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It was never much, but they always made use of what they had, Klavier mused as he watched his lover, Apollo, fry up a pan of last night's mashed potatoes with a little salt and butter for breakfast. Their tiny, cramped apartment was drafty, and often cold in the winter, though, between the two of them and an old, somewhat tattered blanket, they were never cold. They worked long hours, and shared their dreams with each other: Apollo, with only a cup of coffee, forced himself through night classes to become a lawyer, and Klavier was working towards the national singing competitions, hoping to win a recording contract. That they had found each other in the dark alleys, walking home after work late one night, was a blessing.
A blessing the Klavier was determined to celebrate this Christmas. They been living together for a few months, and he was certain he was falling in love with the other man. When Apollo smiled at him as he sang, it made his heart race, and all the dreary days of factory work led back to Apollo's warm body in their apartment, lit by an old candle as he poured over his books. It was bliss.
He took a second job, in construction. It was raining nearly every day, and might even start snowing soon, but he wanted the money. He needed it. Apollo's classes, the fees for the bar exam…Apollo needed more time, more money, and Klavier didn't need anything but Apollo. He forced himself into back-to-back hours at two jobs, even when he started to come down with a nasty cough.
Some days, it was almost too much, but just the thought of Apollo's smiling face made him force on. He barely saw Apollo, some nights. It took weeks before he realized Apollo was missing as often as he was. Somehow, that scared him.
"Why?" he asked once, on a rare night when they were both there, him coughing, Apollo's face buried in a book.
Apollo shrugged a little. "I…kinda took some extra hours," he said. "For Christmas, you know," and Klavier nearly jumped on him right then. They promised, after Christmas, it would all go back to normal. But Apollo was trying to get him a gift. Apollo…
Klavier's brain often turned to mush, and it kept him back on that construction site every night. The coughing got worse, and soon his voice was too hoarse to sing. But Christmas was almost there, and he was so close, what was a few days without practice? Besides, between the smoke of the factories and the rain every night, there was no way to escape a little sickness.
Apollo finally noticed his lingering cough. He explained away his hoarseness, his cough….until his voice started going terribly soft and weak at the worst moments. Apollo insisted he go to the corner doctor. Klavier couldn't refuse those worried eyes, even if it was an extra expense. Confused, Klavier let the doctor subject him to an examination. The weak voice was laryngitis, for starters. Pneumonia, if he kept up his night work. And his lungs were slowly getting weaker because of the factory smoke.
The doctor told him, simply, that if he continued, he might lose his voice completely.
Klavier couldn't bring himself to go home. He wandered around the streets. His voice… He couldn't tell Apollo. Apollo would…no, they didn't have the money. There was no way he could afford it. He couldn't stop working at the factories. He couldn't…
Well, he didn't have his voice now. It wasn't so bad, was it? And if he never saw the bright lights of the stage again…it wasn't as if he'd die, was it? It wasn't as if he needed it, was it?
He stood against a cold wall. It felt like something black was swallowing him up. His voice. Of everything in the world, what he wouldn't give up… All those nights on the stage, looking out, hoping people would love him, heat him up inside. As if his voice could buy him a moment out of his miserable life and his cold apartment where the rent was always due and the fridge never full. The stage was his escape, his path away, to the warm hills of California and adoring fans and…
Trying to shake away the thoughts, he started back to their apartment. It was so late, so dark, and all he wanted was to rush back in, to that single candle in the window, and Apollo…
Apollo.
He had done all this for Apollo. Apollo's classes. He nearly had enough. He could push himself a little further. He had to. After all, it was only a chance of losing his voice, right? Only a chance. Surely, he could make it for one more week.
Something lit up inside him. It burned him with the thought that…for Apollo's sake, he didn't mind losing his voice. Because everything his voice gave him, every empty glitter of the stage…none of it compared to his smile.
~
Children sang in the streets, under a light and powdery snow. Klavier ached in every muscle, but it was worth it. Apollo had been buried in his classes, always gone, but he knew. He opened his mouth to sing along, but all that came out was a wheezing, raspy breath. So, that was it. Gone. It made him ache, as if his arm or leg was gone. As if he'd lost something…
He fingered the tiny box in his hand. It was only a receipt. He didn't need to do anything special, but he'd seen some pretty wrapping paper, smooth and shining under his fingers as he'd wrapped the tiny thing until Apollo couldn't guess what it was. They had a tiny tree made of plastic, not much, but he put it underneath anyway.
He heard Apollo's heavy footsteps, racing up the stairs, and the moment the door opened, he swept the damp man in his arms and gave him a small kiss.
"Merry Christmas, Klavier," Apollo breathed. Klavier just smiled.
They spent a little extra to buy a ham, and some fluffy marshmallows for sweet potatoes. Apollo chattered warmly about all the wonderful things he'd seen at the market, and Klavier nodded along, until, without thinking, he started to agree — only to have a hideous squeak emerge instead of his voice.
Apollo's eyes went wide. "I thought you said you were getting better," he said worriedly. "Your voice will come back soon, right?"
Klavier felt a cold chill run through him. Slowly, he shook his head, watching as a horrified expression grew on Apollo's face. He tried to smile.
"What?" Apollo said, his voice deathly quiet. "Klavier, you…you can't sing?" The look on his face infuriated him, for some reason. As if…Apollo was too shocked and horrified to even consider the idea.
Klavier felt something like bile rising up in his throat. Apollo, of all people, should have understood… He jumped up from the table and threw himself on the bed in the next room, stifling the urge to cry. His voice was gone. Gone! And Apollo…the look on his face, the shock, the horror…
"Klavier!" Apollo crashed into the room after him. "Klavier…why?" His voice was trembling. "Klavier, damn it, talk to m—"
Klavier looked up at him. Talk? Talk! His eyes were blurring out. He stormed back past Apollo's shocked face, into their tiny living room, and snatched up the carefully-wrapped box. Once Apollo saw, he'd understand…
"A gift?" Apollo whispered. "You lost your voice over some stupid gift? Klavier!"
It was like he'd been slapped in the face. His fingers squeezed the delicate box, nearly denting it, and, without thinking, he threw the box at Apollo's head. The cry of pain barely reached his ears.
He blindly ran to the door, intent on leaving, somewhere, anywhere where he could just suffer in peace and—
Apollo's surprisingly strong hand grabbed him and yanked him backwards. He fell against the other man's chest, and before he could right himself, Apollo's arms grabbed him. "That wasn't what I meant," he said quickly, until Klavier stopped struggling against him, and glared up at him with red eyes. "I didn't want you to hurt yourself for me. Nothing is worth you being hurt, Klavier."
That dark thing roaring and tearing its way through Klavier's heart began to slip away. The warmth of Apollo's arms was making his feverishly hot, aching body calm down. Apollo's cheesy words sounded…sincere.
Apollo closed his eyes, trying to hold them both steady against the wall. "It's just…damnit, Klavier…" He sighed, and gently help Klavier get up. For a moment, they just stared at each other, until Apollo's shaking hands cup Klavier's face and kissed him. Apollo's lips were trembling and chilled, but he pulled back before clavier could warm them. "Your beautiful voice…" he whispered, and when Klavier flinched, he pulled the other man close to him. "Sorry," he said.
They made their way back to the tiny mattress they shared, and Apollo wrapped the blanket around Klavier's shoulders as a wracking cough started again. His hands reached for the box. "Now, then, what was so important you worked yourself half to death?" Apollo said gently.
A spark of warmth bloomed in Klavier's chest. Apollo was going to be so happy when he saw! Apollo's fingers gently worked the paper open, trying not to tear it. The box was undone. He was opening it.
Apollo's mouth went slack, and for a moment, Klavier was terrified that it was all wrong, all of it.
"You…" Klavier was startled. "You idiot!" But it came out almost like a sob, and Apollo pulled away, hands wiping at his eyes, burying his face in the tails of his shirt.
Apollo was…crying?
He made a low noise in his throat. Nothing. He had no idea what was wrong, and he couldn't do anything to fix it! He felt helpless. So helpless… All he could do was move forward, to wrap his arms around Apollo's body.
"You gigantic idiot," Apollo sniffed, and looked up at Klavier with red eyes. Hesitantly, he pushed against Klavier's chest. Klavier could feel them — hot and wet, seeping against his thin shirt.
"You…you…." He was as tongue-tied as Klavier, and, finally, he pulled something out of his jacket and thrust it into Klavier's hands.
A ticket. Klavier's eyes widened, and he gasped. A ticket to the competition he'd been dreaming of. How could Apollo afford this…!
"I quit my classes," Apollo said. He looked up, red eyes drying. "To buy you the ticket…" He started laughing, suddenly.
Apollo quit his classes, to buy Klavier a chance to sing…and Klavier gave up his voice to let Apollo continue his classes.
Klavier really thought his heart might burst.
Tomorrow would be hard, definitely. If his voice ever returned…if Apollo could find a way to finish his classes...
They fell against the bed, laughing, crying, kissing, tangling and terribly hot. The scraps of paper fluttered to the ground. They were nothing, and everything.
…if they could return these foolish, useless gifts of love…
Or, maybe not.