Prompt: platonic cuddles for touch starved Simon.

Athena is the first to pick up on it; no surprise, as she's the only one who really knew him well before he donned his Twisted Samurai persona. She's well aware of how tactile he used to be, carrying her around piggyback half the day. Still, it would be reasonable to assume that tickle fights and long greeting hugs are simply a relic of childhood. Athena doesn't do that.

It begins with a rough, almost violent hug the day his official release comes through. Her arms lock around his waist and squeeze, she actually lifts him up to tiptoes and he's forced to grab onto her to keep his balance. And then... it's difficult to let go, because she's so warm and strong and crying into his shirt a little bit, undeniably real against him. Happy to have him back. So human, something he's missed so much that in a moment he finds himself folding his head down, closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around her, and squeezing just as tightly back.

They sway in place, arms locked round one another, for several minutes. Simon's not sure how long, only that it's longer than a hug probably should be. In that moment, though, it's hard to make himself pull back, and Athena makes no effort to do so, so he tells himself it's okay this once. Tells himself he's allowed this today, he's finally - he can have this, just a little bit more.

When Simon finally pulls back, his breath is a little shaky... but something in him feels settled, soothed and languid in a way he hasn't been for years. He swallows, embarrassed, and takes a swift step back, crossing his arms. Such a defensive stance is pitifully obvious body language, practically screaming his emotions at her, but Athena doesn't even need that much: she cocks her head at him, eyes bright.

"Your heartbeat," she says, voice soft yet delighted. "It's so peaceful..."

And then she moves in, completely confidently, and takes his hand in her own. Simon can feel the flush spreading over his face, has to fight the urge to hunch his shoulders and pull away and check to make sure no one sees him acting soft, but... none of that is enough to make him actually pull away. Not when Athena's palm is so warm and soft in his own, and she's holding on to him and even leaning against his arm, beaming up at him.

"I'm prescribing you three hugs a day, minimum," she says.

Simon blushes brighter, and bites through the straw in his mouth, looks away, looks anywhere else - but doesn't disagree.

-xxx-

Athena is all well and good. He knows her, after all. Even with seven years of separation, she is still his familiar friend, and he feels comfortable with her. The rest of the people he knows... they're harder to handle.

Apollo is the first one to notice, or at least to react obviously enough that Simon can easily catch him out. He's swung by the Wright Anything Agency to take Athena out for soba, and when she greets him with an enormous hug, it's not exactly subtle. She makes no effort to shorten the embrace in front of the others, either; while Simon's reasonably sure she'd do so in public for his sake, Athena must at least subconsciously trust her coworkers enough to let them witness his-

(He knows, intellectually, that a desire for affection should not be a weakness. It just doesn't make a difference, after so many years.)

"OH," Apollo blurts loudly when the hug has reached the minute mark, and Simon lets go of Athena to put his hands over his face and sigh. At least when he drags them down and aims an unimpressed glare at the lawyer, Apollo looks a little embarrassed.

"Uh, hi, Blackquill," he says, forgoing any mention of the embrace that is still one-sidedly ongoing, curse Athena's thorough nature - "Good to see you again."

"Is it?" Simon asks coldly, mostly just to watch the man squirm. Athena finally pops out from under his chin, rolling her eyes fondly as she pulls back to go retrieve her purse, but Simon doesn't look away from her coworker.

In the courtroom, it was fairly easy to intimidate Justice - but inevitably, he'd rally and glare right back, and he does so now as well.

"Yeah," he insists, stubborn. "It is nice to see you. Come around more often, why don't you."

His expression is fierce, but his tone merely emphatic, not angry - and he finishes with a pat to Simon's arm, a little rushed and nervous, but altogether a friendly point of contact. His eyes afterward are sharp, analyzing Simon's deep breath in, the way he stills in place.

He feels uncomfortable under the weight of such a stare, the out-of-character effort to establish physical contact - it's clear Apollo has picked up on what Athena was doing and made an impulsive effort to act in kind.

His gesture is on a lesser scale, in keeping with their relationship, and Simon makes no move to return it... but when he can't bring himself to glare any more harshly or verbally remark on the moment, Apollo's lips twitch up into a small smile. That was an invitation, as surely as his words were, and Simon's lack of protest in this case was as good as acquiescence.

Recognizing what he's just done makes Simon feel warm and a little ill. He wants to go home and curl up in a ball and never let anyone close again - but then Athena returns, purse on her shoulder and smile wide, and his arm is reaching out even before he can think about it. She catches his hand in hers, swings their arms between them and he can feel his breath steadying, just a little, has to fight the urge to pull her closer against his side. Knowing she'd just accept the contact doesn't help.

Simon leaves without saying goodbye, that day... But in future weeks, it seems like he's drawn back that much more frequently, and always greeted with a pat on the shoulder, that same anxious yet confident smile.

-xxx-

Not long after Apollo begins to do so, Edgeworth starts to touch Simon too. He's low-key about it, and never unprofessional - a hand on his arm to get his attention, a pat on the shoulder and a half-smile when he is on the phone and can't say hello, these are the sorts of touches he uses.

They're notable only because the Chief Prosecutor is not a tactile man, probably not in his personal life and certainly not at work. He's stern without being cold, demanding without being harsh, and kind without being touchy... at least before now.

Simon would take more exception to the different treatment (it is clearly only him receiving these gestures), but they are always offered so matter-of-factly, never lingering long enough to breach propriety or leave him feeling truly uncomfortable.

Instead he just feels... uncertain. Pleased, because while Metis has always been his mentor in life, Edgeworth is the man who believed in him, who helped to orchestrate his freedom and gave him his job back, and still teaches him constantly how to be a better prosecutor, an honest one. He admires his boss, is very familiar with the path of his career from dark to light, and the attention feels good despite his misgivings, his sense that he ought to pull back.

It's a display of trust, of pride, that he's not sure he deserves. He would never reach out for it, but when it is so freely and frequently offered, he can't help but accept despite himself. Privately, he looks forward to each new moment of contact.

-xxx-

Klavier is - different. Blatant, in a way that ought to be frankly off-putting. But his boldness is born as much out of kindness as arrogance, that much is obvious to see. He is so charming, too, possesses the kind of slick manners that Simon is quick to scoff at normally, but prolonged exposure renders him more vulnerable in this case because he also gets a glimpse at what lies beneath.

Klavier has spent most of his career attempting to be honest during the Dark Age of the Law. In a way, he was one of the men to bring it about, just like Simon and Phoenix Wright. His brother is sociopathic, a murderer, for all his fans he has few true friends, and over the course of only a few months, Simon finds himself growing genuinely fond of the man. He comes to think of him as a friend, perhaps the first friend he can be on equal terms with, without any negative history between them.

They don't talk deeply about their siblings, or any of the other darker things they have in common; those hang in the air unspoken, quietly accepted but set aside in favor of lighter topics, most days. When they do touch on the past, it is always in casual tones, mundanity emphasized over sentimentality.

"Clearly personal grooming was not encouraged in prison," Klavier says one evening over dinner, case-in-point. He grins, teasing. "That mess on your head is painful to look at, Herr Samurai."

"Hmph," Simon says. "Not a fan of the wild look?"

Mood loosened by several cups of sake, he bares his teeth viciously, and Klavier falls back laughing.

"Ach, how terrifying." He flicks his hair out of his eyes, and boldly leans in to grab a lock of Simon's hair. Rubbing it between his fingers, Klavier scoffs. "So coarse! And look at these split ends. You need an oil treatment, at the least."

"Boiling oil?" Simon barks a laugh. "Even Death Row isn't that brutal."

"Ha ha ha," Klavier parrots back snidely, and lets go, but after dinner he invites Simon to follow him home so he can show him the kind of oil he meant.

Simon isn't sure why he accepts. He's even less certain why he lets Klavier persuade him to stay and test it out tonight; why he agrees to let the other man massage the oil into his hair so it can soak in properly and begin repairing the damage his cheap shampoos and infrequent haircuts have wrought. The easy thing would be to blame his acceptance on the alcohol in his system, or Klavier's charisma - but that's not all there is to it.

It can't be, when as soon as his friend settles on the couch behind him and pours a dollop of oil in his hair, Simon shivers almost violently. Sitting on the floor, staring at the movie on the television in front of him, Simon's entire body is tense from the neck down, but his scalp is tingling with every rough scrape of Klavier's fingers. Soon, the warmth extends downwards, his muscles loosening despite himself, his eyes growing heavy. Not from fatigue, just from the simple but pleasurable feeling of those hands in his hair, working their way steadily across his scalp.

Klavier is silent. Simon is quiet too, and slowly drifting despite himself. He doesn't know what he is doing here - or, doesn't want to admit to what he's doing, doesn't want to think too deeply about how he's sitting, exposing the back of his neck to someone, letting them touch him, get so close for so long...

If he just stays still, if he just stays quiet he can enjoy this for a little longer without having to examine it. The hour is late; Klavier has been scrubbing the oil in for longer than the half-hour he'd said it would take, but maybe he's just busy watching the movie. Simon pretends to himself, because lying is so much easier than admitting what is happening here. This may have started off as genuinely healing his hair, but from that first sigh, too heavy and with an edge of bitten-off groan to it, the intent has shifted. They both know.

When the video they are watching ends, Klavier finally removes his hands. Another shiver runs down Simon's spine like water; he doesn't meet his friend's gaze. There is nothing wrong with letting yourself be taken care of - he knows that too. Maybe he's even getting a little closer to admitting he wants that. But still, it's far too large a thought to openly acknowledge, sets something like panic lurking in his throat, and he says thank you to Klavier too quickly before heading off to the shower.

He spends that night on his friend's couch. Klavier smiles at his hair in the morning, pronounces it 'improved' and offers to oil it again as needed.

"Anytime," he says, eyes soft.

Simon takes a deep breath, feeling shaky and warm, and doesn't answer.

-xxx-

The Wrights are more subtle, but also even bolder, eventually. Trucy's exuberant personality is so outgoing that Simon finds himself genuinely uncertain of how much she is aware of his reaction, or if this is just how she interacts with everyone. Despite being a clearly intelligent and self-sufficient teenager, there's a childlike openness to her, a willingness to break cheerfully past social barriers with anyone that has Simon melting a little despite himself, whenever they talk, allowing her to get on familiar terms with unusual rapidity.

She's not like Athena as a child - that girl had to be coaxed out of her shell - but Simon finds himself opening up the same way, grinning at her in greeting and eagerly awaiting her latest magic tricks. And he doesn't notice how she gets close, not at first - it hits him suddenly, one afternoon.

"I'll be so gentle with him, I prooomise," she's pleading to use Taka in her next show (which Simon will never allow), practically swinging off his arm as she begs, cheek nuzzled into his shoulder as she gives him puppy eyes, and Simon abruptly notices how much they are touching, how it's not new. She gets into his space like this every time they meet, and he hasn't even noticed, because it's felt so natural, so easy, and he's always just leaned into it and let her -

His realization is interrupted by a sudden weight and warmth that has him tensing horribly - only to hear a familiar amused voice in his ear, and then he's relaxing almost before he's aware of it.

"You can only hold out for so long against my girl, Blackquill," Phoenix Wright informs him, one arm slung over his shoulders and a wry grin on his face. He's shorter than Simon, so he's leaning up and against his side to make the reach, warm and abrupt and most of all nice, shockingly so. "She's gonna get you eventually."

"T-That will never happen," Simon protests, a little too weakly as Trucy grins her agreement, tugging on his arm slightly in emphasis. He's sandwiched between father and daughter, bewildered as to when he let this get so far, heart pounding.

Certainly, he likes Trucy, and Simon will always be grateful to her father for defending him - and yes, he's been spending a fair amount of time here in the course of visiting Athena, and talking with Apollo - but when did a friendly acquaintanceship transform into this? Mere months ago, someone suddenly touching him from behind like Phoenix had just now would have resulted in an instinctive attack. And now he's just... settling in to it?

"Taka is not some showbird," he continues, managing to keep his voice steady despite the heady mixed feelings rushing through him. "I will not have you covering him in glitter, or shooting him out of a cannon, or-"

"Awww, but he'd be so cool," Trucy moans, on his left. Phoenix laughs on his right, and Simon can't help it, he feels himself smiling at the man, an uncertain gentle expression he can't restrain.

Phoenix is looking at him so paternally, smiling back softly. Simon has seen him act like this with his daughter, with his subordinates even, ruffling hair and delivering sharp pats on the back, or other such casual moments of contact, but he hasn't ever seen the man hang on someone else like this, press up warm and gentle and stay there. Trucy may or may not be aware; but Wright knows exactly what he is doing right now, and it's... overwhelming.

Simon squeezes his eyes shut, feels hot and shaky and soft. He feels vulnerable, for once doesn't fight it, just takes deep breaths and soaks up this moment, the laughter, the banter, the touch of another human that is not meant to hurt.

The door opens a short distance away and Athena and Apollo traipse in, back from their latest case. They pause at the sight of Simon smothered in Wrights, but only for a moment.

"Is this a group hug?!" Athena asks. She doesn't bother to wait for an answer before barreling in, one hand gripped tight around Apollo's wrist to drag him along. It only takes a moment for her misconception to become reality, and Simon actually feel tears pricking at his closed eyelids, he finally reaches out his arms and embraces them all back, and.

It's so nice. It's everything he's missed most, for seven long years spent alone and afraid, devoid of even a single true friend. Taka is wonderful but he is a bird, Simon can pet him and kiss his head but he can't hug him, can't just bury himself in a warm embrace like this one. He's - he feels starved, a gnawing in his entire body to match the pangs he'd once felt in his gut when his meal privileges were revoked. He's craved this, allowing himself to relax and be welcomed, wanted even, to let go of the fear that it will get him a knife in the back.

He's known this. It's not a surprise at all, hasn't been since that first time Athena hugged him, or maybe even before - but it's taken this long, so many little moments, three hugs daily for all this time, to accept this need. To admit, finally, that it's not a weakness, it just is, and indulging himself in this isn't anything to be ashamed of.

How could it be, when all the lawyers around him are laughing just as giddily, clinging on just as tight?