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bevioletskies · 3 years

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(i’m caught between) goodbye and i love you

summary: Sometimes, Klavier thinks a little too much about how he never knew the last time he saw Apollo was going to be the last time he saw Apollo. So, when Apollo finally returns home from Khura’in, Klavier finds himself stuck, unsure of when to finally tell Apollo how he feels - especially when it seems like Apollo isn’t quite ready to confess, either.

word count: 16.9k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day seven of seven (prompt: "catharsis"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

Mild spoiler warning for Spirit of Justice; warning for brief mentions of alcohol and one scene where a character has a panic attack. Fic title is from the song (I'm Caught Between) Goodbye And I Love You by the Carpenters.

“What do you think, Gavin, which do you - hey, Gavin? Are you listening?”

Klavier startled at the sound of Apollo’s voice, too lost in his own thoughts to realize someone had been talking to him. He looked over at Apollo, who was standing underneath one of the courthouse’s most prolific picture windows, practically glowing in the early afternoon sun. Klavier’s breath hitched at the sight. “Ah - my apologies, Herr Forehead, I didn’t catch that. What were you saying?”

“Ema said we should all do something that doesn’t involve murder for once.” Apollo looked up from his phone, wincing. “Er, that is, something that doesn’t involve solving a murder for once. She suggested drinks, though Kay apparently prefers laser tag. As if I don't get enough bumps and bruises from helping Trucy out on weekends.”

“Ah, the life of a magician’s brother,” Klavier teased, smiling easily. “But, wait - do you mean to say Fräulein Detective actually wants to hang out with me? Or are you inviting me? Either way, I find it hard to believe.”

“No one’s more surprised than me,” Apollo drawled. “But seriously, Ema says Kay is making her ask you through me, ‘cos that totally makes sense. Anyway, drinks or laser tag? Or, y’know, both? They’re thinking this weekend since they’re going to some forensics convention next weekend. Did not know those existed. Do you think they give out swag bags full of fingerprint powder?”

“I would advise against it if they did,” Klavier said, chuckling. He then slipped his hands into his pockets, shooting Apollo an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, Forehead, you’ll have to have a good time without me. I have a dentist appointment, some meetings...you know how it is. Maybe next time, ja?”

“Sure, I’ll let you know whenever that is,” Apollo replied with a nonchalant shrug; he sent a quick text, presumably to Ema, then pocketed his phone. “Anyway, I should go find Mr. Wright and head back to the agency. So, uh...see you when I see you, I guess.”

“Auf Wiedersehen, baby,” Klavier said, winking. Apollo rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and striding away, waving Klavier off over his shoulder. “Don’t have too good a time without me, though, ja?” Apollo’s wave instantly turned into a middle finger.

Barely two weeks later, Klavier found himself replaying the rather mundane conversation in his head over and over again as he walked into his superior’s office, his hands shoved into his pockets to hide how hard they were shaking. “Willkommen zurück, Herr Edgeworth. How was your flight? Smooth, I hope.”

“Smoother than what conspired in Khura’in, to be sure,” Edgeworth replied, neatly setting his teacup down in its saucer. “Don’t worry, Prosecutor Gavin, I’m still getting everything in order. I doubt you’ll have much work to do today, bar any last-minute cases coming in.”

“Danke, sir, good to know.” Klavier glanced briefly in the direction of Edgeworth’s custom chessboard, his red knights and blue pawns, just so he wouldn’t have to look at its owner’s steely gaze. “So, er - ”

“Out with it, Prosecutor Gavin,” Edgeworth said, sighing wearily. “I can tell you have something on your mind. I’m afraid I can’t give you the exact details of what happened, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Ah - ja, I know, I - I was just wondering if…” Klavier hesitated. “...if everyone is...okay. Safe and sound, so to speak.”

Edgeworth’s face softened. “Yes, everyone’s perfectly fine. Wright, Ms. Fey, Ms. Cykes, and Trucy are all fine.”

Klavier blinked. “Wait, but - what about Herr Fore - Herr Justice? What...did he…”

“I should have known that was who you were really curious about,” Edgeworth said knowingly, looking at Klavier over the tops of his glasses. His expression, gentle, almost sympathetic, made Klavier’s stomach churn. “Mr. Justice decided to stay behind in Khura’in indefinitely. He’s looking to help rebuild their legal system from the ground up.”

Klavier felt as if his heart had dropped right through to the floor. “He’s...he’s not coming back?” He could barely hear the sound of his own voice over the rush of his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Eventually, perhaps, but not anytime soon,” Edgeworth replied. “My apologies, Prosecutor Gavin. I know you two were…”

“Close?” Klavier let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “Nein, not at all. We were barely even friends.”

Edgeworth straightened up in his seat, and then, to Klavier’s astonishment, removed his glasses. It was unnerving to see such warmth in his superior’s eyes, especially when he knew Edgeworth didn’t think much of him in the first place. Not after what had happened all those years ago, even though it hadn’t really been him. “Let me amend my previous statement, then. I know you two had a...connection of sorts.”

“Ja, through...through someone I’d rather not talk about.” Klavier cleared his throat. “Danke for letting me know, Herr Edgeworth. It’s...good to see Herr Justice making something of himself.”

“He's definitely an admirable young man,” Edgeworth replied, nodding slowly. “I can see why Wright took a liking to him. I can see why you took a liking to him.”

“Ah, well,” Klavier said, coughing again. “Anyway, I should leave you to it, sir. Have a good rest of your day, ja? I’ll be in my office if anything comes up.”

“Of course.” Edgeworth neatly slid his glasses back on, then turned his attention to his work laptop. “Take care, Prosecutor Gavin.” Nodding at the dismissal, Klavier bowed his head and left Edgeworth’s office, his footsteps noticeably heavier than they’d been when he first entered it. He took a few heaving breaths, then shut himself in his own office and let out a small, silent sob.

_____

“I see you’re moping again, Gavin-dono. Must be a day that ends in ‘y’.”

“Bitte, Herr Blackquill, I’m perfectly fine,” Klavier said, clutching his mug of tea a little tighter than necessary. “My trial yesterday? Perfekt. The weather during my morning run earlier today? Perfekt. The leftovers I brought for lunch today? Perfekt, so long as Herr Payne doesn’t break the microwave again before I get there...I don’t know how he manages to do that on a weekly basis. Anyway, as you can see, I’ve never been better.”

“What a sad testament to your mental state if that were true.” Simon dropped into the seat opposite him, his hands resting on top of the breakroom table, his intense gaze focused on Klavier’s face. Klavier didn’t find him as intimidating as everyone else did, especially not after he’d witnessed Simon sing a drunken duet with Kay, entirely unprompted, at an office holiday party. No amount of threats or glares could get Klavier to delete the video evidence off his backup hard drive. “Luckily for you, it’s entirely false. You’ve been acting strangely for weeks now, and I know the reason why.”

“Do you really?” Klavier sipped his tea. “I thought you didn’t, quote-unquote, ‘care to stick your nose in my absurd affairs’. After all, I’m the silly one of the prosecutor’s office, am I not?” Simon cocked his head slightly, perplexed. “Ah, that Prosecutor Gavin, what an odd one he is. All style and no substance, always speaking in that accent that no one believes is real, always spouting nonsense and song lyrics and little else.”

“Self-hatred doesn’t suit you, so I suggest you cease this pitiful act at once,” Simon said, frowning. “You’re a confident man, Gavin-dono. I’d even say your confidence is fully justified, foppish nature aside. And yet, here you are, torn up over Justice-dono’s absence like a heartbroken teenager.”

“I am not torn up,” Klavier sniffed, setting his mug down with a sharp clunk. “I’m happy to hear that Herr Forehead has found his true calling. A far cry from the loud, nervous rookie he was when we first met. Now, he’s just loud.”

“...hmph. Yes, that piercing voice of his certainly rivals Taka’s,” Simon replied, taking a moment to scratch the underside of his bird’s chin. Klavier didn’t like the way Taka was eyeing his hair; he suspected Taka was fighting against his instincts to make a nest.

“Maybe still a little nervous.” Klavier paused. “I imagine seeing him stand in a Khura’inese court must be quite...something.”

“I didn’t sit here with the intention of listening to you dance around your romantic feelings towards Justice-dono, you know,” Simon informed him. “It’s exhausting and pointless, and a waste of my time.”

Klavier averted his eyes from Simon’s face, finding himself oddly fascinated with a water stain on the opposite wall, right beside the notice board. “Why did you sit here, then?”

“Because...I know a lonely person when I see one.” Simon let the silence linger for a moment; Klavier wasn’t sure which of them favored dramatic pauses more. “Even Athena told me you seemed...not yourself. Though you’ve been performing your prosecutorial duties just fine, she said you were distant...distracted. Is it the lack of companionship, perhaps?”

“You and Herr Edgeworth seem to be under the impression that Forehead and I were friends,” Klavier said evenly, his tone growing increasingly irritated. “The truth is, Herr Blackquill - since you seem unusually interested for someone who barely says two words to me most mornings - that Apollo was my friend, but I wasn’t his. Is that what you wanted to hear? Has your analysis of my psyche scratched your itch?”

Like Edgeworth, Simon’s face almost seemed to soften. “I had no desire to rile you up, but...I see that I’ve done it, anyway. I see that I’ve overstepped. Forgive me, Gavin-dono.” Klavier looked up at him, stunned. Simon merely stood, smoothing out the front of his coat. Even Taka’s expression seemed apologetic. “Find someone to talk to, if you haven’t already; it will do you a world of good. I heard many a story from my fellow prisoners by simply offering to lend an ear. I think you’d find the process of opening up to be quite...illuminating. Freeing, even.”

“I’m sure I would.” Klavier took another sip and said nothing else.

_____

“Mr. Gavin! I thought I saw you in the audience, but I couldn’t believe it!”

Laughing, Klavier held out the bouquet of red roses in his arms for her to take. “Alles Gute zum Geburtstag, fräulein, what a perfect way to celebrate your eighteenth. You were as magical as ever, though who would ever expect any less?”

Beaming, Trucy accepted his flowers, then practically launched herself right at him, wrapping her arms around his waist. He barely managed to catch her in time. “Thank you so much! Ah, these are so beautiful - and they smell great, too!” She stepped back, taking a generous whiff before exhaling happily. “Hey, do you wanna drop by my dressing room for a sec? I have to go sign autographs and stuff, but I’m sure Athena would love to say hi!”

“Sure,” Klavier agreed. “Lead the way.” He followed Trucy down the backstage corridor, coming to a stop in front of a door with a gold nameplate in the shape of a silk top hat. Klavier involuntarily shuddered; the Gramarye seal had always been a sore spot for him, no matter how many good memories outweighed the bad. Trucy opened the door, revealing that it wasn’t just Athena who was waiting inside, but a whole group of people - Athena, the two Fey women whose names Klavier vaguely remembered from Trucy’s stories, Detective Gumshoe, and an odd, almost sad-looking girl wearing a traditional costume. However, Klavier’s eyes went straight to the two people conversing by Trucy’s dressing table - Phoenix Wright and Vera Misham.

Phoenix turned at the sound of the door opening. His eyes widened slightly when he saw who it was. “This is becoming a real party now, hey, Truce?” he teased, lightly ruffling his daughter’s hair. Trucy stuck her tongue out at him, then went to carefully place Klavier’s flowers among the dozens of others by her costume rack. Phoenix’s expression tightened somewhat. “Prosecutor Gavin, it’s - it’s good to see you. Trucy swore she spotted you in the audience, but I guess my eyes were never as sharp as hers.”

“I know her party is tomorrow, but I wouldn’t dare pass up the chance to watch her birthday extravaganza,” Klavier said smoothly. He felt as if Vera’s eyes were burning holes in the side of his face.

“So you’re Prosecutor Gavin, huh?” The older Fey woman - Maya, if Klavier remembered correctly - sidled right up to him with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Trucy and Athena have told me all about you. I hear you’re different from the other prosecutors me and Nick had to deal with back in the day!”

The door opened behind Klavier. “Are you talking about us, Maya Fey?” He turned on his heel to see Edgeworth and Franziska von Karma standing in the doorway, both impeccably dressed as always, carrying identical bouquets of white lilies and blue delphinium in their arms.

“Auntie Franzy!” Trucy shrieked, barreling across the room to toss herself into Franziska’s arms, much like she had done to Klavier just moments ago. “Daddy said you weren’t gonna fly in until tomorrow!”

“And miss your performance? I would be a foolishly foolish fool if I did,” Franziska huffed, kissing Trucy on the cheek. “You will receive the rest of our presents tomorrow. I hear your fool of a father refuses to let you wear makeup despite the fact that you’d like to, and I am here to rectify that parenting mistake. You’re eighteen now, after all; you should be able to do as you please.”

“Within reason,” Edgeworth added, shooting Franziska a withering look. “Don’t encourage her too much, Franziska. I think we're all too familiar with Trucy’s...imagination.”

“Miles Edgeworth, how dare you question my - ”

Klavier quickly retreated into a corner of the dressing room as everyone’s voices grew louder and louder; clearly, his presence had been completely forgotten. He spotted the younger Fey woman, Pearl, conversing with the sad-looking girl - Jinxie, he heard her name was - while Maya and Detective Gumshoe chatted happily with Edgeworth and Franziska. Trucy had left to sign autographs for her fans, leaving Phoenix to turn back to Vera, who was still eyeing Klavier warily.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Klavier startled suddenly at the sound of Athena’s voice. He turned to see her perched on the vanity, legs swinging over the edge, smiling at him encouragingly. “You seem a little lost, Prosecutor Gavin. Everything okay?”

Sighing, Klavier leaned against the wall, glancing down at the toes of his Doc Martens. “Don’t tell me Herr Blackquill asked you to keep an eye on me.”

“Hardly!” Athena exclaimed; she almost seemed offended by his insinuation. “You just seem a little...quiet, that’s all.”

“Well…” Klavier looked back up, shooting her a stilted smile. “Everyone here is either someone I don’t know, someone I work with, or someone whose life I ruined. Forgive me for feeling a little...cornered.”

“C’mon, you didn’t ruin their lives,” Athena said, hopping down so she could lightly punch him in the arm. “I heard the whole story from Apollo ages ago, and he says it wasn’t you. He says you were just a…a schachfigur in someone else’s game.”

“A pawn, in other words.” Klavier chuckled despite himself. “Ja, if you want to be generous about it...or if you want to say that I’m easily swayed. Did Herr Forehead really say that?”

“He sure did! He talks about you all the time,” Athena added with an enthusiastic nod. “I mean, you annoy him - a lot - but he’s always mentioning how decent and honest you are. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think, well...nah, probably not.”

“Probably not,” Klavier echoed, trying his best to ignore his racing heart. The last thing he wanted to do was have hope. “Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be sticking around much longer. Don’t want to get in the way.”

“Huh? You’re not getting in the way of anything!” Athena protested. “Are you sure you won’t stay?”

Klavier shook his head, pushing himself off the wall and straightening up, smoothing out the creases in his hoodie. “Nein, I should make an early night of it. I have to meet my personal trainer bright and early, after all. But I’ll see you at Trucy’s party tomorrow, ja?”

Athena hesitated. “Ja, of course,” she chirped, plastering on an uncertain smile. “And hey, if you ever need a running partner, you have my number!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Klavier promised, surprising himself by how true that was. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone running with someone who wasn’t his personal trainer. “Gute Nacht, fräulein.”

“G’night,” Athena said, squeezing his shoulder before letting him go. Nodding, Klavier deftly weaved his way through the crowded dressing room and slipped out the door. A few heads turned his way, but no one seemed interested in saying their goodbyes, nor was he all that interested in offering his own, either. The moment he stepped into the corridor, he heard a startled gasp, a choked breath, that almost made him jump.

“Ach - my apologies, I didn’t mean to - Trucy?”

Leaning against the wall opposite her dressing room door was Trucy, her eyes wide and suspiciously wet. “Oh - Mr. Gavin, d-don’t tell me you’re leaving already!”

“I have a session with my - are you alright, fräulein?” Klavier asked, closing the door behind him, then approaching her slowly, carefully. “You look…”

“ - like I’ve been crying?” Trucy let out a wet laugh, pulling a tissue out of nowhere and hastily wiping her eyes. “Don’t you cry after a big performance, Mr. Gavin? You know, that rush of adrenaline, that boost of energy, that feeling of relief - it’s all a part of being a performer! Especially on a stage as big as this!”

“Natürlich, I’ve absolutely wept tears of joy after a gut show. But this?” Klavier gestured in her direction. “This...it’s something else, isn’t it?”

“I - it’s just…” Trucy sniffled. “You won’t tell anyone, right?”

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Klavier said softly. “Though maybe Herr Wright should hear this another time, too.”

“I don’t wanna bother Daddy,” Trucy said, shaking her head. “Besides, I...I don’t wanna make him feel bad!”

“Bad?” Klavier repeated, confused. “What do you mean?”

Trucy took a moment to blow her nose. Then, she managed a small smile in Klavier’s direction. “It’s stupid, but...when I was in there earlier, and I-I saw all of my friends and family together, I started thinking about...you know. The rest of my family. All of the Gramaryes, all gone.” She sniffled noisily again. “Mommy and Daddy and Grandpa, they - th-they never got to see me grow up. And Uncle Valant, he’s still in prison, a-and - so now it’s just me. Just me. I have to carry on the family legacy, but no one’s here to teach me how!”

Klavier’s eyes widened in shock. “Trucy…”

“But if I tell Daddy - Phoenix, I mean - that I’ve been thinking about Mommy and Daddy, he’s gonna...I just can’t,” Trucy continued, shaking her head vehemently. “If he finds out, he’s gonna feel like...like he failed me. And he didn’t, not one bit, but - when I first started living with him, he said he felt like that all the time. Like he was doing it all wrong.” She swallowed, but her throat seemed to be stuck. “And...I’ve, um, I’ve been thinking about Apollo, too.”

“You were?” Klavier asked, his mouth twisting. “Why?”

“I know I’ve only known him for a few years, but...it feels like I’ve known him forever. Like we were always meant to be best friends, you know?” Trucy was now fiddling with the ends of her cape, avoiding Klavier’s eyes. “It’s my birthday, a-and he’s not here. He called yesterday to say he wouldn’t be able to talk today, so we had a little celebration together, just the two of us. It was nice, but it just...it wasn’t the same.”

“He’ll come back eventually, ja?” Klavier said gently. “You said that was part of his plan.”

“‘Eventually’ is looking further and further away,” Trucy said with a wry smile. “But I-I know I gotta be okay with it. He’s doing really important stuff in Khura’in, after all!” She then nudged him. “You should call him sometime - he’s talked about some really cool cases that I bet you’d be interested in.”

“I doubt he’d want to hear from me, of all people, especially if he’s as busy as he sounds,” Klavier chuckled.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Mr. Gavin,” Trucy teased, elbowing him again. “He only just told me yesterday that he misses you…‘in a weird way’. That’s practically a glowing review, coming from Polly!”

Klavier felt his heartbeat race once more. “Ah, well, then maybe I should consider it. How could I not, when I might get to hear such generous praise myself?” Trucy burst into laughter, her face finally relaxing for the first time since Klavier had approached her.

They lingered in companionable silence for a moment, hearing nothing but their own steadying breaths and the muffled sounds of what seemed like absolute chaos coming from inside Trucy’s dressing room. Klavier wasn’t sure if he wanted to know why it sounded like Franziska was lecturing at least three different people at the same time. “Thanks for hearing me out, Mr. Gavin.”

“Bitte schön, though I’m not sure if I was any help at all,” Klavier admitted.

“Of course you were!” Trucy exclaimed, straightening up. “I feel better now, honest. Just talking about all that stuff really helped, even if I’m still not exactly sure what to do.”

“Hopefully you will soon, ja?” Klavier moved away from the wall, flashing her a genuine smile. “But if you ask me, you’re already doing a wunderschön job of upholding the Gramarye name, and I’m sure if you talk to Herr Wright about how you’re feeling, he’d say the same thing. Don’t be so hard on yourself, fräulein.”

Trucy hesitated. Then, she stepped forward to hug Klavier, holding him a little tighter than last time. He automatically held her closer, too. “See you tomorrow?” she mumbled against his shoulder.

“Of course,” Klavier promised. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

_____

“How is he doing, that defense attorney of yours?”

Klavier looked up from the box he was packing. He found it almost too easy to get distracted in here, to feel a wave of nostalgia crash over him as he packed away the books and toys that once filled his childhood playroom. There were already paint swatches on the wall, a collection of wood stain samples sitting by his feet, but he wasn’t quite ready to see it transformed into something else, for the room to belong to someone other than him. “He’s not mine, Mama, he’s just a friend. And he’s fine, if a little stressed. Er, make that a lot stressed.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Even just hearing it secondhand, I can tell that boy needs a break.”

“I’ve told him as much,” Klavier said dryly. “We talk most days, you know. He’s just stubborn, won’t listen to anyone - least of all me.”

“If you talk most days, then he must listen to you to some degree, yes?” she pointed out, momentarily crossing the room so she could crack open a window. “How long has he been away now?”

“Almost seven months, I think,” Klavier replied, turning back to what he was doing. “Though we’ve been talking for...around three at this point. If it wasn’t for Trucy, I...I don’t think I would have ever tried. Even now, I feel like I take up too much of his time when he could be going to bed early or doing something more productive.”

“Ah, Klavier.” He looked back up to see his mother had returned to his side; her hand went to the top of his head, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Why is it so hard for you to understand when people care about you, hm? Aside from the screaming fans, I mean.”

“Mama,” Klavier complained, his cheeks heating with embarrassment. “Achtung, it’s nothing like that. All I’m saying is, we were never close to begin with. I’m sure he’d rather talk to Trucy or get his advice from Herr Wright.”

Frowning, she withdrew her hand from Klavier’s hair. “I don’t know what I would say to that man if I were to ever meet him. Where would I even begin?”

“I...ah…” Klavier busied himself with the collection of picture books he’d been rifling through earlier, smiling faintly at the sight of his name scrawled on the inside covers in barely legible chicken scratch. “...I have that same thought, and I see him all the time. I suppose an apology is in order, but...I don’t know if he would even want to hear it.”

“To think Kris ruined far more lives than just the ones he’d taken,” she whispered, slowly sinking down to sit beside him. “To think he’d taken any lives at all, I - ”

“Mama, bitte - ”

“What did we do, Klavier?” she said forlornly, her voice thick with emotion. “Where did we go wrong? What could we have - ”

“Mama, Mama, breathe,” Klavier murmured, rubbing her back soothingly. “It wasn’t your fault, ja? Not yours, not Papa’s. Just his, and...a little bit of mine.”

“Hardly,” she insisted. She then cupped his face in her hands, looking up at him with watery eyes and a bittersweet smile. “Don’t let anyone blame you for what he did, darling, especially not yourself. Promise?”

“Ich verspreche,” Klavier said obediently, tilting his chin down so she could kiss his forehead. She then released him with a satisfied nod, turning back the box she’d been working on earlier; in doing so, she missed the way Klavier’s face fell. He cleared his throat. “So...a crafting room, ja? What kind of projects did you have in mind?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, humming. “I want to try a few things - cross-stitching, beadwork, paper crafting...we’ll have to see what sticks. If any of them stick.”

“You’re not retired yet, Mama,” Klavier reminded her. “I’m exhausted just listening to you and Papa talk about what you’ve been up to - I don’t know how you do it.”

“You’re exhausted? I’m exhausted just listening to what you’ve been up to,” she teased. “You’re not the only prosecutor in the district, baby, so why do you work like you are? Go out, live a little. Or stay in, I suppose, whatever you prefer.”

“I like being busy,” Klavier said defensively. “And I enjoy my work, you know that.”

“I just wish you enjoyed more than just working, that’s all,” she said, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “You know what they say - don’t turn your hobbies into a career. But you went ahead and did that anyway, and now you don’t have any hobbies left!”

“I have plenty of hobbies, danke very much,” Klavier chuckled. “Cooking, working out...and I’m not exactly in the music business anymore, so I’d say that’s back to being a hobby, ja?”

“How about friends?” she suggested. “All I hear about is the people who work for you or the people who work with you.”

“That’s just how it goes,” Klavier said with a rueful grimace. “Making friends as an adult...it’s hard. But I mean it, mir geht's gut. You have nothing to worry about, not with me.”

“I know.” She squeezed his shoulder. “But I’m going to worry, anyway.” She then stood, smoothing out the front of her shirt. “We should probably get going with lunch before your papa gets home, yes? We’ll continue with this later.”

“Ja, Mama, natürlich,” Klavier replied, also getting to his feet. He cast one last lingering glance in the direction of the picture books - for it wasn’t just his messy, childish handwriting inside, but Kristoph’s neat cursive as well - before following her out into the hallway.

_____

Time, Klavier mused to himself every so often, never really made sense to him. He liked being on time, of course, he liked the precision of it, especially when it came to music. He was proud of his natural affinity for rhythm, for keeping time. It was why he excelled at piano and guitar lessons at an early age, why the numerous vocal coaches he’d had in his life found him particularly easy to work with. But it always caught him off-guard whenever things seemed to speed up or slow down or even come to a complete standstill whenever they pleased. Twenty-four years of his life, changed, when he learned about his brother’s true nature. Seven years of his band, gone, when his best friend turned out to be a criminal as well. And now, an entire year that felt like five, all because Apollo wasn’t here.

“You should just ask him out already,” Ema had said to him one evening, over drinks. “I know his name is misleading, but he’s just a person, not a god. What’re you so scared of?”

“I’m not fond of wasps or small spaces,” Klavier had drawled, smirking at Ema’s infuriated scowl as he took a sip of his beer. Still, he knew she had a point. As blunt as Apollo could be, Klavier doubted he would be cruel about turning someone down. It also didn’t help that these days, he was starting to get his hopes up, now that he and Apollo talked on a daily basis. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, aside from Trucy’s encouragement and his own impulses, but he couldn’t be more thrilled that it had.

“Two more months until I’m out of here...I think,” Apollo amended, yawning, his face filling up Klavier’s entire laptop screen. He looked good, Klavier though, even better than usual - during his time in Khura’in, Apollo had gotten more sun; his skin was a few shades darker, his freckles especially more prominent across the bridge of his nose. His hair was longer, too, mostly in the back, and his wardrobe had slowly evolved into an aesthetically pleasing mix of American street style and Khura’inese casualwear. Apollo had also mentioned a few times that he had built up some muscle, especially in his calves and shoulders, now that he had to walk everywhere and carry his fully-loaded bag wherever he went. Klavier tried not to think about how much he was looking forward to seeing it for himself in person.

“You’re sure now?” Klavier asked. “You’ve said that before.”

“Pretty sure,” Apollo said, chuckling. “Nahyuta even bought me a plane ticket, like he can’t wait for me to leave.”

“I’m sure he’ll miss you all the same,” Klavier replied. “And he’s used to flying back and forth, so I doubt you’ll be apart for long.”

“I think I’m gonna miss him, too,” Apollo admitted, tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie. It always gave Klavier a little thrill whenever he saw Apollo wearing it - after all, it was once his, having sent it to Apollo via a care package that Trucy had put together a while ago. Though their upper bodies were comparable in width, Apollo was significantly shorter, which meant the hoodie seemed to completely swallow him up. “It’s weird, looking back on it. How different we were when we were kids - like, both as people and as brothers - and yet...some things never changed. I don’t even know how to explain it, I just...I just know.”

“Something only the two of you can understand, I’m sure,” Klavier said diplomatically. He’d heard many stories about Apollo and Nahyuta’s childhood by now, sometimes accompanied by the occasional mention of Dhurke. Even now, he found it hard to picture; he wasn’t too familiar with Nahyuta, but the thought of him and Apollo chasing each other across mountainous hills or searching for frogs along the riverbanks seemed unlikely, yet it happened all the same. “You have a good relationship with him by now, I take it?”

“Definitely,” Apollo nodded. He then leaned in close to the camera, his voice dropping to an exaggerated whisper. “I’ve even grown on Rayfa, and though she'll never admit it, I think she kinda misses Mr. Wright.”

Klavier laughed. “Charmed her, have you? I’m not surprised. You can be...persuasive when you want to be.”

“You make me sound like a conman,” Apollo snorted, leaning back in his seat. “Give me a little credit, will you?”

“Ja, ja, fair enough,” Klavier said, holding his hands up in surrender. “After all, you did have a client ask you out once. Clearly, you have some natural appeal.”

“It’s happened twice, actually,” Apollo said, shuddering. “I don’t know what I did to make either of ‘em think I was remotely interested, but I shut them down fast.”

“You saved their lives,” Klavier pointed out. “It might be their...misguided way of showing their gratitude. Besides, you’re not half-bad. Some might even say you’re...attractive.”

“And the compliments just keep on rolling in.” Apollo got up from his seat, momentarily blocking the camera as he unplugged his laptop from its charger and carried it over to his bed. He sat cross-legged by his pillows, yawning and stretching luxuriously. “You really know how to make a guy feel special, Gavin.”

“If you’re fishing for praise, Forehead, you only have to ask,” Klavier teased. “Let’s see, should we talk about the impressive way that your voice cracks every so often when you shout, which is all the time? What about the fact that you only seem to own one tie in the most outlandish shade of blue I’ve ever seen? Or how, every single time, without fail, you always push on the courthouse entrance doors despite the fact that they’re clearly marked ‘pull’ - ”

“You are such a dick,” Apollo sighed, shaking his head.

“ - you managed to get food poisoning at two different events for the prosecutor’s office,” Klavier continued; if he wasn’t enjoying himself earlier, he certainly was now. “Ah, remember that time you ripped your pants at a crime scene? Good thing it was a thrift store, ja? But if you ask me, corduroy bell bottoms don’t quite suit you. You don’t have the height for flared hems.”

“...I think you’ve gone just a little off-track here,” Apollo drawled. “Take it back now, Gavin, you were s’posed to be saying nice stuff, remember? Like, tell me I’m good at my job or something.”

“You make the perfekt lawyer,” Klavier said in the most serious tone he could muster, biting his lip to stop himself from laughing. “After all, you just love to pick a fight.”

“Don’t think I won’t hang up on you,” Apollo said, yawning again as he half-flopped over onto his side, pillowing his hands beneath his cheek. For what felt like the thousandth time, Klavier found himself wishing he was in Khura’in, too.

“You say that every time, and you’ve never followed through,” Klavier reminded him. “Fine, you want a real compliment, Forehead?”

“That’s what I was asking for,” Apollo mumbled sleepily, his voice muffled.

“I think…” Klavier hesitated. “I think you might be one of my favorite people in the whole world.”

Apollo’s eyes flew open. “Huh? You...y-you really think so?”

“Would I be talking to you all the time if you weren’t?” Klavier chuckled. “How much free time do you think I have on my hands, hm?”

“Yeah, but - b-but still,” Apollo protested weakly. Klavier delighted in the way Apollo’s cheeks reddened, the way his nose scrunched up, the way his brows furrowed in an attempt to look irritated instead of embarrassed. “We only really became friends, like, uh...eight-ish months ago, so…”

“So nichts,” Klavier said derisively. “I say what I mean and I mean what I say, ja?”

Apollo shot him a drowsy smile. “Thanks, Gavin. It’s...actually kinda flattering.” He yawned yet again, curling up on top of his pillows. “Hey, I just remembered - you had your evaluation with Mr. Edgeworth just now, right? How’d that go, did you get three gold stars and an extra cookie to go with your juicebox like you wanted?”

“Call the prosecutor’s office a preschool just one time, all because Herr Debeste decided to bring Ritz crackers to the office potluck, and now you can’t let it go...and move on,” Klavier added, smirking; Apollo lifted a hand to flip him off. “It’s the usual with Herr Edgeworth, really - ‘excellent work, Prosecutor Gavin, nothing new to report’. Whenever I ask him if there’s anything more I can do, any way in which I can improve...I get nothing. It’s like he wants me out of his office as soon as possible.”

“I doubt it,” Apollo said quietly. “I know you keep saying over and over again that he blames you for what happened to Mr. Wright - but he doesn’t. Even if he did at one point, no one does anymore, alright? We know what happened, we know who it was, a-and it wasn’t you.” He propped himself up on his elbow, looking Klavier right in the eye. “Mr. Edgeworth doesn’t have suggestions for you ‘cos...you’re good at what you do. Somehow, you, Mister Euro-Rocker, are the most normal person at the prosecutor’s office. All anyone can accuse you of is, like, self-promotion, grandstanding, and wall slamming. Why do you do that, anyway?”

“I had a kickboxing phase,” Klavier said, laughing wetly. “That was surprisingly touching, Forehead, danke. Don’t we all aspire to be ‘the most normal person’ in any situation, achtung.”

“So you’re saying in some alternate universe, you would leg slam the prosecutor’s bench instead?” Apollo said dryly. “What would that even look like?”

“Gott if I know,” Klavier replied, continuing to laugh. “Anyway, should I let you go now? You look like you’re going to fall asleep at any second.”

“I’m fine.” Apollo slumped back down against his pillows, then let out an exaggerated exhale. “Though I wouldn’t, uh. I wouldn’t complain if you sang me to sleep, either.”

Klavier straightened up in his seat, surprised. “Again? I didn’t think you actually meant it last time, until it worked.”

“Your voice is, y’know...decent,” Apollo said, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards. “I have to listen to it for, like, two hours a day, after all. Going on and on about ‘ah, Herr Forehead, my bike didn’t start again’, or ‘I got a free drink at the courthouse café because the cute barista recognized me, can you believe it’ - oh, and we can’t forget the classic ‘you wouldn’t believe how terrible my hair looks today, I don’t know if I should turn my camera on’ - ”

“I take offense to that last one,” Klavier protested. “You’ve done the exact same thing to me! Remember when there was a thunderstorm - ”

“A Khura’inese thunderstorm, one of the worst the country’s ever seen, versus you having a, quote-unquote, ‘bad hair day’ ‘cos you woke up on the wrong side of the silk pillowcase. Very comparable,” Apollo drawled. “Go on, then, Gavin, give me a lullaby.”

Klavier steeled himself, taking a deep breath. Then, in the throatiest, most operatic voice he could muster, he began to sing. “Guten abend, gut nacht, mit rosen bedacht - ”

“Screw off, you - ” Apollo was doubled over, clutching at his stomach; the sound of his laugh, as cliché as it was, was music to Klavier’s ears. “Shit, I-I can’t even be mad at that one, that was on me. Okay, let’s not do a lullaby, just give me, like...something slow.”

Klavier hummed thoughtfully as he watched Apollo settle back down, drawing his duvet up over his shoulders. “Moon river, wider than a mile, I'm crossing you in style someday...dream maker, you heart breaker, wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way…” It didn’t take long for Apollo to fall asleep, his breath slowly evening out as he did. He looked peaceful in a way that he never did when he was awake. Smiling to himself, Klavier went to end the call. “Gute Nacht, liebe.”

_____

“For the love of everything, can you please stop bouncing your leg like that?”

“Ah - ” Klavier clamped his hand down onto his thigh, offering her a nervous smile. “My apologies, fräulein, I didn’t realize it was so cold in here. Does Herr Wright have a habit of leaving the air conditioning on? I didn’t think this office even had air conditioning, to be honest.”

Ema side-eyed him derisively; the effect was slightly ruined by the huge bouquet of roses she had sitting in her lap. They were practically tickling her chin. “...cold, right. That’s what’s going on, not the fact that we’re here to surprise Apollo on his way back from the airport.”

Klavier was very tempted to glare back. He liked to think he was an amiable person, but Ema challenged that notion every time they spoke. “Why did you decide to return early, anyway? Was Herr Sahdmadhi getting on your nerves?”

“Oh, please,” Ema snorted. “Sorry, Gavin, you’re still the problem child of the prosecutor’s office to me. No, I left early ‘cos...well, because I could. Besides, I missed this one over here.” She lightly elbowed the person on her other side, who giggled sweetly in response.

“Long-distance suuucks,” Kay agreed, dropping her head onto Ema’s shoulder and shooting her an affectionate grin. “Now that Em’s back for good, we can finally look into getting a place together!”

“Have you started yet?” Klavier asked, curious. “Because my area has a few - ”

“Um, I-I think a taxi just pulled up outside!” Klavier turned to squint through the darkness in the direction of the front window, where Juniper, Vera, and the Fey women were hidden, lifting their heads every so often to peek through the blinds. Thankfully, Vera seemed less nervous around him these days; he hated the thought of making her uncomfortable, especially when there was nothing he could do about it but wait. He’d tried approaching her on the rare occasions they were in the same room together, but more often than not, they both ended up tongue-tied. “I see Thena, and Apollo, and Trucy...oh, there’s Mr. Wright! I think Trucy made him tip the driver extra, heh.”

Klavier’s heart seemed to be in his throat as he, Ema, and Kay crouched down behind Apollo’s desk, while the others went to duck behind Phoenix’s and Athena’s desks as well. It had been so long, so long that he’d nearly forgotten some of the little things that just didn’t quite translate via phone call or video chat - how tall Apollo really was, how loud he could truly be; the way his nose scrunched up when he laughed, or how he absent-mindedly played with his bracelet more often than Klavier suspected he realized himself. He had to stop himself from letting out a hysterical laugh when he remembered how, the last time he saw Apollo in person, he’d flipped Klavier off. How appropriate, Klavier thought somewhat dazedly, shaking his head. And now -

“...huh, so I really did leave my jacket here. Guess it doesn’t matter since I never wore it, anyway. I’m more of a suit vest kinda guy, you know? So, what are we - ” The light flickered on. All at once, the agency seemed to explode with noise as everyone jumped out from behind the desks.

“SURPRISE!” Several party poppers, courtesy of Maya and Kay, went off simultaneously, which only added to the chaos.

“ - argh - what the - ?!”

“Wh-whoa, Polly, watch your head! You almost knocked over Mr. Charley!”

“Forget Charley, I-I almost twisted my ankle just now, shit - ” Apollo managed to find his footing again, half-leaning against the back of the couch to keep himself propped up while he caught his breath, his hand clasped over his presumably racing heart. Klavier could only stare at him, dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open. Ema was side-eyeing him again, but by now, he really didn’t care.

Of course, Klavier had known for a few weeks now that today was the day, but to see Apollo standing - well, somewhat collapsing - in front of him was something else entirely. Clearly, Apollo’s laptop webcam and spotty internet connection hadn’t done him justice, not the healthy glow of his skin, nor the shine of his hair. He was wearing a Khura’inese tunic and joggers with both the sleeves and pant hems rolled up, revealing just how muscular he’d become. However, what intrigued Klavier most of all was the familiar-looking hoodie in Apollo’s arms.

“Hey, stranger,” Ema said, lightly punching Apollo in the shoulder, then unceremoniously shoving the bouquet of roses into his arms despite the fact he was still holding the handle of his rolling luggage bag. He nearly dropped it on his own foot in an attempt to grab the flowers in time. “It’s weird, right? I’m still getting used to, like, mega-grocery stores and smog all over again.”

“Considering I’ve only been inside an airport, a taxi, and the agency so far, I can’t say I’ve had time to adjust, no,” Apollo said dryly. He then frowned. “Er, Ms. Fey, a-are you filming all this?”

Maya grinned almost manically over the top of her phone. “Yup! Blame Trucy and Athena - they wanted to get your reaction on camera, and ooh, you did not disappoint.”

Apollo deflated even further. “...glad I could entertain you all.” He then straightened up, approaching Juniper and Vera first to chat with them amicably while the others fell back to talk amongst themselves. Trucy sidled up next to Klavier with the brightest grin she’d had in months.

“I still can’t believe he’s finally here,” Trucy admitted. “It was starting to feel like he was never coming back, you know?”

“He looks...surprisingly refreshed for someone who’s been sitting on a plane for Gott knows how long,” Klavier chuckled, smoothing out the creases in the front of his shirt. He then shot Trucy a soft smile. “You must be thrilled.”

“Ecstatic!” Trucy chirped, nodding enthusiastically. “There are some tricks Athena just refuses to help with, but I bet Apollo wouldn’t mind if I volunteered him for the job!”

“That’s not the only reason you missed him and you know it,” Klavier said gently.

Trucy’s cheeks reddened; she shot him a sheepish smile. “...I-I may have cried at the airport. It was a total mess, ‘cos me and Athena were crying, and then Apollo started crying, and there was tears and snot everywhere, a-and Daddy got it all on tape, too. He said it was like we were trying to set the record for world’s longest hug!”

“That’s very sweet, fräulein,” Klavier murmured. “I’m sure it was quite the scene.”

“What was quite the scene?” They startled at the sound of a new voice, turning to see Apollo standing before them. The first thing Klavier couldn’t help but think, stupidly enough, was that Apollo looked taller somehow - he seemed to be holding his head higher, his chest prouder, though it also helped that he was wearing a heavy pair of brown leather boots with a thick sole. Klavier’s heart thumped pathetically in his chest at the sight of Apollo’s warm, curious eyes, now fixed on his face in confusion.

“Your reunion, or so I hear,” Klavier said smoothly, taking a few steps closer. His eyes flickered down to Apollo’s arms, half-folded in front of his torso; he was still holding onto the hoodie. “And I see I’ve done a good job of keeping you warm while you were away, Herr Forehead.” He sensed Trucy, Ema, and Kay exchanging bewildered glances behind him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I got some pretty nice handmade blankets in Khura’in,” Apollo chuckled, lifting a hand to run his fingers through his unstyled hair. Klavier was more used to seeing it without gel than with it at this point, given how most of their video calls had taken place during Apollo’s evenings. “But, uh...thanks. You sure you don’t want it back?”

“Ah, nein, it’s all yours now,” Klavier replied. “But if you’re in need of more clothes that aren’t from the children’s section, I’d be more than happy to provide.”

Apollo snorted, shaking his head. “You’re such a dick.” Then, to just about everyone’s surprise, he took the last few steps to close the gap between them and wrapped his arms around Klavier, burying his face against Klavier’s shoulder with a contented sigh. “...it’s good to see you, Gavin.”

Klavier stood still for a moment, stunned, before returning the hug, holding him tighter than either of them expected, resting his chin on top of Apollo’s head. He smelled faintly of fruit and dirt and sweat, though Klavier didn’t mind one bit. “Ich habe dich vermisst,” he mumbled into Apollo’s hair, letting out a relieved exhale. “I’m glad you’re back.”

A little over an hour later, their rather large group of people - made even larger with the addition of Edgeworth and Simon, who had been held up in a work incident that, from the sound of it, was entirely Payne’s fault - found themselves at an all-you-can-eat sushi restaurant, arguing over whether to order more salmon or more unagi while they drank beer, or in Trucy and Pearl’s case, soda. Their table was crowded, to be sure, and it was definitely the loudest in the entire restaurant, but with Edgeworth footing the bill, insisting no expense be spared, their servers didn’t seem to mind too much.

“God, you’re obvious.” Klavier turned to see Ema pointing her chopsticks at him rather threateningly. “Y’know, if you wanted to sit with Apollo, you should’ve just said so instead of sitting here and staring at him like a pining Austen heroine.”

“You really should be careful with those,” Klavier commented, gently pushing her hand away. “And it’s fine, he obviously wants to sit with Trucy and Athena. We have time to chat later, ja?”

Sighing, Ema turned back to her plate, stuffing a piece of tamago into her mouth in the most irritated manner Klavier had ever seen someone eat. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering,” she said, taking a generous gulp of her beer. “Look, Gavin, I - you know I was there, on the other end of things. I saw how...how happy he looked after your phone calls, whenever you sent him a text...all I’m saying is, sitting around and doing nothing like you did before? You really think that’s gonna work?”

“The last thing he needs is for me to bother him while he’s still settling in,” Klavier said diplomatically. “Like I said, we’ll have time to talk...later. Let him breathe, bitte. He literally just got here.”

Ema’s mouth twisted. “I really don’t get you sometimes.” She seemed to be talking more to herself than to Klavier now. “Like, I’m trying to imagine some world in which I don’t tell Kay how I feel about her, and...I can’t do it. It’s physically, emotionally, scientifically impossible. My entire life would be different, you know?”

“With you and Kay, you knew the feeling was mutual from the start, ja?” Klavier glanced across the table, where Apollo was cracking up over some joke Athena had just told. “As for me...I still can’t be sure. Even with what you just said, it’s no guarantee. And I think, for the time being, we’re...we’re glücklich this way. We’re friends. Close friends, even.”

“He talked to you more than everyone else combined,” Ema reminded him. “I only managed to talk to Kay maybe twice a week if we were lucky.” Kay leaned around Ema to nod affirmatively in Klavier’s direction, a stray udon noodle hanging from her mouth. “But whatever, I’m really only telling you for Apollo’s sake. If this was just about you, I guarantee I wouldn’t care.”

“Sure, fräulein, whatever you say,” Klavier chuckled. “So, you were saying something earlier about apartments - ”

“Hey, Gavin.” Once again, Klavier nearly gave himself whiplash at the sound of Apollo’s voice; he wasn’t sure when Apollo had gotten out of his seat and come to their side of the table, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. “Sorry to interrupt, it’s just - can I talk to you for a sec? Outside, maybe?”

“Er - ja, sure.” Klavier shot Ema an apologetic smile, though she’d already gone back to stealing pieces of ginger off of Kay’s plate. He then followed Apollo through the restaurant and out the front door, the two of them coming to a stop on the sidewalk. “What’s this all about, then?”

“Nothing, I just - I needed some air,” Apollo admitted, taking a generous deep breath. “Don’t get me wrong, I-I’m glad to see everyone again, but it’s a little...crowded back there. And loud.”

“Very true,” Klavier agreed, leaning against the exterior wall. “So...I’m surprised you’re still standing. Aren’t you exhausted?”

“Ridiculously so,” Apollo chuckled. “I’m sure I’ll crash in like, a few hours. Mr. Wright’s couch could be a literal rock, and I’ll still be out cold for the next...I dunno, week? Month?”

“You mentioned something about getting an apartment in your old building, ja?” Klavier mused. “When’s that happening?”

“I move in next week...if I’m awake by then, that is,” Apollo added dryly. He then smirked. “You offering to help, Gavin?”

Klavier leaned in close, his own teasing smile playing on his lips. “If you want me, just let me know, Herr Forehead.” He couldn’t help but feel a little thrill go through him when Apollo’s pupils darkened considerably in response.

“I’ll, uh...I’ll keep that in mind,” Apollo replied, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. Klavier found himself momentarily distracted by the motion. “Hey, uh - what were you and Ema talking about before I cut in?”

Klavier paused for a little longer than he would've liked. “I...was asking her about her plans to find a new place with Kay. To be honest, I’m surprised it’s only happening now. They’ve been together for years, after all.”

“True, but...if it works for them, I guess,” Apollo shrugged. “Did you guys ever get around to playing laser tag?”

Klavier blinked. “Entschuldigung?”

“Before we left, remember?” Apollo said, biting back a laugh. “Ema told me to ask you if you wanted to do drinks or laser tag, so did you and Kay...y’know, hang out without us? Or have you been waiting for us to get back?”

“Ah, that,” Klavier said, laughing as well. “Nein, we never did get around to it, though we’ve had the occasional drink together. Remember that story I told you a few months ago, the one where she - ”

“ - where she got kicked out of the bar ‘cos she accidentally gave them a fake ID she’d been holding onto as evidence, yeah,” Apollo snorted, shaking his head. “Sounds like something that could literally happen to any of us.” He straightened up, taking a couple of steps back so he could clear his throat. “Anyway, we should hang out after I recover from my inevitable jetlag. Like, the four of us, I mean.”

“Er - right, ja, the four of us,” Klavier nodded, faltering slightly. Apollo looked at him questioningly but didn’t say anything, instead turning his gaze towards the street for a moment, watching the cars and the occasional motorcycle go by. Klavier supposed he was still getting used to all the noise again, or rather, the different kinds of noise. He’d heard the evening sounds of Khura’in through the phone many times, especially when Apollo went for a late-night walk and “brought” Klavier with him for company. It had been relatively peaceful, serene, in a way that California was decidedly not. “Apollo, I...do you want to…maybe we could...”

“Yeah?” Apollo looked up at him, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Klavier coughed. “...never mind. Maybe another time, when you’re not so tired, ja?”

“Oh.” Apollo frowned slightly. “Uh, sure.” He then brightened, gently nudging Klavier’s arm. “Hey, but maybe we can make a thing out of my move-in day, make it a casual housewarming hangout or whatever. You interested?”

“Always,” Klavier said softly, nudging him back. Grinning, Apollo wordlessly beckoned for Klavier to follow him back inside, back to their table. He didn’t need to glance in Ema’s direction to know she looked as disappointed in him as he felt.

_____

“Ach, Klavier. You’re pouting more than your cousin Ingrid, and she’s barely seven years old.”

Klavier looked up from his glass to shoot his father an apologetic grimace. “Sorry, Papa. It’s just - the timing is unfortunate, you know? Er, not that I don’t want to be here. Anja and her new bride look wunderschön, and it’s been so long since we’ve had a wedding in the family - ”

“Now you sound like your Uncle Oskar,” his father chuckled, clapping Klavier good-naturedly on the shoulder. The two of them were standing in what looked and felt like a fairytale, in a sea of blossoming flowers and sparkling lights on a beautiful, crisp Saturday morning. In the distance, Klavier could see his cousin - or was she a second cousin, or a cousin once removed, he could never remember - and her wife posing for their wedding photographer by the park gazebo, while everyone else not-so-patiently waited to be called over for group photographs. All of the younger ones were especially moody, especially the aforementioned Ingrid, who had fallen and scraped her knee mere minutes before the ceremony. The poor girl had refused to let anyone put a bandaid on her, electing to sulk in silent solitude on a park bench instead. “I know you wanted to be with your friends today, but...there will be other days, yes?”

“Ja, ja, ich weiß,” Klavier replied. “Today is Apollo’s little housewarming get-together, it would've been nice to be there. But still, I wouldn’t miss Anja’s wedding for the world.” He then swallowed, glancing down at his feet. “That is, that’s how I felt before we got here. But achtung, now I feel like a caged animal. After all this time, do they really think - ”

“Not one person here thinks you’re going the same way,” his father interjected sharply, his eyes fierce behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “You’re not him. You’re not. But their stares...unfortunately, I don’t think it can be helped.”

“The questions were so simple before,” Klavier muttered. “Remember when I came back for a couple of weeks, between legs of the Gavinners’ European tour, for cousin Leo’s wedding? All anyone wanted to know was - ‘ah, Klavier, how is your band doing? Are you still a prosecutor? When are you getting married?’. And now it’s - it’s ‘what’s going to happen to him now?’ and ‘what exactly is this dark age of the law everyone’s been talking about?’ and ‘did you know the whole time?’. It’s endless, ach.”

“Klavier - ”

“I didn’t ask for my life to revolve around his, okay?” Klavier managed to stop himself before he could shout; instead, his voice came out as a harsh whisper. Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice, carrying on with their conversations while they waited for the newlyweds to call on them. “So if people are going to continue to talk, to stare, then I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to see it. If I can’t have a normal conversation with my family members that aren’t you or Mama, then…” He shook his head; his hand was trembling, his champagne sloshing over the edge of his flute.

Sighing, his father squeezed Klavier’s shoulder a little firmer now. “...I can tell them you have a migraine if you’d like. Or how about a stomach bug? Though maybe a work emergency would sound a little more...dignified.”

Klavier let out a watery chuckle, clasping his hand over his father’s. “Danke, Papa, I appreciate it, but it’s fine. This is Anja’s day, not a day for me to whine and fuss. I can grin and bear it for her, ich verspreche. And I apologize for my...outburst.” His father shot him a sympathetic smile, then turned back to watch the happy couple while they waited for Klavier’s mother to return from the bathroom.

It was nearly two in the morning by the time Klavier collapsed face-first onto his bed, only to sit up in a panic for a moment, thinking he’d just smeared a full face of makeup onto his freshly-washed silk pillowcases, before remembering he’d managed to trudge his way through his skincare routine just moments ago. With a weary groan, he grabbed his phone and sent a quick text message; mere seconds later, his phone began to ring.

“Forehead? I didn’t actually expect you to be up.”

“Mik’s being a literal scaredy-cat about living in a new place, so I’m probably not gonna be able to sleep anytime soon,” Apollo said with a weary sigh. “So, how was the rest of the wedding? All the photos you sent looked incredible!”

“What can I say? Gavins have good taste,” Klavier replied, chuckling. He rolled onto his back, staring up at his ceiling. “It was...perfekt, the epitome of classic fairytale romance, really. The kind of wedding you see in children’s books, you know?”

“Sure.” Apollo’s voice was warm in Klavier’s ear. “Hey - you, uh, you okay? You sound...off.”

“Ja, ja, I’m just tired,” Klavier said, frowning slightly at his outstretched hand. Despite getting them done yesterday, his nails were already starting to chip. “How long did everyone end up staying for?”

“They left a little before midnight,” Apollo replied, yawning. “Trucy has a matinee show tomorrow - or today, I guess - or else she probably would’ve insisted on sleeping over. Would’ve been kinda nice, actually, i-it’s always a little weird being alone in a new place for the first time. Though I guess this makes up for it.”

“What makes up for it?” Klavier asked, confused.

Apollo snorted. “This phone call, you dork. It’s like last year all over again, except we’re finally in the same time zone now.”

“Ah - right,” Klavier said, letting out an awkward laugh. “Ja, this is nice, though...I assume we’re not making this a habit again, are we?”

“Nah, definitely not. But, y’know, every now and then for old time’s sake? I wouldn’t, uh, I wouldn’t mind it.” Klavier shivered. Apollo’s voice had dropped to a low murmur; it almost sounded as if he were in the room with him. Klavier remembered Apollo making a snarky comment or two whenever he caught a glimpse of Klavier’s apartment during their video calls, leaving him to wonder whether Apollo would ever want to see it for himself. “So, you wanna do something next week? I’m still on co-counsel duty until I’m ready to take my own cases again, so my schedule’s not too hectic.”

“What did you have in mind?” Klavier hummed.

“I’m up for whatever - er, within reason,” Apollo added. “It could, well. It could even be just you and me, if you want.”

Klavier’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. “...I think I’d like that, ja. Drinks, maybe? Friday?”

“Yeah, uh - ” Apollo cleared his throat. “ - yeah, sounds good. Text me the time and place whenever, okay? Though I guess we’re probably gonna see each other before then, so.”

“Definitely,” Klavier said quietly, sucking in a breath to stop himself from making a potentially embarrassing noise - a squeak of joy, maybe, or a nervous laugh; either one would be terrible. “Should I let you go, then? We didn’t usually talk this late, even when you were on the other side of the world.”

“Very true,” Apollo said, punctuating Klavier’s point by yawning again. “I think Mik’s finally settled down, anyway.” Then, he seemed to hesitate. “...you sure you’re good, Gavin?”

“Mir geht's gut,” Klavier promised. This time, it felt more like the truth. Though his quiet anger from earlier hadn’t quite dissipated, he was calmer now, more at ease. “Family events just take a lot out of me, that’s all. Inevitable, given how big my extended family is.”

Apollo fell silent for a moment. “Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I, uh...I wouldn’t know.”

“I think it depends on the family,” Klavier admitted. This time, both of them went quiet, contemplating Klavier’s sentiment. “...anyway, let’s not carry on and ruin our sleep schedules, ja? Gute Nacht, Forehead.”

“G’night, Gavin,” Apollo said softly. “Talk to you tomorrow.” Despite the usual raspy quality of Apollo’s voice, not to mention how sharp it could get, Klavier found it immensely comforting at times, its warmth like a thick blanket - or, more accurately, an oversized hoodie. Mere minutes after they hung up, Klavier drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

_____

Friday, it seemed, was not meant to be. Much to Klavier’s quiet disappointment - though obviously, he understood, given the circumstances - Apollo had to cancel their plans after getting some truly life-changing news.

“I-I don’t even know where to begin,” Apollo had stammered on the phone, sounding as if he were on the verge of tears. “I - she’s my - a-and her eyes - sh-she came to see us, me a-and - ”

“Slow down, Apollo, slow down,” Klavier had said gently. “What’s going on? What happened?”

Apollo had taken a big, shuddering inhale. Then, he spoke again. “...Trucy is my little sister...a-and Lamiroir is...she’s...she’s...she’s Thalassa Gramarye. Our mother.”

The news traveled quickly throughout their social circle; naturally, it was Trucy who told everyone else, while Apollo still seemed to be reeling in shock. No one seemed to know what to say, not with everything they knew about the twists and turns and tragedies of their respective family histories. A week passed, then another, and another, as the two Gramarye siblings took some time off to reunite with their mother. Klavier dropped by the Wright Anything Agency every so often, hoping to see how they were doing, only to find just Phoenix and Athena there.

“Apollo almost punched me...again,” Phoenix had said quietly. If it wasn't for the seriousness of his expression, Klavier would've asked about the first time. “It’s because I knew. I knew a long time ago. And Trucy, she can’t seem to decide whether she’s upset with me or not. Can’t say I blame her, though Thalassa and I had our reasons.”

“I’m sure you did, Herr Wright,” Klavier had replied sincerely, though he didn’t push further. After all, it wasn’t his family drama this time, and as far as he was concerned, knowing what their reasons were wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Phoenix had then paused. “She told me she talked to you, by the way. Trucy, that is.” He let out a hollow laugh. “Even when she didn’t know, it was like...like she already knew. But I shouldn’t be surprised, not with her. Never with her.” Clearing his throat, he shot Klavier a gentle, genuine smile. “Thanks for being there for her, Prosecutor Gavin. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Klavier had promised. “Herr Wright, before I go, I really should say something - ”

“If you’re about to do what I think you’re about to do...there’s no need,” Phoenix had interrupted, though not unkindly. “I’ve said it a few times, but I’ll say it again. Let’s put the past behind us, alright?”

Klavier had been taken aback. “...if you’re sure, then...ja, I hear you.”

Almost four weeks after Thalassa returned to her children’s lives, Klavier finally saw Apollo again, during a brief one-day trial. Once Apollo got his client acquitted, the two of them took a moment to sit on the courthouse steps together in stilted silence. “How is she?” Klavier asked. “How are you?”

“She’s…” Apollo sucked his breath in between his teeth. “...she’s still figuring things out. Remembering stuff. Trying to, uh...trying to learn how to be a mom to two adult children who...who grew up without her. And I dunno if it’s harder for me, o-or for Trucy, because I accepted my whole life that...that my mom just wasn’t around. But Trucy lost her. She knew her, loved her, lost her...and now she’s back. Not that it’s a competition, it’s just…” He managed to give Klavier a small smile. “We’ll be fine. It’s just weird and confusing a-and...but we’re fine. Sorry I’ve been so - ”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Klavier said, gently nudging him. “So, are you going to see her again today?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna drop by for dinner tonight,” Apollo replied. “We’ll hang out again soon, I swear.”

“Don’t worry about me, Forehead. Take care of yourself first, ja?” Klavier chuckled, patting Apollo’s knee. “Anyway, I should get going before the paparazzi catch wind of me. Auf Wiedersehen, baby. Have a good time tonight.” As he was leaving, he took a moment to watch Apollo walk over to the courthouse bike rack to join Trucy, who was patiently waiting for him. The moment she spotted him, she flung her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug, as if they’d been apart for years and not mere minutes.

The days continued to go by without them seeing much of each other, though they did continue to text on a regular basis, even having the occasional late-night phone call or two. Klavier also managed to chat with Trucy when he dropped by the agency one afternoon in the hopes that she would be there.

“I’m okay,” Trucy had told him. “We’re still getting used to it, but it’s definitely one of the best surprises I’ve ever had! I’ve been saying this whole time that Polly’s like a little big brother to me, and now…”

“And now it’s true,” Klavier had remarked, laughing. “I’m happy for all of you, fräulein, truly. And thinking back...what a strange family reunion. All because I invited her to perform with the Gavinners. Er, not to make this about me, of course.”

“Of course,” Trucy had echoed, giggling as well. “You would never do that.”

Klavier had rolled his eyes good-naturedly, which only served to make her laugh even harder. His expression then sobered. “Have you told either of them about...what you told me and Herr Wright?”

“Huh?...o-oh. That.” Trucy had fiddled with the ends of her cape, eyes fixated on the toes of her boots. “No, n-not yet. It’s too early. We only just discovered the truth, why would I ruin that with my silly problems?”

“They’re not silly at all,” Klavier had reassured her. “They’re...I know a little something about family legacy. Carrying a name that belongs to someone else. Talk to them about it when the time is right, ja?”

“I know, I know,” Trucy had mumbled, her voice small. She then perked up, plastering on a false smile that Klavier was all too familiar with. “You should join us someday, Prosecutor Gavin! I’m sure she’d like to see you again, and Polly’s been dying to spend more time with you.”

Klavier felt warm. “Really? Did he say that?”

“Well, not in so many words,” Trucy had said sheepishly. “But we’ve been so busy with Mom lately that neither of us has really had time to hang out with people other than Daddy and Athena, y’know? So...maybe we could do another group dinner or something.”

And so, a little over a month and a half after their canceled plans, Trucy managed to get a smaller group of people together - her, Apollo, Athena, Klavier, Simon, Pearl, Juniper, Ema, and Kay, to be exact - for a rather chaotic visit to their nearest night market. Considering how narrow the pathways were, how packed the food stalls could be, it was hard for them to move as a collective through the crowds.

“We might have an easier time if we split up,” Apollo suggested. “And, uh, as a bonus, people would stop glaring at us for holding up literally every line.” And so, everyone divided themselves into pairs - or a trio, in Athena, Simon, and Juniper’s case - and went on their way.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go with Trucy?” Klavier asked once he and Apollo were in line for freshly-made takoyaki.

“Listen, and I say this with love, but I’ve been looking forward to hanging out with someone who isn’t Trucy for once,” Apollo said, chuckling. “Besides, we never got around to getting drinks. So let me pay for, like, a milk tea or something.”

“That’s hardly necessary, but danke,” Klavier said, smiling easily. “So, has it finally sunk in yet? Your newfound big brother status, that is.”

“Thankfully, not that kind of big brother,” Apollo said dryly. “Honestly, it hasn’t been that different. Me and Trucy have always looked out for each other, and...I dunno. We got attached pretty quickly, almost like we, uh...like we knew somehow. Like everything about our relationship made even more sense than before.” He then let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Never mind, that probably sounds really stupid - ”

“Nein, not at all,” Klavier murmured sympathetically.

“I don’t believe in fate or whatever, but...I couldn’t ask for a better sister,” Apollo admitted, his expression softening. “Though to be fair, I can ask said sister to stop dragging me on stage with her. I almost lost my eyebrows more than once, and once is already one time too many!”

“You did say better, not perfect,” Klavier teased, laughing. “So, what do you want to do tonight? Are we just stuffing our faces, or did you want to walk around? That bouncy castle looks sehr interessant.”

“Yeah, sure, if we wanna get kicked out,” Apollo snorted. “And I’m not sure yet, I was just gonna go with whatever everyone else wanted. When I used to come here all the time with...with…” His face fell. “Um. You know. He was so eager to try everything, I-I just let him drag me around. Literally.” Klavier looked away for a moment, unsure of what to say. Apollo then tugged on his sleeve so he would turn back, a small smile on his face. “Hey, c’mon. I’m the one who made it weird, don’t you make it weird, too.”

Klavier chuckled, placing his hand over Apollo’s and squeezing. “Why don’t you lead for a change? I mean it, Forehead, what do you want to do tonight?”

“Honestly? I just wanna eat and drink and laugh at the terrible knock-off merchandise with, uh. With you.” Apollo awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. Before Klavier could respond, they’d reached the front of the line; Apollo turned to the merchant with a polite smile. “Hi, can we get one order of takoyaki, please? And can we get the sauces on the side?”

“Sure, that’ll be seven dollars,” the merchant replied. “Is this just for you, or are you sharing with your boyfriend?”

Apollo blinked. “Er, s-sorry?”

“I need to know how many toothpicks to give you,” the merchant said, shooting Apollo a strange look.

“I, uh…” Apollo cleared his throat. Klavier looked at him curiously, unsure if Apollo’s reaction was promising or worrying. “Yeah, we’re sharing.”

Once they received their order, they went to stand a little ways away from the crowd to eat and people-watch in companionable silence. Klavier stole the occasional glance in Apollo’s direction every so often, admiring how good he looked in a bucket hat, denim cutoffs, and of course, the hoodie he’d given him. Other than his signature red suit vest, it seemed to be the item of clothing he wore the most these days. Klavier wondered if it still smelled of his cologne, the cologne that Apollo claimed to hate.

“Gavin?” Apollo raised an eyebrow at him. “Can I, um...can I help you?”

“Ah - entschuldigung, I didn’t mean to stare,” Klavier said, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It just surprises me whenever you wear that, you know? Surely, you have other hoodies.”

“I’ve just gotten used to it, I guess,” Apollo shrugged. “And it’s weird, ‘cos it’s yours, but now I mostly associate it with Khura’in. Like, whenever I went for walks before or after work, this was usually the first thing I grabbed, even when it was too warm for me to wear. Something to hold onto, I s’pose.” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Hey - new idea!”

Klavier chuckled at his sudden enthusiasm. “Oh? What’s that?”

“Over there,” Apollo said, gesturing towards the river running alongside the night market. Other market patrons were there as well, eating, talking, and admiring the city skyline. “It’s definitely no Khura’inese scenery, but we could also grab some food and go for a walk, get away from the main crowd and all that.”

“I’d like that,” Klavier replied, popping the last piece of takoyaki into his mouth. “What should we get next, then?”

After much deliberation, the two of them settled on milk tea and crepes, then began walking alongside the river, chatting amicably about nothing in particular while occasionally spotting their friends in the distance. They saw Trucy and Pearl sharing a giant bowl of shaved ice, Ema and Kay marveling at all of the bags for sale - Ema had once mentioned she needed a new one to fit her entire forensics kit - while Athena and Simon were, for some reason, arm-wrestling. Juniper was supervising them with a hint of apprehension in her eyes; Athena appeared to be winning.

As they passed by people going in the opposite direction, Klavier lowered the brim of his cap over his eyes. He felt somewhat nervous, even paranoid, every single time someone looked at him for a little too long. “Not too interested in signing autographs or taking selfies, huh?” Apollo teased when it happened for the fifth time in under twenty minutes. “Nah, I get it. I’m sure it gets pretty exhausting after a while.”

“It’s...it’s not fans I’m worried about,” Klavier confessed, ducking his head once more. “It’s...the opposite, really.”

“Huh?” Apollo’s eyes then widened. “Oh, you mean...o-oh. Has that been happening a lot lately, or…?”

“Just...more than it should,” Klavier said quietly, so quietly that Apollo almost couldn’t hear him over the noise of the night market. “Anyway, I’d rather not get into it. Tell me more about your mother, you said the other day that her memories were coming back to her, ja?”

Apollo eyed him worriedly, but decided not to comment. “Yeah, yeah, uh - mostly stuff about Trucy, and Trucy’s dad, and her time with the troupe. Not so much the before, the me and...and my dad part. It was...I tried asking her, y’know, basic stuff about him. Like what his voice sounded like, what kind of person he was...but it’s all bits and pieces for her. Little tiny things, not significant details. She remembered that he didn’t like spinach and he had a pair of lucky socks, but she wasn’t sure if my voice sounded anything like his, or how they picked my name, or what their first date was. Stuff like that.” He visibly swallowed.

“I’m sure that must have been frustrating for both of you,” Klavier said, humming in sympathy.

“I don’t know what to feel sometimes.” An odd look crossed Apollo’s face then, like he wasn’t sure where his words had come from, but he seemed determined to keep going. “Obviously, I-I’m happy to have her in my life, and to see her doing so well after what she went through, but...it’s not like I had this...this attachment to my dad that she did. And sure, I wanna know more about him, but sometimes, i-it feels like I’m doing it more for her than for me. But that makes me sound like a shitty person, like I-I don’t care about him. Like he doesn’t mean anything to me.”

Klavier went silent for a moment, thinking. It was hard to concentrate when he could hear Apollo’s breath growing increasingly erratic; he so desperately wanted to wrap him up in a hug, though he wasn’t sure if Apollo would want him to. “If you ask me, you sound like a good person who cares about his mother,” he finally said after some time. “And even if your biological father isn’t as important to you as he was to her, he still means something to you. You know that.”

“Do I?” Apollo chuckled wetly, wiping his damp eyes with the sleeve hem of his hoodie. “And Trucy - god, Trucy, sh-she’s…”

“What about her?” Klavier asked, frowning.

“It’s not like either of us likes to think about it, but…” Apollo chewed his bottom lip. “If something happened to Mom, then...well. It’s not like it’s new to us...losing people. When do I get to the point where I can accept it? Where I know...I-I can’t do anything to stop it?” He let out another horrible laugh. “Shit, that sounded so heartless. Th-that’s not what I meant, I - ”

“I know what you meant,” Klavier promised somewhat sadly. “Have you talked to her about it? Or...either of them, really.”

“No, but it...it’s why Trucy wants us to hang out practically every day.” Apollo stopped for a moment, turning to watch Trucy, who was currently shoveling huge spoonfuls of shaved ice and red bean into her mouth, with a fond smile. “She won’t say it, but I-I know her. I can tell what she’s thinking. Even before we found out we were siblings, she seemed...kinda worried that I was gonna leave again. Or that I wasn’t gonna come back in the first place, even when I said I would.”

“Maybe it’s time you have that conversation,” Klavier suggested. “It won’t be a pleasant conversation, but it seems...necessary, ja?”

Apollo exhaled shakily. “Yeah, I know, I know. It’s just...there’s always something. A trial o-or a show or whatever. But, uh, honestly? I just don’t like thinking about it. Like, ever.”

“I don’t blame you,” Klavier admitted, rubbing Apollo’s arm reassuringly. “I wouldn’t want to open myself up to that kind of personal scrutiny, either.” He paused. “I...gave Trucy some similar advice a while back, you know. Advice that I should’ve taken myself, should still be taking myself, but...it’s like they say. Easier said than done.”

“Easier said than done,” Apollo echoed in agreement, sighing.

Another minute or two passed in silence, accompanied by the noisy chatter and whistling winds around them. Apollo seemed to be thinking intensely about something, but with everything they’d talked about, not just now, but over the past year, Klavier couldn’t even begin to guess what it was. Then, he lifted his head to look Klavier right in the eye. “Why did you call me in Khura’in, that first time?”

Klavier’s heart skipped a beat. “...why does it matter?”

“Because...because you’re one of my favorite people, too.” Apollo’s cheeks reddened, though he was clearly trying his best to ignore it. “And I - I wanna know if something happened that day. If...something happened to you.”

“Nothing happened to me,” Klavier said smoothly, trying not to let his dizzying joy at Apollo’s words show. “Trucy suggested I call you sometime, that’s all. Simple as that.”

Apollo’s right hand instantly went to his left wrist. “But that’s not all there is to it, is it?”

“Is this a cross-examination now?” Klavier asked, letting out an uneasy laugh. He turned on his heel and continued to walk. “You’re going to find my tell, are you? My nervous habit? It’s a nice night, Forehead, let’s not spoil it.”

“I just wanna understand you, Klavier.” Klavier stopped dead in his tracks; he could feel Apollo’s eyes on his back. “Look, if it’s such a big secret, or if you just don’t wanna tell me, I-I’ll shut up about it already. But I just - I worry about you sometimes. You’re always so...so calm. And helpful, a-and sweet, and...I get what it’s like to put on a brave face. To pretend that everything’s the way it should be. That’s all I’m saying. So if it really was nothing, then I’ll drop it, okay? I’ll let it go, and move - ”

“I was sitting in my childhood bedroom.” Now he felt lightheaded for a different reason; Klavier dropped his gaze, his body swaying despite the fact he was standing perfectly still. Apollo quickly stepped around him so they were face-to-face, tucking his empty cup under his arm so he could hold Klavier’s shoulders, his still-wet eyes shining with concern. “I was sitting on my bed, staring at the wall, and suddenly, I-I wanted to talk to the one person in the entire world who - who doesn’t want something from me. Who doesn’t want to ask for my autograph, or my connections, or my help, or...or about Kristoph. Who just wants to talk to me for - for - for me.” Before he could stop himself, his eyes were suddenly filling with tears. Klavier clapped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out.

Apollo let out a stifled noise. “Ah - Klavier!”

“Mama, a-and Papa, I - they say they can’t - that it - b-but they still mourn him l-like he’s already - already gone,” Klavier managed to say between short, gasping breaths, his heartbeat pounding alarmingly fast in his ears. He desperately clutched at his chest, but he was unable to find his grip. The ground, his surroundings, they all seemed to be spinning around him. “And I-I want to say - ‘I’m still here, y-you have me’ - and they know, but th-they - ”

“Breathe, Klavier, breathe,” Apollo urged. “Look at me, watch me, okay? In...out...in...”

Klavier dropped his cup entirely, desperately clinging onto Apollo’s shoulders, anticipating that his knees were about to give out beneath him. He swallowed a few generous lungfuls of air, trying not to cough or exhale directly in Apollo’s face, all while his eyes were fixated on Apollo’s - large, round, expressive to a fault. The color of melted chocolate, usually, though in the moonlight, more akin to the color of ink. “I’m okay,” Klavier whispered, though tears were still rolling down his cheeks. “Sorry, I - ”

“Don’t apologize,” Apollo said firmly. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to - we don’t - we don’t have to talk about this.”

“Nein, I - I want to tell you.” Klavier cleared his throat, wiping his face on his sleeve; he knew he looked like a mess, he knew that they were in public, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “Bitte, will you let me?”

“Yeah, o-of course.” Now it was Apollo's turn to rub his arm comfortingly. “But, uh, I think we should sit. There’s a bench over there, are you good to move?”

Once they managed to sit down, both of them visibly shaking, Apollo placed a trembling hand on Klavier’s knee, nodding for him to try again. “I was trying to say that - that I’ve always been our parents’ favorite. I was more outgoing, more curious, and I think they especially liked that about me.” Klavier’s breath was still shallow; he paused to take another deep, measured breath. “So when I say that...that I feel responsible somehow...that I played a part in his madness, his cruelty...I-I’m not just talking about Zak Gramarye’s trial.”

“You don’t mean…” Apollo sucked in a breath of his own. “You think he resented you, don’t you?”

“I think it’s more like...he never liked getting ignored, passed over, for someone else. For me, for Herr Wright…” Klavier swallowed thickly. “And then I go home to my parents, a-and they promise me it’s not my fault, that I was merely a pawn, but - but I can tell that, deep down, they miss him. They mourn him, like he’s no longer here. They're packing his things, cleaning out his room...trying to pretend he never existed, because it’s easier than living with the truth. But they slip sometimes. All the time, really. Because, at the end of the day...he still means something to them. To me.”

“Klavier,” Apollo said softly, squeezing Klavier’s knee. He seemed unsure of what to say.

“I can try all I want, but there’s no pretending for me,” Klavier continued bitterly, his voice growing stronger, louder. “Do reporters want to ask about my success as a prosecutor or my music career? Nein, they want to ask how it felt to prosecute my own brother and my own bandmate. Do my coworkers want to know how my weekend was or if I’m free to hang out? Nein, they only ask how I’m feeling when I seem less than perfect because it makes them uncomfortable. When I go to family gatherings, do they tease me about my love life or ask me how work is going? Nein, they want to know if he and I really are cut from the same cloth. No one - no one ever really wants to ask me about me. Just me.”

“Klavier - ”

“And I know they try,” Klavier sighed. “And I don’t mean to be...I’m trying not to ask for much. But how do I really know, that when Herr Edgeworth tells me I’m doing a good job, that I really am doing a good job? If Herr Blackquill tells me I seem to be happier these days, does he mean it, o-or is he telling me what he knows I want to hear?” He paused. “How do I...do I trust any of my family members - nein, how do I trust my own judgment...when the one person I grew up with...when he...when the people I-I thought I knew turned out to be...” He shook his head, unable to finish his sentence.

“For what it’s worth...you know I'm in your corner, yeah?” Apollo offered. “You know I won't...that I don't bullshit you. But still, I...I’m so sorry, that’s...that’s terrible. So when you texted me after your cousin’s wedding...”

Klavier nodded resignedly. “Ja, exactly. I don’t...it feels like…” He felt tears forming in his eyes again; he quickly wiped them away before they could fall. “...never mind, it’s stupid. It’s childish, i-it’s selfish, I - ”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” Apollo gave him a watery, encouraging smile. “What is it?”

Klavier went silent for what felt like hours, his mind racing to find the precise words he wanted to say. “...it feels like I will always care more about someone else than they will ever care about me.”

Another lengthy pause soon followed, one that made Klavier unbearably nervous. For once, Apollo’s usually expressive face was completely inscrutable. Then, Apollo practically threw himself at Klavier, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in close. “Klavier,” he repeated for what seemed like the thousandth time, his voice warm and urgent in Klavier’s ear. “People care about you, okay? You gotta know that. I-I promise, there are people out there who - who care about you more than you think. Like...like me.”

Klavier let out a sobbing, incredulous laugh. “Achtung, Apollo...you do know that I’m in love with you, right?”

Apollo went still. He stared at him, wide-eyed. “You...you are?”

“You mean you really didn’t know?” Klavier could only laugh again, more hopelessly this time; his mouth seemed to be moving faster than his brain. While it usually never happened to him, it seemed like Apollo brought out his honesty more easily than most. He wasn’t sure if that impressed him or terrified him. “With everything that’s been happening between us, you didn’t think - ”

“I-I knew we were getting closer, th-that we were gonna go for drinks, but...I-I thought this was, like. A recent thing for you,” Apollo stammered, still staring at him disbelievingly.

“A recent thing? You mean like your feelings...for me?” Klavier was almost afraid to ask.

“What? No, I - ” Apollo suddenly seemed to realize he still had his arms loosely draped around Klavier’s midsection. He yanked them back like he’d been burned, his cheeks flushed pink. “I mean, yes, yes, d-definitely recent - ”

“Apollo, bitte.” Klavier took Apollo’s hands in his, gently running his thumbs across Apollo’s knuckles. “I know you don’t owe me your honesty, but I’d like to think that after everything I just said, you could afford me just a little bit of it.”

Apollo fell silent, considering. Klavier held his breath in anticipation, heart thumping wildly against his ribcage. Then, Apollo withdrew one hand from Klavier’s grasp, instead lifting it to cup Klavier’s jaw. His eyes were wet once more, his smile impossibly soft. “I hate that you feel like you have to ask for someone else to be honest to you...least of all me,” Apollo murmured. “I-I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine - ”

“But it isn’t!” Apollo interrupted fiercely. “You shouldn’t have to ask for basic decency, especially from someone who’s supposed to care about you. Because - ‘cos god, Klavier, you - you’re - I love you, okay?” Klavier’s mouth fell open, stunned, but no words came out. “I love you and your...your…” Apollo inhaled yet again, taking a moment to think carefully. “You always surprise me, y’know. With how...willing you are to be proven wrong. How open you are to changing your mind. And even though you’re one of the most self-important people I’ve ever met...you still manage to be pretty selfless when it comes down to it. So selfless, that...that...that it worries me sometimes.”

“Worries...you?” Klavier asked, his voice small.

Apollo shot him a shaky smile. “Whether you’re looking out for yourself.”

“I think the last thing anyone could accuse me of is not making something about me,” Klavier said, chuckling wetly. “Take now, for example. We were having such a nice night, until - ”

“ - until you finally got the chance to say what you’ve been wanting to say,” Apollo finished for him. “Just like...like I did. Just now.”

Klavier’s eyes flitted across Apollo’s face, his gaze traveling from his tearful eyes to his parted lips, trying to find a sign, a warning that there was something there other than complete sincerity. When he found nothing, he cracked a grin of his own. “You really love me?”

In lieu of answering, Apollo moved closer, his forehead resting against Klavier’s, their noses barely brushing. Klavier’s breath hitched. Then, Apollo closed the gap between them, kissing him so tenderly, so carefully, that he felt a pleasant shiver go up his spine. Finally. Klavier melted right into him, every muscle in his body seemingly relaxing all at once; he released Apollo’s hand so he could wrap his arms around him, pulling him into his embrace. Apollo was so warm, Klavier thought, his skin surprisingly soft, his lips unsurprisingly rough, not that it lessened Klavier’s joy. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment, not all the people walking by that could easily see them, not the fact that their friends could probably recognize them if they tried. When they reluctantly broke apart, they realized that they both had tears running down their faces.

“..shit.” Apollo let out a wet laugh, sniffling sharply. He reached into the pocket of his hoodie to pull out a packet of tissues, handing one to Klavier before attempting to take care of himself. “That was, uh - ”

“Perfect,” Klavier declared, his grin so wide, it threatened to split his face open.

“I was gonna say ‘gross’, but okay. Whatever you’re into, I guess,” Apollo teased, turning away momentarily to blow his nose. A comfortable silence fell over them as they took a moment to clean themselves up, to wipe their running noses and watery eyes. “Um, but - Klavier, are you okay? Because, well. That seemed like a lot.”

“Ja, I…” Klavier laughed disbelievingly. “...I feel incredible, actually. Like I’ve managed to...to let go of some of the things I’ve been carrying for a little too long. Even if I didn't do anything but drop them.” He then looked at Apollo. “What about you, liebe? We were talking about you, and then it became about me, and - ”

“That’s how conversations work, Klav,” Apollo reminded him. “And all that...I dunno, guilt, loneliness, whatever you wanna call it? That’s been going on for way too long. But for me, it’s...I-I’m still figuring some stuff out. Something I can deal with once I know, y’know?”

“If you’re sure. But...I’m here if you need me, ja? Always.” Klavier brushed a few loose strands of hair out of Apollo’s eyes, then leaned in to kiss him again. This particular kiss was thankfully less damp. “So, ah...what should we do now?”

“Well...I think all that crying made me dehydrated,” Apollo said half-jokingly. He stood, extending a hand in Klavier’s direction. “Will you finally let me pay for one of your drinks? Please?”

“I guess I can indulge you,” Klavier teased, taking Apollo’s hands and getting to his feet as well. Apollo rolled his eyes but pulled Klavier along nonetheless. Their fingers remained entangled, both of them holding on tight, even when they stepped back into the night market crowd.

_____

A few hours later, they found themselves in the elevator of Klavier’s apartment building, on the way up to his penthouse, grinning giddily at each other like lovesick teenagers. Naturally, the others had been suspicious when Apollo told them they were leaving together. Trucy, Athena, and Kay seemed ready to burst with questions, while Ema and Simon had merely watched them go with raised eyebrows. Still, no one said anything but their goodbyes, something both of them were grateful for.

“You look like you’re thinking really hard over there,” Apollo said, smirking. “You’re not changing your mind, are you?”

“Never,” Klavier replied instantly. Even though he knew Apollo was joking, he wanted to make it clear that he wasn’t. “Not when it comes to you.”

Apollo’s smile softened. “Good. That’s, uh...that’s good. Same here.”

After they’d washed up and settled in, the two of them collapsed onto Klavier’s bed, right on top of his duvet, comfortably exhausted from everything that had been said and done. Apollo was half-curled into Klavier’s side, yawning every so often while he sent off a few text messages, presumably to Trucy and their mother. Klavier had one hand in Apollo’s hair and the other loosely resting on Apollo’s hip, humming and tapping out a rhythm while he waited for Apollo to finish.

“Sorry,” Apollo said, briefly rolling over so he could set his phone down on the bedside table.

“Nein, nein, it’s okay,” Klavier replied. “I don’t know about you, but I’m wide awake. How am I supposed to fall asleep after a night like that, achtung.”

“Yeah, we definitely had, uh...we definitely had a moment back there.” Apollo sounded both embarrassed and pleased. “God, I hope no one saw us. I have zero interest in becoming a trending hashtag before our first date.”

“You don’t consider this our first date?” Klavier asked curiously.

“I prefer my first dates to be drama-free, thanks,” Apollo drawled. Still, his expression was relaxed, somewhat drowsy. “Though I think, in a way...we kinda needed that. Wish it hadn’t happened in public, but hey, we can’t exactly pick our battles.” At Klavier’s responding chuckle, he frowned slightly. “Klav? What is it?”

“Nothing, it’s just - mein Gott, I love you.” Klavier rested his forehead against Apollo’s, his smile warm and open. Apollo returned it with one of his own, his hands resting against Klavier’s chest, Klavier’s heartbeat steady beneath his fingertips. “I know we still have a lot to deal with, but...right now? I couldn’t care less. I’m just...I’m so happy.”

Grinning, Apollo shuffled closer, kissing him chastely. They exchanged slow, meandering kisses for a few minutes, fingers lightly pressed into each other’s sides, legs loosely tangled together. “...dork.”

“Your response is supposed to be ‘I love you, too’, liebe,” Klavier hinted, eliciting a delighted laugh from Apollo’s mouth. “But seriously, I mean it. I really do feel...free.”

“Good,” Apollo said affectionately, cupping Klavier’s face with both hands. “Look, I - I know all that stuff you’re feeling isn’t gonna magically go away, just like that, but...if you still need to hear it…” He then turned his head, his lips brushing against Klavier’s ear. “...it wasn’t your fault. It was his, all his. And people legitimately care about you for reasons that have nothing to do with him or your fame or their own motives. So try not to let anyone make you think otherwise, okay?” Klavier shivered. “And I love you, too. Dork.”

“Ach,” Klavier said, sniffling. “You’re going to make me cry again, baby. How dare you call me a dork.” Apollo burst into laughter once more, burying his face in the crook of Klavier’s neck with a satisfied hum. They went quiet for a little while longer, simply holding each other and enjoying the stillness of the night. “I do have...one last little worry, though.”

“Yeah?” Apollo ran his thumb across Klavier’s cheek. “What is it?”

“I...part of me is worried, that…” Klavier paused, taking a moment to choose his words carefully. “After everything we’ve been through...do you really think this is going to work? Or do you think that we just hope that it will?”

“No use in pretending like we know for sure,” Apollo said honestly. “There’s a million things that could go wrong, y’know? We could get into a really bad argument, we could have problems separating work from our personal lives - hell, we might be better off as friends…”

“Ever the optimist, aren’t you?” Klavier teased.

“Oh, hush.” Apollo kissed Klavier to silence him. The two of them became momentarily distracted, wrapped up in each other’s embrace once more. Klavier wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to let Apollo go in the morning, not when they’d both waited this long. “All I’m saying is, as long as we try, then…” Apollo’s kiss-bitten lips then stretched into a fond grin. “...I think we’re gonna do just fine.”

_____

a/n: Welcome to my seventh and final entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the third of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. However, this fic is best read after day five's, meet me halfway (across the sky), so I would recommend reading that one to fully understand the first half of this fic!

Y'all, I can't believe it's finally over! I feel like I've been working on these fics for ages (and I've fallen behind on others; we'll see if I end up getting two fics out in July like I originally planned), especially this one and day five's. Thank you to the lovelies who organized Klapollo Week, this was super fun to do! I got a little overambitious for sure, but I liked how they turned out. In doing this, I definitely learned that short(er) fics aren't really my thing; I had a good time writing them, but I'm not a concise writer, so I struggled with getting a good balance of plot and details for the fics that were under six thousand words. In fact, I low-key wanna write fuller versions of all of them 😅

If you missed any of the other days, I would love it if you checked them out! My personal favorites are the odd-numbered days, also known as the ones with angst. I'm thinking that sometime next year, I'll write a super long version of meet me halfway (across the sky) where Klavier eventually gets to be with Apollo in Khura'in. Knowing me, that thing will be a monster of fifty-thousand-word proportions. In the meantime, if you're interested in finding out what I'll be posting next, you can filter my fanfiction masterpost by "coming soon"!

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you’re all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #y'all i'm so pleased with how this one turned out #thank you to everyone who read and commented and shared!!#my ao3 inbox is wild and i will be tackling that sometime this coming week

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lovelylogans · 3 years

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honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter one: qualia

qualia: in philosophy and certain models of psychology, qualia are defined as individual instances of subjective, conscious experience. philosopher and cognitive scientist daniel dennett once suggested that qualia was "an unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us: the ways things seem to us.”

JANUS

Janus almost always develops a headache when he has to deal with the latest idiot intern at the firm, but this headache is beyond the pale. Then again, so is this intern. He has never met a uni student that is more destined to become an obnoxiously vocal Tory. It’s like someone granted a novel about Etonian history his wish to become a real boy.

“Out,” he bellows at the intern who has been attempting to stick himself to Janus's side, unable to pick up on the fact that his repeated mentions of his father, you know, the chancellor of the high court, is doing the opposite of impressing everyone around him.

This intern—Janus is going to make it a point to never remember his name now—has probably never been yelled at in his life. He gives Janus a very offended look, sniffs, and retreats from Janus's office, likely to bother whatever barrister he hasn’t yet told about the blatant nepotism that has gotten him into their office.

Janus puts his elbows on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. Though the intern has certainly exacerbated the headache at hand, he’s had the headache since he inexplicably woke up at four in the morning.

He’s taken paracetamol, he’s tried hydrating, and drinking caffeine, and rubbing his temples, and even wearing the blue light glasses Key swears by, but there’s been no luck. His head’s throbbing just as badly now as it did when he woke up from a dream about a strange American wearing a pale brown cardigan and a pink tie.

The man had gone pale and sweaty as if he was ill, leaning back against air, clutching at nothing, like he’d hoped to find someone’s hand to hold, but despite the pain he seemed to be in, he’d stared straight at Janus, beaming and wide-eyed.

“I see them,” the man had whispered. He’d opened his free arm as if to offer a hug. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

You’re beautiful, my dear, my darling…

Janus rubs at his forehead. If he’d been so beautiful and dear and darling, he would have appreciated being left without this migraine as the price of the compliment.

“You,” he barks at the nearest intern walking by his office—a mousy little thing, a girl who’s swimming in a cardigan that makes his eyes throb with a familiarity he can’t recognize—“I’ll let you assist on this case if you get me a tea with two sugars, right now.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Right now,” he thunders, and the girl practically squeaks before she heads for the building’s refectory with its in-house café.

Janus tries his hardest not to smile to himself, really he does, but the best part of intern season is scaring the interns. What is he supposed to do, not revel in their suffering?

He’s about to reach for his smartphone resting on his desk when he feels a buzz against his sternum.

He pauses, glances toward the door, before he swivels around his desk chair and opens a lower cabinet as if he’s searching for a file; instead, he reaches into his innermost breast pocket to pull out his other phone. This one is a good deal cheaper than the one resting on the table; that is by design.

He glances at the window to double-check the reflections, that no one is watching him—they aren’t—before he unlocks the phone and looks at the message.

K: jazza, you found anything yet?

Janus scowls at the phone. Honestly.

J: Do you want to get arrested, Key? Because rushing this job is how you get arrested.

K: aint that the reason ur a big fancy barrister in the first place

J: Do they want to put up the rush fee?

He turns back to his desk and manages to get some actual, legal, non-shady work done before the phone buzzes.

K: no.

If pixels could look sullen, these ones do.

J: Then tell them to put up or shut up.

A pause.

J: And don’t text me for inane little updates during actual people’s work hours again. You are specifically only to contact me during these hours for emergencies.

He shuts off the phone and tucks it into his breast pocket again before Key can respond. The nerve of some people. He’ll do the work, fine, but people needed to realize they’d get what they paid for. For the information that Key’s clientele wants him to retrieve, they’ll have to put up quite a bit more cash for him to move at anything beyond a snail’s pace.

A knock at the door. Janus gives the girl his most imperious look.

“Here you are, sir,” she says, handing over one insulated to-go mug, keeping another one in her hands.

“Yes, fine, fine,” he says, taking it. “What’s your name again?”

“Emma, sir.”

“Emma,” he repeats. He takes a sip of the tea.

Or, he expects to take a sip of tea. What he gets is a mouthful of coffee.

Very good coffee, very high-quality coffee, but coffee, and lukewarm at that. He pulls a face instinctively.

“What did you get me?”

Emma immediately looks petrified. “Tea with two sugars, sir?”

Janus frowns at her, then examines the side, where the tea option is ticked off. If they’ve managed to mess up the order, at least they’d given him the good-quality stuff, even if it did taste like it had been sitting on a desk for an hour. He takes another cautious sip.

Tea. Sweetened, hot tea, fresh from the café.

He’s never had a headache this bad before. So maybe he doesn’t know that headaches this bad can mess with his sense of smell. And temperature. Now that he thinks of it, he is feeling really quite hot, even though the building’s air conditioning is blasting.

“...Very good,” he says slowly, and then proceeds to nudge a perilously tall stack of manila files toward her. “Read the top one so you can get reacquainted with the case.”

Emma takes the file immediately, and, just for a moment, just for barely a flash, Janus could swear he’d seen someone walking in the hall in their pajamas and bunny slippers in the reflection of his office windows.

He looks at it more directly.

No. It’s just Emma’s reflection and his. Janus's office, furnished in dark woods and leather desk chairs, his fine suit, the damningly recognizable birthmark and scar splashed across his face.

Janus frowns at himself in the window, turns away, and reaches for his own manila file.

VIRGIL

Getting off the plane from America to South Africa is always an experiment in temperature adjustment.

He takes off his hoodie in between the shuffle of getting off the plane to going to the baggage claim, tying it around his waist, leaving him just in a purple t-shirt and his ripped jeans.

It doesn’t help that he’s got a headache that’s absolutely killing him.

By the time he gets there, his baggage is already waiting at the side of a woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, her glasses resting low on her nose; they look new, and it makes Virgil’s chest hurt—what else has he missed since he’s been across the world?

Virgil’s mother, Andisiwe, beams at him. “Virgil!”

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” he says in Xhosa because ever since he was a child jetting back and forth for school breaks she’s been worried about him losing his mother tongue.

She laughs, hugging him tight and warm, and he wraps his arms around her in kind, closing his eyes tight. This is the longest he’s been from her since he was born. She’d been in America to teach for a year and a half at Johns Hopkins when she’d met his father, and then Virgil happened.

He couldn’t have gone back to South Africa with her, a black woman with a mixed-race child, not during apartheid. His white father had had to bring him home to his white wife, and white children, and initiate what would eventually become a long, messy divorce.

But he doesn’t like to think about that, and he won’t, not today, not when he’s finally back here. He’s missed her, and Pretoria, and his jacarandas, and his grandmother’s recipe for coconut pitha, and umngqusho, and proper, African coffee more than he can say.

All he’d drunk in the States was tea because he didn’t want to be reminded of home; he can taste it lingering in the back of his throat, even now.

“Or should I say, Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi,” she says, beaming at him wide, and Virgil ducks his head, grinning even through how awkward he feels.

“I’m a doctor of botany, it’s not the same as you,” or Dad, he tacks on in his mind, taking his suitcase and gesturing her ahead of him; she trades him with a to-go cup of coffee, which he sips eagerly. It’s such a perfect taste of home that he doesn’t even care that it’s lukewarm.

“Quite right,” she says, leading their way through the airport. “Ph.D. is different from an M.D., I’m thrilled my employer has taught you so excellently in your undergrad—”

Virgil laughs, again, but his foot slips on the smooth airport tile, and he looks down instinctively, and his breath catches in his throat, laughter dying in his mouth, freezing where he stands, because if he takes one more step he is going to die he is going to die he is going to fucking die—

There’s this tight feeling across his chest like a band and suddenly he’s not looking down at clean airport tile but he’s looking down at a yawning expanse of air between himself and the ground at least three stories up and he’s standing on a thin metal bar and if he keeps moving he’s going to fall he’s going to die

“Virgil?”

Virgil looks toward his mother, breath seized in his throat, and—

And he’s at the airport again. Bustling crowds, pinging PA system, his mother, a hand reaching toward him in concern.

“Virgil, are you all right?”

Virgil swallows once, twice, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head to clear it; he opens them again.

Airport. His mom. The crowd. And, just a flash, weaving in and out of the people, there’s a big man with tattoos, and he’s wearing bunny slippers. It’s strange enough that it manages to shake him out of it better than any physical gesture could.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strained to his own ears. “Yeah. Um—jet lag, I think.”

Andisiwe surveys him, before she nods, once, decisively.

“Finish that coffee,” she says. “You know how much worse it’ll get if you let yourself fall asleep now.”

Virgil takes a long pull from his cup—bitter, dark, African coffee. Home. He’s home.

Jet lag, he tells himself. Jet lag, and that weird dream you had on the plane. That’s all this is.

REMUS

“The fucking rat bastard bitch-ass sorry shit-stain of a cunt,” Remus pants to himself, as quietly as he can when he’s heaving for breath and sprinting along the forest floor. Remus wasn’t particularly athletic in the first place—one doesn’t really become a horror author if they’re a star athlete, do they?—but when one is running for their life, things like “stitches in my side” and “is that blood I taste in the back of my mouth” kind of take a back seat to things like, you know, continued survival.

Remus nearly trips over a vine, which he verbally abuses for a few hundred more feet, (“fucking useless pieces of shit fucking—”) before he manages to slip and stumble into the shelter of something like a cave. He checks it—as much as he likes wildlife mauling other people, in theory, it kind of goes against this whole survival thing if he wanders into a cave only to get his throat ripped out by a bobcat.

As he casts back the hood of his jacket and mops his brow of sweat, looking back and forth to ensure he hasn’t been tracked, and his heart rate returns to something like normal, turns his mind back to Miguel fucking Contreras.

That fucking bastard was lucky he was dead, and even so, Remus might go back and dig up his freshly-turned grave with nothing but his own two fucking hands and he’d gladly break a hundred of his fingers and turn his knuckles into right-angled wrongness just to reach in there and grab his rotting corpse and wring his neck to kill him again.

He didn’t even kill him the first time, that’s the unbearable thing! He’d wanted to kill him and someone swooped in and did it before Remus ever could!

Remus spits on the ground, furious, and even more furious that everything with him is so vital he can’t risk destroying any of it in a rage—his clothes, his last couple testosterone pills, a burner phone he’d stolen off someone who reminded him of his own wretched abuela a couple cities back and kept shut off ever since. She’d been yelling at some homeless kids trying to get some pesos for a goddamn meal, though, so Remus felt as if he’d performed a public service by making her day worse.

He’d managed to snatch her purse and empty it out, too. The kids got a meal, Remus got a meal, everyone won.

Remus chances a peek around the forest once again, just to ensure he hasn’t been tailed, and—

He shrinks back into the cave at the sight of a large man jogging by. He’s very big, very tall, very tattooed, and very confused, by the looks of it. Like he’s sleep-walked miles into the forest and now doesn’t know his way back.

The man pivots on his foot, walks out of Remus's view behind a tree, and doesn’t resume walking again.

Remus's eyes narrow. He tenses his muscles, ready to start sprinting again, but that man had looked rather big and strong, and therefore much more decisively athletic than Remus.

But minutes pass, and the man doesn’t emerge again.

Remus creeps out, just enough to see past the tree, and—

No. The man is gone.

Anyone else might think that they were losing it. Anyone else might think that they were going crazy.

Remis is fully aware that he’s crazy, though, so he shrugs and returns his attention to sorting through his bag, except—

His fingers run through the money he has, and they aren’t pesos anymore. Remus frowns at the sight of the money, holding it up to the meager light to see it.

There definitely isn’t an old white lady on pesos usually.

“The fuck?”

“Erm.”

Remus whips his head around, very suddenly aware that he isn’t in a cave anymore.

He’s in an apartment. A swanky apartment. The air conditioning is blasting—Remus hasn’t been in air-conditioned surroundings for so long, and he nearly melts under the feel of it, cooling the sweat coating his face, running down his back.

A white man lowers his glasses down his nose and frowns at Remus. The way his mouth moves twists up the scar on the side of the face. He’s holding up a handful of pesos.

“Well, first of all, I really need to send a note so they improve security around this place,” the man says in an undertone. Then, “second of all, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to need those pounds to pay for my takeaway.”

Remus stares.

“I’ve ordered Indian food to my office,” he continues, “and I’d think that they’d prefer the national currency in exchange for my food. I’ve been craving samosas something awful.”

Samosas do sound good. Any food sounds good, Remus thinks, as his stomach growls with envy.

Remus slowly extends his handful of the old white lady money. The white man places the pesos into Remus's hand, taking his money back at the same time.

“Much obliged,” the white man says and disappears.

Remus blinks down at his handful of pesos, then looks around. No more air conditioning, or swanky office, or promise of takeout.

He shakes his head.

“If I hadn’t lost it before,” he mutters aloud and goes back to counting his money.

Well. It’s not like Remus's brain is any great loss.

LOGAN

Logan gives a cursory peek through the telescope and grumbles, pulling back and rubbing his forehead. Fantastic. On top of this untimely migraine, his equipment has decided to throw a tantrum, too.

He’s known technology can be fiddly even in the best of conditions. He’s known that cold can adversely affect equipment. And yet, for some reason, it is still constantly frustrating when it does happen. Which in turn is frustrating; he should expect cold conditions to interfere with any equipment that he uses for his space research. He’s in Antarctica.

Logan makes effort to simply narrow his eyes at the telescope before him, fiddling with the lens. He has half a mind to ask it there, will you behave now? but considering it is simply scientific equipment, it will not answer. Therefore, there is no reason to speak.

Logan rubs his forehead again, and, for the brief moment before his hand obscures his eyes, he sees a flash of something.

Logan squints, lowering his hand. But no, he decides; he just sees snow, rock, the local wildlife.

But for a moment he could have sworn, while he was looking out at the sea, that he’d seen a large, tattooed man looking out at the sea, too.

No, he decides. It couldn’t have possibly been; this headache, coupled with the general brightness of the world right now, is making him see things.

There is no way he’d just seen, in the midst of an Antarctic island, a large, tattooed man in pajamas and bunny slippers.

ROMAN

Fuck if it’s not early, but fuck if he’s not having a blast.

“Do we wanna run it one more time?!” Roman hollers down from the catwalks.

“I should’ve known better than to give you a fly scene,” María says ruefully. Roman blows down kisses from where he’s strapped in, harness tight across his chest, the camera crew looking dutifully to María to see what the verdict is.

A long pause. She sighs and waves a hand. “Set up for the close-up landing!”

Roman whoops to himself, shifting on his own two feet. He never gets to do stunts, much less stunts like this. All his movies are machismo, punching people and firing guns, and sure, this one is full of all that, but at least this time he gets to spend a day flying around on wires like he’s a superhero.

Which is ironic, considering he’d started his career in movies as a stuntman. But now his pretty face is too high-market-value to risk it doing the thing he’s been trained to do.

But whatever! Today he gets to fly around! Today he gets to throw himself into saying his lines! Today he gets to throw himself into his script and his acting and his costars!

Today he gets to spend it on set and not lying in bed taken down by this godawful migraine and scrolling through his phone with his heart in his throat to see if there are any developments in the news!

Today he gets to tell Sasha all about the day he’s had in his usual bright and happy voice! It’s a great day!

Roman shuffles on his feet, waiting for the “action!” to be called when he hears the tell-tale rumbling shriek of a plane flying overhead, and Roman bites back a sigh; that’s going to delay the shoot of the scene for sure while they wait on that, so Roman slumps, looking for something to occupy either his hands or his brain with, but then—

“Quiet on set!” María barks.

“We aren’t going to hold for the plane?” Roman asks, confused.

“What plane?” María says.

“I thought—” Roman says, and frowns; from where he is in the catwalks, he can’t exactly look up and see the sky, but even then the angle of sound seems wrong; it’s like he’s walking past an airfield, planes taking off and landing all at once.

“Never mind,” Roman calls down weakly. “Thought I heard something, must have been tech stuff.”

María looks up at him, eyes narrowed briefly before she shrugs, and repeats, “Quiet on set!”

Roman shakes out his shoulders, intent on getting into the mind of Pablo Márquez, and out of his own.

⁂

Roman’s got an icepack under his shoulder and on his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Okay, so, maybe he got a bit too into it today. Whatever. It’s not his fault he’s stuck with a killer migraine, and it’s definitely not his fault that the person who fastened his harness clearly didn’t know what he was talking about; you’d think that now he was the big star, people would be more cautious with him than they were when he was a stuntman, but what does Roman know? He’s just the pretty face.

But whatever. He’s got a breather for a while as his costar shoots a few scenes with her supposed father (a twist of the movie is that her father is not, in fact, her father) and so he’s taking the time to sit and relax.

He’s going to relax.

Really.

...oh, who is he kidding. Roman immediately rolls to grab his phone from where he’d set it on the minuscule table in his trailer, and loads the page to El Universal.

He’s got the search down to a science, really. He starts with the wider, more professional news sources—ergo El Universal—and then gradually meanders his way down, through the magazines, then the tabloids, then the blogs dedicated to the writings of R.J. Duke.

When he’s really desperate, he checks Twitter.

He turns out to be really desperate every day, though.

He isn’t really sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is on the run for committing murder.

He definitely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is only revealed to not be his brother under a thin guise that someone might find out any minute.

He absolutely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when any day now, someone will crack it, and they’ll raid his apartment to see if Roman was hiding him (Roman would absolutely hide him if Remus would just come to him) and ask him questions, and how is Roman supposed to respond when they ask him if Remus would be capable of murder, no? Fucking obviously Remus would be capable of murder.

And the thing is, he is desperate. He’s desperate to get news of how Remus is doing, where on earth Remus is, if he’s okay.

And then he wonders what kind of person he is, to be so willing to set aside that his brother might have killed someone. He’d like to think that he’d do the right thing and turn Remus in, but he is also sure that he absolutely wouldn’t.

But the question is, does Remus know that? Does Remus know that Roman would throw everything, everything—his fame, his fancy apartment, his money—just to be sure that Remus was safe, that Remus was with him?

They’d been so entrenched in their petty disagreements over the years that Roman isn’t sure that Remus does.

The thought that his brother might not know Roman loves him is a thousand times more painful than this headache will be.

Remus is his brother. His twin brother, the only person in the world who understands Roman; for all their differences, for all their disagreements, he and Remus have always understood each other. They’ve always been on a wavelength no one else has, in sync and in step with each other. They’d even been born at exactly the same time, by virtue of their mother’s c-section.

How is Roman meant to just set that aside?!

So he lies on the couch in his trailer, scrolling obsessively through a Twitter search of his brother’s pen name and his legal name and his actual name, eyebrows drawn together further and further.

He’s so lost in chasing down clues, he doesn’t even notice the large, pajama-clad man appearing in his trailer and disappearing again, between five blinks of the eye.

PATTON

The view in front of Patton is crystalline and beautiful, dark gray rock and snow a blindingly clear shade of white and the ocean, constantly shifting between deep, lovely blue and bottle-green depths; ice, and rock, and the sun glinting off the sea and the snow, so bright that it almost hurts to look at it.

It’s so lovely that Patton would gladly spend all day looking at it, if not for the deep chill working its way into his bones as if he’s been here for months instead of minutes. Which is kind of confusing, but he doesn’t think his flannel pajamas and bunny slippers probably don’t make the cut of approved winter gear, so that might be it.

And also the part where Patton went to bed in his apartment in Auckland because of his blindingly bad migraine, and he has woken up in some wintry wasteland. That part’s kind of confusing him, too.

There’s a particularly sharp gust of wind, and Patton squints, turning his face away and lifting his hand. The breeze lessens, and Patton lowers his hand.

He’s in an office.

A nice office, the kind with hardwood floors that would click under his feet if he weren’t wearing slippers and the big, floor-to-ceiling windows that speaks of a recent, expensive renovation, a door ajar. He walks forward to peek into it—

—and finds himself looking inside of a cramped little trailer, a man flung out dramatically on the couch, one arm over his forehead, not able to cover the anguish on his face, and the other scrolling through his phone.

He takes a step forward, and just like before, without any sense of transition, just one blink and he’s not in a trailer anymore, he’s outside, standing at the foot of a mountain stretching for forever above him, moving quickly on his feet, jogging alongside a hooded man sprinting down a barely-worn path—

He takes a step forward, and his foot lands on the carpet.

“Goodness,” a man says, with a familiar, amused tone. “You’ve been walking quite far, haven’t you?”

Patton looks up to see a man—the parent he’d thought he’d seen yesterday. He’s in the same cardigan and dress shirt, looking rather rumpled, but his tie has, at least, been loosened from around his throat. The lights are off, the only light filtering weakly through the windows. The man is lying down in his bed, looking pale and sickly.

The room would look quite depressing if not for the laptop blaring a cartoon—an American one Patton doesn’t know—and various assorted cartoon art and sculptures as clutter around the room. His duvet has a subtle pattern that Patton, after tilting his head, looks a bit like gemstones.

“...I think so,” Patton says cautiously. “But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, it never does,” the man says, smiling. “Even when you’ve walked halfway ‘round the world.”

For lack of anything to say—other than who are you, what’s happening to me, what on earth is going on—Patton keeps quiet.

“I like your tattoos,” the man continues.

“Oh, thank you,” Patton says, twisting his arms so that the cardiganed man can see them, swelling with pride. They are a big part of his culture, his history, himself, after all. “They’re tā moko.”

“Tā moko,” the man repeats as if committing it to memory.

“I’m Māori,” Patton adds because he can place the accent now—American. And, well, nothing against Americans, it’s just that he isn’t sure how much the average American knows about the indigenous populations of other continents.

“Indigenous to,” the man says, and his eyes narrow for a moment. “New Zealand, right?”

Patton nods to the man, before he says, “Where am I?”

“Oh, excuse my manners, please sit down,” the man says, gesturing to an empty spot on his comfy-looking bed. Patton sits. It is comfy.

“I’m just so excited, you see, I’ve spent most of the past day recovering, so you’re the first one I’ve met. I’d expect you to be recovering, too, this is either a fortunately-timed fluke or you seem to be getting the hang of this very fast. Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“Terribly,” Patton admits, then, “First of who?”

Before the man can answer his question, his brain flashes with images from today—an airport, dark catwalks, a yawning cliff face, that fancy-schmancy office.

“Well,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.”

For whatever reason, it feels like he should have known that name already; his name slips into Patton’s mind like a key turning a long-forgotten lock.

“And,” the man continues, “you’re technically wherever your body is now.”

“Auckland.”

“Auckland,” he repeats. “Patton the Māori from Auckland. Oh, how wonderful, I don’t think I know any of our kind anywhere near Australia or New Zealand yet.”

“Our,” Patton says, and his brow wrinkles. “Our kind?”

“Patton, my darling,” Emile says warmly, leaning forward to put a hand on Patton’s. “Have you been walking around in other places? Feeling things that aren’t there, seeing people that aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Patton says.

“Those would be your cluster,” Emile says, and the word buries itself deep in Patton’s heart with an aggressively radiating kind of warmth, instantaneously fond, like he’s loved them all along but just now realized it. My cluster. It may as well be my family, that’s how much love he feels.

“Your body is in Auckland, still, but right now, your mind? You’re visiting me in Florida.”

Patton can’t help but smile a little. “I’ve never been outside of New Zealand before.”

Emile smiles back at him, warm and comforting, and it feels just as familiar as looking at the face of his father.

“Patton, dear, you are no longer just you.”

REMY

Remy turns from where he’s making a mug of green tea to see that he’s in Emile’s room.

“Babe,” Remy says, reflexive, before he sees the look on Emile’s face; and he understands immediately.

“Fuck, are they still here?”

Emile, still smiling, shakes his head just a touch regretfully. “You just missed him.”

That piques Remy’s attention. “Him? You’ve got a son?”

“He’s not technically my son,” Emile says bashfully; they swap, effortless after so long, and Emile takes a sip of Remy’s green tea using Remy’s hands, Remy’s ] mouth. Remy takes that time to use Emile’s body to settle more comfortably in the bed, and he places a cool, wet washcloth across Emile’s forehead.

They swap back without losing a beat; this rhythm between them has existed for a decade, Emile’s psychic birth isn’t about to trip them up. Sure, it looks different to him than it does to Emile; right now, to Remy, it’s like Emile’s curled up in his Nicean apartment, just at home in France as he is in Florida. To Emile, he knows, it’s like Remy’s appeared in his bedroom, oddly dressed for the Florida spring.

“Your psychic son, then,” Remy teases, then it clicks. “Wait, you’ve seen one of them already? How long did it take one of us to see Harley after the activation—?”

Emile waves a hand in a so-so type gesture. “Linny saw Dalisay and she kind of served as a mentor for her, didn’t she? That was the closest to a non-cluster visit that we got.”

“And that was after three days or so,” Remy muses. “Hm.”

“Yeah,” Emile agrees. “I dunno if it’s a fluke or if Patton’s just really well-adapted for this life.”

“Patton,” Remy repeats.

Honestly, he isn’t really sure how to handle this; the closest he could get to preparing for his boyfriend’s psychic birth is googling things about being a stepdad, and that’s not even slightly close to what’s actually happening. Bonding with the stepkids can only really happen if Emile’s lucked into a cluster with a Frenchman, Frenchwoman, Frenchperson, whichever.

Emile quirks a brow at him, knowing what he’s about to ask. “New Zealander.”

“Fuck,” Remy says. “No in-cluster education for Patton, then. Do we know anyone there, baby?”

“I’d have to check with the Archipelago, and, well,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely to himself; he’s laid out in bed, and, with the washcloth on his forehead, he really does look quite ill. Out-of-cluster visiting might be too much of a strain right now.

Remy frowns, taking the washcloth in hand and gently dabbing Emile’s forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Emile beams.

“Oh, Remy, he’s wonderful. Simply fantastic! He’s Māori—indigenous population—and he’s got all these interesting tattoos. I’ve been researching, look,” Emile says, tilting his phone so that Remy can see.

Remy takes it. He sees swirling designs, up and down arms and legs, neatly segmented lines filled with various patterns, a few portraits of tattooed faces.

“—the tattoos themselves have a really interesting history, but I have a lot of reading to do when it comes to the Māori population itself. I've already tried to put a few books on hold at the university library.”

“What’s he like?”

“Big, tall,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely with a hand where the top of Patton’s head would compare with his own. “It’s late there, or early, I think, he was still in pajamas. Bunny slippers.”

Remy smiles at that, knowing for a fact that Emile’s wearing his knee-high muppet socks. “Takes after you, then.”

“Maybe,” Emile admits, then, “oh, all right, probably. We have a lot in common, at least, even if we don’t have any solid evidence on if cluster parents influence the traits of their cluster.”

“Influence, schminfluence,” Remy says.

“But he seems very nice, very polite. Wasn’t too shaken by appearing in America.”

Emile’s brow creases.

“I think he needs a cluster,” Emile says, very quiet. “I think he needs them badly.”

Remy isn’t sure what to say to that, so he puts a hand on Emile’s cheek, attempting to check his temperature.

“Harley should have given us the equivalent of psychic sex-ed,” Remy mutters irritably. Emile’s skin, always soft, is warmer than Remy would like.

Emile yawns. “Not gonna disagree with you there.”

Remy tugs up Emile’s blankets to tuck him in. Emile smiles up at him, a little bashful, a lot sleepy.

“Cuddles?” Emile mumbles, holding out his arms, entreating.

And, well. What is Remy gonna do, not cuddle his incredibly adorable boyfriend recovering from psychic birth?

#my fic #my fanfic

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browniefox · 3 years

Text

Above Drinking Age Isekai

Isekai - usually referring to Japanese stories (anime, manga, light novels or web novels) which involve the main character being transported into another world.

Phoenix, Miles, and Larry went to the magical world of Kesaii for six months when they were 9. Now, they're 24, and apparetly it isn't done with them just yet.

A series of scattered throughts and plot moments for this au.

1/?

oOo

There are some days when Phoenix doesn’t want to leave his apartment.

He’s familiar with everything in his apartment. He knows where all the items are, he knows how the light streams in through the windows, and which doors are a little squeaky, and he knows what to expect.

Outside his door? Back out on the streets? Who knew what he was going to see.

But Larry is wanted for murder, and Phoenix isn’t going to let his oldest friend get arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. He gets out of bed again, and puts on his blue suit, and bikes to the courthouse.

He almost hits a tree when he sees someone he knows.

He screeches to a halt, staring at the person. Their hair is longer than he remembers, and they’re dressed in casual clothes instead of the yukatas that were more popular in Mitama. They’re talking to a friend, and smiling, and he remembers that this voice sounded like a crisp autumn breeze and had brought the same chill physically, as if they were a slice of the season itself in mortal form. They had run their hands through Phoenix’s hair and smiled sweetly and told him to be careful, to remember that the leaves change color as they die but the tree isn’t dead, not yet, please remember that the tree hasn’t died.

Phoenix bites the inside of his mouth and starts peddling again.

It’s rude to stare, and he reminds himself that he’s never met that person before in his life.

oOo

There’s a lot of things adults don’t tell kids about magical fantasy worlds.

The first is that they exist.

The second is that settling back into home won’t ever feel quite the same.

Phoenix remembers stumbling out of the park with Larry right next to them. It wasn’t clear who was leaning on who, but they were both so terribly terribly tired. All of the rips and tears that had been magically mended over the past few months are all back at once. Phoenix lost one of his sandals at one point, and it makes his already-limping gait even more pronounced. One of his hands keeps going up and grabbing at his collarbone where his catalyst is supposed to be. It should be there, it’s always there, but now it’s suddenly and jarring gone.

“A-any sign of M-miles?” Phoenix stutters, looking around. His head is pounding. Thinking hurts. The light hurts. Every part of him feels sore and tired. Some part of him recognizes where they are, recognizes the so so familiar city, but the rest of him hasn’t entirely caught on yet. He has only one thought in mind, one goal.

“Not yet.” Larry grunts.

There’s a gasp from somewhere to their right and they both spin around. A surge of adrenaline rushes through Phoenix, enough to stand on his own for a moment. He reaches for the magatama - and again, his hand closes on empty air. Larry is running his fingers through the hair on the side of his head, as if the paintbrush that was supposed to be tucked behind his ear had somehow gotten lost in the short strands.

“Oh my god,” An adult is looking at them, hand to her mouth, “Oh. my. God! You’re those-those-those kids! From the tv!” She rambles. Phoenix looks over at Larry and Larry shrugs. She’s clearly human, not one of the noxious.

“E-excuse me, ma’am,” Phoenix says, taking a step forward. Larry clearly picks up on the fact that his legs are shaking and quickly resumes his position helping him stay standing, “M-ma’am, have you seen a-a-another kid, our age, gray ha-air?”

The woman isn’t listening to them. She’s pulled out a phone and has it held up to her ear.

“I don’t think she’s going to be much help.” Larry says and Phoenix nods.

“Maybe we left him, uh, left him in the park?” Phoenix considers. Larry shrugs, but they start to turn around and head back the way they came from.

“Wait! Stop! No, it’s okay, I’m going to help you, alright? The police are on their way, and I’ll, I’ll,” The woman digs around in her purse and then pulls out a black cylinder, “I’ll hurt anybody who tries to hurt you again, okay? I promise, you’re going to be safe!” The woman assures them. Phoenix looks over at Larry once more. Larry seems as confused as he is.

“No, that’s okay, we just need to find Edgey.” Larry tells her. There’s a loud and piercing whine and it’s not helping at all. Phoenix screws up his face and shakes his head as if it’ll help with the headache. It doesn’t. It’s only getting worse, and he sits down on the ground, holding his head in his hands, “Whoa, Nicky, you okay?”

“Y-yeah, just… just tired. You know how I am after, after…” Phoenix’s voice drifts off as he loses focus. His heart is beating in his chest and it hurts like a deep set longing. The world seems to shut down around him until all he can hear is that beating. His eyes are shut, but he swears if he opened them he’d see the Heart of Kesaii before him, still and silent.

That’s the last thing Phoenix remembers of that first night back on Earth.

oOo

Phoenix makes some rules for himself.

They help keep him going, especially in the very early days, when he half expects to find himself in the magical land of Kesaii at any second but he’s still trying to be normal around everybody else.

The first rule is not to mention Kesaii. It’s an unsaid rule between himself and Larry. Phoenix had tried, only once, to his mom when he first saw her again after the six months away. He’d said ‘I know you probably didn’t go to Kesaii, but does everybody go to a magical world?’ She’d worried and fretted over him, checking his temperature and completely baffled by the yukata he was wearing. She’d never answered, but she’d given him a very worried look, and then Phoenix had remembered seeing her on the other side of a raging river, trying to shout to her, and never being heard, never being understood, and he has his answer all the same.

The second rule is to ignore all of his memories. They can’t be trusted anymore, because he’s never shouted to his mom while standing on the other side of a raging river, the spray of it almost soaking him, chilling him to the bone as he tries to tell her, trying to get her to understand him. It never happened, and yet the memory is nestled in his head just like the rest of them. So he tries to make sure to reintroduce himself to everybody and make as few references to past events as possible.

The third rule is the first rule, but again, because he can’t be too careful.

The fourth rule is that he needs to find Miles.

He doesn’t know where Miles lives anymore. Miles never told them. He’d said that maybe, once they go the Heart beating again, he’d tell them what had happened to them. That moment never came, though, so Phoenix is left to try and find him.

He starts wearing a necklace. It’s not his magatama, not his catalyst, but it’s a weight around his neck and it’s like a safety blanket, a comfort. He notices how often Larry has pencils behind his ear after that, tucked where his own catalyst used to go.

They rarely talk about Kesaii, even to each other. Phoenix wonders if Larry keeps waking up and expecting to be back there, if everytime he closes his eyes he can hear the silence of the Heart, how his own heartbeat sounds mocking, a laughter in his own chest as it mocks their own failure.

Probably not. That’s probably just another ‘him’ thing.

oOo

“I can’t go back.”

It’s almost a whisper, but Phoenix chokes it out of his throat anyway. The young girl who had been kneeling next to Mia (her dead dead dead dead body) has woken back up and she blinks at him with sad and confused eyes.

“Huh?”

“I can’t go back, not right now,” Phoenix repeats himself with more force. He’d recognize those robes anywhere. Everyone in Mitama had own them. Phoenix himself had worn a version of them for the duration of his stay in that other world, “My boss - friend - Chief - is, is, is dead, and I need to, to do something about that, and I’m so close now, so close to actually really finding Miles, and-and-and I can’t go back right now, okay?” Phoenix flings the words out there and he realizes that he’s crying. His heart beat sounds too loud and erratic. His face is wet.

“You’re… Phoenix, right?” The girl says, slowly.

“Phoenix Wright.” Phoenix agrees and gives a strangled half-laugh half-sob. He’s shaking. Mia’s death feels like it’s only just becoming solid to him. God, he’d felt her body grow cold.

“I’m Maya. Maya Fey,” The girl says, “I’m Mia’s sister.”

“Mia’s… sister? Mia was from Kesaii?” Phoenix asks. Something isn’t adding up here.

“We’re from Kurain. I don’t know what Kesaii is.” She tells him. Phoenix nods numbly at that. It doesn’t make sense, because she’s dressed like she’s from the Mitama kingdom, and yet she’s here on Earth and Mia Fey’s sister and nothing makes sense anymore, nothing. “M-my sister, she’s-”

She doesn’t get through the rest of the sentence before Phoenix has surged forward and wrapped his arms around her. She’s warm, unlike Mia’s dead corpse in the other room, and her arms secure themselves around him. She’s sobbing into his shoulder now, both of them trembling like leaves in a storm.

Maybe nothing makes sense, but Phoenix knows that this girl is that little sister Mia was always talking about, and this girl just lost her sister, and holding her right now is all he can do for her.

“Police! Open up!”

There’s the sound of a door trying to slam open and Phoenix looks over to the front door to the office. It’s rattling to be opened, trying so hard to swing inwards, but there’s cold metal chain criss-crossing it and keeping it from opening up.

Phoenix shuts his eyes and shakes his head. He must be seeing things.

When he opens them again, the chains are gone, the door swings open, and the police flood into the room.

oOo

There’s never a good chance to talk to Miles during the case, and Phoenix wonders if at some point over the last fifteen years he missed his chance of actually really finding Miles Edgeworth. The man before him is a mockering of the boy Phoenix once knew, and it hurts him to his core.

The morning after the case is done, Phoenix wakes up and goes through his usual routine. His alarm clock blares at him and he sits up, sleep and dreams making his brain all foggy. He grabs his magatama off his desk, slipping it around his neck, and stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth. He sways on his feet and thinks about all the clean up that still needs to be done to the office. He doesn’t know how to get blood out of carpet, but he’s going to find out today. There’s also all the glass shards, and he hopes they’ll be big enough to easily pick out of the carpet. Maybe he should just see about getting an entirely new carpet. Oh, but that’s going to be so much money, and he’s only had two clients, one who never paid him and one who he took on pro bono. Hm, maybe-

Wait.

Wait a fucking second.

Phoenix eyes, which had drifted closed as he scrubbed at his molars, snap open and star at his chest in the mirror. Specifically, they lock onto the green stone that is hanging from his neck. Chains come off of either side of it, fading completely and seamlessly into the gem where they meet it, and then the two chains cross over each other behind his neck. The rest of the chains wave through the air like streamers in a gentle breeze, simply turning their noses up at gravity.

Phoenix almost chokes on his toothpaste. He coughs and spits it into his sink. He reaches up and grabs his magatama, and his hand really does close around the smooth surface. It’s just barely warm enough to be unnatural.

“What,” Phoenix whispers under his breath, “The fuck.”

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #larry butz #pearl fey #maya fey #isekai au #browniefox speaks #browniefox writes #also can be found on ao3 #under the same name

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the-hidden-writer · 4 years

Text

A Second Chance: Chapter 2

An Ace Attorney fanfic. Read on both AO3 and FF.net!

Summary: Miles learns the identity of his "dead" mother, and the aftermath of that revelation is a tricky one. Especially when his newfound little sister is trying to turn him into a spirit medium.

AKA Miles is a Fey. Miles also doesn't really know how to family properly.

[Chapter 1] | [Chapter 3]

Comments make my day! :D

The Sisters

Straightening himself and brushing non-existent dirt off his coat, Miles knocked on the door of Wright & Co. Law Offices. There was a buzzer, but Phoenix had requested him to knock instead. That way he wouldn’t freak out at an unexpected client.

It also meant he could take his time to answer the door.

Miles would never admit to being impatient… okay, he was. But this time he wouldn’t mind stalling. He kept his gaze on his shoes and tightened the grip on his briefcase.

He’d called in sick that day (per Gumshoe’s very adamant request) and had spent the morning thinking and composing himself. Also, he had been trying to work up the courage to come here. Once he’d made up his mind (and hadn’t changed it on the way to the car), he hadn’t bothered changing into something professional. So there he was in his white shirt, black overcoat, and brown trousers (he’d called them as such in front of Wright once, and the man had exclaimed “Jesus how much more British can you get?!”... he’d felt self-conscious about them after that). He felt like wearing his prosecutor’s suit may ruin the image of an older brother.

An older brother.

He couldn’t help but feel agitated, knowing he was the only one who knew the secret thus far. Well, apart from Gumshoe, but he hardly counted. He’d already spent too long thinking about Maya and Phoenix’s reaction that he didn’t want to waste any more of his heart going down that road again.

Finally, Phoenix answered the door. “Hi Edgeworth!” He said, with that charming smile he always seemed to wear.

“Good afternoon, Wright.”

He noticed that Phoenix look him over. He’d never come to their office in casual clothes before. He tried not to shuffle awkwardly, but thankfully Wright invited him in before he got the chance.

He had never been very good with people.

“What’s up?” Phoenix asked, once inside. He motioned for Miles to take off his coat, so he did and handed it to him.

Damn. This wasn’t the time to blush.

“Hey, are you okay? You look exhausted even for you.”

Wright looked genuinely concerned.

“I’m fine, thank you. I was working until rather late last night, that’s all. I’m not working today though.” Miles added after Phoenix raised his eyebrows.

What he couldn’t tell him was that he hadn’t slept a wink last night. He’d shooed Gumshoe away almost immediately after he’d calmed down, but it took a lot of convincing to get the detective to trust him to be alone. Every single second, right until morning, was spent thinking about his life, how it would have differed if he’d known the truth, and how he was supposed to announce the news that he was Misty Fey’s son.

“Wanna go get coffee or something? Or we could watch something, I’m not that busy.”

“Actually,” He said apologetically when Phoenix gestured towards the scruffy blue couch. “I’m here to talk to Miss Fey.”

If Wright tried to hide the disappointment on his face, he didn’t do a very good job.

“Oh… sure! She’s in the room over there.” He pointed to one of the few identical white doors. “I’ll come with you.”

“Um, actually,” Miles hated to break the man’s heart like this, but it was necessary. “Could we have some privacy? It’s rather important.”

Phoenix looked at the briefcase, and then back at Miles.

“That important, huh?”

A deflated Phoenix Wright was a scary thing.

“Sure. I’ll be here I guess… let me know if you guys need anything.”

Miles shot him a look of sympathy. “Thank you. But I’m warning you that it might take a while.”

Phoenix just nodded, that familiar smile returning, and then turned to continue… scrubbing the floorboards? Was he really that addicted to cleaning as the rumours said?

He took it as a sign to leave.

Gathering all of his courage, he entered the room.

Maya Fey was sitting at a small wooden table, engrossed in her work arranging… Limited Edition Steel Samurai Season 2 Silver Trading Cards?! He sincerely hoped his jealousy and awe didn’t show.

Alas, it did, and his eyes lit up. He had to refrain himself from asking about them.

Maybe this whole sibling thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Hey Edgeworth! What are you doing here?”

Maya was always so positive and cheerful. Miles had an awful feeling that he was about to shatter all of that.

“Good afternoon Miss Fey.” He replied, and suddenly the finalized speech that he had spent all night learning (yes, there had been many drafts) disappeared from his mind.

He blanked. And panicked.

With a deep breath, he knew he would have to improvise. He was a prosecutor for goodness sake, he knew how to think on his feet!

“I, um, came to talk to you about something. It’s important.”

The difference with improvising in court is that he could feign confidence. For some reason, he couldn’t do that here.

Luckily for him, Maya took the hint.

“Oh… okay.” She said, her smile wavering ever so slightly. She motioned towards the chair opposite to her. “Here, you can sit down if you want.”

“Thank you.”

As he sat himself down, he carefully placed his briefcase onto the table. Maya watched his movements like a hawk.

“So, er,” He began cautiously, “we searched Misty Fey’s residence.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Was all Maya said, then suddenly she opened her mouth in confusion. “Detective Gumshoe already brought me a whole box full of stuff this morning!”

He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. This may be the first time the detective acted so quickly. Well, the first time he ever succeeded in doing so.

Flashbacks of the horrid crunch of a car crash over the phone came to mind. He cleared his throat to try and rid himself of those particular memories. “That wasn’t the only box he found.”

“Really?” Maya’s eyes lit up. “What else is there?”

Miles sighed. It was now or never.

“Before I tell you, I would like to ask: what do you know about your father?”

This obviously took Maya by surprise.

“Oh… pretty much nothing, I guess. My Sis didn’t really remember him that well and said Mom never talked about him either.” She looked at him with a sudden determination. “Why? Is it to do with him? Do you know who he is?!”

“I-” He wasn’t sure how to answer. “He died. A long time ago. Not long after you were born, I’d imagine.”

As quickly as it arrived, Maya’s excitement died. Just perfect- he’d managed to crush the spirits of Phoenix Wright and Maya Fey in the span of 10 minutes.

Maya looked more miserable by the second. Time to move on.

He opened his leather briefcase. “Here, I’d like you to have a look at this picture.”

After warily taking out the picture of his- no, their parents, he handed it to her.

He hadn’t brought the entire box since he wasn’t ready to share that with the world, however, he’d brought certain items that would have served as evidence for his speech. But since the speech had been abandoned…

“That’s Mom!” She exclaimed, and he understood what she was experiencing. They’d lost their parents at a young age, albeit by different methods, and when Miles had first seen that picture he’d immediately focused on his own father. After having a very limited collection of photos to look at over the years, any new ones became a treasure.

Then Maya’s focus shifted onto the other person in the picture.

“Is that my Dad?” She asked quietly.

Miles nodded, preparing himself for that dreaded conversation. He may have forgotten his speech, but he’d faced worse in court. He could do this.

“Woah, he’s so handsome!”

What.

“Mom had good taste at least. I bet she was so sad to have to send him away!”

Maya’s enthusiasm had returned full swing, and she was practically clapping her hands with excitement.

“I, er-”

“They look so happy together!” She continued, oblivious to the heat in Miles’ cheeks. “Aw, this beats anything I could’ve imagined!”

Finally tearing her gaze away from the photograph, she looked up at Miles to see if he was sharing her joy. He wasn’t. He was confused, mostly.

Then Maya’s jaw dropped slightly. She looked down at the photo, then back at Miles. Photo, then him. Photo again, Miles again.

She laughed. “He looks a lot like you, y’know!”

Miles held his breath as the penny dropped.

Her head snapped down to study the picture again, and her grin began to wobble. “Wait is that…”

He stayed silent.

“H- That’s why he looked so familiar…” she whispered. “I remember that picture.”

Knowing exactly what picture she was talking about, Miles shuddered. It was the only photo she could have seen. The photo of his father's corpse, lying in that cursed elevator, blood streaming out of his gunshot wound. The photo that still haunted him to that day, despite knowing he wasn’t the cause of it.

Now it would haunt Maya too. He suddenly felt cruel.

She eventually looked back up at him. “My dad is Gregory Edgeworth?”

He nodded slowly.

“But that would mean-”

Miles brought up a finger to shush her. “Hold on a moment.” He said as he rummaged through his briefcase for the other photograph he’d brought, before handing it over to let her examine it.

It was a smaller photo that had been lying underneath the letter, so he hadn’t discovered it until later on the previous night. It was a picture of Misty Fey nursing a sleeping baby boy in her arms, with a young brown-haired girl peeking curiously over her shoulder. Though the baby seemed content enough, Misty had tears rolling down her cheeks. And yet she still had the small trademark Fey smile on her face.

Her expression was one that Maya wore now.

“Sis is way too young for that to be me. Is it…” She waited for Miles to finish her thought, but when he didn’t she continued. “...you?”

“I believe so, yes.” He said, voice breaking. Damn it, he was getting emotional now.

Maya leaned back in her chair and sat still for a few moments, mouth open and eyes wide. Her tears had stopped, but they had left their marks on her face. Miles felt anxious about her response but knew that it was his responsibility to tell her the truth. Especially as her-

“Oh my god, YOU’RE MY BROTHER!” Maya squealed, and he could hardly process how quickly she’d jumped out of her seat and ran around to squeeze him, and he flinched at the unexpected contact.

Almost straight away, she pulled back, as if realizing what she was doing. “You’re my… brother.” She repeated quieter, presumably as the implications sank in.

“I am.” He confirmed. She looked up at him.

“I just don’t believe it. All along! I wouldn’t’ve thought you were such a jerk if I’d known!”

Miles cocked his head. “Thank you..?”

Gently, he pushed her away from his side. “Now listen Miss Fey, I understand if you don’t want anything to change between us. We don’t even have to tell Wright. After finding out that you’ve lost your father, it may be better just to carry on as nor-”

“Are you kidding?!”

Miles blinked. “No?”

“Dude, you’re my brother! All this time I thought I was alone. My sister was murdered and then my Mom was murdered- I never even thought about my Dad really- and then I find out I still have a brother! This is awesome!”

Whatever reactions Miles had predicted in his mind, this was not one of them. Why was she being so supportive?

“Why are you so supportive of the idea? I tried to get you convicted for murder!” He exclaimed, genuinely shocked.

“‘Cause you’re my brother, duh!”

He wasn’t sure when the roles had swapped, but now he was the one who had eyes brimming with tears. It was contagious, and soon she began to sob again too.

When she hugged him again, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he held her tightly, if somewhat awkwardly, and genuinely didn’t want to let go.

This was his little sister. The universe definitely tried hard to take everything away from him, but it failed. Oh goodness, it failed. And at that moment, that one blissful moment of siblings embracing, he felt calm. Everything was going to be okay.

Maya jerked backwards suddenly. “I have to tell Sis!”

“Wait, what-”

“Hold on I’ll channel her, you need to tell her too!” She cried.

“No! There’s no need! She’s resting, leave her be!” She was dead, but that's the same thing, right?

But Maya wasn’t listening, she had already crossed her fingers and furrowed her brows in concentration. The Magatama thing around her neck started to glow.

Miles began to panic again. He’d only thought about Maya, and not even considered Mia Fey at all. Cursed spirit channeling!

He turned to look at the door and wondered if Phoenix was listening in. Probably not, since he’d been very interested in his own chores, but he couldn’t help but wonder nonetheless.

He’d planned a different speech entirely to tell Phoenix.

“Edgeworth?”

That wasn’t Maya’s voice.

He turned again to see a familiar face in Maya’s clothing, looking at him in confusion. He frowned- the last thing he wanted to do was to go through that entire conversation again.

“Hello, Miss Fey.” He said, shaking slightly. Though he’d seen this practice in court before, he doubted he would ever get used to the concept of spirit channeling.

“What’s going on? Maya didn’t leave a note, so I’m a little confused.”

She looked more than a little confused, but Miles wasn’t going to point that out.

“After searching your mother’s house, we found out that your father is my father, and I’m your mother’s son. I’m your brother.”

Wow, ripping the bandaid off in one go really does make it easier.

Mia appeared sceptical. “What?”

“See for yourself.” Miles replied, gesturing towards the pair of photographs on the table.

Mia pulled them towards her and studied them, her face scrunching up slightly as she did so.

She gasped. “You’re… you’re our brother?”

Her reaction was definitely less emotional and dramatic than Maya’s, but Miles could still sense the shock coming from her.

“I am.” He nodded, feeling a sense of deja vu.

“Oh… Oh god, I shouldn’t’ve said all those shitty things about you after our first trial!”

Like sister, like sister, even at his own expense. Wait…

“OH!” He shouted suddenly as he brought up a hand to cover his mouth. He looked away in shame. “The horrid things I called you… even in court…”

Mia raised a hand. “An eye for an eye. Never mention it again?”

He copied her action. “Agreed.”

And then they both laughed. And, for the first time in a while, Miles felt safe. It all felt unreal. This wasn't him, this couldn't be happening. It was probably a dream, so he'd enjoy it while he still could.

“I can’t believe it…” Mia said after they’d settled. “I knew our Dad was a defense attorney, and I’d even researched Gregory Edgeworth once I became one. God, it all makes sense! That’s why Mom agreed to help, and why it was such a big deal to her.” She held her head in her hands, and her stolen black hair fell in front of her face. “I’m so stupid,” she muttered, “I should’ve put two and two together!”

“In your defence,” Miles responded, “I didn’t either. And it is rather obvious now.”

“My Dad was a Brit.”

Miles chuckled again. “He was.”

Without warning, Mia’s embarrassed expression turned into one of sympathy.

“I’m so sorry Miles.”

Now it was his turn to be confused. “Why?”

“We all lost our father at a young age, but Maya and I never found out, and we didn’t really mind since we still had our Mom. But you had no-one…”

Miles was about to argue that he had Von Karma, but decided against it. It wasn’t the time to bring him up. It was probably never going to be, either.

“There’s nothing we could have done.” He said sadly.

Mia scoffed. “Yeah but…” she cut herself off with a smirk. “You’ve got a little sister to take care of now.”

“I already have a little sister-” He argued instinctively, then cringed. He shouldn’t have said that to his dead biological older sister.

Still, Mia seemed to show understanding. “Franziska Von Karma, right? She’s still your sister, just as much as Maya is. Maybe even more than her. But I'm warning you, Maya is a hell of a lot clingier.” She paused. “How did she take it?”

Of course, Mia wouldn’t know since she was busy being dead. “Not how I’d expected, but good. I think she’s happy.”

Mia smiled. “Good.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, in which Miles wished he could have properly met Mia Fey while she was alive, but it was eventually broken by Mia herself.

“You should tell Diego.”

The happiness and warmth that Miles had felt began to dissolve.

“Wh-What?”

“Diego Armando. He told me he worked under Gregory Edgeworth briefly, and he never had a bad word to say about him. I think he deserves to know.”

Diego Armando was a defense attorney that he had faced off against in court a few times but never had the chance to meet properly in person. Even Miles struggled against him, though he would never admit it. The man was poisoned by Miss Dahlia Hawthorne and was in a coma for 5 years. When he woke up, he disguised his identity under the name “Godot”, and was recently convicted for…

A shaky hand was brought to his mouth, and he felt sick to the stomach.

“H-He murdered our mother…”

It was the first time that fact had really sunk in, and Miles hated it.

All of a sudden his shoulders were being gripped tightly. He was forced to look into Mia’s eyes.

“Yes, he did kill our mother.” She stated, matter-of-factly. “But he also saved our sister, whether that was his intention or not. He also mourned me, Miles. He may be a criminal, but he is nothing like Manfred Von Karma. Don’t you dare compare him to him. Deep down, he's a good man.”

“I-I won’t.” Miles replied and for the first time in his life, he genuinely felt like a little brother.

Releasing his shoulders with a satisfied look, she stood up and made her way to where Maya had originally been sitting.

“I’ll let Maya come back now. I’m sure you both have a lot of catching up to do, and I presume Phoenix doesn’t know yet either. You’ll tell Diego, won’t you?”

“You have my word.” Is what he said, but he still felt very hesitant.

“Good.” She said firmly. “I hope to speak to you again soon, Miles.”

Averting his eyes as her figure began to morph into Maya’s, he glanced at the door again. Mia was right, he was yet to tell Phoenix. How would he react, finding out that two of his friends were related? Would he break ties with him? Go into denial?

“Edgeworth!”

It was his turn to smile. This had all gone far better than expected. “Miss Fey.”

Maya (she was back to Maya now) frowned, and Miles immediately took back that last statement. “Dude, we’re siblings now, if you call me Miss Fey again I will end you.”

Once he was certain she was joking, he let himself laugh a little. Perhaps his little sisters weren’t that different after all.

“Alright, Maya.”

It felt strange on his tongue, but he could get used to it. Hopefully.

“Right, what are you up to?”

Both siblings’ heads snapped towards the door, where Phoenix stood with his arms crossed playfully. The pout looked quite authentic though…

He realized that the scene he'd walked into must look very odd, with one friend laughing hysterically and the other letting out a rare chuckle, both with tear tracks on their cheeks.

Now he had another hurdle to cross. Luckily he’d remembered his speech for Phoenix. He would have to be gentle in his delivery and be certain he had the correct order of facts. Reaching out to pick up the photos, he stood up and took a deep breath. It was time.

“We-”

“Guess what Nick?!" Maya yelled, startling him. "Edgeworth’s my brother!”

Oh.

Oh no.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #miles edgeworth #wrightworth #narumitsu #maya fey #mia fey #detective gumshoe #a second chance

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collabwithmyself · 5 years

Text

To Be Proud Pt.2

Electric Boogaloo Because I have no self-control

It was June once more. Unlike his younger years, Edgeworth had come to appreciate that month and what it stood for. Reason why he found himself struggling to place the flags that represented part of him on the windows without sacrificing the natural sunlight that came through them. Maybe he should have waited for someone taller to help him or to just conform to the pins he wore on the lapel of his suit. Yet, there he was standing on a stepladder with shaky legs and a pale face.

"Mornin' boss! Need help?" Gumshoe entered the room after politely knocking, on one hand he carried a cup coffee, the other a bag of pastries from the local shop across the street. He wore an amused expression as he saw the Chief Prosecutor immediately climb down the stepladder with both flags in hand.

"Hmph. As if you wouldn't know the answer by now."

"Alright," The Detective answered in a good-natured way as he placed down his coffee and the bag down on the work desk, "Ya got me. Lemme put those real quick."

"Thank you, Gumshoe." Edgeworth sighed in relief as he handed the taller (braver) man the rainbow and the blue,pink and white flags. Then he sat down to open up the bag from the pastry shop to get his slice of black forest cake. Now that the detective had a more than reasonable pay, the man had made it his mission to repay the prosecutor for every time he had payed for a meal or whenever he got Gumshoe out of trouble. At first, Miles had fervently refused, but once Dick set his mind to something, it was impossible to stop him. Now, every once in awhile, they would sit down at Edgeworth's office to share some sweets over tea, coffee and police reports. "After you're finished there, would you mind fetching the cases DT-8, FH-2, YW-3 for me?"

"You got it, sir!" Dick smiled, finishing putting up the Trans Pride flag on the left-most window. The Chief Prosecutor noted that the Detective was wearing suspenders that matched the flag on the window this time around. His tie was representing his pansexuality. Festive as always, a big comfort for Edgeworth. "Cold cases?"

"Closed cases, actually. Something about the evidence presented in them bugs me."

"Gotcha. Anything in common between them?"

"They're all grand theft cases. Other than that, there's no common thread."

Gumshoe simply hummed in response as he finished putting up the Gay Pride flag on the right-most window, leaving the middle windows unobstructed.

A comfortable silence settled between them as Edgeworth began preparing a fresh pot of tea for himself. He couldn't help but to smile. It had taken him years, but at last he could say he was proud of himself, all parts of himself. Now, he fully comprehend the celebration and what it meant to him. He couldn't have done it without his friends and his family at the Wright Anything Agency, but in particular, he felt particularly grateful towards Gumshoe. He was always there, even during his worst years. Without him, he wouldn't have taken the first step of accepting himself.

Of course, if Phoenix ever asked, Miles would just answer that his lovely attorney husband played a big role. If Larry asked, he would state that he was a very supportive ally. If Franziska ever asked (unlikely), he would state that she's a great sister with good advice and that her support was always appreciated. Technically, it was the truth, although he could never claim in good faith that any of them were 'the first'.

"Here ya go, Miles!" Gumshoe interrupted his thoughts by placing the big files on his desk.

"Thank you, Dick. For everything." Now, it was Edgeworth's turn to watch with amusement how it took a second for the meaning of his words to register in the mind of the Detective and how flustered he became because of them.

"Aw shucks, sir. It's-- I mean-- You know-- You don't--"

The Chief Prosecutor chuckled as he picked up the first file and stood to deal with the whistling kettle. "Take a seat, Detective. Let's see if we can find the contradictions in these cases."

- by @inkedfeather9

⁂

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

#ace attorney #dick gumshoe #miles edgeworth #lgbt pride #friend art #inkedfeather9 #WUH #WAAAAAAH #submission

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wrightworth-tickles · 5 years

Text

Wrightworth Tickle-fic 1: "To Make You Smile"

Phoenix walked the short distance from the Wright Anything Agency to the prosecutors building, head hanging low and eyes downcast. He sighed as he opened the front door of the building, walking unbothered through hallways and up stairs until he reached his husband's office.

Today had been a long day, from a case he just couldn't seem to crack, to the rain pouring into his office through a window that was accidentally left open, and everything in between.

Miles would help him, though.

He knocked on the door and opened it a crack, poking his head inside and calling a weary, "It's me."

Miles looked up immediately, a frown on his face at the tone in his lover's voice. "Phoenix," he started, standing up. "What's wrong? What happened?" Phoenix tiredly trudged over to Miles and buried his face in the other man's shoulder, mumbling a "had a bad day" into Miles' suit jacket. Miles ran a hand through Phoenix's spiky hair, resting his cheek against the top of the shorter man's head and wrapping his arms around him.

"Do you want to go home? I can finish my work tomorrow, I don't mind," Miles offered, and pressed a kiss to Phoenix's cheek. Phoenix nodded and sighed again. "Sorry..."

Miles hugged him tighter and said, "Don't be. I was looking for an excuse to leave anyway." With that Miles grabbed his car keys and his umbrella in case it started raining again, and pulled Phoenix into his side as they walked out to the car.

Once seated in the prosecutor's red sports car, Miles turned the ignition so the vehicle could heat up- it was chilly outside, being an overcast fall day. He then turned to his husband and placed a hand on his knee, gently squeezing affectionately, and offered him a smile. Phoenix looked up and gave a weak smile back, placing his own hand on top of Miles'.

"I love you," Miles said softly, and Phoenix's smile was a bit more genuine this time.

"I love you, too, Miles," he replied sincerely. Miles smiled again and began to pull out of the parking lot, keeping his hand on Phoenix's knee against the other man's protests ("That's not safe, Miles! A wreck will only make this day worse, you know").

They ended up getting home safely, and Miles, ever the gentleman, opened the car door for Phoenix and held his hand as they walked up the stairs to their shared penthouse (which was soley Miles' until Phoenix and Trucy moved in- their presence made the place feel less cold and empty, and more loved and lived-in and like home).

Miles held the door to the flat open for Phoenix and led him inside to the bedroom. He helped him undress from his work clothes, kissing each bit of skin that was revealed, and then assisted him in getting dressed into something more comfortable (the entire process being argued against by the blushy defense attorney, though he ultimately made no move to actually stop Miles).

Once they were both in more casual clothing, Miles pulled Phoenix against his chest and asked, "Anything else I can do? I hate seeing you so upset." Phoenix closed his eyes and leaned against Miles' slightly bigger frame.

"Today was just so stressful... Help me forget?" he replied quietly, and Miles immediately knew what he meant. The taller man carefully scooped Phoenix up in his arms bridal-style and carried him from the bathroom to the bed, gently depositing him in the middle with a warm smile. "Anything for you, love," he said, and pressed a sweet kiss to the other man's temple. "Now... Do you remember the safe word?"

Phoenix nodded, and took a deep breath as Miles joined him on the bed, sitting by his side and slowly dragging his fingers up and down his sides.

With no protection but a thin navy blue sweater, Phoenix felt his skin tingle. He relaxed into the sensation, sighing and then giggling lightly as Miles spidered his fingers over the same area. Miles then moved a hand under his shirt and repeated the action, and Phoenix had to force himself to not curl up. Slowly but steadily, the fingers on his skin moved faster and firmer and soon Phoenix was full out laughing, his body twitching away from his lover's hands automatically.

Miles changed positions so he was now straddling Phoenix's waist, preventing him from escaping, and kneaded the spaces between his ribs. Phoenix's laughter shot up an octave and his squirming became more apparent. His arms had come up to cover his chest, and Miles moved them so they fit crossed behind his back confortably.

When he was satisfied with Phoenix's position, Miles lifted his shirt and leaned down. He pressed a kiss to the slightly-soft-but-still-toned stomach and inhaled, blowing the air out forcefully on Phoenix's unprotected belly. Phoenix snorted in laughter, and Miles kept him there with more raspberries in addition to having both hands glued to his sides, tickling consistently.

"Milesss!!" Phoenix wailed, the name broken by giggles, and Miles responded with a cheeky, "What?"

"It t-tickles!" The brunette complained, though Miles could tell he was enjoying it, and Miles responded, "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to wreck you until you forget today, and yesterday, and all the days before? That's what you asked for, isn't it?"

Phoenix, who had never been able to handle teasing, turned even redder and made a whining noise, tossing his head back and forth a bit as if that would make Miles stop talking.

Miles did not stop talking. In fact, Phoenix's action only spurred him on further, and he continued, "You like this, don't you, Phoenix? You like it when I tickle you?" Phoenix's only reply was another whine.

"Look at you, Phoenix, you're so adorable... Your face is all red and your hair's a mess and you're all giggly... I'm so lucky, I'm the only one who gets to see you like this... "

Phoenix's laughter had turned near-silent and his movements were tired- the only evidence that he was still awake was the shaking of his shoulders and the little gasping giggles that escaped every so often.

Miles slowed his ministrations, allowing Phoenix to breathe but still working his nerves. Once Phoenix had recovered mostly, Miles pressed little kisses to his neck, Phoenix moving his head so Miles had better access- which turned out to be a fatal mistake. Miles took his opportunity and blew another raspberry against the man's exposed neck, and Phoenix lost it. Miles hands were now occupied at Phoenix's hips, squeezing and digging in, and he kept kissing and blowing raspberries on Phoenix's neck as well, until the poor defense lawyer's hysterical laughter turned breathless again.

A few more minutes of tickling to Phoenix's waist and sides had the man crying tears of laughter, and soon Miles heard a weak but frenzied, "Safe! Safe, please!!" and immediately his hands stilled.

Miles kissed Phoenix's tears away and held his face, whispering words of praise to his husband, who's body trembled with the ghosts of tickles and residual giggles. Phoenix was panting, his body covered in a thin layer of sweat, and he moved his trapped arms back around to hold Miles closer.

"You held out even longer than last time, Phoenix," observed Miles in between kisses, and Phoenix sighed, a little dazed. "I needed it today..." he said by way of explanation, and Milea hummed in response.

"Did it work? Are you feeling better?" Miles asked, laying beside Phoenix and holding his hand.

"Yeah... I feel like I could take on the world- after a nap, maybe." Miles chuckled and Phoenix mustered up the energy to roll onto his side and snuggle up to the prosecutor, resting his head on Miles' shoulder.

"Thank you, Miles..." he whispered, already half-asleep. Miles ran his fingers through Phoenix's sweatdamp hair and kissed his forehead again.

"Anything, to make you smile."

_________

A/N: Okay, how was it?? If you enjoyed this, a reblog would be a big help!! I tried to keep them in character, while also hinting at the fact that they are hopelessly in love. Also, I think Miles can be a lot more romantic than we usually give him credit for. I'm working on another fic for you guys, so keep a look out for it, and thank you so much for reading!!!

#miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #narumitsu #phoenix wright tickle #wright x edgeworth #wrightworth #miles edgeworth tickle #miles x phoenix #ace attorney tickle #ace attorney #tickle fic #ace attorney fic #phoenix wright fic #miles edgeworth fic

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daresplaining · 5 years

Note

Hey, Idk if you know this but imma ask you anyway cause I think you’re cool. ANYWAY, how do other hero’s react when they find out Daredevil is blind? (You have any HC’s that go along with it?)

Hi, and thanks! I’m happy that running a comics blog is considered cool.

This doesn’t actually come up as much as you’d think, because this kind of revelation almost never starts with people discovering that Daredevil is blind. Matt is (mostly) good at pretending he can see while in costume, since that’s an illusion he feels the need to maintain. Instead, what usually happens is this: someone (a fellow hero or otherwise) will learn that Matt is Daredevil, they’ll assume he fakes the blindness, Matt will then explain about the hypersenses, and that will be that. Sometimes he’ll be asked to prove it, but not always.

[ID: Excerpt from Kesel’s Daredevil run. Matt and Foggy are standing together in an office. Foggy has his back to Matt (and the reader).]

Foggy: “Okay, Matt– you can stop pretending, now.”

Matt: “Foggy–?”

Foggy: “This whole ‘blind’ thing. I know you’re really Daredevil! Some ‘best friend’– lying to me all these years… playing me for a fool…”

Matt: “No, Foggy– you’re wrong! I thought you understood… I really am blind, from a childhood accident that heightened my remaining senses–”

Daredevil vol. 1 #353 by Karl Kesel, Cary Nord, and Christie Scheele

[ID: Daredevil and Karen Page are sitting together in a large, fancy, primarily green sitting room.]

Karen: “And, your brother ‘Mike’… the aerial explosion in which you ‘died’… even your ‘blindness’… they were all nothing but ingenious frauds!”

Matt: “Two out of three right, my darling! I never had a brother… and that explosion was trumped up to flush out a would-be blackmailer! But, I have been blind for years… perhaps in more ways than one!”

Karen: “Really blind? I don’t… understand…!”

Matt: “When you get down to brass tacks, Karen… neither do I! As Matt, I told you once about the childhood accident that blinded me! That story was true, but not the whole truth!”

[ID: A panel showing a montage of Daredevil doing cool acrobatic tricks against an orange background.]

Matt (off-panel): “For, in some mysterious way, the same mishap that robbed me of my sight… amazingly sharpened my remaining senses, to far beyond those of other men… enabling me to avoid disasters, and to perform athletic feats that few people even dream of! Taste… touch… smell… hearing… all my senses were heightened! Except perhaps for that secret ingredient called… common sense! Why else would I never have told you before… that I love you?”

Daredevil vol. 1 #58 by Roy Thomas and Gene Colan

[ID: Daredevil and Black Panther are swinging in tandem across the nighttime city.]

T’Challa: “DD… I know I promised no questions… but I have never comprehended how a blind attorney can battle crime with the best of them! –If you truly are blind, that is!”

Matt: “I am… but I’ve got some other super-senses that just won’t quit! Remind me to tell you about ‘em sometime!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #69 by Roy Thomas and Gene Colan

[ID: Daredevil and Spider-Man– who is in his black costume– are crouched on a rooftop, talking.]

Peter: “So… ‘Peter’, huh?”

Matt: “Yup. And in case you’re wondering, my handle is… Matt Murdock.”

Peter: “You’re kidding, right? I mean… Murdock’s blind… I mean… that is… uh, let’s go someplace and talk about this…”

[In the next panel they’re in Peter’s apartment, and in civvies. Matt is sitting on a chair, wearing a white shirt and blue pants. Peter is walking into the room, wearing a green shirt and blue pants.]

Matt: “Faintly acrid, but a nice apartment.”

Peter: “Boy, you really must be blind. And yeah, I had a fire recently. Let me understand– you could tell when you heard my heartbeat as Peter Parker and later as Spider-Man that we were the same guy? That’s some power. What do you call it?”

Matt: “Listening.”

Peter Parker, the Spectacular Spider-Man vol. 1 #110 by Peter David, Rich Buckler, and Bob Sharen

[ID: A panel of Luke Cage and Danny Rand– both in civvies– standing on a rooftop at night. They are looking up toward the viewer (at Daredevil, off-panel). Danny is holding up a newspaper.]

Luke: “You can put that down. He’s blind.”

Danny: “Oh, he really is blind. I thought he was pretending because of all the heat on him.”

Luke: “No, he’s really blind.”

Danny: “Oh.”

Daredevil vol. 2 #38 by Brian Michael Bendis, Manuel Gutierrez, and Matt Hollingsworth

These are just a few examples, but you get the idea. It’s very rare that someone figures out that Daredevil is blind without it being tied to a full-on secret identity reveal. The best example I can think of is this great moment from one of the Daredevil/Batman crossovers. Trust the World’s Greatest Detective to figure it out…

[ID: Daredevil and Batman are standing together on a rooftop at night.]

Bruce: “Let’s say you’re visually impaired. You favor your other modes of sensory input. A subtle inclination of your head when there’s a sound. An extremely slight flaring of your nostrils, probably indicating olfactory acuteness. You’re practiced– or possess sensory enhancements– making your powers of observation markedly proficient.”

Matt: “Thanks. Yours aren’t bad, either.”

Daredevil and Batman by D.G. Chichester, Scott McDaniel, and Gregory Wright

I love this because Matt’s blindness and powers would affect his body language, and I kind of wish that more characters– particularly those with combat expertise– would notice. As it stands, pretty much everyone who knows that Daredevil is blind also learns about his hypersenses immediately afterward, and since there’s always been a tendency for writers to allow Matt’s powers to get him out of situations that would generally require sight, his blindness doesn’t come up as much as I wish it would within the context of his actual hero work and team-ups. The little evidence available suggests that his fellow heroes are accommodating (we get little details, like the fact that the text on Matt’s Avengers ID card is written in braille) and they’re generally impressed by him, but they don’t make that big a deal of it. Sometimes they’ll forget he’s blind, but he is quick to remind them. In the wider context of the Marvel superhero community, a blind superhero isn’t that weird, no matter what Brainwashed Wolverine™ might claim:

[ID: Wolverine and Matt (in costume, but without his mask) are fighting in Matt’s apartment. Wolverine is slashing with his claws; Matt is trying to restrain him]

Logan: “Hands offa me, you blind freak!”

Matt: “This isn’t you that’s saying this. You have to fight it, Wolverine. You’ve just been reprogrammed.”

Logan (caption): “Listen to you, Murdock: talking like you’re some kinda super hero– Ever wonder why they didn’t ask you to join their fancy teams, big shot? Ever wonder why you always work alone? ‘Cuz you’re blind. Handicapped. Oughta hear the sick jokes they crack behind your back–”

Wolverine (2003) #24 by Mark Millar, John Romita, Jr., Paul Mounts

(This comes after a long rant about how Matt gets more dates than him. Brainwashed Wolverine™ was going through some stuff in this issue…)

One context in which Matt’s blindness does come up is in his interactions with other blind superheroes. In these cases, it usually serves as a source of bonding. Gerry Conway gives us this weird-yet-touching issue in which Matt encounters a blind hero from another dimension:

[ID: Daredevil is standing over a figure (Tagak), who is wearing a purple and orange skin-tight suit and a leopard-print mask that covers his whole head.]

Matt: “Now maybe I’ll get some answers! Like, number one… who you are… and number two… how you pretend to see– when you’re blind!”

Tagak: “How…?”

Matt: “Big clue: the way you hesitated just now… and let’s just say it takes one to know one!”

Tagak: “Then you…? It seems there is much to speak about, my friend!”

Daredevil vol. 1 #72 Gerry Conway and Gene Colan

Since Matt generally works so hard to hide his blindness while in costume, it’s notable that he shares this information with Tagak within minutes of meeting him– especially when he didn’t actually have to.

Here’s a more recent example, from after Matt has revealed his secret identity to the Inhuman superhero Reader:

[ID: A panel showing Reader sitting at a table, with Matt– in civvies and with his arm in a sling– standing next to the table.]

Reader: “Wait… are you really blind? Gotta admit, I kind of liked being on a team with another blind guy.”

Matt: “I’m really blind.”

Reader: “Then how…”

Matt: “You’ve got your tricks, Reader, I’ve got mine.”

Daredevil vol. 5 #609 by Charles Soule and Phil Noto

This example is a bit more complicated, since (spoiler alert) it’s all in Matt’s head, but 1. this conversation seems in-character for Reader anyway, and 2. the fact that Matt would want him to react this way is still significant.

And then there are the villains! One of my favorite examples of Matt’s blindness coming into play in his hero work is this great scene from Waid’s run, in which the Jester– having learned Matt’s secret identity but assuming that the blindness is just an act (as everyone does at first, see above)– sets a trap that is entirely vision-reliant…

[ID: Matt, in civvies, comes across a life-sized dummy of Foggy hanging from a noose. He perceives it in an unrecognizable form with his radar sense. This alternates with panels of the Jester, who is sitting in front of an array of computer screens and getting increasingly agitated.]

Matt (caption): “And what is this? A Jaycees haunted house? Who are you supposed to represent?”

Jester: “He’s staring right at it! Why– why isn’t he reacting?”

Matt (caption): “Real dead bodies have a distinct odor, Jester. This smells like foam rubber and latex. What were you trying to accomplish here? Fail.”

Jester: “React, damn you! That’s your best friend hanging from a noose! Anyone who’s ever seen Murdock in a fight knows the ‘blind lawyer’ gag is a put-on! Open your eyes!”

Daredevil vol. 3 #32 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Javier Rodriguez

I don’t really have headcanons as much as I have a wish to see more of this sort of thing in the source material itself (though I would love to hear other people’s headcanons, if they have some!). We’ve come a long way, in general, from the “Matt’s senses more than compensate for his blindness” attitude that plagued early (and some more recent, unfortunately) Daredevil comics, and Waid’s run in particular made great strides in this area, but I always feel like more can be done. I want Matt to hang out with more of the Marvel Universe’s other blind characters (there are a bunch of them!). I want his blindness to come up more often in his team-ups with sighted heroes. We’ve seen antagonists target his hypersenses, but I was surprised and a little disappointed that, back when his blindness was public knowledge, his rogues didn’t try to use that against him. On the other hand, we got awesome things like this during that period…

[ID: A panel showing Matt on the street, in civvies, signing an autograph for a blind kid with a service dog.]

Daredevil vol. 4 #11 by Mark Waid, Chris Samnee, and Matt Wilson

…which is another of the many reasons I’m sad it’s over, as Matt/Daredevil interacting more with the non-powered disabled community is another thing I want– including negotiating his identity as a superpowered disabled person.

There’s a tricky line that needs to be walked in handling this aspect of Matt’s character. In making his blindness too prominent, or too debilitating, there’s a risk of turning him into a caricature or making it seem like a burden rather than a simple fact of his existence. Matt is a complex character, and his sensory array is only one part of that complexity. But he is one of the most prominent blind characters in comics– if not media in general– and I still feel like there are a lot of stories surrounding this part of his identity that haven’t yet been told, in the context of both the civilian and superhero sides of his life.

#nightwing1536 #Daredevil #Matt Murdock #Asks #Sensory Shenanigans #Adventures in Continuity

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 6 years

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Chapter 15: more information, and finally, some answers -- but of course more questions.

And surprise! Another chapter! I’m super excited for this one, and even more for what’s next up.

[Beginning] [Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

Wednesday morning sees Apollo wonder if he got stuck in some sort of time sink in his way to work, if he dove through a liminal space and lost a few hours, because there’s no regular, non-fae, mundane reason that Phoenix should be in the office before him.

He has papers spread out over the coffee table, next to a formidable-looking legal text, and is sitting cross-legged on the couch hunched like a gargoyle. “Morning, Apollo,” he says, tapping his pen again a legal pad until it flings forth from his fingers and arcs up into the air to fall somewhere near the piano.

Something shuffles on the other couch, out of Apollo’s sight, and Vera pops up over the back of it. “Hi, Mr Justice.”

She still looks human. She looked human on Sunday, too, when Apollo went to see her and Trucy; he has wondered since the hospital visit when, or if, something will break like Kristoph broke.

“Hey, Vera.” He sets his bag down near the door. “What’s going on here?”

“Inheritance law fuckery,” Phoenix says. “I figured I’d spare you the early start on it.” He yawns and reaches for a mug perched precariously on the corner of the table. It takes all of Apollo’s self-restraint to lunge forward for fear of him knocking it over. “This does mean there’s some tea in the kitchen that hasn’t gone totally cold.”

“I didn’t know you drank tea.” It sounds tempting, though; he and Clay ran out of coffee yesterday and haven’t gotten their shit together for it.

“Not every habit I’ve picked up from people I hang out with is bad,” Phoenix says. “Just about eighty-five percent of them.”

Vera slumps back into the couch. “I don’t think you’re inspiring confidence in our client,” Apollo says.

Phoenix grins sheepishly. It’s an expression that still surprises Apollo, that vulnerability and acquiescence of wrongdoing, even if it must be calculated that he chooses to let it show at all. “Sorry.”

“You did warn me that this isn’t your expertise,” Vera says softly. “It’s okay. It’s better than being alone.”

Phoenix’s face falls. He looks back to his hand, expecting the pen to still be there, and finding nothing. “Oh, Apollo, if there is something you want to do later, I’ve got some folders on my desk I need run over to the Prosecutors Office.”

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “Sure.” It’s still a little cold – not that Phoenix is wearing a scarf inside today, but Apollo feels it biting into his nose and fingers. If he can get some tea and reheat it, that would—

He stops dead.

“Mr Wright,” he says. “This office doesn’t have a kitchen.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. It disappears beneath the hem of his beanie. “Sure it does,” he says. “Only just when you want it to.”

“You’re shitting me.”

He waves a hand. He’s found another pen somewhere. “Go look. You’ll find it.”

And in the next room, on the wall that doesn’t have a desk, there is a door that Apollo has never seen. It’s the wall across from his desk, that he has stared at often enough with no idea what to do and the window behind him, and he knows he should have seen it. Cautiously pushing it open, he steps into a narrow kitchen with no room for two people to stand side-by-side between the counters, with two stovetop burners, no oven, a fridge, and numerous cabinets. A teapot and several mugs are laid out on the counter. The teapot, white with black and gold detailing of some sort of hounds or wolves, looks like it cost real money, which means that it was probably a gift that Phoenix took up drinking tea in order to use. The mugs are a mismatch of kitschy souvenir mugs from cities across Europe, another with a cracked handle and the logo for one Ivy University, three hand-painted probably by Trucy and showing a clear progression of skill, and two with weirdly detailed images of cats on them. Someone’s reject mugs handed over? Apollo takes the one with the calico on it, feeling like those two might be the ones with the least meaning behind them (or conversely, the most, but probably a stupid inside-jokey meaning), and pours himself some tea with the distinct feeling that in picking up the pot, he has taken his life into his hands.

The tea is still warm when he takes it back out to the main room. Phoenix smirks. He hasn’t stopped being unbearably smug, apparently; just maybe has less to be smug at Apollo over. “I see you found the kitchen,” he says.

“Anything else I should know about this place?” Apollo assesses his options and decides he would rather sit next to Vera. She unsprawls herself and presses close to the arm of the couch. “Any ghosts or anything?”

“I guess you’re a bit behind the curve since I haven’t been around much,” Phoenix says, “but she’s not really a ghost, technically. ‘Ghost’ implies she died here instead of choosing to ascend into an incorporeal… blanketing life-force blessing who is… still sapient and has opinions about my lack of organizational skills and also everything else.” He straightens his back out and winces. “I’ve lost you, haven’t I?”

“I was only about half-serious,” Apollo says. “I mean, I thought this place was weird, but--”

The lights flicker.

“Oh.”

Phoenix laughs. It stops just short of mocking, but it’s close. “Her name is Mia,” he says. “She was murdered almost a decade ago now – at the end, I’m sure she could’ve lashed back one last time, knocked her killer dead instantly with a curse, but she just – went the other way – ascended, kind of? Stuck around to help me bring him and more to justice, legally. Life and death, she went for the blessing instead. She’d given enough of herself away to the office before, anyway.”

Vera wraps her arms around her knees. “Is that… something anyone can do?” she asks. “To… to learn to stay? Instead of dying, could…?”

No trace of the laugh is left in Phoenix’s face. “No,” he says. “I’m sorry.” They must be all thinking about her father. “Sell your soul and maybe you won’t go if you get murdered before your time, but that’s inadvisable for about a thousand reasons.” He shakes his head. “Otherwise – otherwise Mia’s unique. She’s the strongest fae I’ve ever known – she could have been Queen of the Winter Court if she had wanted. The ones on the throne, now, they’re powerful, but…” He shakes his head again and leaves it hanging, his eyes dark and downcast. “Not like her.”

Apollo doesn’t want to breathe -- wants to ask so many questions and is sure if he moves he makes Phoenix realize that Apollo has learned more of his personal life and relationships to the fae this week than in the past six months. This must be Phoenix’s mentor, fae royalty, and now Apollo knows what happened to her.

Mia Fey.

He always thought that name was bold when he read the trial records.

“Did you love her?” Vera asks.

Phoenix smacks his head back into the couch. “How do I keep getting to this kind of thing?” he asks the ceiling. The lights hum a little louder. “You can’t ask me that in front of her!” His exasperation tilts upward at the end, seems blended with some amusement. “Yeah,” he adds. “Of course I did. And she saved my life when we first met, and keeps saving it.” He sits forward again, rolling his eyes as he does so, but then resting his arms on his knees he stares very seriously between Apollo and Vera. “Whatever your misfortune or your curses, this office, Mia’s blessing here, is about the safest damn place in the world.”

Vera nods, her thumbnail halfway to her lips, and then she hurriedly brings it down. Does she know about the curse? Have they mentioned it in front of her? Has Phoenix told her – does she know of more than the nail polish poison? Does this reassurance, actually for her benefit, seem strangely out of nowhere?

“We should probably get back to work,” Phoenix says quietly, tapping his pen to the legal text, and the look at the man behind the cards is gone.

Apollo stays with them, because he has nothing else to do, and even if he’s personally inheriting nothing but abandonment issues and anxiety, it’s still good to know. Early in the afternoon, Vera begins spacing out and Phoenix is doodling in the margins of his legal pad. Apollo thinks it might be a good time to go.

“I didn’t know you are an artist,” Vera says.

Apollo, in the back, at Phoenix’s desk – still surprisingly bare, if only because he’s migrated to the couch – only catches part of his response, “on the side,” and when he reenters they’re talking about museums and classical art and Apollo definitely checks out. “1202!” Phoenix yells after him, in the middle of the same breath as something about the Renaissance.

Lawyer, artist on the side, turned piano-poker player, legal reformist on the side, seems pretty damn weird to Apollo, but they’re all also squatting in the office of “immeasurably powerful fae being on the side, lawyer full time”, so what does he know?

Room 1202 at the Prosecutors Office is the second prosecutor’s office Apollo has ever seen, but because the first was Klavier’s, he has no idea if this one is typical of their decor, or equally pretentious in the opposite way of Klavier. The couch and curtains are the same shade of – maroon? Burgundy? Apollo doesn’t know what he would call this color. On a small table sits a chess set, red and blue, and the shelf beneath the huge window is a bookshelf with a tea set and some kind of figurine resting on top of it.

The prosecutor at the desk has graying hair and a suit that matches his decor. He looks up over his glasses at Apollo and sits back, and he doesn’t actually look any older than Phoenix. Maybe even younger, but that could be Phoenix’s unkempt aura of existence. “Mr Justice,” he says, standing and starting to move around the desk. “I was told to expect you to come by. My name is Miles Edgeworth.”

“Nice to meet you.” Apollo shakes his hand and turns over the folders. “I have no idea what this is from Mr Wright, exactly. He didn’t say if I was allowed to look.”

Edgeworth flips the first open, scans it, and lazily tosses it onto his desk without a second glance. “Like a lot of the things Wright ferries my way, or has Trucy do, there might be something in there, but mostly, it is an excuse.”

Apollo shifts in place and fidgets with his bracelet. “For…?”

“Today? An introduction between us, I imagine.”

“Does he do anything without an ulterior motive?” Apollo asks, directed somewhere toward the wall, but Edgeworth snorts and shakes his head.

“He learned too well from his mentor and her cohorts.”

Apollo takes a step back away from the terrible, cutting blade of his words. “Forgive me,” Edgeworth says, his eyes and palms turning up, some sort of pleading with nothing or with Phoenix or with the fae. “That is neither here nor there. What I wanted was to speak with you about last week’s trial and your impressions of the system, having stood in the courtroom yourself; I was unable to attend to witness myself.”

It takes effort to stop himself from just weighing himself back and forth, foot to foot, burning off nervous energy in place. He feels like he did early in his career with Kristoph, still terrified of his boss but for mundane career-anxiety reasons. “I’d be glad to, but uh, since you’re a prosecutor, wouldn’t you rather get Prosecutor Gavin’s thoughts—?”

Edgeworth makes a noise of disgust in the back of his throat. Apollo regrets everything he has said so far this conversation. “I am equally interested in the perspective of both benches, but yes, I would perhaps like to hear from Gavin if he would deign to show himself in front of me.” He frowns deeply, squinting not really at Apollo, and then he cranes his neck over Apollo’s shoulder. “I asked him to deliver something to me in person today, so if I seem distracted at any point, I might be trying to make sure that I can corner him.”

“He hasn’t come into work?” Apollo asks.

“No, he has – I’ve seen those ostentatious vehicles of his.” Edgeworth folds his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers and shaking his head. “And he responds to email – but simply, no one has seen him around when I’ve asked.”

Apollo knows which office is his; he can stop on the way down. Is this some sort of machination on Phoenix’s part, too? “Oh.”

Edgeworth waves him over to the couch, returns to his desk, and begins what feels a little more like an interrogation or a trial than a conversation. He shouldn’t have expected otherwise – he knows the name Edgeworth as a famous (and infamous) prosecutor, and already he can see the hints to that reputation. He doesn’t ever ask more about Vera the changeling when Apollo brings it up, makes some quiet dismissive noise when Apollo mentions curses – and that, finally, seems like something he can push back on. He doesn’t know what Edgeworth is looking for from him, a fight or information or one in the form of the other, but he can try a new tactic.

“You don’t think that sort of thing is important to know?” Apollo asks.

“To what end?” Edgeworth asks. “For your own purposes, to secure your own belief in someone’s guilt, or lack thereof? What will you do with it – lobby an accusation that is subjective through your very own eyes and hope that someone believes you – that the prosecution will take pity on you?” He leans forward, intimidating even with the desk and the floor between them. “Will you take photographs through the center of a magatama – can you? – or just hold it to the eye of every detective on the scene, hoping to get corroboration to put before a judge and jury? Presume I trust you, because Wright picked you as his successor – faith and trust between the prosecution and defense can go a long ways, but if you have only that and wisps of magic, you still will not reach the truth.” His eyes, as they have all conversation, flicker from Apollo to the door and back again.

“And furthermore, for the matter of a jury trial, I can only see, going forward, that penalties should be made in cases of wanton claims about curses and magic, as you made.”

“But—”

He holds up a finger. “Consider this, Mr Justice: yes, the purpose of the Jurist System is for common sense to fill in the gaps where a clever killer has escaped with critical evidence. There is, however, a difference between that and a verdict based in impulse because accusations of magic have been bandied about. Consider a clever and unscrupulous attorney, or prosecutor, swaying a jury with passionate and baseless conviction that this witness is one of the Gentry – or even that the one behind the other bench is, and as such their evidence cannot be trusted. How will we ever untangle the truth amidst that slew of hearsay?”

Numbly, Apollo nods. Edgeworth sighs heavily and rests his forehead on his hand. “The psychology behind how a jury might respond to further cases such as this one, with claims of magic, is a headache in clear need of further research before we push the Jurist System toward the mainstream. We desperately need reform to prevent more Kristoph Gavins and so much other corruption like his, but…” Finally, he seems to be at a loss for words. “Wright was – is – a competent attorney, but it was fortunate for us all that the judge most often saddled with him is remarkably unfazed by talk of the Gentry. Going forward, with you and Wright and his methods and the possibility of uniquely made-up juries, I worry what could be unleashed, if the defense make claim to Wright’s Sight but lacks his integrity, or if the prosecution is not the rarest trustworthy witch who can confirm what was Seen.”

“I don’t think Prosecutor Gavin is a witch, actually,” Apollo says, knowing as soon as the first word leaves his mouth that he sounds like an idiot, and continuing on anyway.

He doesn’t even know if Edgeworth would consider Klavier trustworthy.

Edgeworth’s frown lessens, his brow slightly uncreasing. “Wright told me as much, eventually, but I admit I was thinking of a different prosecutor, my mentee.”

“Wait,” Apollo says, screaming again inside his skull because this next statement is actually going to be just as stupid, “you think Mr Wright’s an idiot for hanging out with the Fair Folk, but you mentored a witch?”

“Did I say he was an idiot?” Edgeworth looks, and sounds, puzzled, like he really isn’t sure if that was the phrasing he used.

“No, but I got that kind of, uh, vibe.”

“Hm.” Edgeworth considers it for another few seconds. “You are right, of course, he is; but the circumstances in our cases are very different, and my taking on a mentoring role toward a younger prosecutor was and is independent of him being a witch.” He folds his arms on the desk, quietly tapping a pen in one hand. “The most prominent difference is that I have not and refuse to give in and casually allow this office to become something like a coven, as Wright has your office.”

Apollo cannot lodge an objection to that. “I think I must cut us short here,” Edgeworth says, and Apollo tries not to jump up too quickly in relief. “I have to make more consideration of what we’ve spoken of, and see what Wright has thrown at me this time.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about, as well,” Apollo says. Edgeworth is right – it is a headache.

His mouth twitches. Apollo hasn’t actually seen him smile. “You aren’t the one running this reform, Mr Justice, so you need lend a little less consideration – but I am glad to learn that you won’t just sit back and let the wind carry you where it may. That you know how you wish to fight, too.”

With nothing to say to that, Apollo nods, turning it into a little bit of a bow of his head, and hurries for the door, finding sitting in the open doorway on the floor, a small stack of papers. He picks it up, glances it over, and finds his eyes are immediately drawn to the signature at the bottom, in purple pen, initials unmistakeable. “Um, Prosecutor Edgeworth?” he asks, turning back around, everything but his mouth and feet frozen. “I think – I think Prosecutor Gavin came by.”

Edgeworth curses, too much of a hushed hiss for Apollo to determine what exactly the words are, and he hurries around his desk to snatch the pages from Apollo’s hands. “Yes, he – yes, that is exactly what I asked him to—” He crumples the edges a little with the tightening of his fists, a harsh scowl tearing across his features. “I have been watching the door, all this time – you didn’t see these on your way in?” Apollo shakes his head. “Gavin, I swear – the man is a goddamned ghost, somehow, when he wants to be.”

“If you wanted me to meet Prosecutor Edgeworth for whatever reason, you could have just introduced us,” Apollo says.

“I wanted you to drop off those papers, Apollo.” Phoenix looks up at him like he’s looking up from checking the new hand he’s been dealt, utterly and frustratingly emotionless. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The second one is a red lie. It circles him – for someone else, he has no tells at all. “Bullshit you don’t,” Apollo says. He has the distinct feeling that he has had this conversation before. Twice before? Every conversation he has had with Phoenix is this one? “Or are you fishing for information on Prosecutor Gavin and hoped I would learn or say something?”

“And how is Prosecutor Gavin?” Phoenix’s lazy eyelid has returned. Apollo doesn’t miss it. Apollo wants to punch it away. It isn’t right that his boss should have such a punchable face.

Apollo crosses his arms. “No,” he says. “I’m not doing this. Ask after him yourself.”

“I have.” Whenever Apollo’s voice gets louder, Phoenix drops his lower, like if he can balance Apollo, Vera out in the front room won’t hear them. “And Ema’s only heard from him in email – Edgeworth too – nobody’s goddamn seen him, so yeah, maybe I did just hope that you could draw him out.”

“And what do you care?”

Phoenix scowls up at him, sticking a pencil to mark his place in the heavy leather-bound book with handwritten script he is paging through, and slamming it shut harder than necessary. “Where should I start?” he asks, voice with all of the bitterness but none of the sarcasm that Apollo is used to. “Maybe I spent seven years with Kristoph Gavin as my closest ‘friend’” – he makes quotes in the air with his fingers, too – “and learned not only how he thinks, but how you come to start think after being around him for a lengthy personal relationship. And maybe I spent those seven years also listening to all of his belittling, dismissive remarks about his little brother.” He smacks his palm on the desk like it is the defense’s bench and then he looks surprised, as though the muscle memory of being in court should have atrophied years ago. “And maybe I’ve seen prosecutors before have their foundations upended, to end with a spiral off a cliff, and maybe” – his voice drops further to a hiss – “I would prefer not to let Kristoph get the last goddamn laugh over any of us who have survived him this far.”

He falls back in his seat, spinning it halfway away from Apollo, and closes his eyes. “Or maybe I’m just morbidly curious how it ends this time. Your pick.”

Two steps forward – Iris and Mia, pieces of a history before Apollo, the man before disbarment – and then three more back. His internal counter of “Days Since I Last Hated Phoenix Wright” resets.

“I think less people would try to kill you if you didn’t pretend to be heartless,” Apollo says. He turns on his heel and heads for the sound of Vera humming along to the radio.

“Magatama’s in the bottom desk drawer if you want to go back sometime,” Phoenix calls after him.

Clay’s advice for no response to his texts was to wait a day and then send some casual, irreverent remark, maybe about something going on at the office, as a bump to the previous message. That, unlike most of Clay’s advice, had actually seemed reasonable to Apollo.

Ran by the prosecutor office today, maybe you saw me talking to Edgeworth I knocked on your door afterward to say hi, guess you weren’t in then

On Thursday, it seems to Apollo that Vera has officially-unofficially been adopted into the agency, because there’s some easels, canvasses, and paints that were not there when he left the prior afternoon. She has dismissed both the paints and her sketchbook for a plain pencil and the edges of a Wonder Bar flyer.

“You’re in early,” Apollo says.

She doesn’t jolt quite as much as she has when he’s surprised her other times. Maybe she’s learning to be a little more at ease in the world. “It’s lonely at my house,” she says. “I’m not lonely when I’m alone here.”

Mia. Apollo nods. “I feel that, too.”

Phoenix wanders in before noon, after the two of them thoroughly investigate the mysterious kitchen. Vera is trying to make a house of cards on an already-precarious end table, and Apollo is looking over the books on the shelves, hoping to find one that can teach him something new without being criminally boring. “Nothing?” he asks Vera, pointing to a canvas.

She shrugs. He is almost to the back room when she says, “Um, Mr Wright?”

He stops dead.

“How do you draw something that isn’t real?”

“Huh?” Apollo asks. Phoenix turns back around, heading for the couch and not looking confused, and Apollo has no idea why they both understand that very weird question.

“How have you done it in the past?” Phoenix asks. Vera has abandoned the cards and is flipping through the legal pad that Phoenix was doodling on yesterday. “I know your first, er, paintings—”

“Forgeries,” she says softly. “Call them what they are. It’s okay.”

“—your first forgeries were identical copies of things, but then – like the diary page – that was still you making something new, something that wasn’t real.”

“But it was always obvious how to make those real.” Vera’s eyes are fixed on the page and a little scribble of a woman with smudged graphite hair and red pen eyes, as many of them as a spider. “I was told exactly what to do. I had the torn edge to match my new page to, and the text to put on it, and the handwriting to put it in, and the type of paper. But I don’t know how to make something new.”

Phoenix digs his phone from his pocket and starts typing. “I’m not ignoring you,” he says. “I just need to, before I forget, tell a friend of mine that I need to introduce him to you.” Apparently satisfied with whatever message he sent, he tosses his phone toward a shelf. It bounces off and cracks to the floor. “Anyway. The advice that’s maybe shitty I can offer you is to find what’s real in it. Like… paint me how you feel today.” He gestures toward a canvas. “Not how your face would look if you were showing those emotions, not what’s making you feel them, but how it feels. That’s real, but it’s not you replicating anything.”

Seeming to decide against doing whatever he meant to, he returns to the couch and sits on the arm of it. “My friend’s a children’s book author-illustrator – he’s human, but his mentor was one of the fae.” The glance he casts about the office doesn’t land in any one place. “I don’t think I have any of her books here, but I’ll bring them in. After her death, he and I talked a lot about what he’d learned from her, because my experience with the fae and art had been my friends getting obsessed with kids’ action shows and needing the concept of ‘fiction’ and ‘acting’ explained about a dozen times.” There’s that fond exasperation again. “She said that her books were always grounded in something real. They had to have that heart of truth, and the rest she could build.”

Vera lets the pencil fall from her fingers and cranes her head back to look at her paint brushes. “Is this a common thing?” she asks. “The fae, drawn to art?”

“Culturally, it’s not their thing,” Phoenix says. “They themselves don’t have much of a tradition of storytelling or paintings that are much more than… apparently accurate versions of history. It’s something about how they consider themselves bound to the truth, even if they’re twisted about it. They’re a little weird about music, too, but I do know that they’re drawn to human artists over this same thing – that they don’t get it, but we do, so they like artists as…”

“Court jesters?” Apollo offers.

Phoenix snorts. Vera has stood and gone to consider her paints, and he slides off the arm of the couch and sprawls across it on his back. “Something like it. But it is interesting to consider, in terms of you, Vera – you’re a changeling. They swapped you for a human baby of artistic parents, who was more or less destined to grow up to be an artist – and there’s a woman I know, human, a musician, and she’s the other side of that coin. So from my nearly-anecdotal sample size” – Ema would not approve – “it’s future artists and musicians who… get… taken…”

He sits bolt upright, his eyes flashing blue. “Oh, son of a bitch!”

At his outburst, Vera squeaks and stumbles into the piano, knocking some some brushes and a palette down to the floor. He looks at Apollo, eyes pale and vacant, jaw twitching but still hanging open. “I do know what the hell he is!”

And Apollo, halfway to Phoenix’s desk to grab the magatama, is sure that they’ve realized the same thing.

#fic: the seelie of kurain #roddy fanfics #next: THE BOY IS BACK. and probably having a mental breakdown. mood but also like. bad.

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nyctolovian · 5 years

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Summary: On 19 April 2019, a certain attorney loses his badge, and the world around him crumbles.

((This writer’s headcanon of the immediate aftermath when Phoenix loses his badge...))

It could have been any other day today.

Phoenix swings the door to his apartment open. Vacantly, he stares at the floor for about three seconds before he snaps out of his trance and moves to search for the door stopper. When he finds it, he toes it closer before kicking it under the door, making sure the door doesn’t swing shut without him.

He turns around and grabs the cardboard box behind him with a groan. Dislodging the door stopper with a nudge, he enters. The door slams shut behind him and he falls into pitch blackness.

A heavy sigh tumbles out of him.

Phoenix drops the box on his dining table. Flexing his sore fingers, he switches on the light and fans. Then, he opens the cardboard flaps and takes out one of the books. He gazes at it, long but unfocused.

It was only when he heard the honk of a car from the street below that he jerks back to reality. Phoenix shook his head. He couldn’t afford to let his mind shut down like this.

He places the book on the table and sits. After a couple of breaths, he flips it open.

It’s rather warm this evening. The thick suit he’s wearing does not help with the heat at all, but he does not take it off. The weight of it, the material plastered against his skin, the steadiness it gives him. They were but empty promises but Phoenix didn’t want to part with the suit — couldn’t. Not right now.

He realises he has been looking at the same spot on the page for the past two minutes. He massages the bridge of his nose and tells himself to concentrate.

This is important.

A client has requested his defense the other day. It’s another murder case. For whatever reason, Phoenix hardly ever receives clients who request for anything but defense for homicide.

So he knows what to look out for. He remembers what judgements for previous similar cases were like. He’s done this many times.

Yet, he still decides to bring home materials from his office to read at home. Materials he has never felt the inclination to touch in a long time, but now feels the burning, searing, blazing desire to keep close. He desperately needs to feel their covers against his palm, to feel the weight in his hands, to feel his eyes slide across the words.

This time, he’ll make sure his defendant receives her fair judgement. He’ll make sure to use the right evidence. He’ll make sure he gets it right this time. He won’t screw it up again.

Phoenix tries to read the book, except he couldn’t. All he can see are shapes on the pages. Nothing is going in. He can’t absorb a single word. He barely even registers that he’s reading. Everything simply passes through his brain, like water through mesh wire.

“No, Phoenix, pull yourself together. You need to get this right,” he instructs himself aloud.

This does nothing for his concentration, unfortunately. Phoenix can only feel himself losing grip of stability. His breathing grows ragged and loud. Clenching his fists, he resolves to reading aloud so, as his eyes drags over the sentences, he recites article after article to drill them into his head. Every single word must be imprinted, carved and branded in his brain.

To do that, Phoenix has to concentrate. He has to do this properly. He has a defendant to defend. He can’t let her down.

And so he charges on, reading. Occasionally, his mind would wander but Phoenix pulls on its reins and mentally forces it to be still and concentrate. Sometimes, he has to take several deep long breaths because his chest is getting too tight.

His eyelids begins to grow heavy and he rubs them. This is not allowed. So he spares himself a trickle of time to make a cup of instant coffee and downs it in a manner that is not unlike that of Godot’s. He was exhausted. An entire day of running around from place to place and standing behing the defense’s bench, slamming tables and yelling objections does that to you. But tonight, he must concentrate. No matter how tired he is, he cannot let himself rest. He needs to complete this.

Before long, he is slick with sweat. It is much too warm to be wearing his suit for this long. But Phoenix presses on, latching on to every bit of what he had left with him. As though by keeping himself as close as possible to the state he was this morning, he would preserve what he had then. (As close as possible because it is impossible to keep himself in the same exact state. Not with… Not with that taken from him. For now.) And so, Phoenix presses on in his familiar blue suit, devouring every bit and piece of information in his books and files.

This continues through the night, till the break of dawn. He has plowed through half the box and a quarter of the coffee packets he has at home. But it isn’t enough.

Phoenix takes a quick shower before packing his law materials into the cardboard box again. He takes it with him back to the office. It is a Saturday morning now. Usually, he would take the time to sleep in and relax, but he isn’t going to do that today. He is determined to finish what was in the box and, most definitely, more. (He’ll dig up some more materials to study from his office. Maybe, he’ll borrow some from Edgeworth.)

Because, surely — surely — his lapel won’t be bare in three days’ time, and he will be needed to stand in court and defend again. He will be presenting his pride and identity to every single person he encounters again. Like he’s always done. Like what has become so natural and predictable because it’s a given that Phoenix Wright is an attorney.

What else could he possibly be?

#ace attorney #fanfic #phoenix wright #angst #writeblr #My writing

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mattness · 6 years

Text

Space Dementia

Here we go again)) Another chapter! OTP: jenniwise Come to read this now! ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| Chapter VI. New York was lit up by the sunset. The sky was painted in a beautiful orange color, merging with the horizon line. The view from the hotel window, which is located Jen on arrival in the city, was impressive. Now, every evening, thanks to the panoramic windows of the skyscraper, she, being here on an internship, could watch the sunrises and sunsets. And it was insanely inspiring.

Having settled down in hotel, the girl learned that tomorrow she needs to appear on a workplace at nine in the morning. Fortunately, it was only seven in the evening, and there was plenty of time to rest. So Jennifer, without thinking twice, called Tyra and arranged a meeting. A friend was supposed to arrive at the hotel in about half an hour. Jen went into the bathroom and looked at the reflection in the mirror, the flight took from her all power. Under the eyes lay light dark circles, which indicated how she needed a good night's sleep. In the mind again began to scroll to recent events, which don't give rest. Mysterious Robert Grey at the same time managed to repel and attract. Jen couldn't understand why he was stuck in the brain like a cancer tumor. He stuck down as if he meant something to her, but in fact it was not so. Peering into her own blue eyes, she didn't notice how the reflection slowly began to distort. The burning lamp above her head blinked, preparing to burn out. Suddenly Jen felt an unpleasant chill, strolled on the back. Heartbeat quickened, the blood pounding in her temples. Cold sweat erupted on her forehead from the mixed feelings that overwhelmed her right now. Like someone's about to stab her in the back. The girl raised her head to the blinking lamp, cursing softly. The light stopped blinking and she again turned her attention to her own reflection. Wright sighed, trying to bring breathing back to normal. But nothing turn out. Behind the right shoulder in the mirror suddenly appeared a recent acquaintance. He was smiling crazily, and his whole mouth was bloody. Jennifer screamed in horror, instantly turning around: in the place where he stood, nobody was there. "Fucking asshole!" Jen cursed, again having looked in a mirror and for back. There was no one in the bathroom. Having calmed down, Jennifer returned to the living room. She tried to get my thoughts in order and to understand the cause of the sudden hallucinations. Could she have going crazy talking to that idiot for a couple of hours? Maybe it's just fatigue. Because of the flights, strange things often happen. Jen continued to look for glitch in the mirror a rational explanation, eyes searching every corner of the room. Putting her hand to lips, she sat down on the sofa. Maybe a conversation with a friend will help her relax? Maybe as soon as she gets to work, a strange acquaintance will fly out of her head? Brunette very much wanted to hope for it. Something inside suggested that Grey would hardly dare call her back. Surely he has a lot to do in his own company, which he, of course, didn't tell. He so wanted to show themselves ordinary man, that in end overdid it. Jennifer smirked at her thoughts, taking with coffee table red bomper. The jacket was thrown as soon as the girl crossed the threshold of the room. She put her hand in left pocket and fished a snow-white card out of it. The number with the initials of the owner cast gold paint, literally screaming about the high financial position. Jen frowned, starting to consider a small piece of paper on all sides. But she couldn't concentrate. A sudden, persistent knock on the door made her shudder and wake up out of thinking. On the threshold of room was Tyra, which, starting from happiness, immediately began to hug her. Jennifer smiled, also enjoying the coming of a friend. "I'm brought us a bottle of red semisweet as you like", the girl murmured as she walked through the room and placed the grocery bag on the coffee table. "I'm took all for our get-togethers." "Thank you, Tyra", Jen said sheepishly, sitting back down on the sofa. "I'm glad that you found the time for me today." "It's nothing!" friend smiled. "You better tell me everything. How are you?" She went to the mini bar and got two drinks while Wright began to unzip the package. On the table appeared various fruits, a box of chocolates and a bottle of red wine. The girl smiled, knowing that on sober head is the amount of sweet fruit you can hardly overpower. Tyra sat down beside her on the sofa, already carefully trying opens to the bottle. "I'm relative fine", the brunette began, scratching her head. "What happened on the road from Derry to Bangor? You're were alarmed on the phone. And another you told me that met someone," on the face of the girlfriend immediately appeared a sly grin. "What's his name? How old is he?" "Robert. Twenty-seven years", Jennifer chuckled, bending her legs under her. "He's very handsome. Like Roy, only a more advanced version." "Wow! Someone was able to surpass the beauty of this piece of shit out of our University?" Tyra laughed. "Have you photos with Robert?" In response Jen shook her head. "Then describe him to me. I want to introduce handsome." "He's tall and thin. Big green eyes, cheekbones, perfect lips, perfect hair, and weared in such nice suit", smiled Wright, but the smile instantly disappeared from her face. The girl grabbed her glass of wine, making a big gulp. "Everything would be fine if not…" "If not what?" Tyra was surprised. "Such a perfect prince might have something wrong?" "He's very strange", frowned Jen, and she immediately flinched from the recent hallucinations in the mirror. "Too mysterious and, one might say, muddy. In his eyes there is a kind of madness." "Well, if he haven't demons, then I wouldn't have believed in his existence," she smiled, sitting comfortably on the couch. "Try to lose him, Jen, and I'll kill you." Brunette with incomprehension stared at Tyra. Why would she want strange Robert Grey continued to communicate with her? Didn't she realize Jen was serious? Still, it's difficult to assess the story of a stranger... Yes and the was only the first impression, which is often wrong. Maybe Jennifer is really wrong about Robert, and he isn't the way she had already imagined him? "Rich and beautiful guy may not be without its own demons", smiled Tyra, send in her mouth grapes. "You know what I'm able to make a joke about", giggled Jen, letting go of all thoughts and finally deciding to properly relax. "With him is not necessary to have anything but friendship." "You're fool, Jennifer." "I know." More of the night they told each other not a word about love. The conversations were about urgent matters and problems, about memories of the university and about different films. Nothing can so relax and give strength as a heart-to-heart conversation with a close friend. Jennifer felt happy. She let go of herself and problems, which this evening seemed to become much smaller. * * * The next morning and the ringing alarm clock forced Jennifer to quickly get out of bed. She hastily put on jeans, a dark jacket and, taking the bag with a MacBook, ran out of the room. She didn't want to be late for internship for a minute. Jen came down from the hotel and ran to the subway station. The time on the clock was slow and the train arrived quickly. The girl with pleasure has plunged into the morning rhythm of the metropolis, which was lacking in the little Derry. In the big city nobody cares about you, nobody whispers behind your back and does not let dirty gossip. It was much easier for Jennifer to be in the big city. Maybe it's just a matter of habit. Train raced through the dark tunnels, occasionally illuminated by the lights. There was a rattle and a whoosh of wheels. Because of the high speed of the train swayed from side to side. People around were passionate about their business: someone read a book, someone slept or sat in the phone, listening to music. On the face of Jen flashed a smile: a long time since at the soul was not so easily and quietly! Two metro stations were behind, one was left. The clock hand was nearing nine, and Jen sighed in relief. The first day, fortunately, will be without delay. Often at University, she was late because of his bad sleep or night walks in Brooklyn with friends or with a boyfriend when he was still. Now, as an adult, she didn't want to be late for a possible future job. After all, Jen didn't plan to work all her life in a women's magazine. The train slowed down smoothly and the doors opened. The girl ran out of the train, quickly heading for the exit. Bright sunlight blinded her eyes for a few seconds, and Wright frowned. To the skyscraper, which housed the publishing house, remained a few meters. She noticed a building with numerous advertising signs and screens where one could see different expensive clothing brands. Inside the building everything was decorated in a strict modern style. Beige and buff colors reassuring, directly opposite the entrance were four lifts, in which occasionally people came in. All hurried to work, to their office, as well as Jen. At the entrance there was a reception desk, where she was able to find out what floor is necessary for her office. "Hello, I'm Jennifer Wright", Jen introduced to young red-haired secretary with glasses, sitting at the entrance to the publishing house. "I came for an internship from Derry." "Hi, I'm Katie", smiled the girl, immediately starting to type something on the keyboard. "We're already waiting for you." "Really?" "Everyone already talking about you last week", Katie replied, distracting herself from the computer monitor. "I hope you enjoy working with us. Your article impressed with Mrs. Johnson. She said you had a lot of potential." Jen faintly surprised, not believing his own ears. Really stupid article about the relationship between a man and a woman could impress? However, it looked like the workplace now is Jennifer's. Something suggested that the internship would not take more than the promised week. "Come with me", asked the secretary, and with Jen headed for the snow-white door. Katie opened doors, and Wright seen a large publishing office, done in nice bright colors. Panoramic windows overlooking the river and the old Brooklyn bridge. This view from the eighty-fourth floor was breathtaking. Jen wanted to come closer to take a closer look around the city. She haven't been in skyscrapers, almost on the top floors. But Katie wouldn't let her see the view. The receptionist called Jennifer to herself, and they went on in the office. Here, each employee had his own place. Everyone was engaged in the business. The working atmosphere was in the air, the buzz of conversations did not abate. The girl felt like she starts to like it here. She climbed a small staircase to the door of the study, the walls of which were made of glass. So the head of the office could follow literally every employee. Jen smiled, mentally comparing this study with the predatory eagle's nest, where he saw each of his next victim. Katie gently knocked on the door, and on the other side there was a soft voice: "Come in." "Mrs. Johnson, Jennifer Wright has arrived today", said the secretary. "Who?" quite rudely asked a woman with black hair and in the bright shirt with a simple black pencil skirt. She got distracted from the phone, looking narrow brown eyes on her worker. "You took her on an internship." "Oh, right!" she remembered immediately, and a good-natured smile appeared on her face. The woman rose from the large leather chair and walked over to them. She held out her hand to Jennifer, who shook it with pleasure. The secretary silently withdrew from the study, so as not to interfere with the conversation. "I'm Helena Johnson. And it's good to see you, Jennifer. Ready to get to work?" "Yes, of course", the brunette smiled politely. "Your skills impressed me very much", the head of the magazine honestly admitted. "So I decided for you, Jennifer, to make a small exception. I will reduce the internship time to four days, and if during this time you manage to write a couple of good articles, the place in our large team is yours." The girl raised her eyebrows in surprise, once again not believing her own ears. Inside, she literally jumped with happiness. Jen's joy knew no bounds, so she bravely took Mrs. Johnson by the hand and shaked it. The head of the magazine laughed out loud and added solemnly: "Jennifer, welcome to our magazine!" * * * The first and the second week at work in publishing house for Jennifer began sweeping imperceptibly. Place she, of course, received. And now every day she was doing what she loved: writing articles, picking up new material and has already conducted several interviews. The brunette was happy and content. Emotions she shared with her friends, who have seen now quite often. They also got a job, but not in the specialty. But they liked it, too, so Jen was happy for them. About how everything went well, the girl immediately told her father on the phone. He was sincerely happy for her, said he was waiting for her in the near future in Derry, so she can see how transformed the old granny's house. But Jennifer said nothing. To return to the small town again, she doesn't. Plans in new York came true, and now she wanted to buy an apartment in Brooklyn. An independent life suited her. Chester, knowing the daughter, was not to argue with her and swear. He knew that Jen would definitely find time for him to come. But this time has not yet come. The sitting on the couch in the room, Jen wearily yawned and turned on the TV. At seven o'clock as usual were news. However, Wright didn't really listen, completely immersed in writing another article on her MacBook. Again she yawned, suddenly vaguely heard the message of the speaker: "A five-year-old boy, Jack Tyler, disappeared in the Brooklyn area. According to police, the last time the boy was seen near the waterfront. However, he hasn't yet been found." Jennifer added a little sound. "Also missing are several people in the Queens area. Their photos are presented on the screen. If you met them on the street, please report to the police immediately. Perhaps your information can help in the search for the missing." "It's so terrible..." softly gasped Jennifer, subtracting sound and remembering the faces of the missing. More just like to boy found. Safe and sound. Suddenly Jennifer remembered how she was leaving the hotel in Orono. In the head immediately poped up the image of Robert Grey, whom she tried so hard to forget. It was at the time of her departure at the hotel began some strange fuss. Somehow, the disappearance of people wanted to associate with a strange wealthy prince, much embarrassed Jen. She closed "Word" and went to the browser, where the search box wrote the name of the hotel where she stayed. The girl thought she'd run into a scathing magazine article about how a lost a few people in hotel. However, nothing but the address and services provided with the description of the hotel, could not be found. Apparently, in order not to spoil his own reputation, the head of the hotel decided to hide everything. Or Jennifer just made it all up just to somehow explain the mystery of Robert. She snorted, realizing how foolish it was to accuse a man, she had only known him for a day. Putting the MacBook on the coffee table, the brunette got up from the sofa and went into the bedroom. Tomorrow was another working day, and now it is necessary to have a good sleep before to immerse yourself in the routine and the rhythm of the metropolis. * * * Pain shackled the whole body, and the legs were terribly wet. Looking down, Jen found herself standing ankle-deep in the water. She shivered in the cold and looked around. She stood in the middle of the dark tunnel at one end which was visible a faint light. After a few faltering steps to it, Jennifer immediately winced from the foul smell that hit the nose. It smelled like rot mixed with dampness and different waste. She pressed the sleeve of her jacket to her face, continuing her journey. She thought it was a sewer or a gutter. Occasionally could be heard as somewhere in the distance, water dripping, and the feeling of emptiness and lack of a direct way out of this unpleasant pressured to her. With each step, Jennifer became more and more uncomfortable. But luckily, the tunnel ended, and she was in the center of the drain where were conducted all the pipes. She was unable to contain a quiet gasp of horror that instantly swept over her, when she was enough to see a huge tower, consisting of different children's toys. It stood up to the ceiling and was about ten meters or more high. From it you could see dolls, stuffed toys, wheels of small cars and strollers… Jennifer had a hunch that all of this belonged to the children who had ever gone to Derry. Wright made another step towards the dump, suddenly seeing under the feet of her own bear. Picking up the dirty toy with eye torn off, she felt her heart ache. All childhood bear was next to her, and then she had to leave him at his grandmother's house. When Jen was about to leave with dad, bear completely slipped her mind. They were rushing. And now she felt like a true traitor that left best childhood friend. But the feeling instantly faded into the background, she feeling someone's gaze. Just like Jen felt when she checked into the hotel in Orono. She was ready to turn around and to see someone who been in her thoughts a few days. But no one behind was not, and the unpleasant feeling is still pinned down inside. "Sweet Jenny", murmured a voice echoing down the drain. " I know why you came here." "Why?" the girl said with her lips, afraid to move. "You, too, want to fly down here", again came the voice, and the body Jen shiver. Something was coming right at her, but she didn't see anything. Sharp claws pierced the neck skin and Jennifer screamed, jumping on the bed in the room bedroom. Heart pounding in her chest, a cold sweat stood on her forehead. The damn dream almost drove her crazy. The girl tried to catch her breath and grabbed the phone that was lying on the bedside table. Before her alarm clock just a few minutes, so no point to go back into the clutches of the nightmare was not. Jen rinsed her face with cool water and felt relief. Irrational fear has finally receded, and she quietly washed her face, starting to get ready for work. In the publishing house she greeted with all new friends and sat down at the desk. Turning on the computer, Jen sighed heavily and looked at her watch. There was a difficult day ahead, and there was still a lot of time before the end of it. She tried to focus on the article, but nothing worked. In the head repeated this voice that seemed so familiar. If Jennifer heard it before, but she couldn't even remember who it belongs. "Why are you so tense?" asked the neighbor Mary, who was sitting literally behind the girl. "Bad dream. Never mind", waved Jen, sighing wearily. "Well, okay. If anything, you can always share it with me." "Thank you", the brunette replied. She really appreciated the care the new friend Mary, but now this care she was useless. Mary was kind and sympathetic, as said all her appearance: good brown eyes, slightly plump face and light brown hair. The girl always dressed in blouses with a variety of cute prints, emphasizing their same colorful skirts. Jen's sure that she could be a good friend. However, the brunette didn't want to get close to anyone. Wright sighed and again tried to concentrate on work. * * * Finally, the clock stopped at six in the evening, and the girl with peace of mind about she going home. Putting on a burgundy coat and taking the bag, Jennifer left the office and went down the elevator. Once on the street, she noticed that the weather gradually deteriorated. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky, foreshadowing the rain, and a cool wind was rising. That's why she had to hurry. The girl quietly went their usual way to the subway station, this time deciding to cut down on the road through the nearest way. It is this narrow quarter led straight to the descent into the subway. But it was worth she to go into a dark alley with trash cans and nasty smell, like back the echo he heard footsteps. Jen over her shoulder saw a man holding his hands in his pockets, following her. "Maybe he also decided to shorten the path. Calm down, nothing will happen", Jennifer thought nervously, accelerating her step and noticing how the pursuer also accelerated. "Damn!" the girl screamed before to be with the force pressed against the wall. She screamed, but a knife was immediately placed to her throat. "Just try to squeak, baby", the crazy man hissed menacingly, peering into her eyes, "And I'll kill you, gutting all your organs." Jen gulped, trying to figure out how to get out. The cold knife blade touched the skin down from the neck right to the chest. She immediately understood the true intentions of the rapist. The girl felt a pepper spray in her coat pocket, waiting for the right moment to use it. The man pulled time and did not dare to do anything. Jen almost got a trembling hand spray, but it fell out of her hands with a deafening thud falling to the ground. "You're ugly whore!" the madman yelled, putting the blade back to Jen's throat. "Ugh, how rude", protested a familiar male voice, causing Wright and a rapist simultaneously shuddered. "Is that right to treat a lady like that?" They looked at the silhouette of the tall man who was standing at the beginning of the alley. The streetlight hit him right in the back, and it made it impossible to get a good look at his face. But Jennifer seems to have quickly figured out who it was. "Who the hell are you?" the maniac was indignant. "Her boyfriend or something?" The girl silently prayed that the whole circus that lit these two, end as quickly as possible. Hands still trembled treacherously, and eyes were dimmed with tears. Why is everything that's happening right now happening to her? Jen groaned in pain and despair, feeling the blade of the knife almost pierced the skin. "Stay away, or I'll cut her throat!" threatened the rapist, but the Jennifer's savior just giggled with laughter. Wright bit her lower lip to blood, trying to hold back a scream. She closed her eyes, fearing that death was about to overtake her.

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