Strictly speaking, Ass was Harley's first real patient. Moreover, the patient, whose problem was treatable.
One beautiful February morning, a school nurse came to the Yellow Room to complain about the Phantom. According to Madame Camphrey, the nurse expressed himself in indecent words, demanding scissors, Moodle's coloured paper and other strange things - later it turned out that the nurse was confused by "ikebana" and "origami". The psychoanalyst mentally thanked Mergiona Pager, provided the patient with the necessary materials and began to develop a course of therapy.
Since his patient's interest in life began again, Harley has rarely had to make sure he doesn't fall into the trap for little tigers or scare the harmless faculty ghosts with his appearance. However, something prompted the psychoanalyst: the former Ass probably would have done the same thing. Only without shutting down the real world, but trying hard to clear the notorious world of criminals.
Harley sometimes thought incorrectly that the Phantom, in an unstable mental state, was a much more pleasant interlocutor than in a normal one. That is, abnormal but familiar to Assus. The last few tricks did not resemble a dialogue between a doctor and a patient at all, but rather a conversation between old acquaintances.
The psychoanalyst woke up and listened. The marker no longer creaked on paper. Therefore, the patient either finished the drawing or was distracted. Harley wanted to subtly hint to Phantom that depicting his fears on paper was a great way to get rid of negative emotions, but he spoke first:
- You're a good judge of character, aren't you? And you don't work with your problem?
Harley leaned against a malignant patient who was sitting comfortably on the couch and sighed.
- The subjective perception of an individual... - Having noticed that Assa's gaze was beginning to turn to glass, the psychoanalyst broke the phrase. - In general, self-medication is more expensive. What do you think?
The former magician somehow strangely looked at Harley. But, at least, he did not ask any more questions.
***
Slow breath. Pause. Exhale.
It took Harley some time to realize that he had just proved himself as an experienced expert. That is, he climbed into the closet. To Phantom Assus, who was going to be pulled out of there. It didn't work out well.
The former magician kept silent and the psychoanalyst tried to gather his spirit until his authority was finally lost. "I'll be out now," Harley thought uncertainly, unsuccessfully trying to move away from Assa. "Now..."
- Is that a new method? - the voice sounded a little sneaky. So the original goal - to help Phantom calm down - was achieved. Now I had to calm myself down.
- Can you hear me at all? - Ass took the psychoanalyst by the shoulders and shaken him up. To be more precise, I tried to shake it up, but I achieved only the fall of things, which until then had miraculously held on hangers, and had lost Harley's balance.
- Who was the patient here, you or me?
- That's okay,- he said in a hurry. - he's not here yet.
When I remembered the New Year's incident, the psychoanalyst jerked off. The investigator mumbled something illegible, but clearly not flattering, leaving attempts to unclench the fingers that clung to his shirt. Only now it has come to Harley that there was no question of personal space here.
He exhaled nervously as if his thoughts coincided with those of a psychoanalyst. Of course, this was impossible: even before he lost his abilities, Phantom was not a very strong telepath.
"No way," Harley warned himself. Could not have warned, perhaps: the struggle between... How's it going there? Eid and Superego ended as fast as they started.
The investigator squeezed his shoulders a little harder, allowing him to touch his lips unexpectedly easily.
Harley tried to remember kissing someone - at least Mary long before she became Mrs Gutter - and couldn't. Mary didn't smell the slightest bit of medicine, she wasn't half his head above him, and she never answered like that. And, strangely enough, the psychoanalyst hadn't lost control before. His hand behind his belt was his trousers, his wheezing breath, his metal taste: his lip was bitten. I don't care.
Harley barely had time to mumble the spell, locking the door to the room.
***
- Relieving stress by satisfying lowland needs,- Harley said, pouring the New Year's Eve tincture through the glasses. - Absolutely acceptable. And what to do?
The phantom snapped and sipped off some amber liquid. If Harley had been told in September that he would not see Assa dressed up and sitting on the couch in the Yellow Room like he was at home... Yes, the psychoanalyst would have probably copied the investigator's famous laughter.
- You know,- Phantom said, suddenly putting a glass on the table and turning to Harley. - I...
He was interrupted by a deafening howl. The psychoanalyst dropped the glass and barely refrained from retreating into the closet. Only the voice of the school administrator convinced him that there would be no werewolf invasion in Pervers.
- The gathering at the meal point,- Ass said, grumbling, without much desire to fasten the buttons on the collar. - Why?
Harley was in full agreement with him.