The first thing that tipped him off was that Mr. Wright had never tried to get close to him.
He didn’t pay it much attention, at first. In fact, it probably wasn’t something he was consciously aware of in the beginning. There was just sort of an emptiness in their interactions, one that Apollo couldn’t quite put his finger on. He was always keyed up, always anticipating something, but whatever that was, it never came.
Those first few weeks with Mr. Wright were strange, mostly because he had turned out to be the exact opposite of how the media construed him. Instead of the vicious attorney that did whatever he had to do to get his clients off the hook, Phoenix Wright was far more concerned with his daughter, with his own priorities, with the truth than Apollo could have imagined.
“He’s really nice, isn’t he Polly?”
Trucy bounced on the balls of her feet, arms folded behind her back, looking at him expectantly.
“He’s…something,” Apollo said, squinting at the case files in his hand.
“What do you mean by that?” Her tone indicated that she was not angry, but instead, disappointed that Apollo wasn’t giving her father stunning reviews.
“Oh, uh, nothing. You’re right, he’s pretty nice.”
He tried to return her grin, but he couldn’t get the corners of his mouth to raise with quite the same gumption.
Okay, so maybe Phoenix’s apparent niceness was part of the problem. It seemed like a strange thing to fixate on, especially since normally one would hope that their boss was relatively compassionate.
Compassionate was the wrong word. He was more ridiculous than anything. A man kicked down far too many times, making wise-cracks and speaking in a deliberately informal manner in an effort to seem above it all. It was an all too relatable state of being, one Apollo had also adopted as he bounced around between Khura’in and Los Angeles, struggling to get through school. Apollo had never really been funny, but to be fair, Phoenix wasn’t very funny either.
It was beginning to dawn on him that a lot of what made him uncomfortable about Mr. Wright was that he wasn’t an untouchable enigma. While his actions often confused him, they weren’t being used in a deliberate attempt to distance himself from the people around him.
“Let me see what you have so far.”
Apollo stood in front of Phoenix’s irresponsibly cluttered desk, trying to control the slight tremor of his hands when he placed the file in front of him.
Phoenix picked it up, flipping through the paperwork in almost a flippant manner. Even though he’d never so much as scolded Apollo before, he half expected him to shame his efforts, to tell him to scrap it all and start over because he obviously wasn’t trying hard enough. He grit his teeth, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at the floor in preparation for the inevitable disappointment.
“It looks good,” Mr. Wright said.
“Huh?”
Apollo had to look up from where his gaze had fixed on the carpet to make sure he’d heard correctly.
(He hadn’t realized until now that he was holding his breath.)
“I said, it looks fine. You should be good for tomorrow.”
Apollo sort of swayed on his feet.
“Oh.”
Phoenix must have caught the way he paled because one of his eyebrows had quirked up.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
His expression was enough to give away that he wasn’t exactly “fine,” but Phoenix didn’t seem comfortable with pushing the subject. Apollo was thankful for that because he wasn’t sure why his natural inclination was to expect the worst from himself and others.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, alright, Mr. Justice?”
Even though Phoenix had a much softer and laid-back tone of voice than what he had grown used to, something clicked in Apollo’s mind.
“Yeah. I’ll see you.”
The last person to call him Mr. Justice hadn’t exactly turned out to be the nicest person.
There was always something about Mr. Gavin, something Apollo could never put his finger on. The only way he could describe it was “hot and cold”—how he could maintain his air of self-aggrandizing aloofness and intense engrossment, and yet, be the most charming human being he’d ever met.
But, every step was calculated and every word had a hidden meaning.
Or, at least, that was what Apollo was beginning to piece together. Back then, he knew nothing else, didn’t have any reason to suspect that maybe his mentor had ulterior motives.
After all, Kristoph had never been one to give away his game so easily.
Putting words to his experiences was difficult. Negging wasn’t the best description of Kristoph’s treatment of Apollo during his time at Gavin Law Offices, but it was really the most succinct.
Kristoph Gavin was known for being incredibly competent, and Apollo would never have described himself as even really good at what he did. Fresh out of law school, he didn’t have any experience, his grades were average, and he didn’t have much confidence to speak of. In all honestly, Apollo was surprised when Kristoph agreed to take him on as his protégé.
He figured that this contributed to how easily he bought into the narrative that Mr. Gavin spun for him.
“Let me have a look.”
Apollo hadn’t even realized he was there at first.
He gasped, not expecting his mentor’s quiet murmur to be so close to his ear. In fact, Kristoph had positioned himself so he could stand behind Apollo’s chair, bending down so he was leaning over his shoulder.
“Is this what you call preparation?” he asked, reaching over Apollo’s head to pick up the papers he’d been writing on. He turned around in his chair to catch Kristoph pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, reading what Apollo had prepared for the trial. He was obviously dissatisfied.
“Uh, sorry, I-I can do more if you want, I just wasn’t sure what you were looking for—”
Kristoph didn’t say anything at first, only tossed the stack back down on the desk. After a moment, he smiled in that way he did, eyes closing, head tilting to the side.
“I would hope you would be more willing to prove our client’s innocence than this. That is all I meant.”
Apollo attempted to answer, but something about the twisting in his chest made the words die on his lips.
This never bothered Kristoph any. Apollo’s speechlessness was almost a reward in itself. He made his way through the office door, probably in order to give Apollo the privacy to sulk over his own incompetence.
The emptiness of the room crawled into his chest.
(Even if he had to be reprimanded to experience it, he had to admit to himself that the warmth of the older man’s body pressed against his back was pleasant.)
Apollo rubbed at the pressure building behind his forehead.
He was pretty disgusting, wasn’t he?
It seemed like every time Kristoph had an excuse to invade Apollo’s personal space, he would take it.
(Putting a hand on his shoulder while talking to him, leaning over him to see his work, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen from his signature horns, rubbing his back to wake him when he fell asleep at his desk while pulling all-nighters.)
Phoenix had not even tried.
This caused Apollo to feel conflicted, to feel simultaneously relieved and somehow hollow. It made him nervous to be put in that position, to be subjected to that sort of unwanted intimacy, but in some weird, twisted way, it also made him feel important. It made him feel wanted.
And, in that way, he sort of missed that closeness.
(And, in that way, he sort of missed Kristoph.)
Maybe that’s a personal problem, he thought. After all, he was a murderer—or at least had been arrested under the suspicion. He almost couldn’t believe it, but he also did very much believe he was capable of such a thing. Either way, it made Apollo feel sick to his stomach.
He held the newspaper in his hand. A mugshot of Kristoph Gavin stared back at him. He looked as calm and collected as ever. Apollo wondered if maybe he could see him from the other side of the picture, and that’s why his eyes looked at him so intensely.
“What’re you reading?”
Apollo jumped in his seat.
He looked over to see Phoenix with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets. He hadn’t thought he’d see him that day considering he’d been absent while working on whatever “Secret Mission” he had going on.
“Oh, I, uh…”
Apollo wasn’t even really sure how to respond considering he’d just been staring at the article without actually reading it.
He reached out, supposedly to take the paper and see for himself, but Apollo still felt a shiver of white-hot panic shoot up his spine. He flinched away, hands gripping so hard that the paper wrinkled. His back was turned away from the older man as if he were using it as a shield.
Phoenix stopped, watching his disciple freeze up completely just from raising his hand.
“Apollo…?”
The boy realized his grave error, turning back only to see the skepticism in Phoenix’s eyes. Or maybe that was just concern? He couldn’t really tell anymore.
“O-Oh, sorry, here you go,” he laughed nervously, handing over the slightly crumpled page. When he turned away this time, it was due to embarrassment.
(Just moments ago, he had been lamenting about Phoenix’s lack of closeness, and this was how he responded? What was wrong with him?)
There were several long moments of silence. Apollo figured that Phoenix was reading the article.
“Are you doing alright, Apollo?”
This had been the second time that he’d expressed concern for him. It was annoying only because Apollo didn’t want his own nervousness pointed out to him.
(He also didn’t want to answer that question because he was beginning to get the sense that he was not alright at all.)
"Yes, sir."
He made himself small, folding in on himself as if Phoenix's mere presence was making Apollo fearful.
"You don't have to look so nervous,” he said, setting the paper on the desk.
"S-Sorry!" he shouted, standing up from the chair he sat in and invoking his Chords of Steel. Maybe it was a tick, a defense against feelings of uncertainty.
In fact, Apollo was just very nervous, in general. He seemed to jump out of his skin anytime Phoenix said anything, especially whenever his tone shifted to more aloof and critical.
"…Sorry for embarrassing you."
Phoenix raised an eyebrow.
"Embarrassing me? There's nothing you could do to embarrass me that I haven't done myself."
"Oh, ah, er...sorry."
"You apologize a lot, don't you?"
Apollo opened his mouth, but the words got caught in his throat. He had to stop himself from apologizing for apologizing.
After a prolonged silence, he squeaked, "Do I?"
(It was impressive that he could shift from the roar of a lion to the tiny sounds of a mouse in the same conversation.)
"Yeah, it's kind of worrying actually."
"Worrying...?"
Phoenix's face grew slightly grim.
"People who apologize too much often are victims of emotional abuse."
The shocked expression from Apollo told Phoenix that he'd never thought about it, never had even let such a sentiment cross his mind.
"Wha...? I—no, I don't even know what you mean."
"I'm just saying, it sounds like someone has been...purposefully chipping at your confidence. Between the times you shout on the stand, you look afraid."
“Do I?”
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
Apollo’s expression dimmed.
“No, sir.”
It came to him in dreams a lot of times.
He’s tall and imposing and, most importantly, he’s angry.
Sometimes he asks him to kneel and sometimes he just grabs him. Sometimes he yells and sometimes he says nothing at all. Sometimes he reaches under his clothes and sometimes he leaves him cowering on the floor. There are many scenarios that play like a loop when he closes his eyes.
But, the reoccurring theme is that there is always, always pain.
He can’t exactly remember if these events happened to him in real life, but there’s something so viscerally upsetting about seeing him again and seeing him strike him and seeing him invade his space and seeing him advance on him that he shakes and cries.
But, then he would wake up, sometimes yelling, sometimes crying—usually both.
Apollo didn’t get very much sleep in those first few months.
Maybe it got worse after everything came to light, after he had to deal the full extent of how truly evil he was.
“You look tired, Herr Forehead.”
He woke from his musings to see Klavier smiling kindly at him.
(It was always so shocking to him that they had such similar features, but Klavier’s were always filled with kindness, even when he was angry and upset. His eyes were the same color of shocking blue, but Kristoph’s had been icy while Klavier’s reminded Apollo of the soft waves that met on the shores of the beach.)
“You really have to call me that here?”
The dim light of the bar gave his smile a sort of soft glow, or maybe Apollo was just more susceptible to Klavier’s charms with a little alcohol in his system.
“I’m only teasing. You are just so easy to get riled up—it’s hard to resist.” He leaned over on the bar, tilting his head so his blonde hair spilled over his shoulder. “I can call you Apollo, if you’d like.”
Apollo couldn’t help but smile a bit despite himself. “You’re impossible.”
He shrugged, sipping his whiskey sour. “It’s the company I keep.”
There was a lull in the conversation. Apollo nursed his own drink as if it were a way to stop the truth from spilling out of his mouth.
“I keep having nightmares.”
But, it sort of came out anyway.
“Oh?” Klavier’s expression had grown more serious, more thoughtful, as if he was trying to signal that he was taking his words seriously.
“Yeah.”
“About what, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Apollo couldn’t look at him when he said, “Kristoph.”
He couldn’t blame him, not for avoiding his gaze, not for the fixation his subconscious had on his brother.
“Ah, I see.”
“I haven’t told anyone about it because—”
The words died in his throat like they always did when he thought too hard about these things.
Klavier didn’t say anything, only took another sip of his drink, waiting for Apollo to continue. He never did. Klavier took that as his cue to fill the silence.
“There are many reasons to think about him. I don’t blame you.”
It had only been a few weeks since his conviction. Neither Klavier nor Apollo would have considered themselves over the whole ordeal. One of the reasons they had grown so close was because they both shared similar pain, and it was better being in pain together than it was being in pain alone.
“I’m not sure how to talk about it.”
Something in Apollo’s tone made Klavier’s eyebrows pull together.
As if his brother hadn’t already ruined enough lives.
“What did he do?”
As if he hadn’t already done enough.
The longer Apollo fixated on him, the more often fleeting memories came back to him.
Kristoph was sick, y’know? He knew that now. Before, he had normalized everything, minimized his feelings and shoved everything deep down until he could barely remember what it was that made him so upset in the first place. He hadn’t even known he was doing it, but in light of the recent events, Apollo’s subconscious was starting to give up on the whole repression thing.
His nightmares hadn’t exactly just been dreams, he was starting to realize.
The Gavin brothers looked so similar—blonde hair, tan skin, an air of smugness—but Kristoph had evil lurking underneath him. Maybe that was what made him so compelling. He was dangerous. If you flew too close, he’d singe your wings. If you reached out and touched him, he’d cut your hand, and you’d bleed bright red blood all over the place.
Apollo had done all that and much worse.
Kristoph’s hands were big and rough, but his touch was delicate. He would place his thumb and forefinger on Apollo’s chin and tilt his face up so he couldn’t break his gaze even if he wanted to, and something inside Apollo would break—just totally snap in half—and Apollo could see that Kristoph could see that, and the tiniest, tiniest flicker of something would pass over his normally stoic face, and if Apollo was being honest with himself, he would admit that this something behind his eyes was evil.
(How did he know that he’d always longed for someone to protect him, to not abandon him? How did he know that every parental figure in his life had promised him the world and then up and left when he needed them most? How could he possibly know that Apollo Justice had daddy issues?)
His lips and tongue were rougher than his words. His words coaxed his mouth open, but his tongue mixed up the wiring inside his brain.
He’d suddenly find himself saying things like, “I love you,” and Kristoph would just laugh because he knew that he could do anything to this boy and he would let him.
(Now, Apollo wondered that maybe if things had turned out differently, he might have eventually asked Apollo to kill himself. The scariest part of the whole thing was he couldn’t exactly convince himself he wouldn’t have.)
Too many drinks.
“Shh…it’s alright. Shh…”
(Apollo had to act like Kristoph hadn’t offered him every single one.)
He had collapsed on the floor, shattered a glass of expensive bourbon, burst into tears. But, Kristoph had rushed to his side, pretending like he actually cared for the boy. Apollo wasn’t completely convinced he didn’t.
(He hoped and prayed for him to care because, if he didn’t, there wasn’t anyone left.)
“I’m s-sorry,” he choked out, pushing the sloppy tears out of his eyes with his wrists.
“It’s alright.” His voice was soft and even. “I don’t mind at all.”
Apollo felt delirious. He’d been Too Fucked Up before, but nothing like this. He couldn’t get his eyes to stop rolling around in his head. It didn’t help that Kristoph’s hands were on him, trying to help him stand but ending up just running fingers over his arms and gripping at his waist.
(Even if he could barely see straight, he knew that Something Was Wrong, that this was not something that three or four glasses of liquor could do.)
The words slurred out before he could stop them.
“Did you drug me?”
As hard as he had tried, Apollo had never forgotten the look of disdain that marred Kristoph’s perfect face.
(His presence was a duality. One minute, he could never be close enough, even with his tongue shoved down his throat, but the next minute, he was too close and too frightening. He so easily turned to anger that even when Apollo allowed himself to feel comfortable in his presence, he was still scared.)
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
Apollo’s breath caught in his throat.
Klavier offered to spend the night to give them more time to talk everything over, but Apollo declined.
He couldn’t bear spilling his guts to yet another Gavin. His ego couldn’t take it. Not that he had much of one to begin with.
The first thing that Apollo thought when he was shoved against the wall was that he had this coming.
In retrospect, it was probably some kind of preemptive revenge. He somehow knew that Apollo would contribute to his inevitable downfall, and so it was important to ruin the boy while he still had a chance. Apollo would always do what was right, and that was a punishable offense in Kristoph’s eyes, considering he was the physical embodiment of the exact opposite qualities.
For a defense attorney, it was a tad ironic that Kristoph gave exactly zero fucks about what was right and wrong. After all, he was a liar, a forger, a cheater, a killer.
(Apollo was very lucky he made it out of his office alive.)
The drinks made him sloppy. Kristoph’s knee between his legs and the hand pinning his shoulder against the wall kept him standing, but Apollo couldn’t keep his spit in his mouth.
Sloppy. Kristoph kissed him sloppily. Maybe it was his saliva that was dripping down his chin and not his own. It was probably a combination of both. Kristoph didn’t seem very bothered by it. His tongue slid against Apollo’s, and Apollo couldn’t help but make a desperate sound, one he didn’t want to make. He made another sound when he took his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled, but this one was a sound of pain.
His hands began to wander, coaxing his chin up to expose his neck, unbuttoning his vest and shirt to rake his painted nails down his bare skin.
Apollo trembled, did his best to bite back involuntary sounds of submission. It should have been enough that he was crying, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough because Kristoph didn’t care. He never cared about anyone except himself.
(Or, rather, he derived some sort of sick pleasure from disregarding the will of others. To take happiness from another person, to take autonomy from another person, to take life from another person—)
“Stop—” Apollo gasped out, trying to move his head so he could prevent Kristoph from sinking his teeth into his neck.
If he had really been paying attention, he would have remembered a lot sooner.
There’s something to be said about the brain’s ability to respond to trauma and cope with it. Some people adopt unhealthy coping mechanisms like drinking, abusing drugs, self-harming.
Some people just forget.
While it is impossible to forget forever, it’s easy to pretend like nothing is wrong. It’s easy to fake a life of blissful ignorance. But, Apollo had opened the floodgates. Once he actively sought the truth, it was all over. There was no way to deny that Kristoph was truly as horrible a person as his trail of murders led people to believe.
Apollo was beginning to throw up at work. It was one of the reasons he actually didn’t mind cleaning the toilet when Mr. Wright asked him to. One less excuse to make up for spending too much time in the bathroom.
He hoped Mr. Wright wouldn’t catch on, hoped that Trucy would catch on even less. The only person he had even uttered anything to was Klavier, and even then, he couldn’t bring himself to talk about the images that pushed into his brain without his permission.
He wanted desperately to disappear, but the only thing he could do was continue taking on cases and drown himself in work so he didn’t have enough time to think about himself.
Even Apollo had to admit that it wasn’t working too well.
One of those big and rough hands grasped at Apollo’s throat. It was not a grip meant to kill or even harm. It was skilled in a different sort of way. It knew where to apply pressure just so it pressed against the arteries but didn’t crush windpipes. It was meant to dim the lights but not burst the bulbs.
He felt small under Kristoph’s body, in Kristoph’s grip. He felt his face flushing, felt dizzy.
(A part of him wished he’d just strangle him and get it over with.)
“Stop it—”
Apollo struggled. He tried to use Kristoph’s lighter touch as leverage to get away. But, the second he felt resistance, the fingers gripped tight, coiling around his neck.
(He’d never felt fear like that before.)
The boy opened his mouth, but sound could get out just about as well as air could get it. Thin fingers clawed at much thicker wrists, nails digging into flesh, panic giving him strength he hadn’t had before.
Amidst his thrashing, he heard Kristoph say, “You’ll only use up your oxygen faster if you keep that up.”
He was right. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. He was bigger than him and stronger than him.
The edges of his vision dimmed.
Apollo hated that there was a certain throbbing in his groin as his lungs burned and his chest constricted. The lightness in his head was almost as intoxicating as the bourbon he had swallowed.
He stopped fighting. He couldn’t keep it up. He was too tired.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Just relax.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Wright. I can’t come to work today.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m sick. Sorry. I’ve been feeling under the weather for a while.”
“Ah. I see. Well, don’t stress too much about it. We don’t have new cases right now anyway.”
Phoenix said it like Apollo didn’t already know. One of the reasons he couldn’t bear being at work was because there was nothing there to distract him.
“Thanks, Mr. Wright.”
“Get better soon, Apollo.”
When his boss hung up, he pulled his phone away from his face. The screen was sticky from his own sweat.
(He ignored the twenty-some texts from Klavier. He couldn’t face him right now. Not like this.)
Apollo knew he was a coward, but he couldn’t get himself to care.
It dawned on Apollo when his face was smashed into one of the pillows of the couch of Gavin Law Offices what the natural progression of events would be.
“You mustn’t scream, Apollo. I need you to be a good boy.”
His voice was between and hum and a purr, but even that couldn’t disguise the threat between each word.
He couldn’t scream anyway. He could barely find the energy to stay conscious.
Apollo just hoped that he’d live long enough to regret the whole thing.
“You’ve been ignoring me.”
Klavier had his hands on his hips, leaning forward just slightly, a small smirk to disguise the worry in his voice.
“Sorry.” He didn’t bother to hide it. It was true, after all.
“Is there something you want to talk about?”
“Is it something you’d want to hear?”
The other man’s expression tensed, hands dropping to his sides.
“Of course, Apollo. What makes you think I wouldn’t?”
Apollo chuckled, but the whole situation was anything but funny.
“You’d be surprised.”
Kristoph didn’t kill him. But, Apollo did find himself laying on the floor of his office with only a hazy idea of how he got there. He didn’t exactly remember why his body ached when he moved, but he knew with absolute certainty that he didn’t want to find out.
Maybe that’s why it took him almost an entire two years to tell anyone about it.
“I’m so sorry, Apollo.”
Klavier tried his hardest not to let his anger strangle the sympathy of his words.
(Because really, what the fuck. What the fuck, Kristoph. Why did he always have to destroy everything he touched? Why was he like this? Why was he so evil without any explanation? How could he be his brother, someone he had loved his entire life, and turn out to be the monster he was? Nothing about it made sense, and that made Klavier furious.)
“You don’t have to be sorry. I just needed to tell someone.”
“Is that why you haven’t been in court much?”
He shrugged, a wary smile appearing on his face.
“Well, that, and Mr. Wright hasn’t been getting enough cases.”
Klavier frowned. A part of him wished that his brother hadn’t been executed because he had the urge to kill him himself.
“I think I need to take some time off from work. Just, like, a month or something.”
Phoenix scratched at the hair under his beanie.
“Okay, I think we can swing that.”
Apollo furrowed his eyebrows. He couldn’t understand why he was getting away with this. Leave it to Phoenix to make him realize, once again, that he had really bad trust issues with superiors.
“Really?”
He didn’t look uncomfortable, just like his mind was on other things when he said, “Yeah. Well, my, uh, friend is going to help me get my attorney’s badge back. Also, we might have someone else joining the agency soon. As long as nothing comes up, I probably won’t have time to oversee your cases anyway.”
“You didn’t oversee many of my cases to begin with.”
Phoenix laughed before shoving his hands in his hoodie pockets.
“Hey, don’t take my goodwill for granted,” he teased. “I’m giving you a vacation.”
“Thanks, Mr. Wright.”
Maybe the exhaustion in his eyes was more apparent than Apollo wanted to believe because Phoenix gave him a sort of sympathetic look.
“Don’t mention it. Get some rest, okay, Apollo?”
He nodded, returning a sad smile of his own.
Klavier went in for a kiss, but Apollo bristled, flinching away, fists clenching the cotton of the other man’s shirt. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to try physical intimacy so soon after scraping his insides raw by divulging the truth.
“Apollo…what’s wrong?”
When Klavier noticed the tears soaking into his bright red suit, he grabbed Apollo’s arms, leaning down to try to catch a glimpse of his expression. All he could see was his shoulders shaking.
“Apollo, hey…was it something I did?”
How was Apollo supposed to tell him?
He shook his head, releasing his grip on his shirt so he could rub at the moisture falling down his cheeks.
“Is it because I look like him?”
Apollo froze.
(How could he know?)
The bleary-eyed stare that Apollo shot him must have been a dead giveaway that he hit the nail on the head.
Klavier flashed him a small, sad smile.
“I understand.”
He hooked his hands behind his head and let his fingers rake through his hair. The tendril that hung over his shoulder unraveled. Long blonde hair cascaded over his shoulders.
“I promise I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do. I want to make you comfortable. I’ll even cut my hair for you if that’s what you need.”
Apollo shook his head, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“No, you don’t…you don’t have to. I don’t—”
“It’s okay.” Klavier reached out, resting his arms on Apollo’s shoulders, forearms crossed behind the back of his neck. “I’d do everything for you. I owe you that much.”
Even though every part of Apollo screamed that Klavier was lying, that he was doing this for his own benefit, his blue eyes looked so sincere. They glittered even though the only light in the room was from street lamps pushing through half-open blinds, and Apollo just desperately wanted someone to treat him with kindness and compassion and not take advantage of him because of some inexplicable lack of knowledge or experience.
He still couldn’t stop himself from choking out the word, “Why?”
Klavier smiled.
“Because I love you.”
Apollo’s eyes widened. Out of all the things he expected Klavier to say, that was not one of them.
“What?”
“What what? You didn’t know?”
A Gavin making him dizzy was not a new phenomenon, but this was probably the first time it had happened due to positive events.
“I’m, uh…I…”
“You don’t have to say anything right now. I understand it’s probably hard on you in the context of everything.”
“That’s not it,” he said, squinting at his own awkwardness. “I just don’t know why you’d like someone like me.”
Klavier leaned forward to give a peck on his cheek.
“Merkst du nicht, wie lächerlich du bist?”
Apollo laughed too loudly, covering his face to hide an embarrassed flush.
“Sorry, I don’t speak German.”
“But, I can, if you’d like.”
He laughed again, dimly acknowledging that it had been a very long time since he’d just been silly with another person and laughed without worrying about looking stupid or bursting into tears.
“I said, you’re ridiculous,” Klavier said, tilting his head and making sure he had Apollo’s attention. “We both have had some things happen to us, but we can try to help each other, ja? Does that sound alright to you?” His hand cupped Apollo’s cheek, his thumb brushing away leftover tears.
“I guess, if that’s alright with you.”
He smiled, “Natürlich.”
This time, it was Apollo who leaned forward and allowed their lips to meet.
If nothing else, at least this Gavin wasn’t a total piece of shit.
(And, if he really let himself think about it, Apollo might have even loved him, too.)