Chapter Text
He hadn't really expected to fall asleep, he was actually rather sure he hadn't slept at all, but one moment he was lying in bed listening to the dull background sound of teenage heroing, the next everything was dark and quiet. For a moment he thought he was still on tour, another country, another hotel room and tonight another concert. It was a nice thought while it lasted until he realized the room was far from what he was used to and looked around to find a dog shaped lump at the foot of the bed. Beyond that the TV was a light gray shape with Netflix asking him if he was still watching. He was not. And neither was Apollo it seemed, seeing how he was curled into a ball in front of the radiator. So much for demons not sleeping. If he had said something they could've –
A small whimper derailed his train of thoughts concerning demons and their sleeping habits and he slid out of the bed in an instant, hand hovering over Apollo's back, hesitating before resting his palm on the other's shoulder.
“Hey,” he tried and barely got past the one syllable before Apollo's eyes flew open with a gasp and he jerked away, his gaze darting around the room, wild and unfocused. Only when the shadows failed to reveal new monsters did Apollo's eyes finally settle on him. He seemed to deflate, shrinking in on himself and pulling up one leg to rest his elbow on.
Leaning back to give him space, Klavier let his weight rest against the bed, only fumbling around to turn on the bedside lamp, its bright light stinging his eyes. A puff of warm air against his temple let him know Vongole was awake now, too.
“Hey,” he tried again. “You okay?”
“Hah, you try being sealed away in a flooded cave for twelve years. See how great you are then,” Apollo scoffed before drawing in a deep breath and releasing it with a sigh. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. Don't worry about it, I'm, I'm fine.”
If you asked him, 'fine' shouldn't look like a small ball of misery huddled in front of a radiator but it wasn't like he could talk. With the grace of a ninety year old man he heaved himself back up onto the bed (one of these days he should try and get enough sleep), and grabbed the remote to turn on their magic friendship adventure again. When this was met with an empty stare he patted the empty spot next to him encouragingly. And when an eyebrow was raised at him in response and he patted the mattress more insistently until Apollo huffed, rolled his eyes and flopped down next to him... And maybe it was the late (early?) hour but Klavier laid an arm around his shoulder and drew him in, two miserable peas in a pod. Still as a stone statue at first, Apollo gradually relaxed, tension draining from his form as he wound an arm around Klavier's waist and rested his head on his chest.
For a while there was only the sound of cartoon adventures, the plot of which had long escaped him, but it didn't matter because it was bright and distracting and he felt himself relax into the pillow at his back, with the added weight pushing him back further. And because the room was somewhat cold he drew the blankets up to their chests. Or his chest. Apollo was buried up to his chin, adjusting his position slightly to burrow even deeper into the blanket. He blinked slowly, his arm tightening around Klavier for a moment.
“Sorry.”
Klavier looked down at the tuft of brown hair peeking out. “What for?”
“Waking you. Snapping at you,” Apollo murmured. “And, I dunno, everything.”
He briefly wondered if twenty-four was too young for a midlife crisis. (He wondered if his years of touring and doing anything to avoid a courtroom already counted as one.) Adjusting his position so that he could put both arms around Apollo he dropped his chin onto his head. The hair was softer than he imagined. Insofar as he had any expectation in the matter.
“You know this isn't your fault, right?”
Apollo stayed silent, his body going taunt for a moment before he sighed. “I guess, I just... Sorry life sucks.”
“Yeah.” That was one way to put it. Blinking and squinting against the brightness of the TV (and maybe Apollo had the right idea hiding under the blanket), he shrugged. “Sucks less with magic hair, though.”
There was a huff from the blanket – was Apollo sinking lower or was he (and therefore dragging both of them down?) – and then a soft glow filled the room, gentle gold illuminating everything. He smiled as strands of his hair moved with non-existent wind.
“Five minutes, then the lightshow's over,” a voice from the depths of the bed told him and his lips twitched.
“That's plenty of time to defeat the bad guy with the power of my good looks,” he declared and while he couldn't see Apollo he could hear a snort and felt a shift in the weight against his chest so he was going to go ahead and mark that one down as a success. Plus he had five minutes of glowy hair to distract himself from all the things he really didn't want to think about in the silence of the room. Or relative silence. There was still heroing happening on screen, or possibly villain-ing? Yeah, those were the bad guys and they were doing? Stuff? Whatever they were getting up to they were too loud so he turned the volume down juuust a bit. He could still hear them, if he cared to listen. Probably. It was just – the bed was warm and his magic hair was surprisingly a lot like a lava lamp, soothing to watch and hypnotizing and he…
Closed his eyes.
There was a knife between his ribs, the pain making him crumble to the floor and curl up into a ball. Except he couldn't move, couldn't talk, couldn't breathe. Something held him in place, cold, merciless steel biting into his skin in more than one place. Or was it ice? He was cold, he had to – Kris! His brother was here, his brother would help him. He. He was standing over Klavier with a bloody knife clutched in his hand, his expression flickering between a look of pure disgust and aloof boredom. Why?
He tried to beg for help but there was blood in his mouth and lungs and he coughed and–
Something shook him and he gasped, hand flying to his chest where the knife had been. Blinking into the darkness of the room he saw a two-horned silhouette leaning over him, that he, after a brief moment of sleep-addled brain-fog, identified as Apollo. He sighed.
“Sleeping is a bad idea, ja?” he had the feeling Apollo frowned at him but it was too dark to be sure.
“I'd ask you if you're alright but we both know that's a dumb question.”
He dragged a hand over his face, trying to ignore the weariness that had settled into his very bones like lead. “I'm going to make coffee,” he said instead. “You want some?” Okay, now he heard Apollo roll his eyes. Disconcerting and possibly his new super power.
“You need sleep not caffeine. Come here.” A hand on his shoulder made him turn onto his side and then there was a warm chest pressed to his back, an arm circling around his waist and a body molding itself to his. “See?” Apollo continued. “This way if anything comes for you it'll have to get through me first.”
He could feel Apollo's heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt, feel his breath ghosting along his neck. It was… something. And he wasn't sure if the knot in his stomach was from his nightmare or something else entirely.
“This okay?” the small waiver of uncertainty in Apollo's voice was enough to make him rest one of his hands on top of Apollo's, intertwining their fingers.
“Ja, this is nice.” He pressed back further into Apollo's body, letting the other man's presence engulf him and willed himself back to sleep.
It was his phone that woke him this time, it's still standardized ringtone assaulting his ears in the far too early morning hours judging by the grey light filtering in from outside. His first thought was Who the hell forgot to mute their phone? his second was Kris! followed by dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Fumbling for his phone on the bedside table he turned it over so that he could see the caller ID. Daryan. Either he was about to be told he was an idiot or his friend had found something. He didn't know which he hoped for. He was dimly aware of a rustle of sheets behind him as Apollo stirred, barely audible over the thumping of his heart even as he drew a steadying breath and hit accept.
What he heard certainly was. Unexpected. If it hadn't been for the ache in his chest and the warm presence at his back, that disappeared as he sat up – as if he might hear better or different things if he was upright – he'd have thought he was still sleeping. It would've been an explanation why things had once again taken a sharp turn that left him reeling. Even as he got up and paced through the room, absentmindedly fiddling with his hair and nodding along to Daryan's account he still couldn't believe it. Or afterwards when he sat down on the bed again and pinched himself just to be sure he wasn't sleeping after all. Which okay, no, that definitely hurt. Fuck.
“You okay?” He jumped as warm brown eyes entered his field of vision, Apollo kneeling before him, his brows knit together.
“Ach, don't worry about me. I just-” he laughed, just a little bit on the hysterical side, raking his hands through his hair and pulling at the tangled ends. “Honestly, I don't know what to do or think. It's my brother.”
“You mean the guy who stabbed you?” He flinched. And the look he gave Apollo must've been something because the other shrank back with a mumbled apology before he sat down on the floor and rested a hand on Klavier's knee. “So what's he getting up to?”
“He's defending someone in court.” Defending the Turnabout Terror against the charge of murder. And wasn't that a lot to unpack?
“Kinda rude just going back to work after what happened.”
His train of thought derailed at that, seeing the other's indignation and he had to agree. It was rude . But also not the point. “It's kind of a long story,” he started and the hand on his knee squeezed lightly, as if to encourage him. So he told Apollo. About Phoenix Wright, the forged evidence. His brother. And how he had always, in a dark, dark corner of his mind, wondered how Kristoph had known. And how Kristoph was now defending the very same man and how he had named Zak Gramarye – the defendant in the trial seven years ago – as the reason for the demon summoning. By the end of it Apollo looked deep in thought.
“So now you're wondering if your brother set all of this up or if it's just coincidence.”
“Ja. If he planned the whole thing he needs to be stopped. But I don't know where to even start.”
Apollo stood from his crouch, slapping his thighs and suddenly he wasn't wearing a hoodie anymore, instead standing before him in a freshly pressed suit. “Well, that's easy. I go in as his junior partner and if this is a set up I'll expose him.”
Was? “You can't just show up. People will notice, he'll notice.”
“Pfff, don't worry about it. Humans rarely pay attention, for example - you think I'm wearing a suit right now, aren't you?”
“I- ja?” He blinked, taking in Apollo's red vest, his equally red pants and the dark leather shoes. And then the image flickered and for a second the hoodie was back.
“All in your head. A little illusion. As long as they don't look too hard they won't even notice. Same with me being a lawyer. It'll be fine, trust me.”
He wanted to. But – “Won't my brother recognize you?”
“Nah.” Apollo shrugged, nonchalantly. “Granted it'll take more effort to make him believe me but it'll only be for the trial. So, you gonna be okay for a bit?”
He made it all sound so easy. Too easy. Staring into Apollo's bright, earnest eyes he wanted nothing more than to let him handle this. Really. Yet he was still a prosecutor. “I don't want someone going to jail for a crime they didn't commit,” he stated, watching Apollo's reaction. “And I don't want a guilty man to walk free. If you do this you need to find the truth, not a convenient solution for a problem.”
Apollo tilted his head up, eyes narrowed, and crossed his arms. “You think I'll frame him or otherwise manipulate the outcome?”
From his position Klavier had to lean back to meet the other's eye, finding Apollo's gaze surprisingly unreadable. “I-” he started, hesitating. Common sense dictated he should not trust a demon. They were notorious liars and self-serving bastards. Folklore and legend filled to the brim with cautionary tales of fools who thought they could outsmart these creatures. This he knew. Even so... Apollo had had no reason to help him but still did. Had had every opportunity to leave and do whatever he pleased but he stayed. And Klavier himself had given him ample opportunity to take advantage of him and he only made sure they had what they'd need. So really, common sense was overrated anyway. “No, I think you'll find the truth, whatever that may be,” he finished, his voice firm. “I trust you.”
“Okay.” Apollo nodded, uncrossing his arms, the tension draining from his shoulders as his expression became on open book once more. “Okay,” he repeated, nodding to himself. More quietly he continued: “I guess I'd better go now, can't be late if I'm gonna be defending.” He looked worried suddenly, eyes downcast and one hand gripping his wrist, and Klavier was about to ask him if he needed help with the actual lawyering when Apollo spoke again, his voice even smaller:
“Listen, if you want to leave while I'm gone, that's okay. I promise I'll understand.”
“I- what? Do you want me to leave?”
“No!” Apollo's head snapped up so fast he'd surely have gotten whiplash if he were human. “I just thought you might want to because I'm, you know?”
He did not. Hadn't he just said he trusted Apollo? Although his head might still be somewhat fuzzy so maybe he missed something. Or was that what being a demon was like? Doing whatever others asked of you and then being cast aside? That wouldn't do. Taking the other's hand in his, he stroked its backside with his thumb. “I'm not going to run off on you. I don't know what kinds of people you've met so far but even though I can be a diva, I am not a dick.” He shrugged. “Besides, we still need to finish our show.”
Apollo huffed, but there was a smile curling the corners of his mouth upwards. “You mean the one you mostly slept through? Do you even know where the plot's at right now?”
“No, which is why I'll need you.” He stood, stepping into Apollo's space and resting a hand on Apollo's cheek. “So come back soon, ja?” He heard Apollo's breath hitch and saw his cheeks redden. But instead of pulling away, he leaned into the touch.
“Okay.”
“And be careful, ja?”
“Ja, I mean, yeah. I'll be back before you know it.” Apollo paused, his gaze darting to Klavier's lips and back up before he cleared his throat. “Actually, can I borrow your phone for a second?”
Klavier blinked as Apollo stepped away from him, snatched up his phone and started typing, suddenly very focused on whatever he was doing even as his face was still the same color as his suit. Holding up his phone to his ear Apollo met his gaze again and told him to catch and that was all the warning he got before Apollo disappeared and his phone fell to the carpet. His reflexes were still lying in bed with fifty percent of his brain, he wasn't sure what had made the other think he'd be able to catch anything. His bladder was awake though and in lieu of figuring out what had just happened, or why his heart suddenly was pounding, he went to the bathroom.
The next two days were, well, nerve-wracking was one way to put it. He was ready to climb the walls five minutes after Apollo left and even Daryan's sporadic updates didn't do much to make him feel better. In fact, in a way it made it even worse. He was glad to hear Phoenix Wright had chosen Apollo to represent him but any relief he might have felt evaporated when he heard Kris was, apparently, Apollo's mentor. He almost got into his car right then and there even if there was little he could do (except maybe throw Apollo over his shoulder and run. Far away.) Instead he took Vongole for a walk, pestered Daryan for updates ( 'Dude, we talked five minutes ago, there's nothing new to report.' ) and took Vongole for another walk.
In the end he wasn't sure how, exactly, he made it two days without doing anything drastic or stupid or drastically stupid but just when he was debating the pros and cons of giving himself a haircut, Daryan called. And told him. The trial was over, his brother arrested and suddenly it was as if all the energy had drained out of him. He collapsed onto the bed like a puppet with cut strings, staring at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. At some point Vongole came over and licked his hand, whining and climbing into bed to lay down beside him but other than that, it was quiet. He was ninety percent sure he dozed off at one point.
He didn't even realize someone was knocking on the door until Vongole jumped up and barked – at the door, at him and then at the door again. And when he didn't immediately move she pounced on his chest with a huff and then scampered off to sit in front of the door, while whining. He would've told the knocker he was coming but he was still catching his breath from having seventy pounds of hellhound land on him. As such he could understand, when he finally swung the door open, why Apollo's eyes widened, his hand poised to knock again falling limply against his side.
“You're still here?” Apollo breathed, his hand fiddling with the sleeve of his hoodie. (They'd ordered one size too large he just now realized, seeing how it hung from his frame and covered his hands.)
“I-, ja? Where else would I be?”
Apollo shrugged. “Dunno. You could've left.” He swayed on his feet and Klavier felt a pang of worry, the dark bags under his eyes (probably) even more impressive than his own.
“I told you I'd wait,” he said taking Apollo's hand in his and running his thumb along its back, frowning when he felt the broken skin on the knuckles.
“I, um, I can explain,” Apollo mumbled, withdrawing his hand to hide in his hoodie. “I may have, accidentally on purpose. Punched Phoenix Wright.”
Klavier's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Your client?” That raised some questions.
“Well, technically it was after the trial. Does he still count as my client then?” Apollo rubbed his eyes. “Also, he had it coming,” he was quick to add, stifling a yawn. If Klavier were being honest the other looked about dead on his feet, his little spikes limp against his forehead.
Putting an arm around Apollo's shoulder he pulled him inside, steering him towards the bed and only pausing long enough for him to kick off his shoes. “You look like you could use some rest, ja? And I've rented this for the entire week.”
Apollo nodded, flopping down on top of the blanket. “This took more out of me than I expected. Guess I forget how exhausting sustained glamours are.”
Okay, he had no idea what glamours were but the exhaustion part was understandable. “You need anything? We got plenty of food in the fridge?”
Big brown eyes locked on to him as Apollo pushed himself into a sitting position and patted the bed next to him. “We could watch another episode? But only if you want.”
Even if he hadn't, how could he say no to the puppy eyes directed at him? Sitting down next to Apollo he pulled up Netflix to continue where they had left off (read: fallen asleep at), surprised when Apollo attached himself to his side, and rested his head on Klavier's chest.
“This okay?”
“Ja, of course.” The intro started up, bright colors flashing across the screen and he settled deeper into the pillow at his back. The group was splitting up, apparently permanently, despite having been close before and that knocked something loose from the back of his mind. The thought drifted down until it formed a question that left a lump in his throat. He hadn't considered it before but now the question was like lead in his stomach. And one of the possible answers made him feel sick. Yet he forced himself to swallow it until they reached a lull in the action. Running his hand along Apollo's spine to get his attention, he felt the other shift against his chest with a quizzical hum.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You just did.”
He huffed. “Another one then?”
“Well, technically–” Apollo started but then leaned back enough to actually look at Klavier, hand sliding along his chest as he did so. “Yeah, what's up?”
“Have you decided what you're going to do now?”
Apollo shrugged, turning around so he could sit cross-legged next to Klavier, hands in his lap, and the loss of contact left him feeling cold. “I guess I'll try and get reacquainted with the world, see what changed. You?”
“I'm thinking about taking a break. Beyond that no idea.” A surprisingly loud (heroic) shout cut into their conversation, scraping along the edge of his already frayed nerves, and he muted the TV before continuing. “Though I am awful at being bored.” Nice and casual, no pressure. “I could help you, if you want? We could go for some coffee for a start.”
Apollo's shoulders drooped, along with his bangs as a small smile lifted the corners of his lips. “That would be nice.”