The next day, it rained.
Apollo remained sprawled on the armchair, watching the sunlight filter through the dense clouds. He blinked. His eyes, heavy from hours of insomnia, burned as if a moment's rest would render him blind.
Pathetic.
He didn't have the strength to deny it.
Muted rays streamed through his window, tinting the walls with gray. The wintery atmosphere was absorbing him. He lay buried in his blankets, ready to accept his tomb, when…a soft, almost imperceptible pitter-patter echoed through the room.
Rain.
He hated it.
The smell of damp ash was smothering. Apollo coughed, feeling his body ache at the slightest movement. It was a shame…he couldn't pinpoint the exact moment the fire had died out. All he recalled was staring into it endlessly, until a single blink brought him back to the empty ceiling.
Coming to terms with death had been harder than he'd thought.
Come on. Get up.
He couldn't. Everything hurt too much.
I'm wasting time.
Did it matter? That just sounded like his normal life.
The bedroom door creaked open. Quiet footsteps paced into the living room, circling through the area. Apollo closed his eyes, attempting to feign sleep.
"Justice."
The footsteps stopped. He refused to respond.
"You're awake."
Kristoph had always been sharp. Apollo looked up, his tired eyes meeting the murderer's tranquil stare.
"What do you want, Gavin?"
His tone wasn't hostile. Sure, his voice had been reduced to a croak, but…his words no longer held the bite of resentment. He'd become nothing more than an old dog, weak and awaiting his master's last command.
Just end it.
Kristoph didn't answer. The man simply turned away, walking towards the window and looking outside.
Apollo took a deep breath.
He still can't do it.
It was inevitable, of course. Once the snow began melting and the apartment reopened, Kristoph would have to act fast to prepare Apollo's body for Phoenix's arrival.
He'd be dead in just a few days.
What method would the murderer use, anyway? Stabbing? Suffocation? Poison, maybe? Apollo set a few fingers on his chin, thinking the options through. He wondered if he could just request his way to go…although, he doubted Kristoph would care about his wishes.
His limbs were getting stiff just thinking about it. He stretched and sat up, muscles straining from the sudden movement.
Maybe I should eat something.
With an immense amount of effort, Apollo slipped off the armchair and slunk into the kitchen.
Each step reminded him how drained he'd become. He wandered through the pantry, mind trapped in a haze of discomfort and apathy.
"But I'm not hungry," he muttered aloud. He didn't know why he wanted to hear his voice…or why he'd come here, actually. With so little time left, what was the point of making food anymore?
The rotting avocados glared at him.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled.
They weren't appeased.
Apollo looked away, unable to stomach the curls of nausea roiling in his gut when he looked at the pack. His gaze fell on the case of grape juice tucked away in the corner, still unopened.
He'd always wondered what that stuff tasted like.
"Here. Try some," Phoenix had urged once, handing him the entire carton. Apollo grabbed it out of instinct, but once it was in his grasp…held it as far away from his mouth as possible.
"Um, Mr. Wright," he started, attempting to be polite. Phoenix gave him an expectant nod. "I appreciate it, but…I'm not really thirsty, and besides, I can't just drink this straight out of the—"
"Of course you can, if you finish it," Phoenix interrupted.
Apollo blinked.
"Finish…half a jug of juice?"
Phoenix shrugged. Apollo balked.
"M-Mr. Wright, I can't possibly drink that much—!"
"Oh, Apollo, Apollo, Apollo." Phoenix tsked, shaking his head. The man snatched the carton away, a sly grin stretching across his face. "Nothing's impossible."
And that was the day Apollo watched Phoenix Wright, legendary defense attorney, chug half a gallon of grape juice.
He pulled a fresh carton out of the pantry, weighing it in his hand.
"Might as well."
The wine glasses were dusty, but he could still use them for this. Of course, the irony didn't escape him. Grape juice in a wine glass? Phoenix would be so proud.
Apollo poured some out for himself, watching the ripples spread through the purple liquid. This was truly a historic occasion.
He swished it around and took a sip. Far tangier than he imagined, but the sourness was almost…pleasant. Another sip. Just the right bite of acidity. He drank some more. Although it certainly had a strong taste, it had a wild snap of flavor and was refreshingly tart and oh my god he actually liked the grape juice.
If only Phoenix were here.
Thinking about it was just going to crush his soul even further. He looked away from the juice, his eyes drifting across the living room.
Kristoph hadn't moved.
An unbidden observation flitted into Apollo's mind.
He looks sad.
Without the lavender blazer, Kristoph's form seemed much thinner and gaunt than Apollo remembered. The glass embedded in the suit was probably why it was removed…but it was still a strange sight.
Apollo saw the grape juice carton on the counter. The extra wine glass stowed in the cabinet above him. Kristoph's unflinching stare.
He sighed.
Stockholm syndrome it is.
He finished his drink and poured out another glass, carrying it to the coffee table. He'd just leave it there, of course. Kristoph was smart enough to get the point—certainly smart enough to make his own decisions. Apollo wouldn't have to confront him at all. He could just dive back under the covers on the armchair, trying to pretend like he didn't exist again.
It would've been perfect.
Unfortunately, a spark of recklessness possessed Apollo's better judgement.
"Mr. Gavin."
The murderer turned towards him as he approached, eyes bright with suspicion. Apollo held out the wine glass.
"It's grape juice," he said.
Kristoph tilted his head, looking all the world like a rattlesnake presented with a mouse.
"Wright's favorite."
The observation sounded like an accusation. Apollo didn't budge.
"Weren't you ever curious about what it tasted like?"
Surprise sparked in the man's eyes. After a moment, delicate fingers grazed Apollo's gauze-laced ones and accepted the drink.
"Thank you, Justice."
Apollo watched as Kristoph took a sip. The man's face betrayed nothing of what he thought about it, but the fact that he didn't send it away spoke volumes.
It was a strange arrangement. Apollo knew he should have retreated as soon as Kristoph accepted his gesture, but found himself locked in place. The man was an enigma. Each new layer revealed more and more mysteries that Apollo hadn't dared exploring before.
But now, with the promise of death hanging over him…
I want to know.
"Would you like to talk?" Kristoph asked, gaze flicking towards him. Apollo jolted at the sudden prompt.
"Yeah, actually," Apollo admitted. The timing was too perfect. "How did you—"
"Your eyes. You kept following my mouth, as if waiting for something." Kristoph swirled the grape juice, treating it like a lavish wine. "I am nearly as observant as you."
"I know."
Tense silence filled the space between them. After a few more moments, Kristoph gave him a slight nod.
Go on.
"Your father…taught you, right?" Apollo continued, rubbing the back of his neck. The question had been hanging on the tip of his tongue, but he had been too apprehensive to ask earlier. "How to notice things."
"Trained is a better word," Kristoph corrected. The man traced the raindrops sliding down the window with a single, skeletal finger. "Still, he was an admirable man."
"What was it like?"
Kristoph halted in the middle of chasing a streak of rain, intrigued. "I believe I explained his methods before, Justice."
"Not the training. Your…family life." The clarification only seemed to make Kristoph more quizzical. Apollo attempted to backtrack, trying to avoid the man's scrutinizing eyes. "I mean, I know what families are like. I had one as a kid, you know, so—"
"No need to be ashamed," Kristoph interjected. The man tapped his fingers on the windowpane, blending into the pitter-patter of the rain. "It was quite unremarkable. My mother would care for us and serve supper every night. Klavier was quite young at the time, so I would often help her feed him." A breath. Kristoph's brow twitched. "As for my father…he avoided interacting with us."
"He didn't speak to you?" Apollo asked. He fiddled with his bandages, anxiety building in his system.
"Outside of work, rarely," Kristoph admitted. "As I mentioned, he was quite stern. He kept to himself."
Apollo noticed Kristoph's muscles tense up…but the man wasn't lying. He picked further and further at his hand, his nails digging into the gauze.
"Did you love him?"
"Yes. Very much so."
No hesitation. Kristoph drank the last of the grape juice, setting the glass aside.
Apollo sucked in a breath. He'd accidentally scratched so hard that he'd aggravated one of his wounds. "But you told me that story. Where he let that guy…where he let someone…"
"Nearly strangle me, yes," Kristoph finished calmly.
"So why?"
The man turned towards Apollo, hand outstretched and beckoning. Apollo gingerly placed his fingers in Kristoph's palm.
"I was a child, Justice." A shallow ache. Kristoph inspected the wrapping, fixing whatever Apollo had undone. "At the time, my father had taught me everything I knew."
Apollo froze. No…that wasn't right. Even if it was Kristoph he was talking to, he couldn't stand the fact that—"He…he was just using you!"
Kristoph's eyes flashed.
"Yes. He was."
Too far. Too far, Apollo thought, attempting to pull his hand away. Kristoph's grip snapped shut, holding him in place.
"Consider it one of my faults," the murderer said. "He was not affectionate, nor expressive, but I knew he had pride in me. Perhaps he truly believed I could survive anything."
Kristoph still hadn't let him go. Apollo didn't dare say another word.
"Do you think I'm weak for forgiving him, Justice? The man who almost watched me die?"
"N-No," Apollo stammered. Kristoph stared at him, waiting for more. "It's just…that sounds awful."
You should have been treated better, part of him wanted to say.
He couldn't bring himself to.
Kristoph hummed, releasing him at last. Apollo drew his hand back, cradling it close to his chest.
"Make no mistake, Justice. I understood my father, but I would never act like him."
The man's voice was steady. The words, spoken with genuine conviction. And yet…
Apollo doubted it.
How could a murderer be better than an absentee father? Kristoph had killed. No matter how cast aside the criminal had been as a child, he had sunken to the basest depths of human brutality. Neglect simply didn't compare.
Still…that's not what Kristoph had said, had he?
"It never mattered if you ended up better than him. As long as you never became him," Apollo concluded. He thought back, memories twisting under this new perspective. "That's why you were so kind to me."
Kristoph scoffed. "Kind? Hardly. Your injuries should speak to that."
"No, not now. Before." Apollo looked at Kristoph, matching the man's intense gaze. "When you hired me."
He'd hoped for something in response. Perhaps another scoff, a condescending comment…or even reluctant agreement.
What he didn't expect was for Kristoph to turn away entirely.
"You said I craved affection," Apollo pressed on. "You knew it. But you were always patient with me, and supportive, and…and…"
You never made me feel alone.
It all made sense now.
Apollo reached out and pulled the edge of Kristoph's sleeve, prompting the man to whip back towards him.
"Leave it," Kristoph ordered. Apollo didn't break away.
"You didn't start out cruel," he said. He gripped the criminal's cuff tighter, preventing the man from walking away. "You liked being nice to me."
Kristoph narrowed his eyes, his tone darkening. "Justice—"
"And you saved me more than once," Apollo interrupted. He noticed Kristoph's veins pop along the back of his hand. "You struggled to kill me, but you were always there to revive me."
"Enough—"
"It's because I'm just like you, right?"
Kristoph said nothing.
That was more than enough.
"I remind you of when you were a kid," Apollo explained. "You were scared of your father, weren't you? You never knew if he'd leave you for dead."
"That's…" Kristoph began. For a moment, the man seemed ready to say something more…but the moment slipped away, and only the quiet remained.
He's afraid.
Apollo knew what he had to do.
"Please, Mr. Gavin. Let me help you."
