Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hold it!”

Huh?

Eyes scanning the courtroom, Apollo muttered, “I didn’t say that.”

“No, I did, you fool!”

At the stand was a man in a shielded helmet, fingers twitching as he cast glances around the area. His eyes lingered on an odd silver case next to the stand for a second too long before focusing his attention towards the benches. Strange. Who did this guy think he was, anyways?

Wringing his hands, the witness said, “I’m Ted Tonate, bomb specialist, and you see that silver box? That’s the transport case that was supposed to be carrying the now-disarmed bomb found with the defendant.” He afforded a nervous look towards the chest, gaze flitting between it and the door.

Well. That answered one question, at least.

Honestly, though? His name wasn’t on the approved witness sheet? The Starbuck trial had barely started, and random people were already barging into the place to give unsolicited testimony? Could he have one normal case?

Sal obviously didn’t murder his assistant, and he certainly didn’t blow up the rocket; anyone with working eyes could see the poor guy didn’t have bad bone in his body. Clay was supposed to testify to that fact, too, but he was busy cleaning up the mess at the Space Center left by Mr. Starbuck’s absence. Now, if only they could wrap this up and go home…

Clearly tired as well, the judge sighed. “...Your meaning, please?”

“Oh, right. It’s not disarmed! It’s about to blow, everyone out of the courtroom!” Instantly after delivering the statement, he made a break for the great double doors, slamming them wide open and taking off down a corner.

A beat.

Then the screaming started.

The gallery rushed for the exit like a herd of panicked livestock, falling over each other in their bid for safety.

“Out of my way, punks!” Prosecutor Payne shoved through the crowd, hollering something unintelligible that sounded remarkably like a distraught frog.

Shell shocked, Apollo simply stood at the bench before a nameless face in the crowd yelled, “Hey, lawyer moron! Get going or die!” Jolted into action, Apollo vaulted over his own bench, helping those who had fallen off of the floor and ushering people out of the door.

No. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He needed to save Mr. Starbuck, he needed to help the evacuation—

Boom.

Apollo turned.

The explosion rattled the foundations of the courtroom, a surge of heat and smoke sending those that remained inside to the ground.

Shrapnel blasted forward from all sides, tearing through Apollo’s skin on his back, his arms, his face. Delirious with pain, he slumped to the floor, watching through rapidly deteriorating vision as the last person escaped the courtroom.

Good. Now, at least, he managed to save someone. The day wasn’t wasted.

It was the last coherent thought to pass through his mind as the unmistakable red of blood consumed his perception.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Urgh… where was he? God, his head was pounding like there was a demolition crew in there dead set on destroying his sanity.

Blearily attempting to open his eyes, he found himself meeting resistance in the form of… something. Arm shaking, he propped himself up on an elbow as he reached up to brush his fingers against the area, only to find a thick layer of bandages covering most of his face.

Bandages…? Why would he need…?

Oh. Right. The bombing.

Apollo laid back down, exhaling in thinly veiled agony as every nerve in his body seemed to scream at him for the action. Fine. If he couldn’t see his surroundings or move around, he would just have to listen.

A soft bell sound filled the air, most likely from a heart monitor, if Apollo had to guess. Jeez, was he really so badly injured that they had him hooked up to one of those? Did he have an IV drip as well? What he guessed were nurses, by the sound of their conversations, were also scrambling around the room, whisper-shouting directions at each other.

“Hey! He’s awake! Get the doctor!” Well. They weren’t whispering anymore, at the very least.

A door somewhere in front of him slammed open. The doctor they mentioned, maybe?

“Apollo! Are you alright?” Oh, that sounded like Mr. Wright! Trucy was probably with him as well, then.

Attempting to respond that he was fine, guys, he quickly realized that his tongue was leaden against the bottom of his mouth. He groaned internally. Great. How was he supposed to object now?

Though, that’s the least of his worries.

On his left, there was a sudden spike of pain, and he groaned. What was that? Something (or someone) had been thrown atop his arm and half of his torso.

“Ooh, Polly, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was just so glad to see you’re okay!” Small sniffles came from Trucy’s general direction. “You’ve been asleep for days! We nearly thought that you—you weren’t going to make it!” Sobs renewed, she buried her face in the thin sheets of his hospital bed.

“Yeah, Apollo, you gave us a real scare.” He could almost imagine Mr. Wright rubbing the back of his neck, sheepish smile affixed as he stayed composed for his daughter. “The doctors weren’t telling us anything, Truce was about to call Pearly and get her to knock them out for us.”

The mental image of a teenage girl effortlessly taking down multiple fully grown adults had Apollo breaking into shocked laughter, which quickly transitioned into pained wheezing while Mr. Wright gently thumped his back.

“Don’t stress yourself, alright?” Mr. Wright said, hand still rubbing small circles into his back. “We’ll be waiting for you when you recover—the doctors said that you only needed to be here for a month or two, isn’t that great? The wonders of modern medicine!” Grimacing, Apollo turned, giving him as much of an unimpressed glare as he could muster with his entire face obscured.

“Aw, Apollo, don’t be like that!” Mr. Wright laughed, giving his hair a fond ruffle. “We’re all on your team. After all, while you’re gone, I’ll have to clean the toilets all by myself!”

“And,” Trucy chimed, “whatever will I do without my lovely assistant? Daddy never agrees to take part in my shows!”

“Trucy, my dear, that’s because last time I volunteered to be your assistant we ended up calling the fire department.”

“No fair, Daddy! That wasn’t even our fault, blame that stupid toaster! How were we supposed to know that it didn’t work with playing cards!?”

“Alright, that’s enough. You’re disturbing the patient.” A third voice entered the fray, crisp and unforgiving. “Out! Visiting hours are over.” Apollo assumed this was the doctor the nurses had been yelling for earlier; it took her long enough to get here, what if he had been dying? He had half a mind to take her to court for medical misconduct.

“Sorry, Dr. Stein. We’re leaving! Come on, Trucy, we’ll come back tomorrow.” With one last pat to Apollo’s shoulder, the duo was gone as quickly as they arrived.

True to their word, they were back the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that. Soon enough, during one of their visits, Dr. Stein came in with good news.

“Apollo, we'll be removing your bandages now. Mr. Wright, Miss Trucy, if you would step back, please.”

Expertly snipping off the bindings, she stepped back to admire her work. “Apollo, could you very slowly open your eyes for me? Keep in mind that you haven’t been using them for a while, so the light will be shocking at first.”

With bated breath, Trucy and Mr. Wright leaned forward in anticipation, while Apollo, always a stickler for the rules, pried his eyes open one centimeter at a time. At halfway there, he stilled, eyelids flying the rest of the way open.

Dr. Stein reached forward like she was going to cover his eyes herself, usually unflappable demeanor slipping. “Mr. Justice! What do you think you’re doing?”

As if he were in a trance, Apollo reached a scarred hand up to his eye level, vacantly waving it back and forth. His pupils didn’t follow.

Sensing something was strange, Mr. Wright stood and walked closer. “Apollo, are you alright?”

Abnormally quiet voice cracking, he reached out to empty space. “Mr. Wright? Mr. Wright, I can’t see.”

Moving boxes littered the floor. They were everywhere; atop the couch, on the coffee table, in the bathroom a hall over.

Apollo picked his way through the chaos, nudging aside the clutter with a white cane while holding a phone in the other hand. “Geez, Truce, I’ll be fine. You’re literally just going to get Ema and Mr. Wright, I’m not going to fall and die in the twenty minutes you’re gone.”

The voice on the other end of the line protested, clearly having other ideas about how Apollo would meet his doom by being all alone in the apartment. “But Polly, what if someone breaks in!? What if you need help going to the bathroom!?”

Sigh. “Trucy, I’ve been blind for months now. I can find my way to the bathroom just fine, thanks.”

Indignant, she replied, “Polly! You’re my brother now, got that? It’s my job to take care of you, so suck it up!”

Oh, that’s right. After Apollo had been newly discharged from the hospital, Mr. Wright sat him and Trucy down and explained his relationship to Thalassa Gramarye, and what that meant for them. He insisted he didn’t want to do it that way, that he was waiting for the right time for all of them.

Unfortunately, since Apollo was newly blind and Thalassa had also lost her sight once, that plan was derailed in favor of getting Apollo maximum support.

Admittedly, Apollo had… not reacted the best to the news, to say the least. Thalassa hadn’t reached out once in the entire time he had known her, and even if she “wanted to try to be a mother to him”, he would have none of it.

The hours he had spent with her adjusting to his new handicap were some of the most uncomfortable of his life, despite the fact that it was monumental help in the process of learning how to function again.

He had no problems treating Trucy like his sister, though; their dynamic didn’t change much, apart from the fact that they were biologically siblings, though having Mr. Wright be his… stepdad? Was… really weird.

Their dynamic didn’t change much, either, but the discussion where he affirmed he didn’t need to call him (shudder) Phoenix, or something even worse, was an experience Apollo hoped he would never have to go through again.

Speaking of Mr. Wright and Trucy, it seemed that the latter had returned, if the banging on his door was any indication. “Polly, open up! You’re not dead, right?! Daddy, get ready to knock the door down! Ema, are you ready to investigate a crime scene?” Trucy was clearly having the time of her life nettling him; the gleeful lilt in her voice was a dead giveaway.

Deadpan, Ema’s voice also floated through the suddenly all-too-thin walls. “Apollo, if you don’t open this door in the next thirty seconds, I’m making Mr. Wright kick down the door.”

“Well, I didn’t even pay for this apartment, so go ahead. I’ll just sue for damages like with the bombing—I’ve heard insurance is relentless these days, right?” He may not be a practicing lawyer anymore, but he still knew crimes when he saw—or rather, heard—them, damn it!

“You have until the count of three, and then I’m burning your Lorelei records.”

The door was open before two.

Satisfied, the group strolled in, Mr. Wright giving an apologetic pat on the shoulder to Apollo. He could practically hear the dying words of his dignity.

The cold-blooded killer of his pride was making herself well at home on his couch, slumped into the cushions while ignoring the mountain of boxes beside her. “Aww, don’t be mad. You can always buy more records, you know. And this guy isn’t even that good! His voice is—”

Apollo cleared his throat, cutting her off. “Fantastic. His voice is amazing, but I wouldn’t expect you to get it, girl who only listens to psychedelic acid rock and Daryan Crescend, who, by the way, sucks.”

A snackoo hit him square in the middle of his forehead. “Don’t diss Daryan like that, at least he has a face!”

“Well, maybe Lorelei just wants to keep some semblance of privacy!” He stuck his tongue out in the direction of Ema’s voice. “I can relate, it sucked being all over the papers after the bombing. Honestly, they could’ve come up with a classier title than ‘Justice Really is Blind’, couldn’t they?”

Ugh. He really should think before he speaks. Courtroom habits die hard, or something along those lines.

It shut her up, at the very least, though; it was an uncomfortable topic for everybody, even those who knew him well enough to be used to the new reality they lived in. These days, they all treated him as if he were made of glass, and he may as well be, for all the use he is now.

The entire legal system is burning to ash around him, and all he can do is sit there.

Useless.

Sensing his oncoming mood, Trucy leapt from the couch, exclaiming, “Hey, Polly! Let’s go to People Park!” She bounded up to him, grabbing Apollo’s wrist and dragging him out of the door with a pair of smirking traitors in tow. His protests fell on deaf ears, though she released him once they hit the sidewalk.

Indignant, he brushed imaginary dust off of his hoodie and brandished his cane at the giggling menace. “Trucy, I can walk by myself! And what’s with the sudden need to be at the park, anyways?”

“Polly, I want noodles! Eldoon’s! Daddy doesn’t feed me nearly enough, he can barely cook, Apollo, I’m starving over here, I tell you—” Mr. Wright's feet clacked across the pavement as he moved faster than he's probably gone in years, slapping a hand over her mouth indignantly.

“Come on, Truce, I’m a decent cook! I make you stuff all the time!”

“Mr. Wright, take it from a detective. The things you make can barely be counted as food; they belong at a crime scene.” Ema smirks, and pops another Snackoo into her mouth, clearly thoroughly enjoying the scene.

“Mmph!” Trucy squirms out of the offended attorney’s grip, giving him an affronted look. “All you ever make is ramen and grilled cheese. That hardly counts.”

Triumphantly, Mr. Wright yells, “Hold it! That’s a contradiction of the facts! I made you pancakes for breakfast this morning!”

“Yeah, Daddy. From a box.”

How were they still going? If this was what daily life was like in the Wright household, no wonder Mr. Wright wasn’t too rusty when he got his badge back; he treated a petty debate like a court case. Though, Apollo couldn’t really talk either—before… everything, he did the same.

Lost in the nostalgia, he missed them wrapping up the argument, and with the way Mr. Wright was wheezing on the ground, he could probably guess who won.

“Oi, Mr. Wright, Trucy. Are you guys done squabbling?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry Apollo. Trucy’s just being… Trucy, I guess.” He shook his head in mock disappointment, but there was a fond smile spreading across his face.

“Don’t act like you’re free of all blame, Mr. Wright,” Ema laughed. “Come on now, if you just would plead guilty for once—”

“Anyways,” he continued, shooting the smug detective a pointed look, “back to the point. I think it’d do you some good to get out of the house, maybe meet some new people. You’ve been looking a little…” he trailed off, waving a hand in the air vaguely. “You know.”

“Tired?” Apollo supplied helpfully.

He snickered. “No, I was gonna say constipated, but tired works too.”

A choked wheeze echoed from where Apollo knew Ema was standing. “Oh, come on. Real mature.”

“Ew,” Trucy said, wrinkling her nose. “Gross, Daddy. Apollo, Ema, come on, we’re going before I lose my appetite. To Eldoon’s!”

And so, with a long-suffering sigh, Apollo finds himself being dragged across the road.

“Hey, Mom. Did that guy get bit by a bear?”

Apollo turned. A kid’s voice was coming from somewhere to his left, and from the uncomfortable constricting in his chest, he would bet that he was probably unabashedly staring. This was why Apollo hadn’t wanted to go out. Especially to a place with kids; the little buggers had no filter or idea of proper etiquette. Honestly, was it that hard to keep your mouth shut and let him live?

He hadn’t emerged physically unscathed from the blast, face littered with thin lines like shooting stars making their way across the night sky. That’s how Clay had put it, at least; the burn scars floating across his cheekbones and nose weren’t ugly, no. They were nebulas, mapping out the grave of a sun. His cloudy eyes were miniature galaxies, too; no part of him was safe from Clay’s glass-half-full outlook on things.

Now, if only he could bring himself to believe all the things Clay said were even half true.

“Take a picture, Mom!” Apollo pulled his hood up over his head, hoping to kill the conversation. No such luck, apparently—the kid was nothing if not persistent. He kind of reminded Apollo of the prosecutors he faced off against in court; they just couldn't let anything go, could they?

The adult with him hissed, “Oi, don’t stare!” Seizing his forearm, they began to drag him away, profusely apologizing over their shoulder.

“But look at those scratches!” Turning his head away, Apollo muttered, “They’re scars.” He didn’t need to hear children mock him. Honestly, could he go a day without causing a scene? The press following him around for weeks had been exhausting enough, he could go without an entourage of nosy toddlers.

He could almost hear the air leave the chaperone’s lungs. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to—” “No, don’t worry about it,” Apollo interrupted, cutting the long stream of apologies flooding from their mouth short. The punk was just a kid, anyways, albeit a rude one. It wasn’t his fault Apollo was such a mess.

With that, they were on their way, and Apollo let himself exhale a bit. Hopefully Trucy, Ema, and Mr. Wright hadn’t seen that little display…

“Polly! How could he say that to you!” Ugh. His luck really was the worst. “Hey, Truce, it’s no big deal. Let’s just go to Eldoon’s, please.” Though, of course, they weren’t going to give it up that easily. Figures. Why would Apollo get the easy way out, for once?

It took him almost five full minutes to convince the group that yes, he was fine, no, you didn’t need to “chase that punk down,” and no, please don’t make him pay, you’re in law enforcement for the love of it, et cetera, et cetera. For crying out loud, they were more like the mafia than regular people. He could take care of himself.

“Whatever you say, Apollo. We won’t argue with you.” Mr. Wright, at the very least, was picking up on his discomfort with the line of questioning; lawyers learned to tell when an inquiry was going to get you anything useful, and this was clearly a losing battle. “Let’s just get lunch.”

The entire way to the stand Apollo could feel the eyes on him, the stares, the whispers.

“What happened to him?” “Is he blind? He’s got the cane.” “Isn’t that the lawyer from the bombing a few months ago?” If he had to hear about that stupid bombing one more time, he was going to scream. It’s not as if he was a celebrity or anything, he didn’t sign up for this, god damn it—

Trucy laid a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Polly, you alright? You were muttering to yourself.”

“You know me, I’m fine,” he lied, plastering on a cheery smile. He’s a lawyer, after all; if there was one thing Mr. Wright taught him, it was how to fake it until he made it.

All of a sudden, Ema shouted in glee, shooting ahead of them. According to her slightly-crazed cheers, they had made it to Eldoon’s; finally. Apollo could really go for some of his extra-spicy noodles right now—they always reminded him of the post-trial rush, the euphoria of winning a case making him feel as if he was on top of the world, as if he would never fall.

(How wrong he was.) Snapping him out of his reverie, Ema asked what he wanted. Mouth open to reply, he was cut short by Mr. Eldoon huffing his way out from the stand.

“Oi, Justice! You can’t stand here, you’re scaring off all the customers with that face of yours. Shoo! Business is business, and I can’t afford to lose any more clients after that murder case you worked on a few years back.” The man glowered at him, clearly not intending on taking no for an answer. “Get! I’ll have your little buddies bring you your noodles, just wait over there.”

No way in hell was Apollo making another scene after the debacle with the kid earlier. “Yeah, fine. Ema, Trucy, Mr. Wright, could one of you tell me where the closest seat is?”

“Hey, Mr. Eldoon.” Oh, boy. If they were going to do what he thought they were going to do…

All three of them crowded around the man, eyes shadowed and grins stretched too far across their faces to be natural.

“Mr. Eldoon. Did you forget who you were talking to? Two criminal defense lawyers, a homicide detective, and someone who’s quite good at making things disappear. I would think about what you’re saying.” Mr. Wright laughed. “Did I mention we also know the chief prosecutor personally? I’m sure he’d just love to hear about the lovely establishment you’re running here.”

Ema cracked her knuckles. “That’s his way of saying we’re giving you three seconds to amend the statement you made earlier, or else. Clock’s ticking.”

God damn it, they did. “Okay, okay, calm down. Let’s not cause a scene, and I don’t need to remind you that threatening to make him disappear is very, very illegal, do I?”

“It’s only illegal if we get caught, Polly!” Trucy pouted up at him, clearly not the biggest fan of his decision. “Are you reallyyyy sure?” “Yes.” He just wanted his noodles, not a lawsuit. “Could you please point me towards the closest park bench, now?”

She gave him straightforward directions; up about fifteen feet, then directly to his left. He found it with few issues, being used to navigation with the cane, by then; after Trucy had finished dragging him around, he made his way to the park pretty much on his own, as well.

The chair was wooden, but plenty comfortable enough for Apollo; he sat down, and let himself release a long, weary sigh before flopping onto the sun-warmed surface. Between unpacking, that kid, and Eldoon, he was exhausted. If anyone else approached him without food, he was going to do something he’d regret.

“Hi, I was just wondering if—”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Whirling around, Apollo snarled, “Yes, fucking hell, yes, I’m blind, no, I didn’t get these scars from a bear attack, and yes, I’m the guy from the bombing. Are all of your questions answered? Now piss off and leave me be!”

“—if I could get your phone number?”

Eh?

Apollo.exe has crashed, please try again later.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Are you alright, Herr…?”

“Justice. Apollo Justice.” He sighed and rubbed his face, trying to ease the certain oncoming headache. “You didn’t scare me. I’m just… really not having a good day.”

The stranger—probably male, from the sound of his voice—let out a soft laugh. “Ach, I could tell. I’ve had my fair share of those days, too; it does take one to know one, I suppose.”

The telltale sound of creaking wood filled the air, and from the shifting of the unsteady bench to favor his side, he must’ve been sizably taller than Apollo as well. “And you are…?”

“Excuse my lack of manners,” he said, clearly sounding embarrassed. “I’m Klavier Gavin, and my common sense seems to have escaped me today.” He laughed, nervously this time, and Apollo felt a slight smile spreading across his face. Something about this guy just put him at ease, for some reason.

Smirking, Apollo responded, “Well, my manners were hardly any better. Truce?” A relieved sigh escaped Klavier. “Truce. Now, as I was asking earlier, could I get—”

“Apollo! Are you alright?! We heard you yelling!” Interrupted once again, the pair stared as Ema, Trucy, and Mr. Wright approached.

They crowded around the bench, staring down at the two. “No, no, we’re fine, you guys.” Apollo waved his hand, trying to cut them off before they started threatening Klavier, too. “He just came and sat down, we were talking. That’s all.”

“You sure, Apollo? I could’ve sworn we heard something a little bit louder than just talking…” To accentuate this, she cracks her knuckles again, grinning at Klavier’s audible squeak in terror. “We brought the noodles too, by the way. Not that this guy can expect any.”

Apollo sighs. Ever since he was discharged from the hospital, they had been oddly protective of him, this outing being no exception. He just wished that they would—

“Hey, Ema. Let’s lay off the poor soul, if Apollo says this guy is fine, he’s fine.” Mr. Wright pats Apollo on the shoulder, winking at a hopelessly confused Klavier. “And to you, would you like to join us for an early lunch? We don’t bite, as much as Ema likes to pretend she does.”

“Ja, that sounds great,” Klavier managed, sounding slightly strangled.

Apollo let out a full body wheeze, the absurdity of the situation finally hitting him. His boss, his coworker, and his little sister were giving this random guy the shovel talk, for literally no reason other than the fact that he dared talk to him.

And here he had thought the day couldn’t possibly get any more absurd.

“Come on,” Apollo said, traces of laughter causing his voice to shake. “Before they eat everything, you have no idea how ravenous Trucy can be. Sometimes it feels like she’s more of an animal than a teenage girl.” Making their way to the shaded patch of grass she had laid out a picnic blanket on, Ema and Mr. Wright not-so-subtly began their interrogation of the new addition to the afternoon. “So, Klavier,” Ema started, “what possessed you to approach our lovely Apollo here?” To accentuate this, she reached over and squished his cheeks together.

Affronted, Apollo smacked her hands away from his face. “Hands off the goods, Ms. Skye.” Oh, great, they were here, if the sudden change in resistance against his cane was any indicator. He knelt down, and, yep, this was fabric. Must be the picnic blanket.

“Ach, well, it’s quite a simple story, really.” The sound of rustling told Apollo that Klavier was sitting down, too, probably right across from him. “I was just taking a walk when I saw Apollo, and… something just clicked, I suppose. I wanted to get to know him.”

He sounded so sincere that Apollo wanted to believe him; could someone just want to know him, no strings attached? Though, he did sound familiar, somewhere…

Come on, Justice, get a grip. It isn’t that simple. There has to be something he’s hiding, something he’s not telling you. If he just pressed a bit, maybe he could figure out why this stranger was so easy to talk to, why Apollo felt comfortable with him right off the bat.

“Getting to know me? That could be arranged.” Smirking a bit, Apollo waited. Any second now…

Klavier took the bait, shifting his weight forward. “Ja? Please enlighten me then, as to how.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

Setting aside his now empty bowl (it was telling that he finished before Trucy), he stood up and dusted off his clothes. “We’re going on a walk, that’s how.” It was strange of him to take the initiative like this, he knew himself well enough to realize that; there was just something about this guy that made Apollo throw caution to the wind. “You coming?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“...So.”

“So. Come here often?” Klavier laughs, and Apollo can feel the amusement radiating off of him in waves.

He has a really nice laugh, actually… though he doesn’t need to know that. “I used to. Post-trial celebration, usually. You?”

From his right, he can hear the telltale shift of clothing that signifies a shrug. “Only when I need to think. Being inside is no good for your mind, ja?”

“Yeah, that’s true. But, I will ask, what did you need to think about?” Now they’re getting somewhere; maybe this would finally shed some light on the familiarity he felt with this guy.

A moment of hesitance; if Apollo could use his bracelet, it would be telling him something was up. Who is this guy, really?

Eventually, Klavier spoke up. “Ach, I… work in the music industry, you could say. It’s been hectic lately.”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Lorelei?

Chapter Text

Apollo Justice is fine.

He’s fine, this is fine, it’s not like he just figured out the guy he’s walking around the park with is his favorite musician, right?!

Wrong, apparently.

Now he has to pretend like he didn’t notice, because he’s suddenly very interested in getting to know this guy. Before, it was mild curiosity; now? He’s definitely losing sleep over this.

Okay, Justice, just act cool. He doesn’t need to know that you know.

“The music industry, huh? What job specifically, singing or something?”

God damn it.

Klavier lets out a half-wheeze at this, trying to cover it up with a cough. “No, more like management, desk stuff. Nothing interesting, ja? Not worth talking about.” Okay, fine, message received loud and clear.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Nobody likes talking about work, we’re here to get away from things, right?” Taking pity on the poor guy, Apollo forces a laugh. If he didn’t want to talk, he wouldn’t make him.

“I might want to, but you? What do you have to get away from?”

“Well. The people we left back at the picnic, for one.” At this, Klavier’s footsteps falter a bit.

“Why? It might not be my place, but… they’re your family, aren’t they?”

Apollo pushed his hair back with a sigh. It was a good question, he could admit that much. “I love them to death, but it can be… suffocating. Sometimes you just need to have some space from the people you know, right? Doubly so now that they treat me like I’m going to break at the slightest touch.”

They walk in awkward silence for a moment, and he mentally curses himself. That… that might have been a bit much for their first conversation alone. Did he blow it? Does this guy want nothing to do with him now?

Ugh. He knew it was a bad idea to go off on his own with him, privacy be damned… curse his big mouth.

At his side, Klavier hums thoughtfully before Apollo feels him slowly falter to a complete stop.

"Apollo?"

Oh, lord. This couldn't get any worse, right? Forcing out a vacant reply, he tapped his foot nervously. "Yeah, what's up?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a really big forehead?”

What the fuck.

Out of all the ways Klavier could’ve said to get lost… this was what he chose. To insult Apollo to his face. Well, two could play at that game, Gavin. Indignant, he opened his mouth to shoot out his response, but he was once again interrupted by that unfairly melodious laugh. Honestly, it was criminal.

“Calm down, schatz. It was only an observation; you’re cute when you’re flustered, Herr Forehead.”

“Why, you—!”

Klavier snickers, and Apollo feels a warm arm make its way around his shoulders. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, and Apollo can hear the smile in his voice. “I saw you tense up when I asked about them.”

He takes on a genuinely apologetic tone, continuing, “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, lieb. I won’t pry.”

They fall silent, and Klavier’s arm remains in its place, curled around Apollo’s neck with his hand dangling just below his collarbones. It’s… nice. Not to be thought of as some charity case. With Klavier, he feels… seen, almost.

Was it always this hot out? It felt really hot all of a sudden. It was probably just because they were walking and he hadn’t exercised in a while, what with being stuck on bed rest and adjusting to his (lack of) vision.

Though, in spite of Apollo’s lack of endurance, being with Klavier was the most energized he had felt in months.

"Hey, Klavier?"

"Ja?"

This was either going to be the best or worst decision of his life. Honestly, though; what more did he have to lose? Inhaling sharply, Apollo turned to look up at him. "Did you still want that phone number?"

"Oh, Polly! You're back!" Trucy's elated voice rang through the air, footsteps becoming louder and louder as she rushed towards the duo. “How was your date?”

Caught off guard, Apollo’s voice died in his throat as he let out a wheeze. Their what? “You’ve got the wrong idea, Truce, we’re just friends. We just met an hour ago, anyway.” It hadn’t even been two minutes since they got back, and Trucy was already putting him in cardiac arrest; this was worse than the time she almost burned down his kitchen trying to make waffles.

Klavier shifts next to him, and the warmth of his arm is suddenly gone, leaving Apollo to wonder why he wants to chase it. “Ja, what he said, fraulein. Although, I can see why he would want some of this.”

“Trucy, please tell me he’s not flexing.”

She laughs, and he relaxes a bit. Klavier would fit in nicely, it seemed. Especially with Trucy; he shudders to think of the things they could get up to if left alone for too long.

With a smirk, Apollo walked straight past them, heading in the direction of Mr. Wright and Ema's voices. Best to curb their conversation before it rolled back around to his forehead, or, worse, Trucy's newest magic trick, involving a spray can of deodorant, matches, a worm on a string, and gas masks (at her father's insistence).

Apollo quite liked his new apartment, thanks; he wasn't eager for a repeat of the waffle incident in terms of property damage.

Reaching the area where the rest of the group was standing, he pretended not to notice when the two he had left jogged up behind him, Klavier wheezing with the exertion. "Herr Forehead, you walk too fast."

Mr. Wright, upon hearing this, laughed and clapped a hand on Klavier’s back, forcing the air out of his lungs yet again. “You just see, our Apollo here waits for no man. I’m surprised you've kept up for this long.”

“Worry not, Herr Wright. I intend to try and keep up with him for as long as he’ll let me.” Klavier playfully tapped Apollo’s shoulder, ignorant to the way the latter’s heart jumped at the comment. How could he just say things like that!?

Honestly, he would be the death of Apollo.

“Okay, hotshot, don’t jump the gun here. I never said I wanted to see you again, you know.” He did. He absolutely did. He had to save face somehow though, right?

Innocently, “But you gave me your phone number?”

“He gave you his what?” Trucy screeched, hanging off Apollo’s arm like he was the only thing keeping her from dramatically collapsing to the ground. “He never does that! It took Ema six months to get his info!” She collected herself, and Apollo could feel the affronted glare she was leveling towards him. “Not a date, my entire—”

“Language, Truce,” Mr. Wright interrupted, clearly thoroughly amused by the entire ordeal. “Apollo, though, you know she’s right. You work for me, and I didn’t have your phone number for the longest time.”

Abort mission, this was not the way he thought things would go. “Alright, it’s getting cold, right? Time to go home! Come on, let’s—” Attempting to make a dignified escape, his plans were foiled by Ema flatly pointing out that if it was so cold, why did he look like he was about to burst into flame at any minute?

Just let him perish here.

Six seconds later, Apollo's valiant effort to melt into the floor was interrupted by a tinny audio of… a Lorelei instrumental?

Was Klavier's ringtone seriously his own music?

He didn't know who was calling, but from the way Apollo could feel Klavier tense in the air between them, it wasn't entirely welcome.

"Ach, I have to take this, I'm afraid. I'll call you, Apollo." With that, he briskly walked off without another word.

He left an awkward silence in his wake.

"So… tall, blond, and handsome, huh? You have good luck, though you didn’t really know until now—”

"Ema!"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pillow smothering his muttering, Apollo haphazardly slammed a hand on to his side table, silencing the alarm. Ugh. Just five more minutes, it’s not like he had anywhere to be…. He really should disable it, since he wasn’t working anymore.

The side table started vibrating again, and Apollo begrudgingly felt around for his phone until he found the offending device. That wasn’t his alarm tone, so someone was calling him, then? Who would be calling at the ungodly hour of—he had the phone read him the time—seven thirty in the morning? Honestly, did no one appreciate sleeping in these days? The only person he could think of that got up before eight that might be calling him was Trucy; she usually woke up early to practice her tricks before school.

“Trucy, a few things before you even ask. Yes, I’ll make it to your show next week, yes, I’ll bring Clay, and no, I’m not being your assistant again.” The last time he volunteered, he ended up being pulled out of a hat by his hair spikes, and frankly, he didn’t want to know how she did that and was too afraid to ask.

“Ach, Herr Forehead, I’m hurt. Taking out another man? Just when we were starting to get close, too…”

“You’re not Trucy.” Oh, that was just great. Super eloquent. Way to make a second first impression, Apollo.

A laugh came from the other line, clearly happy, even though Apollo had yelled at him loud enough that the phone was still shrieking audio feedback. He was starting to think there was a pattern here—why did he always seem to be shouting at this guy?

Somehow Apollo could feel his smirk through the phone as Klavier said, “Sorry, schatz. I’m not our lovely fraulein Trucy, but I hope you’ll grace me with your presence this afternoon for coffee anyways?”

Well, he did say there wasn’t anything he had to do today… “Sure, I don’t have anything better to do. See you at noon?”

Klavier confirmed, and as Apollo lay on his bed wondering what the hell just happened, he had only one thought in his mind.

He didn’t even like coffee.

What did that say about how much he wanted to see this guy?

Entering the sun-warmed café, Apollo paused at the entrance. First things first, he needed to find a table—Klavier said he would be there in five, so he may as well sit down—maybe a booth? They were generally good for storing his cane, since there was an area near the wall as opposed to a table out in the open.

An exceptionally polite employee soon came to seat him, apologizing for the wait. Just as he sat down, Apollo heard the telltale ding of the bell on the door, and had his hopeful turn in its direction rewarded when Klavier slid into the seat across from him, rings clinking as they knocked against each other. “Herr Forehead! Thank you for coming on such short notice, I truly thought you would be busy.”

That’s a joke; Apollo, busy? Ha. “Nah, I don’t have much to do these days besides studying. Honestly, I need to get out of the house more—you saw Trucy drag me out yesterday—and this was the best offer I got.”

Across from him, Klavier tapped the table thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to work on that, ja? Get whatever you want. My treat; you can pay next time.”

Well, he would never say no to free food. “Sure, on the condition that you pick my drink. I’ve been meaning to try something new, anyways.”

From there, it went… how does he put this? The realist in Apollo wants to say well, but the Trucy in him is bouncing off the walls. How is this guy so good? Just, all around, so perfect?

In the twenty minutes they had spent idly chatting over the drinks Klavier had ordered them, Apollo found out a few things about himself, and the man across the table.

The first thing he discovered, absentmindedly sipping his drink, was that it was absolute heaven in a plastic cup. When he told Klavier as much, the other confessed that it was the reason he was a regular at the place, ever since he had discovered it at seventeen after a particularly bad day at work.

The second thing was that Klavier’s favorite color was purple; an odd choice, Apollo mentioned. Apparently, it had been his favorite ever since someone had told him it represented royalty and power as a child. The detail itself was insignificant, and Apollo wondered why it felt so important to him as he offered his favorite (yellow) in turn.

The third thing?

Klavier really, really hated overbearing fans.

“Oh, my gosh! You’re the guy who was seen in the tabloids arguing with Daryan last week! Is it true that you guys are really exes?”

The air grew tense, Klavier forcing a hollow laugh as he stiffly shook his head, earrings and necklace jingling in the silence. “No, sorry, I’m afraid you have the wrong person.”

Whoever was interrogating him clearly didn’t buy it, pressing on. “You are, aren’t you!? Can I get a picture? My friend will flip, she’s a huge fan of Daryan’s stuff!”

Can’t someone take a clue? “Hey, you. Knock it off, unless you want a lawsuit on your doorstep tomorrow. He’s who he says he is, and even if he was that guy you’re talking about, it’s none of yours; you aren’t entitled to anything.” The lawsuit wouldn’t go through, obviously, since harassment was such a hard charge to prove, but it was a decent enough fear tactic. Now, if they would just leave—

“Oh, I know you too! You’re that lawyer from last year, the one who got caught in that explosion! What are you doing with this guy? Honestly, of all the charity cases.” Voice dripping with exaggerated pity, they continued, “And blind, to boot? Blondie, you could do so much better.”

Klavier, silent until that moment, bolted to his feet. A glass of water, jolted by the impact, toppled, splashing Apollo with water. What the hell was happening? They would probably get banned if a physical confrontation broke out, and it would be sketchy legally.

Leaning over the table to pull at what was probably Klavier’s sleeve, he quickly muttered a warning. A hand gently touched his in agreement before quick, short footsteps filled the silence, coming to stop directly to Apollo’s right, the exit of the booth. “I’ll thank you to not insult my company. Anyone I choose to spend time with will be leagues better than whatever your standards are, in any case.”

Taking a deep breath, he turned, gently tapping Apollo on the shoulder. “Herr Forehead, would you like to leave?”

God, please. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Quickly turning to grab his cane, Apollo scooted his way out of the booth, ignoring the shocked stammers of the interloper behind them as the two exited.

Once they were out onto the sidewalk, Klavier deflated, Apollo feeling the defeat from where he was standing. “Apollo, I’m so sorry. I should have said something sooner, I just froze, I—”

“Klavier.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not to blame here. I can take care of myself, it’s alright.”

A sigh, lined with something Apollo couldn’t quite place, escaped Klavier. “Ach, but you did the same for me, did you not? That line about the lawsuit, brilliant, honestly, Apollo. You’re brilliant.”

Brilliant? Well, that did things to his heart that he didn’t particularly feel like unpacking right then and there. “...How would you like to go somewhere else? My treat, this time.” It couldn’t end now, not when he was—not when they were just getting started.

Flashing what he hoped was a grin in Klavier’s direction, Apollo fiddled with his cane. “Have you ever heard of the Kitaki Bakery?”

“Apollo Justice, I love you.” Through a mouthful of puff pastry, Klavier hummed in delight, evidently having the time of his life. “How have I never been here? I could die happy right now.”

A smile rising to Apollo’s face, he cracked, “Aw, don’t die yet, you haven’t even tried their croissants yet.” Raising a hand to signal Wocky, he yelled out a request for two of them, followed by an elated holler from the area of the display case.

Happiness apparent in Klavier’s voice, he commented, “Herr Forehead, I don’t deserve you. Please, tell me how on Earth you met the Kitakis again? These are the best pastries I have ever had the fortune of putting in my mouth.”

“Oh, right. Wocky was accused of murder, and I proved him innocent. Since that gave them the opportunity to open the bakery, they always under-charge me, so I just dump a ton of tips on my way out.”

“Right! It’s super gangster to pay off your debts!” Materializing next to the table, Wocky huffed in disapproval. “Apollo, you really gotta stop tipping so much! Don’t be a killjoy, man!”

Sticking his tongue out in Wocky’s direction, Apollo snarked, “Well, stop giving me basically free food then! Like these croissants; at least take something more than what you’re charging me for them! Klavier, help me talk some sense into this guy.”

“Aww, schatz, you should’ve told me you were such a softie.” “What does that have to do with anything!?”

Devolving into good-natured bickering, Apollo idly thought that this was the most fun he’d had since… Well, the accident. It could be because Klavier had no connection to it? Apollo decided to shelve that thought and bring it up to his therapist later; it might have some significance in the way he felt around him.

Vaguely, Apollo could hear Klavier tell him something, muttering a scripted reply. After their bickering, they had fallen into companionable silence, contentedly munching on the desserts Wocky kept the table stocked with. Honestly, Kitaki pastries and Klavier… the day couldn’t get any better.

A knuckle sharply rapped on the table, startling Apollo out of his reverie. “Oi, loverboy! Your friend went to the bathroom, he said when he let you know you just nodded and wished him good luck. Who does that, man!? You good?”

Oh, out of all the generic replies Apollo could have given… “Yeah, Wocky, I’m… I’m great, actually.” The words surprised him even as he said them; he couldn’t remember the last time he said he was well and genuinely meant it.

Minutes passed, and Klavier returned to the table, flicking water at an affronted Apollo as he complained about the lack of hand towels present. “I have to dry my hands somehow, lieb! Stop flicking it back at me, that’s not how it works!”

Oh, Apollo took back all the nice things he had said about Klavier. Telling him as much, the other dramatically draped himself across the table, clutching Apollo’s hands and wailing, “Herr Forehead, I didn’t mean it! Please, I beg, release your hostages, specifically the almond strudel! I cannot live without my Kitaki confections, have mercy!”

A laugh bubbling up in his throat, Apollo choked it down in favor of imperiously raising his head, straightfaced as he demanded a glass of water from Klavier’s side of the table in ransom.

Klavier, taking it as a challenge, walked around to Apollo’s side of the table, narrating his actions as if he were in a novel. “The brave knight kneels at the sight of the great pastry thief, humbly offering the requested beverage. Pray, return the desserts at once, villain!”

The charade quickly dissolved after that, Apollo ungracefully snorting the newly acquired water out of his nose as Klavier described how the great knight vanquished the lord of the coffee machine with a good sleep schedule and the power of friendship, somehow.

“Hey, Klavier.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks for inviting me out today. Really. I had a lot of fun.”

“Apollo, the pleasure is all mine. I apologize if this is too forward, but ever since I first met you at the park, I… I felt—”

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Oh, of all the times for his phone to ring—taking a minute to apologize to Klavier for the interruption, he picked up, putting it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Polly! We have a surprise for you, come to the office!”

A surprise? That’s news to him, the agency didn’t have any interesting cases running at the moment and he wasn’t working anyways… “Surprise? Can’t you just tell me over the phone?” Trucy’s pout was audible, even through the phone. “No, you have to come here! You can even bring Mr. Gavin, you guys are on a date right now, aren’t you? Hi, Klav!”

“Hello, Fraulein, how are you? Worry not, I’ll deliver your darling brother to the door safe and sound.” Casually slipping out of his seat to walk around to Apollo, he rested a hand on his shoulder. “Though, if I’m being honest, he’ll probably be the one keeping me in line.”

Playfully swatting Klavier’s shoulder, Apollo returned his attention to the phone, curious as to what the surprise Trucy was talking about truly was. “All right,” he acquiesced, “we’re heading over now. See you.”

With a satisfying click, he hung up the phone, leaving only silence and far fewer inches than Apollo would’ve thought possible between them.

“So… you talk about me?”

“Oh, Klavier, shut it—”

Arriving on the doorstep of the Wright Anything Agency, Apollo turned to face Klavier. “Thanks for walking me here, you didn’t need to, really.”

Offhandedly, Klavier waved away his concerns, cracking a soft smile. “Nonsense, I’ll take any extra minute I can get with you, Herr Forehead.”

They stood there, comfortably quiet. It was a nice change, being with Klavier, even if they weren’t saying anything.

Companionable silence was broken when Trucy flung open the door, immediately crushing Apollo in a hug. “You came! Come on, come on, we gotta show you the surprise!” Not forgetting about Klavier, she went to embrace him as well, only to be stopped by a gentle shake of the head.

“My apologies, Fraulein, it seems that I’ve stayed out too long. Can I take a rain check on this one?”

Shrugging, she dropped her outstretched arms. “Alright, but you’re definitely coming to our next get together. Apollo, come on! Surprise time!”

With one last goodbye from the siblings to Klavier, he left, leaving them standing alone in the hallway. “Polly, I’d like you to meet… our newest agency talent!” Accentuating the statement, she flung open the door, dragging him inside. “Meet Athena Cykes!”

Deadpan, “Ah. Yes. I see her. Tell me, where exactly is this Miss Cykes?”

From not two feet in front of him, an upbeat voice said, “That would be me! Athena Cykes, at your service!”

She seemed nice enough, if a bit eccentric. “I’m Apollo Justice, attorney—well, former attorney at law. What did Trucy rope you into doing at the Agency? Are you another magician?” He hoped not, the place barely survived the one and her assorted entourage of assistants and the like.

A bright laugh echoed through the room, Apollo suddenly very aware of the silence it left behind. Just about now, Mr. Wright and Trucy should be commenting about his outing with Klavier… why was it so quiet?

“I’m an attorney, too! How cool is that!?” Enthusiastically, she reached down for his hand, shaking it firmly as he numbly reciprocated the motion.

Oh.

So that was why it was so quiet.

They had replaced him.

Forcing a strained grin, Apollo broke away from the handshake. “Welcome to the Agency, Athena. We’re glad to have you here—let me know if you ever need advice on your cases.”

“Wow, he really hates us!”

The tinny audio rang out through the silence, forging the silence into something worse. What on Earth was that? More importantly, who? It wasn’t Athena’s voice, and certainly not Trucy’s or Mr. Wright’s…

“Ah, Apollo, I guess we forgot to tell you. Athena here’s another lie detector, so to speak.” Sheepishly, Mr. Wright explained how her “power” worked, how she heard the emotion in people’s voices and used it in cross-examination with her robot helper, Widget—the voice he had heard. “Unfortunately,” he said, “she can’t turn it off, similar to Perception.”

That’s a joke, not only did they get some kid to replace him, she was also a human lie detector. What was next, she would start copying his hair?

Enough was enough. He was going to go home, make himself some hot chocolate, and binge trashy TV. First they spring this on him, then expect him to roll over and give her his spot in the Agency? Yeah, no. They could talk later.

“I think I’ll head home, I’m not really feeling well—”

“Apollo! The discord in your heart is so loud, it’s screaming out for help! It’s time for a quick therapy session, to dispel the dissonance I’m hearing right now! Trucy, Mr. Wright, we’ll be right back.” Seizing his wrist, she dragged him off into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. “Apollo, take a seat, make yourself comfortable.” “On the toilet?” “Well, it's not like there’s a lot of space in here! Just flip the lid down, it’s fine. Now, could you tell me about your day so far?”

Sigh. Okay, this has gone far enough. Time to shut this down, go home, and sleep. “I don’t need this, I already have a therapist. Just leave me alone, I’m going home—”

As he was standing to exit, Athena gently laid a hand on his shoulder. “Please? Just… give it a chance. If you want to leave right now, I won’t stop you again, but I can help. I promise.”

Fine. If she was so adamant about it, they could see how much she could find out just from his day. Then he could leave. “Alright, alright. You wanted to hear about my day? Sure. First…”

Recounting how he had woken up to Klavier’s call, gotten coffee with him, and the events that happened afterward, Apollo felt himself relaxing. A wistful smile drifting to his lips when he spoke about how they had made fools out of themselves in the bakery, he described the events of the afternoon in detail, right up until meeting Athena.

Silence filled the cramped bathroom after that, Athena finishing up her notes on her Mood Matrix, which she had explained as something to help her visualize and mark down observances to maximize the effect of her self-proclaimed analytical psychology.

“So, Apollo. When you described how you met me, my matrix registered shock and anger; could you explain that?”

This was like pulling teeth, jeez. Is this what being the one cross-examined instead of the one doing the examination felt like? He suddenly felt bad for everyone he’d stared down in court. “I felt shocked that they hired you without telling me, and angry that they had replaced me. Good enough?”

“Do you honestly think Mr. Wright would do that?”

A hollow laugh escaped Apollo. “How am I supposed to know what that man thinks? I love him, but I find it hard to exactly trust him since he hid the fact that my literal mother was alive and that my friend was actually my half sister. After that, I feel like anything is on the table with him.” She let out a thoughtful sigh, fingernails tapping against the cold tile of the floor she had slumped against. “Have you considered telling him that? You don’t work for him anymore, so it wouldn’t be an overstep of your role. To be honest, after that, I don’t know what I would think either.”

Taking a deep breath, she continued, “You also felt conflicted when talking about your friend, Klavier. It was mostly happiness, but I couldn’t help but notice some sadness and shock mixed in as well, as if there’s something you felt guilty about; if there is I would advise you to tell him before it’s too late.”

“That’s… it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your grand fix, the culmination of this entire ordeal. It’s just… to talk to them about it. Mr. Wright, and Klavier, I guess, though he’s not the point right now.”

With a quick tap of Athena’s fingers, the Mood Matrix was closed, and she stood up with a groan, back cracking in a cacophony of pops and crackles. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. If you don’t want to talk to him, I won’t force you, but I think it could be good for you.” Opening the door, she left, letting him know that she would be heading home, so he didn’t need to worry about an intrusion if he did decide to talk it out with Mr. Wright.

The door creaked shut, and with that, Apollo was left alone with his thoughts, a leaky sink, and a broken toilet.

If that wasn’t an appropriate metaphor for his life, he didn’t know what was.

What would he even say if he spoke to Mr. Wright? Hey, boss-dad-mentor figure, did you know I feel like I can’t trust you anymore? Ugh. Why were feelings so hard?

Pulling his knees to his chest, Apollo rested his chin atop them, psyching himself up to leave the sanctuary of the bathroom. It’s fine, the worst he could do was… well, not fire him, at least.

Minutes passed, and feeling confident that he had run through every possible scenario, he stepped out into the common area, picking his way through the clutter with his cane to take a seat on the couch. You got this, Justice, no sweat. Just… let him know how you feel about things. No biggie.

Soon enough, Mr. Wright walked in, taking a seat a few feet away on the couch. “So… three psyche-locks, huh? Wanna talk about it?”

That stupid rock, he had forgotten about it. Can’t a man have a secret in this place? “Yeah, actually, I did.”

“Mr. Wright, do you ever think about how your actions have affected me?”

Once Apollo started talking, it all came flowing out; the bloody, forged ace, the callous way he treated him before he was barred again, how he had no regard for his own safety, how he didn’t tell Apollo he had living family, how he expected Apollo to just take it and how he hired Athena without even telling him, and how Apollo can’t see and doesn’t know when he’s lying anymore and doesn’t know how to do it, how is he supposed to do it—

Burying his hiccuped gasps into Mr. Wright’s shirt, Apollo shook with the effort of breathing. Mr. Wright murmured apologies, rubbing small circles into his back, trying to soothe him with little effectiveness. “Apollo, I— I have no excuse for the things I did back then. I won’t try to feed you lines about it making you tougher, or that I was helping, because it wasn’t. I wasn’t.”

“I was afraid. Afraid of what would happen when Trucy found out Thalassa was her mother, afraid of going back to law, afraid of losing you both. No amount of apology will make it right. I need you to know, though, that you cannot be replaced here; there is always a place for you in my office and in my life. When you’re ready to come back to law, we’ll be waiting.”

Both choking up, they took a minute to compose themselves, Mr. Wright excusing himself to the back to check on Trucy, and Apollo walking off to a corner to call a ride home. It was too late to walk, and it wasn’t as if he was in the right mental state to make the thirty minute trek anyways.

“Klavier? Can you come pick me up?”

Hearing him try to remain composed, Klavier’s soft voice floated through the receiver. “Of course, Apollo. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

With a stiff goodbye to Mr. Wright and a promise to call him and talk eventually, Apollo stepped out into the hall, Klavier wordlessly slipping a coat over his shoulders and gently leading him to the car.

They made the ride home in near silence, pulling up to Apollo’s apartment complex. “Apollo, schatz, if you would like to talk about it, I’m just a call away.”

Exhaustedly nodding at the sentiment, Apollo tried to return the coat, only to have Klaver drape it over him once more. “Keep the jacket, I’ll take it back next time I see you. Sweet dreams, Apollo.” And with a gentle kiss on the top of his head, Klavier was gone, driving off into the night again.

Keys much too finicky in his worn state, Apollo had barely locked the door behind him before collapsing onto the couch, sinking into the pillows in exhaustion.

With Klavier’s coat still draped over his shoulders, he fell into a dreamless sleep.