Chapter Text
The day when everything changed was, on the face of it all, completely normal.
It was a Sunday; Klavier got up late and shuffled around the house doing chores that had been neglected during the week and would once again be neglected in the following week. He ate leftover takeaway for lunch, and eventually pulled himself into something resembling presentable at about 4pm when he started mentally gearing up for the evening.
Normally, legal events did not happen on a Sunday. Normally, legal events with free alcohol knew to stay well clear of Sunday evening. For whatever reason, that particular legal event decided that Sunday evening on the 13th of August was the day before the rest of Klavier’s life.
It was an event that, like most legal events, had a slow start. In years gone past, Klavier would have arrived over an hour after the starting time — because every event had a slow start. But now he was a married man, and in particular he was married to a man who hated being late for anything.
“We’ll make the caterers feel bad,” Apollo grumbled, the first time Klavier suggested arriving just a little later. “Also, we’ll get to the food first. And we can get the best seats.”
It was a speech-filled dinner event, so Apollo’s fears were mostly ill-founded. That said, there were some things that were nicer when completely fresh, so Klavier was happy to cave to this particular quirk of his husband’s.
So: slow start. Decent food. Conversation with someone who was infinitely more boring than Apollo, who kept Klavier entertained anyway by rolling his eyes every time they managed to look at each other when the other people in the conversation weren’t looking at him.
Then there was the speech, which was fine. Another politician who thought that canvassing his policies directly to lawyers would make the embezzlement case Klavier knew was being prepared in the office less threatening to him. At least he’d paid for the food, and he didn’t spend so long talking that Herr Edgeworth—sitting across the room at a completely different table—had to wake his husband up part way through.
It was normal. Klavier had done events like it before and had always assumed that he’d do one like it again. It was normal when the speech ended and everyone clapped politely but hatefully. It was normal when they ate their fancy little dessert and then began the final part of the night: conversation as they milled about the room, trying to avoid the people who were only there for networking.
It was normal, up until the point that Apollo hurried away from a conversation and back to Klavier, who’d just emerged back into the room from the bathrooms.
"Oh, god, Klavier. Hide me." Apollo ducked behind him, all flailing limbs and genuine terror in his eyes. "You're tall. They're tall. Don't let them see me."
Mostly unfazed, Klavier reacted immediately. "That can be arranged. Lean against the wall." Honestly, Klavier would have been positively gleeful if Apollo didn't look so utterly afraid. Klavier had seen him sweat buckets in court; this was something else entirely.
Apollo leaned back against the wall. Klavier leaned over him, getting as near as he could. Just so whoever it was couldn't see him, of course. Nothing to do with rather liking being so close to his husband.
"Who is it?" murmured Klavier. Maybe he shouldn't have stayed with his back to the crowd, but that was the best way to hide Apollo.
"Someone I never wanted or expected to see again." Apollo followed it up with a grimace.
"That bad, huh?"
"That bad," Apollo confirmed darkly, and Klavier had to know. His husband was kind of secretive and very, very dramatic, but usually over tiny things like a stubbed toe. Or coffee rings on paper. Not people.
"Ex?"
Apollo pulled the most hideous face Klavier had ever seen. Klavier had seen him ugly cry on their wedding day. "Worse."
"Worse?"
Apollo sighed as if the weight of the sky had settled upon his shoulders. "My sibling.”
Klavier frowned. This was new; and immensely concerning. “When did Fraülein Wright become a bad thing?” That was real terror in Apollo’s eyes, not just the kind he got when she was threatening to tickle him.
And then Apollo topped his earlier most hideous expression by pulling an even more hideous face. “My other sibling,” he said, in a voice that passed for his version of quiet. It was said through gritted teeth.
Klavier just blinked. If it wasn’t for the fact that Apollo was frankly terrible at acting, he’d assume that some kind of prank was being played on him. “You have another sibling?”
Apollo nodded. “I don’t want to talk about it now,” he said. “Just hide me, alright?”
Klavier could do that, and so he did. He stood there, his body blocking Apollo from the rest of the room, and tried to look like he was doing something important while also having his back to everyone else who might possibly want to talk to him. But he was nothing if not a skilled performer, so he managed to keep everyone away; though there was no knowing what they thought he was up to, standing next to a wall in a slightly dim corner of a hotel dining room.
Apollo didn’t say very much when they stood there. At one point, he got his phone out, and Klavier took that as a signal that he should do the same. Apollo didn’t text him, though, just fiddled with something and let Klavier entertain himself. He was nervous. He very obviously didn’t want to talk about it.
Eventually, the room started to clear, and Apollo’s frame relaxed a little. “I don’t know if they’re still around,” he said, voice full of far more hesitation than Klavier was used to, “but I think we can probably make a break for it.”
Klavier offered him an encouraging smile — a gesture Apollo didn’t return. “Then we shall make our escape,” he said, holding out his arm, and Apollo did grin at that, taking it and practically power walking Klavier out of the hotel.
So much for a normal evening. Apollo still didn’t want to talk about it as Klavier drove them home, and then he insisted on discarding the suit and having a shower immediately, and by that point it was starting to get late. Klavier was still none the wiser about what had happened.
Apollo was settling down for bed (he slept more than Klavier, generally, which lent itself to Klavier spending at least half an hour on his phone in complete silence every night) by the time Klavier decided that, no, that was weird, and Apollo was being strange about it, and maybe he needed to know what was going on. Maybe he deserved to know how his husband had a secret sibling who had literally never, ever come up before.
“Schatz?” he tried, and Apollo sighed heavily.
“You want to know about Nahyuta,” he said, pushing himself a little further upright. Klavier nodded. “Come to bed and I’ll tell you? I promise I won’t go to sleep before then.”
At that, he smiled a tiny, hesitant smile, and Klavier was helpless to resist. Five minutes later, he slid under the duvet next to his husband, and Apollo started to speak.
“I’ve mentioned before that I didn’t grow up in California, right?” Apollo asked, and Klavier was reminded once again just how little Apollo talked about his life. He’d barely even known about Clay before the man died.
“You grew up somewhere more rural than here, for sure,” Klavier said. “I don’t know. New Jersey?”
It was the wrong answer, and both of them knew it; Apollo snorted. “Have you ever heard of a country called Khura’in?”
In the days and weeks to come, Klavier would wish he had. He’d have one fervent desire above all else: that he could have seen this coming somehow, prepared for it just a little better. As it was, his lack of knowledge hit him like a truck, and all he could say was, “No, never. Where is it?”
“Out in the eastern Himalayas,” Apollo answered. “It’s tiny, tucked in the mountains next to India.”
Klavier nodded. “And you grew up there?”
“Yeah. With Nahyuta — that was who was at the hotel today. I almost can’t believe I recognised them after all this time, but it was them. It had to be.”
“But you didn’t want to talk to them.”
Apollo nodded. “I mean, I can’t know that they would recognise me. I’ve changed a lot since then; they probably have too. But I didn’t want to risk it.”
“Can I ask why?” It might be too much. Apollo was still saying as little as possible, and Klavier respected that, but he wanted to know. This was a part of Apollo that he had no clue even existed before.
Apollo hummed. “We parted ways a long time ago when I came to this country,” he said, “and they didn’t come with me. I heard from them and their dad again, but it fizzled out eventually. He kept making promises he didn’t intend to keep.”
“I’m sorry,” Klavier said, pressing a kiss to Apollo’s cheek. Apollo’s frown lessened very slightly. “What are they like?”
And just like that, the frown was back. “I don’t know anymore,” Apollo said. Grumbled, really. “I left years ago. Over a decade. I don’t know if the kid I remember is what they were really like, or how they’ve changed since.”
“Of course.” Klavier put what he hoped was a supportive arm around Apollo’s shoulders, but it didn’t seem to help. “You don’t have to talk about them if you don’t want to. I’m glad you told me what tonight was about, though.”
Apollo smiled, but it wasn’t genuine. “I think I just want to sleep,” he said, sounding completely drained. “Goodnight, Klavier. Love you.”
Klavier smiled, leaning over to turn out the light. “I love you too, Apollo. Sleep well.”
And then they were in darkness, and Klavier was left with more questions than answers. Somehow, that was still only the beginning.