Archive of Our Own

Apollo knows the way to People Park like the back of his hand. It was one of the few things he couldn't shake off of his memory while he was in Khura'in. In fact, one of the first things he'd done when he came back to LA was walk there.

It looked almost unrecognisable at that point. The brightly painted archway at the entrance's colours had mostly faded away, paint chipping from the letters of the sign. Inside, some parts of the park was completely devoid of grass where they'd used to be so freshly cut. Tree roots could be seen only half-buried underneath dirt like popping veins on an angry forehead. It seemed lifeless. Like they'd just left it alone to pass time.

Even now as he enters the archway, carefully stepping over tree roots so that he wouldn't fall, the park stands as a glaring reminder to Apollo saying one thing: things change.

He knows this well. He'd grown up understanding that you can't expect anything to stay the same way as you left them. He moved from place to place, meet and un-meet people. If this wasn't the most strikingly obvious fact of life he knew, he wouldn't have learned anything.

Yet still, the change is jarring. He cuts through the lifeless park with a strained chest, an uneasy feeling of loss sitting plainly in his throat. Somehow, he can't believe it.

It's not betrayal. He knew well all those years ago when he watched his new family leave without him right before his eyes that they weren't going to stay the same. That nothing was going to stay the same. That what he did, what he chose to do was the equivalent of resigning himself to missing out on everything. Things would pass by without him there and that would be it.

But Apollo's never liked being sentimental and if he had to stop to mourn about the paint chipping on People Park's archway, he wouldn't have any time to do anything else. He powers through because he should. He powers through because he knows this well.

"Oh," Ema raises an eyebrow as Apollo comes into her view, fixing her glasses as she turned his way. "Thought you'd be busy today."

"I am busy," Apollo falls into step with her, looking over the scene he'd seen her hunched over. "Review?"

"Not this kind of busy. And I'm pretty sure I'm not allowed to tell you."

"But you'll tell me anyway," Apollo tries. "Wait, what kind of busy?"

"The date kind of busy," she shrugs. "Figured you and the fop would fall into each other's arms the moment he landed."

Apollo retracts slowly, turning to Ema with his eyebrows furrowed, and not from the lack of trees to block the afternoon sun.

"What?" he asks.

Ema tilts her head. "Didn't you hear?" she says, "Klavier is back."

He feels his mouth open without his control, mind going blank as his stare went straight through Ema and directly into absolutely nothing. It feels like he's dreaming.

"What?" he exclaims, like pinching himself.

"He arrived last night," she tells him. "Didn't he tell you?"

Apollo turns away from Ema, stare landing on the space where a playground used to be. Well, it's still technically a playground. The chains on the swings are either loose or completely broken. The slide is stained with dirt and grime. There are no children  running around it, climbing on the ladders like ants scurrying for food.

He looks down. 

"No," he says, a lump forming in his throat. 

A little kid arrives at the playground with bright, eager eyes, settling themselves on what's left of its jungle gym and surging towards it with no regard for his already scraped knees.

Normally, Apollo would carry on. He'd compel Ema to say more about the case, investigate the scene as well as he could, and report back to the agency hopefully before the sunset. It isn't strange that Klavier wouldn't tell him this. They haven't been in contact since… god, who knows? The last time Apollo saw him he didn't know it would be the last time he saw him. They were probably at the courthouse, passing by each other as they both acted like they weren't trying to catch the other's stare. They didn't even talk.

Before, Apollo would swallow the lump in his throat. He'd feign indifference, carry through with the job. He'd push Klavier back into the deep crevices of his mind so that he'd be no more than an afterthought for the rest of the day. Before, that would've worked.

"He didn't tell me," he says.

This, too, has changed.

▾

The truth is that Apollo left a lot of things unfinished when he decided to uproot his entire life and move to Khura'in indefinitely.  One of the many things was his apartment lease that he'd left Athena to handle. One was his cat Mikeko which he left to Trucy to take care of. And one of them was Klavier, who nobody could help him with.

He didn't think Klavier was a big deal to him. They were colleagues, coworkers. He'd kill to stand against Klavier as opposed to any other prosecutor because they both did so well in court together. But they were also friends. They used to catch each other at crime scenes, grab a bite to eat at the convenience store next to the precinct, wave every time they saw each other at the courtroom. It was nice. Having Klavier as a friend was nice. He was one of the people he thought of when he was listing down all the things that he'd miss the most in LA.

Then he kept thinking about him. Then he couldn't stop thinking about him. Then all of the sudden little things that he saw around Khura'in reminded him of Klavier. He thought about all the things Klavier would like, what he would give to him when he came back, what he'd say.

Then he realised maybe it wasn't just about missing him. Maybe there was something he didn't notice before. Something he'd been lying to himself about. Something he was afraid to admit.

He thought of Klavier then, with his bright blue eyes, his sun-kissed skin, his calloused guitar-playing hands, his brilliant, always-one-step-ahead-of-everyone mind, his genuine smile, and felt something take root in his chest and grow.

He was halfway across the world when he realised he was in love with Klavier, then it was Klavier who was halfway across the world when he came back.

"You should call him," Trucy tells him as they walk home from the office, the kind sunset's light painting them warm. "I think Gavin would be thrilled to see you."

"I don't have his number," he responds.

He tried calling Klavier when he'd just gotten back but all he was greeted with was an automated message telling him the number no longer existed. He had no other way of contacting him whatsoever.

"Could ask Ema."

"Or maybe he wouldn't be thrilled to see me," he asserts. "We haven't really been in contact in god knows how long. He might not even remember me."

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Trucy tilts her head. "Because if you knew Gavin like I do, you'd know that he's devastated that you haven't been in touch."

"Why? Have you talked to him recently?"

"No," she says, "But Gavin isn't like that. You know he isn't."

"What's your point?"

"My point is that if you left things unsaid before then maybe this time… they don't have to be."

Trucy walks in front of him, placing her arms behind her back and facing her head upwards, closing her eyes like she's drinking in the sun. It'll be nighttime soon.

"Let's get you home," Apollo tells her, "Mr. Wright'll have my head if he arrives before you do."

"Oh, c'mon, Polly, he already knows how good of a big brother you are," she grins.

They get home just before the sun sinks into the ocean.

▾

Trucy Wright is a class act. She's only nineteen and sometimes Apollo has to drive by her school to give her her lunch whenever she forgets it at home. But she's charasmatic and friendly. After every show there's always a line waiting for her like she's stagedooring and she doesn't leave until she's at least said hello to everyone.

She's entertaining the line right now, taking photos and enaging in conversation. Apollo doesn't know how she still has all this energy left after performing a whole set. Apollo was (thankfully) only an audience member today and even he's exhausted.

"Trucy!" he tries to call, raising his hand to get her attention.

Trucy looks up and gives him a smile, raising her own hand up to show him five. He wishes that means five minutes and not five hours.

"That's quite a line she's got, huh?"

Apollo nods, frowning dissapprovingly at Trucy who continued her conversation with the next person in line.

"Yep, she's a real charmer."

"Then I guess you are very proud of her, ja?"

Apollo turns. He steps back just to make sure he's getting a full view of what's in front of him. Someone behind him winces in pain as he accidentally steps on them but he's far too shocked to move to say an apology.

Klavier Gavin looks, well, aged. Not in any bad way. For one, his chest isn't threatening to burst the buttons of his already buttoned-down shirt. He's wearing a turtle neck with a jacket and bell bottom jeans. His hair is braided at his side instead of that long curl. He might even be taller. He sure stands like he is, all straight backed and head tilted. A subtle, lopsided smile is hanging on his lips as he looks at Apollo with those same blue eyes he used to steal glances from in the courtroom. Not that Apollo would ever say that out loud. Right now, he doesn't have to quip his eyes away immediately as Klavier catches him. Right now, he can only stop and stare.

He looks… different. That might be a better word. Like he's changed, as Apollo throught he would, in the time they didn't see each other. Like he'd gone on with his life and thrived. Apollo never got to see that. Would never get to see that.

"Gavin," he exhales, feeling that familiar feeling in his chest rise up again like the last few years haven't passed at all.

"Guten abend, Herr Forehead. It's… nice to see you again."

Apollo blinks, still unsure if Klavier's actually in front of him.

"Gavin," he repeats, shaking his head, "Ema mentioned you were in town."

"Ah, so the fraulein does speak of me sometimes."

"Sometimes, yeah," Apollo nods, "Mostly with spite."

That makes Klavier laugh and, holy mother, he forgot about his laugh. It doesn't even count as a laugh. It's more of a chuckle. Like Klavier was too cool to let out a loud, boistrous guffaw because it would mess up his rockstar prosecutor persona. Though Apollo would admit, he does look cool doing it. And handsome.

"Are you in town for long?" he asks.

"For long?" Klavier questions. "Los Angeles is home. Of course, I'm here to stay. I'd say it'd make more sense for me to ask you."

There's something unsaid there. Apollo can feel it. Klavier's avoiding eye contact and looking nervously towards something Apollo can't turn to check. But before he can ask him any more questions, Trucy swoops in and squeals the moment she sees Klavier.

"Prosecutor Gavin!" she exclaims, encasing him in a hug. "You went to see my show?"

"Ja and it was wunderbar! Fitting, seeing as where we are."

"Oh, thank you!" she smiles, pulling away to turn to Apollo. Then her smile morphs into something else.

"So, Truce," Apollo calls before she can get any ideas, "Ready to go?"

"Actually, my daddy's gonna take me home," she tells him, "Mr. Edgeworth and him are gonna swing by and take me to dinner."

Apollo doesn't need his bracelet to know that she's lying. He can see the way she's reaching for her phone to text her dad to come pick her up from a mile away.

"Really?" he grits his teeth, eyes landing on her hands. "How nice of them."

"Mhm!" she continues, relentless as always. She turns to Klavier and says, "That means Polly's free for the evening! Why don't you two have a couple of drinks and catch up?"

"Oh, I don't really think Gavin's gonna be up for that," Apollo shakes his head.

"Oh, c'mon," Trucy pushes, "You haven't seen each other in years!"

Apollo's about to decline again until he looks up at Klavier.

"Well…," he pauses, shrugging at Apollo, "The bar is right there."

He turns to Trucy, who already has that shit-eating grin, shrugging just to mirror Klavier's stance.

"Yeah, you're right," she says. "You two have fun."

She taps away to go back to her long line of adoring fans and even after years of standing opposed to Klavier in the courtroom, Apollo has never felt more defeated to be in front of him.

▾

The Wonderbar has a fair selection of drinks, one of which is this obnoxiously overpriced bottle of Jägermeister that Apollo would much rather not touch even with a ten foot pole but seems to be right up Klavier’s alley, considering he’d be drinking it straight from the bottle had Apollo not called for shots.

Now, he’s a little tipsy. Honestly, Trucy could probably hold her liquor better than Apollo but he’s obviously not going to tell anyone that. He’s had two, maybe three shots and he’s already feeling his face go hot.

“You get so red quickly, forehead,” Klavier grins, holding his empty shot glass against his cheek as he tilts his head. At this angle, his hair doesn’t look all that longer, just a bit messy. It’s a bit later in the evening and whatever efforts Klavier did that morning to keep his head of ridiculously long hair in check is beginning to unravel. He begins to think Klavier’s feeling a bit tipsy as well, seeing as he hasn’t tried to sweep his bangs away from his face the way he usually would with all that flair and spectacle. It was always flair and spectacle with him. It could never just be simple. Never just a hand reaching over to tuck it behind his ear—

Apollo doesn’t catch himself early enough to stop, his fingers already brushing against Klavier’s temple. Maybe he shouldn’t drink anymore.

Klavier turns away just as Apollo retracts his head. He downs another shot.

Apollo breathes out, attempting to just air out the lump in his throat beginning to form. He can’t just get tongue-tied at every moment with Klavier. Moments with Klavier are already few and far between.

“Which of those piercings was the catalyst?” he asks.

Klavier raises an eyebrow. “Wie bitte?”

“You know what I mean,” Apollo urges him on, “The first mistake. The one where you caved in. The one where you said fuck it, I’m gonna get a piercing!And then after you got one you couldn’t stop. C’mon, which one?”

At that, Klavier laughs, hiding his face behind his shot glass.

“I admit, my impulse control may not be the most perfekt but these piercings aren’t mistakes, forehead,” he nods.

“Oh, really?” Apollo says, “Then what are they?”

“Memories,” Klavier says, in the most Klavier way, “In tours, it’s common practise to commemorate it with a tattoo, ja?”

“Holy shit, Gavin, you did not get a tattoo.”

“Nein, I did not. My philanthropic tendencies would advise me not to.”

“Show off,” he nudges his elbow.

Klavier chuckles. “Aber! I wanted something to remind me of the mein first solo tour.”

“And what better than a metal rod through the nose?” Apollo shakes his head.

“Nein,” Klavier grins, “Through the nipple.”

Apollo embarrassingly chokes on his drink like some joke from a 90's sitcom, looking away from Klavier. At least this time, he can blame his red cheeks on not being able to breathe.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he hears Klavier laugh and he hopes he's happy because Apollo sure isn't. "It was this one," he points, inching towards him, "On the lip."

No one could blame Apollo for looking, not even for just thinking about looking. Not when Klavier licks his lower lip so closely like this. Apollo was only human.

“You’re sick,” Apollo turns away, downing another shot.

“Oh, I was,” the prosecutor nods, “Couldn’t sing after a while. Not properly, at least. Frau Manager looked like she was about to hit me with a bat the morning after.”

Apollo laughs into his drink. “Yeah, I think you deserve that.”

Dramatically (it was always dramatic with Klavier) he sighs. “Must you be so cruel, forehead?”

“Says the guy still calling me a middle school nickname,” he scoffs.

“Would you rather I call you Apollo?”

He freezes and he thinks he should start keeping tabs on how many ways Klavier can render him speechless in just one night. God knows how many times he's done it before.

Then he swallows his drink, drops it down on the bar with a loud clink and he turns to Klavier.

"Yeah," he nods, "Do that. Call me Apollo."

This time it's Klavier that's speechless. Apollo watches as his mouth gapes slightly, just enough to make it seem poised but not quite baffled. It's his eyes that give away the truth—a deep blue, staring at Apollo in disbelief.

This is the part Apollo remembers the most. The push and pull. The shifting of weight. Klavier would lead Apollo to a corner and then suddenly he would tug him towards him and not away. And it's obvious Klavier never expects the pull.

"Okay," he lets go, backs away from the corner he'd pushed them both into, "I'll… Na, gut, as you wish, fore—Apollo."

It sounds like he's walking away, no longer interested in whatever game he'd started. This was also familiar.

"Already slipping, huh, Gavin?" Apollo chuckles bitterly.

"Achtung, is this not a two-way street?" he asks, "You should do the same for me."

Apollo swallows his drink, looking down and playing with the glass.

When he doesn't respond immediately, Klavier nudges his side.

"Apollo?" he calls and it sounds simultaneously unnerving and comforting in equal measures. "You called me Klavier before."

Apollo nods down. "That, I did."

He feels Klavier move closer, resting his elbow on the counter in front of them.

"Ja… then?"

Apollo looks up at Klavier and his face immediately flushes at the proximity. Or maybe the jägermeister is finally catching up to him. From here, Apollo can see his piercings up close, find his skin to be not as flawless as he'd thought it was, feel his breath reaching his skin, the smell of alcohol strong in his nose.

It's another push, but this time, Klavier expects the pull.

So then he tugs. "Klavier."

He's in the corner again, finding himself not so much as trapped but frozen. No place to back into, no place to step forward. But Klavier is there with him, just as still. They're staring at each other again with some semblance of understanding in their eyes. Or perhaps Apollo is imagining it. That the tight feeling in his chest is only his to feel, not to mirror. That there was really nothing there at all.

Then Klavier smiles, turning away to down another shot. And Apollo is left to wonder whether the red of his cheeks is from the drink in his hand or something else entirely.

▾

Sunlight. In his eye. Irritatingly.

There’s an egregious beeping sound that he’s trying to ignore to get a few more minutes of shut-eye but for some reason it’s getting louder and his head is throbbing and the sun is in his eye and his throat feels like the Sahara desert and the goddamn sun is in his eye.

He cracks his eyelids open and for a moment he thinks he’s still asleep.

He’s in his own room, body cramped into the corner to make space for Klavier who’s peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware of Apollo gawking at his presence. He’s snoring atrociously and there’s a trail of saliva running down from the corner of his mouth and it’s sort of comical to catch Klavier in such a state. He’d laugh about it if it weren’t for the arguably more pressing dilemma of how he couldn’t remember how Klavier ended up in his bed in the first place.

The shock is what wakes him, and Klavier is still there. Sleeping. Next to him. Taking up most of the space in his tiny twin-sized bed and hogging his blanket. Mikeko’s deemed the space on his chest to be her bed and is curled up against his neck, possibly the reason why he’s snoring so loudly.

It’s… well, it’s adorable. He feels like he just walked into a scene from a domestic rom-com and he’s supposed to reach over to kiss Klavier on the cheek he isn’t drooling on and tell him, “Wake up, honey, the sun’s out.”

But he isn’t and the longer he stares (he can’t stop staring) the longer the list of reasons why this is very, very wrong gets. He attempts to scoot a bit more into the wall behind him but there’s not much space left at all and the movement makes Mikeko stir and open her eyes to see her owner awake. She gets up on her tiny little legs and the pressure makes Klavier groan (dear god), meowing as she makes her way on the small space left in between Apollo and Klavier, demanding her morning cuddles.

The considerable loss of weight on his chest makes Klavier stir as well, furrowing his eyebrows and closing his mouth as he wipes his drool on his blanket. He blinks once, twice, and Apollo just braces himself. For what, he isn’t quite sure. The questions? The implications this situation has? Klavier’s tired eyes looking at him in a dazed yet charming way? All of the above?

Whatever the reason, he has no time to really process it when Klavier finally keeps his eyes open long enough for him to see Apollo lying beside him. He squints at him, confusion immediately evident as he tilts his head into his pillow.

“Wach ich oder träum ich?” he says in a hoarse voice, slowly inching closer as if inspecting Apollo like a scientist would in a lab. Apollo jerks away.

His head makes a thud noise when it hits the wall behind him and Mikeko meows unhappily at the sudden movement, making Apollo feel especially idiotic as he raises his hand to scratch the back of his head sheepishly.

Klavier opens his mouth, blinking at Apollo as if still not believing the sight in front of him.

“How?” is what he says.

"No idea,” is Apollo's response.

He gets up from the bed and groans at his throbbing headache, looking down and thanking past Apollo for keeping his clothes on his person and not strung haphazardly across the floor because that would present a much more complicated problem. Downside: it is the most uncomfortable thing to wake up in jeans.

Okay, okay. Everything’s sort of coming back to him. He remembers seeing Klavier in the crowd in the middle of one of Trucy’s shows. They’d talked, had a few drinks (a few too many, possibly), passed the time with a conversation that seemed like it could go on forever until last call came and Apollo found out Klavier’s new loft was all the way across town. Apollo’s small studio was only a sobering two block walk from the Wonderbar and he’d offered to let him spend the night because it was late. Now that he thinks about it, he could’ve just been stalling. Time with Klavier felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford anymore so he’d hoard each second Klavier would give to him if he could.

How he ended up in his bed is beyond him.

Behind him, Klavier groans, burying his head into the pillow. Apollo’s pillow, he realises belatedly. It probably smells like him now. Like expensive cologne. Like his aftershave. Like his strawberry shampoo that costs a fortune. He’s starting to feel nauseous just thinking about it.

Klavier groans again and Apollo thinks maybe it’s actually just the hangover.

He walks out of his room and leaves the door open, going into his bathroom to rummage his medicine cabinet for some ibuprofen. Then he walks to his kitchen to get a glass of water to down the pill.

He takes a second to just breathe because it feels especially hard to do that when Klavier is in the room, no matter the time. No matter how unglamorous he is. No matter how fucking soft he uncharacteristically looks. It almost feels like the air thins when Klavier walks in and there’s no place for Apollo to escape.

His breath hitches audibly when he sees Klavier saunter into the kitchen door, all tired eyes and weary limbs. His hand is rubbing one of his eyes and his T-shirt is riding up the side of his abdomen. Even his messy long hair, tangled and standing up in places, looks adorable. God, Apollo is screwed.

 “Ibuprofen?” he asks, sliding him a glass of water.

Klavier looks at him and sighs. “Bitte.”

He hands him the pill and Klavier downs it slowly, probably still trying to navigate through his headache like Apollo is. Though he probably isn’t as panicked to wake up with another person in his bed.

When he finishes his water, he looks at Apollo shyly. “Es tut mir leid, I don’t know what came over me last night to impose on you like that.”

Apollo looks away, mostly to look away from Klavier but also to take another breath.

“It’s fine. You wouldn’t have ended up in my bed if I didn’t let you in first,” he says without thinking because thinking is already impossible during a hangover but especially impossible with Klavier and his woke-up-like-this glory in the same room.

Klavier catches the euphemism immediately and laughs into his shoulder, looking up at Apollo with a raised eyebrow.

He raises a finger. “Stop," Apollo warns, "Head’s not working.”

Klavier chuckles as he says, "Understandable. It is—,,” he squints at the wall clock behind Apollo. “—one in the afternoon. You don’t have work, do you?”

Apollo turns. “Oh shit.”

He sprints back into his bedroom to find his phone that he'd evidently thrown away onto the floor and left uncharged. He plugs it in and waits a million seconds for it to turn on.

Twenty-two missed calls from Trucy. Three from Mr. Wright.

“I can see myself out if you want,” Klavier says, leaning on the doorframe.

He turns around, “Klavier, I—,” Klavier? When did he become so comfortable with—oh. “Sorry, I just—”

“To borrow your words, it’s fine… Apollo,” he says slowly, like he’s figuring it out too, last night coming together like pieces of a puzzle. He nods. “Ja, it’s fine. I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

“Give me your phone number,” he stands up and wow, he really isn’t thinking because he said that with no hesitation at all. How he isn’t already a blushing mess is a mystery to him.

Klavier raises an eyebrow and says nothing but, “Okay, hand me a pen.”

Pen. Right. He turns around, grabs the nearest sharpie and hands it to him. It isn’t until Klavier is reaching over to grab his arm that he realises he didn’t give him anything to write on.

Klavier just scribbles his number on his arm, adding a little heart at the end of it for good measure (the little shit) and handing the sharpie back with a wink.

When Apollo heads into the shower long after Klavier's gone, he's careful not to wash away the digits on his arm.

▾

Trucy’s already waiting for him in front of the Wright Anything Agency with her hands on her waist but Apollo can see the corner of her mouth twitching slightly so he knows she isn’t actually mad. She isn’t even going to be telling him that she’s mad she’s gonna say, “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”

“Is Mr. Wright trying to sound like an actual dad again?” he parks his bike.

“He caught me smiling while texting,” she tells him, “But that’s not important! You’re late. It’s the afternoon!”

“Woah, hey, who were you texting?” he jokes.

“Pearls,” she deadpans, “Now, what were you doing? I left you with Prosecutor Gavin and you come into work the next day at noon?” she raises her eyebrow.

He takes off his helmet as an excuse to not look at Trucy’s piercing gaze. It barely works.

“I haven’t even walked into work. You’re literally stopping me from walking into work.”

“Polly!” she whines, “What. Happened.”

Apollo sighs. “Nothing.”

He walks past her and into the building, heading to the elevators. Trucy trails behind him swiftly.

“I can tell you’re lying. You know I can tell you’re lying. C’mon Polly!”

The elevator dings and they both walk in. Trucy just stares at Apollo like she’s Apollo trying to catch a tell in court. And he… he can’t shake her off.

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Trucy!” he exclaims, “Do not let Mr. Wright hear you talking like that with me in the same room, please.”

“I’m turning twenty. Daddy’ll get over it,” Trucy says. “Now spill!”

She grabs Apollo’s arm and shakes it.

“You’ve been hanging out with Athena too much.”

“Po-o-o-olly-y-y-y,” she whines.

He shakes her off.

“Nothing happened. Nothing like anything you think, at least. We had a few drinks, it got late, I invited him to sleep over because his apartment was halfway across town.”

They go silent for a while, only the elevator music filling in the empty space. Trucy scans him carefully and Apollo does his best to keep his attention on the number showing the floors they pass.

Then Trucy looks down at the arm she’s holding and gasps.

“Is this a number? Is this Gavin’s number?”

“Wha—Jesus Christ, Klavier.”

“Oh, Klaiver?” she wiggles her eyebrows.

The elevator door opens with a ping and Apollo is the first one to get out.

“Polly, why does Prosecutor Gavin call you his baby girl?”

“Shut up, please." He enters the office.

He's barely even acknowledged by Phoenix who’s on the phone, nodding at him before he ducks out to the balcony to get some privacy.

“Hey, Apollo!” Athena calls from her desk, “Something kept you this morning?”

“More like someone,” Trucy giggles.

“Trucy—"

“Oh, who was it?” Athena jumps up.

“No one!”

“Prosecutor Gavin!”

“Gavin?” Athena gasps, “He’s back in town?”

“He was at my show last night!” Trucy pushes past Apollo. “They flirted right in front of me, it was kind of gross.”

“Mon dieu, in front of your little sister Apollo?”

“There was no flirting!” Apollo exclaims. They weren’t. Not really. He wasn’t trying to at least… right?

“He wrote his number on his arm!” she grabs his arm to show her.

“Hey!”

“It’s like you’re in a TV show!” Athena grabs his arm, “With a heart, too. Gavin’s so tacky.”

"Can we please just get to work?" Apollo pulls his arm away.

"How can we when you're not telling us anything?" Trucy shakes his arm. "What's up with this number? Did he ask you out? Did you ask him out?"

"You know, I always thought Gavin would be the one to cave first."

"Yeah, me too."

"Hello?" Apollo exclaims, "I'm still here. And, no, no one asked anyone out. I didn't even tell him how I felt."

He successfully pulls his arm away from both of the girls, escaping long enough to get to his desk and set his stuff down with a loud huff. Slowly, Trucy makes her way towards him.

"You mean feel," she says, "Present tense."

Apollo's instinct is to lie but he then turns to Trucy's sure eyes, looking up at him like she's ready to catch a tell. He knows better than to fall into a trap.

"Maybe," he says. An easy out. Something he can still deny. Something Trucy can't ascertain. They both know this game too well, they've begun to make their own rules. "Maybe it's more complicated than that."

"Apollo," Phoenix walks back into the room, pocketing his phone. "Glad you're finally here. Been on the phone with Detective Gumshoe and he says someone could use your help at the precinct. Another homicide charge."

"Great," he says, grabbing his stuff again, not even bothered that he never even got to sit down. "I'm already on my way."

He doesn't look but he knows Trucy pouts at him as he leaves, without a doubt planning to drill him a little more. But that's only if Apollo gives her the chance to do that.

▾

The first day of trial is always tricky. Once every now and again, he gets it easy. The play-by-play of the crime unravels like a loose scroll falling on a downward slope. The facts lay themselves bare in court after Apollo untangles its threads and slowly but surely the truth comes out. Eventually, that's how most if not all cases go. At least, he makes it a point that his do.

But sometimes (most of the time) it takes a lot more legwork to get to that place.

This case is exactly like that with a witness that puts Edgar Allan Poe's unreliable narrators to shame and a lot of misdirection. He's not even sure half the stuff he and Trucy picked up as evidence actually is evidence. But he wasn't sure that it wasn't, so that meant he still had to drag everything around with him. Which would be a lot easier to do if he had a car. Or at least a wagon.

"We'll start at the pier," Apollo runs his hands through his head, still sweaty from the stress he had gone through trying to stall for time in the courtroom.

"I thought you hated it there," Trucy says beside him, "Do you think we missed anything?" she asks, feet bobbing up and down impatiently as she eyes the rest of the people in the building.

"No," Apollo shakes his head, "But the last time we went there, there was a girl living in that boathouse who we didn't get to talk to."

"And you expect her to know something?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. I wanna ask if she knows anyone from the lighthouse. Or any place that can get footage of the sea that far off."

Trucy stretches her arms. "Worth a shot."

It better be. Apollo's been running through dozens of theories of how it all went down but none of them seem right. There's always a hole or something forgotten. He needs more information. He needs someone who knows something he doesn't.

"Hey," Trucy tilts her head, "Is that Prosecutor Gavin?"

Apollo follows her line of sight and sure enough, there stands the rockstar prosecutor in his natural habitat. Well, one of them, anyway. He's wearing his usual get-up with the addition of a turtleneck. His long hair is tied up in a neat little bun and he's holding a manila folder close to his chest. Apollo has half a mind to hide because that's apparently his knee-jerk reaction to seeing Klavier literally anywhere like it's some survival instinct. If it were, he'd be dead, because he isn't nearly fast enough to stop Trucy from raising her hand like a kid in school who knew the answer to the question on the board and loudly calling his name.

"—avin! Prosecutor Gavin!" he hears Trucy once he's out of his thoughts. But he still isn't present enough to see the prosecutor approach them.

As if materialising, Klavier appears in front of Apollo before he even notices. He's raising a hand to wave and sending Trucy a smile.

"Well if it isn't Herr Wright's little minions," Klavier leans down in that all-to-familiar way. Even now, it feels condescending. "What brings you to the courtroom this afternoon?"

"Polly's in the middle of a case," Trucy tells him, "Just finished the trial."

"Oh, and the verdict?"

"Hasn't been given," she waves her hand.

"What are you doing here?" Apollo blurts out, aware that he's intercepting quite a pleasant conversation but, hey, his brainpower's a little depleted. He did just survive the first trial by the skin of his teeth.

Klavier understandably looks confused at his sudden interjection but answers nonetheless. "Had to grab some paperwork. Figured I'd do it now before I get all busy next week," he shows them the manila folder.

"So, you're not in the middle of a case?" Trucy asks.

"Nein. Well, I tired getting back to work early, but Herr Edgeworth is strict when it comes to little details such as dates and schedules. He told me that my sabbatical was going to last two years and that he meant it."

"I think Papa just wants you to rest a little more," the magician smiles.

Klavier chuckles, looking down at Trucy as he says, "I think so, too."

It feels surreal to see Klavier at the courthouse again. The last time he saw him here was, god, he doesn't even remember. He used to see the prosecutor walking around here all the time, used to stand against him in court, used to stop and stare when he caught him across the room and quickly hide when Klavier turned to him. It felt like that time was worlds away from the present.

"Oh!" Trucy gasps, "Why don't you help us investigate tomorrow?"

Apollo turns to Trucy.  "I don't think that's a good idea," he shakes his head.

"Why not?" Trucy pouts, "He isn't working so he's free and we aren't breaking any rules since he's not on the prosecution. Plus we could use the help."

Apollo splutters. "I mean—," he turns to Klavier, "We don't—Klavier, you don't have to."

He doesn't even notice it slipping out of his tongue. Klavier. He has no idea why it's so easy to say. He thought it would take some getting used to calling him by his first name but it comes out so easily. It's like he's been doing it subconsciously all this time.

"I'd like to," Klavier tells him, flashing a small smile. It's different from the one he gives to the cameras, the one he uses in court. This one's a little shy, a little muted. He wonders if he's even doing it on purpose.

"Send me the details via text," Klavier says to Trucy, and then he turns to Apollo and he winks, "Wir sehen uns dann."

▾

Apollo's sister is a lying, scheming, conniving little shit.

He stands by the pier, as scheduled, no, as promised because he thinks it goes unsaid that if they make plans it's understood that they actually go through with them and not bail at the last second because of some (probably nonexistent) science project. When did Trucy even care about doing those on time? Not until he'd already dragged his feet to the edge of the city!

He eyes the water waringly. He doesn't really have seafeet, having almost drowned twice (meaning twice too many), so he tends to steer clear of any body of water he can't see the bottom of. There's a metal ledge that stands in between him and the washing waves but even there, he stands two feet away from it. The sound of the sea rushing back and forth the rocks is enough for Apollo to want to pack it up and go home entirely.

But Apollo has a job to do and if he wants to feed himself and his beloved cat, he's gonna have to get over it, at least for the day, and do what he has to do.

"Apollo!" Klavier calls, running towards him with a hand waving.

Holy mother, does he want to strangle Trucy so bad.

"Klavier," Apollo nods, trying to keep himself on his feet. Focus on the ground, not the waves. Focus on the cars passing by, focus on the streetlights just starting to turn on, focus on Klavier who's just arrived, mouth hanging open as he heaves, out of breath from running. His hair is tied into a side pony but it's flailing mercilessly against the wind. Maybe they should've went here earlier.

"Ready to investigate?" Klavier asks, a little giddy, feet bouncing easily on the concrete floor.

"Sure," Apollo answers, looking away from the ground. "Let's head to that boathouse."

Finding more information comes a little easier that day, thankfully. The person in the boat house, Dr. Marina Cruise, conveniently had a contact at the lighthouse who she rang up after they'd explained everything to her. That is, after she showed them her room of (frankly excessive) nautical decor.

"Well, thanks," Apollo leans back, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket.

"Oh, don't mention it!" she smiles, "And if you need any more convincing to get a ship in a bottle, you can come back and I'll remind you of all its wonders."

Apollo forces a smile. "Sure thing, Doc."

They head out to look for a place to grab a bite. There are plently of seafood-themed diners littered along the pier. They pick the closest one and sit outside.

He can hear the waves again, and he's not sure he can stomach any food.

"Are you alright?" Klavier asks.

Apollo looks up. "Huh?"

"You look unwell," Klavier points out, "Do you want to go home early?"

Yes, Apollo does. He wants to go home, far, far away where the only body of water is whatever's in his toilet bowl and not a seemingly bottomless pit that could engulf Apollo the moment he submerged in it.

But Apolĺo swallows all of that down. "No, I'm—"

"Fine?" Klavier guesses.

"Yeah," Apollo nods. "I'm fine."

Klavier eyes him suspiciously. "You look a little pale to be fine."

He turns away, not wanting Klavier to say anything more. He feels a little pathetic right now. It was just a bit of water. It wasn't like he was even gonna take a dip, it was just near him. But nonetheless it was the only thing his mind could fixate onto. Not even the case he was beginning to unravel. Not even the man in front of him who he feels a thousand feelings for all at once.

"Apollo," Klavier calls, gentler this time, looking him in the eye with kind eyes (Klavier always had such kind eyes). "Are you okay?"

He thinks about the water. He thinks about being under its weight. He thinks about himself unable to resurface, body at war with his brain, wanting to take a gasp of air and knowing its consequences. He thinks about the hand that got him out, the same hand both times. It doesn't make the memory of it any better, only more vivid.

"I almost drowned," Apollo says, though it's quiet enough that he's not sure if he said it aloud or if he's just repeating it in his head. "Twice. It—It wasn't good. It made me, kind of, warry of the water. It was—It's not a memory I remember fondly."

Klavier's face morphs into understanding, leaning forward go grab onto his hand. If he wasn't so focused on not focusing on the water, it would've made him jolt.

"Es tur mir leid," Klavier tells him, "I shouldn't have pried. I can't imagine how terrifying that would've been."

Apollo lets out breath. "Yeah."

Klavier squeezes his hand just as a little comfort. The sensation is new. It's warm and reassuring. Oddly enough, it feels simple and easy. Easy enough that Apollo moves his own hand to wrap them together, holding then in place in comfortable silence. They stay like that for a while. Klavier's grip is demanding enough that Apollo can take his mind off of the waves that crash near the rocks. It's the thing his mind latches onto like a lifeline.

You're here, Apollo tells himself, You're on the ground.

Klavier is patient enough to let them stay like that. He doesn't push or pull. He just stays. Right now, Klavier is Apollo's center and he is the most stable thing in the world.

When he calms down, Apollo looks up to Klavier, finding his eyes looking straight back at him. This isn't the first time Apollo's caught Klavier staring at him, but it is the first time Apollo doesn't look away.

Klavier squeezes Apollo's hand, and he feels the unspoken words float between them in bold, heavy letters.

He pushes them away.

"Thanks," Apollo says, tucking his hand back onto his lap.

He looks away to the cityscape to look for something else to latch onto. All the while, he can still feel Klavier's stare weighing heavy on him. This time, he chooses to ignore it.

▾

They end up at Klavier's apartment after a stubbornly long back and forth of Klavier insisting he sleep at his place because of how late their investigation went for and how much closer his loft was compared to Apollo's. Eventually, he brought up the time Apollo had housed Klavier for the very same reasons. 

What can he say? Klavier is incredibly persuasive.

He showers and changes into a white shirt that hung too largely on his body and a pair of pyjama bottoms Klavier had forgotten to get rid of. Klavier pointed him towards the guest room and they both said their good night's.

He forgets he's there when he wakes up in the middle of the night.

It would be pitch black if not for the partly opened curtains giving way to a clearer view of the bright moon. Apollo finds himself sitting up just to glance at it, rubbing his eyes as he inches off the bed, his feet landing atop a pair of fuzzy slippers that looked too small to fit Klavier. He slides them on and stands up, letting out a small exhale at the effort.

He's awake now and it's god knows what hour. Klavier's place has an inexplicable feeling of emptiness that only becomes more apparent the longer Apollo wades through it without the presence of the prosecutor. It's a bit eerie and lonely, Apollo wonders how Klavier lives through his days like this. Then he remembers that Klavier uses every excuse he can to not go home early and Apollo suddenly understands why.

He wonders if this is what it's like for Klavier to wake up in the morning. A silent greeting from the air. He gets up from his bed with the gentle light of the sun and finds that nothing else can provide such warmth when he's all alone. He wonders how he can bear it. He wonders if he wishes someone else were there.

It's when he walks up to the door that he notices the light escaping from the small gap underneath it.

He steps out slowly, the door whining quietly as he stretches his arm out and turns the knob. There's a faint sound of a guitar strumming and he follows it to find the back of Klavier's head on the couch. He walks up to him.

"Can't sleep?"

He says it casually so as to not surprise him, but the prosecutor's eyes widen nonetheless, his fingers freezing suddenly.

"Herr—Apollo. I could ask the same of you," he says, seemingly regaining his composure, going back to strumming his guitar.

Apollo shrugs. "Guess my head's just not used to your fancy memory foam."

Klavier chuckles, and what a sound it is to hear the quiet of the night. "Es tut mir leid. Would my arm be a better substitute?"

Apollo rolls his eyes.

He makes his way to the other side of the couch just as Klavier tunes his guitar. His hair is messily framing his shoulders, a pair of thin-rimmed glasses are precariously perched on the tip of Klavier's nose, Apollo has to stop himself from reaching over to push them up. So, instead he watches from afar. Klavier tunes his guitar with expert hands, humming quietly as he fiddles with the knobs. He reaches for the cup of coffee on the table and strands of his hair violate the side of his face, obstructing his eyes. When he retracts he's back in his own little world, closing his eyes as music begins to play. Apollo has to wonder if he even knows he's still here.

He looks completely out of place. How can Klavier stay in such an unlived place when he himself looks so full of life?

Apollo sits, curling into himself slowly. Then he watches the show.

"Could we pick up where we left off? / Could it be so easy for us to just talk?

I've been meaning to tell you / I think you are the sun

I only look at you when you leave / And feel only the cold when you are gone

And I would not mind if it will take time / That there are stories we have yet to climb

'Cause I would do it all over again / If it meant you'll be there then

That after we spend the night awake / Passing the hours, ending the day

We'd let morning would come / And I'd ask you to stay

You'd turn to me / and you'd ask me the same."

Apollo's heard Klavier's music countless times before. Sometimes against his will. Sometimes begrudgingly. Sometimes secretly, hidden under his covers even in the summer heat of Khura'in, the light of his phone stinging his eyes and the wires of his earphones tangled on his chest. He's never heard this song before, but he already knows it's a love song. Klavier only ever wrote love songs.

Apollo lays his head on his arms resting on his curled up knees, closing his eyes without fighting it. In front of him, Klavier sings, the sweet sound of his voice lulling Apollo back to sleep. He hums, if only to let Klavier know just how lovely he is. It is the last sound he makes before he is taken by slumber, mind with the thoughts of the subject of Klavier's song, holding onto the faint chance that it could be him.

What he doesn't see is the way Klavier opens his eyes and stares at Apollo. He's still singing, still playing. Klavier's voice is steady and low—quiet as if he's shy. He's watching the way Apollo falls asleep, slowly, slowly, slowly. And he smiles because he wants to. He smiles because Apollo only ever makes him smile.

"We'd let morning would come / And I'd ask you to stay

You'd turn to me / and you'd ask me the same."

▾

The moments leading up to a verdict are always incredibly nerve-wracking. No matter how many years he's stood as the defense in court, something about making that closing statement makes his insides twist. It doesn't help that most of his cases are famously complicated. Maybe it's his fault for accepting them in the first case.

But it's also the moment where his vision clears, the dust settles, the facts are laid out in front of him and everything finally makes sense. It is the single moment of clarity in each case, and it is the moment he does all of this for. The moment everything stops in its tracks and gives way for the truth.

The gravel sounds.

"Not guilty!"

Apollo feels his knees weaken and his shoulders sag, as if he'd been holding them up all this time through sheer willpower alone. Now that everything is in its place, he can actually feel the toll all the investigating has done on him.

"We did it, Apollo!" Athena grins as they walk out into the lobby.

"I knew that boatman saw something," Trucy comments, "He was practically swarming with tells the first time we spoke to him."

"I'm just glad it's over," Apollo sighs, leaning his back onto the wall. "I'm gonna sleep for a month and half after this one."

"Oh, please," Trucy rolls her eyes, "As if you could ever stop yourself from overworking."

"I mean it this time," Apollo says, going a little hysterical, "I'm moving to the mountains. I'm gonna find a place where the air is clearer and the ratio of goats to humans is thirteen to one."

"At least go someplace with cell service."

Klavier appears next to them, wearing a smile and holding a cup of coffee.

"How else are any of us gonna find out you've been eaten by a goat?" he jokes.

"Klavier," Apollo's head tilts, "You're here."

"Ja, I wanted to see how you'd play it out," Klavier explains, "I had a feeling the boatman was guilty."

"That's what I said!" Trucy interjects.

Athena says something about goats that Apollo doesn't catch on the count of trying to regain just enough of his strength to haul his ass back home to cuddle with Mikeko. Ah, the idyllic world of warm bed sheets and cat furr, why did you have to be six blocks away?

"—doon's to celebrate!" is what he hears when he decides it's time to get back on his feet.

"You should come with us, Prosecutor Gavin!" Trucy bounces. "I'm sure Polly wouldn't mind."

"I wouldn't mind what?" Apollo blinks, kind of embarrassed to be caught out of the loop.

"Prosecutor Gavin coming with us for dinner," Trucy explains. "Eldoon's to celebrate."

Apollo feels his body sink again. "Dinner?"

"It's tradition," Athena argues, "Can't break tradition."

Yes you can, Apollo thinks to himself, You absolutely can if you've developed chronic back pain from a case!

"I could drive?" Klavier asks, "My hog'ss getting all dolled up today so I brought Fraulein Gisela."

He named his car? Klavier does look like the type to name his car.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Trucy rolls her eyes, grabbing Apollo's wrist like she knew he was about to run away (dammit), "Let's go!"

▾

The feeling of heat wafting towards his face from broth that smells unfairly heavenly almost makes up for not letting him go back home after a long three days. Almost.

The other three are engaged in loud chatter, relatively more emthusiastic about, well, basically everything compared to Apollo. After a few oh my god 's and no way 's Apollo started zoning out to focus on his dinner. A good thing about extreme mental and physical fatigue, hot food tastes infinitely better.

"I'm surprised they aren't following you around right now!" Athena exclaims, having already finished her bowl about three minutes ago, now able to put all her energy onto gossiping (to Athena's defense, she sure knew how to get a job done quickly so she could get to the good part). "I mean, you're not even in your disguise!"

"A disguise is a generous way of putting it, fraulein," Klavier chuckles.

Apollo remembers what they're talking about. Klavier used to walk around in a gray coffee-stained pull over, a baseball cap hiding his tied-up bun, and a pair of drugstore-bought plastic sunglasses whenever he wanted to go out but not be seen. It wasn't the most deceiving get up and soon enough he started getting recognised in it regardless, but it worked well whenever he just needed to buy milk or swing by the convenience store for a snack. Apollo spotted him out once and recognised him embarassingly quickly, but it was Klavier he went over to say hi.

"I can't hide myself from you at all, can I?" Klavier asked him then, brandishing a smile that made Apollo want to crawl into a hole.

"Maybe get another hat," Apollo quipped back, trying to get over the fact that Klavier was just flirting with him openly like that. Guess that didn't stop without the whole getup.

"I get recognised every now and then but not nearly enough as you did," Trucy comments.

"Oh, but I can't imagine how hard it must've been," Athena says, "And how irritating, too. Imagine just trying to take a walk and there's just a swarm of people trying invade your personal space," she shudders.

"Well, I can't say it did any good to my personal life," Klavier shrugs, slurping up his noodles.

"You used to get dating rumours every week!" Athena recalls, "The media was on your tail for so long."

"It was mostly tabloids," Trucy adds, "Kinda low-hanging fruit. Make a little buzz based on totally falliable claims just for sales. You want to complain and make a statement to clear the air, but your manager will just tell you that any press is good press and leave it alone. That's showbiz, baby."

"Stimmt genau," Klavier nods.

"Must've been a huge problem for your actual beau," Athena says.

That one makes Klavier laugh and Apollo has to hide the suspicion on his face with his glass of water. 

"Nein, it's not like I had many," Klavier sighs.

"Really?" Trucy asks, "You weren't at least interested in someone?"

Klavier turns to Trucy, a hand coming up to fiddle with his other hand laying on the table.

"Nein, not a one."

Klavier's still playing with his hand. His fingers are rubbing and lacing themselves with each other almost frantically if it weren't for Klavier's practised composure. They're wrapping and unwrapping themselves quickly and quietly. Again and again and again. Apollo's too busy watching it happen to realise his bracelet squeezing his wrist. When he feels it, he looks up to see Klavier looking at him.

Liar.

Apollo takes another bite of his noodles, turning away only to meet Trucy's eyes. She knows it, too. She probably realised sooner than Apollo did. It was probably why she asked.

"Well, at least it's over," Athena coughs, looking at Trucy and then at Apollo. She knows it, too. "Now all the tabloids are chasing all the other upcoming rockstar prosecutors."

"Like a rite of passage," Klavier chuckles.

"Right," Trucy agrees, going back to eating her noodles. All the while she's looking at Apollo with expectant eyes, her stare never wavering, as stubborn as she always is. Apollo puts all his energy into ignoring it the rest of the evening.

▾

It gets to him eventually.

He spends the better part of the week trying to will The Thing (he's dubbed it since out right saying what it actually is will achieve the exact opposite of what he's trying to do) far, far away from the forefront of his thoughts. In a perfect world, he'd be able to rid the thought out of his mind entirely. Alas, the most he can do is try (and he means try) to push it to the farthest corner of his mind until he eventually thinks about it and he has to bash his head into the closest solid object as a countermeasure.

But eventually, eventually it gets to him. He's coming back to the office from the precinct and he stupidly forgot his earphones back at his apartment. Which means he's forced to face his thoughts with zero interference. Which means Klavier back in his mind. Klavier and his idiotically charming self. Klavier and his lying ass.

Not a one, he'd said, and Apollo's bracelet cinched.

He'd like to say that he had it completely under control. On the surface, it definitely seemed that way. After Klavier had said The Thing, they swiftly moved onto another topic which Apollo actually engaged in, if only to not let his mind go into a spiral.

But it's spiraling now. Into a dark, dark pit that just loops into infinity and there are no outside forces to stop it.

First of all, it was none of his business. Whether or not Klavier had any romantic connections of any kind was not something Apollo needed to stick his nose into. If Klavier wanted to hide a previous relationship for any reason, he wasn't going to pry.

But he knows he was lying. And that makes Apollo feel guilty because Klavier doesn't know he knows. And because of that it makes him feel like he should tell Klavier that he knows, just so he could be in possession of all the facts. It feels like the right thing, but then again, Klavier could just live his entire life without knowing it and he'd be fine. He'd be none the wiser, but he'd be fine.

But Apollo would have to live the rest of his life knowing and he wouldn't be fine. And being fine is a hilariously important part of his identity, and he doesn't know if he can live his entire life lying that he is.

"I can't do it!" Apollo barges into the office. He knows Trucy is probably the only one in since Athena and Phoenix were busy investigating a crime scene today. "I can't stop thinking about it! He was lying and I know but he doesn't know I know and that's fucked up because it's a huge violation of personal boundaries even if he doesn't know about it and I feel bad because—"

He's in the middle of throwing off his red jacket when he realises the other person in the room isn't actually Trucy. Their form is too big and hunched over and he can feel his soul escape his body once he realises who it is.

"Mr. Wright," Apollo laughs nervously, "I didn't—I thought you and Athena were at the scene."

"Had to find a few papers," Phoenix explains, standing up from crouching near the shelves. "Left Athena to handle all the dirty work."

"And Trucy?"

"Something about murdering her manager," he hums, "I was gonna stop by the bar to see if I potentially have to get my daughter out of a murder trial, unless you'd like to step up to do that?"

Apollo chuckles. "And potentially get branded as an accomplice? No thanks."

That makes Phoenix chuckle and for a moment, Apollo's relieved that he's decided to ignore Apollo's almost-breakdown and just skid around it.

"So," Phoenix dusts off his pants, "Is this about Klavier?"

Except it's never that simple.

"Kill me now," Apollo curses under his breath. "No, Mr. Wright, it—it's nothing."

Apollo walks further into the room, rubbing his hands against the side of his pants.

Phoenix simply raises an eyebrow, looking a little sad but amused. It looks like one of the faces Trucy puts on whenever she's trying to coerce something out of Apollo. More often than not, she's pretty successful.

"It's just something he said over dinner and it—," he grabs his wrist, "M-My bracelet squeezed and, well, you know what that means. But Klavier doesn't and I feel guilty because it's something I shouldn't know, but I know it anyway."

Phoenix bites his lip in contemplation, looking to his right to find the right words to say. Apollo has half a mind to just book it, leave this entire conversation, and crawl into a nearby hole.

"Do you know how many times I've accidentally brought my magatama to a date?" he asks.

It catches him off-guard initially. Generally, Apollo's aware of Phoenix's relationship with the chief prosecutor. Trucy almost never shuts up about them and Miles stops by the agency often enough. He likes to leave Apollo those scones he really likes because of course he's the type of guy that remembers insignificant little details like that. It didn't feel nearly as weird as it probably should be.

"Too many times. And Miles likes to keep secrets. Something about years of not being able to convey a single human emotion," he jokes. "If I had a dollar for every time I had to stop myself from trying to pick a psychelock over dinner, I would've paid for those dinners."

That makes Apollo laugh, looking up at Phoenix shyly. He feels like a little kid again.

"And sometimes I do. I pry even though I know it's bad. It rarely ever ends well because, and this is where you're right, it is a huge violation of personal boundaries.

"But if you want to get around that. You could always just go for the straight-forward approach."

Apollo raises an eyebrow.

"The straight-forward approach?" he repeats.

"Yeah," Phoenix nods, "Ask them."

Apollo almost laughs at him, tilting his head in confusion. He says it like it's so simple.

"Yours and Trucy's ability isn't something you can turn off or put away like a magatama so it isn't as simple for you. But, you know what's simple? If you wanna know something, ask them. If they tell you, great. If they don't, apologise for overstepping and lay off. Simple."

Phoenix rarely drops bounts of wisdom like this, especially if Trucy's around to tease him about being an old man. But he appreciates little moments like this. He's had quite a few role models growing up, but Phoenix is the only one he could see as both an equal and as someone to look up to. And, damn, if he isn't smart. Even if sometimes, it's in a roundabout way. It's important branding.

"Okay," Apollo nods, feeling a little lighter. His dilemma is still there, looming over his shoulder like a ghoul, but his mind is clearer. He can think this through. Like he always did. Like he knows he can. He can navigate through lying witnesses and missing evidence, talking to Klavier should be a breeze.

Talkto Klavier. That's what he's gonna do.

That's an entirely different reason for his mind to spiral.

▾

Apollo’s out of it. He knows it. Trucy probably knows it. Mr. Wright definitely knows it thanks to his incredibly daft decision to scream out about his personal problems in his workplace. He’s never going to be able to look at his boss the same way ever again.

He’s out of it and it shows. It shows in how he’d high-tailed it out of the agency hours before his workday ended. It shows in how he walked to the bus stop mindlessly, moving on autopilot as he purchased a ticket to the other side of town and sprinted immediately as he got off. It shows in how he’s ended up in front of Klavier’s apartment building with no plan and no thoughts, just an inescapable feeling of dread and anxiety building up in his throat. A feeling he can’t quite shake off, driving him to where he is now in an attempt to get rid of it.

He’s out of it but he’s here, at Klavier’s doorstep, mind running with a thousand thoughts and nothing at the same time.

He takes his phone out of his pocket and calls.

“Hey,” he says, out of breath, leaning against the building to hold himself up, “A little random, but I’m in front of your building, like, right now,” he laughs shakily.

“Was?” Klavier asks, “Right now?”

“Y-Yeah,” he says, feeling even more foolish, standing there waiting. “Is this a bad time?”

“Nein, nein, it’s just… well, I’m not home, yet.”

“Oh,” he says defeatedly, “Sorry, I-I should go and come another time.”

“Nein, bitte stay, ” Klavier tells him, “I’m just about to turn the corner, stay where you are."

“No, it’s okay, I don’t—”

“Apollo, stay there, I’m already so close.”

So he stays there, hanging up on the phone and running a hand through his hair. The longer he’s here the stronger the feeling of wanting to leave becomes. He’s so close to doing it, already thinking about bus times and train schedules. Then Klavier pulls up in front of him.

He walks up to the car slowly, raising a hand to wave at him.

He gives him a half-smile. “Hi.”

“Guten abend, Apollo!” Klavier smiles, “Get in.”

He blinks. “What?”

“We’ll go in through the elevator in the parking lot,” he explains.

“Oh,” he says, still just standing there.

Klavier beckons him. “C’mon.”

“Right,” Apollo breathes, nodding, “Okay.”

He makes his way over to the passenger seat, feeling his face go red in embarrassment, wanting to crawl out the window immediately as Klavier drove into the building.

“So what brings you here?” Klavier asks, nodding at the custodian they pass by.

“Uh,” Apollo shrugs, “That… that is a question.”

Klavier chuckles, “Was?”

“I mean… do I need a reason?” Apollo tries to save himself but he ends up sounding more ambiguous.

“Oh, Apollo,” Klavier says, turning around and placing his hand at the back of the passenger seat and, well, that’s definitely attractive. He’s showing off. “Are you trying to say that you missed me?”

“Very funny,” Apollo rolls his eyes, avoiding eye contact lest he give himself away. “Why don’t we just get in before I say anything?”

“Keep me on my toes, eh?” Klavier smirks, “Fine.”

They get out of the car and Klavier guides them to the elevator doors. Luckily, a custodian is there so they don’t have to be alone. It gives Apollo the perfect excuse to clear his mind a little and think about what he’s supposed to say.

What was he supposed to say anyway?

The elevator dinging makes him jump and Klavier sees it. Apollo tries to shrug it off but he can feel the way Klavier looks at him in confusion. He walks in front so that he doesn’t haven’t to face him.

It’s when they reach the inside of Klavier’s apartment that Apollo realises he really has no escape now.

“So,” Klavier leans back at his kitchen island, “What’s so important that you had to bring your cute little butt all the way to my loft without even texting me?”

“Fuck,” Apollo exhales, “I completely forgot, sorry.”

“Nein, I don’t mind,” he shakes his head, “It was a… pleasant surprise.”

Klavier tilts his head down as he looks up at Apollo, giving him a small smile that just makes Apollo’s chest constrict and, oh, that’s right, that’s why he’s here.

“Listen,” he says, fiddling with his hands, “Before when you—over dinner Athena asked if you'd ever h-had a—if you've had a partner. Or if you were ever i-interested in anyone.”

He’s not looking straight at Klavier but he can see the way he gets off the kitchen island, becoming more interested in what Apollo had to say for some reason. Apollo gulps.

“Well, I just thought—no, it wasn’t—I was just wondering—”

“Ja?” Klavier urges him, “What about it?”

Apollo looks up nervously and he meets Klavier’s inquisitive eyes, so present and large. It makes Apollo feel extremely small, like what he was about to ask felt so incredibly bigger than he could hold.

He curls into himself, backing himself into a corner just so something could hold him up.

“I just wanted to know that you weren't….lying, were you?”

Klavier blinks. “You… want to know if I was lying?”

Apollo nods. “Yeah, I—Look there's really no good explanation for this.”

“Why?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you want to know?”

Apollo licks his lips. “Well, I—.”

Klavier tilts his head as he walks closer towards Apollo and all of the sudden he regrets backing himself into a corner.

Then Klavier's eyes fall to Apollo's side, where his arm is, where his wrist is.

Where his bracelet is.

"You want to know if I was lying?" Klavier asks, an amused smile appearing on his lips.

Apollo straightens up, pushing down the feeling in his chest.

He lied. Apollo knows he lied. But now, so does Klavier.

"I… I have a theory."

Klavier raises an eyebrow. "Continue."

Apollo swallows. "You… did have someone. Liked someone at least. And they could've liked you too, you just weren't… sure."

"Who?" Klavier asks quickly, moving in closer.

He knows this part well. This is where Klavier pushes and Apollo tries to pull away. He tries to find a way to escape, to leave, to take the easy way out. The part where he decides he doesn’t want to play the game anymore, not if it’s all just a game. Not if he knows that when  he pushes back, it’s Klavier that’ll pull away and leave.

“Anyone,” he says. “I—Klavier, you are extremely clueless, you know that?”

He steps back, breathing out as he makes his way back to the kitchen island, seemingly unimpressed by Apollo’s answer.

“Ja, ja,” he says, taking a seat at a stool.

“I’m serious,” Apollo says, walking to take a seat in front of him. “You just… you don’t see yourself as everyone else does.”

“And what way is that, Herr Forehead?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t call me that,” he says.

“Fine,” Klavier says, sounding even more unimpressed. “Apollo, what do you mean?”

Apollo swallows, leaning forward.

“Never mind that,” he says, “Just answer my question.”

“What was it again?”

"Were you—," he hesitates, "Were you lying?"

Klavier looks up at him with an indecipherable stare, placing his chin in his palm as he tilts his head. Part of Apollo wants to turn away, part of him can’t.

"Yes," Klavier answers, "About everything actually. But I'm a little interested to hear who you think… could've liked me?"

Apollo breathes in. "I don't know."

Klavier narrows his eyes, looking a little impatient.

“I thought it was obvious,” he says, “I haven’t exactly been subtle.”

“Have you?” Apollo asks, “Then who is it?”

That makes Klavier laugh and Apollo feels even dumber just sitting there not getting the joke.

“Perhaps, I haven’t been as obvious as I thought,” Klavier says, trying to keep in his laugh, “If you still don’t know who it is.”

Apollo furrows his eyebrow, confused as to why he’s being so cryptic about this. He thought he could just come over here, ask the question, and then leave feeling a little awkward and extremely embarrassed. He wasn’t supposed to be racking his brain for answers, trying to figure out what’s so amusing about Apollo not knowing who it was.

Klavier looks up at him then and oh.

Oh, holy mother.

“No,” Apollo says out loud, not meaning to sound so shocked. He looks up at Klavier who just smiles down at him.

“Yes,” he says, “That is, if you’re thinking the same thing as I am.”

Apollo’s brain short-circuits just trying to comprehend it. He’d heard Trucy tell him. He’d heard Ema tell him. To an extent, even Phoenix told him. But to hear it from Klavier himself, it’s—god, it's a completely different thing entirely.

“You…,” he pauses, still trying to make sense of it all, “You like… me?”

Klavier leans forward, still smiling, probably unable to stop himself from doing it.

“Better than that,” he says, “I love you.”

Apollo blinks, feeling his face burn red and his chest grow heavy.

“Oh,” he chokes out, ”Oh, that’s—that’s new."

“Is it?” Klavier tilts his head, “I don’t think so. I think it’s been a long, long time coming.”

Klavier places down his hand and it lands on top of Apollo’s. It doesn’t grab hold of him, it just kind of rests there. Lightly. A soft touch with no weight but feels so, so warm.

Without looking up, Apollo slips his fingers into the spaces between Klavier’s own and… it just fits. He gives him a small squeeze and finds Klavier’s eyes staring back at him and it just fits there. Like pieces falling into place. He finds himself there as simply as walking into the space himself.

Then he laughs. Despite himself he laughs. At himself. At Klavier. At the entire situation just seeming so silly to him now that he looks back at everything.

He gives Klavier’s hand another squeeze.

“You’re right,” he says, “You weren’t subtle at all.”

He pushes, only because he can. He leans forward until his face is halfway across the table, beckoning Klavier to make his move.

“Oh, I can think of a way to be a bit more obvious,” he says.

“Really?” Apollo teases.

“Ja,” Klavier says, meeting Apollo in between, eyes still on Apollo’s as he moves forward.

And then he pushes back.

▾

Apollo’s been staring at the tube of hair gel long enough that it could warrant suspicion. Or concern.

His hair looks… fine. It always looked fine, if he wasn’t being overly critical about himself. It had grown a little bit in the years. It wasn’t like there weren’t any barber shops in Khura’in, it’s just that he never really had time for any self-grooming, what with the task of rebuilding a nation’s legal system from the ground up. Trucy demanded that he’d get a haircut the moment he stepped back onto American soil but since then it’s grown just a little down his nape. Its length at the moment wasn’t very intrusive so he was fine with it. Plus, he thinks he pulls it off, kinda. He’s no rockstar like his dad or Klavier, but it works.

Apollo sighs, blinking at the hair gel forlornly. Klavier.

He went giddy just thinking about the man and their previous exchange. They ended up talking until 3 A.M. that day, fighting off sleep as they went on and on about anything and everything. Apollo felt like he was in highschool again, not really caring about the hours that passed by seemingly in a blink of an eye. Though at the same time, it felt like time stopped. They’d found a small space that didn’t move with the rest of the world. It felt simple like that, just being there together. Like this was the place he was heading all along but there were still miles and miles left to be charted in front of him. The only difference was that he wouldn’t have to brave it all alone.

He stared up at himself in the mirror and placed the hair gel down. Why was he overthinking this in the first place? This was going to be his first date with Klavier. They were going to go to some nice little place Klavier picked out for them, drink a little wine, have some fun, no big deal.

Scratch that. It was a big deal. It was a very big deal.

He already knew Klavier was going to look gorgeous. He always did though Apollo seldom admitted that aloud. Klavier aged like fine wine, with his beautiful long hair, tanned skin, and blue eyes. He was gonna look like a lost child next to him.

He feels a little dumb looking at himself in the mirror, still debating whether or not it’s a good idea to keep his horns out. Honestly, he thought they looked fine. Just fine. But Klavier was going to be gorgeous and he was just—

“Polly?” Trucy ducked into his room. He’d called her in a panic after he realised he had no idea what to wear for the date. She picked out a polo he never had the chance to wear and a pair of pants that opened up near the ankles that hung quite nicely around his waist. He trusted Trucy’s taste. At least, he trusted her for now.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, immediately sensing Apollo’s distress. He wasn’t sure if it was because of their shared ability to catch little tells or if it was because they knew each other so well she could tell he was upset by the look of his eyes.

“Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, “Just nervous.”

He wipes his palms on the side of pants. They aren’t even sweaty, he’s just fidgeting.

“I can see that,” she steps into the room, walking up to the mirror so that they stand side by side.

“Do you think I should gel my horns?”

“What?”

“My horns,” he points up, “Do you think I’d look better without them or?”

Trucy gasps, “Polly,” she turns to him, “You can’t possibly be thinking of doing that. It’s blasphemous!”

“Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes, “Be honest.”

“I am honest,” she says, “Your horns are, like, your trademark! You’d be literally unrecognizable without them!”

“I’d like to think that my face is a little more—”

“Uh, shh!” she presses a finger against his lips, “You’re not thinking straight. Now, put that hair gel away and get your butt out there! Gavin’s already waiting outside!”

She’s pushing him out and the only reason she's able to do it is because she's right, Apollo isn't thinking straight and before he knows it, he's stumbling into his living room.

And there Klavier is, looking exactly like Apollo expected except better. His hair is nicely braided at his side and his chest is out. His chest. It's like Apollo's facing hin in court and he has to pretend to not notice it all over again. He even smells good and he has no idea what scent it is but it is so inexplicably Klavier and it's invading all of senses, making him dizzy.

Trying not to fall on his face, he approaches Klavier shyly, one hand scratching the back of his head. When he's close enough, his breath hitches at the sight of Klavier's face. He feels his chest grow heavy, his legs go weak. Some day, he'll get over how beautiful Klavier looks, or at least he won't have such a visceral reaction to it, but today is not that day.

"Hi," he says, smiling.

"Hi," Klavier says back, staring down at Apollo and he can feel him scanning his entire body. It makes him feel a little embarrassed to be so seen, a part of him is afraid of how he'll react.

But Klavier just smiles at him. It's that small, barely there smile that Apollo wouldn't be able to make out if he were across the room. It's a far cry from his megawatt grin when he's in public, charming his fans left and right. This one feels intimate. This one feels like it's only for him.

"Ahem."

They both turn away, which is a shame because Apollo could spend hours just looking at Klavier and he wouldn't get bored (god, he's down terrible), but he doesn't want Trucy getting any more fodder to tease him with so he talks her down.

"Feed Mikeko at 6. I'll be back at around 10."

"Or not," Klavier whispers and Apollo very nearly elbows him in the ribs.

"Alright," Trucy agrees easily, displaying a grin that cannot be trusted. "You two have fun."

They make their way out of the apartment before Apollo can make even more of a fool out of himself. The entire way down, the two are silent, as if anticipating something to happen with bated breath. And Apollo can still hardly believe any of this is happening, he feels like his feet aren't completely on the ground.

Then he feels Klavier slot his fingers in the gaps in between his hands. And the feeling is foreign but not unwelcome. It is strange but exhilarating. It is sudden but kind. It feels like Klavier is pulling him back to Earth, holding and holding onto him.

They reach the ground floor and their hands part and he can't suppress the disappointment in his chest when it happens.  But then he turns to Klavier, who's showing him that smile again, that smile he makes only for him, and he decides he'll have plenty of chances to hold his hand again.