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Phoenix rolls over to find, surprisingly, that Miles is still in bed. Normally, his husband wakes much earlier than he does, and Phoenix is roused from whatever nightmare he was having by the rich smell of coffee and the warm feeling of home. Now, however, he can rest his face deep into Miles’ neck, draping an arm over his chest and laying a gentle kiss on his shoulder.
“Mornin’,” he says, sleepily, to Miles.
“Good morning.”
“You slept in.”
“Well, yes. It’s a warm morning. Who am I to deny myself the pleasure of staying in bed until eight with the love of my life?”
Oh. There it is again, another of those little moments, so precious and secret, in the deep nights and hazy summer mornings, when Phoenix is not the Turnabout Terror and Miles couldn’t be further from being a demon. Just the two of them, resting in each other's arms, the beautiful denouement of years of yearning and desperation and finding each other just a little bit outside of the right time.
Still, Phoenix isn’t upset at all when their quiet morning is cut short by their bedroom door bursting open, because when he looks up and sees Trucy in her pyjamas, a bright smile on her face, he’s reminded that he has such a full, whole family. He can’t believe his luck.
“Today’s the day!” Trucy shouts. Phoenix notices that the birds, which had – up until now – been resting quite peacefully on their window ledge, fly away, startled. “Daddy, dad, you have to get up!”
“Alright kiddo,” Phoenix laughs. “But it’s only eight in the morning. Our barbeque doesn’t start until lunchtime.”
“She’s right, Phoenix,” Miles says, sitting up and immediately getting out of bed. “There’s a lot to prepare. We don’t want to be rude hosts.”
“Can’t a guy get a lie-in every now and then?”
“Not today!” Trucy bows, like she’s just finished one of her magic shows, and runs out of the room.
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Phoenix follows Miles into their little en-suite bathroom.
“Did I ever tell you how lucky I am?” Phoenix says, looking at Miles, who has his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth.
“You survived falling off a burning bridge with nothing but a mild cold. You don’t need to tell me.”
“Not that, idiot. I mean you. Us. Our family.”
Miles closes his eyes and shakes his head, although he’s smiling.
Klavier is a little nervous, to be honest. When he accepted Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth’s invite to a barbeque, he had been mistaken in thinking that it was an event for everyone who works in the Prosecutor’s Office, which he thought might be a bit of lighthearted fun and a good opportunity to show his colleagues that he’s not the pretentious, spoiled asshole that he knows some of them – not naming any names, Payne – think he is. By the time he found out that it was actually a personal event at Prosecutor Edgeworth’s house, it was far too late to back out.
Not that he dislikes Prosecutor Edgeworth’s husband. If anything, he deeply respects him for his skills as a lawyer and his resilience as a person, it’s just that he hasn’t been able to make eye contact with him since… everything went down. And he’d be lying if he said that he hasn’t spent many nights lying awake, haunted with guilt about ruining Phoenix Wright’s life; even though he’s doing so much better now, and Klavier is pleased that he has a family and his career back, he still remembers all those scathing news articles about the former Turnabout Terror clumsily stumbling his way through a singular piano song at some seedy club, surrounded by half-empty bottles of wine and less than savoury company. That’s why he could never bring himself to sue any of those journalists when they turned that bitter ire onto him, because he felt like he deserved it, that he was somehow martyring himself by taking the heat off Phoenix Wright and deflecting it onto himself.
Klavier Gavin, brother of disgraced ex-lawyer and murderer Kristoph Gavin: How much did the younger Gavin know?
The Bad Luck Charm of Klavier Gavin: Frontman of the Gavinners disbands group after member Daryan Crescend convicted of murder and smuggling.
He’d kept those articles around in his office for weeks before Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth found them, shredded them, and told him to take a week off. So, in a way, he owes Edgeworth. Will he ever repay his debt to him and his family?
It’s just a barbeque, he tells himself. You have nothing to prove.
And maybe it will be fun. Apollo will most likely be there, which isn’t to say that Klavier is latching onto his company like a lifeline, but he finds that the noise in his brain quiets down a little when he’s having a lighthearted debate with him.
He wears a flashy outfit.There are lots of things he can hide behind.
Athena turns up at Apollo’s apartment half an hour before their decided meeting time of 11am. Working at the Wright Anything Agency has been – and she isn’t exaggerating – the best time of her life so far. So the idea of having a barbeque with her boss and his husband, surrounded by her friends and colleagues, is just another reason why Athena Cykes is so, so happy with her life.
She has a spare key for Apollo’s apartment, for the times when he’s working late and Mikeko needs feeding, so she lets herself in and calls out his name.
“Hey, Apollo! You ready?”
“What?” Apollo shouts back from the bathroom. “You’re early!”
“Are you decent?”
“Yeah, yeah. Come in.”
He’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror, a concentrated scowl on his face as he over-applies hair gel to the two strands of hair that stick up from the front of his head. Apollo’s bathroom is almost as clean as the pristine toilet in the Wright Anything Agency, but it’s very, very messy – there are bottles of hairspray and hair gel and shaving cream, all opened and half-used, scattered over the counter, and wet towels dropped lazily on the floor.
“Ugh, you take forever to get ready, Apollo,” Athena moans.
“Well, I was working on the assumption that we would be leaving at eleven.”
“It’s already 10:40! Come onnnn.”
“Fine, fine. Just let me,” Apollo concentrates for a moment as he slicks up the final strand of his hair. “There we go. Wait… Athena, how are we getting there? Because I was just going to take my bike but it’s not like it can fit two people.”
“Oh, you are taking your bike. I’ll just run alongside.”
Despite leaving early, Apollo and Athena are the last to arrive at midday, on account of having to go back to the apartment not once, but twice; the first time was five minutes into their journey, when Athena realised she’d left her bag in Apollo’s living room, and the second was over halfway in, but it really wasn’t Apollo’s fault that his hair got caught on a bush and he needed to go home to fix it.
Phoenix is standing happily by the grill like he’s in his element, wearing a t-shirt that he obviously got from Trucy that very lovingly (and very largely) says “I AM THE PROUD FATHER OF AN AWESOME DAUGHTER (yes she bought me this shirt)”. Miles is flitting in and out of the kitchen through the open patio doors, bringing food for Phoenix to cook. At the other end of the garden, Ema has set up a makeshift cocktail bar, and she’s handing a suspiciously large mojito to Klavier, who is smiling at Trucy as she correctly guesses which card he’s holding.
“You made it, finally,” Phoenix says to Apollo and Athena with a smile.
“We would have been earlier if someone,” Athena glares at Apollo. “Wasn’t so vain about his hair.”
“Hey!” Apollo retorts.
“At least you’re here now,” Miles says.
As Phoenix cooks, Athena drags Apollo over to the other end of the garden, wanting to say hello to the other three people at the barbeque. Trucy greets them both with a huge smile, and Ema hands Apollo a beer, giving Athena a glass of orange juice.
“Oh, c’mon Ema, I’m 20 next week.”
“And what kind of detective would I be if I knowingly supplied alcohol to someone who’s underage?”
Athena sticks her tongue out, but accepts the orange juice, which, truthfully, is probably the drink she would have chosen anyway.
Klavier looks at Apollo with a smile. “Herr Forehead, how wonderful of you to finally grace us with your presence.”
“Shut up, we’re only late because we had to make a detour.”
“What happened, could you not get your forehead through Prosecutor Edgeworth’s front door?”
“Shut it, Prosecutor Gavin.”
“Hey, Klavier,” Athena says. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course, Fräulein. Excuse me for a moment,” he says to Apollo and Trucy.
Athena pulls him away to a quiet corner of the garden, putting her hands on her hips and looking him up and down. He’s dressed as flamboyantly as he usually is, but instead of commenting on his outfit, she gets straight to the point. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your heart is screaming. I can hear it.”
“You’ve lost me. I know I can be loud, but only on stage, ja?”
“There’s something wrong, and I can tell. You might be able to fool everyone else, but you can’t fool analytical psychology. Now, tell me, would you like a quick therapy session?”
“How… forward of you. But nein, danke. I believe I know the cause of my distress, and it’s something I can resolve quite easily. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Then what’s stopping you from resolving it? Is it… personal? Let me guess, you have a crush?”
“Nein. I suppose you wouldn’t know much about… never mind.”
“Well, you know where I am if you need me,” Athena says. “I’m no stranger to a heart crying out in pain. I can be a good listener.”
As she leaves, Klavier’s uncomfortable feeling only worsens. It’s not like it would be that easy to resolve, he can’t just walk over to Phoenix Wright and beg for forgiveness, can he? He looks at him, and he seems so happy, but maybe he’s just a really good liar? Maybe Klavier’s presence is secretly tearing him apart, and it would be better for everyone if he just left now, then they could all have a good time without the shadow of that trial hanging over their heads.
Oh, shit. He must have zoned out while staring at Phoenix, because by the time he blinks himself out of his trance, Phoenix is walking right over to him, a huge smile on his face.
“You alright, Klavier?” Phoenix says. Casually. So fucking casually. “You were staring at me pretty intensely back there.”
“Oh… ja. I apologise. I must have zoned out.”
“I do that all the time, don’t worry about it. You sure you’re okay, though?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Of course I am.”
Klavier notices that Phoenix is wearing a green magatama on a necklace, and he not-so subtly peers through the hole in the middle.
“Hmm,” Phoenix muses. “Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Don’t tell me you have some kind of trick like Apollo’s that can tell when people are lying.”
“You could call it something like that, yeah. But we’re not exactly investigating a case right now, so you have no obligation to tell me what’s up.”
“Right.”
“Do you want to come and help me cook? I could use an extra pair of hands and I worry that if I ask Miles for assistance we’ll all end up eating charred food.”
Nein. Every second I’m around you makes me feel like a horrible, awful, terrible person. I can barely breathe for the lump in my throat when you talk, but how can I refuse? I owe you so much.
“Ja, I’ll help. I’m not sure how good I’ll be, though.”
“As long as you can follow instructions, you’ll be my saviour.”
Funny, last time I followed instructions regarding you, you lost your job and I lost my brother.
Still, he manages to shut himself off enough to help Phoenix turn over the meat and grill the vegetables, staying silent the entire time. But it feels like his chest is about to burst with it, and he can’t stop himself, he can’t stop himself, he can’t stop himself –
“I’m sorry,” he mutters.
“What did you say?” Phoenix turns to him. There’s no turning back now.
“I said… I’m sorry.”
“Why, what happened? It’s fine if you burned the food, that’s kind of half the fun of a barbeque anyway.”
“Nein, I…” Klavier can’t even begin to articulate any of it.
“Are you talking about… that trial?”
“Ja.” Klavier doesn’t say the word, he feels it, raking through his whole body like a fishhook, dragging up every old memory, through his stomach and throat and out of his lips like a confession.
“It’s fine. Really. I don’t blame you.”
“Please, don’t lie to me, Mr. Wright. You have every right to be mad at me, and you never have to forgive me if you don’t want to, I just couldn’t… I couldn’t stand here and pretend like my presence isn’t causing you despair.”
Phoenix puts his hand on Klavier’s shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. If you need to hear me say it, then I forgive you, but I never needed to say it because I don’t think you need forgiving. You didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, you were naïve and trusted Kristoph, but that’s because he was an expert manipulator and he was your brother. If I blame anyone, it’s him, but these days I don’t waste my time on regrets.”
“But you lost your–”
“And I got it back. And so much more. Who knows, if that trial hadn’t gone the way it did, would I have ended up adopting Trucy? Would Miles have come back from Europe to help out while I was in rehab? Would we have got married? Would I have ever met Apollo, or Athena, or you? Things happen for a reason, Klavier. And yes, at the time, it broke me, but even then I didn’t blame you – I blamed myself for being foolish enough to present forged evidence. The only thing you have ever done is your job, as best you can. I’m sorry that there’s always been more pressure on you to perform at godly levels.”
Klavier doesn’t even realise it, but he’s about to cry. Noticing this, Phoenix – ever playing the father figure – gives him a strong, much-needed hug.
“Danke, Mr. Wright,” Klavier says, somehow maintaining his composure. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
“If I’d have known that, I’d have said it a long time ago. Now come on, why be sad on such a beautiful day? I think Trucy is setting up an outdoor monitor and she’s been talking for days about how excited she is to play Mario Kart with, and I quote, the second best prosecutor after my dad.”
Klavier wipes his eyes and smiles, genuinely, at Phoenix Wright. For the first time, he notices that his eyes are two different colours.
Half an hour later, all of the anxiety has completely dissipated from his body, leaving him feeling wonderfully unburdened and free. Even as Apollo beats him in Mario Kart – which isn’t fair, considering that Klavier has been playing since he was ten – he keeps smiling like there’s nothing in the world that can stop him. Ema’s mojitos are going down a treat, too, and as the afternoon weans on into evening, Klavier Gavin is on top of the world.
Miles lights a few candles as the sky begins to darken, seeing that everyone is staying outside with no intentions of going back in for a long while. They stopped playing Mario Kart about an hour ago, with Apollo having twenty three wins under his belt, and now they’re just playing music and having idle conversation while they sit around the firepit in the Wright-Edgeworth garden.
Trucy, ever unaccustomed to sitting still, decides to drag Ema and Athena away to be the audience and assistant respectively for her new magic trick; Miles takes their glasses and dishes away to the kitchen; and Phoenix leaves for a moment to go and put the barbecue away.
Emboldened by this afternoon’s absolution, and feeling the comfortable warmth of being a little drunk, Klavier looks at Apollo; his face flickers in the candlelight, and he has never been more beautiful than he is in this moment.
“Herr Fo– Apollo,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“This afternoon I got something off my chest that has been burdening me for years, and it felt amazing. I would like to do that again.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love you. Simply. That’s all I have to say.”
“Huh?”
“I have for years. I just needed to tell you.”
Apollo’s face drops immediately into shock. He stares at Klavier, who looks like he’s hanging off the edge of a cliff, waiting to be pulled back to safety or to fall into oblivion.
He wants to say Stop teasing me. He wants to say It’s unfair, every time you flirt with me I wish it was real. He wants to say Why did you have to go and ruin a good night by reminding me that you’re Klavier fucking Gavin and I will never be good enough for your affection?
Instead, he just says, “Uhh… thank you?”
Klavier stops breathing. Hastily, like his body is made of television static, he stumbles to his feet and, leaving Apollo confused and alone by the firepit, stumbles inside.
“Klavier,” Miles says. “What happened? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“My life is over, Edgeworth.”
“As dramatic as ever.”
“I have completely, wholly, thoroughly embarrassed myself in front of Herr Justice, and I will never be able to show my face in court again.”
He drops down onto the sofa, drapes his arm over his face, and moans.
Meanwhile, Apollo sits with his head in his hands by the firepit until Phoenix sits next to him. He can’t even begin to articulate just how badly that whole conversation had gone, but there’s no way that Phoenix won’t get it out of him somehow, so he resigns himself to the truth and just tells him.
“Hmm,” Phoenix replies, once Apollo has finished ranting about how unfair it is that Prosecutor Gavin takes pleasure in teasing him, completely unaware of his affections. “And did you ever consider, Apollo, that he was being serious?”
“Oh, come on, Mr. Wright. He’s Klavier Gavin. Why the hell would he be interested in me?”
“I could go on and on about your good qualities, but I’ll save you the ego boost for another day. Trust me, I think you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. He really, really likes you.”
“Oh, fuck,” Apollo groans. “And he was being genuine when he told me he loved me?”
“Yep. The penny drops.”
“Oh Holy Mother, no.”
“Why, what did you say when he told you he loved you?”
“...I thanked him. And then he left. Oh, fuck, how could I be so dense? I need to go and set the record straight with him.”
“You’re out of luck, there, kiddo,” Phoenix says. “Miles is driving him home now.”
To make an already awkward situation a hell of a lot worse, Apollo wakes up the next morning to a text from Phoenix.
Mr Wright: Hope you’re okay after last night. Sorry to ask, but do you think you could do me a favour? Something’s come up and I can’t make it to court this afternoon – can you fill in for me? It’s that case we were working on together so you won’t have to do any last minute investigating.
Apollo: I’m fine. Thank you. And yes, I can do that.
Mr. Wright conveniently forgot to mention who will be prosecuting said case. So, when Apollo turns up to court, he hangs around in the communal waiting area for less than ten minutes before someone very familiar – and very hungover – turns up.
Prosecutor Gavin is wearing sunglasses, which is usual for him, except he doesn’t take them off when he enters the communal area; however, even through the dark lenses, Apollo can see his dark circles and slightly smudged eyeliner. His hair isn’t tied in its usual twist, instead, it’s up on top of his head in a messy bun, with a few stray pieces falling down to frame his face. His suit, however, is perfectly pressed.
“Guten Morgen, Herr Forehead,” Klavier says brightly. “How are you?”
“Uh… good, thanks?”
“Wonderful to hear. Remind me after the trial, I need to have a very strong word with Detective Skye about the alcohol content of her mojitos.”
“Look, about last night…”
“About what?”
“That thing you said.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m afraid that anything post-10pm is a little hazy. Still, it won’t affect my performance in this trial. I hope you’re ready to lose.”
Apollo can’t believe his nerve. To turn up, all smiles, and act like he conveniently got too drunk to remember confessing his love? It’s no surprise that he’s good at faking it, he must do it daily for the press, but to be this bold after his vulnerability last night?
Strangely, though, Apollo’s bracelet doesn’t move at all.
They progress through the trial, with Klavier having the upper hand most of the time, and Apollo struggling to catch up. That’s how it’s always been, and it stings. At the end, though, Apollo manages to reason his way into a piece of decisive evidence, and a verdict is reached after only one day of trial.
He almost wishes that the trial had dragged on, that way he’d be able to fake an excuse of having to rush home. This feeling of awkward apprehension only heightens when Prosecutor Gavin lightly touches his arm on the steps of the courthouse and motions with his head that they should go back inside.
They find an empty room, and Klavier speaks first.
“About what you were saying earlier…”
“Have you decided to stop pretending like you can’t remember what you said?”
“Nein, Apollo. I genuinely don’t remember. I just wanted to apologise for whatever it was that I did say. I never normally get that drunk, and I must have overestimated just how many strong cocktails I could handle. I can assure you, though, that whatever I did say, I won’t have intended it to hurt you. To tell you the truth, I value you both as a lawyer and as a person, and I don’t have any grievances that I would wish to air with you, drunk or sober.”
“Very well-spoken, Prosecutor Gavin. Almost rehearsed. But just because I’m sure you didn’t mean anything by it, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still hurt.”
“Ach, I understand. I apologise, truly. May I ask what it is that I said, so I know to avoid it in the future?”
Well, fuck. Apollo didn’t think he’d be that forward.
“You, uh, you told me you loved me.”
“I did?” Klavier looks genuinely surprised. “And why did that hurt you?”
“Because…” Oh, Holy Mother, he’s going to say it, isn’t he? “I know you’re only teasing me. And the stuff about my forehead and my loud voice, yeah, that’s quite funny, I like that. But the flirting… part of me – a lot of me – wishes that it was real.”
“I… Apollo. You think I was joking?”
“Well, of course.”
“I was completely sincere. I have liked you for a while. Since I met you, actually. I’ll be honest – I didn’t have any plans of telling you that, because it would completely disregard the professional boundary I’ve been trying very hard to maintain. Are you telling the truth about wishing it was real?”
“Y-Yeah,” Apollo stumbles over the words.
“Well, that’s a relief. And an embarrassment, considering the text I received from Prosecutor Edgeworth this morning.”
“Oh, no, what did he say?”
Klavier clicks a few buttons on his phone, and then shows Apollo.
Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth: Please make an effort not to be late to court tomorrow. And I would suggest you have a serious think about your feelings and emotions regarding the defense. I would rather not have another half hour car journey in which you insist on playing Mitski through my aux cord.
“Oh my god,” Apollo laughs. “Like I bet he was any better when he was pining over Mr. Wright all those years ago.”
“Now that’s something I would like to see. Prosecutor Edgeworth pining.”
“Don’t even go there. They’re disgustingly in love, sometimes I’ll go over to their house to pick up case files and Edgeworth will be sitting in Mr. Wright’s lap like a cat.”
“You’re not a fan of PDA?” Klavier asks.
“No. It’s… awkward? Sure, in private, I like it a lot, but in public… no thanks.”
“Well, then,” Klavier closes the distance between them and lifts up Apollo’s chin with his hand, bending down so that their lips almost touch. “Shall we stay in this room a little longer?”