Archive of Our Own ^beta

Apollo, Klavier realizes, is good at noticing things about anyone other than himself.

It becomes a game of sorts, keeping track of Apollo’s little habits. When reading through a long paragraph, he will push the eraser end of a pencil to his bottom lip- once, he accidentally used the sharp end, and hissed in pain before forgetting about it and subconsciously flipping it a few moments later. If they’re watching a show, sometimes Klavier will take his hand and trace the engravings on his bracelet, and he watches the way Apollo’s fingers curl inwards towards his, sometimes pressing against the pulp of his palm. He taps his foot when listening to music, he bites the knuckle of his pointer finger when indecisive, and he scratches the back of his neck when trying to remember something takes a great deal of effort. When he’s nervous, sometimes he will fold his hands, but he seems to catch himself on that one- Apollo is not visibly nervous very often anymore.

There’s a part of Klavier’s brain, a small file right at the front, that categorizes and keeps this information. He’s sure Apollo has something similar for him- he can’t even imagine how many tells of his own are stored away due to Apollo’s keen eyes. Lawyers in a relationship is a strange thing, Klavier has realized, since he’s never dated someone within his profession. He can’t be sure, but he doesn’t think the average couple keeps count of their partner’s tells, protected under lock and key.

Klavier doesn’t tell Apollo about these habits. He’s certain if he spilled, even with the addition of how endearing these habits are, that Apollo would get embarrassed, defensive maybe, and work tirelessly to stop himself. The idea of an Apollo who does none of these, whose actions are so guarded after Klavier worked so tirelessly to wear that guard down, makes him terribly sad. Especially- critically- because of Apollo’s newest habit, a habit that Klavier will never let go.

Apollo’s begun humming.

It was small, at first. Klavier would have the radio on in the car, and he’d begin to hear an addition to the tracks he’s heard more times than he could count. He almost didn’t believe it the very first time it had happened, but the sound was unmistakable- his theory was only more proven when he had managed a quick glance to the side and saw Apollo’s tapping fingers on the door handle. Since then, he’s taken every opportunity possible to play music around Apollo, in the car, in his apartment, anywhere and everywhere becomes an impromptu concert. 

He can’t help himself. It’s something new, for one, and Klavier’s never been the type to deny himself the pleasures of the unfamiliar and unexplored. For another, it just- sounds nice. There isn’t much more to it than that. This isn’t only because Apollo is his boyfriend as well, of that he’s sure. Apollo’s voice- or at least, the probability of his voice- really is quite good.

That was the biggest surprise, Klavier thinks, second only to the fact that he was hearing it at all. That Apollo sounds good. It’s a low sound, and he’s good at finding the harmony of a song if there’s one playing. If there isn’t- and this is truly Klavier’s favorite time, when it’s his hum alone- he will hum a tune Klavier doesn’t recognize, but he’s clearly accurate to the tone. He never seems aware that he’s doing it- a completely subconscious action, so far back in the order of important things in Apollo’s head that it manages to not disturb the many other thoughts crammed in- but that’s what makes it so odd. Naturally on pitch, natural harmony, no effort required. It’s impressive, really. Impressive and absolutely wonderful.

So Klavier can never tell him about these habits. He thinks it might break his heart, to be given such a gift and have it be taken away so quickly. He will watch the tapping fingers, and hear the melodic hum, and he will never say a word.

At least, that is the plan. Klavier should know by now his plans never seem to go well.

It happens on a friday evening. Klavier is leaving the office to pick up Apollo at the Anything Agency- it’s their date night, which usually means going to one of their apartments and ordering whatever takeout sounds most appetizing and putting on one of the various shows they’ve started and not had the time to finish.

Apollo had texted him earlier to let him know that he’d be staying later than the Wrights and Athena, as he had some old case files to organize. He’d said that if it was too late they could cancel, and Klavier had to hold back laughter as he asked how long Apollo had known him for. A late night was nothing to Klavier- the normal end of the workday felt like leaving early, at this point. So he had stayed at the prosecutor’s office and finished up some extra work until Apollo let him know he was done.

The Wright Anything Agency is nothing like the prosecutor’s office. It’s a fact Klavier notices every time, and every time he falls a little more in love with it. It’s a small building- one might say it borders on claustrophobic- but the light from inside is warm and inviting, and the area visible from the windows is lush with couches, chairs, pillows, and heaps of magic supplies. The agency has character- something the prosecutor’s office lacks entirely. In Klavier’s humble opinion, the prosecutor’s office is too...sterile. He thinks they could learn a thing or two from this ragged gang of defense attorneys.

As he parks in front of the agency, he peers through the windows, but he can’t see Apollo amongst the couches and desks. He shrugs- Apollo wouldn’t leave without telling him, and his bike is still locked in the front. There’s a sort of humor in the order those observations came in, but Klavier doesn’t dwell on it as he steps out of his car and walks through the doors.

As soon as he enters, he hears- something. He manages to stop himself from calling out for Apollo, and he strains his ears. The sound is muffled, coming from the storage room in the back, but he’s almost sure it’s…

He tries to be as quiet as possible as he walks towards the room, and he’s lucky that smiles don’t make a sound, because he can feel his lips pulling into one that’s far too big. His footsteps are mercifully silent, and when he looks through the door, the smile pulls farther still, because he was right.

Apollo is singing.

His back is to Klavier, and he’s stepping up a small ladder with a box full of files in his hands, and he’s singing . It’s a song Klavier only recognizes from the previous times Apollo had hummed it, and he skips a line when he has to push up on the tips of his toes to reach the top shelf, but it’s just as good- better, even- as his humming.

Klavier can do nothing but stare. There really is nothing else to do in a situation such as this, he reasons, and he must get caught up in the performance, because just as Apollo reaches a high note, a note that makes the air in Klavier’s chest catch, he turns, having finally places the box in its rightful spot, and- ah.

“Jesus!” Apollo says, taking a step back and almost tripping over the ladder. “Klavier! Fuck, you surprised me.”

“Apologies,” Klavier says, a beat too late. His mouth feels dry. “Are you…”

“Fine, yeah,” Apollo says, though he sounds a bit rushed. “Fine. How long have you been here?” His face is flushed, Klavier sees, and his arms are tightly crossed. Embarrassed, he realizes. Apollo is embarrassed.

He’s waited too long to answer again, and he can see Apollo’s agitation growing every second Klavier fumbles with an answer. “Only- a moment,” he says, “Only for a moment. I just got here, is what I mean.” He wipes his palms on his pants in what he hopes is an innocuous manner- when did his palms get sweaty? “Are you ready to go? Your, ah, your text said you were done, but you were putting away another box when I came in, so if you need more time-”

“Okay, stop. This is painful to watch.” Apollo pinches the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. “You can just say it was bad. Sorry you had to see that. I don’t- I don’t do that in front of people.”

“ Bad ?” Klavier blurts out before he can stop himself. “ Herr Forehead, you are a wonderful singer.”

Apollo rolls his eyes, but the blush on his cheeks gets darker. “Sure, Mr.Rockstar. Can we just forget about this? I’ll buy you drinks for a week if you forget about it.”

“I mean it!” Klavier says, because apparently his brain can’t put a stop to his ever-running mouth. “I like your voice. I love it. I’ve always loved it.”

At that, Apollo arches his brow, and Klavier resists the urge to bite his tongue. “Always?” He frowns. “I’ve never- you haven’t seen me- before this.”

“Ah…” Klavier says, and swallows. “A misspeak. Nothing more. What I mean to say is, I would not lie about your lovely voice, liebling .”

Apollo’s hand is on his wrist, thumb pressed into the tendon right under his bracelet, and Klavier resists the urge to squirm under his gaze. “When have you heard me- sing?” Apollo asks, voice halted on the last word as if it causes him pain to say. “You aren’t lying about the...other thing. When else have you heard me?”

Dammit. His new favorite of Apollo’s habits, gone. All of them gone, if he’s not careful. “You...ah. You’ve taken to humming, recently. You didn’t used to before.”

Apollo’s eyes widen. “I have?”

Klavier nods, then adds hastily, “But! It is good. I wasn’t lying, I really do like it. You have a good voice.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to reduce any amount of ‘tells’ Apollo may pick up off of him. He knows one of them is fiddling with his rings- Apollo pounces on that like a wolf to its dinner.

Klavier braces himself for Apollo’s anger, but instead, he watches as Apollo’s gaze softens, falls away to the side. “I hadn’t realized,” he says, seemingly to himself. “I’ve been listening to more music lately. I didn’t really used to before, so…”

“I see,” Klavier says, nodding his head. This is true- he remembers his utter shock when Apollo could barely name a song from the top five most popular artists known to man. “I didn’t recognize your song- who is the artist?”

It’s at that statement that Apollo stiffens. “You wouldn’t know him,” he mutters. “Can we just- drop this? I’ve been in this room way too long, I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Right- of course,” Klavier says, stepping out of the way quickly for Apollo, who’s already started to leave. “I’m sorry to have intruded.”

“It’s fine,” Apollo says. He doesn’t look back at him. “Let’s just go. I still need to get my bike in your car. Your place, or mine?”

“Mine,” Klavier says, and Apollo nods.

The car ride back is silent. Not completely- the radio was on when Klavier had parked, and suddenly turning it off felt too weird, so music plays. But Apollo doesn’t hum. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks out the window, and Klavier can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking.

It’s not until later- much later, actually- that he gets his answer.

His worst fear has been confirmed. After Klavier had told Apollo of his humming habit, he hasn’t heard so much as a note from Apollo for a good two weeks. Klavier still plays music around him, hoping to draw out something, but Apollo remains staunch in his unspoken decision to stay away from music. It’s just as disheartening as Klavier had predicted, but at least he still has all of Apollo’s other little habits. They just feel more hollow now, without Apollo’s music.

Friday brings date night, marking the official transition from two to three weeks of Klavier’s mistake. They actually went out this time- a rare act, but a treasured one. Generally, they both have their reasoning for the event being scarce- Apollo wants to conserve his funds (even though Klavier offers to pay every time), and Klavier doesn’t like the possibility of paparazzi. When they do choose to go out, though, it always seems to end with some of Klavier’s favorite memories.

He’s driving Apollo back to his apartment, and he can’t look at him, but he wants to. Apollo’s profile against the window and the streetlights is something he can almost never resist, but since he’s always the one driving, it’s a temptation he has to live with constantly. There’s music playing- a love song, Klavier realizes. How fitting. There’s a love song playing, and Apollo is gazing out the window, and Klavier tightens his grip on the wheel.

There’s an addition to the song.

So quiet, so slight, had Klavier not been on high alert for three weeks, he probably wouldn’t have heard it, but it’s there. The low thrum of Apollo’s hum, creating a harmony with the singer’s high notes. It’s dangerous- Klavier knows it’s dangerous- but he glances to the side, just for a moment. Just to see.

Apollo’s eyes are closed, fingers tapping on the door handle, and he’s humming.

It takes every bit of strength in Klavier to tear his gaze away. A second more, and he wouldn’t have been able to. He would have got caught in the slope of his cheekbones, his lashes against his skin, the way his adam’s apple dips with the notes. He has to physically shake his head to try and clear it.

The humming gets louder, and Klavier has to wonder if it’s truly subconscious or if it’s some sort of test. If it’s a test, it’s a truly torturous one- after weeks of deprivation, Klavier feels as if he’s going through the rush of a new high with none of the visual satisfaction. The tapping gets louder, too. He’s tapping to the music. Klavier can only grip harder.

Just as suddenly as it comes, the humming stops. The tapping halts. The car is agonizingly quiet, and it makes his stomach twist with anticipation.

“When you drop me off,” Apollo begins, and Klavier barely manages to keep his head straight. “I want to show you something before you leave.”

Klavier’s mouth feels dry, but he nods.

They don’t talk for the rest of the drive, and when Klavier parks the car, Apollo doesn’t ask him to follow. It only takes a moment’s hesitation before Klavier joins him on the stairs up to his apartment. He stays behind him instead of their usual side-by-side- something about the stilted way he walks makes him think Apollo doesn’t really want to be seen up close.

It’s not until they’ve crossed the apartment threshold that the silence goes from necessary to suffocating. He’s pretty sure- certain, really- that Apollo’s building up to say something, but the original twist of anticipation has become a wrench of discomfort. When Apollo turns to face him, hands wringing but eyes determined, the discomfort turns to unease.

“Okay,” Apollo says, “Okay. Just- wait in here. Sorry. I’ll- give me a second.” Klavier can’t even respond before Apollo has disappeared into his room, and once he’s settled (as much as one can settle in this situation) onto the couch, Apollo is back, radio in one hand, CD in the other.

“What is…” Klavier says, tilting his head to read it, but he can only catch a J before Apollo has put the disc in the radio. The music begins- it’s a man on a guitar, singing in a deep, smooth voice, like honey. It’s- lovely. A beautiful song, he thinks, then, as the notes play, as he watches the thin line of Apollo’s mouth, the taptaptap of his foot on the ground, he realizes, it’s Apollo’s song, the one he’s been humming when there’s no music. The one he was singing that day in the office.

“Was I right?” Apollo asks, not looking at him. “You haven’t heard him before, yeah?”

“I have not,” Klavier agrees. “I wish I had, though. He has a beautiful voice.”

Apollo laughs at that, and Klavier frowns. His laugh didn’t sound right. “His stage name was Jangly,” Apollo starts, “But his real name was Jove.” He swallows. His hands are clenched together in a vice grip. “Jove Justice.”

“Justice…” Klavier mouths, then, “ Justice ?”

Apollo nods. “I didn’t know who he was, before,” Apollo says, “But when Dhurke was here…” He clears his throat, then sits up straighter. “When I found out who he was, I wanted to listen to his music. I know he wasn’t… I mean, I never knew him. But he- I know he cared about me. So I wanted to get to know him, get to know his work.”

Klavier- can’t process this. Can’t process Apollo’s father being a musician, can’t process Apollo’s father , can’t process any of it. “So the music you started listening to-”

“All his.”

“And you started to sing his songs?”

At this, Apollo flushes red. “That wasn’t intentional,” he says, “Not- the humming, at least. I told you, I didn’t really listen to music before. I didn’t realize it was a habit I’d fall into.”

“I am glad you did, liebling ,” Klavier says before he can stop himself. Apollo only flushes darker.

“ Anyway ,” he continues, leaning his elbows on his knees, “The- singing, I guess. Yeah. It wasn’t intentional at first, but-”

“But you liked it,” Klavier finishes, feeling more than a touch fond. “You liked knowing his songs in more than just memory.”

Apollo grits his teeth, but there’s no malice behind it. “If you want to put it that way. Sure. It was just a habit.” He frowns at the table. “It’s not like I was good at it, doing it to practice or anything.”

“You are good at it,” Klavier insists. “I told you before.”

Apollo rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but you exaggerate. And you like to compliment me, for some reason.”

“I would not lie to you about your voice!” Klavier objects. “You know I wasn’t lying. You always know.”

“Yeah, but-” Apollo seems to struggle with his words. “Sometimes- sometimes, people think they’re telling the truth, convince themselves of it, so it doesn’t come off as a lie.”

“I am not lying, Apollo,” Klavier says. “Now that I am hearing this, it makes sense. You sound so much like him.”

Apollo goes still.

“Ah,” Klavier says, “Ah, scatz . I did not- I wasn’t thinking-” Klavier’s panicking. Apollo’s eyes begin to shine, and Klavier’s panicking. “I’m sorry-”

“No,” Apollo says, even as the first tear rolls down his cheek, followed closely by the second, the third. “No, don’t. I don’t even...I don’t know why I’m- this is stupid, hold on-” He sniffs loudly, covers his face with both hands and wipes quickly, but it doesn’t achieve anything other than smearing the tracks everywhere. “Fuck. Can you- thanks.” He didn’t need to finish his sentence before Klavier handed him a tissue.

Tentatively, he moves closer, and when Apollo doesn’t object, he pulls him into his chest, just enough to be touching but not so much as to envelop him. “I’m sorry,” he says again, and Apollo only shakes his head. He doesn’t say anything else.

They stay like that for a while, and Klavier wonders if Apollo is a naturally quiet crier or if he’s just gotten good at holding it in. He has a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer. “Stupid,” Apollo mutters, “This is stupid. I’m getting your jacket wet, I’m sorry.”

“It is not stupid,” Klavier says defensively. Apollo lets out a weak laugh. “I shouldn’t have said that. Forgive me.”

“Stupid,” Apollo says again, but this time as an insult. He punches lightly at Klavier’s chest. “That’s not it. Use your head.”

That’s another one of Apollo’s habits- getting meaner when he’s vulnerable. Usually, it makes Klavier smile, as his insults hardly ever get beyond the point of farce. He’s not smiling this time. He’s not hurt- being called stupid is hardly the worst of Apollo’s arsenal- but he doesn’t really feel like laughing, either. “I feel like saying sorry again,” he says lamely.

That gets Apollo to laugh a bit stronger. “I just wasn’t expecting it,” he says, pushing himself up from his place on Klavier’s chest. He sniffs again, rubs at his face and eyes- he’s not crying anymore, but his eyes are still a touch red. “Do you want to see a picture of him?”

“ Eh ?” Klavier balks, back ramrod straight. “A picture? You- have one?” You want to show me?

Apollo snorts. “It’s not like he didn’t have a few fans, Klav. Besides, it was 2002, not 1902. Of course there’s pictures of him.” He rubs at his hands, folds them once. “Though- I mean, the picture I have of him isn’t from the internet. I’m just saying they exist.” He pulls his phone out and scrolls for a moment before passing it over. “This is him.”

It’s an old photo. Jove- at least, the man Klavier assumes is Jove- sits on a chair, playing his guitar. He appears to be singing as well. “He-” looks so much like you , Klavier doesn’t say, but Apollo nods as if he had said it anyway.

“I knew that part,” he says. “Thalassa told me before. She’s the one who sent me the picture. I didn’t really expect it to be so...close, but I knew.” Klavier’s the one holding the phone, but Apollo’s fingers still rest on the top. He’s leaning his cheek on Klavier’s shoulder now.

“He’s very handsome,” Klavier says, just to tease him, to lighten the mood a bit. It works- Apollo sighs in exasperation, but his cheeks have gone red again. “He also has an, um, interesting fashion sense.”

Apollo groans. “Skin-tight yellow turtleneck. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“Perhaps that was all the rage in the early 2000’s.”

“If that was the rage, I hope that’s one trend that’s left behind for good.”

Klavier laughs, a real laugh, and Apollo laughs too, and it’s good. The tension from earlier is gone, and he’s not sure when it disappeared, but he’s glad for its absence. “It is startling, how similar the two of you look.”

“Yeah.” Apollo’s eyes are glued to the picture on the screen. “Everyone looks a little like their parents, though.”

“But they don’t all-” sound like them . Klavier curses under his breath. He’s always had a problem with speaking before thinking when it comes to Apollo, and it’s only gotten exponentially worse as they’ve been together. “Apologies. My mouth has a mind of its own today.”

Apollo shakes his head, but doesn’t lift it from Klavier’s shoulder. “I like that you’re honest with me. Saves me trouble.” His fingers drop from the phonecase, hands folding in his lap. “But...yeah. You’re right.”

“About my mouth?”

“The first thing, dumbass,” Apollo sighs, closing his eyes. “Also about that though.”

Klavier mocks offense, pulling the phone to his chest as if it were a rose. “You wound me, liebling ,” he says, and Apollo grabs his phone back. “Ack. And now you steal from me. Can you be more cruel?”

“Definitely,” Apollo says without missing a beat. He stands up, spins once in time with the music, then walks towards the kitchen. “ Far more. You want coffee? Tea?”

“Tea,” Klavier says. “With sugar and honey, if you don’t mind.”

As Apollo makes the drinks, Klavier lets himself listen to Jove. His voice really is similar to Apollo’s- a touch lower, maybe, a bit smoother. Definitely professionally trained. But the similarity is uncanny. He’s singing a different song, now, and Klavier recognizes it distantly as one Apollo had hummed less often. It’s a sweeter song than the other, slower, too. He thinks, one day, he’d like to dance to it.

Apollo returns with the drinks, pressing the mug into Klavier’s hand, then a kiss onto his lips. “Sugar,” he says, then hums in Klavier’s ear in a way that sends a shiver up his spine. “And honey.”

“That’s-” His voice is strangled, and he can see Apollo stifling a laugh. Everything feels as if it’s on fire. “You- there is actually sugar and honey in this, yes?”

“Way to ruin the moment,” Apollo says, rolling his eyes. “Of course there is.”

“I could- use more?”

Apollo snorts, then laughs, hands on his hips, still standing. “Wait for it to cool down, then taste it first.”

Klavier stands as well, holding the mug close to his chest. “Are you sure? I think it needs more.” He puts on his most innocent face as Apollo hums thoughtfully.

“I can put a little more sugar in it, but the honey’ll have to wait,” he says, then leans up to kiss Klavier again, a bit longer this time. Klavier feels his smile against his lips, and he smiles in return.

“I can wait for the honey, if the sugar is this sweet,” he says once they part, and Apollo groans. “Oh, don’t get annoyed now, herr forehead. You are the one who started this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Apollo sighs, hanging his head. He’s silent for a moment, then his eyes widen. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Klavier echoes.

“Oh, nothing, it’s just-” Apollo smiles. “This song. It’s called Honeypie .”

Klavier sets his mug down on the coffee table, then takes Apollo’s hands. “How ironic,” he says softly. “Do you know the lyrics?”

“I- not as well,” Apollo says, letting Klavier sway their hands to the tune. “I’ve only really got the chorus of this one.”

“Dance with me?” Klavier asks. “This is a lovely song for a dance.”

“I don’t think my living room is a great dance floor,” he mutters, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Any floor is a good dance floor, as long as there is good music,” Klavier says as he takes a step back, where the floor is more open. Apollo doesn’t respond, only leans closer so Klavier can see the tips of his red ears.

It’s not actual, dancing, per say, what they’re doing. Klavier knows how to dance- really dance, in multiple different styles- but Apollo is less than an amateur. It’s very cute, in Klavier’s opinion, but the last time he voiced this, Apollo nearly stopped dancing. So he doesn’t say anything, and Apollo doesn’t stop. It’s more swaying than dancing, almost just standing, really, but if it’s with Apollo, Klavier thinks it might as well be the best dance to have ever been performed.

When Apollo begins to hum to the music, he’s so close that Klavier can feel the reverberation in his own chest as well. He doesn’t say anything, and when the chorus comes, and Apollo- very, very softly- sings along, he thinks it might truly be the end, and his heart will burst.

“My coffee’s gonna get cold,” Apollo mumbles into Klavier’s chest, then lifts his head up. “You should finish your tea, too. Still need more honey?”

“ Nein , Apollo,” he says. “I think it’s just right.”