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simon wakes up with a bit of a headache, the backs of his eyelids aching in protest as he forces his eyes open. his phone had unceremoniously snapped him out of his light slumber, and he begrudgingly rolls over onto his stomach, trying to blindly grab for it in the dark of his room. his fingers close around the device on the third attempt, and he squints, grimacing as the screen flashes at him.
message received
fool bright
good morning, prosecutor blackquill! don’t forget, we have a crime scene to investigate this morning! justice won’t serve itself!
simon resists the urge to roll his eyes and settles for closing them instead, letting his phone slip out of his hands to land on the bed next to him. a few moments later, his alarm goes off to alert him that it’s time to awaken. the detective couldn’t have waited a few more minutes, could he.
“foolish.”
simon grunts and pulls himself up to a seated position. he rubs a hand over his face, dislodging his hair which had become matted to his cheek overnight. he haphazardly runs his fingers through the knotted clumps -- though usually unruly, his hair seems to be even more so today. a sneaking suspicion dawns on him, and, peeling himself off the bed, he slowly maneuvers across the floor to the window where he pauses a second, then opens the curtains.
“ah,” he mutters, a wry smile on his lips, “rain. splendid.”
he wouldn’t say he hates rain, necessarily. to some, the feeling of moist air clinging to one’s skin, hair made permanently unkempt by humidity, and sensation of being particularly damp all day even when one doesn’t go outside, are reasons to enjoy a rainy day.
to simon, however, it simply makes him wish he did not, as fulbright had said, have a crime scene to investigate this morning. if it were up to him, he would much rather stay in bed.
taka makes a discontented noise from his perch, ruffling his feathers indignantly as simon comes over to pet him. “yes, you may stay home if you so please,” he murmurs. the hawk affectionately rubs its head against him, settling more comfortably on the perch. “at least you are at liberty to choose.”
the prosecutor dresses himself and spends a good deal of time attempting to tame his hair. a shower might have helped, but he reasoned there would be no point, as it would have only returned to its wild state after spending no more than a few minutes in the rain.
as he is debating whether or not he should try to stomach any food, he receives another text from the detective.
message received
fool bright
which do you like better, prosecutor blackquill? coffee or cocoa?
simon stares at the message for a long moment. “what an asinine question,” he sighs. he almost doesn’t answer, but, when he thinks about how the detective has most likely seen that he has read the message, and will likely whine afterward if simon does not respond, it seems more than reasonable to send a short reply.
message sent
simon blackquill
i do not care.
tucking his phone into his pocket, he gives one last forlorn look to his kitchen -- which is, in all honesty, lacking in the food department at the moment -- before moving back to the bedroom to make sure the window is left open wide enough for taka to leave when he becomes hungry.
making his way to the main hall, he rummages through the closet, looking for his umbrella. when that turns up empty, he sighs and once again returns to the bedroom to see if he can find it. taka seems a little more alert now, watching quietly as he checks his closet, under the bed, and even goes through his laundry basket to no avail.
“you don’t know where i put the damn thing, do you?” simon glances over at the hawk, arms folded across his chest. the bird continues to look at him, blinks once, then closes its eyes again. “of course not. i apologize for waking you, taka.” the prosecutor bows his head, sighs once more, and exits the bedroom.
when had he last used his umbrella? he could have sworn he’d had it the last day it’d rained… yes, he brought it with him to the prosecutor’s office. then, fulbright had stopped by with the information for their last case, and by then it had stopped raining, so he-
the realization hits him accompanied by a wave of frustration. “ah. so it is still at my office.”
that being the case, his options are limited. he can make his way to the prosecutor’s office to retrieve his umbrella; he can make the trip to the nearest convenience store to buy a new one; or he can simply go the entire way to the crime scene without one, which is, without a doubt, the least appealing. whichever he chooses, he will wind up more wet than he’d like.
it is times like these that he regrets not getting a driver’s license. he briefly considers taking a cab, but that in itself is already unappealing when he recalls the last (and highly unpleasant, he might add) experience he had during a taxi ride.
he’s just about given up all hope when his phone goes off, startling him. irritably retrieving the device from his pocket, his expression slackens when he sees the message.
message received
fool bright
are you ready to go, prosecutor blackquill?
“ready to go…?” simon reads aloud, blinking indignantly at the message as if that will somehow procure an explanation. “what the hell does he mean by that?”
to be sure, he waits a few moments to see if another message will follow. it doesn’t. huffing, simon sets his phone aside to tug his boots on before grabbing his keys from the table and plucking it up again. he locks his apartment door and begins typing a reply as he walks down the flight of stairs to the entrance of the complex.
message sent
simon blackquill
yes, i have just left my apartment. however, i have forgotten my umbrella at the prosecutor’s office, so i will be delayed, as i hope to stop and purchase a new one.
his eyes are still on his phone as he walks outside, and he nearly drops it in alarm as a loud voice greets him.
“i guess it’s a good thing i came to pick you up then, huh, prosecutor blackquill?” scrambling to put the device safely into his pocket, simon looks up to see the delighted expression on fulbright’s face. an umbrella is in his hand, and he holds it up with a distinct air of pride.
after a few seconds, simon recovers enough to get out, “fool bright! you should have told me you were coming.”
“i wanted to surprise you!” the detective beams at him. “oh, come on, you don’t mind riding with me that much, do you?”
simon stiffens. as much as he would rather not admit it, he’s more than a little pleased fulbright had shown up. despite preferring not to ride in a police cruiser, it sounds infinitely better than braving the rain; especially when it seems that the detective is prepared to chauffeur him around with an umbrella.
well, that, and no matter the circumstances, fulbright always appears happy to see him.
“it’s fine,” simon mutters, stepping under the umbrella without hesitation.
“great!” fulbright’s smile, if possible, widens. “let’s get going then, shall we?”
he walks simon to the passenger seat of the car, even going so far as to open the door for him. simon rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink as he gets in. once seated, fulbright closes the door and goes around to the driver side, joining him. that’s when the prosecutor notices the cup in the drink holder beside him.
“what’s this?” he inquires, eyeing the cup suspiciously. he resists the urge to pick it up and lift the lid to see what’s inside, instead waiting for an answer as fulbright fastens his seatbelt.
“hot chocolate!” the detective tells him. “i figured you’d probably skip breakfast, so i thought i’d get you something to drink at the very least. you prefer sweet stuff, don’t you? and warm drinks are great for rainy days!”
“i-i suppose,” simon mumbles, reluctantly allowing his fingers to close around the drink. the warmth spreads into his hand, and he raises the cup to his lips, taking a sip. the flavor is rich and sweet; it’s certainly pleasant. remembering his manners, he quickly adds, “thank you.”
“my pleasure,” fulbright continues to grin.
simon finds himself wondering how every time he sees bobby fulbright, even the worst things seem a little bit better.
fulbright chats away as they drive to the scene of the crime. simon offers little conversation in return, but it’s not really a problem; simon likes the sound of fulbright’s voice, and fulbright enjoys listening to himself talk.
fortunately, the scene is indoors, otherwise they would probably have had a hell of a time trying to investigate in the rain. whatever evidence there could have been would be altered, or possibly even lost. fulbright remarks as much as they pull up to the building, recalling an episode of an old crime show he’d once watched where that very issue posed a problem.
“old shows like that are interesting to watch, even if they’re not accurate,” the detective laughs as he gets out and opens the umbrella.
“shows like that weren’t even accurate when they were made, so they can hardly be accurate now,” simon says dryly.
fulbright opens the passenger side door, flashing simon a smile. “yeah, but nobody watches them for accuracy. it’s all about drama. and justice!”
“of course you would take pleasure in such things.” the prosecutor takes a wary step out of the car, placing his feet carefully in order to avoid puddles. fulbright observes with a hint of amusement, holding the umbrella more toward simon’s direction.
“you sure don’t like getting wet, huh?”
simon frowns at him. “i would not say i dislike it. however, i would very much prefer to avoid it when possible. taka is the same way.”
“ahh, so that’s why he’s not with you.” fulbright nods in understanding.
“yes, he chose to stay back at my apartment. he has the fortune of being a hawk. not a prosecutor who must prepare for a trial,” simon comments, unable to withhold a sigh.
“don’t worry, sir,” fulbright gives him a light pat on the shoulder, “i’m sure this will be a quick investigation!”
simon is about to answer, but words fail him, for in the next instant, a sports car speeds by, splashing right through a rather large puddle directly in front of them. simon, horrified, squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the inevitability of being soaked in a matter of seconds.
quite the contrary, actually; he slowly realizes there is a warmth pressing up against him, and when he dares reopen his eyes, he is bewildered to find fulbright standing far too close for comfort. in fact, he’s sort of pressing simon against the car, one arm around simon and the other, still holding the umbrella above them. he’d protected simon from the water, and, consequently, is now moderately sopping wet.
“you alright there, prosecutor blackquill?” when the detective speaks, simon can feel his breath on his face. he smells like coffee and mint, a strange combination, but that’s honestly the least of simon’s worries.
with fulbright this close, he can see fulbright’s eyes behind his stupid aviator sunglasses (which, why is he even wearing those when the sun isn’t out?), and the way his lips are slightly upturned in an apologetic smile, and he can smell his stupid hair gel, too -- it’s a sensory overload and all simon can think about is how much he would love to simply grab fulbright by the lapels of his jacket and yank him into a kiss.
his heart painfully skips a beat and he’s forced to remember that the detective had just asked him a question. his mouth opens and closes a few times. “i-i’m fine,” he finally manages to get out, forcing unwarranted images out of his mind. “just fine.”
“thank goodness,” fulbright smiles, relieved. “it would’ve been a real shame if you’d gotten soaked right after we just got done talking about how much you don’t like getting wet!”
simon gives him a flustered once over, taking in his drenched attire. for the most part, the water had splashed the detective’s torso, his red button-up now showing through the white jacket. simon’s face burns as he finds himself imagining if the water had been concentrated any lower.
despite himself, he actually regrets when fulbright steps away. “well, we should get to the crime scene now, shouldn’t we, sir?” the detective says brightly, as if he hadn’t just been assaulted by a sports car and a puddle of water.
“b-but-!” simon tries to protest. in order to keep out of the rain, he’s forced to move with fulbright. “your clothes-!”
“nothing to worry about,” fulbright hums. truly, simon thinks, nothing bothers this man. “a little water never hurt anyone! and time’s a-wastin’!”
the prosecutor lets out a frustrated breath. the contradiction is clear in his words (if a little water never hurt anyone, then it would have been fine, by that logic, for simon to have been the one soaked; although, if that had been the case, he would most definitely have demanded to return to his apartment to change into dry clothes), but if he notices it, he says nothing, just cheerfully holds the umbrella up above the two of them as they pass through the crime scene tape and enter the building.
“what should we do first?” the detective asks, surveying the scene. a few officers and people from forensics are scattered around the first floor, examining things or keeping watch over the building.
“well,” simon muses, “it would be helpful to know what has been discovered so far.”
“got it!” fulbright does his characteristic salute and beams. “i’ll go talk to the officers and see what i can find out!” before simon has a chance to even think about saying anything else (or thanking him), he’s already sped off in the direction of the nearest officer.
simon watches him go, lips pursed. he can’t help stifling a laugh against the back of his hand as the detective belatedly realizes he hadn’t put the umbrella away yet and struggles to do so while the officer he’d approached looks on in confusion.
“foolish,” simon murmurs, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.
he’s just begun looking around the area himself when his phone starts ringing, the sound muffled by his jacket pocket. he retrieves the device, glancing briefly at the caller id before accepting the call and holding his phone to his ear while he continues to investigate. “yes, cykes-dono?”
“simon blackquill, enough of this -dono business with me!” athena’s voice sounds loudly into the receiver, earning a chuckle from the prosecutor. “ce n'est pas bien, how many times do i have to tell you to call me athena?”
“my apologies,” simon says good-humoredly, “it must have slipped my mind.”
“liar,” she huffs. he can hear her pouting for a moment before her tone changes and there’s a smile in her voice. “but it’s okay, i forgive you. i need a favor, actually.”
“a favor?” he feigns surprise, though he can already guess what she will mention. “whatever can i do for you, miss athena?”
“hey, you did it that time! see, that wasn’t so hard was it??”
“did what?” he inquires innocently.
athena grunts in annoyance, but she gives up without a fight. “okay, so you know that trial that’s happening tomorrow morning?”
“the one for which justice-dono will be defending and you will be assisting?”
“yeah, and you will be prosecuting,” athena clicks her tongue against her teeth. “so, since you’re the prosecutor in charge, and seeing as you can tell the police officers whether or not to let the defense investigate the crime scene…”
simon lets out a low whistle. “you want me to give you access to the crime scene, is that it?”
“wow, you took the words right out of my mouth,” the younger girl fails at sounding shocked. “i mean, you should have no problem with it, right, considering you believe our client is guilty? what harm is there in letting us poke around?”
“that’s…” without noticing, simon trails off, eyes landing on fulbright. he’s chatting with the officer, a grin on his face, and after a moment, they both burst into laughter about something.
it’s odd, really. if simon were walking around in wet clothes, he’d be in a foul mood, and no one would get away with so much as laughing in his presence. but, quite obviously, fulbright and simon differ in many ways, and this is simply one of them. it’s one of the things simon has come to really like about the detective, actually. his unwavering enthusiasm, an energetic airheadedness that makes it nigh impossible to dampen his spirits. simon admires that aspect of him.
still, he feels bad that fulbright’s clothes should have been soaked on account of him. although… having fulbright that close earlier had been a treat he’d not expected. he almost wishes it could have been prolonged. what would have changed had he been the one to get wet? would the detective have fussed over him, perhaps offered him that white jacket of his? maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad, to have been the one to suffer the fate of that splash, if it meant-
“earth to simon,” athena’s voice snaps the prosecutor out of his thoughts, his face turning red. “you in there?”
simon steels himself and forces the thoughts away, tearing his gaze from bobby fulbright. “y-yes,” he musters, though he must reluctantly admit that he does not sound so. “what were we talking about again?”
athena stays silent for a few seconds. “is there something on your mind?” she asks.
“not at all,” simon stiffly replies, “i am not sure why you would think that.”
another bout of silence. athena says something unintelligible to someone else, holding the phone away from her mouth.
then, “does it maybe have to do with detective fulbright?”
simon nearly drops his phone. of course athena would be perceptive. perhaps she knows simon a little too well. “again, i am not sure why you would think that.”
“so it is him, then.” it’s not a question. the attorney knows she’s right, and she also knows simon doesn’t have it in him to lie to her.
he sighs and shoots another glance toward the detective. he’s still busy, though he’d moved on to speak with one of the forensics men. “it is possible,” simon mutters, frowning when athena giggles. “still, it is none of your concern, cykes-dono.”
he’d hope throwing in the honorific again would distract her. it doesn’t. “que pasó? is it something big? did you finally confess to him?”
“hardly!” simon exclaims, perhaps louder than he’d meant. he tries to take a deep breath as athena falls victim to a fit of giggles. “my feelings are not like that, athena.”
“are you sure about that?” a smug smile is evident in her voice. “i don’t know, it’s kinda cute how in denial you are.”
“i am not-” he cuts himself off, realizing only too late that he has continued to play into her hand. “that is to say, there is nothing to be in denial about. there is no point to this discussion.”
“whateeever you say, mr. prosecutor blackquill, sir,” athena drawls. he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “you know, i don’t think i know anyone as stubborn as you. i mean, anybody else in your position would have acted by now.”
simon straightens, mouth forming a flat line. “what do you mean?”
“you know.” he can picture her, waving a hand dismissively at him as if she shouldn’t have to spell it out for him. “like, for example, when two people like each other, usually one of them confesses and they start dating, that sort of thing.”
the prosecutor raises a brow. “i am not sure i follow.”
“simoooon,” she sighs. “it’s so simple. you should just tell detective fulbright you’re in love with him so the two of you can be boyfriends.”
“b-bofrien-” simon’s eyes pop out and he actually does drop his phone now, though he manages to catch it before it falls to the floor. he notes one of the officers giving him an odd look. he clears his throat before going on, “balderdash! me, love that foolish simpleton-?” his voice becomes strangled when he meets fulbright’s gaze from across the room and the detective waves eagerly at him, smiling. his heart does an odd little flip-flopping, and he’s left with no choice but to concede total, utter defeat. “alright, fine. you may be onto something.”
“bien sûr!” athena sounds positively giddy now. “something happened this morning, you can’t hide it from me!”
simon squirms. “it is not something i wish to talk about, athena.”
“so? i already got a confession out of you and i’m not stopping until i have the whole story.” simon remains quiet. “aw, come on! look, i’ll even distract myself with paperwork right now so you won’t have my full attention! just explain what happened.”
the prosecutor shifts on his feet, looking around to make sure no one is close enough to eavesdrop. resigning himself to his fate, he reluctantly recalls the events from the morning.
“so he picked you up from your apartment? with an umbrella because he knows you don’t like rain? and he got you hot cocoa? aaand he saved you from getting soaked?” athena recaps, excitement clear in her tone. “si romantique! what a perfect gentleman!”
“i thought you said you wouldn’t be paying full attention,” simon mutters, blush tinging his cheeks.
she doesn’t humor him. “so what’s the problem? he’s clearly being nice to you!”
“that’s…” simon’s shoulders sag. he’s not quite sure how to explain it. “that is the problem, i suppose...?”
athena waits, assumedly for him to explain. when he doesn’t she prompts, “him being nice to you is the problem…?”
“well, perhaps it is not a problem,” simon hastily amends, biting his lip. he realizes now that he had left the feather he usually carries with him at home, another blunder to add to his growing list. “rather, i… he is always doing little things like that when i do not expect it. i’m… not sure what to think. part of me does not feel that i am worthy of such displays of kindness. however, i cannot deny…” he hesitates, chewing at his bottom lip. “that it does feel… very pleasant.”
“pleasant how?” rather than complacent, the younger girl sounds purely curious now.
simon can be eloquent when he desires. he is good with words, a trait which he has tirelessly perfected in order to become a skillful prosecutor. however, speaking about his emotions is something that, to this day, continues to prove difficult for him.
“it is hard to say,” he mutters, suddenly very aware that he is in public and speaking about such a private matter. to athena cykes, no less. self-consciousness is unbefitting for him, but it strikes him all the same.
“so, you like that he does nice things for you?” she urges.
“well, yes,” he purses his lips. “i suppose it’s because i… am not used to being treated in such a way. he makes me feel… that i deserve it.”
an inhuman sort of squeal comes from athena that makes simon groan and hold the phone away from his ear. “that is so precious! i can’t believe how completely infatuated you both are!”
“b-both?” simon repeats, baffled. “what on earth do you mean?!”
“isn’t it obvious?” from the sound of it, athena is grinning from ear to ear. if she knows something that simon doesn’t know, she doesn’t sound keen on clueing him in. “you mean you still haven’t figured it out?”
simon makes a dismayed noise. “have i missed something? is that what this is all about?”
“i wouldn’t say you missed it, nicht wirklich,” the younger girl giggles. “more like, maybe you should start paying a little more attention from now on.”
“attention to what, may i ask?” the prosecutor is beginning to feel frustrated. “if you are attempting to imply that fool bright feels anything other than platonically about me, then i should hope you have evidence to back up such an outrageous claim.”
“ooh, getting all court-procedure on me, huh?” another giggle. “i’m telling you, the evidence is all there already, you just haven’t bothered to look at any of it. you’re a lot more dense than i thought, simon.”
“me? dense?” he’s definitely frustrated now. “absurd! there is absolutely no way that such a kind, hardworking, honest-”
“who are you talking about?” fulbright asks.
simon makes a series of incomprehensible noises and drops his phone a second time, this time the device clattering to the floor by his feet. his cheeks are bright red as he turns to face the detective, who could quite possibly have been standing there for as long as simon had been talking to athena -- however the look on his face shows that he is utterly clueless.
simon is not sure whether to be relieved or horrified by the detective’s arrival. it doesn’t help that when he picks his phone back up, he can hear athena’s failed attempts to stifle another giggling fit.
“n-no one,” he replies, trying to compose himself. “i wasn’t… i was simply chatting with cykes-dono about someone we both know.”
“ah, miss cykes!” fulbright’s face lights up.
“we’re not done yet,” athena says into simon’s ear, “so don’t even think about hanging up.” he can feel his face still burning.
clearing his throat, he holds the device away from his ear. “what is it, fool bright? do you have anything to report?”
“yes, sir!” fulbright salutes. “according to the officers i spoke with, there is some, er. decisive evidence.”
“decisive evidence?” simon blinks at him. “of the defendant’s guilt?”
fulbright lowers his hand, scratching the back of his neck. “actually, the, uh, opposite.”
“the defendant’s innocence, then?” the prosecutor’s eyes widen in surprise.
“it appears that way, sir,” fulbright nods. “you can come take a look at the evidence yourself, if you’d like.”
“yes, i should,” simon sighs. “if this turns out to be credible, we may have a very solid case from the defense to worry about.”
“hola, i’m still listening, you know,” athena comments offhandedly. “you better not try to keep that decisive evidence from us, simon.”
“i would not dream of it,” the prosecutor tells her dryly. “once i have documented it, i will make sure an officer will be there to show it to you upon your arrival.”
the attorney laughs. “ooh, so i’m getting special treatment now, huh?”
“shall we head over there, prosecutor blackquill?” fulbright asks, tilting his head to one side.
“um…” simon bites his lip. the detective looks so cute that for a second, he almost gives in to the temptation of reaching out to pat his head. this is bad. “p-proceed without me. i will meet you there once i have finished my phone call.”
the detective salutes once more, looking pleased. “of course, sir!” with that, he leaves simon alone again.
“how’s it feel, living life on the edge?” the smug hint is back in athena’s voice. “just imagine if he had shown up just a few seconds earlier-”
“silence!” simon wonders if the color on his face will become permanent after this. “i beg of you, drop this subject immediately.”
athena falls silent, the quiet making the prosecutor’s ears ring. it’s more welcome than the teasing, though, and he is grateful that when she speaks once more, her tone is more serious. “you should do something about it, simon.”
“do something about what?”
“you know.” she sighs. “if he’s always being nice to you, don’t you think you should show him your appreciation?” simon’s appreciation? had he not already made it obvious that he appreciated what fulbright did for him? “or better yet, you could let him know how you feel. a little kiss on the cheek can go a long way-”
“that,” simon interrupts tersely, “is out of the question.”
“and why is that?”
“w-why-?” the question seems outrageous to him. “what do you mean why? have i not already made it quite clear that there is no way he feels the same way as i-?”
“and i thought i already made it clear that you’re not paying enough attention to what’s right in front of you.” rather than annoyed, athena sounds amused. “i’m telling you, simon, it’s right there. all you need to do is think about it.”
the prosecutor lets her words sink in. could she be right? could there really be an ulterior motive to the detective’s actions toward simon?
“... fine. i will do my best,” he mutters in resignation. there is no point in arguing with athena. if anything, she has always been the better of the two of them at understanding people and their emotions. he cannot think of a reason for her to lie about this.
“that’s my boy,” she says, obviously delighted. “i look forward to the developments~!”
“i do not recall saying i would inform you if there were any,” simon sniffs.
the younger girl makes a noise of protest. “aww, come on! i’m basically playing matchmaker here, i deserve to know!”
“we shall see about that. now, if you will excuse me, i have some evidence to examine.” simon feels gratified in ending the call in the middle of athena’s objection.
he will worry about this later. for now, there is an investigation to be had, and it’s unprofessional to let his emotions come before his job.
locating the detective inside the building stairwell, fulbright beckons him over to where a few forensics investigators are testing what appears to be a small, solid metal picture frame. “this is the decisive evidence?” the prosecutor’s brow furrows.
“yes, sir,” fulbright nods. “it appears that this is the murder weapon.”
“that little frame?” simon gives him a disconcerted look.
“it’s actually quite heavy, sir,” one of the forensics investigators informs him. “there’s blood on one corner, which we confirmed belongs to the victim. it also matches the shape of the wound. if swung with enough force, even a picture frame can be deadly.”
“so exactly how does this let the defendant off the hook?” simon questions quizzically.
“the defendant is a petite man with a weak physique who, according to his coworkers, had trouble carrying even stacks of paper to the boss’s office,” fulbright admits, letting out a sheepish laugh. “it’d be a stretch to say he’d be able to put enough power into a swing to deal a deadly blow.”
“you underestimate a cornered man,” simon quips, ruffled that they would say such unreliable evidence is decisive. “if he felt threatened or feared for his life, he could have-”
“aha!” simon exhales irritably and shoots a glare at the forensic investigator who’d cut him off. “s-sorry, sir! it’s just, detective fulbright suggested we check for fingerprints before you arrived, and i just found a set!”
“fingerprints?” simon blinks at her, then turns to fulbright, who looks even more sheepish. the prosecutor purses his lips. “... that was a good call. good work, fool bright.”
the detective’s eyes light up and a smile plasters itself on his face. “thanks, sir!”
they wait in silence as the forensics team compares the fingerprints to the defendant’s. simon shoots another look at fulbright, who still looks very pleased with himself and has taken up humming quietly.
“what are you smiling about, prosecutor?” one of the investigators asks curiously.
simon startles; he hadn’t even noticed that a soft smile had found its way onto his lips. odd, how simply gazing at fulbright for a few moments had reduced him to this. “n-nothing,” he replies, hardening his expression and ignoring the fascinated look fulbright gives him. “have you gotten the results yet?”
“yep,” the investigator from before tells him, perplexity evident on her features. “they’re not his. in fact, they don’t match any of the fingerprint data we currently have. all i can tell you is that their position on the frame indicates that a swing was initiated with the right hand.”
“our defendant was left-handed,” simon sighs. damn it. set up to lose the trial before it had even begun. “thank you for your hard work. may i ask you to hold onto this evidence for now? i have reason to believe two defense attorneys will be arriving shortly, and it will behoove them to learn of the existence of this murder weapon.”
“no problem, prosecutor blackquill,” she salutes, giving him a smile. “i’ll make sure they get it.”
“you have my gratitude,” he smiles wryly in return. “come, fool bright. we still have work to do.”
“yes, sir!” now it’s fulbright’s turn to salute, and he follows obediently behind simon, who leads the way out of the stairwell.
as it turns out, there is actually very little work remaining. the rest of the building had already been thoroughly examined, and one brief look for themselves is enough to determine that further investigation will not be needed. fulbright earlier words have seem to ring true; it really was a quick investigation. with not much else to do, simon relays athena’s impending visit to the officers on the scene.
he’s almost disappointed as they leave the building, but it’s quickly replaced with an entirely different feeling when fulbright opens his umbrella and gestures for simon to come closer so that they may return to his car. “i suppose it’ll be a short trial tomorrow, huh, prosecutor blackquill?” he says, grinning sympathetically when simon sighs. honestly, though, it is purely for show; he couldn’t care less about the trial right now, not when he has an excuse to walk so closely to fulbright.
“the shorter the better,” he mutters. “i abhor losing. it is of some consolation, though, that we are not putting an innocent man behind bars.”
“of course!” the detective pumps a fist using his free hand. “there would be no greater injustice! the real culprit will be revealed tomorrow, i’m sure!”
simon attempts to hide his amusement with a stiff nod. “no doubt those defense attorneys will pull their usual tricks and uncover our murderer. although it is dishonorable to shirk my work, i would much prefer to return home than spend more time out in this rain without more of a lead on this case.”
“oh.” at that, fulbright stops, nearly causing simon to walk out from under the umbrella. the prosecutor glares at him indignantly. “s-sorry!” he picks up the pace, and they presently reach his car. “so you’d like me to drive you home now, then?”
“yes,” simon frowns. he reaches for the door handle, only to have fulbright beat him to it and open the passenger door for him. he frowns exaggeratedly. “and you should go home, as well. a change of clothes would unquestionably benefit you.”
the detective closes the door as simon settles into the seat, then goes around to the driver side and gets in, himself. he’s quiet for a moment, and simon almost worries, though he’s not sure why -- that is, until fubright blurts, “do i really have to take you home already?”
unable to stop himself, simon gapes at fulbright, brain short circuiting. “fool bright, what-?”
“it’s just,” the detective goes on, looking a mix between regretful and earnest, “it’s been a while since we finished an investigation that fast! and, well, we don’t usually have any time to ourselves, so i thought… that is, you still haven’t had anything to eat yet, so maybe we could... go get some food?”
simon continues to stare at the detective, his mind reeling as he tries to process fulbright’s words. fulbright watches him, pouting slightly, twiddling his pointer fingers, and it’s all simon can do but utter, “f-food?”
if he doesn’t know any better, this sounds dangerously like being asked on a date. except he’s not sure if that’s because fulbright really is asking, or if simon has simply gotten ahead of himself.
“i know of a place nearby that does great breakfast and lunch! i went there with dick and miss ema a few weeks ago! it’s only a short drive there, if you don’t mind-”
the prosecutor’s thoughts finally catch up with him, his face burning as he quickly cuts in, “don’t be ridiculous! you’re still wet! there’s no reason to-”
fulbright interrupts. “i already told you, prosecutor blackquill, a little water doesn’t bother me!” he flashes a smile that makes simon’s heart throb painfully. “and besides, that’s nothing if it means i can spend more time with you...!”
color spreads all the way to the tips of simon’s ears before he can think to try to calm himself. “l-listen to yourself!” he grumbles, sinking further into his seat and averting his gaze to his lap. “how can you possibly say something so foolish and not feel embarrassed?”
“anything for you, prosecutor blackquill,” fulbright is still smiling when simon looks up again. “so what do you say? can i treat you to an early lunch?”
simon recalls athena’s words from their call earlier. that he simply had not been paying enough attention. that the evidence was there, he’d just neglected to notice. he wonders if this is what she’d meant.
certainly, fulbright is kindhearted by nature. he is generous, almost to a fault, and eager to help anyone he can. if it were anyone else in simon’s place, he has no trouble imagining that the detective would have still made the offer.
however, he has to wonder if it would be for the same reasons.
he also wonders just how many other people have been told, “anything for you,” by fulbright.
with any luck, simon will be the only one.
“... you wish to take me, and i have no objection to going,” he finally mumbles, biting his lip as delight brightens the detective’s face. just what is he getting himself into…?
“wonderful! you’ll love the food there, trust me!” fulbright starts the car now, looking beyond pleased. “i’ll make sure you get a proper meal!”
another jab in simon’s chest. is that also part of it, that he knows simon has somewhat of an unhealthy eating schedule? is he worried about simon?
so which is it, then? concern as the prosecutor’s colleague? or something more?
the more simon thinks about it, the more confused he feels.
sighing, he lets his head fall back to gently hit the headrest of his seat. “thank you, fool bright.”
“like i said,” the detective beams, “anything for you, prosecutor blackquill!”
simon wonders if it’s okay to hope.
message sent
simon blackquill
he is treating me to lunch.
message received
athena cykes
c'est merveilleux! you sure move fast, huh~?
it’s a little past 6:00 when fulbright finally drops simon off back at his apartment, bags of carryout food draped over one arm. the detective had insisted on treating simon not only to lunch, but dinner as well, after their… date, simon reluctantly admits, had extended.
lunch had gone well, actually. they’d chatted comfortably about old samurai films, a few of which were simon’s favorites. aparently the detective had binge-watched a bunch of vintage japanese movies, sticking to a samurai theme after a particularly good one caught his eye.
after lunch, fulbright had somehow managed to convince him, despite his better judgment, to go to shipshape aquarium -- “they’re having a new show, both the orcas will be in it, and this one’s special because rifle will be starring! that’s the penguin you like, isn’t it? you’ll come with me, won’t you?” -- and simon has never, on any occasion, come close to having the willpower to refuse the detective. it doesn’t help that he’s doing that again, that thing where he remembers the little details about simon’s interests.
unfortunately, the rain had stopped by the time they left the restaurant (unfortunately! like somehow having an excuse to walk side by side with fulbright is more important than being exposed to excessive humidity... which, it is, now that simon thinks about it), and the umbrella had been put away in the back seat of fulbright’s car. the bright side, if simon can call it that, is that fulbright had still acted as something of a chauffeur, opening the door for the prosecutor like before. he’d even jokingly offered his arm out for simon to hold as they approached the aquarium, saying that couples -- couples?! -- always walked arm in arm while out in public in the victorian era. simon’s only response to this was to hit the detective on said arm, fervently denying that any color had brightened his face when fulbright pointed it out.
athena would have gloated at the display.
and really, the show had been a good idea. simon had been grateful to see rifle, noticing straight away that the bird was enjoying herself. what’s more, he’d gotten to see the penguin up close when fulbright had stopped sasha buckler for a brief conversation.
however, as strange as it is, none of this had been the highlight of the trip to the aquarium.
no, pathetic as it would no doubt sound, simon is baffled to find that he’d been more pleased with his position during the show than any other feature of the alleged date.
they’d taken seats somewhat close to the stage, except it didn’t really matter where they sat because the seats around them filled up quickly and simon had been left with little choice but to scoot closer to fulbright until he could practically lean against him. and that’s actually exactly what he’d done; he maintains that he’d had no choice, but, honestly, the notion had been far too tempting, and for the entirety of the show, he’d nearly sat in the detective’s lap, enveloped by the warmth of fulbright’s arms around his waist.
perhaps it had been a little too distracting. the fact that he could have simply tilted his head and had perfect access to the detective’s cheek. a little further, and his lips would have been feasible. a slight shift, and he could have turned his position around, hooking his legs around the detective and-
“are you feeling alright, prosecutor blackquill?” fulbright’s worried voice catches simon by surprise. “your face is bright red, sir!”
“f-fine!” simon chokes out, inwardly cursing himself for letting his thoughts wander unchecked. he’d done more than enough of that today, that much is certain. “i’m fine.”
“are you sure?” fulbright doesn’t look satisfied, and starts to step forward, reaching an arm out as if to press his hand to simon’s forehead.
an image pops into simon’s mind of the detective using that hand to move the fringe out of simon’s eyes, away from his face, and then press gentle lips to his forehead -- it’s all he can do but take a jerky step backward, unsettling the bags on his arm.
instant regret floods him when a look of dejection flashes across fulbright’s face. “th-thank you for today,” simon blurts out, biting his lip. it’s a little painful, and he’s reminded again of the feather he’d left inside, which would have taken the brunt of the bite for his poor bottom lip. “for the food, and for the, uh.” odd. words seem to be dancing out of reach on his tongue, tumbling out of his mouth ungracefully. oh, how the mighty have fallen. if it were anyone else, simon is positive he’d be teased mercilessly for his inability to articulate with eloquence in this moment.
date. would it be alright to call it that aloud?
“anything for you, prosecutor blackquill,” fulbright says once again, familiar smile returning to his face.
the words seem to ring in simon’s ears. how many times had that phrase come out of his mouth in just one day? two times in the morning, and if the prosecutor isn’t mistaken, it had definitely been spoken at some point at the aquarium as well. and again, just now.
anything for simon, huh? if he adds this to all of the other things the detective had done, picking him up in the morning, protecting him from the rain, desiring to spend more time with him, and insisting on treating him…
his word choice is also of interest. always expressing concern for simon. noting simon’s interests and making attempts to engage him. the ever considerate fool of a detective has certainly taken no pains to hide his soft spot for simon.
but that isn’t all it is, is it?
athena told him to be more perceptive. to look at the evidence that is already in front of him. that he’d been too dense to notice.
and now that pieces are beginning to fit together, the full picture coming into view, he’s beginning to think that she had been right all along. there’s no other logical explanation, no other way to make sense of all the evidence without being forced to discount one piece or another.
the reason fulbright had always been so keen to show favoritism toward simon; the reason he seems to perk up whenever simon compliments him; the reason he would allow simon to badger him, and never seemed to mind the prosecutor’s ill moods or reprimanding remarks.
there can only be one explanation, if simon’s deductions are correct. and he would very much hope that they are, considering that he’d been given pointers by athena cykes, of all people.
bobby fulbright feels something more than simple platonic regard for simon blackquill. that is all there is to it.
suddenly, simon feels silly for attempting to deny it this whole time.
he can hardly be blamed, though. when it comes to how others see him, he’d been somewhat closed off on account of the reputation he’d garnered as a convict. this was, of course, before he’d been acquitted. people usually refused to get to know him, refused to understand him, therefore he’d practically given up on the idea that anyone would ever come to see him in a desirable light, let alone as a human being like the rest of the world’s population.
fulbright, however, had never once given up on him. true to his word, down to the very last letter. the proof holds up, a testimony that even simon is unable to find fault in.
and that’s just it, isn’t it? that’s the truth behind that stupid, wonderful phrase of his.
anything for you, prosecutor blackquill!
how had simon managed to get so lucky?
“i guess i should get going,” fulbright’s voice draws him out of his thoughts again. there’s a hint of something -- reluctance? -- in his eyes, and simon knows he has to act quickly or risk losing the chance.
what was it athena had said before? a little kiss on the cheek can go a long way…?
and so simon does it. without thinking, he drops the bags of carryout, closes what short distance is between himself and the detective, and plants the briefest of pecks on fulbright’s cheek, pulling back before the detective even has time to move. “thank you for today,” he repeats a bit quietly, sure his face has reddened once again.
fulbright blinks at him, mouth opening and closing a few times. he looks so surprised that for a moment, simon worries he’d been mistaken, that his mind had gotten ahead of him and pulled evidence out where it hadn’t existed.
but then fulbright is beaming at him, exuberant and delighted, and simon hardly has a chance to breathe before the detective’s arms are around him and warm lips are pressed against his.
oh. oh. if that isn’t confirmation, than simon doesn’t think anything else ever could be.
kissing fulbright is exactly how simon would have imagined it: eager and a little messy, but undoubtedly a pleasant experience. it’s so very like him that simon can’t help but chuckle, bringing his own arms up to find hold in the fabric of fulbright’s jacket, hands at his shoulder blades.
they pull apart after a while, slightly breathless, and simon rests his forehead against fulbright’s, content to simply remain in their current position. the detective seems just as satisfied, humming quietly to himself (and perhaps even tugging simon a little closer).
once more, simon finds himself wondering how he managed to get this lucky.
that is, until fulbright’s hands begin to wander, and he’s forced to break away, cheeks burning as he blurts, “just where are you touching?!”
the detective throws up his hands, feigning shock. “it was in the name of justice, i assure you!” simon rolls his eyes, but the color on his face refuses to dissolve.
“tomfoolery,” the prosecutor mumbles, arms folding across his chest. fulbright just grins at him.
they exchange another quick kiss, simon pulling the detective forward by the lapels of his jacket before releasing him, and then fulbright is cheerfully heading for his car. a light drizzle has started, but simon doesn’t even notice.
“fool bright,” he says, stopping the detective in his tracks. “perhaps… you could pick me up again. tomorrow morning before the trial.”
the smile the prosecutor has grown quite fond of instantly spreads across fulbright’s face.
“anything for you, prosecutor blackquill!”
message sent
simon blackquill
it appears you were correct, after all.
message received
athena cykes
told~ you~ so~~~
message received
athena cykes
so… boyfriends???
simon sighs. he would have been nervous answering this message earlier, had he not already gotten clarification from fulbright. the detective had been more than enthusiastic about the title.
message sent
simon blackquill
yes.