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Apollo’s never been one for Valentine’s Day.
Sure, he’s broke, and pedantic, and maybe a little too single for comfort, yet he believes, in his honest opinion, that Valentine’s Day is all but a consumerism-friendly twenty-four hour period for teenagers to confess their undying loves, for people to spend unreasonable amounts on flowers, chocolates and whatnot, and for lonely people to throw rocks at other not-so-lonely people.
Yeah, it’s the singleness getting to him.
All of this changes, however, when a fancy-looking lavender envelope finds its way to his desk.
Along with a rose. Or two. Or fifteen.
Athena peers over, looking at the obnoxiously large bouquet.
“Uh,” she points out rather unhelpfully, “there’s a very large bunch of roses on your table.”
“No duh,” Apollo lifts them up with one hand, waving them at Athena. “What am I supposed to even do with these?”
“I don’t know,” the younger defense attorney shrugs. “Put the petals in your bath? Admire them from a distance? Pluck the flowers and play he loves me, he loves me not?”
Apollo sighs, walking over to look for Trucy. He’s fairly sure she can pull out a vase from that magical, limitless little hat of hers. Or her purse. Girls’ purses and their capacities remain a mystery to him.
“Trucy?” he peers over from the top of the bouquet. “I might need you to help me with something.”
“Mhm? Oh, hey, Polly,” Trucy gives him a little wave. “I didn’t recognise you because of the flowers in front of your face. What do you need?"
“I need a vase for these,” he huffs, setting them down. “You got one?”
“Yeah, one minute!” Trucy digs around at the bottom of her hat, pulling a slender vase out with a flourish. Apollo takes it, carefully filling it up with water and placing the stalks in it, before setting the vase down near his desk.
“So,” Trucy pops up next to him. Apollo bites his fist, holding back a high-pitched scream.
“How do you do that?!”
“Magic,” she shrugs. “So. Who do you think sent these?” she nods at the vase, clapping her hands together.
“No clue,” Apollo’s bangs (horns?) droop, as he looks to the side. “Who would send me them, anyway?”
“Open the letter, you dummy! There might be clues!”
Apollo gingerly peels off the tacky, heart-shaped seal to the envelope, unfolding the paper and scanning through its contents. Perfect penmanship adorns the thick, yellowed paper, cursive words spelling out a…
“Love letter,” Apollo finishes.
Dear Apollo,
I’ve known you for a while now, and admittedly, I’ve harboured some… feelings for you since we first met. Your charisma, your courage, your determination, and most importantly, your kindness have inspired me, and made me a better person. And, yes, you look stunning, beautiful, absolutely perfect. Living up to the name of the Greek god, I see… But I digress. I’ve confessed my love for you through this letter because, unfortunately, I know I wouldn’t stand a chance with you. You’re far too amazing, and if you knew who I was… that wouldn’t end well, I think.
Happy Valentine’s, once again.
Sincerely, me.
Trucy screeches, shaking Apollo as she finishes reading up the last few lines.
“Polly, you have a secret admirer!” she gently throttles Apollo, who chokes out a soft warning of “Trucy- can’t breathe-”, before she lets him go. “Do you know what this means?”
Apollo cocks his head to the side slightly. “Uh… no?”
“It means, lover boy,” she ignores his protests to not call him that, thank you very much, “that we’ve gotta find out who this is! It could be anyone! It could even be…” Trucy grins, and Apollo mentally considers the possibility that she’s sugar-buzzed or delusional at this point, “Prosecutor Gavin. Huh? What do you think?”
“I doubt it’s him,” Apollo hedges. He knows he’d never stand a chance with Klavier. And yes, he kind of, sort of, maybe likes Klavier. Well, sue him. (Don’t really, though, he’s a little broke.) “Wouldn’t he go all out on a public confession?”
“You never know,” Trucy wiggles her fingers. “He could be a romantic at heart.”
“He has a heart? I thought he was just glitter.”
“Ach, Apollo!” Trucy gasps, imitating Klavier. “How you wound me so.”
“One, that’s a really bad German accent. Two, I was joking, calm down. He could help me find out who sent it, though,” Apollo turns the envelope over. Unsurprisingly, there wasn’t an address provided, meaning it was probably hand-delivered to the Agency. “He has connections.”
“Well, go talk to him, then!” Trucy pushes him out the door, steering him away. “Find your true love!”
“Don’t say that.”
“You’re such a spoilsport,” Trucy frowns, and Apollo laughs, ruffling her head before leaving the Agency.
This’ll be easy, right?
Wrong. It’s not so easy to find an anonymous Valentine, Apollo learns that day.
He climbs up the stairs to the Prosecutors’ Office, beat-up red Converses skidding on the tiles as he runs down the halls, stopping to catch his breath outside Klavier’s door and knocking once, twice, thrice, before the door opens, Klavier’s warm gaze meeting his.
“Hallo, Herr Forehead!” he beams, flicking Apollo’s horns as the man in question grumbles about the unfortunate nickname. “Do come in.” Klavier pulls the door open, holding it, and Apollo nods, walking in and taking a seat. Pulling up his own chair, Klavier swivels, turning to face Apollo.
“So, what is it you require?”
Apollo slams the envelope on the table, hoping he looks like a noir detective, or a bad cop.
(In reality, he looks a little more like a Karen, and also slams his hand on the table, not-so-subtly wincing as he cradles his injured fist.)
“I want to know who wrote this letter. Do you know anyone who could have done so?”
“Ach, unfortunately my hands are tied,” Klavier raises his untied arms, and wow, Apollo realises, his German accent really is that bad. “I don’t know who would have sent this letter to you, but I’d be happy to assist,” he imperceptibly begins to fiddle with a ring.
Apollo’s bracelet tightens.
“Klavier,” he prompts slowly, “I’m going to need you to repeat that again.”
“I said, I don’t know who would have sent this letter to you, but-”
“Gotcha!” Apollo yells, pointing towards Klavier and almost booping his nose in the process. Klavier flinches visibly.
“You’re a little loud, Forehead,” Klavier winces, rubbing his ears.
“And you’re avoiding the topic. Badly. You usually fidget with your rings, or your hair, when you're not telling the complete truth. But why would you lie about this? Who did it? Was it Ema? Was it an intern? Was it, and I say this with dead seriousness, Director Hickfield?”
“Nein, nein, and eugh,” Klavier shudders. “I’d have filed a case if it was the last.”
“Thank god. It was worth a shot asking, though,” Apollo recoils, quickly recovering. “Then who is it? Why are you lying to me?”
“Look, I wouldn’t know who’d have written to you confessing their undying feelings on quality scented parchment paper, or something,” Klavier quips, placing his hands back on his knees. “I’m sorry, Apollo.”
“Wait,” Apollo holds a finger up. “How did you know it was parchment paper? It could’ve been anything, and you wouldn’t have known, unless…” Apollo picks up a document from Klavier’s desk, analysing the handwriting.
“...It’s the same,” he places it back down. “Which means…”
“Ja,” Klavier confesses. “I wrote it. I was your secret love, Herr Justice. Now go on, reject me, and spare me of my burde-”
Klavier’s cut off by Apollo yanking him forward by his Gavinners necklace, and pressing his lips against his.
He freezes, feeling Apollo kiss him briefly, breathing in Apollo’s smell of strawberries, dollar store deodorant, and something Klavier just can’t place that drives him wild, before Apollo pulls away.
“You doof,” Apollo laughs, mirth bouncing off the office walls. “All this time, I thought I was the one out of your league, what with your fame, and your pursuit of justice, and your,” Apollo makes a vague gesture, “I don’t know. You’re just so kind, and passionate, and… and pretty, I guess, that I thought you’d never fall for someone like me. Someone so ordinary. Someone who shops for all his stuff at cheaper convenience stores, and feeds his cat premium kibble, and gels his hair every morning as he screams into a mirror about how he’s fine, gosh damnit.”
“You say that as if you being you, ” Klavier tilts Apollo’s chin up with a gentle finger, “isn’t why I love you. Apollo, I love you for who you are, I really do, and if you’ll let me,” he laces his free hand with Apollo’s, “could I take you out on a date? And maybe more dates after that?”
And oh, Apollo’s really blushing fiercely now, and he has to look away.
“You sap,” he pushes Klavier’s chest, pouting, and Klavier moves closer to hold him in his arms. “Of course you can.”
“So, does this mean we’re boyfriends now?” Klavier asks, pressing a kiss to Apollo’s cheek, his nose, his forehead, between his eyebrows-
Apollo pulls him into another kiss. And another. And another.
“Yeah,” he whispers, voice low as he kisses Klavier once more. “I guess it does.”
Apollo and Klavier decide to keep it under wraps for a while, but they eventually do tell the Wright Anything Agency, Apollo's head resting in the crook of Klavier's neck as they tell the girls and Phoenix, who demand to know every little detail.
When Trucy finds out? She’s beyond ecstatic, both because of being (W)right, and because, quoted word for word, "Polly's not a single old man anymore!", pulling both Apollo and Klavier into a hug and declaring the latter an honorary Agency member. She gives Klavier a mini shovel talk too, warning him to "never, ever, ever break Polly's heart!"
"I won't, Fräulein Wright," Klavier snickers. "I promise, cross mein heart and hope to die."
Watching Klavier and Trucy banter, Apollo smiles.
And well, call it the work of Cupid or call it fate, he's happy it ends this way, with Klavier’s hand in his.