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Really, it’s all Athena’s fault. It’s all Athena’s fault for pushing him into a corner, discounting every excuse Apollo throws at her. Because, sure, yeah, Apollo likes his coworkers well enough—but they’re just that. Coworkers. They don’t need to move into the realm of friends, not really.
Athena, though, seems to think that they should already be best friends, actually. But Apollo is tired. The last thing he wants to do is go out drinking with Athena and Mr. Wright and whoever else she’s invited. Athena shouldn’t even be at a bar. Apollo doesn’t care if she’s only getting mocktails. So it’s an act of desperation when Apollo sighs, “Look, my boyfriend and I have plans tomorrow morning. I don’t want to stay up all—”
“Your boyfriend,” Athena repeats. “Uh-huh. Your boyfriend, who one-hundred-percent, super-duper, really exists.”
“Yes, my boyfriend who one-hundred—seriously, Athena?”
“Forgive me if I want to see some proof, yeah?” Athena drawls, crossing her arms. “After all you’ve lied to me tonight, I think it’s warranted.” At Apollo’s deadpan stare, she clarifies, “Call him. Speaker phone. Let’s hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
“He’s a bit private—”
Athena rolls her eyes. “Stop hedging.”
So that’s how it’s going to be, then. The weight of the world falls out with Apollo’s sigh as he pulls out his phone and opens up his contacts. The list is—small, really. So it becomes very clear very quickly that there’s only one person he can call. And he’s going to give Apollo hell for it, oh, Apollo will never live it down, but at least he trusts the guy to get the hint. To play along.
So. He dials Klavier’s number, puts it on speaker phone between him and Athena as it rings. Athena’s eyes are fixed on Klavier’s contact name. Shit. It’s too professional, isn’t it? Klavier Gavin (LA Prosecutor’s Office). God. He was doomed before he even made the call, wasn’t he?
But maybe Klavier won’t answer. Ah, that would give Apollo some plausible deni—Klavier answers at the start of the third ring. “What a lovely surprise, Herr F—”
Fuck. He needs to get Klavier to shut up before he ruins everything even more. “Hey, babe,” Apollo starts, somehow managing to keep his voice steady. “I’ve got you on speaker phone with Athena.” Apollo digs his nails into the palm of his hand, ready to bite the bullet—
“We’re calling ‘cause I don’t believe you’re dating Apollo,” Athena chimes, because of course she does. “He’s telling me he’s got all these big plans with his boyfriend that mean he can’t come out drinking with me, and, well, forgive me if Apollo doesn’t seem enough of a catch for that—”
Klavier is silent. There’s not even background noise from his end of the call. Take the fucking hint, Apollo thinks hysterically. Then Klavier laughs under his breath, and Apollo's fucked, he’s absolutely fucked—“Ach, you let the cat out of the bag so soon, schatzi?”
Oh. Klavier’s voice is lower, teasing, in a way that is far, far too intimate. Or maybe just intimate enough, as it were. “Ja, Fräulein. Apollo and I are together. Beauty in the eye of the beholder and all that.” Apollo can just see him flipping his hair over his shoulder. Prick.
“And you actually have plans tomorrow morning? Apollo’s not using you as an excuse?”
“Ja, we had plans to get breakfast before his trial tomorrow,” Klavier returns smoothly. Apollo’s heart does something weird at Klavier remembering. Klavier isn’t even the opposing counsel on that case.
Athena makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt. “Fine. You’re off the hook this time, Apollo. But next time—next time—you’re not getting off so easy.”
“Ach, this seems like a conversation that should be between you two,” Klavier sighs. “Call me when you’re home, schatzi?”
It takes a second. It takes a second for Apollo to realize, oh, he’s talking to me. “Uh, yeah. Sure thing. Bye?”
“Auf wiedersehen,” Klavier lilts, and hangs up.
“You dog,” Athena hisses the second the call drops. “Seriously? Klavier Gavin? And you didn’t think to tell me, or Trucy, or—” She waves her hands frantically..
“We, uh. We wanted to keep it private?”
“Oh, nothing can hide from Athena Cykes,” she drawls, tilting her head up in a smug gesture. Then her eyes soften. “But. You were really scared when you made that phone call, you know? Are you—are you guys okay?”
Fuck. It always comes back around to Athena’s freak hearing. “I haven’t—we haven’t told anyone yet,” Apollo mumbles, looking away. “It’s new, and—”
“Oh,” Athena’s tone matches his. “Well, that makes sense. But, you know, with the way Klavier looks at you—I don’t think you have anything to be worried about. Not with him.”
And what does that mean? Athena must take his frown, his stunned silence, as something else entirely, because she just smiles at him. “I mean it.” And before Apollo can manage a reply, she’s picking up her bag and throwing it over her shoulder. “Have fun tomorrow, okay? But, really, I want you to come to the next outing. There’s, like—a hole without you there, you know?”
No, Apollo doesn’t know. He nods anyway. And Athena’s bounding out the door, not looking back. As he’s packing up his own things, he just barely remembers to text Klavier: Did you actually want me to call you when I get home?
Klavier’s response is instant. I think we should talk, don’t you?
Fair enough. Apollo calls him after he gets home and feeds Mikeko—the monster just about attacks him as he walks in, late as he is for Mikeko’s dinnertime. “I remember, I remember, buddy,” Apollo laughs as he portions out Mikeko’s food. “Geez.”
And then, The Prospect Of Calling Klavier looms over his apartment. There’s really no avoiding it. Though feeding Mikeko was a nice distraction. So, yeah, Apollo takes his sweet time getting to his bedroom and getting settled into bed before he calls Klavier. He owes it to himself.
Klavier answers immediately. “So,” he says, and there’s way too much weight to that one word. “We’re together, are we?” And the thing is that Klavier’s voice isn’t teasing, or sensual, or anything like that—no, it’s dead neutral.
“Uh. Well. Athena wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I told her I had plans with my boyfriend, and she demanded I call him as proof. On speaker phone. As you know.” God, he’s rambling.
“And you called me,” Klavier finishes. His voice curls with curiosity.
“Yeah.”
“Well, Herr Forehead, what’s the plan?”
“The—plan?”
“Going forward,” Klavier clarifies. “Are you going to tell the Fräulein?”
“I hadn’t even thought that far.” Apollo heaves a sigh. “I mean, I guess I have to. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair that I looped you into this in the first—”
“She’ll never let you live it down.”
“Yeah, and?” Apollo huffs out a laugh. “It’ll be no worse than how you terrorize me.”
“What if you didn’t have to tell her?”
“Huh?”
“Well,” Klavier sniffs, “you don’t seem eager to face the Fräulein’s wrath. And I, myself, cannot imagine a worse fate, ja?”
Apollo’s mouth goes dry. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’ll cover for you, Herr Forehead,” Klavier lilts, fondness bleeding through his voice. “Keep my favorite defense attorney from an early grave, ja?”
“I’m not your favorite,” Apollo retorts, because that’s the easiest thing to latch onto. Athena’s voice touches on the edge of his mind: the way Klavier looks at you…
“Oh, but you are!” Klavier has a certain way of talking when he smiles. There’s an upturn to the end of his sentences, a quickness to his speech. He’s smiling now, Apollo knows. “Do we have a deal, schatzi?”
Apollo swallows, licks his lips. And before he can think better of it: “Yeah. We do.”
—
They end up meeting the next morning for real—not at a restaurant, but Klavier’s apartment, so they can hash out the details of this whole thing. Because it’s one thing to say they’re pretending to date—but what does that actually mean?
So, yeah, Apollo lugs his work bag over to Klavier’s apartment. Klavier eyes it when he opens the door for Apollo. “Ah, is this a work meeting? I wasn’t aware.”
Apollo rolls his eyes and sets his work bag on the coffee table, pulling out his laptop. “I don’t have Excel on my personal computer.”
“Excel,” Klavier repeats.
“Yeah?”
“Why do we need Excel,” Klavier asks.
“Well, there’s, like—” Apollo waves his hand in a vague gesture. “Things we need to plan. Be on the same page about. And what better way to do that than—”
“Excel,” Klavier finishes, laughing under his breath. It’s this deep, rich sound. “Ach, I suppose we can give it a shot.”
“Well, we have to, because I made a template for it last night—you know there aren’t templates for this sort of thing? Right when I need it? I mean, really—”
“I can’t possibly imagine why,” Klavier retorts, but he’s smiling. Apollo huffs as he flops down on Klavier’s too-big couch, but when he flips open his laptop screen, his reflection is smiling back at him. Klavier sits down next to him, leaning towards the coffee table that Apollo’s laptop rests on. “What have you got?”
“Well, so,” Apollo starts, clicking into his files and opening up the one titled [CONFIDENTIAL] Notes. “I’ve got tabs and charts for each of the things that we need to have straight before we get this going, okay, like the timeline, and what we’re okay doing with one another in public, and—”
“You’ve thought this through, have you?” Klavier lilts, voice curling in curiosity.
“Duh?” Apollo glances sidelong at him. “Athena’s not gonna buy something half-assed. If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it right.”
“Ah, of course.”
“So I think we should start with the surface stuff, like physical affection, ‘cause that’s gonna be the basis of everything.” Apollo turns his laptop more towards Klavier. “Obviously we can add anything you think is missing. I’ve color-coded my side already, so, uh, here you go.”
Klavier leans in towards the screen, squinting. “What’s wrong with spontaneous kisses?”
“I have to be prepared for—something like that.”
Klavier looks at him, hand resting on Apollo’s laptop touchpad. “Isn’t the point that kisses are spontaneous? That’s the magic, ja?”
“Well,” Apollo frowns, biting his lip, “I guess we could make it so only I do that? Then I’ll always be ready, right?”
Klavier’s gaze is heavy on him. “The prosecution has no objections.”
“Hardy har.” Apollo rolls his eyes. “Come on, fill your side out instead of arguing with mine.” And Klavier just—highlights both his rows and paints them green, like it’s no big deal. Nope. Apollo stares at the screen. “Seriously?”
“Actually,” Klavier says, considering, then clicks one cell—the cell between receiving and playing with hair—and paints it yellow. “There. That should do it.”
It’s—a funny feeling. That Klavier trusts him so much. So implicitly. “What’s wrong with playing with your hair?” Apollo asks, if only because the feeling rests uncomfortable on his chest. Easier to deflect. Move on.
Klavier smirks, lopsided. “My hair is the product of many careful, precious hours—”
“Oh, come on—”
“What can I say?” Klavier sighs, airy. “I have my boundaries.”
“You sure do,” Apollo mutters. “Okay, so pet names next—”
“Ah, you’ve already accounted for me!” A smile slides onto Klavier’s face. “Green on German pet names? Apollo, I never—”
“It—doesn’t make sense otherwise,” Apollo retorts. “I mean, seriously, it’d be weirder if I didn’t let you.” Right?
The smile slides off Klavier’s face. “It doesn’t matter if it’s weird,” he says. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t. You’re allowed to have your boundaries, too, ja?”
“Uh.” Apollo stares at the spreadsheet. It’s easier than whatever’s going on in Klavier’s eyes right now. “It’s—fine. Really.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Klavier doesn’t respond. But he does go through and take his time with this chart—taking it seriously. Like it matters. Maybe it does, even though this is some weird, bend-over-backwards favor for Apollo; maybe Klavier is just that deadset on keeping his favorite defense attorney from an early grave. God. As if.
“When are food-related ones okay?” Apollo asks. It’s marked yellow.
“Ach, it’s not that they’re bad, they just—don’t feel right?” Klavier tilts his head to the side. “But if it’s natural for you, by all means, ja?”
“But you’d prefer—” Apollo glances up the chart. “Babe, sweetheart, that kind of thing?”
“Ja.”
“I can do that,” Apollo tells him. “Your—if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Right?”
Klavier’s reflection in the laptop screen glances at Apollo. “Right.”
Love and my love are marked yellow, too. They’re red for Apollo, of course—too intense, too much. But it’s not what he expected of Klavier. He thinks about asking.
“I made a chart for love languages, too, ‘cause I figure it’d look more natural if we actually… followed those?”
And Klavier fills this out patiently, too, almost all green. Just a few yellows. Apollo looks between Klavier’s chart and his, how Apollo’s has more than double the yellows of Klavier’s. Apollo thinks about asking.
“Then I figured we’ll probably be expected to order food for one another at some point, right, and it’d be… awkward if I got you something you hate, or can’t eat,” Apollo explains, tabbing over to the next sheet. “So, uh. Food orders and other things to know, like gift ideas.”
“Pineapple pizza,” Klavier comments in abject horror.
“What? You’re telling me whatever you like is better?”
“Plain cheese for me, ja?”
Apollo stares at him. “You’re such a baby, you know that?”
“Ach, I prefer babe.”
Apollo can’t help it; he blushes. “That’s not—we’re not—”
Klavier continues down the sheet as if he hadn’t spoken. “What are these… Bic Round Stic Xtra Life Ball Point Black Pens?”
“Only the best pen there is,” Apollo huffs. He reaches into his work bag and pulls one out, flourishing it. “Seriously, these things are dirt-cheap, last forever, write well, and if you bend the cap, you can spin it around—”
“I don’t have a pen I feel so passionately about, I’m afraid,” Klavier says, trying and failing to hide the laugh that runs through his voice.
“I don’t care. We’re keeping that row.”
“I would never dream of asking you to rescind your love for Bic Round Stic Xtra Life Ball Point Black Pens,” Klavier tells him, dead serious. “Ah, but it’ll be hard for me to decide my favorite color—you know, burgundy is nice, but I think I prefer something with a bit more purple to it, ja? Maybe maroon?”
“Are you a Crayola crayon namer?” Apollo huffs. “Just say red, God—”
“But how do I know if your favorite red leans more towards the orange side of the spectrum? Or perhaps towards purple, like me—”
“Red is red,” Apollo hisses. “Write it down.”
Maroon, Klavier types in the cell next to Apollo’s red. Apollo huffs and crosses his arms and realizes his face is hurting, a little, from how much he’s smiling.
Klavier tabs into the next sheet, then: Timeline & Logistics. “We’ll have to have the story down pat, right? I’ve already told Athena it’s new, so no worrying about, like, big milestones or anything. So I put some thoughts in here, but you can change it, if you need to.”
Klavier is silent as he reads the chart. It’s not a very detailed or long one, but this takes longer than any of the other ones. “You realized during State v. Woods?”
“Well, I mean, we grew apart for a little bit there, right? So I thought it’d make sense, maybe, if us meeting back up during that case—I don’t know, made me realize I missed you, or something.”
“Ah, I see.” Klavier clicks the row above—Klavier’s Realization—and types, “Walking out of court after State v. Tobaye.”
Apollo blinks. “I don’t think it needs to be so specific. Or so—long-standing?”
“It makes sense for me, don’t you think?” Klavier asks, a twinge to his voice.
Something makes Apollo’s voice dry up in his throat. He lets Klavier look over the sheet again. “You confessed?”
“I think I would? I mean. Once I know I want something, it’s out there, right?”
“That it is,” Klavier agrees. “Is that everything, then?”
Apollo reaches for the touchpad. His hand brushes against Klavier’s; Klavier moves his hand just barely, only so Apollo has enough touchpad to navigate. What a weird feeling. “I think so,” Apollo says, tabbing through the spreadsheet. “Do you feel like this is workable?”
“Ja, it’s very thorough.”
“So we still have a deal.”
“That we do, Apollo.” Klavier smiles around his name. Apollo bites the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling again.
—
Objectively, Apollo bombs the trial that afternoon. He keeps twisting his sentences up, mangling his words, losing his train of thought, and everything else that could go wrong. But also objectively, his client is declared innocent, so. It’s fine.
“Geez, Polly,” Trucy comments as they walk out of the courthouse. “You really had a rough time in there, huh?”
“You don’t need to rub it in, Truce.” Apollo heaves a sigh.
“Still distracted from your date with Klavier, huh?” she sing-songs. “It makes sense.”
“What? How do you know about that?”
“Well, of course Athena told me,” Trucy drawls, taking two steps at a time, glancing back up at Apollo. Apollo doesn’t really trust himself enough to play along with the two-step gambit today, no. “I can’t believe you told her before me, you know that? My one and only brother, betraying me—”
“I wasn’t planning to tell her,” Apollo mumbles, shame seeping through him. “You would’ve been the first otherwise.”
“Well, I better have been,” Trucy sniffs, crossing her arms. “You really did score, though, huh, Polly? Klavier Gavin, of all people!”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, he’s hot, Polly,” Trucy says delicately as Apollo reaches the bottom of the stairs.
“He’s a rockstar. Of course he is?”
Trucy levels him with a look. “That’s not very impassioned of you, now, is it?”
Fuck. “I mean, yeah, he’s hot,” Apollo mutters, blush crawling up his face. God. He never thought he’d have to admit this out loud, much less to Trucy, who will never—
“Who’s hot?” Klavier’s voice lilts through the air as he approaches the courthouse steps. He leans in towards them, eyes twinkling, because, God, he knows, doesn’t he?
“You, according to Polly,” Trucy chimes with this self-satisfied look.
“Ah, of course.” Klavier matches her smile. When he straightens up, he steps a little closer to Apollo, and Apollo almost instinctively puts space between them before he remembers. Klavier glances at him. Is this okay?
Apollo swallows, steps a little closer to Klavier. Yeah. Klavier’s smile turns something gentle and soft, far too—“I’m surprised you got him to admit it, Fräulein. Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth with him, ja?” and bumps his shoulder against Apollo’s.
Apollo’s heart stutters. It was barely a second, but Klavier was warm against him. Pleasant.
“Oh, not really,” Trucy returns, rocking on her feet. “He’s pretty open with me, aren’t you, Polly?”
“I don’t like either of you anymore.”
“Polly!” Trucy gasps. “I can handle it, but don’t say that to your boyfriend—”
“Ach, don’t give him too hard of a time.” Klavier’s still smiling. God. Klavier shoves his hands in his pockets. “He’s quite shy, nein?”
No wonder this guy is an international rockstar. He’s got a great poker face. “He really is,” Trucy sighs. “I’m glad you two finally got it together, even so.”
“Hey,” Apollo cuts in, pride flaring, because—“I’m the one who confessed, you know.”
Trucy stares at him. It’s unnerving. “Did you, now?”
“Yes, I did,” Apollo insists, because, well, if this train crashes, he’s gonna crash with it. “I mean, it wasn’t, like, oh, Klavier, I love you so much, but I did ask him out first. So. There.”
Trucy rests a finger on her chin, thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you, Polly! I guess I’m proud of you, then.”
“You guess?”
“Took you long enough, points deducted for lateness,” Trucy shrugs.
When Apollo glances sidelong at Klavier, he’s still smiling. He’s still smiling. It’s the longest that Apollo has seen him have any sort of genuine smile, though, well. It’s probably amusing to him, seeing Apollo almost blow the whole thing on Day 1. “Speaking of lateness,” Klavier says, far too smoothly, “I’m going to be late myself if I dawdle any longer, ja? I’ll see you both later.”
And he steps up the courthouse stairs. Apollo wonders why he almost kissed Klavier goodbye. There’s no one here to show off to, not really.
—
Is your trial over yet?
yes, Klavier texts back. just finished up. what’s up?
We need to go on a date, Apollo replies, then: Like, actually practice. The thing with Trucy was a disaster.
ah, ja
That’s all you have to say? Really? Apollo huffs out a laugh. Meet me at People Park at 5?
looking forward to it ;)
He didn’t need to send the winky emoji. He really didn’t. Apollo smiles anyway.
Klavier’s leaning on the People Park sign when Apollo gets there. “Seriously?”
“I have to make a good impression on my boyfriend, nein?” Klavier teases. “Late on, what, our second date? Ach, we’d be so over.”
Don’t you trust me more than that? Apollo thinks, for some reason. “Sure, yeah, whatever you say. Also, this is definitely our third.”
“This is the first I’m hearing of it.”
“Well, our first date was the coffee shop, and then Athena and Trucy think we went to a restaurant for breakfast this morning, yeah? So this is our third.”
“Oh, and you know what they say about third dates, ja?” Klavier waggles his eyebrows at him, leaning in, and Apollo barks out a laugh, pushing his face away.
“You’re not getting lucky tonight, buddy.”
“Ah, but you’re right,” Klavier hums. “I’ve already gotten rather lucky, haven’t I?”
And what does that mean? Apollo rolls his eyes, not acknowledging it, because God knows Klavier will whip out some other sex joke. “You like noodles, right?”
“Ja, of course.”
“Well, I hope you like salt, too,” Apollo lilts. “Or at least haven’t had your sodium intake for the day.” And he marches down the street towards the Agency; Klavier follows him, of course. They get to Eldoon’s soon enough, Apollo hopping on one of the stools, Klavier following suit.
Their conversation flows easy and free, Apollo kicking Klavier under the stand whenever he makes some stupid joke; and then Apollo bursts out laughing each time, despite himself. It’s maybe this weird positive reinforcement, if Klavier’s smirk every time he makes Apollo laugh is anything to go by.
And the thing is—the thing is, Apollo forgets that they’re supposed to be practicing. He forgets until they’ve finished eating and Klavier asks, “Will you be okay getting home?” Like Apollo won’t be coming home with him. And of course Apollo’s not. Of course Apollo won’t.
But for a second—for a second, Apollo thought he might. Maybe even wanted to.
—
The trouble starts the next time Athena harasses Apollo for an Agency night out. “And I’ve already confirmed Klavier is coming, so don’t even think about using that card again, buster.”
Apollo lets out a withering sigh. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t sleep well last night?”
“No,” Athena says, saccharine sweet. “Klavier said you told him you slept better than usual, actually!”
Bastard. “Fine. Where are we going?”
To her credit, Athena only stumbles over her words a little bit, playing with her hair as she speaks: “Well, I was thinking we could try that cute board game café that just opened up…”
“Oh, sounds fun,” Apollo says, surprising himself by how means it. As the workday winds down, he and Athena head to the café together, arriving there before anyone else.
“I’m gonna get a coffee,” Athena sing-songs. “You want anything, Apollo? Or for Klavier?”
And Apollo’s mind flashes to the spreadsheet: cappuccino with an extra shot, Klavier had written. But then again, when they were talking this morning, Klavier had texted, offhandedly, i finished my coffee far too late yesterday, then it’s a wonder i slept at all, ja?
“He likes cappuccinos,” Apollo hears himself say, “but get him a decaf. It’s too late in the day for him to want real coffee.”
And when Klavier arrives, coffee steaming at the seat next to Apollo, he frowns for just a moment before a smile slides into place. “Ah, is this from you, schatzi? That’s very sweet of you.”
“It’s decaf,” Apollo tells him. Klavier’s eyes widen, and, suddenly, his smile just seems different. Deeper, maybe.
Klavier sits down, reaching for Apollo’s hand, squeezing it for just a moment. Thank you. And Apollo, for some reason, reaches right back and holds Klavier’s hand. Klavier’s hand is slack in his grip, Klavier glancing sidelong at him; Apollo meets his gaze, steady, and Klavier intertwines their fingers.
Klavier’s hand is warm and almost rough against his—calloused. It’s strange—the physical connection in the stretch of Klavier’s arm, the pull against Apollo’s own fingers, when Klavier leans forward, elbow on the table, as he talks to Athena. But even stranger—the emotional connection, how Apollo keeps finding himself running his thumb across the back of Klavier’s hand, taking in the heat of it, Klavier’s pulse beating against his.
It’s the ease of it, too—how nothing, really, has changed since they’ve started ‘dating.’ They do this now, sometimes, yeah—but it doesn’t feel new, not really. More like an extension, a progression, the natural conclusion—
Oh, Apollo thinks. Distantly, then: So much for State v. Woods.
—
The other natural conclusion, of course, is to call the whole thing off.
But.
And it’s that stupid little but, that needling little voice in Apollo’s head. Because Klavier’s already agreed to the whole thing, green all the way down the spreadsheet. So he doesn’t mind. He’s already said so.
And, well. Apollo’s selfish. He can let himself have this. Can’t he?
—
“I have a change to make to the spreadsheet,” Apollo tells Klavier as they sit together on his too-big couch, watching some shitty movie that Klavier swears is a masterpiece. Apollo’s not really watching the movie, because Klavier’s reactions are far more cinematic.
“Hmm?” Klavier glances at him, then glances right back to the movie. “What’s that?”
“Spontaneous kisses,” Apollo clarifies. “Um. I think I’m settled enough. For you to do those.”
Klavier pauses the movie. “Where’s this coming from?”
“It’s—not? Just, I mean. I think it was overwhelming to think of at first, right, but I think it… I think I’m okay with it, now.” Liar. Liar. He’s more than okay with it. God, he wants.
Klavier’s eyes rest on him. His gaze raises goosebumps on Apollo’s skin. He knows, doesn’t he. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
Klavier doesn’t respond to that at first. Not verbally, at least. He just settles back into the couch, leans into Apollo a little—“Is this okay?”
“Yeah.” Apollo’s heart might burst through his ribcage. Of course it is; Klavier’s hair tickles his neck, fine and thin and lovely. There’s nobody here, he wants to say. Why? But, of course, he doesn’t, because. Because. Because.
Klavier turns the movie back on.
—
Klavier kisses him the next day. It’s a simple little thing—a kiss on the cheek when they happen to arrive at the courthouse at the same time for their separate trials. More of a Kiss (as a greeting/goodbye) than Kiss (spontaneous), but, oh, Apollo’s cheeks burn. Klavier’s lips were so soft, barely grazing Apollo’s cheek, this fluttery little contact that leaves Apollo wanting more. Always more.
Klavier’s eyes are dark and heavy on Apollo’s face when he touches his cheek, right where Klavier kissed him. Apollo thinks about kissing him back, somewhere else.
He doesn’t. He wishes, maybe, that he did, before Klavier disappeared into the Prosecutor’s Lobby.
—
Klavier takes Apollo home after the next Athena-enforced Agency hangout. It’s started raining, despite the forecast. Neither of them are thrilled about Apollo biking home in the rain—and, well, they have appearances to keep up.
But it’s not appearances when Klavier walks him to his apartment door. It’s not appearances when Klavier reaches for his hand, squeezes it, and smiles something soft and terrible. It’s not appearances when Apollo tugs him closer, Klavier inhaling sharply as their chests almost meet. It’s not appearances when their eyes meet and all Apollo can do is press their lips together.
It’s this uncertain little thing. Fluttery. Klavier doesn’t move at all against him; Apollo can’t tell whose hand is sweating. Maybe both of theirs are. And when Apollo pulls back, looking away, about to apologize, because why would he do that, why would he ever think—Klavier’s other hand finds Apollo’s chin and tugs his gaze back.
Klavier kisses him, then. His mouth slots just right, perfect, against Apollo’s, and Apollo’s hands find the back of Klavier’s neck, pulling him in deeper, deeper. Klavier makes this pleased little noise against Apollo’s mouth that Apollo thinks he might replay forever. Somewhere in all this, Apollo’s back finds his apartment door, and Klavier’s flush against him, and Apollo—
Apollo pulls back, blinks up through his eyelashes at Klavier. Klavier’s face is red, beautiful, eyes shining and deep and bright and—Apollo’s heart comes up and out of his throat: “I like you.” Klavier’s gaze turns somehow heavier. There’s a twinge to his gaze, this little bit of doubt, maybe. “I mean it.”
“Will you hate me,” Klavier breathes, “if I tell you I’ve meant it this whole time?”
“Since you walked out of State v. Tobaye,” Apollo whispers.
“Since I walked out of State v. Tobaye.”
Apollo swallows. “I’m—sorry it took me so long. To realize.”
And Klavier’s smile is barely there. It still manages to be everything. “It’s worth the wait.”
“Well,” Apollo says, pulling Klavier back down, “now you have me.”