"We do weddings up in Kurain, you know. You guys should visit sometime."

To make matters worse, Klavier actually laughed.

"Pay attention to the road!" Apollo squawked, although it was obviously a poor attempt to re-direct the conversation, since Klavier's steering remained as smooth as ever.

Phoenix had warned him about this—why hadn't he listened?

"I've always wanted to see the temples up there, but it's not exactly the kind of place bands go on their tours."

"Oh! You two should come anytime you feel like going on a romantic getaway! We can make a room up for you—it can be all cozy, just the two of you."

Pearl had surely meant it in the most innocent of ways, but Apollo still couldn't help but feel a heated embarrassment at the thought of him and Klavier stowed away in the snowy mountains, all alone amidst the quiet cold with no-one to bother them, bundled together to keep warm under blankets and—

(Aughgarngh)

He sank deeper into his seat as the heat flushed not only through his face, but up the lower half of his back.

Klavier chuckled, "Would it really be that terrible to spend some time alone with me?"

"It…might be nice…" Apollo said, very quietly, staring resolutely at the glove compartment ahead.

Pearl giggled freely in the backseat, "The back of your neck is red, Mr. Justice."

Apollo just sank down even deeper. He was practically radiating heat.

Pearl was giddy and oblivious, even going so far as to lightly clap her hands in mirth, "It must be nice, being in love."

The ensuing silence probably only lasted a few beats, but that was all it took for a charged tension to wind itself up Apollo's spine before settling over the expanse of his shoulders. Was he…supposed to say something to that? He cautiously glanced to the side.

Klavier's eyes were trained dutifully on the road, and he seemed as calm as Apollo was uneasy. After a moment, Klavier broke sight with the traffic to return the gaze, just a slight turn of the head, mildly questioning. Apollo immediately turned away, a jerk-knee reaction that left him feeling foolish.

Klavier's voice came steady and even, "It is nice."

All at once, his bracelet tightened against his wrist.

Something—the pounding in his chest perhaps—told him it wasn't reacting to Klavier.

Iris was not naturally strong-willed.

She had not been born with any inclination towards asserting her own self-interests—the resolution she displayed now had been forcibly cultivated in the aftermath of the mess that was anything and everything that she had let Dahlia put her through.

Serving all those years as a matron and dealing with a house full of children might've also factored into the firm expression she was now presenting the visitor at her doorstep.

"Go home. Now."

"I cannot, in good conscious, do that."

She sighed and closed her eyes, brow furrowed. Their conversation thus far comprised of only those two sentences, and yet everything about the inevitably oncoming argument had already been communicated in those short lines, and Iris steeled herself against the panic rising within her.

Maybe she was making this into a bigger deal than it needed to be—maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just sit and have a simple talk with Pearl.

But that was just it, wasn't it? Because it would actually be very nice—

(Very wonderful), she let herself admit

—if she could spend even a minute with this girl.

Pearl was standing a ways behind her former charge, beside a gentleman she recognized from reading up on Apollo's cases (she tried to quell the urge to jump to any conclusions as to why he had dragged along a legal figure to this occasion). She had yet to say a word, and no one had actually introduced her as such, but there was no doubt it was her. Even barring the acolyte robes (very clearly Kurain), there was no mistaking the round Fey cheeks, the same curious eyes, and Iris had to breathe deep when her chest thumped painfully, because she was so big now, a proper lady, had it really been seven years already?

Just one minute with this girl, and Iris knew there was a no way she could keep the resolve she had carefully crafted all these years.

"Go home," she repeated, perhaps a little less coldly than before, but she made up for it by immediately turning around and proceeding to shut the door behind her.

She felt the door jerk to a stop as Apollo shot his arm out to grab it by the side.

"Iris, you're running away and you know it."

"Apollo, you know why I can't—"

"I know why you can't—it doesn't matter. You have to do this."

Almost simultaneously, they both glanced over at where Klavier and Pearl were waiting patiently. Klavier was leaned against the hood of his car, presumably calming a fidgeting Pearl, who could tell even from a distance that negotiations were going sour.

Apollo took this moment as an opportunity to open the door wider, gently, so as not to startle or offend Iris.

"I respected your decisions. I may not have understood them, but at least I supported you and respected your feelings. But things are different now."

Iris shot another look in Pearl's direction, something he was quick to take note of.

"I…have nothing to offer her."

"You're family! You have everything to offer!"

A pained sort of expression pulled at her features.

"The Wrights are her family," she swallowed, "Maya Fey is…her family now."

Without missing a beat, Apollo took her by the hands, surprising her a bit, "Iris, I'm going to be frank. I brought Pearl here because I believe she has the right to meet with you at least once—but to be honest, I'm doing this for your sake as well. It's true that even without you Pearl has a family, like she deserves—who do you have, Iris?"

He was expecting continued resistance, or in the absence of that, perhaps tears—Iris merely took a moment to look caught off guard. Then she briefly closed her eyes and…smiled. Apollo wasn't quite sure what to make of that.

Suddenly gentle, even affectionate, Iris palmed the side of his face, "Oh Apollo…you sell yourself and everyone here short."

He felt speechless.

After a moment Iris said, "I'll meet with her."

Apollo's heart soared, before she held up a hand and said resolutely, "On the condition that you answer a question."

"Yes…?" Apollo said with trepidation.

"…Why did you bring a prosecutor here with you?"

"Oh! Oh, uh…"Apollo could already feel the embarrassment showing on his face, "That's…Klavier. He's my boyfriend."

Iris blinked a couple times, her eyebrows raising inquisitively, "Oh?"

Apollo rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly, "He's…very important to me. I wanted to show him where I grew up while you and Pearl talked."

Iris' smile suddenly widened, became more mischievous, "Apollo, you should've told me you were seeing someone!"

"Yes," Apollo said, exasperated, hoping to end this part of the conversation quickly.

"You should've known I'd want to meet him!"

"Yes," his shoulder began sagging a little.

"We should bake some cookies."

"Ye—what?"

"It's perfect! It's something we can all do together.

"Oh, well…I was thinking you'd want some alone time with—"

"Nonsense, everyone loves cookies! We can pass them out to the children later."

Before he could come up with a good counter-argument, she had bounded down the steps and was making her way over to the car.

Apollo leaned against the banister, letting out a resigned sigh, not even bothering to go after her—it was just easier this way.

Klavier was no stranger to the "meet the parents" phase of a relationship. Given of course that this was just a phrase—he'd been introduced to mothers, fathers, best friends, eccentric aunts, and even at one point a parole officer (he fondly remembered the affair as a pleasant one).

He thought he'd seen it all.

Iris herself had been a charming enough lady, very friendly and inquisitive, much to Apollo's chagrin. She floated easily among the three of them, giving them each proper attention as well as a proper job to do. Pearl had especially taken to her role as official cookie shaper.

This had been normal enough.

He should've realized it when they put the first batch in the oven—you'd have to be stupid to think that filling a house full of children with the smell of baking cookies wouldn't send them all flooding towards the source.

Klavier considered himself good with children—he'd just never had to deal with so many at once. It wasn't particularly unwelcoming, just…new.

Apollo waded through the throng of small bodies running around underfoot. Fortunately, the bulk of the children were currently glued to the glass window of the oven.

He gave Klavier an apologetic look, "Sorry, you were supposed to meet everyone…later…in the den…where there's more room."

Klavier's gaze lowered to where Apollo was rubbing his wrist, just above his bracelet (there was also the matter that one of the girls had fixedly attached herself to his right leg and was giving him a toothy grin, but of most interest to him was what Klavier had learned by now to recognize as one of Apollo's nervous tics).

"It's fine," he smiled reassuringly, "I'm enjoying myself, really."

He reached forward until he found Apollo's hand in his, but not even a second later the defense attorney had involuntarily pulled away as if burned and began awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck instead.

His cheeks were a noticeable light pink.

Klavier, not yet too worried, gave him a curious look, but when Apollo glanced over and caught the prosecutor's gaze, profusely blushed an even deeper red, and frantically redirected his eyesight elsewhere, something in Klavier's head went click.

He opened his mouth to comment, just as the oven timer went off, beckoning forth a slew of uninhibited screams and catcalls from the children. Apollo shot him yet another apologetic look before excusing himself to do some damage control, somehow managing to look relieved, embarrassed, and regretful all at once.

Klavier stood, bowl of dough in one hand, wondering if perhaps he should follow suit. He quickly decided against it, on the pretense of thinking things over.

This was also something he had some familiarity with, although admittedly Apollo's particular behavior was atypical—most of his previous partners had been much more prone to jumping into his arms after the first "I love you."

At least, Klavier assumed that was the cause of Apollo's state of unease—was there really anything else that could be putting him on edge?

"Are you alright, Mr. Gavin?" came the soft, sweet voice of Pearl, accentuated by the light tapping of wire whisk against bowl.

"Ah, just Klavier, please," he said automatically.

Mr. Gavin was…stiff, too formal. Mr. Gavin was Kristoph.

"Oh," Pearl continued to whisk thoughtfully, "Mr. Klavier, then. Is something bothering you?"

"Not so much bothering me, as I am worried that I might've upset Mein Forehead."

It took a moment for Pearl to remember that this moniker referred to Apollo.

She gave him a pitiful, concerned look, seeming genuinely distressed, "Are you guys fighting?"

Klavier did his best to sound soothing, "Nein, nein, I just…"

He glanced over at the counter where Apollo had managed to calm the kids down by having them sit at the counter and mash their creative energy into the remaining dough; he was currently spooning balls of raw cookie in front of each of them. When he felt Klavier looking at him he turned, gave him a smile as equally nervous as it was enthusiastic, then proceeded to somehow fumble the ladle he was holding so that it went sailing into the air.

A bit of twirling and mid-air scrambling as the ladle bounced a couple of times against Apollo's attempts to grab it resulted in a lot of laughing from the children, and a slightly cracked, flustered, "I'M FINE!" from Apollo.

"I think I've made him nervous," Klavier chimed in with perfect timing.

Pearl tapped the clean end of the whisk against her chin, "Did you say something to upset him?"

"Sweet Fräulein, you seem like the romantic type, ja?"

She clutched the bowl to her waist and palmed the side of her face, looking blissfully sentimental, "Maybe a little."

"You understand the significance of saying 'I love you'?"

"It is absolutely significant!" she exclaimed, with all the seriousness of a watchdog defending its territory.

Er, that is, if the watchdog were on the small-ish size and very adorable.

"Fräulein, do know what they mean when they say, 'Timing is everything'?"

"Who's 'they'?"

"It's just a phrase. My point is, there is a time and place for everything."

"Well!" there were stars in Pearl's eyes, "I think when you love someone, you should tell them whenever you can."

"And I am inclined to agree with you—but this is not necessarily so for everyone."

KIavier could see this didn't sit all too well with Pearl.

"Sweet Fräulein, there are those who believe that the more you say something, the less meaning it has. If you say it all the time, it isn't so special anymore, ja?"

"I…guess…" Pearl had the look of an idealist coming to the realization that the concept of "True Love" wasn't quite as cookie cutter as she'd first imagined it to be.

"Pearl," at the mention of her name, she—in the way most people did the first time Klavier referred to them by first name—blushed and felt her heart skip a beat, "you should never apologize for telling someone you love them, so long as you truly mean it."

This seemed to cheer her up a bit, "Of course! If you truly love someone, it should be the easiest thing in the world to say you love them!"

"And for you, sweet Pearl, I imagine it is. In the short time I have known you, you have been nothing short of true and genuine. I am sure when the time comes you will have no trouble summoning the courage to be honest—a rare and envious trait."

Pearl's blush deepened and she began fervently mashing her dough with an embarrassed, but extremely happy smile, "I-I just think saying 'I love you' is really important…"

Klavier leaned forward, hands on his hips, "And that is what can make it so hard to say, ja? Especially if one has never said it before."

A light bulb went off in Pearl's head, "Wait! So the reason Mr. Justice is acting all funny is because…?"

He nodded, "Today on the way here, the conversation topic may have made him…uncomfortable. I suspect he's torn up whether or not he should say something about it to me."

Pearl's tendency to superimpose a simplistic view over a situation reared its head, "You mean he's going to tell you he loves you?!"

It almost hurt to not indulge her when she seemed so enthusiastic about the idea, but Klavier's training as a prosecutor urged him to stay objective, "…that remains to be seen."

Pearl found his answer less than encouraging, "…I don't understand. Doesn't he love you?"

"He…cares for me, yes. He's made sure to make at least that clear. But saying it can be…well, let's just say that love can weigh heavily on the tongue, especially if someone else says it first."

Pearl's brow only furrowed deeper, "Well…then how do you get someone to say it back?"

And here Klavier took in a deep breath, closing his eyes and tilting his head back before releasing it. There was a look of something akin to peace, a sort of resigned acceptance about him.

"You don't."

When Apollo was sixteen, he got into a fight.

This in itself actually wasn't much, given that at that age he was always getting into fights. They didn't exactly live in the best part of the city, and he'd had a short temper for anything that angered him. This particular fight however, would serve as a catalyst for something that would change his life forever.

Heather was only five years old, and heartbroken at having lost her best friend to new parents. The matrons had done their best to console her with promises that someone would one day come and adopt her too, and were met with cracked sobs and the reprimand of, "that doesn't fix it." So Heather did what any grieving five year old with the cognitive capacity to believe that reality would bend into any shape she desired if she only willed it hard enough would do.

She ran away.

This made itself apparent at bedtime when she failed to make roll call, and all hell broke loose. While the matrons were up in a panic checking beneath beds and making phone calls, Apollo left the orphanage of his own accord and took to the street to find her.

He saw at least two car muggings on the way.

At one point, a couple of trouble teens made the mistake of trying to jump him for his wallet, but he plowed straight through them and remained as vigilant as ever in his search.

He saw a total of zero police officers, no hopeful flash of red or blue.

For all he knew that the matrons were back at the orphanage making desperate calls into the nearby stations, no one was looking.

He found Heather curled up under the slide of a dilapidated playground, crying and shivering against her tattered pajamas. He did not say a word, just scooped her up into his arms and let her cling her arms around his neck, let her soak his shirt with dirty tears.

"I just wanted to go and see Emily."

Apollo had no admonishments or remarks for her—he simply held her tighter and just let her cry against him on the silent walk home. He felt nothing but relief at having found her, but there was something else beneath the surface, a quiet anger biting underneath his skin.

Later, after he had handed her to the (appropriately) emotional matrons, he retreated to his room before he felt the urge to go and break something. It was only until the house had finally quieted back down that he heard the creak of his door slowly opening.

"You looked pretty banged up when you came in through the door. I…I brought up the first aid kit."

The voice was soft and unfamiliar, which immediately identified her to him—this was that new matron, right? There had been light gossip going around about her, and why she was here. Some of the older children were going around trying to frighten the younger ones into believing she was an axe murderer gone into hiding—he'd heard the matrons whispering something about probation and community service. Apollo didn't really care for the rumors.

He turned and swung his legs over the other side of the bed, giving her a curt, noiseless nod. The young woman seemed to take note of the tension he was exuding, and so naturally made a point not to bring it up.

Instead, she carefully attended first the gash on his cheek, before asking kindly, "How'd you get these?"

His answer was as short as his current temperament, "Fight."

"Mmm," she acknowledged, thoughtfully sensing that he was not in the mood for small talk.

The next few minutes were filled merely with silence as the woman patched him up, the only breaks being hisses of pain whenever she applied any antiseptic.

Then, without ceremony, Apollo simply said to the room at large, and to no one in particular, "The world's full of shit."

He was expecting a scolding on his choice of words.

She replied, "In part, I guess it is."

Apollo found himself taken aback, a spot of white curiosity splashing into an otherwise dull, dark sea of red anger. Just who was this woman?

But then he remembered the reason for his anger and his curiosity was at once swallowed up.

"Nobody gives a damn about us! There was a little girl missing today and nobody even cared to help!" Apollo clenched newly bandaged fingers and got a searing pain in his hand for his troubles.

"Careful! Take it easy!" the woman urged when he let out an indignant cry.

There was another moment of silence as she checked to make sure the bandages were still tight.

"Does this happen often? You were in trouble for fighting the day I got here too."

Apollo tried to remember that far back, "…that guy shouldn't have hit his girlfriend like that."

Her reply was again surprising, "That was very brave of you, then."

"Somebody has to stand up to creeps like him!" he exclaimed, suddenly feeling very open and safe around this lady.

She continued wrapping a length of cloth around an especially nasty wound on his arm, "Well what about police? Shouldn't you let them handle things like this?"

The furrow on Apollo's brow just deepened further, "Yeah right, they don't do shit around here—and whenever they do get involved they just make things worse. What's the point of rules and laws if those who have the power to help people just abuse it?"

If Apollo had been paying attention, he might have noticed that the matron had stopped in the middle of wrapping his arm. He might've noticed the horror hidden delicately under otherwise placid features.

But he didn't.

"I hate them! The cops, politicians, lawyers, the whole lot of them! They're all full of shit!"

There was a sudden pressure around his wrist, and when he looked down he realized that the hand the matron had been using to prop his arm up was now squeezing it. It didn't hurt, but it was hard enough for him to think maybe he might've overestimated how blunt he could be with this woman.

"Please…please don't say that," there were actual tears in her eyes, and that was when Apollo really acknowledged that he had somehow messed up, "There are…there is someone who cares."

Apollo had to bite down the immediate, more direct response that formed on the tip of his tongue.

He let it roll around in his mouth and reform before giving her a still rather ineloquent, "…oh yeah?"

If Apollo had known how much this woman was about to change his life, he might've braced himself. But he didn't, because as it often goes, the things that end up defining us are slow, gradual, and they more often than not start quietly without our notice, and so he listened, unguarded.

With a small smile on her lips, she began, "His name is Phoenix Wright."

Klavier found Apollo's hand next to his and held it tight.

"That was very noble of you, going out on your own to look for her."

Apollo rubbed at the back of his neck, "Oh, it was nothing. Someone had to do it."

His tone was over all humbling, but there was no denying the soft glow in his cheeks from having been praised. Klavier briefly wondered if the fact that they were currently sitting in Apollo's old room—and on his old bed of all places—might've also had something to do with it.

The defense attorney made a sweeping motion over the sheets, letting the fabric run under his fingers, "This is exactly where it happened. I was sitting here when Iris bandaged me up."

In a moment of fond recollection, Apollo sighed and flung himself backward onto the bed, "You know, it wasn't all that easy, growing up in this neighborhood, but I don't mind. I've got a lot of good memories of this place."

Klavier smiled and sidled himself down on to the bed as well, next to Apollo's side.

"I'm glad you decided to share it with me," he said softly.

He was glad that even with the earlier skittishness, Apollo did not move away, only turned to face him better. In fact, there was something about his expression that seemed to indicate a shift in the mood, a seriousness to contrast the previous playful atmosphere.

Still, he seemed strangely content, "I thought it was important to share."

They had locked eyes now. Feeling a bit bold, Apollo slid himself even closer, almost to the point of bumping foreheads.

"I've been thinking," the words vibrated quietly in the tiny space between their lips.

"Is this about what Pearl said in the car today?"

Apollo shook his head, making the sheets rustle, "I'll get to that later."

There was a quality in the air that was making him dizzy, something in the close proximity that slowly ate away at his sobriety, so that at first they just lay there for a moment, taking in the sight of each other. Then Apollo, eyes half-lidded, reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers across the corner of Klavier's forehead, tucking an errant strand of hair behind his ear before gently pressing their mouths together. Klavier let out a murmur of approval, instinctively sliding a hand across the dip above Apollo's hip in a slight tugging motion; Apollo automatically obliged and arched himself flush against the prosecutor in return.

There was the soft sound of lips parting, and Klavier said, "I like your thinking."

Apollo just cupped a hand against Klavier's neck, traced a thumb over his jaw line, "You're really important to me."

He took a moment to lightly graze at the nape of the prosecutor's neck, letting smooth strands of hair slip in and out between his fingers, "I was really happy today, seeing you with everyone. It felt nice seeing you in this part of my life, and it made me wonder if maybe…"

Apollo trailed off, suddenly very conscious of his own breathing, deep and deliberate, "Maybe I wouldn't mind having you around all the time."

"What are you trying to say, Apollo?"

"I'm saying…," he paused, pink tongue darting out to wet dry lips, "Maybe I could move in with you."

Apollo allowed a beat for this to process in Klavier's mind. He was relieved when he felt warm hands cover the blush on his cheeks.

In the barest of whispers, Klavier said, "I might have some room."

Klavier kissed Apollo's brow, then the top of his left cheek, then finally came to rest once again on the attorney's mouth. Apollo responded by pulling at the back of Klavier's head with a sense of urgency. In true Justice boldness, he hooked a leg behind the prosecutor's knee and pulled, sending them both tumbling over until Klavier was on top of him.

Pleasantly surprised, Klavier took this as an opportunity to nibble thoughtfully at Apollo's earlobe, "I love it when you're so forthright."

With only the slightest hint of smugness, Apollo responded in all seriousness, "I'm sure you do."

And that was the moment it truly hit Klavier.

Because never mind the fact that he was currently working on a particularly sensitive spot on Apollo's neck, eliciting some of the most appreciative moans he'd ever heard coming from the attorney—never mind that he almost engulfed the smaller man beneath him in size as he covered his body with his own.

Apollo slid his hands down from where they were resting on Klavier's neck and down the prosecutor's chest, down further until they circled around to stop on hips, the smallest of tugs urging Klavier to press himself even closer, and that's when he just knew—

This man completely owned him.

"I love you."

This time it did not come wrapped up in vague phrasing—it was not preceded by comical teasing, and there were no attempts to dress it up, to make it sound profound, or unique, or scripted.

This was not the first time in his lifetime that Klavier had ever said these words to someone, but it was quite possibly the first time where he wasn't relatively sure they would be said back in return—perhaps that just made this time all the more meaningful.

He could feel his heart in his throat when Apollo all but completely ceased moving, save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Then he felt the hands at his hips move back up, rewinding themselves backwards up the same path to the base of his neck. Apollo was giving him that look, the one he made every time he had something really important to say,, something so important that he wouldn't actually say it until he made sure Klavier didn't dare look away.

He breathed in, "Me too."

At almost the same time, they both let out the air they'd been holding in.

Klavier leaned in, heartbeat racing—

"Wait, no, that's not what I meant, I—I mean—"

—to a complete stop.

Apollo began wriggling uncomfortably, "That came out wrong, I didn't mean—"

Klavier's voice stuck like a lump of clay in his throat.

"I didn't mean, 'I love me too,' I mean—"

"…"

"I meant it like, 'I love you' back, I—"

There was a moment where they just blinked at each other.

Apollo, looking practically horrified, said incredulously, "Please shut me up."

All at once, like an explosion, Klavier let out a laugh. It was loud and free, the kind that shakes the shoulders and the spine, the kind that starts in the stomach and satisfies the soul. He ended up collapsing in a heap, burying himself against Apollo's neck and letting the remaining waves of laughter ride out over his collarbone, resulting in a very disgruntled, very pouty, very red attorney.

Apollo held him through the tremors, all the same.