Chapter 1: prelude
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
Chapter 2: So You've Ended Up On The Front Page Of The Tabloids...
Summary:
A news story breaks, a rockstar gets a second chance, and an arrangement is made.
Oh, and there's a kiss, too ;)
Notes:
HIIII EVERYONE!! First of all--wow, I was not expecting how enthusiastic you'd all be for fake dating; the response to just the prologue so far has been incredible. As a thank-you for your patience, this chapter is like 6.5k long (because apparently editing things gives them more words, not less).
Once again, this chapter features some wonderful art by Naina! (twitter/tumblr)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The harsh buzzing of his cell phone against the dark wood of his dresser pulls Klavier from his sleep—he grumbles and stretches, groping around on the table for his glasses and the offending electronic device. Finding the phone, at least, he swipes a thumb across the screen and brings it to his ear, somehow managing to answer with a clear, professional tone of voice.
“Hallo, this is Klavier Gavin, who’s calling?” A glance at the phone screen tells him that it’s only 6AM—far too early to have to be fielding phone calls. But it can’t be a spam call, that’s impossible, considering the extra privacy protection he’s got on his phone plan. So it’s got to be one of three people who could be calling him at such an hour, and—
“Hey Klav Gav! How’re ya doin’? Look, I know it’s early, but I just wanted to offer you my congratulations—and let you know that hey, dude, the press is all over this shit.”
Klavier’s eyes narrow, and he finally succeeds in his quest for his glasses. He shoves them onto his face as he manages a confused mumble, a “whaaa—?” down the phone line.
“Yeah, I bet you were worried about it, right? Or, like, you didn’t think it’d be a big deal? But like, lemme tell you, when notorious bisexual bachelor Klavier Gavin shows up in paparazzi photos on a hot date, the world’s gonna take notice, dude! I hope you didn’t think you were being sneaky about it.”
None of this is adding up. A hot date? And—okay, by this point, Klavier’s parsed that it’s his agent–Richard Moore–on the other end of the line; nobody else talks quite Like That. The man’s been with him for the past several years of his musical career, and he’s never learned to sound like a regular human. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shoves himself so he’s actually sitting up, sheets tangled around his legs.
“Ach, forgive me, Herr Moore, as you said, it’s early. What’s all this you’re saying about my…hot date, as you put it?”
“Klavier, have you not seen the photos? I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to be dating that short lawyer who took down your brother but, hey, it’s certainly dramatic! Makes for a good narrative—I’ve got interview requests here from a dozen different sites, everyone’s asking when they’re gonna get to hear your next album about the dude, and I think I’ve even got someone from ASOS asking about doing a clothing line collaboration? This is a genius move on your part, you’re back in the public eye again, baby!”
Klavier’s still not firing on all cylinders, but something about Moore’s remarks are causing an icy fear to pool at the pit of his stomach. “Wait...you’ve got something wrong, I’m not dating anybody.”
“You sure? Tell that to People magazine, Klavvy.”
He’s spurred into action, grabbing his laptop from where it sits on top of a pile of disorganized file folders on his nearby desk. Klavier ignores the chatter from his phone, instead flipping open the lid and navigating to the gossip sites—digital news outlets he tried to forget about whenever possible these days, contrary to the first few years of his music career.
And—okay, right, that photo of him and Herr Forehead did, in fact, make it look remarkably like they were on a date. In the moment, the previous night, he had somewhat overlooked the dim lighting, the cozy two-person table, the candle in between them, oh Gott, was he blind? Perhaps this was a side effect of the many confusing feelings he often seemed to experience when in the presence of Apollo Justice; he certainly would never have been so careless with any other friendly outing.
But this hadn’t been a friendly outing, had it? Or—at least, Klavier hadn’t wanted it to be, ultimately. He’s been struggling with a terribly-concealed crush on his rival defense attorney for the past handful of years—since he’d met the man, practically. But he hadn’t considered it a problem— the crush itself, or the fact that Apollo seemed not to reciprocate.
He tunes back into the phone call he’s still on with his agent just in time to hear the man say something about “an additional collaboration with Forever 21, a personalized clothing line, did you wanna re-use the G logo, Klavvy? Because we could have the marketing department whip something up for you if you didn’t, but you’ve gotta admit it’s iconic…”
“Herr Moore, I must correct you; all the tabloids are mistaken. What those photos show is nothing more than a business dinner, an outing with a friend. What we should do is issue a correction, set them straight—”
“Klavier,” the man on the line says, startling the musician into silence with the uncharacteristic severity of his tone. “Think about what you’re doing! We both know that the press didn’t give two shits about your EP. They thought it was uninspired, a pathetic follow-up to the sensation that was the Gavinners. Your narc boyband went down in legally scandalous flames, and everyone was expecting some juicy commentary, some feelings. But you came out with the same watered-down shit you always did, you clearly didn’t have anything to say with the EP, and so—they lost interest.”
Klavier winces, but continues to listen. It’s not as though he hasn’t heard the criticisms of his EP. Some of the worst are still burnt into his mind; cruel words that echo around his brain late into the night while he tries to sleep, tries to avoid the mess of personally-branded detritus he’s surrounded by with all his home furnishings.
“But this is a second chance! And it’s not just because they think you’re dating just anybody—it’s because it’s him, Klavier. It’s the love story of the decade! Forbidden love...fraught histories...this shit sells. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll ride that admittedly cool motorcycle of yours over to his place, wherever he lives, and convince him to go along with this.”
And there goes any goodwill Rich Moore was starting to garner. Klavier’s almost seething at the callous way his agent suggests this, because—does he not know? Almost everyone who spent any time around both Klavier and Apollo could tell that the prosecutor was head-over-heels for his so-called rival—but to suggest that Klavier should just use Apollo for publicity—
“Ja, I’ll be going over to Apollo’s place,” Klavier spits down the telephone. “But not for the reason you think—I’ll be going to tell him to prepare for the media storm, to tell him that this is my fault—and to apologize, and ask his forgiveness. Because that’s what’s important, not my image.”
He jabs the screen with as much venom as he can muster, wishing that he didn’t live in the 21st century for a brief moment—it would have been so much more satisfying to slam a receiver back down on its cradle, like in the old movies.
But he doesn’t have time to dwell on that, not with more pressing matters to attend to, so he throws on the first clothes he can find, grabs his keys, and heads out the door.
Apollo Justice’s Sunday routine goes like this: he hand-washes the health-hazard dishes that have piled up throughout the past few days; he bravely summits Laundry Everest in order to ensure he’s got enough fresh work shirts and socks for the next week (begrudgingly accepting that he’ll have to do two loads of laundry if he doesn’t want a repeat of the incident where he dyed all his button-downs pink–having to pay for the extra wash cycle is cheaper than having to replace all the shirts again); and he sits down at the scuffed pine-wood kitchen table to compose a shopping list.
It’s still early, even after all the effort he’s already gone to–Apollo’s never been one to lie in bed all day when there’s something to be done. He rises with the sun, much like his mythical namesake–and besides, he doesn’t have the luxury of wasting time when there’s a good chance he’ll get caught up in some convoluted court case any day this week.
Apollo bites at the end of his pencil as he looks around the kitchen, trying to remember exactly what he needs more of this week. Potato chips, definitely–the basket over the fridge that’s usually home to a varied snack stash has been looking depressingly bare ever since the last time Clay had invaded his apartment under the premise of ‘movie night.’ In practice, movie night has only ever involved an actual movie twice, and has been an excuse for Apollo’s best friend to eat all of his Doritos countless times.
He notes down a few more essential items–eggs, bread, milk–before grabbing his wallet, keys, and bus pass from the dish by the door and heading out. This trip’s going to involve more things than he’s comfortable balancing on his bike’s handlebars. He spends an awkward ten minutes at the bus stop politely ignoring the way that nearly every single passer-by seems to have decided it’s International Stare At Apollo Justice Day, and covertly double-checks that he’s not accidentally worn the old sweatshirt that Clay had defaced by scrawling “I’m Apollo Justice And I’m SHORT!” on the back in Sharpie. He’s not even wearing his eye-searing courtroom outfit, which he’ll even admit is attention-grabbing.
At the grocery store, it’s even worse. He swears he hears muffled snickers whenever he turns, and he even sees one lady stop and stare wide-eyed at him, not bothering to hold it back.
But it’s not until he’s standing in line at the checkout register that he sees it—the reason why he’s being stared at, the reason he’s attracting attention, and the logical consequence of—
The magazines are clustered together, hoping to catch somebody’s eye with their loud headlines and deliberately-misinterpreted news stories. But it’s not the pointy graphics or the neon colors that make Apollo suck in a breath—no, it’s the photograph, plastered across at least three separate publications, showing him and Klavier sitting across a table from each other, staring into each others’ eyes, looking for all the world as though they’re on a date.
And—it’s not as though Apollo hadn’t considered what their dinner the previous night must have looked like to outsiders. It’s not as though he hadn’t thought about how it could be misinterpreted. But he’d trusted that Klavier had enough experience avoiding the press, not ending up in the tabloids, that they’d be safe—especially considering how he’d said that they weren’t even paying him that much attention these days!
He glances guiltily from side to side and snatches one of the three magazines out of the display, shoving it to the bottom of his basket and desperately hoping the cashier doesn’t pay it too much attention. But when he reaches the front of the line, he finds that he’s not as lucky as he’d hoped—the teenager with dyed electric blue hair pauses as they scan it, their gaze flickering between the cover page and his face.
“Is this….?” they ask, and Apollo groans.
“Can I just...pay? Please?” he asks, and thankfully the gods of supermarket checkouts decide to take pity on him. The teenager drops the issue, reverting to their previous state of partly glazed-over boredom, as they tell him his total. He pays as rapidly as he can, snatching his groceries and speed-walking out of the store.
The entire ride back to his apartment, Apollo is acutely aware of the magazine in his bag, the looks he’s getting. He wonders if there’s a self-help book for this situation: “So You’ve Ended Up On The Front Page Of The Tabloids….” or something equally specific. He doesn’t even think it would help, though—what he really needs is to talk to Klavier, to run through the whole situation with him. He’s sure it can’t be the first time the press thought Klavier was dating someone who he really, really wasn’t; maybe the rockstar would have some tips.
It’s pretty impeccable timing, then, that Apollo walks around the corner from the bus stop to see a distinctly familiar bright purple motorcycle parked in the farthest corner of his apartment block’s car park, almost buried in the bush that surrounded the perimeter of the property. It’s not where Klavier usually parks; the threat of scratches on his paintwork has him treating the bike with the same kind of care he usually reserves for his guitars. But it would make sense for him to try and be inconspicuous in light of the current situation, with the world’s eyes turned towards him once again.
It’s a shame his preferred mode of transport wouldn’t be inconspicuous even in the middle of a purple-motorcycle convention.
Apollo sighs, walks into his building, climbs the stairs (cursing the broken elevator for the third time this week), and finds a familiar, long-haired blond man sitting with his back to the door of apartment 5B.
At the sound of his footsteps, Klavier startles and jumps to his feet. He settles his face into some sort of tragic grimace that Apollo thinks is intended to be a casual smile.
“Herr Forehead! Just the man I was looking for! I have...something fairly important to discuss with you, if you have some time,” he says, and Apollo raises an eyebrow in response. He digs around in the bag he’s holding, extricating the magazine with some difficulty while trying to free his keys from his pocket with the other.
“I’d assume it’s got something to do with this?” he asks, holding up the magazine and noting the fact that Klavier’s complexion goes several shades paler at the sight of it. He shoves it under his arm and unlocks the door, gesturing for the taller man to follow him inside.
Klavier nearly has to bend his head slightly to get through Apollo’s door, and the sight of the prosecutor in his small, ordinary apartment will never be something he can just get used to. He seems slightly misplaced, as though the contrast between the expensive clothing and accessories that Klavier wears frequently and Apollo’s threadbare sofa should be significant, somehow.
(Though Klavier’s not wearing too many glamorous accessories, today, having clearly dressed in a hurry—and Apollo refuses to let his eyes linger on the way his loose T-shirt drapes over his frame, the thick-rimmed glasses perched on his nose)
“So,” Klavier begins, somewhat awkwardly, as Apollo drops his groceries onto the kitchen counter. “You, ah, saw the articles.”
“I haven’t read them,” Apollo clarifies, spreading the magazine out next to the grocery bag. “I just, y’know...saw the headlines.”
“Then allow me to apologize, sincerely, for all this. I had never thought— ach, I suppose I may have been a bit lax with my precautions, recently, with the decreased interest from the press. I’d never intended to drag you into the spotlight.”
Were this addressed at anyone else, Apollo thinks it might have come off as an insult. But he hears the remorse in Klavier’s voice, knows that Klavier knows him well enough to be aware that he doesn’t want fame or attention.
“I get it—it’s completely understandable, you know? I’m not going to hold it against you.” At the statement, Klavier seems to visibly relax.
“You are too kind, considering what I have put you through.”
Apollo frowns. This kind of apology seems disproportionate to the extent of the publicity that he’s observed so far—and maybe now would be a good time to actually read what they’re saying about him in the tabloids. He picks up the magazine and flips to the page indicated on the cover, where he will supposedly find out about ‘Klavier Gavin’s HOT NEW BF?’ and prepares himself to be absolutely ripped apart by the article.
But it’s….not what he was expecting, that’s for sure. He hadn’t considered that the tabloids would know who he is, for one—nor for them to have published a surprisingly in-depth summary of his and Klavier’s history together in court, culminating in framing their outing the previous night in “context” with a few other occasions they had met up out in the world, piecing together a relationship so convincingly that Apollo himself almost comes out of the article sure that he’s dating Klavier.
“So...this is pretty comprehensive,” he begins, noticing Klavier reading over his shoulder. Klavier nods, but his jaw tenses and he glances off to the side. Apollo’s bracelet tightens against his wrist, slightly, and he sighs.
“C’mon, out with it, what’s really bothering you? Because you’ve been acting almost like this is the end of the world, so there’s got to be more to it than a few mistaken magazines.”
Klavier forces a laugh. It’s so different than the way he normally sounds, so thready and unsure, that it has the opposite effect of what he’d presumably been going for—Apollo finds himself observing Klavier more than he’d intended to, and forces himself to tear his eyes away and let Klavier finally tell him the whole situation.
“Ach , well, you know that I have an agent, ja? Somebody who manages the publicity aspects of my music career—album releases, promotion, touring, etc. He called me this morning to inform me that it appears as though the media is suddenly very interested in my career, after the…‘revelation,’ as he put it, that I am supposedly dating you specifically, with our fraught history together in the courtroom.” He takes a breath, glancing over at Apollo as if for approval. Apollo nods and gestures for him to continue.
“There has been a great amount of interest in me releasing a new album, very soon. And, in addition, my agent has been contacted by several publications, television talk shows, makeup brands, clothing lines, etc—all of whom want me to make appearances, give interviews, do sponsorships or collaborations. Which would be fantastich—if it were under any other circumstances. But—Apollo , I promise you I will fix this, and set the record straight.”
It takes a moment, Apollo staring straight ahead, for the implications to sink in. Because the world thinks Klavier’s dating him, they’re interested in Klavier again? His mind brings forth, unprompted, an image from the previous night—Klavier, across the table from him, eyes wide and nearly hopeless, telling him it’s as though nobody wants to hear what I make now, as though they don’t even see me anymore.
And—these media connections, these TV show appearances—they sound big . Like something the Gavinners would have done, back before everything.
Like this could be Klavier’s big second chance.
And Apollo knows what he has to do—knows there’s not really any other choice, because he’s not going to be the reason Klavier has to sacrifice that—not again.
“What if we…don’t...correct them?” he asks, carefully avoiding Klavier’s eyes. “What if we, you know…pretend?”
Silence, for a moment. Apollo doesn’t look up, doesn’t rescind his statement, even as he feels Klavier stare at him, stunned.
“If we…don’t?” he asks, as though he could have somehow misheard. Apollo feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, resists the urge to pretend it was all a joke.
“Yeah, what if we, uh...pretend we’re dating, for the media? Since they’re so interested in you now, and everything. It was...just a thought,” he qualifies, just in case Klavier thinks he’s absolutely lost it.
“But...wouldn’t that involve you pretending that you want to date me? ” Klavier asks. Apollo chances a look up at him, and he looks baffled, and...hopeful, almost? Apollo doesn’t know what to think of that.
“Well, yes—but it wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, would it?” Apollo pauses, and figures he should try and make it seem as though he’s not just doing this out of the goodness of his heart. “And—I’m not doing it for free! If you want to fake-date me so that you don’t lose your second chance at stardom, I want a share of the benefits—you know, promote the fact that I’m a defense attorney, that I can help people get...ugh...justice, for their wrongful accusations, and I want enough of a stipend to cover my groceries each month! And—I mean, I guess we’d have to go out in public every so often, so you’d better take me to a nice restaurant or two!” Apollo’s hands have clenched into fists, and he’s nearly shouting by the end of his statement. He forces himself to relax, and uncurls his fingers. Klavier’s standing in front of him, stunned—but he gathers his senses about him fairly quickly, shaking himself back into the moment.
“Ach, who do you take me for? Of course you’ll get a share of the profits—how does 50% of every appearance’s payout sound to you? I couldn’t give you anything less, because—Herr Forehead—Apollo—oh, are you sure? ”
Klavier’s gone starry-eyed, and the intensity of his gaze is like looking into the sun. Apollo crosses his arms across his chest defensively. “It’s not like I’m planning on actually dating anybody in the next few months, you know. And—I mean, I was saying last night, if there’s anything I can do to help you get back into the music industry? This is something I can do to help you.”
For a moment, Klavier is speechless. But he regains his footing and his senses, and his blue eyes take on the steely look they do sometimes in court, when he’s planning out the best approach for whatever argument he’s about to use to rip Apollo’s defense to shreds.
“Right. Right! Then—we’ll have to lay down some rules, some permissions. Because I do not want to cross any boundaries, ja? There are things that we must be comfortable doing in public, and there are things that the media will inevitably imply—if they are not already doing so. The first rule of fame is that you will never see privacy again, and I would like to shield you from that as much as possible, if I can—though there must be some sacrifices.”
It’s a whirlwind, but Apollo’s used to following along with Klavier’s lightning-fast trains of thought. He grabs a pad of paper off of his fridge and a pen out of a nearby mason jar, and turns towards the nearby two-person kitchen table where he’d just a few hours earlier composed a mundane grocery list. In Klavier’s presence, Apollo becomes much more aware of the way that its pine veneer is wearing thin and the wobbling of the table legs. Unaware of any of this, Klavier drops into a chair opposite Apollo, still talking.
“Of course, we must not tell anybody—well—it would perhaps be beneficial for us each to have one person to tell, ja? Because I will not ask you to lie to everyone in your life, besides me.”
Apollo scribbles this down on his notepad and nods, letting the necessity of organizing everything supersede the rational part of his mind that’s starting to take note of what a disastrous idea this is. “That seems sensible—and I don’t want you to have to do that either. Do you think we should tell our—should tell Edgeworth and Wright? On one hand, I feel that they should know—but on the other hand, I really don’t want to have to explain to Mr Wright that I’m only pretending to date you—even though he might figure it out anyway, knowing him.”
Klavier winces. “Ach, yes, Wright does seem to have his ways of figuring out when someone is hiding things from him. Sometimes it’s as though he’s seeing straight into your soul…” He shivers, as though remembering something painful. Apollo suddenly recalls an evening when he had stopped into the office to retrieve his umbrella after hours. Before he could touch the handle of the door, it had swung open before him to reveal a very harried-looking Klavier, eyes covered by large sunglasses, brushing past him without an acknowledgement. When Apollo had gotten over his surprise, he’d entered the office to see Phoenix Wright still as a statue on the couch, two cups of cold tea before him on the coffee table.
“Who would be your confidant?” he asks, instead of bringing up the past. Klavier seems to be genuinely puzzled by the question, and takes a moment to ponder. Apollo tries to distract himself by marking down the general outline of the plan on his paper, and bites at the tip of the pen.
“I think...perhaps Herr Blackquill?” he says, finally, and Apollo raises an eyebrow. That wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.
“Really? I didn’t know you two were...you know, close.”
“Ach, it’s a funny story, actually. You see, we were actually at the prosecutors’ office together for a short period of time back in the day, when I had just been appointed to the position and before Herr Blackquill had been….well. Before the incident with Fräulein Cykes’ mother. Back then, we were two of the few around the same age at the office, and had bonded somewhat over that fact. After he was cleared of all charges, we...reconnected, I suppose you could say. He is straightforward before all else, and I find that that is a character trait I value in those who I associate with.”
Apollo nods, slowly, taking in this information. It makes sense, he supposes. After all, he had friends who were co-workers, it would be a little silly if Klavier didn’t , especially with how much larger the Prosecutors’ Office was.
“And you?” Klavier asks, and Apollo realizes he’d never answered the question that he himself had posed.
“Oh—my friend Clay. I’d tell him. I can never keep anything from him anyway, plus he’s nosy enough that he’d definitely know something was up if I just mentioned that I was suddenly dating you—would want to know why he hadn’t heard anything before, probably.”
“Ah, ja, that sounds sensible,” Klavier pulls the notepad towards himself and plucks the pen out of Apollo’s fingers, writing down the phrase “In the Know” and listing Clay and Blackquill underneath that.
“So, we’re not going to tell our bosses?” Apollo clarifies, and Klavier frowns.
“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d prefer not having to explain the situation to the Chief Prosecutor. I don’t think he would... sympathize, somehow.”
“And Wright would just laugh at me,” Apollo commiserates, and nods, briskly. “Okay! So beyond that—what are we supposed to be doing, exactly?”
Klavier gives him a curious look. “Have you never dated anyone before?”
Apollo scowls. “Like I said, I didn’t have time! I was really busy trying to get through law school without going into debt!”
“Alright, alright, I am not judging! I was simply...curious, I suppose—and surprised, considering…” He trails off, but Apollo’s intrigued now.
“Considering what?” What quality could Apollo possibly possess in order to make Klavier surprised that he had never dated anyone?
“Well…” Klavier seems to be struggling for words—and Apollo’s sure he sees a tinge of red to the prosecutor’s cheeks. “You know, you aren’t too hard on the eyes, Herr Forehead. That’s why I was surprised.”
Was that a genuine compliment? Or was Klavier just making fun of him? Then again, Apollo’s bracelet still sits quiet on his wrist, cool and loose around his arm. So it must be a compliment, if that’s the case.
Apollo doesn’t quite know how to react to that—so instead, he lowers his eyes, clears his throat, and looks away, forcing himself not to think about Klavier thinking that he was good-looking.
“Anyway! What are you supposed to do, then, when you’re dating someone?”
Klavier eyes him curiously for a moment longer, before taking the hint and moving on. “Well, you should...go on dates, generally. But it’s up to the people who are dating, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, people who date go on dates. Brilliant. What counts as a date, Gavin?” Apollo’s tone comes across a bit more sharply than he’d intended it to, still flustered from the comment before.
“A date can be anything, really. It doesn’t have to be something typical—like a movie, or a picnic, or—ah—a candlelit dinner. You can go on dates to the aquarium, to a theme park, to just...staying home and cooking a meal. Or bowling? Or…” Klavier shrugs. “Like I said, it’s up to the people dating.”
“So...what should we do for our... dates, then? What do you think the media would actually care about?”
“I suppose...something visible? Public. If we’re putting on a show for the press, we should do it somewhere they actually will see . So, perhaps we go out to dinner again. Or I could get tickets to a movie premiere—I’m sure something will come up in the next few weeks. And there’s always ways to get private viewings of museum exhibits—though inevitably somebody leaks the news to the press, and you notice the cameras out of the corner of your eye. Does any of that sound...appealing, to you?”
Apollo shrugs. “It’s not really about what I’d like, is it? It’s about what’s going to make you look good to the press.”
“Apollo,” Klavier begins, seriously. “It’s always about what you’re comfortable with. You don’t know how much you are helping me, here. It is the least I can do to use this situation to let you experience things you genuinely would like to.”
“Well. That’s...surprisingly thoughtful, actually. I, uh—guess I wouldn’t mind going to a museum? But not one of the painting ones—maybe one of the ones where there are a bunch of things to do?”
“Ah, I see. I believe there is a science museum somewhere in the area? And I will keep an eye on the movie premiers and let you know if there’s anything I think might catch your attention.”
“Right. And—was there anything else? That we would have to do?”
Klavier hums, thinking. “Well, I won’t pretend there wasn’t a lot of interest from magazines, talk shows, the like—they want to know about our history, and how our…. connection, however initially fraught, led us to beginning a relationship. I don’t know if you would like to—”
“Klavier,” Apollo cuts him off. “You can’t keep asking me if I’m okay with all the things I said I would do for you, when I agreed to fake-date you. That’s...I mean, it’s kind, but I did kind of agree that I would do things I wouldn’t otherwise to help keep the media’s attention on you.”
The prosecutor sighs. “Ja, but it just feels….strange, to assume that you will just go along with these things that I might need to do. I just...I don’t want to force you into anything.”
Apollo meets his eyes, a serious expression on his face. “I’m okay with being a little uncomfortable. I’m not doing this because you’ve coerced me into it. I don’t mind going a bit out of my comfort zone for a friend—and so if that means I’ve gotta do talk show interviews, go on dates with you, whatever—it’s fine, alright? It’s okay. You can ask.”
Klavier nods, slightly, seeming to take a moment to process all of this. “Even—even if we need to be... publicly affectionate?” He almost whispers the phrase, and it’s so out of character for Klavier to be shy about talking about this that Apollo nearly laughs.
“Are you asking about whether you’re allowed to hold my hand in public?”
“Well—that, and other things. When two people are dating...they often…”
Apollo rolls his eyes, quickly tiring of playing along. “And here I thought you were the experienced one. Yes, I get it, the press will probably want some photos of us kissing at some point. That’s fine. I’ll live with it.”
“Really?” Klavier looks shocked, as though he’d expected somehow that Apollo would refuse this aspect of things, would somehow expect them to convince the press that they’re in a relationship without there being any photos of them in an unsuspecting lip-lock.
“Well, yeah—unless you think there’s any other way to keep the world convinced that we’re actually dating.”
Klavier presses his lips together, seeming to seriously consider it, and Apollo sighs.
“Really, it’s not going to be a big deal unless we make a big thing out of it. I don’t mind. Truly.”
“Apollo, you are a better friend than I could have asked for,” Klavier responds, with such sincerity that it nearly makes Apollo blush.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m not doing this for free, remember! You’re paying for our food!”
“And anything else that we need to do, ja, I know. But truly— danke, Apollo, for everything.”
He rises from the table and glances at the clock on the wall, before pulling out his phone and frowning at the screen as it lights up with notifications—emails, text messages, and several missed calls, all from the same number. “Ach, I suppose I should get going–I need to take care of this. But—we should meet up for lunch, sometime. Tuesday, perhaps?”
“Tuesday is alright by me,” Apollo says, standing as well and walking with Klavier over to the door of his apartment. The prosecutor pulls on his leather jacket before opening the door and Apollo finds himself absently following him down the stairs, feeling the need to make sure there’s not a crowd of reporters somehow waiting in the parking lot outside. But the rear entrance to Apollo’s building is as quiet as ever, so he pushes against the main door to let Klavier out, noting the prosecutor’s small smile of gratitude.
“Danke, Herr Forehead—I should be able to make it home alright from here, ja?” Klavier turns to leave, motorcycle keys jingling between his fingers, when something catches his attention—a glint of light, out the corner of his eye. Not too far away, and possibly coincidental, but…
Klavier Gavin has been a celebrity for long enough that he’s gotten good at discerning when somebody’s got a camera lens pointed at him—that is, unless he’s being distracted over dinner by pining over 5’5” brown-haired defense attorneys. But he knows that this is a scenario that they’d been considering, that they’d been expecting to face—though perhaps not this soon. And he knows that if they’re doing this—well, fuck it, they’re doing this.
Instead of a simple smile, Klavier brings his hand up to Apollo’s neck, combs his fingers through the shorter man’s hair, and leans down, trying not to think too hard about what he’s doing as he presses their lips together, hoping that it comes off as ‘casual’ to their outside observer, rather than ‘unexpected’ or ‘terrifying’ or ‘oh god I’ve been wanting to do this for months’—
He feels Apollo let out a surprised noise against his lips, feels him stiff and unprepared for a few agonizing moments before the shorter man seems to catch onto what he’s doing, what must have happened. Apollo relaxes into him, pushes back, lets his eyes shut—and Klavier lets himself linger for a few more moments before pulling away, seeing Apollo’s wide brown eyes slide open. He allows himself to savor the slightly dazed expression on Apollo’s face before he grins—hopefully not too wide or goofy—and spins on his heel, heading out towards his motorcycle.
“Tuesday, Herr Forehead!” he calls over his shoulder, and laughs to himself as Apollo’s spluttering carries to him, before the door slams behind him.
Apollo stands in his apartment block’s entranceway, eyes wide, staring at the door that Klavier had just left through. The doorway where he had—where he’d kissed him, as casual as anything, as though this was how all of their interactions ended, not just this one. As though they were really dating, not just pretending for the cameras.
And yeah, he’s smart, he gets it. He figured out that they must have been being watched, that Klavier would probably have warned him if he’d had a chance. It still doesn’t help anything, that he’d been wishing the man a friendly goodbye one moment and the next was being kissed within an inch of his life.
Okay, perhaps that was an exaggeration—the kiss had been chaste, really, compared to what it could have been. But it was still a kiss, with Klavier Gavin, a scenario which Apollo had thought he’d have slightly more time to mentally prepare for.
He’s broken from his bluescreen musing by the buzzing of his phone in his pocket, and pulls it out to see the horribly-blurred photo of his best friend that he’d taken in middle school and that had been a running joke between them for years at this point.
Well, no time like the present…Apollo thinks, and slides his thumb across the screen to answer the call, turning back up the stairs towards his apartment as he does so.
“Apollo, dude, what the fuck? Since when were you dating anyone, let alone Klavier Gavin?”
“And hello to you too, Clay.”
“C’mon, man—get to the point! How’ve you been dating Mr Number 1 Hottest Prosecutor as-ranked-by Scooperstars Daily without me finding out until right now?”
“Should I be concerned by the fact that you’re reading teen celeb magazines?”
“’Pollo….”
“Okay, okay! Look—so the thing is, we’re not really dating.”
Clay’s silence down the phone line isn’t something Apollo’s used to experiencing. In years of friendship, he’s only stunned Clay into silence a handful of times. Apollo takes a breath to continue with his sentence, but before he’s able to, Clay chimes in again.
“There’s a ‘but,’ isn’t there? ‘Pollo, tell me this isn’t going where I think it’s going.”
“Well...like I said, we’re not really dating...but we’re going to be pretending we are for a few months.”
“Apollo Justice, please say you’re joking.”
“I’m….I’m joking?” Apollo tries.
“No you’re not, you dumbass. I can’t believe you. You’re fake-dating a celebrity?”
“In my defense, it was my idea. Klavier just wanted to make a statement to clear the air, but he’s got a bunch of new interviews and collaborations and album offers since this morning, and—”
“And you couldn’t stand to let him just sacrifice all his opportunities just because it might put you in an awkward position. ‘Pollo, you know the guy’s a rockstar, right? He doesn’t need more money?”
“Yeah, but…” Apollo sighs, trying to multitask justifying his decision to Clay and unlocking his apartment door at the same time. “Look, his career went out in flames—literally—and that was partly my fault. And I want to be better friends with him anyway, and he just seemed so sad last night at dinner…”
“So you’re going to pretend to be in love with him to apologize for putting his bandmate in jail.”
“That’s not—” He pauses for a moment, rethinks his stance, and continues. “Okay, maybe .”
Clay clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, all I can say is that I hope you don’t do the predictable thing and get butterflies the first time you guys kiss or whatever.”
Now safely inside his apartment, Apollo turns towards his couch and slumps into its well-worn cushions. “About that…”
“Oh, ‘Pollo, you didn’t.”
“It was one kiss! There was a guy in the bushes with a camera! It didn’t mean anything; like I said, we’re just pretending for the press! It’s fine!”
“I love you, my dude, but you are a complete moron. You know that, right? You know that fake-dating never works out? One of you’s going to be in love by the end.”
“You can’t prove that!”
“Just…” and Clay’s clearly rolling his eyes, Apollo can tell from the tone of voice alone. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you, in six months when you’re calling me up after your guys’ fake break-up.”
“Yeah, sure, Clay,” Apollo says, drily, before hanging up the phone.
In retrospect, he’s not sure if that was his first, second, or third mistake.
Notes:
Next chapter will hopefully be up the Wednesday after next (September 7th) unless I decide spontaneously to edit it sooner. I'm really hoping to be able to keep this consistent even as we get into the chaos of holiday retail season, but if this isn't enough to tide you over 'til then, come say hi on tumblr at letapollojusticesayfuck, or on twitter at @exprimntldrgnfr, where I can be very easily persuaded to talk about every single story idea I've ever had.
Chapter 3: Interrogations, Interviews, and Impromptu Not-A-Dates
Summary:
Apollo faces paparazzi, Trucy Wright, a ramen date, and an interview (not necessarily in that order).
Notes:
Well. Well! Sorry it's been...[checks watch] over a year?? Somehow I thought the first half of this chapter was its own chapter, and was already posted, but...nope. whoops. here it is now, anyway!
If you've spent the past year wondering about the context of this piece of Naina art...well, the answers are in this chapter. And hopefully, now that I fought through my awful writers block from the interview scene in this chapter, I'll be able to get the next one posted more quickly than this one was.
Thanks for sticking with me and this fic despite the long delay, and I hope the chapter was worth the wait!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The second Apollo turns the key in the Wright Agency’s office door and notes the still darkness of the room, he breathes a sigh of relief.
This quickly turns into a yelp of terror when the big computer chair at the other end of the reception area swivels around by itself, revealing the sparkly cape and distinctive top-hat of Trucy Wright, hands folded primly in her lap.
“Polly,” she says, in that too-innocent tone of voice she uses when you’re about to really get a lecture. “Have you got something to share with us?”
“I–” Apollo begins, and curls his fingers tightly around the strap of his messenger bag. “I guess I…well…maybe?”
Trucy frowns pensively and reaches into a folder tucked down by the side of the chair. She removes three different tabloid magazines and fans them out in front of her.
“Perhaps these will refresh your memory,” she says, and okay, this act is fully terrifying now. Apollo throws his hands in the air in surrender.
“Okay! Okay. I’m…dating Klavier. Is that what you wanted?”
And Trucy squeals, jumping a foot in the air as she launches herself from the chair. Apollo barely has enough warning to brace himself as she throws her arms around his neck, swinging him around in a massive hug.
“Finally! Oh Polly, I’m so happy for you guys, you don’t even know!”
Apollo chuckles awkwardly, trying to process all of this in his head. Finally? Had people been expecting this?
But he can’t spend too long on his worries, because the door he’d let swing shut behind him slams open and crashes against the wall.
“APOLLO!” His name is shouted with characteristic aggression, and Apollo turns to find Athena Cykes towering over him, pointing at him with all the decisiveness of a mid-trial objection.
“Why would you make us all find out from trashy magazines that you and Klavier got your acts together after all this time? I’ve been waiting for this to happen since the second I saw you two in the same room together!”
“You…what?”
“Well, duh, have you even heard the way he talks about you? The emotions in his voice? All of your bickering is clearly just covering up for the way you two want to be all over each other.”
Apollo makes a noncommittal noise, trying really hard not to argue. Because–again–he’s trying to be convincing here, and he supposes having his coworkers accept that him and Klavier dating was an inevitability helps his cause. But he’s still surprised by how easily it’s happened, and how little he’s had to try and actively fool them.
“C’mon now, give the man some breathing space,” comes a voice from the door, and Apollo, for once in his life, breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of Phoenix Wright. The newly-rebadged attorney ambles in, battered backpack thrown across his shoulder, and shoots Apollo a grin as he passes. “After all, I’m sure he doesn’t want any more scrutiny than he’s been subject to already.”
This is suspicious, coming from Wright. Apollo can count on one hand the number of times he’s been genuinely helpful.
He narrows his eyes, on guard once again. “What’s your price?” he asks, resisting the urge to point as though in court.
“What do you mean?” Wright replies, easy smile stretching across his face. “No price. I don’t want anything from you.”
But Apollo isn’t going to give up that easily. “You’re never just… nice, like that. Why aren’t you at the very least telling me that it’s highly unprofessional for me to be caught out at dinner with someone who’s supposed to be my work colleague, who I’m supposed to have a purely professional relationship with?”
Wright sighs and rolls his shoulders, cracking his neck as he settles into his seat (recently vacated by Trucy). “Okay, look, I honestly could care less what you and Gavin get up to. As long as it doesn’t affect your work life, I am genuinely not interested. I can tell that there’s something you’re not telling me about this whole thing, but frankly I do not have the mental energy to expend on figuring it out.”
Great. So Wright’s not being kind deliberately, he just doesn’t care. At least he’s being straightforward about it for once. That makes a change from pretty much every other interaction Apollo’s had with him.
“Wait, Apollo’s hiding something about his relationship?” Athena butts in, turning her attention to Wright. “Mr Wriiiight, you’ve gotta help us figure out what!”
“Nope,” Wright responds, and Apollo breathes a sigh of relief. He finally manages to make his way over to his desk and put his stuff down, glad that at least this marks a constant of organization in his life.
As he pulls out his phone from his bag, Apollo feels it buzz faintly. He quickly checks his messages and finds that, as agreed upon, Klavier had texted him the schedule of all of the upcoming interviews and events he’d been pulled into appearing at. It’s a pretty packed timeline–Apollo realizes he probably won’t be able to appear in court anytime soon, and feels a pang of disappointment. He quickly shakes that away, confused, as he remembers that hey, if you’re pretending to be dating him, you’re probably going to see him a lot more often than just the regular court dates, right?
He types out a pretty standard Thanks, in response, and when that doesn’t seem like quite enough, he follows that with I’ll make sure to add these into my calendar.
Klavier quickly replies with a reassurance that he doesn’t want Apollo to worry too much about them, and that they’d both agreed that their jobs came first. Which is…fair, he supposes, because Klavier’s been really all in on the idea that Apollo shouldn’t have to spend too much of his time and effort with this charade they’re concocting.
However, because he knows Klavier well enough at this point, he also knows that Klavier’s definitely hiding how much Apollo putting in an appearance at some interview or other would help their cause. So he picks a nearby date from the calendar and makes a note to pick up some flowers or something and go surprise him.
He’s about to message Klavier back with his plans, but muffled giggling stops him short. Apollo looks up from his phone to find Trucy crouching beside Athena’s desk, the two of them huddled together and very obviously watching him. When they realize he’s caught them, they don’t even try to look innocent–instead, they just snicker some more and disperse, leaving Apollo wondering if he’s the only person in this office who thinks that it’s not normal to be this invested in your coworkers’ love lives.
Well, him and Mr Wright, apparently. That’s a surprise.
Nonetheless, he puts his phone to the side and opens up his most recent trial’s evidence folder–there’s still a few loose ends to tie up and he’s not going to lose productivity just because his fake relationship with his rival prosecutor is plastered across all the gossip websites in the country.
Apollo’s perhaps miscalculated how much attention this whole celebrity boyfriend thing would get him, actually. He thought he would be safe to head out to grab lunch from his favorite local food truck (some slightly-too-fancy roast pork sandwich, a bit of an indulgence but if nothing else he’s going to be getting a heck of a lot of free dinners out of Klavier over the coming months), but the second he’d left the office he’d felt as though he’d had eyes on him. Apollo had ducked into a nearby convenience store to get a moment of respite, only to nearly trip over an entire rack of magazines when he realized they contained front-page photos of him and Klavier outside his apartment.
So instead of the food trucks, he’d bought a sandwich and a soda from the convenience store (and maybe a magazine too, shut up, he needs the physical proof that yes, he had in fact kissed Klavier Gavin). He’d also bought a pair of nondescript sunglasses and a baseball hat, in the hopes that he’d have a good enough disguise to head back to the office without being recognized.
What Apollo Justice had failed to account for, however, was the fact that unlike in the movies, paparazzi aren’t stupid.
“Hey! Hey Justice! It’s you, isn’t it? I just have a quick question–” shouts a man with a microphone into Apollo’s ear, and Apollo speedwalks away from his prodding. It’s no luck, though, as around the next corner is a woman in a bright raincoat, holding a camera.
“How long have you been dating Klavier Gavin?” she asks, and Apollo’s escape tactics aren’t quite as good this time. He stumbles over his words, and then over his own feet, as he tries to weave around her.
“I, uh…look, can I not just–I have a job to–” This is his absolute worst nightmare. He can’t do this. He doesn’t know why he’s been pretending he can.
Suddenly, a shadow falls across his path. Then, an arm wraps around his shoulders, and he almost panics before he recognizes the scent of high-end cologne that always precludes the presence of the man himself, Klavier Gavin.
“I don’t appreciate your questioning of my partner, Miss…?” he begins, and Apollo would be lying if he claimed that he didn’t relax into Klavier’s arm a little when he realized that the rockstar had everything under control. Even the paparazzo–or amateur journalist, really, by the look of it, seemed thrown for a loop.
“Er…Swift,” she answers, before realizing that doing so was not the best course of action. Before she can run, however, Klavier’s speaking again.
“Fräulein Swift, listen to me. Apollo Justice did not sign up to be harassed at all hours of the day by you and your compatriots. If you would kindly leave him alone, especially while he is clearly trying to go about his typical workday, it would be best for all of us, ja? ”
Ms Swift nods, jerkily, and glances between Apollo and Klavier, as if weighing the risk of snapping a picture right then. She clearly decides it isn’t worth it, however, and turns back the way she came, doing an awkward half-jog to get away from them as quickly as possible.
Apollo looks over at Klavier, who is glaring after her in a way that he’s only seen a couple times before. The arm around him is tight, Klavier’s long fingers pressing creases into Apollo’s white button-down.
He’s about to question why, exactly, Klavier is here, before he notices the lunch bag swinging from Klavier’s other hand (obnoxious, purple, Gavinners-branded) and puts the pieces together–Klavier must also be out at lunch, and there’s a possibility that he’d decided to head over to the Wright Agency to keep up appearances.
“Come on,” Klavier says, turning down a dim alleyway and pulling Apollo along with him. “I know of a place we will not be disturbed.”
If anybody else had tried to guide him down an alley, Apollo would have likely dropped everything to punch them out. But Klavier had just shown that he was able to intimidate the paparazzi, and Apollo doesn’t really want to take out his best ally in the fight against the tabloids. So he lets Klavier lead the way to a tiny hole-in-the-wall ramen shop, where the cramped atmosphere and dim lighting disguise the identities of any of the patrons.
A waitress brings over two menus, and Apollo glances despairingly at his sandwich meal deal in its crinkled plastic bag.
“Save that for tomorrow,” Klavier advises, and pushes his own lunchbox aside. “I will pay for lunch, seeing as you’ve just had yet another awful experience with the press. For which I must apologize, you know, so please, order whatever you would like.”
“Hey, no, you don’t have to–I was just being stupid, clearly I shouldn’t have expected them to have calmed down by now,” Apollo protests, but he’s already opened his menu and can’t quite stop his mouth watering at the pictures in the booklet. Okay, maybe he’ll take Klavier up on his totally unnecessary apology. You know, this time.
“Nein , I knew this was going to be a bad idea. Your life is already disrupted enough already, we should just call the whole thing off–”
“Klavier,” Apollo says firmly, putting down the menu and meeting the prosecutor’s eyes across the table. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am volunteering for this?”
Klavier’s eyes widen. He looks suitably chastised.
“Okay, ja, I get it. No more offering to stop it all now, then.”
“No more offering to stop this whole thing at all.”
“Right,” Klavier says, and drops his gaze to his menu. He then looks back up at Apollo, a small smile curling the corner of his mouth.
“...what is it?” Apollo asks, because he knows that this can’t be good.
“Oh, nothing. I was simply wondering if you were going to keep that all on indoors,” Klavier inquires, his smile slowly becoming more pointed and shark-like as he talks. It’s a terrible look on him, Apollo thinks. Then, Klavier’s words hit him, as does the realization that he never removed his awful, terrible disguise.
“Oh, fu–” he begins, and rips the baseball cap and sunglasses off.
The dim ramen shop instantly becomes about three times brighter, turning into an actually cozy-looking little lunch spot.
Muffled laughter, from the other side of the table. Klavier has a hand over his mouth, trying unsuccessfully to hide his mirth.
“I was wondering how long it would take you to notice that you still had the glasses on, Herr Forehead!” The nickname feels like a return to normalcy, somehow–a sign that everything is going to be alright. For the first time since the previous evening, Apollo starts to properly relax.
He’s not going to analyze what that means at all.
“Shut up, I was distracted! Anyone would be distracted if they weren’t used to cameras in their face!”
“Where did you even get those, they’re so bad, they look like they’ve been sitting on the shelf since 2007 at least.”
Apollo picks up the sunglasses and studies them. To his annoyance, he discovers that Klavier’s right–they’re hilariously outdated.
“Look, I was desperate.”
“Clearly. You know, I’ll buy you some sunglasses if you think they’ll work–I can’t have the press going round thinking that I don’t have standards with the people I’m dating”
Apollo rolls his eyes. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”
Instead of a lighthearted reaction, Klavier looks over at him with wide, hurt eyes. “Schatz, don’t say that about yourself.”
“I…what?”
“Negative self-talk is really unhelpful for self-image. You can’t say that me dating you indicates a lack of standards on my part. If you talk about yourself as though you’re not worth anything, you’ll start feeling as though you aren’t worth anything either.”
Apollo exhales. “Geez, Klav, I didn’t expect all the overdone therapy lines from you.”
“They’re important,” Klavier protests, before freezing mid-thought, as though his brain’s just now catching up on what Apollo’s said. “Wait… Klav?”
Shit. Shit shit shit.
“It’s just, uhhhh.” He hadn’t meant for that to come out, was maybe feeling a bit too comfortable with the idea that he’s dating Klavier. “I thought that having nicknames makes us sound closer?”
Klavier is, very obviously, holding back a smile. “So you admit that you actually like it when I call you Herr Forehead?”
“Urk–!” If he were in court, Apollo swears that he would feel the same kind of hit as when the judge inflicts a penalty upon him.
Luckily, he’s saved from the rest of the conversation by their lunch arriving–two big, steaming bowls of noodles and broth. He inhales the aroma and picks up the chopsticks, still not quite believing that his brief lunch outing had turned into…well, this.
Speaking of lunch, he’s definitely going to be late back to the office. He contemplates texting Athena and Mr Wright to let them know, before deciding that they deserve to suffer a bit wondering if he’s been abducted by some sort of celeb news coalition. Serves them right for ambushing him.
“So,” Apollo begins, now that he’s thinking of his messages again. “You’ve got a lot of interviews lined up, I see.”
Klavier hmms his affirmation around a mouthful of ramen, and elaborates once he’s done chewing. “It’s pretty typical for what I used to see back with the band–but it hasn’t been like that in a while.”
“How did you even manage to get any writing done, between all that?”
“It was a challenge, definitely. I used to stay up all night because the only quiet time I’d get was when everyone else was asleep–and then I’d lock myself in the recording studio and come out with some demos. There’s a lot of old photos of me passed out under a desk on a beanbag chair while everyone else argues about the direction of the album.”
Apollo’s never really heard Klavier talk about the ins and outs of his role in the band before. “So you were the main songwriter, then?”
“Sort of. Daryan and I split a lot of the writing credits, but we didn’t often work together. I’d start off a song and he’d finish it, or I’d finish something he’d done the beginning of.”
“Sounds…complicated.” Apollo can tell, based on the way Klavier’s hand has bunched up around his chopsticks, that remembering the role Daryan Crescend had played in his life isn’t the easiest topic of conversation. He takes the opportunity to guide the discussion back to more solid ground:
“So, what do you need me to do for all these appearances, then?”
Klavier furrows his brows. “Was? Oh, no, nein, nothing at all. They’ve only booked me, so you don’t have to be there at all.”
“But…isn’t that a little strange, when the reason they’re interested in you again is because you’re supposedly dating me?”
“Not really–I can just talk about you to the press. Yes, they tried to get you involved, but I insisted that I should handle all of it.”
“Klavier,” Apollo says sternly. “I thought I told you that this won’t work unless we both participate in…whatever they want from us.”
Klavier’s chopsticks click against the side of the bowl as he puts them down. “Ja , perhaps, but this isn’t something I’d be willing to drag anyone into, even if…” he trails off, wary of watchful eyes. “You saw how they were just now. I’ve been prepared for that, I’ve been living with that for years. You’ve just been thrown in the deep end, and if there’s something I can do to lessen that load…”
Apollo sighs. Klavier’s making sense, sure, but he hates that it’s necessary for him to do this.
They finish their meals in relative quiet, pondering their situation. Finally, Klavier pays the bill (Apollo attempts to protest, but a stern glance from his dining partner reminds him of the terms of their agreement), and they slip out back into the shaded alleyway.
It seems as though none of the paparazzi have followed them or learned their location while they’d been eating, and Apollo breathes a sigh of relief at this realization. Klavier takes note and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning down to say:
“I don’t want to take any chances with your safety–allow me to escort you back to the office, ja? ”
Apollo gathers his senses enough to nod, accepting the ride, despite the way Klavier’s proximity seems to be doing strange things to his ability to think clearly.
Klavier leads the way through back alleys to a space Apollo eventually recognizes as the side entrance to the courthouse car park.
However, all of Apollo’s goodwill evaporates as he realizes that accepting a ride from Klavier Gavin, on a bright, sunny day, means…
“Oh, no,” he says, watching Klavier confidently approach his shiny, purple motorcycle and pull two helmets from a compartment. Klavier turns to him, grinning. He definitely knows what he’s doing.
“How is this supposed to help us avoid the press? Apollo asks, as a helmet is pressed into his hands. Klavier just grins wider.
“It won’t, but it gives us another chance to control the narrative–and plus, this is the best way to get across LA, hands down.”
“I’m really not so sure about that,” Apollo remarks, weighing his options:
- Turn around and walk back to the office. Pros: Don’t have to ride on a motorcycle. Cons: near-inevitable paparazzi ambush
- Beg a ride off of someone else when they leave the courthouse. Pros: Inconspicuous mode of travel. Cons: Being a public nuisance and the mortifying ordeal of talking to fellow legal associates who definitely make more money than you
- Take Klavier’s offer of a ride. Pros: Easiest option, no paparazzi ambush. Cons: Motorcycle, proximity to Klavier Gavin.
He frowns, and then groans, throwing his hands in the air. “Okay, fine. But next time you’re bringing your car–I know you have one.”
Klavier’s still smiling. “Next time?”
“Shut up,” Apollo responds, and follows Klavier in jamming the helmet on his head and swinging a leg over the motorbike.
“You’re going to want to hold on,” Klavier warns him, and half a second after Apollo tentatively loops his arms around Klavier’s waist, the prosecutor starts the bike and tears out of the courthouse at the very-reasonable-actually speed of fifteen miles per hour.
This doesn’t stop Apollo from clinging on for dear life, as the feeling of wind rushing past them makes the journey seem to be taking place at supersonic speeds rather than whatever Klavier (eternal paragon of speed limits) is probably actually driving at.
He doesn’t take much note of the surroundings on the way back to the office, more preoccupied with trying to stay on the bike and not strangle Klavier (harder than it seems). He barely even notices that they’ve stopped moving until Klavier clears his throat and Apollo blinks his eyes open to see the familiar stretch of pavement outside the Wright Agency.
“You can let go of me now,” Klavier says, and Apollo can tell just by the way he says that that he’s choking back laughter. He shakes himself and jumps off of the motorcycle, releasing his chokehold on Klavier and wincing as his muscles finally relax once he’s back on solid ground.
“That wasn’t so bad now, was it? Though I must say that I prefer not to be held quite so tightly when I’m trying to concentrate on driving,” Klavier quips, and Apollo rolls his eyes, pulling the spare helmet up off of his head.
“You’re never getting me on that thing ever again,” he replies instead, and Klavier chuckles.
“It’s not so bad once you know what you’re getting into. And, of course, if you keep your eyes open.”
“How did you know I–” Apollo begins, then realizes that his total lack of awareness of them reaching their destination might have given away the fact that he’d spent the whole journey decidedly not looking at anything they’d been passing.
“Lucky guess,” Klavier responds, and then glances around the area. Apollo’s still not as good at parsing their surroundings as he is, but he’s starting to notice the odd way that light seems to reflect from certain well-sheltered locations around them.
“Here,” he says, handing Klavier the helmet that he’d been holding, and hesitating for half a second. Then, he takes decisive action, pushing Klavier’s helmet visor up and leaning in to gently kiss him on the cheek, trying so, so hard to suppress his instinct to lean away or make a face or overthink literally everything about the situation.
“Danke,” Klavier whispers as he pulls away, doubtless having recognized why Apollo had taken this action.
“See you soon?” Apollo asks when he steps back fully, leaving the statement purposefully vague. He doesn’t know how Klavier does this, knowing that at any time any one of his public conversations could be being surveyed. He’s only lived in this state for just over a day and he hates it.
“Ja, soon. Until then, Herr Forehead!” Klavier replies, tucking the spare helmet away into the seat compartment where it had emerged from and waving sunnily in Apollo’s direction, before slamming his helmet visor closed and motoring away down the street.
Apollo takes one final glance around, and decides to hurry back inside, not trusting the journalists to stay away once they realize that Klavier, more experienced in throwing them off his trail, is no longer protecting him.
Back inside the office, Apollo feels Trucy and Athena’s eyes on him.
“Soooo….” says Athena, and Apollo huffs.
“No,” he says, and opens up his laptop with possibly more force than the action really requires.
“C’mon, Polly, we were just gonna ask how your lunch date went!”
He glances up, frustrated.
“It wasn’t a–”
…hmm. He can’t really say that, can he.
“It wasn’t supposed to be a date,” he rephrases, only for Trucy to giggle at him.
“Pollyyy, isn’t every outing with your boyfriend a date?”
“Not when he wasn’t supposed to be there! We just…had to avoid some people. I hadn’t even meant to stay out so long!”
“Oh, shh, Trucy, it’s sweet,” Athena butts in, twirling her long red hair around her finger. “Apollo obviously isn’t used to dating someone as nice as Klavier. We should just let him be!”
“Finally, ” Apollo sighs, before Athena finishes her thought.
“We can just go down to the Prosecutor’s Office and bug Klavier for all the juicy details!”
It’s the day of the first scheduled interview Klavier had texted him, and Apollo’s sitting on a public bus with a bouquet of flowers.
He’s well aware of the looks he’s getting; the muffled whispers and sideways glances. He’s counted three people so far who’ve not-so-stealthily snapped photos of him. But he just clutches the flowers a little tighter, readjusts his posture, and stares straight ahead, trying to remind himself that this is deliberate, that for appearances’ sake he should want the attention.
He’s still glad when the bus rounds the corner nearest to the upscale office building where Klavier’s record label resides and he’s able to make his escape, though.
Apollo’s expecting to have to pass some sort of security screening, once he finally locates the correct floor. However, when he walks into the reception area of Starpower Records, the woman behind the desk looks up, takes stock of the bouquet he’s holding and studies his hair, and smiles.
“Justice, right? Go right on in–he’s in room 3E, right down the hallway to your left.”
“Um, I–” Apollo’s caught off-guard.
“You’re bringing those for Klavier, right? That’s very sweet of you to surprise him like that–he deserves someone as kind as you after everything he’s been through.”
“I…yeah. He does,” Apollo agrees, the words feeling like lead in his throat. He’d gotten so caught up in the way the media had been harassing him that he hadn’t really thought about Klavier’s side of things–and the way that he really did deserve someone to care about him properly. Someone who wasn’t just pretending for the cameras.
But Apollo would still consider Klavier a friend, wouldn’t he? And he hoped that Klavier saw things that way, too. Even beyond their false relationship, there’s a foundation of trust, built upon the way they’d leaned upon each other throughout the course of several harrowing court cases to find the truth.
He can’t linger in the foyer any more–he’s attracting strange looks, standing there staring at his bouquet as though it holds the answers to life, the universe, and everything. Apollo smiles awkwardly and heads through the door the receptionist had indicated when he’d arrived, glancing at the numbers on the solid oak doors along the hallway.
3B…3C…3D…okay, here we go, 3E. He takes a deep breath and gently raps his knuckles against the door, tentatively swinging it open when he doesn’t hear a reply.
He sees the interviewer first, glancing up in irritation as he steps into the room. She’s got practical brown hair, swept into a simple bun at the crown of her head. It contrasts starkly with Klavier’s intricate braids, which even in the dimly-lit space manage to shine where they reflect what light there is.
Klavier, for his part, brightens the second he spots Apollo coming through the door.
“Schatz!” he exclaims, standing and casting aside the notepad he’d seemingly been scrawling notes into. “I thought I told you that you didn’t have to come today!”
Okay, showtime, Apollo, he thinks to himself, and puts on his best lovestruck smile. “I know, but I thought I’d surprise you–you’re working so hard, and I worry that you forget to take breaks to appreciate the small things from time to time.”
That’s true enough, actually–after the Misham trial, Apollo had noticed Klavier throwing himself into his work more and more. He’s not really one to criticize anyone else’s work ethic, but he’d overheard Mr Wright on the phone with the Chief Prosecutor a few times, and knew that when Miles Edgeworth was worrying, there was some merit to his concern.
“Are these…” Klavier asks, indicating towards the flowers. Apollo holds them out, tentatively.
“I didn’t know what exactly you’d like–” Wait. Shit. “I mean, I–know you don’t really have a preference, per se, but these ones made me think of you with how um…purple they are, so I thought–”
Klavier’s lips stretch into a small smile, and he leans closer. “They’re perfect. Just like you, of course.” Well aware of the presence of the interviewer, he dips his head to peck Apollo on the lips, a motion which definitely doesn’t short-circuit Apollo’s brain for the brief second they’re in contact.
“You must be Apollo Justice,” interrupts the interviewer, saving Apollo from having to think up a good, comprehensible reply to Klavier’s compliment. Klavier drapes his free arm around Apollo, fielding the question.
“Ja, of course, let me introduce you! Jo, this is Apollo, my lovely boyfriend. Apollo, this is Joanna Lyst, from the Record Review. As you know, Jo’s been asking me some questions about my recent music–”
“Oh, never mind the music, now that Apollo’s here this is so much better! If you wouldn’t mind, of course–I’ve got some questions for the both of you.” Joanna looks over the moon to see them both in the same room, and who would blame her? With the sudden first exclusive interview of Klavier Gavin and his mysterious boyfriend, it’s like the scoop of the century’s fallen into her lap.
“I uh…guess that would be alright, if you’re okay with it, Klav?” Apollo questions, turning towards Klavier. He’d kind of known that this outcome was expected, but now that it’s happening he finds himself looking for reassurance anywhere he can get it.
Klavier squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, and Apollo fights the urge to lean into the touch.
“Ja, I think that’s fine–there’s a bit of hearsay going around about our relationship anyway, so it’ll be nice to clear the air.”
“Great!” Jo claps her hands together. “Let’s get started by–oh, Apollo, you can come sit over here, make yourself comfortable.”
She indicates the couch where Klavier’s notebook still lies abandoned, and Apollo takes a hesitant step in that direction. Klavier gives him a small smile, one that Joanna doesn’t notice, and it lends him the strength to keep going, to cross the room and sit down in what he hopes is a casual fashion.
Side-by-side on the expensive leather, Klavier and Apollo exchange glances as they really, really hope that they can pull this off.
“Let’s start with an easy one–how did you two meet? I know the press has put a lot of stuff out there already, but I want to hear it in your own words.”
Apollo nearly melts with relief. This, he can handle. As if in agreement, Klavier brushes the side of his pinky finger against Apollo’s leg.
“It’s a funny story, ja? Not at the time, but in retrospect. Apollo had been working for my brother, before everything happened with that situation. Of course, after Kristoph’s arrest, I flew back to the States from my tour, and on my first case back, who do I run into right outside of People Park? Only my brother’s former intern—and the person who, in my mind, was responsible for his conviction.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much it,” Apollo adds, just to seem involved in the conversation. “It was like seeing a ghost, because with the hair—Klavier just looked so much like Kristoph, and I’d spent months terrified that he’d break out of jail and somehow get his revenge on me for turning on him in court.”
He feels Klavier recoil at his side. “Schatz, you never told me that!”
Apollo shrugs. How should he react? What will the world read into this? “I…didn’t want you to worry about me,” is what he goes with, and it seems to garner him an appropriately sympathetic smile from Jo.
“That’s so sweet! Clearly you two care a lot about each other now, but that must have been a rocky start for your professional relationship.”
This time, Apollo feels confident enough to answer first. “Definitely. Klavier just wasn’t what I was expecting in court. My whole career up to that point had been all pretty standard cases, and in he comes with his chains and his logo and his air-guitaring…not to mention that our first case together was interesting, to say the least.”
Klavier chuckles good-naturedly. “What Apollo here is trying to avoid mentioning is how several key points in the case hinged on some intimate evidence.”
“Klav, you can’t say that! They’ll get the wrong idea!” Apollo shakes his head. “There were a few…uh…undergarments in evidence, and they ended up being pivotal to the resolution of the case.”
Across from them, Jo looks up from her notes and raises an eyebrow. Apollo smiles half-heartedly.
“It made sense at the time.”
“I’m sure it must have done. So you have a few cases together, face each other in court a few times…and then, of course: the big one. The Misham trial. Do you mind telling me a bit about it, especially about how you two worked together right at the very end?”
The topic isn’t too surprising, but Apollo still tenses. However, Klavier must have been asked about this before, because he has a response ready.
“Of course—I couldn’t have made it through that trial without Apollo’s help. There were a few moments there where I was questioning everything I thought I knew, and he just…was there, like a light in the darkness, guiding me towards the truth. Even when that truth wasn’t something I had ever wanted to accept.”
It’s Apollo’s turn to be taken aback—because he’d never heard how much Klavier had depended on him that day firsthand. “Klavier…” he breathes, looking up at his fake boyfriend’s steady gaze.
Klavier smiles in his direction. “I never got the chance to tell you how thankful I was for that, schatz.”
“It was just what was right. What I had to do,” he says, and he can feel Jo’s attention on them.
“And how did this transform into a romantic relationship? What happened there?” She’s almost on the edge of her seat, and Apollo’s a little worried at her enthusiasm. Still, he steadies himself and answers.
“It just happened slowly, I think. Looking back, I can’t pinpoint one precise moment. It’s just one of those…you look at them one day, and you’re hit with it, that you’ve been in love with them for a while, you know?”
Jo laughs. “I actually don’t, but I hope one day I can experience something like that!” She scribbles something in her notepad and turns to Klavier. “How about for you? Was there a specific moment?”
Klavier runs his fingers through his hair, looking thoughtful. “I would have to say…while I knew I was attracted to Herr Forehead here, I didn’t know the depth of my feelings until the first time we kissed. After that, it was just…blindingly obvious, ja? ”
“And when was that?” Jo’s getting bold, here, and Klavier obviously tenses for a split second. He shakes it off with a practiced motion, however, and Apollo’s not sure that anybody other than him would have noticed.
“Some things are just between us, Fräulein,” he rebuffs, and Jo shrugs her defeat.
“Okay, I get it! Keep your secrets. But I do have a final question—how’s the new album coming, Klavier? And has Apollo inspired any of the tracks?”
“Well, it’s…slow progress,” Klavier admits, and Apollo fights the urge to put a hand on his knee in a show of reassurance. Then he remembers that they’re supposed to be dating, and reaches out to do it anyway. That’s a dating thing, right? He’s been overthinking this for so long now that he’s not even sure.
“Klavier’s got a whole process for his writing,” Apollo says, hoping that he’s right. “Unfortunately, I’m really not a big fan of the genres he’s into.”
Jo gasps. “So you’re saying you don’t like his music?”
“It’s just…not really my style? It’s fine. I like what he’s doing these days better than anything he did with the Gavinners. But I just have a different taste in music.”
Klavier’s arm comes up around his shoulders. “I don’t hold it against him. We can’t all have good taste.” He winks at Jo, breaking the tension. She laughs, and jots down a few more notes in her book. There’s a few moments of silence, during which Apollo and Klavier trade glances and Apollo tries his best not to look at the clock.
“Well, that about wraps things up,” Jo finally says, twirling her pen around her fingers. The motion is a little mesmerizing, after Apollo’s been focusing so hard on keeping their whole story straight. Beside him, Klavier sighs and stretches his arms above his head, his back curving and popping quietly.
“Thank you for your time, Frau Lyst–and apologies for any disruption to your planned schedule.”
“Oh no, no, no apologies necessary! It was fantastic to get to talk with you both–and especially you, Apollo! It must feel nice to be able to set the story straight, huh?”
Apollo startles, slightly. “Uh–yeah, totally. Nice to not have everyone just making stuff up about us.”
Instead, we’re the ones making everything up, he doesn’t say.
“Anyway!” Klavier gives his sunniest smile and puts his hand on Apollo’s shoulder, once again. Apollo’s starting to get the feeling that he’s going to be doing this a lot. “I’m sure that Herr Forehead here has important business to attend to back at his Agency, and I myself cannot resist the siren song of my long-postponed paperwork from my latest trial.”
He turns to Apollo. “Schatz, do you need a ride?”
“The bus fare from here isn’t too bad, so–”
“So yes, you do.”
Apollo bristles. “I never–!”
Klavier gives a dramatic shake of his head and glances over to where Jo Lyst is still hovering nearby. “You see what I have to deal with? I adore how self-sufficient Apollo is, but it makes it very hard for me to make spontaneous gestures.”
“Oh fine, okay then, as long as you didn’t drive the motorcycle.”
“I can promise you,” Klavier says, in the tone of voice that means he’s about to get away with something and is feeling incredibly smug about it, “it isn’t the motorcycle.”
Notes:
Thank you again for the support even during the long fic hiatus! As ever, all the art in this fic is created by the wonderful Naina @cubedmango, so please check out her social media if you want to see more excellent klapollos (and other aa characters, ofc)
If you want to follow me on tumblr, you can find me at letapollojusticesayfuck. Maybe I'll post a few lines from the next chapter there--y'know, to reassure you guys that it exists lmao
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