Archive of Our Own

The Talent Show was a normal enough event in Mesagoza. It wasn’t a traditional talent show, though it went by the same name, and it wasn’t quite a Cultural Festival. Perhaps it was something more akin to an Arts Faire or exhibition; the students all put creative presentations together where people would attend, hand over a few coins, and get either some food or a trinket or an experience in exchange.

Hassel had wanted to attend one for years, but hadn’t ever found the time. Artazon held a Midsummer Festival around the same time every year, at the tail end of the school year, and he always found himself deeply engrossed in organizing the event with Brassius, who coordinated many events with the town Mayor and event planners and other artists who wanted to be involved.

And he’d only become a teacher very recently, so it’s not like he had any reason to attend other than to enjoy the creative arts. Now, it seemed, he had students to visit.

Needless to say, he’d been busy. And the first year he was able to drag Brassius away from event planning in Artazon for the school Talent Show, he did so unashamedly.

Brassius was all too eager to follow along.

Most of the exhibits were interactive art, something neither of them could really resist.

“It is making me feel quite nostalgic, Hass,” Brassius said, glancing around as they passed under the entranceway to the festival with a smile he couldn’t hide even if he’d wanted to. “Why, I performed at a booth myself back when I was a student. Every year I attended, in fact.”

Hassel’s eyes lit up hearing this.

“That is an interesting fact. You must tell me all about your multitude of exhibits.”

Brassius brushed his enthusiasm aside, however, with a firm but friendly grasp on the teacher’s arm.

“There will be time for such reminiscing later over coffee. Now we must embrace the present. What sorts of exhibits have your students made for the art world this year? I must know!”

Hassel glanced up and away as he thought about it, bringing a finger and thumb to his chin.

“Well, young Sergei has made a little restaurant where Pokémon are servers, while their trainers assist. He practiced under Katy at her Patisserie! And Atticus, that talented lad, Mela's friend – he made all their little uniforms by hand.”

“What a fantastically… practical choice,” Brassius said, seeming slightly let down. “While Katy is an exemplary pâtissière, and I’m certain the sweets will be to our standards, such a booth does not seem terribly creative for such an endeavor. I should really like to see the costumes, though. I would like to support that artistic rising star firebrand and her rebellious friends, regardless. They have such potential.”

Hassel inhaled sharply, folding his arms behind his back. He was never terribly keen on being too harsh with his own students, but it’s not like Brassius was wrong either.

“Too true, too true. Hmm… Well, in that case, what about her friend Giacomo and his dark discoteca? I was eager to see – or, rather, to hear – him perform as a DJ, as I’ve heard the other students gossip about his skills. But instead of turning tables the old-fashioned way, he will only change the music requests after a fruitful battle! And whether he wins, or the challenger, it creates a different shift in the flow and the beat. And perhaps…he requested a copy of one of my old CDs to upload and use as part of this performance.”

Brassius cocked his head to the side and brought a hand to his chin in strong consideration.

“Intriguing! I would not miss a chance to see what it takes to get one of your songs remixed in a more…modern style. However, I admit I am surprised. A booth for such a thing?” he said, perplexed. “Would that not be too noisy for this event? Not that I have complaint about the unconventional, but wouldn't it distract from other booths nearby?”

Hassel nodded in agreement as they continued to walk.

“Indeed it would! Astute as ever, Brassie! However, as the student body has grown in the many years since you graduated—”

Brassius winced intentionally.

“You don't have to say it that way…,” said the artist under his breath, but still loud enough for the teacher to hear. He glanced up through the layers of his moss-colored hair to give Hassel a forlorn and pitiable look, a charming expression on his usually serious face.

Hassel chuckled.

“—Well, alright, perhaps not that long ago,” Hassel said with a grin, playing along to soothe his friend’s ego, “Still, since the population has grown, so has the festival expanded in tandem! Now classroom and auditorium space is being used by any students who require and request it, so they are no longer limited to using only outdoor booths. The discoteca will be held in the auditorium where the school orchestra typically plays.”

Hassel smiled wide and glanced down in a prolonged way, which Brassius understood, after years of learning his friend’s body language, meant he was terribly excited and wanted to share in the joy.

So the artist puffed out his chest and resigned himself to share it.

“Well then, there’s no time to waste!” he grabbed at Hassel’s arm with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. There would be plenty of time to see other exhibits afterward. “Let’s head to the auditorium straight away! I would dearly love to see how it’s been set up. Thematic decorations, backdrop, what sort of arena and parameters have been set up for the battling… What an avant-garde idea!”

It was as persuasive an act as the artist had hoped, because Hassel was suddenly beaming.

The blonde knew exactly how to get what he wanted, and there was little Brassius could do about it but comply.

“That’s what I thought as well!” said the teacher with the slightest bit of tears in his eyes. “I knew you would find it interesting! Oh!” he continued with a gasp as he turned toward something he saw a few booths down. “There’s Mrs. Tyme over there speaking with Mr. Saguaro! Look, that’s young Arven’s booth they’re at, isn’t it? Let’s go investigate what they are up to before heading inside.”

Brassius had no choice but to agree. Given that no other booths caught his eye – so average they were to his expert eyes – he had nothing to distract him but to follow Hassel’s whims, wherever they may lead.

At least Hassel was genuinely interesting.

Usually things were the opposite, in that Hassel would follow whatever his lead was and where his whimsy took him, so it was a little relieving to be able to pass the baton on to his closest friend.

At least until, or rather if, something actually did catch his fancy.

But as long as Hassel was happy, that’s all he really needed to find the event fulfilling.

The tall Dragon Tamer met up with his teacher colleagues with a friendly wave and polite bow of the head.

They welcomed them both with open arms.

“Good morning, Mr. Hassel!” said Tyme with sweetness in her voice and a gentle smile, same as she always was. She clasped her hands together in excitement. “So glad you could make it this year! Oh, I see you’ve got Mr. Brassius along with you! What a pleasant surprise!”

Saguaro jumped in before either man could speak by showing off a few plates of colorful pastries and sweets that he was carrying.

“Since you are here, you should try some of Arven’s signature pastries. The lad has quite an eye for the craft! See?”

Saguaro lifted one pastry shaped like a Clodsire, round and chocolatey and coated in a fine dusting of powdered sugar.

“Clodsire Malasada,” the culinary arts professor announced proudly, “And the Caramel-Nacli Flan is also very good! Keeps its shape even in these temperatures.”

Brassius leaned in towards the flan, watching it wobble back and forth with a glistening helping of caramel on top.

“Well they certainly look edible… well formed… solid presentation without being overbearing…,” he said, scrutinizing as ever. “But what exactly is the special gimmick of this exhibit? It certainly can’t be a plain old restaurant, but I don’t see anything that makes it distinctive.”

Hassel looked down at him with his eyebrows knit in concern.

“Now, perhaps the allure is something unseen,” said the teacher, trying to soften the blow that his friend had made. “Using the senses other than sight, or perhaps even taste. However, you raise a valid point…”

Tyme put the long spoon back into her half-eaten Cherubi-Berry sorbet to cover her mouth in a cute giggle.

“Oh, you didn’t notice it yet,” she said behind a smile. “Look closely at the staff. It’s some sort of maid café. Everyone’s dressed up as maids! And I mean everyone! First, there’s Eri! You can’t miss her, goodness she’s so tall. And there’s little miss Juliana. I heard it was her idea to do this in the first place.”

Saguaro chuckled gently, showing a little secondhand embarrassment for some reason.

“Ah, yes, well,” he hemmed and hawed a little before finally pointing out the less than obvious truth. “That’s what Arven tells me. And that’s why he is also dressed in the same attire…”

The men turned to look deliberately at the cooking station where Arven was to inspect the situation with a more deliberate eye. Indeed, the boy wore his signature serious expression as he whipped up some fresh whip cream with Ortega next to him commanding a very cheerful Alcremie to throw fresh cream in the mixing bowl.

Both boys wore the same fluffy skirts and hair bows as Eri and Juliana, but at least they had the dignity of being behind a sectioned-off space.

Some dignity, at least. But they were so focused on preparing more that they didn’t notice the lines of mostly girls waiting for their attention and a pastry.

“I see…” Brassius said, half dismayed and half with a sigh of resignation. “Well, to be fair, ‘crossdressing’ in this way is something of a tradition. A bit old-fashioned, so I am surprised to see it… Though I suspect Juliana-garde has her reasons for making this particular suggestion…”

Hassel glanced down, only perplexed for half a moment before remembering, eyes widening -

“Indeed! I do believe you are right there, Brassie. And it’s no surprise young Arven was keen to comply with this request.”

Tyme giggled again with a little charm and a swish to her lilac skirt.

“I see what you’re getting at. The two of them grew quite close ever since they completed their Treasure Hunts. And goodness knows what that boy has gone through… it’s good to see him so comfortable with such good friends.”

She took a delicate bite of her sorbet.

“Mmm, he’s doing so well. I might conveniently forget he’s getting a 6 in my class…,” she mm’d happily at the flavor, “…oh, he’s got the ratios of sweet to salty down perfectly. I’ll slide that grade up!”

Saguaro laughed aloud in agreement.

“Cooking is something of a science, isn’t it?”

Tyme looked up at him with a grin.

“It certainly is!”

But Brassius was distracted by something. He was eyeing the menu from afar, and squinted to see it. So Hassel tilted his head to see what was catching Brassius’s eye.

“What precisely are you looking at?” asked the teacher gently. In spite of having perfect vision himself, he wanted an excuse to head toward the kiosk. “Want to see what’s on the menu? I’d love to indulge in a pastry or two.”

Brassius looked up, blinking once before speaking.

“Hmm, yes, I would love to have a bite if you’ll have one.”

It wasn’t even remotely an unusual request. They openly shared things all the time – food, drinks, smocks and paintbrushes… But still, Tyme and Saguaro glanced at each other knowingly.

Maybe not fully knowingly. They assumed. Like everybody assumed that the art teacher and the famous artist were more than just good friends, and were trying to hide it the old-fashioned way.

Hassel in particular was nothing if not old-fashioned, in mannerism and presentation, in spite of his many noble public decrees about embracing change and letting your true self shine.

And in the same vein, as the somewhat more eccentric Brassius often said – “…do whatever your heart desires... So long as you don't cause trouble, that is.”

It was so easy to assume that they simply did not want to cause trouble.

But as they weaved through the line shoulder to shoulder, almost brushing but never quite, it seemed so obvious to the outside observers.

Such as the young sprite Juliana, glancing up at the much taller Eri, as they observed the pair enter their space.

Juliana motioned for Eri to lean down, so she could whisper in her ear –

“Do you think they’ll want a table?”

“Hard to say,” said Eri, holding a hand in front of her face and lowering her voice, “What if they order the—”

And they both whispered in unison.

“Sweet Applin Tart?!”

The girls glanced at their art teacher and the grass gym leader standing in line together, reviewing the menu items with some enthusiasm.

“I bet they will”

“But what if they don’t want to make it obvio—”

They were cut off by Brassius proclaiming loudly at the counter, “One Sweet Applin Tart!”

And Hassel, after a beat, said, “Please!” in voice that was both somehow louder and more polite.

The girls were starry-eyed as they clasped hands.

“It’s just like when Nurse Miriam and Coach Dendra showed up!”

“And Professor Salvatore and his wife!”

“And the baby!”

“Aaa, she was so cuuuute!”

As they attempted to conceal their squealing, Ortega took the order by shouting it at Arven, who was already pulling one out of the space they kept all the warm pastries that he’d pre-made for the event warm.

“Hot Applin Tart coming up!” Arven said, placing it carefully on a plate. With an artisanal eye for detail, the star of the show placed a perfectly-shaped scoop of vanilla ice cream next to the tender pasty – which was, naturally, in the shape of an Applin and certainly filled with soft baked apples.

A swirl of whipped cream was wrapped around the upper portion to mimic the pattern atop an Applin. He grabbed a bottle of caramel and drizzled it back and forth, then coated the entire plate with a generous pinch of cinnamon.

Hassel and Brassius both applauded when the boy, at last, dropped a clearly homemade pick into the center that was supposed to be the Applin’s Eyes.

He might have been a culinary artist, but the eyes were very obviously made by Juliana and the gang as they all worked together to prepare for their myriad of projects.

“You don’t need to clap like that…” Arven said, shoving the plate across the counter with visible embarrassment. “Uhh, professors… I hope you like it.”

“SPLENDID!” Brassius proclaimed, arms outstretched. “What a remarkable effort. You have a keen eye, young man. Juliana-garde may be right about you, after all.”

Arven blanched. He definitely did not want this attention.

Juliana giggled behind them as she cleared a table that other customers had just left. She just knew Arven was struggling here, and always enjoyed teasing him, just a little bit. Get him out of his comfort zone.

Thankfully Hassel intervened; not that he recognized Arven’s struggle so much as he was hungry.

He picked up the plate, along with two forks and a napkin, with a grateful smile.

“Thank you, young man. Indeed, this looks delightful! I shall be giving you our full review of your efforts the next time I see you in class!”

The boy sighed, already listening to the next order coming in from Ortega while he managed to reply –

“…yeah, professor, see you Monday… YES, FINE, 2 Cherubi-Berry sorbets coming right up!”

The artists turned to find that Juliana was enthusiastically standing by at a cleared table, waving them down. She was quickly becoming their favorite student. Even Brassius smiled to see her.

She grabbed the plate right out of Hassel’s hands and set it on the table, which was covered in a fresh napkin tablecloth with a colorful Pokémon egg pattern along the fringe.

“Thanks for coming by Professor Hassel! And Mister Brassius!” she exclaimed with a sunny grin. “This is my favorite of the options the boys cooked up. It’s super yummy. Eri and I just made the eyes, but...”

“Well, if Juliana-garde approves of the flavor, what else need be said?” Brassius said loudly, hands on his hips. “And you put your heart into the endeavor, correct?”

“Of course!”

He beamed.

“Well, then I’m sure it will be perfectly avant-garde! Let us commence!”

With a swift but subtle motion, Hassel pulled out a Pokéball from his pocket, and pressed on the release switch.

“Well it wouldn’t be quite as avant-garde without the right company, would it?”

Everyone watched as Flapple appeared in a flash of light. She danced around Hassel’s head a few times, then hovered over his shoulder in observation as the two men sat down at the table together.

“Flapple!” Juliana said, clasping her hands together jubilantly. “She’s so cute.”

Flapple chirruped in agreement, while Hassel pet under her chin with his forefinger.

“And a menace in battle,” he said, giving the little apple dragon even more praise. “My little whirlwind.”

He turned to the artist who was now sitting across from him at the little table, and sat back in his little plastic chair looking up with palpable fondness.

“Brassie, you remember the day she evolved into Flapple, don’t you?”

Brassius started to laugh quietly.

“How could I forget?”

Juliana cursed inwardly when she suddenly heard other customers ask for her assistance right at this moment. But the two men didn’t even notice her leave, so engrossed were they in their new conversation.

Not that she wouldn’t try her best to listen anyway. Like everyone else who had been stuck sitting mutely in that one class, watching the two artists talk to each other more than teach the students, she wondered if they were just friends, or something more.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Brassius pick up a fork, pointing it directly at Flapple.

“You’d asked me to help you better grasp the concept of Still Life to improve your paintings,” the shorter man recalled easily. “And this little mongrel – well, back when she was an Applin, at any rate – made her way straight into the bowl of apples I’d set next to the pitcher on display for your practice piece focusing on shadow and light. I really should have chosen oranges, or grapes, or lemons! It didn’t occur to me at the time that a truly tart batch would be troublesome for you. Ah, but I suppose it turned out just as well…”

Hassel laughed heartily, causing a few other patrons to look. But the two of them often earned stares in public for their boisterousness. This was nothing new.

“Indeed!” he said with a grin. “She’d become precisely the Pokémon she wished to be! And has been one of my closest partners ever since. It would be remiss of me to exclude her from trying this delectable pastry that so closely represents her former self!”

Brassius nodded along and broke the first bit of crust. It came out piping hot, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg strong on the nose. He scooped just a little and dabbed it in the ice cream to cool it, then lifted it into the air.

Flapple came rushing over, mouth agape, as she swallowed the bite whole.

She giddily flew around the table, then demanded another.

Which Brassius happily offered.

“Save some for us!” Hassel said in between laughs. He raised his fork, and took a bite of his own.

Brassius wiped his own fork on the napkin briefly, then did the same.

“Delicious!” they proclaimed in unison, and immediately began to talk about meaningless things – a new plant Brassius had received from an admirer which he’d added to a small collection, an art project that stood out in Hassel’s class, and some tactics used in recent battles. In between sentences, they would periodically offer Flapple a nibble, which she would happily accept, flitting comfortably between the two men without hesitation.

The little Apple Dragon knew them perhaps better than they knew themselves.

And when she’d had her fill and landed, content, on his shoulder, Hassel put her away after a few minutes.

Juliana and Eri were both too busy with other patrons to notice the two men clean up after themselves and leave.

The other teachers had already left as well, moving on to other booths, so they chose to follow suit.

They walked around and checked out a few more booths that caught their eye, or when any of Hassel’s students called out to him, speaking as quietly as they could to each other as they assessed what they saw.

Though there was no way either of them could have been described as quiet, they still leaned in to speak to each other as though sharing a secret.

They stood in front of a few little galleries, grabbed a few samples from one mini sandwich shop, watched a Pokémon puppet show from the back row, grabbed chocolate and cinnamon churros at a churro stand, and when someone called out for drinks they both reached for a Sitrus Berry Juice with paper straws that looked like candy canes and a sprig of Jolly Mint sticking out the top.

Each paper cup had a different Pokémon-type pattern they could choose from. Of course, Hassel chose Dragon, while Brassius chose Grass. They clinked their cups together and took a deep sip.

“Absolutely refreshing!” said Hassel, closing his eyes and fully enjoying himself. “I say, we’ve been out in this hot sun for quite a while. Shall we cool off and take these drinks inside to see what the students have in store for us in there?”

Brassius finished his sip while nodding along.

“I was just about to suggest that myself,” he agreed with a serious expression. A few beads of sweat had been gathering on his temples and threatened to drip. “A little break from the sun would be a welcome reprieve.”

Hassel’s eyes stared at the wetness of their own accord. Sometimes he couldn’t help himself. If something caught his eye, he simply had to observe.

He swallowed thickly and looked away.

“Then let’s walk over this way…”

They walked up to the main entrance, side by side. The doorway was guarded by a student volunteer, watched over by a staff volunteer, who would carefully open and shut it as people wanted to come and go, so as to prevent the humidity of the outside in to ruin the books in the library.

“Coming in, Professor Hassel?” said one student, beaming as the art teacher approached.

Hassel stood up straight, opening his arms out to the side. It was a gesture of openness that he often took with his younger students.

“Why, yes! If it isn’t young Jean! Working hard as ever, I see. Might you allow us through the front gate?”

The boy – who couldn’t have been more than 12, one of the youngest in his class – pulled on the handle with all his might. Of course, on the opposite side of the door was someone a little older –

“Larry?”

– who could handle the weight of the door with more ease.

Larry, decked in his usual ill-fitted suit and well-worn loafers, groaned upon seeing the two of them walk through the doorway.

Hassel’s face fell.

“Whatever are you doing here?” Hassel said, stepping through with a hand dramatically on his chest, drink in the other. “I never expected to see you doing tasks for the school.”

Larry sighed deeply as the young student on the other side of the door waved, and Larry made sure the door was properly closed behind them.

“As usual, La Primera requested my assistance with this matter,” the salaryman spoke in his usual exhausted near-monotone. “Something to do with my ‘being good with kids' because I babysat Poppy the last few weekends… anyway, where do you want to go? I've got a list of all the, uhh, attractions going on inside.”

And by “I've got a list,” he immediately clarified by pointing to a chalkboard sign with room numbers and event names listed that stood right at his side.

Hassel made a sound like a growl of annoyance. He was trying to restrain himself.

Brassius leaned down slightly to review the list, but Hassel put a hand on the artist's shoulder, shaking his head. He just wanted to move on, and Brassius recognized it immediately.

Something about Larry always brought down Hassel's spirits. Brassius didn't have nearly the same reaction to the Salaryman as the dragon tamer did – in fact, he thought very little of Larry, given the man's complete lack of artistry and presence let alone the avant-garde - so he’d do whatever he needed to do to keep Hassel in a good mood.

“I think we're just going to look around,” Brassius intervened calmly, almost clinically.  “Thank you, Larry.”

Larry shrugged, said a drole, “You're welcome,” then turned back to the door as the little boy outside once again threw his entire might into opening it on his own.

They might not have even been there at all to him; Or perhaps Larry was overworked and too exhausted to care, but it nevertheless the experience wasn't exactly pleasant.

Brassius tugged at Hassel's arm and pulled him deeper into the main floor of the library in a hurry, back to the righthand side behind some of the bookshelves to stand there under some event streamers and balloons.

“Chin up, Hass,” Brassius said, tapping under Hassel's chin with his own hand, and watching it lift up before he pulled his hand back. Warm amber eyes met his and it caused his breath to hitch, as it always did, so he distracted himself with another quick sip of his drink while he glanced around. “We’ve got plenty more to do in here, so let’s not get distracted. You wanted to see the DJ, correct? I think I remember the way to the auditorium…” at his instruction. “It’s already feeling much cooler inside. This was a great decision.”

The frown on Hassel’s face disappeared as swiftly as it had arrived, becoming a smile so wide the creases at the sides of his eyes became more defined. Brassius couldn’t stop himself from mirroring him, like the moon reflecting the sun.

“You’re quite right, as always, Brassie,” said the teacher, leaning down slightly. “Don’t fret over directions. I will guide the way.”

The two men headed toward a hallway that lead around the building, the artist only a half-step behind the much taller teacher, unwilling to be far from his side.

For Brassius, it was nice to play second fiddle while at the academy. It was a rare space where he was known to the children – the majority of the students there, though there were plenty of adult learners of all ages – as “professor Hassel’s friend who’s famous or something” or simply as “the Grass Gym Leader” to anyone who had managed to battle him, or at least attempt to engage with the gym circuit.

He enjoyed watching Hassel shine. Being an educator meant that the man, who’s identity was otherwise wrapped up in being a powerful Dragon Tamer from an ancient and notable lineage, was truly in his element.

Brassius often wondered if anyone who was under the man’s tutelage truly understood what that meant, and watched carefully for that sparkle of respect in their eyes when Hassel approached.

Would anyone dare approach Hassel with even half the respect he deserved?

One such student standing outside of a closed classroom door with a small gathering of people hanging around brightened and straightened up as soon as Hassel rounded the corner, earning a nod of approval from Brassius that went mostly unnoticed.

“Professor Hassel! A—and Gym Leader Brassius! Welcome, welcome to our establishment!”

The girl bowed low. She was wearing the sort of robe one might wear at a sauna and slippers, which was an unusual choice for the event, especially given how hot it was outside, but the decorations around the door seemed to match the theme.

The girl had a round little Makuhita at her side who moved its arms around emphatically. They both stood on an oversized bath towel which led up to the door. Around the door were a few short tables covered in organized piles of stones – a Zen look? – a lucky bamboo plant, bottles of scented oils, and massage oil.

“W…whatever is it that you’re selling at this stand, Lizette?” Hassel inquired, having to remain curious in spite of what seemed to be, at this point, very obvious.

The girl held her hands up near her face, and her Makuhita did the same.

“It’s a Pokémon Massage parlor!”

Brassius nodded and held his hand up to his chin. The girl was obviously excited, so he felt he should be supportive, even if the décor was… lacking, in his expert opinion.

For Hassel’s sake, at least, he would persevere.

“What would such a thing entail?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound too incurious. But the girl remained ecstatic.

“Well, it was actually Miss Miriam who came up with the idea. I’d sprained my ankle at a track meet a few months ago, and so I got to talk to her about it. Since I like Miss Dendra’s class so much and use Fighting Type Pokémon, she thought we could show off their strength in a different way than battling… by healing! Healing massage!”

The girl stretched out her arms wide, as did Makuhita.

At that point, they started to hear a couple “oof” and “aah”s coming from behind the door. One surprisingly calm “osu!” seemed to imply that the inspiration for the massage parlor was currently inside.

“She got me to work with Miss Tulip on training my Pokémon for healing massage! Apparently she and Miss Dendra go way back… Anyway, Miss Miriam and Miss Dendra are in there right now, but they’re just about done. Hopefully I’ll get a good review from my favorite teacher! Aahh Miss Dendra!!”

She squealed excitedly, hands on her cheeks in joy.

Brassius frowned and was about to tug Hassel away to move on, offended on his behalf.

But to Brassius’s surprise, Hassel was starting to tear up. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“Young miss Lizette, this… this is wobderful. I’b so habby for you…”

The girl winced abruptly, unsure how to respond.

“Uhh, oh…Professor Hassel, please don’t cry…”

Brassius turned toward her. The scowl on his face must have been frightening, because Lizette recoiled a little. Her Makuhita stood up firmly by instinct in a defensive position, though it was unnecessary.

“Rather crass of you to admit to having a different favorite teacher than the man standing before you,” he said through his teeth. He was biting his tongue – after all, this was a student – but he could hardly help himself from speaking up. “Ol Hass here teaches the best classes you’ll ever have the fortune of attending. Why, I find it hard to believe that a student of his would be so rude—.”

The girl waved her hands wildly. She was clearly a little embarrassed at being called out.

“—W-w-w-wait, Mr Brassius, please hold on. Professor Hassel is my other favorite teacher!! He’s always helping out Miss Dendra with Battle Studies during his breaks when he’s walking around the school garden, and he taught me the coolest moves. Thanks to the Professor, I—I-I am trying to evolve Riolu to learn Dragon Pulse!”

Hassel’s sobbing predictably became a little bit louder, while Brassius tensed up. He sipped his drink pensively, then nodded.

“Well…” he said, turning away with some discomfort at having misread the situation, “Perhaps I was a little hasty in my judgment. I hope you can forgive me. Hass is indeed an excellent battler. The best of the best, in fact.”

The girl’s worry turned to excitement as the stars returned to her eyes. She did Dendra’s OSU! Pose, and her little shadow Makuhita matched her every move.

“It’s true!!” She said, throwing a punch. “To defeat the Dragon!” She threw another punch. “Guarding the Final Fortress!” And another. “Is the ultimate goal!”

She punched upward with gusto.

Hassel handed his drink over to Brassius without a single thought and began to clap through the tears.

“Brava, miss Lizette! I look forward to meeting your skills on the battlefield one day!”

Lizette smiled wide, and clenched her fists together.

“I hope to challenge you one day, sir! –Ah!”

The door opened abruptly, and both Dendra and Miriam both walked out looking a little pink-faced and very content. They were shoulder-to-shoulder. A glance inside the open door showed the classroom rearranged so that all the desks were lined up at the back, and there were two massage tables right in the center. A short little Riolu and a fully evolved Gallade were inside, the Fighting-type masseuses.

“That was amazing, Liz!” said Dendra, patting the girl firmly on the shoulder. “I knew Tulip’s training would be effective, but your Pokémon are real naturals at this. I’ve never felt so relaxed!”

Miriam leaned in close, tilting her head slightly toward Dendra.

“I’m so glad you made this little idea come to life.” the nurse said sweetly to the girl. “You could open up a clinic if you keep up your studies!”

Lizette was beaming. She and Makuhita looked at each other with excitement before turning back to Dendra and Miriam.

“OSU!”

She struck a pose. And so Dendra instinctively did the same in return, leaving Miriam to take a step back so she didn’t end up as collateral.

“OSU!! Keep up the great work!”

Hassel sniffled and finally finished drying his eyes, causing the women to turn around and finally notice the men who were lingering behind them.

“Hey, old man!” Dendra said with a winning smile as she smacked Hassel on the arm in a shockingly friendly gesture toward her colleague. “Cryin cuz Liz is gonna make it big in the world? Yeah, I’m feelin it. Did you – oh, hi Brassius -  did you guys sign up for a massage? 10 minutes really fixes the tension in the shoulders, but 15 really fixes ya up right, ya know what I’m sayin?”

The crowd of people standing around were getting a little antsy, and Lizette turned back to say –

“Aaah, the wait’s like an hour now. We’ve only got 2 tables. Uhhh –.”

Brassius took the moment to step up, though he looked a little silly with a serious expression and two brightly-colored drinks in his hands.

“Sign us up! I think Hass here definitely needs it.”

Hassel looked down at him, eyebrows raised.

“M-me? Oh, but Brassie, you are the one who has been struggling with such terrible wrist pain lately working on that new collection of vases. And that tight spot on your back you’ve had for the past few years… I think you need it far more than I.”

Brassius huffed. He didn’t typically like his private business aired out in front of other people, but it always felt like they were in their own world when they spoke, so he was comfortable enough to retaliate.

“No, no. Don’t be silly. Just the other day, you were wrestling with that wound-up Arctibax and threw out your back. You were stuck on my couch the whole weekend, you poor thing. You’re just not as limber as you used to be, dear Hass.”

Hassel pretended to tense up, bristling but only playfully. He pressed down on his sweater-vest to smooth it out.

“I suppose we’re getting old, you and I.”

Brassius nodded, finally handing back the bright dragon-cup drink.

“Indeed, we are.”

The women looked back and forth between them as they spoke, until the nurse finally stepped in and raised her hand.

“The couples massage really is quite good!” said Miriam firmly. “I recommend it! You both get the same deep-tissue routine, and instead of 10 minutes, it’s 15. It was just what we needed.”

Both Brassius and Hassel turned to her, wide-eyed. There was something off about their expressions.

Confusion.

Dendra elbowed Miriam nervously.

“Come on, Mír. We don’t know if they—,” she coughed, trying to be subtle, but failing. Miriam picked up on the body language, and covered her mouth elegantly in embarrassment. “Ahahaha… H-heeeey, we were gonna head to that sandwich stand, right? You promised!”

Miriam pulled Dendra along by the arm, trying to politely escape the situation.

“Oho! Yes! I know you wanted the Tauros Tornado Sandwich. I think you should get a side Oddish, Tomato, and Basil Salad, though. You need to eat more veggies!”

Dendra pouted, while Miriam pinched her cheeks affectionately.

“I think someone needs a little snack!”

Dendra nodded along, then allowed herself to get pat on the head.

“Yes I do! I need energy for some of the battle kiosks!”

Miriam wrapped her hands around Dendra’s cheeks, then leaned in for a quick kiss.

The Battle Studies teacher turned red in the face. She had barely any ability to stop herself from doing whatever her partner wanted. So she turned quickly toward the student, who was too focused on getting the next set of people who’d signed up into the room for their massage to notice what had just transpired.

“Bye, Liz!” Dendra waved. “And bye, guys!”

And while Miriam gave a more proper, “Bye! And see you on Monday, Lizette! Good luck today!” goodbye, thankfully the student had enough wherewithal to wave briefly at them while she was at work.

They walked down the hall, and Lizette instructed her Pokémon on what to do before shutting the door for the next customer’s privacy.

Brassius tilted his head up toward Hassel, but kept his eyes averted.

“They look happy,” he started slowly, “I can’t say the 15 minute massage sounds bad. Why don’t we just sign up for that one?”

Hassel took a deep breath, then nodded.

“That is a wonderful choice. Yes. Oh, I have to admit, I didn’t know they were a couple. But I suppose in retrospect it was obvious how often Miss Miriam came to speak to her. In fact, that’s why I started providing some oversight to Battle Studies, so they could have a little break.”

“And so you could get a little more tutoring in,” said the artist with a sly, knowing smile. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Truly you were born for teaching, Hass.”

Lizette coughed slightly to catch their attention, and both men turned to her, glad for something else to focus on.

“So… the couples massage, err, 15 minutes version,” she said, jotting it down on a pad of paper. “That’s 50 PD… Thank you. Your spot is in a little over an hour now. You have plenty of time to enjoy some other things, just set an alarm to come back! And… leave a number I can reach just in case…”

They parted ways with her in a sort of awkward silence, hurriedly finishing their drinks so they could toss the cups in the recycling bin down the hall.

“That will certainly be relaxing, but we still have an hour to kill,” Brassius said, tapping a finger on his bottom lip. Hassel glanced down to watch, briefly, before correcting himself. “Hmm, how much further ahead is the auditorium again for the music event? It will certainly pass the time. Which Pokémon did you want to use? It is student-run, after all. You can’t just walk in and break their hearts, ô great dragon!”

Hassel chuckled lightly as they continued to walk. He wagged his finger with a slight tsk.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything of the sort. In fact, recall that ‘wound-up Arctibax’ as you called her? She and a young Noibat are primed and ready for the occasion. And both are quite stubborn, so who knows if they will listen to me? It should pose an appropriate challenge.”

“For both you and Mela’s friend, I imagine,” Brassius said, placing his hands behind his back. “It’s good to see you thinking ahead” – ‘for a change’ was implied, and left unsaid -  “This is the consequence of all that lesson planning. Your progress has been a wonder to witness.”

The Dragon Tamer raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh come now, Brassie, not everything I do is because of teaching… though I must begrudgingly admit, you make a great point. For the longest time, I was a bit too much of an ‘act first, think later’ sort.”

Brassius laughed politely.

“Since the day we met!”

But before Brassius could elaborate, or Hassel had the chance to retort, they heard commotion coming from another doorway down a hall. They had passed by a number of scattered booths, or rather converted classrooms since they were indoors, but nothing had really called to them as they had made a goal specifically to visit the DJ.

It was a couple of girls and a few of their friends who were leaving a curiously-decorated room, and being handed something by Nemona, the student council president.

“Here are your prizes!” she said enthusiastically. “The results of the game say that… you know each other practically perfectly, and are the bestest of friends! That’s your title! Besties!! Congrats!!”

The girls each took the prizes into their hands, and then raised them. They placed something on their fingers, all smiles.

“Mood rings!!”

Nemona nodded so hard her hair flew about everywhere. There was nothing she wouldn’t put all of her energy into, even something like this.

“Yep! That way you will always be able to tell what each other is feeling! So if you’re feeling down, Marcy, then you will see the color of the ring and know to cheer her up, Delia! And if Delia is feeling nervous, like she was when you guys were deciding to play the game, then you can check the ring and cheer her on!”

The girls laughed.

It was silly, but they clearly had a good time.

“Thanks, Nemona!”

“That was so much fun!”

“And I learned stuff I didn’t know!”

“Like I didn’t know you wanted to get into Cheer!”

One girl, the shier one named Delia, laughed and covered her mouth.

“Yeahhh I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think I could do it—”

Nemona pointed directly at her, eyes sparkling.

“YOU CAN DO IT, DELIA!” she said, now posing confidently with her hands on her hips. “In fact, I challenge you to a Pokémon Battle!”

A staticky voice came over an intercom from inside the room.

“Not now, Nemona. We need you here.”

It sounded kind of like Penny, but there was another voice, fuzzier, yelling in the background, that sounded distinctly like Mela.

“Psh, yea! You gotta FOCUS, girl. STAY PUT!”

Nemona turned toward the room and started to yell back.

“I am!! I meant – Not NOW. I meant the next time the cheer team is meeting, I’m gonna drag you out into the field and have a battle right next to em. That will give you the confidence you need to try!”

Marcy lifted Delia’s hand to check the color of the mood ring.

“Woooow, these things are accurate. It’s super yellow. She really IS freaking out rn. C’mon Delia, let’s go back outside and show these off to you know who…!”

The girls ran off in a hurry, whisking right past Nemona at the speed of light, and just barely missing Hassel and Brassius as they observed from nearby.

Nemona spun around to try to call out to the girls, but it was too late. But not too late for her to notice the two artists who had seen the entire commotion.

Her eyes lit up, and she ran to them, even as Penny and Mela spoke to her through the speakers in the classroom, trying to persuade her to come back.

She stopped breathlessly in front of the two, speaking with her hands. Her Pawmot was at her side, as always.

“Professor Hassel! Gym Leader Brassius!” she said, clasping her hands together pleadingly. “I just know you’ll love playing this game me and Penny and Mela made and are runningtogetherandit’sfun! Would you please?? We’re not getting a lotta people coming in right now because we totally forgot to go BIG with the decorations—”

They heard a distant, “SHUT IT, STUDENT COUNCIL GIRL!” from the speaker that was clearly Mela. “You wouldn’t let me put up the FLAMES around the door and make it a proper entrance!! The entire Schedar Squad was ready to help out!”

Penny more quietly retorted on the same speaker, “It’s not an entrance to hell, Mela. It’s just a quiz show… remember I wrote the code for the questions and the dare prompts…”

Mela grumbled back, “You let AI pull in some real weird stuff, you know—.”

Nemona waved her hands around nervously.

“Ah! Please ignore all that. We would just really like you to play our game show, and like, maybe promote it…” She went back to pleading. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but we put a LOT of effort in.”

Brassius naturally folded his arms and looked on skeptically. The young Champion was usually on top of her game, but something seemed odd about the entire situation.

And why hadn’t Mela told them about being involved in something like this? Not even Hassel seemed to have known, and Mela attended the Art Club religiously. Was she embarrassed?

But Hassel was drawn in by Nemona’s enthusiasm, and of course her asking while Pawmot gave baby-doll eyes behind her. He leaned down with a comforting smile.

“Well, I must admit you’ve got us curious, Miss Nemona,” he said, entertaining her. “What sort of gaming experience is this precisely? Oh, and how long does it last?”

She stood up ramrod straight, hands moving about excitedly.

“Ohhh, I knew you would be interested! So we call it— Pokémon Truth or Dare! – Where you test the limits of your camaraderie!”

From the speaker in the classroom came a pair of open sighs.

Penny started to explain –

“So you answer questions to see how well you know your teammate or… partner, or whatever. The algorithm judges you based on how well you answer, and gives you either the next question or a dare depending on what you say. And at the end, it gives you a score and a special title.”

Mela jumped in at this point, with a little more enthusiasm.

“So basically, if you fail the questions, then you have to do a dare!”

Brassius huffed and folded his arms, stepping forward. He always enjoyed a challenge. The stranger it was, the more interested he was.

“How many questions do you have to fail in order to lose the game? And how many does it take to win?”

Nemona jumped in again, stepping forward with gusto.

“That depends on what the AI says! It’s rated on some sorta scale, right, Penny?”

She half-turned toward the open door leading into to the classroom, where Penny’s soft but certain voice rang out.

“Oh, umm.. Yes, that’s right. It’s a weighted scale based on both individuals’ answers, as well as their willingness to complete the dares, assuming any are needed, that is. You can get a perfect score if you answer everything correctly, though that is… hmm, well... it’s incredibly unlikely.”

Brassius huffed, entertained.

“Why would you think it so incredibly unlikely? I like to think we could defeat this little game in record time.”

Hassel stepped in to ask, “—And where does the Pokémon aspect come into play? I am curious why you call it ‘Pokémon Truth or Dare’ if it is only testing the bonds of knowledge and camaraderie between humans?”

Nemona clapped her hands together loudly, causing Pawmot to look up at her, shivers of electricity coursing across its fur.

“Don’t you worry, Professor! Pokémon are an integral part of this game! After all, do you know Gym Leader Brassius’s favorite Pokémon? His most treasured Pokémon? The first one he ever caught?? Which one he last lost to??”

Brassius scoffed. “Lost to? Why, that’s—”

“SAVE IT till they start playing!!” Mela shouted over the intercom, clearly annoyed. “Come ON, Professor Painter. Señor Sculptor! I’d hoped you’d never find this stupid booth cuz I’m embarrassed. I didn’t do such a great job at decoratin’, cuz we were too busy making frills and bows with Atticus for everyone else’s costumes and whatnot… But since you’re here, ya know, it’d be cool if you could play…”

The men looked at each other with raised brows. It seemed they had no choice. The Dark Discoteca would just have to wait.

And they certainly had time to kill.

“If Miss Mela is asking,” said Hassel with a growing smile, “then we must absolutely oblige.”

Brassius put a hand on his armature wire, rolling it back and forth, and the other to his chin.

“It is always important to support up and coming artists in the prime of their youth,” he agreed, nodding firmly. “Then it is settled. We shall endeavor to win this. What do you say to that, Hass?”

Hassel nodded in agreement, turning toward Brassius with both hands behind his back.

“I could not agree more, Brassie. I also know well how much we both love a good, friendly challenge. Ehm… How much was it, now?”

The art teacher exchanged the meager amount of Pokémon Dollars that it cost to participate with an overeager Nemona, who then ushered the two artists into the classroom.

They realized it was dark in there only once the door was shut. They heard the loud click of the door locking behind them, and they stood shoulder to shoulder as the lights in the dark room rose to show them where they stood.

It was some economics classroom, nothing especially memorable. The usual desks were shoved up against the four walls of the room, two closed windows that would have looked out onto the courtyard from the ground.

Hassel’s art classroom overlooked the same space just a floor above, but he had flowers in his open windowsills; There was nothing even remotely so warm here. The blinds were closed, blocking out as much light as possible, leaving the space, as wide as it was, feeling confined.

There were some of Mela’s big fake flames up along some of the wall space. Quite a lot of it, in fact. But the rest was a smattering of paper tablecloths covered in all sorts of things – paper flowers, a bowl of oranges, a large blank sketchpad on an easel with wide-tip markers, pairs of shoes, spare costumes and jewelry and props from the theater room, and other such miscellanea.

The two men spun in a slow circle to look around, trying to wrap their heads around it. For a rare moment, both were stumped to silence.

Which was perfectly fine, because when Penny’s mousy voice rang through the speaker system, it caught their attention in a rush. They turned toward it abruptly.

“So the game starts out with an important question… Who wants to go first?”

The two looked at each other with mutual confusion.

“Well, it only stands that Hass would go first. After all, he is the teacher at this academy.”

Hassel frowned.

“Nonsense. We are both honored guests at today’s faire. Therefore, I think it best that you be the one to—”

Mela sighed on the other side of the speaker.

“Mister Hassel, you’re going first.”

He looked at the speaker, then down at Brassius, who was looking up at him with a crooked smile. He could see the amusement like a glimmer in the artist’s eyes.

“I suppose it won’t do us any good to dilly-dally,” said the art teacher, suddenly straightening his tie and smoothing out his sweater-vest absentmindedly. “Alright, Miss Mela, Miss Penny. Please proceed.”

They could hear typing through the speaker. Something felt a little off, and they shuffled their feet.

“Professor Hassel…” said Penny, slowly, as though reading from a screen, “How long ago did you and Gym Leader Brassius first meet?”

Hassel smiled and rolled on his feet a little.

“Oho! It’s questions such as this! It was after that little concert I had performed in the square in Porto Marinada,” he said, looking down at Brassius again. “And Brassie here was trying to sell art at one of the booths at the Market. My goodness, how long ago was that? I’d just recently come to Paldea, so it must have been—nearly 25 years ago?”

Brassius nodded along affirmingly. “Just a little more than that. It was nineteen ninety—”

“DON’T ANSWER FOR HIM!” shouted Mela, at the same time Penny said, “You cannot answer for each other. That defeats the purpose of the game.”

Brassius pursed his lips and managed to look offended, folding his arms in front of his chest.

“Then be more clear with your instructions.”

“Brassie, please, it’s alright,” Hassel said, placing a hand on the artist’s shoulder. He squeezed gently, briefly lingering until Brassius sighed. “It was the summer of 1997, isn’t that right? Your hair was so long back then. That was the first thing I noticed, aside from your scowl.”

Brassius nodded.

“It was sweltering hot that day, don’t you remember? You lent me your hair tie after I insulted your guitar playing. Said I was delirious and needed to cool down and listen more closely, since you were a professional, in your own words. You were such a cheeky thing.”

“And as I recall, I never got that hair tie back.”

“Well, it was so much more convenient to—”

Penny muted the mic and let Mela whisper to her.

“We’re never gonna get through this thing if they’re gonna keep yappin like this.”

Penny nodded in agreement, fixing her glasses. She typed in something on her laptop, and un-muted the mic again.

“Thank you. Is that answer satisfactory, Mr. Brassius?”

That caught the men off-guard again, but finally Brassius un-folded his arms and pointed up at the camera with the tail-end of his custom armature wire.

“Yes, indeed!” he said with a grin. “Summer of ‘97. Bring on the next question!”

“Then tell us, Mr. Brassius,” said Penny, looking down at her laptop for the prompt. “What is Professor Hassel’s birthday?”

The artist placed his left hand on his hip, and raised the armature wire with the other.

“August 3^rd. Is that all?”

Mela jumped in.

“Incomplete answer. What year?”

Brassius tch’d aloud. He tapped his right hand with the wire in tow on his chin. Then he closed his eyes and shifted his fingers. He was counting, and trying to hide it.

“Nineteen… sixty-nine?”

He heard light clapping at his side. Hassel was smiling wide, as usual, when he was happy with a result.

“Well done!”

“I am loathe to admit, I had to do a little math.”

Hassel chuckled. “I know. I suppose we don’t really talk about these kinds of dates, but—”

“Round 1 is complete,” said Penny, a little more firmly than normal, trying to keep them focused. “Congratulations. No Dares are necessary, since both of you answered accurately. Does the game make a little more sense now?”

The men nodded affirmatively.

“It’s a shame, cuz the Dare prompt was pretty funny. Well, I guess on to Round 2!” said Mela, with more excitement. “Penny, hurry up with the next round of questions, will ya?”

“Yes, yes, just a moment.”

The sounds of typing could be heard through the speaker yet again. A final press of enter caused both girls in the makeshift AV room nearby gasp as they read the results.

“Professor,” said Penny, adjusting her glasses again. “What was Mr. Brassius’s very first Pokémon?”

The teacher’s face fell ever so slightly. “Do you mean, the first Pokémon I encountered him with?”

Penny shook her head, though they couldn’t see it.

“No, not that. I mean his very first Pokémon.”

Hassel squinted and frowned. He brought a hand to his chin, covering his mouth nervously. He tapped the fingers of his right hand on his hip in contemplation.

Brassius watched, amused.

“Did I ever tell you?” the artist whispered aloud. But Hassel held up a hand, frowning.

“I think I know…” said the Dragon Tamer, completely uncertain of his answer. “It was… Bonsly, wasn’t it? No, wait. Surely it was a Smoliv.”

Brassius’s mouth flapped open, then shut, as he tried his best not to react. He couldn’t give his friend the answers, after all – he’d already been chastised for it in the first round.

“What is your final answer?” asked Penny, calmly.

Hassel nodded, resigning himself to a guess.

“Bonsly. I’m sure of it.”

Brassius shook his head, curly hair waving about in dismay.

“I’m afraid not, Hass,” said the artist, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s arm. “I suppose I never really told you, but Shroomish was my first.”

“Really?”

“I was an unhealthy child, as you know, but I did get to play in the woods within sight of my mother out the back window. The Shroomish came up to me nearly as often as the Smoliv did. That said, Smoliv as you know are quite shy, so she was in fact my third Pokémon.”

“And your second?”

“Bonsly.”

“Ah…” Hassel looked defeated. “I’m so sorry, I should have known something so important to you.”

Brassius looked up at him with a little pity.

“Important? It’s not, really. And why would you know? It’s not like it comes up often in conversation.”

“A first defeat, Round 2, Question 1,” said Penny, interrupting on purpose. “So a Dare must be performed to close out the round. Then Mr. Brassius will start the next round. Do you agree?”

Mela groaned. “Stop being so clinical, Pen. They know the rules!”

It was making more sense as they went along, but it was no wonder the girls failed to advertise this game in advance of the event.

Brassius laughed lightly, turning his hips toward Hassel in amusement.

“Looks like you’re doing a Dare. Are you ready?”

Hassel pouted, then grumbled, “……I don’t think this is terribly fair.”

“These are the rules we agreed to, Hass!” said Brassius teasingly. It was a playful tone of voice that he rarely used in public. “I wonder what terrors these youths have in store for you.”

The art teacher looked down at him, then stood up straight.

“I am not one to back down from any challenge. As so many of my students say, ‘bring it on’.”

Mela started cracking up and stepped far enough away from the mic that she wouldn’t be heard. Penny took over, leaning in over the commotion happening behind her.

“Professor, you must… do your best impression of Mr. Brassius. For 60 seconds. Umm, feel free to use any of the props around the periphery if you wish.”

This got Brassius to raise his wispy-thin eyebrows and re-fold his arms.

“An impression, eh? Think you can manage?”

“Ah.. oh yes, one moment, I just need one thing…”

Hassel looked around the room to find something in particular. What it was remained unknown until he huffed in irritation when he couldn’t find precisely what he needed. So he looked down very obviously at Brassius’s hips, hesitating only a moment before taking a step forward.

“Forgive me, but I must borrow this.”

He reached forward and grabbed for Brassius’s hand, the one that held the armature wire hanging at his side. Brassius released it without question, quickly piecing together what was going on, helping roll out some of the wire as Hassel took a few steps back.

The teacher took a deep breath. Everyone could already see how this was going to go down.

Mela covered her mouth and stared through the computer screen side-by-side with Penny as they watched the scene play out before them.

All of a sudden, Hassel struck a dramatic pose. It was ridiculous watching the tall man stretch up, place a hand over his face, and peek one eye through his fingers.

“The world of fine art requires passion, and dedication!”

He shifted poses, raising the hand in front of his eyes up through his hair, lifting it so that it fluttered gold around his fingers.

“The natural world is the most beautiful of all! The trees, the flowers, the grass beneath our feet.”

The dragon tamer turned his body and pulled on the armature wire with enough momentum to pull the artist forward from the hip. Brassius stumbled forward, catching himself in a strong stance so he wouldn’t fall, just a few inches away. Hassel nearly apologized, but the artist waved him on, only a little embarrassed at the fumble though he couldn’t look up to meet that amber gaze.

“T—The avant-garde is all around us,” said Hassel, relaxing his posture as Brassius stood up properly and adjusted his wire, “—and there is no greater way to express this than in an artful battle!”

After a few moments, Hassel took a deep breath, and returned to a more proper posture. But before he said anything more, he carefully handed Brassius back the end of the wire, whispering a small, private apology between them that the girls could not hear, but they were too focused on not laughing to notice anyway.

They put themselves on mute long enough to laugh it out.

Hassel tugged on his jacket, now red-faced.

“Well, now, was that satisfactory?”

Mela had to turn around so she didn’t burst out laughing, leaving Penny to reply calmly into the microphone.

“Yes, professor. Thank you,” she said, typing hurriedly into the laptop, stifling a giggle in between. “Round 2 is complete. Round 3…”

She hit enter, and a new round of prompts appeared based on her assessment.

“…begins with Mr. Brassius.”

Brassius had just finished re-wrapping his armature wire just in time to look up at the speaker.

“Alright, I’m prepared for whatever you have in tow.”

Hassel stood nearby, shuffling his feet. He was trying not to look too embarrassed after that awkward performance.

Brassius didn’t take offense to any of it, anyway. Though he presented himself stoically, he was…

His hand was on the armature wire, rolling it back and forth.

…He was visibly nervous, to anyone who knew his mannerisms.

“Then, Mr. Brassius,” said Penny, reading carefully from the results before her, “Answer this question as factually as you can. What is Professor Hassel's favorite trip you've taken together? And why?”

Brassius perked up at that. It wasn't a difficult question, after all. He looked at Hassel, who seemed pleasantly contemplative at the question as well.

“His favorite trip we've taken together…” the artist said, finger tapping on his chin. “Thinking back, we've taken quite a few over the years. Every one of them was enjoyable. But his favorite? Hmm…”

The teacher leaned forward cutely, an answer already on his mind.

“Take your time, Brassie. I think you'll recall the time we—”

He covered his mouth in a hurry, before the students could catch him.

“Oops, I almost gave it away.”

“But you do have a favorite, then?” Brassius said, tilting his head as he considered the possibilities.

Hassel nodded. “Of course! I mean, if I had to choose just one, it’s quite obvious when you think about it. ”

After a minute of soul searching and muttering to himself, the artist gasped in realization.

“The time we spent in Unova! We were with all those dragon tamer types. You were finally in your element. And it was wonderful meeting your dear friend Drayden and his family. Why, I’d never seen you so happy than when you were able to battle that little dragon whisperer Iris, and she nearly beat you on the first try. That left such an impression!”

Hassel put a hand on his heart. His eyes were definitely misting over from the memory, so he closed them and dove in.

“Oh Brassie, that was such a lovely journey we went on. I learned quickly not to give young Iris even a little leeway, much like miss Poppy. But do you really think that was the most important holiday spent with you?”

Brassius sputtered slightly, then folded his arms. He was sure he’d gotten that one right.

“The question wasn’t most important holiday spent with me,” Brassius said, agitated, “but your favorite trip we’d been on together. Though… I suppose it was left vague on purpose.”

Hassel kept his left hand on his heart as he locked eyes with Brassius, fully engrossed in whatever moment was playing in his mind. The artist felt like a Vivillon was caught in his chest, but he couldn’t look away, so he felt his ears warming under the scrutiny.

He stood up just a little straighter as Hassel began to explain.

“Yes, it was. Though I’m a little embarrassed to admit I took it a bit more personally, because that truly was a wonderful time in Unova.” He sniffled, wiping at his eyes, as often he did. “But I agree, all of our trips have been a delight. The one that remains most important to me – my favorite of all the times we’ve spent together – was the year after the year after we met. After you’d finally been released from the hospital…”

Brassius’s eyes widened perceptibly as he felt a pang of guilt course through his body.

Oh, it was that time.

That was the most important trip he’d ever been on.

He looked down at the floor.

“Hass…” his voice came out small. For someone who was typically boisterous, it was unusually sincere. “That was…” He shook his head side to side, then put a hand in front of his face and turned away. “That was the most important trip of my life. You changed the trajectory of my career. That was when you helped me see the beauty in the natural world around me…”

Hassel looked like he wanted to move toward Brassius and embrace him, but then remembered where he was, and what they were doing, and stopped in his tracks. He smiled radiantly instead.

It was like that class all over again.

“That trip was to see all the most famous sites around Paldea,” Hassel admitted aloud, speaking not to Brassius but to explain to the girls who were listening quietly behind the speaker system. “I wanted Brassie to experience all the wonderful things he never could before he,” he breathed in deep, “…was able to heal from all his previous experiences. We were both quite young. And after we went through Paldea, we went into Lumiose for a little while—”

“Then to Galar for the Circester Baths.” Brassius continued, reminiscing happily. “And then South to where we—”

“Since Mr. Sculptor got the question wrong, it's time for another dare!” said Mela, interrupting them. “Reminisce after the game is over!”

Penny slammed the mute button before Mela could say any more.

“Are you kidding me?” she said, whispering even though she didn't need to. “We were this close to getting them to admit they're together!”

Mela's face twisted as she leaned back, running through a range of emotions before finally settling for grabbing Penny’s shoulders to yell.

“Is THAT why you've been adding all that to your program?? W—who cares if they're doing it! It's not our business!”

Penny looked up, glasses glinting bright against the light of the laptop. Mela pulled back, a little uneasy.

“Don’t misunderstand. I don't care if they are, either,” he face turned a little red from even talking about it, but she continued regardless. “The thing is, watching them during art class was such a pain in the ass…”

Mela crooked and eyebrow and put her hands on her hips in irritation.

“What're ya talking about, Pen??”

“You missed the class because you were still acting the delinquent, which was… my fault, really... But all they did was make gaga eyes at each other. It was so… argh!”

“…Gaga eyes? What, were the old men flirting in class?? That's so… gguhh. I just can't imagine it.”

Penny rubbed at her temple with one hand, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment in pain.

“Yeah, you missed it. It was way before you came back to the academy… I'll tell you later, alright? O—or ask Juliana or something! But whatever… just roll with this, okay?”

Mela was about to open her mouth and argue when Penny put a finger up to her own lips to indicate silence. The tech wiz un-muted the microphone and spoke with only a little hesitation.

She wasn't reading the prompt on the screen, at least not so precisely. The prompt read:

[Make Player 2 do a dance]

What Penny said was:

“Mr. Brassius, as you must complete a Dare in order to proceed to the next round, please lead a dance with Professor Hassel.”

The way each man turned to the speaker in the classroom – and, as such, the camera – was quite different. Hassel’s eyebrows raised up high in surprise. Brassius, by comparison, blanched. His already pallid complexion became ghostly white.

Penny almost felt bad.

“Lead a dance?!” said the artist, glowering up at the speaker. “What in the world do you mean? What kind of dance?!” then he lowered his tone and half-turned toward the dragon tamer. “D-do you even know how to dance, Hass?”

Hassel chuckled, but it was a little nervous.

“I'll have you know, I am not simply left-handed, but I have two left feet as well. But we've danced a few times at weddings, Brassie, if you don't recall it's surely because we’d had our fair share of wine, and I've only managed to step on your toes. A forgettable experience, if there ever was one.”

It seemed that the teacher didn't forget it, but Brassius had been trying to, or perhaps pretending to.

Strange.

The girls glanced at each other curiously.

“Guys it’s just a game, relax!” said Mela, taking over. “It doesn't need to be so serious.”

Penny queued up some music. A waltz, nothing terribly complicated, but definitely required a modicum of skill.

“…OK, maybe a little serious.”

Hassel stood there, opening his arms in a welcoming stance. He didn't really know what to do but wait.

Brassius sighed and took a half-step forward, hesitant.

“Let's win this, Brassie,” said the teacher with a softening smile. “Certainly this is something we can do. Just show me the steps, same as you always do.”

The artist finally relaxed enough to lower his tensed-up shoulders. He resigned himself and stepped forward with more confidence.

With his hands, he manipulated the teacher into the proper closed position. Hassel was pliant under the nimble fingers, and moved fluidly at the gentlest touch, just as a great dance partner would.

Brassius pulled tight on the back of Hassel's sturdy waist, holding the much taller man close. His face was serious, tense, and focused strictly on the mechanics.

He had to, because if he even once looked up at the face of the man in his arms, he might just lose his composure.

When they started to move, it was as though they'd done this a million times. A few awkward shifts and quick pulls to adjust was all it took.

And for about fifteen seconds, they glided around to the music, looking picture-perfect.

Until Hassel managed to step on Brassius’s shoe for real.

“I'm so sorry,” he said, almost whining. “I was not exaggerating when I said I have two left feet.”

But Brassius was having none of it. With an air of professionalism – he had been trained in the art of dance as a teenager, so it was all muscle memory to him now – he repositioned them both, pulling Hassel in close at the waist again hard enough for the dragon tamer to exhale sharply.

“Sorry,” Brassius could only manage to whisper a brief apology as he loosened his grip a little, keeping his eyes forward.

Hassel only continued to smile in response. He could feel his cheeks warming, but Brassius’s clinical form showed him exactly what the shorter man thought of the entire situation.

He was sure that Brassius hated every moment of it.

Hassel felt a pit in his gut. The same one he always had when the artist bristled and became a little cold if they got too close, and he couldn't find a polite escape route.

He was ashamed that he was having fun at his dear friend’s expense.

But after another minute, they managed to complete the task, and Penny shut off the music.

For a moment they continued to hold each other, until Brassius finally took a step back, turned to the speaker, and brushed his shirt down, then tugged at his collar, like a Sprigatito aloofly fixing itself up after having been pet.

The sound of typing could be heard on the other side.

“Ahem. Satisfactory. Thank you. That concludes round 3,” said Penny, reading from the screen. “Now, since each of you failed a round back-to-back, you need to both pass this round of questions in order to continue.”

“That means no Dares!!” added Mela unnecessarily.

“And we begin with Professor Hassel again,” continued Penny, unfazed. “Professor, umm… What is Mr. Brassius’s Love Language?”

Mela covered her mouth, trying not to react when both men looked shocked.

“What kind of question is that—?!” Brassius spoke first, looking both flustered and offended. “I really don't think that's appropriate.”

Hassel put a hand on Brassius’s shoulder. The artist jumped a little, and so Hassel pulled back, though through the suddenly pitiable expression on the artist's face the teacher knew it was ok.

“Really, it's fine,” Hassel said, looking up at the speaker. “This is simply referring to the famous 5 styles of love language, or simply… how you give and receive affection. And it’s an easy question. I am certain of my answer.”

Brassius unfolded his arms and played with his armature wire. He wasn't about to show more defensiveness toward his dearest friend than he would to the students who were now irritating him.

“Oh… yes. Well, alright. We can entertain such a question in this context…”

Hassel felt his heart flutter when Brassius finally gave him a sidelong glance. It confirmed that everything really was ok.

“Brassie’s Love Language is most certainly Acts of Service. I know how much he appreciates it when I bring over a quick bite to eat or help with the festivals in Artazon.”

Brassius coughed to hide his expression behind his hand. He nodded along.

“I suppose you're right about that… you were at my side when my life was at its worst. It was the single kindest thing anyone has ever done, which is why I made my magnum opus, the Surrendering Sunfloras, at all. I owe everything to your actions, Hass.”

“And you speak in Acts of Service, too, Brassie,” said Hassel, gently poking the bear by continuing on. “You admit, you make these most wonderful of masterpieces to show how you…” he hesitated, because he didn't want to be misconstrued, “…how you feel.”

Brassius was red-faced as he tried desperately to remain calm.

There was a window right here. Two windows, in fact. And they were on the ground floor, so if he opened one and jumped out, it wouldn't cause Hassel to worry quite as much.

Penny hurried to speak, lest they lose the opportunity. She completely ignored the second prompt on her screen when she asked—

“The same question to you, Mr. Brassius. What is Professor Hassel’s Love L—"

“Words of Affirmation,” said the artist loudly, confidently, hands on his hips. He was as done as he possibly could be, and was putting all his effort into remaining focused on the task at hand.

But Penny had to ask:

“Ok. Explain why.”

Hassel looked over at him sweetly, expectantly. Even though he already knew in his soul what the man would say.

He wanted to hear it, too. Because he needed it like one needs to breathe air.

Brassius looked up, catching the amber eyes in his gaze. Suddenly he couldn't look away.

“That should be obvious. A single compliment can send him over the edge. You might be surprised to hear that old Hass here cannot cry on cue. He is anything but an actor, so when he is brought to tears, as often he is, it is because he feels it with all of his heart. He is the most sincere person I have ever met—ah, here, you see?”

As expected, Hassel had thrown his head back, covering his face with his left hand as he stifled sobs.

“—I suspect it's because you didn't receive much praise until later in life,” he said, speaking a little softer towards Hassel directly. “And for what it’s worth, I offer what little I have of words to you now. As you well know, I prefer to speak with my hands, but I recognize how much this means to you. And I can’t help but prattle on, which is serendipitous, I can’t help but think.”

They knew he meant speaking with his hands in terms of crafting sculptures as Acts of Service, but the girls still looked at each other wide-eyed.

“Holy Arceus” mouthed Mela silently, hoping Penny could tell what she was thinking.

And of course, the tech wiz absolutely was thinking the exact same thing.

“I know, right??” mouthed Penny back, though it came out as the smallest of whispers.

But when they turned back to the camera, they saw the usual scene of the professor crying, while Brassius simply stood nearby.

“Oh—B-brassie,” said Hassel in a warbly voice. “You know be too b—bwell…”

He wiped at his eyes, words turning back to sobs.

Brassius stood nearby, looking on with a strangely affectionate expression.

“How anyone can fail to appreciate someone who wears their heart on their sleeve, I’ll never understand. It’s one of your best qualities. I’m rather envious.”

“Why won’t he do anything??” Mela hissed, while Penny covered the mic with her hands in a hurry. “What’s wrong with them???”

But the bespectacled girl had a plan. She spoke loudly into the microphone, louder than she usually was.

“Mr. Brassius, th-th-there is tissue over there on the table! Please get it for Professor Hassel so we can continue on to the next round.”

Brassius sprung into action. In a way, he was thankful to be given something to do, because in spite of the big talk, he didn’t know what more he could possibly say.

He wanted to wrap Hassel up in his arms and comfort him. But they were here, at the school, being interrogated by two students, one of whom – Mela – was a regular at the art club, and even in Artazon to pick up supplies and sometimes swing by the atelier to “pick up a little know-how from the pros” as she liked to say…

Sometimes she came along with Juliana, his personal favorite of Hassel’s current batch of students. But she would always swing by when Hassel was also there, wouldn’t she?

Or was it just that Hassel was over a lot?

Sometimes for a few days at a time.

He handed over the tissues wordlessly, which Hassel accepted without question. Brassius settled for touching the teacher’s arm, rubbing up and down with a firm hand.

He could feel the teacher relax after drying his eyes, but he was certain the man also leaned in to the touch.

He was so certain of it, but he pulled back.

Just like he always did.

Penny typed away in a hurry again, hitting enter and allowing the program to run after her prompting.

Not that she fully followed the script it provided for her, anyway.

“Ok, so… Professor Hassel…”

The teacher stood tall, breathing in deep as he finally released the last of his tears.

“You will also be starting round 5. So the next question is…” Penny thought for a moment, looking at the question before her, and figuring out a way to turn it once again into something more substantial, but this one didn’t give her much to work with. “…What is the most recent Pokémon of Mr. Brassius’s that has evolved?”

Brassius breathed a sigh of relief, while Hassel began to beam.

“Oh, it’s a tie!” he said, clapping his hands together, then raising one as though to drive home a point. “Just last Monday. It was between that darling little Petlil and the Sunkern who desperately wanted to join the gym test crew. Both jumped at that Sun Stone at the same time. But since you can only use one at a time, I suppose poor Sunkern got the spare one, so Sunflora was the most recent evolution, if we are going to be technical.”

Brassius clapped politely.

“Why yes, that’s exactly right. You were there to witness the event, and their ensuing scuffle. Never before had I seen a Sunflora act upon a desire for revenge, but it was only fair for it to try to assert itself after the thievery occurred.”

The men laughed between themselves, while the girls rolled their eyes.

Boring!! they both thought.

So Mela whispered in Penny’s ear what she wanted the next question to be.

“Your turn, Mr. Brassius. If Professor Hassel could become a Pokémon for a day, what Pokémon would he be?”

Brassius hummed in thoughtful approval. He brought his thumb and forefinger to his chin and thought about it, glancing Hassel over a few times while he did.

“Oh, this is a wonderful question,” Hassel started, excitedly. “I have a few ideas, in fact—"

Brassius struck a pose, hands out in front of his face as though to block the sun.

“No, no! Don’t give it away! I need to think.” He stood up again as soon as Hassel closed his mouth and leaned back, grinning. “Hmmm…. Ah, yes. Well, alright, I am torn between two answers, but I think I have the right one…”

Brassius started to walk around Hassel, slowly, like he was examining a work of art. The dragon tamer followed only with his eyes. The effect was slightly intimidating, but his gaze was as gentle as it was burning.

The artist spoke half with his hands, for the sole purpose of adding flair to an otherwise simple deduction.

“Hassel the Dragon!” he said, as though it was announcing the man’s full name. “Steadfast. Honorable. Powerful as Rayquaza, tenacious as a Komala, and more stubborn than a slighted Tsareena. I may see you as the biggest and bravest of all the world’s Sunflora, kind and radiant as the halo around the sun—,” he said, crouching down and creating a picture frame with his hands. He looked carefully through that frame to watch Hassel laugh heartily.

The artist felt his breath hitch at the sight, so he paused to soak it in.

But he was in the middle of a performance, and the show must always go on.

“—But you, the last guardian protecting the fortress of Paldea’s most elite of battlers, would without a doubt be a mighty Baxcalibur.”

Hassel beamed, and Brassius jumped to his feet. He extended his hands out to his sides, like he was coming in for a hug, but it was only to exaggerate his point.

“THAT BEING SAID!” he said, drawing the attention fully back to himself once again. “You would not want to pass up the opportunity to spend the day as, or perhaps alongside, your dear senpai, Gible. Isn’t that right, dear Hass?”

Hassel sighed deeply. He looked elated at the possibilities.

“Right on all counts, Brassie!” Hassel said, clapping. He took out another tissue from the box that now sat nearby, dabbing at his eyes again. “Oh, if I were granted one wish by Arceus to change for a day, I really don’t think I could choose between them. I suppose I am satisfied with simply being human, after all.”

Brassius placed a hand on Hassel’s shoulder.

“You’re better than most humans, you know.”

They stared into each other’s eyes for longer than perhaps was reasonable for even the best and oldest of friends, basking in a shared moment.

...That was broken by the crackling of the old speaker system.

“Round 6 will begin next. You’re on a winning streak.”

The two men stood shoulder to shoulder again, practically leaning against each other. Brassius raised the armature wire up from his side and pointed it at the speaker with a crooked grin.

“You should never have doubted us for a second, o youths!”

Their confidence was palpable. Penny rolled her eyes, and Mela practically growled at the screen.

“Get ready to start your losing streak!” said the fiery young artist, leaning in to the microphone. “Penny, what's the next round of questions??”

Penny ran the script, and started to read.

“Professor… What did you both do on your first… date…?”

That question shook the men out of their confidence. They looked at each other, perplexed.

Hassel struggled to respond.

“Well, if we're talking about the first time we intentionally, umm, hung out as the kids say…,” he said, thinking back and tapping a finger on his temple. “Brassie… do you remember just after we’d met and I ended up following you back to that old flat you had in Mesagoza because I didn't really have a place to stay? You showed me your favorite Churro stand. That's when I learned how much you like Salted Caramel.”

Brassius nodded and smiled slightly, ready to walk down memory lane again.

“Oh yes, I do remember,” said the artist wistfully. “You wanted to walk around and see the city, but I… well, I didn't have the stamina at the time. And instead of running off, as I had expected you to do, you sat down in the square, introduced me to dear old Gible, and explained how you were more than just a traveling musician, but a Dragon Tamer! We didn't have too many of those in all of Paldea until your family started showing up trying to track you down.”

Hassel groaned, hiding his face behind his hand.

“So is his answer acceptable, Mr. Brassius?” asked Penny, trying once again to keep them from waxing nostalgic.

“Yes, it is perfectly acceptable.”

“Excellent. Now for your question, Mr. Brassius…” She paused to look it over, then said, “Does Professor Hassel prefer to wash his hair in the morning or at night?”

The artist looked down and shuffle his feet slightly, but he didn't have to think too long about it before responding with—

“At night. He can barely wake up before he has to rush off to the school.”

Hassel chuckled at that.

“It’s true. I am certainly not a morning person. Half the reason I stay at your home so very often is because you have coffee ready before the sun has fully risen. I can hardly function in the morning when I’m on my own.”

They laughed.

The girls muted the mic again.

“They don't live together?” Mela said with a confused expression on her face. “Coulda fooled me. They’re, like, ALWAYS together whenever I go to Mr. Brassius’s atelier.”

Penny shook her head.

“The employee database says they both live at different addresses. But they are listed as each other's emergency contact.”

Mela’s eyes widened and she shoved Penny a little in shock.

“YOU LOOKED AT THEIR RECORDS??” she practically screamed. “How do you have access to—you know what? Nevermind. I'm not gonna ask and I don't wanna know.”

Penny cracked the faintest of smiles.

“I had to after that class where they made heart eyes at each other until the professor cried. I don't think the chairwoman knows precisely how weak their firewall is. And to be clear, by ‘their’ I mean the League.”

Mela snickered.

“Aaaand that's why you're the best, Cassiopeia!”

Penny shook her head and smiled while she typed away. After she hit enter to run the script, she un-muted the microphone once again.

“Okay… if you pass this round, you win… Professor Hassel, please answer honestly. How long was Mr. Brassius’s last, umm, last relationship?”

Brassius blanched while Hassel raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Where in the world are these inappropriate questions coming from?!” the artist raised his voice, visibly agitated. He pointed accusingly the microphone again. “I expected better from students.”

This time, Hassel nodded in agreement.

“I am loathe to admit, I am rather shocked at some of these personal inquiries.”

“Professor Jacq tested and approved the program,” said Penny, calm and collected, as though she’d been anticipating this reaction. “We’re not coming up with or altering these questions,” she said, lying, “so please talk to him about your concerns, but I appreciate the feedback.”

She adjusted her glasses while Mela gasped, hovering over her shoulder as they both watched through the laptop screen.

Hassel adjusted his posture, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He crossed his arms and tapped a finger where his hand landed on his bicep.

He was annoyed. The deep frown on his face made him appear intimidating.

He closed his eyes, thinking. The frown increased to almost a scowl.

Then suddenly, he relaxed his shoulders, opened his eyes, and tilted his head. The scowl was replaced with something that looked like a pout.

“…Are you alright, Hass?” Brassius asked. “If you want to go talk to that other teacher, then we can go right now—”

“No, I just don’t think you've ever provided me any detail on your romantic history,” said Hassel, looking suddenly right at Brassius in a strangely scrutinizing way.

He had been thinking about the question itself. Brassius straightened abruptly and shut his mouth in surprise.

“If I am remembering correctly,” the teacher continued, speaking slow, “you once said your last relationship had ended in tragedy, but my memory is hazy.”

Brassius found himself recoiling.

Once again, the windows seemed like a decent escape route. He glanced at them like a lifeline, but when he realized Hassel was now genuinely curious, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair nervously.

He started to weakly laugh under pressure.

“The tragedy was, I suppose, how much of a fool I was. For two whole years, in fact! It was some time before I met you, and I am not surprised if I had once described it ending in such a way. When it comes to romance, I am something of a coward, and, in that case, a terrible judge of character. What I can say for certain is that, since the follies of my youth, I decided to give all my passion to my art. I regret nothing.”

Hassel’s shoulders fell and he took a half-step forward.

“Brassie…”

The sound of the intercom came blaring through the moment, and Penny’s calm voice came through way too loud, as though she was panicking on the other side.

“Uuummm, sorry. I don’t mean to be a bother, but the streak has been broken, so now you have to do a Dare…”

The men glanced at each other. They would have to talk about this in more depth later.

After this game was over.

“…Professor… umm, the prompt says…” they all heard Mela snickering in the background, so Penny glared at her to stop. “You have to propose.”

The men looked up, stunned, mouths agape.

Penny felt a pang of guilt watching a range of emotions cross over their faces, so she stumbled a little while trying to maintain a sense of diplomacy.

“I—I mean do a mock proposal. N-not a real one. It actually says you need to recreate your proposal, but you’re not….... Ummm… It’s just what the program is asking based on your results… T— There’s props all over from the Theater Club, so…Please.”

Brassius covered his face with his hands, then rubbed at his temples trying to remain calm. His eyes were squeezed shut as he tried to rid himself of a growing headache.

“Can’t you simply roll for a different Dare?” he said, finally glaring up at the sound system. “What is the point of this? Adding insult to injury? Open the door, we are leaving.”

Mela mouthed ‘how is this adding insult to injury?’ but Penny decided to ignore it and focus on the mechanics.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Brassius. The AI tracks and assesses activity based on the audiovisual feed, not just my commands. The door won’t unlock until the game is complete…”

While Brassius had started to argue with Penny, Hassel had been looking nervously around the room. He was scouting for props again, as he had before.

This time, he found something he could use.

Flowers. Paper flowers, strewn about across the tables lining the walls. They were simple things made of tissue paper. As he gathered them, he recognized something about them.

They had used the art room supplies to make these. In fact, he’d seen Mela make a few in Art Club, and had commented on them at the time.

He felt his heart stirring with pride as he turned them into a small bouquet. He could barely hear the argument going on behind him as his head started swimming with thoughts.

He was drowning in them.

From recalling their favorite vacations, to the days back when they had first met, knowing without question each others’ love language; and to the dancing, with Brassie’s strong hands on his waist and interlocking their fingers together as they spun around and he tried – and failed - not to step on the man’s feet.

But the artist had kept him firmly in position, moving steadily forward, as he always did. Like an anchor keeping a boat at the dock, secure. No longer drifting around aimlessly.

He’d been anchored here for so long.

He’d always loved Brassius. His heart was overflowing with love.

But even now, Brassius was trying to get the game to end. The man had set up boundaries, planned escape routes.

Avoidance.

Hassel looked at the wild array of paper flowers and felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

Perhaps he was avoiding it, too; but he wanted to take a chance now that the escape route had been cut off, even if it was just to fulfill something of his own fantasies.

And at the last second, something else caught his eye on a nearby table. He hurriedly placed it in his jacket pocket.

Then he turned around.

Brassius, not known for having a particularly hot temper, was still chastising the students from afar in a shockingly parental tone. The girls, for their part, remained silent.

“—I think you need to take a hard look at this program you’ve written, young lady. As for you, Mela, I have a few words I’d like to—huh?”

Hassel had stepped up behind the artist, holding the makeshift bouquet in his right hand.

“What’s this?”

Brassius had already put the Dare out of his mind, that was clear enough. But Hassel’s stubborn nature made him determined to see this through.

He handed the bouquet of paper flowers to Brassius, who received it wordlessly. It was the same as all the times they’d exchanged flowers like this at gala showings.

Except this time, Hassel reached out his left hand, and Brassius took it in his right.

Hassel knelt down on one knee.

It was rare to see the artist so speechless that his mouth was slightly slack from shock. But it was worth it watching his gray eyes widen.

The teacher had thought about doing this a million times before, but never in a million years would have chosen to do it this way.

He pulled the item he'd grabbed in a hurry from the table – a bright, round orange, pulled out of a bowl full of them – and placed it firmly in Brassius’s hand. He wrapped his own hands around them both, right on the bottom and left on the top, and looked up steadily into Brassius’s eyes.

“My dearest Brassius,” he said, using the artist's full name as he only did when being deliberate, “When I met you, I was searching for something I could hardly describe. I had been missing something I did not know I was even missing.”

Brassius broke eye contact, looking suddenly very small and uncomfortable.

“You don't have to do this…” he managed as a whisper.

Hassel recognized that tone of voice immediately.

The artist was surprisingly shy. It often came across in eccentric shifts in his mood in order to change the subject and disappear whenever he became overwhelmed. He could do it on stage, and in a classroom, or disappear into his atelier if he couldn't face the battlefield that day.

But here there was nowhere to run.

So Hassel pressed his hands together, holding Brassius’s hand more firmly against the glossy orange.

“Relax, we’re only playing,” he whispered, perhaps a little sultrier than he'd planned, “so please allow me to finish.”

Brassius could only swallow thickly and nod.

Hassel inhaled deeply, then decided to carry on.

“We have shared so many of our years together, good times and bad, in sickness and in health. I have long considered you to be the other half of me… as is often said here, mi media naranja.”

Brassius’s eyes darted towards the orange caught between their hands. His face was the color of a ripe peach, as red as his pale skin ever could be. He opened his mouth, but whatever words he’d wanted to say died on his lips.

Hassel couldn't stop himself from smiling fondly up at the sight. He secretly enjoyed eliciting such reactions from his dear friend.

Thankfully, the artist was facing away from the camera above the speaker system as he bit his bottom lip cutely.

They couldn’t forget that they were in a school, playing a game, but there was something heating up that was now simmering.

“It goes without saying, you are my partner in life. More than a muse, a treasure, which you well know a dragon values rather highly,” said the teacher, looking up and blinking, a little bit nervous to say the actual words. “So, would you do me the honor of being my—?”

“Yes.”

The answer was so quiet, Hassel wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard what he thought he'd heard. But the fact that Brassius immediately shoved the paper bouquet into the crook of his spare arm and covered his entire face with his hand meant that the answer had slipped out accidentally.

It was sincere.

Behind the monitor, the girls had muted the microphone and were watching in equal shock. They couldn’t hear what Brassius had said that made Hassel pause and brighten, and made the artist hide his face, but it caused Mela to lean over and say to Penny –

“You sure Professor Dragonmaster and him aren’t already at least dating or something, Pen?”

Penny shrugged, but her shoulders were already tight from hunching over the monitor.

“If they were, wouldn’t they be less awkward about… you know…”

She waved her hands at the screen, as if to say, “you know, all of this??”

Mela shook her head, red hair bobbing back and forth.

“Nah, I mean, like, they’re always like this. How do we know they ain’t just hamming it up? They do that sometimes…”

Penny wagged her finger in a way that was reminiscent of Nemona chiding them for not doing their homework.

“No. I swear to Arceus, you have to believe me.”

“But at Mr. Brassius’s Atelier they’re always hoverin around each other and talking all quiet and stuff, and then after Art Club Mr. Dragonbrows is always like,” she puffed up, trying to make herself bigger to imitate her teacher, “ ‘Oho! Look at the time! I shan’t be late to supper! My dearest Brassie must not be kept waiting or he will certainly waste away!’ like that basically every week!”

Penny snorted while laughing.

“Ok, that’s legit worse than this—”

“—oh, wait! Look!”

Mela looked at the screen and made a strange sound. Had they not been goofing around, they’d have noticed earlier.

The orange had been set on the ground nearby. The paper flowers were thrown about at random in a spread, like they had been cast aside with a little force.

Brassius stood with his back turned, arms crossed. His head was tilted down so his face couldn’t be seen on the camera.

“Forget all of that. Stop this charade at once, Hass,” said the artist tersely. “They’re trying to catch you off-guard, for some clip to upload to Pok-Tok. Don’t give them what they’re looking for… you’re making yourself an easy target, and I won’t let them do this to you.”

The Dragon Tamer stayed on one knee. He reached out his arms in a princely fashion as he made his appeal.

“B-But Brassie, this is simply a game, is it not?” begged the teacher, trying to regain control of the situation. “Forgive me, I do not mean to police your mood, but this is all in good fun. There is nothing to fret over.”

He bit his lip in hesitation. Perhaps he had gotten a little too heartfelt, when he knew his friend didn’t feel the same way.

He was certain of it. After years of frustration, it always came down to this sort of reaction every time he tried to drop any hints, even if it was just being playful.

Turning away, pulling back, moving in a different direction.

And as much as he enjoyed working the artist up from time to time, he didn’t ever want to push him away.

The teacher shifted his weight and moved to stand up, brushing any dust off of his pants as he did.

Meanwhile, Brassius glared up at the camera.

“Unlock the door and let us out this instant.”

The girls looked at each other, distressed.

“Why’s it so tense in there?” Mela asked, slamming her hands on the table. “Don’t they like each other?? Gaahhh, we’ve gotta help em.”

Penny nodded and nervously unmuted the microphone.

Her voice came through the loudspeaker like a threat.

“I’m sorry, but the AI controls the locks. It looks like the, umm, previous dare was performed adequately, so a new set of prompts have been provided for the final round—”

“We don’t want prompts,” Brassius said through clenched teeth, “We want to leave.”

Hassel loomed behind the short artist. He reached out a hand, but hesitated.

He took a deep breath, then managed to place his hand on Brassius’s shoulder. The shorter man jumped slightly, but turned to regard Hassel with an expression that was…

Sad?

It was impossible to notice such a thing on the camera, but Hassel could see tears forming in the corners of the artist’s eyes.

Brassius, who never lost his composure in public, was fraying at the seams.

Did that mock-proposal really hurt him that much?

The artist recoiled, but apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Hass. Did you… want to continue? I was sure you were done with this…,” Brassius said, looking down sheepishly. He refused to wipe at his eyes, as though his concern would go unnoticed if he simply ignored it. “You were so excited to go listen to the music instead. We should—.”

Hassel shook his head, smiling in a way he thought was comforting.

“No, I would prefer to finish this first. We’re almost done! And truth be told, I think we’re winning. I would love to bring home a trophy, wouldn’t you?”

He winked, trying his best to lighten the mood.

And to his credit, the artist wiped his eyes with the back of his hand quickly.

With a brief pause, Brassius finally nodded.

“…If that’s what you desire…”

The moment Brassius’s eyes met his own, Hassel felt a lightning bolt in his gut.

He would do whatever the artist asked of him, but at the same time, he knew the opposite was also true.

So he leaned in and whispered –

“I do. Besides, we've spent quite a bit of time here, so we can get those massages after. Doesn't that sound nice?”

Brassius closed his eyes and sighed, deeply. A small smile finally crept up on his face.

A little victory.

“Alright, fine…” said the artist, turning back to the speaker, re-invigorated. “Bring on the final round. Though I must demand, no more inappropriate requests!”

Penny and Mela looked at each other nervously. They could read the prompts on the screen, and some of the options were…

Well, inappropriate.

They muted the mic again to whisper to each other.

“No one else got stuff like this, Pen. Did you make up questions specifically to torture them or somethin??”

Penny covered her face with her hands, then peeked through with a frustrated sigh.

“Well… I mean I did want to get back at them for that extremely stupid day in class, but… I didn't specifically do anything that would…”

She peeked through her hands with a gasp as she realized her mistake.

“Shite. I made a setting for adults that would pick up on relationships better, different from the default version for us students, and uploaded a ton of different questions from different sources without really thinking. But now that I'm seeing it in action, the maturity settings are coming off a bit wonky. I wanted to embarrass them a little, not myself a whole lot!”

Mela pulled at her hair in annoyance.

“Aaarrgh! Didn't Professor Jacq test it and said it was ok???”

“…Yeah. Maybe he only used student data. I mean, that would kind of make sense…” Penny drummed her fingers on the desk. “Damnit, I need to do better beta testing… well, I can't fix it in the middle of the run, so let's just finish it now and hope they don't get…”

She looked at the prompts and shook her head.

“…Well, let's just hope they don't get any dares this time.”

The microphone crackled as it was un-muted once again.

“Okay… Moving on…” Penny spoke, then coughed lightly into her elbow, the dry air in the room getting to her. “Mr. Brassius, since Professor Hassel completed the dare, you begin this round.”

Brassius stood at attention, one hand on his hip, mentally preparing himself for whatever question came up.

“Where did Professor Hassel get his first Pokémon?”

Brassius scrunched his face as he absorbed the question. He turned to look back at Hassel, tilting his head slightly in a cat-like fashion as he thought about it.

“Where…” he said aloud, the gears in his head visibly turning. “…Do you remember, Hass?”

Hassel nodded.

Brassius began to mess with his armature wire with one hand, the other on his chin as he thought it through.

For nearly a full minute, he whispered to himself various options. It was increasingly apparent he was clueless about this.

So when he came up with an answer, his inflection was light and uncertain, full of questioning.

“I… suppose it depends on how specific the answer must be. If I simply named your home country, would that be a satisfying answer?”

Hassel smiled warmly.

“I would say… that is technically true, however, I am sure I've mentioned it before. Do you remember who my first Pokémon is?”

“Dragonite… Well, perhaps Noivern… No, Dragonite! You caught and managed to evolve them both when you were a child, that I'm certain of. B..but…”

Hassel sighed, disappointment visible on his face.

Brassius felt a pit open in his stomach. He should have known… why didn't he know?

Didn't he know Hassel better than anyone?

He felt ashamed. His face heat up as he listened to his dear friend explain something he absolutely should have known.

And he did know. He’d just been thinking of the question a little differently.

“At the moment I was born, I was gifted with my dear senpai, Gible, who had been raised to be my guardian,” Hassel explained. “I suppose you were thinking of the first Pokémon I caught myself, which was indeed Dratini, at the family lakehouse. So in that regard, you were correct. However…”

Brassius turned his whole body towards his friend, arms spread out pleadingly.

“You're absolutely correct, Hass. I was thinking of the first one you'd captured. Gible… dear old Gible is technically your first. How could I have been so stupid?!”

He pulled at his hair with both hands, drama on full display.

Hassel laughed lightly as he reached forward to pull Brassius’s hands out of his now tousled green hair and clasp them together between them.

He had to make light of it lest the artist tip over the edge. The children clearly had no idea how precarious the situation was.

“Come now, Brassie, you’re the smartest person I know. Even still, I probably would have interpreted the question in the same way, if I had been in your shoes. It’s not so common to be gifted a guardian Pokémon at birth… or, so I have learned over the years. My circumstances are simply…” he stammered a moment in hesitation before concluding, “…a little different.”

The artist’s expression shifted from self-absorbed to concerned as soon as those words fell out of the teacher’s mouth. Brassius broke his hands free of Hassel’s grasp and placed his palms affectionately on the teacher’s cheeks.

“Your circumstances are ultimately what brought you here,” he said, voice softening into a soothing tone. “That’s why I should have been more considerate of that.”

He pulled his hands away from Hassel’s face and stepped back, maintaining a gap between them in an almost ritualistic fashion. He inhaled deep and nodded.

“So I want to apologize.”

But Hassel was having none of it. He stepped forward, tightening the gap between them in a pattern they always followed.

Like a dance, they knew the steps.

“There is no reason for you to apologize for something so--.”

Mela blared on the microphone this time, causing both men to jump. Brassius grabbed at Hassel’s jacket, and Hassel threw a hand on Brassius’s back as they both were startled to attention.

“ABJECT FAILURE!” said Mela, practically growling into the microphone. “I don’t like bein so blunt about it, but you guys keep dropping the ball! I’m shocked!! I thought you would’ve aced this fast, but literally the last group got through it faster, and they were a slog. I’m kinda disappointed. I thought for sure you guys were—”

Penny jumped in, pushing Mela back with as much effort as she could muster, in an attempt to save the scene.

“—ready to move on to the next dare and close out the round, right?”

Everyone took a pause, recognizing the student’s heavy-handed attempt to bring peace to the room.

Hassel decided to step forward and work with her, come what may. Whatever it took to get the door to open.

“…Yes, of course. What is the final task, miss Penny?”

Penny realized the weight of the situation, even as she read through the prompt in front of her.

This was sure this wasn’t going to be pretty.

She took another deep breath, and kept going.

“Mr. Brassius, umm… do you see the Royal cloak and crown on the table over there? P—please, umm, please put them on.” She began to stammer, nerves flaring up, “…I--It’s part of the dare, I promise.”

The men looked at each other for a brief moment in confusion.

“…Of course it is,” Brassius grumbled. “What else could it possibly be?”

Hassel began to chuckle, glancing over at the garments laid out on a table next to a variety of others from the theater club.

“It will suit you rather well, I think. Matches your… regal vestments.”

He playfully flicked at one of the lime-colored flaps on the artist's collar. All the tension in the room washed away immediately as Brassius cracked a smile in response and raised his chin proudly.

“I’ve learned a thing or two about how to lead a peaceful kingdom from raising all my girls from hatchlings. Watch carefully!”

The artist strode over and placed the crown on his own head, carefully adjusting it so his thick, styled hair wasn't covering his eyes. Up until this moment, he’d been trying to rush out of the room, but something about playing dress-up triggered his natural instincts to put on a little performance.

He threw the cloak over his shoulders with flair, and struck a confident pose.

Hassel’s grin widened brightly as he observed the scene, amused.

“Behold, o youths!” Brassius proclaimed, holding his armature wire up as if it were a king’s stave, though as usual it much more closely resembled a whip. “What shall you have me decree while bearing such regal refinements?”

Mela was trying her very best not to laugh too loudly watching the scene. She respected the famous artist as much as anyone, perhaps more, but these silly moments really made his uniquely avant-garde nature stand out.

At least, she was sure that's what he’d call it.

“Yes, thank you,” said Penny, trying to keep cool and not start laughing herself. “Umm… not to decree… well, it says here… you must play the role of Prince Charming saving a fair maiden from a powerful dragon! B-but the catch is—"

Brassius’s demeanor brightened significantly. He seemed suddenly rather excited as Hassel interrupted Penny to shout out—

“I'll perform the role of the dragon!”

“I expected nothing less!” said Brassius, boldly facing his friend. He reached for a Pokéball without hesitation, releasing Dolliv into the middle of the room, to her confusion.

Hassel crouched down as Dolliv looked between them. She made a sound, as though asking ‘What is the meaning of all this?’

“Come, little princess,” he said sweetly, but with a loud voice. He extended out his arms wide. “You're certainly fit to be the star of this performance. Are you ready?”

Dolliv looked to Brassius for confirmation, who waved for her to go on. So she hurried on her little feet towards Hassel, who picked her up like a small child. She put her leaf-like arms around his neck, crawling up onto his shoulders and cozying up as though they'd done this a million times.

And they had. Watching movies on the couch at home. Visiting Hassel at the League or stopping by his house to catch up on a show.

But still, this was different from usual. Special, given the little play they were about to perform.

Brassius dropped the wire where it hung at his side, making a picture frame with his hands.

“Ah, how inspiring! What a vision!!” he said, taking notes in his mind and completely forgetting what they were in the middle of for a brief moment. “Yes! A wise old Drampa tutoring a lovely young princess— that's you, Dolliv, dear. There will be flower crowns. Yes, yes, these shall do for the moment—”

The man had spotted a few floral garlands on the table, and hurried to grab them. He ran up to drape one with pink and yellow flowers around Dolliv's shoulders and across her head, making her giggle happily.

The other was a garland of red and blue roses, like the blossoms on a Roselia. He leaned up and placed it carefully across Hassel's shoulders, leaning in close to make sure it was arranged with the proper care.

But a single red rose fell loose from the strand.

He scrutinized Hassel's face intensely, causing the teacher's face to heat up. But the artist looked past him, focused intensely on creating his vision.

He stood on his toes suddenly, reaching his arms around Hassel's shoulders while Dolliv shifted carefully out of the way, maintaining her balance. Their cheeks were pressed hotly together, the artist flush up against the teacher as his dexterous fingers were up in Hassel's thick, blonde hair.

Without thinking, Hassel placed an arm around Brassius’s waist, holding him steady. Under the cover of the costume cloak, the motion went unseen on the camera.

But when Brassius was done, the faux-silk rose was affixed firmly to Hassel’s hair where it was pulled back in a tail. And the girls were still gasping through the monitor as they watched Dolliv make cheerful chirrups as she looked up at it in approval.

“There, done,” Brassius proclaimed, trying to take a step back to observe his artistry. But he found it hard to breathe when he realized, all of a sudden, just how tightly Hassel was holding him.

How firm his friend’s chest was, even under layers of soft-knit fabric.

And how he was so close, he could see the specks of rich gold in Hassel's wide, amber eyes.

Oh, his heart was racing.

Why did he keep doing this to himself? He knew he couldn't have this man.

The Dragon Tamer, his ever-inspiring muse, was out of his league. Out of everyone's league, truly.

Countless times, he had been thankful that he had never seen Hassel show real romantic interest in anyone over the years. He surely would have been driven mad.

He was more than fortunate enough just to know him. More than that was simply out of the question.

But now, he could feel himself squirming like he was having an out-of-body experience. Thankfully Hassel was long, long familiar with his body language, and released Brassius quickly, seamlessly, as though nothing at all had happened.

Brassius jumped a few paces back, posing as though he’d intended to do that after all. He pretended that his face didn’t, in fact, feel like it was on fire, or that he couldn’t still feel the hand on his back like an imprint.

It was all part of the game.

Wasn’t it?

He opened his mouth to say a line, but Penny once again stopped them.

“Wait, you didn’t let me finish the rules!” she said, a little out of breath from nervousness. “It says…You must play the role of Prince Charming saving a fair maiden from a powerful dragon, but the catch is you have to act like your partner—I– Imeanactlike Professor Hassel would act. Sorry, I was reading the script…”

Brassius glanced up at the speaker, then down at his shoes, shuffling them slightly. He tugged on the princely cape – a regal indigo lined with gold rope trim and spotted white faux fir, nevermind the burn marks and a stain or two that never came out from old performances – and closed his eyes.

He was getting into the headspace he needed to perform.

It was only fair it ended like this. Hassel had to pretend to be like him in the first round, so there was something a little poetic about turning the tables, so to speak.

But Hassel wouldn’t give him the time to think about it for too long. He started to move around, stomping his feet slowly and pretending to growl up at Dolliv, who continued to giggle on his shoulder.

“I am a dragooooon,” said the Dragon Tamer, roaring. “I have the beautiful princess in my clutches, and I shall never return her to the handsome prince!”

His motions resembled his Baxcalibur, which made Dolliv all the happier. On hot summer days, the icy dragon type was a comfort for all the little grasslings to rest near.

And Brassius was charmed by the sight of the two long enough to cover his mouth and start to snicker.

Finally, he was having fun again.

Brassius puffed out his chest and placed his hands behind his back, approaching the gallivanting teacher and his primary pokemon, covered in flowers, trying to keep the smile on his face from widening too far, too fast.

But he knew it was a pointless endeavor to try.

If he had to pretend to act like Hassel, he needed to lean into whatever feelings he had.

And so if the sight brought tears to his eyes, so be it.

He threw his head back, covered his face with his hand, and began to wail. Perhaps he couldn’t get joyful tears to flow as dramatically as Hassel could, but he managed well enough to feel them in the palm of the hand.

“I FEEL SO OVERWHELMED!” he bellowed, only a little louder than he normally was when excited. “I might be of noble lineage, a prince of this kingdom and heir to the throne, and it is my duty to protect the sweet damsel under duress, but in my heart I am an artist before all else, and as such I cannot help but weep at the beauty and majesty before my eyes!”

Hassel started to laugh boisterously as he failed momentarily to maintain composure in his designated role. He started to stomp his way towards the artist, raising his arms as he performed a silly attempt at a dragon dance.

“You are supposed to defeat me and save the princess, not flatter me,” Hassel pretended to growl, eliciting even louder giggles from Dolliv – a dangerous game, considering she could splash oil at any time – but he was having too much fun to care about the risk. “Though that might work on me, most dragons prefer to put up a fight!”

Something strange was happening as they started to dance around each other. Hassel, with Dolliv in tow, both covered in flowers, advanced, while Brassius in lock-step backed away in a circular motion, raising the cape in front of his face like he was hiding, or scheming.

And as always, he was doing both.

The girls watched through the monitor, mesmerized as Brassius started to use a strategy. They lost track of the timer – the entire skit was supposed to only last a minute – but so immersed were the men in this moment that they couldn't dare stop them.

Besides, no one was waiting next in line. A few extra minutes would be fine.

“You might wish for combat, o great dragon,” Brassius said with a little flair in his voice, “but I will disarm you using other means… means you used to quell my own stubbornness all those years ago.”

Penny quirked an eyebrow, while Mela whispered, “What the hell does that mean?”

Hassel tilted his head slightly as he considered his next move.

“Dear prince,” he said, stepping forward yet again. It would have seemed menacing to anyone who didn't know him, a glint in his eyes as he approached his prey. “If you do not act soon, I will devour the princess whole right before your eyes!!”

Dolliv faked a scream, hamming it up and pretending to hit Hassel with her leafy arms. The man laughed at the attempt to play along.

Brassius spun around, swiftly grabbing another prop from one of the tables. His theatrical cape flared around him as he showed off his weapon of choice.

A lyre. A prop lyre.

When he pretended to strum on the strings, they only made a vague plucking sound. He held the instrument in one hand, and extended his arm from his heart as he began to sing.

Well, sort of. He spoke in a sing-song way, clearly not so musically inclined as one might have expected.

“I will tell the tale of long-long ago, when a Sunkern had not the will to grow!”

He faked strumming again, closing his eyes, immersed in the moment.

“Then along came that stone, as bright as the sun. Threatened that Sunkern with kindness, and won.”

Hassel continued to approach, but he was listening intensely to the odd, painfully corny poetry, forgetting for a moment where they were.

He knew this story.

This time, Brassius made strumming sounds himself, pretending to create a beautiful serenade. It was entirely ridiculous, but he kept going.

“The darkness was lifted, it's problems were solved. And this weak little Sunkern found the strength to evolve! A flower blossomed in the light, it basked in the glow; now he follows the sunshine wherever he goes.”

Hassel loomed overhead. Brassius hadn't realized just how close he had been to the prop tables up against the walls of the classroom until the Dragon Tamer leaned forward, arms on either side of the artist, pinning him against the ledge.

The lyre was clutched Brassius’s chest with both arms wrapped right around it, so there was a respectable distance between them, but he could still feel Hassel's breath warm on his cheek.

“Well done. You've lured in the mighty dragon with your song. Now… will you save your princess from my clutches, or should I devour a prince instead?”

Brassius felt weak in the knees when he looked into Hassel’s eyes.

Ah, there was his Sunstone.

“Yes…devour…” he whispered back, delirious.

Hassel inhaled sharply hearing those words, eyes widening upon realization.

Brassius tilted his face ever so slightly to lean up towards the golden glow, nearly doing something he could never take back. Hassel, too, leaned down, almost breaching the narrowing divide between them.

Just a little bit closer…

Could Hassel hear the way his heart was pounding through his chest?

But Dolliv, whether oblivious or intentionally helpful, decided that this was the moment to make herself the center of attention. Perhaps even the tiny olive Pokémon could tell that this was an inappropriate place for the men to come to terms with their feelings.

She loudly called out as she leapt from Hassel's shoulders and onto Brassius’s, accidentally knocking the crown out of place on his head so that it covered one of his eyes.

A successful distraction.

Hassel leaned back, just a little bit, with a nervous laugh and a look of undeniable fondness. He reached forward to adjust the crown while Dolliv squirmed about, running his fingers a little too obviously through the artist’s hair as he smoothed it out.

The small Pokémon raised her arms, then disappeared back into her Pokéball, evidently done with the game now that Brassius had “won her back”.

The ring of flowers that had adorned her shoulders and her head disappeared with her. Surely Brassius would have to return the school property eventually.

Eventually. Once he was done creating the masterpiece the day had inspired.

If he could remember it. Hassel still stood a mere half-step away, now adjusting the cloak on his shoulders with some tense precision.

The art teacher was… fidgeting. Which is something that Brassius usually did.

“There,” Hassel eventually said, satisfied with his work. He patted and smoothed down where the cloak now rested on Brassius’s shoulders, then upon realizing that he was lingering a bit, he pulled back with a quick inhale. “Ah—now you’re looking mighty princely, Brassie. A proper dragon tamer’s cloak might be in your future.”

Brassius belted out a laugh, and reached out to push on Hassel’s chest playfully.

“Oh, stop. I am the furthest thing from a dragon tamer.”

He should have predicted the response he received, when Hassel spun around to stand at his side. The art teacher slung an arm around the artist’s shoulder, pulling him in tight as they both faced the camera.

Hassel spoke under his breath –

“Come on now, Brassie, you’re right next to me, after all. Couldn’t possibly be closer to one.”

Brassius covered his mouth as he started to laugh, in greater part from shot nerves and his racing heart, and in some part from appreciating the wordplay.

If he had looked up at Hassel like a schoolgirl at her crush, he didn’t even care.

The flowers were still draped around the man elegantly, and the rose still embedded in his hair. How could he not look?

“So how was that, miss Penny, miss Mela?” Hassel spoke, maintaining his grip on Brassius’s shoulder the entire time. “A satisfactory performance?”

The girls had been stunned to silence. It took them a few moments before they could wrangle up the words.

“Y… yeah, excellent,” said Penny, finally coming up with something. She pushed up the glasses on her nose. “I think… You’ve won the round. The game. We’re concluding it here. I—I mean, the program has concluded it here. You have… won.”

Mela jumped in, shouting into the mic as she usually did.

“YEAH, you guys totally won the grand prize. Yup. Uhh, what is that grand prize again, Pen?”

Penny hesitated, before stammering into the microphone –

“…A… a set of tickets to the next school play. Front row. T—that’s why we got so many props from Theatre club! We struck a deal!”

She was acting embarrassed and rushed. They could hear a buzzer sound and the click of the lock. The door opened in a whirlwind while Nemona and Pawmot rushed in, tickets in hand.

“GRAND PRIZE!! GRAND PRIZE!!” said the student council president with her signature enthusiasm. “Professor!! Mister Brassius!! You did it, congratulations!!!”

She handed Brassius the tickets while Pawmot threw a frankly egregious amount of confetti.

Like trainer, like Pokémon, as it goes.

“I didn't expect to hand these out so early,” Nemona continued, loud enough to be heard down the hall. She looked up at the speaker where the camera was and waved. “Yoo hoo!! Penny!! Mela!! What was the final score??”

Penny groaned in annoyance as she read the final results.

“It says, other than a perfect score obviously, umm,” the sigh was as deep as the Mariana Trench, “uhh… it gave them a special title. It’s kind of… umm… Well it gave them the title ‘Honeymooners'. Agh… Hey Nemona, can we move on, please?? I wanna reset the game for the next people in line. PLEASE.”

There was no one waiting in line. The hallway remained empty.

Nemona’s face turned red as soon as she absorbed the meaning of the phrase. She rushed to usher the men out of the room, bowing profusely to hide her startled expression.

They, for their part, remained stone-faced throughout the ordeal.

“T-t-t-thank you so much for playing!! I REALLY hope you enjoyed it,” said Nemona clumsily, “H-here, some complimentary mood rings!!”

Pawmot handed over the same kind of mood rings that the girls who had finished the game prior to them had won. Brassius took everything in his hands, the tickets and the rings.

“Ahhh, yes, it was avant-garde in the truest sense of the word…”

Hassel bowed politely in return.

“Thank you, young Nemona. You are doing an exemplary job, as always. I look forward to seeing you in class on Monday.”

Hassel ushered Brassius out in a hurry while Nemona excessively proclaimed her excitement for Monday and said her goodbyes, his arm still wrapped tight around the artist’s shoulder. They completely forgot to remove the theater props, so remained decked out in the cloak and the crown and the flowers, looking utterly ridiculous to anyone who might have been passing by.

Thankfully, no one seemed to be paying attention. Though the crowds were growing by the minute, perhaps they were all too distracted by the exhibits further down the hall to notice the oddly dressed duo.

So Brassius broke the awkward silence that had settled between them. He raised the theater tickets with one hand, and the rings with the other.

“Care to put one of these on so I can tell how you’re feeling?”

‘—after we almost kissed,’ he thought. ‘We did, didn’t we? I wasn’t imagining things…’

It was frankly the only thing he could think about.

He nudged his face vaguely toward the rings, playfully shifting one to his fingertips to hand one out.

But Hassel found himself biting his bottom lip in a way that was painfully distracting, and Brassius’s eyes were locked on in an instant. Hassel lowered Brassius’s hands gently, closing them around their collective winnings, and glanced around.

It was almost as if he didn’t want to be seen. Or was afraid of who might be watching.

They were not just in public, but in the school. They were surrounded by students and their parents, and other teachers, other gym leaders, possibly even their boss…

“Let’s move somewhere quieter,” said the teacher, nervously. He pulled on the cloak around Brassius’s shoulders, tugging him a little down the hallway. “Come along.”

And Brassius could tell that that mechanisms were turning in his companion’s head, but he was so unfocused by the feeling of Vivillon in his stomach that all he could do was obey the words like they had been a command instead of a request.

The elevator.

They were not open to the public on such a day, except to students who lived in the dorms on the opposite side of the massive school, but Hassel, diligent as ever, had his Teacher’s key card on his person at all times.

And his League badge, and his housekey, and Brassius’s spare housekey…

It was funny, really, how interconnected their lives were… Had been for years and years.

“Hass, I…” Brassius tried to speak as they entered the elevator, but some students passed by at the same time before the doors could close, effectively stopping him from speaking.

Thankfully the art room was only one floor up, so the journey was swift. They found themselves practically running to the entranceway to the classroom, possessed with urgency they hadn’t realized until that very moment.

Hassel fumbled with his key card, but managed to unlock the door, and they both scurried inside. As Hassel locked the door from the inside – something he never needed to do during class – Brassius threw the mood rings and the tickets onto the front table right by the baskets of fresh apples and tangerines, or rather, whatever remained of them by the end of the week after students had cleaned them out.

Finally, they spun around and immediately spoke over each other.

“Hass, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Brassie, I sincerely hope I did not overstep any boundaries!”

“No, I… I was the one who overstepped, Hass,” Brassius said, placing his hand on his heart. “I know you’re not…you’re not…”

‘…not going to stoop so low.’ ‘…not looking for a distraction from your life path.’ ‘…not ever going to hurt your family.’

‘…never going to risk our friendship.’

‘…never going to seriously choose me.’

All things that he did not say, but his thoughts were rising and overflowing like the tide of a tsunami. He clenched his hands and raised them to his temples in bitter frustration.

Hassel barely registered the pause, given the fluttering in his own heart.

“Brassie, please do not misunderstand,” said the teacher, stepping forward and tentatively, slowly reaching forward. He took Brassius’s shaking hands in between his own, pulling them away from the temples and forcing them to relax. “I was… I was a little bold during the game, I admit. However, I do not want my boldness to push you away. Please, you know me. You know I would never risk losing you over my own.......”

He hesitated, trying to think of the words he wanted to use.

And finally, Brassius started to listen.

“….well… my own selfish desires, if I must be frank…”

Brassius’s expression was visibly perplexed.

“What could you possibly have to apologize for?” he asked, leaning forward. “You’re the least selfish person I’ve ever known.”

Hassel’s hands clenched tighter around Brassius’s, fidgeting a little as Brassius watched him carefully.

Their eyes locked, and something clicked.

“I am, in fact, the most selfish man in the world. To think I, a humble educator of the arts, someone who was weak and could not fulfill his own youthful dream of becoming a musician, might deserve to have exclusive rights to the most famous artist in all of Paldea. A man with a most astounding mind, and the ability to create anything he desires! You who have made all your own dreams come true, and I have but had the honor of being by your side to celebrate every victory! I think it is most selfish to think of you as my own meager self's better half, but… It is true. When I was tasked with a proposal in that silly little game, I felt bold enough to speak from my heart words I never thought I could deserve to speak to you.”

Brassius found himself spellbound. Everything he had thought to say, and all the despair he’d been feeling, washed away to become a blank canvas.

Try as he might, he could not reconcile Hassel’s self-deprecating words with his own decades of fear of not feeling good enough for the dragon tamer; nor could he handle the praise.

“Hass, you…” Brassius started, tongue feeling thick and heavy with tension. Words were not coming as quickly as he’d hoped, given the tumult within, but as always he managed to persevere with a little effort. “…You can’t be serious. It is I who does not, in fact, deserve to be in your presence. You have far too much humility for someone with such genuine nobility. It’s like it radiates… You’re radiant. A most perfect muse. And I? I am just. Well, I’d be in a ditch somewhere if it wasn’t for you shoving your way into my life all those years ago, and you know it.”

Hassel’s face twisted slightly, like he was lost somewhere between smiling and crying. This was not unusual for the emotionally charged man, but something was clearly about to spill over.

A glass that had been kept at the brim for far too long.

“A Sunkern, right?”

Brassius tilted his head to the side curiously.

“…What?”

“You would be a Sunkern, right?” Hassel said, finally managing to smile. A tear fell from one eye, and the other threatened to follow. “Waiting to evolve?”

Brassius wanted to curl in on himself from embarrassment.

“…From the song you sang,” Hassel continued, watching Brassius’s face change color like a warm peach. “Rather, the one Prince Charming sang to lure in the Dragon. I was listening… I’ve written a few lyrics in my day. Could use a little fine tuning, but the message was clear.”

Brassius shook his head so his hair fell in his face, masking it. He could feel his cheeks burning.

He was rarely embarrassed by his own art, and hadn’t been in some years. Outraged at times, annoyed often, perplexed by how to get a curve or a color just right.

But embarrassed? No.

He had improvised something he had no skill in making, in a strange setting, and even though he was having fun in that moment of creation, he was not proud of it in retrospect.

Surely Hassel was joking with him.

“W—wh—what message?” said the artist, lying as he turned his face away, unwilling to look his companion in the eyes. “I’m no poet. You’ve a far greater skill with words, d—dear Hass…”

He stared instead at the art on the classroom walls, most of it Hassel’s paintings and sketches, but there was a small statue and some bowls carved by his own hand – old, simple things they made while sharing an apartment together in their younger days. The desk and the floor was covered in paint splotches, fresh and new and bright overlapping older stains and marks. The students’ art hung along the other walls, but this one space at the head of the room felt a little like the work space in his atelier.

Cozy and warm. Like home.

Like the large hands enveloping his own.

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to walk away from this unscathed, would he?

Hassel brought Brassius’s hands up to his face, and brushed his lips across the knuckles with delicate precision. He, too, was shaking.

Fainting seemed the most logical thing to do, given the circumstances, but Brassius managed to remain upright and petrified. His heart was beating too fast, breath shallow, when it all started to make sense in his mind.

This must be a joke of some kind. It had to be a continuation of the game somehow.

“I’ve never known you to be a prankster, but forgive me if I find it hard to believe that you would actually see me in such a way…”

Brassius managed to creak out the words in a hoarse whisper. But his breath hitched when Hassel, head still bowed over his freshly-kissed knuckles, looked up at the artist with golden eyes blazing.

There was his Sunstone again. Always making him transform into some better version of himself.

Perhaps a more dangerous form of himself.

“What do you say, Brassie,” Hassel spoke, voice low and husky, but also deeply hopeful, “If you knew how long I’ve desired to tell you how handsome you are? But I believed you did not see me ‘in such a way’?”

Brassius cautiously pulled his hands out of Hassel’s gentle grasp, moving them to either side of the man’s rosy face. Instead of pulling away quickly as he would normally have done, he lingered.

He ran his thumbs along the jaw, watching to see how the teacher might react.

And Hassel closed his eyes, sighed, and leaned into the touch.

The artist lost all of his senses when he decided to step into the hot space between them. He lifted himself onto his toes to press his lips – dry from nerves – against his friend’s –

Soft and pliant and tasting of Spiced Apple and Sitrus Berry.

Mesmerizing.

He didn’t know how long they’d stood in that place, but soon he felt the Dragon Tamer’s arms wrap around his waist and pull him in closer, nearly off of his feet, such was the difference in their heights.

He instinctively reached his hands into Hassel’s hair. He’s always wanted to mess it up, but now he just slid his fingers through the thick tresses and along his neck.

Warm. Everything was far too warm. But all they wanted to do was press into each other, to blend and swirl like colors on a palette.

But the theater crown fell off of Brassius’s head and clattered to the floor, startling them both. They held fast to each other, only pausing their kiss to glance down at the thing on the floor next to a smeared splatter of yellow paint.

Brassius began to laugh quietly.

“I forgot I still had that on. And this gaudy cape…”

Hassel pecked at the side of his lips, and at his cheek.

“But it suits you so well, my Prince Charming…” he whispered, continuing the little performance they’d put on earlier. Clearly the man enjoyed it, but it only made Brassius squirm with embarrassment.

“Hass, please, that’s—ah!”

The nibble on his earlobe came as a shock. Hassel caught it softly between his lips, testing the waters.

And the way Brassius gasped and clenched his fingers in Hassel’s hair drove the Dragon Tamer to graze that spot with his teeth instead, eliciting a shameless groan from the man in his arms.

Hassel chuckled wickedly, sliding his hands up and down the artist’s back.

“What music! A virtuoso after all.”

“A tease is what you are!” Brassius playfully retorted, but it came out a little breathless. “I’d never have guessed.”

The teacher pressed his lips against the pulse point between the curve of the jaw and the high collar of Brassius’s top. The artist tilted his head slightly to allow just a little more access, and sighed deeply.

He felt relaxed and excited all at once.

Alive.

A burden off of his shoulders he’d been carrying for years, and promise of so much more.

“There’s still more to learn about you, after all,” Brassius continued, turning his cheek deeper into the golden hair as the Dragon Tamer peppered him with kisses. His hair smelled fresh and sweet like honey and citrus. Of course it did.

But the sharpness of the bite on his neck came even more unexpectedly than the last surprise, and the artist bolted upright with a yelp so loud that, thankfully, no one was nearby enough to hear.

Hassel’s arms held Brassius firmly in place, though the Dragon Tamer pulled back from the now-tender spot on the neck with a pitiful, pleading expression, far too innocent for someone who definitely just left a mark on sensitive skin.

“I’m so sorry, Brassie, I suppose I couldn’t help myself. I’m afraid I’ve gotten a little overzealous…”

Exasperated but intrigued, Brassius was torn between enjoying this newfound side of his dearest companion and being the responsible one, a chore they often vacillated between.

Unfortunately, his sense of responsibility took over – or, and perhaps more pressing, was the matter of his rotom phone alarm starting to buzz – the reminder of the massage they had booked nearly an hour ago. So he leaned their foreheads together and looked up, silver eyes shimmering in the shadow they shared.

“You’re forgiven only if you promise me this is real, and we can continue our… shall we say, discussion… after the festival and you allow me to treat you to a few glasses of Kalosian Cognac and some tapas.”

Hassel hummed, looking contemplative for a moment.

“That was already our plan, wasn’t it? What about a proper date?”

Brassius sputtered, feigning only a little shock with some dramatic flair.

“As usual, Hass, your insights are impeccable! It’s just not quite avant-garde enough.” By this he meant romantic, of course. He bit at his bottom lip, thinking about it for a few seconds. “What say you to taking our meal into the woods for a little picnic? I know just the place where a grove opens to show the stars…”

Hassel’s eyes lit up.

“The place where you saw the Black Rayquaza!”

This was Brassius’s turn to look mischievous. He brushed their noses together playfully.

“No, not that one. Something more private…”

“Oh…”

“Well, perhaps that one, too. You’re awfully persuasive.”

Hassel huffed, but Brassius could feel the hands on his back moving, repositioning, growing more comfortable.

Perhaps too comfortable as his fingers grazed the waistband of the artist’s tight black pants, thumbs playing with the armature-wire belt.

“I hadn’t even said anything...”

“Your expression spoke for you, and you know better than to assume I’d ever dare to decline a request from my dearest Hass.”

Hassel smiled and took a deep breath, pulling back with obvious hesitation. He shifted his hands to Brassius’s hips, briefly clenching his fingers tight before throwing them suddenly in his own pants pockets. Before Brassius had the chance to ask what was wrong, Hassel explained rather boldly—

“I simply must keep my hands to myself lest I behave with further indecency!”

The expression on Hassel’s face was suddenly strained. He was a gentleman losing his sense of boundary in the worst possible location.

In the school. In the classroom that he taught in five days a week. Even if no one else was around, it was inappropriate. And they still had activities to do at the fair, so they had to be able to maintain focus, no matter what was happening.

Brassius felt giddy, amused by his companion’s hot and cold behavior. He couldn’t stop feeling the residual sting of the teeth against his neck, brief as it had been; an extreme contrast from the fear they had been feeling just minutes prior.

For years prior, really, but he didn’t want to think about that now. The present moment was so much more gratifying.

He tapped a finger on his bottom lip, grinning coyly as he took a step forward.

And Hassel took a step back. Back to the dance, but this time as a willing partner.

“Indecency?” said Brassius, placing a finger on the space where Hassel’s tie met his sweater-vest, only to hear the man exhale sharply at the touch. “Your bit of overzealousness just left a bruise, I’m quite certain. It’s summer and I don’t always want to wear a high collar. Indecency would be showing that off in public...”

Brassius traipsed his fingers enticingly up the tie as he spoke, only to pause at the neckline. Hassel found himself being pulled down by the tie into a soft, sweet kiss.

He could get used to this.

Oh, it was so hard to keep his hands in his pockets; almost harder than keeping the tears rushing to his eyes when the short artist released his grip on the tie and tugged on his arm instead.

“We have dallied quite a while longer than we’d planned. Can’t keep our masseuses waiting long.”

But Hassel remained in place. He did not budge as he wiped his now-blurry eyes with the back of his free hand, smiling.

Brassius took notice and immediately softened, relaxing his pace.

The world could wait, after all.

He pulled up on the cloak that he was still wearing and used it to gently reach up and wipe away the waterfall that had begun to flow. He would always stop to take care of Hassel, but now he could whisper sweet nothings to the man while he did.

…As he always had in his mind, and sometimes out loud. It was a shock he never managed to get caught with his feelings in his mouth earlier.

“I’m envious of how easily you cry, Hass,” said the artist in hushed tones, so much quieter than he normally portrayed himself, as he patted dry his companion’s warm, wet cheeks. “I consider it one of your best qualities. But I’ve told you this many times before…”

Hassel sniffled, allowing Brassius to pamper him.

“…I often wish I could feel as purely as you do, but even though I can’t, at least I can attempt to capture that beauty in art. I like to think I’ve made some, well, acceptable homages in my time. You’ve been my muse for so many more pieces than I care to admit. There’s a little bit of you in all of them, perhaps…”

The artist felt his throat constricting as he said the words out loud. Even now, it was hard to say, nerves flaring up.

Had he said too much again?

He looked at the nearest window and pondered if he could unlatch and open it fast enough to escape. Taking a leap into the central courtyard from the second floor wouldn’t be so hard. He leapt from the windmill every other day.

Hassel inhaled deep, stood tall and firm, visibly trying to restrain his tears, but in spite of his efforts they only continued to flow across his wobbly smile.

“…even in the Cherubi mug?”

Huh?

Brassius scrunched his face together as he thought about what that meant, only to piece it together after a brief moment.

“O..oh, yes,” Brassius agreed slowly, with increasing confidence. “The color of your cheeks after you’ve had too much wine.”

Hassel chuckled, creases deepening around his eyes and immediately flooding like rivulets.

“—I’m serious!” Brassius found himself sputtering, justifying his decisions. “Such a vibrant and enriching color! I daresay—”

“And what about the handpainted tiles in your kitchen?”

Brassius huffed and folded his arms, looking up at Hassel with charmed annoyance.

“Which one? You must be more specific.”

Playfully Hassel tapped on his temple, thinking about his next move. He wiped away the last of his tears with the back of his hand as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Well… how about the one with Petlil?”

Brassius found his own smile widening. He could play this game.

“Of course, the curve of her petals was inspired by your hair flowing in the wind.”

Hassel nodded, bringing his hand to his chin.

“And the Swadloon?”

“Why, it was that time you'd leant me your overcoat.”

“Which time?” it was Hassel's turn to flip the question around. “You have to be more specific.”

“I made that thing a decade ago, you know. It could've been any time, really… But… Oh, I can't lie. I recall it like it was yesterday. I was finally in good health, I’d been trying to tone up with some gymnastics, and was a little overconfident when I took my first leap off of the windmill…”

Hassel laughed boisterously. His jovial mood was back.

“That time! Oh, if I recall that night clearly, your confidence had risen significantly after we'd stayed up half the night painting, rather, you were teaching me some techniques, and then we shared that rum cake.”

“And you added more rum!” Brassius said, raising his voice slightly. “And so you became rather excited when I’d said I’d had something to show you, and so I just had to try and show off.”

Hassel was beaming again as the light pooled in through the tall, bright windows.

“I wish I’d had the wherewithal to catch you instead of trust you not to sprain your ankle. But oh, then I wouldn't have had the chance to carry you to the hospital and back, and take care of your chores while you healed.”

Brassius shook his head.

“You're a marvel, Hass. If that had been said by anyone else, I would've assumed that was all sarcastic. But I don't think you even know how to be anything but genuine.”

The phone buzzed again, interrupting them, this time ringing. It was an incoming call.

The men were shaken out of their stupor and glanced at each other, wondering who it could be. It was not a familiar number on the screen, but still, Brassius pressed the button to receive the call.

It was Lizette, with her loyal Makuhita by her side.

“Mr. Brassius! Professor Hassel! I'm sorry to bother you, but it’s time for your appointment…”

She trailed off as she finally observed the two of them through the screen. Her eyebrow quirked up in confusion.

They were in the art room for some reason. The professor looked like he’d just been crying again, a familiar enough sight, but…

“A cape? And professor, there's a rose in your hair…?”

Brassius shuffled out of the cape in a hurry, throwing it in a flurry behind him, where it landed on the old Staraptor statue. Meanwhile Hassel reached up with his left hand to feel for the silk rose, which he’d forgotten was up there tucked into his tail. He left that in place with a smile.

“Miss Lizette, forgive us. We’d gotten a little carried away at another booth is all. These are simply souvenirs. We shall be down in a hurry,” he said bowing low in a fashion unfamiliar to the region, but the meaning was easy to recognize, “Our sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting.”

The girl sputtered and waved her hands nervously.

“No, please, it's no big deal for me, sir!! But do please hurry, as there's a lot of people in line now.”

Hassel stood up straight as Brassius came back to his side, looking only slightly embarrassed. Hassel instinctively put an arm around the artist's shoulders and pulled him into frame, tight against the teacher's side, making him look suddenly far more embarrassed than he already had been.

Brassius looked up in surprise at the sudden motion, unbeknownst to him revealing the mark Hassel had made on his neck a few minutes before.

The girl made a strange, strangled-sounding noise on the other side of the line as she covered her eyes as though they had been caught doing something shocking.

“We shall be there in a—"

“K THANKS BYE!”

The connection cut off abruptly.

Brassius folded his arms, tense as his phone returned to his side.

“Well, that was rude.”

Laughing low, Hassel rubbed up and down Brassius’s arm comfortingly, holding him close for another moment before releasing him, only to entwine their arms at the elbow in one elegant motion.

“Don't fret over it, Brassie. The students are all quite busy today, and are certain to be short tempered from time to time. So we must not keep them waiting any longer than we already have!”

They walked out of the room, arm in arm. And as they entered the elevator, Brassius placed a hand nervously on Hassel's extended arm.

“Are you certain you wish to walk around like this?”

Hassel's smile only widened happily.

“I would like to parade you around like a treasure, if you might allow it. Judging by the way the students spoke to us today, it seems they already expected it, even if we hadn't.”

Brassius looked down and away as he muttered in disbelief.

“A treasure… Hass, my dear, you spoil me.”

The doors opened to the main floor. In another surprise and flurry of motion, Hassel spun the artist around. Quick on his feet, Brassius realized it was a twirl, and he allowed the teacher to take the lead and guide him into a low dip, one hand firmly on his lower back.

“I am the one who is spoiled, by you who knows everything, somehow,” said Hassel, looking surprisingly cool as he ignored the gasps of people passing by, and the sound of at least one camera snapping a photo. “Would you teach me to dance after the massage? I still want to go to the discoteca… And I would like to know precisely how you prefer me to lead.”

Brassius found himself breathless, blinded as he stared up into eyes that seemed to glow like embers in the shadow cast by thick locks of golden-blonde hair.

If only they weren’t in public right now, he would’ve been more than happy to take the lead himself.

Restraint, for now.

“I’m always happy to teach you what I know, Hass,” said the artist, voice low, as his partner raised him back upright. “We will go dancing after this, I promise. But at the moment, we must focus. Which direction was it to the masseuse?”

Arm-in-arm once again, Hassel pulled the shorter man along at a hefty pace. Thankfully, they were able to match each other’s stride.

“This way! Onward!”

But they already knew that they could. They did it all the time, and had for years.

The distracting giddiness of newfound acceptance was bubbling up as they passed by students and parents and a few faculty.

And the chairwoman.

They didn’t even notice Geeta, so enamored were they as they practically ran to the booth where they had booked that couple’s massage that had finally, actually, become a couple’s massage in more than just name.

Not that anyone else would really know. At least, not for sure, not even those who watched in awe after they had waltzed their way out of the elevator. After all, they were both as well renowned for their eccentricities as they were for their skills.

Geeta raised an arm to greet them, and shook her head and sighed when they seemed to ignore her.

At her side, Rika carried Poppy on her shoulders as the little steel-type user waved and loudly shouted.

“Grampa Hassel!!! Hiiiii! ……..what, didn’t he hear me? Should I get louder?”

Rika laughed loudly as Poppy pouted.

“Nah, squirt, your favorite grandpa is just, uhh, well he’s definitely havin a blast,” she said, looking up at the little girl who held tight around her shoulders. “And unc Brassius is with him. Who’s shocked?? Hey, Pops, are you excited to start school here at Naranja? How many years you got left till you can?”

Poppy kicked her feet, pretending to be angry at the inquiry at all.

“I got an honorary certificate for beating the gyms already!” said the 9 year old, huffing and folding her arms. “But I wanna go for real. Just one more year… I hope grampa Hassel doesn’t retire before I get to take his class.”

Rika sputtered and burst out laughing, nearly knocking Poppy off of her perch. Geeta, too, laughed aloud, but hid her grin elegantly behind a gloved hand.

“He’s not that old, Poppy, dear,” Geeta said, a tinkle of amusement in her otherwise soothing voice. “Besides, he’ll almost certainly retire from the League well before he retires from the Academy, so you’ll have plenty of time to attend.”

The little girl raised her arms in the air excitedly.

“Yay! W-wait, retire from the League?? Nooo, why would he do that?!”

Geeta reached up and booped the little girl on the nose, earning a pout in return.

“Teaching is his true passion, after all; he is undeniably excellent at battling, but do you see how much happier he is here than being called in to the ring after our dear old Larry? He didn’t even see us.”

Poppy looked lost in thought, while Rika gave Geeta a knowing glance.

“I think his ignoring us was for a totally different reason, Geetz.”

Geeta only smiled back sweetly.

“Indeed. Well, you know what I am trying to say.”

As Rika thought that over, they heard the familiar sound of Champion, Nemona, calling them from down a side hall.

“La Primera!!! Ms. Rika!! And Poppy, too! Want to play a game?? I’m pretty sure it’s safe for Poppy. Umm, let me just confirm with Penny and Mela… Oh, yeah, it’ll be fun. Practically everyone who’s played had a great time!”

The women glanced at each other, knowing that they had to indulge the Champion who put in so much time volunteering with the League. But of course, the phrasing begged the question—

“Whaddya mean ‘practically everyone’, kid?” asked Rika, voicing their collective curiosity.

Nemona never could hide her thoughts, or feelings, or much anything, really. Everything about her sudden malaise gave it away, and she couldn’t stop herself from talking about it.

“Welllll, you knowwww, one of the other Elite Four and a Gym Leader came by, a…and things got a little awkward, and umm—”

Penny’s voice suddenly blared over the intercom.

“My algorithm went a little haywire, that’s all,” she said, coolly stretching the truth as she was wont to do. “Things got a little intense, b—but I put in the fix after they left, so it’s safe. No more, err, personal questions or dares will be coming through. Everything’s running perfectly normal. You’re welcome to try.”

The women’s eyebrows perked up in curiosity. They could tell exactly who the girls were talking about, so the curiosity only started to grow.

“Personal…”

“…Questions?”

Mela’s voice spoke up over the intercom as well, distracting everyone with her boisterous tone.

“It’d be real cool if you tried out our artistic collaboration, Ms. Chairwoman!”

Poppy jumped up excitedly and placed her hands on her own cheeks, swaying side to side.

“It sounds like fun! I wanna play!!”

Geeta and Rika gave each other knowing glances, before smiling down at Poppy.

“Guess we’re goin’ in, squirt!” said Rika with a wide grin. “I mean, if grumpy old man Hassel had fun, so can we!”

Nemona raised her hands as her voice became unusually mousy.

“How did you guys know who it was, Primera—?!”

Geeta raised a finger to her lips with a cheshire grin, a vague gesture of secrecy.

“Nothing to worry about.”

Nemona breathed a sigh of relief, but Geeta only continued to inquire:

“Now, young Champion,” asked La Primera, glowing, “how much is the fee for a family of three?”