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Klavier is embarrassed by how quickly the flash of a red suit can still catch his attention.
Sometimes it isn’t even a suit. It’s a flag, or any short brunette—in summary, it’s wishful thinking. For someone who is alive and well, Apollo Justice is doing a very good job of haunting him.
Klavier is already preparing himself for disappointment, when he turns away from the luggage carousel to look at the group of new arrivals coming from the escalators. That’s probably why it takes him an extra moment to actually recognize him.
It’s not the same red suit—he’s wearing a jacket, for one, but the collar of his shirt is unfastened and tie-less, as if he was trying to get comfortable on the plane. He has a leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and he’s squinting up at the overhead displays, trying to locate the relevant carousel for his flight.
Klavier isn’t sure when he started walking, but he is sure that he’s about to miss his bag coming off the plane. But the bag will come around again—Apollo, on the other hand…
“Herr Forehead!” Klavier is calling out the nickname before he even realizes what he’s doing. Never mind that this is a German airport and people are giving him strange looks. Sorry, would you prefer "Herr Stirn"?
Apollo reacts immediately, and the instinctive response is gratifying on its own. His brow creases, he turns, and when he catches sight of Klavier, a disbelieving smile spreads across his lips, and Klavier realizes quite suddenly that, even after two years, he has not gotten over Apollo Justice, not even a little.
“Gavin?” Apollo starts towards him, and Klavier is expecting a firm handshake, but when Apollo reaches out, it’s to pull Klavier into a brief hug, instead.
Klavier wonders faintly if his plane actually crashed somewhere over the Atlantic, and if this is some strange sort of heaven.
“How have you been?” Apollo asks when he steps back. His forehead is still creased with surprise, and he shakes his head. “What are you doing here?”
“One question at a time, Forehead,” Klavier manages to say. He feels electric, giddy and unbalanced, and when he brushes a hand through his bangs, it’s more to give him a moment to rearrange his features than anything. “I’m here to consult on a case.” He answers the second question, because the first is more complicated. “What about you?”
“On my way back to Khura’in. I was in Europe meeting someone at an embassy…this is just an overnight stop.” Apollo adjusts the bag on his shoulder.
Klavier hopes his disappointment isn’t too apparent. Serves him right for letting his hopes soar the moment he recognized that familiar hairstyle.
“But, hey, if you’re not too busy,” Apollo is saying, “do you wanna grab a drink and catch up, maybe?”
“I would love to,” Klavier replies, trying to moderate the earnestness in his voice.
“Great.” Apollo smiles at him. “I’m just staying at the hotel near the airport, but it probably makes sense to drop our bags off first, right?”
Klavier is reluctant to even let Apollo out of his sight, but he agrees.
“There’s a bar I know nearby,” he says. “The shuttle should take you there. My hotel isn’t far, either, so I can meet you there?”
Apollo nods, then glances past Klavier. “Hey, that’s yours, isn’t it?”
The baggage carousel only holds a few lingering suitcases now, one of which is large and purple. Klavier hefts it from the conveyor, then turns back to Apollo, taking a moment to really look at him now that his pulse has stopped racing.
He’s tanner than he used to be, and he holds himself a little straighter. He still wears his hair in those unique spikes, but they’re a little flatter to his head now, more subdued. And there’s something more self-assured in his posture and expression—he seems more at ease with himself, and Klavier has the sense that he wouldn’t be so easily shaken by Klavier’s flirtatious teasing now than he used to be. Klavier cannot find it in himself to be disappointed by this.
“So, the bar,” Klavier forces himself to say, before he gets caught staring. He gives Apollo the name and some quick directions from the shuttle stop. “I can meet you there in…forty-five minutes?”
He wants to just go now, but his suitcase is one for a long stay, large and unwieldy. And even with the time he’s given himself, it will be tight, catching a cab to his hotel and back, but he can’t shake that ominous feeling, the one that tells him Apollo might fade into mist if Klavier doesn’t keep his eyes on him. He knows it’s silly, but—
—but after I last saw him, he almost died twice in as many days.
“Sounds good,” Apollo agrees. A distant alarm indicates that another baggage carousel has started up, and Apollo looks over to it.
“I think that’s mine,” he says. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”
Klavier nods, and Apollo clasps his arm briefly as he steps past him to retrieve his bag.
Klavier doesn’t quite run from the airport, but that is only because he has very impressive self-control.
He spends the next three-quarters of an hour tapping his foot anxiously in a taxi, upending his entire suitcase just to find a toothbrush and some cologne, then pacing in front of his hotel before he finds another cab to return him to the center of the city. He arrives at the bar after precisely forty-seven minutes, and, miracle of miracles, Apollo is waiting outside. He’s lost the jacket, and his sleeves are rolled up to free that familiar bracelet of his.
He smiles when he sees Klavier, and a few minutes later, they’re sharing a small table and a waitress is taking their drink orders.
“So, consulting,” Apollo begins, looking across the table. “Prosecuting not doing it for you anymore?”
“Nein, it’s not that,” Klavier replies. “The prosecutor’s office finally has sufficient staff again, so I have a little more freedom to explore other opportunities. I’ve been hoping to return here for a while, actually.”
“Glad to hear things are settling down,” Apollo says. Klavier tilts his head.
“Well, your little agency still keeps us on our toes,” he replies. “Athena is becoming rather formidable, and Herr Wright…well, he’s Herr Wright.”
Apollo laughs. “Yeah, I video chat with them every so often.” He pauses and looks down at his drink. “It always makes me feel homesick, though. I keep expecting Mr. Wright to hire someone else, but he just keeps saying there will always be a place for me…”
Klavier hesitates. “Do you think you will come back?”
“Definitely.” Apollo’s response is immediate, and Klavier feels something flutter in his chest. “Just…when I’m done. Whenever that is.”
“Still a lot to do?”
“So much,” Apollo sighs. “And sometimes I feel like I’m probably not the right guy to do it, but…I’m the one who’s there, so that’s that.”
“I don’t think you give yourself enough credit,” Klavier tells him.
Apollo looks doubtful. “Well, I mean, look at you—legal high school, prosecuting at seventeen, international experience…it’s not like Dhurke was teaching me secret lawyer techniques when I was growing up. I’m just a normal guy.”
Klavier raises an eyebrow. “Ah, right. Apollo Justice, Savior of Khura’in’s legal system, all around Normal Guy.”
“Well, okay,” Apollo mutters, taking a sip of his drink. “But you know—training-wise. I kinda feel like I’m not…qualified.”
“You’re the most qualified person in the country,” Klavier points out.
“That’s what everyone says,” Apollo bursts out. Klavier can’t help but laugh.
“That’s because it’s true.”
Apollo catches his eye and pouts. “Well, fine. Jeez, Gavin, I thought I would maybe be able to talk you about this. It’s kinda weird not having…colleagues.”
“Alright, alright.” Klavier leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. “I don’t think being ‘qualified’ has much of anything to do with it. Perhaps I was technically qualified to prosecute at seventeen, but that doesn’t mean it was a good idea. Experience is what qualifies us, ja? And by now, you’ve had plenty of that.”
Apollo meets his eyes for a moment. “I guess that’s true.”
“Have you settled in otherwise?” Klavier asks. He doesn’t entirely mean to ask the question, but he’s burning with curiosity—there’s only so much he can casually glean from Trucy when he runs into her and Athena at the courthouse. He’s desperate for any and all details of Apollo’s new life.
Apollo tilts his head back and forth. “Yeah, I guess. I know I grew up there, but it still doesn’t really feel like home. But I’m comfortable.”
“Making friends?” Klavier is treading dangerously close to his real question, the one he really shouldn’t ask, but half of his drink is gone, and it was stronger than he was expecting. The questions feel worth the risk.
“Yeah, every criminal in the country,” Apollo quips. “Really just Nahyuta, and Datz. Honestly, I don’t have tons of time for stuff like this.” He gestures vaguely at the table and their drinks.
“Well, then I’m glad to be able to offer you a break,” Klavier says, smiling. He feels guilty for the relief he feels at Apollo’s answer. No boyfriend, then.
“Yeah, this is just what I needed—a date in a foreign country with Klavier Gavin,” Apollo says, then immediately freezes. He coughs slightly, glances at his drink—also over half empty—and suddenly seems to be eager to look at anything but Klavier.
Klavier, for his part, just stares at him and wonders what percentage of that sentence was meant to be sarcastic.
In one corner of the bar, a band is starting to set up. Apollo, seemingly eager for a change of subject, turns to look at them.
“Maybe you should join them,” he suggests, glancing back at Klavier and smiling slightly.
“I was under the impression Herr Forehead didn’t much care for my music,” Klavier replies.
“Not the Gavinners, maybe,” Apollo admits. “Your new stuff is pretty good, though.”
Klavier looks up sharply. “You’ve listened to it?” He’s unable to keep a note of astonishment from his voice.
Apollo fixes his gaze on the band and runs a hand over his hair. “Don’t make me regret telling you,” he says, “but, yeah. It feels…authentic. I like it.”
For a moment, Klavier can only stare at him. “Thank you,” he replies finally.
“It was a whole ordeal getting it to me, though. It wasn’t actually on sale in Khura’in, so Trucy had to mail me a CD, and then Rayfa got her hands on it somehow and wouldn’t give it back for like a week—I think she lost it for a while, actually…”
Klavier is only half-listening to this story, because when Apollo turns back around to face the table, his leg bumps up against Klavier’s under the table. And then stays there. The contact, meaningless though it might be, is extremely distracting.
“…but, I finally got my hands on it. Miraculously unscratched.”
Apollo’s leg shifts against Klavier’s, and Klavier doesn’t dare move. “Glad to hear it, Forehead,” he manages to say, and takes another sip of his drink to give himself an excuse not to add anything further, since his thoughts seem a little difficult to catch hold of.
But Apollo frowns slightly. “Do you think I could not be ‘Forehead’ today?” he asks suddenly.
“Of course,” Klavier replies, surprised. “But, ah…only if I can be ‘Klavier’ instead of ‘Gavin.””
“Fair’s fair,” Apollo concedes, “Klavier.”
It’s not as though he’s never spoken your name before, Klavier immediately scolds himself, willing the rush of warmth in his chest to dissipate. He goes to take another sip of his drink only to find that it’s empty.
Their waitress is perceptive, though, and is around soon enough to provide them with new beverages.
Apollo asks about Klavier’s music career, and they get on the topic of music in general, with Apollo revealing that Klavier’s new solo album actually fits pretty well into the music he usually enjoys. Klavier generally enjoys hearing about other people’s music tastes, but it’s especially fascinating for him to learn more about Apollo’s, since until this point he had only known it to be “not the Gavinners.”
When the band starts their set, they have to lean closer just to hear each other over the music, and now Klavier is sure that Apollo knows exactly what he’s doing—in close proximity now, their legs are somewhat entwined under the table. Klavier has no idea what to make of it, but he isn’t about to complain. Nor does he mind the excuse that the loud music gives him, to watch Apollo’s lips as he speaks.
They spend another hour like that, alternatively listening to the band and chatting about whatever comes to mind. The bar gets a little quieter when the band packs up, but neither of them have anywhere they need to be. Klavier wonders if he should ask Apollo what time his flight leaves tommorrow, but he can’t bring himself to do so.
Eventually, the waitress comes around with their check, and they take that as their cue. They squabble over the bill for a moment, until Apollo remembers he doesn’t have any Euros left, and Klavier victoriously covers both of their drinks.
The street is quiet outside. When Klavier looks at his watch, he’s surprised to find it's past two a.m.
“I’ll walk you to the hotel,” he offers, before Apollo can say anything like a goodbye. It’s only a block, but Klavier will take all the seconds he can.
They’re both quiet for a few paces, until Apollo takes a deep breath that seems somehow significant before he speaks.
“Hey, Klavier.”
“Ja?”
“I wanted to…apologize,” Apollo says, after a pause. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks down.
“For what?”
“After I left,” he begins, “I didn’t…call you, or anything. I kept meaning to, but…”
Klavier shakes his head. “You had no obligation—”
It’s what Klavier is supposed to say, but his heart is suddenly pounding. It had hurt, at the time, stuck in LA while Apollo fought for his life in Khura’in, only to find out secondhand that Apollo wouldn’t be returning. He was immensely relieved when he learned Apollo had survived the ordeal—but if he was fine, couldn’t he have called?
But that was two years ago. For Apollo to bring it up…
“But I kind of wish I had, you know?” Apollo interrupts. “Not just that I had called, but that I had the obligation to because…like, if I was supposed to call you, I would have…not ‘supposed to’ like I was forced to, but…” He pokes a finger to his forehead. “This probably doesn’t make sense. Sorry.”
Klavier just stares at him. “It makes perfect sense,” he says. Klavier didn’t know how many times he had picked up the phone, only to hang up before it connected because he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. And then too much time passed, and it became more and more difficult to find a reason. “I didn’t know if you would care to hear from me.”
“Right,” Apollo sighs, like he’s relieved to hear his thoughts put into words properly. Then he pauses. “Wait.”
“I was equally capable of calling you,” Klavier points out. Apollo just stares at him for a moment.
“But I’m the one who left,” he says finally. “I wanted to call, but I didn’t, and then we didn’t talk for two years.”
Klavier isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. It’s precisely what happened, he just doesn’t know why he let it happen.
Beside him, Apollo slows to a stop, and Klavier realizes they have reached the hotel.
“You’re probably kind of jet-lagged...” Apollo says, and Klavier sighs. It’s a gentle dismissal, but a dismissal nonetheless.
“Ja, I’ll—”
“But if you—”
They speak over each other, and Apollo breaks off. “Sorry, you are too tired, then?”
“What?”
“Nevermind, I just…”
“Apollo, what were you—”
“Do you want to come upstairs?”
Apollo says it just a tad too loud, and he reddens when he realizes.
“Sorry. I just meant...I thought you might be too tired, but I feel like I could keep talking to you, so if you want to…”
“Oh! Yes. I mean, no, I’m not too tired, I can…” Klavier isn’t sure why his tongue keeps tripping over his words; he settles for nodding towards the doors, instead.
Even though Apollo had mentioned talking more, they’re silent as they cross the lobby and take the elevator to the sixth floor. Apollo unlocks his door and holds it open, following Klavier inside.
It’s a small room. There’s an armchair squeezed into a corner, but aside from that and the single bed, there isn’t really anywhere else to sit. Klavier stands in the middle of the room, suddenly uncertain.
There’s a creak of a mattress, and Klavier turns around to see Apollo settling on the edge of the bed.
“I still can’t even believe you’re here,” he says, as he leans down to untie his shoes. “It’s one of those stupid thoughts, you know? ‘I’ll be in Germany, maybe I’ll see Klavier, because Klavier and Germany.’ But here you are.” He looks up. “You can sit, you know.”
Klavier leans slightly towards the armchair, but Apollo is patting the bed beside him, so Klavier sits gingerly on the mattress, a careful distance away.
“I can’t believe it either.” Looking down at his hands, he twists one of his rings. “I still look for your name in the court calendar sometimes, even though I know it won’t be there.”
He doesn’t quite have the courage to look up after this admission. Apollo doesn’t reply; there’s a soft thump, and when Klavier turns he sees Apollo lying back on the bedspread, rubbing his eyes. His hair has wilted somewhat, and strands are starting to stray out of the carefully gelled spikes. Apollo sighs and brushes them back from his forehead, but he keeps his eyes closed.
“It’s been an amazing experience, this whole Khura’in thing,” he says. “I can’t even begin to describe everything I’ve learned, and I feel like it’s something I’m meant to do, even if it’s terrifying sometimes. Maybe not forever, but for now, it’s where I’m supposed to be.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Klavier says. He is, even if it makes his heart ache.
Apollo opens his eyes, stares up at the ceiling. “But it was shit timing.”
“What?”
“Here, look.” Apollo digs his phone out of his pocket and sits up suddenly. He’s gotten closer now, so their shoulders bump together. “I left when? May—”
“May 18th,” Klavier supplies. Apollo glances at him.
“Yeah, so…” He flips back through time on his calendar application, until he reaches a month two years ago. The calendar is dense with appointments and reminders.
“I missed, like, all of these,” Apollo says. “Including this one.”
He taps a reminder from May 21st, and the box grows to fill the screen.
ASK KLAVIER OUT YOU GODDAMN COWARD.
Klavier just stares at it. “You were…”
“Yep. Had it all worked out, too. You had a trial that day, I figured I’d run into you at the courthouse…” He sighs heavily. “But apparently going to another country and facing possible execution was less terrifying.”
Klavier doesn’t know what to say—in fact, he's not entirely sure he's capable of speaking. Apollo avoids his gaze, scowling at the floor instead.
“And it’s stupid,” he continues, “because I knew you liked me.” He rubs at his wrist, right below his golden bangle. “I’m not so sure now, though. Definitely wouldn’t blame you if you’ve, y’know. Moved on.”
Klavier’s pulse is roaring in his ears. He draws a shaky breath, then musters a small smile.
“I thought you listened to the album?”
Now, Apollo finally looks at him. “What?”
Klavier wants to hold his gaze, but he can’t quite manage it—he brushes a hand through his bangs instead. “The only reason I was even able to record ‘Icarus’ was because I was certain you were never going to hear it.”
For a moment, Apollo just stares at him, his eyebrows bunched together quizzically. Then he lifts his phone again and navigates to his music player. Klavier catches the movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh, don’t—” Klavier starts to say, as he realizes what Apollo’s doing. He tries to grab the phone, but Apollo turns away and holds it out of reach, leaving Klavier to look over his shoulder at his own album art as Apollo presses Play.
The opening notes of Icarus sound through the phone’s speaker, and Klavier resigns himself to imminently imploding.
Apollo is completely still as he listens—not really fair, Klavier thinks distantly, the song has a pretty decent beat, after all.
But it’s also entirely about Apollo Justice—or rather, it's about Klavier, yearning for something ever out of reach, something as brilliant to him as the sun. For an entire three minutes and forty-two seconds, Klavier isn’t sure if he even breathes.
Authentic, Apollo has said. He wasn’t wrong. Honestly, almost every song on the album had some abstract reference to how Klavier felt about Apollo’s sudden departure. Icarus, with it's unsubtle mythological allusion, was just the most obvious.
The song fades with a melancholy chord, and Apollo still doesn’t move. Then his shoulders straighten slightly.
“Fuck it,” he seems to mutter, then he’s turning and pulling Klavier into a kiss.
But almost as quickly as their lips meet, Apollo is pulling away again.
“Wait, that was a year ago,” he babbles. “Do you even still—”
“Apollo,” Klavier sighs, and it’s almost a whine with how much raw desperation is contained in the syllables.
“Okay.” Apollo’s voice is faint, and when he leans closer this time, Klavier meets him halfway.
Apollo is warm, and he kisses so insistently that Klavier finds it’s too much effort to support himself with one arm, so he relaxes back to the mattress instead, letting Apollo follow him. They’re both too eager, and tired, and maybe still a little tipsy, which results in more bumped noses and teeth than otherwise might have occurred, but Klavier doesn’t care how haphazard they are, he just needs Apollo closer.
It’s several minutes before they part again, but when Apollo sits up slightly, there’s a worried crease in his brow that Klavier doesn’t like. The expression is too at odds with how he feels, like a fire that was locked in his heart is finally rushing free through his veins.
“Klavier,” Apollo says slowly. “This isn’t fair.”
Not fair? The two years I spent without you were the unfair ones. Klavier’s puzzlement must show on his face, because Apollo goes on.
“To you, I mean.” He bites his lip. “You know I still have more to do there.”
Klavier stares up at him. “I know.”
“Trips like this are rare for me. I can’t just fly across the world to see you—”
“I can. I wish I had.”
“The time difference—”
“Manageable,” Klavier cuts in. “Apollo, the only thing that matters to me is whether or not you want to try.”
Apollo blinks, then his face breaks into a small smile. “You make a persuasive argument, Prosecutor Gavin.”
“I’m very good at my job,” Klavier tells him.
Apollo tilts his head. “I dunno, you’ve never beaten me.”
“Then let this be the exception, ja?”
Apollo’s smile fades. “You’re serious?”
Klavier meets his eyes. “Absolutely.”
Letting out a breath, Apollo nods. “Okay.”
The victory feels more monumental than any Klavier has ever won in court. He sits up and guides Apollo back to the pillows, shedding his jacket as he does so. Apollo is fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.
Their fervor has died down somewhat; now every touch is lingering and deliberate. Klavier runs his hands over Apollo’s chest and tries to commit to memory the warmth of him, the taste of him. Impatience buzzes under his skin—there’s still so much Klavier wants to say to him, and so little time—but they have time, he reminds himself. He can finally banish the ghost of missed chances from every flash of red fabric that he sees.
I won’t let another year pass before I see him again.
Klavier is pressing his lips to Apollo’s neck when the tendons there suddenly tighten. He pauses what he’s doing and leans back.
“Did you just yaw—”
He’s interrupted by a yawn of his own. Apollo giggles.
“It’s way past my bedtime,” he says, with an ironic smile. Then he scrunches up his nose. “And I have to be back at the airport in three hours.”
“That early?” Klavier can’t help but sound dismayed. “You should probably rest—”
“I can sleep on the plane,” Apollo interrupts, waving him off. “Besides, there’s hardly any point to sleeping now.”
“Any sleep is better than none,” Klavier points out.
“What, you’re a paragon of good sleeping habits now?” He leans back against the pillows and closes his eyes. “I don’t wanna.”
For a moment, his breathing slows. Then his eyes pop open again. “Oh, that’s dangerous.”
Klavier laughs. “Just rest, schatzi.”
“Mmmgnh…” Apollo’s eyes fall shut again, but he reaches up and wraps his arms securely around Klavier, pulling him close to his side. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
Klavier wouldn’t dare, but he does reach across the bed to where his jacket ended up and takes his phone out of the pocket. He sets an alarm for a few hours later and settles back into Apollo’s arms.
~~~
Klavier wakes to someone brushing hair out of his face.
He opens his eyes to see Apollo, dressed, showered, and hair styled, with his red suit jacket slung over one shoulder. Blearily, Klavier squints at the clock on the nightstand. 5:43 a.m.
“Thanks for the alarm,” Apollo says. “You would’ve been stuck with me another day if I missed my flight.”
“I’m too responsible for my own good,” Klavier sighs. “I can’t believe I slept through it.”
“Jet lag.” Apollo shrugs. He’s still running his hands through Klavier’s hair, trying to rearrange his bangs into some semblance of order. “I left the keycard. You can stay until noon if you want.”
Klavier wants to argue that he has his own hotel room, but his body feels like lead, so he murmurs a “danke” instead. Apollo chuckles.
It’s a deadly combination, Klavier thinks, the natural intensity of Apollo’s brown eyes paired with the barest curve of a fond smile on his lips. Klavier is so distracted that he’s caught off guard when Apollo leans closer to kiss him.
“I’ll call you when I get in,” he promises. Klavier grumbles a protest, but his limbs are too heavy to coordinate in time to catch Apollo before he stands up. He does manage to snag Apollo’s hand, though, and he presses it to his lips.
“Safe travels,” he murmurs.
He’s asleep again before the door falls closed.
When Klavier wakes up a few hours later, he’s reluctant to move. If the previous night was a dream, he can at least preserve the fantasy for a few seconds longer, if he just stays still.
But when he blinks the room into focus, it isn’t his room, but the cramped quarters of a hotel he would never dream of booking for himself. And next to him, his phone is flashing with a new notification.
Herr Forehead [6:50 a.m.]: Boarding now—talk to you in 11 hours!
It’s only six more hours, now. An instant, compared to two years.