Archive of Our Own

Apollo chains his bike against the ornate, expensive gate surrounding the mansion he’s been invited to. Before he even enters, he can hear the distinct white noise of a large fountain, probably surrounded by an expanse of lush gardens, and he feels inadequate already. He’s sure that Klavier had only the best of intentions in inviting him to his bachelor party, but Apollo has never been very good with socialising, let alone with the rich and famous; he can just about manage polite conversation with his own coworkers, and that’s on a good day. Suddenly, he feels the anxious compulsion to triple-check the invite he had received from Klavier weeks ago, but the address is correct—he’s at the right place.

The rest of the page is for his eyes only, apparently. While most bachelor parties, at least in Apollo’s very limited knowledge, involve cheap shots and strippers, Klavier has decided to take the unconventional route of inviting his and Daryan’s guests to a murder mystery night. They must have spared no expense, either, because they’ve hired out a whole mansion on Airbnb to play host to their guests, and have instructed everyone to come in costume according to the role on their invite. For Apollo, this means that he must dress as the eccentric, oddball detective named on the card as Herlock Sholmes. He can’t imagine that Daryan was particularly happy at the choice of venue or entertainment, but Apollo never liked the guy back when he suspected him—for all of one day—of a murder that took place last year at the Gavinners concert. For once, his gut feeling had been wrong, but only about the crime; Daryan as a person still leaves a bad taste in his mouth. And Apollo doesn’t feel bad that he’s probably going to spend the entire night grumbling about how he’d rather be at a club somewhere, because come on —the guy gets to marry Klavier fucking Gavin, he’s already punching far above his weight and should just shut up and get on with Klavier’s whimsical fantasy ideas like everyone else does.

The gravel of the long driveway crunches underneath his shoes as he takes a deep breath and continues walking up to the mansion. He’s carrying the bottle of red wine he bought earlier today, at a price level just above cheap battery acid wine, and he’s still clutching his ticket as though part of him is scared he’ll be denied entry.

When he knocks on the door, it only takes half a minute for it to open, and he sees Ema. He’s never really considered her outside of work before, but she actually looks quite nice in a red dress that she probably fished out of her closet from her high school prom years ago; she’s got a glass of something that Apollo suspects isn’t water in her hand, and a fake, 1920s style cigarette holder between her fingers.

Suddenly, he feels very underdressed in his DIY coffee-aged shirt and deerstalker hat.

“Come in,” Ema rolls her eyes. “There’s been a change of plans.”

“Oh?”

“The fop’s just through there. He’s on his second glass of wine and it isn’t pretty. I’ve done my part for the past half hour. You’re on babysitting duty now.”

Walking through into the grand lounge, Apollo sees Klavier draped across a chaise longue, wearing an open-collared suit shirt and deep purple trousers. There’s a patch of dark red across his stomach, right above his heart, and for a moment, Apollo forgets that he’s at a murder mystery party and drops to his knees next to the seat. He catches himself just before he attempts to stem the bleeding, remembering that it’s most likely fake—a reality which is confirmed the moment Klavier takes a deep gulp of his white wine and sighs.

“Hallo, Herr Forehead. Sorry to let you down.”

“What?”

“Party’s cancelled.”

“W-What? Did something happen?”

“Oh, no. Everything’s fine,” Klavier whines. “I’m just being dramatic, apparently.”

Apollo glances over at Ema, rolling his eyes as she shrugs, holds her hands up, and mouths ‘nothing to do with me’.

“Who said you were being dramatic?”

“Daryan.”

“What? Where is he?”

“Certainly not here,” Klavier sits up. “I got a text from him half an hour before we were supposed to meet here and set things up. Apparently a perfectly planned murder mystery night ‘isn’t his vibe,’ and he’s hired out a private club and a bunch of dancers to ‘celebrate properly.’”

“That’s shitty,” Apollo says. “I’m sorry.”

“And I ruined a good suit with all this fake blood for nothing.”

“We can still do the murder mystery without him, right? I mean, it’s his loss.”

“Not likely,” Klavier turns his face away from Apollo. “Apparently the rest of the band and pretty much all of the guests except you and Fräulein Scarlet would rather be there than here.”

“Miss Scarlet?” Apollo questions.

“That’s me,” Ema chimes in. “I even fished out Lana’s old prom dress for the role.”

Ah, so Apollo was half right.

“Hold on a sec, yeah?” Apollo awkwardly pats Klavier on the shoulder and stands up, beckoning for Ema to follow him to the hallway. She does so, and he closes the door behind them for privacy.

“He’s seriously going to marry that guy?” He says in a hushed whisper.

“I guess so,” Ema replies, taking another sip of what Apollo realises now is straight vodka. “I’m not getting involved in his love life. I only came to this thing because he said he’d pay me overtime.”

“God, please tell me you haven’t told him that tonight.”

“Christ, Apollo, I’m not that tactless. But… it’s awkward though, right? The poor guy doesn’t have any friends.”

“That’s not true. He’s got me. And he’s got you, even if you won’t admit it.”

Ema tries to hide her slight smile with a shake of her head. “Yeah, I guess you’re right there. I think he’s annoying as hell, but I hate seeing him upset like this. But what do we do?”

“I didn’t think forensic fangirl Ema Skye would want to leave a murder unsolved.”

“What?”

“It’s a murder mystery party, you idiot. Keep up.” Apollo says. “It doesn’t matter if there’s thirty of us or just three. We can still make sure he has a fun bachelor party.”

“Isn’t that a bit… weird? How are we going to solve anything without all of the guests here?”

“You realise we’re talking about Klavier Gavin, right? He’s probably got a folder of all the evidence for cross-checking to make sure that nobody is cheating. And if he invited you, he’s definitely found a way to stash some fake fingerprints around the house.”

At this, Ema perks up. “You’ve got a point there.”

“You’re so easily won over.” Apollo smirks. “So we’re decided, then?”

“I guess so. It beats listening to the fop whine.”

“Right then. Who’s his character supposed to be?”

“Some guy called Corey Purse. It took me a few seconds to realise but… corpse. How stupid is that?” Ema smiles. “Can you imagine if we had to deal with a murder like that?”

“Yeah. Or something like…” Apollo thinks. “…Homie Side?”

“Or Deid Mann!” Ema laughs. 

“You know, if you ever retire from the detective business, you’d make a killing writing murder mysteries.”

“I get enough of that at work, thank you very much.”

“C’mon. Let’s cheer the poor guy up,” Apollo gestures with his head towards the door to the lounge.

Taking a deep breath, he opens the door and sees that Klavier is in the same position as before, the glass of wine almost empty now.

“Oh my god,” he says in his best fake-British accent. “There’s been a murder! This calls for the finest detective of Scotland Yard, Herlock Sholmes!”

Ema, still standing in the doorway, crosses her arms and coughs to get his attention.

“And of course,” Apollo continues. “I couldn’t do it without the plucky young woman who helps me out, Miss Scarlet!”

While Ema mouths ‘I’ll kill you,’ in Apollo’s general direction, Klavier sits up in confusion. Breaking character only slightly, Apollo smirks at him.

“If only there was a neatly organised document of all the evidence somewhere in this very room!” Apollo raises a hand to his forehead and fake-sighs.

“Over there,” Klavier whispers, pointing to the top drawer of a wooden writing desk. 

Ema enters the room fully and locates the folder, brandishing it like a trophy and waving it in Apollo’s face. “So much for a Great Detective,” she scoffs. “You’d be nothing without the plucky young woman who helps you out.”

Taking the folder, Apollo opens it to find, as expected, neatly organised evidence. There’s a list of written clues, as well as a chart of fingerprints that correspond to each of the characters; by the looks of it, there should have been ten more people here, making a total of thirteen people including Klavier and Daryan themselves. The fact that so many people could have banded together to let Klavier down breaks Apollo’s heart a little, but he maintains his composure and rifles through the pages.

“How intriguing,” he says, still trying to keep up the British accent. “It seems as though most of the suspects have fled the scene after giving their testimony. But no bother! Nothing is too confusing for a Great Detective!”

“And—” Ema starts.

“And the plucky young woman who helps him out, of course,” Klavier smiles a little.

“I’m going to let that slide because you cried for half an hour,” she says. “But one more misogynistic comment like that and this might turn into a real murder scene.”

“Duly noted, Fräu Scarlet.”

“What we know so far is that the body was discovered in the lounge,” Apollo says. “And appears to have been shot from a distance.”

“Actually, according to the updated autopsy report I’ve just found,” Ema adds. “Traces of gunpowder residue were found surrounding the wound.”

“Alright, smartass.”

“Ahem.”

“I mean, uh, thank you, plucky young woman Miss Scarlet, for that intriguing observation that I could not have made without the updated autopsy report that you so wantonly kept from me. Either way, the murderer had to have been in the mansion at the time of the murder if the victim was shot at close range.”

Ema lifts up Klavier’s arm as if she’s holding a particularly strange piece of evidence. “His watch is broken. And look—there’s a bullet sticking out of it. Damn, Klavier, how much did you spend on all this evidence?”

“I’m not Klavier,” Klavier says. “I’m Corey. And I’m dead, remember?”

“Yeah, Ema, keep character,” Apollo rolls his eyes.

“You too, Herr Forehead. You’re supposed to be the Great Detective Herlock Sholmes.”

“Herlock Sholmes has a normal sized forehead, so I don’t know where that nickname is coming from, unless you’re breaking character too.”

“Not this one,” Klavier smirks. “This Sholmes has a fivehead.”

“Fine, fine,” Apollo holds his hands up. “Miss Scarlet, what time was the watch broken at?”

“Five thirty, sir. Right on the dot.”

“Alright, so that rules out Colonel Ketchup, who, according to the testimony of Professor Strawberry, was in the gardens from five until six.”

“Maybe we can rule out more suspects if we dust for fingerprints?” Ema says, her wide smile betraying the fact that she simply can’t wait any longer to bust out the white powder she’s clutching in her hands. Apollo rolls his eyes and nods, and she gets to work instantly, dusting around the fireplace and the desk intently. While she works, Apollo subtly refills Klavier’s wine glass and pours one for himself, too.

“You doing alright?” He whispers.

“Better than I expected,” Klavier smiles. “Apart from the whole being dead thing.”

“Y’know, for what it’s worth, I think you planned a brilliant murder mystery. I’m having the time of my life.”

“It took a while to set up. I commissioned props and everything. It’s a shame, really.”

“It’s everyone else’s loss. I think this is brilliant. And Ema’s obviously enjoying herself,” he nods to her while she excitedly holds up an impression of a fingerprint to the light.

“Ach, she must have found something. I suppose I’ll go back to being a corpse.”

“Not so fast, mister. We might just have to channel you for evidence. Or you could come back as a ghost. Your choice. Take the artistic lead.”

Klavier laughs a little, hiding his mouth with his hand while he does so, and then goes back to playing dead on the chaise longue. Ema runs over to Apollo, snatching the folder of evidence from the ground; she compares the fingerprint impression to the chart of characters and then slams her hand down on the ground.

“Reverend Blue was in the lounge at some point!”

“Well, yeah,” Apollo looks at the list of clues. “He was conducting a sermon just this afternoon. It’s not impossible to deduct that he left a fingerprint or two behind.”

“Aha! But look here, at the profiles in the Court Record! Reverend Blue wears special ceremonial gloves for his sermons! How could he have left fingerprints?”

“I see, I see,” Apollo lays the British accent on thickly. “But that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, does it now, my plucky young assistant Miss Scarlet? Why would he take his gloves off to murder someone?”

“Maybe he wanted to be caught.”

“Not likely. I think we are looking at a classic case of a framed suspect. Which begs the question, my good woman: who would want to frame Reverend Blue for murder?”

“Now that, I don’t know.”

“I think I have an idea of how to advance the case,” Apollo says, subtly nudging Klavier. 

As dramatic as ever, Klavier rises from the chaise longue in a traditional Frankenstein pose, with his arms outstretched in front of him.

“I ammm the ghostttttt of Coreyyyyy Purseeee,” he says, his voice spectral and raspy. “Andddddd I come bearing evidenceeee.”

“A ghost! How fascinating!” Apollo says. “Do tell us, my good fellow, who murdered you?”

“I do not knowwwww,” Klavier says, rolling his head back and forth for dramatic effect. “But I can telllll you thisssss… Reverend Blue is innocentttt. And my murderrrrrr was not premeditatedddd before this eveningggg.”

“Interesting,” Ema says. “So it was a crime of passion.”

“Not necessarily,” Apollo counters, rifling through the pages of evidence. “It’s possible that the murderer didn’t have a grudge against our victim, but against Reverend Blue. Let’s have a look around and see if we can find anything that could work as a motive.”

Ema and Apollo search the room for the clues that Klavier must have hidden, and every so often, Apollo glances over to see that Klavier is smiling an awful lot for a guy who is supposed to be playing dead. Eventually, they find an old fashioned tape recorder glued to the underside of the writing desk, and it only takes a few seconds to wind it back and click play.

On it, there’s the pre-recorded sermon of Reverend Blue, who is evidently just Klavier talking in an American accent. The sermon talks about the cardinal sin of stealing, and feels both cheesy and gratuitous, as if Klavier hadn’t trusted his guests to pick up on more subtle pieces of evidence. When the recording ends, Apollo sees that Klavier is smirking at his own performance.

“Hold on,” Ema says. “Hand me those profiles.”

Apollo passes the folder to her, and she reads for a moment, before pointing her finger into the air in a real Eureka! moment as she brandishes the file in front of him.

“Lord Shark,” she says. “He came into a strange fortune recently.”

“Yeah?” Apollo says.

“Well, what if he didn’t get it through legal means?”

“How can we be sure?”

“Let’s just ask the victim. He looks like he’s itching to perform again. Yo, Corey, come back from the dead for a moment.”

Klavier sits up in the same Frankenstein-esque style again. “Jaaaaa,” he says. “I am hereeee.”

“Did someone steal money from you recently?”

“I lostttt five hundreddd thousanddd dollarsssss… butttt I do not know howwww.”

“I see!” Apollo says. “I’ve cracked the case!”

“Uh, don’t you mean I cracked it?” Ema says.

“Nonsense! The victory of a Great Detective’s assistant is the victory of a Great Detective!”

“You are so dead after this.”

“Anyway,” Apollo ignores her. “I propose that Lord Shark stole five hundred thousand dollars from Corey Purse, and would have gotten away from it were it not for Reverend Blue figuring it out. Being a man of God, he wanted to direct Corey into a confession through his sermon on stealing, but Lord Shark must have panicked. He tried to tie up both loose ends by murdering Corey Purse and framing Reverend Blue for the murder. So, are we right?”

“Ding ding ding,” Klavier says. “Correct. It would have been a longer murder mystery if everyone showed up. Nobody was supposed to see the written evidence. I even gave everyone their own statements on their invitations so that we could figure out the mystery more organically.”

“It was fun, though. And really creative. I’d say they all missed a real treat.”

“Now we’ve done that,” Ema says. “Does anyone mind if I go pour myself another vodka?”

“Go ahead,” Klavier smiles. “I stocked the kitchen well.”

Ema leaves the room, and Apollo sits down on the floor, resting his back against the chaise longue. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says. “I really did have fun.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I love a good murder mystery when it’s not, y’know, real.”

“I figured it’d be a good bachelor party idea. Most of the guests are involved with the law somehow. It sucks that they’d rather get drunk in some club.”

“I can think of nothing worse. Why have cheap shots and overpriced wine when I can drink Walmart’s finest while dressed as an old-timey detective?”

“If you want something that doesn’t taste like battery acid, there’s a nice Riesling in the kitchen.”

“I’m fine with this. But thank you.”

Klavier sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. He nudges Apollo slightly, and then gets off the chaise longue entirely and joins him on the floor.

“Can I tell you a secret?” He says.

“Go on.”

“I don’t really want to marry Daryan.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a publicity thing. Don’t tell anyone, but the Gavinners are breaking up. Our manager thought it’d get us more favour in the public eye if Daryan and I got married and said that the band breakup was because we’re moving onto the next stage of our lives.”

“And what’s the actual reason?”

“I decided to disband it. I probably should have asked the others first—that’s why they’ve all gone to Daryan’s stupid little club thing. They’re mad at me. But I just can’t do it any more.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not real, Apollo. It’s a fake little band where we sing songs about the law like we’re not all disillusioned with the entire system. And I hate it. I just… I couldn’t continue like that. So I decided to leave it.”

“And I suppose that without the face of the Gavinners, there’s no band, right?”

“Exactly. So I’m not mad at Daryan.” Klavier pauses. “No—that’s a lie. I’m mad at him. I hate him. He stood me up at our bachelor party just to hurt me. And tomorrow, I’m going to have to stand at the altar and say I love him more than anything.”

“And do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you love him more than anything?” Apollo asks.

“I don’t love him at all.”

“Then why are you marrying him?”

“Because I have to,” Klavier takes a large sip of wine. “If I don’t, then we’ll just disband the Gavinners and everyone will hate me for it.”

“You’d really rather get trapped in an unhappy marriage just so a bunch of fangirls you don’t even know will like you until the newest trend rolls around?”

“I… I don’t know. But I don’t want to be irrelevant. It scares me.”

“What about it scares you?”

“If people stop liking my music, then I’m just… I’m nothing. Nobody will like me any more.”

“Do you really think that people liking your music means that they like you?”

“It’s the closest I’ve ever gotten. I’m not interesting, Apollo. Sure, my music is good, I’ll admit that, and I’m a fairly decent prosecutor now, but I… I wasn’t always good. I got Phoenix Wright disbarred in my first trial! If people see past the rockstar front, they’ll just see an easily manipulated fraud, and everything is my fault.”

“Hey, you’re getting ahead of yourself. Who do you really think will see you like that?”

“The public. The media is relentless. They wouldn’t let me breathe for weeks after I got one bad haircut. Can you imagine the articles after I disband the Gavinners? I can just… I can see the headlines now. ‘Klavier Gavin, corrupt prosecutor and brother of murderer Kristoph Gavin, steps out of the spotlight.’ I just… I can’t. I just can’t.”

“I won’t pretend like it’s not going to be hard. It’s probably going to be the second hardest thing you ever have to do after the Misham trial. But you survived that, didn’t you?”

“Ja. Only with top shelf gin and a little cocaine.”

Apollo pauses in surprise. It’s a bit of a shock to hear that law-abiding citizen Klavier Gavin had a drug problem, but it’s understandable after everything that happened with Kristoph.

“My point is,” he says. “You survived it as best you could. And yeah, it was hard, but you did it. Isn’t it better to go through a few months of media hell than to spend the rest of your life in a loveless marriage?”

“I mean… maybe. But it’s out of my hands anyway. My manager decides everything.”

“Then fire her. If you’re going to step out of the spotlight anyway, you don’t need a manager.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re impulsive?” Klavier says.

“No, actually. Reckless, yes. Stupid, also yes. And I’ve been called a ridiculous dreamer once or twice, but my point still stands. If your way of taking control of your own life is by disbanding your band, then you can’t fall right back into the manipulation of the spotlight by marrying someone you don’t really love.”

“But what if… what if Daryan hates me for calling it off?”

“Think about it logically, yeah? Would he hate you for calling it off because he loves you, or because it results in his own eventual irrelevancy?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the face of the band. Without you, the rest of them will fade into straight-to-DVD workout videos and Logan Paul podcasts. You’re the person that keeps them relevant. And if Daryan would be angry at you for taking the spotlight off him, then you shouldn’t marry him in the first place.”

“I suppose.”

“You’ve just proved my point, you know,” Apollo says.

“How?”

“If even a tiny part of you believed that Daryan is marrying you for love, you’d have contradicted me.”

“Spoken like a true lawyer.”

“Well, it is my job. But that’s not why I can figure you out so easily.”

“Ja. You have that bracelet of yours.”

“I’m not wearing it, actually,” Apollo says, holding up his bare wrist. “I thought it’d spoil the point of a murder mystery party if I had an advantage. Plus, it didn’t match the costume.”

“Oh.”

“What I’m saying is that I can figure you out because you’re my friend. I know you. And I know that you don’t want to marry Daryan, you’re just too scared to say no.”

“It’s not that I’m scared,” Klavier says quietly. “I just don’t know how to. And I know it’s stupid. Not saying no led me to accept what Kristoph said about Phoenix forging evidence as the absolute truth. I’m just… I can’t question people. If I love them, I just can’t… I can’t accept that I can’t trust them. It’s pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic. It’s admirable, actually. After everything, you still trust people. I lov—I really like that about you.”

“You do?”

“I do. And I think you’ll get there, eventually. You’ll be able to stand up for yourself.”

“And until then?”

“Well, until then, you’ve got me and Ema on your side.”

As if on cue, Ema re-enters the room with a glass of vodka in her hand. “Yeah,” she says, like she’s been eavesdropping. “As much as you irritate me, I don’t want to see you get stuck in a marriage with a guy who looks like he plays Fortnite and laughs at your mom jokes.”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t’ve come if I didn’t think of you as my friend.”

“I had to pay you overtime to come tonight.”

“Oh, you idiot. Sure, it’s nice to get extra cash, but I’d have come anyway, and you know I would. I don’t know how you’ve done it, you insufferable fop, but you’ve wormed your way into my heart and I think of you as my friend.”

At this, Klavier audibly sobs. He looks down into his wine glass, swirling it around in his hand, and then looks up at Ema.

“I really don’t want to marry Daryan.”

“Then don’t.” She says.

“What should I say to him?”

“Give me your phone. I’ll text him.”

“Nein! He deserves a phone call at least.”

“Let me ask you this,” Ema says, sitting next to Klavier on the other side to Apollo. “Did he phone you to tell you that he was bailing on your joint bachelor party?”

“He texted me.”

“Exactly. You’re only giving back to him what he gave to you.”

“I… can’t. I have to tell him in person. Or at least over the phone.”

“That’s because you’re a better person than he is,” Apollo says. “And that’s fine. Call him now. You might never have the confidence again.”

“Will you both stay with me while I do?”

Apollo and Ema nod, and Klavier dials Daryan’s number, holding out his empty wine glass for Ema to refill. After the first call, Daryan doesn’t answer, but upon Ema’s insistence, Klavier dials again.

It takes five rings, but Daryan eventually picks up. Ema takes the phone and puts it on speaker.

“Yoooo,” Daryan drawls, evidently drunk. “Klavi! What’s up! How did your shitty murder mystery go?”

“Really well. My friends came.”

“Friends? What friends? They’re all here! C’mon, guys, make some noise for my fiancé!”

A general roar of drunkenness booms down the line.

“Daryan.” Klavier says. “This is important.”

“What could be more important than shots and strippers and paparazzi? Am I right guys?!”

The crowd bursts with applause again.

“I don’t want to marry you.” Klavier says. “And I’m not going to.”

“What?”

“I’m not going to marry you. The wedding is off. I’d say that you showed your true colours tonight, but you’ve been nothing but honest about how you are. I’ve just finally taken off the rose tinted glasses.”

“Are you drunk? Have your friends been getting in your head?”

“My mind is clearer than it’s ever been. I know what I want. And I know that I don’t want to marry you.”

“You’re drunk. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“No, we won’t. I won’t be showing up at the altar, and if you’re that desperate for your fifteen minutes, you can explain to the cameras exactly why.”

“You won’t look good if I do. I’ll tell them exactly how you left me the night before our wedding.”

“I don’t care, Daryan. I’ve just… stopped caring. I don’t need another Kristoph in my life. We’re done.”

“We will talk about this tomorrow.”

“No, we won’t. Goodbye, Daryan.”

Klavier hangs up the phone and immediately lets out a deep exhale. He passes his phone to Ema, who puts it on silent to avoid the barrage of Daryan’s texts that have already started to come through, and then he rests his head on Apollo’s shoulder and takes a sip of wine.

“Danke, you guys,” he says. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“You’d have ended up in the world’s shittiest marriage,” Ema says. “And as much as you irritate the fuck out of me, I won’t let you do that.”

“You’re far too kind to me. Both of you.”

“Jesus, Klavier,” Apollo says. “Bare fucking minimum.”

“It’s really not. You’re both so lovely to me.”

“I call you an insufferable gay man like, three times a day at least,” Ema says. “Raise your standards.”

“They’re already high enough. Actually, they’re so high that I… I couldn’t have married Daryan. I’ve had my eye on someone else for a long while.”

“Aaaand that’s my cue to go and get another vodka,” Ema leaves the room.

Klavier shuffles around on the floor awkwardly, crossing his legs and refusing to make eye contact with Apollo. Apollo is unsure what he’s supposed to do, because evidently Klavier has a crush on someone, and it’s his duty as Klavier’s self-proclaimed friend to support him, but it’s just… hard. And until now, he hadn’t realised just how hard it was to watch Klavier get engaged, to promise the rest of his life to someone else.

Because, Apollo realises, at possibly the worst time, he wants that for himself. He wants Klavier for himself.

“Ach, I suppose I’ll have to tell you,” Klavier says. “Or Ema will. She’s sick of me skirting around the subject.”

“Huh?”

“I… I really like you.”

“W-What?”

“I have for a while. I couldn’t do anything because of… y’know… the Daryan situation… but… the harmless flirting in court… I was… god, it’s silly. I was dropping hints.”

“Dropping hints that… you like me?”

“‘Like’ isn’t the right word. Maybe ‘love’? Probably love. God… I think it really is.”

“H-Hold on,” Apollo says. “You… what?”

“I love you, Apollo. I have for a while. And I think I always knew it. I think I never could have gone through with the wedding anyway.”

“I think you would have. I think you’d have hated it. But without Ema’s brashness, you’d have just been swept up in the current.”

“Then I’m glad she’s here.”

“I… I like you too. I… think I love you. But I can’t say it just yet. I need to know. I need to be sure.”

“How can I make you sure?” Klavier asks.

“Kiss me? Then I know it’s real,” Apollo says, blushing. Instantly, he worries that he’s overstepped, that this is all some horrible joke on a celebrity prank show, that Daryan will come bursting through the door any second now with a camera in his hand and everyone will laugh at the pathetic attorney who thought he ever had a chance with Klavier Gavin.

Instead, Klavier holds his face gently, like it’s the end of the world, and kisses him square on the lips.

God, it’s perfect. Klavier’s lips are soft and chapstick-smooth, and he holds Apollo’s cheeks with warm, callused hands. For this brief, eternal, infinitesimal moment, Apollo doesn’t doubt that he is loved; he’s always doubted that he’s loved, but now… it’s different. Now, it doesn’t matter what his anxiety leads him to believe, because Klavier is here, Klavier is warm, Klavier is kissing him and the world could be ending for all Apollo cares, because nothing can pop this little summer-moment of softness.

In fact, the only thing that brings him out of the kiss is Ema, who has re-entered the room and is standing in front of them.

“Well, finally,” she says. “I thought you’d both be skirting around your obvious crushes forever.”

“Excuse you,” Apollo bites back. “We’re having a moment.”

“Fine, fine. I won’t disturb you, Gaylock Sholmes and Professor Fruit.”

“Good,” Klavier says. “There’s vodka in the kitchen. And I left some fake fingerprints in there, too. Knock yourself out. We’ll be here for a while.”

Apollo impatiently waits for her to leave, and then his lips are against Klavier’s again, kissing him breathless and desperate. His fumbling hands find themselves steadied by the softness of Klavier’s face, and he’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

Klavier could never have married Daryan. Apollo knows that now. Because one day, Klavier will be marrying him. Not now, not within the year, probably not within the next three years, but one day, he’ll marry him. He’d wait forever for it. 

When Klavier smiles into the kiss, Apollo knows that he’s worth waiting for.

When Apollo’s heart soars into the strange belief that he’s wanted, he knows that Klavier has always been worth waiting for.