Archive of Our Own ^beta

Apollo has never wanted to dissolve into a cheap bar booth before, but he supposes there’s always a first time for having weird thoughts like that.

Right now, his main priority is to disappear via any means possible. If the horrible booth is what he has to vanish into, then so be it. It works out, anyway. The booth sucks to sit on—the cushions feel more like stone than anything—and the seat is not the usual corner-type he prefers in his rare visits to bars, making him feel all degrees of uncomfortable and exposed.

Still, as bad as those are, they aren't the reason why he’s actively hoping to blend into an inanimate object, like a maniac.

The arm wrapped around his waist tightens, and when he looks up from his nearly empty glass to the figure on his right, he sees Klavier flashing him a charming, far-too-convincing grin.

It's this—this predicament.

“Want a refill, Herr Forehead?” Klavier asks, leaning right into his space. Apollo's muscles—tense as they have been for the past hour—stiffen impossibly more. Now they just feel concerningly numb. Apollo predicts his entire body's gonna sore terribly tomorrow.

“I—I'm good, thanks,” he stammers out, quickly looking down. He can’t remember what he was just about to say a few seconds ago, or what he was supposed to respond to, thanks to his partner pulling that move and distracting him completely. Now he doesn't know what to do with the conversation.

Whatever, it's not like that matters. Klavier's doing most of the talking, anyway. He could go back to quietly looking at his own hands and saying mostly nothing. It's what he's been doing since he got here. It's what he's going to do until they leave.

“Fair. These drinks aren't really great,” Klavier says in return, finally letting go of the younger man. Then, he grabs Apollo's glass and downs what little is left of it. “Unfortunately, it seems we're stuck here longer, so I might as well get us more.”

He carries both their glasses and slips towards the bar. While he's gone, Apollo slumps as all the tension leaves his body at once, his face pressing onto the table, finally getting to relax a little. The cool surface feels a little comforting against his burning face.

This is the worst.

Okay, he signed up for this himself, and okay, he knew exactly what he was getting into, but he didn't think it'd be this bad. Compared to some of the eccentric, straight-up batshit things he's had to do in court, this was supposed to be a cakewalk, even.

It isn't, as usual. He should've known.

The task was simple: pretend to be Klavier's date for an undercover stakeout. He'd told Apollo everything beforehand—about how he was currently prosecuting a case with a fishy witness, and had wanted to covertly investigate the guy before the trial ended for good. Of course, walking into said witness' regular, rather dingy pick of a bar wouldn't exactly be in-character for Klavier, and so he needed company.

The romantic kind. Apollo really doesn't understand that specific decision, but he supposes that's just how being undercover works. Probably.

Anyway, what Apollo was told was that it'd be a short task—maybe take half an hour, or so—and that Klavier would owe him some kind of a favor afterwards. Whatever he wants, within a reasonable limit.

(The knowledge that Klavier apparently had no one else he could ask to accompany him to this place stayed resolutely at the back of his mind.)

Apollo had agreed—mostly because he had nothing better to do, and he thought it might be important—and prepared himself on the day as best as he could. He even spent ages picking a decent outfit, as if it's a real date. It's not, but he wanted to at least try playing his part.

Then Klavier showed up to pick Apollo on his bike, rather than his car like they agreed on, and the latter knew nothing would be going according to plan tonight.

Case in point: Apollo's been sitting in this shitty booth for over an hour, slowly losing his sanity. This should've been over with already. He wants to go home and sleep.

Case in point: The suspicious witness hasn't even shown up yet. The only people who've shown up are those who look like they come here enough to be basically living here. Apollo distantly wonders if they're even at the right place.

Case in point: Klavier's pretending feels horribly real.

(Apollo's been trying to rationalize it the whole time, to not much avail. Every time he thinks he's come to terms with the fake part of the fake dating, Klavier says or does something to make the reasoning crumble apart, and he's back at square one. It makes his head hurt.)

If he pushes his face against the table enough, maybe he could merge with it instead. Reel in that wishful thinking, Justice.

A buzz in his pocket makes him aware of an incoming text. When he pulls open his phone in front of his face—still squished against the table—he finds a singular message.

Clay: are ya winning, son?

Asshole. Telling Clay about this was possibly an even worse decision than agreeing to it in the first place.

He replies eloquently, as such—

Apollo: fuck Off

—and that's that. Clay, apparently satisfied (probably already aware of just how much embarrassment he's going through)—goes offline. Apollo's phone screen turns pitch dark. He closes his eyes in an attempt to feel a similar peace.

“There we are,” comes Klavier's voice, as he presses a chilled glass against Apollo's cheek that jolts him up again. The attorney shoots him the deadliest glare he can manage. The musician simply laughs back at it. “Don't tell me you're tired already?”

“Definitely not,” Apollo says, sitting up properly and rubbing his eyes. The only tiredness he feels is from the mental gymnastics he's been doing this whole time. He gives one look at the new drink Klavier got him, and subtly pushes it away. “Also definitely wouldn't mind going home, either.”

Klavier sighs. “Ach, I wish I could be the bearer of good news, but I really do think we have to stay put a little longer.”

A little longer, my ass, he wants to say, but doesn't. It's not Klavier's fault the suspicious witness guy chose today of all days to be slightly less suspicious. What he does say, though, is this, “You owe me so much, I swear.”

“Of course, of course,” Klavier says with a chuckle, holding his own drink close. “Have you decided what you want?”

“Eh, not yet,” Apollo tells him. He hadn't thought about it at all, actually. Part of him was assuming that bit of the deal was a joke. There's something he'd very much like to have right now, though. “Would it be rude if I just straight up asked for money?”

Klavier laughs loud, in a way that gets Apollo smiling a bit too. “Probably, ja, but at least you're direct.”

“Huh, I guess,” Apollo mutters, “Not entirely sure that's a good thing.”

“Maybe not,” Klavier says, “But I like it.”

“Shut up,” Apollo retorts, jamming an elbow in the prosecutor's side. All the reaction he gets in return is a sly grin. Klavier really needs to stop throwing words like that around, even if it makes sense for their current fake dating situation. It's not good for his health. “Just for that, I'm gonna take even more of your money.”

“You wound me, Forehead. Is my money all you care for?” says Klavier, with his usual dramatic flair. He leans on Apollo, for added effect, but doesn't budge after that. “What do you need it for, anyway?”

“Oh, so much,” the attorney's response is instant. Ever since he got unwillingly roped into the antics of the Wright Anything Agency, Apollo's finances have never been the same. They look more like a seismic chart than an upward slope these days. Naturally, he's also not the only one in his apartment complaining about this problem. “But I mostly have to buy expensive food for my girlfriend.”

In one swift motion, Klavier's suddenly looking at him with wide eyes and an open jaw. “You have a girlfriend?”

Apollo blinks.

Right, he doesn't know. This little inside joke that came into existence recently, plaguing the attorney's non-existent love life. Apollo tries to ignore Klavier's strange reaction and gets on with the quick explanation, “It's my cat.”

Klavier pauses, looks at him with something like a tad bit of concern. “Your girlfriend is a cat?”

“Argh, no,” Apollo grumbles. He smacks his face gently, pulling his hand up until he's pushing his carefully-gelled hair back onto his head. This is mortifying. “I call my cat my girlfriend.”

“That's… huh,” Klavier says, with an expression of utmost confusion. Apollo feels much the same all the time. “Go on.”

“Do I have to?” Apollo asks, leaning back into the booth. The hopes of dissolving into it surface on his mind again. Seeing the prosecutor nod, however, he sighs and gives in. “Okay, sure, whatever. It'll kill some time.”

And so, he recounts the longer story of how, some months back, he'd been leaving the office early to take care of his new cat, Mikeko. Apparently, he'd been too vague about it, and Trucy had assumed he was going to meet up with his girlfriend. Every day.

“It's ridiculous, right? I mean, I'd never even brought up dating anyone, ever. And she really thought I'm the kind of guy who runs from work for some girl. I take my job seriously, you know.”

“Uh-huh,” Klavier says, and adds nothing else.

“I do,” Apollo asserts, hands almost slamming down like he does in the courtroom. “Just because I don't get any cases doesn't mean I'm still not working hard. Blame Mr. Wright for that first bit—”

Then he explains how he'd brought Mikeko to the office one day, cleared up the whole girlfriend situation, and ended up solving nothing at all. Trucy had just shrugged, said, “Of course you'd never have a girlfriend, Polly,” and kept calling Mikeko that horrible nickname to date.

Apollo sighs, again. “She kept saying it so much that it stuck around in my head, too. So now I just unironically call my cat my girlfriend. And… yeah, there. That's the story.”

“That Fräulein Magician is an enigma, for sure,” Klavier comments with a grin. Apollo pointedly ignores how in the few minutes since his retelling, Klavier has stayed firmly stuck at his side. “But it's good that it's a joke. I was almost worried you were cheating on me, Liebling.”

That sets off Apollo's bracelet noticeably. Sure, it's been slightly going off here and there, considering the circumstances right now and all the lying that comes with it, but this is the first time he really feels aware of it.

He doesn't point it out, though. This isn't a trial. He shouldn't interrogate the prosecution outside the court.

“Yeah, yeah. I'm a loyal guy, y'know,” he jokes instead, very offhandedly, and tries to change the topic. “Oh, I took some pictures of Mikeko earlier, if you wanna see.”

It works like a charm, he thinks. Klavier completely forgets about the earlier conversation and gets absorbed in the dozens of blurry photos of the feline. They scroll through Apollo's phone for a bit, with him retelling tales of Mikeko's antics, his high standard of foods, and his origins.

“I can't believe you stole a priceless cat from a circus!” Klavier says, scandalized.

“It's just a hypothesis!” Apollo repeats, for the millionth time. “Besides, I didn't know that. I just found him limping outside my street and took him in. I don't care how much he's worth or which greedy fucker he ran away from, he's my cat now.”

Klavier smiles, eyes twinkling. “You are a sap when you want to be, huh, Forehead?”

Apollo flushes, but finds himself unable to refute that statement at all. Instead of answering, he just grumbles and pulls up another photo, and another, and then they're back to going through the attorney's giant stash of Mikeko candids.

Their little walk down memory lane gets interrupted at the sudden entrance of a new figure at the bar's entrance. Apollo instinctively looks that direction, mostly out of curiosity, but Klavier pats his head back down before he can look too close.

“ Ach, that's our guy,” he whispers, pulling down his own hat. “Don't look that way. Keep him in your peripheral.”

“Uh, got it,” Apollo replies, just as quiet, and pretends to focus on his phone again. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he sees the figure gesture something to the bartender, and vanish behind the door that says Staff Only.

Once he's sure the guy's totally gone, Apollo lets out a held breath. “You were right. Shady as hell.”

“Right?” Klavier mutters back, frowning now. “Why would a gardener at a huge estate come here, of all places? He's not even part of the staff here.”

“He's not? That's just weirder,” Apollo says, feeling oddly anxious all of a sudden. “Honestly, I don't think we can handle this. Shouldn't someone from the precinct be here for this?”

“Trust me, they are,” Klavier tells him, and jerks his head towards one of the occupied stools at the end of the bar.

There sits a young woman with glasses and a bun atop her head. She nurses a drink of her own, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie with her face shadowed over. If Apollo had to guess, she's probably suffered some rejection recently—either the romantic or the academic kind. He can relate to both.

Klavier continues, “Fräulein Detective and her squad have been waiting as well.”

Apollo processes that sentence with the speed of dial-up internet, and does a severe double take when the realisation hits him. Looking again closely with great effort, blinking and squinting, he can now tell that it's definitely Ema sitting there, not just some random woman.

With awe, he mutters, “Wow, she's good.”

“I didn't recognise her myself,” Klavier says, nodding along. “She had to send me a selfie when we walked in and just completely ignored her.”

He gets to see the picture in question, of Ema staring irritatedly down at the camera with a caption of several middle finger emojis. Klavier had sent one thumbs up back.

“You're a menace, Gavin” Apollo remarks under his breath. Then, he adds, “But that's good, right? We don't have to do anything then. Ema and everyone else can handle it.”

“That's the plan, ja,” the other man says, “We just have to sit here and look pretty, Apollo.”

Apollo steels his jaw. Right, they're still doing that whole pretending thing.

He repeats, “You're a menace, Klavier.”

“That's the spirit!” the prosecutor says, “Now, let's go back to being all lovey-dovey and looking at pictures of your girlfriend.”

“Not you too,” Apollo groans, doing his very best to ignore the first part of that sentence. Their viewing of Mikeko's pictures slowly turns into a viewing of pictures of Trucy, and the office, and Clay, and random shit in general. There's even scans of law textbooks that Klavier almost starts quizzing him on.

All that eventually turns into a general talk about Apollo's life. He doesn't talk a lot about his background—given how weirdly complicated it is—but Klavier manages to get some information out of him, like his birthday, and his favorite food, and his hobbies, and such. With how little Apollo shares about his life with most people, it's impressive that Klavier even got that much from him. He asks about school, and university, and his interning, and it all feels so natural that Apollo doesn't even feel awkward talking about his former boss.

It feels like a real date.

He finally takes a sip of that horrendous drink he'd nudged away earlier. It's not alcoholic, yeah, but he needs something to do with his clammy hands right now.

Every so often, Apollo looks over to the Staff Only door and tries to listen for something. He doesn't have super-hearing, or anything, but even he can sense the tell-tale signs of a disagreement happening inside.

His hands curl up from tension. Klavier wordlessly grabs one palm of his, and holds onto it. Apollo lets him.

He eventually turns it back on the prosecutor, asking him about his life. It's only fair, right? Klavier ends up being much more open than Apollo, freely talking about where he grew up and studied, and his dual careers in law and music. He brings up how he's working on a new solo album, and his excitement about it makes Apollo feel slightly better about kind of ruining his band all those months ago.

“It's good,” he says genuinely, after Klavier gives him a little preview of one of his new songs. It's unlike anything the Gavinners produced before. The vocals are soft, and blend well with the acoustic guitar in the back. It sounds like something Klavier recorded at three in the morning, with just him and his instrument and his earnest lyrics.

“Really?” Klavier asks, with a tone that sounds joking and surprised at the same time. “I was under the impression you hated my songs.”

“Your band's songs, yeah, but I like stuff like this,” Apollo says back, and uselessly repeats, “It's good.”

Klavier just smiles wider, at that. Apollo briefly thinks that he looks like an overgrown puppy. “Who knew all it took for a compliment from you was a fake date?”

“Ugh,” he groans, covering his face. Moment ruined. “More like, all it took was making a song that actually sounds like a song—”

Bam!

Apollo nearly jumps, heart soaring to his throat, as the two of them turn around to the source of the noise. The door to the staff area, now wide open, creaks sadly after its impact on the wall. In front of it stands that mysterious witness from before, looking much less put together than when he'd entered.

The attorney prays he isn't about to accidentally stumble upon another crime scene. He shoots Klavier a look that hopefully conveys the what the fuck do we do? on his mind.

Klavier gives back a hesitant smile. “Where were we?”

Message received. Apollo unlocks his phone with a shaky hand, and for the first time in the evening, gets closer to Klavier of his own accord. It doesn't help with the nerves, but at least it adds to their little charade.

While the duo pretend to look at the screen, the shady witness walks back to the bar counter and exchanges some loud, sharp words with the bartender. While Apollo can't make out much of it, it doesn't seem like a pleasant conversation.

“Wait here,” Klavier suddenly whispers, getting up from his seat quietly. He let's go of their clasped hands.

Apollo looks up at him, suddenly terrified. “What, where are you—”

The prosecutor puts a finger over his mouth, and scurries over to the staff room while the other man's busy yelling. He gets in without being noticed, hopefully.

Meanwhile, Apollo just sits there, trying to blend into the booth once again. Maybe if he doesn't move, no one will notice he's there.

His phone buzzes. He opens the text sent his way.

Ema: Where the fuck did he go

He winces and shoots her a brief, apologetic glance, but she's not looking his way at all, instead staring at her phone blankly. It's quite the impressive acting.

Apollo: staff room

Apollo: i take it that wasnt planned??

Ema: NONE of this was planned.

Ema: You especially

Apollo stills. What's that supposed to mean?

He waits for an explanation that never comes, because in the matter of a few seconds, there's a loud crash of a broken glass bottle, a short scuffle at the bar counter, and sound of handcuffs clinking around the witness' wrists.

As Apollo watches the detective recite the man's rights, he only really thinks, Well, that was anticlimactic.

❇          ❇          ❇

The cold bites at his fingers as he waits outside, politely kicked out of the bar by the officers so they can do their jobs. Other patrons who were actually there as real customers shuffle out, too, and walk away with grumbles and complaints. He checks the time again and again, and wonders if he should go home now. The job's done, and all, so…

Ema told him to wait, earlier, so he does.

The front door suddenly opens, and when he looks, Klavier and Ema walk out, both with a tense look on their faces. The detective spots him first, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgement. Before he can do or say back, though, Klavier strides up to him with a worried look, grabbing his shoulders gently.

“Apollo,” he says, as if Apollo’s the one who got hit with the bottle of wine, and not the poor bar counter. “Are you alright?”

In the moment, the attorney barely remembers to repeat his mantra, “I—I'm fine. What's going on?”

“Zum Glück ,” Klavier's own shoulders slump with relief. “We found the missing murder weapon from the case on him. He was planning on handing it off to the owner, but apparently their deal fell apart. I'll have to look into that.”

“Oh, that's… good?” he replies, “Your case is solved then, right?”

Klavier grins. “More or less, ja. This was the missing piece we needed. Though I'm sure you could've solved it straight away if you were on the case.”

Apollo reddens and manages to say nothing back besides a few stuttering words. It would've been nice to be on the same case, mostly because he misses being in court a little. Facing off against Klavier again would've been a refreshing change he would not have minded.

In his head, he curses Mr. Wright and his strange ability to only attract the uncanniest of clients at the uncanniest of times.

“Stop flirting, fop,” Ema cuts in, saving him from having to speak an actual sentence in response. She looks a little more like her usual self now, lab coat donned proudly and a bag of Snackoos in her hand. “Get out of my crime scene.”

“Oh, shit, right,” Apollo mumbles, walking backwards to the street. These two probably have to stick around and investigate the place all over again, but he doesn't have a job to be doing here. He should probably hurry up and call for a ride before his phone dies for good. “Uh, see you guys later.”

There's a tug on his wrist. When he looks up, he finds Klavier holding it.

“Ach , Forehead, where are you going?” the prosecutor asks, pointing with his other hand at the parking. “My bike's that way, remember?”

The younger stops in his tracks. “Aren't you gonna stay here?”

Ema hits Klavier with a Snackoo.

Klavier doesn't even seem to notice it. “What kind of a date would I be if I did that? Come on, I'll drop you back at your place.”

You weren't my real date , Apollo thinks, but doesn't say. He gives Ema a pleading look—prays that maybe she'll explain what her text earlier meant. He wants to know, so badly.

She just shrugs, completely uninterested. “Yeah, whatever. Just show up in the morning, Gavin.” Saying that, she gives said man a glare. “On time.”

Klavier swiftly looks away, with no response. Apollo sees a little flush creep onto his cheeks.

…What the hell is that about?

“Now, shoo.” Ema orders, motioning them to walk away.

The prosecutor obliges immediately, almost dragging Apollo away from the bar's entrance by the wrist. While the attorney gives Ema a weak wave as goodbye, he wonders why Klavier's in such a rush to get away.

“That went well, at least,” Klavier mumbles a few seconds later, as they walk towards the death trap known as his bike. Apollo isn't exactly looking forward to riding it a second time, but he doesn't have much of a choice here. “I am sorry your time got wasted.”

“Not really,” Apollo responds. That bit in the middle where they actually had a conversation that wasn't about law was nice. Talking to Klavier when he wasn't in trial or at a crime scene or being accused of setting his guitar on fire was nice. “I had fun.”

Looking up from the road, he finds Klavier smiling at him with the brightness of a hundred suns. It's a little overwhelming. “That's good. I had fun, too.”

Apollo smiles back, and when his face refuses to stop smiling, he hides it behind the helmet. It promptly falls off when they start riding, though.

❇          ❇          ❇

Under the dim light of the lamps, the two walk all the way over to Apollo's building, chatting idly about what happened at the bar. Klavier offers to walk him to his door, and Apollo—too tired to argue—let's him come along.

“Using hedge shears for murder…” he remarks, when Klavier explains his own understanding of the case. The two step out of the elevator to his floor. “Can't say I've ever heard of that before.”

“It's unconventional, for sure,” the prosecutor replies, “Makes it interesting, though. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Apollo snorts weakly. Of course Klavier would prefer an interesting case over a straightforward one. Weirdo. “Good luck solving it.”

“Danke, Apollo,” he hears the soft, sincere voice from behind him. He doesn't dare turn around, and instead focuses on getting his front door open.

After fumbling with his keys for a bit, he eventually gets the right one. While he does that, he comments, “Sucks that we didn't get to do much today.”

“Ja, sucks,” is the instantaneous reply. Apollo doesn't even need his bracelet to notice the shaky timbre in Klavier's voice just now.

He shoves in the key and unlocks the door, but doesn't open it just yet. “You know, Ema told me something earlier.”

There's the sound of shoes shifting behind him. “And what would that be?”

“She said—” Apollo turns around, finally looking Klavier in the eye. As he predicted, the other looks a little rigid, with a practiced smile on his face. “—that it wasn't planned for me to be there. Weird, right?”

Klavier looks at his feet, dropping the smile. Sighs, like he already knows where this is headed. “She'd be correct on that.”

“Wanna explain?” Apollo asks.

“Well, the plan was just for me to accompany Fräulein Detective, as backup,” Klavier says, still avoiding eye contact. “She said if everything went properly, I probably wouldn’t have to do anything at all. Her way of discouraging me from tagging along, I suppose.”

The attorney crosses his arms.

“I still pushed to come with, you know, just in case,” the explanation continues, “But I thought, if I’m going to be at that bar most likely doing nothing, why not bring someone along?”

“So you asked me,” Apollo says, with a catch in his throat he hopes goes unnoticed.

“Ja, that’s it,” Klavier says, finally looking at him. “And I assume that’s what she meant.”

“Huh,” Apollo starts, and doesn’t know what else to say. He just feels a swirl of confusing emotions in his head. Eventually, he settles on the question he’s had since the start, “Why me?”

The prosecutor flashes him a smile, one that he would’ve bought any other time. “Because I wanted to get to know you better as a friend, Forehead.”

From the corner of his vision, Apollo sees him fiddle with the wallet in his pocket—the same one he’d used to pay for their drinks—just as he says a friend.

Gotcha, Apollo bitterly thinks to himself, and speaks up, “That’s an awful lot more effort than you usually put into these jokes.”

That gets Klavier’s face to fall, a little. “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, I thought you kept it to the leg-pulling after a case. Oh, Herr Forehead, great work in the trial today, let’s go grab some lunch together, this is totally a real offer, ha, ha,” Apollo bites out. Just how many times has this happened, now? “Going all the way to trick me like that… It’s a bit much for a joke, don’t you think?”

What Apollo expects to see on Klavier’s face is resignation—him giving up on whatever lies he’s telling, and an admission that it’s all an elaborate trick. All for a laugh or two.

Instead, what he finds is Klavier looking absolutely crushed.

“That’s what you think I’m doing?” he says, sounding very, very small.

Shit.

Apollo feels his gut plummet at the sight. Suddenly, he’s not so sure anymore. “I—Isn’t it?”

Klavier lets out a dry chuckle, and an unsteady reply. “Nevermind. If that's what you believe—”

Then he starts stepping back, hands shaking as if he's itching to get away. Apollo doesn't even finish processing the words before he instinctively leans forward and grabs the musician's hand to stop him from leaving.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he manages to say, a million questions on his mind. The only one he's able to ask, apparently, is, “What?”

Klavier, understandably, has no answer for a vague query like that. He keeps his head down and does nothing.

He wants to go, that much is clear, but Apollo needs to know what this all means. There's no way he's letting Klavier hightail it out of here after dropping this unexplained thing in his lap.

This might be the only chance he gets.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” he starts, “So, you offering to take me to places all those times wasn't a joke.”

Without looking up, Klavier shakes his head. The bracelet on Apollo's wrist stays eerily still.

“Or a prank,” he quickly adds. It might be good to cover all the bases, after all. What he gets is the same response. “or a dare,”—another shake of the head—“or…”

“Are you always this pessimistic?” Klavier finally says, though it's barely a mumble. Apollo hears it for the quip that it is, and laughs a little.

“Basically, yeah. Kinda have to be,” he responds, “But seriously, what was it, then?”

Silence. Apollo grips Klavier's hand tighter.

“Klavier,” he says.

Said man looks up, at last, and gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm sure you can figure it out yourself.”

Can he, though? Apparently, Apollo's spent whole months thinking Klavier was being superficial in his requests, not once realising he’s wrong. That's just blatant proof that figuring it out is the last thing he can actually do.

Still, he can try, and put that rusty lawyer brain of his to work for once. He lays down all the evidence in his head, and gets to work.

Exhibit one: Klavier seemed surprised at the news of Apollo's girlfriend, at first, like he hadn't expected it at all. He was relieved to hear that it was just a joke.

I was almost worried you were cheating on me, Liebling.

Exhibit two: Klavier went out of his way to drive Apollo back home, though he should've stayed at the bar and investigated. He has a trial to work on, after all.

Just show up in the morning, Gavin. On time.

Exhibit three: Klavier has, on multiple occasions, asked him out to places, over the months they've known each other. Today was the first time Apollo agreed, and only because he thought it was official business.

Because I wanted to get to know you better as a friend, Forehead.

As a friend, he'd said, but that part was the lie. And now that Apollo knows the offers were earnest…

His breath hitches. He looks up. Wait, there's no way he—?

Exhibit four: Klavier stands in front of him, at his door, at the end of their so-called date, cheeks flushed. He looks nervous, like he wants to bolt, because Apollo misunderstood something.

That’s what you think I’m doing?

“Oh,” Apollo mutters. Feels dizzy with the realisation. “Oh.”

“Ja, oh,” Klavier mimics, almost mockingly, “Are you sure you graduated law school, Forehead?”

“Shut up,” he replies, on instinct, before catching himself, “Wait, no— actually, keep talking. Explain this.”

Klavier takes a deep breath and sighs. His next words tumble out like he’s completely given up on the actual facade, for real this time, “I like you, Apollo. There, that’s the explanation.”

Nothing happens. He doesn’t feel the tight grip on his wrist, or spot another hidden tell. Nobody pops up from behind them with a camera, or a phone, or anything. The words hang in the air for a moment, and nothing happens.

“What the fuck,” Apollo eventually says. Something in his stomach makes him feel like laughing, all of a sudden, and so he does. “I’m an idiot.”

That’s certainly an unconventional response to a confession, and the confusion about it shows on the prosecutor’s face. That just makes him laugh harder.

“You know why I kept turning you down?” Apollo tells him, needing to explain his own weird behavior. “It's because I thought you were joking, the entire time. There's no way he wants to take someone like me out for real,” the attorney says, recalling all the times he had that exact thought at Klavier’s offers. “That's what I kept thinking. God, I’m stupid.”

Klavier looks like he doesn’t understand his thought process one bit, which adds up. They wouldn’t be here, if he knew. “Why would I joke about it?”

Apollo gives him a wry smile. His mind flits to State vs. Misham instantly. “I can list a couple reasons.”

What he receives is a serious frown in return. “Ach, let me clarify, then. I was not kidding, not once,” Klavier explains, and looks away, almost timidly. “I always wanted to take you out, you know. Since the day we met.”

Apollo feels the urge to sit down and have a mini-crisis, right there on the floor. Since the day we met. What was it Klavier had said to him, that time in People Park? Something about being used to being inspected by the ladies—

But this is the first time I've felt this way with a man.

“You’re insane,” Apollo blurts out, feeling a little unhinged himself, “That was ages ago! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was trying, if you hadn’t noticed! And you hadn’t,” the other man huffs, “You kept saying no, so I thought you were avoiding me after…”

With a pause, Apollo has the great, belated revelation that he should probably be more aware of how his actions look to others. Hearing that makes him feel like a major capital-A Asshole. “Well, now you know I was just being a dumbass, so…”

Klavier smiles, for real this time, and Apollo almost feels like things are okay, again. Maybe they can laugh about this mess of a conversation, and get to the same wavelength at last, and then Apollo can finally, finally lean in, and—

Just then, he feels the hand still in his grip fidget a little. He blinks. Klavier’s smile turns a little hesitant.

Oh, right. He still hadn’t actually responded to that admission of Klavier’s yet. He should probably do something about that right now—like let him know that he feels the same. Obviously.

Instead, he asks this, “Hey, remember that favor you owe me?”

The prosecutor looks at him blankly for a few seconds, before seeming to remember. “Oh, ja, of course. Money for your girlfriend, wasn't it?”

“I changed my mind,” Apollo swiftly declares, before he has the chance to chicken out. “I want you to take me on a date. A real one.”

Klavier gapes at him for what feels like a decade, before breaking out into the goofiest grin Apollo has ever seen in his life. It might be his new favorite expression on Klavier’s face. Overgrown puppy, indeed. “Consider it done.”

“And don’t make me regret this. Mikeko’s gonna hate me.” Apollo throws in, but he’s smiling too.

“After all the effort of getting here? Never,” Klavier says, towering over him, as usual. “It’s a date, then, Apollo.”

Apollo chooses to do something incredibly stupid, in that instance, because he’s running high on adrenaline and his decision-making skills seem to have disappeared somewhere in the middle of that conversation. He tugs Klavier down by their connected hands, gets on the tip of his toes, and gives the man the briefest, most hurried of kisses on the lips.

He pulls back just as fast, ignoring the rush in his head for the more urgent desire to smack his own face. What the hell was that? Something like that would barely count as a kiss. Ugh, he sucks at this. Apollo wants to walk into the nearest adjacent wall and vanish, immediately. 

“I, uh,” he tries, looking at his shoes. His face is probably warm enough to cook an egg on. Maybe it’s not too late to dash into his apartment and lock himself inside for a week or two.

When he finds the courage to lift his head up, though, he finds Klavier staring at him breathlessly, a furious blush across his face.

I did that? Apollo wonders, and before he can say anything else, the prosecutor leans down and gives him a real, proper kiss, like the ones in the books and the movies, and all. He freezes up, closes his eyes, and lets himself be pulled by the waist.

It’s a nice kiss—far better than his own attempt, at least. Klavier kisses him gently, smiling against his mouth, and Apollo feels his knees go a little weak. He still tastes remnants of the gross drink from the bar, but it’s not as bad when it’s like this.

As Klavier pulls away, a couple seconds later, he does so with an almost competitive grin—not unlike that cocky expression of his when he watches Apollo’s cases fall apart in front of his eyes. It makes Apollo want to do something even more stupid, just to stand up to the contest, but he holds back. What he did was already pretty bold for his standards.

And then, out of nowhere, Klavier pulls Apollo into a warm and tight hug. Apollo nearly squeaks, but manages to hug back a beat later.

“Show off,” he mumbles against Klavier’s chest, “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Very lucky, indeed,” the musician hums back, keeping the attorney in his arms. It’s nice like this, and Apollo doesn’t want to let go yet, but, well—

When Apollo tries to escape, he’s met with a groan of protest. “Come on, it’s getting late. Ema’s gonna kill you tomorrow.”

That gets Klavier to break the hug, not without an even longer grumble of complaint. Apollo guesses he’s terrified enough of the detective’s to not object to it. He has a whole new crime scene and even more evidence to go through tomorrow, after all, and it’s not going to be fun if he wastes his time standing here.

He fixes Klavier’s bangs, and takes a few steps back. “Text me, okay? Let’s plan this.”

The other man nods, with that ridiculous smile back on his face. “Gute Nacht, Herr Forehead.”

“Night, Klavier,” he says back, with a small smile of his own. He walks over to his already-unlocked door, and enters his home. Just as he goes to lock the gate, though, he spots Klavier still there, standing exactly where he was before. That silly grin hasn’t faltered one bit.

“Go home,” he hisses, softly, and closes the door. Klavier’s laughter rings throughout the room inside.

Apollo looks down to find his cat waiting at his feet, almost impatiently. He had unlocked the door much before actually coming in, after all. He crouches down to give Mikeko a scratch behind the ears, but the feline only mewls judgmentally at him, as if he smells betrayal in the air.

“Sorry, buddy,” he says, nearly lost in the lingering sensation on his lips. He’s gonna need a moment to reevaluate his whole life. Several moments, even. “I’ll get you those treats some other way, I promise.”

Mikeko turns away, almost huffy, and Apollo sighs. Can’t please everybody, I suppose.

Just as he stands up again, he feels a jolt from his phone. He checks the notification, and can’t help but grin giddily.

Klavier: Would tomorrow be too soon for that date?

❇          ❇          ❇

When Apollo announces the next day that he's leaving work early, Trucy pauses her practice and chimes in with her usual quip. “Got a date with your girlfriend, Polly?”

He sneakily smiles to himself, and does a mental fistpump. Apollo’s immune to that old joke, now! It won't work on him anymore! His life irreversibly changed yesterday, and Trucy has no idea.

For the first ever time, he deals the reverse blow of the exchange, “Boyfriend, actually, but yeah. See you tomorrow.”

He only manages to catch Trucy's expression warp from smug to shocked, before the Agency's entrance closes firmly shut, and he walks down the stairs as the teenage magician shrieks behind him, already demanding answers.

He’ll deal with Trucy later. Right now, there’s a date with a certain rockstar prosecutor he absolutely needs to get to.