HOLY CRAP, has it been awhile. Well here we are, in the final stretch. Between college, four jobs, a trans-pacific move, I've finally taken this story almost to its conclusion, and to be honest, I'm a little sad that this is all ending soon. I'm still unfairly busy, but I'll try to get the epilogue done soon after this. Thank you to all the long-time readers who I've kept waiting, and also to all the new readers who joined during the long hiatus. I really could not have finished this without every one of you.

Apollo shifted the box higher up on his hip, keeping it in place with one arm while he busied the other with making sure his mobile didn't fall out from between his ear and shoulder, "…hello?"

A familiar voice, full of its usual charm and affection, sounded over the speaker, "Mein Forehead! How are the lieblings treating you?"

Apollo hiked the box up again, "Hey Klavier. The, ah…lieblings are…"

He gave pause to look over at the corner of the apartment where Pearl and Trucy, dressed up in old coveralls borrowed from the land lord, were currently helping Machi into a third pair.

"He's so small," Pearl giggled, rolling up a sleeve.

"…I is hearing you right here," Machi pouted, arms up and out, a girl on either side.

Trucy rolled her side up a final notch, "There! Now to roll up your legs."

Machi dropped to the floor with a defiant plunk, as if his pride depended on it.

"I can do!" he said stubbornly, beginning to bunch up the fabric around his ankle.

Apollo readjusted both box and phone, for what felt like the hundredth time, "They're doing fine. They're getting a head start on the painting. I'm just gonna move this last box downstairs and then I'm gonna go back up and make sure they haven't wrecked the place."

"I'm just around the corner—I should be there soon. After we load the boxes in the car, mind if I join you?"

There was a loud bang and Apollo's head whipped around to see a pool of sharp white gathering around a distressed Machi's feet.

"Trucy, I told you it was heavy!"

"I'm sorry!"

Apollo covered his eyes with his one free hand and groaned, happy that he had at least had the foresight to lay down some plastic on the floor.

"Please," he was practically begging into the phone.

Then with a quieter, more sincere tone, he added, "Thanks Klavier," before hanging up.

He sighed, carefully moving the phone from his shoulder and into his pocket. Across the room, Machi and the girls were doing their best to mop up the spilt paint with the brushes.

He stood for a moment, watching the three of them work together, softly bickering amongst themselves, like it was the easiest thing in the world, like they'd been doing it their whole lives. And he just knew it was going to be like this all day—the girls were going to fawn over Machi, Trucy was probably going to drop something again, or make something disappear, and he wouldn't be surprised if at one point Machi's natural bluntness made Pearl cry.

And it was strange.

A part of him felt like sighing again.

But instead he went away smiling.

When Apollo gave them instructions on where to put the boxes, Trucy was the only one who gave him a second glance.

She looked at him, eyebrow raised curiously, "Into the spare room, huh?"

He gave her a curt nod of the head, hoping she would drop it there. She crossed her arms and smiled, earning her confused looks from Machi and Pearl, who had already both grabbed a box and were heading upstairs without her.

Poised with all the slyness of a Gramarye, armed with the fox-grin of a Wright, she said, "Wonder how long that's gonna last."

"Trucy…" he warned.

"Okay, okay!" she threw her hands up defensively, finally went to grab a box, "I know, it's just…really, can you blame me?"

Apollo buckled under that good-natured smile of hers, just rolled his eyes and side-stepped the issue, "Let's just get these moved."

"Riiiight."

The conversation on the way up was blissfully normal and innuendo free, and thankfully the rest of the afternoon passed without too much incident, until the very end when Apollo went into his room to count the boxes and came up significantly short.

It didn't take them too long to find them stacked neatly in Klavier's room.

An unremorseful Trucy explained, "I just figured I'd save you the extra move later."

Apollo woke up surrounded by soft sheets and far too much bed than he was used to.

He had tried taking advantage of the space by sprawling out the night before, but old habits died hard, especially ones cultivated in tiny, cramped apartments. It was thus that he greeted the morning from within a tight cocoon of blanket, body tucked into itself, the smell of breakfast the first thing to illicit any sort of urge to stir him from his bubble of warmth and comfort.

For a moment, Apollo just stayed still and blinked in the morning sun, before curling in a bit more and thinking, (Klavier's cooking breakfast)

A light, pleasant feeling flooded his chest as he smiled a bit at the thought. It carried him up into a sitting position, and—almost floating—he made his way quietly into the kitchen. Klavier was dressed casually in pants that were held loosely to his frame by a simple draw-string, a disheveled white Hanes to match the messy tail he'd made of his hair, and Apollo felt like maybe it should make him pissed how well he pulled it off. A year ago it probably would have, would've come off as unfair that someone could make sweats and a t-shirt and flipping eggs look so refined, but now it just gave him a funny feeling he couldn't quite place.

He yawned and Klavier turned his head to the sight of Apollo rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the sleeves of his night shirt.

Almost immediately he was all over him, planting kisses everywhere and earning himself a flustered response of, "Stop, stop, I'm all gross and haven't showered yet."

He dodged the swatting arm and managed to land one more kiss on the bridge of Apollo's nose, "I can't help it—you look so cute in the morning, ja?"

Red and embarrassed, Apollo pushed himself off and headed towards the bathroom, "I'm gonna go wash up."

Klavier just chuckled and went back to the stove, "Everything should be done by the time you're out."

He was just pushing the last of the sausage in the pan onto a plate when the defense attorney returned, scrubbing enthusiastically at his head with a towel, and Klavier had to resist the urge to kiss him again. He found himself staring as Apollo sat down at the table, letting the towel drape freely over his head as he reached for his share of breakfast.

He started in on the piece of toast, "…what?"

Klavier rubbed at the back of his neck, looking quite fascinated, "It's just…I've never seen you without gel in your hair before."

Apollo instinctively glanced the other way, "…so?"

"Forehead…I can't see your forehead."

He defensively pulled at the ends of his towel and repeated, "…so?"

And then suddenly, Klavier had leaned across the table and was all Apollo could see, "I like it."

Perhaps more from sheer shock than embarrassment, Apollo's face went fully red and the toast dropped from his mouth and hit the plate, making a soft chink sound. Klavier made quick work of replacing the toast with a kiss, which only served to deepen the blush even further.

Then almost as quickly he pulled back, prompting a grateful puff of air from Apollo, who he'd caught mid-breath, "Although, you probably shouldn't wear it this way to court. I might have trouble concentrating at work."

Apollo frowned and gave him a very condescending look, cheeks still visibly stained. Why, just…why. He'd have thought he'd have gotten used to this by now.

Under the pretense of drying his hair more, he pulled the towel forward so that it covered his face. From somewhere underneath the fabric, Klavier could hear something being mumbled.

"What was that?"

Apollo stopped for moment, then slowly lifted his head a bit. His face was as sullen as ever, but the shy touch of a foot against Klavier's inner shin suggested otherwise.

"I said I guess you're the only one who'll ever get to see it, then…"

Klavier just smiled wide and leaned forward again.

Between them, breakfast was getting cold, but nobody really minded.

When the buzzer sounded, Apollo had three guesses as to who might possibly want to bother them during unpacking.

They were all correct.

He could hear Pearl's sweet, genuine timbre mixed with the playful mischievous tones of Trucy's, "Special delivery for special someones!"

Apollo liked to imagine he could also detect somewhere intertwined with—or rather, buried underneath—the girls' voices the soft and embarrassed sounds of Machi.

All three of them stood at the threshold of the door, three distinct expressions to match each distinct voice. Machi stood pulling at his sleeves, looking like the whole thing was an inconvenience, (And yet here you are), and Apollo thought briefly that perhaps there were some perks to being the older brother. Pearl was smiling off to the side, as if she were merely tagging along on one of Trucy's antics, like this didn't have her fingerprints all over it, because cake for the happy couple? How sweet—how innocent—was that? And finally, there was Trucy, flanked on either side, smiling like she was the star of the show, like she didn't have any ulterior motives of possibly catching her older brother and his boyfriend being all lovey-dovey.

"Well this is…unexpected."

"Where's Klavier?" Trucy bounced, and Apollo swore the cake rose a good centimeter off the platter from the inertia, just for a second.

He eyed it with growing apprehension, "...He's inside, helping me move stuff."

"Many apologies; we are bother," Machi pulled nervously at Trucy's cape, "We leave cake and go."

It then occurred to Apollo that perhaps Machi didn't consider this whole thing an inconvenience so much as he was afraid he was being an inconvenience, and softened immediately.

He smiled, "Want to come in and help?"

"…is alright?"

"Definitely! I'd actually really appreciate it."

Just as it had been in court, the complete shift in Machi's countenance from reclusive to tender and open was almost startling, and (Oh, yeah, I am definitely developing a soft spot for this kid) was all Apollo could think as Machi all but practically pushed past the doorframe and made a beeline for the boxes.

Trucy followed suit, announcing over her shoulder, "I'll just put the cake in the kitchen!"

Pearl however lingered for a bit, giving Apollo a rather knowing look out of the corner of her eye. The way she cocked her head only the slightest of degrees without fully glancing up to look at him made him fidget a bit.

"…what?"

She gave a Pearl-standard hands-on-face goofy smile and merely said, "I bet you two are getting along reaaaal well now…"

He felt his cheeks coloring in embarrassment, "Aha…yeah, that's generally a pre-requisite to moving in together."

Her squeals were without shame, "It's just so romantic!"

Apollo let out a conversational laugh, before moving things along, "Why don't I let you in, and we can join the others with unpacking?"

Pearl gave an eager nod, pushed the hems of her sleeves up, and said, "You just leave it to us! You enjoy your first day as the happy live-in couple!"

As if right on cue, the sound of crashing pots and pans echoed into the hallway, followed quickly by a sharp apology from Trucy. Apollo rolled his eyes and sighed, and yet couldn't even bring himself to be angry. There was something strangely satisfying in knowing that the usually empty and silent air of Klavier's apartment was now filled with the clatter of warm voices, the sounds of small feet running underfoot.

As Pearl ran ahead to help with the commotion, Apollo took the opportunity to shut the door and lock it behind him. He could hear the faint laughter of Klavier and the others, and for a moment he just stood there, listening, taking it all in.

There was a quietness welling up inside him, a sort of reverence and fear that this was all too good to last. Because surely, just like every surrogate brother and sister who'd gotten adopted before him, like every matron that had come and gone through the years, or even the security of working at Gavin Law Offices, this was all due to dissipate and leave him behind.

But he told himself no, this was here, this was now, and even the thought of this all being gone tomorrow didn't stop him from wanting it so badly today, and this scared and excited and terrified him all at once.

With one part fear and five parts courage (which he figured was the appropriate mixture for anything worth caring about, really), Apollo stepped away from the door and towards the main room, before quietly saying, "Here comes Justice."

There was no one else in the hall with him, but he said the words regardless, to himself, because there was no one else better who needed to hear them.

"This is so boring," Trucy exclaimed, inviting herself with a full-bodied plop onto the couch, "What's the point of a couch in the den room if there's no TV in front of it?"

Apollo tried desperately to hide the oncoming blush as Klavier sent a very mischievous smirk his way, because the couch certainly hadn't been boring about five minutes before the kids had rung the bell.

Pearl sat herself politely towards the end, in the small space that Trucy hadn't claimed, "I admit, the place could still use some…filling out."

"I keep saying I'll go furniture shopping," Klavier's expression grew more sincere as he continued looking at the defense attorney, taking a seat on the coffee table in lieu of all the other available seats being taken, "Maybe I'll finally find the motivation to do it."

Trucy sat up with a bolt of inspiration, "We could totally help you guys pick out some stuff!"

Pearl smiled sweetly, "I'm really good at assisting with that sort of thing! I do it for Mystic Maya all the time!"

Machi just quietly sat down between the two girls with his glass of water, content to drink it with both hands, but Apollo imagined that he wouldn't have objected to an actual invitation to such an event.

"That sounds…" he paused, picturing himself and Klavier roaming the nearest Bed and Lowes, keeping Trucy from jumping on the beds, picking out sheets and cups and things.

He suppressed a smile, "…very domestic."

"Would you prefer something a little more…passionate?" Klavier said this in a tone that Apollo felt was a little gutsy, considering the younger audience in their midst, and he looked down at the floor, embarrassed.

"Uh…maybe later," he side-eyed Trucy with a grimace, who coincidentally (or not) had been side-eyeing him first with one of her looks, "Let's focus on getting some more dishes so we don't have to keep washing the few you've got so often."

Pearl, being Pearl, said, "Doing all those house-chores together sounds great! You guys are so lucky to have each other!"

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," Apollo found himself scratching bashfully at the back of his head.

Klavier placed an elbow on his knee and palmed his face, looking playfully good-natured, "Not too…domestic for you?"

Apollo felt something catch in his chest suddenly as he recalled the scene earlier that day at breakfast, Klavier in sweats, handing off washed plates to be dried, standing side by side and taking turns using the faucet at the bathroom sink, all of it, all the tiny details and the way it all felt so much larger than the sum of its parts.

"Domestic is…nice," he conceded, finally letting a tiny smile grace his lips as he continued staring at his socks.

Somewhere ahead of him Trucy was making shrewd implications as to what he and Klavier did to keep themselves entertained in such an empty apartment and Pearl was pulling Machi close and covering his ears, hissing Trucy's name under her breath. For once Apollo lacked the pride to be embarrassed, too busy in his reverie, even as Machi choked on his water in startled confusion, because what the hell were these girls making a fuss over him for, he knew what the word "entertain" meant for goodness sakes, his English wasn't that bad, was it?

And then somewhere between Trucy attempting to bridge the lexical gap between his technically correct understanding of the word "entertain" with more colloquial definitions, and Pearl squawking like a mother hen around a very poor and unfortunate Machi's head, Apollo had somehow made his way over to the coffee table and slid himself comfortably against Klavier's side.

It occurred to him that he wasn't actually picking up on any of the dialogue—or, he was, but it was like the individual words weren't really necessary? It was the opposite of being so disconnected you couldn't register any words—it was more like he was so attuned with just being here, with the fact that he was with everybody, and he was staying, and they were staying, that he didn't really need the words to understand.

And oh, Klavier was pulling out the guitar, and Apollo just kept smiling because yeah, that was a good idea, of course he'd come up with it to calm the kids down. And when Klavier began singing and gave the defense attorney a small nudge, Apollo didn't even hesitate to validate all the practice the two had been putting in by joining in.

Each note felt so good in his throat; the light brush of his knee against the prosecutor's soft; the happiness in his chest light; and the prayer on the tip of his tongue that this moment would never end sweet.

It was currently later, and the prosecutor was making good on Apollo's offer to make out passionately on the couch.

Or rather, when Apollo said, "This isn't what I meant by 'later'" Klavier managed to change his tune by being very persuasive.

Which is to say, he grabbed Apollo by the front of his shirt and brought their lips together before using the momentum to bring them both crashing backwards onto the couch, which resulted in the very flustered defense attorney suddenly straddling him. Klavier figured this would be the strong point of his "argument," since he'd come to understand that Apollo liked it best when he got to be in charge—what made this even better was that Apollo would probably rather die than actively, consciously admit this.

Apollo looked at him with red cheeks and a set jaw, annoyed in part at the way Klavier splayed himself underneath him and just smiled, but also in part at himself for thinking, (Oh god, I could put my mouth on that smile and just—)

He placed his hands lightly on the sides of the prosecutor's stomach before leaning forward, letting his fingers slide up the length of Klavier's chest, giving just enough pressure to make the muscle underneath give way as he made a path up to rest hands on shoulders, cheek on cheek, and lips a breath's width away from the shell of Klavier's ear.

The voice came suddenly raspy and low, "Why do I always let you talk me into this?"

The shiver that went up Klavier's spine was almost enough to make him switch gears and make moves to grab Apollo by the hips and flip him onto his back, but he told himself there'd be plenty of time for that later, and besides, coaxing Apollo's more domineering side out had its own satisfying pay-offs, so he settled for saying, "I didn't actually say anything, Mein Forehead."

Hook, line, and sinker, Apollo was suddenly all mouth and teeth, and Klavier was the bait he bit down on. A soft murmur escaped Klavier's throat as he felt the defense attorney's mouth travel from the base of his jaw to the base of his neck, and when teeth softly grazed against his adam's apple, Klavier instinctively swallowed.

Apollo pulled back a bit and let his gaze drift over Klavier's features, reaching up to brush a couple of bangs out of the prosecutor's eyes, "Your hair's growing out again."

"Yes, the press," Apollo quieted him with a quick kiss, "had a field day," and again, "with that one."

Apollo grinned and pressed their foreheads together, "Oh, if they could see you now."

Klavier chuckled and linked his hands around the small of Apollo's back, "I'd rather they not—I'd hate to see what the fans would do to you."

"I can handle myself," Apollo's eyes had drifted down to focus on the way Klavier's lips moved as he spoke, all the while tracing small, lazy figure-eights along the line of his collar bone.

Klavier brought the both of Apollo's hands to rest on the sides of his own face, "Mmm, maybe first you should finish handling me, ja?"

Apollo closed already heavy-lidded eyes and pulled the two of them closer together, lips catching the faint taste of coffee and cinnamon, although it was hard to tell which one of them was the coffee and which was the cinnamon. Klavier gave a soft hum of approval, and when they broke apart he just sighed contentedly, the small pink of his tongue darting out quickly to wet dry lips, and Apollo took the opportunity to kiss him again, this time a bit more open-mouthed, as if to discern the taste from before better.

And then Klavier was as much hands as he was mouth, and—with the grace of someone who had clearly done this before—he lifted his back up off the couch with a rolling motion that started in his hips and sat them both straight up. A month ago any sort of movement that involved hips against hips would've produced a squeak in Apollo's throat, but it was an altogether different sound that escaped him now. He felt hands following the dip in his back that ran along his spine, up and up with such feather-light precision until there was the cool touch of Klavier's rings on the bare skin above his collar and a shiver went through him.

(Oh god I—I should—aaa—

"—ah!" Apollo let out a small gasp of surprise when Klavier moved his hips again in an attempt to line their bodies up flush against each other.

(Ishould—sh-should…stop?)

Even with the slight buzzing in his ears, Apollo found himself pulling almost desperately at Klavier, a heat flooding across the span of his shoulders.

(I…could stop this…I really could if I—if I want—)

Almost simultaneously they both pulled apart for breath, and Apollo looked across the distance (for lack of a better term, there was so little of it between them) and saw the mistiness in Klavier's eyes, clouded over but also so full, like fog over a freshly waxed moon.

"Mein…" Klavier started, and Apollo could feel the rise and fall of the chest pressed up against his, before the prosecutor thought better, "…Justice."

Without thinking, Apollo reached up and slid his fingers under Klavier's hairline, pushed back the strands of gold from his face until he could see everything, and for a moment they just stayed that way, heavy breathing the only sounds to be heard. When Apollo felt a stirring at the back of his neck, felt Klavier affectionately grazing his base hairline, something within him seemed to begin shifting, a strange feeling that started in his stomach and pressed up into his ribcage.

The hand at Klavier's forehead slid slowly down the curve of his cheek.

(I—)

The hand continued lower.

"Apollo, this—"

Apollo moved closer suddenly, as if scared what might be on the other end of that sentence, until their breaths of air were so tangled together he couldn't tell whose was whose, and the hand between them had travelled even further south to rest on Klavier's side. His fingers tensed a bit, clutching at the fabric he found there, the hem of the prosecutor's shirt lifting free of his pants line ever so slightly.

(I think I want—)

And then the doorbell went off.

Apollo's hand immediately flew away from Klavier's side, with the rest of his body soon following suit, and with a squawk worthy of destroying almost any sort of mood, he yelled, "I-I'll get it!"

He practically sprinted towards the door, fueled by panic and infuriation, wondering just who the hell it was bothering them. When he finally reached the entrance—and after fumbling with the lock with almost exasperated dexterity—he opened the door and went horribly pale. What had once been irritation turned nearly murderous.

"Mister Wright, what the hell—

"Right, I know I'm dropping in so unexpected, but I was running by doing some errands—"

"Leave."

"—and had this really sudden urge to take a piss, so I—"

Apollo slammed the door in Phoenix's face.

There was silence, then a small scratching noise, a shuffling of shoes against the ground outside, before Phoenix's voice came muffled through the woodwork.

"…So can I come in?"

Apollo and Klavier were sitting together rather chastely on the couch, Klavier holding back a laugh as Apollo silently screamed and thought, (He's in our damn bathroom right now and he won't leave).

The defense attorney shifted uncomfortably before instinctively grabbing one of the throw pillows and hugging both it and his knees to his chest.

"God, I am so sorry."

"Nein, it's no worry," Klavier allowed a slight chuckle before pressing a kiss to the other's temple, who at this point was flushed as red as a tomato.

Apollo could feel the heat in him rising, although it was a very different sort of heat than that of a few minutes ago, and he curled into himself just a bit more.

Klavier rubbed at the defense attorney's back in a comforting way before leaning in and saying softly, "I'll go start dinner then."

Apollo, head still low, responded equally as quiet, "Okay."

Neither of them said it, but it was undeniably clear that the mood—and the chances of whatever might've happened—had passed. After Klavier got up to leave, Apollo just groaned indigently and planted his face into the couch, legs still drawn up and the pillow clutched tightly in his arms. Before long, he heard the soft patter of feet coming from the general direction of the bathroom.

"Sorry about coming in so suddenly, Apollo—you guys are a life-saver."

Apollo didn't move or answer.

Phoenix looked tentatively down at his young charge, "….you okay?"

"Go away."

"….did I interrupt something?"

"Mr. Wright, I swear—"

Phoenix threw his hands up defensively, "Okay, okay! I get it! Sorry to, uh…intrude."

"….."

"….I'll be going now."

Apollo heard the sound of retreating footsteps, hoping that was the end of it, but of course, of course, Phoenix had just one last thing to say.

"You two be safe now!"

"GODDAMMIT, MR. WRIGHT—"

Phoenix quickly shut the door after himself.

"So I heard you and the fop are shacking up together now."

Apollo rolled his eyes, "Please don't phrase it like that."

Ema just smiled devilishly and popped another Snackoo in her mouth, "What? All I can say is that it's about effen' time."

He sighed, "Just give me the damn analysis."

Ema spoke around the crunch of her food, "Hold your horses, I still have to finish the tests first."

With the peculiar grace of someone who lacks any real grace, Ema swung her swivel chair back around before landing point in front of her workspace, elbow on the desk and her cheek on her wrist as she pulled the slab of rock before her closer.

She flipped her free hand back over her shoulder, palm up, "Sample, please."

"Refreshing to hear you actually using niceties," Apollo teased, gently placing a golden singlet within the curl of her fingers.

She didn't even bother to turn around to look at him as she proceeded to take the piece of jewelry and scratch against the streak plate. Apollo watched her take a bottle of some liquid and spill a neat line across the smudge before he remembered he had other business with Ema.

"Oh, right," he went to go fetch a manila envelope from his suitcase, "When he heard I was visiting you, Klavier thought it'd be convenient if I dropped this off for him. It's your performance evaluation for this year."

She gave a general mutter of recognition and held her hand out once more.

Apollo handed her the documents, "Don't worry, I didn't peek or anything."

Ema just remained silent as she swiveled around again and swung one leg over the other, all in one swift motion, then tore away at the adhesive flap and scanned very disinterestedly over the first page of the review.

"Glad to know I'm still not fired," she said, seemingly having found any and all relevant information, before scrunching up the whole stack—unread papers and all—and tossing the ball over her shoulder.

Apollo would've protested about how unprofessional this was, if he wasn't busy being impressed by how the ball had managed to skirt the edge of the trash-can behind Ema before swishing down in, because damn, if there was anything to say about the detective it was that not only did she not give a damn, she was really good at it.

"I'd ask why you've got it in for the guy, but then I remember—it's Klavier."

Ema reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip, "Correction—it's just as much me as it is that fop. We just really don't get along."

"He's really not all that bad."

Ema leered over the lip of her cup, steam framing her face, "Maybe he's just…an acquired taste."

Apollo tried very hard not to read into the way she emphasized the last bit, "M-maybe…"

He could see another smart remark forming on the detective's tongue, but the door creaking open silenced anything she had lurking beneath that smirk.

She rolled her eyes, before speaking into her coffee, "Well, speak of the devil."

"Evening, Fräu—"

"Fop," Ema interrupted, shooting daggers at the prosecutor, "I have, in my hand, steaming hot coffee in lieu of my regular bag of snacks. Please choose your next words carefully.

Apollo held back a snicker as he watched the gears in Klavier's head turn before the man coughed and relented with, "Detective. I take it you were talking about me just now—nice things, I assume."

Ema actually smiled, but the daggers in her eyes were still just as sharp, "We were just talking about how we'd both like to jump your bones."

Apollo practically all but forgot about volume control, "She's joking."

Klavier leaned forward, hands on his hips, "Oh, I doubt she is, unfortunately. I, however, would very much like to keep my bones on the inside, thank you very much."

Ema coolly shot back with, "Keep flashing that patch of tummy at me, and we'll see."

"Maybe I wasn't flashing it for your benefit."

She continued sipping nonchalantly, "That all it take to get into lawyer boy's pants, huh?"

"I-I just wanted to know if this piece of evidence was real gold or not," Apollo sputtered, burying his reddening face in the palms of his hands.

"It isn't," Ema said, so matter-of-factly you'd think the previous exchange hadn't actually happened.

Klavier straightened, actually laughing a bit, "I'll get out of your hair then. I just wanted to make sure you got your evaluation."

"Filed it," she replied curtly, swinging back around to clean up the acid test she'd just finished.

"I…" Apollo noticed the way Klavier's eyes flitted briefly over the waste-basket before coming back to look at him, "I see. Well then, suppose I'll make myself scarce. Come see me when you're done and we can drive home, ja?"

Apollo just sheepishly nodded at Klavier's retreating form, before letting out a deep sigh.

"You must be a saint, Justice," Ema said conversationally, after Klavier had shut the door behind him, "I don't care how good the sex might be, living with him must be a nightmare."

Apollo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like, "Ema, stop," but with a lot more garbles and consonants thrown in.

"Oh come on, there's no use trying to deny it, it's Klavier Gavin—you really trying to tell me you two don't go at it like bunny rabbits?"

Apollo could feel the heat in his face rising dangerously high, "I don't—th-that isn't—"

Ema just raised one eyebrow meaningfully, sipping on her damn coffee with the most distasteful smile he'd ever seen her wear. There was a very painful second where he just covered his mouth with his hand, trying very hard not to let Ema see the sweat trickling down the side of his temple, before her eyes went very wide as the connection hit her.

"Oh my god," she hissed quietly, dropping the hand that held her drink into her lap.

"It's not—!" Apollo didn't exactly know what kind of ending to give this sentence, but it was clear that there should certainly be plenty of exclamation points to accompany it.

"Not even once?" she asked incredulously, placing the coffee on the desk so as to better lean in, showcasing what was probably the most attention she'd ever paid him personally.

"Can I just—the sample report—"

"Well hell, don't I feel like a bunch of dicks now—"

"Ema."

"No, really, I actually feel really bad for once."

Apollo, growing more and more short by the second, just sagged his shoulders and grimaced, "Well congratulations, I imagine that must only happen every hundred or so years."

She waved the passive-aggressive insult away with her hand, "Just about. So…damn, I mean…how? We're talking about the fop here, I would've thought he'd be on you like a screwdriver in—"

"Please don't finish that sentence," he groaned.

"Don't tell me he's…," Ema's eyes suddenly lit up in a way that almost scared him, "Actually really bad at it?"

"….Geeze, you really don't like this guy."

"Answer the question."

Apollo considered just leaving without the report he needed, "It's not—I just…I didn't want…at the time…"

Ema leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking very methodical, "I see…so the issue here is actually you, I take it? …Wow, I think I'm actually impressed."

"Impressed?"

"That you've managed to keep the glimmerousness out of your pants for so long."

Apollo tried very hard to dispel the image this created, "You make it sound like it's a hard thing. You don't seem to have any trouble with it either."

Ema gave a very genuine nod, "Yes, but I don't actually like the guy, it's not like I get any brownie points for not banging a guy I don't like."

Apollo deflated a bit more, "You realize what the prosecutor and I do during our private time is our business, right?"

She reached for her Snackoos, "Ah, but that's just it, isn't it? You're not actually doing anything with the dear prosecutor, are you?"

"You…you don't know what you're talking about…" he finished lamely.

"Oh?" she smirked, "Gonna make a move then?"

Apollo slammed his fists down on the table, "Objection! No leading the conversation!"

"Holy hell, slow down there law boy, this isn't a court of law," Ema thoughtfully rooted around for a fist-ful of snack, "But if you really want my advice? Bang the guy."

"You are so eloquent," Apollo could feel himself sinking into a chair across from the detective, "…wait, I thought you were against us doing that sort of thing?"

"You guys are living together, I think you're warranted a bit of fun. And besides," and here Ema's face suddenly turned a shade more reflective, surprisingly sincere, "There are worse guys you could be getting it on with."

Apollo actually looked rather alarmed, "That might literally be the nicest thing I've ever heard you say about him…are you actually giving me heartfelt advice?"

"I still feel bad for teasing you earlier."

Apollo blinked a bit as he considered the detective before him. This was…unprecedented Ema territory.

"…So, most of the time, just where do you keep this nice Ema stowed away?"

"She's back in Europe, taking a test," she snorted, her tone like acid, which normally felt sweet in her throat, but Apollo caught just the slightest aversion of gaze, the bite in Ema's voice that made it sound like maybe for once it hurt on the way up, and suddenly he was very quiet.

He wondered whether Ema would rather appreciate a sarcastic or consolatory response, given how bitter-sweet the statement had been, before he decided on neither, "Oh."

The detective cleared her throat, "But yes, in all honesty, as much as it pains me to say this, Klavier's actually a pretty decent guy. Terribly conceited and out-landishly in need of some real style, but all things considered, you two somehow make a pretty fitting pair."

"That's very sweet of you to say Ema, it really is," and even Apollo wasn't sure if he was shooting for candor here or not, still taking the 'Ema being nice' thing a bit incredulously.

"Hey, just because you clash with someone doesn't make them fundamentally a bad person," she gave her snacks a gentle shake, peering down into the bag with a sort of softness that was foreign to him, yet somehow not unbecoming or out of place for her features.

There was something…more youthful in the small, relaxed smile she now wore, a tired optimism shaking itself from the depths of disappointment that years of harsh reality had layered on, and she added as an after-thought, "Even I can admit that."

"…We are getting pretty serious," Apollo finally let himself fall into the openness of the atmosphere.

Ema actually laughed a bit as she tossed a Snackoo into her mouth, "I think you're actually pretty good for him. You don't take his shit," munch, "most of the time, anyway. I think he likes how you're one of the few people who plays him straight in a massive sea of people trying to kiss his ass."

"You think that's why you've yet to get fired?" Apollo actually threw a joke that was, for once, not ribbed with counter-sarcasm.

She smiled, "There are perks to being honest, I suppose."

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation as Ema continued to chew leisurely, lost in some chain of thought, before she said, "I will say this—the guy's head over heels for you. I mean, even for someone who falls in love pretty easily and freely, it's pretty bad."

Apollo looked down at his lap with the smallest of smiles, "Really…?"

Ema responded loudly and suddenly, "There! Right there," she accentuated her words with a jab of her finger in his direction, causing him to sit up straighter in confusion, "That's exactly the same shit he does, when he's fooling around with his phone and texting you, clearly not doing his job, it's so cute and disgusting."

Apollo blinked a couple of times, quiet.

Ema continued, stuffing her mouth with some more snacks, "Don't worry though, I actually like you, so it's just endearing when you do it."

His shoulders fell, "…Did you just call me cute?"

Ema actually reached over and ruffled his hair a bit, "Yes. I. Did."

Apollo batted her arm away before fussing with the strands of hair she'd mussed up, scowling, "Damn, never thought I'd miss you actually being mean me."

She leaned back, chuckling darkly, "Oh, don't worry—you'll be seeing regular me the next time we meet. You've just caught me being sentimental," munch munch munch, "aaand, I suppose I just have a soft spot for you—guess I've always had a thing for people who dress well and use bold colors."

Apollo considered this for a moment, "...are you hitting on me?"

She burst out laughing with, "Pffft, ahahahaha, good one," before extending the hand that held her bag out to him, while wiping a tear in her eye with the other, "Here, you deserve some for that."

He'd never really been the type to eat snacks, but he automatically reached in and grabbed a few, because when Ema Skye offered you some of her precious Snackoos, refusing was just not an option.

He sampled the first one carefully, almost ceremoniously, before saying, "You know, I think you're wrong."

Ema raised an eyebrow suspiciously, "Oh?"

Apollo kept munching, although the sentiment of his words was still very much present, "I think this is the regular you. Or rather—I mean—ugh, how I do word this…This seems like the easier you."

The eyebrow raised further, accompanied by a warning flash of the eyes.

"No, that's not what I meant! What I mean is…you seem more…you than before…like it's easier to be you when you're like this, if that makes sense…"

Ema seemed to let this roll around a bit in her head as she considered something unseen to Apollo, just tilted her head back and looked past the ceiling for a while before sighing, "No, I assure you that cynicism and sarcasm are definitely me, and I suppose—in some ways—I like it that way."

Apollo sat respectfully as he waited for the rest of what Ema wanted to say, gave her the space to let things order themselves in her mind, "But I'll admit…there was…is more to me than just that, and maybe somewhere along the way I forgot about that."

He just nodded, because he neither had the history with Ema nor the relevant insight to voice any advice or consolation, but he'd always been rather good at reading people, and his mind couldn't help but wander back to the earlier snippet she'd made about Europe.

After the appropriate amount of time, he ventured with, "Hey Ema?"

"Hmm?"

"I think you should take that test again."

She huffed and rolled her eyes, before throwing back a half-hearted, "Yeah, and I think you should sleep with the fop."

Apollo just chewed thoughtfully, "I guess we'll see about that."

Ema actually laughed a bit, before once again switching her Snackoos for coffee, "Mmm. We'll see."