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There were any number of signs that should have tipped Klavier off.
First, Apollo hadn’t had any objections when Klavier pulled him aside a few hours into his welcome back party to suggest a walk around People Park, of all places. But maybe that wasn’t surprising—the two of them hadn’t had a moment alone since Apollo’s flight arrived that afternoon, since the entire welcome committee had simply migrated to the Wright Anything Agency for the party. It had been nearly two months since Klavier’s last visit to Khura’in, so it made sense that Apollo would leap at the opportunity for some solitude.
But if Klavier hadn’t been so nervous, maybe he would have noticed that Apollo seemed to know exactly where Klavier was trying to lead him as they wound through the tree-lined paths of the park. He might have realized that Apollo’s free hand (the one that wasn’t holding Klavier’s) was stuffed in the pocket of his jacket, even though the evening wasn’t cold at all.
As it was, he was too distracted by the small box weighing down the inner pocket of his own jacket. He was sure there must be an obvious lump there, and Apollo would notice too early and—
Really, his nerves should have given him away. Whenever they were together, Apollo always seemed to be able to tune straight into Klavier’s heart, catching on to the least inkling of stress before Klavier could even express it. The fact that Apollo didn’t take note of Klavier’s obvious preoccupation should have been a telltale sign.
Logically, Klavier knew he had nothing to fear. It wasn’t as though they hadn’t already discussed their future—ironically, the subject had first been broached during one of the dimmest periods of their long-distance relationship, when doubts had been high on either side of the ocean. They had been arguing over something inconsequential—a fight more the product of the daily strain of their jobs than anything else—and Apollo’s frustrated sigh had come as a rush of static over the phone. “Where are we even going with this, Klav?” he had asked, and Klavier, halfway through a glass of wine that he had poured in an attempt to wind down after an exhausting three-day trial, had blurted, “Apollo, I want to marry you.”
At the time, Apollo’s work in Khura’in had had no end in sight, a factor that had certainly contributed to their argument. Once they had both recovered from Klavier’s unexpected announcement, they agreed that any solid plans would not be prudent until they were living in the same country again. But now—
Apollo was back, finally, for good, excepting some temporary trips back to the law offices that he had passed on to one of his capable protégés. They had plenty of time now—but Klavier couldn’t wait another moment, and he would have gotten to one knee in the middle of the airport if not for the excited whispers he was starting to attract from passer-by. Consequences of restarting his music career, he supposed, but he had no interest in a public proposal. Enough of his life had already been put on display.
Even the party, attended by their closest friends, was too busy. He wanted a moment just for them—they had been allowed so few of those, over the past years. Apollo was always so busy in Khura’in, constantly besieged by aspiring lawyers seeking advice and Datz bursting into his room at inopportune times and—
It occurred to Klavier that his mind was wandering, and he hoped Apollo hadn’t been trying to start a conversation while they walked, because he wouldn't have heard a word of it. He glanced sideways at his boyfriend and happened to catch Apollo looking back at him.
Apollo’s eyes widened slightly when he was caught, and he ran his hang through his hair to hide his blush. His bangs were brushed to the side tonight, like his father—he had started bouncing back and forth between hairstyles over the past couple years, although he seemed to settle on this one more frequently now. Klavier thought it suited him very nicely.
“Tired?” Klavier asked, noticing the slight shadows under Apollo’s eyes. He had to be—everyone had been so excited to see him that no one had seemed to consider that a party following a twenty-hour flight might not be entirely welcome.
“A bit,” Apollo admitted, taking the opportunity to slip his arm around Klavier’s waist and lean more of his weight against him. Klavier pulled him closer, and they both slowed to stop as they rounded a corner and found themselves facing the Kitaki mansion across the street.
Klavier’s heart skipped.
Here we are.
The southeast corner of People Park was not a particularly romantic location by anyone’s book. There was still a trash can under the archway, and the paint on the sign above was peeling in places, so on one side it read something like “Pcople Pa k.”
Their meeting here, years ago, could hardly be called romantic, either, what with Apollo staring at him like he had seen a ghost while a police investigation took place around them. But Klavier still remembered how he had felt, coming face-to-face with the man who had put his brother in jail and, despite everything, only being able to think, ach, he is much cuter in person.
Fortunately, rock-star-prosecutor Klavier Gavin was not that easily flustered, so he had a chance to fluster Apollo instead, which only served to cement his first impression.
I must say I'm used to being inspected by the ladies, he had teased, but this is the first time I've felt this way with a man.
He hadn’t realized at the time how true those words would become. He had never felt for anyone else what he now felt for Apollo.
“Brings back memories,” Apollo sighed, bringing Klavier back to the present. He released his hold around Klavier’s waist to take a few steps forward. “Not all of them good, but—”
As Apollo spoke, Klavier started to drop to one knee. His legs were shaking, and it seemed to take an absurd amount of coordination to pull the ring box out of his pocket at the same time. He couldn’t even hear the rest of Apollo’s sentence over the rush of his pulse in his ears.
Apollo turned around when Klavier was halfway to the ground.
His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open, and before Klavier could say a word, he flung out his index finger in something like an objection and shouted, “No!!!”
The sound actually echoed against the walls bordering the Kitaki estate. Klavier, still only halfway to kneeling, faltered and teetered dangerously. His heart felt as though it had dropped out of his chest.
“E-excuse me?” he stammered, just barely managing to recover his balance as his knee collided painfully with the pavement.
For a moment, Apollo just stood frozen, gaping down at Klavier with his finger outstretched. Klavier didn’t breathe.
Then Apollo shook himself and reached into the pocket of his jacket, emerging with a small box.
“You—you beat me to it!” he accused. “I was just about to—I mean—”
Klavier just stared at the box in Apollo’s hand. He felt as though his mind had turned to molasses, and it took longer than it should have for understanding to dawn on him.
Then a short chuckle escaped his lips, then another, until he was breathless with laughter, shoulders shaking as several hours’ worth of nervous energy finally broke, leaving him giddy with the absurdity of their current situation.
As if there could have been any doubt, he thought. He had been so worried, but here they were, both trying to propose to each other not fifteen yards away from the crime scene of their first trial. The fact that both of them had considered this a prime location had to mean something for their compatibility, if nothing else. Mein Gott, I love him.
It was several seconds before Klavier caught his breath, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and looked up at Apollo. Apollo barely seemed to have moved, although a deep red flush had spread across his cheeks.
“Apollo, schatzi,” Klavier gasped, “you nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Apollo rushed to say, letting out a breath in a rush. “I was just—man, I was wondering how you seemed to know exactly where we were going.”
“And I was thinking the same thing,” Klavier told him, shaking his head incredulously.
Apollo huffed and crossed his arms. “I can’t believe this.”
Klavier bit his lip. “Are you upset?”
“No! Of course I’m not upset! I’m just—”
Klavier decided to take advantage of Apollo’s loss for words.
“Apollo Justice,” he said slowly, doing his utmost to keep his voice steady, “will you marry me?”
Apollo’s breath caught, and for a moment, he just looked at Klavier, his lips parted and eyes wide and teary, but then his brows drew together in a determined sort of way, and he dropped to one knee as well.
“Only if you’ll marry me,” he countered.
“I do think that’s how it works,” Klavier replied.
Apollo’s expression remained serious. “Well? Is that a yes?”
Klavier couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, liebling.”
“Okay. Then, yes. I will.”
Apollo plucked the ring from his box and reached for Klavier’s hand, but Klavier clicked his tongue and pulled back.
“Ah, I believe I asked first,” he pointed out, with an admonishing smile.
“You interrupted me,” Apollo retorted, but he obligingly allowed Klavier to take his hand.
The gold of the ring was the precise shade of Apollo’s bracelet. Klavier had gone back and forth for months, wondering if he even needed a ring, but then he couldn’t stop thinking about those twin flashes of gold on his boyfriend’s left hand. His fiancé’s left hand.
But Apollo barely gave Klavier a chance to admire the sight, because he was already reaching for Klavier’s hand and sliding a ring onto his finger.
“Oh, Apollo…” Klavier sighed, his eyes widening. In all the confusion, he hadn’t even glanced at the ring yet. “It’s beautiful.”
The band was formed of twisted strands of silver, with a small diamond nestled among them. Against Klavier’s skin, the metal was warm from sitting in Apollo’s pocket all day. Inexplicably, that detail was what caused Klavier’s eyes to water. Somehow, more than anything else, that warmth seemed to cement the fact that Apollo was really here.
“I love you,” Apollo murmured, since Klavier had gone speechless. Klavier just leaned forward to kiss him.
They must have looked ridiculous, kneeling on the pavement under the archway of People Park, but Klavier couldn’t care less. He took Apollo’s face in one hand, brushing his thumb over the trail of a tear that had leaked down Apollo’s cheek, and he could have stayed like that for hours, heedless of the pain in his (probably bruised) knee.
Then from his right, Klavier heard a too-familiar sound, one that made all his muscles tighten on instinct. He broke away from Apollo and leapt to his feet, whirling to face the bushes from which had emanated the unmistakable snap of a camera shutter.
Once, he had loved the attention. He and Apollo had posed for pictures in this very spot, while Klavier pretended to be irritated that his hordes of fans had found him at a crime scene. He had loved the cameras, and the cameras had loved him—until the full truth of Kristoph’s actions had come to light, and Klavier learned that the cameras hadn’t so much loved him as they’d loved the money he made them.
Is nothing sacred? he wondered venomously as he stalked across the pavement, with the aim of hauling whatever sorry reporter had decided to invade his privacy this evening out by their collar and forcing them to face the full extent of the law.
But before he could do so, Trucy Wright popped out of the bushes, eyes wide as she held up her hands.
“It’s just me!” she burst out. “I’m sorry!”
Klavier stared, fury draining away. “…fräulein,” he said blankly.
“Trucy?!” Apollo cried from behind him, jumping to his feet. “What—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she babbled. “It’s just…I saw you guys leave, and I had a feeling so I followed and—”
“That was—we left for a reason, Truce!” Apollo exclaimed. “You can’t just—”
Trucy’s lip trembled. “I know. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.” To her credit, she sounded very repentant, and she held out the camera, eyes downcast. “You can delete them if you want.”
Klavier was closer, so he took the offending device, opening the camera’s memory. Maybe he had been mistaken about the photographer’s identity, but he still wasn’t sure he liked the idea of shaky snapshots stolen from his private moments. It was too much like the tabloids, even if—
“Oh,” he breathed. “Fräulein, these…these are very good.”
The photographs weren’t like the tabloids at all. There was a nice symmetry to the way he and Apollo were kneeling in the center of the archway, with the oranges and reds of the sunset painting the sky over the Kitaki mansion behind them. The two of them were framed in the archway of the park entrance, and the sign was silhouetted against the sky, so the crumbling letters weren’t even visible. Somehow, Trucy had managed to grant People Park some sort of ambiance.
Trucy bit her lip to keep herself from beaming. “I took a photography elective last semester.”
“Apollo,” Klavier said softly, tilting the camera towards him. Apollo leaned closer to look, and the scowl melted off his features.
“Oh…” he said. “That’s…” He exhaled heavily. “Okay, fine. It’s okay, Truce. Don’t cry.”
She sniffled. “You guys were really cute,” she said quietly.
Apollo squeezed his eyes shut, clearly embarrassed. “You saw everything, huh.”
Klavier flipped through the pictures to confirm. “She did indeed.” Honestly, he was surprised he hadn’t noticed her sooner.
He paused on a photo of Apollo pointing unerringly at a bewildered Klavier, and had to stifle a chuckle.
“I really felt like I was on trial for a moment,” he said, glancing at Apollo, who pouted.
“It was instinct, okay?” he retorted. Trucy giggled.
“I’m so happy for you guys,” she gushed, scrambling out of the bushes to pull them both into a hug. “But we have to go back! They’re all going to be wondering where you went.”
“I guess it is supposed to be my party,” Apollo agreed reluctantly. “But you have to let us tell everyone.”
Trucy raised an eyebrow and glanced from one ring to the other. “Do you really think you’ll need to tell them? I’m pretty sure I saw Dad putting a bottle of champagne in the cabinet when he was getting ready for the party yesterday.”
Apollo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good grief.”
“Oh, come on, schatzi,” Klavier said, smiling. “What’s wrong with a little celebrating? Unless you have somewhere to be?”
There was a part of Klavier that really was worried, if not for the present moment, then for the more distant future. Khura’in was doing much better, but it wasn’t entirely fixed, and Apollo had disappeared so suddenly that first time—
Apollo let out a breath and grabbed Klavier’s hand, leaning into his side. Klavier could feel the bump of his ring pressed between their fingers.
“No,” Apollo said, “I’m staying right here.”