Chapter Text
Artwork by cubedmango
Apollo shivers when he climbs off the back of the motorcycle, feeling the evening air cool against his damp skin. Beside him, Klavier shakes his long, blond hair out of his (self-branded) helmet as he makes a performative fuss about locking up the bike–Apollo’s sure it doesn’t need quite that many locks and chains to keep it secure. Then again, what does he know about the security Klavier needs to keep, as a previous member of one of the most famous bands in the world?
In the halogen-yellow light of the car park, the errant strands of hair around Klavier’s face glint gold as he turns, smiling, to face Apollo.
He doesn’t quite know why he’d agreed to come out to dinner with Klavier tonight, after months of turning down the invitation. But it had been a tough trial that day, with difficult witnesses and a convoluted murder process and concealed evidence, and after working together to find the solution to the case Apollo had found himself with a bit more goodwill than usual. He was certainly exhausted enough to not be able to muster any sort of protest against a good, hot dinner that he didn’t have to make himself.
And—Klavier had won , for once. Despite Apollo’s usual ability to pick out innocents being unjustly accused, this time he’d been fully blindsided by his client’s guilt. It’s not often that someone can slip past his perception skills–and the experience had led to a significantly more draining trial experience than he was used to. He’d slumped against the hallway of the defense lobby, afterwards, hand against his forehead as if that would calm the swirl of emotions inside his brain, and only looked up at the motion of the heavy door opening in the periphery of his vision.
When Klavier had slipped into the room, offering to pay for his meal to make up for the upset, he’d found it almost easy to accept.
Back in the present, the two lawyers walk away from the motorcycle towards the small building with its brightly-lit faux-Italian arches. The woman at the hostess station nods as they pass, and Apollo only has a moment to wonder how often Klavier must come here, considering that he’s headed with intent towards a specific table.
He feels the brush of Klavier’s leather jacket on the bare skin of his arm, and leans away, avoiding the touch. There’s plenty of space—no reason for him to be walking so close. By the time they reach their table, Apollo’s warmed up enough to be comfortable ordering an iced water, and Klavier laughs at him gently before putting in his own request for a pint of lager.
“Did you forget that I’m paying, schatz? ”
“No, I—” Apollo tries to justify, but falls flat—because he actually had almost forgotten, so used to his habits of ordering the cheapest thing he can find and never buying needlessly overpriced drinks.
“That’s alright, there will be other times, nein? ” It’s said casually, but Apollo’s bracelet tightens around his wrist. He frowns, glancing away. Is this what the result of him declining Klavier’s advances for months now has gotten him? The prosecutor isn’t meeting his eyes.
Apollo reaches towards the middle of the table and grabs a breadstick, taking a bite and chewing pensively. Klavier isn’t his closest colleague, but if he thinks about the situation from the other side…how many close friends does Klavier even have, now? How many life-changing experiences have they both suffered through together?
He thinks that maybe he could stand to make more of an effort to be nicer to Klavier, all things considered. Even without the fact that the prosecutor seems to have lost most of his closest confidants, Apollo’s not quite so proud as to deny that he wouldn’t mind counting Klavier among his small roster of friends.
He swallows his mouthful of breadstick and finally responds to Klavier’s tentative question. “Yeah, definitely. But it can’t be you paying the whole time! It’s not like I don’t have any money, you know.”
The light that returns to his dining companion’s eyes makes Apollo’s heart leap, for a split second. He pushes aside the question of why that might be as easily as he always does, as easily as he’s been doing nearly since the day they met.
“Yes, but, Herr Forehead, you forget that I don’t have to worry about paying my rent. The advantages of having sold multiple platinum records, you know.”
As their appetizers arrive, Apollo considers that remark–and the tension around his wrist that had accompanied it. “And how’s the music career going for you, these days? I know you released something recently—Trucy’s had it playing in the background of the office all of last month. Did anything come of it?”
And Klavier frowns, tension living in the lines of his arms as he crosses them over his chest. “ Ach , just an EP—and it seems as though the musical landscape has changed since I was last starting out. Not to mention the lack of inspiration—but…” He trails off, staring off into the distance. Apollo fights the urge to speak up, sensing that Klavier’s not quite done with his thought.
Finally, Klavier meets his eyes. “It’s….difficult, ja? Because I love the law, I love what I do. And I had a good run of it, with the Gavinners . But it’s as though nobody wants to hear anything I make now , now that it’s just me—and yet, I don’t want my music career to end the way it did, cut off unceremoniously, the wreckage of a friendship splintered like guitar fragments upon a stage.”
“Oh…” Apollo doesn’t quite know what to say. This is...a lot, even for Klavier. He eyes the breadsticks still on the table and contemplates how many he’d be able to fit into the work bag resting by his feet.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intent to burden you with my troubles. There will be other albums, there will be other listeners. I can’t have offended the fans too much—as you know, the EP did sell. Just...not like what it used to. Not the way it was.”
Apollo nods, as though he has any way of knowing what the music industry was like, or what was needed to sell an album. He frowns into his artichoke hearts.
“Well, if there’s anything I can ever do…”
Klavier chuckles. “I appreciate it, Forehead. But really—this is a little out of your comfort zone, isn’t it? And I’d hate to drag you into my struggles...especially when you do not care for my music.”
Apollo’s once again at a loss for words, but he’s thankfully saved from having to come up with a change of subject by the arrival of their main course. As he twines his linguine around his fork, he happens to look up, to see Klavier distracted by his own food, and something about the sight strikes him. He freezes, heart pounding, eyes caught—as they had been back in the car park—in the gleam of light on golden hair.
Here, in this dimly-lit corner of the restaurant, a candle on the table between them, it’s almost as if….
No! He can’t allow himself to think about that , can he? No matter what it might look like, this is a friendly outing— and despite all of Klavier’s flirtatious comments, it’s not like their relationship is anything approaching romantic . Not that Apollo wants it to be! He just wants to have a nice platonic dinner outing with his friend , the rival prosecutor.
His friend who’s starting to look at him funny—and so Apollo shoves his pasta into his mouth and tries to look normal.
Yeah, this is perfect—just two pals, out on a nice, relaxing post-trial dinner. Nothing more. He’s going to enjoy this evening, and go home to spend a nice, long weekend with his cat and the manga he’s been meaning to read for the past three weeks. And maybe he’ll hang out with Klavier more, outside work.
It’s a nice thought. A slow testing of the waters, a normal friendship , a single thing in Apollo’s chaotic life that’s predictable. But, in what might be termed a severe oversight, none of the restaurant staff had thought to close the restaurant curtains near their table—and, absorbed as they are in their conversation and the food, the atmosphere and the swapping of tales in the aftermath of one of the most taxing trials they’ve had lately, neither Klavier nor Apollo hear the soft click ing of a camera shutter.
Artwork by cubedmango