Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Hey there, Apollo." Mr. Wright walked into the room and instantly yawned and stretched, so there would be no question that he was tired. Once he'd made that clear, he blinked, as he took in the sight of Apollo seated on his couch. "Where's the tie?"

Apollo had indeed gone without the tie that day. Instead of his usual lawyering outfit, he was wearing a non-dress shirt (red, of course) and blue jeans. "Uh, it's Friday."

"Oh, right, Friday! I almost forgot. The big night."

"That's right, the big night. You're coming, aren't you?"

"I definitely am. Wouldn't miss it. Even though I didn't remember until just this minute." He smiled. "At least I don't have to change into more casual attire, right?"

"Yeah," agreed Apollo, looking him over. Mr. Wright's love of hoodies was still going strong. "I think you've got the casual part down."

Prosecutor Gavin had recently decided to begin a tradition of having a party at his house every Friday, work schedule permitting. Every Thursday or Friday morning he called Apollo to ask if he and Mr. Wright were coming. Every week, Apollo would pick up his phone and hear the jokingly chiding voice ask him, "Herr Forehead, aren't you going to RSVP?"

He'd gotten the same phone call this morning. "I told you last week I'd be there," he'd said. "Remember?"

"But maybe I like to hear from you."

Klavier's flirting made him a little uncomfortable, but that was the way Klavier was, and he was getting used to it. "You can always call me, if you want."

"Always? What a pleasant invitation. I'll have to call you more often if you ask me to so sweetly. So, you're coming then, ja? You'd better not disappoint me. You'll break my heart."

"We'll be there."

"Good, I'll see you tonight." Klavier did not directly mention Mr. Wright. He was somewhat standoffish around the other man, but Apollo guessed that was due to guilt rather than dislike.

Apollo smiled up at Mr. Wright. There was no reason for Klavier to dislike him that he could see. Well, Mr. Wright could be difficult, sometimes. He couldn't deny that. "You could wear something different, you know. For a change."

"Change, huh?" Mr. Wright didn't look too happy about the idea. He thrust his hands deep inside his hoodie pockets. "I don't think so."

"Sure! You must have some other clothes, right?"

"Other--clothes?" Mr. Wright's hands dug in deeper. "Apollo, I don't think you understand. I've established a stable look. It's kind of like a uniform for me. I don't want to diverge from it. If I do it once, then I'll have to do it again, and then people will start expecting me to own multiple outfits, and it'll all be over."

Apollo decided not to insist, as Mr. Wright was starting to look a bit nervous. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he was joking. "That's--a good policy. But it's summer. Maybe you could do without the hat?"

"Without the hat?"

Apollo nodded, earnestly.

Mr. Wright removed one hand from a hoodie pocket and touched a finger to the side of his face, thoughtfully. "I guess I can do that. Taking off a hat doesn't involve any extra effort."

Apollo nodded again. Mr. Wright liked to make a show of things sometimes, but it could be fun to watch him do it.

Mr. Wright moved his hand, very, very slowly reaching up. He touched the folded brim of his beanie with his fingertips, then hesitated. "Dare I?" he asked Apollo.

"I think you dare."

"Okay, stand back!"

Apollo didn't point out that he was sitting down on the couch. He leaned back obediently. With an ostentatious flourish, Mr. Wright ripped the beanie off his head, for all the world like Trucy performing one of her magic tricks, except that when it was done, nothing happened. The hat fell limply to the floor, and Mr. Wright stood before him bareheaded. Though his hair was semi-flattened from so much hat-wearing, it was sticking up a lot in the back. "Taa-daa," said Mr. Wright.

Apollo clapped appreciatively, then, while Mr. Wright was distracted by taking a bow, darted forward and snatched up the fallen beanie. "Hey," said Mr. Wright, straightening as he realized what Apollo had done. "What are you up to?"

Apollo pulled the beanie down over his head. "Now I'm Mr. Wright."

"I don't think it works like that. Mr. Wright isn't a title conferred on you by the hat."

"Maybe it is. If it was, I bet you wouldn't want me to know that, not now that I've got your hat."

"Very funny, Apollo. Come on, give it back."

"No--I told you, I'm Mr. Wright now." Apollo grinned at him.

"I don't think that's an honor you want." Mr. Wright came towards him and reached for the hat. "Give it to me."

Apollo ducked, covering his head with his hands. "You can't have it!"

"Oh, I'm going to get it." Mr. Wright joined him on the couch, pulling at the hat, but Apollo held on to it tightly, laughing. "Hey, let go, Apollo, you're going to rip it," Mr. Wright said, but he was laughing, too. "Trucy gave me that hat."

As it was a very sturdy beanie, Apollo wasn't fooled by this ruse, and he didn't let go. Yet after a few moments, he thought maybe he should have, because he suddenly became very conscious of Mr. Wright's hands on him as Mr. Wright began to tickle him to get him to release his grip. Mr. Wright's arms were warm around him, and he smelled nice. Apollo's face began to burn, becoming so hot it almost ached. He surrendered to Mr. Wright at once, forcing a laugh and pretending the tickling had worked, though he wasn't particularly ticklish.

"You're a real rebel when you're not wearing your tie, you know that?" Mr. Wright asked as he took back his hat and set it down in his lap. "I think I'm going to command you to keep the tie on at all times."

Apollo was breathless, but fortunately, he had an excuse for it, so he hoped Mr. Wright wouldn't think anything of it. "Only if you promise not to wear the hat tonight."

"I'll think about it."

Apollo smiled, though he didn't particularly feel like smiling. He felt weird. His face was still hot. Mr. Wright obviously hadn't thought anything of what had happened, but maybe that made it weirder somehow. He stood. "I'm going to get something to drink. Do you want anything?"

"Just some juice, I guess."

"Juice it is." Fortunately, staring into the open fridge cooled down Apollo's cheeks. There were about seven large containers of grape juice on the top shelf, but to cater to Apollo's disparate taste in juices, Mr. Wright had taken to buying smaller bottles of orange and cranberry juice, and there were a few of those at the bottom of the fridge. Apollo waffled between the options, then decided on cranberry. He poured a big glass of grape juice for Mr. Wright, of course. He wondered what it was with Mr. Wright and grape juice. Maybe his parents had given it to him a lot as a kid or something.

By the time he returned to Mr. Wright, juice in hand, Apollo had cooled down completely. "You know, this service is pretty nice," said Mr. Wright, leaning back on the couch, his feet out, his hat still in his lap. "It's like having a maid or a houseboy or something."

"Uh." Apollo made a face as he handed him his glass. "Except I'm a lawyer."

"Lawyer houseboys are probably the most prestigious kind to have."

"Okay, Mr. Wright." Apollo was a little annoyed. Did Mr. Wright have to joke about absolutely everything? He sat down on the couch with his own juice, but he was sure to sit as far from Mr. Wright as the couch would allow.

Mr. Wright didn't seem to notice or mind. He took a long, deep drink from his glass, then ran his free hand back through his hair. "So, if I'm going hatless, I need your advice, Apollo."

"About what?"

"About my hair, of course." He grinned. "It's kind of a mess, right?"

"Yeah, that's true." Apollo couldn't deny the awful truth: Mr. Wright had a terrible case of hat hair. "You might want to start with a shower and a shave," he suggested.

"Hey, don't go crazy on me now." Mr. Wright drew back in mock alarm. "Shower I can do, but the shave is a no-go. If I shaved this close to the party, I'd be all smooth and shiny when I got there, and I don't want that."

"No, you certainly don't want that." Apollo shook his head.

"Usually I just wash and go, but it's been a while since I went out without the hat. The hat's kind of my signature now."

"Yeah, I noticed," said Apollo, adding quickly, "It's a nice hat."

"Thanks, Apollo."

"As for other stuff you could do, maybe use some gel?"

"Gel, huh? I could give that a try. You wouldn't happen to have any of that on you, would you?"

"Mr. Wright!" Apollo was offended by the suggestion. "I don't carry hair products around with me."

"No, of course not! Just joking. Calm down." Mr. Wright shook his head, then finished off his grape juice. "I bet Trucy has some of that gel stuff lying around. We can borrow it, try out a new look for me, what do you say?"

"Sure, why not?" Apollo was so used to Mr. Wright's odd suggestions by now that he'd started to go along with them without thinking twice.

Trucy did keep some gel in the bathroom, and when Mr. Wright got out of the shower, Apollo found himself covering his hands with the sticky substance and working it through Mr. Wright's hair. It was not until his hands were actually in Mr. Wright's hair, covered in goo, that he realized what a fundamentally weird situation he was in. Since Mr. Wright was technically his boss, he probably shouldn't have been massaging his wet scalp while Mr. Wright was wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Well, hopefully he had something on under the bathrobe, but if not, Apollo didn't want to know for sure.

"That feels strange," said Mr. Wright. "Are you sure you know what you're doing, Apollo?"

"Sure, I do this to myself all the time."

"And that turns out so well."

"Don't insult the guy who's doing your hair. It's dangerous."

"Sorry, I was kidding! I love your hair. It looks fantastic. Why else would I entrust you with my own hairstyle?"

Apollo doubted Mr. Wright was being serious, but he decided to take his words at face value, continuing to work in the gel. He'd never done anyone else's hair before. How had he gotten suckered into this? Mr. Wright could get him to do the most unexpected things.

"Hmm," said Mr. Wright, once Apollo was finished. He examined Apollo's handiwork in the mirror, thoughtfully. "It looks--the same as my hair usually looks."

"Oh, yeah?"

"But--definitely more shellacked. And shiny."

"Oh."

"At least I don't have to worry about my head being unprotected now."

Apollo wondered if this had all been some elaborate joke, but Mr. Wright turned and smiled at him, and the smile seemed genuine. "Thanks, Apollo! I'll be the most stylish guy at the party."

The part about being the most stylish guy at the party was unquestionably a joke, but Mr. Wright's hatlessness did cause a stir when they walked in. Klavier went so far as to touch the spikes at the back of Mr. Wright's head and laugh as they poked his palm.

"And how is your lovely daughter?" Klavier asked, still amused by the spikes and making them poke his fingers repeatedly.

Mr. Wright didn't show any signs of minding this manhandling of his hair. "Oh, Trucy's got a show tonight. I try not to get in her way when she's busy."

"She's a very talented Fräulein."

"She's growing up, Gavin--soon you'll have to call her Frau, I'm afraid. Or is that Afrauid?" He paused. "That's kind of hard to say."

"Ugh, Mr. Wright," groaned Apollo in agony, "you make the worst puns."

"I like it," announced Ema, who strode in through the unlocked front door at that moment. "You should make fun of him. He shouldn't call all women Fräulein, anyway. I, for one, don't care for it. It's sexist." She folded her arms and glared at Klavier.

Klavier's eyes widened as he turned towards her. "Is it?"

As far as Apollo knew, Ema had been invited to all of Klavier's parties, but she'd only shown up to one or two. "Yes, it is," she assured him confidently.

"Then I apologize, Fräule--I mean, Detective Skye."

"Apology accepted," she sniffed. "Though I know you'll just do it again."

Distracted from Mr. Wright's hair, Klavier fluttered around Ema, paying her compliments, seemingly immune to her rebuffs.

"Hi, Ema," said Mr. Wright, smiling.

Ema beamed at him, to Klavier's disappointment. "Hi, Mr. Wright!" She gave him a hug, then drew back and raised her eyebrows at his bare head. "I like the hair. I missed seeing it. Though it seems a bit more--lustrous--than I remember."

"Thanks! It was Apollo's idea."

"Oh!" She seemed to notice Apollo for the first time. She turned to flash him a quick grin. "Hi, Apollo."

"Hi," he said, but she'd already turned back to Mr. Wright. She began to chat with him excitedly about something Apollo didn't quite follow, probably something they'd done together that he hadn't heard about. He stood watching them talk, feeling a bit like the proverbial chopped liver, when he was surprised to feel his arm gripped tightly. He almost cried out. He turned to see a pair of fierce blue eyes fixed on him.

"Come with me, Herr Forehead," said Klavier urgently.

"Uh, sure, okay." Apollo would have made his excuses to Mr. Wright and Ema, but they weren't paying any attention to him anyway. He allowed the prosecutor to lead him away. "You don't actually have to pull me like this," he said mildly. "I would follow you on my own."

"Of course. Forgive me." Klavier released him. "If you'll come with me, please."

True to his word, Apollo followed Klavier, who guided him through the other partygoers, most of whom were friends of Klavier's that Apollo didn't know. Klavier didn't stop until they reached the kitchen. No one else was there. The party was confined to the front rooms, for the time being. "I'm sorry for dragging you away like this," said Klavier, "but I have to ask you something."

Apollo nodded. He had no idea what Klavier could possibly want from him, but he was willing to help if he could.

"Do you think Mr. Wright is interested in Ema?"

"Mr. Wright?" Apollo asked. It took a moment for the question to register with him, and once it had, he felt all at once as if someone had punched him in the stomach. "I--I don't know." Mr. Wright and Ema? Was that possible? Mr. Wright never talked about things like that, but he and Ema were very friendly with each other. They'd known each other a long time, so maybe he did like her. She was so pretty and smart and funny. It would make sense.

"Apollo," said Klavier. For some reason, he sounded worried now. Why was that? "Are you all right? You look so pale."

"I have to sit down." Fortunately, there was a kitchen table, with accompanying chairs. Apollo pulled out one of the chairs and sat in it, resting his elbows on the tabletop.

Klavier sat down across from him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Really. I'm fine. I felt sick for a second, that's all."

He was lying, and Klavier wasn't deceived. "Apollo. Please forgive me if I am being rude, but could it be that you yourself have feelings for Fräulein Skye?" Ema had been right. Klavier was already doing it again.

"No," said Apollo, miserably. He buried his head in his hands. He had come to an awful realization, and he blurted it out. "I like Mr. Wright." His face felt hot, and he wanted to cry, but if he started to cry, everyone would know he'd been crying. They'd ask him why, and then he'd have to think up an explanation, and he'd have to say something ridiculous, like that Klavier had been cutting onions in the kitchen.

"Oh Gott," said Klavier. He patted Apollo on the shoulder. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Apollo wasn't going anywhere. He barely marked Klavier's absence, but a couple minutes later the touch on his shoulder came again. He looked up. Klavier handed him a glass full of a dark, amber liquid. "Here. Drink this."

"But I don't--"

"Ja, I know, you are one of our resident teetotalers. But this is a special occasion. I think you need it."

Apollo didn't think it was the best idea, but when he opened his mouth to say as much, he discovered that he didn't care what kind of idea it was. He raised the glass, threw his head back, and drank its contents in a single swallow. "Ow!" He set the glass down, quickly. "Oh god, it burns."

Klavier clapped him on the back. "The burn is good for you, Herr Forehead."

That made no sense. Apollo was never going to believe anything Klavier said ever again. He wasn't going to listen to anyone else for the rest of his life. He put his apparently enormous forehead down on the table in front of him, and he discovered that the table's surface was pleasantly cool. "Okay, I'm just going to stay here for the rest of the night."

"No, no, come on, join the party. It's all right. Relax, have a good time. Don't worry."

"I'm sorry I couldn't answer your question."

Klavier waved a hand. "Nein, don't worry about that. Forget I said anything. I was being foolish. Now come and party."

"I don't want to party," said Apollo.

"Yes, you do. You're fortified, ja?"

Is that what he was? Fortified? He was starting to feel a little better. Maybe because he'd had time to rest or because the table had cooled off his forehead. He didn't protest again as Klavier helped him to his feet. "And if you need to talk about it," murmured Klavier, "you can talk to me."

Apollo shook his head. "I don't want to talk to anyone about anything."

Klavier smiled, then leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. "You're very sweet, Herr Justice."

"No, I'm not." He pushed Klavier away, but gently.

Klavier laughed. "So funny, too."

When they returned to the living room, Mr. Wright was seated on one of Klavier's many long, modern and probably very expensive couches. He was holding a glass of grape juice, and Ema was sitting beside him. Mr. Wright turned towards Apollo immediately, as if he could sense his approach. "I was wondering where you wandered off to. Here." He presented Apollo with a glass of orange juice.

Apollo plopped himself down on the couch, then took the glass. "Thanks, Mr. Wright!" He realized too late that his voice was too loud and his cheer was too forced.

"Us juice guys gotta stick together." He frowned, then leaned in to regard Apollo's face with such intense scrutiny that Apollo drew back. "Have you been drinking?"

"Sort of."

"Yes, I gave Herr Justice a little something," Klavier confessed.

"Gavin, are you corrupting my junior partner?"

"No, I swear, I would never. He wanted a taste, so I gave him one."

"That's right," Apollo agreed, nodding emphatically. Then he realized he was nodding a little too emphatically, so he stopped.

Mr. Wright patted his arm. "Would you look at that. He's growing up so fast."

"I'm already grown up," Apollo snapped.

"Sorry," said Mr. Wright. He drew his hand back. "You're a mean drunk, Apollo."

"I'm not drunk, either. I had one little drink."

"I stand corrected!" Mr. Wright hesitated. "Do you still want your orange juice, though?" he asked, more gently. "I'll take it back, if you don't."

Apollo clutched the glass tightly. "No, don't take it. I want it."

"That's good. I wouldn't want to lose my juice buddy."

Klavier looked from Apollo to Mr. Wright, and then back. He raised his eyebrows. "Ja, I certainly wouldn't want to be responsible for splitting up two juice buddies." Klavier smiled at them both, then, to Apollo's surprise, winked at him. "If you'll excuse me, it's my duty as a host to mingle, so I'll leave you both in peace with your juice for now."

Apollo leaned in towards Mr. Wright. "Don't call us juice buddies in front of other people," he hissed.

"Why not?"

"It sounds weird."

"Does it? I don't think it does."

"It's not even a real term."

"I know that. It's my own special term." With his free hand, Mr. Wright ran a hand back over his hair as he sipped at his juice. Apollo considered his hatless head. Mr. Wright did look nice like that. Handsome, even.

Apollo remembered what he'd said to Klavier and blushed.

Mr. Wright glanced at him. "You sure you only had one drink?" he asked.

Apollo nodded.

"You're all red in the face."

"I'm okay, honest. I'm just not used to--to drinking."

Mr. Wright shrugged. "Okay, if you're sure." He poked Apollo with his elbow. "Hey, I thought of a good nickname for you."

"What?" asked Apollo.

"Apollo Juicetice."

"That's not a good nickname, Mr. Wright."

"You're picky tonight."

Glancing across the room, Apollo saw that Klavier was flittering around Ema again. He sighed. Klavier could have stayed to help him, at least. Or save him from being alone with Mr. Wright at this particular moment.

"Hey," said Mr. Wright again, unexpectedly. This time, his voice was low and close to Apollo's ear. Apollo turned towards him. "You okay?" Mr. Wright asked. "Something didn't happen between you and Klavier, did it?"

"Happen? No. Nothing happened."

Mr. Wright frowned, thoughtfully. He set his juice down on the coffee table in front of the couch. "You seem upset, and you're staring at him like you want to burn a hole through him. He didn't do anything, did he?"

Apollo wondered what Mr. Wright thought Klavier might have done. "No, he's okay, he gave me a drink, that's all."

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"I'm sure. I'm fine! Honest!"

Mr. Wright's eyes unfocused, and for a moment, he seemed to be looking at something else altogether. Now it was Apollo's turn to frown. "What are you doing?"

"Me? Nothing."

Apollo felt his bracelet react, though it was only mildly tight around his wrist. That was odd, because it did seem like Mr. Wright wasn't doing anything. His hands were in his hoodie pockets, but there was something about the positioning of his arms. There wasn't something in his pockets, was there? "Take your hands out of your pockets," he said.

"Sure." Without hesitation, Mr. Wright pulled his hands out and held them up, palms out. They were empty.

Apollo's own arm shot forward, aiming for one of the pockets, but Mr. Wright was too fast for him and smacked his inquisitive hand away. "Apollo, I'm surprised. A respected attorney, turning to thievery. See, this is what drinking does to a man."

"I just wanted to see what you had in there."

Mr. Wright said nothing, but raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, and Apollo felt his face heat horribly. "I didn't mean like that!" he protested, far too loudly.

"Like what?" asked Mr. Wright innocently. "I didn't say anything."

"Very funny, Mr. Wright." Apollo took a deep breath, trying to cool down. He couldn't let himself get so flustered. Mr. Wright hadn't done anything wrong. It was Apollo who was being foolish, with this stupid crush he'd gotten somehow. It was obvious Mr. Wright wouldn't feel the same way about him. Mr. Wright probably didn't even like guys. He'd never mentioned liking anyone like that, though Trucy had said a few times that he should get married so she'd have a mom. Apollo selfishly hoped that didn't happen. Fortunately, Mr. Wright had only laughed in reply to her each time, though it could be hard to tell what he was thinking.

"I'm thinking of making you my regular hairdresser, Apollo." Mr. Wright patted the back of his head as he changed the subject. "It's been quite the hit tonight!"

"Yeah, I'm known for being great with hair."

"I'm going to recommend you to all my friends."

"Really? What friends are these?"

Mr. Wright laughed. "You wound me." He pressed a hand to his chest. "You can be so cruel sometimes."

Apollo relaxed. When they were joking around, everything was okay. "Oh yeah, I forgot how sensitive you are, old man, sorry." He remembered his glass of juice was still in his hand, and he took another sip. He smiled. He felt happy just being with Mr. Wright like this. He'd have to try not to mess it up by feeling other things, too. He knew he could do it. He drained the rest of his juice in a single gulp.

When he lowered the glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, he saw Mr. Wright watching him. "Aren't you going to drink your juice?" Apollo asked.

"I'd better. I've got to catch up."

They left the party relatively early, but it wasn't the kind of party where you were expected to stay all night, though you could if you wanted. Klavier caught sight of them as they were leaving and hurried towards them. "Good night, Apollo," he said, resting a hand on Apollo's shoulder.

"Good night," he replied, willing Klavier not to say anything that referenced what he'd confessed earlier, and especially willing him not to wink again. Thankfully, he did neither.

"It was so good to see you. You'd better come back next week. I'm going to call to remind you!"

"I know you will."

"And you too, Herr Wright," Klavier added, somehow managing to make the words sound like they weren't an afterthought, although they probably were.

"You know I like to crash your parties," Mr. Wright said mildly.

"Then I'll have to be sure not to invite you, so you can have the pleasure of crashing them, ja?"

The night sky seemed so clear above as they exited through Klavier's front door. Gazing up at the stars, Apollo felt a bit giddy, and he wondered if that one drink had had more of an effect on him than he'd realized. Klavier had filled the glass up almost to the rim. Apollo was cautious as he walked down the front steps, but it didn't seem like his motor skills had been impaired in any way, so he decided not to worry about it.

They'd walked over to Klavier's, as the weather was so nice, and Apollo was glad that the whole walk home stretched out before them. His apartment was closer than the agency, so he started off in that direction, and Mr. Wright followed his lead.

"Apollo, can I ask you a personal question?"

Mr. Wright's tone was more serious than usual, so Apollo replied earnestly, "Sure," though he had no idea what personal thing Mr. Wright might want to ask him. Mr. Wright hardly seemed interested in his personal life. Though--now that he thought of it, most of his personal life lately revolved around Mr. Wright. And Trucy, of course.

Mr. Wright laughed, running a hand over his hair--then drew it back, his laughter fading. He must have forgotten that it had been hardened by the gel. Apollo was aware of a tightness at his wrist, as his bracelet reacted to something again. Mr. Wright returned his hands to his hoodie pockets.

"This is going to be kind of awkward, I'm warning you," Mr. Wright said.

"Great. Thanks for the warning!"

Mr. Wright shook his head. "You're such a little smartass sometimes."

"Maybe." Apollo laughed, but he was nervous again. "Maybe you like it."

"Maybe," Mr. Wright admitted. His voice softened then, almost sounded as if he might feel nervous, too. "So--you're--you're gay, right?"

Apollo was so startled, he stopped short.

"I mean, it's okay if you are!" Mr. Wright said hurriedly. "And okay if you aren't. I was only--" He broke off. "Damn, that didn't come out right at all."

"It's okay," said Apollo quickly, to save him embarrassment. "I don't mind."

"I asked, because it seemed like--"

Apollo held his breath, waiting to see what Mr. Wright would say.

"--like you might be interested in Klavier."

"Oh."

"I know it's not my place to say anything," Mr. Wright went on. "I'm not your guardian. I'm only sort of your boss."

Apollo nodded, and Mr. Wright seemed to think his reaction meant something, though Apollo wasn't quite sure what it was Mr. Wright thought it meant. "I just," he said, "I don't think he'd be good for you. You can't rely on him."

Silence hung between them. There was no noise save that of passing cars, and a man singing in a nearby apartment building. Apollo knew he should say something. There were a lot of things he wanted to say, but maybe there were too many rushing through his mind at once for him to pick one. Or maybe none of them were worth speaking aloud.

"Thanks, Mr. Wright," he said at last.

"Thanks?"

Apollo nodded.

"That's it?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for looking out for me." When Mr. Wright still seemed confused, he added, "I am gay, though. Since you asked."

Mr. Wright forced a smile. "I told you that was going to be awkward."

"You were right about that."

The silence returned. Whoever was singing--their voice drifting down from an open window somewhere--held out a note for so long that both Apollo and Mr. Wright held their breaths, waiting to see when his voice would give out. It didn't trail away, but abruptly broke off. Apollo and Mr. Wright listened for another minute or so, but the singing didn't start up again.

"Come on, I'll walk you home," said Mr. Wright, which was what he had been doing all along.

Apollo fell into step beside him. He put his hands in his vest pockets and walked without talking, trying to make sense of the conversation they'd had. Klavier. Mr. Wright thought he liked Klavier? Where would he have gotten that idea? It was true that Klavier called him a lot, and Klavier flirted with him sometimes, but he hadn't thought Mr. Wright would notice something like that.

Mr. Wright stopped short at the door to Apollo's apartment building, looking up. "Here we are," he announced.

"Yeah," Apollo agreed. "Here we are." He laughed when he realized how silly and nervous he sounded. Too late, he remembered that laughing nervously would only make him seem more nervous.

"You know, I've never even been inside your apartment."

That was true. Apollo usually hung out at the Agency. Not only did he work there, but there was more space over there to hang out in, and he liked spending time with Trucy. He often went over there in the evenings, and they'd all watch a movie together, maybe order some pizza.

"You could come up now, if you want," Apollo blurted. "To see it, I mean."

Mr. Wright looked at him. Apollo was almost certain he was going to refuse, but instead he said, "Sure, I've got time. I don't know when Trucy's going to be back."

Apollo stopped thinking twice about Mr. Wright's parenting techniques. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to work well. "Great. Uh, just let me unlock the door." First, he had to find his keys. Then, he had to pick out the right one. Then, most difficult of all, he had to fit that key in the lock.

"Exactly how much booze did Klavier give you?" Mr. Wright asked, hovering over his shoulder.

"I don't know. A glassful."

"Of what?"

"I'm not sure, but it hurt."

"I think you might actually be drunk, Apollo."

"Really? No way! I've never been drunk before."

"Just a little, but yes, I think so."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize for that. If you wanted to drink, I wouldn't stand in your way."

"Yeah, but we're juice buddies, right?" asked Apollo. Mr. Wright didn't have time to answer, since Apollo finally succeeded in getting the door open, and he held it open with a smile. "After you!"

"Aren't you a gentleman?" Mr. Wright chuckled, but he took advantage of the held-open door and stepped through it. "Thanks."

Apollo didn't often have company over. His apartment was too small for that, little more than a single room with a kitchenette and a bathroom tacked on. He wasn't entirely sure what the point of asking Mr. Wright up had been. It had had the effect of making him more nervous, but that wasn't exactly what he'd been going for.

"It's certainly neat," said Mr. Wright, looking around with a half-smile on his face.

"I try to keep it clean."

"That's stating it mildly. It's spotless," said Mr. Wright as he turned in place. "I had no idea you were such a neat freak. Now I'm feeling guilty. You must have been silently judging me all this time, looking at the terrible mess I've made of my place."

"No, I never did," said Apollo, although maybe he had once or twice. He changed the subject quickly. "Do you want something to drink?"

"How about some juice?"

Apollo grinned at him before turning towards the kitchenette. At times, Mr. Wright could be refreshingly predictable. "Sure, I've got juice." He opened the refrigerator and peered inside critically. Orange juice: check. Grapefruit juice: check. Cranberry juice: check. "I don't have any grape--is grapefruit okay?"

"You know, in spite of their names, grapes and grapefruits aren't closely related, Apollo."

"I know that!"

"I was only joking." Mr. Wright laughed. "Grapefruit is fine. I could use a change. Don't want to get stuck in a juice rut, right?"

"Right."

By the time he returned with the juice, Mr. Wright was sitting down on the couch. It was odd to see him there, leaning back, idly playing with his locket, his hoodie half-unzipped. He looked out of place on the small, pale, angular couch, so unlike his own well-loved furniture. Apollo handed him the glass of grapefruit juice and tried not to blush as their fingers touched briefly. It didn't matter. It didn't mean anything. He'd poured himself a glass of the same juice. Holding it carefully, he sat down next to Mr. Wright, leaving a safe amount of space between them.

"I like what you've done with the place," said Mr. Wright, as sarcastic as ever.

"Thanks, Mr. Wright."

"You know," Mr. Wright said, then took a sip of his juice, "you don't have to call me Mr. Wright when we're hanging out after work."

"I don't?" Apollo hadn't thought about it. It was what he always called him.

"Yeah. Honestly, it's a little bit--weird."

Apollo flushed. He could feel it, red spreading across his face. He knew Mr. Wright could see it, too. Why was he cursed by his complexion? He turned away, though turning away made the whole thing more noticeable, because then it was obvious that he knew Mr. Wright knew. "Sorry."

Mr. Wright hurried to explain. "I didn't mean it like that. Damn. Here, let me try again. Hey, Apollo, why don't you call me Phoenix? Or Nick? Since we're having a friendly chat outside of work. And we know each other."

Apollo took a breath, calming down. He managed to face Mr. Wright--Phoenix--again. "Okay--Phoenix."

"Somehow I knew you'd choose that one."

"Phoenix," Apollo repeated, getting used to it.

"That's good. Nice pronunciation."

"Thanks," Apollo said cheerfully, as if the compliment were sincere. "I'll have to practice a lot, but someday I know I'll get it exactly right."

"That's the spirit."

Apollo couldn't think of what else to say. He realized that Mr.--Phoenix wasn't saying anything, either. Phoenix took a drink from his glass, then gazed down at it. Apollo couldn't let things continue like that. If he didn't say something soon, the situation was going to get awkward again, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "Do you think you'll keep up the gel thing?"

Phoenix glanced up. He seemed grateful for the question. "I don't know, Apollo. I don't think it suits me." He patted the back of his head, twisting his lips dubiously. "Too sharp."

"Yeah but you can prevent attack from behind that way." Apollo reached out with one hand, unable to resist reaching out and pressing on the sharp tips of the gel-lacquered spikes. They were a bit less sharp after the evening's festivities. Apollo felt warm again, but this time the warmth was concentrated in his belly and below. The hair at the back of Phoenix's neck was slightly damp with sweat. "I guess I am used to seeing you in the hat, though."

"The hat's kind of my signature now."

"Yes, you've made me very aware of that." Apollo knew he should pull his hand back, so he did, though he couldn't resist allowing--as if by accident--his fingers to brush the nape of Phoenix's neck.

Phoenix turned towards him. His expression was curious, open. There was a half-smile on his face. Maybe Phoenix was right, and he was drunk. If he wasn't drunk, he probably wouldn't have done what he did next, which was lean in impulsively and touch his lips to that funny little half-smile. He felt Phoenix's stubble, rough against his upper lip as he kissed him.

Phoenix froze, and Apollo, a sudden sick feeling twisting his stomach, was sure Phoenix was going to pull away, sure that he'd done something stupid and undoable. He didn't know, then, why he kept kissing Phoenix, but he did. Until, amazingly and passionately, Phoenix began to kiss him back.

Phoenix's tongue slid between Apollo's lips, and his hand came up to stroke Apollo's hair. Apollo could feel himself blushing furiously once more, but at this point he didn't care. He could turn bright red all over for all he cared. Phoenix was kissing him.

The kiss was going very well, until each of them, almost simultaneously, spilled his juice all over the other's lap.

"Oh god!" Apollo gave a start.

"Sorry about that," Phoenix murmured, and Apollo noticed Phoenix had turned somewhat red himself.

Apollo stared down at his wet lap. "No, I'm sorry. I forgot. About the juice."

"Yeah." Phoenix laughed. "Me too, obviously."

Apollo put his glass down on the tiny coffee table that faced the couch. In his flustered state, he didn't even think to get a coaster first. Phoenix put his own glass down next to Apollo's, then looked himself over. "That was an interesting sensation," said Phoenix mildly.

Apollo looked from his lap to the floor. He knew it was a cliché, wishing the floor would swallow him, but if the floor would at least do something, like maybe develop a crack, it would distract them both enough so that he could escape from this situation with some of his dignity intact. "Sorry, I--"

He felt Phoenix's hand on his shoulder and broke off. "That's okay," said Phoenix. "It's just a little juice. It'll come out in the wash."

"Yeah. It's good it wasn't grape juice, right? That stains the worst."

"Apollo."

"Yeah?"

Phoenix's hand slid around to the back of Apollo's neck and gently pulled him close. Apollo did not resist. He turned his head to put his mouth to Phoenix's again. Phoenix kissed him again, and Apollo returned the kiss eagerly, tasting the bittersweet juice on his tongue. He forgot about everything else, even the discomfort of the juice slowly drying on his pants. Phoenix's arms slid around his waist, and he relaxed into the embrace, his own hands settling on Phoenix's chest. Phoenix was warm. He felt good. This, Apollo realized, was something he'd wanted to do for a while. He wanted to keep doing it. He didn't want to stop.

Just as that thought crossed Apollo's mind, Phoenix drew back, breaking the kiss. "Are you all right?" he asked. His expression had changed. It wasn't one Apollo was used to seeing on him, gentle with worry. It made him look younger. He touched the side of Apollo's face. "I don't want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

"I'm comfortable," said Apollo quickly.

"I know you're a little drunk."

Apollo felt strange, but drunk? He didn't think so. "I still don't agree with that."

"Believe it or not, it's true," said Phoenix with a smile. "Maybe I should go. Let you get to bed."

Apollo laid a hand on Phoenix's arm. "No, you could stay. I mean--if you wanted to."

Phoenix shook his head. "I don't know if that's such a good idea, Apollo. Not right now. It's not that I don't want to--"

"Then stay."

Phoenix looked at him. "Apollo," he said softly.

"We can just hang out." He didn't know why he was insisting. It wasn't like him, but he had the feeling that if he didn't push now, maybe this would never happen again. He didn't want that. He wanted it to keep happening.

Phoenix continued to regard him thoughtfully, frowning. Apollo was almost positive he was going to say no, but instead he replied, "Okay. I'll call Trucy and tell her I'm not going to be back until tomorrow."

Phoenix stepped into the bathroom to make the call. While he was behind the closed door, Apollo quickly changed his pants. Then, when Phoenix did not emerge at once, he returned to the couch, more than a little amazed at what he'd done. He touched his fingers to his lips.

Phoenix emerged from the bathroom a minute or two later. Pensive, he rubbed the side of his face as if troubled by something.

"Is everything okay?" Apollo asked. "Trucy's all right?"

"Yeah, Trucy's fine. I think she was hoping I'd found her a new mom, though. I didn't have the heart to break it to her."

Apollo put his head in his hands.

"No," Phoenix went on, ignoring his aggrieved display, "what I was wondering is, do you have a spare pair of pants I could borrow?"

"Of course! Yeah. Let me get some for you." Apollo hurried towards the closet, but Phoenix caught him on his way there, wrapping his arms around his waist, holding him close and kissing his mouth again. His legs weakening, Apollo leaned into the embrace.

"Or," said Phoenix, "we could lie down for a little while."

"That would be nice," Apollo replied, speaking into his chest.

"Here. I'll take you there," said Phoenix. In the tiny apartment, the bed wasn't far away or hard to find, and Phoenix led him there. He lay down on the bed, on top of the covers, and Phoenix lay down beside him. Apollo closed his eyes. His pillow was very soft. He didn't think it had ever felt so soft. He'd never had a man in his bed, either, but that felt good, too. Phoenix held him, and he let himself relax. He liked being held. He liked Phoenix. With that thought, he fell asleep.

A low voice woke him some time later. "Good afternoon, sleepyhead."

Apollo blinked. Judging by the quality of the light spilling in through the gap in the curtains, it was afternoon. Then why was he still in bed? Wearing his clothes? And why did his head hurt?

The voice spoke again. "I was going to let you sleep in, but I think if I did that, you'd sleep all day."

"Oh!" Apollo sat up, remembering all at once everything that had happened the night before. "Mr. Wright."

"Phoenix. Please."

"Right. That's right. Phoenix."

"You got it. Phoenix Wright."

"Haha, very funny, Mr.--I mean, Phoenix."

"I've got something for you for breakfast, Apollo," said Phoenix. "Just the thing for a hangover."

"I don't have a hangover." Apollo scowled at him.

Phoenix nodded. "In any case, drink this." He handed Apollo a glass of what seemed to be--some kind of juice, maybe? It was hard to tell what it was. It was greenish. Maybe lime? Apollo couldn't remember having anything like that in his kitchen.

Apollo took a tentative sip. "Ugh!" He recoiled, nearly throwing the glass in his horror at the taste. "Phoenix, what is this?"

"Olive juice," said Phoenix brightly.

"What? But--why?"

"I told you, it's good for a hangover. A home remedy, you might say. I noticed you had some in your fridge. Some olives, anyway. So I poured out the juice for you."

What did Phoenix know about hangovers? All he drank was juice. He'd probably never even had a hangover, though Apollo couldn't say for sure. "Thanks," he said. "I really appreciate something terrible first thing in the morning."

"No problem."

Apollo stared down at the cup in his hands, his lip curling. "Olive juice," he muttered, incredulously.

Phoenix grinned. "Me too," he said.

"Huh?" Apollo still wasn't fully awake. He glanced up, narrowing his eyes as he tried to make sense of what Phoenix had just said, but Phoenix was already turning away.

"Keep sipping on that." he said. "It's good for you. I'll make you something else. I noticed you have some actual food in your fridge, too."

Apollo put down the awful juice. There was no way he was going to drink it. Not in a million years.

Sometimes he wondered if he'd ever understand that man.