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Simon Blackquill has officially been released from his shackles since exactly two months. Even though it was expected of the man to celebrate his freedom after seven years of rough prison, the twisted samurai completely vanished from his social circle. Despite his adoptive sister’s — young Athena Cykes — annoying attempts to reach him, and the many calls he received from the prosecutor’s office, Simon had no intention of ever leaving his house again.
It might seem odd at first, but to him, it was only the result of the suffering he kept hidden.
“As of now, Simon Blackquill is officially innocent regarding the case of the death of Metis Cykes.”
Simon still remembered the deep voice of the judge echoing through the silent courtroom, as he was standing in front of the gallery’s eyes. He felt like a freak show for everyone here to see, to entertain them with the tragedy of his dear mother figure’s death. Then, the next moment, everything blurred together as the courtroom erupted in cheers.
This verdict should’ve lifted his burden off his shoulders. The word Innocent was plastered all over him, but it did not make him feel relieved. No, quite the opposite.
The weight of these seven long years finally came crashing down on him like waves beating the shore. He finally realized what all of this meant.
Seven long years of suffering.
Ever since that day, the prosecutor was shut tight in his new apartment — his boss, Miles Edgeworth, managed to get him a small apartment right after the verdict so his needs could be accommodated. Simon was firmly against it at first, but he ended up being very thankful in the end.
Even though he tried to cut off contact with the outside world, the latter did not want to leave him alone.
Simon finally got up from his bed, avoiding all the dirty clothes and empty packaging, making a mess that was hiding the actual floor from him, in order to reach the kitchen. As he made his way through his kitchen, Simon did his best to ignore the mountain of random items cluttering his living room. Once in the kitchen, he tried to ignore the dirty dishes as well. The floor seemed to sway under his feet at every step.
He opened the fridge, pouring himself a glass of mango juice while checking his phone.
athena 0.o
Sent 5 minutes ago
are you doing okay :(
Sent 3 minutes ago
im just worried for you
2 missed calls from athena 0.o
He watched his sibling’s icon flicker for a few seconds, dots popping up quickly, before she stopped. He turned his phone off.
It really wasn’t his wish to make her hurt so deeply after everything she had done for his sake. But whenever he tried to socialize, he felt chains holding him down. It was the same for basic hygiene, really. His bed swallowed him whole at times, his body melted in the sheets as he watched his future do likewise. Every simple daily task resembled his prisoner’s chores. Soon enough, he decided to give up on them. His hair was dirty, knotted and he thought about cutting it short quite a few times but he didn’t trust himself alone with scissors. As shameful it was to admit, he didn’t even have the strength to take baths.
He decided to give up on himself.
He finally came to realize his mind was a cage no blade was sharp enough to slice open, and he was its sole prisoner. It wasn’t others’ burden to help him break free.
Everyone besides Athena seemed to have given up on him in his eyes. Even the silly detective who was always talking his ear off with some talk about justice decided to abandon him. He didn’t blame him, really. But he wished he stayed around some more. If he was in his place, he would’ve left too. However, if Simon claimed to not care about that detective’s silence, he’d be lying. He kept wondering. Why would he promise him, with all his heart, that he would reform him, if he always planned to leave him alone from the start? Were all his promises just empty talk to satisfy his twisted desire for whatever he deemed just?
He still remembered their first meeting like it was yesterday.
“Hello, good sir!” The eccentric man shoved his badge — proof of his identity — in front of the glass, showing the then-prisoner his biggest smile. “I’m Bobby Fulbright, champion of justice!”
Simon didn’t reply.
“I am here to serve justice, you see,” he adjusted his aviator glasses as he spoke, “I got orders to let you prosecute again. I’ll be watching over you!”
Simon rolled his eyes, finally deciding to acknowledge the annoying detective in front of him. His gaze never rested on him though.
“Why would you do that? Is that really just by your standards?”
Bobby then pressed his gloved index fingers together, the soft leather creasing as he fidgeted. The gesture was almost childish. His shoulders drew inward, posture folding in on itself as if he wished to shrink in front of Simon. His lips twitched into a tight, uneasy pout, the corners pulling down as though he’s swallowing words he doesn’t dare say. The next second, however, a smile formed on his pale pink lips before he replied.
“It can be just, can’t it? I am here to help you in your job, but also to redeem you.”
“I beg your pardon?” he swallowed, “Redeem the unredeemable?”
A smile drew itself on Simon’s bitten lips. His fists clenched on the uncomfortable armrests of the detention center, a sign he overstayed his welcome there.
“You’ve served already more than half a decade,” his funny face suddenly twisted in a more serious expression, “I believe anyone can be redeemed,” he announced. “I’ll help you become a valuable member of society! I swear it on this badge right here.”
“Very well,” Simon sighed before grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I’ll let you entertain me then, Fool Bright."
Ever since that day, an unspoken bond of friendship came to be between the unlawful prosecutor and the just detective. Simon hid the feelings of joy that sprouted in his heart whenever Fulbright would take the stand. He would dismiss his heartbeat's weird speed that would always accelerate when Bobby would visit him at the parlor to give him his daily speech.
When the rays of moonlight caressed his dark skin through the tiny cell’s windows, with sole partner his shackles, the prisoner kept asking himself if these symptoms (love was and will always be a sickness to him, after all) were reciprocated by the detective. And if they weren’t, could such a love truly grow in his current situation?
Maybe if the day he could break free from his prison came, the two men could knot the red thread of fate around their fingers.
Or so he thought. Now that he was finally free, Bobby Fulbright seemed to have chosen to disappear too, perhaps to pursue another prisoner and brainwash him with his silly but so loved by Simon ideas of justice.
Now, only imagining his silly orange glasses sitting on his pretty was enough to make him shiver with a feeling that he guessed was hate.
And that’s how Simon Blackquill came to the conclusion he now despised Bobby Fulbright.
However, when the tall and fluffy-haired man came unannounced at his door with a bouquet of red chrysanthemums, he was unable to turn him down.
“Congratulations,” mumbled Bobby, whom was usually so confident with his own voice. He handed the bouquet over to Simon, staying still on the doorstep.
Only the latter’s back was available for Bobby’s admiration. He was taken aback by seeing Simon in casual clothes for the first time ever. He was wearing a Blue Badger shirt who kept his arms hidden as always — actually, the first present Bobby gave to him — and a pair of light blue shorts stopping at his knees.
Interrupting Bobby in his trance, Simon tried to close the door. The quickminded detective put his feet, thus stopping the door in its movement.
“Hold it! I…”, he pouted. “I’m here to talk with you, Prosecutor Blackquill. My duty is not over!”
“I fear it is, Detective Fulbright.”
The tension between the two men lit sparks. Perhaps it was also a contest for whoever was able to furrow their brows the most, but the prosecution was clearly winning.
“I promised to help you, you won’t scare me into leaving justice!” The man was clearly fed up with the argument. He reached out, pushing Prosecutor Blackquill out of the way so he could go in. Unfortunately for the champion of justice, he stumbled over a piece of cloth and ended up on the floor with the chocolate box he had bought for his colleague.
The chocolate box arrived near Simon’s feet. He picked it up.
“I thought about sueing you,” he read the label before smiling, “but this is not too bad. Welcome in my humble apartment.”
Satisfied, Bobby cheered up before getting up (he knew Simon would never try to swoop him off his feet like the princess he is).
“Take a seat.”
*
“Watch it, you fool! You’re hurting me!”
“It’s not my fault your hair is so knotted, take it easy!”
Bobby wondered how he got in this situation. He was sat on a small stool in his partner’s (work partner, obviously) bathroom, with so called partner’s head between his legs. He would probably be sweating bullets, with blood rushing straight to his cheeks due to their current proximity if he wasn’t so focused on brushing Rapunzel’s long, not so silky, monochrome hair. It was so knotted he was worried he might have to cut some parts.
Running his fingers through Blackquill’s hair made him question his own sense of justice. He had taken the liberty of judging what was right or bad for Simon. He thought Simon needed his own space, why would he want to hang out with the dumb detective monitoring him at all times now that he wasn’t *forced* to? But now, Simon’s current state testified something else.
It was his fault, he was sure of it. If only he wasn’t so blind, if only he noticed… If only he didn’t run away to forget about his own feelings. He could’ve carried out justice and help the samurai earlier. He wouldn’t have sunken so low if he was here for him. He would’ve protected him against himself. As he always yearned to.
How could he ever gain Simon’s true love and respect if he ran away to fulfill his selfish wishes?
“I fear I’m gonna have to cut it, Prosecutor,” he mumbled as if it was his own hair. “Then I can wash it.”
He could regret his actions, but the most just thing was to make up for them. After half an hour of arguing, he dragged Simon to the bathroom in order to take care of him. He would fight this hair even if it was the last thing he did!
“Just do whatever,” muttered Simon who was just waiting for this humiliation ritual to end. He thanked the gods for the fact Bobby couldn’t see his red face right now, but he also felt curse because he wasn’t able to take a better look at his bare face. Maybe he needed to order his partner to get rid of these horrendous glasses. “But make it quick.”
As scissors were snapping all around the long hair, Simon felt like another weight was lifted off his shoulders. Was it the fact he didn’t have to take care of such heavy hair, or was it because he unknowningly associated that hair to the years he spent growing them in his cell? That, he could not tell.
“You know…” He cleared his throat. “Hair is associated to memories. Since you’re getting rid of it, it means you’re leaving it all behind! That’s like taking the path to redemption.”
“An inmate once said the same thing. I guess I’m not surprised a dreamy person like you believes that sort of things, huh?”, he lightly chuckled.
“Whatever! I know you’re gonna feel better soon. I hope, at least…” His whispers went unheard to Blackquill. He made a sign for him to go in the bathtub.
“Perhaps you should remove that shirt of yours? I don’t want it to get wet,” he removed his gloves while testing the water to make sure he would not burn his colleague. His cheeks painted themselves crimson as he realized what he was asking. Simon’s face remained unchanged on the outside as always.
During the past year, Bobby Fulbright had seen quite a lot of his partner, but never his arms. He always made it a point to keep them hidden, and Bobby knew it was a boundary to never cross.
His tongue slipped.
“No.” He got in the bathtub without further commentary. “Do you really want to see me naked that bad? That’s not how the power of suggestion works, by the way.”
Fulbright erupted into a stuttering mess, babbling about his ideals while the unbothered Blackquill got into the bathtub. Calming himself, Fulbright started washing his hair.
The massage done by Fulbright’s careful, slim and long fingers sent shivers down his spine. He felt the hot water running down his neck, caressing his tan skin like he sometimes wished the detective could. Bobby was talking but he was more focused on the deep sound of his voice, was it always this soothing?
It had been weeks since he had gotten a proper hairwash, perhaps days since water touched skin. He was stuck debating internally if it felt this good because it was him or because it had been long, and he was a touch deprived freak.
“Prosecutor?” The detective brought him back to reality. “I think it’s enough, I’m going to—”
Possessed by an unknown desire, he pulled Bobby in the bathtub while stealing the showerhead from his swift fingers. He ran water over Bobby, getting him wet from head to toes.
“Hey!” shouted Bobby, who tried to put on an angry face but ended up erupting in laughter.
“It’s not just I’m the only getting taken care of, don’t you think too? I had to make it right.” His laughter followed.
Soon enough, the two of them started laughing uncontrollably. They didn’t even notice their faces were only a few inches away. Bobby’s hot, mechanical breath was dancing on Simon’s lips. Their arms were intertwined together, closing the gaps between their wet torsos who kept their jumping hearts in a cage. When the laughter finally faded, all that remained was this weird proximity. Just when their eyes met and one of them was about to cut the tension with a knife, a Pink Princess ringtone stopped them in their tracks.
*
With the moment gone, a weird atmosphere of awkwardness clouded the two men’s space. They were sitting on Simon’s bed — only because Bobby insisted, arguing that if he went alone in his room he would just lock himself in — but no word was coming out of either’s mouth.
“Simon.”
“Fulbright.”
“Oops! You can talk first, I’m sorry…”
“First name basis, are we? You can say whatever you want first.” He patted the seat next to him on the bed, which made Bobby get up from the carpet. “Come closer.”
That was it.
Bobby decided, right at that instant, when he looked in his partner’s eyes that he needed to stop running away. True justice was facing whatever what stopped him from visiting Blackquill head on. He needed to feel this fear and get rid of it today.
Because he wanted, no — he needed to help Simon more than anything. Not only for Simon himself, but for himself too.
He sat just next to Simon.
The prosecutor thought it was a sight to die for. Bobby’s hair was not quite dry yet after their little playdate, and all the gel was gone. He was now wearing it straight, and he made it a special mental note that Bobby also was in possession of silky princess hair, hidden under five layers of hair gel that could be washed away.
Some water droplets were running down his sharp jaw, travelling onto his slim neck. Simon always wondered what it would feel like to choke touch it.
“It’s… I… apologize.” He locked eyes with Blackquill who stopped his fantasies for a second. “I should’ve come here earlier. You truly are unwell and it’s always been my duty to watch over you! But I abandoned you when it mattered the most, like a coward.”
His fists clenched at these comments. Duty, huh?
“I am the one who forbid anyone from coming here, aren’t I?” he sighed. “The truth is I didn’t want to see you.”
The other man’s face dropped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard it. I didn’t want to see you here and I still don’t want to, Detective. If I’m just a duty to you, I am also a burden. From now on, there’s no need to keep bothering me with this job of yours.” He chuckled, but neither of them was happy with this conversation. Bobby’s brows furrowed, his hands reached out before grabbing Simon’s shoulders.
“You’re the fool here, I knew it!”
“How dare you? Don’t touch me! Go do your pity work somewhere else!”
Both of them were now grabbing their shoulders, panting heavily. A mix of anger and sadness, passion, could be seen in their pupils.
“You’re not a burden, and you will never be! You were never a duty because you were a prisoner!” He took a deep breath, knowing what was about to be said could very well break what little bond they had left.
It was time to take a bet. “You’re my duty because I love you! How could I…”, he felt himself grow weak, "How could I truly spread justice around if I can’t even protect the man I love above all?"
For the first time since he met Simon Blackquill, he managed to shut him up. He didn’t answer. Was it for the worst or for the best? He couldn’t tell.
He felt Simon’s hands weakening before dropping, he did likewise. His hand cupped his face, holding his chin straight to make their eyes drown in each other once again.
Simon’s eyes were decorated with sparkling tears, rolling down his red cheeks.
“You don’t know me as well as you think… I was innocent in that trial, but I still… I still did everything against your ideals…”
“This is not about my ideals! You’re my ideal, the one that matters most, Simon. Please…”
"If you knew… If you saw all of me, you would never think the same of me.” He buried his face deep in Bobby’s chest. The detective wrapped his arms all around Simon’s cold body while running his fingers through his now short hair.
A few minutes passed while the two stuck in this position. He knew he should not rush him. It was a lot to take in, and he also knew Simon would only feel free to accept or reject him after revealing to him whatever secret he had in mind. But he was ready. He would wait, he would do whatever it took to win his trust and his heart. Even if it took him seven years.
"I’m… ready. Take a look.” He stopped the hug, rolling up the long sleeves of his Blue Badger shirt.
The room was dimly lit. The small rays of sunshine who were able to make it through the window, guarded by Taka, were reflecting on the samurai’s now bare skin. They allowed Bobby to see him for who he truly was.
It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up. Then it all made sense: the prosecutor’s aggressiveness whenever he suggested short sleeved shirts, his habit of playing with the edge of his sleeve, his fingers shyly scratching his wrist under the fabric during a trial… Of course.
The scars were pale under his skin. Thin lines were crossing, almost intertwining with older ones. Some are faded in places while others are dark, creating a weird contrast on the man’s wrist.
“I spoke of burdens earlier,” Simon said calmly, almost too calmly, “Consider this one of mine.”
“You… Was it for punishment?” There was no shame in the detective’s voice, he quietly asked what he needed to ask.
“Some were,” Blackquill traces them down with his index, “others were for control.”
“You don’t need to control everything,” Bobby gets closer. As Simon doesn’t pull away, he takes it as a signal stating that it’s okay. His fingers started holding his. His other hand slowly took his scarred wrist, with all the care in the world, like Prosecutor Blackquill was the most fragile thing in the world. “You can rely on me, sometimes.”
He puts his lips on a scar before tracing them all. “You can let me take care of things, just once… I can take care of you.” He leaves small kisses on each one of them, taking his sweet time to whisper kind words against Blackquill’s skin. His hot breath, just like in the bath, was making the man unable to focus. “Please, let go, Simon.”
Never in his life had he been taken care of like this.
Fulbright finished kissing them, before holding his colleague, no, the man he loved’s hand with a lot of calm. He looked deep into his eyes.
You were right. I could never think the same of you, now.”
“What?” Simon stutters.
“I love you, all of you, even more now. You’re so much stronger than I ever thought, Simon.”
The words died on Simon’s tongue, killed by the tears appearing in his eyes. He finally let himself go.
His arms wrapped all round Bobby’s neck, he pulled the man in, closer, closer than anyone had ever been to him. Whispering something intimate as a promise to him, he finally closed the gap between their two lips.
“I love you, Bobby.”