Jouska

…A brushstroke here…

…A swirl of colors…

…My tail is a bit dry. I’d better…

…There we go. Now… the trees. This… has to be perfect.

…

…That… branch looks off. I can… fix it later.

…

…No… No, I have to go back and fix it. It’s just… wrong.

…Perhaps I can… just…

…There.

…No, it looks all wrong.

…Well, it’s a battle scene anyways, I can just…

…No, I can only use red.

…No, that looks terrible. I… I can fix this. I just need to put more red. I can… just… cover it up…

…No, no no no no no no no–

It’s not working, it’s…

I can fix this, maybe I can just wipe it–

No. No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no–

…One more…

…

…

CRAAAASH.

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…

The silence fills the room as I huddle up in the corner. The dim light of the windows shines through the dusty, unwiped glass, fog and rain dust and spiderwebs muddling up the rays of evening sun that penetrate even through the dull, murky clouds. The door is shut, the floor is unswept, the walls are bare, and the light in the middle of the ceiling remains unused, broken. Aside from the easel in the center of the room, a few boxes of supplies and extra canvases in the corner, and of course the broken ceiling lamp, there is no furniture.

I rub my forearms as I hug my shins, my paws brushing against ruffled, oily fur that had not been washed in days. Splotches of paint mark ugly stains across my body, covering me from chest to feet in scars of failure, reminders of my inability to express myself. My Smeargle tail flops against the ground limply. I failed it.

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against my kneecaps. I don’t want to see those right now.

My foot shifts slightly, touching some of the splinters of the broken canvas that lay, scattered in pieces, across the tiled floor. I recoil from the slight touch. Not now.

Not now.

Not now.

Not now.

Not now.

Not…

Just…

…

…

…

…A breath.

One, single, shuddering breath.

In, out.

…

…Another day.

Eyes still firmly screwed shut, I slowly struggle to my feet, wobbling slightly. I take a few tentative steps, feeling the sharp wooden fragments of the ruined painting stab into my feet, the still-wet oil atop the canvas coating the pads of my paws as I walk out, my brush-shaped tail dragging behind me. I don’t wince.

I don’t have the energy to.

…

…

…Click.

The door shuts behind me, almost without my knowing, as my hand leaves the doorknob, and my eyes flutter open once again. The hallway is empty, cold, dark. Only the light of rooms afar shows the path, and I stumble drunkenly down the corridor towards a door on the opposite end. One that hangs slightly ajar. I avert my eyes as I pass one door with a messy sign on it. Dust had gathered on the knob.

Not now.

Not… ever.

I make it past that door. I push into mine.

And I collapse into bed.

---

…

…

“…Gah!”

I shoot awake. The matted fur on my body sticks to my skin uncomfortably as I throw off my sheets, some drool from my mouth mixing with the paint stains on my body to color the bed an ugly brown. I pay it no heed as my eyes adjust to the darkness. It’s night, alright. Only the moon shines through the smothering darkness, my bedroom an unwelcoming landscape where every shadow watches me vehemently, from the corners of the closet, the undersides of the desk left untouched in weeks, from every crevice that lay between mishmash scattered items strewn across the dark, unfamiliar floor.

I throw my feet to the sides, my paws wiping at my forehead and holding it for a second. My head spins.

…Had I eaten?

…

…Yes, I had…

…I think.

The wall is my unwilling guide as I lean against it, shuffling towards the door, my feet occasionally bumping into the occasional stray object on the floor. I grasp awkwardly for the doorknob with my paws, finally managing to turn it and trudge outside. No click sounds. The door hadn’t been closed in the first place.

…Food…

…Water…

…Faucet. Gotta… Must…

…

…!

The light of the moon shines through the hallway. I look up, my pupils constricting, my breath growing short.

The shadows bare their teeth. They reach for me. Their… their eyes… THEIR EYES–

My shoulder slams into the wall as I whirl around, screaming, scrambling for my bedroom. I dive inside and slam the door shut, locking it. A loud SLAM echoes through the hallway as snarls piece through the wood, a sound that makes my blood curdle. My breath is short, the room shrinks before me, my feet struggle for a grip on the smooth floor as, my back to the door, I try and keep it shut.

It won’t last.

It won’t last.

It didn’t last.

It won’t this time.

I see the window.

The window.

Open air.

I push off from the door as it slams open, diving for the glass, smashing into it. My head curls into my arms as the flying, loose shards stab into my skin, cutting my fur, blood flying across the dirt as I land, heavy, on my side, the fresh cuts splitting open with the pain of a thousand sharp knives in my hide. I scream.

But they scream louder, and I have no choice but to–

RUN.

The loose branches whip into my face as I struggle past them, leaves and foliage and sticks crunching beneath my feet, slapping my body, assailing me, slowing me down as I flee from my shadows, their snarling voices nipping at my ankles, howling into the night, crying for my blood, my blood, my existence, my body, my life, my life, my life, my life, my life, my life, my life–

HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP–

I trip and stumble, and I go flying. The world spins around me as I tumble onto a dirt path.

I flip onto my back, breath short, mouth agape in horror, eyes narrowing on the shadows, they leap–

TWHIP.

…

…

…

…I’m alive.

I look up, uncurling from my fetal position, arms over my head, tail between my legs.

…No…

“You know, I thought Smeargles were supposed to be GOOD at battling.”

…That grin…

My voice is almost foreign to me. “…Sheru?”

“You say that like you’ll turn around and suddenly I’m, like, Bob or something.”

“…Ha… Haha… Hahahaha–”

“Stop laughing, dork, you look terrible! Get up!”

“Hahahahaha, sorry, sorry…”

He reaches his paw out. My laughter instantly subsides. It doesn’t look real to me, hazy in the moonlight.

“…Dude. Benni. Come on, don’t keep me waiting.”

“Sorry, sorry…”

I grab his paw with my own, and with a familiar strength, he hoists me up, pulling me not only to my feet, but into his arms. He wraps them around my back, under my shoulders, tucking his head into the crevice between my shoulderblade and my neck. I can feel his breath on my back.

It’s… warm…

…I hug back. It feels nice to do it again.

“…Where have you been?”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about that, buddy. But, uh, what HAPPENED to you?”

“…What do you mean?”

“I already told you, are you losing your hearing? You look awful! When was the last time you cleaned yourself?”

“I–”

He pushes away from me gently, his snout wrinkled as he sniffs at the air, cringing. “Eugh! Get a shower, dude!”

“…I–”

“No excuses!”

“…Later.”

An eye-roll is all I get. “You always say that and then I have to tell you ten more times to do it, when’ll you eat and drink and bathe without me needing to baby you, huh? You’re my boyfriend, not my pet!”

“…Sorry.”

“And that’s another thing! Stop saying ‘sorry’ so much, you sound pathetic! Have some confidence!”

“…s–”

“AY. NO.”

“…I’ll just… stop.”

“…” A sigh.

I avert my gaze, but he puts a gentle paw under my chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. We stand at eye level, him being taller than the average Dewott, and myself being a little below the average for a Smeargle. Even in the dim moonlight, I can see his crystal-clear green irises shine and sparkle as they look into my eyes, my heart, my mind, my soul.

“…I missed you.”

…

…

…My words can’t come out.

I open my mouth to respond.

All that comes out is a gurgle, a moan, a cry. I choke on my heart as it leaps into my throat, a lump that stings as tears well up in my eyes. My brain melts, my nose runs, my mouth curls into a pathetic whimper.

I drop to my knees. A glass shard still in my right stings as it digs deeper in. He drops next to me, laying me down as I fall onto his lap. His soft fur cushions my head as I curl up, burying my face into his midsection. I can’t see anything. I don’t want to see anything.

“…Heh, I know I know… You missed me too…”

My sobs echo through the night. A soft sensation spread across my shoulder. It’s his paw.

It moves down my forearm, stops at the elbow, then back up.

He’s rubbing me…

…He’s… touching me…

…

…Him.

…

…

…

…Words escape my mouth, barely audible, only for him to hear.

“…Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” His secret promise to me, not even that the watching night sky filled with clouds will know.

“…I–I–”

“Shhhhh… It wasn’t your fault…”

“I–It–”

“It wasn’t. I don’t want to hear you say it was. Ever.”

“…But–”

“No buts.” He is firm but gentle. Like he always was.

“…It was my fault–”

“What did I just say?”

“I could’ve–”

“No you couldn’t have. We were both outmatched.”

“…”

“It’s the truth. I did what I had to. I got you out.”

“…But I didn’t want to leave without you. I DON’T want to BE without you–”

“And I don’t either. But… better that I die than we both die. That’s my last present for you.”

“…But it’s not my birthday.”

“…Ha. You were always the funnier one of us, Benni.”

“Your jokes are way better.”

“But I laugh harder.”

“So?”

“So your jokes are better.” I can feel his grin, even without looking.

“…Ha. Haha… Hahaha…”

I fall silent, and he waits a bit before he speaks again. “…Look, Benni. I’m not perfect for you. And… I don’t think you believe you’re perfect for me either. And neither of us were perfect on that mission. But… we don’t have to be perfect. Nobody can be, it’s just not possible.”

“We just have to do the best we can. Always. That’s enough.”

“…How can I believe that, when–”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“…”

“I’ll always be with you.”

“…”

“…Always…”

“…”

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…It’s warm…

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…It’s soft…

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…It’s nice.

---

…My eyes flutter awake. They close again, but the sunlight won’t let them. It pierces through the fur and skin, staining my pupils a blood red.

I open them up, half-squinting as the red gives way to a soft, gentle green-blue, dull in the morning dew yet clear as the dawn breaks, as pink and orange and purple banish the shadows of the night, as the world begins to wake once again.

I shift slightly. A mass along my body falls off, leaves scattering around me.

I sit up, my leafy blanket falling apart as I blink at it. I look around at my surroundings. It’s… the path. The one that leads away from my house… into town.

Town…

…

…No. I’m not ready.

How did I even get here?

…Last night…

Memory of a kind face pushes its way into my head.

…

…Am I alone?

…

I get up. It’s time. Now or never.

My fur is better than ever as I march back. The glass is gone from my skin. The blood has clotted, and the paint has disappeared.

My stomach growls, but I can feed it later. I have something that I need to do.

My house appears over the top of the hill.

The forest hides the stains of blood, the shattered window of my bedroom as I kick open the front door, slamming it behind me, not angry or malicious but rather pressed for time that I have but don’t want to waste.

I march down the hallway, barging into the art studio. I kick aside the broken canvas from before, walking over to the corner and grabbing another one. I walk to put it on the easel, but pause, before grabbing the easel and shoving both it and the blank canvas beneath my armpit as I march out of the room. I turn the corner, before I find myself in front of a familiar room. I take a deep breath, grab the knob with a paw…

…And enter.

It’s just like I always remembered. Too many water bottles on the table, clothes strewn across the ground, only a few cleanly folded in open drawers, gathering dust, a ray of sunshine that always seemed to hit the mirror just right so I could never pose properly in front of it, shelves and shelves filled with books that… he liked to read to me…

I shake my head, setting up the easel in the middle of the room and putting the canvas on it. I rush back to the other room, grabbing all of my paints and colors and supplies, before rushing back, plopping them haphazardly on the floor of the room and standing up, getting to work.

…A brushstroke there…

…My tail’s a little dry, time to redip…

…

I wince. That stroke was imperfect.

…I ignore it. I can’t correct it.

I don’t want to correct it.

…His eyes…

…His snout…

…His hair…

…

…I messed up his hair.

Whatever. Keep moving.

…

…

…

…That’s…

My breath is short. I hadn’t even realized. I look up. At my work. At…

The lines are messy, imperfect. A bright red circle surrounds a face defined by imperfect lines, inaccurate fur styles, and incorrect look.

…

…And yet, the green blue eyes, the visage, the kindness that stares back at me from the painting…

…It’s just like how I remember him.

Sheru.

I stare at it a bit longer before I drop my supplies. My tail falls to my side as paint splatters to the ground. I pay it no heed as I gingerly lift the still-wet work of art off the wooden easel. I marvel at it for a second, the morning rays of light glinting off the smooth surface.

…It’s time.

I turn and walk out the door, the painting in my arm.

I leave the house, the air fresher than I remember. I will have to clean the house later.

Later.

Now is the time for this, not that.

The afternoon sun watches me as I make my way down the path once again. Past the next of woods I’d stumbled through. Past the part of the path I’d slept on. Where I…

Past that.

Into…

…

…I step off the path, and brush my way past a few short bushes. The trees bow before me as the woods thin, until the sunlight can shine through the dense canopy.

Until I come across a clearing.

Where, in the middle, a single stone sits patiently.

…

…

…Well. I can’t just stand at a distance. I have to go say hi.

…

…It’s… almost surreal.

As I walk up, the world quiets. The universe watches as I hold up the painting.

I bend down, and I place the painting against the stone.

It nearly falls over, so I catch it and lean it against it better. It takes a few tries, but I finally get it to balance.

I stand up.

I look at the painting, at the stone.

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…Goodbye, Sheru…