Something sharp drove into his heart. The shock sank deep into his system, ripping him away from his thoughts. Instead he could see again, and the ceiling was white and his chest was too tight and he was alive…he was alive

He gasped. His eyes darted all around him, frantically searching for something familiar.

Beeping monitors. Thin sheets. Soft pillows on which he reclined, a rigid bed he'd never seen.

Am I…?

He looked down. His arms were stretched out before him, stiff and supinated. An IV was stuck in his skin, feeding an unfamiliar substance straight to his veins.

Oh, and there was Kristoph. Head buried from view. Golden hair spilling over the delicate tubes.

You.

Apollo jolted back, causing several machines to scrape along the floor. The man leaning on his bed woke with a start.

"…Justice?"

Piercing blue eyes met his. He felt sick.

"Mein Gott. You're really…you're…"

Tears welled up and slid down Klavier's face. Apollo paused. Had he ever seen Klavier cry? Maybe once, a while ago, right when Kristoph was—

"Kristoph," he breathed.

Dread flooded Apollo's conscience.

Did he survive?

Klavier seemed wounded by the name itself. Apollo watched him chew his lip and hesitate for a second.

"It's me," Klavier murmured. Shame warped his tone. "He…is not here."

The memories had never left—blurry as they were, each moment awake dredged them up from the depths of Apollo's mind. All he could think about was Kristoph, standing at the edge. Not quite smiling. Drained of life.

Satisfied.

The covers bunched up under his fists. Klavier held his gauze-laced hand.

"Just tell me what happened," Apollo said. His voice sounded hoarse. How long had it been, anyway?

A tense silence enveloped them both. It was clear that Klavier was too uneasy to go into the details.

Apollo sighed and turned over his palm, noting the bandages winding all the way up his arm. He followed them to his torso. A restrictive brace was fitted around his chest, providing an uncomfortable level of compression to the area.

"My injuries?" he asked, tentatively. It was probably best to avoid digging for more information, considering how distraught Klavier was from the few words he'd said.

"Ah…yes. Forgive me." Klavier swept the back of his hand over his face, wiping away traces of his tears. "I should call for the doctor…"

For some reason, the thought of seeing a physician made Apollo apprehensive. He'd already guessed that he was in a hospital, but talking to the staff would make the situation more…real, if that made any sense.

"No, that's fine. I know about my arm, but…what about this?"

Klavier flinched when he tapped the brace a few times. The man reached towards his wrist, then halted and shrunk back.

"Your ribs," Klavier said, "They're broken. Please don't do that."

That was a start. A painful start, but a start nonetheless. Apollo thanked the bag of fluid hanging over his head. No doubt it was filled with a cocktail of painkillers, each working to reduce mind-numbing agony into nothing but a dull ache.

All things considered, he'd gotten lucky. A fall like that…well…

It should've killed me.

The thought struck him like a flash of lightning, illuminating his real worries. Forget his miraculous recovery. He wanted to see Kristoph.

His breath caught in his throat. If he'd been the lucky one, then…

"Kristoph's dead, isn't he?"

Klavier shot to his feet. He looked away, gaze wrought with turmoil.

"You need Herr Wright."

Not him not him not him not him—

Apollo wrapped his fingers around Klavier's forearm. He wrenched the man closer to him, grip unforgiving. He wasn't doing this. Not now. They were all keeping things from him. Clever secrets, wretched secrets, villainizing secrets. Mr. Wright knew them all.

Still, he'd been left to suffer.

Primal anxiety spiked within him. His grip tightened.

"Don't you dare," he hissed. "I swear, Klavier, I'll…"

Fear shone in Klavier's eyes. Apollo felt his soul burn at the sight. He reached up and grasped his hair, trying to fight the instinct.

What's wrong with me?

"Herr Justice…" Klavier began. Apollo stopped him.

"Please. Not Mr. Wright."

"I understand, but—"

"I can't."

"You—"

"Can't. I'm telling you I can't, just fucking listen to me—"

Klavier shook his shoulders. The sudden movement made his side twinge.

"Herr Wright has been at your side day and night," Klavier said. He let go when Apollo winced, guilt written all over his face. "I'm sorry, but you must know. When the doctor said you would wake soon, he thought you might react this way." A brief moment of consideration. "He told me to stay here instead. To wait for you."

The pause was punctuated by Apollo's strained breathing. Now that the pain had returned, it wouldn't stop. He clutched his brace.

"Then…do I have to…meet…"

"It's your choice, Herr Justice. We will listen, regardless."

Apollo stared down at his shaking hands.

"Five minutes. I'll see him…in five minutes."

o-o-o-o-o

Unbeknownst to Apollo, he had lied. Once Klavier had left, he was forced to interact with the nurses and doctors that had ended up reviving him, which took far more time than he'd intended. Standard procedure. Questions and answers.

He couldn't bear it.

Someone smarter would've taken advantage of the medical staff's knowledge. Not him. It made him nervous, speaking to so many people when he was still disoriented. He found that he couldn't pay attention when the doctor listed his afflictions.

Honestly, he didn't care. He didn't want to exist.

The room emptied. The small window beside him gave him a glimpse of the outside world. Silver snowflakes flurried down, swirling in the wind. Aftermath of the storm? Most likely. They dissolved upon touching the ground.

"Hey, Apollo."

Cyan burned bright at the edge of his vision. Apollo's gaze flicked towards it, his muscles tensing in an instant.

"Mr. Wright."

Phoenix lingered at the entrance of the room, adjusting his blue beanie. The motion, once casual, exuded apprehension.

Nothing about this was easy to navigate. Apollo fell back into old habits, scanning Phoenix's face for tells. Dark circles lined the man's eyes. His skin was pallid, devoid of liveliness. Even his stubble had grown a considerable amount. It seemed that Klavier had been telling the truth—a single look at Mr. Wright revealed days of neglect.

"Maybe you should sit down," Apollo said. He gestured to the chair next to his bed. "You look…tired."

He'd expected to feel more. When Phoenix strode towards him, still cautious, he thought he'd be lost in a tempest of emotions. He was prepared to feel angry. Frustrated. Inconsolable, hurt, depressed. No such thing happened.

"You're finally awake," Phoenix said, sliding into the seat. A slight smirk that should have been infuriating graced his lips. "I knew you'd make it."

It was all so complicated, even when it wasn't. Apollo glanced away. There was still a part of himself that wanted to feel those things. Hell, he'd be justified to.

"Klavier said you haven't slept," he said instead.

Mr. Wright leaned back and stretched, closing his eyes for a moment.

"Yeah. Not sure how long it's been. That's okay, though." Without a second thought, Phoenix checked his outstretched arm, gently straightening the thin needle pricked into the underside of his elbow. "Be careful. It could bend if you move too much."

He wondered how many times Mr. Wright had done that. Even with the doctor's advice, he hadn't noticed it himself.

Phoenix's smile faded.

"Apollo, I—"

"Don't."

The interjection came as a surprise. Although Phoenix remained patient, Apollo could sense his shock.

"I know you want to talk," Apollo began, searching for the right words. He traced the pristine gauze, feeling inexplicably marred by the white cloth. "About whatever you did, the mistakes you made, but right now…tell me about Kristoph. I'm begging you."

Uncontrollable desperation. It was obvious, and Apollo made no attempt to hide it. He no longer wanted to piece together hints.

The grief would be worth it.

Mr. Wright took a deep breath.

"Gavin's alive."

The words looped obsessively in Apollo's mind. He clutched his bracelet, pressing it into his thin skin. The tension he forced was the only type he felt.

Phoenix's expression was solemn. No signs there, either.

Not a lie.

"Thank god," he whispered. He buried his face in his hands. "I really thought…"

"He's in worse shape than you are." Phoenix re-aligned Apollo's IV line, seeming more conflicted than reassured by the reaction. "I don't know if I should tell you this."

"Please."

At long last, the walls came down.

"He's in critical condition," Mr. Wright said. "When you fell off, he…broke your fall. Partially."

It took a moment for Apollo to understand, but when he did, his eyes widened. Not only had they crashed into solid concrete, but the weight of his body had also slammed into Kristoph.

And Kristoph was worse off than him.

His voice lowered. "Are you saying that I—"

"I'm not. I'm saying that even with the reduced impact, you almost…" Phoenix paused, his hand hovering over Apollo's shoulder. After a split second, he withdrew. "Look. Gavin hit the ground with full force and in a different position than you. He's barely with us."

No one else was blessed with Mr. Wright's incredible fortune. It'd be naïve to think that a smooth recovery was possible, and foolish to compare it to the burning bridge incident. Dropping headfirst from an apartment building didn't leave much when it came to avoiding damage.

Kristoph knew what he was doing.

"I tried to save him," he said. It was soft, but Phoenix heard him.

"I know."

"Not just like that. I meant…" He wavered. "Never mind."

The intensity of the experience overwhelmed him. Where could he begin? If he told someone else, it wouldn't connect for them.

Phoenix seemed worried. "Listen—"

"Leave it."

Both of them fell quiet. Apollo shifted, staring out at the ice.

Mr. Wright spoke first.

"Will you come back to the Agency?"

The Agency. He'd been gone for a week, but he could still see it clearly in his brain. Magic props strewn every which way. Bills piled up on the coffee table. A sad dichotomy.

"I won't quit," Apollo decided.

"That's not what I'm saying." Phoenix touched the edge of his fingers, scraping against the wound dressing. "Stay with us, Apollo. I know I told you before, but after this, you'll need lots of time to recover."

We came full circle.

He banished the cynical notion.

"I really missed Trucy," he admitted. It felt like eons had passed since he'd seen her—her fun, cheerful personality had become foreign to him. Although, based on what she knew, he'd be far more unrecognizable. "Have you told her?"

"No."

Apollo slid his hand down his face, exasperated. This was never going to end, was it? The cycle would keep repeating until they had all separated, torn apart by endless secrets.

"You're going to have to. She's probably guessed," he said. Truthfully, he didn't doubt it. Trucy's problem-solving skills were sharper than his at times—it'd be stupid to think that she hadn't come up with theories of her own. "Well, either way…she'll see me when I get back."

A spark of hope lit up Phoenix's gaze. "So you'll…?"

Apollo nodded, then stopped. Distress corrupted his rationality.

It's not that simple.

"I want to stay away from you," he stated. His reasons for going back were withering, and he chased after them. "I want to, but my apartment's a mess. I can't go back there again. And Klavier…he's devastated."

Mr. Wright cast him a strange look. "You know, if you'd feel better somewhere else…"

The implication, born of good intentions, only made Apollo more upset.

"Kristoph played me your voicemail, you know."

Phoenix froze.

"You heard that?" the man asked. Apollo's composure started to slip.

"Yeah, I did," he snapped. He knew this wasn't the right time, but he couldn't hold back. "You sounded like you trusted me. You made me believe…damn it." He slammed the side of the bed, hoping it'd release some of his resentment. It didn't. "How do you think I felt? Listening to you and getting accused? Everything hurts…everything…"

"I'm so sorry, Apollo."

Does that even mean anything anymore?

His breath caught in his throat. The words tasted bitter.

"That isn't enough." Apollo reined in his harsh temperament, feeling more like a leashed dog than a human being. "We're not in a good place, Mr. Wright. I'd like to know what made you do that, but just talking to you makes me feel…"

He trailed off again, losing his courage. If he could dive into the past…if he could give himself amnesia, or meet Mr. Wright for the first time…he'd choose any of those in a heartbeat.

This fight was ruining him.

"I'll tell you why," Phoenix said.

Apollo bit his lip. "I don't know if that'll change anything."

"That's okay."

Mr. Wright took off his beanie. The vibrant thread brought a touch of color to the muted atmosphere.

"I don't mind," the man continued. "You don't need to forgive me. I just want you to feel safe."

A tinge of melancholy seeped through. It ate at the back of Apollo's mind, making him feel miserable.

"I wish I did," he confessed.

"We'll work on it." With utmost care, Phoenix slipped the hat over Apollo's head. It still fit as snugly as before. "When you feel a little better, I'll explain my reasoning. Just…focus on healing for now, okay?"

It's warm.

Apollo pulled the beanie down further, covering his ears. His throat hurt. He choked on the sensation, resisting as much as he could.

Phoenix patted the top of his head. "You can cry if you need to, Apollo."

He shook his head.

"Not yet. It's not over."