The first thing that Apollo notices is that it’s dark, which is fine—usual, even. His apartment is often dark at night, and if Klavier sleeping soundly next to him is any indication, there’s absolutely nothing to be worried about… except, Apollo really feels like there is.
It’s a little too dark. His bedroom light is off, but there’s no illumination coming under the crack of the door, even though he swears that he left the hallway light on for Mik before he went to bed. Turning over, he sees that even his clock radio isn’t lighting up, and he can only tell that it’s midnight by the glow-in-the-dark hands on Klavier’s tacky Gavinners watch.
“Klav,” he mumbles. When he gets no response from his heavy-sleeper boyfriend, he shakes him a little. “Klavier.”
“Mm,” Klavier mumbles, evidently still half asleep. “Wha’s it?”
“Something’s wrong.”
“Huh?”
Klavier sits up in bed and wipes the sleep from his eyes. Were Apollo not in the immediate flush of panic, he’d once again wonder how the hell he got so lucky that he’s sharing a bed with Adonis himself.
“I think the power is out,” Apollo says.
“It’s probably the breaker. I’ll go reset it—don’t worry, I wouldn’t make my schatzi walk around in the dark.”
Before he can even push the duvet off his legs, though, the sound of a shrill fire alarm screeches through the entire apartment, making Apollo instinctively cover his ears. His eyes widen, and he has to use all of his effort not to curl up into a defenseless ball and sob at the prospect of his imminent death by fire.
“Hey,” Klavier says, his hand finding its way reassuringly to Apollo’s back. “It’ll just be a drill. You’re okay. You’re fine.”
Debilitating fear of fire aside, Apollo is not fine. He’s clinging onto Klavier’s arm as they get out of bed and fumble to the door by touch alone; Klavier’s glasses aren’t on the bedside table, and with his inability to see anything in the dark, coupled with Apollo’s inability to function with the shrill piercing of the alarm, it’s a miracle that they even manage to make it out of the bedroom. The hallway is in similar darkness, but as they approach the small living room, there’s a glimmer of hope—literally.
A light.
Terrified, Apollo latches onto the promise of it despite not even knowing what it is, fumbling his way towards the soft pink glow like it’s somehow going to save him from the same fate that has almost befallen him before. As he approaches, he sees that it’s coming from Mr. Worm’s enclosure, and for one, horrible moment, visions of his beloved worm on fire flash through his head like a movie he never, ever wants to watch.
But… no. Mr. Worm is fine.
Mr. Worm is glowing.
He’s wriggling happily, each movement of his tiny body producing a glow that brightens every second, until it’s enough to light up a one metre radius around him.
With hope renewed inside him, Apollo takes Mr. Worm’s enclosure and holds it out in front of him like a flashlight; he watches as Klavier picks up Mikeko, and then they hold each other’s hands, navigating the darkness using the brilliant light of their bioluminescent saviour.
As expected, the building elevators are out of use, but Apollo only lives on the eighth floor. He and Klavier (and their unconventional duo of pets) join the rest of the tenants on the way down to the lobby, where they’re informed by the building manager that the alarms were pulled merely as a safety precaution because some of the wiring shorted out and caused a small fire in the basement, so all they have to do is wait for the all-clear from the electrician before they can go back up to their apartments.
Taking a seat on one of the uncomfortable sofas in the lobby, Apollo rests his head on Klavier’s shoulder. Mikeko rests in his lap, and he reaches his hand into Mr. Worm’s enclosure, relaxing a little as his worm wriggles onto the palm of his hand. Almost as if he’s satisfied with a job well done, Mr. Worm’s glow fades back into the muted pink of his regular body, and he shimmies around three times before lying down and (presumably) going to sleep.
For a brief moment, all is calm.
Until voices surround them.
“Hey, is that Klavier Gavin?” Someone says.
“And the worm? Is that the worm?”
“You mean the worm from that court case?”
“No, stupid, the worm from the song!”
“Oh my god, I think it’s them.”
Shit. Normally, when Klavier visits Apollo, they make sure to take extra precautions—even going as far as utilising disguises so that he isn’t recognised. But now, in just his pyjama pants, he’s very obviously the international rockstar who wrote a diss track about the very same worm that just practically saved his life.
The crowd gets closer, and Apollo starts to wonder how the hell they’re going to fend them off, until a small man with wide eyes and hair slicked back into a wavy ponytail approaches them with a bright smile.
“With me, please?”
For some reason, Apollo takes Klavier’s hand, gets up, and follows him. He figures that it’ll be easier to fight off one five-foot-two guy than an entire crowd of rabid Klavier Gavin fans. The man leads them behind the receptionist’s desk and into a private back room.
“I apologise for the intrusion,” he says. “But I figured you didn’t want to deal with whatever was going on out there.”
“Look, if you’re here because of Klavier, we’d really rather not be disturbed at midn—”
“Klavier? Who? No, no, I’m interested in your worm!”
“Huh? Mr. Worm…?”
“Oh, forgive me for being so rude! I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Halmin Thollowge, worm researcher and enthusiast. And… what you have there is… shocking!”
“Shocking how?” Apollo holds Mr. Worm in his palm, shielding him.
“My boy, I believe what you have there is a giant Sholmesworm,” Halmin says. “This is astonishing! The bioluminescence… do you realise what you are holding?”
“Uh… my pet worm?”
“Your… pet worm? Why, Sholmesworms are all but extinct! You’re holding solid gold there!”
“He’s not an object to be bought, if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Buy him? Heavens no! I couldn’t afford a Sholmesworm in a million lifetimes! I want to study him!”
“Out of the question,” Apollo says. “He’s been through enough. He’s stressed.”
“But… the scientific advancements we could make…”
“Absolutely not,” Klavier chimes in. “If Apollo says no, then it’s a no. That worm has been through hell and back.”
“B-But… well… oh, please let me at least give you my card? In case you change your mind?”
“We won’t, but sure,” Apollo says. He takes the business card offered to him and, with a pointed glance, shoos Halmin out of the room.
Once they get the all-clear to go back upstairs, Apollo and Klavier are escorted to the employees-only stairwell so that they can get back to Apollo’s apartment in relative peace. The entire ordeal was no longer than an hour and a half, but Apollo is exhausted—the adrenaline has left his body, but he’s still not comfortable enough to let the most important things in his little universe out of his sight.
He sets Mr. Worm’s enclosure down on his bedside table, lets Mikeko curl up on his chest, and holds Klavier’s hand as he tries to go back to sleep. He’s almost there when Klavier’s soft voice shakes him out of the almost-dream he was having.
“Herr Forehead,” he says. “I just googled it. Do you know how long those Sholmesworms live?”
“I don’t know, like, five years probably?” Apollo mutters. “I don’t want to think about that until it’s necessary.”
“That’s the thing,” Klavier continues. “In the absence of predators, and with access to a stable food supply, Sholmesworms live for sixty years.”
Apollo smiles. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mr. Worm, who glows for a moment in a little ebb and flow, up and down pattern, like he’s breathing.
Like he’s trying to say, “You’re stuck with me.”