Archive of Our Own ^beta

There stands an oblong building made out of bricks, contrasting with the neighboring apartment blocks, all far taller.

At first glance, it doesn’t look much and passes as yet another morose structure. The clean windows indicate it's at least periodically maintained, unlike the rest of its façade, of which time has darkened the bricks.

Looking into the large glass walls, an arrangement of various books can be seen displayed on bookshelves, each labeled with signs written in Impact on a gradient background that screams, “Graphic design is my passion.”

Colorful furniture, not unlike those found in a preschool classroom, sit on one side, while more muted ones with a vintage look are set on the other. In fact, most of the decoration — and half of the book collection — has this retro feeling to it... as one kid would put it, that is. The library had actually been refurnished in the early 2000s. Not much more since.

The kitsch interior design (if it can be qualified as interior design at all) is apparently on purpose, a way to make a third place often rendered elitist (consciously or not) more attractive to all, regardless of societal status or education.

Apollo would echo the sentiment, if it weren't a blatant lie to cover up the fact that the city hall just wants to spend as little of its budget as possible on the library, rendering it more artificial than friendly.

He locks his bike and rummages through his pockets for his keys. The door, however, is already open.

Athena is still at the desk, cutting… paper bunnies. Somehow entranced by her task, or perhaps daydreaming, she only raises her head when he greets her, “Hiya.”

“Oh, hello, Apollo!” Her focus frown melts into her usual, welcoming grin. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, however. “Hold on…” She twists her neck to see the clock behind her. “Oh…” she breathes, her shoulders slumping.

“Yeah, oh.”

When Apollo clocks in after his morning classes and lunch break, she should already have left for hers in the afternoon. He’s not quite sure whether her absence is a positive or not; she has an energy unmatched, something he can’t always handle after hours of classes. Nevertheless, her optimism would definitely be appreciated in times when he doesn’t feel like smiling.

The young woman throws her bag on her shoulder and points to the desk, on which lies the dismembered parts of paper bunnies.

“I have a storytime tomorrow with an activity I may or may not have forgotten to prepare in advance…” she explains innocently as she puts her hands behind her back. “So… Could you please finish cutting these up?”

He sits down and examines her work. Nothing easier. “Yeah, sure.”

She continues with a speed that matches the volume he tries his best to tone down here, unsuccessfully, “I also made a sheet for Trucy’s show on Sunday. Be sure to ask for a phone number and—”

Athena goes quiet when a large, tall man surrounded by a threatening aura walks in. He greets them in a low voice befitting his appearance. They return the greeting nervously.

Forcing a smile, she adds more quietly, “Well, you can always check the to-do sheet. Bye bye!”

She waves, leaving Apollo with the imposing man he could’ve sworn was some kind of mob boss when he first visited the library. Turns out, he runs a muffin bakery, all the more apparent from the books he borrows.

As he browses the few cook books, Apollo checks the reservations for Trucy’s show. There are already a couple noted down in cells all neatly arranged in alphabetical order, courtesy of Excel pro Athena Cykes.

On the contrary, the do-list sheet they share looks nothing like the other, and that the moment it fell into Wright’s hands. Most tasks are written there, of course, but all the dates Athena might’ve organized properly are interspersed by his notes, sometimes highlighted in an eye straining green.

Aside from finishing where his coworker has left off and supervising the book club they’re offering later today, it seems there isn’t much to do, unless he’s missed something, which wouldn’t come as a surprise with the mess their superior has made of the sheet.

That man truly is a wonder… Why did the infamous Phoenix Wright, ex-attorney, choose to work in this library — that had started falling into decrepitude before he took the helm no less — of all things? The question itches in the back of Apollo's throat but he knows he’ll get a cryptic smile as an answer at best.

A much wanted change of path after his law career was left in tatters could explain it, but the man seems neither that interested in books or in cultural actions. He also doubts working as a freelancer paid by the city hall is the most profitable activity, but it’s at least better than nothing. Apollo is no closer to finding the reason.

If he wanted more answers, he would have to search for them himself. For now, he’d rather focus on his own career by passing the bar exam. On that note, he’d prefer to study at home, but well, he needs money for a home.

And so, he finishes cutting up the paper bunnies and scans Mr. Kitaki’s books as swiftly as he can. Even if he’s never been hostile to him, he’d rather not tempt fate by taking his sweet time.

Most of it has become mechanical overtime, if not boring. At least, that leaves him — on a few occasions — with the chance to glance at his notes from his morning classes.

That won’t be for now, though. A girl in a wheelchair comes in, followed by her father. Oh boy, he inhales.

“Ya got my books?” Her father nudges her softly and her nails grate against her toy. “Er, hello. Ya got my books?”

He rolls his chair back with a push of the leg and rummages through the rack behind him, where they keep the books requested by users, lent by the Los Angeles Public Library. Their collection is not quite the same in size, and often does Apollo have to wince when he’s asked for the umpteenth time that day for a book they don’t own and can only borrow from a bigger system.

The girl waiting in front of the desk has possibly cleaned out all of their small library’s titles pertaining to the two world wars. At first, very slowly; her father would initially come in by himself, only to return sheepishly after she didn’t like them. In frustration, she decided to accompany him, despite her obvious anxiety.

Since then, she’s changed by an impressive margin, now demanding instead of hiding behind her father, though no doubt her tone serves as a way to hide her unease, something fairly glaring when he casts his eyes on the robot she’s holding, or rather gripping with full force.

Apollo grabs the books and hands them to her. Armie skims them and as she does, her frown relaxes and she brightens up. “Can you—” Another nudge. “Thanks… Can you get me stuff on the Cold War next?”

She gets closer to the desk to peer at the LAPL collection referenced on their website he’s just pulled up. Ensues a near ten minutes of scrolling past the thousand of books on the topic, most earning a complaint from the girl, on how childish they supposedly are, and how she won’t read kids books.

Well, you are a kid, Apollo wants to retort, but he can’t just start arguing with a child, no matter how much he wants to do so. Thankfully, she manages to settle on two or three titles. Any longer and he would’ve lost his mind.

On her way out, books squeezed between herself and her toy, she refuses any help from her father. Despite giving him the cold shoulder, she’s beaming. At that, Apollo can’t help but crack a smile. Even if the help he ensures during his part-time has little to do with the one he'll (hopefully) give out with his dream job, he likes to feel useful.

Apollo takes the books both Armie and Mr. Kitaki returned to put them back on shelves. The adult side, on the left, has two dedicated to non-fiction. He stares at them, a bit overwhelmed. After Athena had joined, a couple months after him, she had taken it upon herself to rearrange all the books in the order of their Dewey Classification. Unwilling to disturb her herculean feat, he dutifully places them back in numerical order.

He also notes Athena has already dusted the bookshelves. With no one in sight, he opens his class notebook to a page of scribbles on ethics only legible to him. The quiet of the place soothes him into focus. There’s no distraction but the hum of old plumbing and the occasional creak of the wooden floor and… the front door.

Apollo shoves his notes to the side and forces a smile he hopes isn't too obvious.

“Hello!” he welcomes at a volume inappropriate for a library (and most places for that matter).

Noticing who the person is, a frown replaces Apollo's simulated smile. A man steps in, a guitar case lightly swinging on his shoulder. Gavin, the guitar teacher from the music school above. All the goodwill he has to cling onto when faced with an insufferable user vanishes entirely, none left for the newcomer.

“Guten Tag, Herr Librarian! Happy to see me, I take it,” he greets him with his usual charisma.

Apollo doesn't buy one bit into it — he's not in fact trying to be friendly, but to subtly mock him. There’s no way a pretty face like him would genuinely want to be amiable to Apollo. He sees right through the teacher’s derisive game. Just what he needs! Urgh…

“For the hundredth time, I'm not a librarian,” he corrects dryly.

Gavin tilts his head. “Ah, but you still haven't told me your name.”

“I have, and it's Justice,” Apollo retorts, knowing full well that's not what he meant.

“Well-” He shrugs- “you do work in a library, Herr Librarian.”

The guitarist flashes yet another bright smirk. He approaches the desk with an assured gait, — with unnecessary glamor for a mere teacher in fact —, and reaches for his compartment in the filing cabinet, from which he produces an envelope and an attendance sheet.

“I'd love to chat with you a little more, but my student will be there in a minute. Bis später!”

He waves as though he would to a friend, (which they are not in slightest, so it only comes out as sarcastic) and disappears behind the door near the desk, leading both to the staircase and to the kitchen.

Good riddance. He doesn't want to chat with a man speaking in a fake accent who's likely making fun of him internally, because he's too loud or too awkward. Apollo resists the urge to bash his head on the keyboard or to scream at the top of his lungs. That too will have to wait as the front door opens once more.

On second thought, dealing with Klavier might just be easier than the Danielle Steel obsessed old lady, whose second favorite thing is ranting about ‘kids these days’. A young woman his age in a lab coat spares him no pity as she browses their small science section, snacking as loud as he'd tell her it's not allowed. Before he can do so, two families with children show up at once — it wouldn’t be fun if they did one at a time.

As if Apollo didn’t get enough fright with that totally-not-gangster man and the old bat from earlier, a young person whose triangle earrings tinkle distractingly is followed by the very caricature of a lumberjack. The latter casts a sweeping glance to his surroundings, then a black one in Apollo’s direction. He shudders, which completely flies past his partner (Toby Lerone, if he recalls correctly). Lerone greets him and trots about to the cook books with a gleeful smile. The lumberjack, on the other hand, does not make any move.

Rather, he mumbles about supposed bad vibes of the library. His partner shrugs it off and forages for the scarce chocolate recipe books he hasn't yet borrowed. When he does, a feat not short of a miracle, the lumberjack practically ushers him out. At first, Lerone laughs it off, but the man's face only reflects seriousness.

“This place has got to be haunted,” he declares gravely, sounding their cue to leave.

It’s got to be haunted… Some people do have the ability to perceive the supernatural, for better or for worse.

It's true books sometimes fall on their own or the wood creaks as if some invisible force were walking there, out of human sight… Shivers run down his spine. He shakes his head — it's just gravity and the building being old, is all.

“What is that face for, Herr Librarian? Are you scared of ghosts?”

Apollo almost falls off his chair and covers his mouth to contain a quite frankly ridiculous yelp.

Gavin is standing by the printer, currently copying some sheets.

“Uh, no, of course not. I'm not scared of them!”

The music teacher doesn't have to know he is. He clears his throat but before he can add anything to make himself look less ridiculous, the printer's small screen displays a red dot.

“Ach, no more paper,” Gavin laments. “Could you add some more, bitte?”

Apollo sighs and stands up to rummage through the supply cabinet behind him, property of the library, so the teachers don't dare open it, for some reason. He grabs a couple of sheets and hands them to Gavin.

“Why don't you leave a ream next to the printer? It would certainly be easier than always asking you for more,” he asks candidly. Once again, Apollo doesn't buy it.

“Because it's always us getting paper to begin with, even when it's you guys from the music school using most of it.” Apollo crosses his arms. “You know we have to fetch them from the town hall ourselves, right? They don't deliver it to us.”

“I'm afraid I didn't know.” His quizzical expression gives way to yet another smile. “If that’s the case, we could get them together next time, aber… I could take you to dinner first.”

Apollo has learned not to freeze like a deer in headlights; that's something Gavin often suggests off-handedly. That nearly gave him a heart attack the first time. Now, he simply rolls his eyes, annoyed at the redundant joke that had never been funny to begin with. That's just something pretty guys think they can do, toying with others to stroke their ego — good thing Apollo is not falling for that.

“Yeah, very funny,” he grumbles.

“I wasn't—”

“Hello!” A newcomer cuts Gavin off.

Apollo greets a middle-aged woman and spares him one last look. “The book club is about to start,” he explains before he directs the woman to the tables he's pushed together to form a bigger one.

Still… He can't say those offers, no matter how unserious, leave him indifferent. Get a grip! It doesn't actually mean anything — it only gives him a slight ego boost because Gavin is an attractive person, and Apollo doesn't need to even be personally attracted to him to know this, a mere factual observation.

Whatever. He welcomes another group of people for the club and watches them talk about their more recent reading. Most of their talk goes past his head. Instead, what the lumberjack said circles back in his mind. There would be no reason for him to dwell on it if, mixed with the earlier encounter, his mind didn't conjure back a story Phoenix had told in the weeks following his arrival.

His superior always seemed to take great pleasure in disconcerting poor Apollo. That time had been no different.

Apollo is entering new purchases into their system while Phoenix glances at their summary.

“This one reminds me of an actual story.” He taps a crime novel with the back of his hand.

“Oh yeah?” Apollo only pays him partial attention.

“There was this man who used to kidnap people and hold them captive in his house. He'd only let them out if they managed to survive the night. There weren't many survivors… In fact, there was only one. The guy would set up traps and watch his victims struggle until they would draw their last breath. At least, he got caught in the end.”

Apollo knits his eyebrows. By no means a fun story, he’s heard countless of them about sadists. He is studying to become a lawyer.

“I'm surprised you don't know that one,” his superior's seriousness fades away.

“Why would I?”

“Because it happened in this very library.”

He blanched, which only served to amuse Phoenix.

The woman from the book club wishing him a good rest of his day draws Apollo back to reality.

In the end, time flies and Apollo barely has had a chance to glance at his notes. It certainly isn’t the first time and it shouldn’t even come as a surprise. The library closes in less than an hour. He decides to put the pile of books that had started forming by his desk back.

He sets some on the two displays in the room, often curated by Ms. Andrews from the LAPL. A boy runs out in a flash, gripping the strip of his guitar case, and misses knocking over the display by a margin.

Apollo grumbles, but the boy has already disappeared before he can complain.

Not long after, steps echo from the staircase. He raises his head, deadpan, to see Gavin, again. Initially, the teacher looks past the windows, then shrugs before glancing at Apollo. His stupid smirk reappears, as it often does when they see each other. He rests his body against the doorframe.

“That’s an interesting book you’ve got there.”

“Hm?” He’d just been looking at the tag on the spine, not bothering checking the covers. The one he’s holding exposes a shirtless man with an embarrassing title.

He clicks his tongue and slots the book in place. “Do you think I read everything we own here?”

“Ach, so not a little bit interested?”

Why do you care? he wants to ask but wonders if ignoring him wouldn’t be a better course of action.

And indeed, it does seem to do the trick as Gavin grows quiet. Which, in theory, should make Apollo happy. Yet, he finds himself asking, “What are you standing here for?”

“My last student is running late. She usually calls when something comes up,” he explains with… a hint of trouble in his voice, at which point he starts twirling with a lock of hair. “If she doesn’t show up, maybe I could teach you instead, what about that?”

“In case you forgot, I’m working,” he answers back.

But… for some reason, he’s always wanted to learn how to play the guitar, drawn by the sound of the instrument. Wait, he can’t actually be considering it! Gavin was just joking, nothing new. And if he wasn’t, he’d probably use that as an opportunity to embarrass him, like sitting way too close to Apollo and maybe putting his hand on his… What?

“Something the matter, Herr Librarian? Your face is all red.”

Apollo stammers nonsense under his breath. It seems to amuse the teacher even more.

“You’re not running a fever, are you?”

Gavin stands up straight and steps toward him, lifting a hand to his forehead. Thankfully, the door opens and the teacher pulls away — otherwise, Apollo might just have slapped his hand away. Of course he would have.

He gladly directs his attention to the old man, who tips his hat as a greeting.

“I’ll be waiting upstairs a bit longer. Tell the girl if she comes.”

“A-Alright.”

Apollo feels like he’s about to implode, but he can’t even allow himself to let out a long, needed sigh in front of a user. The last one, he hopes.

As Apollo is pulling down the blinds, a girl with a guitar shyly comes inside and runs upstairs, offering him a bashful greeting. Good, that way Gavin will be the one to lock the door. Apollo grabs his bag and— the phone rings. He grumbles, but picks up.

“Paige Turner Public Library, what can I—”

“Hey, Apollo. It’s Phoenix.”

“Oh, huh, hello!”

“I just wanted to know if you got all the documents ready for tomorrow.”

He surveys the desk. The paper bunnies form a neat pile on the side, but that’s about it. “What documents?”

“The archive documents for tomorrow’s assessment. I wrote it down on the to-do list.”

Apollo taps his foot. He turns the computer back on and opens the Excel sheet. There’s nothing written for today or tomorrow, aside from Athena’s activity. He starts clicking everywhere, though there’s no way it would just appear… Until he scrolls to the very bottom of the page, where he finds Phoenix’s message.

“W-What is it doing at the bottom of the sheet? How was I supposed to find it?”

“If you want to become a lawyer, kid, you’ll need to start looking in every nook and cranny.”

He huffs a baffled laugh. Just admit you messed up! “This is a library, Mr. Wright! And besides, that’s a detective’s job!”

“In any case, I really need it for tomorrow at the first hour, and I can’t come in early because I have an appointment with Trucy, so could you get them, say… right now?”

Apollo hunches on his chair and knocks his head back. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

“Well, it is pretty important. Count that as overtime. Thanks!” Wright hangs up.

Apollo pinches the bridge of his nose, although he might as well hurry rather than drag his feet. He climbs the stairs, up to the attic. He rarely goes in there, and for good reason; the place is creepy and the lingering smell of plaster could have him suffocate. He doesn’t dawdle and rummages through archive boxes, all the while he’s accompanied by the sound of guitar just below.

The oldest archives date back to three decades, indicating such things as inventory, number of entries… They’ve started compiling this information digitally only three years ago and anything before has yet to be digitized. Of course, tomorrow’s assessment needs data over five years old.

Halfway through the tedious search, Apollo hears Gavin bidding his goodbye to his student. The teacher seems to be staying behind, though, as he can make out an occasional tune.

He finds the last needed document just a few minutes after Gavin has left. Apollo quickly follows suit.

The building is now shrouded in darkness. He dashes down the stairs and sets the documents down on the desk.

“Hey.”

Apollo’s heart nearly jumps out of his chest. Gavin is standing right in front of the door.

He collects himself as discreetly as possible. “Oh, it’s you.” He wasn’t waiting for him, was he? “What are you still doing here?”

“It seems I can’t open the door. Did you lock it?”

A twinge of irritation hits Apollo, with a strange hint of disappointment as well. Nevermind that. He strides toward the poor and pushes it.

It’s closed… and he sure didn’t lock it. Still, he buries his hand into his pocket for his keys. He inserts one into the slot, turns it. Turns it again — not working. With more force, he lifts the door handle, pushes it, to no avail. The key only meets with resistance.

“That’s odd. Is it broken?” Apollo pokes his forehead. That’s never happened before.

Gavin leans against the wall once again to play nonchalant. The way he’s gripping his upper arm, however, translates… Well, Apollo isn’t sure. Frustration, worry?

“I tried the emergency exit. It’s locked too.”

Apollo spins around. “Uh?” he yells, and realizing that, covers his mouth. “I mean, it shouldn’t be!”

Just to be certain, he checks the emergency door. It won’t budge either.

“Are you playing a prank on me, Herr Librarian? If you wanted to spend time with me, you could just have asked.” Gavin tilts his head, adorning a clearly plastic smile. Or is it that clear? Somehow, Apollo’s gaze keeps getting drawn to him and his habits, thus having him fixate on even the smallest of motions Gavin makes.

“Do I look like that kind of person? If anything, I’m starting to think you’re messing with me.”

The guitar teacher glances around the room. “Ach, I’m afraid this place isn’t romantic enough to my liking…” Before Apollo can interject, he adds in a more serious tone, “Do you think it could be the security system?”

Apollo considers the pad of the alarm system. Once the passcode entered, it sounds a shrill alarm if detecting motion — that’s it. As far as he knows, the doors can only be locked manually.

Nonetheless, he pulls out his phone. Who knows what Mr. Wright hasn’t made him aware of?

“I’ll call maintenance just to b—”

No signal or Wi-Fi.

“Hey, Gavin, do you have any signal?”

The guitarist checks his. He frowns. “Nein, I don’t.”

Apollo rubs his temples. He can only admire the other man for looking so detached, because he feels like breaking the door open right away.

He tries everything; using the computer (the Wi-Fi isn’t working either), sounding the alarm to alert neighbors (it doesn’t activate), lock-picking the door (he’s never done it before) all the while Gavin attempts to unlock the windows.

Their efforts end up fruitless.

“That’s… troublesome, to say the least,” Gavin says lightly, yet twirls with his hair in a much faster motion than before.

He’s made the glass wall his leaning spot while Apollo paces around the room.

“So, what I think is going on is that the security system has been changed and I wasn’t told,” he theorizes without slowing down, “which can somehow lock the door now. So, if there’s a power outage— well, no, maybe a network failure, then… No, it can’t just be connected to the Internet… Ugh!” he shouts and Gavin laughs. “It doesn’t make any sense!”

“I say we keep calm. You might be on the right track, or maybe there are issues with the hardware. It doesn’t exactly explain the lack of signal, but we’re no tech expert. I’m sure maintenance will come soon, ja?”

Apollo stops in his tracks. “I’m not so hopeful…” He heaves the longest sigh of his life. “I’ll just study in the meantime.” He drops on a chair and produces his notes from his bag.

“Oh, what are you studying?”

“I can’t study if you talk to me at the same time.”

“Ah, richtig…”

Gavin grows quieter and Apollo doesn’t dare glance at him, in case he sounded too harsh and actually managed to upset him. He really has to work, though.

“Just one thing. Do you mind if I play the guitar?”

“Uh, no, ‘course not.”

“Super, danke.”

He plays a calm song that helps with the otherwise eerie atmosphere of the library at night. Apollo even finds himself bobbing his head along as he peruses his notebook.

Apollo only emerges back from his thoughts when the sound of the instrument stops. He raises his head to see Gavin peering out.

“Is maintenance coming?”

The guitarist shakes his head and knocks on the glass window. “Didn’t you notice?”

He follows the direction of Gavin’s hand. The outside view has never been picturesque; rows of brick buildings, many of which stand as decrepit giants, stretch out for miles on end, towering the streets as to let as little of sky light shine as possible. Sometimes, cars will pass by far above the speed limit, angering the nearby passerby, of which there’s a great variety. Hunching, running, arguing and at rare times, frolicking, there’s always someone to draw the attention of Apollo every now and then when he’s idling. Even around closing time, he’ll come across a user who’ll happily greet him or on the other hand, a stranger suspiciously roaming around his bike.

No matter how much he eyes the street, he doesn’t so much as catch the glimpse of the silhouette of a person or a bus, not even a single pigeon on the rooftops, let alone maintenance.

“How?”

He scrutinizes every window, every angle. Still, no one, just a street lamp here and there.

“Okay, that’s seriously creepy. Is this like some reality-TV prank? You look the part.”

“Au, you wound me, Herr Librarian.”

In the end, despite trying to look as cool as he can, Gavin seems as puzzled as him.

“Should we just try to force open the door?” he asks as he pushes the door, but nothing happens, of course.

“I don’t know… It’s not like we’re in a life or death situation. I doubt the town hall would like that very much.”

“Stimmt,” Gavin nods. “Besides, I’d hate to bruise my skin.”

Apollo raises his eyes. “Hm, okay… I’d personally would hate to repay it but—”

The thud of a falling book has him turn around. Nothing unusual here, and yet… The grim history of this place and the supposed haunted vibes it has certainly don’t help him relax. He draws closer to the door.

“Ach, you’re not going to break down the door over a falling book, are you?”

“Hm, w-what if it’s not just a falling book?”

“Oh, so you really believe in ghosts?”

Apollo clenches the door handle. Admittedly, he’s scared of them, but he was, — even if indirectly — immersed in spiritism as a young child. Granted, without being channeled, there’s little they can do. In theory — if the paranormal even obeys to rules. Nonetheless, the possibility of its existence, mixed with the unknown of it all has him wanting to get out of here immediately and Gavin doesn’t make it any better, with his mocking tone… Okay, Apollo might just be trying to aggravate the image he has of the man himself. If anything, the guitarist gives him an unconvinced but nowhere near judgmental look.

“I guess I do, or well, I’m not too sure…”

“If they do exist,” Gavin emphasizes, “then I can protect you.”

Be it a joke at his expense or not, Apollo is having none of it. He lets go of the handle.

“Why would I need you to protect me? Seriously, are you done patronizing me?”

He glares at the guitarist, or at least just past him to give the illusion he is. To his surprise, Gavin takes a step back and drops his smile.

“Entschuldigung, it wasn’t my intention. I—”

Thud. Another book falls flat on the floor. Not even a second later, another follows. Then yet one more until half of the content of the shelves has tumbled down.

“Now an earthquake?”

A deep frown carves the guitarist’s face, unlike his previous, more subdued expressions other than his over the top smile.

“Well, the floor’s not shaking, is it?” Apollo barks with more fear than anger in his tone, “I’m out!”

Gavin lets out a nervous laugh. “What else could it be?”

To him, the answer is pretty clear and he can’t fathom why the other man would need further proof of paranormal activity. His phase of denial is none of his business though, and so he steps back a bit. He inhales and braces himself for impact. His right shoulder facing forward, Apollo charges straight at the door; either it opens or it breaks. Whatever the case may be, he’ll be out.

“Justice!” Gavin yells out, but it’s too late.

He slams into it with full force. Neither the hinges budge or the glass break. A jolt of pain stabs his arm, quickly richoting through his entire body. He drops to the floor and suppresses a scream.

“Are you alright?” The guitarist rushes to his side and kneels to his level. Too close. “Can you move it?”

Apollo forces his eyes open and wiggles his arm. It hurts, but he can move it.

“Let’s try to think rationally, ja?” He once again attempts to sound reassuring.

But he knows there’s absolutely nothing rational about this, all the more when the books on the floor begin to shake.

“I don’t think I will!”

He jumps back up and as he does the books, with a menacing slowness, levitate.

“Care to explain that?” Apollo motions frantically to whatever that is, to Gavin’s utter speechlessness. “Yeah, that’s what I thought! Now we should at least get to the hallway.”

”And just walk into the flying books?”

“Well, uh….” His sarcasm starts to die down, the realization that they’re in fact locked up in a haunted library finally settling. “We didn’t mean to intrude…”

“Who are you talking to?”

He turns his attention to Gavin for a brief moment. “The ghosts, duh!” Then back to the books. “We were running late and well… We’d just like to leave, you see?”

Slams! One of them crashes into the glass wall behind him, avoiding his face by a hair’s breadth.

“O-Okay, talking it out is not an option. Let’s go!”

The other man nods and they weave their way between the books. A large encyclopedia soars up to the ceiling, just to dive back down, right above the guitarist’s head.

“Gavin, careful!” Apollo warns a clueless Gavin.

Without thinking, he plunges at him and blocks the heavy book with his right arm, again. He barely feels it, though — he doesn’t have time to feel it. Gavin runs in front to slam the backdoor open, then closed. Both of them drop all their weight on it but to their surprise, nothing behind it tries to open it. Instead, a loud boom resounds past it and just like that, silence shrouds the place once more.

“Hey, Justice?”

“W-What?”

“Do you think we might be suffering from shared delusion?”

Stunned, both by what just happened and the question, Apollo blinks for a few seconds. The bizarre sensation enveloping him and his scaringly high heart rate probably won’t stop just yet. He checks his upper arm, the one that likely prevented a head injury for the guitarist. His skin is slightly red and it twinges for a brief instant when he touches it. It’s mostly numb, though, like the rest of his body.

He recalls a comment Athena made on shared delusion, although he may not have been entirely focused on it at that time. “It’s called shared delusion. What we saw, if it wasn’t real, was a hallucination, so I doubt that’s it.”

He could swear he saw Gavin’s shoulders slump for a moment.

Apollo continues, “The question should be; can they kill us?”

Gavin gives no real answer save for a concerned side-glance.

“I mean, if they wanted to kill us right away, they could’ve. But it was fairly easy to avoid those books, and they’re not forcing the door open…” He stands with his back against the wall, arms crossed. “Actually, if those ghosts can make books levitate, they can probably open doors.”

“And what do you suppose they’re trying to do, then?”

“Beats me.” Apollo attempts to give himself a cool air, despite the fact it’s taking all of his strength not to faint. “Although…”

If Gavin keeps fiddling with his hair at such speed, he’ll go bald soon.

“Some time ago, my coworker told me a story. He said a man once lived here and that he used to torture people to death, only letting them escape if, well, they could survive said torture through the night…”

The realization dawns on him. They’ll have to survive the night. Everything is possible at this point. They exchange a nervous look, though Apollo’s is more pronounced.

”And what’s the plan now?” Gavin asks but it’s clear Apollo has no clue what to do next.

“We could wait and see,” he suggests without much conviction.

To kill what’s left (meaning, not much) of his certainty, the door to the basement at the end of the hallway creaks open.

“Or maybe not.” He swallows with difficulty.

“Let’s go upstairs. I might have an idea.”

Apollo shoots back and forth glances between the basement door and the stairs to the music school — logic would want them to move away from the potential threat, but what if it were the point, a trap awaiting on the floor above? After all, what dangers could possibly lie below other than a glorified boiler room? Even if a ghost managed to break a pipe, the heating has essentially not been working for months and the gas has been turned off after a previous leak. Unless those entities could mess with those too.

He can’t tear off his hair just yet, so he follows Gavin.

“What’s your idea?”

The guitarist leads him to the piano room. There, the windows offer a panoramic view of the outside, even if it’s nowhere near a match for the other buildings’ height.

“I can concede to the existence of ghosts-” he admits, not without trouble- “but that we’re trapped in some kind of other dimension? Weniger…”

As a precaution, he does attempt to open the windows, but when that fails, he directs his phone outside and sends signals with his flash, in hopes, perhaps, it would alert someone. He does this for a couple of minutes. In the meantime, Apollo cautiously watches over the room.

Only another unexpected sound has Gavin stop. The piano plays a note on its own — just one at first, repeated over and over. Of course, he should have expected the piano to start playing creepy music.

As if the ghostly presence hesitated to press the keys, slow notes echo in an attempt to play a melody that wouldn't fit the mood if not for the disjointed, haunted resulting tune. Apollo keeps his distance from the thing. On the other hand, Gavin steps forward, eyes wide.

“That song… I know it.”

“And?”

He shakes his head and mouths something in disbelief. “I made it with a friend, years ago. But we never released it. Actually, we never even recorded it.”

“That’s… creepy.”

“Ja, quite, but...”

As if entranced by the melody, Gavin sits on the piano bench, smiling. Smiling! He gazes at the piano longingly. It horrifies Apollo more than anything.

“This friend and I, we were in a band. In fact, we were just about to finish our first single, 13 Years Hard Time for Love,” — Apollo winces at the name, but quickly stops when he realizes the other man is being serious —, “We had some disagreements, let’s just say, and we disbanded before the release. In the end, our music never reached anyone past the production team.”

He sits upright.

“Ah, entschuldigung. I don’t know what got into me. It’s not the time for reminiscences.”

“To be fair, the piano’s just doing its thing and-” Apollo looks behind him, to the windows. Still no one in sight- “we may just have to wait. Though I’d be careful of the piano if I were you.”

There’s something strangely fascinating about this facet of Gavin. He almost thought he didn’t know how to be serious, even if on the face of it talking about his past while trying to survive (possibly vengeful) ghosts might not seem like it.

“Still, that’s not something you’d care about. I’m just… I never got to hear any of our music outside of us playing it.” The music stops. “Oh, well…”

Absent-mindedly, his hand hovers over the keys. In slow-motion, his hand draws closer. But just as he’s about to touch the instrument, Apollo grabs his hand and pulls it away from the piano. The fallboard smashes the keys, sounding a discordant scream.

“That’s what I thought. You can’t trust pianos!”

Gavin clenches his jaws and steps away from it. He lets out a forced chuckle. “Danke for that. Though if you wanted to hold my hand, you could just have asked.”

Apollo ignores the comment. “It’s not safe here either. I wouldn’t be surprised if it started chasing us,” he sighs. “I need a coffee.”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous?”

He shrugs. “The coffee machine sucks, the coffee’s never that hot.”

“Hm…”

Gavin examines the room. His eyes land on the many furniture there is; cabinets lining the walls, brimming with possibly hazardous items, music stands, chairs, and of course, a piano, although the latter might just be too heavy to really move past its attempt to crush fingers.

“I suppose there is no place safer than another,” he concludes as they get to the staircase.

Apollo trails the guitarist, just to bump right into him.

“Hey, don't just randomly stop!”

He takes a peek at what’s in front of the other man. Nothing but dimly lit stairs, not particularly scary out of context, especially with the light from the first floor emitting a soft glow down the steps. He pricks up his ears for any sign of suspicious noise but all he hears is their breathing — Gavin’s faster than his — and the low hum of the water from the pipes.

“Did you notice anything, Gavin?”

It takes a few minutes before he answers, “Oh no, it’s alright.” — For some reason, it feels as though the bracelet around Apollo’s wrist constricts tightly —. “But… we don’t know what could be downstairs. Maybe we should stay here,” he whispers.

Apollo raises an eyebrow. “I guess so, but it's not like we can be sure of anything…”

At the risk of being attacked, he’d rather have that after getting his coffee. But wait, is Gavin shaking? He inhales. His coffee can wait.

A slam resonates in the piano room, along with the dissonant sound of keys being smashed.

Maybe not, actually…

“Uh oh, I think the piano’s at it again…”

Then follows the sound of something heavy being dragged. So it can in fact move… And as it happens, the two doors to the room are big enough to let the instrument out. And after that? It can’t just start levitating in the air like the books. Right?

Nothing’s to say it’s not a hallucination — Klavier isn’t even reacting. Regardless, he doesn’t want to have to find the hard way, all the more when a corner of the piano appears.

“Can you see that piano move or am I insane?”

Gavin slowly turns his head in the direction of the instrument, then at the stairs again.

“I am not finding out if that thing can crush us to death or not!” Apollo takes the lead, but the other man still won’t shift. “For Holy Mother’s sake…” he mutters.

He grabs the guitarist’s arm and bolts down the stairs right to the kitchen, banging the door closed. He inspects the room; hopefully the mini-fridge, sink, microwave and few books won’t turn on them… While keeping an eye on them, in a case that isn’t just in case, he checks on Gavin.

“So, uh, what just happened?”

The guitarist blinks a few times and breathes out. Even under these circumstances, he attempts a smile. “That’s what I like to know… I’m not quite sure I was really there. But even beyond dissociation, a strange feeling overcame me. Just like that, I was a child again and… Egal.”

He brushes a strand of hair away from his face. He chuckles, as if it would make Apollo forget about it, but he can’t get past the hint of bitterness in his laugh. For a split second, even, his smile wavers and Apollo catches a glimpse of a genuinely distraught expression — no wonder, given their situation, but he wonders if that’s all there is to it.

When he first met Gavin, he thought he was nothing more than a hot guy to whom everything went right, that type of person who never worries and will tell you, “Don’t be sad!”

Clay has warned him in the past that he judged too hastily. He’d argue, of course, but he realizes now that his best friend wasn’t quite wrong.

“Coffee?” Apollo offers.

“Ja, bitte.”

Apollo produces two cups from the small cupboard, inspects them, almost expecting them to break. He turns on the coffee machine and soon the much welcomed smell of the brew, no matter how cheap, fills in the air. He hands Gavin his cup and they sit on the table. Not the most comfortable, but that’ll do.

The wind outside shrieks… If it is the wind.

“What time is it?” the guitarist asks after a minute of silence.

Apollo grumbles, “Only eleven…” At least, they have coffee. “And we have to wait for sunrise while avoiding head trauma from books, getting chased by pianos and apparently being possessed.”

“I don’t think I was possessed. But from the song and whatever that was in the stairs, I’d say they can access our mind to some extent.”

He shudders. Great, just great!

“In any case, we’re not a hundred percent sure we need to wait for sunrise,” he theorizes.

“Yeah, sure. But we could also be stuck here forever!” Apollo counters cynically as he gestures then slaps the weight of his arms against his flanks.

Gavin looks like he’s about to say something, but ultimately refrain from doing so. There’s no certainty to be found in the situation, no logic either; you could say that two people suddenly disappearing without a trace would not go unnoticed, and that might be the case, sure. But how many times has this very circumstance happened resulting in cold cases? A person, going on a hike in the wilderness, never to be seen again. This could easily be explained, but what about those people filmed on CCTV footage in the dead of night, seemingly vanishing in the heart of a city when you’d think their trace would be found in the following days? Could these unresolved cases be the result of the existence of another, potentially paranormal dimension?

Apollo buries his face into his hands. He’s always had some belief in the supernatural, that by means unclear to science, souls were bound to bodies, explaining the practice of spirit channeling. That was about it; the soul, without being channeled through meticulous practice, could not do much. Just like that, his convictions are left in tatters, as his mind is, unsure of what reality even is at this point.

Taking the time to observe the guitarist, Apollo realizes he’s gone a shade lighter and that his twist of hair, initially styled with care, has loosened from twirling it so incessantly and all this running around. Now past the stage of denial, he guesses from Gavin’s frown he’s questioning his beliefs as well. Though, apparent from his prior jest, he was not a believer at all unlike Apollo, and that must shake him even more.

Gavin directs his attention to the books set on the few pieces of furniture in the room.

“What’s with all the law books?”

“Oh…” Apollo bites his lip. “Those are books given to us by users. They’re not in a state acceptable enough for us to put them in our system but I’m, hm… interested in reading them, so I haven’t put them in the book box yet, and I really don’t want them to be thrown out either.”

“I’d say it’s pretty honorable, no need to be ashamed of that.” He goes through the titles with his finger. Still, the wind, unusually loud, covers the thud of the heavy books being knocked together. “I take it you’re interested in law then.”

“Well, I am a law student after all.”

For a second, Apollo could have sworn Gavin’s eye lit up as he peers back at him. “Looking to be a lawyer?”

He nods. “That’s a dream I’ve had since I was in middle school.” It’s not the entire truth, but the initial reason behind how this dream came to be only brings back bittersweet memories. It’s not a complete lie either, since he only started to really consider it at the start of his teenage years. “I’d like to specialize in criminal law if possible.”

“Hm…” Gavin hums with an air of softness to him. “That sounds nostalgic.”

“Why’s that?”

He picks up a title (it’s probably safer in his hands than left to its own devices, thus possibly becoming a weapon) on international law and skips through its yellowed pages.

“I wanted to be a lawyer as well. I’ve studied at Themis, in fact.”

If there was one thing Apollo couldn’t imagine the man as, it would have to be a lawyer. Emphasis on couldn’t — seeing a more serious side of him, one showing how he really seems to be as opposed to the idea Apollo made of him, it doesn’t sound as surprising. He is rich, though.

“And you didn’t pass?”

“I did, actually. I was at the top of my classes, even.”

Apollo wants to huff sardonically at first — bragger — but there’s a wistful glow in his blue eyes, betraying something deeper yet again.

“But I dropped out.”

“Why?”

Gavin falls silent, staring in space as if he were viewing recollections of the past. For whatever reason, he shrugs and says, “My brother always supported me in my endeavor—”

Apollo’s eyes widen. “Sorry, uh… Is your brother… Kristoph Gavin?”

“So you know him?”

“Well, you have the same name and look pretty similar. Besides, there's nobody in the Los Angeles legal world who hasn’t heard of him!”

Kristoph Gavin, the Coolest Defense in the West! The man once gave a lecture he attended at his university. Aside from their physique, these two seem completely different; when he saw Mr. Gavin, Apollo felt intimidated by his calm aura, it made him feel so small and insignificant in comparison. Despite this, he had nothing but respect for the renowned attorney. The younger brother, on the other hand, was attractive alright and made Apollo feel small as well, but for different reasons, and none that resulted from esteem. To think they’re brothers feels so surrealist! But at least, Apollo gets to hear about Mr. Gavin!

“Ja, I suppose he is fairly well known and for good reason.” His quiet conflicts with the compliment. “He’s always helped me in ways he could, taught me many valuable lessons but… it all changed that one time. Themis organized a mock trial, and I was chosen to play the prosecutor. It was all based on a case of conflict of interest. For me, in the reenactment.”

“That’s allowed?”

“In theory, a court would not allow a lawyer to defend or prosecute if there’s a conflict of interest but I’m sure you’ve studied cases where, in practice, it’s not the case.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Anyways… Kristoph didn’t usually come to these types of events, even when I was there. This time, he made an exception.” He clenches his hand into a fist around a poor hair strand. “To this day, I don’t know what I did wrong. My professor praised my work and how choosing the truth above all else is what we should strive for. Kristoph, on the other hand, didn't seem to agree I did well.”

The passion building in his monologue loses its spark as quickly as it had started. He looks around him, in fear he’d end up summoning whatever forces inhabit the place in a moment of inattention.

“I asked him why, but didn’t get answers. At the same time, I was working on that single I mentioned with my band. Kristoph told me that, if I wanted to make music, perhaps it would be wiser not to pursue law at the same time. No good lawyer would entertain such an unserious hobby, at least publicly.

“But I really wanted to share our music. I started thinking about it more and more. My brother had never been all that favorable about the band, so when he suggested that I choose it over law, it later dawned on me… I wouldn’t make for a good lawyer regardless but he didn’t want to say it in a way that would hurt my feelings.”

His knuckles turn lighter as he fiddles with his hair, or rather, pulls at it at this point.

“I worked even harder, it didn’t matter if it meant losing sleep and skipping meals,” he chuckles in a way that makes Apollo shudder, “it fitted the rockstar persona anyways. Despite all my efforts, my brother’s never looked at me the same. I guess I really was never meant to become a prosecutor.”

How can he even force a smile saying this? Even with all the respect Apollo has for Mr. Gavin, it can’t be right.

“So I dropped out. That was also the start of many arguments with my band. So in the end, we decided to disband.”

Apollo blinks. He can feel tears sting his eyes — that's ridiculous, though. He can't just start crying in front of him over something… not trivial, actually. His pretended offhandedness is betrayed each time he spins a lock of hair with his hand. Apollo can tell there's something threatening to spill each word uttered.

“Don't look at me like that. I'm content with teaching, weißt du,” he says, now completely monotonous.

Yet another tight sensation around his wrist. It's… wrong.

“But—”

The building shakes as a gust of wind hits it. They both jump.

“That might be our clue to leave.”

“Oh, hm…” Apollo mumbles.

“The front door might be opened. We never know.”

Despite being left with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and certainly not convinced they’ll be able to leave so soon, he follows Gavin to the door.

“Wait a minute.”

He turns around. “Was?”

“My name’s Apollo.”

His preoccupied air lightens up, even if just a bit. “Apollo Justice, hm?” He smiles. “Toll. Well, mine is Klavier, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Apollo gathered as much from his tag on the filing cabinet.

“In that case, Apollo, shall we go?”

Urgh… He hates the sound of his name in Klavier— no, still Gavin’s mouth. Or rather, he hates how that makes him feel, weirdly tingly and all. He pinches his nose. As upsetting as that talk may have been, it distracted them from the issue at hand, which they can’t ignore forever.

Gavin opens the door to reveal a corridor, but unlike the actual corridor, it stretches as far as the eye can see. The fluorescent lights above have vanished, with no sight of what currently illuminates the hallway. The stairs to the music school have disappeared and when Apollo about-turns, the kitchen’s door as well. Only remains the basement door, no longer ajar.

“I guess we could try out the basement,” Gavin states.

“I don’t know, it kinda freaks me out…”

Everything does at this point. Walking in the opposite direction yields no result and quickly enough, waiting for the time to pass appears to be a safer choice than entering that suspicious door.

Although…

“Hey, Gavin.”

“Ja?”

Apollo nods in the direction of the endless corridor. Looking at it, there does appear to be a completely blank wall, not visible a mere seconds ago.

“Seltsam… I could’ve sworn there was no wall at the end.”

“Me too.”

In silence, they stare at the same spot. It’s as though the wall is growing bigger. If the hallway can seemingly elongate and doors disappear, this shouldn’t be a surprise either.

“I think the wall might be getting closer…” Klavier speculates, but it’s become quite clear.

They take a few backward steps. The wall that wasn’t even there a minute ago now stands barely ten feet away, looming over them quietly.

“Run!” Apollo shouts.

Without any more hesitation, Apollo propels himself towards the basement door, making the wooden floor snicker about their impending doom. Klavier’s feet quickly join in the cacophony. The walls on the sides fly past them but the door draws no closer.

Apollo twists his neck to check on the chaser, only to notice the guitarist is far behind, his instrument considerably slowing him down.

“Let go of your guitar!” he yells in between two breaths.

“No, I can’t!”

He swears to himself. This isn’t the time to get mad. He slows down so that Klavier can get to his level and when he does, Apollo grabs his wrist once again.

“Just run without me!” he pants. “I’ll only hold you back!”

Abandoning him is not even a question. This time, Apollo doesn’t decrease his speed. So close to the moving wall, they can sense the rumble on the floor. He clenches his jaws and leans forward and practically leaps.

They’re getting closer to the door.

“Scheiße! My guitar case!”

Apollo can’t afford to look back but from the stifled guitar noise, he can gather the wall is grazing them. He closes his eyes and plows into the door. It breaks down into pieces and small shards scratch at his skin.

In his run-up, he misses the steps to the basement and collides with the wall, Klavier along with him. He groans, but it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt too much. Klavier, on the other hand, blinks, stunned.

“Are you ok—”

The wall crashes into the once door in a blaring bang and obstructs the light from the hallway, cutting Apollo off. No more rumbling noise or creaking floorboards. Taking advantage of the likely short moment of respite, they catch their breath.

“I’m okay, I think…” Klavier exhales deeply. “Are you? I crushed you pretty hard…”

“I’m fine!” Apollo declares not so convincingly. More scared than hurt, though… he thinks. “Let’s just try to leave. I’ll lead the way.”

“Ja, bitte. I’ve never been to the basement.”

With one hand, he keeps ahold of the other man’s arm while his right hand brushes against the stone wall as if it were a guardrail and takes careful steps down until his foot meets with something. He gropes around for a doorknob and opens it on… sudden light.

A chill wind weaves its way between shadowy silhouettes to caress his face. He takes a step into the mud. Light rain drops on dark leaves… His eyes adjusting to the brightness, he realizes they’re surrounded by tall trees. Fog partially obscures the canopy, yet not thick enough to hide the blurry mountains in the distance.

“Is this… Khura’in?” he whispers.

“Was?”

Apollo has no idea why he has this gut feeling telling him he’s found himself back in Khura’in. Nevertheless, the atmosphere and the soundscape are amiss.

In his memories, the wildlife out of sight made the Khura’inese woodland bustling. The rays of sunlight filtered through the leaves, but the altitude and the shade offered by the trees in some places granted coolness — not iciness, not silence.

He shivers. They should just turn back but he’s compelled to proceed. With each step, his feet sink into the dirt. It’s a hallucination anyways, it’s not any more dangerous than anything else.

His curiosity soon dissipates and unease weighs him down.

“Hey, Gav—” He squeezes his hand. He’s let go of him! “Fuck.”

Apollo spins around but a trunk blocks his way.

“Of course!” He breathes out in frustration. He cups his hands to his mouth. “Gavin!”

The quiet answers him. He needs to leave. He pinches himself, closes his eyes just to open them again in hopes he could get out. Yet again, it yields no result.

He hears footsteps approaching. His first instinct is to call Klavier out. The steps, however, sound heavy, way too heavy for it to be him. Apollo walks backward then turns back into the depths of the forest. The dirt sticking to his shoes slows down his strides. He almost falls countless times; the brightness of the foggy sky fails to light up the way with no path, only a steep ground. On the contrary, whatever follows him has started to run.

One of his feet comes into collision with a root and his whole body plunges forward, right into a slope. The mud offers him no grip. He attempts to grab a branch but it breaks at contact. Apollo rolls down the gradient like a pathetic rag doll until he finally manages to catch hold of a tree. With his right arm. The searing pain has him let go and he slips once again. Slower this time around, so much that he can see what’s at the fast approaching bottom.

A lake.

The water swallows him. He makes ample, clumsy movements with his arms in an attempt to get back to the surface. Dragged down to the bottom, the light dims. I can’t breathe, I’m going to die, no, no- I don’t want to!

His back comes into contact with something. Maybe the bottom of the lake — he's done for. He can’t see, he can’t move and he’s going to die. There’s a muffled noise too. What is it? It doesn’t stop and the light flickers on and on and… wait. How come it flickers?

He’s not under water, in fact, he’s not in Khur’ain at all. He’s facing the boiler, periodically lit by a flickering lamp. He’s not drowning — yet he’s going to die.

“-can breathe! Follow my breathing!” Klavier’s voice becomes clearer.

He’s rubbing his back and breathing in and out deeply to encourage Apollo to do the same. He clutches at his pants.

“I have no idea what you saw, but I swear you can breathe, ok?”

The vision was so vivid; he could still smell the overpowering dampness, feel the dirt under his nails, the burn of the water down his throat, the cold wrapping itself around him.

In the dim brightness, Klavier sports a concerned expression, miles away from his usual smirk. Not too close, he nonetheless continues to stroke his back.

The touch warms him back up.

“Whatever happened? You suddenly let go of me, then I heard a thud and…”

“I hallucinated, but it felt so real. I was in a forest and someone, something started running after me. I ended up falling into a lake and…” he trails off. “I almost drowned as a kid. Since then, I've been terrified of water.” The words slip up, as unnecessary as they are.

A day ago, a few hours even, he wouldn't have imagined they’d confide in each other. But it feels natural, somehow.

He coughs up. There's no water to spit. Nevertheless, couldn't he have died, right here and now? If Klavier hadn't been by his side, the hallucination would likely have made him incapable of breathing.

No, it was just a panic attack.

“That must have been terrifying. But it's over now. Besides, I'm here.”

The terror settling back into circumstantial stress, he’s left drained of energy. It really isn't the moment for his adrenaline to die down, though. He attempts to stand up. His legs still wobbly from the emotion, Klavier helps him out.

Apollo won’t die in this library, nor will he let the other man die, especially not via parapsychosis or whatever it is they’re dealing with. He clenches his hands into fists, inhales air and shouts at the top of his lungs, “I’M APOLLO JUSTICE AND I’M FINE!”

The vibration coursing through his body invigorates him. In his peripheral view, he sees Klavier start ever so slightly.

“And what was that for?”

“My Chords of Steel. It helps psych myself up. You should try it out too.”

“I see. That’s not something you’d expect from a librarian.”

“I am not a librarian. And it really works, I swear.”

Klavier hesitates but eventually gives it a shot, “I’m Klavier Gavin and I’m fine!”

Apollo crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow with an air of challenge that's likely half convincing. “That’s all you’ve got?”

The guitarist frowns. Struck a nerve. He clicks his tongue and in turn, screams, “I’M KLAVIER GAVIN AND I’M FINE!” Surprise paints his face. “It… does work. Ein wenig.”

“Told you.” Apollo beams with pride or as much as he can at the moment at least. “We’re not gonna get ourselves killed by ghosts! Anyways, time’s passing very oddly, it’s three now.”

“Alright. Should we try walking back upstairs?”

“Something will happen here too if we stay here forever. We now know they may not be able to kill us physically, but they probably can make us accidentally kill ourselves. Let’s be careful, it’s really easy to fall down the stairs and break our neck.”

“This isn’t the most efficient way to kill people…”

“Don’t tempt them!”

Eager to leave the dusty, humid basement, they climb back the stairs, no longer blocked by the nefarious wall. The hallway has returned to its original length and the doors to their original spot.

Apollo tries out the bathroom; completely pitchblack. The same goes for the kitchen and the piano still blocks the way to the music school. Only the main room remains, it would seem.

“Please books don’t attack us, please don’t attack us,” he whispers to himself as he pushes the door open.

The books, thankfully, don’t charge at them but keep themselves busy with their favorite hobby; levitating ominously. Except, this time around, the layout of the room has changed. Everything from the desk, to the chairs have vanished, leaving only the bookshelves and their content. The most bizarre part, however, has to be the floor, walls and ceiling, or lack thereof, instead replaced with what can only be described as swirls of dull colors contorting in darkness. A continuous drone buzzes.

No matter how weird it becomes, there’s no getting used to it and Apollo nervousness never dies down.

Carefully, he approaches one of the work. It’s about astrophysics. It doesn’t ring a bell — a strange thing since Clay had asked him for any books related to astronomy. He freezes when he notices a purple cover with a green mitamah symbol printed on it. More surprising is the title written in Khura’inese. There’s no way that could’ve just ended up here. He grunts. Another hallucination. A torn, faded piece of newspapers is stuck in between.

No luck. He can’t figure out what it says, except from a few numerals and what he assumes is a date; 14/06/05.

“Hey, Gavin. Are you also seeing flying books and a weird floor… weird everything?”

For a second, Klavier doesn’t reply. “Ah, ja, I am…”

No doubt the current phenomenon is another way to mess with them. Several CDs surround Klavier, some Apollo recognizes as being those of popular rock bands but most he’s never heard of before. The edgy, gritty covers adorning parental advisory stickers contrast with the educative kids books on how to play the piano and music theory. None of those seem to get the guitarist's attention however. He’s staring at a crinkled notebook, old by a decade or so.

“I know the ghosts can likely read our minds, but… I don’t even remember this.”

He flips the pages filled with drawings of a child, the lack of dexterity clearly visible but decipherable enough to have been made by a five-year-old or older. The characters likely depict Klavier and, he assumes, his brother — they appear the most out of anyone else. Alongside often come a figure with long blond hair and exaggerated eyelashes and another one, more square and always frowning. When the small blonde character isn’t with these three, he’s drawn with a black-haired one, dancing and singing. It’s sometimes hard to make out what the scenes represent, lines shaky and paper damaged. Crying and shouting figures appear a lot, incomprehensible patterns and what-have-yous.

Klavier tenses as turns the pages and at some point, starts shaking. He takes a peek at the next page. He draws a breath and slams it close.

“I don’t think we’ll gain anything from reading these books. I might as well get another cup of coffee,” he says dryly.

“Alright.”

Apollo turns around.

“Oh. Of course… Great!” He shrugs exaggeratedly.

While they were checking the conspicuous titles, other books piled silently in front of the door to the corridor. The pile stretches out far above where the actual ceiling would be and now dangerously threatens to topple down.

“At this point, we know they’re just hallucinations, why even try to escape them?” Klavier says in a low voice, as though all of his energy had been sucked out of him.

“What? No, I mean, we did get hit by books earlier so they can attack us to some extent. We can’t stay here!”

Although, the forest hallucination did feel real… It doesn't matter, he still has no desire to find out the hard way, unlike Klavier.

The emergency door is still nowhere to be seen in the swirly tapestry, only leaving the main door that he’d bet is closed.

He pushes Gavin there and pulls on the handle. It’s open! They get out, but as soon as they do, it closes on them, depriving them of the mysterious light source. Apollo fumbles for his phone, only to find it’s dead.

“Does your phone work?”

“Nein.”

“Hm… Okay.”

He stretches his hand to feel his surroundings, even taking a few careful steps. Nothing.

“I think we should, uh, hold onto each other… So you know, we don’t split up...”

He expects Gavin to take advantage of this to throw a pun, but he replies seriously, “Ja, that’s a good idea.”

Klavier reaches out to him. Whether it’s because of the darkness or not, he grabs hold of his hand. Feeling too awkward, Apollo doesn’t dare to squeeze it.

With their free hand, they meticulously explore their environment, or absence of it. Even after a good fifteen minutes or so, they don’t bump into anything. Their steps don’t make a particular sound, and their voices echo, on and on.

“I guess we just wait for something to happen…” Apollo suggests.

Klavier hums his approval and they sit on the ground, if there's even one. Neither cold nor warm, and with silence enveloping them, Apollo sees little patches of color in front of him.

“I don't know what they're trying to achieve with this. I mean, at this rate, we'll start hallucinating, but they've already been making us hallucinate.”

“Perhaps their logic is simply beyond human comprehension… Besides, I'm feeling weirdly relaxed. For now.”

“You're right. It is oddly relaxing.”

No more flickering lights or brightness of a psychosis-induced scenery. No more creaky floor making them alert or the constant hum of plumbing drilling into their head. Nothing but the warmth of their grasp and breath.

“You know, this turned out to be an unexpected intimate experience. More than any dinner date I could've taken you out on.”

There he is again. Apollo rolls his eyes, though Klavier can't see it. In the end, he does prefer this side of him, rather than witnessing his eyes clouded by some dark recollection, although he’d prefer if the joke wasn’t made at his expense.

“Don't say this like it's over yet,” he pauses. “But you got your date, happy now?”

“I'd rather take you on a date where we aren't being psychologically tortured and nearly killed by books of all things.”

Apollo huffs a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

No retort.

“Wait, you're serious now?”

“I've always been serious about it.”

“W-what…” That's enough to make him blush like mad. Thanks for once, ghosts. That way he's not seeing me like this.

“I've always found you cute. Also, you're not that sly about hiding those law books you read.” So he knew all this time? “I still love the law, weißt du?” he chuckles, yet not mockingly. “As I do music. Sometimes, I hear you hum when there’s no one.”

Ugh… “No way! I mean, that's so embarrassing…” He'll have to be more careful then, because he never realized he was doing that.

“Of course not! It just means you've got music in your soul.”

He mumbles, unconvinced.

“There's a lot of me you've seen tonight,” he resumes, his tone more solemn. “It's not something I like others to see and yet… I could see it, you didn't judge me because of this. It only felt natural. And there were countless times where you could’ve left me behind, but didn’t.”

“Why would I?”

“Many people would. So my initial theory was correct; you hide between a no-nonsense and grumpy attitude when you're in fact more caring than you’d like to admit.”

Oh Holy Mother. He sounds like a total hopeless romantic. And it makes Apollo’s cheeks burn.

“Ah, but I should stop this already. I get it, you're not interested.”

Apollo thought he couldn't afford to develop an interest for him. Obviously, Klavier was only playing with him. He's always been like this, making assumptions left and right. But if Klavier is genuinely attracted to him, then he can't keep hiding behind false irritation.

Klavier is attractive, stupidly so. The moment he walks into view, Apollo’s gaze is immediately drawn to him. Too many times, he’s listened carefully to his guitar rehearsals. And what he's seen of him tonight completely shattered the shallow perception he had of him, or forced himself to have so he didn't have to think too much about actually having dinner with him and…

“You're not half bad either,” Apollo utters.

“Was?” Klavier's voice wavers with surprise and glee.

“I-I mean to say, I wouldn't hate going out with you…”

He feels his hand clenching ever so slightly. “Really?” There’s almost an innocent giddiness to his tone, unlike Apollo would’ve expected.

“I just thought you were, well… trying to mess with me up until now.”

“Oh, that was never my intention. Did I really come across that way?”

Apollo thoughtlessly rubs the top of his head. “Not really. You just seem to play flirty with a lot of other people and, well, I had a lot of preconceived ideas about you and I indulged in them because you seemed.. out of my league…”

On top of being embarrassing, he sounds like a total asshole now.

Klavier’s tone doesn’t translate any offense. “And yet.”

Apollo can’t help but chuckle, reassured. “And yet…”

After awkwardly letting the other man grasp at his hand, he finally returns the gesture. They both fall silent, as to gather their thoughts in a brief moment of bliss.

Something in the pitch black flickers, like a firefly coming in and out view. A new one joins, then another, so on and so forth until their dim light outlines the shape of a room, slowly but surely. Reality comes back into sight, figuratively and literally.

The sleepless night suddenly weighs on Apollo’s body and the hunger pang doesn’t help one bit. But these pale in comparison to the pain radiating through his shoulder down to his hand. Despite the ache, he forces himself to look at his surroundings, not without wincing.

“Are you okay?” Klavier asks.

He nods. Not much can be done right away anyways. He sighs.

Books litter the floors, others sit on top of one another in a clearly artificial way — an earthquake couldn’t have caused this, that’s for sure.

Whatever, it’ll be a problem for another day…

The front door clicks open and they jump in unison. The newcomer, however, is not so ghostly.

“What the…” Mr. Wright mutters as Athena, in tow, gasps.

Apollo and Klavier exchange an embarrassed look but ultimately breathes in relief. The guitarist stands up and holds out his hand towards Apollo.

“Was there a break-in? Do we need to investigate?”

Athena, with far too much energy for Apollo to be able to handle right now, starts examining the library. Phoenix approaches them, expression unreadable. Behind the glass wall, a Jack Russel runs after a man who almost slams into the group of teens waiting for their bus. Several cars scratch their undercarriage in a shriek against the speed bump. They’re back into the real world, right?

“Uh, sorry about that Mr. Wright…” He forces an apologetic smile. “Hm, you mentioned spirit mediums once, right? ‘Cause I think we might need some help here.”

He expects the man to give him a doubtful stare, but he nods. “I’ll need to know more, but seeing the state of the library, I’m not sure they might even be able to do anything. In any case, I think you should get some rest. We’ll take care of the mess.” His superior not asking any questions, although convenient, doesn't exactly reassure him and he wonders if the man has had any similar experience. In which case, that's… unsettling.

“And a doctor. Your voice screams pain,” Athena adds. She pokes his shoulder lightly, making him wince. “Then, you’ll have to tell me everything,” she chirps.

Just like that, she’s off putting the books back on the shelves and unlike their boss, mumbles, “Folie à deux, peut-être… Urgh, what a mess!” Wright soon follows in a hurry.

“Need a drive, Herr Librarian?” Klavier offers, along with a warm, but tired smile as he opens the door up for him.

Apollo waves to his coworkers, then promptly glares at the guitarist. “If you’re gonna take me on a date, you better drop the nickname.” If he had to admit, though, it’s starting to grow on him. He adds, more seriously, “But you should probably get some sleep…”

“Even if I wanted some, I’m not getting any right now.” He motions at Apollo to follow him to a nearby parking spot. “Then, I can take you to a nice cafe for breakfast.”

“Sounds good.”

They get into the car. Thankfully, the pain’s keeping Apollo awake and he can nudge Klavier to make sure he’s not drowsing at the wheel.

The anxiety hasn’t fully died down yet, but somehow, there’s a strange joy in finding a connection in the most unlikely circumstances.