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"Your roots are showing."
Apollo says it casually, like something he notices in passing. Klavier doesn't even pay it much attention and just hums back in acknowledgement. He's using his boyfriend's lap in place of a pillow, going over song lyrics he'd jotted down that afternoon during his lunch break. There's a show playing on the television that Apollo was paying attention to until he started playing with Klavier's hair.
"Your roots are showing," Apollo reiterates, tracing his fingers on his scalp. He rubs the thin strands of brown in between his fingers. "Huh."
He sits up which makes Klavier fall onto the couch. "Ah, schatzi, come back."
"You're not a natural blonde," he points out, realising it only halfway through.
Klavier sits up. "Ja. Is this important?"
"No, I just—never realised it."
Apollo takes the ends of his hair in his hands again, examining it closely. Klavier had soft, always perfectly styled hair that it never really crossed his mind that it could be dyed. Thinking about it now, it was exactly the kind of unnecessarily tedious task that had to be done every few months Klavier would do.
"I can't even imagine you with brown hair," Apollo hums.
Klavier catches Apollo's hand in his. "Neither can I," he tells him. "Started dyeing it when I was twelve."
"Twelve?" Apollo gasps, "And what made you do that?"
Klavier chuckles. "A long story," he says, "Mein eltern secretly purchased tickets to an opera Kris so dearly admired and felt betrayed that he wasn't invited. As an act of rebellion, he stole the bleach from under the kitchen sink and dyed our hair."
Apollo's eyes widened. "And he dragged you into it?"
Klavier laughs at his reaction, leaning back and rubbing his wrist.
"I think it's obvious that mein bruder was not naturally… affectionate," he turns to his side, suddenly finding it very hard to look Apollo in the eye. "Moments like that were few and far between and as a young boy… na ja, I took what I could get."
He doesn't speak much about Kristoph nowadays and Apollo didn't like making him speak about him. He always put on this distant look on his face whenever his brother comes up in the conversation, talking in short sentences with not too many details. Even three years after the Misham trial, Kristoph was still a touchy subject for the both of them. But next to Apollo's two years of knowing Kristoph, Klavier had twenty-four. He can imagine his ghost haunts him far more often than it does Apollo.
Still, he wishes he could ease him of some of his worry.
"And you both just kept doing it?" Apollo asks, trying to keep the mood light.
"Don't underestimate the power of spite, schatz," Klavier raises an eyebrow, nudging him at his side.
That makes them both laugh and for a while, Apollo thinks it'll be okay. Kristoph won't be so much of a storm but just a passing raincloud. Klavier's falling into Apollo and he has to lean on his shoulder to catch his breath.
But then Klavier leans back, making space in between them, and he averts his eyes from Apollo.
"I should go," he says, head downcast, "Have a song to write and all."
He gestures to the paper he had in his hands a while ago, but his other hand is scratching his scalp. Apollo didn't need the squeeze from his bracelet to tell him he was lying.
The prosecutor gets up and grabs his stuff, not even waiting for Apollo to reply.
"Sure you don't wanna just stay over?" Apollo asks, glancing at the open window displaying the already dark sky, "It's pretty late."
Klavier is quick to shut him down, shaking his head and saying, "Nein, I wouldn't want to keep you up with all the noise."
He approaches Apollo still on the couch, and bends down to press a kiss on his forehead.
"Guten nacht, schatz," he says, attempting to pull away. Apollo catches him before he can leave and presses a proper kiss on his lips.
"I love you," he says, possibly a little too sincerely.
Klavier smiles at him knowingly. "Ich liebe dich auch."
Then he leaves without looking back.
▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎
Klavier never stopped dyeing his hair.
That was the only thought that kept replaying in Apollo's mind. He's in his bed, lights shut and under his blankets, contemplating why he feels so unnerved about it. Klavier had left hours ago but Apollo wishes he hadn't. He can't help but feel like he shouldn't be alone right now. Not after what they talked about. Not after he saw the pained look on Klavier's face before he left. Apollo should've stopped him then and there.
He gets up from his bed, grabs his coat and keys, and bikes to Klavier's apartment. He's too distracted by his thoughts to really care about the cold.
Klavier looks tired when he opens the door but not like he'd been sleeping. His hair is down and he's wearing boxers and an old Gavinners t-shirt.
"What are you doing here?" he asks, not letting Apollo in.
"Are you still making music?" Apollo doesn't answer him.
"Yes," he says too quickly, "And I'm not done so—"
He sees Apollo rubbing his wrist, playing with his gold bracelet as he looks up at Klavier.
"You're lying," Apollo calls him out.
"I—," he stops himself, stepping back as he looks down in shame.
"You should go home, Apollo," Klavier tells him, "You don't need to deal with this."
He looks pitiful, hollowed, chewed up and spat out. He looks like a ghost pretending to be a body. He looks like he's not even here.
"But I do," Apollo presses, reaching a hand over to hold his wrist.
"It's pathetic," Klavier spits out, "Years have passed and I—"
He grows quiet again, pulling away but Apollo's still holding onto Klavier's wrist. The only reason he hasn't shaken it off is because he doesn't have the energy to do it.
"Hey," Apollo calls softly. "It's okay."
Slowly, Klavier pulls his arm out of Apollo's grip and holds his hand instead, tugging slightly.
"Come in," he says, barely above a whisper.
Apollo shuts the door on his way in and Klavier makes his way into his bedroom. When Apollo follows after him, he sees the bedroom lights are off, the room only being lit by the moon outside and the light coming from the bathroom.
When Apollo walks in he sees Klavier stirring the dye.
He approaches Klavier slowly, taking the spot next to him as he watches Klavier pointedly looking away.
Klavier sets the bowl down, still not looking Apollo in the eye as he calls, "Apollo?"
"Hm?"
"... will you help me?"
Apollo takes one look at the dye and then at Klavier. He thinks about his story from before and about Kristoph. He thinks about the Misham trial. He thinks about Kristoph in his cell. He thinks about seeing Klavier afterwards, confused and empty. He thinks about his execution and how Klavier couldn't bring himself to come. He thinks about the hand the reached out to him then, begging and desperate. What now ? his face said then, skin pale, bones weary. Apollo squeezed his hand with soft reassurance. Now we try to get better.
"Okay," he tells him.
Klavier hands over a pair of latex gloves and a brush, sitting himself down on a stool he'd placed there beforehand. Apollo takes his place behind him, putting the gloves on and getting to work.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Apollo asks him cautiously.
Klavier seems to regard his question, closing his eyes as Apollo gathers his hair in his hands.
"What he did to all those people was—is unacceptable. I should not feel remorse that he's gone," Klavier says.
Apollo grimaces. "It's not that simple—"
"But it should be," Klavier exhales. "It is wrong to mourn the death of a monster."
"It's not wrong to mourn the death of your brother."
Klavier catches Apollo's eyes in the mirror as if he'd been waiting for him to look this entire time. He looks frustrated which Klavier can understand. He hasn't exactly been easy to deal with. It was the entire reason why he didn't want Apollo to come see him. Klavier didn't need Apollo to fight his demons for him, that was something he needed to do himself.
Then Apollo sighs, shoulders sagging down as he looks at Klavier with a more delicate stare.
"Listen," he starts, hesitating, treading the conversation like he would a tightrope. He combs through Klavier's hair with care, making his hands as light as he can. "Nothing's gonna change the fact that Kristoph was a murderer. But at the same time, nothing's gonna change the fact that he was your brother. That he was family. And losing family is… god, it's unbearable."
Klavier doesn't speak. His eyes glaze over, staring blankly at a spot on the floor, empty.
"You're allowed to grieve, Klavier. This doesn't make you a bad person."
Klavier swallows slowly, bracing himself for something that doesn't come. His chest is still heavy with ache, throat too dry to speak. The only thing he can do is look up at Apollo with defeated eyes.
"He was not always bad," Klavier croaks, "Sometimes, I like to believe that even in his last moments, he was still more good than bad. Even if that isn't the truth. I like to like to lie to myself. To justify the feeling," he chuckles lifelessly, "Gott, imagine what Vera would say."
Apollo sets down the dye. "I used to believe that, too."
This time, it's Apollo that can't look at Klavier, eyes downcast. He leans his hand on the sink as if he were looking for a place to back away but found a dead end instead.
"I used to think that he could do no wrong. That he was—we were doing good work, defending innocent people."
He turns to Klavier then, the smallest hint of a smile on his face. Bittersweet but still there.
"And maybe he was. At one point. And at one point he was your brother. We're allowed to mourn the loss of that Kristoph. I don't think that makes us bad people, I think that makes us—"
"Foolish?" Klavier finishes for him, a small, sad sounding laugh escaping his lips.
Apollo shakes his head. "I was gonna say human," he says, "But, yeah. Maybe we are a bit… foolish."
Klavier nods, trying to find the words to respond. But instead, he laughs again. And again. And again. Until it's contagious enough for Apollo to laugh. For a moment it is just that, weakly thin chuckles bouncing off the walls of Klavier's bathroom, until they stop and meet each other's eyes and speak no more. But the stares speak for themselves, and Apollo finds Klavier's eyes like the truth staring right back at him.
He gets back to work.
Apollo busies his hands with the dye, making sure each patch of hair was covered completely. At some point, he sees Klavier's shoulders begin to shake, his breath hitching every so often. He doesn't need to look up at the mirror to know that there are tears falling down from Klavier's eyes, but he doesn't move to make them stop. Instead, he continues on with his task. Klavier asked Apollo if he would help him and he would. He will. He does this even when his throat starts to close up, his vision becoming cloudy. They carry part of the burden on each side and silently, they weep.