Apollo had never been a stranger to silence.

As much as he practiced his Chords of Steel, he could never quite overcome its manifestations. The nervous quiet before a court case. The bits of awkwardness smothering his conversations. The cold stillness in the dead of night, echoing his every thought.

He'd grown up running from it. Locked away deep in his brain remained memories of peaceful Khura'inese hillsides, imbued with one basic lesson: silence was never a good thing.

"Don't make me go back! I wanna stay!"

Dhurke hadn't responded.

"Please, please, please can I stay?"

A shake of the head.

"But why?"

And Dhurke had looked down at him, lips pressed and face pained. Not a single word escaped the man's mouth. Still, even as a child, Apollo had understood.

Silence meant fear.

And so he'd tried drowning it out. Latching onto Clay's boisterous escapades all through college, even though they exhausted him. Shouting "gotcha!" and "objection!" in the bathroom every day until his lungs ached. Always busy, always on the move, lest it catch and consume him.

Until he met Kristoph.

Kristoph didn't just live in silence—he was silence. There was an ethereal quality to the way the man worked…soft and light, despite shuffling through stacks and stacks of paperwork every day. Never a noise out of place. Never a sound unaccounted for. Just the two of them in Gavin and co.'s office, words swallowed up by sheer diligence.

And for a while, Apollo had embraced the void.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Apollo jolted, jerked away from the memory by Kristoph's sudden prompt. The criminal laced his fingers, raising a pointed eyebrow.

Apollo felt the tension escalate with every second he stared, nothingness expanding into a suffocating grasp.

No.

Kristoph's silence used to be comforting. It hadn't taken long for Apollo to stop fidgeting and start falling into its calm embrace, even with years of apprehension.

All because of one simple fact.

He used to trust me.

Not anymore.

Now, there was something dangerous hidden in Kristoph's restraint. He could sense its sinister hold, could feel it squeezing the life out of his very soul, chest tightening from the growing apprehension. This was the kind of silence where he would say something, anything, just to crawl away.

But he couldn't.

His gag lay on the floor, speckled red and white. He'd abandoned his plate, unable to tolerate the pain with each bite.

And he sat there. Blood in his mouth. Words stolen away.

I need a break.

Kristoph sighed, dissolving the pressure in an instant. "There is no need for us to have this conversation, Justice. We could simply sit in—"

Apollo shook his head as soon as he guessed what Kristoph was about to say. Kristoph paused, regarding him with intrigue.

"Still lonely, aren't you?"

Apollo didn't respond. Kristoph slipped back onto the armchair.

Lonely?

No. No, no, no. This was just a tactic to get in his head. Apollo shoved the idea deep into the darker corners of his mind, refusing to rehash a lifetime of isolation.

"It's alright, boy. It's a common fault." Kristoph continued. Apollo watched the man's gaze drift towards the living room window, only to rest on the drawn blinds. "My father had taught me as much."

Apollo blinked.

Where was this coming from?

Apollo tried to seem as neutral as possible, but his mind had already whipped into a whirlwind of confusion. As far as he knew, there was no real reason for Kristoph to divulge his inner demons.

"Don't look so shocked, Justice." Kristoph snapped. "It's unbecoming."

Apollo glanced away, quickly realizing how difficult it was to maintain a static expression.

Something's off.

In all the years he'd known Kristoph, not once had the man mentioned anything to do with his past. And if there was one thing Apollo had learned from himself, it was this: never be the first to ask about a man's family.

He'd never asked. Kristoph had never shared.

Except for today.

"It's quite interesting, actually. During my time in solitary, multiple psychologists were sent to my cell to try and unravel me." The criminal cracked a small smile, seeming amused at the memory. "No matter what path they took, they would always end up at my childhood. And, within a few days…they would give up."

Apollo dug his nails into his palms, feeling the curved edges leave crescent indents in his skin. Yes, this was real.

Kristoph was confiding in him.

"You see, Justice," Kristoph continued, "They were always searching for evidence of horrid abuse. Either that, or neglect." Apollo shrank at the last word. Kristoph's eyes flicked towards him. "And I would lie to them."

Apollo's fingers drifted to his wrist. Thank god he had his bracelet with him.

"I would tell them tales of being beaten, being starved…being locked away, even." Kristoph said. "Each version was different. Eventually, the prison records revealed inconsistencies, and their vile experiment was put to an end."

So then why even bring it up? Apollo thought. Kristoph scanned his face, catching his lost expression.

"What's wrong? Weren't you curious?" The criminal asked. Apollo shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no need to worry. I'll tell you everything you'd like…even without your pathetic attempts to gain my sympathy."

And then, it clicked.

The food.

Kristoph hadn't seen the pasta as an altruistic gesture. To him, it was just another form of manipulation.

"As I was saying," Kristoph carried on, ignoring Apollo's shaking head, "The prison was never able to piece together my childhood." The man cleared his throat, hiding a smirk behind his curled fist. "In reality, I had a fairly standard experience. My father and I were quite close, after all."

Okay, that sounded fake. Apollo grasped his bracelet, preparing to deconstruct Kristoph's hidden trauma.

No response.

Apollo furrowed his brow.

What the hell?

Kristoph seemed to have noticed his bewilderment, because the man's grin only grew wider. "I was fortunate. My father was an esteemed prosecutor, yet he never hesitated to involve me in his work." Apollo tugged at his wrist. Still nothing. "He would allow me to help collect evidence, watch during deliberations…sometimes even interrogate witnesses." Kristoph's smug gaze burned into Apollo's core. "Much like Trucy Wright."

Apollo gritted his teeth, narrowly resisting the urge to spit the pooled blood in his mouth at Kristoph's face.

"But make no mistake, Justice—he was properly stern." Kristoph drummed his fingers on the armrest, thinking back. "On the first day of every trial, I was forced to observe each and every movement the defendant made. From that, I was to pinpoint the main weaknesses for my father to exploit the next day." An empty laugh. "Naturally, I became quite adept at it. So much so that one client drew the connection and leapt across the stand to strangle me."

Apollo's eyes widened. Kristoph didn't stop smiling.

"The man had his hands around my throat. He'd threatened to snap my neck if the bailiffs interfered." Kristoph traced the edge of his chin, indicating the man's grip. "My father was furious. He said only one thing to that man." The murderer's eyes gleamed. "'Go ahead.'"

A vile sensation churned in Apollo's gut.

This was wrong.

"Do you know what that man did, Justice?" Kristoph leaned over, looking Apollo right in the eye. "He let me go, and he broke down. Fortunately, he was too weak-willed to choke a child."

Apollo squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to imagine the aftermath. He didn't want to hear this story anymore. This was sick. Mr. Wright would never—

No, not now. Not Mr. Wright now. If he thought about it, his heart would implode.

"It was the most valuable lesson my father taught me." Kristoph said. Apollo looked up to find the man staring at him, seeming relatively unhinged. "Every man is riddled with weaknesses, Justice. Use them to your advantage."

Alright. End of conversation. Apollo began inching away, his hand crawling towards his deserted gag and plate.

"Let's examine you, for instance." Kristoph began. Apollo felt the dread start eating away at his spine. "Your weaknesses make you very useful. It's a shame Wright was blind to your longing to serve."

This was getting too personal.

I need to get out of—

"Remember how you used to crave attention?" Kristoph pressed, cutting past Apollo's will to walk away. "Go on. I'm sure you do."

Apollo bit his lip, feeling fresh blood snake down his chin.

So even back then, Kristoph had known.

He thought he'd been so clever, slinking around the office just to be ready for Kristoph's every order. Fetching documents. Brewing coffee. Revising case files. No matter what it was, Apollo always finished off the task as fast as he could.

"Did you need something, Mr. Gavin?"

"I'm here, Mr. Gavin."

"It's done, Mr. Gavin."

Over and over and over and over—

Apollo grasped his hair, feeling his breath catch and his fingers tremble. God, he just couldn't keep it together anymore.

He had to forget.

"You used to chase after praise." Kristoph said. The words slipped away from Apollo's grasp, like ice cubes boiling away in a pit of roiling lava.

Forget Kristoph's pleasant smile each time he'd finished a task. Forget the patience with which Kristoph used to guide him.

"And here you are, continuing to chase."

Forget how he longed for affection. How Kristoph gave it to him.

How, for a while…Kristoph had become Dhurke.

Dhurke abandoned me.

"I know why, Justice."

But Kristoph hadn't been as decent as he'd acted. Within a few months, the man had vanished from Apollo's life…just as he'd begun to open up. Just as he'd begun to trust.

Kristoph abandoned me.

"From the moment I first met you, I knew."

Phoenix…

The argument. The lack of phone calls, texts, anything. Kristoph would have mentioned it if Phoenix called, he just knew it. What day was it, anyway? Wasn't Phoenix worried that he hadn't come to work?

Didn't Phoenix care about him?

"You fear loneliness, yet…"

Kristoph stood up, towering over him. Apollo stared at the floor, spiraling deeper and deeper into depression.

"You are perpetually alone."

Phoenix abandoned me.

Apollo's chest ached.

Phoenix couldn't care for him. Even if the man had before…well, not anymore. There was a poison trapped within him, infecting everyone he clung onto.

And Phoenix had seen it.

That's what I was hiding from him.

After all, the record was clear. His real father fled to heaven. Dhurke threw him to another country. Clay was training to fly planets away. And Kristoph…

Kristoph.

Apollo's eyes flicked up.

Kristoph knelt down.

The man reached over. Apollo didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes slipped shut as Kristoph's hands cupped his face, gently lifting his chin upwards.

"No." Apollo whispered. It stung.

Kristoph's fingers drifted to his throat.

"You know it's the truth."

And Apollo couldn't breathe.

Kristoph's grip hadn't constricted. Apollo felt the grasp on his neck, the nails pressed against his skin, the slight tremor of the man's hands, waiting to wrench his breath away from him…but no follow through.

A strange quality warped Kristoph's cold tone.

"Justice. Why…?"

Apollo shoved Kristoph's halfhearted chokehold away and promptly buried his face in his hands.

"I'm just…I…I-I…"

It was useless. He was sobbing too hard to make sense.

A piercing sting sprang to the tip of his tongue.

Damn me.

"Go…" Apollo managed to say. His voice strained. "Go away."

Kristoph sighed. "Now, listen—"

"Please."

There it was. The tense silence, space filled with broken gasps for air. No matter how many times Apollo swept away the tears with the back of his hand, they reappeared—a melancholy mix of shame and sheer disappointment. His head felt heavy, all rationality crushed by humiliation.

Kristoph's hand hovered over his head for a moment before retreating backwards. Apollo didn't look up.

At long last, Kristoph spoke.

"I cannot."

Apollo took a shaky breath.

"Get out."

Kristoph didn't respond.

The silence became infuriating.

"Get out, Gavin." Apollo repeated. He clenched his teeth, embracing the agonizing pain that came with each word. "I won't…say anything."

Kristoph's tone grew sharp. "Justice…"

"I'm serious."

"That's impossible to believe. You—"

"Get the fuck out of my apartment, Kristoph."

Silence again. Apollo's breaths grew even shallower.

"You're becoming hysterical." Kristoph stated.

Apollo pulled his hair. "No. No, I'm—"

"Where would I go, Justice? Do you expect me to turn myself in?"

"No, but—"

"You have no control over this situation." Kristoph snapped. Before Apollo could react, the man grabbed his head and held him in place. "Face this. Face me. I am not leaving."

A mix of emotions flooded Apollo's brain. His fingers twitched uncontrollably.

Most of it what he felt was fear. Being terrorized around the clock had ingrained that into him, at least. Then there was sadness—that standard, hopeless feeling he'd been drowning in ever since he'd been exposed to Kristoph's endlessly cunning , he could deal with.

What he couldn't process was the relief.

"Enough of this." Kristoph said. The man let go of Apollo's face and instead stretched out the young attorney's sleeve, expertly tearing at the seams and unraveling a fresh scrap of cloth. "Don't speak anymore."

Kristoph pressed the rag onto Apollo's chin, wiping away the blood that had seeped onto his face. For once, Apollo didn't protest.

"Compress your tongue." Kristoph ordered, placing the rag in Apollo's palm. It felt coarse and crude and concrete in his hands—a reminder of reality. "You've hurt yourself enough."

Apollo placed it in his mouth, feeling the pain on his tongue finally subside. Kristoph shifted back.

It was quiet.

Apollo put a hand on his chest, breathing deep. It was as if he had clawed his way up from the ocean floor, re-surfacing after months and months of suffocation. He felt his rapid heartbeat start to slow. That was enough to anchor him.

Kristoph rose to his feet and paced a few steps away. The man didn't offer another word.

Apollo closed his eyes. This time…it was a moment of solace.

But even that didn't last long.

A low buzzing sound echoed through the room. Apollo watched Kristoph pull out the source of the vibrations from the inside of his lavender blazer, glaring down at the phone.

Apollo perked up. That was Phoenix. That had to be Phoenix. Who else would call? The man was probably going to ask why he'd missed work or had been completely off the grid for the past few—

Kristoph narrowed his eyes.

"Bruder."

The screen flashed. Apollo craned his neck, managing to catch the name just before Kristoph declined the call.

Klavier.