Chapter Text
Apollo was done. He had finished grading the last final exam late last night and submitted it, marking the official end of his visiting professorship at Themis Legal Academy. The wave of relief that washed over in him that moment was incredible, especially given how busy the last few weeks had been.
Apollo loved teaching at Themis-- the career fit him like a glove. He’d probably like teaching anywhere, now that he knew he actually enjoyed doing it. But something about the Themis students in particular had gripped him. Their enthusiasm for law was incredible, and for Apollo to have played a part in shaping their futures as defense attorneys was more rewarding than he ever imagined. He could take pride in knowing the courts would soon have some truly educated and thoughtful attorneys.
Speaking of Mr. Wright, Apollo currently stood in front of the main office entrance to the Wright Anything Agency. He’d be flying back to Khura’in in a few days, and he didn’t want to leave the States without spending a little more time with his old coworkers.
The attorney was about to open the door, when a dark figure approached the other side of the glass. Apollo jumped a few steps backward just in time for the door to swing open.
Blackquill crowded the doorway and stared down at Apollo with a dark, critical gaze.
Apollo bristled. He wasn’t abandoning anything!
The pang of sadness Apollo felt when he said those words aloud was palpable. Blackquill continued to block his path into the Agency. Apollo watched awkwardly as he twirled a feather between his fingers and then stuck it in the corner of his mouth.
Wait, what? This was… not the turn Apollo expected this conversation to be taking.
Blackquill’s ever-smug expression turned shy. He looked at a spot on the wall behind Apollo’s head.
The defense attorney sighed and threw up his hands in frustration.
Apollo thought back to his conversation with Klavier a few months ago.
He was certainly proud of what he accomplished in his international defense class over the summer, but for him to make such an impression that Klavier was bragging about him to his coworkers? Apollo could feel the tips of his ears turning red.
Blackquill must have noticed, because he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Apollo pressed himself up against the wall to allow Simon Blackquill to pass. For someone who was like eight feet tall and wore tremendous boots, his footsteps were surprisingly quiet as he slipped down the hall and out of the building.
It unfortunately reminded him of Klavier, which was a whole other can of worms he didn’t want to open right now.
After getting a taste of what it was like to teach, Apollo undoubtedly wanted more. And once he resumed his previous life in Khura’in, he’d probably always wonder what could have been.
If only he’d had a couple more semesters at Themis! Just enough to see at least one class of defense course students graduate-- then maybe he could’ve found some defense attorneys willing to go to Khura’in. Bringing attorneys to Khura’in was imperative to the success of the country’s legal system.
The attorney needed relief from the stress of this sadness. Trucy and Athena didn’t deserve to see him so discouraged before he left them again for an indeterminate amount of time.
Apollo hadn’t realized he was standing in the middle of the Agency’s main office until Athena said his name.
Apollo’s hands immediately went to his hair.
Apollo plopped down onto the red client couch and groaned.
Apollo jumped sky-high. He spun around on his heel and noticed Trucy standing less than a foot away from him.
Athena cackled from behind her desk.
Apollo put his face in his hands before the girls noticed his beet red blush. The magician plopped down next to him and tapped him on the head with her magic wand.
He removed his hands and eyed Trucy with suspicion.
Trucy and Athena exchanged a look.
He drew in a long breath through his nose and sighed. Athena and Trucy could assume what they wanted, but Apollo didn’t really want to admit to anything out loud. Not when he hadn’t said anything to Klavier yet.
Athena watched him for a long moment. Slowly, Trucy’s teasing grin ebbed the longer the silence stretched on and Apollo didn’t say anything in answer.
Then, Apollo cleared his throat. With a pop of his lips, he pushed himself off the couch and exited the main office to go make some coffee in the Wrights’ kitchen. Unsurprisingly, Trucy and Athena followed him, probably hoping to extract more juicy details about his “connection” with Klavier. Instead, before either of them could say a word, he asked Trucy about her summer semester finals, and he asked Athena about Prosecutor Blackquill’s new teaching position.
For once, they let him change the subject without a fight.
After a while, Trucy retreated to her bedroom to study and Athena began focusing on the paperwork for the trial she finished up the day before. The three of them, plus Mr. Wright, would be heading to Eldoon’s for dinner, which gave Apollo the entire day to laze around with his own thoughts.
He slipped into the chair at his old empty desk in the reception area and grabbed a notepad and pen from a drawer.
Apollo had multiple problems when it came to confessing to Klavier Gavin. And answering some issues relied heavily on figuring out others. It was like connecting dots and threads during a trial-- solving one problem always led to another. There were multiple lines of thinking to choose from, and he would have to zero in on the thread that led to the correct answer.
While he’d never been the most calculating person in the world, Apollo did like to visualize his problems in order to find solutions. The defense attorney put the pen to the paper and began to write.
He wasn’t avoiding it because he was in denial or anything-- Apollo knew he had feelings for the prosecutor. But the closer he got to getting on that plane to Khura’in, the worse he felt about not doing anything with them.
The defense attorney felt hot under the collar. He quickly glanced around to make sure Athena wasn’t paying attention. Thankfully she was wearing headphones. While he was relatively sure she wasn’t a mind-reader, he could never be too careful around Athena when she had her ears peeled. When Apollo was sure the coast was still clear, he continued to scribble his thoughts down on the notepad.
Apollo drew some lines and labeled a “pros and cons of confessing to Klavier” list.
This was an unconventional “pros” list for sure, but he stood by number 3.
These were all rational thoughts, though Apollo had a strong feeling a relationship with Klavier Gavin would work out. He tapped the end of his pen on the notepad and stared at “Con #4” for a full minute.
Apollo almost fell out of his chair at Trucy’s voice. She quickly grabbed his shoulder to keep him steady.
Apollo let out a shaky sigh.
She pouted.
Trucy backed away and watched as Apollo ripped the paper out of the notepad and slipped it into his pocket.
One way or another, willingly and unwillingly, Klavier liked to think he had become pretty good at goodbyes over the years.
There were many types of goodbyes, he told himself. Not all of them were the grieving ones like what he had to give Professor Courte. There were other kinds of goodbyes, like those you had to give to the previous versions of people you used to know. There were crisp, courteous, and sad goodbyes like those he gave every time he visited Daryan and Kristoph. There were the goodbyes he gave to his bandmates and fans once the Gavinners had their last meeting. There were the goodbyes he gave to his parents when he went abroad to Germany. And here and now, yet again, there was another goodbye before him. It was not different from any other goodbye; in fact, it was and should be easier, in some respects because it was not a final goodbye.
Klavier leaned his head back against the headrest. His fingers tapped an idle rhythm against the steering wheel, filling the rare silence with a pattern. He was not usually one to deprive himself of music while thinking. But he needed the quiet. Right now, he needed to follow the trail of something else that was ringing in his head, or maybe it was in his heart--sometimes the two got mixed up--and right now it sounded like it’s own melody, and whatever it was, he--
--he didn’t want to lose it.
He pressed his lips together into a very thin, long line across the lower half of his face. At almost four in the morning, it was still so dark beyond the windows of his coupe. The kind of hour that you could tell the world was still asleep; caught in a dream. A forgotten hour.
Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Klavier’s attention up and out of the car. Apollo was dressed comfortably for his early morning flight, swimming in his giant red hoodie. His grey sweats hugged his ankles, which kept getting caught on the wheels of his suitcase as it trailed behind him.
And at the sight of him--all of a sudden--all at once--
Klavier opened his car door and shut off every other thought. Putting on a wide smile, he moved for the trunk of his car at the same time as Apollo. Apollo heaved out a breathless laugh.
Without missing a beat, Apollo gave him a flat, knowing look. Popping up the trunk of his car, Klavier laughed and reached up a hand to play with his bangs.
Apollo bit his lip to keep from laughing as Klavier heaved up his suitcase into his trunk.
Klavier sighed with a big, deep breath that lifted and dropped his shoulders. He tapped the top of his car and popped his lips.
For some reason, as Apollo looked at him, his voice grew raspy.
Mocha-in-hand Klavier at four in the morning was decidedly better being around than mocha-less Klavier at four in the morning. With a 2000’s playlist cued on the dashboard, he felt stronger; more awake. More ready to appreciate every single moment they still had in the car ride to LAX, so that he didn’t miss a single thing while Apollo was still here. So that he didn’t miss glancing down and seeing how close their pinkies were on the console between them. So that he didn’t miss seeing out of the corner of his eye the way the streetlights flitted over Apollo’s features as he stared out the window, chin in hand, lost in thought.
Klavier cleared his throat.
Apollo lifted his head from his hand. Then, coming back to himself, he nodded and slouched in his seat.
Apollo hesitated.
And it lasted just a second too long--long enough for Klavier to inwardly wince and immediately wish he could retake his words.
For some reason, the uncertainty made Klavier’s foolish heart flutter in his chest. His hand tightened on the steering wheel. His other hand, curled on the console, flexed. It inched closer to Apollo’s.
Klavier laughed.
Silence drifted and filled the car, interrupted only by the song coming in through the stereo. Klavier turned down the volume.
Klavier made a thoughtful sound.
They were just one car, one little dark spot, sleekly driving down the nearly barren interstate road. An overpass flitted over them as they cruised past arid bushes and gnarled trunks of leafless trees with silhouettes barely visible through the cloak of heavy night. They passed signs and exits for interstates leading to Santa Monica and Long Beach, gliding straight on toward Aviation Boulevard.
And then Apollo pulled away.
It was not a momentous motion. Apollo merely reached forward to pull his half-forgotten coffee cup from the console--all black, brewed blend; two sugars--and took a sip. That was it.
But just like that, all the same, the moment was over. The opportunity had passed. Any chance Klavier had to reach out and take hold; any chance Klavier had to seize this potential something that could be between them and charge forward with it and confess and acknowledge the fact that I am so very much in love with you, Apollo Justice--
It passed.
It was gone.
Klavier turned his eyes to the road. He swallowed hard. His hand drifted from its lonely spot on the console to the steering wheel.
He reached forward with his same, restless hand and turned the fan on higher.
Klavier nodded.
Apollo sat up as the car drifted to stop. His half-drunk coffee is now cold in its cup. He’s been holding it in his hands over his legs like a warmer more than a beverage; he needed the heat. Something to cool down the chills running through his body, and to soothe the tight constriction of his chest as they approached the LAX airport, following the signs for Terminal B.
Klavier pulled them over and pressed on the hazard lights. They clicked on and off and on and off--the only sound to break the silence that had fallen over them.
As always, Klavier was the first one to speak, quietly popping his lips.
It came out of Apollo more harshly than he intended. Klavier jerked his head up and looked at him with twin, lifted brows. Apollo glanced back, wincing, before looking down to the white coffee lid between his hands.
Klavier spoke so quietly, so gently.
It was more soothing than the coffee Apollo had been relying on to keep his hands warm. He turned to look at Klavier and when their eyes met, his heart gave a horrible, annoyingly lovesick twist and sigh.
For some reason, Apollo couldn’t tear his eyes away from Klavier’s. He searched Klavier’s eyes, his face, willing his bracelet to react and come to life, clenching around his wrist so he could know that there was some sort of tension in Klavier. Some sort of sign that told him that he should--that he should--
Klavier reached across the console and patted Apollo’s shoulder.
Apollo nodded.
He felt a little bit like a doll, stepping out of the car. It was like he was a puppet and someone else was dangling him along their strings, guiding him away from Klavier’s vehicle and to the nearest bush where he could dump the rest of his cold coffee before tossing the cup. He was a marionette dragged back to Klavier’s car. He watched Klavier click open the trunk and pull out Apollo’s suitcase and carry-on backpack.
Apollo stopped a few yards away. He stared.
Apollo didn’t even realize how badly the world was blurring before his eyes until he tried to blink. He blinked once, then twice, and then several times more, trying to clear his vision. An anxious, jagged laugh bubbled up out of his chest. He shook his head.
Apollo cleared his throat and stepped forward for his suitcase handle that Klavier extended to him. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.
How had Trucy described the Kitaki bakery? Violently wonderful?
Perhaps that phrase was applicable here, too.
Klavier didn’t give up the handlebar to his suitcase easily. Now that Apollo was closer, he took the opportunity to eye him better, to let his blue eyes run over Apollo’s face. He frowned, in that adorable angry-cat way like his guitar had caught on fire again and it made Apollo’s heart squeeze with nostalgia and fondness.
Apollo fell back immediately on their old dynamic--a safer ground than focusing on whatever squishy, mushy gooey-ness at his center had replaced his heart.
Klavier blinked. Then, he laughed.
Too late, Apollo realized his mistake.
Ah.
And there it was.
All over again, that blooming something in Apollo’s gut that swam and sang through his bloodstream--and just at the call of his name. The shudder that darted down his spine; the electric sensation that zipped over his skin, setting his nerves on end. That bright, happy feeling like a sun erupting to life in his chest. That’s his name, that’s his name, and it feels so very, very nice to hear Klavier’s handsome voice say it.
Apollo cleared his throat.
Klavier’s smile was a little tilted; a little wonky. But it was still the same genuine and kind Klavier smile that Apollo had come to adore. His laugh was a little funny, too; high-pitched and arpeggio.
Nervously, Apollo laughed. He rubbed the back of his neck.
Apollo laughed.
He swallowed hard. For half of a second, he was caught in a horrible moment of indecision.
With one last dip of his head in a nod, Apollo forced his feet to move--to turn around. He dragged his suitcase behind him, let it bump up over the curb to the sidewalk, hefted his backpack straps better over his shoulders, and walked up to the sliding doors leading to Terminal B.
Just in front of them, once they slid open, Apollo turned around to look one last time.
Klavier stood where he left him. Still smiling. Still waiting.
He gave a little wave.
Apollo waved back.
And then he stepped through the doors and the air-conditioning hit him full-blast and the quiet sounds of the airport at 5:30 surrounded him from every side.
At the early morning hour on a Monday, the airport was hardly full. People were sparse, talking on their phones or looking at their boarding passes, yet somehow still, there was a line at the baggage check-in for Apollo to stand in. His heart beat a mile-a-minute.
Apollo pressed a hand to his chest.
The line moved. Apollo took a few steps forward.
Apollo stepped at the front of the line. His fingers tapped an unfamiliar rhythm against the underside of the suitcase handlebar.
One of the attendants called for the next person in line. Without a word, Apollo moved to stand in front of her. He handed over his passport and boarding ticket. The handlebar of his suitcase clicked down; he heaved it up onto the weight scale and watched the black numbers on the digital screen tick up.
The lady at the counter handed him a small sticker to keep hold of for his luggage. With his hands suddenly free, Apollo didn’t know what to do with them. They felt like two extra appendages. He took back his passport and boarding pass. He followed the signs for the security check and stepped into the food court, crinkling his boarding pass in his fist. The noise of quick breakfasts swelled around him.
Oh. It was getting difficult to breathe, now.
The security checkpoint was just beyond the food court. There was a sign to his left as Apollo approached about things to have out and ready and in your hand and things that were not allowed on flights and there was no re-entry past this point, and he knew. He knew there was no going back once he got in line.
And for some reason, that made Apollo’s feet come to a stop at an innocuous edge of a random tile like all the rest that made up the floor of the terminal.
But it was this tile--this one--that for some reason, once Apollo crossed it, he knew there was no return. How funny, how strange, how something so small could have all the power in the world to change the trajectory of your life--if only you let it.
Very quietly, Apollo murmured to himself.
Apollo looked down at the edge of the tile his toes lined up against. Then, he turned around.
Apollo reached into his pocket. He squeezed around two other passengers as he quickly walked through the food court, zig-zagging through the steel tables spread out through the center.
He pulled out his phone.
His heart thumped hard against his ribcage as he pulled open his contacts. His pulse pounded between his ears, rattling against his skull. He pulled his phone up to his ear.
Klavier answered after the first ring.
Apollo’s throat unexpectedly swelled shut. His voice grew thick. He swallowed hard, speed-walking as fast as he could and trying not to breathe too hard through his nose. To not to sound like he was gasping for breath over the line.
Apollo picked up his pace. He began to jog.
Apollo hung up.
And he ran.
His backpack bounced against his spine. The airport passed around him in a blur of cool colors. Soft tans and pale blues; people right and left that began to fill the space that had been empty. And all the time, every day, empty space gets filled, because things change and hearts change and sometimes, that’s for the better.
It was dark when Apollo had arrived at the Tom Bradley International Airport of LAX.
The sun was beginning its rise now when he burst back outside beyond the automatic doors, sandals pounding against the concrete sidewalk. It doused the world in vibrant orange and gold, spilling waxy scarlet across the outside of the terminal.
And stepping around the hood of his car, with the sunrise’s bright lighting illuminating him from behind from head to toe, was Klavier Gavin.
Apollo didn’t come to a stop. He half-expected that he should.
The look on Klavier’s face indicated he thought Apollo was going to.
Apollo did not.
If anything, as soon as he saw Klavier, he sped up.
Then--tragically--or perhaps it was comically--Klavier’s eyebrows lifted high on his brow. The instant it became clear to him that Apollo was not, in fact, stopping, but instead barreling straight towards him, he jerked back. His hands extended at his sides as if he wasn’t sure whether to brace himself or run to the right or to the left. He was a deer in the bright beam of headlights that was Apollo Justice, who the instant he could, launched himself at Klavier in an over-aggressive half-tackle, half-embrace.
His head ducked into the center of Klavier’s chest, and Klavier gave a quiet, pained oof! the instant his back crashed into the side of his car. The metal groaned; it leaned to the side thanks to the collision of their bodies against the door.
Klavier winced. He put a hand above the backpack, between Apollo’s shoulder blades, and smiled tentatively when Apollo finally looked up.
Apollo’s gut swam between his breathless pants but Klavier laughed and squeezed his shoulder.
Apollo’s heart flipped in his chest. Perhaps dumbly, he stared at Klavier’s pretty face up close instead of speaking. In Apollo’s silence, Klavier’s eyes darted down to Apollo’s arms, still wrapped tight around his middle.
Quickly, Apollo shook his head.
His heart thumped hard and fast against the front of his ribcage, but Apollo nodded.
Klavier frowned. Apollo could see in his face his unspoken confusion and for some reason--perhaps for all of the very obvious reasons, actually--it made him laugh.
He tilted his head back and his laughter bounced off the sidewalk and off the outside walls of the terminal behind him and the summer sun was warm as it lifted higher in the sky. It was still yellow and oh so bright.
Apollo’s heart fluttered hard. His pulse was in his ears, as loud as a trumpet fanfare. But he might as well come out with it now. There was a reason why he didn’t step across that thin tile line.
Klavier’s breath hitched.
Klavier’s brown face was pleasantly rosy and pinkish--either an effect of the sunrise or Apollo’s words, and Apollo wasn’t sure which. He enjoyed seeing it either way.
The words, once they were out of Apollo’s mouth, shook the golden silence.
Apollo laughed.
He swallowed hard.
He laughed to himself again.
Apollo swallowed and shook his head. He loosened his hold from around Klavier and took a step back.
Apollo smiled to himself. He lifted his head.
And then, all the words dropped from his mind the instant he saw Klavier’s face: teary and wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped. Eyebrows pinched.
Klavier sniffed.
Quickly, Klavier shook his head. He wiped at his face.
Klavier took a second, breathing deeply. He pressed his palms flat together and placed the sides of his thumbs against his nose. He took one breath, then two. And three. Before finally it seemed like he could trust himself to speak.
He began with a quiet chuckle.
Klavier met Apollo’s eyes with an emotion that punched the breath out of Apollo’s lungs.
Tentatively, gently, Klavier reached for Apollo’s hand. It was either Klavier’s or Apollo’s fingers that were shaking as they slowly wove together. Or perhaps it was both of them.
Apollo took a step closer.
Klavier chuckled.
Apollo’s next blink warped the world around him. He swallowed.
Klavier laughed.
Klavier huffed and frowned and for the second time that morning, Apollo was reminded of the expression of an angry cat. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of himself. It jerked louder the instant Klavier pulled him closer by his hand until Klavier was leaning back against the car and Apollo was standing between his legs.
They were so very close, now.
And Klavier’s hand was very warm.
Apollo smiled. Embarrassingly enough, it bloomed even wider when Klavier leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. He chuckled, suddenly bashful and giddy, something bright and warm bursting like a summer supernova in the center of his chest.
It was hard to miss the sudden hitch to Klavier’s breath.
Apollo lowered his eyes but didn’t dislodge his forehead away from Klavier’s. He turned their intertwined hands over and tentatively let his fingertips spread out across the criss-crossing lines of Klavier’s palm.
Lifting his eyes to meet Klavier’s again, nearly criss-crossing his browns to see them clearly, Apollo nodded. A warm blush pinkened his cheeks.
Apollo’s smile widened. Slowly, he closed his eyes. Basking.
He felt Klavier’s hands enfold around his face; his musician’s fingers curling into the slope of his jaw. Cradling him.
The summer sky above them was a pearly, cloudless blue.
Hope came in waves. Not all at once, crashing into Apollo’s life like the magic fix-all to solve his problems. It was achieved step-by-step, with every box that Apollo taped up, and every chime of his phone specifically tied to text messages from Klavier. It was found in every big X on his calendar as he crossed out each day as it passed, and with every new job he delegated to his junior partners with newfound efficiency.
Light-of-his-life, enemy-of-his-ankles Mikeko, of course, noodled around his feet as he worked.
Mikeko meowed long and high.
Nahyuta chuckled from his spot curled up on the office’s secondhand couch pressed against the wall. With a swipe of his finger, the screen of his phone scrolled up and up and up.
Apollo huffed.
Deciding Apollo was not giving him the attention he was due, Mikeko padded up to the couch and jumped up onto the cushions. Nahyuta gave him a cursory glance, before extending his legs flat. Mikeko waddled up onto the uneven terrain of his thighs.
Apollo rolled his eyes. He set the box he was carrying down on top of another labeled office things in big strokes of a permanent marker, and reached into his pocket.
Nahyuta looked up as Apollo approached, carefully stepping around other half-packed boxes strewn about the floor. As soon as he was close enough, Apollo hunched over and held his phone out. He tapped through the photos of the one-bedroom apartment, making sure to wax poetic about its amenities and finishes and how pet-friendly it was.
He had just finished describing how he was excited about actually being able to afford the place with the income that he would get from teaching at Themis, when Nahyuta interrupted him.
Apollo blinked.
Nahyuta stared.
His face grew warm.
Nahyuta’s phone buzzed in his hand. He was just a few seconds too slow to move the screen away from where Apollo could see it--and all of a sudden, pieces clicked together behind his broad, signature forehead.
Before Apollo’s hand could snatch Nahyuta’s phone away, Nahyuta moved, jerking into the back couch cushions. Mikeko scrambled off his lap, claws scratching against the hardwood floor of the law office. Apollo’s knees banged against the lower edge of the couch as he tousled for Nahyuta’s phone.
Apollo jumped to his feet, satisfied with the prize in his hands. He spun around to give his back to Nahyuta as he flipped through the long stream of text messages exchanged with one ‘Reverse Panda.’
Apollo wrinkled up his nose. He turned around and tossed back Nahyuta’s phone before Nahyuta could stand up from the couch.
Apollo’s voice boomed throughout the Justice Law Offices. It rattled the windows and baseboards, shook off the dust from the tops of filing cabinets stuffed in the corners and made the blinds dangling over the windows shudder against the sill. Apollo grinned, wide and proud, as he stuck one finger towards Nahyuta’s chest. He gave it a solitary and firm poke.
Nahyuta blinked at him.
Then, surprisingly softly, he offered a rare and vulnerable smile. It was small, barely an inclination of the long and graceful line of his mouth. But it was there.
Apollo let his hand fall.
Apollo fought a wince. Something that felt an awful lot like guilt swam up his throat. The line of his shoulders tensed.
Apollo blinked at Nahyuta. Then, slowly, he smiled.
The clock on the wall ticked the seconds by. One right after the other; a steady tick, tock, tick. It filled the silence, an endless repetition only broken by the occasional shuffle of paper in Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth’s hands. Edgeworth’s mouth thinned into a long frown; his steel eyes roamed side to side behind the frames of his glasses.
Klavier’s eyes darted to the clock face. 2:53 now. Beyond the window behind the Chief Prosecutor, the sky is obscenely beautiful: all blue and carpeted with clouds. The sun, Klavier imagines, must be bright and warm.
Here on the ground, every minute seemed to slug by. How unfair. How unbelievably cruel.
Edgeworth set the report flat on his desk. He frowned.
But Klavier settled on none of the best choices and hedged a laugh. He toyed with the ends of his bangs. His eyes darted again and again to the twin dark hands—both long and short—as they barely seemed to budge over the round white surface of the wall clock.
Edgeworth looked over his shoulder to his clock in question. He paused. Then, when he turned back around, he gave Klavier an amused look.
Klavier clutched at his chest and made as if to stumble backward. Edgeworth rolled his eyes.
Edgeworth waved a hand and closed the manilla folder over the file. He was trying very hard not to smile.
Klavier was already moving toward the back of the room before the Chief Prosecutor had even finished speaking.
The door to his office closed behind Klavier with finality.
Edgeworth chuckled to himself and leaned his chin in his palm.
Klavier had just barely pulled up to the curb--the car wasn’t even at a complete stop--before the passenger-side door was yanked open and Trucy Wright dropped herself inside. Half-a-second behind her, Athena Cykes tumbled into the backseat, all long legs and a tangled mess of her arms as she tried to get situated as fast as she could.
Trucy was already hurriedly waving a hand at Klavier as she reached for her seatbelt.
With an aggressive stomp on the accelerator, Klavier’s car lurched forward from the curb and onto the street. Gracelessly, Athena yelped and fell over--a blur of orange and yellow in the rearview mirror.
Trucy snorted and turned around in her seat. Her white-gloved hand wrapped around the shoulder.
Before Klavier could so much as wince, Trucy turned forward again, throwing out her hand in a lazy wave.
Klavier’s hands tightened on the wheel. His heart was pathetic, flopping about in his chest like a fish on dry land. Sometimes he felt like that: a little lightheaded, a little gaspy, a little pathetic whenever he thought about the fact that in a mere handful of minutes, Apollo would be back. The same Apollo who had said he liked him--no, that he thought he loved him.
Klavier chuckled.
Trucy’s eyebrows lifted; her entire body moved with the force of her laughing scoff.
Klavier frowned.
From the backseat, Athena barked out a laugh. Then, struggling with her seatbelt for a moment, she wrestled until she could finally and successfully shove the shoulder strap behind her back. She leaned forward over the console and planted both elbows on the shoulders of either seat in front of her. The grin that split her face was a mile wide.
Trucy turned toward Athena and gave her a knowing look.
With the utmost serious and grave face Klavier had ever seen on her, Trucy sharply looked at Klavier and frowned.
Klavier stifled a laugh.
Lifting his gaze from Trucy’s preening, self-satisfied expression, Klavier glanced up to the 105 exits they zipped by now. Both Santa Monica and Long Beach--it hadn’t been all that long ago they drove past those, right? Aviation Boulevard was always a good sign. His heart began to pick up its pace in his chest. Once again, the odometer began inching higher and higher on the dashboard.
Trucy gave him a small smile out of the corner of his eye. She propped her elbow up on the sill between the window and door.
Klavier frowned and wracked his brain.
Then, all of a sudden, Trucy’s mouth rounded into a wide and expressive ‘oh.’ She turned around in her seat.
Klavier’s frown deepened.
Sharply and suddenly, Athena gasped. She threw a hand out between the front seats, pointing to a long white building in the distance with the large grey letters LAX in front of it, framed by palm trees.
Klavier guided them smoothly onto the exit. His heart pounded, a rapid-fire rhythm that threatened to burst out from his ribcage with the force of every almost, almost, almost.
It felt oxymoronic to be told to slow down. To consciously lift his foot off of the accelerator pedal and let the car start to drift, in direct opposition to the way every single nerve lit up in his system with the need to see Apollo because his heart knew Apollo was close. Closer now than he was days ago. Closer now than he was mere seconds ago. Nearly close enough to see and to reach out and touch with his own hands. To hold.
A strange, anticipatory kind of hush fell over the car as they coasted to the curb. Each person scattered across the sidewalk, waiting for their ride on their phones or listening to music, paid them no mind. They didn’t look like Apollo, so neither did anyone in the car pay them any mind. Klavier brought the car to a halt. It idled for one moment, the engine rumbling and warm. All eyes rested on the automatic doors they pulled up outside of.
And then Klavier moved.
He barely remembered unbuckling himself, or opening the car door. He barely remembered shutting it. He barely remembered skirting around the hood, stumbling up onto the sidewalk because the next thing he knew, the only thing that mattered, was that the automatic doors were sliding open, and Apollo Justice was walking through, one arm trailing behind him lugging his suitcase, and the other holding Mikeko in his carrier to his front.
Their eyes met.
Klavier gave a small, encouraging smile that stretched his long, handsome face.
And gently, tentatively, Apollo let his smile grow in return.