Chapter Text
Well, here he was.
Apollo was standing in his room wondering what the best outfit would be for his outing with Klavier Gavin, his courtroom rival, at a local café. Was one of these shirts even his, or was it one Trucy left while having a sleepover?
He was frantic choosing an outfit, thinking he had to dress not too casually but not too fancy. It wasn't like it was a date or anything; why was he so worried about this in the first place?
"All we're doing is talking about cases and our lives. I'm fine, I'm not worried about this at all," he said to himself while looking into the mirror.
Mikeko gave him an unimpressed look (or was he imagining it?) that made it seem like he understood what Apollo was saying, then walked over to the bag of cat food and started scratching at it.
"Stop looking at me like that. I'll feed you in a second."
Apollo chose the dark rose sweater as opposed to the red shirt he usually wears for casual occasions. He changed out of his pajamas, slipped on his binder, then threw on a dress shirt, the rose sweater, and a pair of brown pants. He checked how he looked in the mirror, realizing he still needed to style his hair. Apollo sighed, reaching out to his hair gel to grab it, but not before Mikeko meowed again to remind Apollo that he still hasn't fed him.
He picked up the cup he left sitting next to the cat food bag, scooping up a portion of the food into it. He poured the kibble into Mikeko's food bowl, opting to refill his water as well. Walking out of the room, he dumped the dirty water into the semi-full sink and refilled it. While walking back, he checked the time on his watch parallel to his bracelet.
...25 minutes?!
He quickly placed the water bowl back into place, then decided to try and do his signature hair-horns as quick as possible. The rest of his hair was fine— it could stay a bit messy, right? He got his hair horns in place and the rest brushed down, grabbing his things and bidding a quick goodbye to Mikeko, who was too distracted playing with one of Apollo's socks to notice.
18 minutes.
That was enough time to grab his bicycle and quickly bike down to the café, wasn't it? He swiftly picked up his bike from his apartment's bicycle rack and started pedaling down to the café. There must've been a nail or something in the bike lane, though, because right before he got to the café with 7 minutes to spare, the front tire popped. He planted his feet down quickly to stop the momentum so he wouldn't fall over into the road.
Shit.
He picked up his bike and dashed to the café as fast as he could; it was a good thing he didn't gel the rest of his hair, because he was already a mess. He threw his bicycle on the rack and checked the time;
3 minutes.
He ran into the café and looked around for a moment.
The café was cozy, warm, and welcoming, something he didn't see much in LA, but he doesn't really go many places other than crime scenes and places Trucy drags him along to. The barista was sorting cups behind the counter, giving Apollo a small wave when she noticed him. Apollo looked over to his right and almost immediately spotted Klavier.
Klavier went for a different outfit today. He wore a black shirt with some band on it with ripped jeans which seemingly had fishnets under them and platform boots. His hair was put up in a messy bun and he had eyeliner and eyeshadow... and Apollo thought he was gorgeous. But that's neither here nor there.
He finally spotted Apollo and waved, snapping him out of his trance. Apollo walked towards where Klavier was sitting at a table for two, sliding the chair across from him out and sitting down. He slung his bag over the chair's back and picked up his documents out of it, then turned back around to face Klavier.
"Guten Tag, Herr Forehead. Wie geht's?"
Apollo looked at Klavier confusedly. Why does he always put German in his sentences?
"Ach, let me— Good afternoon, Herr Forehead. How are you?" he tried again.
"Oh!" Apollo started, "Good, good. How are you?"
"Great, of course, now that you're here. Now-" While saying this, almost on cue, Klavier took a glance outside the window, seeing the sad bicycle outside haphazardly thrown onto the rack, tire popped." Is- Is that your bike, Herr Forehead? What happened?"
Apollo glanced over at the bike himself with a discontent look in his eyes
"Some asshole must've left a nail in the road or something, because my tire popped right before I got here. I had to rush to get here to meet you on time so I threw it onto the rack and ran inside." Apollo sighed. "God, that'll be a hassle to fix."
Klavier looked at Apollo sympathetically. "I can pay for you to get it fixed."
Apollo looked at him, taken aback. "You-you'd seriously do that?" He regained his composure. "W-well, you don't have to. I can get it fixed myself, it's fine."
"Really, it's kein Problem. Of course I'd help you. We've been through a lot together, ja?"
"O-oh. Well... thank you, Prosecutor Gavin."
Klavier looked at Apollo, in an annoyed yet amused manner. "How many times must I tell you to stop calling me that? Just call me Klavier, Herr Forehead."
"Only if you call me Apollo instead of 'Herr Forehead'."
"Alright, Apollo. Now, where were w-"
The barista walked up to them, giving them a small wave. Apollo looked down at her name tag, which read Viola. The name sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.
"Hello. Have you two figured out what you'd like to order?"
"Oh, not yet. What about you, Klavier?"
Klavier immediately recited his specific coffee order off the top of his head. Apollo looked on in disbelief. The barista, Viola, giggled quietly.
"I-I'll just have a black coffee, thank you."
"Alright. I'll have it for you two soon." She glanced out the window, soon spotting the busted up bicycle. She frowned. "...That bicycle reminds me..." she spoke quietly, but Apollo heard.
As she walked away from the two men, he finally pieced it together of where he recognized her from, or rather what.
"Oh! That's someone from one of Mr. Wright's old cases!"
Klavier looked surprised. "The one where Ms. Byrde— sorry, Mrs. Gumshoe— was the client?"
"One of them, yes."
Apollo kept on with the conversation, explaining the details of the case that he remembered until Viola returned with their drinks.
As she walked away, Apollo called her name. She turned around.
"Yes?"
"You know Phoenix Wright, right?" He mentally cursed himself for saying that last part
She looked surprised for a second, then giggled with a small smile on her face. "Yes, I remember him. He seemed like he'd gone through something like me, too... Sad what happened to him." She frowned again.
She walked away, leaving Apollo and Klavier's very different orders there. Apollo picked up his plain coffee while Klavier sipped his probably 12-step frappuccino. They discussed about their current cases and just about life in general.
Apollo started getting restless when they ran out of things to talk about, and Klavier probably noticed, because he suggested they go on a walk. Apollo agreed and they walked to the register together, Apollo paying for both out of courtesy for Klavier paying to fix his bike.
When they left the café, they started walking in the direction of a certain park...