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"Wright, get your pointy assistant over here," Miles Edgeworth, Chief Prosecutor, implored when Phoenix picked up the phone as he poured himself his fourth cup of herbal tea before noon.
"Wow, not even a “hello” first? Where are your manners, Miles?” Phoenix joked. He loved to tease him when he got stressed like this. It usually helped him relax.
Not today, it seemed. "Shut it, Wright. It's an emergency."
The seriousness of his tone sobered up the disbarred defense attorney across the line. "What's the problem?" he asked. When he looked out the window of his office, he saw Apollo talking with Trucy on the couch, eating some instant noodles.
"Klavier's..." Edgeworth paused, trying to find the proper words to describe the situation. After a moment, he decided a different approach was more sensible. "You'll recall how I, um, struggle during December?" he asked, his voice reduced to a whisper. Phoenix didn't need to be there to know his sleeve was getting wrinkled.
"Uh-huh," he said, getting his jacket. He didn't like the sound of that.
Edgeworth said, "I fear this is—this is Klavier's December."
"We'll be there in ten."
With that, Phoenix placed his phone in his sweatpants's pocket and rushed to the couch. Trucy and Apollo stopped their conversation, looking up at him with curious looks. "Hiya, Daddy! What's up?" Trucy asked. Apollo acknowledged his boss through a mouthful of noodles.
"Apollo and I have some urgent business at the Prosecutor's Building," he explained, signaling to the other lawyer to get his stuff. He swallowed and obeyed with a raised brow. Her assurance that she’d keep the office standing led them out.
When they were heading down to their bikes, Apollo finally spoke. "You're scaring me. What's wrong, Mr. Wright?" Neither could appreciate the wordplay.
"Klavier's in trouble," he said. The other's face twisted with worry. As soon as his feet were on the pedals, he raced down the road, Phoenix nipping at his heels. Thankfully, there was little traffic at this hour.
Edgeworth stood waiting for them at the front door. As soon as they were within earshot, he started, "His office is—"
"I know where it is, Mr. Edgeworth," Apollo interrupted, running inside. Phoenix and Edgeworth remained in place, mildly stunned but comforted, sure that they made the right call letting him handle it.
The defense attorney made his way through the pristine halls of the Prosecutor's Building up to Klavier's office. He stopped at the door. It was eerily quiet in there. It wasn't like him to not have shitty synth-pop music playing in the background. Apollo was too freaked out to knock, so he tried his luck and opened the door himself.
Klavier jumped in place and dropped the folder in his hands. "Ah, du Scheiße ! Herr Forehead! What a surprise," he greeted, kneeling—though it looked more like his knees gave way—to pick up the papers that had flown out of it. As soon as they made brief eye contact, he gave him his back. It also wasn't like him to miss the opportunity to flash him a smile or a well-timed wink. And was he wearing sunglasses indoors? He thought he caught a glimpse before Klavier turned away.
"Yeah, sorry to drop by… unannounced," Apollo said hesitantly, stepping further in. He'd never noticed how much of a difference the music made in making this office feel like Klavier's space until now. He couldn’t believe he missed it.
"Ach, don't apologize. You're always welcome here," the rockstar said. He yawned, and lifted a hand toward his head, but dropped the folder again. A dull clatter also clued the defense attorney into the fact that the sunglasses fell. With a long groan, Klavier got back to reorganizing the papers. He muttered words that Apollo didn’t need to speak German to know he could never let Trucy hear.
He kneeled beside the rockstar to help. He picked up the Ray-Bans and turned to give them to him. A poke to the arm with them got Klavier to turn to face him. What he saw made him squawk and fall on his side. Deep, dark rings under his red-rimmed eyes outshone his mascara. His skin was pale, considering his usual tan. The twist he styled his hair with was nearly undone. "Good God!" he exclaimed. Klavier winced at the yell, pressing both his hands against his ears and making the folder fall and scatter for the third time in half as many minutes. "You look like a corpse, Prosecutor Gavin!"
"That's uncalled for," he pouted, rubbing his temples. He started stuffing the folder with the papers more aggressively without rhyme or reason as to their order.
"Wait, no, stop," Apollo said, placing a hand above his to still his movements. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
The prosecutor avoided his gaze. “Nothing’s wrong!” His bracelet immediately tightened on his wrist. “I’m fine, Herr Forehead.” It tightened again. “Nothing for you to worry about.” It tightened further still, to the point that it hurt. One more lie and he might start to bleed.
He gripped his hand. He forced his eyes to meet his, then said, slowly and sternly, “Stop lying to me.”
Klavier tried to yank his hand back, but Apollo was stronger than he looked. He growled in frustration. “Let me go, Apollo,” he warned. The other man didn’t budge. “I mean it. Leave me alone!”
“Would you , if the tables were turned?” he asked, shifting his hand so their palms were touching, rather than having his palm covering the top of the other’s hand. All the muscles in his grasp felt stiff.
The rockstar shook his head. Or at least, he tried to. Halfway through the motion, his head fell like a deadweight, and all at once, the tension in his whole body dissipated. The defense attorney yelped. As quickly as Klavier had seemingly disconnected, he rebooted, startling himself upright. He rubbed his neck, wincing from snapping his head up so quickly. He cried out when his eyes met Apollo’s a moment later. “When did you get here?” he asked. His gaze, flying about, settled on their hands. “Oh, mein Gott , I don’t remember,” he whispered. He sounded as frightened as when—
“Ah, shit,” Apollo groaned, “I think I know what’s going on.”
The rockstar closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, slowing down the heart Apollo could feel beating through his trembling hand. “Prosecutor—” he started, but sighed, thinking better of it. “Klavier,” he addressed. Klavier nodded to acknowledge him but kept his eyes closed. “You haven’t been sleeping, have you?” he asked. He felt the hand in his tense up. Gotcha .
Apollo sighed again. “Klavier, you told me you could handle it,” he said, his thumb soothing the stress out of any area it could reach. “You told me Misham wouldn’t be an issue. So what’s going on? Talk to me.”
“I can’t sleep. I can’t . I keep… hearing his laughter,” he admitted, flinching in his hold. The defense attorney felt himself flinch, too.
Seeing as he was willing to talk now, Apollo pressed, “Why didn’t you tell me?” He kept his voice non-confrontational and soft.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” was his response, barely audible. “And I really thought I’d be fine. I did! When Kr— he …” he corrected, his breath hitching up at his brother’s name, “first went to prison, I bounced back quickly enough. I could live with him making—making one misguided choice. Like Daryan, you know? But now, I know there never was any goodness in him. And I… I can’t live with that.” A sardonic chuckle escaped him. “I can’t even sleep knowing that.”
The defense attorney nodded. “I get that,” he assured, “really, I do. But you can’t keep going like this. You have to sleep tonight.” The rockstar beside him looked uneasy even with half-lidded eyes, so Apollo squeezed his hand, making the decision as he spoke, “I’ll stay with you until we figure out how.” He was as surprised hearing himself say it as the other was, but taking it back didn’t once cross his mind.
“ Nein . You don’t have to—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. Klavier gaped at him. “I can’t let you face another restless night.”
Blue, painfully tired eyes lingered on his own until he relented. “ In Ordnung . All right, Apollo Justice. You win,” he sighed.
Apollo stood up and tried to pull the other man up with the hand he was still holding. However, Klavier only made it halfway up before he tripped and fell. The defense attorney silently offered his shoulder. Klavier took his sunglasses and put them back on before wrapping both his arms around his neck. They stood up together.
Apollo would be lying if he didn’t admit in nights where his dignity went to bed earlier than he did that he’d dreamt of those lean arms holding him just so, of having the tall prosecutor’s body weight pressed against him, but these were not only not the circumstances he envisioned, but so far from any that he expected he didn’t even know how to feel about it. He made his way from Klavier’s office to the Chief Prosecutor’s office with nothing but radio static in his head. They walked in right as Phoenix was complaining about how “all those damn stairs are breakin’ my bad back.”
Edgeworth noticed them first. He swallowed down his sarcastic retort for Phoenix, and silently guided them to his couch. They sank into it. Klavier’s head fell on the crook of Apollo’s neck. It was burning with a violent blush, so the defense attorney was surprised to find he did not flinch or move away. Those damned Ray-Bans that were fooling nobody poked at his skin.
“What is the meaning of this?” Edgeworth asked, his voice in a comfortable middle ground between his usual volume and a whisper. The first thing he’d noticed this morning that worried him was Klavier’s sensitivity to noise. He’d been mindful of it since.
“This idiot hasn’t slept since the Misham trial,” Apollo answered, trying his best to match his volume, but ending up slightly louder. Klavier didn’t seem to mind, though. The younger prosecutor tried to protest, but a yawn cut him off before he could really start, and he decided it was not worth the exertion.
Phoenix grimaced. “Jesus. Wasn’t that like a week ago?”
Edgeworth turned to him. “I was right. It’s December.” Both senior lawyers nodded grimly. Apollo did not follow, exactly, but his mind was too preoccupied with other matters—like the sunglasses poking at his carotid artery and the nose tip hovering just above his collarbone—to press either of them for answers.
Apollo lifted the rockstar’s head and tossed aside the sunglasses, unable to stand them any longer. Edgeworth picked them up and put them on his desk. Klavier settled in the crook of his neck again, both for the sake of comfort and to hide his face from his boss, vaguely aware they were in his presence.
“I know it’s not ideal,” the young defense attorney started, swallowing nervously, “but, uh, there’s no way I can take him home on my bike, and he really shouldn’t be driving right now. Could he crash here, Mr. Edgeworth?” He rushed to amend his request by adding, “Just for a few hours, so he’s more alert.”
Phoenix was about to suggest hailing a cab, but Edgeworth answered, “Of course,” before he could. The disbarred defense attorney turned to the man beside him, who nodded, so he decided to drop it. “We’ll leave you to it,” the Chief Prosecutor said as he pulled his former rival out of his office by the hood.
After a moment of shock, Phoenix straightened his position so he could walk alongside the other rather than be dragged out. When they were out of a range where they could disturb the two men on the couch, he complained, “Oh, no, we are not going down all those flights of stairs again.” It appeared, though, that it fell on deaf ears. They made their way out of the office and turned toward where Apollo knew the stairs were.
Now alone, Apollo looked down at Klavier, who still had his head on the crook of his neck. His bangs obscured what little of his face was not pressed against him. “Come on, lie down. Try sleeping here,” he whispered, preferring to go for the lowest volume rather than be overly loud and startle him. He seemed pretty subdued already. The walk to Edgeworth’s office must have tired him out, even if Apollo nearly dragged him there.
Klavier let out a soft little sound Apollo felt against his Adam’s apple more than heard. “Herr Forehead, I…” he started, but swallowed it down. He started disentangling himself from the defense attorney, but Apollo stopped him with his arms.
“What is it?” Apollo insisted, noting his hesitance.
The prosecutor writhed, a half-hearted effort to break free. His muscles were too weary to really put much resistance, though. He looked down with a sigh. “ Bitte … Stay near,” he asked.
His face felt like a furnace. “Uh,” he said, his brain running on overtime trying to process the situation in front of him. If he were a computer, the fans would be rearing up to cool him off right now. “H-How would you, um… Do you want me to, uh, hold your hand?” he offered, thinking that was something he could survive. He could move aside, let him lay down, and have those calloused fingers and cold rings pressed to his palm. He’s held the man’s hand before—back at his office a few minutes ago, even. It was an experience, to be sure, but one that wouldn’t keep him up tonight with very unprofessional thoughts.
Klavier scowled. With those half-lidded eyes, the expression looked so small. “And have you sit on the floor? Nein , you’ll end up all sore.” He shook his head and moved closer to the edge of his seat. “Wouldn’t you prefer staying on the couch with me?”
Apollo swallowed down another “uh”. Was Klavier seriously proposing cuddling on the couch of the Chief Prosecutor, his boss ? Did he have no shame? Apollo didn’t know whether to find it infuriating, impressive, or endearing. “Would—would you prefer it?” he asked, jamming the question out of his clogged throat. Klavier was too tired to stand, let alone think critically. He didn’t want to take advantage of that.
“Weak bluff,” he chuckled. A yawn ran through his chest. “I offered, didn’t I? I don’t want to force you, though,” he explained, his tired gaze falling to his knees. He tried nudging his way out of Apollo’s arms again with as much success as last time.
The defense attorney made some quick calculations in his head. Would he ever get over his unprofessional thoughts about Klavier if he did this? Would he spontaneously combust? Would he be able to sleep a month from now? He’d always been terrible at math, so he quickly abandoned his attempt. Damn it, his priority was getting the prosecutor some desperately needed sleep, and if the only way Klavier thought he could do so was with him beside him, who was he to refuse him? He doubted this even mattered to him, he was so scatterbrained right now. Apollo didn’t know whether that was reassuring or painful.
Without another word, the shorter lawyer let go of Klavier so he could lie down. He’d find a spot somewhere once he settled himself. However, the prosecutor had other plans. He pressed himself against Apollo’s chest. Since he didn’t expect it, the force of the shift, however gentle, was enough to knock them both down into the surprisingly soft magenta cushions. It wasn’t nearly as lumpy as he feared. The defense attorney swallowed down several vocal reactions.
Klavier lifted his head. It looked like it took all the fight left in him to do so. “Ach, are you all right?” he asked. He looked away. “Is… this all right?”
Apollo nodded, leaning his head back to hide his face. There was no way it wasn't the color of the couch. “Y-yeah,” he gasped. “Get some sleep, Klavier.” With a hand, he nudged him back down against his chest. The prosecutor sighed as he let him.
Staring at the ceiling, he could definitely hear the fans in his head trying to cool him down now. Oh my God? How did they even get here? One of his hands was running through the other’s silky strands—he would have to ask him about his conditioner once he was coherent—and the other held his arm. Their legs were tangled up around each other. Wait, they both still had their shoes on! Maybe he should insist they take them off since they were intruding on Edgeworth enough as it was, but he really, really didn’t want to move. He liked this, even if his heart was hammering right where Klavier’s ears were. Apollo was right at the edge of spontaneous combustion, but damn it if it wasn’t an addictive feeling.
The defense attorney let his head fall back down. His chin ghosted right above the crown of Klavier’s head. He looked so genuinely peaceful, the tension gone from his frame. This was the most at ease he’d looked since they met. With a vibrant flush on his cheeks, Apollo closed his eyes. Might as well catch up on some rest, too, while he was here.
“I can’t believe you let ‘em do that,” Phoenix whispered as they walked out of Edgeworth’s office after checking in on their two kiddos, still sound asleep. He would so tease Apollo when they were back at the agency. Apollo’s arms were wrapped loosely around Klavier’s torso, and Klavier’s face had found itself, yet again, on the crook of his neck. He really liked that spot, apparently. Phoenix focused on that little detail since he remembered how Miles’s neck was also fantastic when it wasn’t buried under layers of pretentious cloth.
Edgeworth cleared his throat. When Phoenix blinked his eyes back into focus, he sighed, disappointed at the white of the other man’s cravat. He forced his eyes to meet Edgeworth's steely grey ones, glaring at him from behind his glasses. “It is my couch, Wright. You don’t have a monopoly over napping on it.”
The disbarred defense attorney scoffed in indignation. "That's not it," he claimed. "It's just…. Well, Klavier's your subordinate. It's not your style, I guess."
"You make me sound so heartless." Edgeworth straightened his shoulders and crossed his arms as he sighed, “It was the least I could do and you know it. I should’ve insisted he take some time to recover after the Misham trial. I've been in his place before. I should’ve known.” His hand found its way to his elbow and started gripping and releasing it. Phoenix put his hand on top of his. Edgeworth didn’t look up, but his nervous moment stopped.
“This isn’t your fault, Miles.”
Edgeworth placed his other hand on top of Phoenix’s and tapped it, then withdrew both of his to his frock coat’s pockets. Phoenix lifted his hand, then put it back down on the Chief Prosecutor's arm. “Well, I am pleased that your pointy assistant could help him, at least.”
“Apollo,” the former attorney corrected.
“Pardon?”
Phoenix laughed, bringing a glare back to the other’s face. “My ‘pointy assistant’ has a name, you know. He’s called Apollo.”
The Chief Prosecutor considered this for a moment, his face furrowing in thought as if he were analyzing witness testimony. “Hm. Apollo. Why is this the first time I hear of that name?” he asked, but it sounded like a rhetorical question.
Phoenix answered it anyway. “‘Cause Klavier never actually calls him that. Apollo’s complained to me about it.” He paused, then repeated with air quotes, “Well, ‘complained’. I don’t know why he pretends to be so bothered by it when he clearly isn’t.” As the two men rounded the corner of the hallway, the disbarred defense attorney tapped the arm he was still holding. “You’d know a thing or two about being so reticent, wouldn’t you, Miles?”
“Shut it, Wright.” He scowled, but there was no venom in his voice. Edgeworth opened the door to the stairs. Phoenix stepped through, too distracted to notice what he was walking into.
When his foot sank into the first step, he lunged forward, crying out. Edgeworth reached out and caught him by the arm. He pulled him back toward the original landing until he bumped into his chest. The disbarred defense attorney’s nose knocked his glasses askew. Realizing their position, Phoenix’s face split into a sly grin, inches from Edgeworth’s wide-eyed, bright red expression. Before he could say something dumb, the Chief Prosecutor repeated, “Shut it, Wright.”
Phoenix adjusted the glasses before backing away. His face fell when he turned around and confronted the stairs before him. “Not this again,” he groaned, his left hand already going to his back.
Edgeworth took that hand and started heading down, the other man following. One last time, for good measure, he said, “Shut it, Wright.”