Hey, guys, I finished one of my 5 WIP stories! Aren't you proud of me? I'm back on track with my life (I think), and I'm hoping to get a whole lot of writing done now that summer is here. For now, though, I'm going to eat a bagel.

…That will be funny in 30 seconds, I promise.

(O)

"Whot are yehw dawing?" Athena asked, mouth half-full of food. "…Luwking oup your boyfwend on gewgle?"

I opened my mouth to say something, but I really didn't have anything to say. "Don't talk with your mouth open. Err… Full. I meant full."

She almost spit out what looked like a bagel in her laughter. She swallowed, and put her arm on my shoulder, and I shoved her. "Contributing to the Klavier Gavin fanbase? How thoughtful of you, helping all of those desperate chumps who want to see your head impaled on a stick."

"It's not what it looks like."

"You have six tabs of "Klavier Gavin" open, and who knows how many you managed to close before I got over here. You know, if you want to stalk him, you could just go over to the prosecutor's office."

"Why would I be stalking my boyfriend?!"

"Exactly!"

I sighed. "I just… I mean…" I frowned. "Can I have a bagel?" She pulled one out of a bag and before I realized what she was doing, I had a high-carb ring around my hair spikes. "Hey!"

"You can't eat your problems away."

"Yesh I cawn," I replied, stuffing my face as a demonstration.

"Do I need to pull out Widget?"

I swallowed. "No. It's just… We've been dating for months, and he's a famous musician, and I realised that I don't even know his favorite song. Or food. Or color."

"You would think it was purple."

"I don't nowh," I said, taking another bite of bagel. "He whurs a lawt of porple, showr, but it moight jost be to sappowrt the gay rockstawr image."

"Whot duhs his haws look loike?"

"A glawrified trosh heap."

"You guys are barbarians," Mr. Wright called from the other room. "Can't you eat like normal human beings?"

"Noh. Whirr tawking abawt boihs!" Athena replied. I heard Mr. Wright's footsteps coming closer, so I hastily X'd out of the internet.

"Ah, the days of my youth. Like the scent of fresh melons, you see." He walked up to my laptop, and I felt a hint of pride when he was confronted with nothing but the innocence of google's search bar. This pride was shattered, of course, when he pressed "ctrl" and "h" and my entire search history appeared. "You can't hide from me," he laughed.

"…I am proud to be a part of such an esteemed law firm as yours, Mr. Wright."

"Hey, I wasn't the one looking up my boyfriend on google," he replied, pointing to my records. "Can I have a bagel?"

I handed him one. "I just realized that I know absolutely nothing about the guy I've been dating for 6 months, and apparently the internet doesn't know, either."

"What do you mean by absolutely nothing?" Mr. Wright asked.

"He doesn't know his rockstar boyfriend's favorite color!" Athena exclaimed.

"Isn't it purple?" Mr. Wright asked.

"That's what I said!" Athena replied.

"Hey, just because the two of you wear your favorite colors on your sleeves doesn't mean that he does."

"He's probably told you all of this at some point, and you just forgot," Mr. Wright said.

"I don't think so," I said, shaking my head. "I've known Athena for half as long, but I can easily list off all of those types of things."

"Favorite song?" she asked.

"Bohemian Rhapsody."

"Favorite drink."

"Orangina."

"Favorite food."

"Chicken or anything else that goes well with orangina."

"Favorite color."

"Before and after this conversation, I'd say yellow. But because you're trying to trick me, I'm going to go with turquoise."

"Argh! He's got me down to a tee!"

"You just have to look at the heart," I replied, pointing to the turqoise tie that rested in front of her blood-pumping organ of great metaphorical importance.

"In that case, your shatzi's probably into silver," Athena said.

"Have you never asked him those types of things, Apollo?" Mr. Wright asked.

"I don't know. I don't go and purposely try to dig up information like that… It normally just comes out. I mean, he takes me out to eat every other day and I still don't know his favorite food!" I frowned. "I feel horrible about it."

"Oh! Sorry to interrupt your self-pity, but before I forget…" Mr. Wright said somewhat devilishly, "I've got a job for you."

"I'm not cleaning the toilet."

He laughed. "No, I need you to gather some information at the prosecutor's office."

"What kind of information?"

"Klavier Gavin's favorite color, naturally."

(O)

And, well, that's why I was in front of Klavier's door, feeling particularly awkward about knocking.

I hadn't particularly wanted to go, but Mr. Wright insisted that it was his role as the boss of the firm to send me all over the place looking for important information. I reminded him that technically, Trucy was the boss of the firm, to which he responded by getting Trucy involved.

It didn't take long to decide that I'd rather face an awkward conversation with Klavier than Trucy's mad hatter wrath.

But at the same time, actually walking through the door and talking to Klavier seemed impossible. I could walk back to the office and tell everyone that purple was, indeed, his favorite color, and I could continue looking him up on google instead of doing actual work. But I didn't feel that I could. After all, he was my boyfriend, right? I was supposed to know all of the little things.

Knock.

Knock.

KNOCK.

No, you weren't supposed to do that, remember? Super awkward? You still have time to run, Apollo! Run! Unfortunately, I knew I couldn't. Despite me seemingly knowing nothing about Klavier, I knew that his "acoustic" ears could pick out the way I knocked, even if I tried to knock quickly or loudly or backhanded or fronthanded. I'd tried to knock with my forehead once, and he just laughed that I was finally putting it to good use.

"Why do you always knock, Herr Forehead? I've told you many times that it wasn't necessary."

"Because I'm pretty sure that it's illegal for me to walk into your office without your consent."

"You always have my consent, my dear red Romeo." I rolled my eyes and opened the door, which Klavier was waiting in front of. He greeted me with a quick kiss and wrapped an arm around my back. "So, are you here to speak with your rival prosecutor or your boyfriend?" he asked, grinning.

"I'm here to speak with you."

"Then please, sit." Klavier had recently bought a particularly cushy loveseat (which he loved to point out that he'd bought just for me) that the two of us could sit comfortably side by side in, though that rarely happened. You'd think that the smaller of the two of us would end up in the other's lap, but Klavier normally spread his entire body across it like a big glittery cat. I sat down as Klavier rested his back on my thighs, head propped up against one armrest and legs draped over the other. I rested my hands on his chest and he held my hands in his larger ones, calloused guitar thumbs gently rubbing the backs of my hands. How long does he expect me to stay here?

"This really isn't all that big of a conversation, Klav."

"That doesn't matter. The longer I can keep you trapped here, the longer I go without having to do paperwork." It's a slow day for all of us.

"All right. I… I don't really know how to ask this…"

"With words?"

"Real mature. I just… What's your favorite color?"

Klavier laughed. "That's what you came here for? You must have the same burden of paperwork that I do."

"Yeah. I mean, it doesn't help that Mr. Wright gave me all of his to do, and Athena occasionally slips small stacks into my pile when she thinks I'm not looking."

"Perhaps I should try the same."

"I think I'd notice the difference between defense and prosecution paperwork pretty quickly."

"I don't believe there could be too much of a difference. Paperwork is paperwork."

"I don't know about that."

"Would you like me to show you?"

"That is entirely illegal."

"Nein, not if it isn't filled out!"

"Oh, I'm sure you haven't filled it out." Klavier attempted to stand up from his ragdoll position over me and the chair, but I pulled him back down. "You still haven't told me your favorite color."

Klavier grinned. "Why would I place bias in one particular color, when they are all so beautiful?"

"Because society acts as if a person's favorite color is their single most defining characteristic, effectively pressuring you to pick one as if it's a crucial part of your life."

"In that case, what do you think?"

"I mean, purple seems like the obvious choice."

"Ja."

"But you've never been one for the obvious."

"Ja."

"So I don't know."

"I can't say I have a favorite color, Shatzi." My vision blurred for a moment, so I blinked a few times.

"What?"

"I don't have a favorite color." My bracelet tightened around my wrist, and I was so confused that I couldn't help but blurt out the first thought that came to mind.

"Why the heck would you lie to me about your favorite color?!"

"Lie is a rather vicious word, ja?"

"You're decieving me with the rainbow."

"Why would I lie about my favorite color, Herr Forehead?"

"That's what I want to know!"

Klavier sighed. "I rarely address the little things."

"So you are lying to me."

"…Lying to a human lie detector is less than brilliant, nein?"

"Nein. Nada. No."

Klavier smiled slightly. "It's not the color itself, if that wasn't obvious."

"I don't care about the metaphorical meaning behind it. I mean, I care, because it's you and your favorite color at least has a little significance to you, but I'm not going to judge you for it."

"That's precisely everything that I am not afraid of."

"You're afraid of telling me your favorite color?"

"Ja, in a way."

"…Talk. In sentences that make sense."

"…My favorite color is mint green." Mint, huh? I wanted to dwell on that fact and enjoy it, but I was still too mad at him for that.

"Why would you lie about that?"

"The little things often objectify me."

"What do you mean by objectify?"

"If I told you that my favorite color were purple, you wouldn't pay much attention to it, would you? Because I use it to advertise myself. The little things are used to characterize me, put me in a box. I do not wish to be defined by my preferences in color."

"…So you don't want fangirls running around saying, 'Oh! Mint is the greatest color ever!' just because you think that?"

"Sort of. It's more as you joked earlier—society treats the little things as incredibly important to one's character, as if I can't be the same person with different color preferences."

"Colors are clues, though, I think."

"Indeed. Which is why I don't want those clues being uselessly flaunted about."

"I think I get it. Kind of." I thought for a second, untangling one of my hands from his to brush some hair out of his face. "Why do you like mint?"

"It's soothing, but lively. That, and a mother figure of mine wore it."

"You've got a lot of mother figures," I pointed out, thinking of Constance Court and Lamiroir and all of the other middle-aged women that Klavier seemed to surround himself with.

"It takes a village to raise a child."

"And it takes all of L.A. to raise an adult," I pointed out.

"Indeed." He smiled.

"What about your favorite food?"

"Macaroni and cheese."

I laughed. "I was expecting some fancy German food, like bratwurst or something."

"That is probably less fancy than macaroni and cheese… Though I often have the two foods together."

"Sausage and macaroni and cheese?"

"It's slightly more grown up than macaroni and hot dogs, and it's rather easy to make."

I smiled. "Favorite drink."

"Orangina."

"You Europeans and your orangina," I muttered. "Favorite pizza topping."

"Sausage, if that wasn't obvious."

"Oh, right. Favorite light fixture?"

"Light fixture?"

"Yeah. You know, like a lamp or a disco ball or something."

"That's certainly not a question I'm asked regularly." He paused for a second. "Christmas lights."

"Lava lamps," I said. "What about your favorite song?"

"You are forcing me to choose my favorite child?"

"Yes."

"The Guitar's Serenade has affected me more than any other song, but I suppose I'm biased in that account."

"Yeah, that one doesn't count."

"Nein, I didn't think so. Achtung, there is one. I don't know if it is my favorite, but it's always reminded me of you."

"What's it called?"

"I want to sing it." He stood up and grabbed a guitar out of his case, settling down next to me.

"So sing it," I urged.

He started playing with a nostalgic smile, one I'd rarely seen but one that I knew very well—him being able to enjoy his past, despite its flaws.

Oh my dear, I'll wait for you

Grace tonight will pull us through

Until the tears have left your eyes

Until your fears can sleep at night

Until the demons that you're scared of

Disappear inside

Until this guilt begins to crack

And this weight falls from your back

Oh my dear, I'll keep you in my arms tonight.

"It's nice… I like it," I said, chin resting on his shoulder, feeling my head bob with my words.

"It is," he agreed. "I've always felt that you would be the one singing it to me, though."

"Maybe." Klavier reached down to place his guitar on the floor, and I kissed him as soon as he sat up. He kissed back, pulling away a few moments later and reaching up to hold me in his arms. "But maybe it's for the both of us," I said.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you all of this earlier."

"No, it's okay."

"I just… I've been objectified far too much, turned into a tool to be used."

"Yeah. I know the feeling. Trust is really, really hard."

"Sometimes I feel as if trust is a matter of 'would they kill me if I were sleeping?' instead of real relationship, ja?"

"And other days, you don't even trust people that much, and you feel like you need pepper spray or something just to walk outside of your house."

"Ja."

"You won't kill me, will you?" I asked, looking into his eyes and smiling. I had a love-hate relationship with his eyes. They were beautiful, but piercing and distracting. I'd get lost looking into them and forget what I'd been saying.

"No. I believe we declared a truce of that sort long ago." Wait… Oh, right. He won't kill me.

"I feel like we're the only couple who could possibly last six months on this sort of foundation."

"Ja, most likely. I do believe that we have a bit more going for us than that, though."

"Mmm. Hopefully." I thought for a moment. "I do trust you, though. That sounds really weird, coming from the guy who accused his good friend of murder not too long ago, but…"

"You need to let that go, mein forehead. That was a year ago."

"I can't. I don't think I trust myself."

"I trust you," he said softly. "And you trust me. So I'm telling you to trust you." When our lips met, we were both smiling, and I could feel the anxiety leave me instantly—it was just me and him, the person I trusted the most.

A minute or so later, the door was kicked open and neither of us really bothered to compromise our positions. "Uh, not another foppish make-out session."

"Hey, Ema," I said, shoving his face away from mine with a hand. "What's your favorite color?"

"Who are you, Buddy the Elf?" she replied.

"Herr Forehead sure is elf-sized, but I thought Buddy was the excepti- ow!" I silenced Klavier with a punch to the stomach, light enough not to leave a mark, but hard enough to hurt.

"I just want to know," I told her.

"Electric blue—the color of a successful luminol test," she said. "It would be particularly fulfilling if it were the fop's blood, but any blood will do."

"She's an angry elf," Klavier joked.

"How do you stand him?" Ema asked.

"I honestly have no idea," I replied.

She sighed. "Your boss sent me after you. He said that he needs the results of the investigation you went on. I'm just going to assume that the fop's mouth isn't the crime scene, but I'm probably wrong."

"What was this investigation?" Klavier asked.

"Well… I couldn't get any work done because I didn't know your favorite color, so he sent me after you."

"You two foppish love birds make me sick," Ema said with a frown. "And did you really need to do an investigation into this? I'd think his favorite color was obvious," she said, pointing at his jacket.

Klavier shot me a don't you dare look, so I smiled. "Yeah, he loves his purple. It supports the gay rock star image, you know?"

Ema rolled her eyes. "I'll see you fops later, hopefully not attatched at the mouth."

"I'm sure you will," I replied. Ema left us alone, and I smiled. "Can't let your personal information leak, can we?"

Klavier grinned. "See, this is why I'm moderately sure I can trust you." He leaned in to kiss me again, and I pushed him away. He frowned.

"Seeing her reminded me that it was snack time. You want to get lunch?"

"Is eating your face not on the menu?" he teased.

"No. I do know a nice café around here that sells some good mac and cheese, though."

"Do they have bagels?" he asked.

"I've already had two of them today."

"And you want more, I can assume."

"See? This is why we've managed to last so long," I said with a smug grin. "It's the little things."

"Little things and bagels," he agreed. "Let's go. My dear, I won't wait for you."

"Not even until the tears have left my eyes?"

"Nein, no more bad jokes. I'm actually quite hungry."

"All right, all right. Bagels."

"Ja. Bagels."

And no paperwork was completed that day.

(A/N: Song belongs to Tenth Avenue North, not me! :D)