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It really shouldn’t have gone this far, but the same fierce tenacity and drive that made Klavier Gavin and Apollo Justice brilliant courtroom rivals also made them both unwilling to back down, even when doing so was in their best interests. And really—it was just a stupid bet, how much harm could it do?
The whole situation started like this: Klavier, arguing that he should take Apollo out to lunch because he could spare the money. Apollo, arguing that Klavier’s perspective of what it was like to have a tight budget was irrevocably warped from his celebrity status and wealthy upbringing. Klavier, bringing up a counterpoint that Apollo really wasn’t as destitute as he sometimes made himself out to be, not since he’d started gaining a reputation for his honesty and skill as a defense attorney, and taking on more clients.
And then—the gauntlet, thrown down. A challenge, issued by Apollo: “I bet I’d be able to spend less money in a month than you can.”
“You bet?”
“Fuck yeah!”
“Then you’re on,” Klavier said, still locked in a fierce staring contest with Apollo. Was this another challenge? He should probably blink. His contacts were really starting to feel painful against his dry eyes. But Apollo hadn’t blinked yet, and he couldn’t let the shorter man win.
Thankfully, Trucy appeared and dragged Apollo away from the courthouse lobby, forcing them to break eye contact. But Apollo scowled and turned to look back at Klavier over his shoulder, frowning as if to remind him of the seriousness of their bet.
Klavier knew he’d win this bet, easy. After all, he’d been a college student, once! He still remembered the highly relatable prospect of going down to Whole Foods to spend his weekly allowance from his family’s fortune on buy-in-bulk almonds and artisanal boxed mac and cheese. Plus, he already had a bunch of fancy appliances so he could still drink his quintuple-filtered mountain spring water and make his wheatgrass smoothies.
But the text he’d woken up to from Apollo, clarifying the rules of the bet, was making him doubt his knowledge of being “thrifty.”
Okay. He could do this. Even if it meant no fancy water or wheatgrass smoothies. Klavier allowed himself to shed a single tear as he stared at his freshly-filled water bottle, before pouring the contents down the sink and filling it back up with….shudder...tap water.
Klavier’s excursion to the supermarket that afternoon was remarkably fruitless. He had first gone to his regular greengrocer, before realizing that the prices were significantly higher than he could afford to spend. He’d then driven across half the city to find a regular supermarket, only to find that the food there was all organic and therefore 50% more expensive than their mysterious “competitor’s” goods. So Klavier had ended up at Walmart, cringing at the way the grey shelves and florescent overhead lights clashed with his foundation and how his shopping cart kept trying to drift off to the left whenever he started pushing it.
Here, at least, the prices of things were more in the realm of what Apollo would probably consider “cheap” and Klavier would consider “worthless.” He picked up a packet of generic 1-ply toilet rolls, wondering if he was really going to commit to this bet that much.
The answer was yes, of course. The toilet paper went in the cart, quickly followed by a bar of plain soap and a bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo/conditioner/body wash. Klavier tried not to think about how frizzy his hair was going to look at the end of the month.
Next, the food section. After blanching at the prices in the produce section (was Walmart not supposed to be cheap?), Klavier breezed straight into the pasta aisle, picking up a jumbo pack of spaghetti and three boxes of those crackers you’re supposed to put in soup. He was about to head out to find some budget ice cream when he caught sight of something on a bottom shelf—an entire pallet-sized block of instant ramen noodle packets, and for only twelve dollars? Klavier steeled himself and dragged the massive cube out, balancing it precariously on top of his shopping cart. It really wasn’t as heavy as he was expecting it to be, but that was probably because all the noodles were dried out.
Klavier swung by the frozen food aisle, as a final stop, and found a carton of generic-brand chocolate ice cream that didn’t seem too awful. He also picked up a stack of frozen pizzas that were on a buy-one-get-three-free deal, because they were his favorite kind—four cheese with white sauce. Now that he’d gotten the shopping out of the way, he was regaining confidence; maybe this wouldn’t be too bad! After all, he’d always wanted to try out all the regular-person food that he’d always been told he wasn’t allowed to eat, because it wasn’t up to the family’s standards. Ha! Look at him now—Klavier Gavin, twenty-six and not beholden to anybody!
He frowned. That was actually...pretty sad. But Klavier wasn’t going to budget therapy sessions into his month of living as cheaply as possible, so he did what he did best when confronted with any indication of his deep, conflicted feelings and proceeded to box them back up inside his brain, and shove them into a corner underneath all the other boxed-up feelings he wasn’t dealing with.
With his purchases in hand, Klavier whistled the chorus to Guilty Love as he strode out into the parking lot—and promptly realized that he’d ridden his motorcycle to the store.
Apollo found himself adjusting very quickly to his new (old) routine of living on as little money as possible. He’d gotten through college on energy drinks, determination, and Cup Noodles, and he wasn’t about to waste any time coming up with a different diet when this one was proven to be reliable. He was totally going to have Klavier beaten by the end of the month—and just to be sure, he was using his extra-nitpicky Excel skills to put together a detailed list of every penny he spent.
Sure, maybe Apollo wasn’t feeling great after a week of this attempt to prove that Klavier was out-of-touch with how much stuff cost. He didn’t remember ever having cravings for lettuce before. He didn’t even like lettuce! And besides, it was out of his strictly-controlled budget. Apollo was trying to make it to the end of the month on less than $35, and he was already perilously close to that after he’d had to replace the kitchen sponge the other day.
Clay had noticed, of course, but had declared that he was staying out of it, because he’d had enough of your weird methods of flirting with Klavier Gavin, ‘Pollo, just fucking ask him out like a normal person and Apollo had reacted to that by trying to smother him in the couch cushions. In hindsight, that was probably a stupid idea, because Clay was infinitely stronger than him and had managed to wrestle him down to the floor and sat on him for three hours. Apollo took the hint and didn’t bring up the bet again.
But the energy drinks were doing wonders for his ability to keep up with the typical wacky hijinks of the Wright Anything Agency, and he’d found himself actually able to follow Athena’s mile-a-minute speaking patterns. So overall, he’d rate the whole thing a 5/10; he was starting to remember why he’d blocked his memories of university out so thoroughly.
Three weeks in, and Klavier had made a sizable dent in his mountain of instant ramen. He’d also started finding his shower drain clogged up with long strands of blond hair, but he was sure that was just because of his shitty shampoo/conditioner/body wash. Really, it wasn’t hard at all, subsisting on hardly any money! When he got sick of ramen, he’d eat one of his pizzas. He’d been snacking on his crackers as he tried to focus on his court paperwork, and the ice cream hadn’t been too bad as a breakfast food. But he thought he should maybe cut down on the crackers, because all the chewing he’d been doing seemed to be harming his jaw muscles. He could swear his teeth hurt, and was left slightly concerned. Maybe he should book an appointment with his dentist next month. Maybe he should floss.
He was still determined to win, though, and Apollo hadn’t backed down yet. The defense attorney had continued his text message taunting, occasionally trying to guilt-trip him for his pizza indulgences and unusual breakfast food choices. Klavier hadn’t risen to the jabs, reasoning that he’d get more satisfaction out of pulling out his receipts at the end of the month and proving to Apollo how much money he’d managed to save with his eye for deals.
What had Klavier been doing, again? He seemed to lose track of his thoughts a bit more often than usual, recently. And he’d found himself dozing off at his desk, in the middle of the day. But then again, he’d been busier than he’d been for a while, so it stood to reason that he’d wake up feeling like he got hit by a truck, sometimes.
Klavier stood, picked up a felt-tip pen, and marked another day off of his purple, Gavinners-branded calendar. They’d gotten them printed three years in advance, so he had quite the stash, considering that they’d been declared unsellable after the band’s breakup and the whole Tobaye trial incident. Klavier had compromised by hanging them in every room of his house, as well as the prosecutors’ offices, after he’d methodically gone through with a black Sharpie and scribbled out Daryan’s image from every single page. He bit the end of his marker and winced in pain, quickly shoving the cap back on it. Maybe he’d have to give one to Apollo as a consolation prize, once he inevitably won the bet.
It was three weeks, six days, and ten hours since Apollo and Klavier had made their bet about which one of them could spend the least money in a month, and they’d been reunited over a corpse at the crime scene where Apollo’s most recent client had been arrested. It was early, or so Apollo told himself, and cursed that his diet for the month hadn’t extended to coffee. He’d had to cut back on the energy drinks once he’d realized that he kept shaking too hard to keep his case notes legible. Maybe he’d be able to beg some off of Ema? That wouldn’t count as spending money, would it?
Beside him, Klavier shakes his head, seemingly to pull himself out of a daze. At least Apollo wasn’t the only one not functioning super well at the hour of…..11:45 AM, according to his watch.
Klavier startled. “Ach, Apollo, you’re bleeding!”
It took a moment for the statement to process, but Apollo looked down at his arm, where his wristwatch sat, and noted that, indeed, tiny pinpricks of blood were gathering along its length. Weird. And, even weirder--
“Hang on,” he started, almost accusatory. “You used my name! You never do that!”
Something akin to panic sparked in Klavier’s eyes. “No I didn’t.”
“Yeah you did! You called me Apollo.”
“Prove it.”
Apollo frowned. How was he going to—wait.
“Ema!” he yelled, and suddenly the investigator in charge of the scene was at their shoulders, crunching her fried snacks as usual.
“Hey, that’s Forensic Investigator Skye to you, Justice. What’s up? And don’t tell me that you need to go traipsing around my crime scene again. I’m not finished taking photos, yet.”
“No, nothing like that. You’ve gotta tell Klavier—Prosecutor Gavin—that he called me by my real name!”
Ema seemed to consider that statement for a moment, before scowling and pelting Apollo straight in the forehead with a Snackoo. He caught it and shoved it in his mouth—free food was free food.
Unfortunately, as he crunched down upon the snack, he was reminded of why he’d been avoiding anything too chewy recently. “Owwww…”
Ema raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck. You good, there?”
He rubbed at his jaw. “Yeah, give me a sec. It’ll go away.” He hoped.
As Apollo continued to try and relieve the ache in his teeth, Ema caught sight of the traces of blood on his arm. She shoved her snack bag into her pocket and reached to grab Apollo’s arm, pulling him halfway across the distance towards her in the process.
“Hey, what--”
“Shut up! Why are you bleeding? And—now that I think about it, you’ve been weirdly spacey lately. So’s Gavin. And something doesn’t add up—because I’m pretty sure I’d have heard about it if you two had gotten your act together and hooked up already--”
“If we’d what?” inquired Klavier, joining the conversation. Now that Ema mentioned it, he had been pretty out of it the past few weeks. Weird.
“But that doesn’t make sense…” Ema continued, muttering to herself. “Not if….and you wouldn’t be dumb enough to…..”
She broke off and frowned, looking up again and glancing between Klavier and Apollo. “Oh, no.” she said, deadpan. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
“And what’s that, Fräulein?” Klavier asked, trying to appease her with one of his winning smiles. Except it wasn’t really a smile as much as it was a grimace, and Ema’s eyes narrowed as she focused in on his teeth.
“I can’t fucking believe—what have you two been eating recently?” she snapped, crossing her arms. Apollo and Klavier exchanged glances.
“Well, we’ve got this bet…” Klavier began, and Apollo cut him off.
“Ramen, mostly. Energy drinks. Potato chips.”
“Ja—and those soup crackers. And some ice cream. And frozen pizza.” Klavier cast his eyes somewhere out in the distance, as if trying to remember if he’d consumed anything else in the past month. “I think I tried some of the old Gavinners-branded instant coffee, but it was dreadful, so I disposed of it.”
Ema looked as though she was trying to stave off a migraine, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “So let me get this straight—neither of you have so much as touched a piece of fruit or a vegetable in the past month?”
Apollo and Klavier’s silence spoke volumes. Ema threw her arms up in frustration.
“Right. Right. Of course. You fucking morons have somehow managed to give yourselves fucking scurvy, in the twenty-first fucking century.”
Klavier’s eyes widened, and he froze, midway through twirling his hair around his finger. “Scurvy?” he asked, voice colored by disbelief.
“The pirate disease?” Apollo asked, feeling as though he needed to chime in. Ema began to laugh, near-hysterical.
“Yeah! The fucking pirate disease! Congratulations—now get the fuck out of my crime scene and go have a date at that juice bar across the street—and get something with extra citrus, for fuck’s sake.” She shoved them, not gently, towards the sidewalk. “Oh—and here, take like five of these a day.” She stuck a hand into her bag and rummaged around for a second, emerging with a large white pill bottle. Klavier took it, holding it up to his face to read it.
“Vitamin C?”
“Yeah, you know, the stuff you take so you don’t get colds, or the flu, or fucking scurvy.”
“Oh,” Apollo said, and felt….vaguely moronic, now that he thought about it. Yeah. Now that she’d mentioned, he recalled one of Clay’s protestations, back at the beginning of the month. Not his fault that Clay’d chosen to voice his concern while Apollo was trying to suffocate him, though.
Apollo was going to take this to his grave.
“Right. So, um...ja, I suppose—shall we?” Klavier offered his arm to Apollo as they reached the street crossing. And usually, Apollo would have protested—would have refused the gesture, on principle—but he figured he could probably stand to be kinder to Klavier, considering that he’d been indirectly responsible for the guy getting scurvy, of all things.
And also considering that he wasn’t entirely against Ema’s accusation that their impromptu trip to the juice bar was going to be a date. Though if anyone ever asked how they’d finally gotten together…
Well. They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.