Chapter Text
On April 26th, exactly 13 minutes before his alarm goes off, Apollo Justice wakes up to the sound of ceramic shattering against his kitchen tiles, and Mikeko letting out a truly mournful yowl. Or at least he has spent the last week reassuring himself that Mikeko’s wide beady-eyed stare is a sign of guilt rather than the devilish tactics of a creature who knows it is physically impossible for him to stay mad at her for long.
The first rays of dawn filter through the blinds, basking his bed in its comfortable warm light and there is nothing Apollo wants to do more than to roll in his bed–face first in his pillow–and fall back into a comfortable slumber. But in about three minutes, Mikeko will start scratching at his door and scream for his attention, and Apollo really doesn’t want to deal with a handful of passive aggressive comments from his neighbors as soon as he leaves the building.
Before he can drag himself out of bed, a faint buzzing shakes the pillow under his head. Apollo palms around for the device—and there it is! He turns on the power, and the light blinds him. Damnit, he always forgets about this part. It takes a moment for Apollo to get used to the light. Blinking away the sharp stinging and tears, he finally makes out two messages from the only person who could possibly text him this early.
And he really wishes he hadn’t.
Klavier Gavin
i know you vetoed this already
but i really think that a magic mike idea has some potential.
Apollo throws the phone, buries his head into his pillow, and screams. Because egg on his face for thinking Prosecutor Gavin would have something helpful to say. If someone were to ask Apollo how it feels to play cupid with the biggest heartthrob in the legal scene, he would say he should never have said a word to that stupid love psychic.
It goes something like this—
On April 26th, Apollo Justice wakes up with a start to the sound of something shattering and Mikeko screaming. The sound startles him so badly he slams the back of his head against his headboard while scrambling to get up.
For all intents and purposes, Mikeko is a very good cat. She doesn’t scratch up the furniture or complain during bath time. She never bit Clay, or any other guests Apollo brings over. And most importantly, she’s quiet. It was the main reason why his landlord didn’t chase her out after she had managed to slink out of her hiding space when the landlord came by. But, in all three years under his care, he had never heard her scream.
So, Apollo stumbles out of his room in a panic, his head reeling with dozens of worst case scenarios. She could have accidentally knocked something over, crushing herself in the process or it could be home invaders on their way to kidnap a helpless cat in the process. Or worse. The thought of which makes Apollo's eyes sting with tears.
He turns into the kitchen. Instead of finding Mikeko is mortal peril, what he finds waiting for him is the shattered remains of his Captain Andromeda mug scattered all over his kitchen tiles. And the perpetrator? Perched on the countertop, grooming herself without a care in the world.
He grabs Mikeko before she can run away and holds her hostage in front of his face. This serves two purposes. One, it keeps Mikeko from jumping down from the counter and injuring herself on the ceramic shards. Two, it was easier to lecture her like this, paws angrily clawing at the air as if defiance can save her in this situation.
“Mikeko! What do you have to say for yourself?” he demands.
Mikeko blinks slowly.
Apollo shifts his arms away from his body so she can face her crimes head on. “That was a limited edition Captain Andromeda mug. You know what limited edition means? Resellers charge hundreds of dollars for them now! I’m suing you for emotional damages. No. You're going to criminal court. You’re going to jail Mikeko for breaking my heart. Mark my words, they’re going to put you in a cell next to Shelly de Killer and Mr. Gavin forever. Is that what you want, Mikeko?”
A furry paw smacks his lips in lieu of a response.
“That’s what I thought.” Apollo huffs.
He deposits her in his room while he cleans the kitchen. Better safe than sorry. He’s not risking the chance of Mikeko cutting herself while roaming.
The ceramic mess stared up at him as if it was taunting him. Apollo lowers himself into a deep crouch– ignoring the concerning ways his knees pop and crack on his way down– and carefully picks up a red shard that used to be a fin. What is the old adage? There’s no use crying over spilled milk.
So, Apollo gets to cleaning. And if cleaning her mess means he drags his feet a little bit more getting ready for work, who can really fault him? It is Friday—Friday means bathroom duty. One of the many workplace violations he should probably file to HR, if HR didn’t consist of said bathroom duty assigner and his daughter.
When he finally manages to step into the office, he isn’t greeted with a bucket and mop for bathroom duty. Which is to say, Apollo isn’t greeted at all. The entire agency was gathered around Mr. Wright's desk despite very clearly being a school day. The entire agency, plus one woman cladded in cupid pink speaking animatedly to her eager audience.
Yeah, Apollo decides he doesn’t want to get caught up in whatever is going on today.
Trucy spots Apollo as he tries to inconspicuously slip into his desk and waves him over. “Polly! Come meet Falynn. She’s going to give Daddy a love reading.”
There is not a person in the world who can say no to Trucy, so Apollo begrudgingly makes his way to Mr. Wright’s desk.
The woman turns around—and wow. She looked as if someone had vomited the Valentines aisle of a supermarket all over her with her heart shaped afropuffs and a matching pair of rose-tinted heart shaped glasses. The pink crystals strung around her waist, clinking together as she reaches over to take Apollo’s hand.
“Falyn Love, love psychic extraordinaire, my services are to fall for!”
Ah.
Ms. Falyn Love is a difficult person to forget. Despite Wright & Co’s impressive history of eccentric clients and witnesses, Ms. Love manages to stand out in Apollo’s memory with the likes of Plum Kitaki and Daryan Crescend. A witness from the Heel V. State case Athena took the reins on. From what he heard, it looked like a standard open and shut crime of passion. Opal Heel was accused of murdering her girlfriend’s paramour.
Apparently, Ms. Love had given the defendant a love reading revealing her girlfriend had not only fallen out of love with her, but also she was cheating on her with their yoga instructor. Said yoga instructor was found dead a week later with all signs pointing to Opal. Of course, with Athena’s quick thinking and–according to Athena—Falyn’s expertise, they were able to prove Opal’s innocence.
Admittedly, in Apollo’s opinion, the case went smoothly without Falyn’s expertise—if he wanted to call it that.
“It’s nice to see you again, Ms. Love,” Apollo takes her hand and shakes it. “What brings you to the office? Are you seeking representation?”
Falyn laughs, waving the notion off with a flick of her wrist. “Oh babe! Nothing of the sort.”
Babe? Apollo mouths and Athena just shrugs.
“After that whole silly ordeal, I asked Ms. Cykes if I could drop by your office,” she continues. “I got a quick glimpse at the trial, but I needed to see it all up close. The passion, the tension, the yearning. It’s true love! Never in my life have I seen so much palpable true love in one place around one group of fascinating folks. I am drowning in it.”
He catches Mr. Wright with his chin propped up on the palm of his hand, hiding a smile behind a loose fist. Far too interested in Falyn’s explanation. Huh, Apollo would have pegged Mr. Wright as a fellow skeptic.
As if he could read his mind, Mr. Wright rolls his eyes. “Pollo, my best friend is a spirit medium. I spent the first three years of my career communing with the dead. I think I can suspend my disbelief for a love psychic,” Mr. Wright says.
Yeah, but—Spirit mediums Apollo can buy. Divination séance? Sure. But love psychics? That’s where he draws the line. If someone is trying to sell you something that sounds too good to be true, they’re probably trying to scam you out of your money. Apollo didn’t take many of Datz’s words of wisdom to heart, but this piece of advice came in handy more times than he can count.
“Falyn, I wanna see Daddy’s fate!”
“Alright, alright! Can’t keep your true love waiting,” Falyn says.
She scoops up a stack of cards from the desk and does a series of complicated card tricks that makes Apollo head spin trying to follow. She can give Trucy a run for her money. Not that Apollo would ever voice this aloud. Her deft fingers spin the cards around, cutting and folding them back into the deck over and over again. Finally, she sets the deck down in front of Mr. Wright.
“Ya ready, babe?” she asks with a wink.
Mr. Wright shrugs. “As I’ll ever be. Hit me.”
Her hand rests on top of the deck. “The first card represents your past. Where your love has been. What shapes the love you have to give now.”
She unveils the first card. Apollo cranes his head to get a closer look. It features a man hanging upside down by one of his ankles looking at peace.
“The hanged man is your past. Ya fancy yourself a martyr, Mr. Wright?”
Mr. Wright chuckles, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I wouldn’t call myself–
“Daddy always likes a hopeless cause. I mean just look at Polly!” Trucy says.
“Hey!”
“The hanged man is a card of sacrifice.” She says. “You have given and given in your relationships until there’s nothing left to take. Your need to bend over backwards for your past lovers has made you stagnant and uncertain on where you stand in your relationships with others.”
Apollo catches a glimpse of her eyes during the reading. Gone is her bright-eyed look sparkling with conspiracy. Instead, they gleam with an intensity that makes him feel uneasy, so he tries to look anywhere but. Instead, he finds himself staring at the string of crystals. When the lights hit the crystals at a certain angle. Well—it almost looks as if they are glowing. Apollo dismisses the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.
The next two cards follow suit. Mr. Wright’s present, the three of pentacles. In love, Mr. Wright values collaboration, someone that can challenge him. This person appears to already be challenging him constantly and pushing him to be his best self. Finally, his future, the six of cups. His true love is someone that captures the safety and comforts of his past. With that, Trucy shoots her dad a knowing look that Apollo doesn’t really want to unpack at the moment. He’d rather stay as far away from his boss’s love life as possible.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Love,” Mr. Wright says.
Apparently, that is the wrong thing to say to a love psychic, because Falyn scoffs at the title. “Doctor? I’m no doc. Those who call themselves that are just two-bit hacks that insult the mystic arts of love by boiling down to a science. Its machinations are far beyond your petty human comprehension. There is no science or mathematical formula to love! It’s just love.”
“Isn’t there?” Apollo can’t help but ask.
“Excuse me?”
“A science to love? Aren’t there chemicals and stuff making all that happen?” Apollo didn’t exactly pass high school chemistry with flying colors, but he vaguely remembers a Valentines day themed project he had to do with Clay back in sophomore year. "Serotonin? Oxytocin?”
“And phenylethylamine!” Athena cuts in. “You know the thing you can find in chocolate and–”
Athena trails off, noticing Falynn’s withering stare. “But! Of course that means nothing. There is probably so much more to love than just some silly chemicals in the brain!” Around her neck, Widget flashes blue with a barely audibly uh oh.
And Apollo scoffs quietly.
Falynn’s gaze turns towards Apollo. “Is there something you wanna share with the class?”
This is where Apollo should have backed down. Keep his peace. It’s an underrated tactic that everyone in the agency tends to take for granted. But Apollo Justice has never known a situation where he hasn’t made an ass of himself with his chronic foot-in-mouth disease, and he isn’t going to start now.
“I don’t know, don’t you find all of this a little bit too… arbitrary?” he says. “You talk about love if it's some sort of magical unexplainable phenomenon apparently only you can understand. But I mean anyone can call anything love. I can hit it off with someone tomorrow and call it love, but what does that even mean? And true love? It’s not like that’s something that’s easy to believe in. If true love really did exist, I don’t think the family law industry would be so lucrative.”
That gets a snicker out of Mr. Wright who immediately tries to muffle it with his fist. Apollo tries to ignore the rush of satisfaction he gets from it.
Falyn throws her hands up in the air, her delicate features twisting into a scowl. “Ugh, you non-believers are so annoying,” she hisses. “That’s what we’re here for! Most people go their entire lives without finding their true loves because they don’t have someone to give them a little nudge. You think this love physics stuff is for shits and giggles.”
“Honestly, yeah?” Apollo admits. He feels himself getting uncharacteristically worked up over this, and, despite his better judgement, he continues. “These readings feel like you’re just showing stuff at the wall to see what sticks.”
Before he knew it, Falyn had peeled herself away from the desk, so she could stand toe-to-toe with Apollo. “First you diss true love and now you're questioning my magic?” Apollo takes a step back as she jams a finger into his chest, hard. “I’d back off if I were you, babe. For someone who could really use my help, you sure know how to mouth off.”
What?
“What are you talking about? I’ve never been in love before.”
A laugh escapes from her lips, sharp and mean. “You’re as blind as a bat. I see love all around you. It’s so loud and obnoxious that I can barely stand it. You can’t tell me it’s not true. My sight never lies!”
Her words sting more than Apollo wants to admit. His face flushes with embarrassment and shame. Because she’s wrong. Love, romantic love, is something that he is completely unfamiliar with. And if his exes had anything to say about it, well– He doesn’t want to think about it.
“Well maybe it does!” Apollo snaps.
Suddenly, all at once, the room goes quiet. Falyn hangs her head low, her hands balling up into knuckle-white fists. Apollo opens his mouth to apologize. Even if he doesn’t really believe in any of this, he feels that questioning one’s professional expertise—no matter how bizarre—might be taking things a step too far. Before he can say anything, Falyn's head snaps up.
“How dare you, Apollo Justice.”
This time, Apollo can’t dismiss the glowing as a trick of the light.
Behind her rose-colored glasses, a deep magenta overtook the white of her eyes. The crystals begin to emit a pulsing warm glow as her entire body trembles with rage. Alarms bells ring loudly in Apollo’s ears, and he is starting to take back his stance on psychics and love magic.
Run, his head screams, but his body betrays him and remains fixed in place.
Falyn lifts a single perfectly manicured finger at him. Her lips part, and the voice coming out of her body echoes throughout the office, distant and otherworldly.
“I call upon the great patron of love
to deliver one who thinks he’s so above
So, from Dawn to Dusk he’ll toil and broil
To find true love that will never be foiled!“
All at once, the smell of roses hits him, flooding his sinuses. The scent is overwhelmingly nauseating, and Apollo has to do everything in his power to keep himself from keeling over right there. An uncomfortable heat erupts in Apollo’s chest. It feels as if he had been suddenly shoved inside of a sauna, the sticky warmth fusing his clothes to his skin. He suddenly feels breathless and with each heaving breath sending a sharp taste of bittersweet chocolate to the back of his tongue. Then, all of a sudden, the sensations disappear as fast as they come.
What the hell was that?
Falyn opens her eyes which have returned to their normal chestnut brown. Before Apollo can get a single word out, she turns on her heel and walks out of the office, leaving nothing but the faint smell of roses on her way out.
Mr. Wright breaks the silence with an uncomfortable laugh. “What a morning, am I right.”
Breathe, Apollo reminds himself. Plotting a homicide will only get you put in a cell next to Mr. Gavin.
With Falyn’s unceremonious exit, the rest of the morning proceeds without any fanfare. Thankfully, it doesn’t appear that her spell (?) curse (?) did anything to impede on his life, so Apollo is trying not to dwell on it for very long. Which proves to be difficult, when Trucy and Athena keep bouncing around theories on what Falyn’s chant was supposed to do. For his peace of mind, Apollo decides to tune them out. He’s sure it was all nothing. Just a weird experience meant to freak him out. Nothing more or less.
However, it doesn’t stop the unease from settling into his skin like a stubborn layer of film. He tries to shake it off, focusing his attention on reading up on the new exception to evidence law. It’s only after he rereads the same paragraph for the third time, he decides it’s finally time to stretch his legs and get a bit of fresh air.
But as soon as Apollo gets up to take his lunch break, Mr. Wright perks up from behind his desk.
“Pollo, if you’re headed out for lunch, can you get this over to the Chief Prosecutor’s office on your way?” Mr. Wright asks. In his hand is a thick folder that’s been collecting dust on his desk for the last two months.
“Right now?” He was really hoping for a quick uneventful trip to Eldoon’s, much to his blood pressure’s chagrin.
“If I wait any longer, I feel like Edgeworth is going to bite my head off.”
Mr. Wright scratches the back of his neck, bashfully. If he has the gall to be bashful, he should have just done it before. There is a retort on the tip of his tongue, but mouthing off is what got Apollo into hot water earlier in the day; he thinks he’s caused enough trouble for the day. So, he wordlessly takes the folder from his desk.
“Tell Simon I said hi!” Athena says while he’s on his way out.
“Justice, I suppose Wright has decided to shift his responsibilities off to his junior associates again,” Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth says flatly, leveling an unimpressed look at the files in Apollo’s hand.
Apollo laughs uncomfortably. It’s hard to know how to act around the Chief Prosecutor. It’s not like Apollo really interacts with him much outside of the courtroom. Even when Edgeworth drops by the agency, Trucy or Mr. Wright usually monopolizes his time so he never really has time for idle chatter.
“Sorry,” Apollo says. He’s not particularly sure who he’s apologizing for, Mr. Wright for procrastinating or himself for not being Mr. Wright? The sharp look on Mr. Edgeworth’s makes him think that it should be both.
“One might think seeing how he deserted our dinner plans last week and tea the week prior, he might be avoiding me on purpose,” Edgeworth muses.
Apollo is not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do with that information. If he’s being completely honest, he’s not sure if Edgeworth is even really talking to him at the moment. He’s just hoping that he can slip out of here before he becomes an unwilling participant in whatever is going on between the two titans of LA’s law scene.
“Tell me, Justice, has Wright been acting… strange recently?” Edgeworth asks.
Apollo feels a little bewildered. What a bizarre question. Why is he asking him this?
“Not any more than he usually is.” Apollo says. “Maybe he seems a little more scatterbrained than usual, but that’s not all that out of the ordinary for him.”
“Of course, of course.” Apollo’s bracelet squeezes at the way Edgeworth’s eyes dart away from him. With a wave of his hand, Edgeworth dismisses whatever train of thought he was pursuing. “Please, forget I even asked. I must be jumping to conclusions.”
You didn’t need to tell him twice. Apollo slips out of the office, listening to Edgeworth grumble something under his breath Wright this and Wright that. That was… strange to say the least. But Apollo supposes that anyone who spends enough time with Mr. Wright is bound to have some of the insanity rubbed off on them.
“Herr Forehead, what a surprise! What brings you here?” A familiar voice calls out.
Apollo turns around to see Klavier Gavin making his way down the hall towards him. He looks as immaculately obnoxious as usual with his chain necklace and one too few buttons on his collar. However, instead of sporting his signature purple, he has traded his blazer for a sleek leather jacket. Apollo slows to a stop, letting Klavier catch up to him.
“Prosecutor Gavin.” Apollo nods in lieu of a greeting. “Just running an errand for Mr. Wright. I was actually just about to head out.”
“Perfekt!” He claps his hands together, flashing Apollo a bright smile. “Would you like to join me for lunch? I was just about to head over to Eldoon’s, my treat.”
Apollo hesitates. He doesn’t particularly mind grabbing lunch with Klavier, but with all of the excitement from the morning, he’s not sure he has the patience or the mental capacity to deal with his teasing and flirting. His best option is to just politely decline. But before Apollo can say anything his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.
He sighs. “Yeah, I could eat. But– isn’t Eldoon’s a bit out of the way from here?”
Klavier slings his arm over his shoulder, guiding Apollo towards the parking deck. “Nonsense. You could pick something up for Herr Wright and the little Fraulein while we’re at it.”
It will save him the trouble. The two of them will probably give him a shit if they knew that he went to Eldoon’s without him, and if Klavier is paying. Oh, what the hell. Why not?
“Wait, you wouldn’t happen to bring your car today, right?
Klavier did not. So that’s how Apollo found himself on the back of Klavier's motorcycle, holding on for dear life. He feels like the protagonist of a shitty high school romcom, with Klavier as the resident “bad boy.” Well, no, anyone who spends more than a fraction of a second with Klavier would know that he is as much a stickler for the rules and procedure as Apollo is. So much so that Ema can’t go a single investigation without pointing out how much of a loser she thinks they both are.
Even after stuffing his head into a helmet, when they arrive at the noodle stand, Klavier’s hair comes out perfectly tousled while Apollo tries to tame his unruly helmet hair.
It’s no surprise then that Klavier is stopped by a couple of eager fans. As he watches Klavier charm his admirers with all the grace of a swan. He’s sure if anyone were to believe in Falyn’s magical prowess of love, it would be him. What, with all his love songs and dashing looks, he’s probably had his fair share of first loves. Honestly, maybe he even found that magical “true love.” Not that Apollo believed in any of that.
“Earth to Herr Forehead.” Klavier says, snapping him out of his thoughts. His hand is waving in front of Apollo’s face. “You still with me?”
Apollo nearly jumps out of his skin. “Ack, sorry!” He says. “I was just… thinking about some stuff.”
“My interest is piqued.” Klavier leans in a little closer. Too close. Apollo feels his cheek heating up as he wills himself not to flinch away.
“It’s just– Have you ever been in love?” He blurts out.
"Entschuldigung?"
Apollo groans and buries his face into his hands. Way to go idiot. This is too vulnerable of a conversation topic between colleagues, especially colleagues he faces on the other side of court. Apollo peaks through his finger to see Klavier’s reaction. For a brief section, a flash of bewilderment takes over Klavier's face which quickly shifts to playful amusement.
“There is no need to be embarrassed,” Klavier teases. “Has someone caught your attention, mein kleiner Hase?”
“Ugh, of course not,” Apollo says. “I just had a weird run-in with a love psychic today, and it’s just got me thinking.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
So, Apollo recounts his eventful morning with Falyn Love. He chooses to omit some of the more embarrassing detailing regarding how heated the argument had become and the bizarre “spell” she casted. By the end of the story, Klavier hums thoughtfully.
“You have to forgive me, bitte, but I think I’ll have to agree with Frau Love. I’m afraid I'm a bit of a romantic myself,” He says with a shrug.
Apollo rolls his eyes. “What a surprise.”
Klavier goes uncharacteristically quiet, brows furrowed, and lips twisted into a wistful sort of smile. “It’s nice to think that there is someone out there just for you, no?”
“I guess. I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem very realistic to me.”
“Ja, I suppose we can agree to disagree.” Klavier pauses. Then after carefully considering his next words he says, “To answer your question though, I believe I have. Once or twice. But I am afraid that there is nothing to write home about.”
“What do you mean by– Ack!”
In an instant, hot sticky broth soaks his pants and vest, leaving Apollo with a lapful of noodles. There goes his lunch and his dry cleaned vest. Just over the sound of his own misery, Apollo can hear Mr. Eldoon grunts out an apology, muttering something about slippery fingers.
“Let me help, bitte schon.” Klavier hands him a stack of napkins that Apollo uses to try to wipe off the sopping mess that is his pants. The damage is done though, and Apollo is not looking forward to spending the rest of lunch wet and reeking of MSG.
“Sorry Gavin. I hate to cut lunch short, but I think I’m going to head back now to deal with this,” Apollo gestures to his soaking mess. He gets up and grabs the bags containing the Wrights’ portion which he has now decided to keep for himself. He’s pretty sure he can ask Mr. Wright for a change of clothes once he gets back to the office.
“Herr Justice, I can’t in good faith let you walk all the way back to your agency sopping wet.”
“It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s only a couple blocks away and—” he holds up the bag. “It’s not like you can carry all this there on your bike.”
Klavier chews on his bottom lip, clearly not thrilled about the prospect of Apollo walking home in this state. Then, he takes off his jacket and holds it in front of him. “At least take this to tie around your waist.”
“Fine,” Apollo takes the jacket and ties it around his waist. It looks a little silly as the body of the jacket covers the front of his pants, but it’s better than nothing. “Thanks Gavin.”
“Think nothing of it.”
Apollo leaves Klavier to his lunch and starts making his way back to the agency. By the time he gets to the office and changes out of his wet clothes, it looks like productivity is a lost cause. He watches as Trucy monopolizes the extra desk space–his desk–to practice one of her new tricks. Oh, it looks like Juniper is here too. He remembers Trucy mentioning something about needing a fresh pair of eyes to show off her routine.
“I don’t know about this, Trucy. Are you sure we should be practicing this inside?” Juniper asks. Her eyes darted nervously between the magician and the dozens of objects flying her head. At some point Trucy decided to forgo practicing her new tricks and instead decided to see how many things she could juggle at once with Athena egging her on.
“Don’t worry about it, Junie. Trucy’s a professional. I’m sure that–Ow!”
Trucy’s magic wand slips out of grip, smacking Athena square on the face. Trucy immediately stops juggling. All at once all the objects clatter to the ground.
“Oh my god! Thena! Are you alright!”
Juniper scrambles over to Athena and cups her face to examine the damage. The start of a dark red welt blooms square in the middle of her forehead. Apollo can hear Athena wincing in between reassurances to her friend.
“I’m fine, Junie really. It’s nothing that a little bit of ice can’t fix.”
They end up sending Athena home early with an icebag to press against her bruising forehead, Juniper trailing close behind her. Apollo finds himself cleaning up the carnage left in their wake. Of course, Trucy insists on helping clean up her own mess, but she looks so guilty about hurting Athena that Apollo shoos her off and tells her that he can take care of it.
When Apollo finally manages to make it back home, he’s so exhausted he barely musters enough energy to fix himself dinner. He doesn’t even bother changing out of clothes when he crashes in his bed, Mikeko curling next to his head. Thank the Holy Mother that the day is over. He falls asleep to the sound of Mikeko purring and the faint smell of roses under his skin.