Work Text:
There are many things Apollo loves about being 21. He loves spending all day in the school library, he loves living with his childhood best friend, and admittedly (though he will still complain about it), he loves the night every semester after Clay’s last midterm, when he finds himself at The Lazy Dog bar on campus.
They’re late to the venue today: the host is already on stage announcing the first act by the time Apollo gets to their usual table. Apollo only catches a vague glimpse of the band, some hyper-pop-rock group that Apollo probably wouldn’t listen to if this wasn’t a free community event. It looks like something Clay’s twin sister would like, or something he could see Trucy getting into when she’s a bit older: there’s body glitter glinting off of the lead singer’s skin. Trucy might be a touch too young to see a show like this. Apollo sips his Coke.
A waste, Clay had teased when he had ordered it, the first time we’re in here without fakes and you’re not even getting liquor.
He opens up his newest library book. While Clay might be done with studying, Apollo doesn’t have the luxury of traditional college schedules to fall back on. He can’t afford to quit studying, not if he wants to make any real progress on his thesis before his outline is due next month. Not everyone can be a genius like Clay.
He glances over at Clay, who’s already got a red solo cup in his hand and is flirting with a brunette at the bar. He’s leaning forward against the bartop with a boyish smile, soft black locks flopping over his eyebrows. The exam season hasn’t left him battered the way most people are tonight, hunched over with obvious exhaustion painted across their faces.
The brunette says something to Clay. Clay laughs and their face lights up. Apollo’s made his peace with not being the smart or hot one, but Clay’s charisma has always been a point of jealousy. Apollo admires how Clay can manage this: making every person he talks to feel like they’re the most important person in the room.
Clay will spend a couple of minutes playfully flirting but will inevitably find his way back to Apollo. He’ll find the brunette after the show again if he wants to spend the night elsewhere, otherwise they have a presumed default: buying cheap pizza and playing Mario Kart in Clay’s bed. Apollo doesn’t need to be flirted with to know that in most rooms, he’s the most important person to Clay.
He returns to his book. The music dies down. The lead singer passes the mic to the backing vocalist, who comes up to center stage, light reflecting off of half a dozen rings studding his fingers.
“We’ve got one more song for you all tonight,” he says with a smile bright enough to look fake, perfectly pearly white teeth. “Daryan was nice enough to let me perform this one. I know they always say not to end a concert on a slow note, but I know we’ve got some great bands coming up after us so I figured we’d take this chance to let you all hear something new we’ve been working on.”
There’s cheering from the crowd. This guy is popular: it’s rare for this crowd to cheer for anyone. Apollo supposes that it helps that this guy falls squarely into most people’s perception of attractiveness. He’s got that androgynous, ethereal charm to him, loose blonde hair curling down by his shoulders, silver angel bites and a bandeau top with chains dangling against his chest. Not that it’s any of Apollo’s business. Apollo needs to focus, needs to get back to this study on religion-based biases impacting immigration policy.
Grunner and McMann suggest that this case may lead to a new precedent, though it is yet to be proven whether this ruling’s impact will be felt across state lines. This harks back to the aforementioned case in 1983, where Texas lawmakers-
Apollo does not want to read. He barely makes it through a couple of paragraphs before Clay flops down on the seat beside him and pours some of his liquor - almost certainly some shitty flavored vodka - into Apollo’s half-finished Coke.
He holds up his hand to stop Apollo before he can complain, and reaches over with his free hand to flip the book shut.
“We’re partying tonight, Pollo,” he states. “You can be a nerd tomorrow.”
Partying. Yeah, right, like Apollo is sooooo well known for how much he likes to party, what with spending most nights out as Clay’s designated driver.
“Clay-” he begins, but Clay just shakes his head.
“Nope. No getting out of it. I happen to have kept up on international affairs, and I happen to know that you’ve got reason to celebrate tonight.”
Apollo blinks. How on earth does Clay know about that? It had taken considerable effort for Apollo to find out about the Dragons’ win today: a huge landmark case for Khura’in, where seventy-two rebel leaders were acquitted and released. It’s not all perfect: they’re not being compensated for the six years of unlawful containment, Dhurke is having to hide out again, and the publicly-owned newspapers won’t report on it, but seventy-two lives have a second chance. It’s nothing to scoff at.
Clay’s eyes twinkle playfully as he telepathically reads Apollo’s question.
“Don’t ask a boy to reveal all his secrets,” he says, which really just means that Datz called while Apollo was out. “Anyways. We’re going to have fun tonight. And I want you to flirt with at least one person.”
Apollo’s fingers trace over the edge of the book. He has things to work on, but hey, he’s in his first year of what will likely be a six-year process. He’s got time. He doesn’t know how much he’s going to be able to focus on reading now anyways, given the sheer number of people here.
He sets the book down, swirls the straw around in his drink and takes a long sip. Looking around the bar, he sees the usual collection of people. Sorority girls in a big group: too intimidating. Frat boys in a big group: unlikely. The bar locals in the heart of the room: too old for Apollo’s tastes. The art students in the corner with their piercings and sketchbooks: wayyyyyy out of Apollo’s league. Even the scattering of various people standing alone don’t catch Apollo’s eye tonight. Nobody he’s interested in flirting with, at least.
He instead focuses his attention back up on the stage, where the band is in the middle of their last song, much slower than the last one, a ballad about loneliness. This singer’s got pretty impressive vocal control, flitting between notes with ease, like wind weaving through the trees. His eyes are closed for this song, and it feels like he’s an astral projection, floating on the stage. Apollo doesn’t mind this song as much as the last one. Prefers the vocals too. He makes a note of the band’s name, scrawled on the lineup whiteboard in dry-erase marker: Crescendo. He’ll have to look them up later, if they have a Spotify set up.
He feels Clay’s eyes on him and straightens up before Clay can come to any conclusions about his staring. “I’ll dance if the next band plays anything fun, but no promises.”
Clay rolls his eyes fondly. He also looks up at the band. The backing vocalist blows a kiss to the audience as they cheer, then returns the mic to the lead singer, some guy with a dark shag of hair, a smiley piercing peeking out between his teeth.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” he rasps into the mic. He looks around the crowd and grins when he sees Clay. “Especially if you just got done with finals. We’ve been Crescendo, everyone, you know where to find us.”
“You know that guy?” Apollo asks.
“He’s on my capstone team. Audio engineer.” The band makes their way off the stage and separates, the lead singer walking over to the table with the backing vocalist in tow. Clay raises his hand to fistbump him. “Daryan, hey. Great set, love the new song.”
“Klavier’s work,” the guy - Daryan - replies. He’s got a cool, nonchalant air about him, like he’s the type of guy who could choose to take a walk to the beach on his way to the airport. Or maybe he just comes off that way in comparison to his bandmate.
Clay glances at Klavier, who’s rocking back and forth on the ball of his feet, his eyes flitting around the bar in search of anything more exciting than silence. He looks more human off-stage here: Apollo can see split ends and brown roots growing out, can see that he’s misspelt his Kandi friendship bracelet as “efervescence”.
“I didn’t know you wrote,” Clay says.
Klavier startles like a wild gazelle, almost as though he’s surprised to be addressed. There’s a faint European undertone to his accent that wasn’t present in his singing voice. “I write. Quieter pieces though. Something… er… ruhig. Dar usually prefers our songs to be a little more exciting. He made an exception for this one,” his eyes twinkle playfully, “because he loves me.”
“Because I loved the song,” Daryan grumbles, though Klavier is laughing and bumping his head lightly against Daryan’s, so Apollo can tell that the truth lies somewhere closer to Klavier’s version of events.
He must stare too long because he becomes suddenly aware of Clay’s eyes on him, and the terrible realization of Clay’s Cheshire cat smile.
“Apollo’s like that too,” Clay announces. “He’s always telling me soft music is more romantic. I’m sure he really liked your song. Isn’t that right, Apollo?”
Fucking Clay. Outwitted again - he’s set Apollo up perfectly. Apollo wins brownie points if he answers correctly. Apollo looks like a douchebag if he tries to get out of it. Clay obviously knows this.
“It was excellent,” Apollo agrees awkwardly. “You looked great up there.” It takes a flush spreading across Klavier’s cheeks for Apollo to realize how it comes across. The last thing he wants is for it to sound like he’s flirting with this guy while his… boyfriend, maybe, is standing right next to him. “I didn’t- that’s-”
Klavier laughs, a lovely tinkling sound, crooked incisor peeking out from between his lips. “Don’t wound me, Herr Haschen, let me keep the compliment.”
Clay finishes up his drink and stands.
“I need another drink,” he announces, wrapping his arm around Daryan’s shoulder. That absolute menace.
Daryan is in on it too, given his smirk, and how he nudges Klavier forward with his elbow before leaning into Clay. “Dude,” he says, “I gotta talk to you about the bullshit-ass shit we had to deal with for the ME2091 final. Guess what happened.”
“Meacham decided to axe the curve?”
“Meacham decided to axe the fucking curve.”
They make their way over to the bar. Klavier shifts, smiling sheepishly at Apollo.
“Let me guess, your friend is trying to set us up?”
Apollo grimaces. “How could you tell?”
Klavier gestures vaguely to the book on the table and sits in Clay’s empty seat. “You’re the walking stereotype of bringing a book to a concert, and you’re drinking soda. Seems to me you’re not the bar type.”
“Fair enough. Though he wasn’t wrong. I really did like your last song. It reminded me of-” he hesitates for a moment. Klavier is a stranger. He doesn’t need to open up to him. But then again… Klavier is a stranger. He never has to see him again if he doesn’t want to. There isn’t much to lose. “Have you ever heard anything by Jove Justice?”
Klavier’s face lights up in recognition. “...of course. As any self-respecting musician should have. Please don’t tell me my song accidentally plagiarized him.”
“No, no, nothing like that!” Apollo corrects quickly. He takes a sip from his drink. “It just reminded me of his self-titled album, the way the vocals blended into the guitar. It was good. It was really good.”
Klavier breathes out a sigh of relief. He fidgets with his rings, shifting them from his middle finger to his ring finger and back again. There’s a red indent in his middle finger: the rings are too tight. He’s had them for a while, if the chipping enamel is anything to go by.
No indents on the ring finger on his left hand, though Apollo isn’t sure why he’s even looking at that.
There are details about Jove Justice and his last name that Apollo could tell Klavier, but not everything needs to be laid bare quite yet.
“Does Crescendo have any other shows coming up soon?”
They both know what Apollo means by that. There’s a twinkle in Klavier’s eyes. He rummages around in his wallet and produces a business card, which he places on the table and slides over to Apollo with his middle and ring finger.
Kristoph Gavin - Gavin Law Offices
“This is my brother’s work,” Klavier says, “but I handle reception, so this is my personal cell number. We don’t have any shows coming up yet, but send me a text some time and I’ll make sure to let you know when we have something scheduled.”
Unknown Number: hey it’s apollo from the bar yesterday
Unknown Number: just sending this to make sure its the right number
Klavier (music): It is!!! Klavier Gavin at your service.
Klavier (music): I’m not cruel enough to give you a fake number!!! :(
Apollo Show CUTE: tbh i was more worried id text and your brother would be like “why r u texting my workplace who even r u”
Klavier (music): Lolllllll, no Kristoph Gavin here, only Klavier! Sorry 2 disappoint.
Apollo Show CUTE: relieved, not disappointed
Apollo Show CUTE: clay (my friend from yesterday) and i had tickets to an exhibit at the modern art museum later today but he may or may not have had too many drinks last night and may or may not still be v hungover
Apollo Show CUTE: interested in a free ticket?
Klavier (music): I’m always interested in free anything. Where and when?
“I’ve never understood modern art,” Klavier says, sipping his $7 Caffe Mocha from Steps. Apollo feels a little like a boomer: he wants to scold Klavier for paying for that overpriced garbage.
“Surprising coming from you,” Apollo says instead. He picks up Klavier’s discarded straw wrapper and begins folding it just to have something to do with his hands. “Being a musician and all. I feel like artists usually enjoy most types of art.”
“I like the interesting ones well enough, but even when I like it, I feel like I don’t get it. I keep searching for deeper meanings that don’t seem to exist.” Klavier swirls the straw around the cup, the ice tumbling around in the plastic container. “Like what am I supposed to take away from a bunch of colors on a canvas?”
Klavier’s brows are furrowed in genuine frustration, like it really bothers him that he’s been excluded from this exclusive club of understanding. He reminds Apollo of Mikeko pawing at the automatic food dispenser.
Apollo laughs. “With modern art, I feel like the meta is as important as the actual media. Do a bunch of colors on a canvas mean anything? Maybe. Maybe not. But it forces us to question it. And we get to question why it’s being put up and regarded as art. What makes it art when toddler fingerpainting isn’t art? Who gets to decide what real art is? Do we cede the definition of art over to those in power? When I look at art I don’t get, I imagine that the artist is asking those questions. They had the guts to challenge what art can look like, and the dedication to pull it off. That means something to me.”
He realizes as he’s done talking that the table closest to them is staring at him. Oops. He may have gotten a little too loud in his passion again.
A fond smile is lingering on Klavier’s lips, behind a poor attempt to conceal it.
“Sorry,” Apollo says with an awkward laugh, lowering his voice and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t be,” Klavier replies hurriedly. “Passion is in short supply these days, Apollo. I am grateful for the glimpses I get to see of it. I’ll have to rethink my take on modern art now.”
Klavier (music): IMAGE SENT
Klavier (music): Saw this really vulgar graffiti this morning.
Klavier (music): Had me thinking about what you said about art.
Klavier (music): What do we think, is this art? It’s very illegal, but in a weird way I’m fond of it.
Apollo!!!: it absolutely is, graffiti is so important
Apollo!!!: not this one specifically maybe, but in general
Apollo!!!: viva la revolution and shit yk
Klavier (music): “Viva la revolution and shit”
Klavier (music): You have a way with words
Apollo!!!: i know, thank you, thank you
Klavier (music): IMAGE SENT
Klavier (music): Flyer for our next show, as promised. Sorry it took so long, Daryan was away.
Apollo!!!: i’m so there
“Is it just me, or was Daryan way more… polite today?”
They’re walking around the empty edges of campus after the show, amongst the privet bushes and gravel paths. Klavier adjusts the guitar slung over his back.
“He’s always like this after a trip to Kentucky. His mama sets him straight.”
Apollo hums in thought. Kentucky is one of those places that Apollo still doesn’t know how to categorize in his head, even after spending most of his life in the US. Is it the South? It’s hard to imagine Daryan Crescend with his tooth gems and tattooed middle finger as being a Southerner, but he supposes there’s all sorts.
“Did you go anywhere for Thanksgiving?”
“Nowhere for me to go,” Klavier says matter of factly. “Unless I wanted to visit my aunt in Cologne, but I usually do that in the summer. Cologne in the winter is terrible.”
“You didn’t want to visit your brother?” Apollo asks. Midway through the question, he regrets it. Kristoph Gavin’s law office is a twenty minute drive from UCLA: he looked it up the night Klavier gave him the number. Klavier probably sees him all the time. He also read Kristoph’s paper on intergenerational immigration documentation, but there’s no way for him to bring that up without sounding like a stalker so he doesn’t.
“I still live at home, actually,” Klavier admits. He’s damn good at masking his emotions - Apollo almost misses the way his nostrils tense in embarrassment.
“Fiscally responsible,” Apollo reassures. “I couldn’t afford to live without Clay splitting rent with me. California is crazy expensive.”
“It’s actually, uh, not for financial reasons. Of Father’s many flaws, I can’t criticize the trust funds he left behind.” His nose twitches, and he looks down at the ground. “I lived alone for a semester and I developed a very unhealthy relationship with alcohol and food, so I just prefer living with someone. Besides, I’m obsessed with our dog, and I missed her terribly.”
Klavier’s hand hangs limply by his side. Apollo lets his hand brush against the back of it, an invitation which Klavier takes him up on, wordlessly slipping his hand into Apollo’s. A faint flush spreads across the tip of his tan nose.
“What about you?” Klavier asks. “Any plans for Christmas break?”
“My sister’s nearby. I’ll go see her at some point during break, but I’ve spent every Christmas with Clay’s since I was eleven… so we’ll probably drive up to Sacramento together for a couple weeks.”
“Long drive,” Klavier says, squeezing Apollo’s hand gently. It’s an acknowledgement that he’s read the words unsaid, that he accepts Apollo’s peace offering of limited information, that he’s not going to push for more.
“Long drive,” Apollo agrees. Thank you.
They reach the far edge of campus: any further and they’d be in the city proper. There’s a moment of hesitation. This would be a good opportunity for let me walk you back to the parking garage, or I should probably get to bed soon. Apollo really should probably get to bed soon, but he doesn’t say that.
“I need to go feed my cat,” he says instead. “My apartment’s just a five minute walk away if you wanted to come put your guitar down for a bit.”
“Herr Hase,” Klavier’s eyes sparkle - Apollo will have to look up what that means later. “I could never turn down the honors of meeting a kitty.”
Mikeko’s Papa: im sorry again about mik being a jerk
Mikeko’s Papa: hes a jerk to most people so it isnt personal
Klav Gav: Fear not, Herr Hase, I am going to win him over
Klav Gav: Eventually
Klav Gav: My friend Ema says Churu might help
Mikeko’s Papa: hes allowed one churu a week so this plan is doable
Klav Gav: Thank you for having me over and for making me a Mii! I need to see you play Just Dance now
Mikeko’s Papa: is that a challenge? i gotta warn you, you’ll get smoked
Klav Gav: I like the confidence. Misplaced, but admirable.
Mikeko’s Papa: we shall see
Mikeko’s Papa: when do i get to meet miss vongole
“Don’t take my brother too seriously,” Klavier says as he turns the key in the front door. “He’s… got a lot of opinions, but he’ll like you. Especially since you’re asking him about his work.”
When Klavier had talked about trust funds, Apollo had pictured comfortable, in the upper-middle class way that most rich kids at UCLA are. What he hadn’t expected was a three story manor in a fancy neighborhood with a yard big enough to make any dog drool. He’s a little out-of-place in this German-American dream, white picket fenced yard with a massive Napoleon grill nestled on the grass and the edge of a circular pool peeking out from behind the house.
It’s got Apollo trying to recategorize Klavier in his mind: he sure as hell doesn’t feel like an underdog anymore, but he doesn’t think Klavier deserves to be lumped in with the other nepo babies either, not when his brother makes the measly salary of a public defender without parents to give him a job with a title that means nothing.
Klavier opens the door and there’s the immediate sound of paws thudding against the hardwood, a massive retriever bounding down the hall and jumping up into Klavier’s arms.
“Vongole! I missed you so much, my love!” Klavier coos as he lifts the dog up: she barely fits in his arms and he’s wobbly as he carries her inside. She has to be at least a hundred pounds, by the looks of her. Not obscenely heavy, but Apollo’s surprised someone as lanky as Klavier can pick her up. Didn’t he see her just this morning…? “Apollo, come on in, and lock the door behind you, if you would.”
“Vongole,” a voice calls out from another room, playful, “don’t make your brother carry you, you’re a big girl.”
Vongole does not pay any heed to the voice. She licks Klavier’s face with renewed vigor.
“She’s just a baby, Kris!” Klavier calls back. He awkwardly slides his shoes off and takes off down the hall in his socks. Apollo scrambles to get his shoes off and follows him in. He has to do a double-take when he gets to the kitchen. Save for the glasses and a foundation tone a couple shades lighter, Kristoph Gavin is an exact mirror to Klavier, crooked incisors and all.
Klavier flops very unceremoniously on the floor, cradling Vongole in his lap.
“Apollo, this is my brother Kristoph. Kris, this is Apollo.”
Kristoph nods in Apollo’s direction. “Yes, yes, the one with the thesis, I remember.” His eyes move up and down Apollo, scrutinizing. His lips purse and he looks back towards Klavier. “At least this one has better hair. I’m never forgiving you for letting Crescend have that awful hairsprayed mess.”
He ignores Klavier’s sputtering response and gestures for Apollo to sit at the table.
“I’m quite happy to answer your legal questions, of course,” Kristoph says. “But in return I have a few questions of my own.”
Apollo blinks. Like Klavier, Kristoph has an expert control over his facial expression, but unlike Klavier, Apollo can’t see any indications of emotion peeking through.
“Questions for me?”
“Yes. You see, whether he’s told you this or not, Klavier’s terribly fond of you.” Kristoph shrugs. “So now it’s my job to see if his judgement is more on the fond side or the terrible side.”
Klav Gav: He really liked you.
Klav Gav: He’s been talking about your questions on the Dream Act all evening.
Apollo <3: oh thank god
Apollo <3: i just let out such a huge sigh of relief that clay just asked me if i need my inhaler lol
Klav Gav: Why???? Did you not think he liked you?????
Apollo <3: he was impossible to read!!!
Apollo <3: and i like you a lot so it’s kind of important to me that he likes me
Klav Gav: Wait, do you really like me that much?
Klav Gav is typing…
Klav Gav: Well, he really liked you. I also really like you though, so even if he hadn’t, he’d come around. And Vongole also really liked you which I’m sure helped a lot. She’s a good judge of character.
Apollo <3: can you give her some pets from me
Apollo <3: vongole is the prettiest, most amazing girl ever
Klav Gav: What about me :(
Apollo <3: you’re the prettiest, most amazing klavier ever
Klav Gav: :3
Klav Gav: I gave her pets and she told me she wants you to come back and pet her yourself.
Klav Gav: So I guess you’ll just have to come over again.
Apollo <3: i have to come hang out with you and a puppy? oh no, the horror, how will i survive… (PLEASE)
They lay in bed together, tangled up in sheets and waiting for Clay to return from his very loudly-announced quest to bring them all pizza for dinner. God, Apollo owes him for that. He’s not always as generous when Clay brings someone home: usually he puts his headphones in and considers that kind enough. Then again, Apollo bringing someone home is a far rarer experience.
“Tell me about Khura’in,” Klavier says out of the blue, his voice nearly as rumpled as his hair is, soft and coarse at the same time. His face is pressed up into the crook of Apollo’s neck, and his warm breaths flow up Apollo’s jawline.
Apollo tries not to think about Khura’in too much. It’s hard to reconcile the version of himself that speaks only in Khurainese with the version of himself here, stumbling over verb conjugations and wearing blue jeans. It’s hard to allow himself to enjoy moments like this, pretty boys wrapped around him and a future ahead of him when he knows that his own father and sibling are halfway across the world, fighting against a system that threatens to jail them for defending the common man.
It’s a question too intimate for this moment of perfect intimacy: if anyone else had asked it, Apollo doubts he would entertain the discussion. But it’s Klavier. Apollo knows Klavier, trusts Klavier, has asked Klavier questions just as fragile.
“What about it?”
“Do you miss it?” Klavier is cautious too. Safe question.
Apollo runs his hair through Klavier’s hair, smooths it out from the back.
“There’s no point dwelling on it. I’m here for a reason. Nahyuta thinks I’d be a liability if I were home. I’m not technically a citizen yet. They’d deport me the first chance they got anyways.”
Klavier huffs out another warm breath, something akin to a laugh. “You didn’t answer the question.”
Which is true, and what Apollo was hoping Klavier wouldn’t pick up on. He needs to start giving Klavier a little more credit.
“Yeah,” Apollo responds quietly. “I always miss it.”
They’re silent again for a little while. Klavier is processing. Maybe he’s also trying to connect it to his own experiences: though they both know immigrating from Germany and immigrating from Khura’in are two separate ball games. Klavier speaks German like a valley girl. Apollo still gets bullied for how he pronounces esophagus.
He must think better of it because he doesn’t try to relate. He just intertwines his fingers with Apollo’s and holds their hands up to the light bouncing off of the blue plastic lamp Apollo keeps on his desk.
“My international visa includes Khura’in,” Klavier says instead. “If you ever don’t want to go home by yourself.”
With that one word, home, that accursed word that Apollo has spent his entire life juggling across the map, Apollo softens. He pulls their hands back and presses a kiss to Klavier’s knuckles.
“I’d like that,” he says. “Though Nahyuta might drive you a little crazy.”
Klavier laughs. “Like Kristoph doesn’t do the same for you.”
My Polly!: IMAGE SENT
My Polly!: that’s our house in khurain
My Polly!: thought you might be interested since you asked about it
Klav: Omg those flowers are so beautiful. I loveeeee flowers that climb up walls.
My Polly!: they actually mean ‘belonging’, if you ask anyone who’s into that kinda stuff
My Polly!: my dad planted them when we were kids because yuta and i liked making bracelets out of them
My Polly!: IMAGE SENT
Klav: WAIT IS THAT YOU
Klav: Baby Apollo!!!!!! OMG!!!!! I’m obsessed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Klav: You are the cutest ever. You still have the exact same face. And the same little bunny ears.
Klav: God, I love you.
My Polly!: is that the first time we’ve said that??
My Polly! is typing…
My Polly!: love you too <3 now send me a baby pic of you too so i don’t die of embarrassment and delete that picture
Klav: Too late hehehehehe, I already saved it >:3
Klav: IMAGE SENT
Klav: Peace offering
My Polly!: you cannot tell me your family saw you wearing that and really went “oh he’s cis”
Klav: LOL, comp cis is a hell of a drug!!
Klav: Though Kristoph got me play makeup for my birthday and my parents took me to see a theater show so they must have known SOMETHING was up
They don’t talk about labels. It’s one of those things where slowly, Monday nights Klavier comes over after his evening class, and usually they make out on the couch. Apollo has been invited to Thursday night trivia with Kristoph’s friends. Clay complains about Klavier finishing the milk. Apollo gets a Vongole picture in exchange for a Mikeko picture every morning. Mikeko reluctantly accepts Klavier’s Churu. Apollo knows what Klavier looks like with his retainer in and his hair in a silk wrap. Klavier knows what Apollo looks like without a binder on.
Klavier graduates next week. Apollo’s got two plane tickets to surprise him with, after Klavier pleaded with Apollo to take him to see Khura’in’s famous summer music festival. It’s been years since he’s been home: he can’t afford to drop $2K on a flight every summer, but they’re at the point now that Kristoph tells Apollo to speak with a travel agent, who tells Apollo that the finances are handled.
Kristoph had waved Apollo off when he protested.
“I pay for your flights,” he had said, in the same matter-of-fact way Klavier always does. “You pay for everything else. And you bring my baby brother back home safe and sound in two weeks.”
Apollo’s still making peace with the new reality he lives in: that he’s always going to be a wind blowing across two continents, never destined to belong in either one, but Klavier is a lovely familiar breeze blowing alongside him, and there’s a lot to be grateful for in that too. There’s a lot to be grateful about in Apollo’s life here now: his thesis approval. His partner. His best friend. His cat. The people who love him, on either side of the planet, and the opportunities that he has to show them he loves them back.
He knows that in many ways, he’s lucky. There’s some things in life that Apollo has learned are unavoidable. He makes lists of them in his head sometimes: Jove’s death. Moving. Khura’in’s politics.
In the year Apollo has known Klavier, he knows the same is true for him too: broken arms and funerals and birthday parties in shady clubs.
But they’re not all negative: Clay being his platonic soulmate. Loving Klavier. The way he wakes up every morning and knows what he was destined to do. And in this lifetime, Apollo is grateful for this: that he knows they’ve got a community of people surrounding them, to hold them through the unavoidable hardships. It’s a lot more than most people get.
Haschen: do you ever think about parallel universes
Glitter Princess: Sometimes. What specifically about them?
Haschen: sometimes i wonder how i’d turn out without nahyuta or clay. how i’d turn out without you. how much of who i am is because of circumstance and luck?
Glitter Princess: Morbid.
Haschen: sorry
Glitter Princess: I have faith in other versions of us, as I’d hope they’d have of us here. I think they’d do the best they could with what they have.
Haschen: youre generous to them. i dont know if i believe every version of myself is always making the right decision
Glitter Princess: In difficult times, what else do we have but hope?
Haschen: i dont know how i got lucky enough to have you
Haschen is typing…
Haschen: i hope i love you in every one of them.
Glitter Princess: I can only hope to be so fortunate. Love you always.