Apollo's eyes flew open. He trembled from the sudden jolt of dread that struck his system, his nails digging further into the frost.
The pain flooded back in seconds. He felt it all. Each bruise he'd suffered, throbbing with renewed intensity. The scrapes scattered on his body, scorching his skin. He gritted his teeth. It felt like every snowflake was searing away pieces of his flesh, leaving him nothing but a carved shell of a person.
He tried to breathe. It didn't work.
I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna fucking DIE—
His head burst out of the snow, finally meeting fresh air. He gasped, instantly wracked with a hacking cough. The chilled winds were too difficult to swallow. His trachea was turning to ice.
"Justice!"
Someone was calling for him. Apollo strained to hear their voice, forcing himself to lift his body up further.
"Justice! Respond!"
Kristoph.
Apollo groaned, investing every last drop of strength into getting back on his feet. His muscles strained as he pushed himself up and stumbled forward, the edges of his vision turning black. He had to keep going. He had to keep moving forward. He had to—
Go back.
No, that was stupid. He batted away the strange thought as soon as it came, focusing on the path ahead of him. If he continued on, he'd lose the murderer in the storm.
I have to go back.
There it was again. As if in a trance, he turned back to see Kristoph's silhouette peering into the thick snowfall. The man didn't seem to be looking in his direction—no doubt the gales and gusts were obscuring him from Kristoph's vision, just as he could only see the murderer's shadow.
Apollo contemplated dropping to his knees and crawling the rest of the way to the Agency. That way, the criminal wouldn't be able to spot him from the apartment step.
Something about the idea didn't sound right.
Go back, Apollo.
An uneasy feeling crushed his desperation to escape. He dwelled on it for no more than a moment before staggering back towards the apartment building, eyes fixed on the entrance light.
He recalled an ace grasped in his hand. The memory flitted by so fast that he had no time to process it.
As soon as he neared the apartment door, Kristoph's sweeping gaze located him. Apollo flinched when the man began striding in his direction, the indiscriminate outline of the criminal morphing into a detailed, vengeful being. His heart beat senselessly at the sight, all his previous fears twisting themselves back into his mind.
Kristoph's imposing figure, ever-nearing, ground terror into his core liked a rusty blade slicing through soft flesh.
"You idiot," Kristoph hissed. Apollo cowered when the man clasped his collar, jerking him forward. "You utterly witless husk of a man."
Apollo had never seen Kristoph this furious. The criminal's voice quivered with rage, on the brink of breaking into unbridled hysteria.
"I should bury you here," Kristoph spat. Apollo sank under the man's seething glare. "Is listening is beyond your abilities? Perhaps I should cut off your legs to prevent this from happening again."
The murderer drew him closer, eyes burning with wrath. Apollo froze, feeling as though the man had reached within him and ripped away his lungs.
"Would that be a viable solution?" Kristoph questioned. "Tell me."
The man's gaze was relentless. Apollo didn't respond. The image was so horrific that it consumed any words he had left, leaving him speechless.
"Tell me, Justice!"
Kristoph shook him violently, gripping the front of his shirt with such force that Apollo pictured his skin being peeled away next.
"No…no, I…" His voice faltered, then failed. A faint whisper carried the rest. "Oh, god."
He couldn't handle it any longer. His knees gave out and he fell forward, head spinning.
Kristoph swept forward and caught him before he hit the ice.
"Fool," Kristoph muttered. The man draped one of Apollo's arms around his shoulders, looking none too pleased with the arrangement. "Come along."
Step by step, they trudged through the snow. Apollo shuddered and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his teeth from chattering at the cold and the wild anxiety flooding his brain.
When they arrived at the door to the building, Kristoph yanked it open with ease. Apollo shrank. Kristoph's sheer rage had made a laborious task trivial.
"I was trying to warn you," Kristoph snapped, dragging him through the entryway. Piles of snow slipped inside with them, melting into shallow puddles on the floor. "Yet here you are. Minutes from freezing to death."
The man continued to support him as they climbed back up the stairs, each step taking an era to traverse. Apollo shivered, feeling his drenched clothes drip and stick to his skin with every movement. He braced for more insults, guessing that the gradual nature of the climb was sure to frustrate the criminal.
It didn't. Kristoph maintained a surprising level of patience at Apollo's slow speed, even waiting a few extra seconds whenever Apollo needed to catch his breath. No mocking slights. No irritated complaints. Just a steady presence, holding him in place.
At last, they reached the flat. Apollo curled his bloody fingers around the door handle, wincing. Kristoph brushed his hand aside and turned it for him.
"Get in," the man growled. Apollo followed his lead, plodding through the living room until Kristoph set him on the armchair and let him collapse.
His limbs deeply ached. He lay still as Kristoph paced above him, watching the man grow more and more incensed.
"Look at what you've done to yourself."
Apollo didn't need to. He felt it.
"If you hadn't been so reckless, you'd have come up with a better plan."
That was true.
Kristoph sighed. The murderer removed his glasses and set them to the side, his scornful look replaced by something much more…defeated.
"Of course, I understand," the man said, covering his face with a tensed hand. "I understand."
Apollo looked away, resisting the urge to reply.
How could you?
Time passed. Apollo ended up staring at the ceiling, drifting somewhere between dreams and reality. Kristoph kept moving around the apartment, completing tasks with diligence of the highest degree.
Scraping sounds from the other room. The glass shards were being cleaned.
A building warmth. The fire had been started again, its vermillion flames flickering.
Soft weight on his body. Apollo found his bedroom blanket draped over himself, full and fluffed.
He curled into it and squeezed his eyes shut. The cold had settled deep in his bones.
"Justice."
It hadn't been long. Apollo dared to look, only to see Kristoph kneeling right next to him.
He sucked in a sharp breath, startled by the sudden proximity. Kristoph held out a palm, reaching towards him.
"Your hand."
Apollo stayed motionless. Kristoph curved his fingers a few times, signaling him to give it over.
"Your injured hand," the man revised. Apollo hesitated, waiting a few precious seconds before extending his right arm forward.
Kristoph grasped his fingers, spreading them out. The blood had long since dried, taking on a darker appearance and making the gashes appear deeper than they actually were.
"It was the razor," Apollo explained. Kristoph lifted a soaked rag and ran it over the wounds, washing away the streaked mess. "On the door handle…"
"Yes," Kristoph said. The cloth turned scarlet. "Quite unfortunate."
The man placed the towel on the ground and picked up a roll of gauze, unraveling it with a certain expertise.
"You're not going to use alcohol?" Apollo asked. Kristoph began winding the gauze around his wrist.
"A common misconception," Kristoph answered. The man twisted the bandage around each of Apollo's fingers, being careful as to not limit their mobility. "Such disinfectants destroy the tissue surrounding the injury. It would only hinder the healing process."
One last tie to hold it all together. Apollo drew his hand back and observed it from all angles, eventually attempting to flex it into a fist.
"Don't do that, Justice," Kristoph cautioned. Apollo had already learnt his lesson. He grimaced at the sharp pain, releasing his grip immediately.
"Right," Apollo agreed. "Thanks."
He'd said it out of instinct, and they both knew it. To his relief, Kristoph didn't bother responding. The man simply turned away from him, tossing the soiled rag into the fire and placing the remaining gauze on the coffee table.
There was a split second, though, that struck out "silence" as a conversational option.
Kristoph's back was turned to him. Embedded in the man's lavender blazer were a few small, glittering slivers of glass. And, on his neck…blackened marks, barely visible, that loomed in the dim light.
Apollo held his breath.
"I nearly killed you."
Kristoph faced him again, arms crossed. His expression was…neutral.
"Yes. And a mere half hour ago, you nearly killed yourself."
The cool, calculative tone with which Kristoph stated it was impossible for Apollo to comprehend.
"Then why didn't you just let me die?" Apollo questioned. An inquisitive gleam shone in the murderer's eyes.
"Is that what you wanted?"
"No. That's not…I was—" Apollo cut himself off, realizing that he was losing his composure. Kristoph stared into the fire. "I'm tired of running in circles."
A challenge. Kristoph knelt down and jabbed the burning logs with the forgotten fireplace poker, sending sparks flying into the air.
"As am I," the man said. His eyes glowed, reflecting the blaze. "We've both become lost."
Both?
Suddenly, it all clicked.
"Your plan," Apollo started. Kristoph's gaze flicked towards him, sharp as ever. "It's ruined."
Nothing but the crackle of the fire separated them. Apollo decided to keep going.
"I honestly didn't get it for a while," he said, keeping his eyes fixed on the murderer's form. He drew the blanket closer to himself, finally feeling the effects of its warmth. "This whole time, I thought you were using me for information. You drugged me…interrogated me…threatened me…" Apollo pushed past the disturbing memories, moving to his main point. "After figuring out Trucy's school and making me cut off Mr. Wright, that should've been it."
Kristoph was watching him very carefully now. Apollo kept his voice as steady as possible.
"But you saved me. I nearly bit my tongue off, and you didn't let me bleed out." He tapped the side of the armchair, his mind moving a mile a minute. "You blamed it on me breaking our deal, but that wasn't it, was it?"
A pop. One of the logs had burst into embers.
"You were getting nervous. You didn't know why you couldn't finish the job."
Kristoph scoffed.
"That was never my intention, Justice," the man said, folding his arms.
And for the first time in days, Apollo felt his bracelet close in on his wrist.
He smirked.
"Your nails are digging into your suit, Mr. Gavin," he pointed out. Kristoph's gaze remained stern.
"As if that means anything at all." The murderer lifted his chin, still in staunch denial. "I've kept you alive far too long for any common victim. Do you truly believe there's no intention behind it?"
That was a good point. Apollo sat up, recapping all the events that'd happened after he'd tried to sacrifice his voice.
"You gave me two days," Apollo mused aloud. "That wasn't for me to recover. That was for you to get past things and kill me." Kristoph's grip tightened. Apollo saw it all. "And those rules. You were hoping I'd lash out, weren't you? So you'd be forced to end it."
"Then why would I present conditions in the first place?" Kristoph countered. The man's jaw tensed, his tone growing stiff. "Surely you would have reacted sooner if I said nothing."
He might have. If Kristoph had simply set him free, Apollo definitely would have dreamed up escape plan after escape plan, scouring the house for possible outs.
But that wasn't what Kristoph had in mind.
"You wanted me to target you," Apollo said. He raised his wrapped hand, tracing the thin bandages. "Only one of your conditions was about escape. And I wouldn't have been punished for it. You said you'd kill my…"
Apollo trailed off. Worry wormed its way back into his chest.
Kristoph pressed a few fingers to his temple, cutting him off before he could ask.
"I've done nothing to the cat as of yet," the man stated. "Despite the fact that you continually forget its existence."
The jab was warranted, but it still stung. This whole ordeal was making Apollo realize how irresponsible he really was.
"You knew I'd be more willing to bet on my own safety, instead of hurting anyone else," he continued. Calico could wait—he was getting closer. "You set me up. You pushed and pushed and pushed me—"
"Never deliberately—"
"Yes, deliberately!" Apollo grasped his bracelet, noticing the man adjust his glasses for the fifth time. "It's what you do!"
"Fine. I concede." Kristoph waved a hand, dismissing Apollo's argument. "Although, I must admit…it was largely for my personal—"
"No."
Apollo's brow furrowed. Kristoph's lips pressed into a thin line.
"It wasn't working for you," Apollo said. "I broke down, and you didn't know what to do. You should've gone for it then, but you just…couldn't." He pushed away the blanket, rolling up his damp sleeves. "Then Klavier called. And you realized something."
He slipped off the armchair, swaying on his feet. Regaining his balance was hard, yet crucial.
"It was the best way to get me to lose it. Take away my only connection to everyone I cared about." Kristoph stood in place, undaunted by his dangerous tone. "You won."
Apollo gestured to the criminal's throat. The bruises stood out against the man's pale skin.
Kristoph's eyes flashed.
"Don't open this discussion, Justice," the murderer warned. Apollo took a few steps closer.
"You had the knife, Gavin. You were so close." He lowered his voice, pressing two gauze-laced fingers into Kristoph's chest. "What happened? I saw you drop it."
Kristoph grabbed his wrist, constricting it just enough for Apollo to feel a twinge of pain. "Considering you had kept me from breathing, I could not maintain my grasp."
"Don't lie."
Apollo scanned the creases in Kristoph's forehead, watching the man's expression morph into a troubled one.
"I should have died out in the storm," he said. "You brought me back."
Kristoph cast him a dark glare. "Regrettably, yes."
"I was never meant to survive this long, right?"
The murderer's grip slipped away. Apollo refused to pull back.
"You kept trying to convince yourself in all sorts of ways," Apollo said, stabbing further into Kristoph's ribs. "That I was still here for information, for torture, for bait…but you already had my phone for that, Kristoph, and you destroyed it!"
He pushed the man back, running a hand through his hair. Revulsion coiled within him at the very action.
"You shattered the one resource you had, just to get to me," Apollo breathed. He forced himself to calm down, suppressing his deep-seated loathing. "With that, you could've lured anyone here."
Kristoph looked down at him, growing solemn. "Instead, I kept you alive."
Apollo waited for the explanation as to why, but none came. The statement lingered, heavy in the air.
"This was supposed to be your sick way of gloating," Apollo accused. If Kristoph wasn't going to reveal anything, he might as well unravel the man's original plot. "If you murdered me first, you could throw it in Mr. Wright's face."
No reaction. Apollo expected as much, but irritation still chewed at his brain.
"You made a mistake."
Kristoph remained unfazed.
Apollo raised his voice. "What was the goddamn point? You can't let me go. And you smashed my phone! If you had it, you could've just left after the storm cleared, instead of waiting for Mr. Wright to come here and—"
The wind whistled. Apollo looked towards the window, noticing the flurrying flakes swirling in the squall.
For a second, his heart stopped.
"There's still a few days left," he said. His texts had read that the snow wasn't going to cease until Thursday.
The blizzard raged outside.
All his defiance dropped in an instant. His voice softened, nearly lost amidst the roar of the fireplace.
"What happens when the storm ends?"
Kristoph watched with him, staring into the night.
"I suppose one of us will be waiting for Wright."
