To have words on his skin, Apollo has known ever since he was old enough to understand, is a gift from the Holy Mother that he should never doubt.
Not everyone has words, for one thing, for all that Apollo can't remember a time when he didn't have the slightly slanted cursive running along his hip. Datz doesn't, and he never seems to mind, but he also reminds Apollo and Nahyuta to be thankful for their words, for the blessing they have been granted. Dhurke agrees with him whenever the subject comes up, is always happy to show his curious sons the words emblazoned across his own chest, rounded curves of Khura'inese words shining a pale pink against his skin. He still remembers the look in his love's eyes when he gasped and clutched his chest as she spoke, Dhurke tells them often, remembers the way she looked at him when he spoke her words in turn.
Dhurke is the only one in the family with Khura'inese words, and though this doesn't really surprise Apollo, Nahyuta finds it curious. He holds no dreams of leaving his country, after all, wants to fight for its freedom just like his father, yet the words circling his arm are in English. For some reason neither Dhurke nor Datz will read them aloud for him, and it's not until the boys learn to read English well enough to decipher them for themselves that they understand why.
I suppose you are not entirely useless.
They aren't nice words, but Nahyuta refuses to be brought down by them, reasoning that they are nevertheless the words his other half will first say to him after realizing their love and therefore they are a blessing for all that they lack kindness. It's not like Apollo has any room to argue, really, not when his own words — his word, only the one — are hardly any more agreeable.
"Objection," he murmurs as he traces the word sometimes with his fingertip, lips curving around the syllables he isn't sure he's pronouncing right. Dhurke and Datz and any other Dragons who visit sometimes are teaching them English alongside Khura'inese, and Apollo is especially fervent to learn the language of his original home country, but those who teach him have various accents and levels of fluency so he keeps picking up little quirks here and there even where his accent isn't weighed down by what has become his first language. He is learning, though, he will learn, both because he has a mother somewhere who speaks this language and because the other half of his soul does the same.
This all becomes very useful when he is left in a foreign country with little else than a backpack and vague promises of "one day". At first he tries to cling to the familiar things, tries to remember the holidays and festivals back home so he will still know everything when Dhurke comes to get him home, but the more he starts to despair of ever seeing home again the less he thinks of Khura'in anymore. He is not going back, he can see it now, he is not wanted back and has no reason to return, and so he pushes away the customs and learns his way out of his accent and forces himself never to look back.
Clay doesn't have words, not that he minds. Clay says he would never love anyone as much as he loves space, anyway, so it wouldn't be fair for someone to be left waiting for him back on Earth. Apollo almost wishes his words were something Clay might say, wishes they could be meant for each other because surely nobody will ever fit him as well as Clay does. Clay laughs at such dreams, though, not cruelly, and points out that they already love each other and they don't need words to prove it, and one day someone will hold Apollo's heart in their hands and Clay will be happy to see it. He teases Apollo about his choice of profession, of course, needles him for choosing a profession where he will most likely be hearing his one little word every day, but there is never any malice behind it.
As Apollo attends Clay's funeral he thinks it's all for the better that Clay never bore words, that there is nobody but him and Clay's father crying bitter tears, that nobody is sitting somewhere watching the words on their skin turn a hopeless black, never to be spoken to them in joyful revelation.
Apollo checks his own words after every trial, still, always finds them the same muted grey they have been since his birth. He knows he is supposed to feel the change happen, but he has to be sure, has to see for himself that nobody has decided to fancy themselves in love with him amidst all the objections hurled back and forth during a typical day of trial. There is never any change, however, not until a day a few months after Clay's death, when he is finally starting to return to himself and really has plenty of things to worry about without the complication of a soulmate to add to it.
As it happens, he definitely notices. It's a messy trial, as his often are, and he has just made an argument that Apollo has to admit is one of his finer ones. The room has erupted into noise, gallery and prosecution and judge all shouting, even Athena by his side is yelling something, and for once Apollo is the quiet one. He is about to intervene again when he feels it, though, the slight burning at his hip that is growing more intense by the moment, heat carving letters into his skin that he would know in his sleep.
Somehow he manages to make it through the trial, shoos off Athena's concern when she no doubt hears the deep emotions in his voice. In the security of the men's bathroom he lowers his pants just enough to see his word, the gray lines now shining in a deep, brilliant purple that very nearly seems to shine under the pale bathroom lights.
He doesn't know who said it, Apollo tells himself, does his best to convince himself of this lie even though he can still hear the voice echoing in his ears, sees the beautiful purple curving against his skin like the most delicate tattoo. After all, there were so many people speaking, it would have been impossible for him to tell any one of them apart from the rest, and really if someone has truly fallen in love with him he's sure they will approach him about it sooner or later.
After all, it's not like Klavier Gavin has ever been too shy about showing his affections.
*
It's typical of Klavier, Kristoph says in his smooth voice long before Klavier learns the difference between gentle teasing and hidden malice, to insist on having words too special for him to even read them. Klavier, at the time, can only agree, happy and enthusiastic at the realization that his words are special, that they are different and unique and something only shared between himself and his soulmate. It's not like Kristoph would know anything about it, Kristoph who has no words and claims to be happier for it, just like their parents keep telling Klavier words are not important and they have had a perfectly fulfilling marriage even with their lack of any.
Klavier is too young to hear the malice in Kristoph's words or the falsehood in those of his parents, and so he focuses on nothing but figuring out what it is someone has chosen to speak against his skin from the future.
It's not words in any language he knows, and he has been in touch with many by the time he is old enough to get into his research with any sort of intensity, not his father's German or his mother's English or any of the others he has heard from relatives and family friends and associates over his still young years. It's not even written in the same alphabet, and what some of the meaner kids see as weird Klavier sees as fascinating, diving into records of different writing systems until he finds the one scripted across his skin. It's most likely Khura'inese, he learns when he is nine, from a dusty book depicting various writing systems in the tiny countries scattered across Asia, though the tome is little help in actually translating it. Now he knows where to start looking, though, and he knows where his soulmate will be from, and that is more of a start than many people have for their own words.
He keeps an ear out for the words as he grows up, as he meets more people across the world when his family moves about, as he goes to Themis and then over to Germany and makes it a point to speak with every exchange student in each establishment just on the slim chance any of them are from the mystical kingdom far in the Himalayas. He never finds anyone, though, not even when he gets together the Gavinners and they tour the world, hitting tiny stages in the likes of Borginia and Cohdopia as well as the largest stadiums in more well-known countries as their fame and fanbase grow with time. He never seems to find anyone who would speak his words, though, never even comes across someone who could translate the words for him, and thus Klavier is forced to wait.
He has learned more about Khura'in, now, what little there is to learn about a place that does little communication with anyone outside its safe haven in the cradle of sharp-peaked mountains. He knows of the DC Act and the assassination of the former queen, knows how religious the people there are and how few outsiders are allowed to learn the intricacies of Khura'inese culture. It's not that they are hostile, his studies seem to show, as much as few ever have any reason to venture into the country without having been born there, and fewer still ever find reason to leave it once they have.
The words on his stomach are still incomprehensible to him, and sometimes he considers letting his shirt fall more open than usual during a show, or taking some slightly risque photos, simply on the slim chance that someone might see their own writing adorning his skin and approach him with some knowledge at least. He always decides against it, though, brushes aside the subject in interviews, because the last thing he wants is someone trying to falsely convince him or, worse, themselves of a connection that isn't there.
His words are still a dull gray when he first meets Apollo Justice.
It's not that he's ignorant of who Apollo is, of course. He might not have been on the best terms with his brother by the time of his incarceration but he did keep an eye on things, still, knew of the young lawyer and would have recognized the name and face of the man who threw his brother in jail anywhere. Even so, he feigns ignorance when they first meet in person, introduces himself as though there is no connection between them, because a man who can prove Kristoph Gavin guilty of something he could not possibly have done is both fascinating and endlessly dangerous.
By the time he realizes it is not Apollo who did wrong Klavier is beyond intrigued and downright fascinated.
It's dangerous business, he knows this, being so deeply interested in someone who could not possibly be his soulmate. It's not that he's in love with Apollo, no, but he's certainly attracted, finds himself drawn to the fiery spirit and blazing eyes and all that passion in such a small container. He flutters towards Apollo like a moth to flame, not sure he will escape being burned but unable to help his fascination. This is the man who put his brother in jail, who does the same for his best friend, and his suspicions of Apollo have turned into guilt over his own failings and still he cannot turn away. He should, though, he should not let things get any worse than this, not when he holds the words of someone from the cold mountains and while Apollo does probably hold some Hispanic blood if Klavier were to judge by his features — he can't tell for sure, Apollo confesses in some particularly intimate moment of almost-friendship, he never met his biological parents — Khura'inese he is not.
So, Klavier guards his heart as best as he can, and in the courtroom they are rivals and outside it they are becoming closer friends, and then things go to hell and everything blows apart, quite literally.
Klavier is not there to help Apollo through what are probably the hardest times of his career, sadly, is too busy with his work to do more than briefly visit him in hospital between cases, only hears the news of the highly unusual case afterwards when everything is said and done. He tries his best to help after, though, to offer Apollo a shoulder to lean on and a sympathetic ear if he wishes to talk, and while Apollo seems to have no desire to share his feelings about his best friend's death he has never been shy about voicing his displeasure at things in general. And somewhere along the line, Klavier forgets to keep up the barriers around his heart, forgets to keep in mind the swirly lines upon his skin.
It happens a few months later, in the middle of a trial, because Klavier's life is ridiculous like that. Apollo has just delivered the most beautiful piece of logic Klavier has heard in ages, yet at the same time it is utterly impossible to believe, and as he stares at Apollo across the courtroom he knows he has lost his heart. He voices his objection, next, trying to push the feeling to the back of his mind, because however much he is drawn to the sun that is Apollo's passion he knows it would only fail, because he bears the words of another on his skin and any romance between them would be doomed to failure. He never backs down, though, can't bring himself to do that, and if it's agony to stick close to Apollo it's at least a sweet, sweet agony that is a balm upon the wounds on his heart even as it tortures him even more.
Then, Prosecutor Nahyuta Sahdmadhi arrives.
Klavier can admit his heart very nearly stops for a moment when he first hears they are receiving a visitor from Khura'in. He knows from their first proper meeting that he doesn't love Prosecutor Sahdmadhi, though, finds no draw to the pale features and too refined manners, and all he can think of through the brief meeting is Apollo and his unquenchable fire.
He isn't about to pass by a perfect opportunity for some information, though, wouldn't be a true prosecutor if he did, and the next time he runs into Prosecutor Sahdmadhi he has words written down for him to translate.
Klavier doesn't really need to check the words that he writes down on paper, has known them by heart since the first time he painstakingly copied them down with the help of a mirror and a great deal of patience, but he does so anyway. He wants to get this right, doesn't want to leave any chance of a mistake being made.
Prosecutor Sahdmadhi doesn't ask where Klavier has found the text he has brought to be translated, and it only occurs to Klavier a moment too late that there is every chance the words upon his skin are too intimate, too tender for sharing with just anyone. There is no show of scandal on the face of the ever-composed monk, however, no shock or ire, and if anything his lips just twitch into amusement as he surveys the words stretched across the page.
Sahdmadhi reads them aloud, then, and though Klavier couldn't hope to repeat the words with any sort of faithfulness he does his best to commit them to memory, making sure he can remember the lyrical cadence and the shape of the words no matter whose tongue might speak them to him one day. "It is a strange phrase for you to have come across, to be sure," Sahdmadhi adds then in English, some of the musical nature of his mother tongue carrying over to the more familiar words of their shared second language. "Are you certain you wish me to translate it?"
"If you wouldn't mind." And now, he certainly needs to know, or he will be eaten alive by the intrigue.
Sahdmadhi's lips curve a bit as he picks up a pen, quickly writing something on the paper underneath the Khura'inese script. Klavier leans closer to read it, too impatient to wait, and can't hold back a snort as he reads the fine handwriting.
May the Holy Mother grant me strength with this man.
"Well." Klavier smiles faintly as he accepts the slip of paper back. "I can see why you would find that interesting."
"Indeed." A strange look crosses the monk's face. "I wish you luck on your search for your heart, my friend. Fear not, for your treasure may lie closer to your hand than you even realize."
Klavier is too busy trying to decipher the statement that he doesn't realize until Sahdmadhi has already walked away that he never told the man just what the words mean to him.
He doesn't have too much time to puzzle over the words, though, because things get turned upside down, and then one day Chief Prosecutor leaves for Khura'in and all Klavier knows is what little snippets of knowledge he can squeeze out of Blackquill, who is as anxious as Klavier himself but even more unlikely to ever admit it. Then Apollo takes on the case of his father, because of course Apollo does, and it's not until Klavier is lying sleepless in his bed waiting to hear of proceedings half a world away that it even strikes him just what this means.
Apollo's father is from Khura'in. Apollo himself grew up in Khura'in. Klavier's fear of a love misplaced might well have been futile all along.
He stares at the dark ceiling of his bedroom for hours, fingers tracing the words that he is terribly afraid will turn cold and black any moment, until his phone finally buzzes with news. It's from Blackquill, only two words, but it's enough to make Klavier break down in tears of relief and somehow allows him to catch a few hours of sleep before he drags himself to the office to shake down Blackquill for more details.
"They won."
Klavier prepares himself to get all the dirty details from Apollo all over again, of course, and perhaps throw in some love confession while he is at it because he has seriously wasted way too much time with this ridiculousness, except Apollo isn't returning. As soon as Klavier hears about this he calls, of course, and then ends the call almost as quickly because he has just realized it's the wee hours of the morning in Khura'in right now, yet a moment later his phone rings with the familiar tone.
"Klavier." Apollo sounds sleepy, exhausted even, but Klavier can still catch a hint of a smile to his voice. "You'd think someone who has spent half his life touring the world would know how to deal with time differences."
"I was a bit distracted by the news that my favorite defense lawyer will be staying behind."
"Oh, please." Apollo yawns a bit. "Athena's already back, isn't she?"
"Well, aren't you just the funniest man." Klavier smiles, though, throwing himself back on the couch in his office. It's not like he's getting any work done right now, anyway, unless one can count the obviously back-breaking effort of doing his best not to flirt too much, not just yet. "So, any particular reason you decided to abandon us all? All I heard from Herr Blackquill is that you hadn't come over with the rest. I was worried you might have gotten yourself thrown in jail after all!"
Even an Apollo woken from sleep is apparently not an Apollo who will be silenced, though, and he launches all too easily into a heavily summarized version of their adventures. His voice catches a few times, particularly as he speaks of the death of his father — of both his fathers, and it's just unthinkable that he would have had to relive the deaths of them both in such a manner, all for the foolish ambitions of a pair of dirty criminals — but he soldiers on, because that's Apollo for you. He ends with his brother's offer, and apparently Apollo's the brother of a king now, or a prince regent or something, it's not like Klavier is overly familiar with the nomenclature.
"So you decided to abandon us all for the sake of the country that raised you, ja?" Klavier makes sure to keep his voice soft, not wanting to sound accusatory when it's absolutely not what he means. He knows by now that Apollo prefers to speak with people face to face, isn't very good at picking up emotions over voice alone, so Klavier always takes care to project what he is really feeling through his words. It's easy enough, for someone who at one point made his living by injecting feeling into the words that he formed on his lips, and while he's not sure if it helps Apollo all that much he hasn't ever complained, at least.
"That's the long and short of it, yes." Apollo sighs, a sleepy little sound that makes Klavier's heart skip a beat. He'd so like to hear such sounds again, wishes he could see Apollo right now, eyes half closed and his hair mussed up and his chest only half covered by the blankets — but that's not the point, that's not his right, and he needs to focus on Apollo rather than his fantasies right now. "It's… I'm sorry I didn't call, it's been hectic, and I just —"
"Nein. You have no need to apologize." Klavier does not need to try to sound sincere, not when he is only speaking his true feelings. "This is an amazing opportunity, Apollo, and it's obviously very important to you. None of us would really want you to turn this down. You absolutely should continue your father's work and reconnect with your brother. We'll all be cheering you on from over here, and we are all very, very proud of you."
"Ah." He can practically hear Apollo swallow over the line. "Thank you, for that."
"Do not thank me, Mein Forehead. I am only speaking the truth, after all." Klavier grins, not that Apollo can see it. "Just smile a little, ja? Your beautiful smile is such a rare creature, surely even the mountains of your childhood have missed the brilliance of it." Well. So much for trying not to flirt overly much. "Not that you probably have any proper challenge over there, what with my being stuck here in LA, but I'm sure you will land yourself with the most ridiculous cases imaginable, anyway."
Apollo snorts with laughter, now, a sound that should be utterly unattractive yet only makes Klavier's heart speed faster, and then murmurs something Klavier almost doesn't catch. His ears might miss the minute nuances, but it doesn't matter, the exact twists and turns of the words unimportant when it's the melody and shape that leave him breathless, chasing him from a memory that is not as distant as it could be.
It's not a burning sensation that takes over the words on his stomach, as he has heard some people say, not even the wave of ice that others have shared stories of. Rather, there is a wave of warmth that crosses the surface of his skin in slow ripples, tingling along the way. As he yanks his shirt up he can actually see the color change, the muted gray turning a bright, fiery red, and Klavier is sure his face is going to split, he is smiling so broadly.
"May the Holy Mother grant me strength with this man," he chuckles, and he hears a surprised sound from Apollo at the other end of the line. "Do you know, Apollo, that your brother translated those words for me? I waited over two decades to know what they meant, and then you insist on giving me something so hurtful." He is not accusing, though, his voice is as light as his heart, and for the first time in two years he has no doubts of any sort in his heart.
"It was you," Apollo breathes, "of course it was you," and somehow, it doesn't surprise Klavier at all. After all, he has realized his own love a long while ago.
They speak a lot more, then, starting with Apollo's disbelief mixing with Klavier's absolute delight and forming into a sort of mutual contentment until Apollo very nearly falls asleep, and Klavier doesn't get any work done even after he has ended the call. It doesn't matter, really, except that he wants to wrap up his current cases and then inquire as to his chances for a vacation. It shouldn't be a problem, he has hardly taken any time off since the band split and the Chief Prosecutor has been dropping hints that he should do so, but then he can't yet guarantee that he will actually be returning from this trip any time soon. Not when the words are still warm on his skin and his heart is half a world away, when the people of Khura'in need all the help they can get to repair their system and his beloved Apollo is facing that flood all on his own.
For all that the words have caused him some doubts over the years, Klavier decides, in the end, they are nothing but a gift.