Monsters

His phone rings. He’s eating dinner with Miles, and he’d rather not pick up, but it’s Maya, and a call instead of text is really weird.

“Um, sorry, it’s just that it’s Maya.”

Miles doesn’t really care.

“Go ahead.”

He accepts the call, and he can’t even say hello because she beats him to it.

“Nick, I fucked up.”

She says it so fast that he has to squeeze his eyes shut and shake his head before her words register. Miles is looking at him weirdly.

“Uh, what are you talking about?”

“It’s—It’s Apollo.”

His stomach bottoms out, and the image of Apollo despondent in front of his desk, talking about how he wants to spirit channel Kristoph flashes through his mind.

“You didn’t.”

He sounds deadly serious.

“Nick—he literally begged me. Like, total bow to the floor, rambling about all the shit he’d do to convince me to do it—I didn’t know what to do! I’ve never had anyone act like that towards me before!” She sighs heavily. “I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to make him stop.”

Phoenix honestly does not know how to respond. His mind is blank, but he does recognize the sinking in his chest as complete and utter dread.

“Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know. He was gone before I fully came back.”

Miles is staring at him, reflecting the worry on Phoenix’s face. He waits too long to respond, so Maya continues.

“And, he was really hard to kick out. I don’t remember much when I channel, but I was trying to focus on anything that could seem like a physical touch, and it took me a good thirty seconds to boot him. That’s not normal. I’m really good at that kind of thing now.”

He breathes out heavily.

“It scares me, Nick.”

Phoenix doesn’t know what to say. He shakes his head to get his mind in order.

“You haven’t seen him around?”

“No, I looked everywhere. He must be a really fast runner.”

He remembers that time when Dhurke told him he was already dead, and he’d burst out of the room so fast that he barely could figure out what had happened. Panicked Apollo is truly a force to be reckoned with.

“Okay, I’m—I’m going to call the police station. Have people look for him.”

“Thanks, Nick. I’m so sorry. I feel so, so bad.”

“It’s no one’s fault but Gavin’s.”

“Yeah…”

They wrap up the call, and Phoenix hits the end button.

“What was that?” Miles has gone from looking a little worried to looking terrified.

Phoenix places his phone down very slowly.

“Maya channeled Kristoph for Apollo.”

Miles pales.

“You can’t be serious.”

The looks in Phoenix’s eyes tell him that he is very, very serious.

Getting a call from Phoenix Wright might not be terrifying for some people, but for Klavier, it still is. He tries to make it ‘not an issue’ but it still is an issue for him.

But, it's not like he's going to ignore a call from Phoenix Wright.

“Hallo?”

“Klavier.”

He sounds serious. Deadly serious. Klavier doesn’t like it. He didn’t know that a person’s voice could sound so foreboding.

“…What’s wrong…?”

There is a pause. It’s a long pause for a phone call.

“Apollo is…missing.”

The words makes him feel like his heart has been scooped out from his chest. He can’t move, can’t think, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he should say.

He just says, “What?”

“I’m not going to tell you the circumstances because they’re…complicated, but he met up with a friend, and then he ran off…”

“Herr Wright. You’re not making any sense.”

He sighs.

“I’ve already contacted the police. And, honestly, I don’t think he’s going to physically harm himself, but I…am nervous as to what his mental state will be like.”

“Herr Wright, you have to tell me what happened.”

“No, not over the phone. I need to tell you in person. This kind of thing is—”

“Wright, what is happening to Apollo right now? You can’t be vague like this. Scheiß.”

“I’m sorry, Klavier. I will explain, but—”

He hits the end button and throws his phone to the floor.

Anger management can go fuck itself.

Apollo feels fine.

And, no, he’s not just saying that. Like, he actually feels fine. He doesn’t feel like much of anything, really. In fact, he can’t sense any emotion, good or bad.

He’d felt terrified in those moments right after it happened, but as soon as he ran out of the channeling room, he completely mellowed out.

Now, he’s just sort of walking in a straight line and he’s not sure where he is, but it’s fine because nothing can hurt him now that he’s faced his worst fears/desires, so he just feels like moving.

He took the bus to Kurain Village, but he ran past the bus stop some time ago, so when he didn’t have the energy to run anymore, he…kept going.

It’s such a strange feeling. Serenity, but in a way that holds no positive feelings. Stillness. Numbness. There’s nothing. Usually, he’d be a fucking mess, but right now, there’s nothing.

There are strikes of excitement in his chest when he thinks back on it, though.

(Kissing Kristoph again/Kissing Kristoph again/Kissing Kristoph again)

Ugh. It’d been the most fantastic thing he’d felt since his death. Absolutely like using a drug. He was addicted to fucking everything up as long as he could get off on it.

Strangely, he doesn’t feel that bad about it.

It’s almost like he had destroyed all of his feelings. There’s nothing. No urge to cry, no urge to scream, no urge to do…anything at all.

But, he did have to consider that he couldn’t go back to Klavier’s apartment. He couldn’t face him, not after he created an elaborate plan to cheat on him with his brother. And, with Mr. Wright, Maya would obviously be in contact with him after all that mess, so he can’t go to the agency either.

Usually, being abandoned and all alone would make him feel bad, but he doesn’t feel anything.

He looks up, and he’s at that cave.

Did he climb the whole mountain? He can’t even remember it. Maybe he’s a little messed up even if he’s not hysterically crying. His brain is still snapped in half, and he can’t figure out what he’s doing.

The mouth of the cave is a little damp, but he can’t really feel it. He just knows it’s cold.

(Impenetrable. Distant. Shocking. Cold.)

Kristoph.

God, he wants to fuck Kristoph so bad. He hadn’t been planning on it because he wasn’t actually so disgusting he would involve another person in their…mess—but, Holy Mother—kissing him again.

There was nothing else like it. Nothing came close to how getting attention from Kristoph felt. And, it was all totally fake. They both knew that they actually hated each other, but they were still obsessed with each other—Apollo, the attention from an older man and the endorphins associated with that Specific Type Of Attention, and Kristoph, the control, the power, the compliance, the willingness, the Absolute Hold on Him.

They were both fucked up. Apollo couldn’t deny that their role in this back and forth was mutual. He hadn’t needed to do such a thing at all. In fact, he and everyone he talked to put roadblocks in the way, but he still did it.

(You filthy, disgusting piece of shit.)

Usually, his own brain berating him like that would make him upset, but he doesn’t feel anything at all. Sure, he’s a piece of shit. Who cares? That’s what he is. No use crying over spilled milk. If people still wanted to be around him even though he’s a cheater, and a liar, and a pervert, he’d let them.

Haha. Amazing. He’s dating Klavier, and he wants to fuck his fucking brother.

(No!)

The rational part of his brain keeps coming back in little flashes. It doesn’t seem possible considering he can't feel any emotion no matter what he thinks.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

(You don’t want that! You don’t want that! You don’t want that!)

How could that be true when he wanted to Fuck Kristoph Gavin So Bad?

(Because he does it on purpose! He makes it addictive! Lows so low that you need the highest of highs to feel alright! He literally addicts you to him!)

“Guess I’ll have to go to rehab for wanting to bang my boss.”

(Shut up you fucking disgusting idiot. You had every chance to stop and you didn’t! You cheated on your fucking boyfriend just for a hit of dopamine! Are you really so pathetic?)

His internal monologue is all over the place. He’s not sure if he’s trying to help himself or make himself worse.

“Klavier loves me too much. He won’t make it hurt, and I want it to hurt.”

(Are you fucking listening to yourself right now? He wants to treat you right because his brother abused you! Why is that a bad thing? Who would think that kindness is a turn-off? You’re literally insufferable.)

“Careful. If you insult me too much, I might fall in love with you, too.”

(Maybe you’d benefit from some narcissism.)

“I doubt it.”

(Brings a whole new meaning to ‘go fuck yourself.’)

“Guess so.”

The inside of his mind goes silent.

The back of his head connects to the damp wall behind him, and he really, really wants to fuck Kristoph Gavin right now.

He left his phone.

Klavier knows it's an invasion of privacy, but he opens up his text messages.

Maya. Spirit Channeling.

“There’s no way he’d do that,” he whispers to himself in disbelief.

But, he remembers seeing the anguish in his eyes as he admitted that he used to willingly have sex with his brother even though he was a horrible, horrible man who mistreated him to the point of criminality. He remembers the glazed over defeat when he mentioned that he wanted to spirit channel…

Klavier knows that he must have done exactly what he thinks he has.

God, what he’d do to have a drink and a bump right now.

But, alas, he’s clean. And, what a miserable existence it is. He feels as though life is almost not worth living without the highest highs because, otherwise, he has to deal with the lowest lows. The lows are fucking intolerable. And, he’s so fucking angry all the time.

It scares him because (he can’t be like his brother/he can’t be like his brother/he can’t be like his brother), but he feels like without the buffer of something/anything, the past catches up to him and slams its foot on the acceleration.

(Kristoph/Kristoph/Fuck/Fuck/Fuck)

Apollo—he—something happened, and it has to do with Kristoph.

(He wants him instead of you.)

That specific idea doesn’t anger him. He always knew. It’s hard to beat Kristoph because he gives you what you want until you’re crawling back for more.

He thanks the stars that Kristoph never physically abused him, but part of being in therapy is dealing with the idea that your childhood was not normal. Not normal at all.

Kristoph had always been cunning. So much so that Klavier bought into his charade of being a wonderful person. That’s why it didn’t seem possible that Kristoph could have done what he did. He truly believed he was good.

But, it was the little things. The (That look on your face doesn’t suit you, Klavier. Throwing fits is for children. Grow up) and (Oh—a shame. No wonder mother favors me) and he still doesn’t know how their parents died.

The thought terrifies him.

There’s just…so much. He’s either wanting to murder his flesh and blood or wanting to kill himself so he doesn’t have to deal with it.

But, Apollo. Apollo…

He’d live a thousand years for Apollo. Even if everything came crashing down on the both of them, he had to live to make sure he was okay. He really, honestly loves him more than anything else. And, he believes that Apollo loves him, too.

However, the darkness of Kristoph is that he purposely manipulates to cause obsession. The things that made Apollo “love” him are things Klavier could never do. He loves Apollo, and the idea of harming him, hitting him—

Ugh, he can’t even think about the worst part. He can’t even imagine. How evil of a person do you have to be to do that?

He’s not jealous of how Apollo views Kristoph, but he is…ach, he doesn’t know the word. He’s concerned and worried but also angry? Not at Apollo. He's just generally wound up about the whole thing. It’s hard not to be, and after years of having no idea how to cope with intense feelings, he has no clue where to start.

All of a sudden, he yells and stomps on his phone, and the touch screen makes an ugly crunching noise.

Ah, good. Sudden fits of rage. He’s not his brother at all. At least he’s rich enough to afford a new phone whenever he wants.

He laughs but only because he doesn't know what else to do.

Apollo might be going a little crazy. He can’t stop talking to himself.

“I know that it’s my fault, but I also feel like I couldn’t control it. It felt out of my control. If I could have stopped myself, I would have. Why would I want to subject myself to that sort of thing?”

(He wants to fuck Kristoph so much, but he can’t let these thoughts control him. He can’t he can’t he can’t. He’s not going to jerk off in this fucking cave where Dhurke also held him like a pretty princess, and—)

Holy Mother, for as little as he can feel, he certainly is losing his mind.

“It’s not fair. I don’t actually want it.”

But, the fact that his pants are tight would prove otherwise.

“Yeah, so I’m supposed to just accept it? I don’t want to!”

That never stopped you before.

He puts his face in his hands. “Ugh, please leave me alone.”

Who are you talking to Apollo?

“I don’t know!”

He yells loud enough that the sound of his voice bounces around, and it’s so dissonant that he isn’t quite sure that this is actually happening.

This is what happens when he becomes bad. It’s repetitive thoughts, it’s constantly wrestling with everything he’s feeling, and it’s wanting to fuck Kristoph so fucking bad.

“I can’t take this. Not again. Not again.”

He wishes he could cry, but he can’t. There’s nothing in him anymore. He’s stripped so many layers of himself away that he feels like nothing at all.

Apollo kneels to the ground.

“Why…?”

Ah, but you did it to yourself, didn’t you?

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

You could have just—like…not done that.

“I know.”

But, you want it, right? You want him.

He doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to respond to that.

“I think I’m…really sick.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“I wish I could face them again.”

Good luck with that, you fucking piece of shit.

And, just like that, there are people at the mouth of the cave, and they have flashlights that they’re shining right at him.

And, a face he should find familiar runs past the crowd, and he grabs and squeezes his shoulder. He has no idea who he’s looking at, but he’s not dumb enough to say that out loud.

“Jesus, Apollo. We were so worried.”

Apollo’s eyebrows tense.

“About what?”

The person blinks.

“Apollo…do you know where you are right now?”

He looks around, and he’s suddenly not sure where he is.

“Yeah, I do.”

The person looks at him, and he looks scared as shit.

“Okay. Let’s get you back.”

“Okay.”

And, his memory gets a little fuzzy after that.

He’s…confused.

People are asking him questions and talking to him, but he doesn’t really understand what they’re saying. He just sorta nods and shakes his head when he feels like he ought to, but he begins to get strange looks, and he obviously hasn’t passed whatever test he’s been taking.

Things start blurring together, but he still feels fine. It’s difficult to focus, though.

They say that they’re going to take him to the hospital to make sure he’s not completely fucked up. Well, he is, but that isn’t the kind of fucked up they’re talking about.

“If I go to the hospital, they’ll put me in IP again,” he says softly to the person he has now identified as Mr. Wright. Things are slowly coming back into focus.

“Apollo, if that’s what you need, that’s what you need.”

“But, it sucks there.”

“I know. I know.”

He gets into the backseat of the car anyway. He doesn’t need an ambulance so they didn’t call one. Athena slides in next to him. He hadn’t noticed she was around before that moment.

“Oh, gosh—thank goodness you’re okay, Apollo! I’m so glad.” She takes him in her arms and squeezes him. He pats her on the back.

“I’m glad you’re okay, too, Athena.”

She releases him and gives him a strange look.

Phoenix and Edgeworth get in at the same time. They seem to have been talking about something before, but Apollo’s too fuzzy to hear that far away.

“Okay, let’s move.”

And, the next thing he remembers is sitting on a gurney in the ER cross-legged. Things suddenly snap into focus, and it’s disorienting.

He looks around. He’s alone for some reason. Usually, that would make him sad, but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s a little bit afraid of what people might think of him now. But, that doesn’t last too long because the privacy curtain gets pulled back, and he actually recognizes all three of the people that come in.

“Ms. Tonnen?”

Her black hair falls to the side when she tilts her head and smiles. She’s gotten a hair cut. It used to be long and always thrown up into a ponytail or a bun, but she has bangs and a bob now. It looks good on her.

“Hello, Apollo. How are you?”

Apollo smiles back but mostly to be polite.

“I’m alright. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m doing well. Thanks for asking.”

Ms. Tonnen sits down in the chair by his bed, but Mr. Wright and Athena stay standing.

“I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“Sure,” he nods.

“Okay, I’m basically going to use one of our check-in forms that you’d fill out every morning in IP, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“So, if you could rate your anxiety and depression on a scale of one through ten, ten being the worst you’ve ever felt, what would you say you’re feeling right now?”

Apollo pauses to think.

“Um, anxiety—maybe a one, and depression a zero.”

Phoenix and Athena exchange strange looks. It’s like he somehow answered the question wrong even though he’s being truthful, and besides, how would they know how he felt like?

She writes that down the sheet of paper on her clipboard. “Alright, and are you having any thoughts of hurting yourself or others?”

“No,” because he’s really not.

“Any extreme shifts in mood?”

“No,” because he’s really not.

“Seeing or hearing things that aren’t there?

“No,” because he’s really not.

“Could you explain a little bit of what happened, and what you’re feeling right now? Any emotions that come to mind?”

The words come out way too easily. It’s like it wasn’t even a bad thing that he did.

“I saw someone I probably shouldn’t have, and I got a bit freaked out. I think I dissociated because I was having trouble remembering things, but I’m okay now.”

“Are you prone to dissociation?”

“Yeah, sometimes I get it really bad. When I’m at my worst, it can be for almost a day, but I think it only lasted an hour or so.”

“Ah, I see. And, what sort of symptoms were you experiencing?”

“Well, I went to a place that I didn’t remember going to. And, when they found me, I was having trouble remembering things. It went away, though.”

“Can you name the people in the room, and where we are right now?”

“Athena, Mr. Wright, and you, Ms. Tonnen.” His words sound strange to himself, like his tone of voice is different—too soft? Or, his intonation is like a grade-schooler answering a question in class. “And, I think this is the ER. It’s the hospital, at least.”

“Okay, great," she says. "And, who was this person you saw?”

His face squishes up for a second, but then, goes back to normal.

“My…abuser. I really thought that if I talked to him that I could get everything off my back. I knew it was a bad idea, and everyone told me it was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. It was pretty stupid of me,” he laughs. There’s nothing about any of this that’s funny.

Mr. Wright is looking at him like he’s grown a third head. Maybe because it’s the glaringly obvious omission that he had to channel his spirit because he’s dead. For committing murder.

“Yes, it’s very common for victims of abuse to want to confront their abusers. But, going no-contact is really the only viable method, during recovery and after.”

“Yeah, I know that now. It was…really stupid.”

“Remember, Apollo, progress isn’t linear. You’ll have slip-ups along the way. The important thing is to pick back up and keep trying.”

“I understand, thank you.”

Phoenix interrupts.

“Excuse me, may I have a word, Ms. Tonnen.”

“Of course.”

She gets up from the chair and leaves the room with Mr. Wright. Athena just…stands there, looking down at the floor.

They can hear them through the curtain. Maybe because Mr. Wright is a little riled up and is forgetting to keep his voice down.

“So, you’re going to admit him, right?”

“He’s not experiencing any of the symptoms that make him eligible for IP. If he’s reporting no suicidal ideation, and he isn’t a present harm to others, I can't admit him.”

“I understand that you have certain procedures, but I assure you that he is not okay right now.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wright. We’re always low on beds in the psychiatric unit. There are very strict criteria, and he doesn't meet them.”

“But, what if he—?”

“If he does begin to experience ideation, he can come back. Our inpatient facilities are for acutely critical patients, and Apollo is not, at the moment, one of them.”

“…Alright,” he gives up, “I understand.”

“I really am sorry, Mr. Wright. I wish I could do more. I’ll talk to the social worker on call to see if they have any outpatient recommendations.”

“I appreciate it.”

Only Ms. Tonnen comes back in. Both Apollo and Athena act like they hadn’t heard what they just did.

“So, for now, you’re going to be alright as long as you take it easy for the next week or so. I’ll give you some handouts of things that might help you feel a little better, alright?”

She’s talking down to him, and he likes it.

He nods enthusiastically, “I think that would really be helpful.”

“It was nice to see you again, Apollo. I hope you continue to get well.”

“Thank you, Ms. Tonnen,” he smiles, and it’s an honest-to-goodness smile. She smiles back and leaves.

Mr. Wright comes back the moment the sound of her heels clicking on the ground fade away. He goes to the side of the bed and then sits on it, turning so he can face Apollo. A hand goes into his jacket pocket for a moment, and then, he grips that hand into a fist.

He asks the question almost too fast.

“Apollo, were you lying to her?”

He blinks, confused.

“No. I wasn’t.”

Phoenix blinks back at him. His eyebrows tense but only for a moment.

“You really…feel okay?”

“Mm-hmm,” he smiles. “I’m feeling okay right now.”

He actually might even be feeling a little contented. It was nice to get positive attention from someone with power over him, even though she was just a doctor.

“Okay.” His hand slips back into his pocket as he stands. He immediately goes back to ‘Normal Phoenix Wright’ mode. “I’m going to go fill out discharge paperwork, so hang tight for a second.”

“Hey, Mr. Wright, can I come with you?” Athena says.

“Oh, sure.” He turns to Apollo again, “We’ll be right back.”

He nods.

After they leave, he lays down on the gurney. It feels good. He’s so tired.

“Why is there no discord in his voice, Boss?”

They’re walking down the hall towards the ER’s front desk at a faster than normal pace. They could be mistaken for actors shooting a hospital ‘walk-and-talk' scene if not for their lack of lab coats.

“I don’t think he’s lying.”

Athena looks at him, confused. “He has to be though, right?”

Phoenix sighs, “I didn’t see any Psyche-Locks. I think he really thinks he feels okay.”

“But, he’s acting so weird. All that ‘Apollo Spunk’—it’s just not there.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what Kristoph said or did. Something happened, but I don’t know what.”

“Do you think he’s going to tell us?”

“I…don’t know. Normally, I’d say no way, but he seems almost happy…?”

“Could be endorphins. Y’know—you see someone you haven’t seen for a while, and it can be like a straight shot of dopamine and serotonin depending on the context.”

Phoenix feels a pit in his stomach. He doesn’t know what happened, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to, but it feels like it’s necessary at this point.

She continues, “Bad things can sometimes release those chemicals, too. Self-harm does that—makes your brain release endorphins so you can save yourself if you were still a caveman and had been bit by a lion or something. But—”

Phoenix looks down at her.

“—my issue isn’t his mood so much as how dazed he seems. Even though he insists he's not dissociating anymore, I think he is but just doesn’t have the wherewithal to accurately judge whether he is or not.”

“That’s what I was trying to say to the doctor. He’s obviously off his rocker in some way, but she’s bound by paperwork.”

“Yeah,” Athena frowns, “that’s not uncommon at all. Which is why it often takes until a person tries to…y’know…that they can find help even though it should be a lot sooner.”

He sighs again but heavier this time. “I know Apollo has problems, but…it all seems out of nowhere.”

They’re finally at the front desk, but they pull to the side so they can finish their conversation.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Wright, that’s often how it happens. He was complaining about feeling unwell and was reaching out, and just like most self-harm or suicide—”

“He did it anyway.”

Athena looks at Widget’s blue-sad face resting on her sternum. “Yeah.”

A nurse speaks up.

“I’m sorry, sir, are you waiting for something?”

He sighs for the third time, but approaches the desk and says, “Yes, actually.”

Apollo is back in the car again. He actually feels pretty good. He’s trying not to fall asleep like he had on the ER bed.

“Where are we going?”

“To our place.”

That makes him open his eyes.

“I can’t see Klavier?”

“Um, that’s probably not the best option right now.”

“Why?”

Mr. Edgeworth and Mr. Wright look at each other and then back to the road.

“It’s not that we don’t trust Klavier, it’s just that—”

“You don’t trust him.”

There’s a long pause. Edgeworth speaks up.

“I think you are both too volatile for the current circumstances. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Even though he sounds so grim, Apollo laughs, “Neither do I! That sucked.”

(He can’t see it, but Phoenix’s expression melts into sadness.)

“Are you really feeling okay, Apollo?”

Unlike the more moderate answer he got last time, he exclaims, “Yeah, I feel fine!”

No one responds. Something twists in Apollo's gut.

“Oh…did I say something wrong? I’m sorry.”

Phoenix turns around in his seat to look at him and says, “No, no. Don’t be sorry. We’re just worried about you.”

“Oh, well, I feel fine, so you shouldn’t worry.”

“Yeah.” He turns back around.

The rest of the car ride is silent.

Mr. Edgeworth’s house is so…big.

He knew that he had a lot of money, but Apollo is used to shabby apartments he can barely afford.

He stands there, and the words slip out, “It looks like a castle.”

“C’mon.” Someone touches the small of his back, and it feels like he’s struck by lightning because he flinches and turns away, arms blocking his face.

“Oh, Apollo.” Mr. Wright has been doing a lot of sighing lately, and he doesn’t know why. “Hey, it’s just me.”

Apollo immediately relaxes and stands up straight.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” as if he’s talking about not knowing that it was going to rain today.

“Yeah, I should have.”

They walk through the threshold of his home, and—

“Wow.”

So big. So much space. So clean.

“It’s beautiful,” Apollo whispers.

“Is it okay if I take you to bed now?” Phoenix asks.

“Sure, I’m tired.”

So, he takes him up to a spare bedroom, and it’s—like—a half the size of his entire apartment.

“Wow,” he says again.

“I can get you some clothes, so you can—”

“It’s okay, I’m just going to sleep.”

He walks over to the bed and promptly flops on it. He falls asleep immediately.

Phoenix doesn’t know what to do. Everything is so out of his hands that he feels hopeless.

He still does bring up some pajamas for him and sets them on top of the dresser, just in case he wakes up and feels uncomfortable in his suit.

Phoenix sits down at the table and sighs for probably the thousandth time.

“I’m sorry this is such a point of stress, Wright.”

Miles is there for him, but as Chief Prosecutor, it’s difficult to take a day off, even if it’s an emergency. He’s writing notes about something he’s reading on his computer.

“No, it’s the same old thing,” he sighs for probably the millionth time. “These poor kids, I just can’t let them—”

“Yes, your habit of adopting anyone and everyone,” he takes off his reading glasses and smiles, and then grows serious again. “You’re trying as much as you can. That’s all you can do.”

“It just kills me.”

Miles rests his hand on Phoenix’s.

“I know. It’s awful to see.”

“I hate him so much for what he’s done.”

“I know.”

“And, Apollo…” he sighs again. “Apollo doesn’t deserve it.”

“I know.”

They’re pulled out of their conversation by the Steel Samurai theme song. Phoenix looks at the caller ID.

It’s Nahyuta. Nahyuta never calls.

He picks up.

“Hello?”

“Wright…”

“Yeah?”

His voice sounds small and choked up even though he’s trying his hardest to be calm—Phoenix can tell.

“Rayfa’s disappeared.”

His breath catches in his throat.

Apollo opens his eyes.

It’s light out. It streams through the windows. He’s covered in sunlight, and it’s so warm. He’s tucked under blankets, and they’re so soft.

He feels good.

He hasn’t felt good like this in years. Has he ever felt this good? God, he feels great. Unnaturally happy.

He sits up and takes in the surroundings. The room is big, but he’d noticed that last night. Everything is pure white except the dresser and vanity and bed frame. The way that the curtains are slightly parted, and the way the wind blows through the open windows and moves the curtains around, it makes things look ethereal, angelic, heavenly.

Everything feels so good.

There’s a knock at his door.

“Yeah?”

Trucy pokes her head in.

“Hey, Polly?”

“Yeah?”

Her demeanor isn’t as jubilant as it normally is. He can imagine she’s also worried about him, but no one should be worried because he feels great.

“Do you want something to eat? Papa’s making breakfast.”

He blinks lazily.

“Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll bring you some.”

“Thank you.”

She slowly shuts the door, and he’s alone again, but it feels good.

However, some thoughts do creep into the back of his mind.

(I don’t want anyone to look at me.)

(I don't want to be seen as desirable.)

(If I’m desirable, they’ll hurt me…)

He’s staring at a blank wall, and he feels violated even though he’s only staring at a blank wall.

(I wish I could disappear. Never been seen by anyone.)

(If I’m seen, people will want me, and they’ll hurt me, and I…)

But, a strange wave of euphoria has him laying back down in bed. It almost feels like he’s drunk. Or high, although he’s only ever taken pain medication he’s been prescribed, so he doesn't have a lot of experience regarding that one.

Intoxicated is probably a better descriptor.

He’s sleepy again, and the sensation lulls him back to sleep. Sleep feels really good.

Trucy comes into the room and places the plate of eggs and buttered toast on the bedside table. She looks at Apollo, and her face falls before she mopes out of the room.

He has to see him. He just has to.

He’s been worried sick all night with only a little bit of seething at the idea that Kristoph may have laid his fucking hands on Apollo once again. It was the one thing he never thought could happen.

(And, Apollo sought it out himself.)

Klavier shakes his head to get the thought to go away. He’s trying really hard to stay calm about it, but even if he understands on some level, he’s frustrated. And, a little hurt. He can’t lie. It does hurt.

It isn’t necessarily betrayal. That’s too harsh of a word. It’s disappointing. For everyone. Especially for Apollo.

All that therapy and he crawled right back to him. It feels hopeless to find themselves back at the beginning again. Apollo’s not alright—can’t be alright after something like that. The idea of Kristoph returning to this mortal plane, even for just a few minutes, is completely terrifying. He can't imagine how it would make Apollo feel.

So, Klavier’s standing in front of Edgeworth’s place, and he stares at the door, building up the wherewithal to actually ring the doorbell. Seeing Phoenix always gets him riled up on some level, and who knows how Apollo is doing. He couldn’t call anyone because he fucked up his phone, and Apollo didn’t even have his (it’s in his pocket to give back to him, now, though), so he’s been in the dark besides what he found in his text messages.

He finally presses the button.

There’s a good thirty seconds until someone opens the door, and fortunately, it’s Trucy.

“Oh, hey, Klavier.” She looks nervous, which is strange for her. She’s almost never nervous.

“Ah, Fräulein, how are things?”

She says, “Um, not the best. But, you probably knew that already.” She tilts her head and looks at him questioningly. “You’re here to see Polly, right?”

“Ja.”

“Okay, just a second.” Trucy turns around and yells with such intensity that she’s giving Apollo’s Chords of Steel a run for its money, “Daddy!!”

It takes a moment, but he appears from around the corner, visibly surprised.

“What’s wrong, Truce—” And then, he sees him, and his face steels. “Oh, Klavier.”

“Hallo, Herr Wright.”

Phoenix looks down at Trucy and says, “Hey, why don’t you see if Apollo needs anything.”

“Okay.” She gets the drift. It’s ‘Adult-Talk Time,’ even though technically she is nineteen and not a kid anymore. But, she gets it, so she runs off.

Wright does not look happy. In fact, he looks annoyed for some reason. Klavier can’t think of anything he’d done to upset him recently. They basically never talk. Maybe because he hung up on him the day before?

“I don’t think this is the appropriate time for him to see you.”

“And, why is that?”

“He’s sort of a mess right now, and I’m afraid of what will happen if…”

It annoys him that Wright is telling him where and when he can talk to his boyfriend. It’s not like he’s his dad or anything.

“I don’t have permission to see my own partner? That doesn’t sound like something you can have authority over.”

“Listen,” his voice gets darker, “as long as Apollo isn’t able to make appropriate decisions for himself, I’m taking care of him. And, while he cares very deeply for you, I don’t know how he’ll respond.”

He’s reminded of that night a few months ago. It was horrifying, but they both survived.

“I assure you, Herr Wright, I will be fine.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. I doubt he would hurt you. It’s much more likely that he might want to hurt himself.”

“Because of me?” Klavier cannot wrap his head around this line of logic. “But, what if I can talk to him and help him?”

“I don’t want to take that risk. He’s not suicidal right now, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

This is when Trucy comes back and says, “Polly wants to see Klavier, Daddy.”

“You told him?” This is the closest Klavier has ever seen Wright direct something resembling anger at his daughter, but even then, it’s a far cry from anything he’d consider “angry.”

“He asked,” she shrugs. “I wasn’t going to lie to him.”

“Ugh.” Phoenix puts a hand on his forehead. He turns to Klavier. “Fine. But, if things start going south, get out of there. Immediately.”

“Don’t worry, Herr Wright, Apollo’s health is my biggest priority.”

“I’m sure it is, Klavier. Just be careful.”

“Natürlich.”

When he opens the door to the bedroom, Apollo’s sitting on the bed, and his head snaps up. It takes a few seconds for everything to sink in, but eventually, his eyes brighten.

“Klavier!”

Apollo scrambles off the bed, leaps up, and runs toward him, launching himself into his arms. It’s just a hug, but the impact makes him stumble.

“Oof, Schatz—”

“Klavier.”

Said Klavier is not sure what to make of this. The good news is that he’s acting cheerful, but the bad news is that normally Apollo isn’t so outgoing.

He pulls away, and he smiles so genuinely that—well, he’s never seen him smile like that. His eyes are misty. They’re so misty that there are stars in his eyes. He’s seen him close to tears in admiration, but nothing like this.

His appearance is generally disheveled, his hair isn't gelled, he’s wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, and his feet are bare even though socks rest on top of the dresser.

“Klavier,” he says again.

He feels awkward just standing there with this Not Right Apollo.

(The last Not Right Apollo wanted to fuck him regardless of circumstances, but this Apollo…well he doesn’t know this Apollo, yet.)

“I think we should sit down.”

“Sure.”

And, they do so on the bed.

Apollo is cross-legged again, and he’s buzzing with contentment as if he hadn’t just been in the ER. Klavier is sitting sideways like Phoenix had on the gurney.

“Schatz.”

“Yes?”

Something already isn’t right, if that hadn’t been clear before. He never responds to him that way.

(He’s just omitting the ‘sir.’)

“What—How—”

How the hell is he supposed to even start this conversation?

Apollo is still staring at him starry-eyed. He blinks expectantly. He looks lost.

Klavier figures it’s better to start with the phone.

“Here.”

He reaches into his pocket to grab it, takes Apollo’s hand, and gently places his cellphone in it.

“Oh, I guess I left my phone at your place…I’m not sure why…”

He asks softly, “Did you think you weren’t going to come back?”

Apollo shakes his head.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember what I was thinking.” His eyes drift down to the bed sheets, and he loses his enthusiasm, and the energy drains from his face.

“Ah…”

He looks up again, immediately concerned. For him? Or, is he concerned about what he’s about to say?

“What’s wrong?”

Klavier doesn’t want to fuck everything up more than everything already is, so he’s really hesitant to say anything.

But, Apollo isn't trying to talk either. It looks like he’s getting tired during this small interaction because his eyes close and his head starts to droop.

“Do you need to rest?”

He snaps back up.

“No!”

It’s like he’d hit him with lightning.

“Schatzi…” Klavier gives him a sympathetic and concerned look. “If you need time for yourself, that’s okay.”

“But, I…I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’re not alone. You have Herr Wright, and Herr Edgeworth, and the Fräulein here with you.”

“I know, but I want…someone who…” He trails off. Maybe he doesn’t actually know what he wants.

“I have to leave at some point. I don’t live here.”

“I know.” His voice is soft and quiet. It reminds him of a disappointed kid who hasn’t gotten a turn on the swingset yet.

“But, I’m here right now, and I can dote on you for a bit.”

His face instantly lights up again.

“I love you so much, Klavier.”

Starry-Eyed.

He doesn’t know the appropriate English word to describe it. His brain always goes back to “fucked up,” and while that’s true, it’s not quite what he’s trying to say.

What he really wants to say is ‘blauäugig.’ It transliterates to ‘blue-eyed,’ but it tends to mean being naïve—or belligerently drunk, like blackout-can’t tell what you’re doing-drunk. Or, at least, that’s the best way he can think to describe it. It’s like how babies are mostly born with blue eyes. Naïve. Or, how someone who’s blackout drunk is basically a baby someone has to take care of.

Y’know. Blauäugig.

“I love you, too, Schatzi.”

He places a hand on his cheek, and Apollo melts into it, closing his eyes. A tiny sound comes out of him. A sound of relief or pleasure maybe. Klavier brushes his cheekbone with his thumb. Apollo coos again. His reactions are reminiscent of a cat who purrs loudly while being pet.

“How are you feeling?”

Apollo opens his eyes.

“I feel…good.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Everything feels good.” He closes his eyes again.

This is definitely not the Apollo he expected to find in this bedroom. He expected something like the last time. Practically catatonic and always tearful. But, he’s so calm and affectionate. Docile. Blauäugig.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but,” Klavier lets out a heavy breath, “did he hurt you?”

Apollo sits up straight and blinks. It’s almost like he doesn’t understand the question. Klavier's hand falls away.

“No.”

“Touch you?”

“Sort of. He kissed me.”

"Did you kiss him back?"

Apollo adverts his eyes. 

"Yeah."

“Oh.”

That does hurt a lot. He knows it’s not Apollo’s fault even though it kind of is this time.

“I don’t know what I thought was going to happen. I don’t know…why I did it.”

That last sentence is said awkwardly. Like he knows he’s lying.

Klavier can imagine it’s like a relapse. Sometimes you fall back into the arms of something self-destructive. Addiction isn’t someone’s fault—most of the time, people are genetically primed for it—but there certainly is a difference between turning to substances and turning to someone who enjoys hurting you. He can understand one but not the other.

“I…” Klavier doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t want to lie to you. I am disappointed.”

“I know.” His gaze is turning distant again. “You can hate me if you want. I would.”

(Klavier knows that Apollo does.)

“I could never hate you, Schatz. But, it does make me sad. For you, as well.”

He squirms where he sits, his face twisting up in what Klavier can imagine is shame.

“I like…when it hurts…”

The words fall out of him. It’s like he’s incapable of lying. Or, incapable of lying convincingly, anyway.

“Schatz. Don’t say things like that.”

“But, it’s true.”

Klavier sighs. Even if they hadn’t technically been fully intimate yet, he had noticed some strange tastes in what they had done. Wanting to be shoved against a wall. Wanting to be pinned down. Klavier did not feel comfortable doing those things to him specifically, so he said no. Maybe that’s a factor in why he flipped back around so easily.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. I know it’s bad that I want it, but I’m disgusting and want bad things.”

He says it like it’s nothing. Like he’s talking about the weather. Like it’s the most objective and obvious fact in existence.

“You’re not. Trust me, you’re not. I wouldn’t love you like I do if you were.”

The slow, catatonic-like state is sinking back in. But, he’s speaking so openly about his actions and feelings, something Klavier had to struggle to get out of him before. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s become more comfortable with him or if Apollo’s boundaries have been decimated once again. More likely the latter.

“He’s the one who’s bad, Schatz. He’s the one who did this to you. Hate him, not yourself.”

“I can't hate him.”

Klavier looks away, too. He swallows.

“I know.”

There’s silence. No one has anything more to say.

“I should…probably go.”

“Wait, wait—” He reaches out and grabs his shoulder. “Don’t go…there’ll be no one left…”

He shakes his head. “You’re not making sense. You know that’s not true.”

“But, I…I want to…if you…I…” His voice has gotten so small again. Like a small child not getting the toy they want from the store.

Considering he can’t put what he wants to say in words, he leans forward and kisses him.

It’s a light kiss. Just a small peck. Even so, it lights up his brain like a Christmas tree. Apollo pulls slightly away for a moment, and then, he kisses him again but with much more intensity this time. He takes his cheeks and pulls him closer, their lips locking. Klavier is stunned into silence, and he freezes.

And, then, he pulls away sharply.

“Apollo, no.” He stands up. “We are not doing this again.”

Apollo stares up at him blankly. His voice has lost all emotion from it when he says, “What do you expect? I’m disgusting, remember?”

Klavier stares back at him for a few seconds before he promptly turns and exits the room, the door shutting a bit too hard.

He doesn't want to yell at him, but he isn't sure if he could have stopped himself if he didn't leave, and he hates himself for it.

Apollo, surprisingly, does not feel bad. He’s gone back to not feeling like anything. Nobody, no one, nothing.

He doesn’t regret kissing him. It felt good. He wants to feel good forever. Part of him wishes Klavier didn’t know about his past so he’d pin him down and have his way with him. Make it feel better. Make everything feel better.

(Shut up, you fucking disgusting idiot.)

He turns to see his phone sitting next to him on the bed, tossed aside and forgotten.

He opens it. There are dozens of text messages, but the only name he didn’t expect to see is Nahyuta. And, when he opens the message, he understands why he’d reached out.

Things always manage to get worse, don't they?

Apollo calls him because he’s worried.

Rayfa’s a good kid. She can act bratty and snobbish, but underneath the bluster, she’s kind and thoughtful. Another one of Phoenix’s adopted magic kids. Well, when he’s in Khura’in, at least.

“Hello?”

“It’s Apollo,” he says as if he doesn’t have his number saved in his phone. “I got your message. Are you okay?”

“I…have been better. But, I’ve also been worse.”

That’s a big mood. Apollo has to will himself not to say so out loud.

“Rayfa’s—gone?”

“Essentially.”

“How do you know she’s, like—gone-gone? Like, maybe she’s—like—hiding or something.”

Nahyuta coughs. Apollo forgot his brain was broken for a second, but he’s been pleasantly reminded by his own curt comment.

“I assure you, we have scoured the palace and the town.” He sounds annoyed, but it’s not difficult to annoy Nahyuta if his ‘three-strikes rule’ is anything to go by. “She was scheduled for a spirit channeling, and she never came back out.”

“Spirit…channeling…?”

Rayfa had been pretty behind on her ability to spirit channel two years ago compared to someone like Pearl maybe, but she’d gotten better at it. She could at least do it on command now. But, yeah, Apollo has to agree, it’s weird that she wouldn’t come out of a channeling chamber at all, especially one sanctioned by the royal government.

“Yes. It was an entirely normal session. Someone local wanting to contact a relative. Nothing should have happened.”

“But, it did.”

“I imagine so, although whatever it was, it didn't alert any of the guards."

Apollo’s brain is fucked up, so he says, “I channeled someone I shouldn’t have yesterday. I think I’m messed up about it.”

Nahyuta makes a strange sound, and he struggles with how to respond.

“...Oh?”

He’s pressing his phone so tight to his cheek that it feels like it might actually be a part of his face.

“What if something happened? Some fucked up shit—what if it happened?”

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line.

“Apollo, are you alright?”

He replies honestly.

“I’m fine, but I feel like someone could do some really fucked up shit with spirit channeling.”

“…Have you…gone off your medication?”

“What?” He’s suddenly very frustrated that they’re talking about him instead of the person that might actually be in danger. “No! I wouldn’t do that. Sorry that I’m not all great and fine like everyone wants me to be—even though I’m fine. I’m getting really sick of it. I hate people asking me all of these questions and stuff. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”

Nahyuta’s tone gets sad rather than annoyed.

“You’re safe, aren’t you?”

“As safe as I’ll ever be,” he scoffs. “I’m staying with Wright and Edgeworth.”

“Ah, I see. So you’re being appropriately taken care of.”

“Oh, yeah. Trucy keeps trying to get me to eat, but that’s hard, and I don’t want to. I know she means well, but it sucks. I’m not hungry.”

Another pause.

“Alright, I’m going to hang up now.”

He must have said something too weird, but he can't tell which statement it was. Maybe it was all of them.

“Bye, Nahyuta.”

“Goodbye, Apollo…”

(Goodbye, Apollo.)

He closes his phone.

“Goodbye, Apollo,” he says to himself. He doesn't know why he does. It’s almost like he’s signed his own death sentence in that one phone call, but instead of writing a suicide note, it feels like he’s…

…going to die.

Something in his chest. It hurts.

But, he's going to die by someone else’s hand.

(She spirit channeled around the time that he…)

That can’t mean anything. That doesn’t mean anything. There’s no rule of spirit channeling that needs someone spirit channeling at the same time to do anything, but—

—there’s just…something there in his brain, some little seed, some little…thought…something like…maybe he had been lying about not being able to influence him, or maybe he’s just as delusional as Mr. Gavin implied.

It’s a gut feeling. An instinct. A hunch. That’s got to count for something, right?

He flops face down on the bed and hits his fist on the mattress, and he’s so damn tired. He doesn’t know what to do with himself or this information, and he still feels intoxicated. And, who would believe him—this theory with no rhyme or reason or evidence or facts? It’s completely fabricated, but…

(What if Rayfa’s in trouble? You might be the only one who can help.)

Yes, right after he pissed his boyfriend off enough to storm out in disgust.

(Oh my God, shut up! Just fucking get yourself together! There’s other stuff we have to do. You can continue your mental breakdown later.)

He sits up, and his legs dangle off the bed. The floor looks far away. He feels dizzy. Maybe he’s had dental work done and he's on pain medication, but probably not since he hadn’t had a wet dream about Mr. Gavin.

When Apollo stands, he feels a bit more steady. Maybe it’s because he’s determined. He’s on a mission this time.

Okay, time to convince someone he’s not delusional when he’s actively delusional. Got it.

Apollo stumbles into the kitchen, and Mr. Wright is on his laptop, which is on the kitchen table. He looks up, and he's instantly worried.

“Apollo, what are you doing out of bed?”

He finds his way over to him and takes a seat, but even that little amount of movement has made him tired and out of breath. Still, he knows he has to say something and that it’s important.

“Rayfa—she disappeared during a spirit channeling session yesterday, right?”

Mr. Wright looks extremely wary.

“Did Nayuta tell you?”

“So you knew?”

They both stare at each other and assume the answer to both questions is yes.

Apollo presses his hands flat to that table, maybe because the cool wood feels good on his skin or maybe because he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his own body most of the time. He stares at ten fingers.

“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Rayfa disappeared around the time I…did what I did.”

“Apollo, I…” Mr. Wright, the Master of Sighs, closes the laptop. He looks grim. “We don’t have enough information to make any conclusions like that right now. I don’t want to see you get all wound up over this.”

“But, Mr. Wright.” He looks up at him again. “Rayfa—she’s still not that good at spirit channeling. What if—something happened? She might have gotten hurt or messed something up. And, she doesn’t deserve that, and I—”

Mr. Wright stands, walks around to his side of the table, and takes his shoulder.

“I think you should rest instead of worrying about all this.”

“But, Nahyuta’s my brother and that makes Rayfa my sister and—”

“I get that, but listen, you don’t need the extra stress.”

He doesn’t know how to get across that this isn’t just some kind of thing he’s made up out of nowhere. Besides the voices he used to have, he was never paranoid. This paranoia is real. This paranoia comes from the foreboding that holds his chest tense. This is real. How does he get Mr. Wright to believe that this is real?

Of course, he has no way of proving anything he’s saying, but after what he’d personally gone through, he just—he feels like he knows somehow even though, at the same time, it seems impossible.

“I’m not thinking this way because I’m messed up right now, Mr. Wright. I think that’s really what happened. It can’t be a coincidence. And, if somehow the two events are connected, I-I think something really bad might have happened—and she can’t protect herself, Mr. Wright—not like Maya can.”

Something in what he says makes Mr. Wright pause and look at him like he is actually Making A Point.

“She went missing at around the time you…”

“Yes.” He’s trying to look as serious as he can even though he feels like his eyes have been too wide lately. “And, I…I’m scared.”

He doesn’t have an explanation for that. He’s just scared. He feels it in his gut, and even though his brain always tries to convince him that his gut instincts are wrong, this isn’t a situation he has baggage with other than (they’re some of the only people I have left) which is only the truth.

“Rayfa still has the same phone she used to, right?” Mr. Wright asks.

“Uh, I think so. She doesn’t use it that much, but Nahyuta didn’t say he could get ahold of her or anything, so…”

Mr. Wright’s voice is so low and calm and soothing when he says, “I’ll give it a try.”

“Put it on speaker,” he says. The adrenaline in him has everything more focused than they have been in weeks. “If she’s alright, I want to know.”

Once he taps her name on the screen, he also taps the speakerphone button.

It rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

And, then, she picks up.

“Hello?”

Her voice seems off. Apollo’s only called her on the phone a few times when it was necessary for a case, but that’s…not what she sounds like. It sounds like if Rayfa were older and trying to sound like a little girl. It’s convincing, but knowing her so well, it’s obviously not authentic.

He shoots Mr. Wright a look.

“Oh, hey, Rayfa. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright. How about yourself?”

That isn’t how Rayfa talks at all.

Apollo shakes his head maybe a little too much.

“I was just…” he looks at Apollo again before continuing, “…wondering about where you've been. Nahyuta is pretty worried about you considering you haven’t been around.”

She laughs and now even Mr. Wright can understand how it sounds so wrong.

“Oh…that. Yes, I’m sure he’s very worried.”

Apollo and Phoenix are staring each other, stunned into silence.

He can’t help himself.

Apollo says, “Rayfa, that’s not you.”

Rayfa says, “Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re not Rayfa.” He’s more defiant this time. Unfortunately.

“Oh, is that little Apollo Justice, I hear? You’re coherent enough to be forming sentences.” She laughs again, crueler this time. “A shame. He must have not had enough time to completely destroy you.”

“What—”

Apollo feels like he’s living in a dream or a fucked up dissociative fantasy. And maybe he is. It wouldn’t be very different from what he was already experiencing, anyway.

“Rayfa!” Phoenix still doesn’t get it. “What are you saying?”

“Oh, Feenie. You have a lot to learn.” Her voice sounds so much like Maya it’s uncanny when she says, “Ya fucking piece of shit.”

And, she hangs up.

It’s common for spirit channel requests to be anonymous. People want to protect their identity for various reasons, but in Maya’s opinion, she doesn’t really give a shit. It doesn’t matter. Everyone has their business, their secrets, their livelihoods. She doesn’t want to know about it, anyway. Too much information. She couldn’t care less.

So, when a hooded figure in a black lace gown and a cape kneels to the ground in front of her, she has no reason to expect anything other than a normal session.

But, then she puts down the hood of her cape, and she’s sitting face-to-face with The Devil.

Maya gasps so hard that her lungs burn.

“Holy shit.”

Her name is a breath.

“Dahlia.”

Her presence is stifling. She has black hair just like Iris. She looks exactly the same as her. And, even though she’s around the same height—barely above five foot—her energy is so big. And, it’s not spiritual energy. It’s her.

“Hello again, Maya.” She eyes her up and down, and she feels strangely violated. “My, have you grown.”

Maya gapes at her. She’s completely at a loss for words.

“Why do you look so surprised?” She tilts her head and smiles. “I said that I wasn’t ready to go, didn’t I? Shouldn’t you have been expecting me?”

She feels like she can’t breathe. Dahlia smiles until she finds her words.

“W-Why are you here?”

“A familial visit of course. We are related, after all. I just missed you so much,” she gushes. Then, she bursts into laughter. She laughs for a good ten seconds. “Holy shit,” she wipes away a tear, “I can’t believe I said that with a straight face.”

Maya is usually not one to have no idea what to do, but she has no idea what to do.

She tries again.

“How are you here?”

She pauses to think, looking at some of the candles off to the side. Then, she makes eye contact again. Her eyes are sharp enough to be from the blade of a knife.

“It turns out that you can think of most of life, after or not, as a computer program. There are always backdoors, coding errors, glitches, hardware malfunctions. If you think about channeling like an application, when too many actions are being performed at once, it can overload the system, and when that happens…”

The silence in the room is deafening.

“…you can cheat.”

Maya has never heard of such a thing, considering the shocked look on her face.

“Say, two people were to be channeled at exactly the same time. It might crash the application. You might be able to hack into another server. You might be able to cut in line.”

Maya realizes that she had been the very person who had made her presence possible. Finally, she speaks up.

“You commandeered a channeling meant for someone else?” Her mouth and eyes are very wide.

“Even though I can’t channel anyone, that doesn’t mean I don’t have a slight advantage due to my ‘lineage’.”

“Oh," she breathes. "Shit.”

“I can imagine that you’d been surprised, but what the fuck were you thinking—channeling Kristoph Gavin?”

Maya looks at her with blistering anger.

“You know damn well why.”

“Oh,” she giggles again and her voice is very sweet, “I suppose so. It’s just so funny when you all fall in line so easily."

Maya lets her head fall, and she shakes it. She says, “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”

There is a pause. Neither of them moves. And then, a hand slips under her chin and lifts it up. Maya stares into Dahlia’s eyes. In the shadow of the candlelight, her irises look black.

“Do you want to know whose body I’m in?”

No, she does—fucking—not.

Dahlia smiles and says it anyway.

“It’s a shame Princess Rayfa isn’t very good at spirit channeling yet. She’s really easy to take advantage of.”

Maya gasps. Not Rayfa. Not her. She’d already been through so much. She couldn’t.

“You bitch.”

“Sticks and stones may break my bones—” her grip tightens on her chin and she leans forward until her their noses are almost touching, “—but words will never fucking hurt me.”

She lets go and Maya falls on her ass. Suddenly, it feels like the air in the room is thick, and Maya realizes that she’s been trapped.

Her expression darkens. Maya is rarely angry, but she is angry. Her words are slow but menacing.

“What do you want?”

It is absolutely not a question.

“Funny you should ask,” Dahlia giggles. “In short, you are going to channel my accomplice.”

“What?”

The absurdity of the situation is making it very hard for her to follow what’s happening.

“My friend and I—we have similar goals. Many of them having to do with your precious Nick.” She’s mocking her to her face. No surprises there. “And, you’re going to channel him.”

Maya looks at her with wide, stunned eyes. And, then, she laughs at her.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No fucking, unfortunately.”

“Ha ha.” She snarls, “I am not going to do that.”

Maya can actually be very intimidating when she wants to be. It’s one of her hidden talents. She’s generally extremely easy going, but she doesn’t have any forgiveness for Dahlia Fucking Hawthorn.

“Oh, you’re not?” She’s using a baby voice because she’s just that obnoxious. “Well, what if I gave you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

Maya doesn’t know what she means. She can only stare.

“Huh?”

And, Dahlia pulls out a gun.

"Ah!" Maya scrambles backward until her back hits the wall.

Dahlia presses it to her temple.

“Do what I say, or this pretty little princess gets her brains blown out.”

She gasps.

Maya feels panic rise in her chest. She feels like she can’t give into Dahlia, but— 

"Not so confident now, are you?" she smiles.

How cruel and heinous is it to put her between the unthinkable and having the blood of one of her friends on her hands?

(She can’t fight back. She can’t fight back. She can’t fight back.)

Maya is not prone to anxiety. Maya is not prone to helplessness, but this…this is…

She’s shaking. Even her voice shakes when she looks up and says, “Please, d-don’t do this, Dahlia. Please.”

Dahlia laughs again.

She just barely increases the pressure on the trigger. Dahlia Hawthorne is always deadly serious, after all.

“Wait—wait!” Maya shouts. "Wait, wait…”

She places the gun by her side, tilts her head, and smiles sweetly.

“Have you changed your mind?”

“D-Don’t kill her.” Her breath comes out like a shudder. She can’t help but sound defeated, “Just—don’t kill her.”

“Fantastic. I knew you’d be the easiest to manipulate.” Her sarcasm is as wicked as the look in her eyes. Her smile just grows wider. “Now, why don’t you take a look at this.”

She holds out a piece of paper, which trembles when she takes it.

It’s a photocopy of an article—“FAMOUS LAWYER KRISTOPH GAVIN GIVEN DEATH PENALTY”—his mugshot is nestled within the body of the text.

Maya looks back up. This literally cannot be happening. Not again.

But, Dahlia is deadly serious.

She closes her eyes and hopes and prays that, one day, anyone can forgive her.

It had been a very long time since Phoenix had been so shocked—so shocked and terrified.

“Mr. Wright? Mr. Wright? What’s wrong? Who was that?”

He can’t speak. He can’t move. He can’t even think.

Apollo’s voice sounds distant even though he’s right in front of him, eyes wide and bleary like he’s trying not to become hysterical. He can see Apollo grab one of his shoulders to shake him. He feels the jostling of his body. He knows this is all happening, but he…can’t…move…

“Mr. Wright! Snap out of it!”

Then, he does.

Things come into focus so quickly that he thinks he might have motion sickness.

He shakes his head. Now he can hear how hard his heart is pounding in his ears.

He rarely ever has that reaction to anything anymore, which makes it even more poignant that poor Apollo is aiming an expression at him that should be reserved for himself.

“Oh, I’m…I’m sorry, Apollo.” He can’t tell if Apollo is looking at him like that because he’s still dissociating, or if he’s scared of Phoenix’s reaction, or both. “That was all just…unexpected.”

“Who was that?"

“I—I hope that I don’t know.”

“Hm?” he sounds squeaky, like a cat chirping. Apollo tilts his head, but Phoenix can’t even begin to explain who Dahlia is and what she did to him—did to them. And, chances are, Apollo wouldn’t be able to soak in the information anyway, considering how he’s been acting these past few days.

Phoenix says dazedly, “I think I need to talk with Miles.”

Miles is at work. He can’t drive, but he can bike there, right?

Without even realizing it, he begins to walk in the direction of the door, but Apollo speaks up.

“Wait, Mr. Wright…are you leaving?”

His voice is so small, so nervous. He sounds like a child lamenting how their parents have to go to work.

That snaps him out of his haze, and he suddenly remembers that he has someone depending on him, and he can’t just get up and go wherever he pleases. The whole reason he’s here with Apollo is because he can’t leave him alone. Something might happen, and this time, that something might succeed.

He turns back around. Apollo is standing there sadly. He looks like an abandoned puppy.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says again. Apollo’s face keeps getting more scrunched up with worry. “You’re right. Um, but you probably should get back to resting considering you shouldn’t be wandering around, anyway.”

“Why won’t you tell me why you were upset by the person on the phone?”

“I—I…l don’t know enough yet. I don’t want to worry you with something that I’m unsure about.”

Sure enough, he responds with a distant look. He’s still not fully there. Regardless, Apollo says, “Will you tell me when you find out?”

“Of course.”

“Are you lying?”

His voice isn’t very strong when he says, “No, no, of course not, Apollo.” He walks back over to where he’s standing. “I want you to get some rest, and I have things I need to sort out, too, but don’t ever hesitate to ask if you need something.”

He places a hand on the top of his head to be affectionate and reassuring, but Apollo melts under his touch and—moans.

Oh…God…

Phoenix’s hand retracts like he’s touched a hot stove. Apollo looks up questioningly.

“Uh, did I...hurt…you?” Phoenix asks.

Apollo shakes his head and murmurs, “No, sir.”

Holy shit. That hits him in the gut almost to the point of sickness.

(There are too many things happening right now.)

It takes a lot for him to lose his cool, but he feels like he’s about to lose his cool.

He doesn’t want to play into this because…ugh, that should be obvious, but he is in between two crises, and sometimes, you have to do what you have to do.

He bends down so he can place his hands on Apollo’s shoulders.

“Apollo…”

His eyes have stars in them.

“Yes, sir?”

He can’t help let his face fall. It hurts every time he says it. Apollo doesn’t even notice his expression change.

“Please rest. Rest for me, okay? It’ll be better tomorrow, I promise.”

What a fucking lie that is.

“O-Okay.”

He has that look, that teary-eyed look, like he’s so happy someone is caring about him that he could burst into tears. Phoenix releases his shoulders and looks down.

“I’m sorry, Apollo.”

The third apology in one conversation.

Apollo begins to walk off, but he says, “You don’t have to be sorry, Mr. Wright.”

Touché, Apollo. Touché.

God, he hates doing that to Apollo, but he needs to talk to Miles now.

He selects his contact and waits through the ringing with his eyes closed.

“Hello?”

“Miles, I…ugh…”

“Wright? What’s wrong?”

Phoenix breathes in slowly and breathes out slowly.

“I don’t know how to say this…”

“Did something happen to, Apollo—?”

“No, no. Nothing to do with Apollo. It’s…Rayfa.”

“You found something out?”

“I called her phone, and the person who picked up…” Can he even say it? The idea fills him with so much dread. “…she—she called me ‘Feenie.’”

Miles coughs like he just choked on his tea.

“You cannot be serious.”

“I am serious, but I’m also…so confused. How? Why? I-I don’t understand.”

“Maybe, you misheard?”

“I don’t think so. And, Apollo was with me, he’d have to have heard it, too.”

Miles doesn’t speak for a moment.

“Regardless of what may or may not have happened, what could we even do?”

“I-I don’t know. We don’t know enough yet. I feel like I can’t even trust my own ears at this point.”

“Maybe you’re tired, Wright. Stressed out. Taking care of Apollo has been hard on you.”

“Yeah. It still scares me, though.”

“Yes. I am certainly…concerned, for a lack of a better word.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s talk more when I get home.”

“Right,” he sighs. “Thanks, Miles. I feel a little better now.”

“Ah, I’m glad,” he pauses as if he is smiling on his end of the line. “I’ll talk to you later, Wright.”

“See ya.”

He hits the end button.

And actually, with a few more breaths, he does feel better. He reminds himself that even if this meant something about…her, there is nothing he can do right at this moment. When he knows more, he can take action.

The only thing he can do is alert other people, people who should also know. So, he calls Maya.

“Hey, Nick. What’s up?”

She sounds cheery as always, and usually it would make him feel better, but it grates against his raw nerves.

“Hey…yeah, um…”

“Is something wrong?”

“Maybe. I don’t know enough to be sure.” His voice is steady and careful. “I’m afraid that…someone is using spirit channeling nefariously.”

Maya laughs, “To be fair, who doesn’t?”

“Maya, don’t joke. This is serious.”

“Okay, okay, sorry. What’s going on, Nick?”

“I just wanted to warn you that if you see Iris—it’s not Iris.”

“What?”

“Dahlia, she might—”

“Dahlia?! What?! How the hell would that even be possible?”

“I don’t know. Trust me, if I knew more, I would tell you. There’s nothing we can do, yet.”

“You’re scaring me, Nick.”

“Yeah. I’m scared myself.”

She sighs, and her voice grows small. “Okay. I-I’ll keep an eye out, I guess.”

“Thanks, Maya. Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

They say goodbye.

Phoenix doesn’t know it yet, but this is the last time they talk to each other before her.

The next day or two pass without incident. Apollo hasn’t heard anything else about that phone call, and Mr. Wright hasn’t brought it up. He almost forgets about it.

And, he would have completely if he weren’t laying in bed and getting a call in the middle of the night.

[Incoming Call: Rayfa (Cell)]

He hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few days because always being in bed means he was constantly drifting in and out of sleep, and he often found himself asleep during the day and awake at night. So, luckily, the call doesn’t shock him out of his sleep, but he does think that it’s strange that—whoever they talked to—would be calling him back.

Why? For what reason?

Maybe if his brain weren’t snapped in half, he wouldn’t have picked up. But, curiosity gets the better of him. He wants to know, especially since Mr. Wright won’t tell him anything about it.

“Hello?”

It is not Fake Rayfa on the other end of the line.

“Good evening, Justice.”

He freezes. He can’t even gasp.

It can’t be.

Like, it literally can’t be. He’s dead. Dead dead. Dead dead dead. And, who would spirit channel him beside himself? No one would do that! This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. This can't be real.

Is he hallucinating?

“If you’re wondering if this is real, I assure you, I very much am.”

Did he read his mind, or is he just that predictable?

He feels like he can’t breathe.

“You don’t have to say anything.” His voice is so soft, so caring, so calming. That in itself is enough to make him feel like he’s being pulled into a dream. “You can just listen.”

That’s good because he has no intention of speaking up. Not that he could, anyway.

"How are you doing? I've been well. I find it pleasant to have a corporeal form again. In some ways. Not others. But, the grass always does seem greener, eh?"

If he doesn't think about it, he could mistake this for a conversation they'd have at his desk or maybe right before court. It's so familiar. It smells like that old office did. Of perfume and mint and strong chemicals. 

“I wanted to say that I missed you. It’d been so long that I hadn’t realized it. But, when I saw you again…”

The screen of his cellphone is slicked with sweat, and it hasn’t even been thirty seconds. Even though he’s not talking, his breathing is already way too heavy.

“I’m sure you feel the same way. Don’t you, Justice?”

He can’t stop his breath from wavering.

“But, it hasn’t been possible since my death. No way to contact each other. No way to talk—besides what you already did. But, I’m here now. Someone channeled me. I am here.”

He rolls to his side and puts the call on speaker.

“Don’t you miss the times we had? How we used to see each other every day? How we used to talk and spend time together? Do you think about me? Do you think about me like I do you?”

He bites his lip to keep back a sound. His eyes are clenched shut.

“I’ve been thinking about you every day since you summoned me. I’ve been thinking about the way you bowed to the ground, the way you said you wanted me. You have to admit, that’s quite an image. And, you kissed me quite eagerly, might I add. It’s a shame we had so little time together. There could have been so much more…don’t you think?”

How is he keeping quiet through this?

“Are you touching yourself, yet, Justice?”

Spoke too soon. He can’t hold back a sound this time. He whimpers before he can stop himself.

“I didn’t even have to ask. You’re such a good boy. So compliant. So well trained.”

Oh, God. He doesn’t know if he can stand it. But, he has to for Mr. Gavin. He has to. But, it’s so hard. And, it’s getting harder and harder not to.

“I know you’ve been having a hard time, Justice. Such a hard time. I must apologize for my role in that, but with this...we can be reunited again. You can feel good.”

He breathes in sharply.

“I miss the way you’d stare up at me, begging with your eyes to be told that you were doing it right—that you were doing a good job. I miss touching you, having all of you. It really is a shame that circumstances separated us.”

His jaw is clenched shut, but he can’t stop his breathing, even if it’s just through his nose.

“You’re close, aren’t you? I can tell by how you’re breathing.”

(Apollo wishes he could stop breathing.)

“That’s the most compelling thing about us. You know how to please me, and I know every—single—little—thing that you like. Don’t you want to feel good like that again, Apollo?”

He said his name. Oh my God, he said his name. He whimpers again because he can’t help himself, and he feels like he’s bursting at the seams.

“It’s alright. I want you to feel good. I love how you get like this for me.” He hums appreciatively. “And, after all this time—it can be just like it used to.”

He feels like he’s going to die.

(Just like it used to be! Just like it used to be! Just like it used to be!)

He doesn’t bother to keep his voice soft.

“Come for me, Justice.”

And, he does. Hard.

Apollo claps the hand that was resting by his forehead over his mouth and bites both of his lips, but that’s not enough. Not enough at all.

It’s not his fault—he’s never had an orgasm like that before just by himself (well, technically it’s not by himself, but)—and it’s been around four days since he’d called out to him, and all he’d wanted during that time was to be praised, and heavily petted, and he wanted to fuck Kristoph Gavin so fucking bad.

It’s so good that in between the awful noises he’s making, he’s heaving. It feels like he’s crying, almost. And, then he feels the tears running across his face, and he realizes he is crying. He’s coming so hard that he’s crying, and it feels like it lasts forever and keeps getting more and more and more intense, and maybe at some point, he forgets to hold himself back, but how would he know because he’s not in his body anymore, he’s totally outside himself, and he feels like he's going to die, and and and and—

It isn’t until he hears his voice again that he realizes he’s just laying there panting, underwear and sweatpants around his ankles, tears falling onto his pillow.

“That’s all, Justice. Goodnight.”

And, he hangs up.

Apollo’s world comes crashing down in thirty seconds flat.

(For as good as the highest of highs are, is it really worth the lowest of lows?)

It all hits him at once—that wall of disgust, and shame, and hate. He smashes into that wall at a hundred miles per hour.

He’s still crying, but he starts crying harder, sobbing as he makes himself (somewhat) decent, throws the covers over his mess, and stumbles down the hall and into the bathroom.

The disorientation is different now. Instead of feeling floaty and dissociated and good, he feels frantic and disorganized and dissonant, and he’s trying to figure out how to turn on the shower, but he realizes he’s never worked this shower before, and his hands are shaking, and he can’t see straight, and he feels like he might panic and pass out and—

The next thing he knows, he’s sitting in the shower. Just like he used to. It’s cold, though. He still can’t stand the heat after that one time. But, with the cold, the threat of drowning in the cave doesn’t even bother him anymore.

Drowning. Dhurke’s dead. Good. He doesn’t want to be saved. He should have died the first time he almost drowned. Save Nahyuta instead. At least he has a life worth living for.

He opens his eyes, and it dawns on him he has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, but he’s so cold that he can’t even feel his body anymore. Or…is it because he…

Stupid, stupid, stupid! He always lets him take advantage of him. Always. He always lets him. He puts his hands over his eyes and shakes his head, and he laments to himself that he can’t let anyone see him ever again. He can’t even think of a word to describe how he feels about himself. Disgusting and bad feel like gross understatements, at this point.

(He could have hung up, he could have hung up, he could have hung up!)

But, he didn’t.

He wanted it. And, he got just what he wanted. The idea makes him want to throw up.

All that work. All that time. All the tears and pills and blood and hospitals and cognitive distortions and CBT/DBT/EMDR—

And, he did it again. He let him. He let Kristoph Gavin pull him under once again.

Oh.

Oh, Holy Mother.

At that moment, it slams down on him that he’s not safe. He’s actively not safe. Kristoph Gavin is walking among other living and breathing humans, and he’s not only not safe, but he’s actively in danger. He’s not even worried about being killed so much as he’s absolutely terrified that it’ll be like the First Time all over again.

(Or, maybe even worse, he’ll just let him.)

He opens his eyes, and it dawns on him that he has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, but he’s been crying for so long that he can’t even really cry anymore, just sniffle and hiccup and blink the water of the shower from his eyes.

He wishes he could make it stop, but it never stops. Even when it stops, it never stops.

His knees are pulled up to his chest, and he sits against the wall of the tub, and he feels like a fucking child. Infantilized by his own mind. He wants to be taken care of, to be held, to have everything be okay. Even though he hates looking weak or childish, a part of him wants to be a kid again. He never got to be a kid. No one ever looked after him. No one protected him. His parents would either die or give him up. And, it happened a lot considering he was a minor all alone in LA.

Somehow, a rational part of his brain still exists, and it reminds him of something Mr. Thomas said. There’s Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, the base being the things needed to survive, like food and shelter, but the very next level up is the need for safety, to feel like he’s not in danger. He’s been fighting just to be safe for so long that his sympathetic nervous system is all messed up, and even when he is safe, he doesn’t feel safe. And, now he really isn’t safe.

When someone’s been emotionally neglected at an early age as he has, the child has to act as their own adult, constantly worried about the things that should be provided for them. There’s no time to develop normally. Anxiety becomes the new normal, fight or flight becomes constantly required, and the body has to ask over and over again, “Am I safe? Am I safe? Am I safe?”

People aren’t meant to be constantly physiologically stimulated. It makes your hormones do wacky things. It makes your bones weaker. It makes you more prone to sickness. And, it’s absolutely exhausting for the mind and the body.

At a certain point, there’s no more energy for fight or flight. The body can’t handle the anxiety, so depression settles in. It gives up.

Thankfully, Apollo has never really dealt with “depression” in the chronic sense. It’s more of a trauma response that goes away after a while, but it’s never pleasant when he experiences it.

The point is, he doesn’t want to worry about anything, and here he is, being forced into another potentially life treating situation. He wants to give up. He wants to go back to when he could be carefree. Back when Dhurke still loved him, if he ever did.

He opens his eyes, and it dawns on him that he has no idea how long he’s been sitting there, but someone’s knocking on the bathroom door.

“Apollo?”

No, no, no…he can’t have people look at him. He can’t face anyone ever again. He doesn’t want to be seen by anyone.

“Apollo, are you okay in there?”

No, he thinks to himself. He turns off the shower anyway.

Miles likes to go to bed early, which makes sense because he has such a strenuous job, but Phoenix had always been more of a night owl, especially considering he enjoys himself a good glass of grape juice. Or, maybe three or four, but at least it’s not the whole bottle—all the time.

Listen, as he says time and again, it’s better than a whole crate every few days.

Whatever, the point is Miles is asleep, and he’s hungry and wants a glass of grape juice, so he sneaks out of the bedroom to get down to the kitchen. He vaguely notices that the shower down the hall is on, but he doesn’t pay it much attention.

Oh, sweet, Miles had bought those cheese sticks Trucy likes so much. To be fair, they are pretty good. Who said Phoenix Wright couldn’t be fancy? Wine and cheese, baby. Take that.

He drinks, like, three glasses of wine and eats two cheese sticks while looking through his phone before he goes back upstairs. As he does, he notices that the shower still going. He’d been in the kitchen for a while, forty-five minutes or an hour, maybe, so that’s a long-ass shower.

Out of curiosity, he peeks around the corner and down the hall. Trucy still has her door shut. Apollo does not.

Worry starts to bubble in his chest.

He’ll give him the benefit of the doubt for now, he decides. His hygiene habits really aren’t his business anyway. He goes back to bed.

Phoenix wakes up again because he needs to pee. It’s only been an hour or so, but alcohol will do that to you.

And, yeah, he could use the bathroom just off of their room, but he wants to make sure Apollo got back to bed.

But, the shower’s still running. He’s actively concerned now.

He approaches the door and knocks softly.

“Apollo?”

There’s no response. After a few moments, he tries again, knocking louder this time.

“Apollo, are you okay in there?”

The water turns off. He can hear the sounds of someone walking around in the bathroom for a bit. Phoenix waits patiently, even though he kinda really needs to pee.

Finally, the door opens, and—

Jesus Christ, Apollo looks like shit.

His hair is wet and stuck to the sides of his face, pushed out of his eyes in haphazard directions, and his face is puffy, and his eyes are red, and he’s shaking.

“Apollo? What’s wrong?” He can’t help but sound alarmed. “What happened?”

He doesn’t say anything. He just looks down at the floor. It’s then that Phoenix realizes that he’s not shaking, he’s shivering.

“I’m going to touch your arm, okay?”

He doesn’t say anything. When he places a hand on his forearm, he’s so cold that it makes his own skin feel blazing hot.

“God, you’re freezing. What were you doing in there?”

His voice is uneven and wrong sounding when he says, “Showering.”

“With no hot water at all?”

“Yeah.”

Not quite self-harm but close enough for alarm bells to go off in his head.

“Apollo, did something happen?”

He doesn’t say anything. He looks farther down, gaze aimed at his feet.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head.

“Why not?”

“I can’t…” His voice has gotten smaller. Phoenix can barely hear it.

“You…can’t?”

Since his head is dropped, it isn’t until his shoulders start bouncing that he realizes Apollo is crying.

“Hey, hey, hey…” He kneels in an attempt to make eye contact with him, but he turns his head away. When that doesn’t work, he stands back up and asks, “What can I do to help?”

No response.

“Is there anything you need?”

No response.

“Do you need a hug?”

Apparently, that was the right question to ask. He launches forward and throws his arms around Phoenix’s middle and presses his face into his shirt and starts bawling. The sound is gut-wrenching. He’s heard Apollo cry plenty of times, but this is alarming. And, he’s still so cold.

Phoenix is still trying to get some kind of clue out of him.

“Was it a dream?”

He shakes his head against his shirt, which is probably fairly soaked with tears and snot by now, but he’s used to that kind of thing from raising his own kid.

“Are you having intrusive thoughts?”

He shakes his head, but this time, he also shrugs a little as if signaling that he’s not entirely wrong, but it’s not it either.

“Are you upset about Klavier? Did you fight?”

He shrugs more than he shakes his head. Closer but not quite.

“Are you upset about…Gavin?”

That gets a reaction out of him. His entire body sort of scrunches up, contracting into himself as much as he can while he’s hugging him, and he starts crying harder. Phoenix didn’t know that was possible.

“What about him, ‘Pollo? What’s going on?”

Apollo releases him, puts his hands over his face, and shakes his head. He backs up until his back hits the wall.

“No—no…I-I can’t—I can’t—he—I—”

Phoenix sighs because it’s really hard to get anything coherent out of someone who’s hysterical, and he doesn’t know how to help him calm down without understanding what’s happening. Well, he can try a few things. He’s not totally new to all this.

“Hey, why don’t we make something warm to drink? You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. Let’s just try to get a little calmer, okay?” He places a hand on his shoulder, but he receives no reaction. “We can sit on the couch, and I can get you a warm blanket so you can heat back up.”

It’s unclear if Apollo is listening to anything he’s saying, but he does let Phoenix lead him downstairs and into the living room. He’s not sure if Apollo’s dissociating so much that he doesn’t know he’s cold or if he’s upset enough that he doesn’t care. He sits there, and he looks so small and miserable that it makes his chest hurt.

(I hate to see kids who don’t have anywhere to go.)

Apollo isn’t a kid as Kristoph will gleefully tell you, but when he gets like this, he does resemble one, in a way. He seems so scared and alone and sad, and it doesn’t take much to gather how much he dislikes himself.

He knows he can be a competent adult because he’s seen him be one for years. He’s a great lawyer, and when he’s feeling alright, he’s almost overly meticulous with his appearance, and his job, and his life. He tries to pretend he doesn’t need help, doesn’t need other people, doesn’t need anything at all. But, Phoenix is getting the sense that part of what makes these episodes so hard for Apollo is that, suddenly, he’s reduced to needing all the help, all the support, all the external validation.

And, he probably hates that.

Phoenix wants to tell him that it’s okay to let your guard down sometimes. It’s okay to ask for help before it’s becoming too late. The times of crises don’t mean he has to suck it up every other time to make up for it. That’s not how it works.

“Here.”

He wraps a gigantic comforter around him, and Apollo pulls the two ends toward his chest. He looks kind of like when you bury people in the sand at the beach with just the head sticking out, except it's a purple duvet and not sand.

Apollo makes a small sound, kind of like a shuddering “hmm,” and Phoenix isn’t sure whether it’s supposed to be good or bad.

“I’ll make you some tea, okay?”

“Hmm.”

He takes that as a yes.

When Phoenix comes back with the tea, Apollo is crying again, but he isn’t so hysterical. It sounds like a grieving kind of cry, like when the pain aches in dull throbs but doesn’t feel like panic is threatening to swallow you up. Maybe that means he’s calming down a bit. He’d really like to know what’s bothering him.

He sits next to his blanket mound and offers him the mug, which he takes in his hands, so now the blanket’s hung over his shoulders like a cape. He’s still shivering but not as violently as before.

Apollo brings the mug to his lips but doesn’t take a sip. It just hovers in front of his face, and if he were wearing glasses, the steam would have fogged them up.

Out of the blue and through tears he says, “He…called me.”

Finally, he takes a drink.

“Who did?”

This time, all Apollo does is shake his head and close his eyes.

Phoenix is genuinely confused.

“He said awful things to me, and I just let him. I could have hung up. But, I let him.” He sniffs, opening his eyes and staring down where he’s holding the mug in his lap. “I can’t even—” sniff “—begin to—” sniff “—explain how awful I feel about it.” Sniff. “How can I—” sniff “—want something that I hate so much?”

He drops his head to his chest and silently lets his shoulders shake, much like he had outside the bathroom.

“Apollo, what are you talking about?”

“He called me, Mr. Wright. He called me.”

“Who, Apollo? Please. I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Finally, he looks up, turns, and meets his eyes. There’s terror in them.

“Mr. Gavin. He called me, and I let him.”

That answer clarifies nothing and might actually have confused him more.

“So, you’ve started hallucinating again?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “I know when I start to hear voices, but this was real. He called me from Rayfa’s phone. I didn’t know who I was going to be talking to, but I didn’t think it would be him.”

Phoenix stares at him with furrowed eyebrows, and Apollo turns away again.

“I don’t want to like him anymore. I don’t want to. It’s horrible. He ruins everything. I hate it. Klavier hates me for it, too.”

“Klavier doesn’t hate you.”

“He will eventually. And, then, he’ll leave.”

(Just like everyone else.)

He could go around and around with him about Klavier, but he has to stay on task here. Why does Apollo think he talked to Kristoph? He could be growing delusional. Although, he sounds more coherent now than he has for the past couple of days. He could have mistaken a hallucination for a phone call. He could have—

“Why do I do bad things for him? Why? I don’t want it, but I do, but I don’t, and then I let him, and…”

“What did he say to you?”

“It’s bad. It’s bad. I can’t—I can’t say it.” He shakes his head harder than he has been. “It’s the stuff he always does. To you and…” he breathes in like he has to catch his breath, “…and to me.”

God, how can he do such a thing to a kid?

“Oh, Apollo…”

His voice grows low and mean when he says, “I’m a stupid, disgusting idiot.”

“Shh, shh, shhh…no, you’re not.”

“It’s true. I wouldn’t keep going back to him if I wasn’t.”

Phoenix isn’t exactly sure what to say to that. Apollo’s heard it all before—abuse, sickness, and everything in between—but, it never fully gets through to him. He honestly believes it’s his fault for not resisting Kristoph’s advances when the reality is that he made sure Apollo never had a choice in the matter.

“What if he…comes for us, Mr. Wright?”

“Huh?”

Apollo is very serious.

“If he’s here now, he has to want something. Revenge or…something. He sounded like he was trying to…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“You don’t actually think he’s alive, do you?”

He says, “No. He’s dead, but he…someone channeled him. Someone other than me. That’s what he said.”

Phoenix’s ears start to ring.

“He said what?”

“I thought I might have been hallucinating too because it makes more sense, but he was adamant that it was really him. And, he sounded so real. It’s not like how he sounds in my head.” He pauses, and his voice gets distant and soft. “It was really him.”

That information cannot sink in right now. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s trying to comfort Apollo. Getting wound up about another thing that’s impossible to prove and impossible to do anything about isn’t going to help either of them.

“I wouldn’t let him hurt you. I’d let him kill you over my dead body.”

He thought the sentiment would be comforting.

“Yeah…”

But, instead, the world inverts.

Phoenix jumps.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Wright?”

It’s disturbing to have Apollo look up at him so sadly while chains and red locks slam into place.

“Oh—no, it’s nothing.”

Five.

After some vague gesturing and unintelligible mumbling, Phoenix finally realizes that Apollo is trying to say-but-not say that he needs his sheets changed.

It’s terrible in the way that neither of them wants to be put in this position, and Phoenix sure as hell doesn’t want to know what Kristoph does to Apollo, but…maybe it’s better if he knows. Apollo doesn’t have anyone to keep him safe, and if Kristoph is determined to abuse him in any way possible, he’s going to have to take matters into his own hands.

“Sorry. This is so, so dumb. I could do it myself but I don’t know where everything is, and—”

“It’s fine, Apollo. You don’t need to freak out.”

He bites his lips and looks away, shame palpable. But, to be fair, most of Apollo’s life runs on a foundation of shame.

It dawns on him that his history of neglect may be more than just psychological abuse. Maybe he always felt insecure and lesser than others. Maybe he always hated what he wanted. Maybe the only way he had figured how to cope was to deny anything he wanted or needed in an attempt to level out that base-level of self-hatred.

Maybe Kristoph only made it worse.

If nothing else, he certainly does seem unable to talk about anything sexual normally. It’s not like Phoenix is asking him to, it’s just strange that when he’s trying to say he messed the sheets up, he’s standing there holding back tears and trying to make sure he’s not going to be hated for something that isn’t his fault.

Phoenix isn’t sure what to do. It isn’t like this kind of thing is exactly normal, but considering what he had gathered from some of Klavier’s offhand comments over the years, Apollo didn’t consider any range of sexuality normal for himself, even the most basic kinds.

Figures that Kristoph would mess him up like that. Take a kid who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing and twist him up so bad that he can’t figure it out.

Eventually, Apollo becomes so uncomfortable, he leaves the room altogether. Phoenix is truly out of his depth. Was this what Klavier was dealing with? Is Apollo always like this when it comes to such things? But, it certainly doesn’t help that if Apollo thinks Kristoph is back, he might be more emotionally overwrought by that than anything else.

(And, God, what were those Psyche-Locks about? They’d come from his comment about wanting to protect Apollo, so does that mean that he doesn’t want to be protected? That doesn’t seem right considering how messed up over it he is.)

Phoenix notices that Apollo left his phone on the bedside table.

Curiosity gets the better of him.

He flips it open and checks the recent calls. Sure enough, at 1 am, he received a call from “Rayfa” that lasted around five minutes. That’s an awfully long time to talk to someone you don’t know.

(I could have hung up. But, I let him.)

Geez. Phoenix wonders if the type of therapy he needs is just someone to sit beside him and tell him that things are okay. He’s been trying for so long to tell him that all this isn’t his fault, but no matter what he says, Apollo doesn’t believe him.

He does know the feeling—being so scared to not hate yourself that you cling to it with a vice grip. It sounds like it should be antithetical, but coming to terms with being okay with yourself is much, much harder than hating yourself for the rest of your life. In some ways. Not others.

Phoenix figures that the grass usually does seem greener on the other side. Or, maybe shit sucks on every side. Same difference, though.

He makes the bed, and even though it doesn’t look as nice as when Miles does it, it’s still pretty good in his opinion. He likes the blue flannel set with the similar blue duvet as the lavender one that’s still on the couch in the living room.

Speaking of which, he should probably find Apollo and see if he’s doing alright.

When he does find him, though, he’s asleep on the couch and the comforter is pulled up to right under his nose. Maybe sleep is the best thing he can do for himself right now. The poor kid.

That’s when he remembers that he’d absentmindedly stuck Apollo’s phone in his pocket. It wasn’t like he was planning on keeping it from him, but he sure as hell is going to block some numbers before he gives it back.

He goes into the kitchen and pulls it out, once again going to the previous call record. He hovers over the option to block it, but also…he’s curious. What’s truly on the other end of this number?

Against his better judgement, he selects the option to call it back.

It only rings twice. And, then, the line’s picked up.

“Coming back so soon, Justice?”

The words freeze him in place. He swears his heart stops. It doesn’t feel possible, but—

It really is him.

He wants to yell or maybe to cry. He wants to do something to release the pain of his abdomen crushing all his organs. Breathing feels difficult. His heart is slogging to beat as fast as his nervous system is telling it to. And, his brain has screeched to a complete halt.

(Although he doesn’t find this as frightening as hearing his old nickname, this certainly does ignite some kind of panic in him. Two trauma responses in a week? It’s been a while, that’s for sure.)

Still, he has to say something, especially because he doesn’t want to hear what he’d say to Apollo if he really were calling him back.

He breathes out loudly.

“Gavin.”

“Oh, my.” He sounds incredibly amused, almost mockingly so. “Is this my dear friend Phoenix Wright speaking?”

“Cut the shit.”

“Always so vulgar, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think you deserve the right to criticize any of my behavior.”

“Hm, is that so?” He laughs for a moment, and it’s a soft, charming laugh. A laugh that makes his chest feel even tighter. “Ah, I’m hesitant to admit that I missed our interactions. There’s something just so…you about the whole thing.”

“Well, I sure as hell didn’t miss you.” He thinks he’s telling the truth, and he really hopes he is.

Phoenix can imagine him shrugging and shaking his head in some form of pity. That’s just how he was—or, he is. Ugh, after almost five years of him being dead, it’s very difficult to be suddenly confronting the idea that Kristoph Gavin is not totally gone for good.

“I suppose you wouldn’t. Although, there are other people who did, so I’m not so hurt.”

“You…” (son of a bitch.) “How…” (are you here right now?)

He ignores the incomplete question.

“I’m surprised he told you. I assumed he would keep it to himself out of embarrassment alone. But, I suppose it's far too much information to keep in that pretty little head of his.” He hums in a way that makes it sound like he has adoration for Apollo’s naïveté and for his pretty little head.

Anger flashes in his chest.

“Leave Apollo alone, you son of bitch.” His own words taste sour.

“I’m sorry, but I have no intention of listening to you or anyone else. I have very specific goals in mind, and that’s all there is to say about that.”

God, he could kill him if he wasn’t already dead.

“Actually, you know what? I don’t care how it’s possible. Stay the fuck away from Apollo, from me, and my friends.”

“Why should I follow your orders now, Wright? You know that’s not how we play our games.”

“If you do anything to them, I’ll—“

“You’ll what? Kill me? I’m already dead. You’d just be murdering an innocent girl, and you wouldn’t want to do that, would you?”

His blood had already run cold so maybe it’s frozen at this point.

“Whose body are you using?” He sounds deadly serious.

“I will be keeping that to myself for now. I’m sure you will figure it out yourself soon enough.”

He’s correct in that there is nothing they can do to harm him. Not really anyway. He’s served the ultimate punishment, yet somehow, he’s still here. They can’t lock him up. They can’t beat him. And, nothing they could say to him would hurt his feelings. He’s much too self-assured for that.

Kristoph already has them cornered and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“But, I will warn you. No matter how many obstacles or protective measures you intend to put in place, it will not matter. You will come to us. Willingly. Be sure of that.”

Phoenix feels a chill run up his spine, but he is more concerned with his specific choice of pronouns.

“Us?” He feels the icy dread from a few days ago settle back into his stomach. “Who’s ‘us’?”

His voice gets distant as if he’s pulled the phone from his face.

“Would you like to talk to him, darling?”

“Ugh, shut the fuck up, faggot.”

He makes a tsking sound.

“I’m assuming that’s a no.” His voice comes closer again. “She’s not in a particularly talkative mood, it seems. But, we’ll surely chat again. I hope you relish in the anticipation.”

Before Phoenix has a chance to get his head back on straight, the call ends.

His hand slowly drifts down. He places the phone on the kitchen counter and stares at it.

[Rayfa (Cell) Call Ended]

His brain is in that halted state it was before. He can’t think or move or process anything that’s just happened. So, he decides he will not process it. Until later, at least.

Instead, he blocks the number, deletes the contact, and goes back into the living room.

Apollo is still asleep, which he is thankful for because he doesn’t even have the words to explain how he’s feeling, and he’s too beside himself to think of a good lie and deliver it with confidence. He places the phone on the coffee table in front of the couch and leaves once again.

This time, he pulls out his own phone.

“Hallo?”

“You need to grab some stuff and head over here, now.”

“Hmm?” He sounds tired, like Phoenix had woken him from a nap. “What do you mean, Herr Wright?”

“I mean that you’re in danger, and I don’t want you staying by yourself regardless of how good your security is.”

He pauses for a moment.

“Has something happened?”

“Your brother. That’s what’s happened.”

“Bitte?”

“Just…pack some stuff. Bring your guitar or whatever you do to keep yourself occupied. I’ll explain what I can when you get here.”

“Ach…alright. I trust you wouldn’t sound so serious if there wasn’t something to be serious about.”

“Thank you, Klavier.” He sighs, and some bits of truth slip out. “I honestly don’t know what to think right now.”

“I see. I’ll be over soon.” Klavier sounds like he’s going to hang up, but then, continues. “Is Apollo still there? Is he alright?”

“He’s sleeping. Unfortunately, he’s dealing with the same problem I am.”

“Mein…Bruder…”

“Yes.”

“I hope this is not some elaborate practical joke, Herr Wright.”

He sighs for the ten-millionth time.

“God, I wish it was.”

Ever since Klavier stopped—y’know—doing drugs and drinking all day, he’d been almost completely out of the public eye. Phoenix can imagine (and has heard at length from Trucy) that people figure something has been going on. It’s a shame because his EP was so successful, but as Klavier had said to him personally, he didn’t really care about the whole thing.

So, now, he generally looks like a normal person instead of a glammed up superstar all the time. He’s clearly depressed if the messy buns or sloppy ponytails meant anything, and he’d stopped wearing contacts altogether. The big circular glasses do have a fashionable look about them, not that Phoenix knows much about fashion.

“Good to see you,” he says honestly because between Miles being busy at work, Apollo coming apart at the seams, and the harrowing phone calls of the last few days, talking to someone, anyone is relieving.

He’s wearing a purple long sleeve shirt that’s shrink-wrapped to his body and black skinny jeans. It’s reminiscent of his older style but without all the flare—the glimmerousness as Ema would call it. He’s a lot paler because Phoenix assumes he’s stopped tanning, too. And, even though he isn’t as skinny as when he was at his worst, he still doesn’t look totally healthy either.

Depression’s a bitch. He can relate.

“Herr Wright,” his smile is pained, “I am very sorry for leaving so suddenly the last time I visited.”

He’d warned him. He knew that either Klavier would upset him or Apollo would say or do something weird. But, now Apollo’s just partially catatonic or always crying. Same cycle as always, it seems.

“It’s alright. I understand.”

He places his bag and guitar case down and crosses his arms.

“So, what is this about?”

Can’t even make himself at home first, can he?

“Like I said,” he looks down at the ground, “your brother.”

“And, what about mein Bruder? Did you find something out about him?”

“Well, sort of. Actually, I just talked to him on the phone a couple of hours ago.”

Phoenix says it like it's no big deal, but that’s only because he can’t fully wrap his mind around it. Maybe some part of him still doesn’t think it's real.

“You can’t be serious.” Klavier drops his arms in exasperation, giving Phoenix an annoyed look.

“I’m…as serious as I can muster right now.”

Klavier scrunches his eyes shut and shakes his head.

“So, Herr Wright, you are saying that my brother has come back from the dead just to give you a call, ja?”

“Not exactly, but yes.”

He’s deadpan. Klavier blinks at him, clearly growing more cross.

“Weißt du, wie lächerlich hört sich das anhört?”

“Uh,” Phoenix coughs, “excuse me?”

“You sound ridiculous, Herr Wright.”

“It is ridiculous. But, there’s spirit channeling, and I don’t know why anyone would channel him but…” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. “You can call him if you want. Or, take the number and call him on your phone. I’m sure he’d pick up for you.”

Klavier shakes his head harder, backing up and away from Phoenix’s outstretched hand until his back hits the front door.

“Es gibt keinen Weg…”

He must lapse into German more when he’s upset.

“That’s why I wanted you over here. So, he couldn’t get to you first.”

Klavier looks at him and swallows, eye wide with fear and disbelief and worry.

“I don’t believe you.” He picks up his bag and guitar case and starts heading upstairs and to the room Apollo had been sleeping in, presumably so he can put his stuff in there. He must believe him on some level because he didn't immediately leave. Maybe he just wants an excuse to see Apollo again.

“He’s in the living room,” Phoenix says.

“Danke,” he grunts back, barely audible as he turns around the corner.

It’s sad that everyone is already going through so much, and this has to be added on top of it.

(‘Us? Who’s us?’)

Phoenix hates that he might know the answer to that.

“Schatz?”

Apollo wonders if he’s dreaming. He groans and everything feels slow and murky. He’s trying to open his eyes because he knows the voice is familiar, but he’s so tired. 

“Mmm…” he groans again.

“Ah, sehr schläfrig.”

He can’t tell if it’s him, but he somehow knows anyway.

“Klavier…”

He feels a soft palm on his cheek.

Apollo had been flung between so many emotions and mental states in the last few days that he feels messed up but in a confused and slow way. Should he burst into tears? Should he sit up and hug him? Or, should he just keep his eyes shut and drift away? It feels like it would be easier to stay asleep and not think about anything at all.

Klavier’s voice sounds clearer this time when he speaks.

“Are you alright, Schatz?”

He opens his eyes, but they fall shut again. He opens his eyes, but his eyelids are so heavy.

“Yeah…I’m just…tired.”

His eyelids shut again.

“Do you want me to leave you alone so you can sleep?”

The last thing he wants is to be left alone.

“No…don’t leave,” he whines.

He’s sure Klavier is wondering why he’s so different than the last time they spoke, but the explanation is too much to bear.

Finally, his mind starts kicking into gear again. He opens his eyes and his vision comes into focus, and he sees Klavier looking at him sympathetically. He's reminded of their previous interaction, and the guilt and shame rise up in his chest, almost enough to strangle him.

“I’m sorry.”

He blinks.

“For what?”

“For the last time.”

“Oh. Ah…” He looks at his lap. “I realize you were having an episode of some sort.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t mean it’s alright.”

“I suppose.”

Apollo sits up and stretches his arms above his head, and wow, he feels like shit. His body aches from the position he was sleeping in, and his face still feels swollen from crying so hard for the last day or so. He’s hungry, but he also feels like he’s going to throw up.

He moves so he’s sitting next to Klavier, and he wraps his arms around him. Klavier reciprocates. Apollo sighs into his chest and is thankful for how comforting his embrace is. Even though everything is terrible, he still has a calming effect on him.

“How are you feeling, Schatz?”

“Bad,” he murmurs.

“Worse than before?”

“Yeah.”

“Did something change?”

Apollo is silent. How is he supposed to break this to him? He can’t tell his boyfriend to his face that he had non-consensual one-sided phone sex with his dead-but-brought-back-to-life brother, and so the whole thing sits on him like a rock.

“Yeah…but I…don’t want to say it.”

There’s only one person he says that about, and Klavier knows it.

“Was it Kristoph?”

The way he immediately tenses and pulls away is a dead giveaway that he’s correct. Even though he’s been crying so much, he still has more tears. He sniffs.

“I’m sorry,” he sniffs again. He sounds pitiful to his own ears.

“You can’t keep apologizing and not tell me what you’re apologizing for.”

“It’s so bad.”

The familiar phrase must shock him because he puts a hand under his chin and lifts his head up. His blue eyes are haunted with worry.

“Apollo. What did you do?”

He shakes his head. He chokes on more tears. He knows he has to say something. He can’t hide behind his trauma anymore. It feels wrong of him after everything that’s happened.

Apollo’s voice is a soft and strangled whisper.

“He called me, and I…let him…”

“What?” The word is punctuated with disbelief and some sort of anger. Hopefully, the anger isn’t directed at him.

“He—He called me. And, he did what he always does.”

It feels easier to say this time. Maybe because he’d already said it to Mr. Wright.

Klavier looks like more than his heart is breaking.

“You are being serious, ja?”

Apollo feels his face contort, and he hiccups. He drops his head and shakes it again.

“Why would I make it up? I didn’t want it to happen. It was the middle of the night, and he…”

He can’t say it. Not to him.

“Herr Wright was…telling the truth?”

“About what?” He looks up to meet his eyes.

“About him. Being back.”

“Y-Yeah. It was him. I wasn’t hallucinating. It was him.”

Klavier lets out an uneven breath.

“I can’t believe it.”

“I wish it weren’t true. I don’t understand why. Who would channel him? Who would want to bring him back?”

(Who would channel him beside me?)

Apollo continues.

“I’m so scared. I don’t know what he’s going to do. He has to be planning on hurting us. There’s no way he won’t. He hates us for what we did to him.”

Klavier can’t think of anything to say.

“A-And, I think h-he’s trying to get me to go to him. But, I don’t want to. I don’t want to see him. I want him to be dead.”

He feels like that now, but for some reason, he can’t convince himself that he truly feels that way deep down.

“Do you think he could convince you? At some point? At any point?”

He wants to say no. He wants to reassure him. He wants to be a good person and be completely loyal to his boyfriend.

But, he’s bad. He can’t deny it.

“I-I don’t know.”

The way Klavier’s shoulders droop makes it look like some of his resolve has left his body. He stays silent.

“It’s not that I want to, it’s just…I don’t know what it is. It’s like I’m a different person when I talk to him. I don’t trust that part of me. I hate that part of myself, and I’ve wished it would go away so many times.” He clenches his eyes shut. “I know there should be no excuse. I know I should know how to control my own body and thoughts and actions, but I feel like I can’t. There’s no excuse, but I…”

“Ach…I know. It’s his fault for doing this to you.”

(I wish I could believe it.)

“I’ve been trying really hard in therapy, but it’s not something I can easily think about. We do trauma therapy, but we haven’t gotten to the worst of it yet, and now I’m doing it all again. I’m falling into it again, and I hate myself for it.”

Klavier brings him back into a hug.

“Shh…”

Calming the crying baby.

“There’s no—” he hiccups again, “—there’s no excuse.”

It’s one of those things where the first time it happened, it was honestly a mistake. He didn’t understand what was happening and genuinely couldn’t get ahold of himself. The second time should have been the last. He knew the feeling, and he’d treated Klavier badly, and that should have been the last time. But, between the spirit channeling and kissing Kristoph back and kissing Klavier without permission, Apollo feels like he genuinely is bad. He’s turning into Kristoph. He’s hurting people, and he can’t stop, and he’s bad.

He should know better. He should know how to make it stop.

But, it never stops. Even when it stops, it never stops.

Athena is the last of the abandoned wayward children to be invited to Edgeworth’s place. It’s not like Phoenix is afraid someone will come for her since Kristoph doesn’t know Athena in any capacity, but half of it is that she can be moral support and the other half is she might not be safe if an online search is done and it’s found that she’s working for him.

(There should be one more person, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. He hopes it just went dead because the other option is horrifying, and he can’t think about it for his own good.)

It’s a good ol’ family sleepover except for the fact there is one if not two serial killers after them. But, that’s beside the point.

Athena opens her arms and pulls Apollo into a hug, practically stealing him from Klavier whose arm had been draped over his shoulder.

“Oh, Apollo. I’ve been so worried about you. How have you been?”

Despite himself, Apollo melts into the embrace, his head leaning on her shoulder. He sighs.

“I’m here.”

“Good!”

Phoenix looks at Miles, and Miles looks tired and worn. They both are in different ways. He’s sure that he doesn’t look too hot himself.

“Let go of him, Athena,” Phoenix warns. She’s too touchy-feely for her own good sometimes, but it’s only because she’s enthusiastic. And, considering how Apollo has been reacting to people touching him lately, Athena probably doesn’t need to contribute to that.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry, Boss.”

It’s a strange sight. When was the last time Phoenix, Miles, Trucy, Apollo, Klavier, and Athena had all been in one room? It’s also strange seeing Apollo and Klavier look…um…not great and in casual clothes instead of their usual outfits. At least the girls still look as chipper as ever.

But, as they disperse, it becomes even more clear that things aren’t really alright.

Apollo’s eyes are distant. Klavier is making him toast. He’s oddly familiar with Edgeworth’s place. Phoenix never really liked his whole wheat bread, but if health is important to his partner, he can’t really say anything.

Apollo puts the piece of toast to his lips and takes a tiny, tiny bite. Klavier rubs his back and murmurs things to him, but it’s so quiet that he can’t hear what he’s saying. He must still be feeling sick, which Phoenix can’t necessarily blame him. He feels sick, too.

Athena and Trucy are gossiping about something, but again, too quietly to hear. Probably about Klavier since that’s what they usually do when they’re in his presence.

And, then, the phone rings.

The Steel Samurai theme is beginning to grate on his nerves.

[Incoming Call: Rayfa]

Of course. He should have known. Anyone who would be calling him is already here.

Except for Maya.

“What?”

“Oh. Excuse me. Are you busy?”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Klavier and Apollo look at him warily—except Apollo looks scared out of his mind and Klavier looks angry.

“Put me on speaker, Wright.”

“No.”

“And risk her life?”

“Whose?”

“Rayfa's, of course. The Princess?”

Phoenix doesn’t have enough energy to ask if someone else is there with him. He just puts it on speakerphone because there’s nothing else he can do.

“Hello,” Gavin announces, bringing them all closer to make sure they’d heard correctly. “I trust the Anything Agents have been doing well?”

“I don’t work for Herr Wright,” Klavier mumbles. Kristoph still hears him.

“Oh, my dear brother, hello.”

“Verpiss dich.”

“Hmph. Fine,” he sounds annoyed at his brother’s seemingly vulgar language. “I assume you have brought all your compatriots together as I expected, so this is a lovely opportunity for introductions.”

“We know who you are, Gavin.”

“Alright. I’ll move on then.”

There is a horribly long pause. The air is too thick to breathe.

“Justice…I know you’re there.”

His voice all but a song.

Apollo can’t breathe let alone speak.

“...Justice?”

Athena wraps her arms around him protectively, if for no other reason than to let him know that he’s not alone.

“S-Sir.”

“Oh, there you are. It’s nice to hear your voice again. After the last time, I’d started to miss it.”

He cringes, hoping that he doesn’t elaborate on said topic.

“While I’m here for Wright, I am also here for you.”

Suddenly everyone’s eyes are on him, and Apollo feels so, so small. Kristoph had made it clear before that he wants…something from him, but he isn’t sure if he wants to keep him as a pet or to have him come crawling back just so he can slit his throat. Knowing him, maybe it’s both.

“I’d like to speak to you privately, please.”

Mr. Wright’s voice is firm and loud.

“No.”

“I think that I directed that question to Mr. Justice, Wright.”

“I am not letting you talk to him.”

“You don’t have the liberty to say what I can and cannot do. Or, have you forgotten that the body I’m in is not my own? It would be a shame if something happened.”

He stares at the phone angrily, but it is true that there’s nothing they can do but comply.

“A word please, Justice. Would you?”

Apollo isn’t really sure what he’s doing, but Athena’s arms fall away from his shoulders as he steps forward and takes the phone from Phoenix, turning it off of speaker. He looks back at the wide eyes staring at him, and he knows he should say no, but he also knows from experience that Mr. Gavin’s offers are usually ones he’s not allowed to refuse.

“Sorry,” he says softly, turning away again.

He walks around the corner and down the hall, not quite into the living room. He leans against the wall and slides down to the floor. The carpet feels harder than it had previously. He brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Justice. How are you doing?”

“…Not very well.” Apollo looks up at the ceiling and tries to keep his voice steady. “You upset me the last time.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Apollo knows he’s not sorry.

“What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I simply wanted to know how you were doing.”

“…I don’t believe that.”

“Is it wrong for me to miss the sound of your voice? You were silent for most of our last call.”

Apollo feels his body wilting around him.

“I wish you would just leave us alone…leave me alone.”

“Oh, you know that’s not true. If it were, why would you have brought me back?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Thinking with your heart and not your mind, I would assume.”

He shakes his head. “I—no…I…”

“It’s alright. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

How does he make his voice sound so soft and affectionate like that? He knows it’s all a lie. He knows he’s manipulating him. He knows that all Apollo wants is to be spoken to softly, to be given attention, to be treated like he’s special.

A voice in the back of his head says, (You like being taken advantage of.)

The idea makes him feel worse because it’s not untrue. It hurts to be used and tossed around and tugged sharply in different directions, but there is a thrill to it, in a way. The thrill of danger, the threat of pain. He falls back into it because it feels good to be treated badly. It’s a stumbling block he’s always stumbling over. Being treated nicely feels wrong and being manipulated feels right. That’s why he can’t totally give into Klavier’s love. A love he didn’t earn feels so wrong.

Still, he has to keep some modicum of pride.

“If you’re trying to get me to come back to you, you’re wasting your time.”

“I never said that was my purpose. And—” he laughs softly, “—I’m sure you know me well enough by now. I like playing games. Especially the games I play with you. You like it too, don’t you?”

Apollo doesn’t dare answer that question.

“We can go in circles all day using the roles we play, but you know just as well as I do that you like this. And, I’m not above admitting that I do as well.”

“…I like…what?”

“The back and forth. The banter. To put it curtly, the foreplay.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why? Is it too close the truth for you to bear?”

He feels his bottom lip quivering. He falls so easily back into a sniveling child when talking to him. He doesn’t have any more mental barriers to protect himself. Mr. Gavin had stripped all of his boundaries away so completely that the line between being himself and the Apollo he’d crafted feels almost nonexistent at this point.

“It’s alright. As I said before, I’m not going to judge you for such things. After all, it’s partially my fault for introducing you to such ideas. It’s only fair that I take some responsibility for…your tastes.”

“S-Sir, p-please don’t.”

“Are you crying, Justice?”

He sniffs.

“Oh, dear. Am I pushing you too hard?”

He sniffs again.

Mr. Gavin hums in that way that he does. It’s as melodic as it is unsettling.

“It’s alright. You can give the phone back to Wright now. I just wanted to check in. You can call whenever you’d like. I’ll always pick up for you.”

No, no, no. He can’t let his sweet-sounding words creep into his chest. He knows it’s a lie. He knows he’s doing it on purpose. He knows he can’t fall back into his arms again. Not now when there is a possibility of it actually happening in real life.

Apollo drops his arm to his lap and looks at how the time stamp on the screen keeps ticking forward. He stands and rounds the corner and there are worried eyes on him again, probably because he’s still sniffling. When he gets over to Mr. Wright, he holds out his hand which still clutches the phone. Carefully, he takes it back from him, and Apollo makes his way over to and up the stairs.

The door to the bathroom slams shut.

“What did you say to him?”

Kristoph is back on speaker.

“Just making pleasantries, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Right.”

“As much as I love catching up, there is someone else who would like to speak with you.”

Phoenix feels like he might actually become ill.

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line for a bit, and then, there’s a lofty sigh.

“Feenie? Are you there?”

He looks at Miles who is staring at him in shock. That sickly sweet timber. There’s no mistaking it.

It’s her.

“Dahlia.”

She giggles.

“How’ve you been all these years? Kris tells me you hit a few bumps in the road.”

“Kris?”

“You know. The faggot.”

Phoenix rolls his eyes.

“Still as charming as ever, I see.”

“We have our fun,” she says, a smile evident in her words.

He grows serious again.

“What do you want?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing really. Well, we do want to scare the shit out of you. Half the fun is the anticipation, you know. So, we’re biding our time until we really start getting serious.”

“All of this just for some petty revenge?”

“The pettiest. You should know, Feenie, I never give up without a fight. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice…well, that’s not going to happen.”

“So, intimidation. That’s what you’re getting at?”

“There will be far more than only intimidation, but it doesn’t hurt for now.”

“You should know me—know us—as well. We don’t give up easily either.”

“But, you have a childish idealism that holds you back.”

“And, being a psychopath is preferable, in your opinion?”

“It’s a hell of a lot more fun. And, we can easily threaten you. The Princess and the Master. It’s a pretty good plan, you have to admit.”

That was what he didn’t want to know. He knew that Maya not answering her phone was suspicious. But, God, not Maya. Not again.

Phoenix can't do anything but sigh.

“I don’t know what to say to you.”

“Then, don’t say anything. We’re perfectly content kicking back and letting things play out. It’ll be fun, won’t it, Feenie?”

He hits the end button and looks at the floor. Klavier stands and follows Apollo’s path up the stairs. He doesn’t seem to really care about anything besides him, which Phoenix can understand.

Athena speaks up first because of course she does.

“Who was that, Boss?”

Phoenix looks at her and smiles in a way that looks like a frown.

"I guess it’s time to tell a story.”

“Oooh, I love stories.” Athena beams. “Like a fairy tale?”

The room is tersely silent.

“Not so much,” Miles mumbles.

How does he always make him feel like this? Sick. Physically ill. And, dizzy. And, wrong.

He puts a hand to his forehead. He’s sweating. Sticky and hot nausea has him lifting the toilet seat. He hopes his stomach will just reject its contents and get it over with.

But, he doesn’t throw up. Why? Why would he feel like this and not be able to throw up?

There might be something to be said about how he’s barely been able to eat for the last week or so due to how badly he’s been feeling, so there probably isn’t much to throw up, but he did have a piece of toast right before he called, so there’s something at least.

God, he feels so sick, but he can’t throw up.

He hangs over the toilet and presses against his stomach, but he can’t throw up.

He tries not to cry but he lets out a sob. He doesn’t have enough tears for them to leave his eyes. He’s cried them all out, and there’s none left for this minor issue.

He sits on the floor and wraps his arms around his middle, and he rocks slightly because he feels so nauseous but he can’t throw up.

Out of all the ways his body betrays him, why does it have to be this? He’s so close to vomiting that he doesn’t understand why he can’t.

So, he puts two fingers down his throat.

He coughs and coughs. It hurts, and it’s uncomfortable. It takes some finagling and some awful scratching to his throat, but finally, he vomits.

And everything—

—stops.

“Hah.”

It’s that easy? Everything can stop just from that?

Once he flushes the toilet, he slumps against the bathtub, his head swimming. He puts a hand to his head. He doesn’t feel great, but he doesn’t feel bad either. He’s cold and maybe shivering a little, but he doesn’t feel bad.

He feels good.

There’s a knock, and he says, “Come in.”

Klavier is there in the doorway.

“Schatz?”

“Hm?”

He can’t do much but look up at him blankly.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just…” He hates to lie, but he has to lie. “I got sick.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He comes in and sits down next to him. He puts an arm around his waist and leans him against his shoulder. There’s something depressingly nostalgic about the both of them sitting on the floor of a bathroom, but filtered through the humming in his brain, even just those few months ago feel like how it used to be. He would have done anything to feel that way back then.

Funny how memories change in retrospect.

“Hhmn…”

“Ja? Is that a good sound?”

“Yeah.” He feels a little out of his head. “I love you, Klavier.”

Klavier looks down at him with a small smile.

“I love you, too.” But, he still has concern in his eyes. “Did he say bad things to you again?”

“Not really…” Another lie. For some reason, lying is coming to him easier these days. “He wanted to talk. Like how I was and stuff.”

“Hm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I am a bit worried that he’s trying to groom you again.”

“Groom me?”

“Oh—er…” He scratches at his cheek like he’s embarrassed. “Trying to get you to let down your guard. To get you to trust him again.”

“I don’t think I could ever trust him.”

“I know, but as you said, you talk to him differently than you talk to others. He probably thinks he can wear you down.”

“He said he just likes to talk to me. I don’t like it, really, but—” He realizes he’s letting himself blabber on about stuff he wouldn’t normally. “Sorry. I don’t want to happen. That’s what I’m trying to say.”

“I know, Schatz.” He kisses his sweaty forehead. “I’ll do anything to protect you from him. You know that, ja?”

“Yeah,” he squeaks, “I know.”

Everyone wants to help him so badly. It’s very nice and he appreciates it a lot, but like the love he hasn’t earned, he doesn’t know why he deserves this sort of treatment either.

“Just promise me.”

“Yes?”

“Promise that you won’t start hating me.”

Klavier’s heard these words before. It doesn’t shock him like it used to.

“No, Liebling. That’s not how it works. You know that.”

(But, they always leave. And, this time, I would understand because it would be my fault.)

“Yeah. I guess.”

Klavier frowns.

She wakes with a start and sucks in a breath. It feels like she hasn’t inhaled in a week, and her lungs hurt from the force of it.

Her vision is blurry, and she’s dizzy, too. Oh, Holy Mother. Her body aches, and she’s so, so tired. If allowed to, she feels as though she could sleep for a hundred years. Before she can stop herself, she groans.

“Ah, so you’re finally awake.”

Rayfa gasps, which hurts her lungs even more. She sits up and coughs, but what she notices first is her hair against her back. And, she’s wearing a black dress made of scratchy fabric that is visibly too big for her.

Then, she turns and sees a man—a man she’s never seen before. He has shiny black hair that is twisted into a singular tendril which falls over his shoulder. He’s wearing what looks like a brand new black suit with a white shirt, a black ribbon around his neck, and glasses. He’s very refined looking, and Rayfa doesn’t like him one bit.

“Who would you be, Spiked Hair?”

“Hm, that’s certainly a new one.”

He gets up from the easy chair he’s sitting in before crossing his arms and smiling kindly. That’s when Rayfa realizes she has no idea where she is. It looks to be a lodging for guests although much more luxurious and western than the ones for commoners in Khura’in.

“Where am I? Where have you taken me? Who are you? What do you plan on—”

He lifts up a singular hand.

“Please stop talking. You’re very loud. It reminds me of a former assistant of mine.”

She narrows her eyes at him and glares.

“I will answer your questions. You are in America. Los Angeles, California to be exact. I am Kristoph Gavin.”

Her eyes get wide. “You kidnapped me?”

“Technically speaking. Although, it wasn’t I who did it.”

She scoffs, “Well, then, who did?”

“You don’t know her. She died when you were probably just a child.”

Rayfa doesn’t know what to make of that.

“As for what we plan on doing—we have a mutual acquaintance we want to see. I am also no longer alive, and so we’re both using spirit channeling to achieve our goals. We have nothing against you personally, but we don’t have many options since the talent is rather hard to come by.”

“Whatever you plan to do, I will not be used as your spirit channeling—” she growls, upset enough that she’s having trouble finding her words. She stands from the bed and stamps her foot. “Your spirit channeling puppet!”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to do this.”

He walks over to the dresser that an unused TV is sitting on, opens a drawer, and takes something out. Then, he flips around and lunges at her. It’s her turn to be whipped around, and one of his large hands claps over her mouth. Something is pressed against her temple.

It takes one—two—three seconds before it dawns on her that it’s the barrel of a gun.

Her scream is muffled by his hand.

“As I said, we hold no ill-will toward you. It would be unfortunate if we were forced to end your life simply due to noncompliance.”

She’s filled with a flurry of emotions. Obviously, she’s scared, but she also is furious, especially because she can’t help the tears that prick at her eyes, and she’s mournful that she’s being used for something against her will, and she’s angry at herself for somehow being tricked into summoning someone with dubious intentions. Although, she’s not entirely sure how it happened in the first place.

“Now, I will let you go if you promise not to scream. Because if you do, I will have to find a way to force you to be silent.”

A chill runs down her spine. Reluctantly, she nods, and Kristoph lets her go. The gun pulls away from the side of her head.

She flips back around.

“You—you—” Rayfa feels her face flush as she begins shaking with anger. “You nincompoop! How dare you disrespect a member of the royal family and bring insult onto the powers of the Holy Mother?!”

“Not the most original insult that’s ever been aimed at me, I’ll admit. To be fair, the only reason you are still not channeling my partner is because you are too weak and inexperienced to handle such an extended period of doing so. That is not my doing.”

Somehow that makes her angrier. Her hands clench into shaking fists.

“You mock me even though you are the one who should be ashamed of your actions!”

“Please. Quiet.”

Rayfa growls again, but she does not speak.

He goes back to the drawer and deposits the gun once again, and instead, picks up a pink flip phone that had been charging on the adjacent table.

“Hey, that’s mine!”

“Yes, thank you. It’s proved very useful for us.” He unplugs it and walks back over to her before flipping open the screen. He toggles some of the menus and then turns it toward her.

“This is Dahlia Hawthorn. She is the individual I would like you to channel—if you’re well-rested enough, of course. But, you’ve been sleeping for much longer than a day, so I assume you are.”

She continues to scowl but stays silent.

“Or, you can take the other option, which is death.”

“Ugh.” She takes the phone and looks at the picture more closely. She’s a beautiful lady wearing the dress she’s currently in. Black hair much like the man before her. Her smile is charming.

Rayfa shoves the phone back in his hand.

“Very good.”

“You will not get away with this.”

He tilts his head, eyes closing, and smiles.

“Oh, I assure you. We will.”

The last thing she remembers are the flares of hatred that burn her chest.

Apollo sits on the steps of Edgeworth’s backyard deck and watches as Athena and Trucy pace back and forth. They’re visibly perturbed. Klavier is sitting in a patio chair, elbow propped up on its arm and leaning his face on his forehead, eyes closed. He’s much more than visibly perturbed.

The screen door opens behind him, and Apollo turns around to look and see who’s come to join them.

It’s Ema Skye.

“Ema?” His voice sounds strained, probably from the vomiting and having to scratch at his throat with his fingernails. “What are you doing here?”

“Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth asked me to get your cat for you, considering the Fop forgot to bring him along.”

Usually, Klavier would take the jab in stride, but he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t even acknowledge her existence.

“Oh, Calico—I can’t believe I forgot about her.”

Even Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth care more about his cat than him. Apollo didn’t know he could feel even more like a piece of shit.

“She’s fine. A little hungry, but cats can take it.” She looks at the pacing girls and then back down to Apollo and then over to Klavier. “Geez, you all look like shit. What’s going on?”

He feels himself wilting again. Every time the situation is brought up, he feels unbearably nauseous.

“It’s…really complicated.”

Athena spots Ema, who waves and runs over, Trucy not too far behind.

“Hey, Ema!”

“Hey, you two. That’s a lot of pacing you guys were doing.”

“You wouldn’t believe it.” Trucy’s hands press to her chest and clench into fists. “Kristoph Gavin and Daddy’s ex-girlfriend are back from the dead!”

Apollo can’t help but cringe at his name.

Ema claps a hand to her cheek, eyes wide with shock.

“Kristoph Gavin? Back from the dead? Huh?”

Athena jumps in, “They’re being spirit channeled. By Maya and Rayfa.”

“Oh my God. That’s where Rayfa’s gone? Nahyuta hasn’t stopped talking about her since she disappeared. I feel really bad for him.”

“Yeah, it’s bad news all around.”

She looks guilty now, probably for teasing Klavier. Considering he looks like he doesn’t want to talk to anybody, she sits down on the stairs next to Apollo and puts a hand on his back. It feels warm. Has he still not completely warmed up from his self-pity shower? Hopefully, he’ll die of hypothermia, if nothing else.

“How are you holding up?”

Ema doesn’t really know about his past, but everyone involved knows Kristoph Gavin, and everyone knows Apollo was his assistant, and so everyone figures that however he was treated, it couldn’t have been good.

“Not well,” he murmurs.

“Yeah, I can imagine.” She frowns. “Can I give you a hug?”

He nods. Ema’s arms are surprisingly strong.

All of a sudden, Trucy shouts, “Polly Group Hug!” and latches onto the both of them. Athena joins soon after. Even Klavier quits seething and comes over to simply place a hand on his head.

Emotion blooms in his chest, and he’s not sure if he’s going to burst into tears or start laughing, but then, he giggles because everything is so ridiculous, including his friends. He can’t remember the last time he laughed.

“Cheer up, Polly! Cheer up, Polly!”

“Didn’t you make us learn a dance to that song to put on the internet?” Athena asks.

“And, it was great. We went semi-viral thanks to Daddy being in it.”

Now they’re all laughing because it’s contagious, especially because one of the many superpowers that Trucy has is to bring joy even into the darkest of places.

When they separate, Apollo finally feels his skin get hot for the first time in a while, which is probably from his face flushing if he knows himself at all. He rubs at his wrist because his bracelet has tightened from the change in temperature. He hadn’t even realized it felt loose until just now.

“Thanks, guys. You’re the best.” He can’t help but let a tiny smile tug at his mouth. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“It’s because we love you, Polly!”

“That we do,” Athena beams.

One of Ema’s arms is still around his shoulder when she says, “Me three.”

Klavier ruffles his messy hair and makes it messier.

"Natürlich mein Liebling.”

Apollo thinks he might burst into flames.

Even Calico, newly freed from her carrier (probably by Mr. Wright), scratches at the screen door and meows in agreement. In the distance, they can hear Mr. Edgeworth shout, “No, Calico! Not the screen!”

They all burst into laughter again, and for the first time in what seems like forever, Apollo might feel okay.

He might even feel…happy. He hadn’t known it was possible.

They got pizza because Mr. Edgeworth hadn’t been planning on feeding six mouths a week ago. He grumbles something about getting groceries delivered to Mr. Wright, and he smiles sweetly at him like he’s charmed by his irritation.

Apollo rubs two fingers forward and back on the marble of Mr. Edgeworth’s kitchen countertop. He feels sick.

“Polly.”

Trucy looks at him like she can read his mind.

“I know,” he says because he’s pretty sure he can read hers, too.

Pizza is good. He likes pizza. He shouldn’t be having issues with eating it, but he grabs a slice and puts it in his mouth, and none of the good things about pizza hit him, and instead, he has to will his body not to immediately reject it.

He wants to cry about how difficult it is to do things that used to be so normal, but he also can’t do that in front of everyone.

“Schatz.”

And, that’s all he says. He rubs his back, and he hates lying to his boyfriend, so it breaks him out of his stoicism.

“I feel so sick. I can’t.”

“But, you have to.”

Mr. Wright and Mr. Edgeworth have been sharing glances and murmuring to each other basically ever since the last “Rayfa” call. They’re probably rightly worried about Apollo’s state of health—physically and mentally.

“We can always order something else,” Miles offers. His tone is soft and soothing, but it reminds him of how Mr. Gavin talks to him, and it makes him feel worse.

“It’s not…the type of food…”

Athena, Trucy, and Mr. Wright look heartbroken. Mr. Edgeworth just looks back at his laptop which is also resting on the marble counter. He can’t bear to look at Klavier.

Apollo’s middle and pointer fingers begin to tap against the counter nervously.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m fine. It’s just anxiety. I know it is. Usually, I could talk myself down because CBT and all, but there’s actually issues that require worrying, and it makes me feel sick, and—”

Klavier’s arm goes around his shoulder, and he places his palm on the side of his face, bringing his head to his chest.

“Shh…Schatz. It’s alright. You’re safe right now, if nothing else.”

He lets out a puff of air, and he’s distinctly aware that all the people who care about him in his life are watching this overt display of affection, and it feels much worse.

Apollo wrestles out of his arms.

“Please. Don’t.” Everything’s terrible. He doesn’t need people to watch his deterioration. Well, more so than usual. “I just need to be left alone for a while.”

He can’t look at their faces. He hates this. It’s so embarrassing. He gets the familiar feeling of not wanting anyone to look at him ever again, which is why he storms off and stomps up the stairs, and locks himself in the bathroom.

Again.

God, this sucks. Holy Mother, this sucks. He doesn’t want to be making such a big deal out of everything, but everything feels like a big deal, even the little things.

He paces the bathroom, and it feels like something heavy drops in his stomach. He gags and leans over the toilet, but he doesn’t throw up.

Why, why, why, why, why, why?!

He bursts into tears because this constant nausea is almost more painful than the constant reminder that (he’s a disgusting failure, a blight on existence, a curse to the Holy Mother).

“No,” he whines, “please.”

He does the same thing he did last time. He leans over and presses against his stomach, but nothing happens. So, then, he sticks his pointer and middle finger down his throat, and—

It happens much easier this time. He only had taken a bite of pizza and drank a few sips of water, which is why his emesis is colored the sickly yellow-green of bile.

“Ah…”

It’s not exactly fair that a self-destructive act like this makes everything feel so much better. Tears continue to prick at his eyes because of the self-induced euphoria, and somehow everything feels good and bad at the same time.

He flushes the toilet and melts to his knees.

He knows he’s doing something wrong.

He knows he should stop.

But, it’s so easy to lie, and hurting himself feels so good.

“Hah.”

Okay, okay. Things might be bad right now, but he can fix these bad habits when this is all over. Or, Kristoph will kill him and he won’t have to.

Haha.

(Get up.)

He does.

(Go to bed. They don’t need to know what’s wrong.)

“Okay.”

He opens the door and dazedly finds himself in the guest room. It’s nice always being in sweats because he can just crawl into bed and forget that reality ever happened.

He’s awoken by a warm hand on his face. It makes his gasp.

“Ach, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Everything feels distant and fuzzy, but he also feels scared, and his heart thrums in his chest because he can’t convince himself that he’s not in danger. Inexplicably, he whimpers. For a split second, he thought he was looking up at Mr. Gavin. However, he corrects his mistake.

“Sorry, I was having a bad dream. You just surprised me.”

He hates lying to his boyfriend, but lately, lying has been far easier than telling the truth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Schatz.”

Klavier rubs at his messy hair, and Apollo hates the thought that flashes through his mind—that he could practically orgasm from such attention. It's gross. He can't trust himself anymore. He needs Klavier to leave. Now.

He flips over so his back is facing him, and Klavier retracts his hand.

“Please leave me alone.”

He hates saying it. It’s a lie, it’s a lie, it’s a lie, but he can’t let himself fall down that path. Not again.

“Oh. Alright. Do you not want me to sleep with you?”

Apollo’s brain shouts, (Yes, please fuck me)—which makes him grunt out, “No.” It sounds mean. He didn’t want it to, but the other option would be to do something horrible. He knows he meant just in the literal sleep-next-to-you type sleeping, but he can’t help it.

“Alright. I understand.”

Suddenly—and suddenly it is because Apollo didn’t even know he was going to do it—he flips back over and grabs Klavier’s hand before he has enough time to walk away.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to leave.”

Klavier’s shoulders rise up around his jaw, and even though Apollo is staring at his back, he can somehow tell he looks heartbroken.

“Schatz, I…don’t know what you want.”

Apollo lets go of his hand and sits up.

“I don’t know what I want either!”

And, he bursts into tears for the second time that day.

“Oh, no, no, no.” Klavier flips around and sits beside him and takes him in his arms. “Baby, no. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Baby…” His fingers run down the side of Apollo’s face in what seems like appreciation or comfort, but everything feels all twisted up in his head, and so it feels like Klavier is coming onto him, and he’s not going to say no.

Which is why Apollo turns his face and kisses him. His lips taste like Mr. Wright’s grape juice.

Unlike before, Klavier doesn’t pull away even though Apollo is kissing him hard. It’s strange because he’d pulled away from something that was much less aggressive, but this time, he lets him.

(Let me/let him/let him…)

He moans into Klavier’s mouth, and Klavier makes a small sound back, and oh, Holy Mother.

“Can I—” He’s breathless. “Can I?”

When he looks up into his eyes, they’re pained, but Apollo feels pained as well.

Still, something makes him say, “Ja.”

Apollo doesn’t care that this is the first time they’ve done something like this, and he knows what he’s doing, so he starts fiddling at Klavier’s belt.

Klavier giggles, “I can do it, Schatz. It’s okay.” And, so he does, and it’s just like it used to be. Not really, but that’s what his brain says.

He’s good. He knows he is. He was trained by the best after all, and so, Klavier is flat on his back, and Apollo has all of him swallowed far deeper than most people would normally take him, and Klavier moans softly.

“Schatz—you don’t have to—”

He doesn’t care. He’ll deep-throat him. He's had so many things in his throat that he doesn’t care what they are anymore.

“O-Oh—Apollo…”

(I know I’m good, I know I’m good, I know I’m good—)

He feels like he could practically come from this information alone.

And, then, Klavier threads his hand through his hair and, and that’s enough for him to roll his hips against nothing. It doesn’t matter if he gets relief, he just wants to serve and be used, and it feels so good that Klavier is finally letting him do what he wants.

Power and control are strange concepts. Technically, Apollo has the power and control at the moment, but he just wants to fall into subservience. He wants to please. He wants to be better than he could ever hope to be when he can’t do these things.

“Schatz, you’re—”

He wants Klavier to come so bad. He’d be doing it right, he’d be useful, he’d be good—

“Ah—Schatz!”

And, he comes in his throat. Old instincts kick in, and he swallows without a problem.

There’s silence except for Klavier’s heavy breathing and the sound of Apollo separating from him.

“Thank you,” Apollo says. He’s ecstatic.

“Thank…me?”

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”

Klavier has fallen back down to Earth, or at least, Apollo thinks he has because he looks sad again.

“Huh?”

“I know it's been complicated and weird, but I've wanted to be with you for a while...”

Klavier is still on his back, but now, they’re lip-locked again because he’s too excited.

Apollo pulls away for a moment just to say, “Please?”

He watches Klavier’s lips separate and guilt cross his eyes, but Apollo grinds against him, and it’s practically an offer he can’t refuse.

It takes a little bit of time to recover but not too long, and it finally happens and—

Apollo had forgotten how crazy the feeling could be.

Sure, this isn't the greatest idea, especially on his end, but he’d asked, and Klavier had said yes, so the only bad part of him was the part that wanted it, and—Holy Mother—he loves this man. He really does. Sure, it’s not sparking every neuron with the threat of pain or suffocation, but it’s better than what he had been feeling, and finally, Klavier had said yes!

“Thank you,” he sighs.

“Thank you? We’re not finished, Schatz.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love you.”

They both make horrible noises. Apollo throws his head back because everything feels way better than it should.

“I’m gonna come,” Apollo gasps.

Klavier’s hand slides underneath his shirt, and Apollo’s belly feels good for multiple reasons.

“Alright,” he smile kindly even though he’s breathing heavily. “I love you, Apollo.”

“I love you, too—”

And, Apollo is pretty sure more than his brain snaps in half.

It's been so long since he’s woken up feeling like shit.

He recognizes the feeling. Hungover, but from wine. A special kind of hangover that could have him gagging over the toilet if he’d had too much, but thankfully, it seems like he missed that mark by a bit.

Calico is curled between them and purring which feels nice. It also feels nice to have soft sheets against bare legs.

That’s when he realizes that he went to bed without clothes on, which is…weird. Even weirder than falling off the wagon, which isn’t great, but it’s also not surprising considering the circumstances. Maybe he should be harsher on himself, but honestly, he doesn’t care enough to get angry.

And, then, he realizes that Apollo is sleeping with his head on his chest. Also without clothes.

Fuck.

Oh, God. He had totally forgotten. Instantly, he hates himself for drinking again because he’s possibly made a huge mistake and messed up with Apollo. The idea that they’d had their first time together just because he was wine drunk makes him furious.

He swore he would never ever take advantage of Apollo, and yet, here Klavier is sleeping with him because he’s triggered and too stuck in the past to remember how much he hates it.

Ugh. What to do? Wake him up now and risk him being in hysterics? Or, wake him up later and risk him being in hysterics?

He sighs. Might as well get it over with.

Klavier places a hand on his cheek.

“Schatz?”

Apollo grumbles something inaudible. He seems to be very tired.

“Schatz? Are you alright?

Slowly, Apollo’s eyes open. He turns and looks up at him, eyes wide as if he’s surprised. Had he forgotten as well?

Klavier says, “Good morning, Schatz."

“Good morning,” Apollo smiles sweetly.

He's so cute that Klavier's heart flops in his chest.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel alright,” he says. “Tired…but fine, I think.”

“Ja? You’re not upset?”

He shakes his head and his hair rustles against Klavier’s chest.

“Upset? No, why would I be?”

Klavier looks to the side and up to the ceiling and then back to Apollo.

“Ah…you aren’t upset that we…”

“…That we slept together? No...?”

“I’m…um…are you sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure,” he says curling around him in a weird form of a spooning where one person is not getting the message that the other feels uncomfortable doing so. Calico wakes up and annoyedly moves to a chair where she will not be disturbed.

Nothing seems to be wrong, which in itself, is very wrong.

But, what else can he say? If Apollo says he’s fine, that’s all he can gather from him right now. They really need to talk about this more seriously, but Klavier decides to drop it.

He turns over and brushes brown hair away from his eyes, and it reminds him of the past.

“Herr Forehead.” His words are affectionate. “What a lovely forehead.”

Apollo giggles, and it’s so nice to see him acting like he’s feeling alright, probably even happier than he’s been in weeks.

“I like your forehead as well.” They both laugh and it’s sweet and nice and feels good. But, it’s weird.

Everything is complicated. He needs time to think, to organize his thoughts. Right now, he isn’t sure what to do.

“I’m going to shower. Is that alright?” Klavier asks.

“Sure. I’ll be here.”

He smiles.

When Klavier grabs his clothes and turns away, Apollo’s face falls.

Why is Klavier acting so weird?

Apollo tries to think of anything he may have done wrong, but the only thing he could have done wrong was have sex with him, and that wasn’t…wrong, was it? It couldn’t be, could it? They're boyfriends. That couldn’t be bad. If it's bad—

He wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

Was he not good? Did he do something weird? Is he not attractive? Did he just realize he’s not that into him? He’d never gotten that reaction from someone before, and it terrifies him. What would he do if Klavier actually did leave him all alone? He wouldn’t be able to handle that.

He’s distracted from his tumbling thoughts by his phone chirping. It’s a text message from an unsaved number. The area code is 213. Los Angeles.

Who would be trying to get ahold of him right now from a number he hadn't saved?

(The back of his mind has some idea.)

Slowly, he opens his phone and clicks the message.

[+1-213-301-3520: Justice, I wanted to pass along my new number (sharing one cellphone between the two of us is bothersome so I bought my own)]

He sits up and looks around the room as if he expects someone to be watching him. Klavier is still in the bathroom showering, so Apollo gets dressed and sneaks out to the living room. With his cellphone, of course.

He sits on the floor with his back against the base of the couch and stares at the screen blankly.

Finally, he builds up the courage to call the number. It rings for long enough that he’s not sure someone is going to pick up, but he does.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

“Justice?”

His exhale is harsh before he can stop himself.

“Yeah.”

“Ah, nice to finally get ahold of you. I assume Wright blocked my number from your phone. That is probably for the best honestly.”

“And, you’re messaging me anyway?”

“It’s easy to get a new cellphone.”

“Yeah, I…guess.”

“You don’t sound as upset as you were the last time.”

“I feel okay now.”

“Oh, you do?”

“Mm-hmm…”

“Did something good happen?”

“Huh? No, I don’t think so.”

“Ah, I suppose emotions are transient by nature.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause.

“Why did you call me, Justice?”

“I dunno.”

“You don’t know? That’s commonly what you say when you do, in fact, know.”

His cheeks burn. Being known so well is the downside of being known so well.

“I…wanted to…talk.”

“I see. So, you’ve changed your tune. Couldn’t stay away, eh?”

He cringes.

“I-I…I know I shouldn’t say this, but I missed you.”

“Oh? That’s nice to hear. I missed you, too.”

“I don’t like it, and I feel bad about it. But, you know how I am.”

“Lonely?”

He was going for disgusting and bad, but lonely works, too.

“A-A little. I mean, I’m surrounded by all the people that love me, and I’m still…”

Maybe lonely isn’t the right word. He feels empty. He’s around everyone who loves him, and he doesn’t feel much of anything, except for when he was sleeping with Klavier.

“I don’t blame you, Justice. You’re a very loyal boy. It’s only natural for you to still have residual affection for me.”

“It’s just—they—they…they love me too much. They’re always afraid of hurting me, but I…”

“You like negative attention?”

“Well, no. But, I like when…someone is more…forceful—”

“So, you’re a bit of a masochist, are you? Running back to me because you like pain? No one is as willing to rough you up a bit, hm?”

God, this is so wrong. This is so wrong. He needs to stop himself now and just hang up.

“Y-Yes, sir.”

But, he doesn’t.

“How sad,” he tuts. “Little Apollo Justice has everything he could ever want, but all he really wants is to be hurt. You must actually be as disgusting as you seem.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How does Klavier feel knowing all of this? You can’t even be loyal to your partner?”

“But, he—he’s too nice.”

Kristoph chuckles on the other end of the line.

“You are quite a strange one. Anyone else would be grateful to be in your situation, and yet, you’re lamenting about being treated with compassion?”

“Y-You—This is your fault. You made me this way. And, you just had to come back. Ugh.”

He sounds as defeated as he feels.

“As I said before, that’s part of the reason I did come back. To see you again.”

His heart swells in his chest, and it strangles him.

“Although, I’m not completely heartless. I do think that you should decide whether or not you want to be involved with my brother. It doesn’t seem fair for you to be dipping your toe in both waters.”

“I-I know. I feel so bad about it. He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“But, that’s precisely the problem, is it not?”

“Yeah…”

“I will be frank. In the end, you will be more emotionally fulfilled with him.”

“A-Are you giving me relationship advice?”

“I do care about you, Justice. And, even if I’ve returned for now, it won’t be permanent. If you betray his trust, he may never forgive you, and then, you’ll be alone.”

“I know. But, he’ll probably leave me anyway.”

“Leave you? Why do you think that?”

“That’s just how it is with me. Everyone who gets close to me leaves. Or, dies.”

“If I know anything about Klavier, it is that he’s passionate to a fault. If he cares about you, he must really mean it. In this case, wouldn’t it be you who is pushing him away?”

“Yeah…”

“Of course, I selfishly want you for myself, but I do understand your reservations.”

What on Earth? Why would Kristoph be forming some sort of conscience now of all times?

“I don’t understand why you’re being so…rational about this.”

“Do you not consider me to be a rational man?”

“I mean, considering you killed a bunch of people, not really.”

“And, you suppose I had no rational motive?”

“Well, you won’t tell anybody what it is, so how would I know? It’s just that you usually don’t give me a choice in anything, let alone when it comes to us.”

“Our circumstances are much different now. You’re no longer my subordinate, and so I have no actual authority over your behavior.”

He can’t make this decision. He just can’t. They are so different from each other that it doesn’t feel fair choosing one person over the other. Klavier is gentle, kind, caring, and loves him to death. Kristoph is manipulative, abusive, violent, and probably doesn't really care about him at all.

But, still. He wants both. He can’t choose. It makes him feel terrible. Dirty. Disgusting. Bad.

“I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Stuck between a rock and a hard place, hm?”

“I guess.”

“Take some time and think about it. But, also, I’m not above having a few chats while you do. So you can call anytime.”

His face heats up.

“O-Okay.”

“Goodbye, Justice.”

“Bye."

When he comes back into the bedroom, Klavier is moping. He sits on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees. His hair is wet, and it’s braided behind his back.

“Klavier? What’s wrong?”

He must not have expected him to come into the room at that moment, so he sits up straight quickly.

“Oh, Schatz.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I…just wanted to talk.”

The way he says it—it sounds bad. Like, breakup bad.

“O-Okay.”

He walks over and sits next to him. Klavier resumes his stressed-looking position.

Apollo tilts his head, “What’s up?”

Klavier sighs heavily.

“I’m sorry for doing what I did last night.”

He blinks at him, obviously confused.

“Last night? What about it?”

“I shouldn’t have agreed. You’re not in the position to make good decisions for yourself, and I should have said no.”

This might be even worse than breaking up. This feels like complete and utter rejection. The only thing worse than not dating Klavier is having a boyfriend who isn’t attracted to him.

“What? Why? Was I not good?”

It’s Klavier’s turn to be surprised, like he’s stunned that Apollo’s mind would go there first.

“No, no, no, Schatz.” He grabs one of his hands in his own and gives it a squeeze. “That’s not what I mean at all. I love you very, very much, and any time I spend with you is precious. But, with all that’s going on, you’re not doing very well, and sleeping together—well—it feels wrong. It feels like I’m taking advantage of you.”

Apollo isn’t really sure how to respond to that. He’s still confused.

“But, I wanted it. I’m the one who brought it up. And, you said yes, so there aren't any problems there.”

Klavier frowns.

“Normally, you’re very avoidant of physical contact, but when you get in certain moods, you’re much less worried about your own boundaries, and that scares me. I wasn’t in the proper headspace to fully consider the implications of my actions, and I can’t apologize enough.”

Apollo feels like he might burst into tears.

“But, I—I wanted it,” he repeats. He genuinely does not understand.

“You’re not listening to me, Schatz. This has nothing to do with whether you wanted it or not. You can’t fully consent because your trauma responses have you acting in hypersexual ways when normally that’s not who you are at all. I don’t want to use your struggles as an excuse no matter if I want to sleep with you or not.”

“But, I…” He doesn’t know what to say. Okay, maybe he logically “understands,” but the irrational part of him is devastated. Regardless of what Klavier says to him, he feels like he’s being told he’s unwanted or unloveable. He tries to blink tears out of his eyes. “If I don’t…if you…I don’t understand…”

“When this is all over, and you get the appropriate help you need, and you start acting like you do normally, then, we can do whatever you want, okay?” He squeezes his hand again. “The last thing I want to happen is that you snap out of it and get upset that we were together.”

“That won’t happen.” He shakes his head. “That won’t happen. I’m only upset when I do something bad. I don’t want to advance on people who don’t want it—are you saying you didn’t want it?”

“No, I—ugh.” Klavier is getting visibly frustrated. “I don’t have any other words to explain this to you. I feel like you’re trying to misunderstand what I’m saying.”

“I…I…” His eyes sting. “I know what you’re saying, but I—I hate it. I feel like you’re saying you don’t like me.”

“Not only have I not said that, but I have said the opposite, Schatz. I love you. I love you more than anything in the world, and I find you very attractive, and I love showing affection to you. But, this is an extremely complicated and specific situation. It’s…how you say, an outlier. A special circumstance. You are not the problem. The problem is—him.”

Guilt stabs him in the chest and twists like a knife.

(You’re making yourself worse by talking to him, and that makes Klavier like you less, and you should probably forget ever being with someone again, you filthy, disgusting idiot.)

Tears start falling. He sniffs but otherwise cries silently, his shoulders shaking.

Damned if you do, damned if you don’t—for the both of them.

“Oh, baby, no…don’t cry. It’s not your fault.”

“But, it is my fault. I—I…if I weren’t like this, then—”

“It’s not your fault at all. And, you’re trying your best to get better. There’s nothing to blame yourself for.”

“But—But, what am I supposed to do? What if I never get better? What if I’m like this for the rest of my life?”

“You won’t be, darling. You won’t be. I promise. Everything gets better eventually.”

Does Klavier honestly believe that? That things will get better? Nothing ever gets better. It only gets worse and worse until it’s unbearable. Nothing has ever gotten better.

(They come, they go. They die, they leave. It never stops, even when it stops.)

He starts crying harder.

“I don’t think it will. I don’t think it will.”

The only thing that stops it is physical affection. Without it, nothing matters. Nothing makes him happy. Nothing makes it stop.

“I’m sorry, Schatzi. I really am.” He rubs his back, but it doesn’t help.

Now, everything feels much darker, like he’s much less able to cope. Klavier had been the one string tying him to this world, and it feels like he’s taken a pair of scissors to it. It feels like he just got up and left him alone.

“I can’t love myself.” His most honest words are falling out of him in one last attempt to change his mind. “I need someone to do it for me.”

“I’m not sure how many more times I can say ‘I love you’ before you start believing me,” Klavier says softly. “But, you also have to love yourself first. I’m working on it, too, and it’s very hard, but if you rely on others for your worth, you’ll never be happy.”

He already knows he’ll never be happy, so the sentiment just compounds his shame and makes him feel worse.

Apollo stands, and Klavier’s hand falls away.

“I need to be alone for a while. I’m going to go sit outside.”

He frowns. “Alright, Schatz. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is listless. “It’s not your fault.”

It had never occurred to Apollo that Klavier would be the one to reject him. He didn’t even have to choose. Klavier decided for him.

Dialing his number feels like writing a suicide note.

“Hello. Calling back so soon?”

Apollo immediately bursts into tears.

“Oh, dear. What’s wrong, Justice?”

“Me and Klavier—” sniff “—he rejected me.”

“Rejected you? What do you mean? You are dating already, correct?”

He rubs his nose on his sleeve.

“I—I just—y’know—have been wanting to do stuff with my boyfriend because that’s normal to want, isn’t it? And, we slept together, but then he said we shouldn’t do it again because of my issues—and, and—”

“Why doesn’t Klavier want to be intimate with you? He’s usually quite promiscuous.”

Okay…that’s a weird thing to know about your brother, but his escapades are reported in the news so maybe that’s how it is.

“Well, I…because of how you treated me…back then…I had a lot of issues with that kind of thing when we first got together. But, now, it’s different, and he’s convinced that it’s still going to hurt me, or he’s taking advantage of me or something, but that’s not what’s happening at all.”

“Ah, I see. So his fear of causing harm has driven a wedge between you two.”

“Maybe. I mean, obviously, everything’s high stress with you being back and all, so it might be a combination of both, but I don’t know. It just makes me feel so unwanted.”

He hums sympathetically.

“That’s unfortunate, Justice. I’m sorry. All of this is very selfish of me, I will admit, and the unnecessary strain everyone is going through is much less than ideal.”

“Yeah.” He sniffs. “I know I should be mad at you, but…I’m not.”

“Possibly, it’s because you’ve always wanted it to happen.”

Apollo’s face flushes several shades of red. He swallows thickly.

“I—I—maybe but I—”

“It’s alright. I won’t judge you. In fact, I’m glad you can still be open with me after everything I’ve done.”

He used to say something similar to that back then. What he really means is, he’s glad that Apollo doesn’t have a good enough grasp of healthy boundaries to care about what’s good for him.

“I-I don’t think I can help it.”

“I understand.” His voice has turned so soft, like a hum or a purr. “We can’t control what we want, at the end of the day. We can deny and suppress and turn away from our desires, but what we really, really want never truly goes away.”

That was what he had been fearing. That it would never stop. That he’d be cursed by this eternal push and pull—the sudden need and then the sudden swing back to disgust. The only thing that stops it is…

“It sucks. I hate that I like you so much. It makes everything so hard.”

Kristoph laughs. “I suppose the feeling is mutual.”

Apollo cracks a smile and sniffs again. He’s still a bit misty-eyed, but Kristoph somehow always knows what he wants to hear.

(He knows this is bad, that this feels just like it used to, but his issues with Klavier are so hard to think about right now that he just wants something, anything to make him feel good because it never stops.)

And, there’s only one thing that makes it stop.

“I know you’re manipulating me,” Apollo says, but his voice has gone quiet.

“Oh? And, you’re still talking to me?”

“Well…it’s your thing, right? I know you well enough to figure out when you’re being genuine or not. I know we don’t actually like each other, and that we’re just in some twisted power play, but I…don’t really care.”

“Ah. Well, what’s the difference between love and hate if the outcomes are the same?”

“Yeah. I felt like I needed to say it out loud, so you didn’t get any wrong ideas.”

Kristoph pauses for a long moment.

“So, if I’m manipulating you, is it working?”

Apollo’s breath hitches. It feels so good to just let him.

He can’t help but be honest.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I like it.”

“You certainly are something, aren’t you?” Kristoph chuckles.

His small smile goes into full bloom.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

It’s dark. Klavier had asked him to come to bed, but he declined. He doesn’t even want to look at him or be near him because the rejection feels shameful, like he’s wrong in some way, and it’s mortifying to meet his eyes and feel like he can’t be loved.

There’s also the guilt about what he’s about to do. He probably won’t be able to look at Klavier ever again.

Apollo finds some of his clothes in the laundry room. Trucy must have lock-picked Klavier’s door and gotten him a few days worth of outfits, considering the circumstances. Or, did Klavier bring them in his bag? It doesn’t really matter, he decides.

He puts on jeans and a red t-shirt, grabs his red fall jacket, and slips it on. Should he slick his hair back? No. There’s no use. Not now. It wouldn’t make a difference. His tennis shoes have mysteriously appeared, too.

Calico chirps at him, trotting over and snaking between his legs, rubbing her face on him. It’s almost like she knows that something’s wrong, like she knows he’s going to do something bad. He feels a pang of crushing shame in his chest, but since he already thinks he’s bad, what’s wrong with doing bad things? It’s the only thing he deserves.

He slips out the back door.

It’s chilly for early autumn. He sticks his hands in his coat pockets and traces the shape of his phone just to have something to focus on.

For what he’s doing, he’s surprisingly calm. Or, maybe he’s numb. But, he doesn’t feel like he’s in danger, which is strange since he’s walking into the lion’s den. He knows him well enough, though, that he honestly thinks that it’s going to be low-key, especially because they’re meeting in public. Sure, things could go spectacularly wrong, but his gut feeling isn’t alarmed, which it usually is.

Since Edgeworth lives in such a bougie area, it takes fifteen minutes or so to walk to a main street that has businesses. Even then, it’s a good while before he gets to the place they’d agreed on—a shitty little diner that’s open 24-hours. Usually, he’d be too arrogant to show himself at such a place, but considering he’s probably trying to lay low, an unlikely location would be the best option.

He looks up and sees the sign of the restaurant, and his heart starts beating faster. He walks closer.

And then, he sees him.

Apollo stops in his tracks.

He looks different. He has black hair, and it’s not in his signature twist. It’s half up-half down, a small section tied up in a neat ponytail with a few strands of hair framing his face, bangs swept to the side. His outfit is much more casual, a sweater and dress pants with a jacket, the entire outfit black. He’s leaning against a very expensive-looking car.

He had been focused on his phone (also expensive-looking), so it takes him a moment before he looks up. For a second, the streetlights flash in his glasses.

But, there is no denying it. Those eyes. It’s really him.

“Justice.”

“Sir.”

Kristoph smiles.

Kristoph pulls him into a hug, and Apollo melts as if they’d never been apart. He smells of perfume and mint, and it’s just like it used to be.

They let go and stare at each other for a moment, and Apollo can somehow tell that the affection in his eyes is real. He never used to let the expression reach them, but he’s being honest now. Why?

“Ah, it’s rare to see you without your hair done.”

A large hand finds the top of his head and pets him gently. Apollo blushes, his face screwing up for a moment, but he quickly recovers, and Kristoph’s hand drops away again.

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed down so much.”

“Touché.”

He can’t help but giggle and rub at the heat of his cheek. Kristoph tilts his head and gets a little sad.

“You look really thin. Are you alright?”

He loses his smile, too. “Oh, I—I’ve been sick a lot. It’s been hard to eat.”

“A shame. Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head.

“Alright. We can just get drinks then.”

“In a diner?” Apollo turns to look at it. It’s even more shabby than he had expected. A dive. Very un-Kristoph-like.

“It has a bar, or that is what the internet has promised me.”

“Weird.” The words come out of him even though it’s an unsavory question. “You’re not going to drug me, are you?”

Kristoph’s eyebrows raise. He totally deadpans, “I wasn’t planning on it. Would you like me to?”

“No, thanks. Just alcohol is fine.”

The conversation is morbid as hell but they still share small smiles. God, this is so weird. It feels like he’s on a date, and maybe he is, especially since Kristoph puts an arm around his shoulders and gives him a squeeze that’s sort of like a side hug before they enter.

The restaurant’s lighting is dark. There are a few other guys at the bar, and they’re smoking. That’s definitely not legal in California, but the older lady at the counter doesn’t look like she gives any shits about anything. Kristoph and Apollo take seats on the opposite side of the bar for some semblance of privacy.

Even though there’s no reason to, he feels dirty. Or, maybe he has every reason to.

Once they take a seat, Apollo finds that he can’t stop staring at him. God, he’s so gorgeous. The black hair looks shockingly good on him. It almost fits him more than his normal blonde. And, the way it’s styled? Holy mother. Hot as hell.

Kristoph notices.

“Enjoying the view?”

He can’t lie.

“Yeah,” the word is almost breathless. He’s light-headed all of a sudden. Everything feels like a dream.

But, he’s pulled out of it by the woman behind the bar.

“Hey folks, whatcha havin’?” She’s chewing gum loudly. This must completely disgust Kristoph, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Bourbon neat.”

Apollo hasn’t had drinks for so long he almost forgets what he usually orders.

“Whiskey sour, please.”

(What Klavier would always buy for him.)

“Gotcha.”

As she walks away, Kristoph turns back to him, placing a hand on top of Apollo’s which rests on the counter. His thumb strokes his wrist, and it sends a shock up his arm.

“How have you been doing? Besides the obvious.”

His life has been very sad and empty for a long time.

“Um. Well, I’ve mostly been in therapy. I haven’t worked since I—y’know.”

Kristoph makes a sad sound.

“But, uh, all things considered, things could be worse.”

(Could they really be? Everything feels like mere millimeters from rock bottom.)

“Ah, well, I’m glad you're safe.”

“You didn’t exactly help.” The words are supposed to be biting, but they’re too soft for that.

“I know. I’m sorry, Apollo.”

Usually, he would think right after about how he isn’t sorry, but he sounds genuinely sorry. Apollo isn’t sure he’s ever heard him sound serious about any apology before.

“I know you’re not sorry.” He has to say it out loud because he simply can’t believe Kristoph Gavin would be sorry about anything ever.

Kristoph looks at the rows of bottles on the back wall.

“Apologies probably mean nothing in the face of my behavior, I am well aware. But, I will admit, I could be incredibly and unnecessarily cruel to you. Inhumanly so, at times.”

“Even that feels like an understatement.”

“Yes. Well, when you are intoxicated with power, it severely clouds your judgment. I am aware that I deserve no leniency for such things. But, I am sorry.”

Apollo still can’t believe him even though his bracelet doesn’t tighten.

Oh, God, his bracelet doesn’t tighten. He looks at him with wide eyes.

“Y-You can’t be serious.”

“Would you believe me if I told you one of the reasons for my return was to make amends?”

“Not in a million years.”

And, it’s right then that their drinks arrive. Even though this place is grungy, the glasses they use are surprisingly nice.

(Bourbon neat in a whiskey glass looks and smells like the worst day of his life.)

“You raped me then.”

“Excuse me?” he asks with a quirked eyebrow.

“Bourbon smells like when you raped me.”

Kristoph picks up the glass and looks at it. Somehow it catches the light even though there’s barely any. “Scent memory. The strongest method of memory recall.” He takes a sip. Apollo’s eyes drift down into his own drink.

“I’ll never forgive you for that night.”

“I would never expect you to.”

His whiskey sour tastes like absolute shit. It’s so sour that it hurts his mouth. Or, maybe it’s because his throat is raw from scratching at it and everything else has been forced to deal with too much stomach acid.

A large hand is placed on his back. Somehow it’s strangely comforting. His head already feels fuzzy, but Apollo knows it’s because he hasn’t had anything to eat that he hasn’t thrown up in—what…two days? He’s probably going to get wasted because of that, but he would give anything to turn off his mind.

“I’m sorry to hear about your fight with my brother. Although disagreements are part of the relationship process, I understand that the specific topic struck a chord.”

“I hate it so much.” His glass hovers at his lips as he speaks, unable to make eye contact. “I know he means well, and I know deep down that he’s right, but some part of me is just so afraid he doesn’t actually love me. I can’t stand it.” His eyes close, and he shakes his head.

“Yet, you wanted to see me even though I’ve harmed you so much in the past?”

“I tried to tell you back at the temple. I’m not…‘right.’ I’m sick. You scare me more than anything, and yet, I can’t help myself. I can’t stay away no matter how hard I try.”

Kristoph’s hand slides up to the nape of his neck, and it causes his eyes to open.

“Do you know about toxoplasmosis, Justice?”

“Hm? You mean the thing that cats can spread? It’s why you have to wash your hands after you do the litter boxes—I mean you should always because, if not, that’s gross, but…I’m babbling. Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He retracts his hand so he can take another drink. “But, yes. It’s a parasite spread by cats that causes mice to be attracted or even infatuated with them. A victim in love with their natural predators. I’m not suggesting you have such an ailment, but it’s an apt metaphor for the situation.”

Apollo leans his chin on the palm of his hand and sighs heavily, looking out the window in the other direction. No matter what’s said to him, he feels so dreary and awful.

“Is everything alright? You look bored.”

“No. Just upset.”

“About?”

“I don’t understand how I can hate myself more than I hate you.”

Kristoph pauses. It’s almost like he didn’t expect to hear something so blunt, so honest. However, he quickly gathers himself.

“Humans are very good at internalizing their own flaws, the actions of themselves and others, the pain they feel. I think most people possess at least a small amount of disdain toward themselves or things they’ve done in the past.”

“It makes me want to die, though. Sometimes it’s so overwhelming that I want to…try again.”

“That would be such a waste of an excellent lawyer with their whole career ahead of them. Momentary struggles are not worth giving up your life.”

Apollo’s pointer and middle fingers tap against his glass. He stares blankly ahead of him, eyes unfocused.

“Momentary is the understatement of the century. Even when I first met you, I was so sad.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You probably read me like a book. And, that book only had one giant page.” He illustrates by moving his hands as if he’s envisioning a theoretical billboard or sign of some sort. “Dumb, stupid, sad idiot.”

“Justice, you shouldn’t talk about yourself like that.”

“It’s true, though.” He’s starting to get annoyed. Even Kristoph Gavin won’t agree with his self-deprecation? Absolute nonsense.

However, the annoyance is replaced with apathy rather quickly.

“If I’d done something. If I did literally anything else. If I reached out. If I didn’t let you. If I left and never came back.”

“To be fair, all of your actions were influenced by extreme coercion. Any small decision couldn’t have stopped what happened.”

He chugs the remaining two-thirds of his drink, and when he puts the glass down a little too hard, a few stray tears flee down his cheeks unexpectedly. He rubs them away.

The lady shouts from the other end of the bar, “Another round for you two?”

“Please,” Kristoph says and holds up two fingers. “Two of the neats, if you would.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Apollo looks at him, shocked and fearful.

“What?”

The drinks come fast because it’s literally just liquor in a glass. Kristoph picks up his, takes a sip, and then turns it to Apollo, putting it close to his mouth.

“Sense memory of any sort can be overridden if you create new associations.”

“Indirect kiss,” Apollo murmurs. He’s read a lot about the concept in shoujo mangas.

Kristoph chuckles. “I suppose so.”

He parts his lips just slightly and Kristoph tilts the glass, and the liquor stings and tastes like pain, but the smell doesn’t make him gag like it usually does. Then, Kristoph takes the glass and drinks from the same spot.

“Indirect kiss,” he parrots back with a kind smile.

“Okay, but then take a sip of mine, too, so we’re even.”

“I can do that.” And, he does.

The idea of kissing Kristoph, even indirectly, is too much to bear. When he hands it back and he nurses the drink, he closes his eyes and concentrates on the feelings so maybe, one day, bourbon will remind him of this crappy old diner/bar and kissing through liquor.

After a few sips, Apollo is significantly buzzed, just as he had predicted.

“I’m already kinda drunk.”

“Have you always been this much of a lightweight?”

“No, it’s because I haven’t been eating. And, throwing up what I have been.”

“You’ve started purging again?”

Apollo is stunned.

“How did you know? And, what do you mean, again?”

“You don’t remember? You would throw up often at the office.”

“I…I don’t remember that at all.”

He knows he used to get sick at work all the time, but he never remembered forcing himself. Although, for someone with a memory akin to Swiss cheese, he’ll take his word for it.

“You always grow extremely lithe when you’re chronically anxious. Of course, I don’t mind because it’s a good look for you, but it’s a shame you have to lapse into bulimia to do it."

“I’m always learning more ways that I’m fucked up.”

“Then, again, everybody is to some extent.”

He traces the edge of his glass with his finger. He feels listless. He thinks he ought to take another sip, but it feels difficult. His eyes go unfocused.

“Justice?”

Apollo’s eyes snap open. He hadn’t even realized he’d let them close.

“Huh?”

Turning to Kristoph, Apollo sees that he’s looking at him strangely.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just…tired, I guess. And, drunk.”

“If you need to go home and sleep, you can.”

“But, I don’t want you to go.” His voice is high pitched and whiny even when he hadn’t intended to sound that way. Kristoph always hates when he whines so he quickly corrects himself. “S-Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just I haven’t seen you in so long, and if I leave now, I might not ever see you again, and I don’t want that.”

Kristoph places a hand on his head like in the parking lot, but this time, the action feels like it’s lulling him to sleep, like he’s too weak to hide how much it immobilizes him.

“You’re so sweet. I still have you, don’t I?”

“Yes, sir…”

Apollo’s eyes shut against the intoxicated feeling in his mind.

That’s when he feels a thumb brush at his bottom lip. He shamelessly moans and opens his mouth just slightly, and if Kristoph wanted to push his finger into his mouth, he could. But, that is a bit inappropriate for a public setting.

“Mmm. Still have that oral fixation, I see. Do you enjoy giving oral sex as much as you used to?”

His eyes snap open again, and he gasps, “W-What?”

“Sorry, that was rather forward, wasn’t it?”

He fumbles with his hands and his words. “Um, I-I…I mean, I don’t know.”

Kristoph’s hand is placed on his thigh and just the one action gets him half-hard immediately. He shrinks in embarrassment.

“Mr. Gavin—not here.” He nervously glances to the side and back.

“It’s only a bit of innocent romantic affection. Don’t worry.” With the other hand, he picks up his glass and puts it at his lips again. “Here. Finish your drink.”

He looks at him over the glass with hooded eyes, and he knows he’s drunk as fuck even before the last of it is gone.

“That’s a good boy.” The hand on his thigh rubs at it softly and appreciatively. “Such a good boy."

That makes him shudder. God, he’s way too easy.

Even though this is so wrong, he’s immediately thankful that he made this Bad Decision. He’s so elated that he feels out of his body. He feels So Happy He Could Die.

And, it would be alright.

Kristoph sets the glass down and tosses back the rest of his bourbon before reaching into his jacket and putting way too much money down on the counter. Then, he tilts his head and smiles.

“How about we go?”

“Yes, sir.”

Apollo never thought he’d be making out with Kristoph Gavin around the back of a sketchy restaurant-diner-bar thing, but there’s a first time for every sentence in human history.

Even though Kristoph is neat and fastidious, he’s always so unrefined when it comes to kissing.  He shoves Apollo against the brick wall, and they’re immediately desperate. It’s clumsy, which is strange because neither one of them have forgotten how to do this, but there’s some buzz of static in his head that’s different. It makes him uncoordinated. Is it the alcohol? It has to be.

Finally, though, they’re in complete lip lock, and it feels so good to let him dominate his mouth. In fact, he goes limp against the wall and lets Kristoph have his way with him. That’s the way he likes it. No control. Complete subservience. He might as well not even be a person.

He shudders with a moan.

When Kristoph pulls away for a second, he doesn’t close his mouth, and so when leaning in again, he licks at his tongue, which always strikes him as weird but between that and how he bites at Apollo’s lips, he’s not going to complain.

“A-Ah…oh my God…I feel like I could come already.”

As they hang in the air while face to face, Kristoph looks somewhere between surprised and impressed.

“Just from kissing?”

“Yeah.”

He tilts his head. “Do you think you can? I’d love to see that.”

“I’m not sure, but I might.”

Kristoph wastes no time. He even slams him against the wall again, possibly just for the reaction because he knows what Apollo likes. He knows everything he likes. And, he knows he likes it rough. He likes kisses that will leave bruises. But, he also likes soft things like literally being licked on the lips or sucking at his tongue. He likes anything that you could do to his mouth no matter how strange it might be, which he’s sure Kristoph loves.

He’s base and perverted, and it’s all thanks to him.

One last particularly hard kiss is what causes him to hunch over and start to shake, clinging to the lapels of his jacket. He doesn’t make a noise, but this all feels a little different, and it’s almost like this orgasm kicked his head out of his brain. Or, his brain out of his head. Something like that.

Some amount of time passes, and Apollo’s brought back to life with a yelp when Kristoph grabs his crotch.

“You’re still hard.”

His head snaps up, but he’s met with soft eyes.

“Yeah, I—hah—I came, but I don’t think I, like, came came.”

“Oh, a dry orgasm? Very interesting.” Kristoph looks proud and appreciative when he says, “You’re always full of surprises, Justice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Well, we’d better take care of this problem, hmm?”

He’s turned around and this time it’s his head that's pushed towards the wall, his cheek being smashed into it. The impact is so hard that his vision blurs and he sees stars. Oh, a mini-concussion. Hot.

Kristoph reaches around and starts undoing his pants.

“I-I’m gonna come so fast.”

“Leaves time for more.” He laughs. “I know I’m usually telling you to make it last, but your desperation is incredibly attractive. I’ve never seen you so turned on before.”

“R-Really?”

“Yes, really,” he says softly and reaches into his underwear.

He clenches his eyes shut, and he would throw his head back if it wasn’t being pinned against the wall.

“Mmmph!”

“Feels good?”

“O-Oh my God—”

“So sensitive—I can understand why you’re reaching your limit so quickly.”

“Mr. Gavin—aa-ahh…”

“Anytime you need to is fine. Just give in to the feeling. If it feels good now, giving in will make it better.”

His arms are pressing against the wall along with the side of his face, and all of him is shaking. Kristoph’s hand is still keeping him upright, which is fortunate because Apollo is distinctly aware that, if he wasn’t being supported, he would collapse.

“I’m dizzy,” he moans.

“Am I really that good? We’ve barely even started.”

“I…I don’t…know…”

“How close, Justice?”

“Yeah,” is the only thing he can get out before he squeals. He probably really messes up the wall, but he can’t focus his eyes enough to check.

He’s barely recovered when Kristoph says, “Alright. On your knees.” And, he’s shoved down just like it used to be.

His now scraped knees hurt and he barely remembers getting down to the ground. Still, he knows what to do.

"Yes, sir."

He reaches up, and unbuckles his belt, and unzips his pants, and he doesn’t even have a chance to do anything before Kristoph grabs his hair and shoves him forward to his hilt. Apollo can’t help but choke. He can’t breathe. The only thing he can do is clutch at the fabric of his pants.

“I’m going to do this myself, alright? The best thing you can do is relax.”

And, boy, does he make good on that promise. Apollo’s not even crying, but tears run down his cheeks from the force of the movement. It’s just like it used to be because things blur as he dissociates and then he’s actually choking, and he can’t help but spit it back up, hacking against the intrusion.

“Yes, I knew it was going to be too much. I’m sorry about that. But, you took it rather well for not having practiced for five years.”

Apollo is beginning to figure out that something isn’t right. He can barely keep himself from slumping to the ground.

Luckily or unluckily, he’s hoisted to his feet and once again is hit against the wall, and instead of just stars, he loses his sight for a moment. Okay, cool, two mini concussions. Does that make a full concussion or a half concussion?

“Normally, I wouldn’t bother with protection, but I don’t want you making a mess in our brand new car.”

He hears him rip the wrapper of a condom.

Okay, so this was absolutely planned. Without a doubt. He stepped directly onto a bear trap, and this is the trap snapping shut on his ankle. He almost doesn’t even care.

Maybe this is a suicide.

It sucks that he’s losing the ability to keep his head on straight because he’d really like to remember Kristoph fucking him, but all he really recalls is being entered and then, sometime later, coming.

Then, he’s sitting in the passenger seat of a car.

“Mmmm….”

“Oh, good morning, Justice. How was your nap?”

“Hmmm…”

“A little tired still? That’s alright. You can rest.”

It takes a good ten minutes for him to formulate words.

“…Where are we…going…?”

“We’re just going to a hotel. You can rest there. Also, you can drink more if you’d like. We’ve been…hmm—enjoying ourselves, you could say, so we are not in short supply.”

“You’ve been partying?”

Kristoph laughs. Apollo’s disoriented by the way the street lamps flash in his eyes, but still, he can’t help but giggle back.

“Yes, that is one way to put it. If you’re given a second chance of life, enjoying yourself is really the only thing you can do.”

He puts a hand on his thigh like in the diner.

“O-Oh—”

“Was that nice?”

It’s literally just a hand on his leg, no funny business even, but still, he’s moaning. If he could process anything, he would be fucking mortified.

“I’m glad. You’re a good boy, Apollo. So compliant and well trained. I love the way that you are for me. So lovely.”

He must be repeating things he’s already said on purpose. It works. He makes an awful noise again, and he feels like he’s going to lose his mind. But, then Kristoph takes his hand away, presumably to shift gears.

“You’re so cute when you’re not in your right mind,” he says to himself.

Apollo whines at the lack of sensation, and it makes him feel empty for a reason he can’t understand.

“My Darling Dahlia can keep you happy if you are actually into masochism, but I’m almost certain that you only like mistreatment when it’s coming from me.”

“Yes…sir,” he slurs.

His hand is back on his leg. It’s almost like, if he answers a question right, he gets this as a reward. It feels better than anything else in the entire world. Instead of moaning this time, he whimpers like he’s about to cry.

“It’s alright. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

Or, he’s actually crying.

“Shhh. It’s alright.”

He gets a flash of clarity, and even then, he doesn’t know what he’s going to say until he says it.

“If you’re going to do this, don’t hurt anyone else. I’d rather you take me instead.”

“Very noble of you, Justice. Reflecting your namesake.”

His hearing isn’t working so well. His mouth is working worse.

“Please. Not them. Not…them…”

And, he passes out again.

He remembers that they pull over to the side of the road, and he vomits so hard that it hurts.

He remembers limping into the lobby and having a worried attendant ask if they needed emergency assistance.

“Oh, there’s no need. He simply had too much to drink.” He chuckles in a sad way, “He’s a bit of a lightweight.”

“Ah, I see, sir. I hope he makes a swift recovery.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure of it.”

He remembers beeping and a door being opened. And, then, he collapses to the floor in a heap and hits his head again.

“Ohh, this is the boy? You weren’t kidding when you said he was a twink.”

“I said he was small and cute.”

“Yeah, that’s a twink. You should know that. Aren’t you a queer?”

“Tch.”

There are some hushed whispering and some shuffling around the room.

“Can I have some fun with him?”

“Not yet. I want a little more time before I start lending him out. And, you can’t be intimate.”

She snorts. “Yeah, right, like I’d want to fuck your boy-toy. Get real.”

Another pause. More shuffling.

He’s put on a plush surface that’s more comfortable than the floor.

“Hello, Apollo. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

He can’t even see who’s talking to him because his eyelids feel like lead.

“You and I are going to have a lot of fun. Eventually. But, I’m not going to blow you. Blech.” Even more shuffling. “Would you like to do the honors, Krissy?”

“It would be my pleasure, Dolly.”

Kristoph’s breath is at his ear.

“Just a little pinch, Justice.” He pets his head, and he actually is very calmed by it, not like he could move anyway. “You’ll be just fine.”

It’s a lot more than a pinch. It’s more like a snap! and it hurts like hell.

“Goodness, where did you find these, Hawthorne? They’re simply primitive.”

“Sorry, I had to improvise. I don’t have all my connections anymore because I’ve been—y’know—dead for twelve years.”

“You could have just asked me to find some for you.”

“Eh, the extra ‘pinch’ won’t hurt him. He probably won’t even remember it.”

“I suppose.”

He feels whatever had snapped against his arm start to make him really warm and dizzy even with his eyes closed. It makes him feel like the luckiest person in the world.

“A real cutie, though. You do have good taste. Especially when he’s a mess.”

“Yes, I wholeheartedly agree.” There’s a lofty sigh. “Ah, my dear Justice…”

It’s the last thing he hears before things fall away again.

Apollo won’t look at him when he asks if he’s ready for bed.

“No. I want to stay out here for a while longer.”

It’s about ten at night, so he’s been moping on Edgeworth’s deck for several hours. Klavier wants to be more insistent, but he also doesn’t want to make him feel worse.

“Alright. But, come in soon, Schatz. It’s getting cold.”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs so quietly that Klavier almost can’t hear him.

He closes the screen door and decides to lay in bed and wait for Apollo to come back in.

Well, that had been the plan, but he fell asleep much more quickly than he had intended. It isn’t until he wakes up in the middle of the night that he realizes he’s still all alone.

Panic crushes his heart and lungs.

Okay, it’s not really the middle of the night. It’s morning. It’s five in the morning. So, where is he? He wouldn’t still be outside, would he? Maybe he fell asleep out there? Or, maybe he was so upset about their previous conversation that he’d gone to sleep on the couch?

He checks the living room first. No Apollo.

Then, outside. No Apollo.

Klavier’s heart is beginning to pound. He wouldn’t have…run away, would he? The threat of Kristoph possibly looming around every corner would be enough to keep him planted, right?

He’s there standing on the desk, thinking, biting his thumbnail. He doesn’t know what to make of this.

Edgeworth is in the kitchen getting things together for work when Klavier comes back inside. He looks shocked at his presence.

“Gavin, what are you doing up this early?”

Klavier feels like he can’t speak, but he manages to get out, “I can’t find him.”

“Can’t find who?”

“Apollo.”

“Apollo is missing? Again?”

He nods. He feels like he’s going to be sick all over the floor.

“We had a bit of a disagreement yesterday, and he was very upset. He was still awake when I went to bed, and he never…”

“Oh, dear."

He’s woken up by a knock on the door.

It’s barely six am. Ugh, is it Miles? He should have left already.

Regardless, he gets out of bed and lumbers to the door, opening it.

It’s Klavier. And, he doesn’t look good.

“Herr Wright.”

By the way he speaks, he sounds panicked.

“Yes?”

“Apollo. He—I—”

“Is he alright?”

His eyes are so wide that the answer has to be no.

“What happened?”

“He—he was just sitting outside, and then, I fell asleep, and—”

“He disappeared?”

“I don’t know what happened. He wouldn’t have gone after him, would he?”

“I blocked Kristoph’s number from his phone. But, that wouldn’t stop him. He would find a way around that.”

“How do you know?”

“You should know. That’s how he is. Nothing stops him. Not even death, I guess.”

Klavier’s eyes go wide, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Do you think…Apollo actually went to him?”

It was what both Klavier and Phoenix had been the most fearful of. No matter how badly Kristoph hurts Apollo, he’s always willing to push the fear aside if only for one last time together.

Or, maybe a bit more than one last time.

“It’s a possibility. You know how Apollo is.”

“Ja,” he murmurs sadly. “I don’t understand. It’s as if he…doesn’t want to be protected from him.”

Phoenix remembers his incredibly sad expression surrounded by red locks and chains. He’d reacted to Phoenix’s promise of keeping him from dying by his hands.

Maybe…that’s what he wants. Maybe it’s a suicide. A rendezvous with the devil himself.

“I don’t think Kristoph will hurt him, though. At least not yet.”

“I fear the reality is much worse.”

Klavier sounds defeated.

“Yeah. I know exactly what you mean.”

And, the worst thing about it is that Apollo would let him.

Nausea kicks him in the stomach. He’s going to throw up again. But, his body is so heavy and slow. He can barely move.

Still, he manages to maneuver himself to the edge of the bed. Maybe he actually can make it to the bathroom.

His feet touch the ground, but the rest of him keeps going—going—going, and he crumples back into a heap on the carpet.

Spoke too soon.

Ugh, not fair. He doesn’t want to get sick on the floor. He groans, feeling some resolve slip away. If he wasn’t so drugged up, he’d probably feel embarrassed, but his brain is too foggy for complex emotions.

Luckily, he must have made enough noise because Kristoph pops his head in from the other room.

“Justice? What are you doing?”

The words he wants to say don’t come to him, so instead, he kinda gestures one of his hands in the direction of the bathroom and mumbles, “…Sick…feel sick…”

“Oh, dear.”

Big and strong hands lift him up, but even then, he slumps against his body, and Apollo can't help but think that he’s glad that Kristoph is strong because with being a dead weight, he can imagine that someone less prepared would come to the ground right with him.

Still, with help, he’s able to lumber over to the toilet before he falls to his knees, and he doesn’t even have to make himself sick. He just is.

Kristoph watches him hack over the toilet bowl with a solemn expression. As Apollo slowly calms down and his breathing evens out to a slow and deep pace again, he puts a hand on his head. Apollo’s become very fond of these fleeting displays of affection. He coos and leans into the feeling.

“You’re not handling the medication very well, are you?”

“I…dunno…”

He’s only really been having water, and it’s been difficult to keep even that down. But, besides the nausea, he feels good. Dizzy and disoriented, but good.

“Would you like me to sit with you for a while?”

“Mm-hmm...”

So, he props him up, lets him wash out his mouth and clean up a little, and takes him back over to the bed.

Apollo knows he’s drugged up and being held hostage in this hotel room, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels like he’s getting time to rest, getting time to check out of reality, and he just so happens to get to spend it with his favorite person in the world.

So, yeah, he’s really doped up, but he wouldn’t have met up with him if he didn’t think this was a possibility.

It just feels…nice to be taken care of.

Sure, he’d been taken care of by Klavier and the Wrights and Edgeworth and Athena, but it didn’t feel like this. This is a pocket of reality that is away from everything else, and sometimes Kristoph would get in bed with him and just hold him just like he is right now, and it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“Do you feel better now, Justice?”

“So good,” he slurs.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“Good.”

He pets him like he’s a cat, and it feels so good.

“Auh—”

“Feels good?”

“Ye-eah…”

He’s not even doing anything. He’s just holding him and giving him attention, but it feels so good.

How could he ever describe how it feels to want this? He should hate it, should want to get away, but he doesn’t. Does that mean he’s bad? Even if he is, he doesn’t care. Kristoph’s never held him like this before, and it feels so good. It feels like he might actually love him.

So, Apollo turns his head and kisses him, but it’s a sweet kiss, one he might even give to Klavier.

Oh, Klavier…where was Klavier?

It doesn’t matter, not when things are good like this. And, they could be better. He takes Kristoph’s hand and leads it down.

“You want me to?”

“Uh-huh…” He nods and rolls his hips against his hand. “All I’ve ever…wanted…”

“Alright, if you insist.”

It feels better than it should have. It feels so good that he clutches his shoulder and cries out.

He comes way too fast. Whatever they keep giving him makes his body fall apart. And, the worst part is that he likes it. He likes it so much. It’s what he’s been wanting for so long. In this world, though, it’s okay if he likes it. There’s no one to tell him that he’s wrong or messed up or sick. He can just say what he wants and it happens. It’s so good.

Kristoph tsks.

“Goodness.” He looked at his sullied hand in disdain. “Already making messes.”

“So—rry, Mr. G-Gavin.”

Speaking is so difficult, he thinks to himself.

“It’s alright.” He stands, and Apollo falls on his back, disoriented. “The medication probably makes it difficult not to orgasm. I understand.”

He goes into the bathroom to wash his hands.

Huh. Was that on purpose? Giving him some happy chemicals that made him even more slutty for his old boss? At least, it’s nice knowing it's not all his fault for being disgusting.

When he comes back, he pauses at the doorway and stares at him.

“What?”

Kristoph smiles in that sweet way he does.

“Oh, I was just thinking about how Klavier doesn’t know how lucky he is. Such a waste not to use you like this.”

“Ah…Klavier…”

“Do you regret leaving him for me?”

That wasn’t what had happened.

“He—I don’t think he likes me that much…”

“My dear brother is just too kind for his own good. Some people don’t want kindness, isn’t that right, Justice?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Especially, since…” He walks over and sits next to him and goes back to petting him. “My sweet, dear Apollo Justice gets so bothered over the idea of being abused. Used roughly. Broken down into pieces.”

Ugh, with the combination of his light touch and his words, Apollo swears he could come right then.

“See? You’re already hard again. I didn’t even have to do anything. Just tell you how much of a slutty toy you like to be. I knew it wouldn’t be very difficult to get you back in my hands, but you practically ran to me and started begging.”

He’s listening but lost the ability to speak. Everything just feels…so good.

“You love the idea of being totally subservient to me, don’t you?”

All he can respond back with is a whimper.

“Yes, that’s my dear Justice.” He tilts his head admiringly. “I wonder how long you can take it before you’re asking for more than just a quick work off, hm?”

“S-Sir, don’t…”

He purrs affectionately. “Yes, I know it feels impossible to bear. But, the idea of you having to stand it is very interesting to me. That said, you’re not allowed to touch yourself while you’re staying with me. You have to ask me to help you.”

“O-Okay.”

“Now get some rest. I’ll have to find something for you to eat so you don’t start passing out on me. Your electrolytes must be all over the place with how much you’ve been vomiting. Maybe when I come back and you can keep something down, I’ll give you a reward, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pats his head gently.

“That’s a good boy.”

God, if Kristoph touched him once he would immediately lose his mind.

The next thing he knows is Kristoph looking at a cute pink phone with a tsk. He’s holding a bag in his other hand.

He accepts the call and puts it to his ear, puts the bag on the desk.

“Yes, Wright? What can I do for you?”

He pauses and looks at Apollo with a contemplative face.

“Justice? No, I haven’t spoken to him since our last group phone call.”

Kristoph is so good at lying, it’s astounding. His bracelet doesn’t react at all. Although, he’s still a bit delusional, so it’s possible he’s not very good at perceiving in such a state.

“I gain nothing from lying to you.”

He’s smiling.

“Please, spare me the details. I’m not his keeper. Maybe you should keep a better eye on him.”

Another pause.

“Yes, it would be a shame if he sought me out. Who knows what could happen in that situation?”

He chuckles, and Apollo feels like he’s getting his own sort of rush from being part of this deception. It should make him feel awful to lie to Mr. Wright even by omission, but he’s gone all the way to the most-bad he could be, and he likes it, so he’s not going to start reawakening his conscience now.

“I do hope you find him. It’s certainly not as fun to only upset you. Mm-hmm. Alright. Goodbye, Wright.”

Kristoph puts the phone down next to his own.

“Well done, Justice. I didn’t even have to tell you to stay quiet.”

He sits down on the bed next to him and starts digging through the previously discarded bag.

“Here’s this.” He holds out a bottle of what looks to be a bright blue sport’s drink. When Apollo just sort of stares at it, he opens the top with a crack. “See, brand new. I haven’t tampered with it. We just need to keep you healthy, yes?”

Slowly, he accepts the offering and puts the bottle to his lips. The drink is sweet, almost like fruit punch. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he starts drinking it all down rather quickly.

“And, it’s nothing much, but I figured something easy to eat would be best for you considering you haven’t been eating well.” He pulls out a bag of chips and a sandwich. “Processed carbohydrates are the best when you don’t feel well.”

“Okay.”

The fact that he’s not totally with it is helping because he doesn’t feel anxious, so he doesn’t feel like vomiting. And, he wouldn’t try anyway because he wants whatever “reward” Kristoph hinted at before. The chips are extremely salty, or maybe his sense of taste is off.

“Good boy. You’re doing so well.”

Apollo flushes when he rubs him on the back.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’m glad that you seem to be feeling better.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Unfortunately, he can only take a few bites of his sandwich before he starts feeling off again, but it’s more than he’s kept down in weeks, so that makes him feel a bit better about the whole thing.

Kristoph stands and cleans up the resulting garbage from the bed. Then, he walks over into the next room before quickly reappearing.

“Would you like a drink, Justice?”

He’s holding a large bottle of champagne. Apollo should say no considering he was just lamenting about how he'd been having such trouble keeping things down, but drinking with Kristoph feels like an opportunity he can’t pass up.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wonderful.”

The alcohol is sweet and bitter at the same time. It takes an entire glass before his head starts to get fuzzy, which is probably because it’s not drugged this time.

“Ah, how lovely this is.” He’s leaning on the desk like he used to do at work sometimes. It’s a nostalgic sight. “Truthfully, I had missed you. I know I can embellish sometimes, but I’m not lying about that.”

“Really, sir?”

“Yes.” He sets down his glass and returns to his position of sitting next to him on the bed. He wraps a hand around his waist and pulls him close, kissing the top of his head. “There’s no one left in this world who adores me quite like you. I know I don’t deserve your affection considering some of my actions, but I’m very glad to have it.”

He takes the glass from Apollo’s hand.

“Want another? I can help you drink it, if you’d like.”

He nods dumbly.

And, just like that, his glass is full again.

“Did you like it when I did it last time?”

His hand is on his thigh. Apollo gasps and then nods. Slowly, it's placed to his lips, and he feels weak as the bubbly liquid passes down his throat. His head is light enough now that he wonders if he’s going to be able to stay awake, especially considering the soft way he touches at his leg and inches closer and closer to between his legs. He moans into the drink and is surprised when both the hand and glass are taken away.

Kristoph drinks the very last bit and then leans down to kiss him. His lips and tongue taste like sugar.

When he pulls away, Apollo slurs out, “I love you, sir."

“Mmm…sweet little Apollo Justice.” He kisses at his neck. “I love you, too.”

It had been the first time he’d ever said it back, and the bolt that shoots through his heart makes him gasp more than the teeth on his skin.

“He probably doesn’t give you hickeys, does he?”

“No, s-sir.”

He sucks at his skin hard, and Apollo feels himself tremble.

“Such a wasted opportunity. He doesn’t know what he’s missing. They look so good on you.”

Apollo wonders if he’s going to lose his mind.

“Oh, that’s an interesting idea.” He pulls away and looks at him softly and affectionately. “He would never do it, of course, but wouldn’t it be lovely if we both had you? Klavier could be your knight in shining armor while I fucked the shit out of you.”

Kristoph very rarely uses such vulgarity that, combined with him shoving him roughly back on the bed, it has him crying out.

“Yes, I wonder what I could do to convince him?” He’s already fussing with Apollo’s pants. “An offer he can’t refuse, maybe? Do this for Apollo or else I’ll kill him?” What horrible things to be saying—but he’s horrible for getting off on it. “Or, maybe I dose him.” He pushes up his shirt and kisses Apollo’s stomach. “There are some substances out there that make it very difficult to resist the cries of nature. Even sweet, darling Klavier wouldn’t be able to say no.”

He shimmies off his pants, and God, he’s so hard already. Makes him wonder if it’s simply from being with Kristoph or if he’s been dosed with one of the things he’s alluding to.

“Although, he’s probably lying about not wanting to take you like this. Who could resist poor, little, pathetic Justice begging to be destroyed.”

He slips a hand in his underwear.

“Sir!”

“How has it been waiting for me? Or, do you even remember? You didn’t look entirely with it when I came back.”

He gasps out, “I don’t even remember, sir.”

“Tragic. Maybe I’ll stop keeping you sedated so you have to feel how turned on you are and not have anything to do about it.”

“Please, sir.”

“Hmm, good boy. I’ll consider it since you’ve been so well behaved.”

“Yes—”

He’s flipped on his stomach and already being worked on.

“I do enjoy the mental image of Klavier out of his mind with his lust for you to the point he doesn’t even care that he’d be committing incest. Although, we’re both narcissistic with our appearances. Maybe having sex with himself would do something for him.”

“That’s terrible, sir,” he groans out.

“Yes, and you like it. What does that say about you, hmm?”

“I’m disgusting—sir—”

“Yes, and Klavier can’t handle you. A shame. Lucky for the both of us, I suppose.”

His fingers are suddenly slick with his lubricant that smells like mint, and just the sent memory alone has Apollo close to tears, but in a good way.

It dawns on his slow mind that, technically, he’s cheating again. On his brother. With his brother. Somehow, the idea is wonderful right now.

“How do you want it, Justice? Want me to torture you?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good boy.”

He yanks his hips up so his bottom is in the air.

“Want me to use protection?”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, if we’re defiling both this body and yours, I assume there’s no need.”

He’s in him now, and he’s being so slow and kind to him that it really does feel like torture.

“Ugh…”

“I bet you’ll still climax just from this. Whatever Dahlia managed to get is really something. That girl is always full of surprises.”

It dawns on him that he hasn’t seen her at all considering he couldn’t open his eyes that other night. And, she doesn’t seem to be around right now.

Kristoph is right, though. He’s quickly approaching his limit even though he’s barely had any stimulation. It’s almost annoying, but the idea of coming over and over from practically nothing is so hot.

“The nice thing about you being so intoxicated, though, is that you are very pliant and docile. But, you’d probably behave that way stone-cold sober, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-Yes, s-sir.”

“Agreeable. Another reason why I love your body so much.”

“Mmmph!”

“How do you think Klavier would take you if you were like this and he was a little out of himself as well? If I was back here, do you think he’d fuck your throat?”

Apollo hits the bed with his fist, shoving his face into the covers.

“Goodness. You really want him to be rough with you, don’t you? You poor thing. How could he deny you? Self-control I truly do not possess.”

He’s not sure if it's the alcohol or the drugs that are making him so into Kristoph’s words. Or, maybe he just really is that disgusting.

“The more I think about it, the more I wonder if it’s possible. I’ll have to bring up the idea with my dear Dolly.”

Even though it’s not the most pressing thing about the situation, he still asks, “Where is she?”

“Oh, she’s just making a familial visit. I’m not the only one with a sibling you know.”

Apollo knows nothing about “Dolly” so he doesn’t even really know what Kristoph is implying.

The question is fucked out of his mind when he gets slammed into hard.

“Nuh—!”

“You sound close, Justice. I don’t remember you enjoying dirty talk so much.”

“Drugs…” is the only thing he can say.

“Ah, that’s right. My mistake. Maybe I will keep you under for a little longer.”

“No…” he moans.

“No? You can’t say no to me, Justice. This whole fiasco spells it out quite well.”

“I’m gonna come.”

“Alright, go ahead. I’m not going to stop, though.”

He cries out something that sounds like a sob, and he comes hard. This must make Kristoph grow impatient because he picks up his pace.

“Maybe I’ve missed you more than I care to admit. I do enjoy destroying Wright as well, but he takes so much effort to convince sometimes.”

Oh, yeah. He often forgets that they were both intimate with Kristoph at the same time. It’s not a fact he really wants to think about, or at least, not usually. But, the idea is surprisingly attractive at the moment. How many times did he bang him at the office and then go home and do the same to Mr. Wright?

“How many times did you this and then go and do it to him?”

“Curious?”

“It’s hot—” he slurs out.

“I suppose so. But, yes, I did it quite often. Very fun to have two pets to play with. Have you ever thought of being with him?”

He couldn’t deny the thought had flitted through his mind occasionally, but it never really was what he was into.

“He’s too nice to me.”

“Ah, yes. Another person who could have had you and didn’t. A shame. I know you would whore yourself out to him if he just smacked you around a little, but Wright never really was one to do the smacking around.”

His brain feels like it’s melting out his ears. He can’t even keep his mouth closed. Kristoph always knows just how to take him, and it feels so fucking good.

Suddenly he pulls out.

“Flip over. Want me to play with your breath a little?”

He does flip over, although pretty clumsily.

“Of course, sir.”

“Oh, good.”

That light touch. The press on his arteries. It’s far more preferable to having his windpipe crushed. Also, it’d probably hurt super bad considering the condition of his throat lately. Not that he’d necessarily mind.

If his head had already been light with heat, not having enough oxygen makes it worse. He comes again.

“Oops. That was unexpected.”

His face feels like it’s on fire.

“Love—being…”

He can’t find the words.

“Love being choked? I know you do, sweetheart.”

Kristoph is never fluffy with him like Klavier is.

“Schatz…” he murmurs.

“Oh, yes, you do like that about him, don’t you? As much as you like pain, you also like the praise. Ein guter kleiner Junge.”

He’s never heard Kristoph speak German before. Without an accent, he barely remembers he can.

“Really want to get Klavier involved now,” he breathes. He must be getting close himself. “You two would be so cute to be put in a terrible position you both want.”

“Uhh…”

“Yes, I know you’d like it. That’s to be expected.”

Apollo feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Sir…I’m…”

“You’re what, Justice?”

“…dizzy…”

“You want me to let you go?”

He’s suddenly confused.

“No…?”

“I didn’t think so.”

Things start to blur together after that. He can’t really keep his eyes focused. He does remember coming for a third time, though. And, the sweet nothings he usually doesn’t get from him.

“So sweet. It’d be hard not to fall in love with you.”

“…Yes…sir…”

“Mmm, poor thing. You can barely stay conscious, can you?”

“Nnnmm…”

“It’s alright. Sleep, darling. It’ll be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

He doesn’t even remember getting come inside of.

“He says that he doesn’t have him.”

Athena blinks. “You can’t seriously believe him, can you?”

“Dunno. Can’t see Psyche-Locks over the phone.”

Klavier is distraught and rightly so.

“I can’t believe Apollo went to him. He said he wouldn’t.”

“Well, he’s kinda compromised right now, Klavier. I don’t think he would normally.”

“No. He would. He wants him instead of me. I’ve always known.”

Oof, that hits the room like a pile of rocks.

Trucy gives him a hug.

“I’m sorry, Klavier. Everything sucks right now.”

“Yeah, I just…wish I could help him snap out of it.”

Klavier distinctly knows that Kristoph is fucking his boyfriend. After all, that’s what Apollo went over there for. Just because he wouldn’t. God, he wished he could get mad at Apollo because all he’s angry with is himself.

Well, and him.

“We don’t know if that’s what’s happened," Phoenix frowns.

“It’s what happened,” Klavier says listlessly.

Phoenix, Trucy, and Athena shared nervous glances. Trucy is right. Everything does suck right now.

“He better not hurt him,” Athena mutters.

“Oh, they’ll be just fine,” Klavier says, anger inching into his voice. “They’re probably having a great time.” He gets up from the table and storms away.

Phoenix doesn’t know what to do to help him. He’s kind of shocked Apollo actually went through with it, even though it was always a possibility. In a way, he’s impressed. Gotta hand it to him, takes major balls to cast everything to the wind just to go get dicked down.

It isn’t fair that Klavier has to bear the brunt of it, though.

“I think I’m going to try to go see him.”

“Who? Kristoph?” Athena is shocked.

“Daddy, you can’t! What if he does something to you!”

“I can take it. I know him better than anyone, after all. I just have to make sure Apollo is alright.”

Athena and Trucy stare at the ground.

“Well, you better be careful, Boss. The guy’s a nasty dude.”

He laughs. “Oh, don’t I know it.”

When Kristoph opens the door, Phoenix can’t help the automatic thought—(Holy hell, he’s so hot.)

It’s hard not to think so with his black hair and similarly black outfit. The way his eyes pierce him in the same way they used to. But, he’s also clearly enjoying himself. Phoenix can tell by the glint in his eyes. He knows he has everyone cornered.

“Good evening, Wright.”

“Where is he?”

“Ah, so you actually came here because you didn’t believe me. I thought you just missed me.”

“Please, don't flatter yourself. I never believe you, Gavin.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Come in.”

The room is spotless, as he expected from Gavin. The only thing off about it is the small boy slumped in the easy chair in the corner. He seems like he’s asleep.

“Justice. You have a visitor.”

However, his eyes flicker open. The way he looks at him, though, it’s distant—almost like he’s not even there. That’s only for a few moments, though. It must dawn on him.

“M-Mr. W-Wright.”

His words are majorly slurred. He must have been dosed with something, knowing Kristoph and his pension for slipping people things.

“Apollo, are you okay?”

Something in his words must upset him because he tries to get up only to stumble. Anticipating this, Kristoph is close enough to him that he catches him before he falls over.

“Mr…Wright…”

And, now he’s hanging on Kristoph’s arm, using his body like a shield. He looks like a little boy who is scared of the stranger who wants to talk to him.

“It’s alright, Justice. I’m not going to let him take you.”

Ah. So, that’s it, huh? Whether it be something he’s said to him or the drugs he’s been given, it’s reduced him to a state of rawness and fear, yet aimed at the wrong party. Kristoph is his protector, and Phoenix is the intruder.

“P-Please don’t hate me.”

Oof. The poor kid.

“I don’t hate you, Apollo.”

He’s wearing a huge white long sleeve t-shirt that is clearly not his, considering it hangs off of him like a dress. And, he’s wearing black leggings that look like they belong to a woman—Dahlia probably. It makes his already helpless appearance seem worse. Also, his hair is a mess, but it has been lately.

“You can sit back down, if you wish.”

“O-Okay.”

Kristoph takes a few steps towards the chair so Apollo can flop down in the seat and stare into space.

“He’s safe, Wright. I promise, this has all been a—hmm…collaborative effort.”

“I had a feeling.” Phoenix watches Apollo’s eyes flutter shut again. “What do you have him on?”

“It’s not important. He’s not in pain. In fact, he’s feeling quite nice, aren’t you, Justice?”

He nods without opening his eyes. “F—Feels good.”

“Yes, it certainly makes him very compliant. Although, I’m sure he would be that way sober, too, hmm? Right, Justice?”

“Yes…yes…sir.”

This is all kind of horrifying to watch. It’s not that he doesn’t believe that Apollo wouldn’t go along with this whole thing, but clearly, being held in this state has him unable to defend himself, unable to make good decisions for himself—even more so than usual. If there’s a part of his conscience that knows this whole thing is very wrong, he probably can’t access it right now.

“You could let him make his own decisions.”

“Oh, he is quite capable. It wasn’t my suggestion for us to meet up.”

Phoenix sighs. He certainly likes to rub it in his face.

“But, also, if there was ever a time where you wanted to have a little fun with him, now would be the time.”

“Ugh. You’re disgusting, Gavin.”

“Well, I’m in good company. Justice, you wouldn’t be opposed, would you?”

He shakes his head, “Nn-hnn…”

“I feel like I always have to point out the obvious to you. He’s drugged. You’re assaulting him.”

“How could that possibly be when he begs me for it?” Kristoph smiles sweetly. “You simply have too much of a hero complex to see that this is what Apollo wants.” There’s a pause, maybe because he expected Apollo to jump in, but he looks to be actually falling asleep now. “Justice.”

He snaps awake, dazed.

“Yes, sir?”

“Tell Wright what you want.”

“To be here.”

“Yes, that’s right. Such a good boy.”

Apollo giggles and shuts his eyes again with a small smile.

“See? It’s what he wants.”

This little show is pissing him off. He really just wants to scoop Apollo up and steal him back, but there’s no way that Kristoph would allow that.

“Where’s Dahlia?”

“On a trip.”

“To where?”

“Oh, I’m not going to tell you that. Then, you would interfere.”

Dammit.

“Anyway,” Kristoph continues, “would you like to catch up? It’s been a while since we talked.”

“There’s nothing for us to talk about, Gavin.”

“Oh, no? You clearly have your badge back. I’ve heard some things from, Justice, but not much. Considering he’s not working, you must have some new young lawyers at your disposal. Is Trucy still in the magic business?”

“I have nothing I want to say to you except fuck off.”

“Truly a shame. I was going to suggest you and I sat down for a drink, but it can’t be helped I suppose. But, maybe I’ll have to…take out some of my frustrations on poor, little Justice. Although, he’d probably thank me for it.”

Phoenix growls. “How are you always just such a piece of shit?”

“What, I’m giving you a choice, aren’t I? You are free to leave whenever you please.”

He knows that Kristoph probably wouldn’t actually hurt Apollo—at least not badly anyway—but also the longer he stood in this room, the less of a chance he’d be able to get away. And, someone needs to take care of those kids. And, Edgeworth, he doesn’t need the extra stress.

It dawns on him, though, that Kristoph had said that they would come to him. Guess he wasn’t bluffing.

He closes his eyes and sighs.

“I’ll stay for a bit, but I’m not going to drink anything you’ve given to me. I know that trick well enough at this point.”

“Suit yourself.” He turns and looks to the catatonic Apollo. “Justice, would you like a drink?”

“Yes, sir,” he slurs practically asleep.

Phoenix wonders how Apollo is supposed to drink when it looks like he can barely stay conscious, but that’s made clear when instructs Apollo to stand. Kristoph, then, sits down where he was and instructs him to sit on his lap.

This is so weird. He’s obviously doing it just to get a reaction—maybe from the both of them because Apollo is much more awake and very obviously…enjoying himself. Ugh. He looks away and to the ground. Phoenix knows that if Apollo were in his right mind right now that he’d be mortified. Honestly, he’s a little mortified on his behalf.

Kristoph brings the glass to Apollo’s mouth, and he accepts it readily. It must have been straight liquor because Apollo chokes and puts a hand over his mouth.

“Ah, I’m sorry. A bit strong, eh?”

“Do you want to talk or just seduce him in front of me because I’ll leave, if that’s the case.”

“Don’t be so rash, Wright. Especially not when you’d be leaving Apollo intoxicated and defenseless.” He takes a sip of the drink as well. Apollo sinks against his shoulder and looks to be falling asleep again. Somehow it makes him look even more of a little kid. Maybe because Trucy used to fall asleep in his lap like that when she was very young.

It didn’t have these connotations, though.

“So, I assume it was Mr. Edgeworth who pulled the strings, hm?”

“Well, once the forgeries were pinned on you, the original hearing was thrown out, and I could take the bar again. But, I guess the speed of it did have a lot to do with Miles.”

“I see. So, you have your ‘good’ boyfriend, now. And, your career back. How nice. A happy ending.”

“Things aren’t all great.”

“Yes, I’ve heard Justice has been through the wringer.” He pets the side of Apollo’s face, and he doesn’t seem at all with it when he groans. “Oh, poor thing. Was the alcohol too much?”

“He wouldn’t have had such a bad breakdown if it wasn’t for you.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard. He tried to seduce his father? Very bold. I didn’t even know he had one to begin with.”

“He isn’t—or wasn’t…his real dad. Not that it makes much of a difference.”

“Ah, so he’s dead as well now, is he? Truly befitting of his tragic life.”

Phoenix is getting pissed off again.

“You know, instead of making him have sex with you, maybe you could have—I don’t know—helped him.”

“But, that’s no fun, is it, Wright? Not when I could have him all to myself.”

“You just like that he pines over you. You don’t really love him. You probably can’t even love. You just like the power.”

“Maybe so, but a few lies make everything so much easier. Isn’t that right, Justice?”

“Hmmm…” His vocalizations are starting to become more pained.

“Alright, I’ll put you to bed. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

Phoenix scoffs. Sweetheart? What the fuck. “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

Kristoph leads him to his feet and then places him on the bed, and Apollo practically passes out the second his head hits the pillow.

“So, your relationship with Edgeworth. How is that? Is it nice?”

Phoenix knows this line of questioning can’t go anywhere good.

“Yes, we are very happy.”

“He probably doesn’t top you, though? Does he?”

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

“Oh, it’s just that I know you, Wright.” He sits back in the chair and continues to sip the brown liquor. “Just like Justice, once you know what it feels like to be completely submissive under me, you can’t just easily accept any other treatment.”

Phoenix rolls his eyes.

“Mr. Miles Edgeworth is a coward. He’d never do what you truly need.”

“‘Need’ is generous, Kristoph. We were in an abusive relationship. Not everybody wants to be drugged and raped just for fun.”

“Not everybody, no. But, there are a few exceptions. In the seven years we were together, how many times did that happen?”

“How am I supposed to remember that?”

“I’ll tell you. Only once. The rest of the time you practically drugged yourself with all that wretched ‘grape juice’ you insisted on chugging.”

“But, you took advantage of me more times than I could count.”

“And, you let me do it.”

“Kristoph! That’s not how things work! You can’t just have sex with people because you feel like it. There are times when people can’t consent, like when you have power over them, or you keep them practically unconscious because you know if he weren’t fucked up out of his mind, he wouldn’t be acting like this!”

“I could let him sober up for you just so you can see that he won’t come back to you even then.”

“I doubt that.”

“Justice, can you hear me?”

Apollo groans again, eye still closed, “Y—s, s—r.”

“Wasn’t it you who asked me to meet up with you?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And, did you predict that if you came to me, that I wouldn’t let you go?”

“Uhh…huh…”

“God, Gavin, just let him sleep.”

He turns to Phoenix and holds up a hand. “No, no, Just a second. I want to make sure you know I’m not exaggerating. Justice.”

“Ye…ah…”

“And, did you allow me to seduce you? Willingly drank what I gave you? Let yourself go for me?”

“Uh…huh…”

“See. There you go. Right from the horse’s mouth.”

“He’s barely coherent! He can hardly speak!”

“Coherent enough to answer my questions.”

“Apollo, are you just saying yes to anything he asks you?”

“No…but kinda yeah…”

Phoenix looks at Kristoph in a way that says, ‘Told ya so.’

“Alright, I won’t even feed him the question.” He barks, “Justice, sit up.”

“Mmmm…”

Slowly, he does but his chin is connected to his chest.

“Tell Wright exactly what you feel.”

It takes him a second, but he eventually lifts his head and crossing his legs, making eye contact with Phoenix.

“I’m not here against my will.” His words are suddenly much more articulated. Although, he still looks like he has no idea what’s going on. “I called Mr. Gavin. I went willingly. And, yeah, he drugged me, but I didn’t protest. And, I wanted it.”

Kristoph gestures to him, like ‘See?’

“I’m gonna go…throw up,” he says, almost biffing it again when he stands. Kristoph catches him.

“Are you going to go make yourself throw up, or do you actually feel sick?”

Phoenix honestly can’t even take in everything that’s happening, especially since Apollo’s eyes are wide and misty when he looks up to Gavin.

“I-I wouldn’t do that to you, sir.”

“Alright, fine.”

But, then, he releases his arms, and Apollo tips over.

Phoenix scrambles to the ground, trying to make sure that he’s alright. “Jesus fucking Christ, Kristoph, what the hell is wrong with you?” He goes back to Apollo, patting at his cheek to make sure he’s still awake. “Hey, Apollo. Look at me. Are you alright?”

He doesn’t look at him, but he still says, “Dizzy.”

“God, okay, let me get you up.”

“Not so fast, Wright.”

Phoenix turns, but it's too late because something is jammed into his bicep, and it snaps!

“What the fuck?!”

When he finally manages to comprehend what’s going on, it dawns on him that Kristoph is glaring down at him with contempt, pure hatred in his eyes. He’s holding one of the biggest syringes he’s ever seen.

“What the hell is that thing?”

“I’m not really sure, to be honest. Some specialized medical instrument, no doubt. Hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Uh, fuck yeah it does!”

“A little present from your dear Dolly.” He laughs. “You really are so gullible, aren’t you? She was right. Your childish idealism has it so easy for you to be manipulated. Just get Justice a little out of his mind, and you toss all caution to the wind.”

The effect is quick. He feels really warm and confused.

“Shit, Gavin. What the hell is this stuff?” He scrunches his face against the feeling.

“Some opioid, maybe. Not sure what kind specifically. But, it feels nice, doesn’t it, Wright?”

He hopes his face accurately portrays his anger and disgust.

“You dosed us with meth?”

“Methamphetamine is not an opioid, Wright. Learn your illicit substances before you embarrass yourself again.”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” he scoffed.

“No, I figure something like oxycontin or methadone. Something like that. It doesn’t really matter. It’s enough to immobilize you.”

“Fuck.”

Apollo is passed out on the floor, and Phoenix is very concerned that he might be next.

“Yes, you truly are an idiot. We have, what is it—four of your group now? But, don’t worry. I don’t plan on hurting anyone. Not yet, at least. Although, knowing how heroic my brother likes to act, maybe we can take him, too. That would be a very fun party, wouldn’t it?”

“Ugh.”

The warmth in his head is getting worse.

“Or, maybe my dear Dolly can pick up Trucy, and she can have her way with her before she kills her.”

“Stop it!”

“Oh, I’m just having a little fun, Wright. Don’t get so worked up. I don’t think Dolly would be very interested in fucking your daughter. Or, maybe she would? I have a lot of things to ask her when she gets back.”

“W-Where is…she…?”

“Well, now that you’re immobilized, I guess it won’t hurt. She’s—hmm…’visiting’ Iris.”

“What? No…”

“Don’t worry, she’s not going to kill her.” He rolls his eyes. “Just a little conjugal visit. I’m sure Iris won’t have a problem with it.”

He hopes that Kristoph is bluffing because the idea of Iris and Dahlia—ugh. She would, though wouldn’t she? Dahlia is sick like that.

“And, the good news is that because you’re not a starving ‘twink,’ as Dahlia would say, it won’t make you so delusional like poor Justice here. So, you get to remember every part of our lovely time together.”

“Great. Love that for me.”

“Yes. Now would you like a drink, Wright?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No, you do not.”

He smiles kindly like he always does, and it never fails to send a chill down his spine.

She hears her before she sees her.

“Long time no see, my darling.”

Iris whips around so quickly that she feels like she’s given herself whiplash. She knows that voice. It’s scarred into so many places of her brain, of her body, of her life. But, being met with her reflection is as confusing as it is horrifying.

She has to admit that the black hair, the dress—the cape?—well, it looks good on her. It truly brings out her darkness as if she is releasing black smoke from her body. Even though they look identical at this moment, Iris knows that she could never exude so much evil. When Dahlia's pretending to be sweet, she still stings like the bite of eating sour candy.

Once the horrible shock wears down, Iris feels resigned. Dahlia always manages to crawl back to the surface one way or another.

“Should I even bother asking why you’re here?” Her words are supposed to be nasty, but Iris sounds sad. She’s trapped in the same room as a glaring reminder of her past. Is it worth it to get upset? Is it worth it to feel guilty about all she had done—all they’d done?

Dahlia walks closer to her with a dainty pace that could convince an outsider that she means no harm, but anyone who knows who she is could recognize that she’s playing her game.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old." She's beautiful when she says it. "Last time was too short of a visit, don’t you think?”

Iris adverts her eyes, looking at a scroll that hangs solemnly on a distant corner of her room. With Dahlia, everything is a trick, a joke taken too far, a bear trap hidden in plain sight. To be silent is to give in, but to engage is to lose. The only appropriate circumstance is if she no longer lived, but even in death, she lives.

So, she’s silent.

“Oh, come on, now. You don’t have to act like you aren’t happy to see me,” she grins.

When Iris’ gaze flickers back, she feels sick to her stomach. “I’m not happy to see you.”

“You say that every time, but we both know you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” She doesn’t sound very convincing.

“Fine, fine. Sure.” Dahlia walks around the room, picking up various knick-knacks. A turtle paperweight made of glass, a book written in Khura’inese, a necklace with crystals and a gem as purple as her robes. “Seeing someone?” she asks offhandedly.

“No.”

“You bought this for yourself?” She holds up the necklace and shows it to her as if it wasn’t hers. The amethyst sparkles in the light.

“N-No, it was…” She swallows, knowing that the answer will only sink her deeper into Dahlia’s hot water. “It was a present from…our father.”

Instead of the anger Iris anticipated, Dahlia bursts into laughter, almost doubled over from the force of it. “I should have guessed.” She stands up straight and throws the necklace at her face. She flinches when it hits her but still bends down to pick it up. “Little, pathetic Iris can’t hold a grudge against anybody, not even the man that cast her aside to rot in this godforsaken hellhole.”

Being berated with insults that ring true hurts much more than her anger ever could have.

“I hate him more than you do, and you were treated worse. But, that’s just like you, isn’t it? You don’t think you deserve to be happy. You feel guilty about things that aren’t your fault, and so you’re nice to those who have wronged you because you believe you owe it to them for your 'failures.’”

Dahlia is the only person who ever tells her the truth about herself. She hates her for it as much as she loves her.

“What do you want from me?”

“What do you think I want from you, sis?”

Iris looks at the ground again.

“Or, should I say, what is it that you want from me, sis?”

When she was eleven, she’d made the mistake of telling Dahlia that she loved her. She’d quirked an eyebrow and said, “Uh, right back at you?” But, that wasn’t what Iris meant, which was why she kissed her.

Dahlia had never let her live it down.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t whaaat?”

She’s so fucking obnoxious.

Iris stays silent. Her mouth presses into a thin line. Dahlia rolls her eyes and comes forward, reaching down before bundling up Iris’ robes and pushing her backward on the bed. Her underwear, simple and white, is exposed.

“You can lie to me, but she can’t.” Dahlia swipes a finger up the fabric, eliciting a yelp from her sister. “You fucking slut. Wet already.”

She’s kneeling between her legs now, licking up the cotton fabric with a glint in her eye as if she knows exactly what she’s thinking. She probably does. It’s written on her face. Fear and anxiety and want and need.

But, instead of advancing, Dahlia leans her lace-covered arm on Iris’ thigh, placing her head in her palm.

“I’ve never understood what you like about this. Do you like that I look the same? Or, do you want bad treatment?”

Iris actively wishes that Dahlia would kill her instead of doing this. Admitting that she’s fucking in love with her sister is one of the many reasons she must atone for her sins by giving herself to the Holy Mother. Giving into her each and every time is why she will never be able to atone fully. The evil of her—the opposite of her—that’s what’s so attractive. Hurt her, mark her, ruin her. That’s all she wants. All she deserves.

Oh, for the Holy Mother, may she send them both directly to eternal hellfire.

“B-Both.”

“Hmm. At least you admit it.”

She goes back to eating her out through her underwear, which is so fucking frustrating. She wants to feel her tongue against her slick, not the scratchy cotton worn down from dozens of washes. She whines, mewls, pleads.

“Please, Dahlia. Please.”

Dahlia ignores her. She takes a finger and presses it against her so that some of her underwear goes inside, as much as it can stretch, at least. Iris dips her head back and hates her so fucking much.

“Sweet, innocent Iris. What would Feenie think if he knew?”

Iris breathes out heavily. “He wouldn’t believe it.”

“He’d believe I’d do something like this. But, he’d need a little convincing that it’s you who begs.” She runs a finger under the fabric that hugs her thigh. “You’re not particularly attached to these, are you?”

“Ah…?”

Not even giving her time to process the question amidst the blur in her head, she takes the fabric in both hands and rips it easily. Worn down indeed. She pulls her underwear down so it hangs off one ankle. Using two thumbs, she spreads her and tilts her head.

“Do you think our pussies’ look identical, too?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t care. I don’t want to know.”

“Of course not. You just want to get fucked.” She sneers, “Selfish brat.”

As if Dahlia isn’t a hundred times worse. Iris would spit in her face if she wasn’t afraid of being punished further.

“Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.”

Iris tries to roll her hips, but it’s difficult with her legs spread apart and Dahlia in the middle of them.

“P-Please, Dahlia. Please, it’s been so long…”

“Not very convincing.” Then, she takes out a large touch screen phone and aims it up at her. Iris freezes in fear. “Say it again. But, with more feeling this time.”

“W-What are you planning to—”

“Shut up. Do you want to get your pussy licked or not?”

Iris bites her lips, eyes squeezing shut when a single finger runs over her as a reminder of how wet she is and how she throbs and aches with need.

“Ah—f-fuck, Dahlia, please. It hurts, i-it’s been so long—” She tries to shuffle closer so she can make contact with Dahlia’s hands again, but she moves away. “Please. I want you so bad.” She pauses to pant. “Ah—hah—please fuck me, Dahlia. Please.”

Her giggle is as sweet as it is sinister. She turns the camera as if taking a selfie, getting both her, Iris, and her exposed body in the frame before blowing a kiss. She ends the video there, but continues to snap some photos.

“See, that wasn’t hard. All you had to do was tell the truth,” she smiles, admiring her work. “These will be very fun as leverage for me and my partner.”

Iris scowls. “He won’t see you willingly if that’s what you think. Even if you blackmail him with photos of me.”

“Oh? What makes you think we don’t already have him?”

Her eyes go wide as she shows the message to her face.

[Dahlia: I barely did anything. He showed up on his own. Let his guard down. Anyway, he’s in the room opposite of Justice just so you’re aware.]

Kidnapping Phoenix? It doesn’t seem possible, not with everything that he’s gone through since they’d met. He couldn’t be that easy, could he? He isn't naïve like he used to be…

She places the phone upright on the bedside table.

“You better moan real pretty for Feenie,” she says, getting back between her legs. “Your first porno! Aren’t you excited?”

For Phoenix to see it? Absolutely not. For Dahlia to record her against her will? Well…she’d rather not answer that.

“You’re terrible.”

Dahlia snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know, sis.” Then, she finally, finally runs her tongue up her length.

“Ah—!”

She glares up at her.

“You fucking whore.”

Things are hazy. His head feels like it's pulsing with waves that crash into the back of his eyes or form a whirlpool that swirls around his skull. He’s thankful that it doesn’t knock him out completely because who knows what Kristoph would do to him if he were totally defenseless.

(Even though things are dire for himself, in the back of his head, he worries more about Apollo and how he’s so out of it. It can’t be good. Just how much bullshit does Kristoph have him on? Has he hurt him? What’s been going on behind these closed doors?)

Phoenix is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at the dark blue carpet until the sound of the door slamming snaps his head up. He’s met with icy eyes that are as dark and dim as the floor despite being the color of blue topaz.

Kristoph doesn’t let his stare break even as he ambles to a desk similar to the one in Apollo’s room. It’s covered with bottles of alcohol.

“Do you have a preference?” he asks simply, barely any inflection to his tone. He’s not angry, he’s not teasing, he’s not smug. Everything about the question is even.

Phoenix doesn’t answer.

“Fine.” He picks up his bourbon bottle and dumps a few shots of liquor in a glass, much like the one they’d been previously drinking from. Kristoph drinks a bit himself before eyeing Phoenix again. “Will you drink willingly, or will I have to force it down your throat?”

His words seem like thinly veiled language for something else entirely, considering he hasn’t even handed him the drink yet.

“Just give it to me.”

Kristoph takes another sip before passing it on and pouring himself one as well. He sits in the chair that faces the side of the bed Phoenix sits on.

“You know, Justice is very cute.” A smile that’s adoring and real crosses his face. It’s not a taunt, and it’s his first show of emotion since entering the room. He’s not even looking in his direction. His eyes are cast down at the carpet somewhere across the room. “When we shared a drink, he called it an ‘indirect kiss.’ How sweet.” He looks almost wistful.

Phoenix isn’t sure how to respond to the statement with his brain chugging so slowly.

“He reads a lot of manga.” When Kristoph raises an eyebrow at him, he drinks a mouthful of the awful tasting stuff. He wishes he had wine, misses the days Kristoph would shove that down his throat instead.

“Shoujo ai?”

“Uh…I dunno. I never asked."

“Compared to you, he’s so easy.” He sighs. “You’re so difficult to convince. So much effort wasted. It’s almost not worth it.”

“Then, let me go.”

Kristoph glares. “I said, almost. Now, keep drinking.”

Sure, he’s probably trying to skeeve him out by talking about Apollo like that, but there’s an obvious truth to his statements. Like Apollo, Phoenix had become rather adept at knowing when what Kristoph was doing or saying was just for the reaction. But, that’s not the case at the moment. It makes sense though. Apollo is an easier target than Phoenix, and Kristoph loves that.

People who are either narcissists or exhibit narcissistic tendencies do not connect interpersonally the same way others do. For some reason, whether it be abuse or emotional neglect, they have never developed a way of being emotionally fulfilled in relationships normally, platonic or otherwise. Being involved with a narcissist requires giving them their ‘supply’ to feel fulfilled.

Narcissistic supply can come in many forms—sometimes it’s as simple as attention, being noticed, being praised, winning in some manner. But, what truly is most effective is love. It’s not real love, of course, because real love is a balance of egos, a commitment to one another, a responsibility to strive for happiness and prosperity. This love is a performance, a dance, a means of control. The narcissist must appear as always being on top, always being right, always being the center of someone’s life, always holding the power.

Someone mature and relatively emotionally stable like Phoenix can fall into this paradigm for Kristoph, but as he laments, it’s too difficult for so little payoff.

But, Apollo is perfect.

He ticks all the boxes. He gives him constant attention, he admires him, he sees himself as less successful, he allows himself to be controlled, he gives Kristoph power over him, and that is the most satisfying supply of them all.

And, sex—well, sex is a supply, too.

There’s no doubt in Phoenix’s mind that Kristoph really does appreciate Apollo. He probably, in his own twisted way, does love him. Or rather, he loves what he does for him, loves the role he plays as his subordinate, loves him as an unending supply.

On the other side of things, the people who are most prone to fall under the spell of a narcissist are people like Apollo. The less confident, the less self-assured, the fewer the boundaries, the easier it is to manipulate them. In that way, he can’t fully blame him even though things may look really bad right now. So many years of grooming and negging and abuse—that doesn’t go away easily, especially not when you still haven’t broken the spell they have on you.

Like an evil prince charming, Kristoph very easily swept him off his feet once again. It’s all too perfect in the most horrible ways possible.

“Now, tell me, Wright. What exactly did you expect to get out of stopping by?”

When Kristoph drinks, he instinctively mirrors him.

“I just needed to know Apollo was safe.”

“Did you really think I’d kill him so quickly? Or, even let you in my room if I had?”

“No, but I—”

“See, this is always your problem.” He sighs again, disappointed, and sets his glass down. “You’re too short-sighted.”

“Not short-sided enough to miss catching you stepping on your own tail.”

“Ah, yes, but you were desperate. You’d lost everything and had little to no support system. Of course, you had little other choice than to see to the future. That’s what the most hopeless and pathetic of us do.”

“As if your whole life isn’t some super villain plan.”

He chuckles, crossing his legs.

“You have to take steps to cover your tracks if you’re ‘The Villian.’” He picks at his clearly manicured nails nonchalantly. He’d had time to get a manicure? “Iris would know something about that, wouldn’t she?”

Phoenix liked it better when he wasn’t privy to every single aspect of his past as told by Dahlia Hawthorne.

“What do you want me to say? Okay. Haha. You win.” His voice lowers, “Would that make you happy?”

“Make me happy? Oh no. I’m plenty happy. Now.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Taking the silence that follows, he stands, opens and rifles through some drawers, and throws some clothes at him before sitting back down. Phoenix opens up the folded garments and is less than impressed.

“Sweats?”

“Just like old times, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” He starts to make his way over to the bathroom, but a hand catches his arm.

“No, no. You can change right here.” His words are too sweet, but the air in the room tastes bitter and astringent like alcohol.

“Fine,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his tie. He hadn’t bothered with the dress coat. Once those are off, he tosses them to the side. When he gets to the button of his pants, he pauses, the years prior coming back to him. This is bad now. He has a steady boyfriend—a fiancé. He can’t just let another man watch him undress.

But, then, Kristoph clears his throat and he remembers that he has no choice in the matter, so he unbuttons the button and unzips the zipper.

“What if I said that I missed you?”

Phoenix has to stop himself from letting his eyeballs roll out of his head.

“I’d say, you’re spending too much time with Apollo. He might swallow that story, but—”

“The funny thing is, he didn’t.” When Phoenix pauses to look at him questioningly, Kristoph waves his hand. “Go on now.”

He slips his sweatpants on and pulls the hoodie over his head, ignoring the piercing stare on him until he is fully clothed. “What do you mean?”

“I think Apollo is smarter than you give him credit for. More self-aware. I told him that I missed him and I wanted to make it up to him, but he didn't believe me.” He takes a long drink and leans back in the chair, relaxed in some contemplative way. “I may be intentionally malicious, but that doesn’t mean I don’t form attachments to the people I know.”

“So, you’re saying, you actually did miss us.” He sits back on the bed, picking his glass up off the floor and finishing the drink.

“As you have so graciously pointed out, probably not in the same way that you would think, but yes, it is nice to see the two of you again.”

“Because you miss having power over people.”

“I miss the game.”

“That’s what I mean. You don’t actually miss us because you like us. I know you hate me. And, Apollo—he’ll say yes to anything, and if he won’t…”

Kristoph’s soft smile would look sweet to any onlookers, but it perfectly completes his sentence.

(…I’ll make him.)

Phoenix holds out his empty glass.

“Can you give me something that doesn’t taste like straight hell?”

“Still used to ‘grape juice,’ eh?”

“Hey, at least I’m not a fucking alcoholic anymore.”

Oh, ouch. That came out way too easily. The combination of substances must be affecting him more than he’s consciously aware of.

“I’m sure,” he wanders over, picking up what is clearly a wine bottle and inspecting the label. “It won’t be your taste because this is actual wine and not those God-awful red blends you’re so fond of.”

“Edgeworth also hates my taste in wine.”

Kristoph laughs under his breath but doesn’t reply.

Watching him use a wine opener with his long fingers, he’s reminded that Kristoph is in Maya’s body. It kicks his brain back to life, and he cringes to think that maybe he’s…already used that body to…do things with…

“Don’t look so unhappy. I’m doing you a favor.”

The wine gleams in the dim light, and Phoenix can smell it, and he wants it, but Kristoph doesn’t move at first, just looks down at him. Staring. Watching.

Apollo had described that stare to him before, and he knew exactly what he meant. It’s a stare with no affect. It’s hollow and icy and cold, and as hard as he’s tried to desensitize himself to that sort of stare, he’s never been able to. It’s too damn unsettling.

And, probably for good reason.

Kristoph sits next to him on the bed, takes a large drink of wine, grasps the back of Phoenix’s head, and locks lips with him. At first, he’s stunned into silence, but then he realizes that he’s trying to force his mouth open by yanking his hair back so that he can drink the wine from his mouth. Even before he resists, it begins running from the edges of his mouth and onto his hoodie, but his mind snaps back into gear and he wrestles against him until he knocks the glass from his hand, and deep red wine soaks into the deep blue carpet.

He snaps away and spits the remaining wine in his mouth into Kristoph’s face.

The force of the blow against his cheek hurts way more than he remembers his hits landing.

“You incompetent hack! You dare disobey me?!”

Another blow, the other cheek.

This is different. Sure, he used to hit him a lot during sex, but that was their thing. This—this isn’t bed play. This is physical punishment, no pleasure intended.

Once more against his left cheek, and then he flips around and trudges to the bathroom, muttering angrily under his breath. Phoenix has to suck in a breath because the sudden shift from placation to violence was so quick, he almost can’t believe it happened.

In the Before Times, Kristoph was careful. They were dancing in a highly choreographed routine, and all of the pieces would have been ruined if he so easily revealed the nature they both knew he had. But, all bets are off now.

Even as his face stings, he can’t feel sorry for himself, not when this puts Kristoph into a much better perspective. He was always cunning, of course. That was the assumption they ran their relationship on. Power and control. Everything planned out. No need for punishment outside of closed bedroom doors. But, Apollo—

God damn fucking shit. This is how Kristoph treats Apollo the second he doesn’t step in line, huh? No wonder the kid is so fucked up. Of course, the sexual abuse is horrific in itself, but the threat of spontaneous violence is something Phoenix hadn’t explicitly dealt with. It’s very psychologically affecting, especially for a kid.

He wants to know how he’s doing. Is he still passed out? Is he awake but delirious? Is he…in pain—?

“Stop right there, Wright.”

He hasn’t even made it to the door handle. Slowly, he backs up and away, holding his hands up like he’d just been caught by the police.

“Okay, okay. You got me. No harm, no foul.”

The hatred in his eyes is too intense to expect his actions to be forgiven. He’s grabbed, spun around, and slammed on the only part of the desk that's free from glass bottles.

“I no longer have to placate your attitude—your bad behavior.”

He hears the sound of his belt being unbuckled. The next thing he expects is for his sweatpants to be ripped down, but they aren’t.

“You’ll learn. We’ll break you.”

His belt sounds and feels like being struck by a whip.

He would know.

“Hello, Apollo.”

She’s a girl with black hair.

“Hello...”

“You look like shit.”

Being continuously injected with who-knows-what will do that to you. He can’t remember the last time he stood up, can’t remember anything but sleep.

“Yeah…”

The girl is pretty and sweet-looking. The front of her hair is in two small braids that are put up nicely in the back. She has a smile similar to the ones Kristoph gives him. It puts him at ease even though somewhere in his messed up mind, he knows it shouldn’t.

“I have to take care of you for a bit.”

“Okay.”

She helps him up and does her best to keep him upright. Her frame is much more petite and dainty than Kristoph, which makes it a lot more difficult. Still, her stature fits her nice words and her calming smile.

But, oh man, does his head hurt. There’d been so many times he smacked against something hard that he can’t even remember them all. Twice on the diner’s wall. Once after. There has to be more after that, but he can’t remember.

When they get to the bathroom, she has him sit on the floor. He slumps against the wall and feels a strong urge to lose consciousness. Before that happens, she lifts up one of his arms, there’s the sound of metal on metal, and then something tightens around his wrist. When she lets go, his arm goes limp, but it stays above his head.

“Krissy made it very clear that it should be uncomfortable, but you’ll be treated nicely if you don’t make any noise.” A single finger goes to his lips. “Will you be good for me, Apollo?”

“Uh-huh…”

His head is ten times his body weight, and it hurts to keep upright.

“You truly are sweet.” She stands, tilts her head, and hums pleasantly. It’s so much like Kristoph that Apollo gets even more confused. Maybe they’ve been the same person all along. “We’ll be back soon.”

The door closes, and things fall away again.

Dahlia opens the door to the adjacent room, and she dramatically swoons in the doorway like a movie star who’s had one too many.

“It’s me, and I’m back,” she announces, not for Kristoph because he already knows, but instead for Phoenix who is sitting on the bed like before. Now, however, his ass really hurts from getting the shit beat out of it (no pun intended).

Kristoph had been right that the drugs wouldn’t mess him up as bad, but that doesn’t mean it feels good. He feels tired and slow and his mind is foggy. He’s still with it, though, and maybe that’s worse.

He looks up and sees her posed for her grand entrance. His panic is much duller in this state even though he knows he’s in for something bad. Considering the circumstances, he’s almost thankful for that.

“Oh, my. You don’t look so good, Feenie.”

Cloyingly sweet. She always is. Even back then. Back when he didn’t know better.

“No shit,” he mutters.

“Hmm, that’s no way to talk to your kidnappers.”

She immediately approaches and grabs his chin, forcing him to look up at her. It’s only her eyes that give away that she’s not Iris. He can see the evil behind them.

“You’re so much older now. Not cute anymore.” Her grip tightens, and it hurts. “Not that you were ever cute, but I prefer the sniveling, pathetic loser to—whatever you’re supposed to be now.”

It’s not that Phoenix takes anything she says seriously, but it’s been so long since he’s seen that look of disdain—of hatred.

“Oh, I simply have him dressed the way I like him.”

She steps back and gives Phoenix another once-over.

“You have a thing for sweatpants? I mean, that is a thing, but I’ve never understood the appeal.”

“That’s because you’re a lesbian.”

“So, it’s the dick outline, huh?”

“To tell you the truth, it’s just because he looks more pathetic this way.”

“I guess. You should have seen him back when I was ‘dating him.’” She stops to cackle like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “He was such a fucking moron. Total crybaby. Oblivious. Young and dumb as a rock.”

“Ah, if only we could turn back time.”

“You’re telling me.”

Phoenix is bored by their back and forth. They’re only putting off the inevitable. He’d rather they fuck him up and get it over with. He just hopes they’ll stick to fucking him up and not fucking him. Hopefully, Kristoph is satisfied enough with Apollo to leave him alone.

Whoa, that was a dark thought. Where did that come from?

He’s brought back to real life with another slap across the face, except this time, it’s dealt by Dahlia. It probably wouldn’t hurt as bad considering her small stature but the fact that he’s already been hit makes it sting like a motherfucker.

“Pay attention, idiot. I’m talking to you.”

“Be patient with him, dear. He is compromised, remember?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck, faggot.” After sneering at Kristoph, she sneers at Phoenix. “I was asking how you’re so fucking stupid that you just waltz into a room to confront your two biggest enemies like you’re invincible or something. Do you think you’re Superman?”

“I have a lot of enemies.”

“Oh my God! I hate you so fucking much. You’re completely insufferable!” She grabs at her own hair as she paces around, trying not to completely lose her shit. Kristoph puts a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. “What the ever-loving fuck did Iris ever see in you?”

“Speaking of which,” Kristoph begins once he’s fought off his laughter, “how was your visit?”

This line of questioning immediately dissipates her rage and replaces it with malevolent joy.

“Oh, she was perfect. Predictable as fuck. Got some really nice material. The slut never changes. It’s almost endearing.”

God, right, he’d almost forgotten that Kristoph had referred to her visit to Hazakura Temple as a “conjugal visit.” Ugh, the thought majorly squicks him out. He wouldn’t put it past her, but it seems strange for her to resort to incest just to get a one-up on someone. Actually, strike that. That sounds exactly like something she would do. Geez, Kristoph and Dahlia really are a match made in hell.

“What did you do to Iris?” He wants to sound threatening, but instead, he sounds drunk.

Dahlia giggles her precious little giggle. “What didn’t I do to Iris?” She puts her finger and her thumb to her chin and gets a cocky look. The only thing missing is an anime shing! to really drive it home. “If you know what I mean.”

“You’re as disgusting as he is.” He points to Kristoph who looks marginally offended for being called out.

“It takes two to tango, Feenie, and your dear Iris didn’t exactly say ‘no.’ In fact, she said the complete opposite of no.” She clasps her hands together at her chin and gets starry-eyed. “Please fuck me, Dahlia! Pretty please with sugar on top!”

They both burst into laughter, but Phoenix is having a hard time seeing the humor in the situation.

“I find that extremely hard to believe.”

“Believe it or not, Iris is always down to fuck when it comes to her sis. But, I had a feeling you’d say something like that, so I collected some evidence. See, I’m talking lawyer language! I’m so funny.”

“That you are, dear.”

With a hop in her step, she sits next to him on the bed like they are the bestest of friends, and she’s going to show him a meme or something.

What she pulls up is not a meme.

“Oh, God, fuck! Dahlia!” He clenches his eyes shut and presses his fingers into his eyes until he sees stars. “I do not want to see that.”

“I just couldn’t waste the opportunity to show you this side of her. It’s too scandalous of a story.”

Even though he isn’t looking, he can hear Iris’ pleads. It’s definitely her, and it's definitely real. It makes him sick to his stomach.

“I believe you, just turn the goddamn thing off.”

“Suit yourself. It’s good wank material, though.”

By the time he opens his eyes, Dahlia is leaning on the desk with a drink in her hand. He’s out of it. He hadn’t even heard her pouring it. The bottle’s right there, though. Scotch. Extremely expensive looking. Only the best for Dahlia Hawthorne and Kristoph Gavin.

“How have you been, Krissy?”

Kristoph looks all too amused by the whole thing.

“Doing well, thanks. I’ve been having a nice time with Justice.”

“Of course. He’s adorable. I don’t swing that way, but I know a hot twink when I see one.”

This is his least favorite conversation topic so far. It doesn’t help his nausea any.

“Yes, I am very thankful for him. He’s so…” Kristoph’s voice gets a bit dreamy, “…compliant.”

“You guys are predators.”

It comes out of him before he can stop himself.

“Excuse me?” Kristoph is not amused by his interjection, but Dahlia is.

“Predators? Hah!” She laughs loudly. “I can’t speak for this guy—” she points a thumb at Kristoph, “—but I’ve never raped anyone. If anything that Terry fucking Fawles pedo-son of a bitch raped me. He deserved to die.”

Surprisingly, Kristoph does not have anything to add besides a sip of his drink and his effort to look anywhere else.

“You can’t just go around dealing out vigilante justice, if you can even call it that,” Phoenix says, annoyed. “Why do you get to decide who lives or dies?”

Dahlia looks disgusted.

“Like lawyers don’t do the same thing. Mia Fey got to decide whether or not I should die. You got to decide whether or not Kristoph should die. The only difference is my murders weren’t state-sanctioned!”

Oof. Uh. She has a point.

“I’ve tried to reform the Justice System.”

Kristoph mutters, “Don’t remind me.”

She sets her drink down, walks over, gets in his face, and says, “At this point, I don’t even care anymore. I just want to see you suffer.”

Then, she pulls back and decks him. Hard.

It’s enough force to knock him off the bed and land in a heap on the ground. Damn, she’s a lot stronger than she looks. She shakes her hand like it hurt her a little, too.

"This is going to be fun."

Kristoph sips his drink quite politely as he watches Dahlia proceed to beat the shit out of Phoenix Wright.

He hears the sound of a door opening, of footsteps on tiles. He can’t move, can’t open his eyes.

“Justice?”

There are a few beats of silence.

“I think you should stop drugging him. He’s really fucked up.”

“The handcuffs were probably over-kill then, hm?”

“Considering he’s out like a light, probably. Feenie’s the one we have to worry about.”

His wrist is released from its confines, and his arm flops down on his lap. It’s so asleep that it feels like another person’s limb fell from the ceiling and landed on him.

He can feel the presence of someone crouching in front of him. His name is a whisper. “Justice?” Soft lips kiss his temple.

“Ugh, if you’re going to get all lovey-dovey, I’m going to go kick Feenie around a little more. Disgusting.”

“Do what you will, Hawthorne.”

Footsteps leave the bathroom.

“Justice…wake up.”

He is awake, he’s just so fucking high and his body is so heavy. He attempts to make a noise, but all that comes out is a little squeak.

“Oh, there you are. Are you tired?”

He makes another noise, but it’s so soft that even he can barely hear it. Kristoph’s response is a sound of sympathy.

“Poor dear. Here.” He sweeps Apollo up in his arms, and if he could think more clearly, he might have lamented about how light he feels in his embrace. He can’t remember the last time he’s eaten, and maybe that's why he’s become so weak. To be fair, though, he doesn't really remember much of anything.

That and his head is killing him.

He’s back on the bed, but his arms are still around him, pulling him close to his chest. Kristoph smells good. His perfume and his clothes and everything about him smells good. He coos and nuzzles against the fabric of his shirt. He’s high as shit.

“Sweet boy,” he murmurs, petting him as he does. “How do you feel?”

Kristoph sits him up straighter, but all these changes in position are bringing back the sick feeling he’s been cursed with as of late.

“High.”

He’s surprised he could get a coherent word out.

“High?” Finally, Apollo opens his eyes. Even through doubled vision, he can see Kristoph’s quirked eyebrow. “How high? Too high?”

“I…don’t know…”

“I don’t want to dose you wrong. That wouldn’t be very good.” He clucks. “Oh, Justice, could you please stay sitting upright? You need to drink water.”

He tries a different location, picking him up and putting him in the desk chair just as easily as he had the bed. A few moments later, a glass is shoved in his hand.

“Drink.”

Lifting it to his mouth proves to be too much effort. It slips from his hand and bounces on the carpet floor. Luckily, it didn't fall from so great a height that it would break. Now, the carpet is wet. Kristoph squeezes at the bridge of his nose, annoyed even though it’s his fault Apollo is this way.

“I suppose I have to do everything myself.”

As Kristoph disappears into the bathroom and Apollo is left to stare dazedly at the wall, he hears sounds coming from the next room. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought it was someone having sex, but no. These sharp sounds are from pain. Physical abuse. Even though it had been so long ago, he still remembers his own sounds, how even though he tried and tried to bite back his cries, he never could.

Kristoph reappears with the glass filled back up, but Apollo’s already forgotten about the spilled water.

“What’s…happening…?”

“Pardon?”

“In the other room. It sounds like…someone’s being hit.”

“It’s nothing, Justice. You really shouldn’t bother yourself with other people’s private matters.”

“But, I—“

He’s interrupted by the drink in his face. For a second, a crystal stare simply watches him nurse the glass like a toddler with a sippy cup.

“You don’t remember your visitor from a few days ago?”

The blank look he returns is his answer.

“Hm. Maybe I have been dosing too high after all.”

The hand not holding the glass of water goes between his legs.

“Wah—!” Apollo squeezes his eyes shut. He’s not even really doing much of anything, just groping, face blank. This goes on for a while. It’s awkward.

“You’re not getting an erection either. I do need to adjust the dosage.”

He whimpers pathetically like a dog, disoriented and confused. If it really is an opioid that he’s using, Apollo knows from experience that it usually makes him…um…overly sensitive. But, he guesses that if you take too much, you can’t get it up at all. Weird. Also, it sucks because most of the reason he’s even being so complacent is because he wants Kristoph to get him off. This sucks…

“Justice, if you fall asleep like that you’re going to hurt yourself.”

His head is crunched over the back of the chair. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes. He lifts his head up and sees that the cup of water is being shoved in his face again.

Kristoph sighs, thinking aloud, “A shame. I suppose when I did the calculations before, I hadn’t expected you to have lost so much weight.”

They are interrupted by the woman with black hair. The girl Kristoph.

She breathes out a sigh of relief. “Thank God you guys aren’t fucking. Anyway, Feenie wants to see Apollo, I guess to make sure he’s not dead?” She shrugs. “Figured that wouldn’t be a problem as long as they’re supervised.”

Kristoph doesn’t seem to mind. “Alright, but could you please run to the store and try to get some things for this poor boy to eat? I fear he’s losing more weight.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

She waves him off and disappears.

“Let’s get you up so you can see your visitor again. Although, he might look a little…rough this time around.”

Apollo can’t find the energy to oppose, not like he could anyway.

Jesus fuck. Dahlia really did a number on him.

Everything hurts, but that’s to be expected. In addition to that, one eye is almost swollen shut, and he’s pretty sure his nose is broken. He’ll have to crack it back in place later. Right now, he’s more concerned with making sure Apollo is still alright. The last time they were in the same room, he was barely coherent.

This time, when he appears in front of him with Kristoph holding his shoulders, Apollo doesn’t even look like he recognizes him.

“You two can chat if you’d like, but I’m going to observe to make sure you don’t construct any bright ideas.”

Apollo’s sat in the desk chair that had been pushed out of the way at some point, and Phoenix rolls him over so he can sit on the foot of the bed in front of him.

“Hey, ‘Pollo.”

He blinks a few times before responding. “Hey.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.” He starts blinking again. “High.”

“From the meds?”

He nods. Phoenix frowns.

“I just wanted to talk to you since I didn’t get a chance last time.”

“I don’t remember.”

Sure enough, he hadn’t been with it enough to do anything but parrot what Kristoph had told him to say. If he really, really wanted to be in this situation, he wouldn’t have needed the sedatives in the first place. All he would have had to do was ask Apollo to join him in the hotel room, and he would have said yes. But, Kristoph still felt the need to intoxicate him despite how adamant he’s been that Apollo would be making the same decisions if he was completely in his right mind.

“Have you been hurt at all?”

He shakes his head. He pauses for a second and then shrugs.

“If I got hurt, I don’t remember.”

Kristoph breaks in, “I have not hurt him, for your information.”

“Yeah, like I’d believe it coming from you,” he snipes back. Turning back to Apollo, he places a comforting hand on his knee and his voice quiets down like he’s afraid he’ll get spooked and scuttle into a crack in the wall. “Why did you run away?”

Even though Apollo hasn’t displayed much emotion thus far, this question turns some gears. Tears well in his eyes.

“Oh, Apollo…”

“He—He doesn’t like me anymore.”

“Who doesn’t like you?”

“He doesn’t want to fuck me.”

The blatant honesty and uncharacteristically vulgar language shocks Phoenix enough that he jumps where he sits.

“Um…what exactly are you talking about?”

Heavy tears plop in his lap. “Klavier doesn’t like me anymore…”

Klavier doesn’t like him anymore? That’s certainly news to him. They’re still talking about the same Klavier, right?

“Why do you think that?”

Apollo ignores the question, and instead, starts rambling.

”I need someone to…love me because I…can’t.” His speech had been slow and stunted before, but his heightened emotional state makes it worse. “Nothing makes it stop. I had to…make it stop.”

As far as Phoenix knows, he’s being totally incoherent right now, but if he was as familiar with his internal dialogue as the things he says out loud, it would make perfect sense.

“Apollo, Klavier loves you. He’s been so worried. Yeah, he’s upset with some of your decisions, but the fact that he’s torn up about it is proof that he cares very deeply for you.”

He chokes out, “Then, why won’t he fuck me?”

Oh.

Phoenix takes a deep breath. This is not the direction he thought this conversation was going to go. Even when trying to stay out of his personal life, he finds himself involved anyway.

“I don’t know for certain, but I’d bet that it’s because you’ve been having such a hard time lately. Klavier doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

He puts his face in his hands and shakes it back and forth. Of course Apollo knows why. Klavier explained it to him over and over again, but the sick part of him can’t accept it, can’t live with the idea of being unable to sate his “addiction.”

It’s the only thing that makes it stop even though it never stops.

“I’d rather he hurt me than turn me down.”

“That’s…not good, Apollo.”

“I know!” His words cut through his catatonic stupor. He drops his hands but they clench into fists on his lap. “I know. Everything’s wrong with me. I keep doing the same thing over and over, and I tell myself I won’t, and I do it anyway, and I hate myself for it and—” He threads his hands through his hair, looking as though he’s bordering on panic. “I’m bad! I know I'm bad, and I can’t stand it!”

“Hey, hey. Try to stay calm. You’re on a lot of medication right now. Sedatives make depression worse, so it might feel really bad right now, but you have to let them run their course, okay?”

Apollo steals a glance at Kristoph, which makes Phoenix turn and look as well. He’s sitting in one of the other chairs, observing silently. He cocks his head.

“Yes?”

Phoenix makes a face that says, ‘don't ask me.’ Apollo, however, gets small and starts shivering.

“Are you cold?”

He doesn't say anything.

Kristoph stands. “There are some extra blankets in the closet.” He quickly reappears with said blankets and drapes one over his back. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, Justice.” He places a doting kiss on the top of his head.

Phoenix wants nothing more than to punch him square in the mouth.

“You don’t get to cause his problems and then comfort him, you goddamn snake.”

“Oh? I don't? Interesting.” Kristoph lifts Apollo’s face from under his chin and kisses him deeply, much less chaste than before. Apollo gasps, whether it’s out of surprise or pleasure. Then, they break apart. Kristoph smiles sweetly in the face of the furious glare aimed his way. “I think I can do whatever I want.” He turns back. “Right, sweetheart?”

“Ah…” Just like that, he's stuck in a daze again.

“Use your words, Justice.”

“Y-Yeah…”

God, Kristoph’s show always manages to piss him the fuck off.

“If you’re going to do that kind of crap, at least go into the other fucking room.”

“Oh, so it’s okay as long as you don’t see it?”

He growls, “Obviously not, but you’re not exactly giving us a choice.”

“Hmph.” Kristoph shakes his head, somewhere between amused and disappointed. “Alright, dear. Time to take you back.”

Apollo stands with his help but still wobbles. The blanket is slung over the back of the chair so it slips off his shoulders as he is led away clumsily like a newborn fawn.

Once they’ve left, he turns on the TV and hikes the volume to max so he can pretend like what’s happening isn’t actually happening. After all, if Kristoph fucks Apollo but no one’s around to hear it, did they really make a sound?

The breath on his neck, the sound of his name, the straight shot of endorphins to his brain.

“Oh, Apollo, you’re being so good for me. So good.”

He can’t really feel the building of an orgasm, but he’d been warned that may be the case. It doesn’t really matter. Just being here is enough. The mere act is enough. It feels good in a different way, something that’s akin to sexual gratification but at the same time not.

Being completely out of his mind during something so inherently physical makes it feel like there are two of himself, the one far away and the one that’s right here—the one that keeps losing track of reality and the one with lips on his neck.

“You take me so well, Apollo. Such a good boy.”

The praise feels good.

“M-Mr. Gavin…”

It’s the mere exertion of taking him that has him panting. His throat burns from constantly sucking in air too fast. He makes little noises in time with his sharp movements that don’t really feel like anything at all. But, Mr. Gavin fucks him, so he’s useful to him, which means he’s useful to somebody.

Even though he can’t really get fully hard, the hand around him is still pleasurable, just not very. The sedatives must make his body numb out to a certain extent. Well, that would make sense if they’re primarily used as pain killers. You can’t kill pain without also killing pleasure.

He’d been lost in thought, but being bitten on the neck slams him back into reality, makes him let out a wail. Without proper control of his facilities, he can’t tell when he’s being too loud. The world outside of this room might not even exist, but it does.

There’s pounding on the wall just behind his head. Kristoph laughs.

“You’re so loud, darling. Wright can hear you, you know.”

The idea that Mr. Wright is just one wall of separation from them brings heat to every part of his body. He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed, turned on, or mortified.

“He must think—hah—so badly of me—hah—”

“I think he already knows you're a slut,” he whispers at the same time he slams into him.

“Uhn—!”

That one was loud, too. He can’t shut up. He’s forgotten how. But, it’s not fair. It’s not his fault. He can’t help it.

“No…” he whines.

“How can you not be? Didn’t you want your own father to fuck you?”

It should upset him to think of Dhurke, but he can’t really think about much at all. “Y-Yeah…he reminded me—of you.”

“Oh?” Kristoph’s breathing picks up and is hot in his ear.

“He held me…he looked at me…like you do…hah—” He pants right back. “I wanted him—hah—so bad—hah—I couldn’t think—”

“That’s how you feel about me?”

“Yeah…” The word comes out like another childish whine, but he’s too messed up on too many levels to care. “I wish he—hah—fucked me like—hah—you do…”

Something comes out of Kristoph’s throat, something rumbling and animalistic.

“Fuck, Apollo.”

It’s a hard thrust, the one that makes Kristoph hit his limit. Apollo can only respond with a terrible sound.

“Nuh—!”

Kristoph stops moving for a second and just breathes, his head dipped down. He slowly pulls out only to thrust hard again.

“Ah—!”

He does it again.

“Nhaa—!”

That must be all he can muster because this time he pulls out completely. Apollo can’t do anything but lie there, staring up at the ceiling. Then, there are lips on his. He knows to give up, for Kristoph to lead him, but there’s not really time for that because he’s already moved onto his cheek, his jawbone, his earlobe, his trapezius.

“You’re perfect, Justice. So sweet. So lovely.”

He gasps at the lips placed at the underside of his chin, his throat, his sternum.

“No one loves me like you do.”

He gives attention to a nipple, and he has different ways of using his lips and tongue, and his back arches, and he makes a sound that’s caught between a cry of pleasure and pain when teeth become involved.

Fluttering kisses down the midline of his body. A tongue in his belly button. That one makes him squeal and kick his legs a bit, not because it’s particularly pleasurable, but because it’s weird, and Apollo’s snapped in half brain doesn’t really know if that’s good or bad. Kristoph lifts his head up.

“Oh, did you like that?”

“You surprised me.”

He taps at his stomach right next to his navel as he languidly drapes over one of his thighs. “For someone on analgesics, you’re surprisingly sensitive.”

“Uh…I-I don’t know.”

Kristoph climbs off him and maneuvers himself so he can keep a hand on his less than ideal hard-on and also lean down to kiss him.

“Mmmph…”

When he pulls away for a moment, he says, “Thankfully, at this point, it’s safe to say that I know what makes you tick.” He leans down and kisses him again. Apollo readily opens his mouth and lets him do whatever he wants, lets himself be just for him.

He feels so lucky, so lucky. How many times had he thought and dreamt and fantasized about being in this exact moment? The idea makes him moan into Kristoph’s mouth, which sparks his curiosity because it was a throaty moan, and that’s not usually how Apollo sounds.

“What was that?”

His eyes—Blue topaz. Crystal. Jewel. Ice.

Beautiful.

Apollo reaches up and puts one hand on his cheek and the other on his shoulder. He feels like he might cry.

“I can’t believe you’re real and really here with me.”

Something flickers across Kristoph’s face, but it’s way too fleeting for Apollo’s fucked up brain to decipher. Thankfully, it doesn’t matter because he smiles.

“I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

Kristoph turns his attention to his hand and pumps his cock hard. It only takes a few moments for Apollo to start shaking. He lets out a noise that's both a sob and a shout.

It’s loud enough that Phoenix definitely hears him.

When Apollo wakes up, Kristoph isn’t there.

He’s naked and cold, and he smells like sweat and sex. It’s extremely uncomfortable. He needs to shower and clean himself up, but he’s so tired. Just completely exhausted.

Trying to sit up only proves that every part of his body is sore. His gut rumbles as a reminder of exactly what was done to him last night. It’s true that being with him is everything he ever wanted, but with a clearer head, some of the bad feelings are starting to creep in. Guilt and shame, mostly, but also a tinge of panic. He doesn’t know what that’s from. His chest feels tight. He gets the simultaneous feeling of wanting to be near Kristoph so badly that he’ll do anything and wanting to run as far away from him as possible.

Anyway, he needs to shower.

When he opens his eyes, he’s sitting in the hotel room tub with the shower spraying on him, his knees hiked up to his chest. He doesn’t remember getting in, doesn’t remember turning it on, doesn’t remember sitting down, doesn’t remember how long he’s been in there. All he knows is he’s so tired. The water is cold. His mind says, (Get up and shower properly, idiot) but his body won’t listen.

The next thing he knows, the shower curtain is ripped open.

“What are you doing?”

Apollo can’t help but cry out in shock. It feels like no time has passed and yet something about the way Kristoph is looking at him tells him he’s probably been dissociating there for a while. All he can do is look up at him.

“Oh, did I scare you?”

He nods.

Kristoph leans over and turns off the water. “You’ve been in here for ages, you know.” When he doesn’t get a response he gives Apollo a once-over. “Why are you shivering?”

He holds his legs tighter. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Cold” is all he says.

With a sigh, he takes his hands and pulls him up, handing him a towel. Maybe he should be embarrassed about being naked in a non-sexual context, but other bad feelings are shoving that one away.

“Get yourself put together, and then come out to see me, alright?” He nods, and Kristoph leaves.

It’s the first time he’s remembered to look in the mirror. Apollo thinks that his reflection looks…weird. He can’t tell what’s different about it, but there’s some sort of odd disconnect between his eyes and his body. He can see that his neck is badly bruised. Hickeys? He doesn’t remember him being that rough…

Oh, he did bite him, didn’t he? And, he made a sound that Mr. Wright heard. The memory simultaneously throbs in his abdomen and makes him cringe. He’s never going to be able to face him again.

It takes a bit for him to dry himself off, for him to get dressed, for him to get past the threshold of the bathroom. He doesn’t realize he’s spaced out until he hears his name.

“Justice?”

He looks up from the carpet. Kristoph is sitting at the desk with a curious expression.

“Is something wrong?”

Apollo shrugs and slowly makes his way over, sitting at the foot of the bed. Kristoph spins the chair so he can look at him. A hand goes to his cheek.

“You’re practically frozen solid. Why would you do something like that?”

He shrugs.

“Use your words, Justice.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to get his brain to make words, but everything feels slow and distant, simultaneously too sharp and too dull. His brain is foggy in a different way than before, but he’s not sure what the difference is.

“I…don’t feel good.”

Kristoph tilts his head. “No?”

“I’m sad.”

“You’re sad? About what?”

To be honest, he isn’t really sure. It’s just a feeling, a feeling of dread. A feeling that things aren’t right.

“I don’t know why…we’re here.”

“Pardon?”

“Why are we at a hotel again? And, Phoenix is…” God, his head hurts so bad. He shuts his eyes again and rubs at the pressure behind his forehead, but it doesn’t help at all. “What am I doing?”

“Ah, I see. You’re coming down. That makes sense considering you’re walking by yourself.”

Confusion opens his eyes. “What?”

Kristoph turns back to the desk before getting up and joining him on the bed. He trails a hand up Apollo’s back before resting it at the nape of his neck. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything,” he says softly. “Let me worry for you. Would that be alright, Apollo?”

He’d already been shivering but a different sort of shiver runs through him.

“Yeah.”

The collar of his shirt is pulled down to reveal his shoulder and upper arm. Kristoph has some things set beside him that Apollo hadn’t noticed before like the little alcohol swab that he cleans his skin with. Then, he has a syringe. It’s much smaller than he thought it was before. Maybe they’d gone out and found more normal ones?

“Slight pinch.” And, indeed, this time it is only a slight pinch. He kisses his shoulder and lets his shirt return to its normal position. “There you go, all done. It shouldn’t be as bad as the last few times. Hopefully, you’ll be better able to stay conscious, at least. Although, I’m interested to see how long the onset period is.” He discards the used medical supplies and grabs something else from the desk before returning to his place next to Apollo. “Dolly was a doll and got some things for you.” He holds out a small bottle, and Apollo just stares at it. “Take it.”

He does. The label says it's a nutritional supplement. Chocolate. He opens it and takes a sip. Sure enough, it tastes like chocolate milk but thicker and with a slightly bitter aftertaste.

“So you don’t starve to death,” Kristoph smiles sweetly. “Did you sleep well?”

Apollo blinks. “I think so. I don’t really remember.”

“Yes, you fell asleep rather suddenly. Must have tired you out, eh?”

He doesn’t respond to that, just tries to drink as much of the bottle as possible. About halfway down, he hands it back. He’ll finish it later. Maybe.

“How do you feel now, Justice?”

“Tired,” he says, closing his eyes. Before he consciously realizes it, he’s propped against Kristoph’s shoulder. There’s a hand on his knee.

“Tired? You can go back to sleep if you’d like.” He kisses the top of Apollo’s head, to which Apollo sighs. Everything’s a little more dreamy now. The sharp thoughts that had been bothering him have smoothed out.

It feels good.

Apollo turns and looks up at him. “Please kiss me.” He’s not sure where that came from.

“Oh?”

“Feels good when you kiss me.” His ability to enunciate has already taken a hit. He blinks slowly, a familiar dizzy, lightheaded sensation coming back to him.

“Like this?” He leans down and gives him a small peck. When he pulls away, Apollo feels himself sinking into a haze.

“Feels good,” he mumbles.

“Does it?” His arm sneaks around his waist, which also has no business feeling so good. Apollo audibly sucks in some air. “Hmm, I think it's true that the medication turns you on. I wasn’t sure, but you become so sensitive. It’s certainly something.”

“Once, I got dental work. They gave me painkillers. I came in my sleep.”

Kristoph chuckles at his lack of filter. “So, this is a long-standing side effect with you?”

“Makes me dizzy.” His words are beginning to slur into each other. “Inside of my head is dizzy.”

“The inside of your head?” Kristoph is clearly getting a kick out of his deterioration. “The inside of this pretty little head?” He kisses his temple.

“Ah…yeah…”

The door to the other room suddenly slams open and hits the doorstop hard. They both jump where they sit and turn to see Dahlia looking pissed.

“Can you guys stop being horny for two seconds? I said to wake him up, not neck him.”

“Yes, yes, I’m so sorry, dear.”

“And, bring the drugs. Feenie needs some, too.”

She slams the door with just as much force as she opened it.

Kristoph stands and holds out his hand for Apollo.

“Would you like to make a phone call?”

“Those fucking fags won’t stop messing around for the life of them, ugh.” She flops in the armchair dramatically.

Having Dahlia Hawthorne as your roommate is…interesting to say the least. Also, he’d really, really like to stop hearing about all the sex Kristoph and Apollo are having, thanks!

“Aren’t you gay?” Phoenix asks, annoyed.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like horny people. They're disgusting.”

Very strange coming from someone who recorded a video of herself fucking her sister. To be fair, the two circumstances are radically different, especially considering that Dahlia just seemed to do that for the thrill of it and the humiliation on Iris’ behalf.

“I’m not exactly happy with the situation either.”

Dahlia snorts. “Oh, yeah, isn’t he, like, your kid or something?”

“No, but I’ve been taking care of him.”

“Okay, so he’s your son, got it. That’s a fun thing to know. Thanks for the info, Feenie.”

Phoenix rolls his eyes.

That’s when Kristoph and Apollo emerge from the other room and sit next to each other on the bed. Apollo has very noticeable hickeys, almost to the point where he's afraid they're not hickeys at all. Nevertheless, his one arm snakes around Apollo’s hips and pulls him close so that he can lean on Kristoph’s shoulder. He doesn’t look as out of it, but he certainly doesn’t look with it, either. Phoenix can’t help but rub at his eyes in exasperation. He just…hates having to hear him like that. It’s humiliating, especially since he knows that Apollo would be a total wreck if he fully grasped the situation. Right now, though, he probably can’t even pick up on the fact that Phoenix is being awkward.

Just a few weeks ago, he couldn’t even admit he’d messed up his sheets, and now he’s practically throwing himself at Gavin. It’s just not Apollo—or at least, not the Apollo he knows.

Kristoph holds out the vial of clear liquid and a normal-sized syringe.

“Perfect. Thanks, Krissy.”

“Anytime, Dolly.”

She jabs the vial and haphazardly fills the barrel.

“Whoa, aren’t you going to measure that out?”

“Nah.” She squirts a little out to make sure there’s no air bubble. “You’ve been much too friendly with me, so if it knocks you out, maybe I can finally get some peace and quiet. Also, if you die, win-win.”

Phoenix suddenly feels terrified once again, but before he can do anything, Dahlia forcefully jabs it into his thigh.

“Ow! Hey!”

She presses the plunger down all the way, and the medication burns in his muscle.

With a sneer, she says, “Buck the fuck up, Buttercup.”

Well, here’s to hoping he doesn’t fucking die. Cheers.

“Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way…”

His phone appears in her hand.

“Hey, where did you get that?”

“Oh, Krissy found it on you when you first visited. It’s really nice to have the numbers of every person you’ve ever known, though, so thanks for that, too.”

Phoenix’s heart sinks in his chest.

Apollo, for the first time, acknowledges that he’s in a room with other people. He blinks and lifts his head up.

“Wha’s goin’ on?”

He has three pairs of eyes on him. There’s a few moments of silence. Even Dahlia has her reservations.

“You…did lower his dose, didn’t you?”

“By almost a third, yes.”

“But, he’s still delirious.”

“I think he has some amount of intolerance or sensitivity to it, which is fine as long as it’s not going to hurt him.”

Opioids are known for how easy it is to build up a tolerance. For as long as he’s been getting dosed, he should be needing more of it, not less.

“Whatever. He’s your fuck-toy. Do what you want with him.”

God, that’s…such a fucking disgusting thing to say about someone. He feels sick to his stomach again.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” She starts fiddling with his phone.

“What are we doing exactly?”

“Antagonizing your friends and family, what else? The best part is they’ll definitely pick up because we’re calling from your number.”

This is bad. It doesn’t help that he’s beginning to feel the drugs, but from his experience, it doesn’t fully take effect for a few minutes, five to ten, maybe. So, he might be able to fake inappropriate nonchalance considering their calls aren’t usually very long.

It’s on speaker, and it only has to ring once before being hastily picked up.

“Wright? Wright? Are you okay? Where have you been? Where are you? Wright—”

“He’s with us, actually,” Dahlia says, visibly holding back laughter.

“Oh. I probably should have assumed that to be the case.”

“He’s fine, though. Say hi, Feenie.”

“Hi, Miles.”

“Phoenix! Are you hurt? What’s happening?”

“Um, I’m…relatively okay?”

“He’s lying. We’ve basically done nothing but beat him up since he got here, so yeah. Take that as you will.”

“I—I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry, and I’m scared for you.”

“It’s okay, Miles. I know you’re not very good with words.” He feels a smile spread across his face and his skin heating up. Well, that last one could be from the drugs.

“Ugh. Wright, hang in there. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Dahlia and Kristoph look less than impressed.

“I—hm…”

There’s silence and then shuffling. It sounds like he’s handing the phone off to someone.

“Apollo! Apollo, are you there?”

At the sound of his name, Apollo blinks like he’s confused.

“…Klavier?”

“Mein Gott, Schatz, I’ve been so worried.”

Kristoph takes the opportunity to place an Oh-So-Innocent hand on his thigh. Apollo visibly cringes but is able to keep himself silent.

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry?”

“It’s…okay to…hate me,” he drawls. “I…deserve it.”

That self-deprecative Apollo is inching his way out again, the one who panics about being bad and hating himself for it.

“Schatz, are you drunk?”

Finally, Kristoph speaks up. “High, actually.”

“Geh sterben, Ficker.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise. That must have been a colorful greeting. “Hello to you, too, Brother.”

“What have you done to him?”

“This is the boyfriend, right?” Dahlia cracks up, trying her best not to literally fall to the floor laughing. “Oh, honey, you do not want to know all the gory details.”

Kristoph’s hand rubs Apollo’s leg affectionately, which has him covering his mouth, his face screwing up. It looks like he’s in pain.

“Gory? Have you hurt him because I swear—“

“Oh my God, please tell me you’re not actually this dumb.”

“She didn’t mean literally, Klavier.”

English being your second language isn’t always the greatest thing.

“But, if you must know, that twink of yours is so loud. I think the whole hotel could hear him last night! Hah!” She gives up trying to keep her voice down and starts cackling.

Apollo snaps into reality very suddenly. Phoenix can see realization cross his face.

“No, no, please don’t say stuff like that—Klavier, I’m so sorry—I’m—uhn!” Kristoph’s hand may or may not have slipped a little farther towards his inner-thigh than what is appropriate. It’s as much of a come-on as it is a threat of ownership. Apollo’s voice shakes, “I-I’m s-sorry…”

Klavier sighs loudly, probably to calm himself down. Phoenix wants to melt through the floor and die.

“What do you have him on, Kristoph.” It doesn’t sound like a question.

“It’s nothing too strong. Pain killers, basically.”

“Hydrocodone?”

“Hmm…same drug class, but I’m not sure if it’s that one.”

He looks at Dahlia who says, “I dunno. The guy I got it from didn’t tell me the specifics.”

“You shouldn’t give him that stuff! It really messes him up!”

“Oh, I’m fully aware. He was very out of it when he got dental work done at some point, no?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line.

“…How do you know about that?”

Phoenix is sure Kristoph’s smugness radiates even over the phone. “He told me. I guess it caused him to have a—shall we say, nocturnal emission? That’s probably more relevant.”

Apollo smacks him on the arm. “Don’t tell him that!” he whines, becoming more visibly upset as the conversation goes on. All he receives in response is a chuckle.

Holy shit, Kristoph really isn’t pulling any punches. Phoenix is so embarrassed for Apollo and Klavier that his previous nausea expands in his stomach and threatens sickness.

Klavier is silent.

“I’m sorry, Klavier,” he repeats, sounding on the brink of tears, “I’m sorry.”

Another deep breath.

“I love you, Schatz.”

There’s more shuffling but the sound opens up, background noises softly filtering in. They must have put the call on speaker.

“Daddy!!”

“Boss!”

Phoenix swallows. “Truce. Athena. Hey.” He blinks hard, clearing some of the fuzz from his vision. “How are you guys?”

“This isn’t the time to make pleasantries, Daddy! You’ve been kidnapped by a bunch of evil motherfuckers!”

Kristoph and Dahlia burst out laughing, way more amused than they are insulted.

“My, your daughter has a mouth on her,” she says almost admiringly. Phoenix shoots her a look that says, ‘Don’t you even dare.’

“Trucy, don’t use language like that.” He can’t help but sound tired.

“I’m 19! I’m allowed to swear! These are good circumstances to swear in!”

“Sorry, Boss, we’re all a little high-strung right now, as you can probably imagine. We’re just really concerned, okay?”

As they very well should be.

“Not to interrupt, but I think we’ll take the call from here,” Kristoph says, a not so subtle order for everyone to be quiet. “Now, we have been generous by promising we won’t do harm to Wright or Justice—”

“Much harm, at least,” Dahlia smiles.

“—however, that promise will not last forever. I think it’s appropriate to request that we increase our numbers by one.”

Oh, God, they’re literally looking for another hostage—to give themselves up willingly.

“Otherwise, I can’t promise anyone’s safety. Not Maya’s, not Rayfa’s, not Apollo’s, not Phoenix’s.”

There’s silence. It’s deafening on both ends. There’s no sound.

Then, someone speaks up.

“I’ll go.”

Dahlia immediately becomes tense, a shocked expression mirroring the way she clenches the arms of the chair and leans forward like she can’t hear.

“What?” she snarls.

“I’ll go, sis. That’s probably the right thing to do, isn’t it?”

The line goes dead. Phoenix slumps out of his chair and becomes a pile on the floor.

Dahlia shrieks her name.