Work Text:
Apollo groaned as the Japanifornian sun beat against his back. He could only think of how much he missed cleaning the toilet as he engaged in a much worse, much more labor-intensive WAA chore: Re-painting the outside of the building.
God knows why his boss had taken an interest in making it look better, but Apollo had given up on trying to figure out Phoenix ages ago. The man was a cryptic demon who wrought havoc on everything he touched, and that was putting it nicely. It’s not that Phoenix was a bad person, no, Apollo had even started thinking him as a father figure (he would take this information to the grave), it’s just that Phoenix was incredibly annoying. He was vague. He was stubborn. He was naive. All the things an adult should not be, Phoenix was. Really, there was only one person who was more annoying than Phoenix, and that was Klavier Gavin. The two were beacons of irritation in Apollo’s life, and where one was not, the other appeared. Like freaky twins.
Phoenix was nowhere in sight, which only meant one thing. Klavier was coming.
He sauntered — yes, sauntered — up to a groaning Apollo with a friendly smile, seemingly oblivious to the way Apollo was painstakingly laboring over his task at hand. “Gutentag.”
Apollo grunted in response, a reaction that always earned a laugh out of Klavier. He continued, still very much oblivious to how busy Apollo was. “Herr Wright took you off toilet duty, I see.”
“Yes, he did. And somehow this is worse.” Apollo bit back a smile. He didn’t find his own statement funny, it was just that Klavier’s mere appearance always resulted in Apollo biting back dopey smiles. It was another thing that made the man so infuriating.
Without another word, Klavier rolled up his sleeves and picked up the spare paintbrush — the one meant for Trucy, who masterfully evaded her chores as per usual — and joined Apollo, silently painting beside him despite the fact that he was not at all invited to do so. Apollo paused, not entirely sure what to do.
He ultimately decided that being vaguely dismissive and not-so-vaguely rude was the best course of action. When in doubt, erect emotional walls and be a bitch. “I never asked you to do that.”
“Ja, you’re quite perceptive Herr Forehead.” Klavier never stopped while he talked, nor did he look back at Apollo, somehow making painting buildings look completely effortless. Apollo scoffed — both at the comment and the fact that Klavier was somehow perfect in every way possible — and returned to his work.
They stayed like that for a while, silently coating the Wright Anything Agency in layers of pale blue, side by side. It would’ve been more efficient for them to paint seperate walls, but for some reason, they both refused to leave the other alone. The only reason they moved was because Klavier stopped, frowned, and stared, concerned, at Apollo. Apollo mirrored him, completely unaware of what was going on.
“Why are you staring at me, fop.” Technically, it was a question, but Apollo didn’t say it as such. He said it like it was a warning, a declaration of ‘Jesus Christ, whatever you’re planning, stop it now’.
“It’s just...you have something on your face.” Klavier’s frown deepened, and in turn, so did Apollo’s.
“Wh—“ Before Apollo could even process what was going on, Klavier, with superhuman speed, flicked paint at him. Like a petulant child; Which he may as well have been.
Apollo, in response, flinched and gasped, launching into a spiel about professionalism. It was clear that Klavier wasn’t listening, but Apollo really didn’t care. Professionalism in a work environment was vital to a healthy work-life balance, he liked to say.
...And once that was finished, Apollo, satisfied with Klavier’s concerned expression, ‘accidentally’ made the paint bucket slosh over and ruin the man's boots.
Klavier didn’t get mad though. No, instead, he gave another disgustingly harmonious laugh, and stepped back. Apollo first assumed (and hoped) this was a sign of defeat, but he was horribly wrong. Instead of giving up, Klavier kicked his foot up, causing the pool of paint that was sitting on his boot to spray onto Apollo’s shirt. His previously white shirt. Apollo tried and failed not to laugh, and lunged forward with his paintbrush in hand.
Soon enough, the two were covered in paint — with only their heads remaining relatively untouched — and tangled together. Apollo found himself on the ground, with Klavier on his stomach. Their faces were...annoyingly close, an issue that wasn’t helped by Klavier leaning in. Another issue that had popped up was Apollo’s joints weakening and his heart racing. Again, this wasn’t helped by Klavier.
The man stopped about two centimeters away from Apollo’s face, smile tugging at his lips. Not that Apollo was looking there. Because why would he look there. That would be stupid, stop questioning why he was looking th—
“Herr Forehead...” Klavier leaned in closer, nearly closing the distance between the two. Nearly. Instead of actually closing it, he smiled fully, and slammed a paint soaked hand onto Apollo’s face.
“SON OF A BITCH,” Apollo yelled, pushing Klavier off him. Klavier burst into a bout of giggles, holding his stomach and wiping at his eyes as he did so.
“I can’t believe you fell for that.”
“Awe, Herr Forehead, I can’t believe you fell for that!” Apollo’s tone had adopted one of mocking, high pitched and shrieking. He slid his hand down his face, gathering up paint to flick back at Klavier. Klavier caught on quickly, unlike Apollo, and ducked as he snapped his paint-covered hand forward. “You’re awful.”
Klavier pouted and draped his hand across his forehead. “You wound me.” Apollo rolled his eyes and let out a laugh, a result of being unable to compose himself and keep up his bitter façade, of sorts. Klavier joined him.
And so they sat like that. In the blistering heat, covered in paint. The two sat and giggled until they ran out of breath. It was stupid and annoying and...perfect.
Stupidly, annoyingly perfect. Just like Klavier.