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The first time that he meets Prosecutor Gavin outside of a Seven Eleven, he's caught red-handed with a bag of Hot Cheetos and a slurpee. Apollo gapes a little, but Prosecutor Gavin seems to share none of his shock as he waves at him.
"Forehead," he greets, looking immensely pleased with himself. He holds out the open bag of Cheetos in a strange offering of sorts.
"...Prosecutor Gavin," he says, taking a handful. It occurs to him that he's standing outside of a Seven Eleven eating Hot Cheetos with Prosecutor Gavin on a Saturday night, and Apollo's head spins because, well, isn't that weird.
"What brings you here tonight?" His tongue is blue and Apollo can't stop staring; something about all of this is so...bizarre.
"Uh, I think I should be asking you," he retorts. "You don't even live around here."
Prosecutor Gavin's brows shoot up. "You know where I live?"
"Well, it isn't that hard to fin--" Apollo clamps his mouth shut, realizing exactly what he's said. It's too late to backtrack when Prosecutor Gavin smiles like that, so he says nothing in his own defense and stops talking altogether.
"It seems that our Forehead is having trouble with his brain-to-mouth filter, hm?" he asks, still managing somehow to retain his dignity with a blue tongue.
Then it hits him. "Do you always talk like this?" he blurts out, because apparently Prosecutor Gavin was correct when he commented on his filter or lack thereof.
"Talk like what?" No one should look like that while wearing a purple hoodie and sweat pants.
"Like--like not a glimmerous fop!" He really needs to do something about that filter thing. Soon. Like maybe when his world views aren't being shattered in front of a convenience store.
Prosecutor Gavin blinks at him before he is laughing--there's no mistake, he's definitely laughing at him. First it's quiet, just a shake of the shoulders, before he's suddenly laughing aloud, unable to control his own amusement with the situation. Apollo wants to punch him in his blue teeth, but what's new about that really? So he waits until the hilarity becomes enough to bear and Prosecutor Gavin wipes at his eyes, finally done laughing. For now. He always finds something.
"You didn't actually think I talked like that all the time, did you?" he asks, accent noticeably muted.
Apollo thinks back to every single time that he's talked to Prosecutor Gavin, seen him on the television, heard him on the radio, and he really can't think of a single reason why he wouldn't have thought that he did. He was always throwing in random bits of German, playing up that infuriatingly hokey Indie-European accent. The only time he'd heard him speak without it was when he appeared at international performances in Japan; he would greet the crowd and sing in their mother tongue, all the while smiling with his unfairly attractive face. How the heck was he supposed to know the whole thing was a ruse?
So he lies through his teeth and says "Of course not." Prosecutor Gavin tilts his head and gives him a skeptical look. Apollo tries his best to look convincing. Always a courtroom bluff with this guy...
"Well, if it wasn't objectionable for you to know that my Germanity was hyped up for celebrity, then you won't mind walking me back to my home?" he asks, grinning.
"You live around here?" He looks around for a flamboyant, purple bike and sees nothing. Figuring it must be true, he directs his attention back at Prosecutor Gavin. I don't remember inviting all these revelations tonight!
"It's in a building across the street and down Olympic..." he begins to explain, casually linking their arms together. Apollo doesn't resist, letting him lead the way.
They walk across the street and down Olympic, sharing Chetoos and a slurpee, and Apollo's mouth is as blue as Prosecutor Gavin's when he kisses him and thanks him for walking him home.
Apollo's walking back to his own apartment, loopy grin on his face, when he realizes that it definitely counted as a first date.
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