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Crickets chirp in the distance. A reminder that it’s still summer, despite how sharp and cold things seem to feel. Moonlight pours into an open window and highlights the room in a soft glow, followed by the song buzzing quietly outside. Apollo, staring up at the ceiling, tries to focus on the sound.
The roof is unfamiliar. It’s nicer, smoother. Much unlike the popcorn ceiling in his own apartment, which is much dingier than the one he’s in now. He doesn’t quite remember how exactly he ended up here. An argument—or rather, a one-sided burst of anger directed at his boss—had led to him laying in Prosecutor Gavin’s bed. It doesn’t feel real, just thinking about it, and yet he’s laying in silk sheets beneath a comforter warmer than any blanket he’s ever touched and wearing a too-big Gavinners t-shirt that he’s sure Trucy probably owns herself.
He can’t tell what time it is, but he knows it’s much too late for him to still be up. He’s too busy mindlessly toying with his bracelet, running his thumb across the smooth surface and letting it follow the carved-in ridges. He’s trying (and failing spectacularly) to think about literally anything else besides the fact that he’s here: in Gavin’s apartment, laying in the same queen-sized bed, having run here after sending a haphazard message to him that he hardly remembers now. Something about needing a place to go for the night, or needing company, he can’t recall the specifics. Whatever he had said, it had led him to this.
Why was he here, exactly? He can’t even remember any real reason, just that he needed to get out of the office as soon as possible, and for some inexplicable reason, Klavier’s house had seemed much more inviting than his own apartment. That left a curious question lingering in his mind: when did he get so comfortable with Klavier?
It was weird. It was almost too comfortable. Comfortable enough for Klavier to have agreed so easily. Comfortable enough for him to have opened the door for Apollo with a “nice to see you, Herr Forehead,” offering him a drink, letting him pick a movie for the two of them to watch on his couch (which is the softest thing Apollo has ever sat on, he thinks) and not making him discuss what must’ve happened for him to want to come here of all places.
And that’s another thing—what in the world had possessed Apollo to come here? And why was Klavier so willing to let him in?
They weren’t friends. Not officially, anyways. Apollo had visited Klavier’s office a handful of times, sure; he remembers getting his assistance on more than a few cases, sometimes being treated to lunch or breakfast or whatever meal was fit for the time of day they were with each other. He had tried to pay for some of those meetings, but Klavier had always insisted on it being his treat, like Apollo visiting him was some kind of favor he was intent on returning.
He had always seemed a little too willing to divulge information, even when it was a case where they’d be against each other. Of course, Klavier had been careful not to reveal too much, but he had a way of leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for Apollo to follow.
At first, it felt condescending, like a suggestion that Apollo was incapable, that he needed the help. Over time, that idea was squashed. Klavier did it because he knew Apollo was capable. He’d say so himself, sometimes more played up than what was necessary, but Apollo would accept the compliment nonetheless.
Klavier had always been a bit.. strange, now that Apollo thinks about it. He didn’t often dwell on the prosecutor’s apparent favoritism towards him. It wasn’t worth looking into. He wanted to believe that, at least, because if there was more to it, it would mean Klavier saw Apollo himself as something more, and he wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with something like that.
Apollo hadn’t spent too much time wondering about if Klavier meant more to him than he previously assumed, mostly on account of the fact that he was fairly certain if he did, he would find something out about himself that he wasn’t ready to learn.
Okay, so maybe they did have more of a relationship than Apollo initially thought, but it still didn’t feel like they had crossed the path of being friends. After all, though Klavier sometimes invited him out for seemingly no reason, Klavier was friendly with everyone. He would sometimes even invite Trucy to tag along (on the rare occasions that he’d gotten Mr. Wright’s permission, that is) and so it had never felt like anything special.. but now, considering everything, Apollo fears he might’ve been gravely mistaken.
That train of thought leads him back to his original question: why did he come here, out of everywhere he could've gone, to stay with a man he wasn’t even sure saw him as an actual friend?
This must’ve all just been a dream. Yes, a dream—some weird, psychological side effect of that little ability of his. That made perfect sense, right? It certainly made more sense than Apollo coming here for no reason. Or rather, coming here for a reason he himself wasn’t completely sure of. Ugh, Trucy would be having a field day with him right now.
He takes a breath. He almost doesn’t want to look, but he’s felt this small, nagging feeling for the past.. however long he’s been staring up at the ceiling, to look beside him. He closes his eyes for a second to imagine what he might see: Klavier Gavin, a prosecutor, his rival, laying next to him fast asleep. He pictures golden hair splayed across a silk pillow, and he imagines how the moonlight would shine against his face almost angelically, because Klavier always had a way of looking just a bit mystical when the light would hit him a certain way.
When he opens his eyes and turns his head to look next to him, his eyes widen. His face feels hot when he realizes Klavier is not asleep, and is in fact laying on his side looking directly at him. There’s something so fond swirling around in his gaze that it makes Apollo want to turn away, but he feels equally as paralyzed. Funny how that works.
“Lost in thought, Herr Forehead?” Comes the soft sound of his voice. Softer than Apollo’s ever heard it, low and in his throat but not quite gravelly. The sound makes Apollo swallow dryly. How long had he been watching him, exactly?
He shrugs absentmindedly, brushing away the idea that he might’ve been staring at him this whole time. “Sort of,” he answers more casually than he feels.
Klavier hums thoughtfully, propping his elbow up to rest his head against his hand. His hair cascades down his shoulders, and despite how messy it should look, it somehow feels like there isn’t a single strand out of place. “Do you want to talk about it?” A beat passes before Klavier tags on, “about why you’re here, I mean. It’s not often you seek out my company for something like this.”
Apollo thinks for a moment that he hears something sad in those words, but he tries not to dwell on it. He glances away to think about the offer before deciding he’s too tired to keep it in and he doesn’t want to lose any more sleep over it. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
Klavier smiles, something softer than what Apollo is accustomed to, and he pointedly tries not to trace the curve of his lips with his eyes. He shifts to sit up and Apollo follows, shuffling awkwardly to bunch his knees up to his chest while Klavier sits with one leg up, resting his arm across it.
“I.. kinda blew up on Mr. Wright,” Apollo admits, looking towards the posters on the wall as if they’re the most interesting things in the world. Recalling it embarrasses him, even though he’s fairly certain he had a valid reason to be upset. He doesn’t exactly remember the specifics of the argument now. It might be for the better, lest he get mad all over again. “I was upset with him, and I couldn’t reel myself in quick enough, and.. it was bad. I was bad. Ugh, it was so embarrassing.”
He buries his face in his knees as if to conceal his shame. He feels a hand on his shoulder moments after, and he tilts his head enough to peek at where it came from. Klavier looks at him with an expression that silently urges him to continue. Lacking the energy to keep it in any longer, he sighs dejectedly.
“He can just be so irritating sometimes, you know? Like, I can’t tell if he actually believes in me or not. He never tells me anything.” He huffs, frustrated. “I know he has his own stuff to deal with, but.. I don’t know. I looked up to him. I thought things would be…” he gestures vaguely, “different.”
He hadn’t even realized how much he was keeping in until he heard it pouring from his lips, flowing out so easily that it’s like he’s speaking directly from the heart. And maybe he is, to an extent. Maybe that’s what happens after someone spends so much time keeping things in. Even if he wanted to, it feels like he can’t shut himself up at this point, and so he doesn’t. For once, he takes the chance to rant with (hopefully) no consequences.
Klavier only listens. He remains quiet as Apollo talks about what happened, letting him get whatever he needs off of his chest. About Mr. Wright, and how he feels so distant at times; about how he feels like he still hasn’t earned his trust despite how dedicated he is, how much he tries to prove himself; how he almost wishes Kristoph were back because at least he saw something in Apollo, but oh, turns out he was the worst person on the planet so who knows if that’s true and.. oh.
At the mention of his brother’s name, Klavier’s hand clenches on Apollo’s shoulder on instinct. Apollo immediately sits up straight, startling Klavier enough to make him pull his hand back. That little slip-up snaps Apollo out of his rant and back to reality.
“Shit, uh, sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean that, I don’t know why I said that.” He rushes to apologize, feeling guilt starting to pile on top of the shame already dwelling within him. Great going, Apollo. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even consider how you.. if you... sorry.”
After a moment of tentative silence, Klavier shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He looks like he wants to say more, but can’t decide if he should, or if it’s even the right time. Apollo feels an inclination to help him, spurred on partially by the feeling of his bracelet tightening around his wrist, but even moreso by the fact Klavier was so willing to just.. listen to him. He feels—no, he knows that Klavier deserves the same thing.
He had thought about how Klavier might feel after the Misham trial. He was sure it wasn’t easy, seeing his brother be lead out of the courtroom in cuffs. He had wondered about the impact it had on Klavier for weeks after that case, but it never felt like the right time to ask, and Klavier never brought it up. Of course he didn’t, because Klavier had never been one to get too personal, despite how open he was.
That was another odd trait of his. He had a tendency to tell Apollo random facts about himself, often triggered by some casual reminder, and Apollo would retain it all. He knows Klavier’s favorite color, knows he wanted a pet when he was younger but could never get one because his mom was allergic, knows his favorite foods, where he goes to think, his favorite places to perform—but that was it. He never got too personal.
Maybe it was because Apollo never asked, or maybe it was out of something else, out of something that feels oddly familiar to Apollo even though he can’t even pinpoint what that "something" might be. Maybe this is the time to find out.
“Klavier, I…” He hesitates, wondering how to word this. “How have you been holding up since then? I’ve been wanting to ask, but it never felt like a good time, so I just... didn’t.” I didn’t think it’d ever be a good time, he doesn’t say.
“I thought this conversation was about you, Herr Forehead.”
Apollo scoffs at Klavier’s attempt to move the topic away from himself, shaking his head. “I mostly just wanted to get it off my chest. ..Thank you, by the way. For listening to that.”
Klavier smiles. Apollo wishes he didn’t know how forced it was. “Don’t mention it.”
The room grows quiet. Klavier looks like he’s contemplating, debating whether or not he should talk about it, surely. Debating if he’s even allowed to. Somewhere in Apollo’s mind, he thinks about how long it must have been since someone checked up on how he really felt. Even without knowing the real answer, he knows it’s been far too long.
He sees Klavier bite at his lip, a nervous habit, before speaking up again. “It’s.. been hard. I’m sure that much goes without saying,” he starts slowly. “I had a feeling that he must’ve been hiding something. There was always that nagging feeling. I could never bring myself to look into it, though. I was scared of what I might find if I did.”
It doesn’t take any perceiving to see how many emotions are swirling through Klavier’s mind. It’s obvious in the way he turns to look at the open window rather than at Apollo, something far-off in his gaze. Searching for something—or someone, rather—that isn’t there.
There’s a look on his face that Apollo can’t quite read, but it looks like the same tight-lipped smile Klavier gives from behind the prosecutor’s bench when he’s caught onto something Apollo has yet to notice. It doesn’t take much thinking to conclude that whatever Klavier is thinking of isn’t a good thing.
“I wasn’t surprised when the truth came out. I knew Kristoph was hiding something. I suppose it just felt different to know that the same person who had done all those things was my brother.” Though Apollo can’t say he’s been in Klavier’s shoes, he understands the sentiment.
The ethereal glow of the moonlight reflecting against Klavier’s skin seems all the more melancholy now. He looks so, so tired. If he looks close enough, Apollo can make out dark circles beneath his eyes, illuminated by the soft glow of the light.
He must be the only person whose seen Klavier like this in ages, with his guard down, so tired and so defeated. Months ago, Apollo wouldn’t have even considered the possibility of Klavier being anything but cheerfully smug. He almost can’t believe he could misunderstand someone so terribly, but he supposes there aren’t many people who knew the real Klavier to begin with.
Klavier wipes at his eyes, sighing. “Ach, sorry, Herr Forehead. I didn’t mean to get all sentimental on you.” He laughs humorlessly, and Apollo feels a sudden urge to embrace him. Perhaps against his judgment, he indulges that urge—without thinking, he wraps his arms around Klavier, and it only takes a few seconds before he feels him reciprocate; a pair of arms wrap tightly around his waist, effectively keeping him still.
He’s warm. Warmer than Apollo would’ve thought, and yet somehow it makes perfect sense the more he thinks about it. He feels Klavier burying his face in the crook of his neck, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. The only sound in the room is that of quiet, barely-disguised sniffles and muffled hiccups. He gives Klavier this moment and selfishly relishes in it himself; in the warmth of Klavier, in the closeness, in the way he’s being clung to so tightly.
Klavier isn’t looking at Apollo for stability. He just wants comfort. Klavier must feel just as lonely as he does, he thinks as he lets his head drop into locks of golden hair, surrounded by the scent of some floral conditioner. A thought passes by that maybe that’s why he came here in the first place. Deep down, a part of him must’ve subconsciously understood that they were similar; that they had found something in each other.
Apollo has never sought out comfort. It didn’t feel right, or it never felt like he needed it—for some reason or another, he would never give himself the chance to be truly vulnerable unless it would benefit someone else. But now, with Klavier being more open than he’s ever seen him, he feels a pang of something, and he realizes that maybe comfort can come from anything. From a connection, from knowing there’s someone who understands. He hopes Klavier shares that idea.
“I still miss him,” he hears him confess in a whisper, breaking the silence. “I can’t bring myself to visit, but I still think about him. Isn’t that terrible?”
“It’s not.” Apollo has never felt more sure of an answer in his life. “He’s still family to you. We weren’t even related, and it still felt so... wrong. He was my mentor for years. Seeing him like that was so.. jarring.” He can still hear the laughter that’d pierced the courtroom so vividly that sometimes it rings in his ears, even in silence.
“It’s not your fault, you know. For missing him, or wanting to see him, or whatever. You knew him better than anyone.” To see someone so poised and careful display such emotion, almost as if possessed, would’ve shaken anyone. He can’t imagine how that must’ve felt for his own brother, of all people.
He feels Klavier’s shoulders shake as he laughs. There’s no amusement in his voice when he speaks. “I’m not sure I can agree with that, Herr Forehead.”
Apollo pulls back to look him in the face, hands on either of his shoulders. “You did, Gav... Klavier. I know you did. Even if he changed somewhere along the line, you grew up with him. That history doesn’t just go away.”
He isn’t sure why he’s speaking as if he truly understands what Klavier is going through, or why he feels so confident in his words despite knowing he’s barely scratching the surface of Klavier’s real feelings, but he knows one thing: he wants to be there for him.
Something in Klavier’s expression softens, and he gently grabs one of Apollo’s wrists to bring it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to his palm. Apollo tries not to burn up at the sight and does his best to ignore the tingly feeling that lingers after. “I’m not sure how Herr Wright could ever doubt someone like you, Forehead.” His voice is so sincere when he adds a thank you that Apollo feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.
“Well, you know..” Apollo shrugs off the compliment, despite the fact that he feels as though he’s practically glowing with how much he must be blushing. “Um, Klavier.. you know, you’re free to talk to me about this, or if you need something. I mean, if you want. I know we aren’t super close or anything, but—”
“Not close?” Klavier interjects, raising a brow. When Apollo looks just as confused, Klavier sighs. “Hase, we’ve been on dates before.”
At that, Apollo’s eyes get so large he thinks they’re going to roll out of his head. “...Huh?”
Klavier blinks at his surprise, then bursts into laughter. The sound cuts the tension in the room so quickly that it makes Apollo dizzy, but he still feels his heart thrum at the pure, unbridled amusement in Klavier’s voice. He’s choosing to ignore the fact that the laughter is clearly directed at him in favor of savoring the moment.
“Did you think I invited you out all of those times to be friendly, schatz?”
“But— but you invited Trucy sometimes!”
“Yes, because you would’ve thought it was weird if I didn’t have a third wheel every now and then. Ah, not that I didn’t enjoy the fräulein’s company, mind you.”
Apollo’s face burns. He sputters helplessly, trying to come up with any excuse besides being completely oblivious. Well, that’s another question answered, at least.
He turns away, but makes no moves to let go of Klavier. He hadn’t even noticed their fingers had interlocked at some point—when did that happen?—too busy reeling from the fact that Klavier Gavin has apparently been under the assumption that they were borderline dating, and Apollo had been none the wiser all this time.
He clears his throat, trying to save face by getting back on topic. “Well.. the offer is still there. If you need anything.”
Klavier hums in what Apollo thinks is interest. “Anything?” He repeats curiously. Apollo tries not to flush at the teasing lilt in his voice.
“Anything within reason, ” he corrects, like Klavier would take advantage of the vagueness if he didn’t. Klavier chuckles, holding Apollo’s wrists. He leans in so close that he can feel the warmth radiating off of him, and it makes him think that Klavier must feel how hot his own face is, as if it wasn’t already obvious.
His breath hitches in his throat at the proximity, his eyes flickering down to Klavier’s lips on instinct and then back up to meet his eyes. If Klavier notices (which he definitely does, judging by the way his lips curl into a little smirk), he doesn’t mention it.
“Does that include you?”
Christ. Apollo nearly chokes on air at the question, but he manages to not embarrass himself further. “Maybe.”
He’s suddenly very aware of how close Klavier is, and even more aware of how beautiful he looks. His hair falls around his shoulders, a halo of light surrounding him with his back turned towards the window. He looks more human than he ever has before, yet angelic all the same. There’s an overwhelming urge to lean in and close the gap, but he can’t bring himself to move.
“What if I ask nicely?” Klavier asks, voice snapping Apollo out of his thoughts despite how soft it came out. This all still doesn’t feel real.
Maybe it’s too good to be true, or maybe it’s that it’s all too much at once. Whatever the reason, he can’t quite pinpoint it. He’s still waiting for his mind to catch up with everything. He’s not sure how soon that’ll happen when Klavier is so distractingly close, but he also doesn’t want him to pull away just yet. He can sacrifice his critical thinking skills for the time being.
There’s a myriad of feelings swimming within him. Not all of them are good, of course, but the bad ones are hard to focus on in a moment like this. They’re starting to creep back up slowly, so he forces himself to respond instead of dwelling on them. “I’ll think about it.” Silently, Apollo feels a sense of pride being able to tease Klavier in the same way he’s done to him so many times.
Unlike Apollo, though, Klavier doesn’t brush it off. He challenges him further, leans in close enough to make Apollo question if he is going to kiss him. And he does—square in the middle of his forehead, with a punctuated mwah sound to top it off.
“Herr Forehead.. Apollo. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone. Not me, or Herr Wright.” Apollo isn’t sure if he should be glad or concerned that Klavier read through him so easily. He thought he was doing a fine job of, well, looking fine. “You always find a way to bring the truth out of people.. even if you cheat with that bracelet of yours.”
Apollo pouts, despite the fact that he’s grateful to hear those words. Most of them, anyways. “It’s not cheating.”
Klavier shrugs. “I digress. You’re a good lawyer, hase. Do you think I’d still take cases with you if you weren’t?”
He’s right. Apollo knows that; knows that the reason Klavier indulges his bluffs in court is because he knows something will come out of it, no matter how absurd it might seem at first. Even when he shoots him down, he gives him the chance to get back up and prove his point. Things get heated in the courtroom, and yet there’s never a moment where Klavier outright denies him. No, he always gives him the chance to speak. The chance to be heard.
“..Thank you, Klavier.”
“Of course.”
Silence settles in, but it’s much less tense this time. It’s comfortable, the way Klavier looks at him so adoringly. He hasn’t made any moves to back away yet, and Apollo thinks about closing the distance between them.
Before he can, Klavier kisses him again, and this time, Apollo is prepared. He meets him in the middle, their lips connecting for a light peck before Apollo decides it was too quick and goes back again. It’s not a perfect first kiss, which is to say it isn’t as extravagant as he would’ve imagined a first kiss with Klavier would’ve been like, but it feels perfect for this moment. Klavier’s lips are as soft as they looked, and his hands are warm when they come up to cup his face.
The need for air seems less like a need the longer Klavier kisses him, being pushed to the back of Apollo’s mind (perhaps against his better judgment). He savors everything he can about this moment, trying to burn the feeling of it all into memory, though a quiet part of him hopes this won’t be the last time he gets to do this.
He wants to think that they should’ve done this sooner, and maybe they would’ve if Apollo wasn’t so painfully unaware of Klavier’s advances, but the moment doesn’t feel any less special. If anything, it feels more right than ever—maybe because he knows there will never be a ‘right moment’ for them. He doesn’t particularly mind that, though. He can learn to live with being spontaneous.
Perhaps a bit too reluctantly, Apollo pulls back when the need for oxygen is too pressing to ignore. It’s hard to resist the urge to go back in, but he supposes there’s plenty of time for that later. If there is a later. God, he hopes there’s a later.
“Sorry for keeping you up so late, mein schatz. What do you say we pick up were we left off in the morning, ja?” Apollo isn’t sure if he can wrap his head around the implications of that right now, but whatever it means, he feels inclined to agree.
He shifts back under the comforter, letting himself get a little more comfortable rather than awkwardly sticking to one side of the bed like he had previously. Klavier lays noticeably closer to him than before, but he’s too tired to lecture himself on ‘moving too fast’ or whatever his brain would come up with if it were actually working.
For this moment, he lets himself be truly comfortable. For once, it isn’t just out of lacking enough energy to keep his guard up—it’s because he’s with someone who makes him feel comfortable. He’s sure the two of them will have a lot to address in the near future, but he’s fine letting that wait until tomorrow. For now, he shuts his eyes and lets himself drift off. Somewhere in his dreams, he feels warm.