Klavier trades an autograph for his coffee when the starstruck barista fumbles twice on his name; he gives her a smile, too, then makes his escape. There's a cozy table in the back of the room with his name on it.
He's nearly reached his destination before he catches sight of a familiar hairstyle peeking over a pile of books. Before Klavier even knows what he's doing, he's veered off course, slipping into a seat at Phoenix Wright's table.
"K-Klavier!" Phoenix jolts at his abrupt arrival, nearly knocking his scone to the floor. Both of them grab for it, managing to save the dish with an awkward tangle of fingers. They freeze there, staring at each other.
"Hallo," He grins after a moment, clearing his throat slightly as he pulls away.
"What are you doing here?" Phoenix accuses, overlapping him. The tension Klavier had been attempting to lessen instead thickens about them, lending a molasses tinge of regret to this whole interaction. But his intended table, a glance up shows, has already been snapped up. He did not get a to-go mug; all that's left is to see this through.
"It almost sounds like you don't want me here," Klavier purrs sweetly. He's not going to admit to being unsettled to Phoenix. They've been resting their legs on the same bench for a few weeks now, and the fifteen minutes of casual conversation every few days has added up to more ease between them, yes – but not so much that Klavier likes showing uncertainty to this man.
He's not entirely sure why. Maybe because he is always uncertain around Phoenix. It's at least bearable if no one else knows.
"I don–" Phoenix visibly cuts himself off mid-hurtful reply, but the message gets across regardless.
Klavier swallows back a retort, along with the hurt he actually does feel, and the surprise at that hurt, and the annoyance at that, and the urge to just get up and abandon his coffee and Phoenix entirely.
He came in here because he was tired.
"Sorry." At least Phoenix seems genuinely remorseful. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. I'm – god, sorry, please stay."
He's flushed, scrubs a hand over his face. He looks tired too – and embarrassed, and guilty.
"I just didn't want you to see…" Phoenix shrugs, gestures across the surface of the table.
Law books. Highlighters, page markers, a pad full of messy notes, ink on Phoenix's hands. A badge doodled on the top corner of the paper.
Klavier looks up sharply. Phoenix turns redder, but meets his eyes.
"I'm getting it back," he confirms, and – for the first time in a long time, his voice is steel. It softens quickly: "I haven't told anyone, yet."
Klavier swallows. He doesn't feel guilty for Phoenix losing his badge. He did the right thing, based on what he knew at the time. Still…
"If you haven't told anyone, then no one has helped you review, ja?" Klavier reaches over to pull the top book from the stack and flip to a random page. He takes a sip of his coffee, and says, "Define the best evidence rule."
He has no idea what he's doing. The study help – that's easy, and Phoenix accepts it quickly enough, with no more comment than a warm smile. But the reason –
The man flubs a lot of his answers, clearly rusty, but there's such a fire in Phoenix's eyes regardless. It's intimidating. It's captivating.
It's setting a strangle tingle to life in Klavier's belly, makes him feel uncertain and – for the first time in a long time, wide wide awake.
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