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As someone who lives their life being observed by the masses, it's only natural that Klavier observes in turn. It has been his way of life for as long as he could remember, long before he had to watch for what combination of notes made the audience roar or what string of words made suspects tick. When he saw Kristoph's wan smile begin to twitch, he knew to retreat to his room and play with his toys by himself. Mama would see him wandering through the halls that he always seemed to get lost in, her hand threading through ringlets of hair hard enough that her fingers came away with loose strands, so he would smile and reassure her that everything was okay—Kris would play with him some other time. Then, Papa's voice would echo off the too tall walls with even taller shadows, his usual deep croon a decibel too loud, and Klavier knew to stay in his room and keep playing with his toys.
And so, when Apollo flinched at the brush of their fingers as they exchanged files, Klavier would give him the rest with his fingers tucked into his palm and out of the way. When their shoulders touched while they leaned over the same piece of evidence at a crime scene, when Apollo made himself smaller with arms folded protectively over himself like armor, Klavier would move on to the next area and wonder if his touch had always been so scalding. Every time he starts to think that they've become closer, something more than acquaintances and maybe even friends, Apollo's shy smile would turn into a wince. An accidental touch was all it ever took for him to turn on his heel and run. Yet, due to the circumstances of their jobs, it is only inevitable that they cross paths and the cycle starts all over again. And Klavier's heart cracks a little more each time because he is a hopeless fool who never learns, a spider web of fractures all throughout until it inevitably shatters into a sad, anticlimactic pile of dust.
That's what made Clay Terran such an intriguing concept—a childhood friend of the elusive and untouchable Apollo Justice. Klavier could only gather bits and pieces of evidence, shaping and molding the Clay Terran in his mind as each new testimony came to light, as Apollo treated him like another secret to be kept close.
Then, gotcha. It wasn't a hard-fought truth, nothing that involved intensive back and forth or finger pointing. It was quite unremarkable, really. Klavier was only visiting the Wright Anything Agency with files to be delivered, as that were typically the case. He was passing by the entrance of People Park when he heard an indignant shout being carried by the wind. He craned his neck, peering through the green lattice fencing until his sights landed on a certain scarlet defense attorney.
This was to be expected—that loud voice with its distinct rasp could belong to no one except Apollo, but there was an anomaly at the scene. Rather than one of the familiar faces from the Agency, a stranger seemed to be on the receiving end of Apollo's chatter. He was clad in a deep blue uniform, along with a visor strapped around his head that barely contained his dark, fluffy hair. The man somehow matched Apollo in volume, head thrown back in laughter as Apollo gesticulated aggressively with his hands.
Klavier wasn't quite paying attention to their conversation, even when their words carried clearly across the park, as he watched Apollo's face break out into a grin like sunrise cresting over the horizon.
"Clay—" Klavier heard between poorly suppressed chuckling, and suddenly their words were in hyperfocus, "—someone died here and you're laughing. What is wrong with you?"
Clay Terran, no longer a vague idea gleaned from disjointed testimonies, threw his arm over Apollo's shoulders. He leaned into the touch instead of far away, fitting to the contours of one another like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"But it's all just too damn ridiculous, isn't it? I mean, a hit and run on your weirdo boss—who gets out of it with nothing but a sprained ankle to his name, by the way—a ramen stand murder mystery, and some panty snatcher side plot as a little garnish to those noodles? Of course something like that would happen to you."
Klavier watched Apollo, laughing bright and loud and wonderful as his arm tugged Clay ever closer.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Klavier didn't stick around long enough to find out.
The scene replays in his head over and over—green lattice framing two figures clutching one another. Klavier doesn't quite know what it is. He's never seen Apollo smile like that before, never knew what his laughter sounded like without a tether. He sees an afterimage every time he blinks, his vision swimming from the glitter dancing in Apollo's eyes—this is what he gets for staring directly at the sun. Apollo bloomed for Clay when all Klavier had ever known was making him wilt, even when he's tried so hard to get those petals to unfurl. Apollo couldn't even stand to brush hands with Klavier.
Is it jealousy? He's not sure. He was all too familiar with it—he felt a flame steadily growing the more Kristoph preferred his textbooks over Klavier, when he'd rather work into the night than be bothered to spare Klavier a moment of his attention. Their parents stoked the fire every time they praised Kristoph for his devotion, encouraging him to keep working himself to the bone while scolding Klavier for working just as hard on the guitar. He was nearly consumed by flames when Daryan didn't show up for their plans a third time in a row, all in favor of someone he'd known for barely months or even weeks, while Klavier was left to look back on all their years spent together alone. Jealousy simmered just under his skin, sometimes boiling over before he could dial back the heat and burning everyone in the process.
This didn't feel like that. The jealousy he knew was unbearably hot, often filling him to the point of bursting, but this feeling left him with something empty and gaping in his chest. It was a sinkhole that looked deceptively small from the surface, but only once you fall through it, once it's too late—you realize just how cavernous it is. All-consuming and leaving him utterly alone in the dark.
As if that one scene hadn't repeatedly tormented him enough, Klavier happened to stumble upon Apollo introducing Clay to the Agency and now they're the set piece of every stage. They were always front and center—framed by magic props, by yellow caution tape, by ramen steam after a job well done. Even when Clay wasn't on set, he still found ways to be a part of the narrative through conversation or a ping from Apollo's phone. It was like the universe wanted to flaunt them to Klavier, to show how they align with each other like stars connected by a constellation. How Apollo never smiles like that for you. And Klavier can only watch the light as it shimmers so brilliantly, far and out of reach from his place in the dark.
It was a successful day in the courtroom for the Agency and those on the side of truth, and along with success came a meal to commemorate the occasion. Klavier always seemed to get swept up in this tradition whenever he was on their opposite bench—he could never find it in himself to deny the offer when Trucy tugged him along with surprising strength and Athena declared him a racing opponent. Apollo would be standing off to the side, chuckling to himself and looking on with fondness. Sometimes, Klavier could delude himself into thinking that expression was meant for him, too.
A couple scene transitions later and they're walking back from Eldoon's, Klavier's stomach full of sodium and regret—he doesn't know how many more bowls he can keep choking down for their sake. Trucy is currently bribing Athena to be part of a magic act, promising suspiciously generous compensation while conveniently leaving out what the act itself entails. Athena is immediately on guard—her legs bouncing with each step as if preparing to bolt at a second's notice.
Apollo watches it all play out from a safe distance, his lips formed into a small grin and eyes twinkling with amusement. Though Klavier walks alongside him, he feels like an onlooker intruding on a private moment, cataloguing all the little facets that made up Apollo's shimmer. His smiles for the girls always seemed a little guarded—him and Trucy had been in each other's company for a considerable while now, but Trucy was always in motion around Apollo, as if she could never quite bring herself to relax around him. This would make it harder for Apollo to keep track of her, to ever get a proper read on her if she's in a constant state of change. Then in came Athena, barreling into Apollo's life like a whirlwind—whipping him up along with everything else. He seems to have found some footing since then, but rather than going along with the flow, he stands still amidst the storm with his feet firmly planted on the ground.
Perhaps one day, they would be a proper little family of misfits. For now, Apollo opts to give Klavier a side glance, a shrug. Klavier's lips quirk up before he tempers his smile into neutrality once more, shrugging his own shoulder in response. Apollo allows him a small smirk, a bit of his sunlight, and Klavier basks in whatever warmth he can get.
The easy silence between them is interrupted by Apollo's phone buzzing with a notification. He fishes it out and angles it in such a way that it's blocked from Klavier's view, but makes no attempt to shield his own expression. If the smile he gave Klavier was a sliver of sunlight, the one he gives his phone is completely unobstructed by clouds—shining at its fullest in all its spectacular brilliance. It's blinding, it's not meant for Klavier's eyes, yet he can't look away.
Apollo types out a quick response and puts the phone away along with his smile. Klavier could only mourn as the bite of cold seeps into him once more.
Apollo's eyes trail back to Klavier, then widen a hair. He plays with his bracelet, a habit of deliberation.
"Um. Are you good, Prosecutor Gavin?"
It's Klavier's turn for his eyes to widen. He blinks away the tension in his eyelids.
"Ja, of course."
Apollo's hand twitches to a standstill on the golden metal. How strange, those etched eye-like patterns that wrap around and around it.
"Why do you ask?" Klavier's ring spins around and around under his thumb.
Brown eyes flick down at the motion—did they seem redder just now? They're back on Klavier's face with a blink.
"You stopped smiling."
Oh, the irony. The script has been flipped, tables are turning.
"So did you."
Klavier doesn't even mean to say it. His mouth had betrayed him yet again, it seems.
Apollo stares at him with those big doe eyes, helpless in the wake of Klavier's traitorous tongue. The common denominator in Klavier's ruined relationships was himself, after all.
"Oh." It's so uncharacteristically quiet for Apollo. He has never been so quiet around anyone else.
"Hey, slowpokes! What's the hold up?"
Both Klavier and Apollo startle. It seems like neither of them realized that they stopped walking, as Athena and Trucy are distant splotches of yellow and blue in the gray of the city.
Apollo zooms past Klavier in a bold paint stroke of red, shouting at them to wait up. Klavier contemplates in his dark blacks, blended in with the shadows overhead.
"Heya, Klavgav!" Clay greets from the Wright Anything Agency's couch.
Klavier sets down Apollo's requested documents. He was planning to stay out of the Agency's way after last week's incident, but Apollo's requests didn't seem like they were being fulfilled by his fellow coworkers anytime soon, so Klavier decided he would grit his teeth and bear it if it meant giving Apollo a fighting chance in the courtroom. It doesn't seem like he's in at the moment, however, nor the rest of the colorful cast for that matter. "Herr Terran! How may I help you?"
"Ha, I don't need anything. Just saying hi!" Clay stretches himself out on the couch, resting his arms along the back. "Are you looking for Pollo? He's on an errand run for the Wright man, and I'm just here holding down the fort since everyone else is out. You know how it is."
Klavier chuckles. "That I do, yes. Herr Wright quite likes ordering your horned friend around on a whim, doesn't he?"
"You got that right! You should've seen Pollo's face when he got stuck with toilet duty for another week in a row. Poor guy can't catch a break!"
They both laugh at Apollo's unfortunate circumstances, only for it to end in mutual silence. Klavier almost feels like he's being studied, as Clay's eyes stay unwaveringly fixed on his. A habit he picked up from Apollo, perhaps? They aren't quite as intense as Apollo's—his eyes were spotlights, burning away darkness until the truth stood exposed with nowhere to hide—whereas Clay's are like the moon, shining with only a fraction of the sun's light, but stark and luminous in the midst of night. Klavier pushes his bangs away from his forehead in an attempt to cool the gathering sweat there.
Despite Klavier's endlessly conflicting feelings, he never felt any true ire toward Clay. He's aware enough to recognize that these emotions were born of his own insecurities, and that projecting all of them onto Clay would be unfair, if not downright cruel. Klavier knows that Clay is good for Apollo, knows that such a strong bond could only mean they've been through hell and back together. He wants Clay to keep the light he holds so dear from ever going out, but the selfish, petulant part of Klavier's brain is always whispering, wondering what it would be like to be in Clay's place—to have all that light to himself. The paranoid part of his brain cowers in this moment, fearing that Clay can see right through him, those ugly thoughts laid bare to searching eyes.
"You know he's your friend too, right?" Clay finally says. His expression turns pensive, releasing Klavier from his captive gaze. Klavier's fingers clench around his bangs.
"Is he, now?" Klavier murmurs. His hair falls back over his eyes, casting them in shadow.
"I mean, you have his back and he has yours. Isn't that what friendship is all about?" Clay nods to Klavier's files. "Like, you always get him his files and he drops everything to do the same for you. You can't get a more clear-cut example than that."
Klavier thinks of Apollo's avoidant eyes, his fingers recoiling as if Klavier hurt to touch. "It is only business. Any pursuer of the truth would not hesitate to do the same."
"Okay, sure. Pollo leaping out of the chair he's been stuck to for hours at the prospect of delivering files to you is just business. There's absolutely nothing else to read into there." Clay rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that him constantly gushing about how cool you are is for professional purposes only."
"He does not do that," Klavier denies faintly.
"Speaking of," Clay moves on, "I haven't heard much about you at all since last week... which is weird, considering that he usually can't shut up about you." Clay's brows furrow in thought. "Actually, I can pinpoint the exact moment he clammed up. It was after that celebratory feast at Eldoon's..."
When Klavier made Apollo run away?
"When Pollo ran ahead to catch up with Thena and Truce, then noticed that you weren't following them anymore. And that's where his story ends." Clay sighs. "If I know him well enough by now, I'd say that he convinced himself he did something to drive you off, and now he's beating himself up over it." Clay shakes his head. He continues, quieter, "He's always doing this... always assuming the worst, then keeping it all bottled up until it becomes everyone else's problem."
Clay catches Klavier in that gaze again—his fidgeting hands are frozen still while Clay holds him in place.
"So, can you confirm or deny that, Klavgav? Why did you leave him hanging like that?"
Klavier inhales a stuttering breath. "I—" He yanks at his braid. "I thought he hated me."
Silence falls over the room like a thick fog. It constricts Klavier's lungs as he breathes it in, lodges itself in his throat as he swallows it. And Clay keeps looking at him. He looks at his trembling fingers, at his frayed hair, at his crumbling disposition.
The door creaks open behind Klavier. It slams shut.
"Ugh, I'm finally back. Here's those Snackoos you wanted—I can't believe Ema infected you too." A rustle of paper bags. "Did anyone else come by? I still need those records—"
Red enters Klavier's field of vision. He can't see much else beyond his blonde bangs.
"Oh. Hiya, Prosecutor Gavin."
Clay breaks eye contact, springs to his feet. "Hey, Pollo! Klavgav brought you all your papers, just like you asked! Isn't he such a sweetheart?" Clay swipes up the manila folder and presents it to Apollo himself. "Oh, and thanks for the Snackoos."
Apollo splutters. "Uh—erm, cool, good. Thanks." He exchanges the report for a Snackoo bag in Clay's hand. He flips through the pages with his eyes glazed over.
Klavier straightens, brushes his hair back. He tacks a smile on his face and hopes it sticks. "Well then! Now that my purpose has been fulfilled, I should probably get going now." His legs are stiff as stilts as he walks toward the door. "Auf wiedersehen!"
That's when Clay sidesteps in front of Klavier, standing between him and his escape. "Hold your horses, Klavgav! Were you really about to leave without giving your biggest fan an autograph?" Clay exclaims around a mouthful of Snackoos. "I need to go find something for you to sign—don't move!"
And with that, Clay runs off in search of a worthy object to be autographed. Apollo sighs, raking a hand over his face. "Just what is this guy up to now?" he grumbles, voice muffled behind his palm.
Klavier chuckles hollowly. "I suppose that I can't disappoint a fan in need, ja? I fear that he may chase and hunt me down if I do."
Apollo huffs a dry laugh. "Yeah. He would."
Then the room falls quiet once more. Frankly, Klavier is growing sick of uncomfortable silences. It wasn't as if he were a fan in the first place, but this is just getting ridiculous. He can't stand this anymore. He has to get it over with right now—
"I'm sorry," Apollo says. Klavier's mouth hangs open, words dead on his tongue. "I... I shouldn't have—interrogated you like that."
"Interrogate?" Klavier's lips move on their own. "Nein, you were only asking a simple question. It was me who backed you into a corner with no easy way out."
"But none of that was any of my business! You had every right to push back, I just—" Apollo balls fists over his eyes in a fit of frustration. "Urgh, what am I doing? What are we doing here, Gavin?"
"Was?" Klavier flounders. He hadn't foreseen the conversation taking this type of turn in any of his imagined scenarios. His brain is struggling to catch up.
"Everywhere I look, you're always there... even though I—" Apollo's voice breaks off, whatever else meant to come after those words severed and lost. "You know what? Cut the bullshit—tell me how you really feel about me. Let's get this over with once and for all, so we can stop doing—" Apollo makes a gesture between them, "—whatever this is."
Klavier stares blankly in Apollo's direction. "Huh? Was meinst du—what on earth could you possibly be talking about?" Is he going mad? Has the consequences of his less than ideal sleeping habits finally caught up to him?
"Don't give me that, Gavin. Just... stop." Apollo looks somewhere past Klavier, his hand clenched so tight around his bracelet that his knuckles are white. "It's... it's always like you're walking on eggshells around me, isn't it? I can't stand it. I can't keep doing this." Apollo pulls at the metal as if trying to get it off, but it stays taut around his wrist. "I-I know that you won't be able to admit it yourself. That's why I'm telling you to be honest with me, because I can take it and I'll be fine. You don't need to—I don't want you to keep pretending anymore." Apollo pauses to catch his breath, to consider his next words.
"I can handle the truth. It's our jobs to find it, after all. Isn't it?" Apollo says gently. His voice is so impossibly soft, but it sounds entrapped in something viscous and thick, as if it's hard to even get the words out.
Klavier breathes in. "I thought you hated me," he breathes out.
The tight strings holding together Apollo's composure snap, leaving his features slack and mouth dangling—even his bracelet seems to sag with him.
"Huh?"
"So now it is your turn to be confused, ja?" Klavier laughs wryly. "To be quite honest, I still have no clue as to what you were going on about—but you told me to give you the truth, so there you have it." Klavier's voice is wobbling, teetering off the edge. "Is it everything you ever hoped to hear, Justice? How does it compare to your own feelings about me? Is it not too far off? Did I hit the mark?"
"Klav—Pros—Gav—" Apollo splutters. "Klavier, stop it. Stop it right now."
Klavier chuckles wetly, his vision blurring. "Ach, but I thought you wanted the truth? You really must stop contradicting yourself, Justice—"
That's when Apollo lunges, tackling Klavier with a rib-crushing hug. The force is so great that it knocks the air out of his lungs, rendering him speechless and barely able to breathe.
"That... that couldn't be further from the truth you—you stupid, glimmerous buffoon," Apollo says into Klavier's shoulder. He squeezes once before relenting his grip slightly, just enough so that Klavier could gasp a gulp of air.
"I think I'm. I'm really bad at this." Apollo clenches handfuls of Klavier's blazer. "But, um. What I'm trying to say is that... I, uh—" He nuzzles his face further into Klavier, almost as if he wanted to be swallowed up by him. "I... I like you. M-maybe a little too much for my own good. Haha."
Klavier feels dazed. He's been so deprived of touch, went so long believing he wasn't worthy of it that this is kind of overloading his brain. He's surrounded by Apollo, his heat, his words. He smells refreshing and crisp like brisk morning air, his horns are as soft as he suspected and he wants to nuzzle and ruin them so. His muscles are firm and sure and Klavier didn't know what it meant to feel safe in someone's arms until now.
But as soon as he thinks it, Apollo's grip becomes less firm, less sure around him and Klavier can feel himself toppling. "You—you don't have to feel the same way. I just... I don't hate you, okay?" And then his arms start to fall away from Klavier, but he isn't ready come crashing down just yet. Not when he's finally breached the clouds.
Klavier's hands dart out to keep Apollo in place, to keep the sun from setting for just a bit longer. Apollo startles from the sudden reciprocation, but his arms secure themselves around Klavier's torso once more. He presses his cheek to the top of Apollo's head, feels the way soft hair tickles his skin as most of the gel had already been worked out. It may be cliché, but he truly doesn't think he'd mind staying like this forever—enveloped in the arms of summer incarnate and never being threatened by cold ever again.
"I like you too," sighs Klavier, drunk off of heat and light.
Apollo stiffens. "Um." He clutches Klavier's blazer tighter. "Cool. Glad to know that we're on the same page."
"Mm," Klavier hums in agreement.
Klavier is about ready to doze off where he stands, drifting away to dreams of fields cast in golden hour and burnt umber eyes, until a door behind them suddenly bursts open. Klavier and Apollo screech in unison, gripping each other for dear life.
"Hey guys, congrats on kissing and making up! Anyway, Klavgav can you sign this for me—"
"Hey! That's my fucking journal, you bastard!" Apollo shoves Klavier away in favor of chasing Clay around the office. Klavier can't even be upset about it—Apollo burns so bright that he can feel his warmth from here.
Clay opens up to a page with Apollo hot on his trail. They both vault over the furniture and swerve around magic props. "Let's see what we got here... Prosecutor Gavin's even more dazzling to look at now—"
"I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, CLAY!"
"Are you hearing this, Klavgav?" Clay pants. "You wouldn't let Pollo get away with murder, right?"
Klavier rubs his chin. "Hmm... the jury is still out on that one, Herr Terran."
Clay gasps in dismay, the shock of betrayal causing him to stumble and nearly crash into a gravity-defying plate of spaghetti. "N-no way! Two lawyers colluding over my own death—the legal system really is corrupt!"
Clay's trip up allows Apollo to gain on him, just enough so that he can close in for the kill. Apollo cuts the corner of a couch and tackles Clay to the floor, causing the journal to fly out of his hands and land conveniently before Klavier's shoes. He bends down to pick it up delicately, brushing off the cover with a hum.
"So, which page would you like me to sign, my dearest Forehead?"
Apollo's head slowly rises, fixing him with a glare that's meant to be intimidating, but his flushed cheeks makes it less effective. "You wouldn't dare."
Klavier motions as if he's about to open it. "It seems appropriate that I'd sign a page about me, ja?"
Apollo scrambles to stand from Clay's motionless body, stumbling over his form and stomping toward Klavier. He snatches his journal from Klavier's hands without resistance, then wraps his arms back around him in the same motion. Klavier stands dumbstruck, his hands hovering as if they're still clasped around the journal.
"Can't look through it like this," Apollo mumbles into Klavier's chest.
"Ja," Klavier breathes. Eventually, they would have to part, the sun would have to set as night approaches. But the sun will always rise tomorrow, and it will shine for Klavier and everything else—just as it always had.