what is up dudes
Apollo stares. Somehow it feels like if he doesn't blink, they'll go away. He must be hallucinating them. He must be seeing wrong. There's no other plausible reason, because this can't be real. It can't be.
Uneasy isn't strong enough to describe how Apollo is feeling right now. He can feel himself freezing up, his brain shutting down. He can't handle this. It's like he's being suffocated, like he's freefalling. The world is spinning around him, too fast and too soon to understand.
It's almost funny, how he's breaking down at such an unsuspecting sight, but there's no mistaking the glasses lying on the coffee table.
All of a sudden there are footsteps behind him, loud and threatening. Apollo can hear someone approaching, and he knows who it is, but Apollo's frozen. Try as he might, he can't turn around. His feet are glued to the floor, and his muscles aren't responding. Everything within him screams to run, but he can't move.
The footsteps are getting louder. They were already loud before, but now they're ringing in Apollo's ears. He doesn't know what will happen to him if he's caught, he's too scared to even imagine. He can already feel knives digging into his skin, poison burning his insides, fire eating him alive. He can feel the pain, barely discernible over the paralyzing fear.
His teeth are sore from clenching. There are tears welling in Apollo's eyes, from the frustrating inevitability of what's going to happen. Apollo's never really been scared of death, but now he can see everyone's faces in front of him- Trucy, Mr. Wright, Mr. Edgeworth, Klavier. He can't leave them all behind, he wants to see them again; Apollo can't fall into nothingness forever like this.
Apollo can see a shadow over his own, only getting larger. He's right behind Apollo. There's nothing left, Apollo can barely see through the tears blurring his eyesight, it's all fading-
Apollo is twenty-two. It's his first trial, and Kristoph has been accused of murder. "Et tu, Brute?" Kristoph asks, and the smile on his face doesn't fade. It's sickly sweet.
How didn't Apollo realize? How has he been this wrong? He's useless, he's a failure, Apollo is the worst lawyer ever before he's really begun.
Apollo doesn't know what to do. Who does he trust? Multiple lives lie in his hands, and this is real. One wrong move, and he's condemned them all. One misstep, and he's even more of a failure.
No, Apollo wants to say, don't ask me. I don't know what I'm doing, I'm wrong. Don't leave this up to me.
The judge's eyes are drilling into him. They're a shadow, growing, swallowing Apollo whole. Everything is fading to black, voices are asking him what to do, but Apollo doesn't know, he can't do it. He's wrong.
Klavier's dead.
Apollo doesn't know why, or how. He just knows that he's failed, and that Klavier is dead.
Apollo's hand tightens around Klavier's. He never knew Klavier's hand could be this cold.
The voice in his head is saying that it's nothing more than an object now. It's not Klavier anymore, Klavier doesn't exist anymore. He's a corpse with an autopsy report and a booking in a cemetery.
Apollo can't let go. Klavier's gone, long gone, but he can't let go of his- the corpse's, supplies the voice- hand. Someone's telling him to let go, telling him that it's alright, but Apollo doesn't care. It can't be over. Not like this.
Klavier deserved so much better than this. He didn't deserve to die. He shouldn't have hated himself. It shouldn't have been hard for him to live. It shouldn't have happened like this.
Apollo tries to hold back the sob. It's dry, he can't even muster tears, but he manages to catch himself before it's audible. Apollo can't let all of this just be over. A lawyer doesn't cry until it's all over, and Klavier can't be dead, so Apollo can't cry. Klavier's still fighting; he wouldn't let himself die like this.
He can't.
There's a swish of movement and Apollo's head suddenly aches, there's ringing in his ears and he's gasping for breath. The world is swimming around him, coming into focus, and there's something clutching at his head.
It takes a moment for him to realize that he's sitting up, and that the pressure on his head is his hands, holding his temples. He can feel sweat on his back, his fingertips are wet with the stuff.
Apollo chokes on an exhale. Klavier... he'll never see Klavier again. Klavier's more than gone; he's nothing more than a memory. There is no Klavier Gavin, Apollo is alone. He's a real failure. He can't even save the man he loves.
The other side of the bed is expectedly empty; bare except for the sheets Apollo has crumpled and kicked over.
Apollo throws himself back down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. What does he do now? He's an awful lawyer, he's an awful boyfriend, his own boss was a serial killer and his boyfriend killed himself.
Apollo closes his eyes, trying to breathe evenly. His heart is hammering in his chest. He has to calm down, he can't-
Eyes. Klavier's eyes flash in his mind's eye, deep blue and crinkled in a smile. They're staring adoringly at Apollo, staring at the thing he loves most in the world.
It's all gone now.
Apollo tries to swallow, but his throat is too dry. He should probably get a glass of water, but to go through the kitchen he'd pass the sofa, which is where Klavier is-
Wait.
Klavier is?
It wasn't real. Apollo can feel his whole body relaxing, he's ready to cry. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real, it's not real. His brain plays the phrase on repeat, he can't think anything else. It's not real. Klavier is alive. Apollo just had a nightmare, he's just really stupid and stressed, it's not real. Apollo still has Klavier.
Apollo sits up. He's getting out of bed no matter what now; something in him needs to see that Klavier is alive and well. He knows it's silly, but he has to be sure. He has to see Klavier breathing.
There's no sound but the distant hum of the refrigerator, no light but one sole lamp on. It's still in the dead of the night, like a picture. It almost feels wrong to move in it all, like Apollo's disturbing the scene.
Klavier is passed out on the couch. He's sleeping soundly, better than he has in all the time Apollo's known him. Klavier is still as the rest of the picture, chest barely rising and falling as he breathes.
Apollo sighs in relief. Klavier is fine. Alive. Asleep, not a care in the world.
And, Apollo realizes with a twinge of guilt, he's sleeping more soundly than he ever has with Apollo.
Maybe Apollo should stop. Maybe Apollo is bad for Klavier. Klavier did want to break up with Apollo, after all, and now he's literally sleeping on the couch. Apollo can't help but feel like he's watching a train crash in slow motion. He knows that it's gonna hit, he can practically see the impact, shards flying, but he doesn't want to see it. He wishes it won't happen.
It's rare enough to see Klavier sleeping like this that Apollo doesn't want to wake him up. Apollo sits down next to the couch, leaning his head against the seat cushions. His back is pressed up against the bottom of the couch, so that he's seated on the floor.
Klavier's hand is dangling off of the couch, next to Apollo. Apollo grabs it, running a thumb over the back of Klavier's hand. He's relieved to find that it's real, solid enough to touch.
"Funny, isn't it?" Apollo laughs in a whisper, mostly to himself. "Now I'm the one with the nightmares."
Fittingly enough, Klavier doesn't respond.
danke all and good night
