Archive of Our Own

"You're staring, Herr Forehead."

Apollo practically jumps out of his skin. "O—Oh—Uh…"

The Gavinner's dressing room is dimly lit—the oval-ish lights above the vanity mirrors being the only source of light in the room—and Klavier has been staring into the far mirror, busy with undoing his hair—so he figured he'd be safe if he kept himself right in the doorway.

Apparently not.

Klavier twists his hair back into a bun. A few strands fall loose, curled from his typical style. He's still in his stage clothes—or rather… his normal clothes. And in the mirror, he can see his face is still made up with dark eyeshadow and lipstick.

"Now you are ogling."

Crap. He was staring. Is staring. Maybe ogling. 

"Am not," he retorts. He shoves his hands in his pockets, and forces himself to actually enter the damn room. "I'm just, er, dropping by to congratulate you."

Jeez, Apollo, he thinks, could you be any more awkward…?

"Congratulate me?" Klavier tosses him a sideway glance. "Whatever for? You won today, Herr Forehead.”

Apollo stops in front of the first mirror, and folds his arms. "I’m obviously talking about your show."

"Ah!" Klavier spins toward him, face lit up. "Does this mean you actually enjoyed it?”

”Well, uh…”

He recalls how Klavier had dazzled on stage—brighter than he'd ever seen him before. Looking up at him from the audience really was like looking up at a star. Which was nothing yesterday, when the music was way too loud, and the band was way too flashy, and the only saving grace was Lamiroir.

Something had changed since then, and…

"I liked it," he admits. "I actually thought you were… kind of cool."

“Only ‘kind of cool…’” Klavier gives him a once-over. "Hence the shirt."

Oh, right. How could he forget the stupid Gavinners branded t-shirt Trucy had forced onto him? He'd thought about changing before heading backstage, but then his backpack mysteriously disappeared after she left with Phoenix, so he was stuck with a big,  signature G on his front, paired with clashing shades of pink-ish-purple and bright red. Great.

His teeth clench, fists tightening at his sides. "This was not by choice."

Klavier snorts. "Of course not," he says, then turns back to the mirror.

He doesn't sound like he believes him. Which is kind of fair. He put it on himself. Plus, he could've hunted Trucy down and switched back to his regular clothes, but in his defense, he hadn't wanted to waste any time getting back here. After the events of the trial, Klavier seemed okay, but—Well, you never knew what was going on in someone's head, right? And if Klavier and Daryan really were partners, then he had to be hurting at least a little bit? Right?

I should ask him now, he thinks, watching as Klavier pulls his chain up and over his head, as he slides out of his jacket. Are you okay? Just say it! Just like that! Or—No, how about—How are you doing? How are you… feeling?

Instead, he says, "You really do wear lipstick,” because he’s an idiot.

Klavier takes his idiocy in stride, which is becoming typical between them. "You just noticed?"

Apollo gawks. "You've been wearing it all this time?!"

Klavier's head tilts forward as he laughs. "I wouldn't say 'all this time.' I try to save make-up for the stage." He tosses his head, flipping his hair back. "But I'm prone to a little concealer here, a little mascara there…"

Apollo nods, like he gets it.

He doesn't get it.

"Why do you wear it?" he asks, genuinely curious. 

"Simple! It makes me look good."

The corner of his mouth twitches up against his will. "And women will look at you when you walk down the street?"

"Ah, yes. That, too." Klavier tucks his hair behind his ear; the strands fall right back into perfect place. "But really, I just like to feel glamorous. Simple as that."

"You're really living up to that 'glimmerous' title, huh?"

Klavier winks. "I try my best."

"I see..." Apollo folds his arms. Klavier really is trying his best. He hadn't noticed before, but when his head tilts a certain way—towards the light—his skin shimmers. Or rather, the make up. It's a subtle, cool colored sparkle. Like glitter.

"Forehead, Forehead, Forehead…" Klavier tuts. "What did I say about the staring?"

Apollo snaps his gaze up to the ceiling. "S—Sorry!"

"I'm kidding, baby. I’m a rockstar, remember? I actually like it when you look at me."

"Oh." Apollo lowers his sights back to Klavier, who looks way too pleased with his teasing.

"Unless I have something on my face," Klavier adds, "which, if I do, I'd rather you told me."

"You don't," Apollo dryly assures him. He hesitates, but says, "I guess I just don't get it."

"Don't get what?"

"The appeal."

Klavier tilts his head. "I already explained the appeal, didn’t I? Besides…" The rings on his hand glint as he pushes his hair back, and he says, voice silky smooth, "Don't you see my face?"

"Don't you hear how self-absorbed you sound?" Apollo fires back. But Klavier does—objectively speaking!—have a very attractive face, which his make-up only elevates. And unfortunately, the grin he's wearing now is proof that he knows it.

"You can avoid admitting it all you'd like, but I think you see the appeal just fine."

Apollo can't totally lie and deny, but he refuses to say it outright!

"Not the appeal of wearing it.” He scrunches his nose up. “I mean, I'm sure you're perfectly pretty enough without it, so what's even the point?"

"Ah…" Klavier's fingers drum against the vanity, eyes squinted at Apollo, scrutinizing him.

Apollo shifts from one foot to the other. Now who's the one with a staring problem?

The drumming stops. "Would you like to try?"

"Uh." Apollo blinks. "What?"

"I'd be happy to give you a makeover."

"Oh. Oh, no-no-no." He shakes his head. "Hard pass."

"But you are so obviously curious!" Klavier inches toward him, dragging his finger across the vanity. "Or is there another reason behind your staring problem?"

Yeah! You’re absurdly attractive and I'm unfortunately not blind to that!

He'd rather die than ever even suggest that, so he settles on, "Uh."

"Come on, Herr Forehead!” Klavier nudges him with his elbow. “Don't let your fragile masculinity stop you from trying new things!"

Apollo shoots him a deep glare. "I don't have a 'fragile masculinity.'"

Klavier leans in so close, their noses brush for a moment; it sends goosebumps crawling up his arms, then another round when he says with a low, suave voice—

"Prove it."

That line was a trap. If Apollo had thought about it for more than a second, he would’ve realized that. 

But he didn't think for even half a second. Blame the close proximity.

"Keep your eyes closed, Forehead. I'm almost done."

Apollo huffs, but listens, and tries his very best to stay still as Klavier slowly paints over his eyelids. Very slowly. Which is great. It's so great how much care he puts into everything.

But his leg rebels by bouncing against the stool, and his mouth by blurting, "How much longer?"

"Patience, patience."

He huffs again, nearly retorts, but Klavier’s fingers press against his cheek, urging him to turn his face. He tries to calm his stupid heart as the brush tickles his lids, tries to ignore how gentle and soft Klavier's touch is, despite the callouses over the tips of his fingers. When his featherlight grip disappears, he also tries to ignore the way his stupid heart deflates.

"O—kay, baby! Last, but not least!"

Apollo takes that as his cue to open his eyes. Klavier raises lipstick up.

He smirks. "Pucker up, Herr Forehead.”

"Eugh." But he does, and allows Klavier a snicker at the blush blooming under his skin. One would think a full face of makeup would cover it up, but his traitorous ears are feeling pretty hot, too, so it doesn't matter either way.

The smooth, kind of cold tip is dragged over his bottom lip, leaving behind paint heavy enough to feel it. He tries to sneak a glance at the mirror to his side, but all he can only barely make out the dark make-up surrounding his eyes.

Klavier's thumb brushes over his chin, soft, undemanding—which is more than a little odd. It was like it moved on its own. Still, Apollo tilts his chin slightly up, in case that was some sort of signal he missed.

While Klavier's eyes are fixed on painting his lips, Apollo studies them, free from the feeling of being read like a book. Blue is a cold color, and as a result, most blue eyes he's seen tend to pierce right through his skin and into his soul; that first glance is always a little jump-scare.

But Klavier is the exception. Because of course he is. Of course he has to be the first person to make blue eyes look natural, and inviting, and even warm. Not that there’s nothing mysterious to them. The deep blue hue reminds him of the ocean…

He’s not a fan of where his thoughts are heading, so he interrupts them.

"You're sure you know what you're doing?" he asks. 

Klavier's eyes flick up to meet his. "Don't talk while I'm putting your lipstick on." He refocuses on his lips, then adds, "And I'm a professional."

The conversation dies with that; so much for their typical banter to distract him. Klavier sure is concentrated, so he does his best to keep his lips still, and look anywhere besides his eyes. Except—Klavier is kind of taking up his entire field of vision. 

"Close your eyes again?" He sets the lipstick down and picks his eyeshadow brush back up. "I want to fix something."

Apollo sighs, but closes his eyes, allowing it.

His mind wanders to today's trial, and how he'd—once again—been the one to lead the charge against someone special to the prosecutor. At least for Kristoph, Klavier hadn't been there. But for Daryan—Apollo had dug up his crimes right in front of him.

There's a small twinge of guilt in his heart. He knows he did the right thing. He’d do it again in a heartbeat. All of it. Still, it’d be nice if people didn't have to get hurt in the process.

That's why he's really here. He had to check how hurt Klavier was.

But Klavier isn't dressed in that fake, way too flashy rockstar smile he’ll occasionally do. This whole time, he’s been smiling like he always does—easy and relaxed. The light behind his eyes is genuine. And the way he'd performed—he really was dazzling; there’s no better word to describe him. He seems so much lighter after the trial, which is a bit of a surprise, but also a relief and a half.

During the trial, any doubts left that Klavier wasn't a genuine guy had been officially snuffed out. The mental clarity it took just to write Daryan's name on the witness list was proof—at least to Apollo—of Klavier's inner strength. He'd stuck by his convictions and passed the test, and because of that, Apollo actually… It's hard to admit, but he actually… Really…

Damn it. I can't help but admire him.

"All done!" He hears the clink of the brush being set down. "Take a look, Herr Forehead!"

He preemptively sighs, fully faces the mirror, and looks.

His eyes jump out at him. They’re outlined in crisp, sharp black, and surrounded by a dark, red hue. His lips are deep crimson to match, and—if he stands up, gets closer to the mirror—there’s a dim shine dusting his cheeks, shimmering softly in the light. 

Objectively, it's great work. Probably. He's not an expert.

But he looks… Well…

"I look ridiculous."

"You look handsome," Klavier corrects.

Apollo snorts. "You're a bad liar, Prosecutor Gavin."

He stands up beside him, indignant. “You do!"

"Yeah, right!" Apollo gestures at himself in the mirror. "This look is so obviously not for me."

"Ah, well…" Klavier half-shrugs. "I can concede my style is a bit particular, ja?"

Apollo folds his arms. "See? You agree with me!”

"Nein." Klavier smiles down at him. “I think you look pretty."

Apollo’s head reels back. “Pretty?” No way. He squints at Klavier through the mirror, waiting for that smile to falter, to crack into a laugh at his expense.

It doesn’t.

“Yes. Pretty.”

He can never land on whether he's genuinely complimenting him, or just teasing. Right now, he's trying to ignore the evidence saying he's genuine, because it makes his heartbeat quicken and his face flush.

He scoffs, "Enough."

"I'm serious!" Klavier insists. "I'm sure if we complete the look, you’ll see what I see.”

Apollo watches him dig through the make-up bag on the vanity, and fish out a couple small bottles of nail polish. “You’re just having fun giving me a makeover.”

“That, too.” He promptly sits back down in his stool, gesturing for Apollo to do the same.

He sighs, but relents; he got himself into this, didn’t he?

“Fine.” He sits. “But I don’t exactly trust your judgment."

Klavier unscrews the cap of the clear liquid. "Because of my music?"

"That, and not to mention—" He cuts himself off, because that? That would be too far. 

Klavier takes his hand with barely a raised brow. "Not to mention, what?"

"Er! Not to mention your makeup choices!" Crap. Why did he shout that?

Klavier smirks down at his nails. "You're a bad liar, Herr Forehead."

Apollo tries to force a laugh, but it’s so high pitched, he quickly lets it die out. He watches as Klavier paints clear liquid over one nail, then the next, desperately searching for anything else he could possibly say… 

Klavier prods, “Well…?”

He can’t think of anything. Besides, he’s too easy to read.

He coughs behind his free hand. "I meant your taste in—Er." He coughs again. "In men."

Klavier's brows fly up, but he's still smiling.

"Fair," he says, face relaxing. "I don't have the best track record, do I?"

He’s poking fun at himself, so Apollo relaxes enough to join in, "Not at all.”

Klavier chuckles. "I will say, just for the record—" He switches to Apollo's other hand— "he was a great boyfriend while we were in high-school.”

Apollo can't help scrunching up his face. "You've dated him since high-school?"

The brush freezes over Apollo's thumbnail. "That's… a generous way to put it." He resumes painting, seeming to debate something in his head by the way his smile tightens and his eyes flit around. "We were more of an… on-again, off-again thing as we grew up."

"Oh." Is that better, or worse? A horrible little part of him cheers that things never got serious between the two of them, because frankly, screw Daryan. At the same time, knowing Klavier, he probably wanted it to be serious, so… Maybe it is worse.

"Sorry," is all he can think to say.

But Klavier's back to his usual laid back smile. "We've been off for a while. No need to feign sympathy."

Apollo sputters. "I—I'm not—! I really am—!

"I saw how you two were at each other's necks! It was a good show!" Klavier switches the clear nail polish for the black bottle, laughing. “I've never met someone as hot-headed as Daryan!"

Apollo hears glass crack in his head.

"I am not a thing like him!"

"No, definitely not." Klavier takes his other hand, pauses before he begins painting again, then chuckles. "Just the hot-headed part."

While he goes back to work, Apollo steams and seethes. The idea that he is anything like Detective Dickhead is so repulsive, he wants to barf!

Unfortunately, he can't come up with a good defense against that hot-headed point; he’s self aware enough to know he's got kind of impulsive tendencies…

So he just scoffs. Loudly.

Klavier looks up from his nails, eyes a little wide. "Wow. You really don't like him at all, do you?"

He shouldn't have said that; now Apollo can't resist going in.

"Why would I? He was a total asshole to me! Which I can handle, that’s whatever—But he was also an asshole to Trucy! To Trucy! And Lamiroir! Ugh—! And the way he manipulated Machi—Ugh—I just hate people that punch down, and he seemed addicted to it!"

Klavier hums. "He certainly seemed prepared to take it all the way."

"And the way he tried to guilt you with that whole ‘Partner’ thing! That pissed me off! And look, you can plot a smuggling scheme all you want, whatever—Er, I mean, not whatever, but—It's really the way he tried to bring everyone down with him! Especially you! He set his so-called partner up!"

Klavier switches to his other hand. "Did he, now?"

"Remember? He used your guitar to hide the cocoon, knowing that if it got discovered at any point, you would be the one accused of smuggling! And then, he went even further by planting your keys on LeTouse's body! I mean, the courtroom thought you were a suspect for a good minute!"

Klavier pauses. "Hm."

"A real partner wouldn't even think of doing that! He had some nerve throwing that back in your face! You deserve better than that total—Total—!" He cuts himself off. His face is all hot, and his free hand is in a tight claw, fighting back against clenching into a fist and ruining his nail polish.

"Total what?"

Apollo relaxes his hand flat against the vanity, and mutters, "Total dickhead."

Klavier laughs, lets go of his hand. "All done."

Apollo fans his hands out before him, examining his nails. They’re plain black, neat and glossy. He takes in his reflection, and Klavier was right; they do kind of tie the look together.

"They look great," he says. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said…"

"Don't apologize. You're not exactly wrong, are you?"

"Still…" Apollo trails off. He'd kind of forgotten that Daryan wasn't just some guy to Klavier; he was his best friend, once. “I’m—”

"Don't apologize," Klavier repeats, stern, "I mean it. There’s no reason to."

"Okay." Apollo stares down at his nails, then at his reflection again. Now that he’s getting used to the look, the appeal of make-up—and even this style—is starting to, well, appeal to him. He’s getting it. 

Klavier rests his chin against his hand, leans toward him. "What do I deserve?"

Apollo blinks. "Huh?"

"You said I deserve better," Klavier explains. "Who’s better?"

"Er…" Had he really said that? He’d sort of lost himself in his rant... "I don't know. Anybody's better than him."

"Like you?"

Apollo chokes on air. He walked right into that one, didn't he?

"Yeah," he says, because it's not like that's incorrect, right? "Right. Like… me."

Wait, what? What is he saying?

Klavier’s brows raise; he wasn’t expecting that response, either. He hums, finger tapping against his cheek, as if he's genuinely thinking about it. "Why?"

A one-word question is all it takes for Apollo to open his big mouth.

"Well—I don't know! You just deserve someone who respects you—who sees you as an actual person, not a means to an end! And since that’s the bare minimum, then—Yeah! I would be better! Again, anybody would be better than Daryan! That’s a pretty low bar! So—So, yeah! That’s why!” 

He clamps his mouth shut. His face is fuming, and it doesn’t help how deeply amused Klavier looks. He baited him, and he fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. 

“Good to know,” Klavier says with a teasing lilt that makes Apollo bristle, “I’ll think about it.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, which of course just makes Klavier laugh, which of course makes him defensive in return. “Look, I—I just hate to see good, decent people get screwed over! That’s all!”

“Aw, how sweet!” Klavier coos. “You really think I’m good and decent?”

Apollo frowns. This is one of those times when Klavier is plain confusing. Is he teasing, or being serious?

“Well—Of course I do.” It’s a no-brainer after the trial. “Don’t you?”

Klavier's lashes flutter. He sits up straight, arm dropped, expression blank, and for a moment, Apollo worries he said something wrong.

And then a grin lights up his whole face.

That does nothing to reassure Apollo. "What?"

"Nothing.” Klavier tucks his hair behind his ear. “I just realized what your look is missing."

Apollo deflates. He huffs, "Jeez, you’re still on that? Were you listening to me at—?"

Klavier holds his shoulder as he presses his lips against his cheek, long and hard, then backs off, still smiling brightly.

"There," he says, tipping his head towards the mirror. "Much better now, ja?"

Apollo tries to talk, but he chokes on every word. It's all he can do to turn his face towards the mirror, and take in the dark lip print stamped on his face.

He bursts into flames.

"What the hell—?!" His hand flies to his cheek. "What was that for?!"

Klavier shrugs. "I was listening to you."

"You were—?! You were li—?! You did—?! But you—?!"

Damn it! One little kiss on the cheek, and all of a sudden he doesn't know how to talk! Stupid sexy Klavier Gavin!

He should punch him. He should! Or kick him in the shins! Or throw something at him! He should push him away and leave without another word! Because it’s one thing to tease, and another thing to do that! So much for budding friendships!

But then he catches something behind Klavier's eyes. Something bright, yet flickering, wavering…

"Ach, sorry." He plays with the fringe of his hair as he smiles to the side. There's something about his voice—it's got a higher pitch to it… "I thought it'd tie the look together, but… Ah, well…"

He's nervous.

Every man has an igniter. Apollo is no different.

It clicks in his heart, sets it ablaze, and before he knows it, he grabs Klavier's face in his hands and mashes their lips together.

Klavier wastes no time returning it, shaping it into less of a clash of lips, and more of an actual kiss. He cups his face, slots their nose together, which makes Apollo's spine tingle all the way down.

He has no idea what he's doing—he's moving on pure instinct, gripping the back of Klavier's head, sliding one hand down to his chest, to rest over his waist. It's kind of awkward, with how far he's leaning forward on the edge of his seat—The stools were too close just a second ago!—but Klavier meets him exactly where he is, slowly builds the kiss up from something clumsy and hesitant, to a natural, warm flow of hands and lips. He strokes Apollo's cheek with his thumb, then trails down to his hip. He hooks his finger in his belt loop, and pulls. Apollo stumbles to his feet and slots right between his legs.

He pulls his face back, just a bit, just to catch his breath, but he kind of—Not kind of. He really likes kissing him. It sucks to stop.

So, he compromises.

He stamps kisses all over Klavier's face—cheeks, nose, forehead, temple, the edges of his ears, his jaw, his neck—he doesn't leave a square inch unkissed, and by the sound of things, Klavier loves it, humming with approval, exhaling breathy laughs when he kisses more sensitive spots. He wraps his arms around his waist and holds him closer, and Apollo gets absurdly dizzy at their bodies pressing together.

He tries not to think too hard about how, with each kiss to his face, he's—in a way—marking Klavier as his. He really tries not to think about it, and fails completely; it makes his stomach do a cartwheel.

Finally, he returns to Klavier's lips, and this time, he plans to stay, relishing in how warm they are, how no matter how he moves, they move in tandem, Klavier quick to follow his lead.

That's… that makes his gut jump.

There's also the noises. Klavier is noisy, and he only gets noisier. He hums and whines and moans through closed lips, and it's driving Apollo out of his mind, fire building inside him.

There's one sound in particular—It's his name. Not a stupid nickname—his real, actual name, spoken in a quiet, barely perceptible murmur that caresses his lips—

"Apollo."

Screw it.

He practically launches himself into him, throwing him off balance, sending them both tumbling to the floor, a mess of tangled limbs and breathy laughter.

Apollo finds the strength to breathe out, "Sorry." The heat of his own breath radiates off the skin of Klavier's lips, brushes his own.

Klavier frantically shakes his head against the floor, nose bumping his, whispers, "Don't stop," then pulls him back down into him, warm lips meeting burning ones, and Apollo feels like he fell from the stool all over again.

He starts to find his confidence in the realization that Klavier wants this—wants him. He braves a lick at his lips, and is answered with an open mouth, a warm tongue meeting his. A surge of heat shoots down his spine, pools in his gut. He has no idea what the hell Klavier has ignited inside him, but he has no intention of putting it out, and every intention of feeding the flames.

The kiss gets sloppy. Teeth nick, saliva builds, mixing between them, hands wander aimlessly, touching and squeezing, and a new flow begins, urgent and eager, with the two of them searching for each sensitive spot that pulls out a new sound—like the sides of Klavier's chest, or the bare nape of Apollo's neck, or the spot right below Klavier's ear, or the edge of Apollo's collarbone. Each touch brings out a small gasp, hitches their breaths—it all make’s Apollo’s head spin.

His hands are burning, alight from his own desire, and from Klavier melting under his hands, warm and malleable, and a never ending symphony of pleasure, vibrating against him. Each whimper, each moan coaxed from the back of his throat is soft, a near whisper, but they're never ending, almost melodic, pitching up and down. Apollo moans back without thought; the sound is just naturally tugged out of him, like this is a song. Their duet. He could listen to it forever.

He wants more—sounds, sights, touch—all of it—and he smashes every last restraint in the back of his mind. He kisses him harder, shoves his hands up Klavier's shirt, and relishes in the heat of his skin, of his chest, firm in its softness, and Klavier whimpers against his lips, arches into his touch and snakes his arms around Apollo’s shoulders. Through the buzz, clarity builds in the back of his mind, equally exciting and frightening—

This is bigger than a crush.

Because this—deep kisses, shaking hands, skin meeting skin, pulling each other closer, closer, closer—this is not a performance, not a game—for either of them. This feels bigger than shared values for the truth and justice. Or, smaller. Because this is just them.

Urgency hits him square in the chest. He has to say something. He has to say something!

He pulls back, gasping for air. Klavier joins the fight to breathe again, and his eyes catch his, shining, glittering, glossy with a feeling he can’t quite place—

He knows just what to say.

"Klavier—"

There's a loud knock on the door right before it slams open.

"Don't get mad at me, fop! You know the rule is to kick everyone out by…!"

Frozen in the doorway, Ema stares down at them. Her face is eerily neutral, completely unreadable, as she takes in their tangled limbs, their tousled hair, their painted faces...

And then it twists.

"Ew."

Klavier flashes her an upside down smile, and somehow sounds completely put together. "Give us a few minutes, Frau Detective?"

Ema completely ignores his bargaining. "What the fuck is wrong with you two?"

"Uh," is Apollo's very eloquent response, because—Well, is there really any point of defending two obviously guilty parties? He should probably get up and off of Klavier, but he's so embarrassed, he's frozen to the spot.

"Blegh! You—! You’re both freaks! Get the hell out!" She steps to the side of the doorway, pointing out to the hall. "Now, you—you—you freaks!"

She's pissed. More than usual. The two of them scramble to their feet and are out the door in seconds.

As he passes her, she catches his arm and hisses, "Him?"

Apollo just shrugs, helpless, which earns him a scoff and a shove out the door. She'll probably interrogate him later, and even try to convince him he's lost his sanity, but at the moment, she seems too angry to even try.

Thank god.

The hall is dark, just enough lights switched on to make out where they're going. It feels kind of ominous with Ema pushing them down the hall, like she's taking them to be executed. Although really, it feels more like they're a couple of high-schoolers caught on campus after school.

He can't bring himself to look at Klavier, because—because everything he just did is rapidly catching up with him. He'd all but pounced on him! And sure, he'd seemed into it—But maybe he was just caught up in the moment? Maybe Klavier was performing more than he thought?

That doesn't sound right, but he can't help the doubt crawling up his skin—and the shame. What was he, stupid? What happened to self control? Now Klavier definitely had the wrong impression that he just wanted him for his body or something.

Which isn't true! Dammit, he'd nearly—!

Ema all but kicks them out the front entrance, locks the door behind them, says, "Excuse me, I'm going to go barf, then bleach my eyes, because you two are actually fucking sickening. I hope you're happy."

And then she's gone.

"She's almost as fiesty as you," Klavier teases behind him.

Apollo can only nod, which feels pathetic. He has to at least look at Klavier. And say goodbye. Or see you later. Like a normal person. Unlike a total jerk. But for once, he can't get his voice to work.

So much for chords of steel…

"Forehead. Here."

A pack of make-up wipes is pressed into his hands, which gets him to look up, and—

"Oh man."

Klavier's face is a mess. A pretty mess, which goes without saying, but—Oh, man—There's lipstick stains on every square inch of his face, and the paint over his lips—his very swollen lips—is smudged so bad, it looks nearly wiped clean off.

Damn it. He really did lose control of himself… 

"I—I'm so sorry." He thinks he gets the message of the wet-wipes, and pries open the package. "Here, sit down, I'll—"

"Ah, no, those are yours." Klavier pushes it back into him. "I have my own at my place. I figured you didn't."

That gets Apollo to freeze. He hadn't even considered the state of himself, and now that he is…

He blushes furiously.

"I—It’s my mess," he insists. “Sit down."

"You don't have to—"

"Prosecutor Gavin, come on." He grabs his wrist and pulls him down with him onto the steps. "Sit."

Klavier doesn’t protest any further. He stays quiet as Apollo tugs a wipe out, lets him rub it against his face, scrubbing at the lipstick stains. He keeps his gaze trained on each spot he cleans up; he’s not ready for eye contact yet.

A couple of them come right off, but there’s a stubborn stain on Klavier’s temple that refuses to budge. Whatever. His hair mostly covers it, anyway. 

He moves up to his forehead, and their eyes catch on each other. He freezes. 

Klavier winks. Apollo instinctively rolls his eyes, but laughs, which gets Klavier to laugh in turn. Nice, easy laughter, light and relaxed. It fades quickly, but the fuzzy warmth it grew stays behind. 

What is he so worried about, anyway?

Besides, there’s no avoiding this. They have to talk about what just happened. Don’t they? Yes, that sounds like the mature, adult thing to do, instead of just jumping the poor rockstar and leaving without a word.

"I'm sorry," he says as he dabs at Klavier's jaw. "I kind of, er… Lost control.” He clears his throat, and wishes—not for the first time—that his face would stop being so quick to heat up.

Klavier chuckles, "Ah, yes. I tend to have that effect on people."

Other people? Losing it? Over Klavier? That is the absolute last thing Apollo wants to think about, and he gives Klavier's shoulder a good, hard shove to make his point, then goes back to rubbing his face clean—aggressively.

"Kidding, kidding!" He's not, but the half-apology is enough to cool Apollo down enough to cease his attack. "What I mean is, you don't have to apologize."

"I dunno. I think I do." He halts over Klavier's cheek. "I thought… The reason I visited you was… I thought you could use a friend, and..."

Klavier’s face softens with understanding. "Ah."

"Yeah. But then, I just… I ruined it, and… " His hands fall to his lap of their own volition, bringing his gaze down with them. They roll into tight fists. “I'm so sorry. I know the last thing you need in your life is another mess."

Klavier hums. "Life is messy, ja? Besides..." His hand slides over his own, clenched fist. "I liked it."

"Y—You did?" He looks up. Klavier's eyes are sparking in the light of twilight.

"Very much."

That gets Apollo to relax. "Me, too," he says. Then adds, "Very much." Clumsily, he takes Klavier's other hand in his own and squeezes, and they exchange small, shy smiles.

Huh. Prosecutor Gavin, being shy? Who would've thunk?

"So," Apollo says, dragging out the word, "now what?"

"Good question." Klavier inches closer. "What do you want?"

What's he supposed to say to that? Well, Prosecutor Gavin, I’m pretty sure I want you, in a lot of ways that aren't appropriate, and also a lot of ways that are kind of deep and scary, and I've never felt this way about anybody before—actually I think I might be going crazy—so I don't know how to answer that at all!

He definitely can't say that.

I want to kiss you again.

Nope. Not that, either.

"I know what I don't want," he says instead, "I don't want to hurt you. Twice is more than enough."

Klavier's head tilts. "Twice?"

"Daryan and…" Apollo pulls his hands back to gesture aimlessly. "You know…"

"Ah,” Klavier realizes, “Kristoph."

"Yeah. And now…" Apollo throat tightens. "Maybe this, too."

That hangs between them for a moment.

"You really think…?" Klavier falters, frowns. "You haven't hurt me. You know that, ja?"

Apollo can tell he really means it, but that doesn't mean he's right.

"I'm just not… I'm not what you need right now." He looks back down at his hands. “It’s bad timing.”

His heart sinks at his own admission. He would love to be ready to take on Klavier—And he kind of feels like he could—But, logically speaking? There's just too much between them, keeping them apart. It’s a bad idea. 

A sudden rush of anger surges through him. He does his best to shove it down—now is not the time to blow up at the world—but it leaks through his shaking, tightly clenched fists.

"It is pretty bad timing," Klavier agrees. His smile twists Apollo's stomach. He's being a good sport about this, of course he is, and it makes his anger bubble up, because… this just isn’t fair. 

"Yeah.” He stands up. "So I guess that's that."

Before Klavier can say anything, he sets his sights on a nearby garbage can down the steps, and quickly journeys toward it to throw the wet wipe away.

He chucks it in the can, harder than he meant, but it's not a very satisfying chuck, anyway. The wipe sort of unfolds and catches the air on the way down. 

"Need a ride?"

He jumps with a yelp. How had he not noticed Klavier follow him?

"U—Uh—" he stammers— "N—No, I'm fine. I have a bike."

Klavier brushes his hair back. "So do I. It’s much faster."

Apollo huffs. "Prosecutor Gavin…"

He should say no. That is the smart thing to do. Do not tempt temptation.

But Klavier's face… There’s something soft to it that's really hard—no, honestly impossible—to disagree with.

He should've said no. Not just because he's tempting temptation, but because motorcycles were designed with evil intentions, such as making Apollo want to barf with every turn down the street.

He peeks over Klavier's shoulder to check the speed limit, but he's only a single mile above it, which really can't be right. He could've sworn they were speeding.

In conclusion, motorcycles must have some kind of black magic.

They make it to Apollo's apartment building in one piece. Klavier has the courtesy to stop by the entrance, but Apollo wouldn't mind walking a little further in place of motorcycling.

He doesn't care how hasty he appears as he hops right off, tugging the spare helmet he'd been lent off his head. Klavier snickers, to which he shoots him a glare, then wordlessly offers back the helmet.

Their fingers brush as he takes it back, sending an electric shock through Apollo's system that freezes him in place.

"You're welcome," Klavier sings.

"Uh, yeah." He clears his throat. "Thanks for the ride."

He’s still frozen. Why can’t he move?!

Klavier removes his own helmet, shakes out his hair. "Can I ask…?"

Oh great he's going to ask if I'm in love with him or something and I'm not going to be able to—!

"How about one more kiss—” he points to his cheek— “right here?”

Oh.

What?

“Are you serious?”

Klavier shrugs. ”I’d like to end this on a good note, if you don’t min—"

"This isn't ending!" Apollo blurts.

Klavier's brows fly up. His smile slowly stretches up his face. "I meant the day."

Apollo freezes. "Oh."

"But that's good to know, too."

"Uh-huh."

Klavier tilts his cheek toward him, and has the audacity to tap it. "One more…?”

He should smack him… Or push him off the stupid bike… Or…

Is it a good or bad sign that those kinds of thoughts are not nearly as intense as they used to be?

"Kidding!" Klavier drops his hand with a stiff laugh. His other hand rises to his ear. "Totally kidding. Sorry."

Apollo’s bracelet hugs his wrist. He catches him rubbing his earlobe between his fingers, finger brushing over what looks like a closed piercing. 

He sighs. "Gotcha."

Klavier’s hand drops. "Hm?"

“Nothing,” he says. “You’re just a bad liar.”

He ignores his bracelet, ignores the urge to decode the tell to his face, and wraps his arms around Klavier's shoulders, pulling him down and hugging him close—which is more than a little awkward, with the way he's still perched on his motorbike. But he has a hunch he needs it.

Sure enough, Klavier returns it, but not in the way he expected; a playful ‘Aw,’ paired with a quip about how nice he can be when he tries—that’s where Apollo’s mind went.

Instead, Klavier returns his sincerity in full force, tightly winding his arms around his middle and holding him closer. The side of his head presses against his cheek, and he can feel him burying his nose in the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

Apollo lets him. It's been a hard year.

"I really am sorry about everything," he says, as soft as he can. "Especially…” his hand tightens in Klavier’s hair. “Especially Kristoph."

Klavier's head lifts, and the look on his face—his smile is tight, his brows are knit, his eyes are a storm of emotions, swirling with clashing feelings; Apollo swears he can pick out sorrow, and anguish, and fear, and hope.

(That last one might just be his reflection.)

The storm in his eyes rages on as he unwinds himself from Apollo, who steps back in turn—and then Klavier catches his hands in his and squeezes, and his gaze turns fierce.

"It's not over yet."

Apollo's breath catches. He remembers Phoenix’s words to him post-trial, how his typical cryptic allusions had something… different lying underneath it. He couldn’t quite place his finger on what that something was, but…

"No," he agrees. "It's not."

Before he can think too hard, he gives him a chaste kiss. Or, he meant to. But he lingers, just for a moment, caught in the warmth of his lips. Somehow, he manages to pull away, and is glad to see Klavier's smile has lost its tightness, that his sudden intensity is gone, and he’s grown totally soft again.

“This changes nothing in court, you know,” he murmurs. “No special treatment.”

Apollo snorts. He wouldn’t expect anything less, and he thinks Klavier knows that.

"See ya," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

"See ya," Klavier playfully echoes.

He backs up, reluctantly pulling his hands out of Klavier’s as he does, then walks to the entrance of his building.

His hand is right on the door-handle when he hears Klavier call after him. "Goodnight, Herr Forehead!”

He turns. Klavier’s still perched on his motorcycle where he left him, sending him a wave. 

"Goodnight—" he hesitates… but sticks with, "Prosecutor Gavin."

Klavier shoots him one last flashy smile, then pulls his helmet back on. He revs his engine, once, twice—three times.

Apollo rolls his eyes, but turns away to hide his laughter at Klavier being… Klavier, and heads inside as he hears him speed away. 

His thoughts circle on his way up to his apartment. His feelings, too. He thinks of his debate with himself to check on Klavier after the show. He thinks of Klavier brightening when he’d admitted he actually liked it. He thinks of the careful way he’d painted his face, his nails. He thinks of how he’d had zero tact over Daryan, of how he’d insisted Klavier deserved better, and that he himself would be better, and somehow, that’d been enough to earn a kiss on… the…

Wait a minute. 

He bursts into his apartment, ignores Mikeko’s annoyed meows at his late arrival, and rushes straight for the bathroom.

He flicks on the light, and whirls toward the mirror.

Sure enough, Klavier’s kiss is still stamped on his cheek. 

He just stares at it. Then at the rest of his face. His eyes are slightly smeared around the edges, but his lips are… very smudged. He hones back in on the lipstick print, and his hand rises to it, mindlessly traces it with his fingertips, still donned in neat, black nail polish. All these little details managing to stick to him would definitely make Klavier happy. 

He knows he’s lost all his sensibility when he flicks off the light and leaves it be. Maybe he’ll regret not cleaning his face tomorrow, but right now, he’s exhausted. Let it stain. If that’s how make-up works. Whatever. 

He flops back on his bed, stares up at the ceiling, and his mind wanders back to the kiss. The very long, very indulgent kiss. Just thinking about him makes him all warm and tingly.

He hadn’t once considered that Klavier ever felt anything for him. He hadn’t really thought he felt anything for Klavier, either. But in hindsight… Maybe his reluctant admiration and jealousy was just the tip of the iceberg. And maybe Klavier’s playful flirting wasn’t all just teasing. 

He has to stop his thoughts there. He just has to. It’s stupid—completely illogical—to hope for more.

But…

Maybe… Maybe… If they can cross off the long list of things keeping them apart… If there’s another, more final ending for Kristoph Gavin…

‘It's not over yet.’

It sure isn’t. It’s hard to picture a future with a neat, happy ending. Not just for the two of them—for everyone. But if there really isn’t even a glimmer of hope in the darkness ahead…

Well, that’s fine. Apollo will make it himself.