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Apollo has never hated clubs more than he hates them now.
He personally doesn’t see the appeal in surrounding himself with booming music only for the sake of getting drunk in the presence of fellow-inebriated people. And yeah, the place is never going to smell like lovely lavender, but they could at least air the room out so cheap cologne and booze can never again couple in his nostrils. Apollo becomes overwhelmed at sudden loud noises and in crowds—a horrible combination, really. All of that piled onto how he can’t keep a dancing rhythm even when he feels the bass in his bones and, perhaps most importantly, how he doesn’t like to get drunk, no, Apollo is not fond of attending clubs. Let alone as a way to fill his free time.
And yet.
Trucy, that menace, pushed him to do something “normal” 22-year-olds would do. Because apparently the amount of time he spends in the presence of people who may-or-may-not be convicted of murder soon, is abnormal. Trucy, a connoisseur in the etiquette of young adults at the ripe age of 15, insists that he needs to “go out more.”
“Seriously, Polly,” she sticks her tongue out as if it will prove her point. “All you do is boring lawyer things. Get out there! Live a little with people who are your age instead of your case files!”
Apollo rolls his eyes. “I have a job and career, Trucy. Most of the people my age are probably still in college.”
“Which is why you should go to a place where the college kids hang out!”
“You,” Apollo pointed at her accusingly, “are plotting something.”
A cheeky look. “Where did you get that idea?”
“Call it intuition.”
Trucy smiles. Apollo knows that smile. It is way too innocent for its own good. If Apollo were Mr. Wright or Mr. Edgeworth, he’d be doomed. But oh no. Oh hell no. He’ll never fall prey to her unpredictable wiles.
Past Apollo was a chump who had no idea what storm awaited him that weekend. Hurricane Trucy wouldn’t take no for an answer and promptly tore through all his defenses with gusting whirlwinds of begging—constant and annoying, begging.
Thus landing Apollo on the sidelines of a hot and crowded dance floor, the beat thrumming in his ringing ears as he nurses an awful beer in his right hand. A few people had approached him—a very diverse group, he’ll give them that—but hell no. He will not be venturing into the pit of health code violations waiting to happen ever. Apollo does not care how much Trucy will whine about him “still being a boring lawyer man like everyone else in her life.” He’ll take that over the rocking of strangers’ bodies.
Apollo tugs at the loose neck of his red t-shirt. It’s a comfort item he’s had a habit of wearing since his teen years—when he’d first discovered himself but hadn’t told a single soul. Now, it is more the familiarity of the item rather than the shape it offers his body. This shirt, faded and a little ugly, gives him space to breathe and a recognizable texture caressing his shoulders. That’s enough for him.
The ripped jeans, boots, and belt, are no such comfort items and had instead been forced upon him by one Ema Skye—who claimed his style to be “college boy who’s never had his own money moves away from his parents.” Well, excuse him for not caring if he paired a shirt with lime green palm leaves on it and blue checkered shorts. Ema laughed and poked fun at him for a week following her discovery.
Shifting uncomfortably, Apollo decides it is in his best interest to escape for a little bit.
As quickly as he can manage without full-on scrambling, Apollo rushes into a dim lit bathroom with only two stalls and too much graffiti on the walls. And there are…so many dicks. Everywhere he looks there is a phallic symbol composed from the artist’s squeaking sharpie or a set of keys chipping away at the paint.
Apollo’s distaste is immeasurable.
Then come the voices from just outside the bathroom. Two people, maybe male, speak to each other as quietly as they can over the music. Apollo sighs and moves to leave—both the bathroom and the club entirely if he can help it. But the people on the other side of the door have different ideas.
Once he gets close enough, Apollo’s face erupts into a horrified blush when he realizes that the other people are panting in a suggestive manner . His eyes widen. Surely not. Surely he’s not hearing this all go down.
There’s a gasp and then finally a moan that fills Apollo with dread and panic. Without thinking, Apollo fumbles with the lock on the large bathroom door, just in time for a large SLAM of a back being pushed against it. The couple, luckily, is too caught up in their momentary tryst to notice that they haven’t exactly made it into the bathroom. However, that leaves Apollo rooted to his spot, completely trapped within four dick-laden walls.
Apollo has never wanted to disappear more than he does now. He gets as far away from them as he can, which does not land him in a much more desirable position, if he’s honest.
Of course his rare off-night would be spent praying to every god that the lock doesn’t magically come undone thus allowing the amorous couple on the other side to come tumbling in and fucking in the neighboring stall…because why wouldn’t it be? And guess what?! Here he is, curled into himself on the goddamn toilet because he will not stoop to sitting on the bathroom floor or screaming at random strangers! Wow, what a normal night off!
Apollo has a few options available to him, one of which is waiting for the couple to move and then make his escape. However, if the whispered confessions to one another are any indication, he would be here for a while. Or he could wait for the next poor soul who has to use the restroom. Except Apollo had chosen to get as far away from the music as possible and thus chosen a bathroom that isn’t well-trafficked. If strangers can’t rescue him, then that only leaves the people he knows to come get him.
Apollo takes a long shot and messages Ema.
Me:
< please send help
< i’m stuck in a bathroom at a club and idk what to do
Three hair-brained minutes later, he receives the expected response.
Detective Skye:
<image attached>
The picture is of Ema with her knees pulled up to showcase her light purple pajama pants. The flash reflects harshly on her pale cheeks that are littered with Snackoo crumbs. There is a downward pull to her mouth as she casually flips him off with her free hand.
Detective Skye:
< can’t be much help to you sorry
Apollo knows she isn’t sorry.
That leaves Apollo with…nothing. Great. The people who are closest to him are either useless, underage, or his fucking boss. He’d honestly rather crawl on his hands and knees to safety from the sewers instead of calling his last resort but sadly that’s not an option so…shit.
Apollo’s thumb hovers over Klavier Gavin’s contact. He really doesn’t want to do this. Not because he doesn’t trust Prosecutor Gavin—he wouldn’t rather face off against anyone else. Trust is not even a factor. His hesitancy is merely for one simple fact: Klavier is going to be absolutely insufferable about it.
Apollo sends the text before he can think about it any further.
Me:
< hey so I’m kind of stuck in a bathroom at some club Trucy sent me to and I can’t get out
He taps the side of his phone, inside of his lip bitten between his teeth. Afterall, the world famous Klavier Gavin more than likely will be spending his Friday night out with fans or other ridiculously famous people—the chances of him being in a position to help is slim, to say the least.
Immediately, Klavier responds.
Prosecutor Gavin:
< IAM ON MY WAY RIBHT NOW
< *RIGJT
< *RIGHT
< SNED ME THE ADDRESS
< *SEND
< DO NOT MOVE!!!!!! I AM COMIGN
Yeah, Apollo already regrets this. He should have known that Klavier would jump at the chance to play the role of “knight in shining armor.” Well, Apollo isn’t a “damsel” but…
A really loud moan travels through the thick wood.
He is definitely in all sorts of distress.
Apollo sends the address per Klavier’s request.
Prosecutor Gavin
< ;DD <333
< soon
Cryptic, Apollo thinks and wrinkles his nose. He pretends that it doesn’t get a laugh out of him. God, it’s bad enough that Klavier is about to come save him but letting him know that he’d made Apollo laugh? If he’d be insufferable before, he’d be downright unbearable if he found out.
It is exactly 8 minutes later when Apollo hears muffled shuffling from outside.
“Oh! Oops!” A loud, accented voice gasps. “I am so sorry! I did not know you were there!”
Suddenly, the illustrated dick on the wall next to him looks like a wonderful target for him to bash his forehead into. Klavier is so lucky he’s a talented musician; his ego wouldn’t survive a day in an actor’s world. These types of performances clearly are not his forte.
One of the couple mutters something. Klavier hums—he’s getting closer, Apollo can hear.
“Hmm. Can I tell you a secret?” Klavier asks casually.
Apollo scrambles to his feet. What the hell is Klavier doing? Apollo is still trapped! There’s no time for this!
Another undistinguishable utterance from one of the couple.
Apollo can practically hear the way Klavier leans in, hands perched on his hips and sly smile tugging at one corner of his lips. He speaks so softly, Apollo wonders for a moment if he is imagining it, “I am to meet my lover in the room behind you. I do not wish to disrupt you but he is persistent. Perhaps, you could allow this space for the two of us, ja? It has been so long since I have seen him…I would like this time alone with him, if you do not mind it.”
The door rattles in its frame as the couple pushes away from it and Apollo’s heart rattles along with it. He’d just said that Klavier’s acting talents were forfeit when he traded his soul for a guitar but there is something about the soft way he spoke. Apollo cannot place his finger on it—why on earth would Klavier sound so fond when talking about a fake scenario?
A small knock shakes him from his thinking.
“Herr Forehead, your jailors have fled the scene! Please allow your knight to whisk you away,” Klavier whispers close to the door,the tease lilting his voice into a light laugh.
Apollo unlocks it and allows it to swing open on his disapproving stare. “You are not whisking me anywhere.”
Klavier smiles. “Your harsh words do not change the facts, Forehead. I still came to your rescue, did I not?” His hand splays on the door to keep it from shutting in his face.
Apollo does a double take. Klavier has wide palms and calloused fingers, as he always has, but now it seems strange. Seeing his hands on the plain backdrop of wood grain, without his usual adornment of rings, is almost domestic. Very odd for Klavier to be seen without his dozens of accessories. In fact, now that Apollo is paying attention, Klavier is in none of his usual clothing. He’s wearing a black tank top that falls loosely around his shoulders and grey sweatpants. His hair is up in a haphazard low bun, pieces of light hair falling delicately to frame his face.
Apollo isn’t sure what to do with any of this information.
Klavier’s smile widens. “So? Your rescuer to your liking?”
“Weird armor for someone who’s supposedly a knight.” Apollo crosses his arms defiantly. He cannot give Klavier another win tonight. He simply cannot— his pride won’t allow it. “If there had been real danger, you wouldn’t have stood a chance.”
Klavier has the gall to laugh in his face. “I did not have time for proper clothes. Mein liebling needed me and I answered the call right away. He is quite lucky I live nearby, ja?”
“Sure,” Apollo says sarcastically.
“You, Herr Forehead,” Klavier feigns seriousness for a brief moment but cracks when he meets Apollo’s dubious gaze, “you are the worst at saying thank you.”
Apollo puffs his cheeks out and breezes past Klavier into the open air. He gives the hallway a rudimentary once over to ensure that the couple is nowhere in sight. They aren’t—Apollo almost sags in relief. This means, even if he ever ran into those people again, he would live in blissful unawareness that it was them who unintentionally trapped him in a bathroom by grinding up against the wall.
“I honestly wasn’t expecting you to show up,” Apollo says.
This apparently is not to Klavier’s liking. He quickly catches up to Apollo and leans forward to catch his eye as they walk. His smooth features wrinkle in confusion. “I said that I would, why would I not?”
Apollo pointedly ignores the ache in his chest. It’s a reaction that he is used to at this point in his almost-friendship with Klavier. Klavier, despite every stereotype and circumstance that would point to the contrary, is painfully genuine. Genuine in a way that, all things considered, he should not be. It’s a scary and unfamiliar prospect to Apollo—having someone he knows would never intentionally lie to him, even in situations where it shouldn’t matter if a white lie is spilled or not—and Apollo is incredibly suspicious of it. Some people are truthful, like Mr. Wright or Mr. Edgeworth, but it is rare for someone to be so sincere about it. Apollo doesn’t even know Klavier’s tell for god’s sakes.
“You have the whole ‘upholder of the law by day and rock star by night’ shtick,” Apollo states plainly. “I figured you’d be doing the rock star…thing.”
Klavier laughs, light and carefree. “They are difficult jobs individually and doing both at once is certainly double the amount of work. Which is exactly why I take breaks, Herr Forehead. You happened to catch me during one.”
Before Apollo can respond, they enter the club’s main area and Apollo has to resist the urge to cover his ears. The lights are strobing too quickly for it to be comfortable and he cringes, squeezing his eyes shut the best he can. Much to his horror, Klavier catches on.
An arm hovers over his shoulders and a voice sounds right next to his ear. “Is it okay if I lead us out? I’m used to the noise and lights; I will make sure you do not trip.”
Apollo can only nod and the arm falls around his shoulders, tugging him in close. He doesn’t know if it takes them minutes or hours to get out of there. The only memory he has is of a steady warmth guiding him, occasionally leaning down to whisper assurances in his ear. It’s a kind of comfort that threatens to smother him in its grasp and yet, he doesn’t want to be freed from it.
Once they are out in the open night air, Apollo breathes easily for the first time in hours. The sidewalk holds several walking couples but none of them are anywhere near Apollo and that alone is enough for him to want to cry in relief.
Without him noticing, Klavier slipped away and now, is proudly shoving a helmet into Apollo’s limp arms. “Sorry you’ll have to ruin your little rooster feathers, Herr Forehead—” Klavier flicks one of Apollo’s hair spikes with a goofy grin “—but your safety comes first.”
“Safety?” Apollo registers the helmet in his hands and starts. “Wait! No way! I’m not riding on that death trap.”
Klavier is already back on his motorcycle, placing his own helmet on his head. “C’mon, Forehead! We must ride into the sunset like the fairytales say, ja?”
“No. It’s almost midnight, there’s no sunset, and I will not be riding. Thanks for coming but no.”
“Well you cannot walk alone,” Klavier teases. “What if you’re in need of saving again?”
Apollo groans, hiding his face behind the helmet. “Can we stop with the whole rescue thing? It’s over, I’ve had a horrible night, I’m out, I’m going home.”
“You can come home with me,” Klavier says cheekily. Apollo’s face could have burst into flames and it wouldn’t have been much of a temperature difference.
“What?!” Apollo’s voice is too squeaky for his liking.
Klavier laughs and glances away. Something almost sad crosses over his face. “I am messing with you. Please…can I take you home?”
Apollo sighs. In all honesty, he isn’t sure why he’s putting this front up. He doesn’t have a valid reason to be uncomfortable with it because it’s not really the motorcycle that’s the problem. It’s the “getting too close with Klavier Gavin” where the issue arises. Letting a man like Klavier—a man who has been kissed by the sun itself, who has spent too many days wandering around in the darkness and not knowing that the light he sees isn’t anyone but himself— letting him too close is like Apollo asking to be scalded.
But then again…looking at Klavier in his casual clothes, sitting on his bike, with a sad acceptance in his eyes as he prepares for Apollo’s impending denial, Apollo wants nothing more than to ask—beg even—to be scorched into ashes.
“Fine. You can take me home,” Apollo blurts. He doesn’t look at Klavier, makes a point not to as he squishes the helmet onto his head. “Your home…if you’re still offering.”
“Ja!” Klavier nods frantically as Apollo clumsily climbs on the bike behind him. “Ja, that works for me. I can still drive you home later if you’d like, ‘kay?”
Apollo’s affirmative is lost to the revving of the engine. Startled, Apollo lurches forward, throwing his arms around Klavier’s middle. He feels more than he hears Klavier’s chuckle. He shouts over the roaring engine, “I’ll go slow for you…this time!”
Then he flips his visor down and they are taking off down the dark streets. Apollo’s fists clench into the fabric of Klavier’s tank top, chest pressed into Klavier’s back. The wind whips strangely on his arms and the goosebumps that raise there contrast greatly with the warmth Klavier emanates.
Apollo can’t find a better word for Klavier than warm.
“Welcome!” Klavier presents his high-rise apartment with a flourishing excitement Apollo should have expected from the man. It’s…much smaller than Apollo would have imagined. Or maybe it feels smaller than it actually is because of the sheer amount of stuff that’s packed in the space. It’s not disorganized or in much disarray, simply a complex arrangement of an amount of stuff that may or may not be excessive? Apollo pictured minimalist and sleek design but, in reality, it is quite cozy.
Klavier spreads out his arms and turns to him with a wide prideful smile. A piece of hair is slipping from his bun, tickling at his collarbones. Apollo’s hand twitches. He does his best to rid the strain from his smile.
“Nice place,” he says lamely.
Klavier isn’t deterred in the slightest, nodding along with enthusiasm. “Danke! Let me pick up a few things. I was doing some exercises before you called.”
No, Apollo will not allow his mind to picture a sweaty Klavier lifting weights in that loose black tank top. He won’t.
“You, uh, work out?” Apollo is not helping his own case.
Klavier starts picking up some objects from the coffee table in his living room. He winks at Apollo over his shoulder. “Can you tell?”
Apollo’s mind blanks. Uh…
Klavier laughs, setting the objects to the side. “I do workout, yes, but I also have exercises for my wrist I have to do occasionally.”
“Oh,” Apollo latches on to the chance to change the subject. “Did you hurt yourself in concert or something?”
Klavier doesn’t answer immediately, choosing to flop onto his faded red couch and patting the cushion next to him. Apollo is much more careful when he sits down—an appropriate amount of space between them for coworkers. “I didn’t hurt myself recently or have an accident really.” He sets his wrist gently next to him. “Practicing guitar for hours at a time for years on end can take their toll if you aren’t careful. I have to at least have enough strength to object to your silly notions in court too, right?”
Apollo snorts, crossing his arms. Not to rid himself of the temptation to caress Klavier’s exposed inner wrist—he’s putting up an annoyed front, nothing unusual. “I’m the one with silly notions and ideas? You have plenty of those.”
“Oh?” Klavier’s smile turns lopsided.
He’s the most infuriating person in the world. Apollo wishes he liked someone else.
“Yeah! Earlier tonight you felt the need to tell that couple we’re lovers so they’d leave. You could’ve just…” Apollo trails at Klavier’s panicked expression.
Klavier starts to shift away. “You heard that, did you?”
Shit, why does Klavier seem upset? Apollo bites the inside of his cheek. “Yeah but it’s…fine. I don’t mind.”
“You don’t?”
Their gazes meet and Klavier’s eyes are so full of surprise with a dash of palpable hope that Apollo is overwhelmed. He’s never seen Klavier look like that.
Apollo licks his dry lips and oh shit did Klavier watch him do that? “No, I really don’t.”
Klavier’s hand reaches, barely brushing Apollo’s bare forearm. And yeah, Klavier is definitely staring at his lips now and he doesn’t even look up when he asks, “Would you mind if I…?”
Apollo will look back on this moment and realize that a flurry of thoughts and emotions flew in every single direction they could all at once. What led him to his ultimate decision isn’t something that he can explain and it definitely isn’t one that happened as sporadically as it might have seemed to Klavier. However, Apollo would be lying through his teeth if he didn’t say he’d been thinking about what it would be like to kiss Klavier for months now.
Inhibitions at a record low, Apollo decides officially that yeah, fuck it, and whispers, “Please.”
Klavier obliges and the two of them meet in the middle, lips connecting softly as Apollo’s mind cries out in both alarm and relief. Apollo is certainly going to burn. It will be worth it, he thinks.
The hand on his forearm squeezes, their shoulders are pressed flush against one another as they tentatively try to find a rhythm. Klavier is so tender Apollo could burst into tiny little pieces on his plush white carpet. He kisses exactly how Apollo feared he would—his heart bared and open and too vulnerable to be placed into Apollo’s coarse palms. It’s addictive, trusting and being trusted. And Klavier is the exact embodiment of that fact.
Apollo blindly reaches with his other hand, grazing the pad of his thumb over Klavier’s cheekbone and tucking away that stray blond hair he’d been staring at minutes before. He opens his mouth wider as a silent invitation and Klavier responds in kind. Klavier’s other hand lands on Apollo’s waist, fingers curling around his body until it’s flattened against his back.
Their weight shifts, both of them attempting to close the space even further as they explore each other with their hands and mouths. Apollo swings his far leg over Klavier’s, straddling his lap without breaking their kiss. Even sitting as tall as he can, Apollo barely manages to find the angle he’d been aiming for, him slightly above Klavier as he slips his tongue over Apollo’s lips.
One of Apollo’s palms comfortably clutches at Klavier’s bare bicep and shit, yeah, he wasn’t lying about working out. His other hand is busy tangling around Klavier’s hair at the base of his skull. A shaky sigh erupts from Klavier’s throat and Apollo’s heart threatens to combust on the spot.
Fuck, if Klavier is going to willingly place his beating heart in Apollo’s care, Apollo is going to tend to it and protect it like no one else can. Because it’s Apollo’s job now. Whether it will be in the future, he doesn’t know but that doesn’t matter. It can’t matter when Klavier is here, warm and pliant beneath Apollo’s greedy hands and lips.
The lack of oxygen is beginning to make him dizzy. But the last thing Apollo wants to do is separate and for Klavier to take it all back. Would he do that? He can’t imagine it happening but ‘what ifs’ are the most deadly form of thought.
He isn’t sure who pulled away first but the next thing Apollo knows, he’s staring into Klavier’s wide eyes and panting into his kiss-bitten mouth.
“Uh,” Apollo says eloquently.
Klavier grins and throws his head back in laughter. Apollo eyes the column of his throat with a newfound appreciation and fondness bubbling in his chest. “I like you a lot, Herr Forehead.”
Apollo’s pulse stutters but he’s smiling too. “Yeah, I figured.”
“Still being so mean to me!” Klavier lifts his head back up, hands settling gently at Apollo’s waist.
“Only when you’re being an idiot or sappy…or a sappy idiot.” Apollo pats Klavier’s cheek, the condescending action paled by his own soft smile.
Klavier places another soft kiss on Apollo’s lips. “So you do like me too?”
“What do you think?” Apollo says sarcastically.
“I want to hear it,” Klavier pouts, nuzzling his nose against Apollo’s cheek. “Please?”
Apollo rolls his eyes but still wraps his arms around Klavier’s shoulders and whispers to him, “I like you too.”
“Mm,” Klavier hums. “What do you say about dating me, Herr Forehead? Think you can handle it?”
Apollo barely holds in a chuckle. “I should be asking you the same. That means you’ll have to be at my beck and call to get me from bathroom stalls whenever I want.”
Klavier laughs outright. “I can take it! I will be your knight in leather pants, Liebling, don’t worry.”
“In that case, it sounds like dating you won’t be so bad—"
“Great!” Klavier is much too loud when he says this. “Now I get to spend my free weekend kissing my boyfriend.”
Apollo’s face turns red in embarrassment but then Klavier is kissing him with an enthusiasm Apollo has to race to match.
He’ll have hell to pay in the morning when he sees the dozens of messages from Trucy. But, he supposes, that has nothing to do with Klavier’s lips, so for the moment he doesn’t care.
He doesn’t care in the slightest.