I'm doing just fine, Mr. Wright. I promise. I'm fine.

Two words. With a catchphrase of two words, Apollo Justice composed an entire symphony of lies.

And since he worked for the Wright Anything Agency, he was surrounded by an ensemble who could decode every false note in the score.

Movement one. Trucy read the vein that bulged in the grip holding his pen, how he wrote notes on his case files in long lashes; a Itenuto/I where there should have been a stacatto.

Movement two. Wright asked him why he changed his ringtone. This could have been making simple conversation, except that when Apollo replied, I just wanted a change, that's all, Phoenix placed a magazine article in front of his nose. Klavier Gavin-Ex-Rock God Abandons His Secret Lover?! Apollo left the room before Mr. Wright could present another piece of evidence conclusively tying him to involvement with the famous guitarist.

Movement three. Athena. Apollo took to avoiding his younger coworker, because two empaths feeding off each other's negativity was creating an agonizing ostinato-she'd hear the ache in his voice as he spoke cheerful lies; he'd see the twitch in her smile as she pretended his pain wasn't reaching her heart and tearing her down. |: Repeat. :|

Which was why he couldn't seem to be rid of her, as hard as he was trying.

Let me help you,/I she pleaded. II know just the trick-Widget and I are on the case!

Apollo made excuses and dove right back into his work. Any psychologist worth their salt knows it's unethical to proceed without the patient's consent, and Apollo would use and abuse that fact to his advantage.

Movement four. Apollo had spent almost four days without thinking about him. He had opened the office windows-it was a beautiful day after all-and a passing car blaring "Guilty Love" drove by.

Apollo, alone in the office and free from nosy coworkers, began to cry.

Five minutes later, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

I'm so sorry, Apollo, she said. I know you don't want my help, but...I could hear you. I could hear your heart cry out.

But I'm the only one here. How did you know?

I was on a run near People Park. My ears just picked you up. I came by. Apollo...I know how much you're hurting. But you're happy I'm here right now. Please, don't deny it. You know how impossible it is to lie around here!

Apollo sniffled. Was she right? Did he have happiness in his voice? As certainly as he could see the truth, she could hear it. Would he let go and trust in her?

And so, when she asked if he was ready to talk, he said yes.

Coda. Weeks later, Trucy remarked that Apollo was safe from developing carpal tunnel, as his pen grip had finally relaxed.

The magazine article Wright had given him fell, pages ruffling a glissando, from Apollo's desk drawer to his trash. He still missed Klavier, but the coy smile on the front cover didn't have the same power over him anymore.

And Widget would sometimes blurt out at forte volume, I'm so proud of you, Apollo!, especially when Athena was trying to look very busy with her paperwork. At these times, even a regular visitor to the office could see her cheeks flush a delicate shade of red.