Chapter Text
Apollo startles awake, pulling himself out of a dream that fades from memory with every flicker of his eyelids. Groaning, he shoves aside sheets that feel too constrictive in the summer heat, coupled perfectly with the sound of birds chirping outside and LA traffic peppered with the occasional beep of a car horn.
They’re sensations he’s grown used to by now. Still, even six years later, he’ll find himself reaching for the nostalgia of his old home. It feels too empty, sometimes, to not hear his sister clambering up the stairs every morning and see his mother’s smile greet him as he walks out the door.
But as happy as he is to be here, living his life and pursuing his dreams, something is missing, he thinks. Apollo feels all twenty-two years of age as he stumbles to the bathroom, desperate to splash some water on his face when he stops short in front of the mirror.
Tear tracks stain his cheeks, the wetness around his eyes clearly not from the dredges of sleep. Apollo scowls at his reflection, indignantly wiping his face as though it’ll make the impossible sense of yearning that wells in his chest disappear.
It’s happened enough that Apollo’s learned to accept it. The surety that he’s forgotten something terribly important sits like a rock in his ribcage, hollowly pinging for something to grab onto with every shaky breath he takes. He doesn’t know what it is, but…
Guess it’ll just be one of those days.
-six years earlier-
“Polly! You’re awake on time today!” Trucy crows, leaning over the kitchen table to grin widely at her brother as he thumps down the stairs.
“Huh? Whaddya mean? I’m always awake on time,” Apollo grumbles while sitting for breakfast.
“Nuh-uh! Yesterday you were soooo tired that Mommy had to wake you up!” The nine-year-old relishes Apollo’s confusion as she digs into her eggs.
“It’s true, sweetie,” Thalassa laughs, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “You even forgot to do your vocal routine.”
“And your hair!”
“Mom, I’ve told you they’re Chords of Steel, not a vocal routine! And I never forget to do my hair. Trucy probably pulled a trick on me,” Apollo challenges, spooning out his cereal with more force than necessary.
“Mommy said I’m not allowed to do those anymore,” Trucy frowns, jutting her bottom lip indignantly. Apollo sticks his tongue out at her. She responds in kind.
“But honestly, darling – are you alright today? Getting enough sleep?” His mother frets over him, hands fluttering towards his face. Apollo bats them away, face hot with embarrassment.
“I’m fine, Mom,” Apollo replies, a little sharper than he means to be. He winces. “I just...had a weird dream last night. Really, I’m fine.”
“If you’re sure.” Her eyes crease with concern as she reaches out to gently brush against his bangs. “Hm. I did like your hair down, though.” A wistful smile adorns her face as she pulls back, and Apollo feels a frog crawl up his throat.
“Trucy, we’re gonna be late; we should – go.” His spoon clatters against the almost empty bowl as he grabs his backpack, gesturing for Trucy to hurry. “Bye, Mom.”
“Bye, Mommy!”
Their mother waves her goodbyes as Apollo swings the front door closed. The crisp morning air feels grounding, and Apollo takes a slightly relieved step away from their porch. As usual, the walk to school is painfully ordinary, with neighbors cheerily greeting them from their gardens and classmates muttering through sleepy conversations in their own groups as they walk the same path.
Little Piney, Colorado has never been a particularly glamorous town. Sure, they got the occasional tourist looking for ‘hidden hiking trails’ or ‘small town treasures,’ but it was just far enough from the decadent dining of Aspen and relaxed stoner vibe of Denver that it tended to go below the radar of the typical crowd. The mountains framed a single main street, with homes and small businesses peppered throughout the treeline.
It was home for Apollo – always had been, and always would be. And that was fine.
It was fine, right?
Thankfully, whatever rabbit hole of thought Apollo is about to spiral down is interrupted by a hand clapping on his shoulder, attached to one Clay Terran.
“Hey, you know how to get to school today!” Clay teases, pulling Apollo into a headlock and affectionately messing up his hair.
“Gah – Clay!” Apollo pulls himself free and rapidly attempts to straighten his carefully styled horns.
“You put your hair back up? I was serious yesterday when I said you’d save money on gel with your new look,” Clay continues, tilting his head in curiosity. “Were you sick yesterday or somethin’?”
“Huh? You think so too?!” Apollo says, dejectedly blowing his now limp bangs out of his face. “Yesterday was totally normal – I got up, I went to school, finished our project, went home and had dinner, did my homework, and went to bed. Er, did I? I’m not forgetting anything, right Trucy?”
“Pollo, our project was due the day before yesterday.” Clay lets out a sharp and overly dramatic gasp, swooping Trucy into a protective hug. “Trucy, I think aliens abducted your brother! You’ll have to do some magic to help him break free!”
Trucy, of course, doesn’t miss a beat playing along to Clay’s antics. She lets out a fake gasp of her own. “Oh no! Do you think the aliens’ll give Polly back before my next show?”
“No way – they’re gonna use him to learn your magic tricks and get all of us!” Trucy gives a resounding shriek of delight as Clay swings her around.
Apollo lets out an unimpressed sniff, failing to resist rolling his eyes. “Okay, are you guys done now?”
“You just don’t appreciate the art of theater,” Clay replies, a bone-deep sigh escaping his lungs as he puts her down, waving goodbye as she enters her elementary school’s courtyard.
“Seriously though, are you alright?” Clay asks, his voice dropping with worry as they start the half-block walk to their high school. “You were really out of it yesterday.”
“I mean – I had a weird dream last night, but that’s pretty much it. A-and how weird could it be? I don’t even remember it.”
“Dude, I think you might have been possessed. You were like – suuuuper cool. Way too suave to be yourself.”
“Hey!” Apollo yelps in indignation. “I’m cool when I’m not possessed! Cooler than you, at least,” he grumbles.
“You’re setting the bar real high for yourself, there,” Clay replies, cutting sarcasm offset by the dopey grin on his face. “I’m glad to see you’re back to normal, though.”
“Yeah, I – yeah. Thanks. I just...was our project really due the day before yesterday? Because that’s weird that I’d – yeah. I’m sure it’s fine,” Apollo finishes lamely, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
“Hey, I wouldn’t worry too much about it! We all have off days,” Clay chirps. “Only on your off days, you decide to sing during lunch.”
“I – what?!”
The day is uneventful like Apollo expected, only interrupted by the occasional snide comment from his teachers and classmates.
“I see you know your name today, Mr. Justice.”
“Oh, you remember where your seat is!”
“Aww, you aren’t flirting with me today? And no German?”
And the only clue he gets is a message scribbled in the margins of his English notebook:
what’s your name? i’m klavier!
By the time lunch rolls around, Apollo has had it.
“Okay, guys!” Apollo yells, slamming his fists on the table. “What’s going on? What happened to me yesterday?!”
“I think Clay’s ‘abducted by aliens’ idea is pretty spot-on!” Athena replies, thoughtfully picking through whatever grossness they’re serving in the cafeteria today. “Or maybe the weird building we explored last week was haunted!”
“Nahhh, no way. None of the EM detectors I brought were reacting,” Clay dismisses, nodding to himself. “Or maaaybe Pollo’s been...replaced? Like with a doppelgänger.”
“You’ve been reading too much sci-fi,” Apollo says, waving the thought aside. “And I don’t feel possessed. ...wait, what am I saying? Ghosts aren’t real,” Apollo huffs.
Juniper frowns, eyebrows curved upwards in concern. “What if you’re sick? I could bring some medicine from my grandmother’s garden if that might help.”
“Thanks, Junie. I mean...I feel fine? Just had a weird dream last night.”
“Whaddya mean, weird?” Athena questions. “My mom would say that’s something your subconscious is trying to tell you.”
“What does dreaming about living in LA have to do with my psyche?”
“LA? Why there?” Clay chews on his sandwich thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. I mean, it was nice though – lots of people. I was going to a legal high school or something? And I had a job at some kinda law office.”
Athena gasps. “¡Por supuesto! Maybe you were dreaming about the future!”
“Ooh, yeah! I like that one,” Clay pipes up, leaning forward.
“Psh, a legal high school? Come on, there’s no way something like that actually exists,” Apollo remarks.
“Yeah, can you imagine?” The group titters amongst themselves.
“But seriously, Apollo. You’re feeling alright now?” Athena’s mouth creases with scrutiny.
“I mean – yeah, I feel fine. Must’ve just been tired.”
It’s only at the end of the day, freshly showered and ready to sleep, that Apollo lingers in front of his reflection. His bangs hang in front of his eyes, a spitting image of –
Nope. Apollo forcefully shuts the thought down, swallowing whatever emotions cause his breath to hitch. He burrows in the covers, childishly squeezing his eyes shut and willing the sensation away.
After it passes, he relaxes on his back, staring at glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to his ceiling.
Would be nice, though, Apollo thinks while drifting off. To be a lawyer in LA…
~
An unfamiliar alarm blares in Apollo’s ears the following morning as he blinks awake to a room decorated with posters of bands he doesn’t recognize. He groggily wipes the sleep from his eyes before searching for the source of whatever’s making the infernal racket.
A cell phone on the nightstand vibrates with the force of its tinny alarm. After shutting the offensive noise off, Apollo squints at the screen: this isn’t his phone. The background contains three unfamiliar people playing instruments on a stage: one tanned blonde, a brunette with curly hair, and a pale edgy guy with a pompadour.
Apollo’s eyes itch with sleep as he rolls over.
If it’s a dream, might as well just go back to sleep.
A knock sounds against the door.
“Klavier, wake up! I’m not driving you to school again.” The man’s voice seems unnecessarily sharp for the situation, and Apollo hears a door slamming nearby. He frowns, slowly coming to terms with being awake, before taking a more in-depth look at his surroundings.
The room has some kind of organizational system, but Apollo won’t pretend to understand it. Music sheets and scribbled notes cover the wooden desk, with clothes draped on various surfaces. It’s messier than his room, to be sure, but Apollo appreciates the immediate sense of personality he gets from the space.
He pulls himself out of the (ugh, too soft) bed and looks down.
What the – I don’t sleep half-naked!
Apparently, that doesn’t mean much. The chest he sees isn’t anything like Apollo’s own: broad, tanned, and further away from the ground than he’s used to. He stumbles to the vanity a few steps away and –
The face that greets him is unfamiliar and flatteringly pretty. Where Apollo expects soft brown hair, he feels stiff and staticky golden strands. Instead of puffy cheeks and a round face, there are only firm angles and a pointed chin. Where there should be dull brown eyes, he sees only disconcerting crystal blue.
Gently, Apollo frames his(?) face with his hands, fingers covered in slightly rusted silver rings.
“Wow…” This guy is kinda hot.
He scowls at his reflection: even twisted up in a frown, the face is strangely handsome. Apollo pulls himself away from the mirror, glancing at the uniform hanging from the open closet door.
Themis Legal Academy. Is this the same dream as last time?
His phone buzzes with the sound of a text.
Dayumyan 💀💣
Wednesday, 7:20 AM
yo do u need me to come get u for class again
Uhhh sure? You know where I am?
tf kinda question is that
be there in ten
Apollo squints at his phone before shrugging and exploring the apartment. Despite the almost overwhelming amount of hair products in the bathroom, there’s no hair gel? He figures he’d put some somewhere in this dream, right? But no – there’s only some weird brand-name pomade. Looks like Apollo will have to make do.
His phone pings again – it’s a message letting him know that ‘Dayumyan’ (what kind of name is that, even? His subconscious needs to get a grip) is here. He hurries out of the apartment, locking the door behind him before his location really starts to sink in.
It’s a metropolis: palm trees line brief stretches of grass, interrupted by tarmac roads and cars crowded into too few lanes. Intermittent honks rise above the clamor of people trying to start their day. Just along this block, he sees more people on the sidewalk than live in the entirety of Little Piney.
A window rolls down from a car Apollo didn’t notice was there, revealing a teenager behind the wheel.
“Hey, you gonna get in? You can look at the sights after we get to class. You alright? Your hair’s fucked up.”
Apollo studies him for a moment before it clicks. This is one of the kids in the band photo.
“Y-yeah, sorry. Got a little distracted.” Apollo takes a moment to startle at the lilting voice that floats out of his mouth before pulling the passenger side door open. He drops into the seat while still absorbed in the bustle of his surroundings and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face at the skyscrapers above them.
Now this is a city!
“Hey, this is gonna be a weird question but...we’re in Los Angeles, right?”
The boy next to him gives a bewildered glance, recklessly angling his body away from the wheel in the way only a brand-new driver could. “Huh? Of course we are – what, you hit your head or something?”
“No, I’m fine! Just – wow. Heck of a place, isn’t it?” Apollo laughs, giddy and a little nervous. The boy creases his eyebrows before brushing his hand against Apollo’s forehead.
“You’re not sick, are ya?”
“N-no!” Even though there’s no possible way he could get found out in his own dream, Apollo still feels himself sweat.
“Huh. Alright, weirdo. Aux cord’s all yours.” The kid pulls a wire out of the middle console before handing it to Apollo and thankfully returning his eyes to the road.
He uses the opportunity to flick through his dream self’s music library, wrinkling his nose at the selection. This guy listens to The Weeknd? Gross.
Unsatisfied, Apollo finds an oldies playlist and relaxes in his seat.
“Dude. Klavier. Are you like, eighty? What is this?” The guy beside him laughs, poking at Apollo’s shoulder.
“Hey, this is better than everything else on my playlist right now.”
“This is deadass what my mom listens to.”
“Well, your mom has good taste, then.”
“I think she’s gonna cry tears of joy when I tell her about this,” he chuckles, refocusing on the road with a bemused smile. “I can picture it now – ‘oh, Daryan, does this mean your band is going in a new direction?’”
“Our...band?” It all finally slots into place – of course he’s the same blonde guy as in the picture. And the guy’s name is Daryan, not ‘Dayumyan.’
“Huh. This is a really weird dream.”
“I think you’re still asleep, man,” Daryan says, affectionately shaking his head. “You better wake up, ‘cuz we’re here.”
The car pulls to a stop, and Apollo steps out to what looks like a university campus.
“What the…”
“Come on, Viola’s gonna make fun of us if we’re late again.” Daryan slings a backpack over his shoulder, leaving Apollo to scramble after him through throngs of students wearing uniforms that blend together in shades of red and blue.
Their classroom lies a few floors off the ground, and Apollo feels slightly woozy looking out the window. He hesitantly takes a seat next to Daryan, waving hello to the seeming waves of people that greet him.
Apollo must have eaten something really odd last night because the day’s lessons are focused almost entirely on law. Professors rotate in and out of the classroom, and Apollo can’t help but grin in delight every time he recognizes one from TV. It’s as though his subconscious wants to apologize for making him forget an entire day by giving him his wildest dreams.
By the time lunch rolls around, Apollo’s binder is packed with a dense scrawl of hurried and somewhat nonsensical notes, at odds with the light and fluid handwriting of those that precede them. He picks at an overpriced sandwich until he feels a tap on his shoulder.
“Scoot.” Apollo looks up into warm hazel eyes, framed by curly hair and a friendly smile.
“Ah! Sorry,” Apollo says, making room for the girl on the bench. She raises her eyebrows in mock suspicion.
Oh, she’s from the picture, too.
“Don’t worry about it, Viola. Klavier’s been actin’ weird all morning,” Daryan says, pulling a notebook out of his bag. “Y’know he pulled out oldies on our way to class?”
“No way!” Viola laughs. “You hate when I put on my playlists.”
“What? No way, oldies are great,” Apollo fires back, briefly forgetting himself. “Whatever I was listening to before was bad.”
“Take notes – he’s gonna make our whole brand change, now. Just like when he got into Carrie Underwood and Miranda Lambert.” Daryan shudders. “If I have to hear another banjo ever again, it’ll be too soon.”
“Well, I support you, Klavier!” Viola says, giving Apollo a sunny smile. “Even if you’re going through your midlife crisis at seventeen.” The conversation dissolves into lighthearted teasing and a discussion of the day’s lessons before the bell rings, throwing them back into classwork for the rest of the school day.
At the sound of the final bell, Apollo walks with Daryan and Viola to the school’s parking lot, packed to the brim with the traffic of students trying to leave. He tunes into their conversation, mind catching on the details of an upcoming band practice.
“So...I guess I’m the lead singer of a band?” Apollo asks himself, pressing an index finger between his brows. “Why would I dream about that…?”
Viola and Daryan exchange a look before leaning into Apollo’s space, mildly distressed.
“Did Kristoph say something to you about The Gavinners again?” Daryan asks. “Because like, you know we aren’t gonna kick you to the curb because you’re busy or anything.”
“Yeah! We know you work really hard for the band, but it’s okay if you need to take a break,” Viola continues, nodding. “We’re all busy with classes, but it’s gotta be especially rough for you with your internship at the Prosecutor’s Office.”
“My...huh?” Apollo’s mouth hangs slightly open in confusion before he scratches the back of his head. “I wanna be a prosecutor?”
Weird choice if it’s my dream.
“Please, it’s all you talk about,” Daryan snorts. “All ‘you won’t believe what case I’m documenting right now!’ and bright eyes at not getting paid for your work. I swear, if your brother has been talking more smack on your choices, I’ll fight him. ‘S none of his business.”
“Kristoph...right. Yeah,” Apollo finishes lamely. If the dream’s going to work this hard to justify how out of place he is, then he might as well use whatever information he’s given. “Uh...just a question. Do you guys know if I’m working today?”
Viola tilts her head in sympathetic concern. “Yeah, that’s why you said you couldn’t do practice today. Um. Maybe you should take tomorrow off? You’ve been really out of it.”
Apollo dismisses her worry with a wave of his hand. “I’m fine. Just – uh. Could you drive me to work, Daryan?”
“Was planning on it. Seriously though, Viola’s right. You should get some sleep tonight.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Apollo replies, pulling open Daryan’s car door. He wonders if you can even get tired from a dream.
~
So. Apparently you can.
The stars that initially formed in his eyes at the thought of working for one of the legal world’s most prominent minds quickly burn out at the reality of working for one of the legal world’s most prominent minds. Tired is the most basic word he could use to describe how he feels after doing nothing but grab records and take meeting minutes for Prosecutor Edgeworth for hours on end.
“Please take these to Detective Gumshoe on the second floor. He’ll need to sign off on them before officially beginning his investigation.”
“Could you pull up your notes on the Stownmayson case from a week ago?”
“Mr. Gavin, I would hope you know by now that I only drink tea, thank you.”
When’s this dream gonna end?!
Apollo slumps against a wall, enjoying some respite at the end of a hard day’s work. He’ll get up and take the bus home or something, but for now, he’s gotta focus on not letting his legs collapse beneath him.
“Hiya!”
Apollo flails ungracefully, yelping and clutching his chest with a ragged breath. So much for taking a moment to rest.
A pair of green eyes and a friendly grin greet him. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that – force of habit. How ya doin’, Klavi? You look tired.”
“I – I am.” Who are you?
“Yeah, I bet. Mr. Edgeworth was running you into the ground today.” The girl lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I think it’s because he missed you.”
“If that’s true, I’m never taking another day off,” Apollo replies flatly. The girl laughs, patting his shoulder consolingly.
“Hey, that’s just his way of saying he appreciates you! Trust me, I know.” She winks at him before giving him a thumbs up. “Nice to see you’ve finally warmed up to me enough to make jokes, though. Or – that better be a joke because I already see you here too often. I’ve gotta head out for the day, but it was nice talking to you!”
The girl gives a crisp wave before walking away with a prance in her step, leaving Apollo unsure if they actually had a conversation or if he just hallucinated her into existence.
...he should probably be getting back either way.
He flicks through his phone during the bus ride home, peering through pictures and social media profiles. This Klavier Gavin guy seems like too much of a big shot to be a high school student: his Instagram has over 300 likes on every post, he’s verified on Twitter, and his band has a pretty substantial following, if the concert videos Apollo pulls up are any indication. For a garage band, at least.
Apollo opens the door to a dark and empty apartment. Now that he has more time to look around, he flicks the lights on to appreciate the uncrowded space.
Compared to the room he woke up in, the rest of the apartment is modernly decorated with crisp furniture and spotlessly clean countertops. It looks like a showroom, and the sense of store-bought perfection makes Apollo’s skin itch uncomfortably while he eats Chinese takeout leftovers from the fridge. It’s so at odds with his own home, which remains perpetually cluttered with someone’s newest hobby.
But Klavier’s room, he thinks as he swings open the bedroom door, is filled with life. Picture frames dot the top of every drawer and cabinet – some with Daryan and Viola, others with Klavier, what Apollo assumes are his parents, and a blonde man that looks startlingly similar to him.
One picture has a note written in neat, curly handwriting on the back.
‘Gavins at Themis orientation. Klavier’s all moved into Kristoph’s apartment!’
I can see the family resemblance, Apollo muses, turning the frame over in his hands. It’s charming to see so many cute photos scattered alongside books and music notes on every surface. Kinda sad that the rest of the apartment’s empty, though.
Apollo can feel the day’s fatigue catching up to him, and he yawns before settling into the still-too-soft bed. He pulls out his phone and taps a message onto the notes app.
‘My name’s Apollo, to answer your question. I live in Colorado, so LA is really weird to me. Everything’s so close by, and your school lunch is insanely expensive! I still can’t believe the high school/law school thing is real, so I’m pretty sure my subconscious is just pulling my leg about this whole thing.
Your friends are nice. I don’t think your band’s music is for me though – and everything on your Spotify playlist is terrible. And Prosecutor Edgeworth is pretty intimidating in real life. Which, I guess I’m not surprised by? But still, I’m impressed with everything you have to do at the Prosecutor’s Office. You work pretty hard.
And, sorry, I ate the leftovers in your fridge. You need to get some actual groceries to cook something. You live with your brother, right? Maybe ask him the next time you see him. He wasn’t home by the time I got back.
This has been a bizarre dream, but I wouldn’t mind having it again.’
Apollo gives a satisfied hum as he taps out the last few characters of his message before locking his phone and closing his eyes, falling into a deep and almost immediate sleep.