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When Clay Terran died, Apollo expected everyone to tell him that things would get better, that his wounds would heal with time.
Clay’s funeral was held on a cold Winter’s day, nearly a week after Christmas. Though they had never met Clay, all of Apollo’s friends at the Wright Anything Agency showed up in black attire, hugging him one by one. Apollo loved them. He hated hugging.
Solomon Starbuck, who was perhaps the most somber person there besides Apollo, had handed him an envelope as they hugged and walked off without a word. Apollo stared at it for a while before sliding it into his coat pocket when the ceremony began.
When the official ceremony concluded, Mr. Wright pulled Apollo aside to talk to him. In the distance, Trucy and Athena spoke in sad, hushed voices, casting solemn glances towards the casket. Trucy’s eyes seemed to linger on the flowers that were propped up against the side of coffin rather than the man who was inside of it. Apollo had paid for the larger-than-life, blue and yellow bouquet.
“Things don’t really get better.” Mr. Wright opened the conversation with his typical bluntness. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway. When Mia passed, things didn’t really seem real. And when it all set in, things just…sucked.”
Apollo sniffed, now unable to take his own eyes off of the flower display.
“And it stayed that way, for a long time, even if I tried not to let it show. I had to get on with my life as a freshly badged attorney. Still, it was hard coming to the office and watering Charley every day. For the first couple months, I shed a tear nearly every time. But now?”
He placed a warm hand on Apollo’s shoulder.
“I sometimes shed a tear, but I always smile. I know people say that wounds heal over time, but wounds like these never fully recover. But you eventually learn how to move around without tearing your stitches, and you experience life in a new way. Just not overnight.”
Apollo let out a deep breath and closed his eyes. Mr. Wright was right. But he didn’t want his wounds to heal overnight, or even at all. He wanted Clay Terran on earth, here, right beside him, where he belonged.
And he’ll never stop wanting that. If having these wounds meant that Apollo could remember what it felt like to hug Clay and gently push him for teasing him all the time, and what it sounded like when he took long, powerful breaths as he talked about the stars and the shaky ones he took when he reached out to grab Apollo’s hands -
Then he didn’t want his wounds to heal.
He just wanted Clay to be here.
* * *
Despite having his brother-not-brother – Apollo thought of Nahyuta as his brother, but Nahyuta liked to act like that feeling wasn’t mutual – living within a five-mile radius of his office, Apollo felt rather alone when he first moved to Khura’in. Still, Ahlbi stopped in from time to time to bring fresh steamed dumplings and green tea, even though Apollo had begged him to stop bringing stolen goods to his office. He knew it was a well-intentioned act, but he already had enough of a reputation to shake off without the title of “dumpling thief” being tacked on to it.
For his first month in Khura’in, Ahlbi and Shah’do were the closest semblance of friends that Apollo had in the country. And yes, it was exactly as depressing as it sounded. Nahyuta naturally came in often for work-related matters, but he was still having a hard time opening back up to anyone, let alone Apollo, about his personal life. Fortunately, their conversations were still cordial and, to some extent, a little fun. Apollo would never tell anyone that, though.
“Stealing Bahk’hur’s dumplings again, I see.”
Apollo jumped, his pen flying out of his hand and landing an inch away from Nahyuta’s feet. Nahyuta bent down to pick it up and shook his head.
“You’re a dick.” Apollo grumbled and stretched his arms out. He’d been sitting at his desk for a while and his bicep was starting to cramp up. “Do you ever properly announce your presence when you go anywhere? Or do you just wait to try and be clever?”
“I have an affinity for the theatric.” Nahyuta tossed the pen at Apollo’s head. He narrowly caught it.
“I can see that.” Apollo rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. “Why are so many of these autopsy reports so badly written? And I mean literally; I’d thought you guys would have moved on to typing them out years ago.”
“Considering there weren’t so many murder cases coming through until late,” Nahyuta moved forward to sit across from Apollo at his desk. “We didn’t really think about efficiency until now. I’ve actually hired a typist to start converting all the files.”
“A true man of the people, creating more Khura’inese jobs.” Apollo sighed. He wanted to laugh, but for a passing moment, he thought about how that was something Clay might have said – would have said. It didn’t pull at his chest or anything, but it made him falter.
“Anyways, what did you come here for?” Apollo quickly tried to move on. “Because if it was to inquire about any new ideas I might have about the murder weapon, I can assure you I have none. Especially because I genuinely can’t read this autopsy report.”
Nahyuta held up a hand. “I got it the first time.”
Apollo paused. “Nahyuta…were you the one writing these reports?”
Nahyuta huffed and folded his arms across his chest. “You were the first person to complain about it.”
And for what felt like the first time in forever, Apollo laughed. He doubled over and dropped his pen, and even Nahyuta let out a breathy chuckle at that. Brothers-not-brothers, they hadn’t had moments like this since Nahyuta popped back into Apollo’s life. The room suddenly felt warmer and brighter, and Apollo didn’t feel so alone.
“We should talk like this more,” Nahyuta eventually said, a small smile on his face, “brother.”
Apollo smiled back. His mind conjured up an image of Clay standing just behind Nahyuta and giving Apollo a hearty thumbs-up, grinning from ear to ear. Back at the orphanage, he always reminded Apollo that Nahyuta and Dhurke could never, ever forget about him or stop loving him.
He’d be happy, Apollo thought. And proud.
* * *
Clay and Apollo were never officially together. Not in the romantic sense at least, because ever since they met in the orphanage, they’d been nearly inseparable. They had kissed many times, though they primarily kissed one another’s cheeks, and they definitely held hands on countless occasions. But they never really addressed any of it. It was just something they did; it came as natural as blinking and breathing. They even still had crushes on other people. Of course, they told each other about them, but neither of them ever got jealous. It was like they always knew, deep down, that they belonged hand in hand with each other.
Apollo drunkenly threw a handful of popcorn at his small, discounted TV. The kernels flew everywhere and some butter left a greasy stain at the bottom of the screen. Really, it wasn’t his fault that the movie that was on warranted such vehement popcorn-throwing action. He truly couldn’t fathom why one of the two foreign channels on Khura’inese cable showing 13 Going on 30 at 2 a.m.
He huffed as he watched Matty hand Jenna the dream dollhouse and confess that he had always loved her. Apollo shut his eyes so tight his whole face wrinkled, just so he didn’t have to watch the rest of the scene. He briefly opened his eyes to grab the wine bottle beside him to chug the rest of its contents.
When he finally looked back to his TV, Matty and Jenna had already gotten married. As they framed pictures and admired their new house together, tears started to make their way down his face – he couldn’t help it. He knew that this was more than crying at a benign rom-com. It was the painful realization that maybe he could’ve been Clay’s Jenna or even his Matty if Clay weren’t -
He threw more popcorn at his TV. That thought hurt too much to finish it out.
“I sure could use some of that wishing dust right now!” He said loudly, with a small, stupid smidge of hope that some fairy was going to hear him and hand him pink, glittery dust at his request. Deep down in his alcohol-reeling mind, he knew it was a reach. Then again, he was in a country where even contact with the dead was a mundane and normal thing. He turned off his TV and set the remote down on the table, and his eyes raked over an envelope that sat on the adjacent corner.
He sat up with wide eyes. Peering down into his now empty wine bottle, he took a deep breath, reached for his phone, and scrolled through his contact list.
“Yuty,” Apollo slurred. “Don’t hang up. Hey. Hey! I hear that doubt in your voice.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet, Apollo,” Nahyuta sighed. His voice sounded tinny and small over the phone. That boggled Apollo’s mind. “Why are you binge-drinking on a Wednesday? Though I suppose that doesn’t really matter, you do this often enough.”
“Yuty- “
“Stop calling me that.”
“Hey.” Apollo started again. “How can I go about hiring a spirit medium? Like, what’s their starting rate? Or could Rayfa cut me a deal for being her adoptive brother?” He paused. “Does she see me as her adoptive brother? Actually, don’t answer that.”
“Enough!” Nahyuta interjected. “You can’t pay the royal priestess of Khura’in to contact the dead because, among other things, she is unable to as of right now. Besides, spirit channeling is a ceremonious act. My mother, who is actually able to channel spirits, won’t do so just on a whim.”
“This isn’t a whim.” Apollo retorted. He kicked his wine bottle onto its side and shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“You’re calling me, plastered beyond words, at 2 a.m. on a Wednesday. This sounds like a whim.” Nahyuta moved to end the call.
“Wait!” Apollo yelled, and Nahyuta paused at the desperation in his voice. “It’s not a whim. Please. I’ve staved off asking to speak to him until now because I thought it’d be like cheating the system, but the system’s just unfair at this point. You and I know that more than anyone. C’mon, Nahyuta.”
Nahyuta cleared his throat. “Who are you trying to contact? Dhurke?”
Apollo snorted. “No. He got channeled like a month ago. He had his time.”
“Still mad, I see,” Nahyuta murmured, then spoke louder so Apollo could actually hear him. “Who are you trying to contact, then?”
Apollo straightened his back and fought off all the wine-drunk thoughts swimming in his head. He tried to speak as clearly as possible.
“Clay Terran. He passed away on December 15th, last year, back in L.A. He was 23.” Apollo paused. “Is there any other information you need for a spirit channeling? Because I can get it.”
Nahyuta let out a long breath. “Yes. If you want Amara to channel a spirit, you need a good reason.”
“Oh, I have one,” Apollo said. “Love. She’s all about that, isn’t she? I need – I want to know, that if he were still alive, that he would. I don’t know. Be with me, officially this time.”
“You never told me about this Clay person,” Nahyuta said in a more somber tone.
“Dude. I’ve only had you back in my life for, like, two months. And you were actively trying to have me executed for half of that, so.” Apollo rolled his eyes, though he belatedly realized Nahyuta couldn’t see him.
“So who was he?”
“Huh?”
“Clay Terran.” Nahyuta prodded. “Who was he?”
Apollo swallowed another handful of popcorn and thought about how to best answer the question. He didn’t really know how to sum up his best friend’s, and probably love of his life’s, life in one neat little phone call. He didn’t know if he could express just how much Clay meant to him, and how much he still meant to him even though he was gone.
He walked over to the armchair he had draped Clay’s jacket over, took a deep breath, and tried.
* * *
The next day, Nahyuta announced his entrance into Apollo’s office with a knock on the doorframe.
“Maybe you should hook up a bell to this door so I don’t have to do this,” he said after, his voice a little softer than usual.
Apollo scoffed. “Maybe you should wear the bell.”
“I’m not sure that you grasp my taste in fashion.”
Nahyuta walked further into the room and hummed as he sat down on the beaten-up leather couch that sat disgracefully beneath a hanging light. Apollo watched his nose wrinkle.
“I wanted to keep some of Dhurke’s furniture.” Apollo explained pre-emptively. “It’s not…ideal, but no one’s complained so far.”
Nahyuta flashed a small smile at him. “I wasn’t planning on breaking that streak.”
A beat of silence passed between them as Apollo tried to figure out how to say “now what do you want?” without sounding rude.
“Do you still want me to ask my mother?” Nahyuta eventually asked, his voice unusually quiet.
Apollo quirked an eyebrow. Was he nervous?
“Ask her about what?”
Then he watched as (some) tension left Nahyuta’s body and relief swept in to replace it. His back straightened out, the cracked couch creaking as he folded his arms across his chest.
“Ah,” he sounded a bit unhinged still, “You don’t remember. You got drunk and called me last night.”
Apollo’s eyes widened. He raised a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Not again, he thought.
“What did I want you to ask Amara?”
Nahyuta paused. “You wanted to know if she thought you were a burden growing up. Even though I assured you that you weren’t.”
“Oh.” Apollo felt his bracelet tighten. He watched Nahyuta’s index finger rub at the sleeve of his shirt but decided not to call him out for it – yet. He was sure that even Nahyuta knew that his efforts in lying were futile with someone like Apollo. “That’s not the most embarrassing thing I’ve said while drunk.”
Nahyuta gave a small nod before getting up to his feet. “Yes, well. Maybe you should just stop drinking altogether.”
No bracelet-tightening this time, though he sounded a little mad.
“That’s what Athena always tells me.” Apollo tapped away at his bracelet as Nahyuta quickly strode towards the door. “Hey, wait.”
Nahyuta turned around, albeit hesitantly.
“Ahlbi usually comes by around this time. Want to eat some maybe-stolen dumplings?” Apollo asked. “If you’re not busy, that is.”
Nahyuta glanced at the Defiant Dragons scroll hanging behind Apollo’s desk. The now-infamous picture of Jove Justice was in an ornate frame and hung beside it almost gracefully, and all he could think about was how Dhurke and Jove were probably cheering the two brothers on together in the spirit realm. Maybe this Clay Terran guy was, too.
So, he nodded.
“I’m never too busy for family.”
* * *
I’m never flying again, Apollo thought as a brutish man with an oversized suitcase bumped into him. The guy muttered something about Apollo’s “devil horns” and continued to walk on by, and Apollo briefly considered turning around to show him just how much of a devil he could be. Instead, he clutched his backpack straps with renewed vigor and tried to follow the signs pointing towards the airport’s entrance.
On his way, the scent of Starbucks, as well as the ever-glamorous aesthetic of an airport McDonald’s, drew him off course. He kind of missed American fast food places, in a nostalgic, bad-for-your-colon-health sort of way. He remembered when he was a wide-eyed, awestruck 9-year-old walking into a McDonald’s for the first time, when a laughing Clay bought him an order of small French fries to “welcome him to America.”
And he missed that time for many reasons, but one of them was definitely the fact that the price of French fries had nearly gone up a whole dollar since then.
“Can I make that large fries a small instead?” He asked the cashier as he reminded himself just how much money he set aside for this holiday trip. He wasn’t exactly pinching his pennies over in Khura’in, but he definitely hadn’t moved past having ramen a couple times a week.
Somewhere in his pocket, Apollo’s wallet even wished that Clay was there to shell out a few of his big astronaut bucks. The thought brought a smile to Apollo’s face when he got up to get his bag of fries and sad, hot air, then he went about his way.
Amid the huge arena that was LAX’s exterior, a streak of bright oranges and yellows caught Apollo’s eye. Athena was hovering around a bouncing Trucy, both girls looking out into the sea of people with a huge sign that read “Polly” in big red letters. The red was such a deep color that it actually looked a little more threatening than it did welcoming. He smiled, laughing to himself about how on-brand it was for both of them, and made his way over.
Athena was dressed in her standard banana-themed get-up (she hated when Apollo called it that), but Trucy was wrapped in what looked to be a new blue coat. It reached her knees and was adorned with diamond-shaped buttons. Mr. Wright must have started pulling in a lot more clients since May, he thought with a bit of jealousy.
“Polly!” Trucy shouted once she laid her eyes on him. She let go of her end of the sign and pushed past bushels of agitated strangers to run and give Apollo a firm hug. It made his eyes prick up with tears.
“Hey, Trucy,” he said warmly. “I see you got a wardrobe update since the last time I saw you.”
“Oh, this old thing?” Her nose wrinkled as she glanced down at herself. “Just kidding. It’s North Face! Mr. Edgeworth got it for me a month ago, and Daddy’s forcing me to wear it now that it’s cold out.”
“Ah, I should’ve known Mr. Wright wouldn’t be fashion-forward enough to buy such a cool coat,” Apollo laughed, omitting how relieved he was that Phoenix hadn’t changed one bit – nor had he skimped Apollo out of some wealthier clients. God, he sounded like Kristoph sometimes. Gross.
Athena finally made her way over to the two of them, her hands on her hips. The sign was limp at her wayside. “Welcome back!”
She grinned at Apollo, and he swore Widget’s smile grew a couple centimeters too. “Ema’s parked way out in the parking lot, but I’ll let her know to bring the car over now.”
“Ema has a car now?” Apollo’s jaw dropped.
“No, it’s one of Klavier’s,” Athena clarified as she typed out a text to Ema. “He wanted to be the one to drive it up here and impress you, but he got reeled back into the prosecutor’s office over some paperwork.”
“So Ema threw snackoos at him and called him mean names until he let her drive it.” Trucy finished.
Apollo laughed, a little nervous. Impress him. Right.
The three of them caught up on what all had transpired in the past 7 months while they waited for Ema to pull up. Trucy talked about the new magic tricks she’d debuted in her shows, and Athena showed Apollo pictures of all the new places she’d taken Juniper now that she was out of school.
Apollo shook the bag of fries in his hand and tossed a few in his mouth. If Clay were here, he’d be taking Apollo places too, or vice versa. It was a cute idea.
Luckily, Ema arrived before Apollo could follow that train of thought too far down the tracks. He felt a little guilty, too; he should have been paying more attention to all the stories Trucy and Athena were telling. Ema honked her horn at the trio and grinned as everyone hopped in the car – once Athena strapped Apollo’s luggage down in the trunk.
“Like my new ride?” She pulled her pink sunglasses down her nose for special effect, a mischievous smile on her face.
Athena and Trucy looked at each other in the backseat and smiled. Apollo opened the glove compartment and exaggeratedly tilted his head to the side as he scanned the contents.
“Are you even on the insurance, or….”
Ema laughed and pushed his shoulder. “You suck.” She shifted into drive and hit the gas.
“Insurance, shminsurance!” Trucy exclaimed from behind Apollo. “We have a Christmas party to get to!”
He looked at the clock. It was only 2 p.m. and he felt exhausted; jet lag sucked more than anything. He groaned and settled into his seat.
“In three days,” Athena reassured him. “We’re just doing some shopping for it today, Trucy.”
“Time is a construct,” Trucy responded, looking to Ema for back-up. “Today is tomorrow is the day after tomorrow, is also the day after tomorrow’s tomorrow! So: let’s get those spirits up!”
“Where is she learning this?” Apollo turned his head back to catch a glimpse of Athena’s smiling face. “And why do I get the feeling that the answer is Mr. Wright?”
“It’s just a joke, guys. Sheesh.” Trucy shook her head. “I need more friends my age.”
* * *
The Christmas party still came a lot sooner than Apollo expected. To be fair, he’d just spent the past three days sleeping, drinking, hiding his drinks from Mr. Wright, and texting Nahyuta about his trip. Mr. Wright had been kind enough to let Apollo stay in the guest room during his visit, and Apollo really didn’t want that kindness to transform into an intervention. Especially not at Christmas time.
Apollo let out a sigh as he continued unpacking – he was too busy sleeping away the time difference to take more than a few outfits out of his suitcase. While he searched for a clean white dress shirt, he accidentally folded out a long, deep blue jacket. It was Clay’s.
Apollo had also been drinking when he packed his suitcase. It was a cold, sad night, and the only TV channel he ever watched was playing Love, Actually. Why that channel loved to bash him over the head with movies he couldn’t stand to watch sober, he never knew. Besides, regardless of the movie choice of that night, it was December 20th - an exact week after the year-anniversary of Clay’s death. Apollo had been in and out of sobriety that whole week, so it didn’t really surprise him that he shoved Clay’s jacket into his suitcase before eventually staggering off to the airport.
He sighed and respectfully pushed it to the bottom of the suitcase.
“Polly!” A loud knock on the door startled him. “Klavier is coming to pick us up at 3! Just letting you know so you can be ready in time.” She trailed off. Maybe she finally realized it was only 10 a.m. “And dress nicely, please…we don’t want to underwhelm him.”
He listened to Trucy’s laugh boom down the hallway as she walked away. He shook his head and finally, finally found another white shirt to wear under his black sweater. He held it up in front of himself in the mirror and inspected his reflection. Underwhelm him? I’m not trying to impress him. He thought bitterly, even though he knew Trucy was just teasing.
He felt a little more bitter when Mr. Wright later caught him by surprise in the kitchen and said, “I don’t remember you ever dressing this nice before you went to Khura’in. I assume Nahyuta was giving you some pointers before Prosecutor Gavin could get to you?”
“Why do you guys keep bringing him up?” Apollo snapped. He instantly regretted it, keeping his head down as he continued to stir sugar into his coffee.
“Who, Nahyuta?” Mr. Wright looked to the side in fake thought. Apollo recognized that look in a heartbeat. “He’s your brother, isn’t he?”
“No, Prosecutor Gavin.” Apollo replied, and his voice was so tired and rough that Mr. Wright caved in and gave him a break.
“I see,” he paused. “I’ll stop. Sorry to keep pushing your buttons. I just thought that, you know…there was something going on between you two-”
The image of Clay’s jacket coming out of the depths of Apollo’s suitcase like a ghost popped into Apollo’s mind. He felt a flash of hot anger.
“There’s nothing going on between us. I haven’t even spoken to him since I moved.” Apollo quickly answered and picked up his coffee mug, swiftly walking back to the guest room.
And for the first time, even after all the teasing he’d done to Apollo – Phoenix felt bad. He thought about how tense and stressed-out he was at Apollo’s age. Though he had been a little more laidback than Apollo, the first few years of his legal career were rough; hell, the first few years of his legal career were the only years of his legal career for a good while. Navigating those waters was hard.
And up in Khura’in, Apollo was doing it all alone. At least Phoenix had Maya to help him out.
After some time, Phoenix pulled himself together and walked over to Apollo’s make-shift hotel room. He slowly knocked on the door, feeling like some goofy dad in a kid’s movie. When he didn’t get a response, he sighed and knocked again.
“Just a moment,” Apollo called. He sounded distant and muffled, like he was hiding under something. When he opened the door, Phoenix saw that his eyes were a little red, even though he kept blinking to hide it.
“I’m sorry I snapped like that.” Apollo started before Phoenix could get the chance. “You weren’t being overly mean or anything. I think things just-”
“Built up?” Phoenix finished with a small smile on his face. “Things happen. Emotions are meant to be felt.”
He gently ushered his way into the room and sat down on Apollo’s bed. “Want to talk about it?”
He scanned the room as he awaited Apollo’s answer, eventually catching on to the blue jacket that was hanging off the edge of Apollo’s suitcase. He glanced back at Apollo, who somehow looked relieved and apprehensive all at once.
“I should talk about it.” Apollo said.
“If you’re comfortable,” Phoenix amended.
“I am. I’m not – I’ve never been uncomfortable around you,” Apollo sighed and sat down on the bed. “I just feel uncomfortable in general. Mostly with myself. This is the first time I’ve had a real break from work in a long time.”
“Ah. All work and no play.”
“More like I work because I don’t want to play,” Apollo laughed sadly. “When all that happened a year ago, I kept pushing myself to take cases or read up on old ones while I waited for new cases, all because I felt so restless. I didn’t give myself time to think, and I didn’t really want to. And now that I am giving myself that time…”
He looked down at Clay’s jacket. “I just feel sad. And I’m frustrated because I don’t want to feel sad when I’m with you guys. I don’t want to feel sad around Klavier, either. But it’s like – now that I really have time to think about myself over in Khura’in, it’s like sensory overload being here. Having to…recontextualize how I feel with the hustle and bustle over here.”
“Well, you don’t have to put up a brave front, you know.” Phoenix said comfortingly. “When Mia died, I was ready to close up shop. Seek work in another office. I’d meet Edgeworth another way, you know?”
And there went that dreamy smile. Though he’d never admit it, Apollo really did admire how much Phoenix and Edgeworth loved each other and all the ways that it showed on their faces when they talked about each other. But Apollo also envied them: childhood friends who were destined to be together, no matter what obstacles came their way. Meanwhile, his own ship had sailed away.
“But I know I’m just a lucky guy, even though it took time and patience for me to feel somewhat out of the woods.” Phoenix quickly explained when he saw Apollo’s face fall. “And you’re lucky and gifted too. Your gifts and blessings will appear in due time, plus what you’re doing in Khura’in is admirable – it might just be a blessing in disguise.”
“It’s not just Khura’in.” Apollo replied. “I mean, it’s partly Khura’in. But it’s also that things are slower over there – less time in court, I’m mostly doing paperwork – so I do have a bit more time and my mind drifts off, and I miss here and I miss…you know, him. Especially now that it’s December.”
Phoenix nodded, finally understanding. “That’s why you don’t like all the teasing about Prosecutor Gavin.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yeah.” Apollo realized things were a bit simpler than he thought. “I think in another world, if things were different, I’d pay more mind to it – the whole situation with Klavier. It’s just, ever since Clay died, I feel wrong for even thinking about that.”
“I don’t think he’d want you to feel guilty.” Phoenix responded. The ‘I mean, I didn’t know him’ goes unsaid, and it made Apollo’s chest feel tight. But he cared. Phoenix really did care.
With a smaller voice, he continued. “But I know you still love him a lot. That kind of love doesn’t go away overnight, and sometimes it doesn’t go away at all. But that doesn’t mean you should feel guilty if you ever ‘move on’ or try something new. You’ll just be carrying a piece of him, right there in your heart.”
“Yeah,” Apollo murmured. A too-long silence lingered in the air before he cleared his throat and continued, a little lighter than usual. “It’s things like this that leave such big scars on us lawyers, I guess.”
Phoenix let out a crooning whistle. “Amen.”
Apollo turned to him with a tiny smile. “But that’s enough of that. I should get my things ready for the party. Thank you for listening, Mr. Wright.”
“Of course.” Phoenix stood up and shifted over to the door, sparing one last glance at the jacket laid atop Apollo’s suitcase. “I’m always here to listen.”
Apollo nodded as Phoenix shut the door behind him. He heard his footsteps drift off towards his room, and as if on cue, Apollo’s mind was flooded with how much he missed Dhurke. Even if he didn’t want to admit it.
* * *
3 p.m. rolled around much faster than Apollo expected. He considered feigning illness and sleeping through the party – Phoenix would definitely let him, too – but he figured that would bring more attention to himself. He gave himself one last look in the mirror and walked out to the living room, where Trucy was prattling on about how punctual Klavier was and how Apollo shouldn’t keep him waiting.
“We’re all riding together, though.” He said calmly, holding the front door open for Trucy.
She powered down the stairs and smiled at Klavier’s shiny (and, as far as Apollo could tell, gaudy) purple car. “Yeah, but I was ready before you were.”
Apollo was about to make a quip about how he was more than ready to go at noon when Klavier decided to get out of his car and greet them. His skin was a little less tan (Apollo expected as much with the harsh winter) and his hair was a little longer, but he was still rocking his world-famous grin. He wore a black dress shirt underneath a shimmery purple sweater, and his infamous Gavinners chain hung a little lower than Apollo remembered.
“Trucy!” Klavier exclaimed, giving her an all-embracing hug as she made her way towards him. “Oh fraulein, I’m loving the coat.”
“Yeah, it’s growing on me.” She smiled warmly. “My cape is underneath it.”
“I expect nothing less of a professional entertainer,” Klavier patted her on the shoulder as she headed towards the passenger’s seat, much to Apollo’s relief.
Then his eyes flitted over to Apollo.
“Herr Forehead,” he gave a small bow. “What a pleasure to have you back in the country, although I wish I could have greeted you at the airport. My apologies.”
Apollo gave an awkward nod at the gesture. “It’s fine. Athena and Trucy caught me up. It’s not like you were avoiding me or anything.”
Klavier just smiled back at him.
“Did that sound sarcastic?” Apollo added. “Because I didn’t mean for it to be.”
“Oh, not at all,” Klavier walked over towards him and held his arms open to prompt Apollo for a hug. “I’m just happy to see you back in L.A. Like old times, ja?”
Apollo gave in and hugged him. He was warm, and his cologne smelled expensive. They had never actually hugged before, given that Apollo wasn’t much of a hugger, but he felt like his opinion was now doomed to change.
“I hope it won’t be like old times while I’m here. I’m on vacation.” Apollo laughed. “I hope I won’t have to go to court anytime soon.”
“That’s the Christmas spirit, Herr Forehead!” Klavier cheered. “Let’s get in the car and share that spirit at Herr Edgeworth’s house. Trucy called shotgun, but I’m guessing that’s alright with you.”
Apollo looked to the car and saw Trucy through the windshield, motioning for him to hurry up. He missed her so much while he was in Khura’in. He’d probably never even touch a wine bottle if she was around.
He finally looked back to Klavier and nodded. “It’s perfect.”
* * *
The decorations for the Christmas party were far more festive and numerous than Apollo had expected. Knowing Edgeworth, he’d expected there to be a modest yet nicely trimmed Christmas tree and a tasteful number (three or less) of decorative gift boxes at the foot of the tree, and not much else besides an inanely clean house.
He was wrong.
His jaw nearly dropped when he saw a lavish green and red faux fur runner rug line the entrance of Edgeworth’s home, which gave a glimpse into the rest of Edgeworth’s home. The rug bled into the freshly waxed cherry wood floor of Edgeworth’s living room, and a giant, real pine tree stood beside the roaring fireplace. Five bright red stockings hung off of the marble mantelpiece, and a string of colorful Christmas lights lined the surface above them. There were metallic green and red streamers cascading along the cream walls, and the smell of baked chocolate chip cookies drifted in the air.
“Catching flies, there, Herr Forehead.” Klavier playfully shook Apollo’s shoulder and went to take off his shoes so he could head into the den. Apollo came to and followed suit, running his hand along one of the streamers as he did so.
The infamous Franziska von Karma was already sitting on the couch and chatting with Maya Fey, who, despite the cold weather, was still wearing her traditional spirit medium dress. Maya kept purposefully bumping into Franziska’s shoulder as they spoke, and Apollo watched for what he assumed would be the only time he’d ever see Franziska von Karma get flustered. Ema was laid out on the reclining chair with one hand in a bag of snackoos and the other holding a champagne flute. Klavier and Apollo sat on the smaller couch next to her. Pearl was floating in from the kitchen with an apron that sported a vintage-style image of Santa Clause. Trucy bounded towards her.
“Pearly!” Trucy grinned and gave her a hug. “I didn’t know you were going to get here early! I would’ve asked to come with my daddy!”
Pearl gave her a sheepish smile. “I just wanted to help get dinner started. I only got here an hour ago.”
“So responsible,” Ema chimed in, still chewing her snackoos. “Unlike this glimmerous fop walking in fashionably late. What are you doing for the party?”
Klavier laughed and placed his hands on his hips. “We’re five minutes early. And I am the party.”
Ema narrowed her eyes at him. “I’d throw a snackoo at you for your pompousness, but I know Pearls swept the floor earlier.”
“Well, what are you doing for the party?” Apollo chided. He felt genuine joy creeping up on him for the first time in a long while.
“Filling a seat,” Ema replied with a laugh and motioned at the recliner. “I don’t have one of these at my apartment.”
The doorbell rang again and Pearl looked like she was about to start for the door, so Trucy rushed to beat her to it. A scruffy, older looking man with a green coat stood in the doorway with two gift boxes in tow.
“Oh, Trucy!” He smiled and shifted the boxes around to give her a cheerful high five. “Help me with one of these boxes, will ya? Put it under the tree for me.”
Trucy nodded and headed back towards the tree. Apollo tilted his head in question and looked to Klavier for an answer.
“He’s a detective,” Klavier responded, leaning down and speaking just loud enough that only Apollo could hear him. “I met him once, many years ago. You might remember his name from the records of that terrible case Mr. Wright was involved in 9 years ago.”
It was then that Phoenix and Edgeworth stepped in from the kitchen to greet their new guest. Phoenix was prattling on about the man not having to get gifts with the kids, what with his tight wallet and all, and Edgeworth was oddly peaceful as the man kept shaking his shoulders and telling him to put a “Christmas smile” on his face.
The man went to sit down besides Franziska when he made eye contact with Klavier.
“Hey, I remember you, pal!” He looked irritated.
Phoenix rubbed his neck and wore an apologetic smile, looking a lot like his younger self. “Yeah, uh, Gumshoe, this is Prosecutor Gavin, and vice versa. I’m sure you two remember each other.”
Apollo glanced at the man beside him. Klavier was still smiling politely, unfazed by Gumshoe’s apparent anger. For a moment, Klavier reminded him of Clay. Not because of how he was dressed or how he tended to lead Apollo in casual conversation, but because of how kind his eyes were, even when they didn’t need to be.
“And Apollo, this is, once again, Detective Gumshoe. Before I was chief prosecutor, he was the main detective that I worked with for my cases.” Edgeworth joined in. “I realize that you may not have formally met my sister, Franziska, either.”
At the sound of her name, Franziska finally looked away from Maya and nodded towards Apollo. “It’s nice to finally be introduced to you, Mr. Justice. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Good things, I hope.” Apollo said.
“I’ve heard everything through Klavier, so,” she tilted her head with a smirk. “Yes. All good things.”
Apollo looked to Klavier again and watched the corner of his mouth twitch. Apollo wanted to hide in his sweater.
A beat later, Athena, Juniper, and Simon all entered the room. Phoenix greeted them and headed back to the kitchen, saying something about not wanting the turkey to burn the house down. Edgeworth followed him.
As time went on, a man, who, according to Apollo’s informant (Ema), was the hit children’s book author Laurice Deauxnim and the infamous Larry Butz, arrived, as well as a rather sweet woman named Maggey Byrde. A man and a woman around Maya’s age, apparently named Sebastian and Kay, had also made their way into the house. Apollo felt a little overwhelmed by the amount of people at the party and went into the kitchen in search of the champagne flutes Ema had been indulging in.
Phoenix and Edgeworth were working on mashed potatoes and gravy, respectively, and Pearl was focused on chopping vegetables by the sink. Apollo tried to sneak past them undisturbed to reach into the fridge, but was stopped by – of course, he should have known better – Phoenix.
“Don’t want the bubbly to kill your appetite,” he said.
“I don’t think that’s how it works.” Apollo replied, still opening the fridge and deciding to opt for beer when he saw two six-packs hiding in the back. He didn’t think Edgeworth would be the type to keep any beer on hand, but he then remembered that Ema probably brought it herself, knowing her. “Besides, Ema’s been drinking and eating snackoos this whole time.”
“Mystic Maya’s been drinking, too.” Pearl added, still hacking away at some carrots.
“Both of their stomachs are made of steel, though.” Phoenix said, and he looked a little more serious when he turned back to Apollo. When Edgeworth walked away to call Trucy in from the den, he lowered his voice. “There’s nothing wrong with drinking, but I want you to think about the stress you’ve been feeling and if this is the way to go about it.”
Apollo responded by popping off the bottlecap on the island counter. Phoenix frowned. When Trucy walked in, he adopted a kind smile and asked her to set the table. Larry waltzed in too, looking at Apollo and the beer in his hand, then playfully pushing at Phoenix’s shoulder.
“You didn’t tell me you had beer, Nick!” Larry opened the fridge and Apollo took a sip of his drink.
“Edgeworth will throw you out the minute you start acting out.” Phoenix wore a tight grin. He placed a scooper in the bowl of mashed potatoes and set it out on the counter for Trucy to take to the dining room.
Larry laughed him off and headed towards the dining room. Pearl dumped her vegetables into a pot of what Apollo’s nose suspected was a vegetarian curry and followed suit to help Trucy, leaving Phoenix and Apollo alone.
“It’s okay to drink.” Phoenix reiterated, a little less intense now. “I was just saying.”
“I don’t have a problem or anything.” Apollo replied awkwardly.
“I never said that you did.” Phoenix looked wary. Apollo regretted his life. He took another swig from his bottle and took a hesitant step back.
“I’m gonna go talk to Ema now. Let me know if you want me to help bake more cookies for dessert or anything.”
Phoenix watched Apollo hurriedly walk away and sighed.
* * *
Dinner was still going well. It was about as rambunctious and loud as Apollo had expected, complete with Ema drunkenly threatening to throw her whole dinner plate at Klavier and Trucy and Pearl giggling to each other at the other end of the table. Apollo sat between Ema and Simon, slightly out of the crossfire between Klavier and Ema. Simon was speaking the least at the table, instead choosing to observe the other conversations going on.
Apollo decided to indulge him. “I think Mr. Wright did well on the potatoes.”
All he was met with was a grunt. He honestly couldn’t tell if it meant approval or disagreement, so he continued.
“Athena’s been telling me that Juniper’s been enjoying her little tours of L.A. Do you ever go with them?”
Simon laughed, which was a jarring sound for Apollo’s ears. “I only went once. I invited myself and embarrassed Athena by telling Juniper some stories from when she was a kid.”
Athena paused her conversation with Larry about his plan for his next kids’ book to chime in. “You’re still laughing about that?”
Simon ignored her and went on, a devious smile lingering on his mouth. “Oh, Justice-dono, you should’ve seen her. One time she tried to put on a one-man talent show with no music-“
“Simon!” Athena and Widget both turned bright red.
Apollo started laughing so hard he grew breathless. When he started wiping away his tears, he made eye contact with Klavier. He looked like he was slightly in awe, but he was smiling kindly nonetheless.
“I haven’t seen you laugh like that this whole time,” Klavier said.
Apollo glanced around the table and saw that everyone had resumed their conversations – with Simon now explaining to Larry what had occurred at Athena’s one-man talent show. Ema had turned her attention away from Klavier to speak to Kay, and the two seemed like they were getting on well. Apollo looked back to Klavier.
“Glad you’re having fun.” Klavier added, a little quieter. “I hope to see you like that more often.”
He gave Apollo a curt nod and got up to grab a water from the kitchen. Apollo figured it was the beer that was addling his brain, but for that one moment, in the sea of Phoenix and Edgeworth’s family and friends, he felt like he saw a ghost. It gave him chills, like Klavier’s words were somehow another parting gift from Clay.
He finished the rest of his plate as well as another beer in relative silence, his eyes drifting off to the black sky outside of the dining room windows, in search of a world they never got to see.
* * *
When Apollo first came to America – or as he thought of it, when he was abandoned in America – he wasn’t too happy about his situation. He went from a life of peace and quiet in the still mountainside of Khura’in, to a life of constant clamor and boys who have just discovered axe deodorant trying to coexist in one house. He refused to make friends, too, as he told every kid that came up to him trying to play that he had bigger plans.
“This is all a mistake,” he’d tell the resident caseworkers, with his nose turned up far more than it should’ve been at that age. “My dad is coming back to get me soon, so I don’t want to make friends if I just have to leave them.”
At some point, a rather stern middle-aged man had had enough of it.
“Your dad isn’t coming back, kid.” He stubbed out a prohibited cigarette in an ashtray hidden in his desk drawer. “If you don’t want to be friendly to anyone, that’s fine. But we’re still going to keep searching for a family for you.”
Apollo got so frustrated he just stormed out of the office. He had a family; they just needed to look overseas.
He spent the first few months at the orphanage in a state of limbo, wondering when Dhurke would finally show his face or if the grumpy caseworker was right. He stayed quiet most days, ate whenever they called all the kids down for meals, and stayed in the study where no kid went. Everyone was busy downstairs, where the gaming systems and board games were. No one ever wanted to read.
Well, except for one other kid.
Apollo was tempted to steal noise-cancelling headphones from the electronic store down the street just so the kid wouldn’t talk his ears off. He was way too energetic for Apollo’s liking, always talking about the books he was reading about Mars and Mercury or trying to unbolt the indoor telescope by the wall of the study so he could steal it.
After two weeks of virtually talking to himself (with the exception of a few hums and nods from Apollo), he finally asked for Apollo’s name.
“I just realized,” he closed his book about constellations and sat up. “I don’t know your name.”
This warranted the first verbal response Apollo had ever given him. It was accompanied by a laugh.
“All this time and you never introduced yourself!”
The kid flushed. “You can talk?”
“Of course, I can talk!” Apollo balked.
“Oh!” The kid beamed a smile at Apollo. “Well then, I should introduce myself, too. My name’s Clay Terran.”
“I’m Apollo.”
They sat in relative silence again as Clay returned to his book. Some time passed before he spoke up again.
“You know,” Clay started. “That was the first time I’ve seen you smile since you got here.”
Apollo just stared back at him, dumbfounded.
“I hope you start smiling more often.” Clay smiled and gave him two thumbs up. “It’s not good to be so sad all the time!”
* * *
“Two more shots of vodka, please.” Apollo murmured and lazily raised two fingers at the bartender, who nodded back at him.
Despite the holidays being upon the town, the bar was hustling and bustling like it was a Superbowl Sunday. People streamed in and started up some games of pool, meanwhile the counter remained empty and clear for stragglers like Apollo. The drinks that he already had sat warm in the pit of his stomach, but he still looked at the two shot-glasses the bartender put in front of him as if they were filled with fresh water and he was stranded in a desert.
As he downed one of them, the front door opened and a tall, pale body hesitated to sit down at any of the tables. Apollo watched the man turn in his direction, then make a beeline for him.
“This seems unbecoming of you, Justice-dono.”
Apollo sat up and gently pushed the other glass of vodka in his direction. “This is the pot calling the kettle Blackquill. Get it?”
Simon looked only slightly amused.
“Geez. Sit down and drink with me or you can sit alone at those tables.” Apollo pushed the shot-glass again. Simon obliged and took a seat beside him.
“So what brings you here, Prosecutor Blackquill?”
“I just got back in town after visiting Aura,” he sighed.
“Say no more,” Apollo shook his head. “Or, say more, if you want.”
Simon gave him a curious look and shot back the vodka. He motioned to the bartender and requested two beers. “What is there to say? Our conversation wasn’t much of the holiday spirit, I’ll say that.”
Apollo nodded.
“What about you? The Christmas party was only yesterday, I didn’t think Wright-dono would wear you out so quickly that you’d seek solace here.” Simon took a sip out of one of the beers.
“It’s not Mr. Wright,” Apollo amended. “It’s…”
He looked around the room at the people dressed in varying shades of red and green. They danced around to the old-timey Christmas jazz music, smoking and drinking and poking each other with pool sticks. He saw how happy they were, and how close they were to each other. The bar’s owners had even set up a homely Christmas tree with bottle cap ornaments hanging off of its branches.
“It’s the holidays.” Apollo finished with a small smile.
Simon barked out a laugh. “Cheers to that one.”
They continued to drink in silence until yet another familiar face came in, just as Apollo’s luck would have it.
“Of all the bars I’ve hopped into tonight,” Ema began, already drunk and shaking a finger at both Simon and Apollo, “I had to land in one that’s housing two of the few respectable people I know. Ugh.”
“You think I’m respectable?” Apollo was genuinely bewildered.
“Only by association of Mr. Wright.” Ema added, taking a seat on his right. She nodded at Simon and, thinking that was enough of a greeting, ordered a drink for herself.
“The holidays…” Simon muttered under his breath, earning a laugh from Apollo.
“Well,” Apollo gently elbowed Ema to get her attention again. “What brings you here, then?”
Ema rubbed the side of her beer with her thumb, deep in thought. Only a few inches in thought, however, considering how much she’d already drank.
“My only living relative is my incarcerated sister and I’m preparing to go see her tomorrow.” She took a swig from her bottle. “This is my preparation.”
“Ah, well, that is respectable, Skye-dono.” Simon nodded. “I just returned from visiting my only living relative who is also my incarcerated sister. Though, I wasn’t intending to barhop tonight.”
“It’s fun.” Ema said. She suddenly added, “My sister went to prison when I was 16. That’s 11 years ago.”
“I went to prison when I was 21. After 7 years of my sister visiting me, the tables have turned. The visiting room glass has turned.” Simon replied. Apollo felt like he was in the crossfire of some serious jailbird Olympics.
“Did your parents also die when you were young?” Ema asked, continuing to steer the conversation into disaster-land. Apollo nervously sipped his beer.
“Naturally,” Simon answered. “Yours too?”
Ema nodded.
“I guess I’ll chime in here then,” Apollo let out an awkward, albeit cathartic, laugh. “My dad died when I was 3.”
“What a rough start for all of us.” Simon joked.
More silence passed. Apollo felt his heart start racing and, before he knew it, he was steering the conversation straight onto the highway of disaster-land.
“I wish that was the roughest part.” He said. The other two looked at him with a mixture of empathy, sympathy, and confusion. “My best friend died one year ago, now. Around the holidays.”
Simon wore a grim look as he remembered the case. Ema gave Apollo a kind pat on the shoulder. Then, she snatched Apollo’s beer out of his hand and held it out of his reach.
“What the hell?” Apollo tried his best to reach over her, but to no avail.
“Calm down, Mr. Forehead,” Ema kicked his foot and Apollo reluctantly gave up. “It’s for your own good. Don’t think I noticed how I brought two six packs of beer and, without getting to drink a single one, came home with only one leftover.”
“It could’ve been that Larry guy.” Apollo supplied.
“Yeah, except he only drank three.” Ema said. “And before you start calling me a hypocrite, I only drink on occasion.”
“As do I.” Simon piped up.
“From what Nahyuta tells me, you can’t really relate on that,” Ema wore a stern look on her face.
Apollo glanced between the both of them and awkwardly laughed. “What, is this some kind of intervention? Because I don’t need one. And Nahyuta really shouldn’t be telling you these things-”
“Look, Apollo.” Ema gripped his shoulder. “I feel for you. I really do.” She released his shoulder and sat back. “I don’t really know what to say when someone dies or when we’re mourning, but I know that drinking away your sorrows both overseas and here isn’t helping anyone.”
Apollo considered walking away before Simon spoke up.
“Justice-dono. My mentor, Athena’s mother, died when I was 21. And to this day, I miss her dearly. 8 years later, and I still dream about a world where she’s alive.” He paused. “It’s less frequent now, but that raw pain and sadness, when I really think about her passing, is still there. I drink to forget my bouts with my sister, but I wouldn’t drink to forget Metis. I like to remember her whenever I can.”
Apollo felt tears prick his eyes, but he refused to cry in a bar. Now that would be unbecoming of him, he was sure of it. He quickly blinked away the tears.
“Death is a weird thing,” Ema’s eyes glazed over as she stared at the liquor shelf behind the bartender. “Especially with all that spirit channeling mumbo jumbo going around. I trust in science and science alone!”
Apollo flinched. Simon smirked.
“But even in science. Death is a natural part of the cycle of life. In old age, cell production begins to stop. Other times, physical trauma overloads our system and our body simply can’t handle it. We’re fragile beings as humans, really, but that fragility is what makes life worth living.”
A pause fell among them, and all Apollo could hear was his own slow breathing, the Christmas music gently drifting throughout the bar, and the shuffling conversation of the other customers as they moved about the room.
“I think my parents lived a great life.” Ema finally said.
“I think Metis did, as well,” Simon agreed.
They looked towards Apollo with expectation, but there was no malice. It was comforting, albeit in a weird way to most, to tell tales about the dead. It felt like they were keeping them alive, just for a few moments, before letting them rest again.
“I know Clay lived an amazing life.” It was the first time Apollo had ever said that. The past tense didn’t even bother him, either. “And I’ve lived an amazing life, too. Because he was part of it.”
The conversation veered back into non-disaster-land after that, but Apollo couldn’t help but feel hopeful and happy. Even if Ema was holding his beer hostage and he had started the night by drinking during the most jubilant time of the year.
He felt happy because he didn’t feel alone.
And he realized, as Simon and Ema discussed a Steel Samurai spin-off and he watched them in awe, that he never was alone. Even at the orphanage, he thought he was alone but, now he knew, Dhurke never forgot about him. Nahyuta didn’t, either. And Clay was tracking his smiles, and probably still was, wherever he was. Plus, the effect Mr. Wright had on his career, the support Trucy had given him for the past few years, and the sincerity that Klavier had offered him didn’t disappear just because he moved.
He carried all of them, all of the pieces and memories, right in his heart, wherever he went. He didn’t really need to carry Clay’s jacket across the world, because Clay never truly left him.
As the night ended and the trio went their separate ways, after they cleaned out their wallets to pay their tabs, Apollo did what he never did and gave Simon and Ema earnest hugs. It was shocking to everyone, including himself.
He used to hate hugging. But in that moment, he loved Simon and Ema so much that he felt like he was finally coming around.
* * *
When Clay Terran died, Apollo was asked a lot of questions that he didn’t know the answer to. The most common were, “How are you?” “Is there anything I can do to help?” and his personal favorite, “What do you need?”
However, there was one question that Apollo was asked that he never knew the answer to until the moment he heard the question.
“Why didn’t you tell us about Clay?”
Trucy had asked him the question on a cold February night when they were still holed up in the office, and she was taking a break from rehearsing her magic act. She didn’t sound upset, but it became clear to Apollo that it was a fair question. Why hadn’t he told anyone about Clay?
His response was a simple shrug before he went back to looking over some papers, but he immediately knew the answer. He was never embarrassed of Clay, nor was he embarrassed of the fact that he had been and still was so in love with the guy that it hurt. He never forgot about Clay or ceased contact with him either; they made sure to call each other at least once a month, but they texted nearly every day.
The answer was a bit more obvious than that, and he realized it in hindsight. It was the same reason Mr. Wright never sat Apollo down and directly told him about his mentor’s life, the same reason that Trucy never told Apollo much about her dad until it became unfortunately relevant, and the same reason Athena never told anyone about the trauma she suffered due to her mother’s death
Apollo never told his friends about Clay because Clay was too sacred. He was the one constant in Apollo’s life, from the fateful day that they met to the day he died. Before Apollo even knew Mr. Wright existed, he looked up to and admired Clay for his ambitiousness and his never-ending enthusiasm. Before Trucy was born, Clay was his right-hand man and the first person he went to when he needed a pick-me-up. He was there to celebrate with Apollo when he passed the bar, and he was there to offer to beat Kristoph Gavin up after seeing news of Apollo’s first courtroom battle. He was even there when Apollo complained about the unnervingly kind prosecutor he kept facing. He’d encouraged Apollo to just ask him out.
One night, around the time Apollo was having the worst time of his life in college, Clay took him stargazing to relieve some stress. They brought a big picnic blanket and sat in a wide, empty field out in the countryside, away from all the city pollution.
Clay had asked him, “Have you ever thought about how the ‘terra’ in my last name means Earth, and Apollo is the Greek God of the Sun?”
“So your universe revolves around me?” Apollo jokingly asked.
Clay paused and kept his eyes trained on the sky. Apollo watched the stars reflect in his eyes.
“It’s just how it all worked out.” Clay finally said. He looked peaceful. “From the big bang to the inception of the milky way to us. I just keep coming back to you.”
Recalling the memory, Apollo knew exactly why he never told anyone about Clay. What they had was special, and it didn’t belong to anyone else. He knew that he’d have to tell someone, one day, about just how much Clay meant to him. But until that day came, he wanted to keep their memories private, in the parts of his heart and mind that would always belong to Clay, and Clay alone.
After Trucy was satisfied with the progress she’d made and Apollo’s eyes burned from staring at so much highlighter ink, he biked home. On the way, he stopped at a liquor store and got the cheapest wine they had.
He spent his night laying on his apartment balcony, staring at the sky with one hand gripping an empty wine glass and the other gently holding a letter.
* * *
Dear Apollo,
I thought I should get in the habit of writing letters to you for when I get up to space! It’ll be like a diary for me and I can send it when we get back down to Earth. :) Apollo, I literally had to look up which side the return address goes on and which side the stamp goes on. Solomon sighed at me (which he always does) but c’mon! It’s 2027, who the hell’s even writing letters anymore, right?
Well, I am, I guess.
Anyway, in training today, they showed us a whole bunch images that our company’s taken from space. It was just so shocking to see the ones of aliens. Freaky, man. (GYAXA execs, if you’re reading this, I’m totally kidding. And you all should get a sense of humor.)
Jokes aside, all the pictures were just…beautiful. Gorgeous. I mean, we’ve all seen pictures of space before, but it was so awe-inspiring to know that those exact images were taken by people who were in my shoes. I can’t imagine how beautiful it’ll look in real life. It’ll be everything I’ve ever wanted.
When I look at those pictures, I just think about when we were kids and I would make you sneak out to go lay in the field with me so we could look at the stars. Remember how I stole that telescope in the study, too? What a little troublemaker. Either way, it felt like we were so close to the stars when I looked through that thing. It was like the future was just around the corner, and now it’s finally here.
When I go up to space and see the Earth from up there, I’ll imagine those two kids are looking back at me.
I like to think you’ll be looking back at me too, right then.
Love,
Clay Terran
P.S. I know you worry a lot, but I’ll be fine. I’ve been training for years, just for this. And you know I’ll always find a way back to you. I promise.
* * *
Despite the few gripes and complaints he’d had about Khura’in, Apollo was quite relieved to be back. He dived straight back into his work once he got settled back in, shaking off the jet lag by forcing himself to go one early morning runs no matter how tired he felt. He even committed to the cause and bought a yoga mat and a pull-up bar for his apartment. With his height posing a challenge, Nahyuta came over and helped him install the bar, which incited an apartment-wide cleaning session led by Nahyuta.
“You keep glass bottles like you’re collecting them.” Nahyuta wrinkled his nose and placed more beer and wine bottles in the trash bag he was lugging around. “And you have so much liquor. Do you really intend to drink all of this?”
Apollo frowned. Nahyuta’s face softened.
“It’s not healthy to drink so much alone.” Nahyuta grew flustered, feeling like he had overstepped a boundary. “Or perhaps we can drink it together over the course of the next year? On various occasions?” He offered.
Apollo thought back to Simon and Ema. He grabbed the liquor bottles and started putting them in his own trash bag. “I think it’s time for me to stop drinking.”
“Oh.” Nahyuta stopped in his tracks and watched as Apollo continued to throw away bottles.
“Thank you though, Nahyuta.”
Nahyuta smiled, tying his bag together as it became full. “I’m always here to help, brother.”
* * *
It was a peculiarly warm day as Apollo tidied up his office. He gently dusted a picture-frame of Dhurke that he had hung up last month. In the picture, Dhurke is cheesing at the camera with a half-empty mug of beer in his hand. Datz was in the background waving at the camera, photo-bombing him. Apollo found it in one of the desk drawers when he first moved into the office, and it immediately became one of his favorite pictures of Dhurke, simply because he looked so much like himself: charismatic and joyful. The beer in the picture used to be off-putting to Apollo, only because of his own personal drinking history, but now that he was six months sober, it served as a reminder and a promise to himself. The picture was perfect now.
It sat next to his picture of Jove almost peacefully.
He glanced at his phone. It was nearly noon, but he’d already gotten a text from Ahlbi saying he had a last-minute tour request so he couldn’t bring any dumplings. He was still expecting Nahyuta, so he felt a bit disappointed when he received a text from him saying Amara had requested his presence at the royal residence.
He sighed, but he reminded himself that he’d still be seeing Nahyuta this weekend to go over a few case files that seemed a bit shaky. Nevertheless, he felt bored. He sat back down at his desk and pulled open his drawer to see if he had forgotten anything on his to-do list.
His eyes caught on a stack of envelopes and stationery that he’d pushed to the back of the drawer, figuring he wouldn’t have anyone to write to. They were a gift from Amara, and as beautiful as the stationery was, he’d never found a good use for it. It was 2029, and no one really wrote letters anymore.
His thumb stilled over the corner of one of the stationery papers as his bracelet tightened, then relaxed.
He reached for his pen.
* * *
Dear Clay,
Yesterday, I went to the Shoh’Ping District to buy a new water filter. I actually drink all eight glasses of water now that I’ve quit drinking alcohol. I mean, I’m only six months in, but it’s a start. I hope you’re proud of me!
Anyway, the whole time I was looking around the market, I kept seeing a bunch of little knick-knacks that you’d probably like. There were tiny replica magatamas, and one even had stars on them. I even saw a white T-shirt that just said, “Someone who loves me got me this shirt from Khura’in” with a clip art magatama haphazardly printed on it. Knowing you, you’d probably wear that in public all loud and proud.
Still. As corny as that would be, it’d be true. Because I do love you. I always have, and I always will. I know we never made it “official” or whatever people say, but we never broke up. I don’t have a dead ex-boyfriend. I have a dead someone-who-loves-me. Loves, present tense. Because I know spirit channeling and the afterlife is real and I know you’re out there having a pint with Neil Armstrong or something. And the whole while, you’ll still love me back. Present tense, too.
I don’t have to imagine it or pretend it’s true. I just have to know it. I have to believe it.
Though I’ll admit, for a while after you left, I didn’t really know what to do with my love life. I knew you’d probably want me to keep moving on and dating and meeting new people. (Which reminds me, if you ever met him, I think you’d really like Klavier and would keep on telling me to reach out to him…as nosy as you are.) But I feel like it was more on my part that I’d put romance on pause. I mean, I still don’t know how anyone could compare to you or what we had; but I’m starting to realize that I shouldn’t be comparing anyone to you in the first place. You’re always going to be my first love and the love of my life, the one who I will always look forward to seeing again someday. Nothing will change that. I’m never going to truly “get over” you – no one I’ve ever met has gotten over losing a loved one, so it’s unfair of me to expect myself to somehow accomplish that.
But that doesn’t mean my life ends here. That doesn’t mean I’ll never love again or be loved back. When you look down at me, I don’t want you to feel sad for me because I’m stuck in some loveless pit after losing you. I’m lucky enough to have felt one of the greatest loves of all just because I have known you, and that’s nothing to be sad about. And I’m lucky to have more time to feel even more love, no matter where it comes from. I have it from you, Trucy, Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth, Simon, Ema, Athena, Nahyuta…and maybe even Klavier someday. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ll always miss you, but it does give me hope, and I know it’d make you happy for me.
So on the nights that I miss you really bad, I’ll look up at that night sky. And I’ll remember that you’re looking back.
I hope the view is as beautiful as you imagined.
Love,
Apollo