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The silence in the air is stifling.
Sitting in this cafe as they are, one would think there’d be more dialogue between them. But as they wait for their orders to arrive, any sort of conversation that could have filled the air had already died on their tongues.
It’s hard to look at Nahyuta. The most Apollo can do is shoot him uncertain, fleeting glances every few minutes. There’s a lot he could say to his brother, but he’ll keep his mouth sealed shut. There’s a lot his brother could say to him in response, but it seems he’s just as enthusiastic about keeping this oppressive, uncomfortable silence as it lingers in the air.
It’s easier to pay attention to the idle chatter around them. The scattered nature of the words gives his brain something to latch onto when his fear overtakes him. With his sharp vision and distracted air, it isn’t difficult to notice the stares of other customers, as much of a fact of life as the clinking of cups and the whirling of machines.
Apollo is no stranger to glances thrown his way. He’s always stuck out like a sore thumb, and rather than feeling oppressed by it, he’s forced himself to embrace it. Better that than being miserable. But he can tell Nahyuta is daunted by it, shifting in place as he continues to fidget anxiously with the paper napkin in front of him.
He’s the one who belongs here in Khura’in. It will always be his home, no matter how much he tries to turn his back on it. Apollo gets no such leniency, though. He’ll be an outsider no matter how long he spends here.
The son of a terrorist, and the dog of a regime that has since been overthrown. What a miserable pair he and Nahyuta make.
He can resent this as much as he wants, but it won’t change a thing. Either way, his life will always be a desperate chase to fit in somewhere. Khura’in is all he knows, but he’s still treated as an outsider regardless. Maybe all of the people he’s condemned have something to do with that?
Struck out of his reverie by the sound of a waiter reaching their table and setting down their drinks, he’s quick to offer the waiter a wide smile. The expression fixes itself onto his face with ease, as painful as it feels. He’s always tried to smile in the same way Dhurke always had. But now all he’s doing is emulating a dead man.
“Thanks,” he says brightly, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic mug of chai. He likes the feeling of his hands being warmed, even if it’s not enough to thaw out the hollow feeling that has built up in his chest. “Oh, Yuta, what’d you get?”
“Hm?” His brother glances up, eyes half lidded, and he blinks a few times before answering. “Ah. Coffee.”
“Seriously?” Apollo can’t help but say, the sound coming out of his throat alongside the word somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Didn’t take you for a hardcore coffee drinker. Guess that time in America did more than just help you learn English.”
“Coffee isn’t solely an American drink, you know,” he airily points out in response, hands serenely clasped in front of him. “It wouldn’t have been on the menu otherwise.”
“Learn how to take a joke, will you?” he groans, rolling his eyes. He reaches for the tea in front of him instinctively, taking a sip only to recoil. Holy Mother, it’s hot. Obviously. He just barely manages to swallow the small amount of liquid that he had let into his mouth, burning the back of his throat as it goes down. “S-So, when’d you start drinking coffee, anyway? I’ve had it a few times, but it’s sorta an acquired taste.”
Nahyuta shrugs. His expression is perfectly placid and unreadable, and Apollo has to bite back the urge to grit his teeth in response. He may be known as the “see-all prosecutor”, but it’s impossible to tell what his brother is thinking when he puts on that mask of his.
Maybe he’s a hypocrite. Apollo’s smile is just as much of a mask as Nahyuta’s blank, unflappable expression is. But it’s his job to see through the lies of others. All Nahyuta has to do is bring justice to those without anyone in their corner. Easy enough. Really, out of the two of them Apollo has gotten the worse hand, because he’s failing at his only purpose.
“I drank some during school, of course,” he begins, running his hand over the rim of his cup. Steam billows up from the pure black coffee inside. “Helped me get through finals and midterms, and given that the campus had an on-site cafe, it was convenient.”
Of course, he says, as if it’s some sort of universal experience everyone can relate to. And maybe that’s the case for those who have had normal lives, who didn’t spend the past ten years as a pawn underneath the thumb of a tyrant. But all Nahyuta’s calm words serve to do is to wound him, as if each syllable had been sharpened into a blade, reminding him of what he could have had.
He doesn’t regret his choices. How could he? Sure, he had sacrificed parts of himself to the point where he hardly even recognizes his reflection, warped in the mocha liquid. But discarding his identity and swallowing his pride had been for Rayfa’s sake, so he refused to complain.
Breathing shakily, he lowers his finger to pierce his drink’s surface, feeling an odd thrill of satisfaction as his reflection disappears in the ensuing ripples. At least this way, he doesn’t have to see his own accusing glare mirrored back at him. It’s an expression he sees often enough on the faces of the families of those he’s condemned.
“Cafe, huh?” he prompts. He feels strange whenever Nahyuta talks about his life in America. The feeling that settles in his gut isn’t longing, exactly. He wouldn’t trade this life of his for anything, no matter how hellish it’s been. Maybe the feeling is a sort of morbid curiosity. “Anything like this one?”
“Ah, not particularly,” Nahyuta disagrees, shaking his head. “For one thing, it was a lot more commercialized. For another…” He reaches for his coffee and takes a sip, setting his mug back down after a moment. “The coffee here is far superior.”
It’s satisfying, hearing Nahyuta compliment something in Khura’in. He’s been here for just over three months, working to reform the country’s legal system alongside Apollo, and he’s seemed unhappy the entire time. It’s hard to tell through that tightly held mask of his, but he talks about his life in America with such longing that Apollo can’t help but feel irrationally jealous.
“So, you take your coffee black, huh?” he asks, getting a glance of the liquid housed in the mug as Nahyuta lowers it. It’s an endless void, with such a magnetic pull to it that he can’t help but grip the edge of his seat so he’ll stay rooted in place.
Nahyuta shrugs airily. “I don’t have much of a preference,” he replies. “But Mr. Wright would always bring me and Athena coffee. Athena would always have to add sugar and milk into it herself, because Mr. Wright always said that coffee was supposed to be darker than a moonless night. Hotter and more bitter than hell itself. I suppose he must have been quoting someone. Either way, it stuck with me, so black my coffee stays.”
The other man talks about his life back in America with such fondness. The cold, distant look in his eyes thaws as a smile plays at his lips, and he takes another sip of his coffee. Suddenly, he’s exuding warmth in a way he never had with Apollo or even Rayfa. It makes him feel like he isn’t good enough.
He knows better than to think he’ll have his brother at his side forever. The moment Khura’in is stable enough, Nahyuta will just return back to his real home. And Apollo will be left trying to pick up the few pieces he’ll have left, feeling more and more helpless as they continue to spill from his hands.
But Nahyuta was born in Khura’in. His father had fought and died in Khura’in. The few pieces of his family left are in Khura’in. What could make him so driven to leave? It isn’t that awful, really, even if he’s just as much an outsider as Apollo himself is.
He’s seen the life Nahyuta built up in America for himself. He doesn’t long for it, exactly, but noting it makes him feel strange. Nahyuta’s always been better than him; it’s a fact he wouldn’t dream of protesting. To him, he’ll always view his older brother with the same starry-eyed fanaticism he carried when he was nine. Apollo could never have the same life he has. How could he ever try to compete with him? But he can’t help but note what Nahyuta has, wondering if it could have ever been his.
That girl, Trucy Wright, who hugs him and drags him into volunteering for her magic tricks. Who tackles the world with exuberant verve, offering everyone around her a wide smile as if she can give it away with such ease.
Who always stares at Apollo silently, her face grim as her cape falls over her shoulders. It’s as if she sees right through him. Is this how everyone on the witness stand felt as he pinpointed their nervous ticks with his intense glower?
No, it’s more than just seeing through him. Trucy looks at him as if he’s a ghost.
Athena Cykes, who he had faced off against just a week before he had known he had lost his father. She stared at him a lot during the trial, her eyes big and sad. She claimed to be able to hear the hearts of others. If she looked at him so mournfully, just what had she discerned from his voice?
She’s five years younger than him, but she’s so talented. So optimistic. So determined. She deserved to win that day in court. She embodied the ideals Dhurke fought for until his final breath. Apollo is just a rat, a puppet. It was no wonder Nahyuta spoke of her with such respect.
Phoenix Wright, the attorney who had been standing at Nahyuta’s side during the worst day of Apollo’s life. It says a lot about what he considers the worst, considering how shitty of a hand he’s been dealt. He’s always gotten the sense that Nahyuta doesn’t actually like the man that much, and any respect he offers to the man is begrudging.
To be honest, it’s kind of embarrassing, but during his studies overseas, Apollo had managed to get his hands on some of the man’s old case files. He was dazzled by what he read in them. A man who could always turn things around no matter the situation and reveal the truth. He had been like living proof that there was still justice in this world. Well, until he found out about his disbarment, anyway.
He was just like Dhurke.
Well, that wasn’t really fair. At least Phoenix loved his child. Dhurke was willing to send Nahyuta away just because he had asked, and sent Apollo into the den of wolves just because he had asked, and let Rayfa remain trapped under her so-called mother’s thumb only to have everything she knew yanked out from under her the moment she dared to step out of line.
Dhurke wasn’t a bad father. He had so obviously loved his children, always asking after Rayfa and warmly ruffling Apollo’s hair during the rare chances the two got to speak to one another. Sending Nahyuta away had saved him from the horrible, complicated web he had been born into. But Apollo wishes he had done more. Was that selfish?
Those were Nahyuta’s main associates: Trucy, Athena, and Phoenix. But there were others, too. Simon Blackquill, who viewed him with derision, calling him a prosecutor who couldn’t draw steel. Klavier Gavin, with his obviously fake German accent and annoying tendency for air guitar. Ema Skye, who he had trusted with the photo of his biological father. Without her, the truth would have been lost that day. He owes her more than can be put into words.
What a nice life Nahyuta had made for himself, with so many different people at his side. It was no surprise he wanted to go back to it. It was no surprise he wanted to leave Apollo behind, no longer needing him in his life anymore.
It could have been Apollo who went to America. It should have been Apollo who went to America. But Nahyuta had volunteered, a fire blazing in his eyes as he argued with Dhurke for hours on end. He refused to give up until he was sent away in Apollo’s place, with dizzying determination and conviction laden in his words.
Back then, Apollo had asked him why. Why had he been so desperate to leave his home? Nahyuta’s smile had come so easily it felt as if it had been forced, but forcing grins was Apollo’s job. The only option was that he had to have meant it. Was the idea of leaving Khura’in that appealing to him even then?
“It’s because… I want to protect you, Apollo.” Nahyuta had said firmly, his eyes glinting with passionate determination. “That’s what a good older brother is supposed to do, protect their little siblings.” And then he had reached forward to ruffle Apollo’s hair, and he had let out an irritated huff. But he couldn’t deny that he had felt warm regardless. He liked being included like that.
Now that he was thinking back on it, he realized that his response hadn’t been an answer at all. It had just been a deflection, his words smooth and sweet but completely lacking in substance. He had just told Apollo exactly what he had wanted to hear, because all he wanted was reinforcement that he was a part of their family.
Damn it. He really couldn’t stand how smart his brother was. His mind was sharp enough that it immediately latched onto the truth of the matter, and he’s sure that’s a talent that’s only been honed by his time as a defense attorney.
If Nahyuta’s answer had just been a deflection, a way to avoid the fact of the matter, then what had been his true motivation for leaving? Apollo glances down at his cup of tea, feeling faintly nauseous. His reflection isn’t nearly as blank as he needs it to be. The more exposed he allows himself to be, the easier Nahyuta can pounce on it, exposing truths he would much prefer to hide.
His hands curl around the warm mug as he brings it into the air, letting out a breath through his nose right before the sweet, creamy liquid fills his mouth. It’s still really hot, but only enough for his tongue to slightly sting as he swallows.
Apollo likes the taste of chai. It reminds him of home, in the same way seeing the snow capped peaks surrounding him at all times had. Warm, picturesque, and something he could savor forever, no matter how aware he is of the bitter aftertaste that comes with the idea of his so-called home.
Nahyuta had intervened before fate could run its course; said fate being Apollo, left behind without remorse. That was the fact of the matter. And now he finds himself wondering just why his brother had done so in the first place. It couldn’t have been for the sake of the protection he boasted about so earnestly. There had to have been more to it.
Is there anything else he can cast his focus onto? Anything else he can turn over in his mind, back and forth in a repetitive, mechanical motion, for the sake of grabbing onto Nahyuta’s true motivation and thrusting it into the light?
There was the day he left, practically glued to Datz’s side, smiling warmly at his uncle as the man joked and lightly elbowed him. Apollo had been sad, because he hadn’t seen the point in either of them having to leave at all. Even now, it’s something he still doesn’t understand.
“Why do you have to go, Yuta?” he had whined, voice weak and sniveling in a way that made him want to bare his teeth as he thought back on it. “Why can’t we both stay here? We belong here!”
Had Nahyuta tensed up upon hearing that word, “belong”? He has no way to know for sure. His memory is fuzzy, especially because of how little he’s reminisced on this over the years. Maybe he’s just tricking his mind into seeing what he wants. Maybe he’s trying to delude himself into thinking that Nahyuta’s departure from their home was something inevitable as opposed to him purposely intervening.
“Don’t cry, Apollo,” he had said, possessing poise and serenity no other ten-year-old could dream of. “I won’t be gone long. And I promise to look for your family when I’m away in America, alright?”
If only he had the courage to tell Nahyuta that he couldn’t care less for his biological family. If only he had managed to shove the lump in his throat aside and insist that all he could ever want was to have Dhurke and Nahyuta at his side forever, because they were the only family he could ever need.
Instead, he had cried. A lot. Jeez, he really was a crybaby back then, huh? No wonder Nahyuta had left.
“What are you thinking about?” his brother suddenly asks. The one right in front of him, not the one whose words and expressions he replays over and over again in his mind, the memory growing fuzzier the longer he dwells on it.
His coffee cup is half raised to his lips, but as he asks the question, Nahyuta sets it down, the ceramic clinking against the wooden table. His emerald eyes feel like they’re cutting straight through Apollo, like they always do, and they’re so expectant he can’t help but swallow. It’s at times like this he can really see how he resembles Dhurke… and how he resembles Ga’ran, too.
Normally, Apollo wouldn’t hesitate to deflect, to change the subject, to say anything that wouldn’t garner him any strange looks his way. But maybe it’s a result of him feeling pitifully small, or a result of his tongue still stinging from the ill advised sip of tea he had taken, or a result of his dad being dead, but he can’t help but blurt out the thing that occurred to him with stiflingly heavy gravity.
“When you went to America in my place, did you do so because you were being selfish?” he blurts.
Immediately, he regrets it, but it’s impossible to take it back. His words will remain written on the court record forever, impossible to erase no matter how much he wishes he could. The only solution is to have never said anything at all.
Silence follows.
Complete, stifling silence, even heavier than the silence that had settled before their orders had arrived.
Nahyuta was frozen, entire body going stiff. He resembled a deer in headlights, but the sort of ethereal, cryptid kind that had urban legends started about them as a result of a blurry picture. Or maybe he more resembled a deer with chronic wasting disease, staggering about blindly on its hindlegs as its brain leaked from its head.
The look of blind, flailing terror etched onto his face would certainly match, if nothing else.
“...Why do you ask?” he finally responds, and the tone in his words is exactly what Apollo doesn’t want to hear. It’s careful and guarded, as if he’s trying his hardest to keep a firm grasp on his tongue to prevent it from wandering off on its own.
“I’m just thinking,” he replies, feigning a casual tone as he leans against the back of his chair. It’s too late for him to try to back out of this now. Since he has to commit, the least he can do is act like he doesn’t care about the topic the conversation has veered onto. “Since you’re going to leave again, I couldn’t help but wonder why you had left in the first place.”
Does he sound bitter? He supposes that’s something that would be difficult to hide. It’s the exact sort of thing a so-called “see-all prosecutor” would pounce onto. He absentmindedly rubs at his bracelet, wishing it didn’t react to his words in the same way it reacted to others.
“I never said I was going to leave again,” Nahyuta argues, tone so accusatory it’s like they’re in court again. His eyes give him away, though. He isn’t staring at Apollo head-on, as if he can’t stand the sight of him. He’s afraid. Of him? He wouldn’t hurt his brother. Not more than he had already hurt him, anyway.
“You didn’t have to,” he retorts, rolling his eyes. “It’s obvious even without you spelling things out.”
He expects Nahyuta to put up more of a fight than he does. Instead, he just slumps in his chair, staring down at the coffee cup in front of him morosely as he takes slow, hesitant sips. He looks defeated in a way he’s never seen before, not even during the worst day of Apollo’s life, where he had been backed into corner after corner.
The bleak look of despair on his face at this moment just makes Apollo wonder how he’s managed to stay hopeful before this. Maybe they truly are brothers, emulating each other even in the years they’ve been apart. They’re both completely miserable.
“I-I’m sorry,” Nahyuta anxiously stammers in response, hands wrapped tightly around his arms. “I know I haven’t been fair to you. It’s just… complicated.”
“What’s complicated about it?” Apollo asks, and he can’t help but feel genuinely curious. “You’re allowed to leave. You’re going to leave the moment you get the chance. That’s just how things are. It wouldn’t be fair to judge you for it.”
Miraculously, his bracelet remains limp on his wrist, and he feels a slight thrill at the way he’s able to work around it. Logically, he knows this is stupid, trying to tiptoe around one of his own possessions, but it feels so nice to get by with half truths that no one can complain about.
Lying is bad. Every time his bracelet tightens, he finds himself driven by the urge to rest his fingers on the cold metal and pinpoint the person’s nervous tick, regardless of the situation. It just feels nice to thrust his finger forward and to holler out “Gotcha!” with the full force of his chords of steel. It’s also because nothing good ever comes from lying.
Dhurke hadn’t had the courage to face Apollo fully even after he had died. Even after that bastard of a justice minister had unloaded three bullets into his chest with vitriolic glee, it hadn’t been enough to spur Dhurke into finally divulging things to him. No, instead he had to find out about his own father’s death while in court, Nahyuta proposing the idea with a trembling voice.
When Detective Skye had returned and confirmed it, he had been so overwhelmed by emotion that he had slammed his head into the prosecutor’s bench.
Maybe it’s something that runs in the family, these awkward half-truths and forced smiles as they try to convince themselves that everything’s fine. But if there was any time to break the cycle, it would be now, right? Nahyuta is here, and Apollo is his own person again. In a sense, it’s a clean slate for them.
When he said it wouldn’t be fair to judge Nahyuta for leaving, he was telling the truth. His bracelet had agreed with him on the matter. What he didn’t say was that he did judge his brother, regardless of how fair it was. Apollo was doing so right now, watching the other man anxiously trace the rim of his coffee cup with narrowed eyes and a barely restrained eye roll.
“It’s a conversation I’ve been avoiding,” Nahyuta admits. “But I suppose it’s only fair to acknowledge it.”
There’s that word again. Fair. Does he even know the meaning of it? Getting yanked around like a dog on a leash was pretty damn unfair, if you were to ask Apollo, but he never once complained.
“I… Of course I’m going to return home, Apollo!” his brother cries plaintively. “How could I not? I’m only here to clean up my mess. Then I’ll go back to where I belong.” His face scrunches up at the word, and he quickly amends “To where I’m happiest, I mean.”
“You aren’t happy here, huh?” Apollo says wryly. He’s still smiling, because it might as well be his default state. It’s a good way to reassure himself that he’s fine, if nothing else.
Nahyuta sighs. “I know I should be,” he admits, looking abashed. “And when I’m with you and Rayfa, I can almost feel happy. But I’m not used to staying in place here, and I have so much work to do, and everyone’s always staring -” He presses his hands tightly to the side of his head, looking pained. “It’s hard to feel at ease here.”
And there it is. A tacit admission to what Nahyuta intends to do in the not-so-distant future, complete with the reassurance of his bracelet remaining limp on his wrist. His brother is telling the truth. At least he trusts Apollo enough to do that much…?
“I hate you,” he mutters, curling his hands against his quickly-cooling mug. Staring down at the table like he is, he gets a perfect view of his embittered reflection in the mocha liquid. He hadn’t realized he had spoken the words aloud until he glanced up and saw Nahyuta’s stricken expression, but now that the dam had been broken he isn’t able to stop himself. “You’re leaving me again,” he continues, voice stiff and mechanical. “What kind of older brother does that? You couldn’t care less about protecting me. All you want is to run away from the things that scare you. You’re selfish.” He likes the feeling of the words on his tongue, so he says them louder. “You’re selfish!”
“N-No, that isn’t it at all!” Nahyuta insists. It’s nice to see him so frazzled for once. Usually he’s completely at ease, allowing everything around him to slide clean off like water off a duck’s back.
“I’ve done more for Rayfa than you’ve ever done for me. I’ve done more for you than you’ve ever done for me!” He slams the table with his fist, and the clattering of metal and ceramic makes him remember that he isn’t in court. But here he is, cornering Nahyuta with a succinct, thought out argument as he easily susses out every sign of the other man’s nerves and insecurities. How could this be anything but court? “Stop getting my hopes up,” he adds hollowly. “I’m tired of people yanking me around like I’m their pet. Just be honest with me. I know when you aren’t, you know.”
Nahyuta looks away from him, hands lying limp at his sides. He looks guilty. Apollo wishes more than anything in the world that he felt worse.
“Just leave now. No use in prolonging the inevitable, right? And then you can forget about me just like how Dhurke forgot all about you.” And here it is, the bit of conclusive evidence he had been searching for. He can’t help but grin as he presents it, feeling triumphant even as he knows how things go with Nahyuta. He’ll pull off a grand turnabout at the last second and run off, leaving Apollo at the mercy of a displeased monarch.
Instead of turning the tables, though, Nahyuta flinches back so violently that he nearly falls out of his chair. His dark skin has turned several shades paler, and he has to tuck his hands behind his back to hide their shaking.
He doesn’t even refute or scold him. He just lets those cruel, spur of the moment words hang in the air, and why isn’t Nahyuta saying anything ?! Apollo knows he can come back from this. He’s faced off the other man enough in court to be confident in that assertion.
After a long, agonizing second, Nahyuta gets to his feet and flees the cafe, not quite able to hide the wounded look on his face.
Yet again, his brother has abandoned him without a second thought.
He’s alone now. Isn’t this what he wanted?
His hands tightly clasp the cup of tea still in front of him as he raises it to his lips.
It’s cold.