The afternoon sun shone perfectly through the hut’s window, illuminating the room just enough to give it a pleasant, warm feeling, even if the air was a bit chilly. Any artist before their easel would cherish such a time to paint their thoughts onto the canvas.

For Pal, this wasn’t the warm scene anyone else would cherish. It was miserable. Despairing, even. He sat upon a single chair across the room from his easel, feet pulled up into it and long tail curled over his knees.

His eyes fell upon the canvas. He refused to use it right now. What good was displaying his grief upon it, only to inflict it upon others? It was pointless. At the same time, it was as though he was the only one that cared, anyway.

That was when he heard a knock at the door to his hut. It was gentle and polite. “Come in...” How could he turn them away? Though he attempted to raise his voice enough for the visitor to hear, he couldn’t will himself to sound any less depressed. He could hear the door swing open, then close, followed by a pair of feet shuffling up behind him. Whoever it was didn’t have much to say... or perhaps didn’t know what to say.

Eventually, he’d have to face whoever it was. His head turned as the unknown visitor shuffled up next to him. Before him was a younger Smeargle than himself. He knew this one as a student of sorts. The sad look on his face gave away how much he knew about what was going on.

The younger Smeargle’s eyes darted downward for a moment, as though he really didn’t know what to say. They found their way back up to Pal soon after, followed with a sort of forced smile. “It’s... it’s a nice day, huh mister Pal?”

“Yes...” Pal’s voice was dull. Lifeless. Crossing his arms over his pulled-up knees, he buried his face into them. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of what a ‘nice’ day this was, right down to having to see it. “Forgive me, Spectrum, but I would rather not paint right now.” His accent was more noticeable as he attempted to be polite to his visitor and speak at some degree at length.

“I... I know.” Spectrum’s voice sounded a little more shaky that time. Actually seeing his idol so distraught had him pretty distraught as well. The buzz was all over the village about what happened at Palette’s hut, and yet no one else was here to console Pal? How could they be so heartless to their star painter?

Finally, Spectrum had to say something. He couldn’t just leave Pal to his grief. “... I heard about miss Palette... I always thought she was really nice. I’m sorry that... well...”

“She’s gone.”

Pal abruptly finished the sentence himself, lifting his head from his arms to look down at Spectrum once more. His mind seemed to overflow with the worst of his thoughts, and he stood from his chair, grumbling down at the other Smeargle. “She’s gone! Dead! Never coming back! They made her suffer!” he yelled out, likely loud enough for other nearby dwellings to hear.

He couldn’t help himself. There was anger mixed in with the sadness, and it had to come out, somehow. Unfortunately, this left him with a rather frightened Spectrum, backed up against the wall of his hut. Upon seeing this, his expression immediately softened. Pal fell to his knees with a thud, now at eye-level with his visitor.

“I’m so sorry...” he apologized. His own voice was wavering, and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. There was no excuse for what he just did. He couldn’t even look Spectrum in the face, focusing down at the floor instead. “I’m... angry, but not at you. It’s not fair...”

It was expected that Spectrum would leave after seeing him break down like this, practically to the point of sobbing. It would leave him to deal with this himself rather than inflict it on the poor little fellow. Instead, the younger Smeargle approached him, coaxing him to tilt his head up just in time to have those slender arms wrap around him in a hug, with Spectrum’s head resting on his shoulder.

That was something he didn’t expect. Sure, others had come, offered their condolences, and gone, but the first one who cared enough to stay would hug him even after an outburst like that. Pal’s arms clutched around the younger Smeargle in kind, hugging him close as he let the feelings out. Everything he held back while he was sitting there isolated seemed to wash out at once as he cried on the offered shoulder.

Minutes later, Pal pulled back with a sniffle, looking Spectrum right in the eye. He looked sad too. It pained him to feel that he caused that, to some degree. As a result, Pal actually managed a smile, which brought one to the younger Smeargle’s face as well. It was strange, how his spirits could be lifted, albeit not exactly healed, by not a single word.

Briefly wiping his eyes with the back of his ringed wrist, Pal stood himself up, looking down at Spectrum and placing a palm upon the beret-shaped top of his head. “I fear I still cannot paint for you, but... why don’t you paint for me?”

The younger Smeargle suddenly looked bashful, covering his own cheeks to hide any blush that may have ended up visible. “Oh... are you sure, mister Pal? I’m still not very good...”

With a sure nod, Pal returned to his seat, though he sat normally, rather than curling his knees up against himself as he did before. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he concluded. As he watched the other blue-tailed Smeargle approach his canvas, he couldn’t help but notice that his own smile had stayed, even if his grief was there too.

“Did I tell you about my new friend, mister Pal?” Spectrum asked as he picked up his tail, beginning to make strokes across the canvas in a hopeful attempt to make something that would please the artist he looked up to!

The older Smeargle simply shook his head. “Tell me all about it.”

Palette would probably never leave his mind, after all they’d done together, but having a kind-hearted visitor was certainly helpful in dealing with it. He found himself appreciating the visual warmth of his room, for the first time today.