Work Text:
The paparazzi surrounding the courthouse are multiplying like rabbits.
Apollo stares at the gaggle and sighs, glad he’d had the forethought exit on the other side of the building. What a nuisance. He debates stomping over and trying to shoo them off. They usually crowd to the side of the prosecutor’s offices, looking for one specific person. That one specific person would really rather avoid their harassment.
Klavier can’t seem to stop looking over his shoulder and jumping at small noises these days. Apollo feels incredibly sorry for him. The part of himself that felt knee-jerk irritation at Klavier’s teasing has slowly been replaced by a part of him that welcomes it. After everything that had happened, it would be stupid to try and deny that Klavier really is just a good person. Sure, he knows he’s pretty and he still is a bit of a snob, but most of his posh rockstar schtick is a persona that he wears like armor.
People think he’s shallow and ignorant, a beautiful face with nothing between his ears. Apollo has no idea how that could make sense to them, given the fact that Klavier is literally a licensed prosecutor, but no one has ever said that the mainstream media makes any sense. Klavier lets them think what they will, using his shimmering smiles and twinkling eyes to escape the hard questions and keep interviewers away from anything that matters. They can ask him his favorite hair products or if he’s hiding a special someone or when his next album will be all day long, so long as they don’t try to dig any deeper.
But after Daryan and Kristoph, no one is asking what Klavier Gavin is using to keep his smile so white. Apollo has watched Klavier live some of the worst days of his life. And then he’s watched paparazzi scream some of the most hateful, acidic, vile questions at him about them. He’s watched the split second where Klavier almost crumbles, the flash of fear and desperation and anger that flickers across his face before he can compose it back into the neutral mask he’s been wearing. He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t flee either.
Every day, Klavier gets up, goes to work, and wades through a throng of paparazzi asking him how he feels that his best friend is a murderer. Klavier leaves work at the end of a grueling day, and wades through another group of evil people shoving cameras in his face, asking him if he’d always known that his big brother was a psychopath. Had he helped Kristoph forge evidence? How does it feel to have wrongfully taken down Phoenix Wright, one of the best lawyers of their time? Had he been an accomplice in Kristoph’s murders? He seems to have a track record of attracting terrible people, and is there anyone else in his life that they should be worried about?
It would almost be admirable, if it weren’t so sad. If it didn’t break Apollo’s heart a tiny bit to know that Klavier is being beaten down day after day over it all, if he couldn’t see the exhaustion in his eyes, watch the way that he has to steel himself before he opens the courthouse door, Apollo might envy his resolve. It hurts, and he keeps doing it, like he deserves it, like it’s his atonement for some nebulous mistake. Instead, he thinks Klavier might be the saddest person he’s ever met.
Apollo would never admit it, not to anyone, but he misses Klavier. He misses the teasing, and the nicknames, and trading jabs over nothing. Klavier has lost his flourish, and his smiles rarely reach his eyes. He doesn’t pick or prod at Emma. He’s absolutely silent when Phoenix is so much as mentioned, and he barely looks Trucy in the eye. He tries, sometimes, for the easy humor he was so full of before, but it’s so strained, such a shadow of his former self, that it seems to make him even sadder.
He looks like he needs a safe place to land, and Apollo catches himself, more often than not, wishing he could be that safety.
It’s easy to fall for Klavier. Apollo hadn’t understood the swooning and the fawning at first. The pretty, playboy rockstar thing did nothing for him.
Apollo thinks it might be more than a little fucked up, but it had been watching Klavier deal with the dissolution of his band, and the conviction of his best friend, that opened his eyes to Klavier’s appeal. He understood, finally, that there was more to this man than what he showed the world. Underneath that persona was someone serious, talented, funny, and whip-smart. It definitely doesn't hurt that Klavier is actually as beautiful as everyone says. It almost hurts to look directly at him, sometimes.
Worst of all, Apollo would never admit it to anyone, but recently he’s found himself listening to some of Klavier’s acoustic songs just to hear his voice.
So sure, Apollo considers stomping over and yelling at the groups of people that are making Klavier’s life hell.
But before he can do that, there’s a heavy arm looping around his shoulder, pulling him toward the steps. He yelps at the suddenness of it, flinching. A glance to his left reveals the man everyone is looking for, blonde hair tucked up into a baseball cap, sunglasses tipped down just far enough that Apollo can see the red that rims Klavier’s eyes.
“Please don’t make a scene,” Klavier murmurs, leaning close to Apollo’s ear. Apollo tries very hard not to shiver at the warm breath that ghosts across his cheek, or the low rumbling of Klavier’s voice, or how good he smells.
He feels his cheeks heat up, despite himself. He ducks his head, tilting his face toward the idiots crowded at the other side of the building. They’re still dutifully watching the doors. No one has given him a second glance.
”Don’t sneak up on me.” Apollo grumbles, “And I won’t.”
He lets Klavier lead him down the steps, using him as a shield in case anyone happens to look their way.
“What are you wearing, by the way?” Apollo asks disdainfully.
Klavier raises the arm that’s not slung around Apollo, turning it this way and that, and then smooths down the front of his decidedly bulky, extremely un-stylish knee-length brown coat.
”Is it really that bad?” Klavier asks, the corners of his mouth quirking up in amusement.
“You look like you’re about to open that thing up and show me your wares.” Apollo grimaces.
Klavier snorts, and it’s the closest thing to a laugh that Apollo has heard him make in months.
”Wow, this coming from a man who wears bright red pants to court,” he grins, and Apollo’s heart does this stupid skipping thing over it, “it must really be terrible.”
Klavier bites his bottom lip, and there’s the barest hint of a shine in his eyes, and for a second, he looks like himself again.
Apollo tries not to stare, tries not to lean into him too hard, tries not to feel too grateful that he’s the one that put that smile there.
”Leave my pants out of this,” he says stupidly. He can’t find it within himself to feel any of the self-consciousness that usually accompanies Klavier’s teasing.
”I cannot,” Klavier says solemnly, gesturing downward, “They’re right there.”
”Don’t look at them!” Apollo says indignantly, flapping a hand around his waist.
”But they’re soooo bright,” Klavier whines, making a show of grimacing and adjusting his sunglasses.
Apollo rolls his eyes, shaking his head and failing to hold back the stupid grin pulling at his mouth.
”You may have to take them off before I go blind,” Klavier drops his voice, pulling his sunglasses down his nose and waggling his eyebrows at Apollo over them.
Apollo blinks, choking on his next breath, wheezing and tripping over his own feet.
Klavier honest to god laughs then, and it’s hard not to stare at him like he’s lit every star in Apollo’s favorite constellation.
Klavier doesn’t give him a chance to respond to that, shaking his head and holding his free arm out in front of himself again.
”Honestly, Herr Forehead, I needed a disguise. Thanks for being a part of it, by the way.” He squeezes his arm a little tighter around Apollo’s shoulders.
”How am I a disguise?” Apollo asks, still just this side of bewildered by the whole encounter.
Klavier swallows, turning his face away. His mouth pulls up for a second, but it doesn’t look happy.
“Well,” he says quietly, “No one would ever expect me to be seen with you.”
Something cold sinks into the pit of Apollo’s stomach. It takes a second to register Klavier’s words, but when he does, it’s like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His whole body goes stiff.
Klavier is using him.
Right.
That’s all this is.
No matter what Klavier is going through, he is still Klavier Gavin, rock god, prosecuting prodigy, wildly beautiful, endlessly in demand.
And Apollo Justice is still just Apollo Justice.
Apollo can never have him.
“Yeah,” Apollo croaks out, “Of course.”
He spares a glance over his shoulder, and finds the courthouse nearly out of his eyeline.
He ducks out from under Klavier’s arm, rolling his shoulders. He tries to stand up as straight as he can, despite feeling one inch tall. He doesn’t look Klavier in the eye.
“Good luck,” is all he can manage before he’s turning away and fleeing down the street.
~~~~~~
Apollo stomps into the office and slams the door behind himself.
Phoenix jumps, half-built house of cards collapsing on the coffee table in front of him.
He glares up at Apollo, and then his face twists into something surprised and curious when he actually sees him. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head.
”Woah, what’s got you so riled up, Apollo?”
“Nothing,” Apollo snaps, and begins pacing the floor.
He’s so stupid. Of course, of course Klavier wouldn’t choose to be seen with him. Klavier wouldn’t seek him out for any real reason. He pushes his hands back through his hair, shaking his head.
He feels like such a loser. The warm, fuzzy feelings that had crawled up his throat at Klavier’s a smile are nauseating now. How fucking stupid could he be? What, did he think he’d draw Klavier back out of his shell, help him be himself again, and Klavier would fall at his feet and confess his feelings?
Phoenix watches him loop back and forth, eyebrows raised. ”’Nothing’ sure looks different than it did in my day.”
“Yeah well, in your day everything was in black and white, so.” Apollo retorts.
Phoenix closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, flattening his hands on the table. He opens his eyes and looks skyward, mumbling. Apollo thinks he hears him murmuring Prosecutor Edgeworth’s name.
“Alright kid,” he sighs. He stands, moving around the sofa.
”Apollo,” he says sharply, and Apollo freezes.
His head snaps up to look at Phoenix, who points to the seat across the table.
”Sit down,” he says, stern and clipped.
Shit, Phoenix is never like this, not outside of court.
Apollo slowly moves towards the sofa, and gingerly sits down, not breaking eye contact with Phoenix the entire time.
”Okay,” Phoenix leans back, face softening, “Now what’s got you so upset?”
Apollo looks up at him helplessly, eyes flitting around his face, mouth working soundlessly.
Phoenix just stares back patiently.
Apollo looks down, whole body slumping. His hands dangle uselessly between his knees.
“It was just some…stupid thing that Prosecutor Gavin said.”
Phoenix hums, “So stupid that it’s got you like this?”
”Yes,” Apollo huffs, “Really stupid.”
”Well now I kinda wanna know how stupid.” Phoenix says thoughtfully, and Apollo glares up at him.
Phoenix’s shoulders drop and he shakes his head, pushing his hands back through his hair, “Jesus I am so bad at this,” he laments. “Miles would have had this fixed already.”
Chief Prosecutor Edgeworth is scary enough to make Apollo throw up with just a look, but he doesn’t think Phoenix would appreciate him saying that, so he keeps his mouth shut.
He heaves a heavy sigh, and leans back in his seat, sliding downward.
”You know how all the paparazzi have been crowding around the courthouse to harass Klavier?” He asks the ceiling.
”Oh, that’s what they’re there for? I thought it was because Miles and I got caught in his office by that intern…” Phoenix frowns, “Good to know.”
Apollo fixes him with his most disgusted glare, “Gross.”
”We’re in love, Polly,” Phoenix shrugs.
”Anyway,” Apollo says loudly, looking back toward the ceiling, “He told me that I was a good disguise because no one would ever expect him to be seen with me.”
Phoenix is quiet for a second, “And you said…?”
Apollo turns his head toward him, “Nothing?”
”Nothing?”
“What was I supposed to say? I left.”
Phoenix raises his eyebrows at him like he’s quite possibly the stupidest person alive, which is insulting, frankly, because Apollo had recently met Larry.
”Sooooo, you thought your good friend-“
”That’s stretching it, at this point,” Apollo grumbles.
”Said something that mean to you- which, you clearly thought it was that mean, because you’re here doing… this- and you just walked away? You didn’t think to, yaknow, talk to him? Ask him what he meant?”
Apollo frowns at him, trying to communicate every ounce of his displeasure.
”I know what he meant,” Apollo barks, “He’s too good to be seen with me.”
Apollo has never seen anyone look as much like they want to suffocate someone as Phoenix does in that moment.
”What is your-“
Trucy bounds through the front door at that moment, twirling her wand in one hand.
”Woah,” she stops dead, “Daddy, don’t suffocate Polly with that pillow.”
Phoenix slowly puts the pillow back down on the sofa behind him.
”Polly, you look awful!” She exclaims, crossing the room to hover over him, arms folded behind her back.
Apollo closes his eyes as she pops into view, obstructing the ceiling, “Thanks, Truce,” he sighs.
”Does this have anything to do with Prosecutor Gavin standing outside looking like a kicked puppy?”
Apollo sits up so fast he almost knocks his and Trucy’s foreheads together. She adjusts her hat and pouts at him.
“He’s what?” Apollo shrieks.
”Well that’s another bout of tinnitus for the books,” Phoenix grumbles, pulling at his ear.
”He’s out on the sidewalk in a really ugly coat,” Trucy says, “It looks like he’s moping. Ooh, I bet you can see him from the window!”
Trucy bounds over and throws the window open, sticking her upper body out and waving.
’Hi Prosecutor Gavin!” She calls delightedly.
A pause.
”Yeah, Polly is up here!”
Apollo grabs her around the waist and hauls her away from the window, tossing her onto the couch.
She bounces, tilting her head curiously at him. “Weird,” she observes.
”I don’t want to talk to him,” Apollo hisses. “Mr. Wright, close the window.”
Phoenix saunters over to the open window, peering out and wiggling his fingers in a wave. His mouth curls up into an amused grin at what Apollo can only assume is Klavier panicking at the sight of him.
Trucy gasps, flopping onto her stomach and squishing her cheeks into her palms, “What happened? Are you fighting?”
”He told me he didn’t want to be seen with me!” Apollo whisper-screams.
”No he didn’t?” Phoenix supplies unhelpfully from next to the window, “He said no one would expect you to be seen together.”
“It’s the same thing!” Apollo shouts, whirling around to face him.
When he turns back around, Trucy is squinting at him. He freezes again. He knows that look. He hates that look. Trucy might as well be plucking all his thoughts directly out of his head. Somehow, she always knows exactly what people are feeling, and exactly what they’re upset about, without them saying a word. It’s actually uncanny.
Her face softens, looking remarkably like Phoenix despite him not actually being her father.
”Oh Polly,” she says gently, “He didn’t mean it like that.”
Apollo presses his lips together, and does not answer her. She’s going to keep talking regardless, and Apollo knows she’s going to be spot on. He hates it.
”He doesn’t think he’s better than you,” Trucy moves to sit back up, and presses her skirt down against her knees. “And he doesn’t think you’re embarrassing.”
Apollo furrows his eyebrows, blinking furiously against the hot wash of shame and self-consciousness at Trucy voicing what he couldn’t bring himself to say out loud.
“You should go talk to him,” Trucy offers, “I’m sure he’ll tell you the same thing. You mean a lot to him.”
Apollo scoffs at that.
He’s convenient, is more like it. They have to be in somewhat close proximity, because of all the cases they work opposite on. He doesn’t vacate the evidence room like everyone else does when Klavier walks in. He doesn’t pry into Klavier’s life or his feelings, just treats him like he always has and discusses the case. When they stay late and the research is forgotten, he lets Klavier ramble on about this and that.
They have a good time talking. At least, Apollo has a good time. He shamefully looks forward to Klavier finding him wherever he’d chosen to look over his files that day. No matter when he goes, Klavier finds him, and he tries not to feel too giddy over the fact that Klavier always looks for him. He just makes himself available. He knows it gives Klavier a chance to feel normal. Of course he’d jump at the chance to forget about everything waiting outside.
So what if Apollo wastes half his time carefully examining Klavier’s face when he isn’t looking, wondering if his dark circles are darker, verging on asking if he’s getting enough sleep, holding back from asking whether he’s eaten that day? So what if he desperately wants to brush Klavier’s bangs back from his eyes and tell him it’s going to be alright, it won’t be like this forever? It doesn’t matter, because Klavier likely doesn’t care if Apollo is concerned or not. Trucy is scarily accurate at reading people, but she has to be wrong this time.
“I mean it!” Trucy insists, scowling at him, “He hasn’t had a real conversation with anyone in months! He hasn’t asked anyone for help! Except for you, today. He’s always happier when you’re around. He knows he can trust you!”
Apollo crosses and uncrosses his arms, not looking at Trucy. He wants to block out how much sense she makes.
”He’s really lonely, Polly,” Trucy says, and her bottom lip trembles in sympathy.
Apollo stares at her helplessly. She knows how to press every single one of his buttons.
“Fine,” Apollo sighs.
Phoenix sticks his head out the window.
”Get up here, Gavin!” He hollers.
”Mr. Wright!” Apollo shouts.
Phoenix pulls his head back in and straightens up, “What, you want to do this out on the street?”
Momentarily, there’s a knock on the door. Klavier must have really high-tailed it up there. Apollo jumps a foot off the ground.
Phoenix answers the door, and Klavier looks shell-shocked to see him up close.
Phoenix ushers him in, and then claps him on the shoulder. Apollo has never seen Klavier look so small. Phoenix still looks horribly amused about it all.
“Well, Trucy, how about some ice cream?”
Trucy pops up off the couch, “Ooh! Can we call Miles? I have to give him tickets for Thursday’s show.”
Phoenix snorts, “How else do you think we’re getting there?”
Trucy plants a wet, smacking kiss on Apollo’s cheek, and hugs him around the waist.
”We’ll bring you something home, Polly!” She says cheerfully, but her eyes carry a threat so serious that it chills Apollo’s blood. Be reasonable, or there will be hell to pay.
She crosses the room and loops her arms around one of Phoenix’s. Phoenix throws him a look that says ‘God help you if you fuck up’, and the door clicks shut behind them.
Klavier stands, fidgeting with the belt of his too-big coat, on the threshold.
“Take that thing off,” Apollo says tiredly, shaking his head.
Klavier removes the heinous thing, thankfully, and folds it over the back of the couch. Underneath is something far more like him, deep purple button down rolled up to the elbows, unbuttoned one button too many to be professional, black slacks.
“I’m not sure how I have upset you so badly,” he says cautiously.
Apollo takes a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He really doesn’t want to have this conversation. He’ll just smooth it over, and they can pretend today never happened, and he will not ever think about his stupid misguided crush on Klavier ever again.
”You know what, it’s fine,” he tries, “I overreacted, no big deal.”
”It is clearly not fine,” Klavier crosses his arms, and Apollo does not focus on the way that the fabric of his shirt stretches across his arms.
”I am always fine. It’s kind of my motto.”
”But you are not fine right now.”
”We don’t have to do this-“
”Please,” Klavier snaps his mouth shut with an audible click, evidently not meaning to sound so desperate.
Apollo tips his chin down, considering. No getting out of it, then.
“You said you didn’t want to be seen with me?”
“That’s” Klavier blinks at him, licking his lips, “not true?”
Irritation flickers in Apollo’s chest. Embarrassment pushes a blush into his face, hot and uncomfortable. Why does it have to be an argument? It would be easier if he could just say his stupid feelings were hurt, Klavier could say sorry, and they could move on. He does not have to get into the intricacies of why it hurts so badly that he’s not good enough for Klavier.
”You don’t have to be nice about it now. I get it. Why would you want anyone to see you with me? You’re too important, and too cool, and I- wear red pants to court,” he finishes lamely.
He wants Klavier to deny it. To tell him that he's being silly and this was all just a miscommunication.
Instead, something like understanding lights up Klavier’s eyes.
”Oh, God, no,” Klavier breathes.
All the hope Trucy had given him slips away. The hurt comes flooding back.
”Ahh,” Apollo smiles ruefully, “there it is.”
”No,” Klavier holds his hands up placatingly, “You’ve got this wrong.”
”I think I’ve got it right. You think I’m a loser-“
”No!” Klavier says frantically.
But Apollo can’t stop. His feelings spill out like the trainwreck that they are.
”I’m embarrassing! You always have so much to say about my clothes, or my hair, or how loud I am, or my fucking forehead-“
”Apollo please! You don’t understand!” Klavier begs.
”Understand what?” Apollo throws his arms out, “That you think you’re better than me? Got that loud and fucking clear!”
“I’m not good enough!” Klavier bellows, eyes wide, chest heaving.
That shocks Apollo into silence.
Klavier pushes his fingers into his hair, shaking his head. He tilts his face downward, refusing to look at Apollo.
”What?” is all Apollo can manage.
Klavier is silent for a long moment, save for the frantic tapping of his foot.
”Surely,” he says eventually, “You have read the papers? Watched the news? Seen the paparazzi?”
”They’re hard to miss,” Apollo answers weakly.
”Then you must have noticed,” Klavier bites out, “that I happen to be their favorite topic as of the past few months. What with my best friend being a murderer, and my band breaking up, and my brother-“
He cuts off, sucking in a breath. He presses his mouth into a hard line, tilting his chin up and looking off to the side, blinking furiously.
”I… have read the articles, yeah.” Apollo admits.
”Then you understand when I say that it would be better if we were not seen together.”
Apollo frowns, the beginnings of a headache pulsing at his temple.
”No, I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
Klavier’s teeth flash, sinking into his lower lip harshly.
”You also see what they’re saying about you, right? They love you, nothing but good things to say about you. Particularly in relation to how you handled Daryan’s conviction and…” Klavier grits his teeth, “Kristoph’s as well. So I am trying not to taint your budding reputation by slinging my mud onto it. You don’t deserve that.”
”You think those articles matter to me?” Apollo asks incredulously.
Klavier’s head snaps to look at him, “Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because those same garbage tabloids are exploiting the worst things that have happened to you?”
Klavier presses a hand to his mouth, head tilted back.
”It does not matter,” he insists, “I respect you very much. I think you are wonderful. I would be honored that you would let me be seen anywhere with you. I wish I could see you more, perhaps even outside of the courthouse. I treasure your company, it is the best part of my day! However, I am not good enough to be seen with you, presently.”
Shit. That was… breathtakingly honest, and not at all what Apollo was expecting. Clarity slaps him across the face. Had he really let his own lack of self-confidence spiral this hard? Of course he had, it was what he did best. Apollo Justice, getting in his own way at every turn. His stupid heart flutters a bit at the revelation that Klavier wants to see him more. But now isn’t the time to fist-pump and yell “take that, depression” at himself.
Instead, his feelings do a quick one-eighty, and he is even more furious at the news at large for Klavier than he was before. He's going to start shattering people's cameras and keying their news vans. Klavier doesn't deserve this. Obviously it had been getting to him, but Apollo hadn't thought it had dragged his self-worth so low as to think he didn't deserve to associate with other people.
“Klavier,” Apollo says seriously, and Klavier startles a bit at the sound of his own name, “If anything that happened made me think differently of you, do you think I’d have spent the past several months talking to you or working with you?”
”Ah, well,” Klavier says, “I’ve been told I’m rather persistent. I fear I may not have given you a choice.”
Apollo takes a step closer. He’s been wanting to tell Klavier this for months, and he's sorry he hasn't said it sooner, because he finally understands how badly Klavier needs to hear it.
”Klavier,” he says again, and he waits for Klavier to look at him again, “Your brother and your best friend made bad choices. That’s not your fault. You’re a good person.”
Klavier makes a tiny, punched out sound in the back of his throat. His shoulders curl in. He shakes his head wordlessly, eyes wide and wet.
It’s devastating to watch, and Apollo wants to comfort him so badly.
”I’m not good at this,” Apollo says anxiously, “I don’t know when you’re supposed to hug somebody.”
Klavier practically throws himself at Apollo, curling his arms around Apollo’s shoulders.
He’s shaking worryingly hard. Apollo pressed his palms flat to Klavier’s back. Klavier’s face drops to his shoulder.
”I think you should let me decide what I can handle,” Apollo murmurs.
Apollo holds him, and pretends not to notice the growing patch of tears seeping through his shirt.
He ignores the earsplitting voice shrieking in his head that he is actually holding Klavier, and rubs his back. Klavier sinks further into his arms.
”I’m sorry,” Klavier croaks out against his neck, breath warm against his skin.
The shiver that zips up Apollo’s spine is intense, and absolutely inappropriate given the circumstances.
“Don’t worry about it,” Apollo says hoarsely.
“I really missed you, Apollo,” Klavier turns his face further against Apollo’s neck, “I missed investigating crime scenes with you and attending Fraulein Wright’s magic shows. Seeing you only at work was not enough.”
Apollo is going to have to be separated from him with a crowbar. “We'd be happy to have you back. Trucy has been using me as her volunteer. I can only be cut in half so many times before it actually works.”
“You can't afford to lose any more height,” Klavier says, “I am hunching so much already.”
Apollo huffs out a laugh against Klavier’s hair. “I missed you too,” he admits in a whisper.
“You know, I saw an article yesterday that we had broken up,” Klavier laughs wetly.
”Kind of hard to break up when you never asked me out,” Apollo grumbles, clearly struck dumb by the closeness.
He goes still when Klavier pulls back to look at him. Klavier blinks at him like he’s never seen him before.
”I hadn’t thought you’d say yes,” he breathes.
“Oh, should I ask you out instead?” tumbles dumbly out of Apollo’s mouth.
Klavier’s answering smile is slow, and achingly bright, “Only if you promise not to break up with me and land us in another tabloid.”
Trucy shows back up with a milkshake for each of them, and Klavier looks so touched that Apollo swears he sees more tears welling in his eyes.
~~~~~~
When Apollo shows up at Klavier’s apartment building to pick him up for their first actual date, he’s met with a slew of the worst paparazzi. They’re camped outside, chairs and all, and Apollo bites back the urge to scream at them until they leave. He marches past them without acknowledging them or any of the horrible invasive questions they shout at him. It’s been months, how is this still news? Isn’t this old?
He makes his way up to Klavier’s penthouse, and Klavier answers the door before he can even knock.
”I’m sorry,” he says anxiously, “Were they terrible?”
Apollo shrugs, “They’re always terrible.”
“We could stay in?” Klavier offers, managing to look only slightly crestfallen at the idea.
Apollo looks him up and down, the sleek all black outfit, the perfectly tousled hair. He’s got a pair of rectangular glasses on, only having started to wear them out more because Apollo had actually walked into a wall the first time he’d seen Klavier with them on.
”Nah,” Apollo says, smile lopsided and earnest, “You look too good to waste it.”
Klavier flushes up to his ears, and lets Apollo drag him out of the door and into the elevator.
Predictably, they’re tailed by a growing amount of paparazzi that Apollo resolutely ignores, keeping all of his attention on the man in front of him. Klavier can’t stop glancing toward the window. That is, until Apollo reaches across the table and threads their fingers together reassuringly. Klavier melts into the touch and smiles gratefully, and Apollo still isn’t quite sure how he got here, but he knows damn well he’s not going to let anything ruin it.
He doesn’t let go of Klavier’s hand when they leave the restaurant. He holds it until they get to the car, where he opens Klavier’s door for him, and kisses his knuckles before he lets go. Klavier drops into his seat stupidly, and Apollo smiles when he shuts the door behind him.
He takes Klavier’s hand again when they get back to his apartment building, and squeezes tightly when Klavier falters at the flash of what feels like a thousand camera shutters.
He stays close through the lobby, in the elevator, and down the hallway, because he wants to. The whole night has been proving a point. It’s a message to the paparazzi, the tabloids, the newspaper, anyone else who might care to watch. He wants to make it clear to everyone, his own fretting boyfriend included:
Apollo Justice does not care what you write about him.
But when he follows Klavier into his apartment and clicks the door shut behind them…
When he backs Klavier up against the door, threading his fingers into golden hair and watching Klavier lean into it like he’s starving for it…
When he steps close to hear the stutter in Klavier’s breath, and catch the fluttering of his heartbeat with gentle fingertips against his throat…
When Apollo finally leans in to kiss Klavier like he’s the only thing that matters; until he can't remember anything that's not Apollo’s name…
Well, that’s just for the two of them.
~~~~~~