Chapter Text
Klavier Gavin has commitment issues. Which is why Simon wakes up alone in his bed.
He’s sweaty and his hair is sticking out every which way. He yawns, wiping his eyes. Two day old mascara came off on his hands. Unfortunately, when he catches a glimpse of himself he’s covered in his body glitter.
It isn’t that Simon is needy or touch starved, it’s just that seven years in solitary made him wary. He finds himself missing the warmth of another person in bed. This is a stupid thing to miss.
He gets up and starts putting his pants back on, then he double checks his pockets.
Christ almighty, where is his wallet?
His commitment issues are also why Klavier is hunched over the bathroom sink trying to calm himself down from a panic attack. He has a nasty hangover and a co-worker in his bed.
This is humiliating. The hickeys on his collarbones are the most stress inducing part of his horribly disheveled appearance. Puffy eyes, badly washed face, hairspray dried hair, the works. It’s awful, just terrible.
He slowly exits the bathroom into the bedroom and groans.
Simon is digging in his cargo pants pockets.
“Oh, you’re here,” Simon murmurs, looking away from Klavier.
“Well, it is my house,” He replies in an attempt to be funny. There is no laughter.
While putting his hair up into a claw clip he tries to keep conversation going, “did you sleep well?”
Yikes. Too tender.
Too soft.
Too delicate.
It hurts.
“Yeah, did you? You had a rough night,” Simon asks with genuine concern. His cheeks are puffed as he looks under the be
“I guess so,” he pauses to chew the insides of his cheek, “what are you looking for?”
“My damned wallet,” he groans, looking up at him defeatedly, “I was gonna get out of here before I started bugging you but uh,”
Klavier feels like he isn’t meant to be hurt by that thought.
He’s pretty sure it’s none of his business if Simon doesn’t want to lay in his bed waiting for him to get his shit together.
In fact, Klavier dares to think that it’s normal. It makes sense that he would want to go home, especially since it’s noon.
He finds himself being blunt again, “How did you lose it? Is it not on a chain, schatzi?”
Simon stalls, he runs his hands through his bangs then down his face. He goes to answer that he has no idea. Unfortunately, Klavier still has another stupid question to ask, something to confirm, so he interrupts him.
“hey did we uh?” He leaves it unsaid like an idiot. Suddenly feeling shy, “you know.” He punctuates this with a gesture to the marks on his collarbones.
Simon shakes his head, cheeks ablaze.
Then he brings himself to answer, “We just kissed,”
An awkward silence smothers them.
Simon takes note of how Klavier tenses. Nails to his mouth. Arms tucked close to his chest. He stops gently swaying like he typically does when idle. He doesn’t know stillness.
Normally, at least.
Klavier can’t help but be embarrassed that he wishes they’d done more. He’s embarrassed because he looks a little like his last two exes. He’s embarrassed because he’s a co worker. Because he’s Simon.
But everyone else was moving on with their damned lives in bliss. So what if part of Klavier is still a fifteen year old girl?
So what if he knows most of what stopped him last night was the song and dance of coming out?
Though, Simon had surely seen scars before and wouldn’t think to question two on the chest.
So what if that previously mentioned guy was now looking up at him, sitting on his bedroom floor holding a crackling leather wallet.
“I uh, I found it,”
“I’m glad,” he says softly, moving to sit on his bed.
“You know,” Simon starts up, moving to his knees then resting his arms and chin on the bed too, “I don’t normally hang out with people, uh, I don’t,” he grimaces as he tries to spit it out, “I don’t have any friends. I really appreciate you hanging out with me last night and I’m sorry that,”
Klavier looks at him. He’s changing his piercings like absolutely nothing happened.
Like there isn’t a stranger in his bedroom.
“What are you sorry for?” He asks, taking out his septum. He switches it for a very simple silver ring, the one he wears at work.
“For kissing you, and staying over when I should’ve left, and, and just,” he says weakly, putting his face in his hands. He feels defeated.
He hasn’t been with anyone in seven years.
He still wakes up terrified and angry, lashing out at nothing.
He can only imagine how Klavier put up with his antics at night.
Klavier looks at him with (perceived) pity. Earrings in hand as he sighs. He puts the jewelry back into its container.
“Vögelchen,” he says softly before leaning onto his side; which dips into the soft mattress. With the hand that isn’t supporting his weight, he reaches for Simon’s hair.
“I’m glad you stayed. I’m glad you drove me home,” He pauses, feeling shy again, “I’m glad you kissed me,”
He twirls the black hair around his finger. Simon tries to stay still, if he doesn’t move, surely this moment won’t end.
But Klavier pulls away and sits up.
“So, do you want me to drive you home?”
Simon’s stomach sinks, of course he was just being polite.
“Oh, right, yeah I’ll get out of your hair,”
He feels so awkward and small and lame around Klavier. He feels alien and incredibly inhuman.
“Well you seemed to be in a rush earlier, that’s all. I’m sure Athena is wanting to hear all about your night,” he smirks as he twists the backing onto his favorite drop earrings. “We can get food or something if you’d like,”
“Yeah, okay,” Simon says, voice quiet.
As Klavier is driving he realizes he’s an idiot for suggesting they get food. He hates eating and Simon hates asking for things. He also finds that a headache and a decade growing up in Germany reduces how polite he can be.
“So is the messy eye makeup on purpose typically orrrr?”
Simon glares at him, “Excuse me?”
“Like, the mascara- läuft? Ugh, wat ist dat word,” he doesn’t know why he’s asking, it’s not like he knows. He looks at him dramatically and sighs deeply.
It takes a second, but he thinks he understands what he’s asking, “Oh, the undereye makeup?”
“Ja, ja, the mascara dripping, it’s a bold choice for the courtroom,”
Simon laughs shortly and rolls his eyes. Part of him is deeply embarrassed to be in yesterday’s clothes with his hair down, pimple patches falling off, and jewelry shoved in his pockets. It’s starting to seem like everything he does is embarrassing.
It’s hard not to in comparison to Klavier.
He’s just a rigid, claw clip abandoned for road safety. He always drives the exact speed limit. He keeps his music playing low, it’s some crunk band. He’s perfect, he’s interesting, and he’s incredibly smart.
They pull into the parking lot of a McDonalds and Klavier feels like an idiot. He just wants a very bad black coffee, not to be feeling weird and messy and confused at ten am. He and Simon are both foreigners, but his English is incredibly mediocre compared to his. He’s starting to wish he put more effort into it like Kristoph told him to. He’s also starting to wish he could figure out how to look cool in front of Simon without crossing into info dumping about music. Explaining the history of metal music to a guy who hasn’t listened to anything in seven years might make him wish he was back in solitary.
With a sigh he brings his sunglasses down on his face.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, turning to face him.
“Honestly, no.” Simon replies, picking at his face in the visor’s mirror. “I woke up covered in glitter.” He adds with a very deep grimace.
Klavier laughs hard. It makes his head throb.
“Oh ja, I haven’t washed my sheets in a while sorry, that’s from clubbing,”
“Ew, did I wake up in stripper glitter?”
“Yeah,” Klavier lies with as straight a face he can manage. He revels in the disgust on Simon’s face before breaking the spell. “I’m lying. It’s my body glitter,”
Simon lets out a sigh of relief and his shoulders relax.
“I’m going to go in and get coffee, wanna come with?” Klavier asks sweetly, tucking loose blonde hair behind his ear.
“Sure,”
Part of Klavier doesn’t want this to end, which is why he’s dragging his feet with taking Simon home. Once that door closes it’s back to work and clubs and hook ups. It’s back to crying over his guitar at three am and being too lame to get high at parties. Back to glitter and warm bodies. To being the only sober guy at the end of the night.
Part of Klavier just wants to go to bed at a reasonable hour and drop the character. He wants to cut off his hair but girls like it. He wants to get serious about his job but he can’t pick one. He wants to be with Simon but the thought of staying in one place, of being tied down, is paralyzing.
He thinks maybe it’s ok if this was just a twenty four hour fling, even though everything is screaming that it isn’t.
When they’re back in the car with their cheap coffees, Klavier can’t think of a single thing to say.
They’re close to Simon and Athena’s place.
Luckily it’s Simon who asks a stupid question this time, “Can we hang out again? Next time we’re off work?”
Klavier’s heart does a flip and he does his best to look composed, “Ja, of course, schatzi,” he says as if he isn’t freaking out. He says this as if he isn’t conflicted and dying and pining and oh so pathetic.
Then Simon nods, “Cool,” He mumbles. His eyes are off of him, focusing on the familiar scenery of his neighborhood.