So Klingt Liebe

Klavier never brought up the night of the attempted kiss. Machi didn’t give him opportunity to. When Klavier sent a text the next week, Machi simply replied with, I cannot come. I have to study.

Oh, what are you studying? School’s started for you already? :) Klavier texted back.

Lots of things. I can’t next week.

I understand. What about the week after?

Machi stared at the phone in his hand. For several moments, he distracted himself by returning to his algebra homework. He couldn’t get comfortable on the bed. Finally he sent a message back: Not then either.

Machi’s phone went off, playing Quando m'en vo. Klavier’s ringtone, a waltz from La bohème. Machi squeaked, dropping the phone, scrambling to sit up. After a moment, he regained his senses and answered the phone.

“I thought it might be easier to just have a conversation, ja?”

Machi’s palms were sweating. He couldn’t say anything. He felt dizzy.

Klavier’s tone changed from airily jovial to warm and quiet. “Why can’t you see me, Machi, really?”

So he was Machi now. Not Herr Machi. Not Herr Cinnamon Bun Head or whatever nickname Klavier might’ve claimed for him. Machi. Just Machi.

He still didn’t speak.

“Machi… please say something. Are you alright?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong?” Klavier spoke with such a soft voice. It was almost a whisper.

“I’m sorry. What I did before, I should not have done it.” Machi knew his voice was cold, felt the chill right down to his fingers.

“What do you mean?” Klavier’s voice registered genuine confusion.

“I kissed you.”

“Ja, on the cheek, like you kiss Lamiroir. I know they’re uptight about these sort of things in America, but I assure you I don’t mind.”

Machi thought he might throw up. He realized Klavier was trying to give him an easy exit, but it was too late for that. “I shouldn’t have kissed you. I took advantage of our friendship.”

“You make it sound as if you did something horrible to me.”

“Wasn’t it? After everything you’ve been through… after your brother… How could I be so selfish, throwing myself at you like that?”

“Are you comparing yourself to him? Really?” Machi wasn’t sure how to interpret the intensity of Klavier’s words. Klavier continued. “I want to be a friend to you, Machi. If you were to do anything I did not wish, believe me, I would tell you immediately. You are not able to hurt me in that way.”

“…Ah.”

“And you weren’t throwing yourself at me. It was a simple kiss.”

“Nothing about that was simple.”

Klavier sighed. “You may think you want me, Machi, but you’re young and confused. If I were to go after you, I’d be taking advantage of you, not the other way around.”

“I’m not a child,” Machi fumed, suddenly furious, “You wouldn’t take advantage of me. I know you wouldn’t. I’m quite nearly twenty, Klavier.”

“And I’m quite nearly thirty.”

Machi almost smiled at the damaged vanity in Klavier’s voice. The passage of time apparently left him feeling quite dejected. “You shouldn’t worry about it. You’ve only gotten more attractive as you’re older. You’re like David Bowie, by the time you’re forty even heterosexual men and lesbians will want you.”

Klavier’s response was a warm chuckle. “You flatter me.”

“You deserve it. Klavier…”

“Ja?”

“I think I’m falling for you. Just a little bit. I’ll stop if it bothers you.” Machi was surprised at how the words spilled out before he could stop them. He sat in flushed and prostrate silence, waiting for some kind of response.

“No you’re not, Machi. You’re just latching on to me in a precocious way because it’s all you know. Like with Daryan.”

“How could you…” Machi blurred with sudden tears. “How could you say that?”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I know how hard your life has been on you, and it makes sense you would want someone to validate you, like with Daryan.”

“What do you know about Daryan?” Machi hissed out. “What did he say to you?” Machi was pierced with pangs of jealousy. Daryan was talking to Klavier?

“Nothing. I haven’t spoken to him since his sentencing. There’s not an easy way to say this, Machi, but I know about the abuse in your life before Lamiroir took you in.”

Machi thought he heard something shatter, far away and in loud his ears at once. “How much?” His voice went high, not his usual emotionless monotone.

“I tried to have the orphanage shut down. We investigated it, but the Borginian government laughed in our faces. Funny that they’re so adamant about cocoon smuggling, but child welfare…”

“We?”

“Daryan didn’t tell you.” The only word to describe Klavier’s voice was heartbroken.

Machi’s throat was closing. “The sightseeing he said you insisted on – you were going to that place? And he never told me? What did you see there?”

For once, Klavier wasn’t composed. He spoke slowly. Was he saddened? Horrified? Angry? Machi couldn’t tell. “Some of the children were frightened, but many more of them were… inappropriate. The owners of the place thought we were there to buy, you see. We convinced them to take us to private rooms. Daryan and I took samples and photos and related our tale, but the government would do nothing. They said we contradicted their official findings.” Klavier gave a sudden, barking laugh. “My guess is they have warning far in advance for the government inspections.”

“Or government officials patronize.” Machi was distant, hearing his own voice speaking from elsewhere. “On TV, once, I saw a man running for office. I remembered him. I usually don’t, but he wanted photos. Dear mother and father objected. He threatened with his government clout. He got to keep his photos.” The words ‘dear mother and father’ were painful irony. The people who ran the orphanage insisted on being called such. They were the only parents many of the children knew.

“We couldn’t stop it. We had to settle on taking you away. And Machi… I knew about you two, and I didn’t… I thought… I don’t know. I told him to stop with you. He seemed so attached to you, and you to him, but I thought if I just asked, he would respect you enough to…”

“Respect me? How vulgar, Klavier. I wanted him to fuck me.” His own voice was so sharp it seemed to cut at Machi’s tonsils.

Klavier gasped like Machi punched him.

“I was wrong to want it, maybe, but I did. It made sense at the time. Maybe he wasn’t respectful of me, because I was a kid and I probably just wanted a friend, not a lover, but Klavier…”

“Ja?” Now Klavier was the one who was distant.

“You’re saying I could never care for you because of this? Because of what I did with him, and because I was a whore?”

“You’re not, you were never --”

“I think that’s disrespectful. You don’t think I’m anything but my past? You’re disrespectful, just like Daryan. You Americans never know any fucking respect, do you? Even Borginians know the young have dignity! Daryan treats me like his puppet, you treat me like a child, you are hypocrite for saying he has no respect! Which of you is worse, huh? Americans, you’re fucking liars! I hate this damned country, nothing ever makes sense!” Machi was practically shouting as he ended his tirade. Reminding himself to breath, he sucked in several short breaths before delivering a killing blow. “I’m done with you, Mr. Klavier Gavin. Until you have respect for me.”

“Machi,” Klavier said sadly. Machi thought he would apologize. Instead, he was met with a weak attempt at humor. “I’m German, not American.”

Machi hung up on him and threw the phone at the wall. It hit the wall with a satisfying smack. When Quando m'en vo played again, Machi didn’t even bother to pick up the phone. He sat on his bed with his knees drawn to his chest, watching his phone light up and then go dead.

He wanted very badly to cry, but could not. He stared at the phone all night, then tucked himself in bed. Machi slept with the lights on, his algebra homework unfinished.

The nightmares came in the early hours. Variants on the ones he always had, but frightening nonetheless.

Machi sinks slowly into a pit of black-gray mud. The only sound anywhere is a thick sort of bubbling. The muck is neither warm nor cold. Instead of heat, he feels slithering across his limbs, sticky phantom tongues rubbing at him in ways that gave him no gratification. Soon it’s having sex with him, but Machi feels nothing at all in his body. As he descends, the mud closes over his head. Blankly, he thinks he is going to die. That’s a relief.

When he opens his eyes, he’s sitting in the back of the tour bus, watching the American scenery go by. He is seated next to Daryan, just barely leaning against his arm. Daryan checks to see if Klavier or anyone is watching then slips an arm around him. “You have a bad dream?” Daryan murmurs into Machi’s hair.

It’s just them in the backseat in the desert. The bus is gone. Everyone is gone.

“Hold me,” Machi begs. The words are thick in his mouth, his tongue has trouble moving, but he says it as clearly as possible.

Daryan wraps his strong hands around his throat and chokes him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Machi whispers with a voice slowly fading.

Facedown in the desert, Machi is suddenly alone. Then the black demons crawl out of the shadows of cacti. They hold him down and rape him, and the worst is the silence, nothing but silence and darkness and Machi knows they will never stop, not for anything. And he knows what they’re doing is hurting him, but he feels nothing at all. He wishes he could cry.

Machi opened his eyes. He turned onto his side, glancing at the clock. 5:30AM. He couldn’t go back to sleep like this, so he climbed out of bed, stumbling for his phone. Wanted to look over his text messages.

Klavier hadn’t sent him anything new. Machi read and re-read their conversation, always deciding at the last moment not to call Klavier this instant, despite his instinct. He felt hollow inside. He wanted to apologize to Klavier, even though he spoke the truth. Time seemed to have slowed, and Machi knew he needed to talk to someone. Why was this so familiar to him, flipping through his phonebook, hoping to find a number?

He selected Mr. Edgeworth, not really knowing why. The man had offered. Might as well see if he would make good. Probably not.

Machi squirmed as the phone rang. He counted each ring. One, two, three, four…

“What?”

The voice that answered was very sleepy. It was also very unlike Mr. Edgeworth.

“Mr. Edgeworth?” Machi stammered.

“Miles,” said the stranger with a yawn, “It’s for you.”

“Considering it is my phone, I am unsurprised.” Edgeworth didn’t sound much more awake than his companion (Herr Wright?), but apparently his sense of humor was intact. There was stirring as Edgeworth took the phone. From the noises, Machi guessed Edgeworth was getting out of bed. “Young Machi. It’s not yet six a.m., are you alright?”

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Machi whispered. “You said I could call anytime.”

“I did, and I meant it.” Edgeworth stifled a yawn. “Are you alright?” he repeated.

“I’m not sure,” Machi admitted. “I’ve had a really bad night.”

“It happens. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I think, yes, a little.”

“Proceed. If you hear me clattering about, I’m making tea, I promise I’m listening.”

“Well… it started when I kissed Klavier.”

“You’d be surprised many disasters, as well as blessings in disguise, start with a kiss,” said Edgeworth sympathetically. “What happened?”

By the time Machi told him everything about the night of the kiss, the fight and the nightmare, it was nearly 7:30. Edgeworth did very little else but listen, but that was what Machi needed. When Machi finally trailed off, Edgeworth spoke.

“People like you, Klavier and I are both blessed and cursed,” said Edgeworth. “We have known great tragedy in the world, but this tragedy means we feel the love of others all the more deeply, if we let ourselves. I was very lucky. Phoenix is a supportive and endlessly compassionate person.”

Phoenix – Machi was certain he knew that name. He was half-asleep, his throat sore from so much talking, but that name seemed very important.

Surely he wasn’t one in the same as—

Machi heard Edgeworth quietly confer with someone on his end. It was a feminine voice, faint but immediately familiar. “By Phoenix, do you mean Trucy and Apollo’s father?”

Semi-conscious as he was, Machi couldn’t make a connection that made any sense at all to him. “Phoenix is sleeping with you? Phoenix is Herr Wright? But he and Lamiroir--”

“Is that Machi on the phone? So early in the morning?” This time the woman’s voice was quite distinct, and Machi was still having trouble computing this information at all.

“Why don’t you say hello?” Edgeworth handed the phone over to someone.

“Lamiroir?” Dumbfounded didn’t begin to describe Machi’s expression.

“Machi, I didn’t know you were so close to Miles. I would have told you about us.”

“But he said he’s with Phoenix… and I thought you and he… you’re a family, right?” Machi was reeling. What on earth did this mean? How did he not put it together before?

“As far as families go, we’re a bit unconventional.” Edgeworth made some comment to that Machi couldn’t really hear. Whatever he said made Lamiroir chuckle.

Swallowing his jealousy, Machi asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You always seemed so hurt when I talked about Trucy and Apollo, so I figured you didn’t really want to know.”

“Lamiroir, I mean Thalassa, of course I want to know. They’re your family and you love them.” Machi lapsed into Borginian. He was exhausted. “You’re Klavier’s family too, aren’t you? I want to know you all.”

“Klavier, somehow I knew it came back to him.” Machi knew Thalassa’s voice well enough to hear that she was a bit pleased with something. Her emotions were transparent to them when they spoke in his native tongue. “You know, every time I speak with him, he just can’t stop talking about your little dates.”

“Dates? But he said I couldn’t care for him.”

“You haven’t learned this about English yet, my darling Machi, but sometimes when people say ‘you,’ they mean ‘I.’”

Machi puzzled over this. He yawned loudly, staring at the clock. “I need to get ready for school.”

“You’ve been up all night, haven’t you? I’m going to call Joella and tell her to keep you home today.”

“No, mama, don’t, I’m well enough to go,” Machi was half-asleep, not aware of his own slip. His speech was so much more free and casual when he used Borginian.

“Go to sleep. It will be better after you sleep on it, I promise. Do you need me to sing you to sleep?”

“I’d like it. I don’t want to dream of silence.”

There was a clamoring in the background. Machi was sure he heard Apollo Justice of all people shouting, “Put some clothes on, decent people sleep in this house!” Lamiroir murmured an apology to Machi while she found somewhere quiet. She sang him his favorite lullaby. It was the song he played the night they first met, a literal lifetime ago.


Machi slept well into the day. After polishing off a tuna sandwich with a side of daytime TV he found that he was rather bored. Of course, he ought to finish his algebra homework, but instead he drifted over to the family computer.

Machi wasn’t fond of the internet. This was fortunate considering he had to share the computer with Joella, Warren and their other take-in children. He decided it was fair enough for him to do a little surfing while he had the house to himself. He checked his e-mail and his website. People still commented now and then, asking how he was and if he’d ever take up piano again. Often they offered words of support. It distressed Machi a little because his fans, especially the Borginians, hated Daryan so. I know you didn’t do it, they would write. That man is the devil.

Machi hated them for that. They didn’t hate Daryan for manipulating him or destroying his life. They hated Daryan for taking their pianist away.

Clicking around idly, he found one of the commenters had a Gavinners web page. The site proudly boasted of their rare magazine scans and of having a gallery of hundreds of images for each artist. Machi avoided pictures of himself and he couldn’t look at Daryan without feeling squeezed in a vice. So the only real choice was to click Klavier’s gallery, wasn’t it?

These really were rare photos. Machi pored over grainy snapshots of the Gavinners before they hit it big. Klavier stood in front, shirtless. He had a dirty, fearless grin that Machi had only known shadows of. The crowd was touching him, groping him, threatening to pull him in, and Klavier was getting off on it.

Utterly engrossed, Machi clicked through the rest of the pictures from that show. He didn’t realize his hand had drifted to his pants until he heard Joella’s car in the drive. Machi quickly closed the browser and turned off the monitor, scrambling upstairs and throwing himself on the bed.

The feeling of friction and his own weight against his rapidly hardening dick made Machi hiss out. Fighting his deep urge to hump the mattress, Machi grabbed his math book. By the time Joella ascended the stairs and knocked on the door, he was in the perfect semblance of a studying teen.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Their conversations were rarely long ones. Joella and Warren were picked to care for Machi because they both did mission work in Borginia. Joella was half Borginian herself and spoke the language rather well. Despite this, she insisted on nothing but English in the household, which created a lot of tension between them.

“I’m studying for a test, so please don’t disturb me. I’m going to put on some music.”

“Don’t play it too loud,” Joella said. “I’ll call you for dinner, okay?”

“Okay.”

Machi hadn’t listened to his Gavinners CDs since coming to the States. Even before Daryan’s betrayal, the emotions it brought it in him were just too intense. Every solo the man played was pure cruelty. Still, he kept them close like good luck charms. Rooting through his considerable collection, he found the CD with “Guilty Love” on it and threw it in his little boom box. He turned it up as loud as he knew he could get away with without others complaining.

This time, he wasn’t listening to Daryan’s cruel solos. He was listening to Klavier’s voice, the way he purred and his German accent gave everything a velvet sheen. Machi slipped his hands past the elastic of his pajama pants, lying back on the bed. His curtains will still drawn, but he could see a little slice of sky. He worked his hand over his erection roughly, thinking of Klavier’s shirtless, muscled body. Distantly, past the music, he could hear his foster family returning from their various places, saying hello to one another. He heard the distant noise of a motorcycle.

He quickly constructed a fantasy, something to help him along.

Machi runs into Klavier a parking garage. Or rather, Machi is caught by Klavier as he’s trying to steal that handsome motorcycle.

“Just what were you trying to do, Herr Machi?”

“I’m so sorry. It was so beautiful, I wanted to ride it.”

Klavier pulls Machi roughly off the bike. Without warning, Machi’s pushed against the wall. Klavier is so near, with that good smell of his, the expensive cologne and leather and ohh… he’s touching him. Giving that little chuckle of his when the truth’s finally revealed. “You like it, don't you? You like this?”

Machi stared at the branches of the tree outside the window without seeing them at all. He was panting and sweating. Usually he could look at a little porn and get off in a matter of moments, but this? This was more difficult, somehow.

The motorcycle was coming closer. Maybe a cyclist was visiting someone in the neighborhood.

Machi knew he couldn’t afford to dally. Any moment someone in the house could bother him with some nonsense. He didn’t have enough time for lube or haphazard finger fucking; he just needed this done, over.

Time for another approach.

Klavier forces him to his knees. Unzips his pants. Slaps Machi’s cheek a little with his veiny, hard cock. Machi submits, opens his lips. Klavier chokes him.

Machi came. It felt like it took too long, just those moments of harsh breathing, stroking, squirting and hushed pleasure. What a mess, why didn’t he grab the tissues?

Machi laid on the bed, staring at the leaves on the trees outside his window. The leaves were turning. He was too exhausted to even let go of his limp cock. As he forced himself to sit up and clean, he felt that familiar nausea tie up the pit of his stomach. How could he do that to Klavier? Klavier would never debase himself. He wasn’t dirty like Machi.

Machi was jerked from his symphony of self-loathing by the sound of Joella calling up the stairs. Glancing at the clock, Machi thought it was a bit early for dinner to be ready.

“Machi! Klavier’s here!”

Joella was familiar with Machi’s friend, after all.

“I—what, no!”

He was wondering where that motorcycle was going.

Machi was a wreck. Not only had he not showered today or changed out of his pajamas, he was now sweaty and sticky with the aftermath of his awful fantasies. Cursing lightly, Machi climbed into a pair of jeans and threw on his only clean T-shirt (Queen). He went to the bathroom to wash his hands thoroughly, splash water on his face and run a comb through his hair.

By the time Machi got downstairs, Klavier was seated in the living room, chatting with Joella. He stood when Machi entered the room. “Frau Thalassa said you weren’t feeling well today,” said Klavier. “I brought you a little present, I thought it might make you smile.”

When Machi did little else but just stare, dumbfounded, Klavier stood and pressed a small box into his hand. Machi opened it carefully.

Resting on a little bit of gauze was a silver cell phone charm in the jagged shape of a G. Machi recognized it immediately as the Gavinners symbol. Without even thinking, he threw his arms around the taller man. Machi was sure he meant to say some kind of word of thanks, or express the perfection of the gift, but he was too intoxicated by the smell of Klavier’s hair to say anything.

“Can you forgive me?” Klavier murmured in his ear. “I’m afraid I couldn’t stand the idea of you having no more to do with me.”

“Only if you forgive me,” Machi said.

“You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing that you know of yet.”

Joella coughed to make herself known. “Machi, I wish you would have told me your friend was coming over. Will you be staying for dinner, Klavier?”

“Don’t be angry, Fräu Joella. I’m afraid I dropped in on Machi.” Klavier fitted Joella with a charming grin. The middle-aged woman didn’t so much as bat an eyelash.

“I thought that might be it, considering how he usually fusses before you come over.”

“Joella!” Machi protested.

“Your friend can stay as long as you promise you won’t neglect your studying.” Joella was fond of rules and caveats. Klavier once told Machi she would make a good prosecutor or judge. “And you’ll have to obey the two-inch rule.”

“The two-inch rule?” Klavier looked to Machi in curiosity.

“You must be joking.” Machi leveled his foster mother with a withering look.

“Nope. It’s my rule with Sarah and her boyfriend. I have to enforce it to everyone.”

Machi looked to Klavier, expecting him to protest her assumption of their relationship, but he just looked amused. “I assure you, Frau Joella, I will not do anything the Good Lord would not approve of under your roof.”

Joella shook her head. “I don’t think the Good Lord would approve of a man in that much purple, or that ridiculous hair. The two-inch rule stays. Now you two run along, and I’ll call you for dinner.”

Machi’s face went hot with shame, but Klavier laughed and it seemed everything was okay. Machi darted up the stairs, Klavier behind him. “Give me a moment to tidy up,” he begged Klavier. All but slamming the door in his face, Machi hurried to make the bed and straighten his room. Thankfully, there wasn’t much. From orphanage to traveling musician, Machi never accrued many belongings aside from a binder of CDs that weighed nearly as much as he did. “Sorry about that,” he apologized when he let Klavier into the room. “I wasn’t expecting anyone. I never have visitors.”

Klavier stepped inside, assessing the room. It was small, but there were touches of Machi here and there. Blue curtains and bedspread, a bulletin board with a postcard of a bird and some photos. Klavier glanced over the familiar face of Thalassa and smiled, but gave pause to a picture of him and Daryan. He frowned. Machi’s heart sank.

Klavier recognized the strains of “Guitar’s Serenade” as it played softly on Machi’s boom box, and smiled again. “You don’t have any pictures of yourself,” he said.

Machi thought he would say something about him listening to Gavinners. “Why would I? I see myself in the mirror every day.”

“No photos of you with Frau Thalassa.”

“I don’t like myself in pictures. That’s why I always wear sunglasses.”

Klavier gave no indication of settling down, so Machi joined him in examining the photos. As he suspected, it was the picture of him and Daryan that had him so transfixed. “How do you do it?”

“How do I do what, Machi?”

They stood next to each other. Their arms touched, but not their hands.

“You look good in pictures. And smile so much. You’ve seen such sadness.”

“Everyone’s seen sadness.”

“You more than others.”

“Couldn’t I say the same to you?”

Machi looked over, expecting to see the handsome and carefree expression Klavier always wore. Instead, his face had no emotion at all. He seemed to gaze at some point beyond the photograph. Machi recognized the face of someone carried off by the past. He took Klavier’s hand. He squeezed it.

“We both have our quirks,” said Machi after a moment. “Sit down, make yourself comfortable.” He hesitated then let go of Klavier’s hand before sitting on the bed.

Klavier sat down on the floor, back resting on the foot of the bed. Machi was next to him. His leg touched Klavier’s shoulder. He wanted to touch his hair, made golden by the evening sun through the window.

“Why do you keep your hair so long? I could understand it when you were in the Gavinners, but why now?” Machi asked after a moment. He dared to act on his impulse, lightly threading fingers through Klavier’s long blond hair. He was fascinated by how it all seemed to gather in one long, springy curl at the end. Klavier leaned back.

“A memory or something. I don’t even know anymore.” Sounding weary, he changed the subject. “I heard from Daryan recently.”

Machi froze, his fingers still in Klavier’s hair. Klavier tilted his head, freeing his hair, and took Machi’s hand. He held it. Machi clamped his fingers down hard in return.

“It was about his sentencing. You mentioned he never writes you, but he said he always reads your letters. I think you should go see him, clear the air. Before…”

“Before?”

“Some men experience regrets as they face their death, and wish to put things to rest.” Klavier was quiet. “Some men.”

Oh. Machi’s blood was suddenly ice water. “I couldn’t,” he whispered.

“Even if I went with you?”

“You would do that?”

“It’s the least I could do, considering it’s my fault you got involved in all this.”

Machi slipped to his knees on the floor next to Klavier. He pressed his lips to his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault,” he murmured against his skin. “I got to meet you, and Lamiroir got to meet her family. Good things and bad things, you can’t do one and not the other.”

“That’s what my therapist says,” Klavier agreed with a chuckle.

“Boys! It’s time for dinner!” Joella called up the stairs. “Hope you like macaroni!”

Klavier stood, pulling Machi with him. He wrapped an arm around Machi’s waist for a just a moment before Machi broke away to get the door. They sat next to each other at dinner, and every now and again Machi’s fingers would seek Klavier’s beneath the table. They held hands in secret while Machi picked at his food and Klavier charmed his foster family with stories of his law career.


End Notes:
*I don't know why, but Machi really seems to like tuna sandwiches. I guess they don't have them in Borginia.
*Machi's ringtone for Klavier is better known as Musetta's Waltz. It's a rather suggestive song, sung by a lady of rather spurious nature, about how men can't stop looking at her when she walks down the street. An interesting choice for Klavier, ja?
*The Phoenix/Edgeworth/Thalassa aspect of this was actually realized at this point. Previously in the story, I'd meant it to be Phoenix/Edgeworth, with Thalassa being a platonic part of their lives and Machi greatly misunderstanding it. Anonymous commented that they loved P/E/T and I found the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. So that's how it got in there.