretty sure there were only 17 or 18 of the promised 20 tea bags.
He was still very put out from the hospital, so he didn’t want to point out that he already had Hassel’s number in his phone. Brassius let him create a contact the first time they met, around six months earlier, even though all they had said to each other was “You look like you have something to say” (Hassel) and “Probably” (Brassius). He’d never ended up using it, so it made sense that Hassel forgot. After all, there was no evidence of the exchange on his end.
It was likely Brassius only remembered it because he’d been scrolling through his phone contacts frequently in the hospital. In actuality, the doctors were willing to release him after only a few days of observation, on the condition he had someone to keep an eye on him. Not only did he live up three flights of stairs, but the apartment below him was empty, and the one across the stairs belonged to Galarians who only lived there for two months a year.
But Brassius couldn’t think of anyone. He didn’t want to live with family in Artazon, and he didn’t have anyone close enough to invite to his apartment in Mesagoza. He would scroll through his phone contacts for hours, like he’d suddenly see someone he’d forgotten about this time. It was mostly to convince himself that there must be somebody , or maybe to convince the doctors and nurses.
He ended up staying in the hospital for almost four weeks.
“...are you alright?”
“Hm?” Brassius kept looking at the tea box. “Yes. I’m still tired. I’ll make sure to let you know if it’s too loud.”
Hassel still lingered in the doorway. Brassius could feel his gaze on him, but avoided eye contact. He knew there was concern in it.
It confirmed what he’d been thinking for the past four weeks.
Despite all the hours he’d passed by looking for someone to look after him, he preferred having no one at all.