Work Text:
After traveling from region to region with a band for a couple months, Hassel decided to leave them. They insisted the lead singer be the band manager’s girlfriend and no matter how many times Hassel pointed out she couldn’t sing, they all agreed to ignore him. Leaving was easy. Finding a new gig—that was hard.
They left him in the middle of Paldea, so he stayed there.
One fan that frequented their band no matter where they went, saw him playing in the streets one day. They approached and he told them the story of why he left them. He wanted to sing and play. Otherwise why’d he leave home?
The thing was… the guy had practically stalked them from region to region. He was an artist named Brassius. When the manager wanted to file a complaint against the guy, Hassel waved him off. “That’s just, Brassie.” Hassel told them. He never passed the line or followed them backstage. He was a proper fan. Honestly, he probably knew Hassel would fall out of the group eventually. They hardly got along.
“Yeah, I guess I’m solo now.” He confessed to Brassius.
He nodded to him, green hair flowy bobbing along. “Was a matter of time.”
“Exactly, we disagreed too much too often.”
“No,” Brassius tsked, “you were far more talented than the rest of them. They were probably threatened by you.”
Hassel blushed and had to start playing because he lost his place. Muscle memory glitched from that comment. “You think so?”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, I hope you stick around for a while.”
So, he picked up some odd jobs here and there and became a solo artist—and wouldn’t you know it, the pretty little fan was right, whenever he asked why someone wouldn't work with him, it was always because they were worried he’d outshine everyone else. He hadn’t even picked up on that but now he saw it everywhere.
He worked just fine alone, and he even established a little following, but… he missed people.
Next time he saw Brassius in a crowd of people listening to him sing along to a difficult song, he noticed him more. The man was cute. Like, very cute.
People around him seemed to know Brassius. They said things like “eccentric artist” or “grouchy hermit” but no one ever told him how adorable he looked when he smiled or how he’d try to sing along to whatever music was around him.
Apparently this guy was a saint in disguise. He designed a maze and a playground for the kids in his town because they weren't going to put money together to do so. He displayed it like an art piece and donated it to the town. Artazon displayed works of art everywhere, and the law said no one but the artist could remove them, unless the artist passed away. The children now had a playground and a roomy maze for as long as Brassius lived.
Hassel found out the guy hung out on top of the windmill if sketching, a field if painting, and indoors if sculpting. Who’s the stalker now? He should really go talk to the guy himself.
Hassel played his guitar in the middle of Artazon and summoned the artist almost immediately.
He stopped playing to greet him.
“Don’t stop.” Brassius pouted at him.
“Sorry, I was only playing to get you to come over here.”
“Why?” Brassius’s voice sounded almost whiny. It made Hassel laugh.
“Because I want to get to know you.”
Brassius looked at him oddly. His eyes looked the color of clouds, a very specific shade of light gray. They instantly changed to two large moons as he attempted to give him babydoll eyes and beg him to keep playing.
Hassel started playing again against his will.
Yet it kept Brassius around.
He spoke over his playing, “you live in town, right?”
“Yes.”
“Which one is your house?”
“Why?”
“I was just curious.”
Brassius glared at him for a moment. “Why?”
Hassel sighed. Why? He didn’t really know. “Because I like you, I don’t know. I don’t know a lot of people in Paldea.”
“Me?”
“You’re really nice and you know…” really cute, “it’s a good idea to keep nice company. Helps the soul or something.”
“You sound unsure.”
Hassel scoffed. “People never ask me why I want to be friends with them. It’s something you just do.”
“Oh, you don’t know then.”
“Know what?”
“I’m boring. I’m not the best choice for a friend. You’ll be over it as soon as you get more exciting friends.”
Hassel ended the conversation there. He pursued him anyway to see if it was true. Every friend he made added another note to the music that was his life, but something always remained.
Hassel found Brassius tied up in vines upside down a few weeks later and stared at him. How could such a silly man be boring?
And another time he fell off the windmill but stuck the landing. Hassel ran to his aid, but Brassius commented that he liked the feel of jumping off the windmill and went to try it again. For the rest of the day, he practiced how to land and not hurt himself.
Eventually he gained enough rapport with Hassel that he allowed him into his house. He showed him everything in there with so much enthusiasm.
“These are my indoor plants, different from my outdoor plants. They need extra care.” He passed a couple plants to Hassel for no particular reason.
“This room has a lot of wall space, so I display the paintings here.” He threw open his arms and gestured to the paintings, which depicted landscapes and flowers beautifully.
“Brassius, they’re—”
“Wait until you see the sculptures.”
The man must have atrocious hands because the sculptures were breathtaking. The ones with Pokémon were the best ones. He touched a little Smoliv one.
“You have an eye for the arts. You must have been a painter or something in another life.” Brassius pulled him along, again, to the kitchen. “Let’s have some coffee before we continue. You look overwhelmed.”
Hassel stopped Brassius and had him sit. “Let me make it for you, you’ve been running around like a madman without stopping, and I know how to make coffee.”
Brassius watched him as he looked around the kitchen for cups. He wore a smug little grin and offered no help. Hassel found them eventually, cute little original pieces they were, and he prepped them some coffee.
“So, what’s your dream?”
Brassius looked off to the side. “To be a famous artist and make works of art that inspire people to be the best version of themselves they can be.”
Hassel passed him his cup. “You sound hesitant.”
“I’m not really making progress in the art community. I'm the cryptic of art society. They see me and roll their eyes—I’m working on presentations but talking about my work is… difficult.”
“What do you mean? You just told me all about your work just fine. You sound more excited about your art than I do about music, honestly.”
“You’re different.”
“Well,” he tried to think of a solution for him, “just pretend you’re talking to me when they ask you questions. And when you’re presenting, pretend you’re telling me about a new project you just finished.”
“Sounds ridiculous, but I’ll try it.”
After they walked through his entire house, Brassius let him stay over. He waited until Brassius fell completely asleep to go back and look at everything again. He was a visionary, wasn’t he? The details and boldness.
Hassel thought up a plan right there.
Some time later, Brassius presented a project to a large group. He withdrew and looked beyond nervous, but Hassel planted himself in the middle of the spectators and smiled back at him.
Brassius lit up and turned on a like a switch. He started going on about the project with the cute enthusiasm that made him smile like he ate a sweet strawberry. Brassius becoming famous wasn’t a dream, it was a matter of time. The man was just so talented that the art community found him intimidating. But really, he was just a passionate cutie who liked to get his hands dirty.