If he's honest, Apollo isn't really feeling it, today.

Fortunately, that feeling has got nothing to do with whatever was festering in his lungs for the past month or so, which he'd know because he can at least breathe without it needing to make an actual effort doing so. It's more of a psychological thing: he isn't feeling easy because he's being an anxious mess again as he stands in front of the Wright Anything Agency.

It's supposed to be yet another day of work under Mr Wright's administration and alongside his daughter's magic tricks… but is it, really?

The last time he was there, he kind of fainted on them, only to get hospitalized as a result of a severe chest infection he had left fester for way too long. Sure, he may have helped on some cases here and there and to once and for all clean his boss's name of any smears from the Grammarye Murder Case (now nicknamed the Grammarye Suicide Case, with everyone insisting on the middle word, as he learnt on the news during his hospital stay), but what he did was kind of inexcusable and he had to take a whole two weeks off. Which Mr Wright passed off as paid time off.

All things considered, he shouldn't feel this way. He shouldn't feel like he's always been a burden to everyone ever and that the people who offer him their generosity are doing it out of pity or, even worse, moral obligation. His brain has been so poisoned by loneliness, betrayal and abandonment issues that he can't even trust other people's intent when he's a defence attorney as soon as it's outside of work. He's strangled his own neck and, while he's very much aware Mr Wright and Trucy are probably never going to hold being sick against him, no matter how stupidly self-negligent he's been.

At least he hopes so. They must be different people. Trucy seemed to understand what he went through so much, spoke the words like he'd have, yet unlike him, didn't close herself up because she saw someone needed to hear them. It probably wasn't even for her sake that she did this, and what is his reaction to having to face this after spending an entire week quarantined in his flat with Clay as his only physical contact with the rest of society? He stresses out. Typical Justice stuff here, isn't it? (He really needs to get his shit together).

He can't let this prevent him from going to work, though, especially after what happened and what his employer did for him. As such, he takes a deep breath, feeling the pressure of his binder against his chest (a feeling which, to be fair, is a little foreign to him; he was so used to wearing it every single working day that stopping to wear for a couple weeks just broke through it), and enters the agency.

As soon as he gets in and closes the door behind him (a habit, really, even if today it feels like definitely giving up on possibly escaping, what a weird impression to have), his usual inability to predict the Wrights' reactions to their surroundings and acquaintances comes back with a vengeance, especially since he hasn't seen them in a while. He supposes it isn't so bad, on second thought: it gives to his life a spice it's craved, a spice whose existence and need he denied for quite some time until his half-sister was crying next to his bed and his boss was watching like a father hawk over its young.

They're both smiling and – he's about ninety-nine percent sure of this – they were waiting for him to arrive. Mr Wright is standing near the desk where a plate of (admittedly tasty-looking) sugar cookies are patiently sitting while Trucy is right in front of the door, smiling brightly with her hat dangerously tipping to the side. In her hands are what he can easily recognize as a confetti popper which, of course, she immediately uses as soon as she can.

In a cynical move from his brain, he hopes he won't have to clean up the confetti that didn't end up on his clothes or in his hair. That he can take care of all by himself, but this isn't his office and this clearly wasn't his idea. (Who is he trying to fool here? The heat getting to his face isn't due to anger or even mild upset).

"Welcome back, Polly!" She then yells with an enthusiasm unlike any other, letting go of the popper and jumping off her feet to give him a hug.

He almost falls backwards, but fortunately, the wall supports him before he can do that.

"G-good morning, Trucy, Mr Wright," he replies with a gulp resulting from his earlier surprise.

(He doesn't push Trucy away from him, no matter how much physical contact usually makes him uncomfortable. Her embrace is warm and strong yet has a tenderness to it he clearly isn't used to, considering Clay and he are very much non-contact friends. It feels too nice to let go of her, so instead, he does something he's never had the habit to do and hugs her back).

"Good morning to you too, Apollo," his boss adds with a chuckle. "You're feeling good enough to go back to work."

"Of course."

Trucy lets go of him so they can both leave the entrance area of the agency.

"You look much better than you did when we last saw you, that's for sure! You're not too tired or anything?"

"I'm feeling just fine, sir! I hope I didn't cause too much trouble when I was away."

Mr Wright shakes his head with a smirk.

"No, not at all. In fact, things have been fairly calm around here. Trucy helped me on the few cases we worked on while you were away."

"That's good, then." An apology he's had in mind ever since waking up this morning is dancing around his tongue, but he swallows it back because it just doesn't sound like the time to say it. There are more urgent matters and he'd never step over their boundaries for the sake of something he probably shouldn't be saying considering how many times Trucy told him he didn't have to apologize for existing (or something along those lines).

"Daddy wanted you to have a nice first day back at work, so today you can work on a simpler case! It was given to us yesterday and we both thought it fitted you best out of everyone here."

"Really?" Her smile is so genuine and, for the first time in a while, he can't bring himself to be sarcastic with her. He's grown to enjoy her company so much that, frankly, he doesn't even want to bother maintaining the snarky façade and deadpan wit.

"Yeah! But first, we made you a little something! Have you eaten breakfast yet, Polly?"

"Of course I have. It's better when you go to work by bike."

Trucy looks aside for a second, then at the plate behind her, then back at him.

"…would you mind eating a cookie, then?"

He chuckles, "no."

Smiling brightly, Trucy turns around to take the tray in her hands before putting it right in front of him. He picks one, telling himself it's fine if he eats just one or two, it'll make her happy and that's something he'd very much like to see, and she puts it back down once he has chosen which one. They're all pretty much identic aside from the various, slight variation in shapes and dose of frosting they have, but he can at least tell she's put a lot of effort into them. Mr Wright must have helped her bake them.

"How do they taste?" She asks, excitedly, her hands into fists raised towards the ceiling.

"They're not bad at all."

Trucy twirls around to face her father.

"See, Daddy, I told you he'd like them!"

"You really know your brother, do you, Truce?"

"Of course I do! He's my brother!"

Hearing Trucy refers to him as her brother is still… weird. The information has had some time to settle in and – he knows it – he's taken it much better than he'd have would have he learnt it a year ago or so, but it still doesn't make it easier to fully comprehend. It was dropped on him at a time where he was fighting against both his own mind and his own body – the information never fully registered until now, a time where he is fully healthy and hearing Trucy say it.

He's her brother. He's always been and he had never known it until Mr Wright revealed it to them, out of the blue. He can't remember why he decided to do so, but considering in what shape he must have been not to remember why, he most likely doesn't want to know why it happened or why on that very moment. It's all in the past anyway – or something like that. He's never been good at getting over his mistakes.

Trucy must have noticed him freezing him up all of a sudden, considering she's tucking on his sleeve. Before he knows it, however, she's dragged him somewhere else and Mr Wright is nowhere to go: that's right, he must have something to do outside the office, most likely meeting with a client or checking things in the Federal Court's archives. Nothing weird here, albeit her grip on his shirt is a little too insistent for his taste.

"Actually, Daddy still thinks it's a little too early for you to be back to work, so he wanted me to make you take it easy… and I intend on fulfilling that role! Here, sit down! I specifically cleared out the couch for this purpose!"

Well, may as well obey her. He's the first one to know Trucy can be as stubborn as her father when she wants to. Not that he's any better himself, but… Oh, forget it. He's obeying out of his own free will and because he's already out of breath. He did come to work by commute for once, that must mean something, considering he never does that and wore a mask by precaution.

Even trying to go back to work sounds out of the ordinary. Life truly has changed since the incident two weeks ago and, to be fair, he doesn't mind it as much as he should be, considering how much he hates change. Finding out his workmate and boss's daughter was his long-lost sibling from a parent he had never known didn't even faze him all that much, on second thought. Maybe he had, deep down, known all along?

Yeah, sure, as if. There was no way he could have ever been clued on without it being spelt right to his face.

"So, you're trying to tell me Mr Wright doesn't want me to do anything?"

Trucy seems pensive, "well, not really. He said he wanted you to take it easy, so I guess you could always fill out some papers or go through some of his records? I usually don't get this stuff so I can't do it, but I'm sure you can!"

"I mean, why not, God knows how much the files in this office need to be checked and rearranged… I just hope there's not too much dust on them."

"Don't worry! I dusted everything off while you were on leave! I knew it'd come to this!"

She sounds so very excited for someone who must have slogged through hours of dusting things off. Cleaning up this office is one of the most boring things possible for a teenager her age. Why does she sound so motivated about this? He'd have been bored beyond his mind if he was in her shoes. Hell, he knows he'd be, considering he's tried doing this before cases started to pile up a little at the agency.

May as well pop the question to her, he supposes. She's never shied away from answering whatever rude remark he had in mind; why would she do so now? Well, to be fair, so much has changed in so little time that this could very well happen. After all, she's been nothing but kind to him despite how much of an asshole he's been to her father and her with, as his sole excuse, "has abandonment issues". Keeping your private and professional lives apart has never included being gratuitously disagreeable with your workmates, has it?

"You sound awfully happy about cleaning, Trucy."

Her happy expression loses in strength as she plops down next to him on the couch.

"I… was lonely, when you weren't around, Polly. The Agency just isn't the same without you. So, to keep myself busy, I just cleaned and cleaned… I thought it'd make it easier for you since your lungs got all weak."

"I think I can survive a bit of dust, you know," he replies with a little smile, or at least, he's trying to do so, "though I still appreciate the attention. Thank you, Trucy."

She gets some of her smile back, but he can tell something else is bothering her. Knowing her and considering there's only the two of them in an office and that, most likely, neither of them really wants to dig into Mr Wright's old, originally covered with dust files, she's bound to ask it away.

In that regard, she's much braver than he's ever been.

However, the answer to his question comes much sooner than he expects it to do, in a small voice he's only heard Trucy speak in after the incident happened. It feels like he broke a part of her while never meaning to do such a thing.

"…you must have felt lonely, all alone in your flat like that, Polly."

"Well, I wasn't really alone, at least, not for the entire day. Clay would drop by every day or so to make sure I was alive and not trying to get to work and all. He'd also drop me some groceries, which reminds me, I should pay him back next time he drop by my place."

"I'm relieved to hear that, Polly! I was afraid you had nobody to check up on you like you seemed to have never had until not so long ago… I thought about checking up on you too, but Daddy told me you'd probably want to cut ties with work for a little while."

He takes some time to think of an answer, leaving the room to fill with heavy, empty and silent air. Better now than ever to admit it to her…

"I guess it isn't entirely about work anymore, when it comes to you."

Trucy's expression changes into a feeling whose nature he isn't entirely certain of. If he was to describe it, he'd say she's stuck between relief, surprise and confusion, considering the half-smile, wide eyes and risen eyebrows. Even her demeanour has tensed up.

"You… You really think so, Polly?"

Oh God, even her voice sounds strangled and hesitant. What did he say? Was it wrong? He should've known she'd end being like everyone else and think he's an inconvenience. Maybe she just wants them to be workmates and not have anything to do together as any sort of family. Honestly, he'd understand, she just needs to say it out loud and he'll give up on it, leave her alone –

Her arms wrap themselves around his torso and, before he can register the information, she's snuggling against him, her hair brushing against the fabric of his clothing. She doesn't say anything, even if he can hear her breathing and what seems to be a sniffle. In return, he doesn't have a single clue as to what he should be telling her, even if, at least, this means something: what he said wasn't the wrong words.

Hesitantly, he hugs back, putting his arms on her shoulders. He doesn't care if the strength of her embrace chokes him a little by how much pressure is getting imposed on his still recovering chest: the feeling this hug means is too much for him to let go off. No matter how much he's tried to deny it, he was craving for it, craving for someone to understand what he had gone through just as much as she did, craving for the one person who'd know what it felt like to constantly fear abandonment and loneliness.

Trucy eventually lets go of him, her face one again visible. The gaze she gives him is soft yet oddly bright, so he fears she may be crying soon. Before he can even make a remark about it, however, she brushes any potential tears with her forearm so she can look at him again.

"Did… Did I connect with you, Polly?"

There's desperation in her tone and pose, with her shoulders still risen, but her expression is gentle, in a way. She's hopeful, he'd guess. Hopeful to hear the answer she's wanted to hear for so long, the answer he'd have never even thought of giving until that happened.

So he sighs to recover his breath, and at long last, admits everything to the world and, mostly, to himself, as he shuts the door to his own insecurities for the first time since Clay came into his life like the shooting star his lonely self had searched for up until then.

"You did, like nobody had ever done in my life."

Trucy's shoulders slump back into their normal position as her face shows another shade of surprise. Then comes a smile, one which gets brighter and brighter, and her eyes start to smile too, as little sense as it may make even inside his own mind (how can eyes smile? He may not know how to describe it or why he thinks of it that way, but he's definitely certain Trucy's are smiling right about now).

She remains silent, however, as she goes back to sit next to him rather than in the very awkward orientation they were in before. Her gaze, on the other hand, doesn't change a little: it's still full of emotion, softness and a feeling he can't quite get because he's never been that great of a people reader – relief, perhaps? She does look and sound like a great burden has been lifted off her shoulders by the simple power of a few words from him, words that don't even fully describe how he's feeling about it all because he's still coming to terms with everything that has changed and shifted in only fourteen days.

"I think I just… tried to run away from myself, if that makes sense. I didn't want to admit I actually felt comfortable in this agency because I keep wondering when Mr Wright and you would get tired of me and discard me like so many people seem to have. I believed Clay was the only exception to that rule, but clearly, there is no rule of that sort. I guess I just got unlucky and it warped my mind in a way I'm glad it didn't yours. Still, the way you'd tell me about it, the way you'd insist despite how much of a defeatist I am… I guess it resonated with me in a weird way. It reminded me people in this world like Clay can relate to me."

He takes a deep breath again. Goddamned lungs and their needed recovery time.

"You showed me I mattered, Trucy. And, honestly, I couldn't be more grateful for it, but I suck at speaking my mind out, and…" He scratches the back of his head. "Goddamn it, I don't know how people can be so open… I suck at this."

She chuckles.

"That's just so like you, Polly!"

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

He pretends to be offended when, really, being emotionally constipated towards others is at least part of his personality. That tends to happen when you're kept the floodgates closed for so long that you can't even remember when you even did so.

"You're always brutally honest, but when you need to talk about yourself, you get all flustered! Sometimes it's really funny and other times it's worrying me, but I won't change you, Polly. You'll just have to work on it!"

Coming from someone who hid a lot of her feelings during this whole debacle, it sounds almost hypocritical… but she's right and, most likely, coming from a place of experience.

"Yeah, I s'ppose you're right in that regard." He coughs into the crook of his elbow and breathes deeply again to recover some more breath. Goddamned lungs and their unnecessarily long recovery time (though to be honest the binder can't be helping). "Sorry, my throat's acting up…"

When he rises his eyes away from his arm, he sees her frowning with her arms crossed.

"Like I believe you! What did we say, Polly? You need to be more honest about how you feel, especially if it means you have trouble breathing!"

He chuckles in response.

"You've got me there… I didn't think I'd have the wind kicked out of my chest for so long. It's annoying if you ask me."

"Seems so… so let's take it easy for today! We could always chat or play video games or something. Daddy recently got me a new game, so we could play that!"

"Sounds good to me."

"I'll bring it – oh, and the cookies! – to you, so don't move from here, okay? I'll be right back!"

On that, she sprints to what he'd assume to be her room on the flat upstairs. In the meantime, he can lie back and take a breather, finally unburdening his heart from so many chains that he had locked tight around it for so many years. Sure, the scars will remain, and they'll most likely poison the well's waters again with the tainted blood and brackish tears he's cried over the people who've left him behind; but now is not the time to think about these people. Now is the time for relief and, well, human warmth.

It'll take some time to change his habits to trust people without resorting to a professional façade fuelled with past trauma and bad experiences, but hey, he believes it can happen, if there are people like Trucy and, in the same extent, Mr Wright, to have the patience to deal with him and not abandon him the very moment he shows a considerable imperfection or emotional vulnerability.

Ah, Trucy's already back. Better pack the dark thoughts away and profit from the moment. God knows how much he needs to do that more often than he's ever done when not trapped in a situation of survival.