Prompt: Inspired by a few prompts above.

This probably goes against canon in some way but his eyes appear quite different from the rest of his family's and resemble those of a blind person. OP actually thought Nahyuta was blind before playing the game given how his eyes look very different from any other character in the series and the lack of eye whites present in his eyes.

Explanation aside, OP here would love a fill exploring Nahyuta's life as a blind person and how it perhaps caused him to be treated differently in the work force or using meditation and religion to manage and accept his blindness. Anything with a Blind!Nahyuta is good in my books!

Colors

Nahyuta can't pinpoint when he first realized he was different, when he noticed that other people seemed to have some vital information he was missing, or when he figured out that the world wasn't just darkness for everyone else. It takes time before he can tell between places or directions — mostly, Father or Mother turned him around before he collided with anything, and now he feels his way around with his hands. He has to remember where things are, and the others keep things in the same place to help, so there's a certain clarity to the day they moved.

There was heat and smoke, then cool night air, and when they were indoors again, everything was… wrong. The place smelled different —not like Mother and Father— and everything was in the wrong shape and place. He hated it, but then Father explained why they were here and why he couldn't hear or smell Mother anymore, and suddenly, none of that mattered. Mother was gone — there were bigger things wrong than the shape, place and smell of things.

In the midst of his grief, Father set a small bundle beside him on the bed. It didn't smell very nice, and it was making the worst din with its loud, gross crying.

"This is Apollo," Father said, guiding Nahyuta's hands to the baby's face. "He lost his mother and father the same night we lost your mother. Do you think, maybe, he can stay with us for a little while?"

Surprisingly, when Nahyuta's fingers reached damp, chubby cheeks, Apollo quieted down to mere sniffles.

"Har-har-har! I think he likes you, Nahyuta. He's smiling now. He hasn't stopped crying since I found him."

Smiling… Nahyuta still doesn't know what that means, other than it's something people do when they're happy, but then tiny hands grabbed his own, and "Pollo! Pollo!" the infant shouted with sudden excitement.

(Oh. Um…) He guided the hands gripping his own slowly to his face and said, "Nahyuta."

With a gurgle, the baby tried, "Uh-yu-tuh?"

"No, no. Nahyuta," he repeats more slowly.

"Uh, Yuty!" Apollo exclaimed with a giggle, oddly triumphant despite how far off he was, and took Nahyuta's fingers into his mouth.

Nahyuta opened his mouth to protest, then realized it was futile. Torn between warmth and resignation, he sighed — yes; yes, of course Apollo could stay.

"Nahyuta, what's it like?"

Apollo has since learned to say his name properly, but it's too late — the nickname stuck, and Datz will never call him anything else. Apollo still uses it sometimes, too — Nahyuta doesn't hate it.

"What is what like?"

They're side by side in bed, arms just touching, and Apollo will probably never learn to whisper. In a way, the loudness is helpful — the sound of Apollo's voice tells him about the place they're in, whether it's inside or outside, big or small, cluttered or empty, what kind of surfaces are around.

"You know… not seeing?"

"Oh. Hmm…"

He used to think that maybe seeing was an adult thing, that he'd grow up and be able to see like Father and Datz, but it soon became clear that Apollo could see — Father uses words like "look" and "watch" with Apollo, words he's always careful not to use with Nahyuta.

Apollo learns things differently, too — Nahyuta learned numbers by counting sounds, but Apollo didn't need sounds to count. He also doesn't need to touch things to know their size, shape and place, and he always had different ways of describing the things around them, words that Nahyuta needed explained.

Sometimes, he's envious, jealous — he wants to know what everything and everyone looks like, too, and he wonders if maybe Father likes Apollo better. Apollo even wants to be a defense attorney, just like Father. Besides, he couldn't really help Father take care of Apollo before, and now it often feels like Apollo is helping to take care of him.

Sometimes, he's afraid they secretly think he's a useless burden that would be easier to live without.

But Apollo leads Nahyuta to places, puts new things in his hands to discover and describes the things he can't touch. After he learned to read, he always read aloud, so Nahyuta could enjoy the book, too. And just today, when they visited the town, Apollo pulled some kind of prank on the people that caused a massive commotion because he was angry that they kept whispering things like "cursed child" and "divine retribution" about Nahyuta. Of course, Nahyuta told him it was a bad thing to do, but Apollo only stubbornly declared, "Well, those… those pohlkunkan need to learn that they can't be mean to you. Justice is on your side."

He doesn't know why Apollo sticks with him when he could play with all the normal, seeing kids in town, why Apollo always brings him along when it would be better not to be associated with the Sahdmadhis, but it's… sweet. He hopes Apollo will always be this way.

"You know how you talk about switching the lights on or off?" he asks after some thought.

"Mmhm?"

"Well, for me, the only thing that happens is the sound of the switch being flipped."

"Oh." Apollo falls silent, like he only does when he's thinking hard. "Then that means… the only color you know is black?"

Color… Colors… another thing Nahyuta doesn't understand.

"I suppose so."

"Nahyuta, can you feel the sun?"

They're outside (Apollo's voice doesn't echo), and Apollo is leading him somewhere by the hand. Beneath his feet, the ground is soft, and it rustles as he walks. The breeze smells fresh and sweet as it tousles his hair, and he can hear the sound of running water gradually becoming louder.

"You mean the warmth from above?"

"Yeah. It gives us light, too, and it looks yellow now."

"Yellow," he repeats as they stop.

"And when it's out, the sky is blue. Later though, when it starts to set, the sun will be orange."

Blue… like Father — Apollo says he's always wearing blue. And orange like the citrus scent and tang of the fruit.

Apollo has been trying to teach Nahyuta colors, but Nahyuta has no frame of reference, so they've been looking for tangible things to associate the colors with. So red is like strawberries and peppers, white is like clean laundry, gold is like the bracelet on Apollo's wrist, and so on.

"When the sun is orange, the sky is purple, and it's pretty like your hair."

"Purple?" The last thing Apollo said was purple was… "Like an eggplant?"

"No, no, lighter, more like… more like taro."

"Oh." He frowns —colors are complicated, with so many shades of each one— and thinks of taro — it's quite tasty when cooked, but…

"Aha! Wait a sec, I think I've found just the thing!"

He hears the sound of running, feels footsteps reverberate in the ground beneath his feet. Then there's rustling, something snaps, and Apollo is running back to him.

"Here." He places something light and soft in Nahyuta's hand, then combs his fingers through Nahyuta's hair, tucking some errant strands behind his ear. "The color of your hair is just like this flower, the prettiest purple in aaall the world."

Nahyuta lifts it to his nose —it smells lovely, a diffuse sweetness with a sharp, herby complexity— and commits the scent to memory — he likes the idea.

"Oh, and— N— Watch out!"

He took a step, but the ground wasn't where he thought it was, so he misplaced his foot, and now he's falling.

"Ack!"

There's a thud as Apollo hits the ground heavily and a second one as Nahyuta lands atop him.

"Ngh!"

"Ow-ow-ow…"

Nahyuta quickly gets onto his knees to shift his weight off. "Apollo, are you okay?"

"Yeah… I think."

"How did you fall?"

"Oh, uh…" He hears Apollo scratch his head — he does that when he's nervous or sheepish. "I overbalanced when I tried to catch you."

Catching a fall or being overprotective feels like his job —he's a year older, after all— but because of this flaw…

Apollo's fingers are gentle when they pry his fingers out of the fist they've curled into. "The grass we were walking on is green." He folds Nahyuta's fingers around several thin, flat dewy blades, and that must have been the rustling as they walked. "Your eyes are green, too," he continues, fingertips brushing Nahyuta's temple as they sweep some hair out of his face, and his frustration melts away. "But different. Shining. The prettiest green in the whooole wide world."

"You're just saying that."

"No, it's true. And your cheeks are turning pink." Apollo giggles, poking them.

Well, they're certainly very warm now. "And what about your hair and eyes?" he changes the subject.

"Brown," Apollo answers immediately. "Like chocolate!" He feeds Nahyuta a piece, and it's sweet, rich and creamy.

"Then it must be the loveliest brown in the world," he reasons, leaning towards Apollo, and the other shifts closer to wrap an arm around him.

"I hope so. I don't think I'm as pretty as you, though."

"Why do you keep saying that?" He knows the meaning of the word, but can't picture what makes someone pretty.

"What, that you're pretty? Because it's true. Dhurke says so, too. He says you look juuust like your mother, and she was reeeaaally beautiful."

Mother… he can no longer remember her scent or her voice, but it must be worse for Apollo, for whom "parents" are little more than a bracelet he can't remove.

"So what's your favorite color?" he asks as they lean into each other's sides.

"Red," Apollo answers without hesitation. "Like the shirt I'm wearing now."

Red… "So you're like a red pepper?"

"H—huh? Why a pepper? Why not a tomato or curry or— or… Why not a strawberry?"

"Because a pepper is spicy." Nahyuta giggles. "Like you are loud."

"H—hey!"

But he only laughs along as the breeze picks up again.

"Can you see the breeze, Apollo?"

"No. I mean, you can see what it does… like blow the leaves of trees and stuff, but the air itself is clear, so you can't s— Oh, but water and glass are clear, too, but you can see them, so I guess… ugh, I wish I could explain it better."

"No." Nahyuta rests his hand on the other's knee. "Thank you for trying so hard for me." Sometimes, he's afraid Apollo will tire of him and find someone easier to be with. Maybe it's only a matter of time. Still, he asks, "What about the peach?" Apollo brought him a new fruit yesterday, and it was delicious, his new favorite.

"That's kinda like… halfway between pink and orange, but softer."

That sounds nice, and he smiles. He's learned the names for certain movements of facial muscles now, but he still doesn't know what they "look" like.

"Are you smiling, Apollo?"

"I'm always smiling when I'm with you, Yuty," comes the reply, quick and unthinking. "You make me happy."

The words make warmth blossom in his chest, and he reaches for Apollo's face, traces the upward curve of his lips and the contours of his features with his fingertips — Apollo's face changes a bit every few months, so he keeps relearning it.

Warm hands come up to cover his own, then Apollo's lips are touching the insides of his wrists. Father calls that a kiss, a sign of affection, and places one on his forehead sometimes, so he leans forward to place one on Apollo's cheek before resting his head on Apollo's shoulder.

"Then I hope I'll always make you happy."

"But—but— But what about Nahyuta?!"

"Nahyuta isn't an American citizen. He can't go with you."

Nahyuta sits in silence, knees folded and arms wrapped around himself, as Father and Apollo fight over Apollo being sent back to the United States. Father has learned that Mother isn't dead, only held prisoner, so he intends to rescue her, but that means they'll be pursued, and it won't be safe.

"But Nahyuta c— I don't want to leave him!"

(Can't see? Can't live alone?) The latter is untrue —he's learned to do many things by himself, even cook simple dishes and walk down the mountain path to town with a staff— but he remains silent — he doesn't want Apollo to leave either.

"Look, it's for your own safety—"

"Well, if it's not safe for me, then it's not safe for Nahyuta either!"

"B—"

"Then I'll go to the temple," he interjects, tired. "The clergy will shelter anyone who wants to devote themselves to the Holy Mother's teachings." (Even sons of alleged criminals.)

There's a pause, then—

"You heard the boy."

"ARRGH! I HATE YOU!"

Nahyuta doesn't know whether that was directed at him or Father, but he cringes, flinches again as the bedroom door slams shut.

Father comes over and squeezes his shoulder. "Thank you for understanding, son. You've always been a great kid."

He hums numbly.

"Apollo will— He'll come around."

"No." Father doesn't understand Apollo like he does. "But he will accept his powerlessness eventually."

"R—right. And uh… I guess… The temple would be good. Your mother is a Grand Priestess, you know? She'd be mad I never properly taught you the Scriptures."

"Mm."

"I'm uh… going to make dinner. Is there anything specific you want?"

Well, peaches aren't in season right now, but "Your yak and cheese curry is Apollo's favorite." And soon, he won't get to eat it anymore.

"I a—" Father sighs. "Yak and cheese curry it is then."

With another pat on the shoulder, Father heads to the kitchen, and Nahyuta quietly feels his way to the bedroom he shares with Apollo.

As soon as he opens the door, Apollo yells, "GO AWAY!" wetly — he's crying; of course he is.

"Apollo, it's—"

"I SAID, GO AWAY!"

He winces —something hits the door, probably a pillow from the sound— and shuts the door again. There's a tightness in his chest and behind his nose that he hasn't felt in a long time, and he's glad Father is too busy in the kitchen to see him cry. He goes to sit by the open window, finding it by the breeze — fresh air, he needs fresh air. He wipes his face with his sleeve — Apollo is mad at him, too, then. And he knows Apollo has to go —maybe it'll be good for him, too, to be with normal people instead of spending all his time with Nahyuta— but he can't bear the thought that things will end like this.

He doesn't know how much time passes — Apollo would refer to the position of the sun, the color of the sky or the amount of light, but in the endless darkness that is his world, it's hard to have a concept of time. Eventually, though, Father announces that dinner is ready, and that he's heading out to take care of some important business, but they should eat while it's hot instead of waiting for him. He only hums noncommittally as Father hurries out the front door.

Now that the sounds of cooking have ceased and Father's footsteps have faded out of hearing, the house is silent, empty, like it will be when Apollo is gone, and that's why he has to leave, too — the thought of living here without Apollo is simply unbearable. For too long, the warmth of Apollo's hands and the sound of Apollo's voice have been his surest proof that he's not alone in his cold, empty world. Like the light Apollo keeps talking about, Apollo's presence made the darkness livable. But he's always known that he can't live like this forever, that someday, he'll have to let Apollo go. Now that he has a date for that someday, though…

Behind him, the bedroom door creaks open, and he surreptitiously wipes his face again — he needs to behave like the older one here for a change and be strong.

"The sky is grey," Apollo remarks with a sniffle. "It's probably going to rain."

Grey, huh… It's true — he can smell the water on the breeze.

When he doesn't answer, Apollo comes over to wrap his arms around Nahyuta from behind. "I'm sorry, Yuty. I'm sorry for earlier. I didn't mean to—"

"Yes, you did," Nahyuta interjects softly. "You were upset with me, weren't you?"

"W—well, yes. I mean, why didn't you put up a fight? Don't you want us to stay together?"

(Yes. Yes, more than anything, but…) "You wish for me to ask my father not to rescue my mother from captivity?" And he knows that's not fair — that's not what Apollo meant at all, but that would be the only way to stay as they are.

"What? No! Of course not! I—" He stops, then slumps into Nahyuta. "No. You're right. I'm sorry. And if it were you imprisoned, I wouldn't listen anyway."

Nahyuta isn't sure whether Apollo meant to compare their relationship to the one between Mother and Father, but he doesn't mind. Leaning back into Apollo, he says, "I asked Father to make yak and cheese curry."

"Don't," Apollo mumbles into his hair. "You're acting like I'm leaving tomorrow."

He covers the hands over his middle with his own. "No, not tomorrow. But please understand. You have to go."

Apollo nuzzles his shoulder. "No, no, I don't. I can go to the temple with you."

Nahyuta laughs through his tears. "You can barely sit still for five minutes, Apollo. All that silent meditation will be the death of you."

"I'll learn," the other insists stubbornly, and Nahyuta feels like his heart might burst. "Justice will prevail."

"Well, Father said it's only for a little while. Don't you want to know what your parents' country is like?"

"Not without you to share it with."

(You say that now,) but Apollo is a wonderful person. If he weren't always with the national pariahs, he'd have a million friends. He'll find someone to share his life with, someone better, normal. "Then you must go."

"N—"

"Apollo…" Nahyuta laces their fingers. "Listen. I don't even know what this house or this mountain looks like. Without you to describe everything to me, the entire world would be little more than empty space and obstacles of different sizes and shapes, regardless of whether I'm in America or Khura'in. For you, there is so much out there to see. For me, it is enough for you to go and return to tell me all about it."

"But there are different sounds and smells and tastes, too," Apollo argues — that's something they all have in common: Apollo, Nahyuta, Father, Datz, none of them give up easily.

"Of course, and maybe someday I'll get to experience those with you. But you won't be a very good guide if you're going for the first time, too, would you?"

"I—I guess not."

Suddenly, a gust of wind blows a sprinkle of water into his face, and he hears raindrops begin to patter on the roof. Apollo lets him go and stands to close the window, then he's back with a piece of cloth, maybe a handkerchief, and dabbing at Nahyuta's face to dry it.

He'll miss Apollo. Every moment that they're apart, no matter how brief. And Apollo will go now — he's made sure of that.

So he covers Apollo's hand with his own, presses it to his cheek and leans into the touch, draws a shuddering breath as he memorises the indentations of Apollo's palm and the thrum of his pulse.

And suddenly, their lips are touching — a kiss, but different somehow. They've never kissed each other's lips before.

"I saw people do this in town the other day," Apollo explains when they part. "It looked nice. They seemed happy."

"Yes." There's an intimacy to it, like a secret only they share. "I like it very much."

"Good," he murmurs, twining his fingers in Nahyuta's hair. "I'm glad."

He sits down and does it again, and Nahyuta embraces him, guides Apollo's head to rest on his shoulder when it's over. With his cheek pressed to Apollo's high brow, he rocks them back and forth, inhaling deeply to engrave the scent of the other boy into his memory.

"I'll miss you," Apollo says sadly, playing with Nahyuta's hair. "You never needed any explanations to understand me."

"What can I say, you're a simple red pepper," he teases with a chuckle, pinching Apollo's cheek lightly.

"Well, Dhurke couldn't," Apollo huffs, and he laughs — even since Apollo was a baby, whenever he cried, it was usually Nahyuta who correctly interpreted the reason. "And who's going to fuss over me when I'm sick, or carry me home when I can't walk?"

"Someone you won't have to guide home," he replies drily.

That one time Apollo sprained his ankle, he'd had to give Nahyuta step-by-step directions back to their room, and of course Nahyuta does his best to care for Apollo whenever the boy is sick, but that's hardly one-sided. Whenever Nahyuta fell ill, Father worried like any parent would, naturally —got the doctor and medicine and whatever else he needed— but Apollo acted like Nahyuta was going to die.

"Well, I don't want anyone else," Apollo retorts petulantly. "I want you."

"Heh. When the time comes, you'll accept any help you can get. And you will have help. I'm sure of it."

"You… You'll be okay?" Apollo asks finally. "W—without me?"

"Oh, Apollo… I'll miss you, I'll miss you dearly, but I do know how to live independently, you know."

"Ugh, sorry, that came out wrong. But c'mon, you know that's not what I meant."

He smirks. "No, of course you didn't mean to imply I couldn't live without you."

"If anything," Apollo pokes him in the ribs, "I meant to say that I can't live without you."

"Now you're just being silly." Nahyuta gives him a brief squeeze. "Come, let's have dinner before it gets cold."

"Okay."

Apollo stands and helps him up, then leads him to the dining table and serves them both some bread and curry. It's delicious — Father is certainly better at cooking than cleaning, and he has Apollo to thank for keeping the place clean and uncluttered. He helps in any way that he can, of course, and as time passes, he's learned to do more and more chores. He'll probably learn more at the temple.

"The temple," he says quietly at length. "When the time comes, you'll take me there, won't you?"

Apollo reaches over to squeeze his hand. "Of course! I won't let anyone or anything stop me. And when I get back, I'll tell you all about America. Then when we go there together, I'll be the best guide there ever was!"

He smiles, squeezing back. "I'll hold you to that."

The temple is a nexus of sound — bells, gongs, cymbals, wooden fish, singing bowls, dahmalans, singing and chanting. It's calming, drowns out the emptiness Apollo left behind and helps Nahyuta find his way around.

The head monk tells him he needs to keep his hair out of the way, but he can't bear to cut off something Apollo loved so much, so he learns to braid it, wakes up earlier to get it tidy for the day, and one day, he finds an incense that smells much like the flower Apollo said was the color of his hair. It's called lavender, he learns, and he stops using anything else.

It is at the temple that he finally learns to read. They have copies of the Scriptures in embossed print that he can feel —a system they call Braille— so he must first learn the Braille alphabet, then the Classical Khurainese language of the Scriptures that it represents.

By the time he can study the interpretation of the Scriptures in depth, days have turned into weeks, months, seasons and years. He hears the news, hears the rumors. Father and Mother are caught, Father escapes during the celebration of the princess' birth, Datz is arrested along with some other insurgents, Datz breaks out, the Justice Minister establishes a secret police, and so on — Father and the others have been busy. The revolution is gaining support, and in response, the Ga'ran administration is cracking down harder on the Defiant Dragons than ever. But that means it hasn't gotten any safer. That means he hasn't seen any of the Dragons since he left. That means Apollo still can't return.

But maybe that's all right.

Maybe Apollo is happy there. Maybe he's found someone else, someone who doesn't constantly need his help.

So Nahyuta immerses himself in his study and training. The teachings of the Holy Mother make plenty of sense, and prayer brings him acceptance and peace. And as he meditates on the sutras, he discovers that he can sense the people around him with his mind, sense the connections between people and things. Different people and things feel different, and for the first time, the colors Apollo taught him so long ago now have meaning beyond words and arbitrary associations — they become a way for him to think about, organize and categorize these impressions.

The head monk says he's gifted and puts a name to his ability: he can "see" auras and the karmic threads that connect things. With practice, he grows stronger, the impressions grow clearer, and he becomes increasingly well known for helping people find things.

When the police first show up, he expects to be arrested. Instead, he's asked to help with a missing person's case, the first of many. The cases grow to include smuggling and theft, and eventually word of his ability reaches the palace. When the Justice Minister asks if he can find all the Defiant Dragons, he answers truthfully: it is impossible to differentiate between the many groups of people united in common purpose. They don't believe him, of course —he's the rebel leader's son, after all— and send him to prison, but no amount of investigation contradicts the truth: he hasn't had any contact with his father, and he doesn't know anything about the Defiant Dragons anymore.

To his surprise, they don't execute him. He returns to the temple, to the usual routine, but he knows that he's being watched, tested, that the only reason he's alive is because Inga or Ga'ran think he might lead them to Father. Every so often, the authorities bring him a group of people and ask him to point out the ones who share a common purpose, but in prison, he figured out how to tell — the Defiant Dragons are a connection he shares with otherwise complete strangers. So he lies — because he knows the truth means execution. He lies, and he fears that, someday, they'll figure it out and execute him, too, that he'll go to the Twilight Realm without ever seeing Apollo again.

In truth, he's resigned himself to never seeing Apollo again. America is such a huge country, and he never knew where Father sent the boy. And because he gained this ability after Apollo left, he has no way of knowing which thread to follow. And who knows if Apollo even wants to see him again, if Apollo even remembers him? By now, the other could probably return to Khura'in without Father's help or blessing if he so wished, but he hasn't. Maybe Apollo is happy. Maybe he's done the smart thing and moved on.

It is not till Interpol shows up that Nahyuta realizes he's even lied to himself.

It's several years into his work as a special consultant for Interpol before he finally gets a case in America. He's met at Los Angeles International Airport by an Interpol detective and prosecutor pair, both with experience working in the United States. Like most people, they're skeptical, but he does have a track record to back him up, so they brief him accordingly — this time, he's looking for a batch of smuggled weapons that have gone missing on American soil. They've caught a few of the smugglers, but the rest are still on the loose, and evidence suggests that they have American conspirators and buyers.

The detective has just advised him against suggesting some synonyms for the word "fool" when an officer of the local police bursts in — there's been a murder, and it was committed using one of their missing guns.

In no time at all, he's been packed into a car headed for the crime scene, and he hates murders, hates the stench of blood and death that sticks to his clothes and hair and skin, hates that the deceased never got to set their affairs in order and prepare for the Twilight Realm. As soon as he steps out, it hits him, and he says a prayer for their soul. He'll find their killer and solve this case, so they may rest in peace — as a humble servant of the Holy Mother, these are the best last rites he can offer.

Over the cacophony of what must be detectives, forensic experts and bystanders bustling around, he hears a girl's voice off to one side. "—terrible!" She sounds dismayed. "How are we going to investigate the crime scene now?!"

"Maybe once Interpol is— Wait." The young man stops mid-reply. "Is that…?"

Then there's approaching footsteps, running, and amidst the hundreds of threads spread out around him he "sees" it: it's peach, he thinks — pure, sweet, beloved.

"Nahyuta, is that you?!"

And his voice is different, and his scent has changed, but there is no way Nahyuta wouldn't recognize the specific way Apollo takes his hands. He can't find any words when they embrace, even chokes up on the name as he basks in that brilliant red aura, all warmth and passion and color. He hasn't wept since his first night at the temple, but now the tears won't stop falling, and he can hear Apollo sobbing, too.

At length, Apollo leans back and breathes, "It's not fair. You're so tall now."

He laughs, bending his knees a bit. "No, you're just still a short red pepper. Still loud as ever, too."

"H—hey!" But Apollo only draws him close again, buries his face in Nahyuta's hair. "Oh wow… You even smell of lavender. God, I can't believe— I missed you." He tightens his embrace. "Yuty, I missed you so much. I thought about you every day, all the time. And I waited. I waited and waited for Dhurke to come get me, but…"

"I know," Nahyuta whispers, stroking Apollo's hair. "So did I."

Apollo steps back, but doesn't let go. They clasp each other's arms — afraid they'll disappear if they let go, that it'll turn out to all just be a dream.

"You mean you haven't…?"

"After he rescued my mother, I met them once. That was ten years ago."

"A little while, huh?"

Nahyuta sighs, "I should have known…" The last time Father had said "a little while," Apollo never left. "Still, it's only grown more dangerous back home. If you're convicted of being a rebel, they'll execute you for treason. Reports say someone gets executed every week." That doesn't make it better, he knows, but it's true that merely being a known associate of the Defiant Dragons could sign Apollo's death warrant on Khurainese soil.

"Yeah, I heard from Mr. Wright. There are no more defense attorneys there either, so even if they bothered trying any alleged insurgents, they'd all be found guilty anyway."

"Wright? As in Phoenix Wright? The one that recently visited Khura'in, fought a case there and won? You know him?"

"Haha, yeah, that's the one. He's my boss."

"Your— Pohlkunka! Then you're really…"

"Yup, a defense attorney," Apollo confirms — just like he'd always dreamed. "And this," he guides Nahyuta to face another person nearby —the aura is bright but gentle, like the nurturing warmth of the sun, yellow— "is my colleague, Athena Cykes. Athena, this is Nahyuta Sahdmadhi. We grew up together."

"O—oh!" She takes his hand and shakes it firmly. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Sahdmadhi."

"Ah…" Even as he turns Apollo's words over, he automatically replies, "No, the pleasure is mine, Ms. Cykes." A servant of the Holy Mother should always be polite, after all.

"Hey, Athena, I see Ema over there. Maybe you can get her to help us out?"

"Oh. Right. On it!"

She runs off towards a cluster of people, presumably one of the police teams on the case, leaving them alone. A smaller distance away, he can hear his colleagues from Interpol barking orders and questioning the people around — it doesn't look like he's needed yet.

"You know, when Mr. Wright said a friend of his was in Khura'in, I asked about you, but Ms. Fey said they could only tell her that you'd left a few years ago… just as I'd finally saved up enough to afford a trip back," and Nahyuta is sorry now, sorry he'd ever doubted Apollo. Just as he never could have gotten here without Interpol, Apollo must have had his own struggles.

"I confess I joined Interpol partly to come here, to find you. I am grateful that the Holy Mother has guided us to each other so quickly." He clasps Apollo's hands between his own in a quick prayer of thanks. "Truly, we are blessed."

"W—wow… You've really… What do you do at Interpol?"

"I find things. Or people."

"Huh?" It's only natural that Apollo would be confused — back when they'd been together, he could barely find a misplaced book in their room. "So you're an investigator?"

"Not exactly. They call me a special consultant. I can 'see' the karmic threads that tie a case together. So I lead the investigators towards related objects or people, and they do the rest. They usually send me when a trail has gone too cold to pick up by… more conventional methods."

"Th—that's incredible, Nahyuta." There isn't even a shade of skepticism in his voice. "Were you always able to and just didn't realize, or…?"

"No." Nahyuta holds his hand up, bringing the tips of his thumb and middle finger together, and a butterfly alights on the tip of his index finger. "The Holy Mother blessed me with this gift when I devoted myself to her teachings."

Apollo lets out an awed chuckle, shifting closer. "You really are… something special, Yuty."

Smiling, he asks, "Are you here for the case?" dropping his hand to Apollo's shoulder as the butterfly flies away.

"Yeah, my client has been arrested as the primary suspect, but he's not lying when he says he didn't kill the victim."

"How can you tell?"

"Oh, uh… Well, people get nervous when they're being questioned about things they're lying about or trying to hide, and they have tics — little behaviors that only show up when they're nervous. If I focus on them as they talk, I can catch these nervous tics, so I know which part of their testimony is problematic. Mr. Wright and Athena, too — they've got their own ways of figuring out when people are being dishonest. Mr. Wright has a different way of seeing when people are hiding things, and Athena can hear people's true emotions in their voices, so she can tell when people's feelings don't match what they say. Come to think of it," he chuckles, "I guess you'll fit right in."

"Interesting." Apollo seems to have found his own little family of gifted people here, and he wonders if the others will welcome him as readily as Apollo always seems to, if Apollo will have to choose. But that's a concern for a later time. "Was that always something you could do?"

"I… Yes… Yes, I think so. But you never lied to me." He says it matter-of-factly, but the implications are so sad.

"I'm sorry I left you alone." Nahyuta pulls him into another embrace. "I talked you into leaving because I thought it'd be best for you and that it'd only be a few months."

"Heh. Dhurke got us both good, huh…"

He hums, pressing his lips to the crown of Apollo's head. The other leans into him, and for a moment, it's like no time has passed, like they're just two boys alone in the mountains again, untouched by a world that would tear them apart.

"You were alone, too," Apollo whispers — still not quiet, but the surrounding noise makes up for that.

"Satorha. A servant of the Holy Mother is never alone."

It takes a second, but Apollo makes a sound of fond exasperation. "So… I guess we've got a case on our hands right now, but after the trial, when Justice is done, how about that tour I promised you?"

"When J—" He cracks up. "Holy Mother, I can't believe you still do that. When you started, I thought it a phase. When you didn't stop, I assumed you'd grow out of it. But at twenty-four…"

"Objection! Justice never grows old!"

He doubles over — oh, he hasn't laughed so hard since they parted ways all those years ago. "I truly have missed you."

"Yeah? Well, guess what else I haven't grown out of?"

Before he can ask, Apollo is kissing him, and it's like a drink of water in the Hell of Thirst. Everything is right. Everything is right again.

The Holy Mother gave him peace, but Apollo gives him life.

He kisses back, following Apollo's lead, and takes Apollo's face in his hands, traces grown features with his fingertips, memorizes his beloved's face anew.

When they part, "I was afraid you'd—"

They stop, laugh and kiss again, and it's not till he hears the crack of a whip, terrified screaming and a pointed complaint about being surrounded by foolish fools fraternizing foolishly with the defense that he reluctantly pulls away.

"We should get to work," he murmurs ruefully, and Apollo steps back, hands lingering before he finally lets go.

"Yeah. I only have three days, tops, to prove my client innocent. I need to start investigating. Here, take this." A small card is pressed into his hand. It's… covered in Braille, proof Apollo never forgot. "Call me?"

"Of course." He'll never leave Apollo again.