Chapter Text
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Klavier’s soulmark comes to him in his sleep. How it happens is poetic, really, since for as long as he can remember, he’s woken up with rhythms and sometimes even lyrics in his head, too. He always wills his sleepy brain to repeat the lyrics or notes until he can record them down, and honestly? He’s gotten at least three hit songs that way, and plenty more unused tunes. So, yeah. Poetic.
What his soulmark actually says though? Not poetic.
Klavier wakes from the burn of the indelible ink etching itself into his skin, not realizing in his sleepy state what’s happening. It hurts a little, but it’s over in less than a minute, and at the end of it he’s got a line of script on the left side of his ribcage, written in block letters. It’s basically impossible to read upside down, or even in the mirror, but after staring at it for, oh, ten minutes, he’s worked it out. The penmanship is honestly the least legible he’s ever seen in his life.
Mr. Gavin? Hey, what about me?!
Once Klavier realizes what it actually says, he’s a bit confused. The words kind of conjure a boisterous personality, but also someone very young. His soulmark has arrived, on average, at a later time in his life than most other people, at the age of twenty-three. (He’d secretly begun to think that he’d be one of those people who wouldn’t get it until their fifties.) Could his soulmate be non-romantic? It’s entirely possible… but, he must admit, a tad disappointing.
But— no. He’d long ago resolved to stop thinking about his soulmark like this— like some end-all, be-all, directional compass for his life. Now that it’s actually here, he can’t renege on that. He has a lot of commitments, a lot that he’s responsible for, and the world doesn’t stop turning just because you get your soulmark.
So Klavier leaves the bathroom. He takes tea with his breakfast and sits at his kitchen nook in the morning sun, blinking away the last of last night’s sleep. By the time he’s finished his eggs and toast, he’s thinking about the tour and when to jump back into prosecuting and— as it should— the matter of his soulmark gets lost in the shuffle.
Apollo’s soulmark is annoying.
First, it’s on his wrist. People mostly conceal their soulmarks these days, just in case. Famous people or rich people, for example, are a bit paranoid about their soulmarks getting made public, for fear of being taken advantage of. Apollo is neither rich nor famous, but he’d still rather keep it private. His love life is his business, thank you very much. He switches his bracelet from his right to his left wrist, though it’s less convenient.
Second, what it actually says is so freaking weird.
Tucked in your corner of the sky
Fall right back into place before the sunrise
He’s given up on trying to guess what the words could mean. After all, the words are so unique that it’s impossible for him not to recognize them whenever they’re finally said to him. There’s a few inferences he can make, of course, and in earlier days when he’d fancied himself an amateur detective, he’d drawn a few conclusions:
1) They’re probably an artist or a poet, what with such flowery language.
2) They’ve got to be pretty bold, to make these the first words they ever speak to him.
3) The handwriting is delicate, letter-perfect cursive, tilted slightly to the right— they’re right-handed.
4) With handwriting like that, they’re obviously conscientious, and probably a perfectionist.
Basically, this person sounds like the complete opposite of him. Whenever he thinks about that, he gets nervous. His soulmate seems confident and put-together. When his soulmate finally meets him, what will they think? He hasn’t ever really worried over what others think, but if this is his soulmate , obviously he wants them to like him. Will they care that he doesn’t own a car? Will they share his passion for law? What if they hate cats? He couldn’t possibly give up Mikeko.
With said cat curled up in his lap, he inches the bracelet off of his wrist to expose the writing there, and stares. It’s been there for a year now, and ever since he received it, he’s felt the weight of first meetings. It’s a constant thorn in his side, the awareness that he could meet his soulmate any day now. He wishes he could just meet them already and move on. He doesn’t like the unknown, and he’s not good at waiting either.
Suddenly, Mikeko stirs. She notices his bracelet off of his wrist, and puts her own paw through. She stares at him calmly, like she understands.
“I wish you were my soulmate, Mikeko,” he says with a smile. He scratches her head.
Mikeko purrs contentedly in response.
Klavier used to think a lot about his soulmark, before this sweeping, adventurous life he stumbled into, before everything.
He was fifteen, just starting at Themis, and meeting so many people for the first time. He wanted his soulmark so badly then, wanted his soulmate to be any of the new faces he was seeing. Everyone was smart and driven and wouldn’t it be great to meet his soulmate early, and have them be in the legal profession too? It’d be perfect, really, and even though historically the average age to get your soulmark is twenty, he’d read books where people had gotten their soulmarks as young as eleven…
But it didn’t come. It didn’t come for— forever, it felt like, and Klavier could only handle so much disappointment. His own disappointment was one thing, to know that the cute redhead or the guy with the nice back muscles wasn’t his soulmate, but it was another to see it mirrored on someone else’s face. When a naive, hopeful classmate came up to him and he could see it in their walk, in their talk— are you the one ?— and then they’d say something, and he’d say something back, and from the hollowing out of their eyes and the little drop of their jaw, he could immediately see that what he’d said were clearly not the words written somewhere on that stranger’s skin. It happened again. And again. And again.
I’m sorry, he remembers wanting to say all of those times, irrationally. Because it wasn’t his fault, was it? It wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just wasn’t “meant to be”, whatever that means. He remembers wanting to comfort the other people somehow, but since he knew the disappointment personally, he also knew that it would fade on its own. The comfort wasn’t his to offer.
And so, slowly, over time, Klavier learned not to expect his soulmark to arrive. History had shown him that waiting with bated breath only led to disappointment, and what was the point in torturing himself?
But now, lying awake in his apartment for the first time in weeks, waiting for sleep to come, Klavier can’t help his overactive brain from picking over these old memories. It’s got to be some kind of sadistic reflex. He needs to stop.
So aside from slapping some athletic tape over his soulmark when he wants to go shirtless, and gracefully dodging questions in interviews, Klavier finally, definitely resolves to not acknowledge his soulmark much at all.
Klavier is in LA for a miraculous 5 days, and he insists on reserving one of those days for Kristoph. They haven’t been close in a long time (not since Klavier was still at the Legal Academy, and especially not since their parents passed) but Klavier has a preternatural feeling that something big is about to happen, and he wants to be around for it.
And he’s not wrong, it does happen— only, it happens to him.
It’s Tuesday, and Klavier has dropped by Kristoph’s downtown office in order to pick him up for dinner. He’s in an inconspicuous rental car, a generic black coupe. The security guards stare confusedly at him as he passes, but immediately pretend not to once he flashes one of them a smile. He takes the elevator up to the floor for Gavin Law Offices, shooting Kristoph a text that I’m here.
The elevator deposits him into a quiet space. It’s surprising how quiet it is— Gavin Law Offices takes up the whole floor. But then again, the whole floor is largely made up of enclosed offices. The only noise in the whole place is coming from one person, and they’re talking loudly to the receptionist.
“—fine! I’m fine. Okay, so— what else should I do?”
“Well, he’s like, obsessed with paperwork, especially for students and new grads. So if you can just like, make a case file efficiently and organize it in a way that makes sense, that’s huge points.” The receptionist seems to be giving a student lawyer tips, though she’s doing it in a much quieter voice. Klavier smiles to himself. New lawyers are always so keen.
Klavier steps forward from the elevator bank and into the lobby, drawing the attention of the receptionist.
“Mr. Gavin! I mean, Mr. Gavinner. I mean—”
Klavier puts up a hand, laughing already. “No harm, no foul, fraulein. How are you on this day?"
The receptionist gulps, and once her voice manifests itself, it sounds absolutely fluttery. "I'm great! How can I help?"
Klavier smiles. "I’m here for my brother. He wouldn’t happen to still be working, would he?” His gaze sweeps the office, as if Kristoph will pop out from behind a potted plant. The man from earlier, the loud one, is standing behind the reception desk in an equally loud suit— it’s tomato red.
To Klavier’s surprise, the man is looking right back. He’s young, just as Klavier expected, with a comically tall hairstyle. When their eyes meet, the other man’s expression shifts infinitesimally: eyebrows jumping up the smallest amount, eyes widening, lips parting a crack. He’s done his best to conceal it, but it’s obvious to Klavier that he’s surprised. Just as he starts to ask what’s so shocking, a cacophony of noise breaks the silence again.
The receptionist, clearly flustered, picks up the office phone and knocks it out of its cradle completely. She makes a strangled sort of noise, which alarms Klavier. “Ah, are you alright?” he asks.
On closer inspection, he can see that she’s blushing profusely. “Y-Yes! I’m fine!” she exclaims.
“Brother, you’re causing a ruckus already, I see.”
And all of a sudden (as if from behind a potted plant) Kristoph appears to the right. And— Klavier holds back a grin— his hair… hm.
“Hello, Kris. You’ve wrapped up your day?” Klavier says with a little smile, making sure to look extra hard at Kristoph’s hair, which is looped over his left shoulder.
Kristoph raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “I am nothing if not timely,” he says by way of answer. “Can I trust you to wait here without causing another ruckus? I need to get my things.”
Klavier puts a hand over his chest. “I am nothing if not ruckus-averse,” he teases back.
Kristoph raises both eyebrows now for an incredulous look, but turns on his heel anyway, leaving for his office. “Apollo, please go home. You’ve already been here for ten hours,” he calls back over his shoulder, presumably at the newbie attorney.
Klavier slides his gaze over to the lawyer, who is now red-faced. “I-It’s more like nine and a half,” he says, though not loud enough for Kristoph to have heard. Although he’s said it quietly, Klavier doesn’t miss that it’s a defiant thing to say, especially for a fresh-faced attorney, and especially in response to someone with as fearsome a reputation as his brother has. And yet, Kristoph’s comment is clearly only showing concern for the young man...
Apollo, was it? As in, the god of the sun, archery, music... and of truth? Klavier wants to laugh— his parents were being pretty heavy-handed, weren’t they? Though Klavier doesn’t exactly have room to criticize. (His own name is blatantly musical, and look what he does now.) He opens his mouth with the idea of giving the young attorney tips to handle Kristoph’s… demeanour, but—
“Let’s go,” Kristoph says, suitcase in hand. Geez, he’s fast. He’s already punched the elevator button, too.
“Right,” Klavier responds, right as the elevator dings.
“Have a good evening, Mr. Gavins!” the receptionist calls, right as the doors close. The last glimpse he gets of the lobby, from between the closing elevator doors, is of the new lawyer. That’s a suit—and a distinctive personality—he won’t soon forget. Klavier laughs a little under his breath.
Kristoph does his Kristoph equivalent of rolling his eyes, which is crossing his arms and staring into the middle distance. “You’re enjoying yourself far too much.”
Klavier only laughs more. “I didn’t realize such a thing was possible,” he fires back quickly. They reach the ground floor with a ding! and stride out of the elevator together. The security guards stiffen. Kristoph nods at them both, while Klavier gives them an easy-going salute. (Their reactions don’t faze Klavier— he’s gotten used to Kristoph intimidating everyone around them since they were young. It’s kind of nice— Kristoph takes the role of Ice King while Klavier gets to be the Sunshine Prince.) Luckily, Klavier has secured an excellent parking spot, so the walk is short.
“Hedonist,” Kristoph accuses once he sees the rental car.
Klavier shrugs and pulls the keys out of his pocket. The list price of the rental car isn’t half as expensive as Klavier’s actual car, but he doesn’t mention that. “Life is for living,” he says breezily. Though Klavier is the picture of ease and wit the vast majority of the time, Kristoph’s attitude is slowly starting to grate on his nerves. But the night is young, and he won’t be beat. His resolve deepens— he will make this evening an enjoyable one.
“I see that you’ve taken styling tips from me, Kris,” Klavier says once they’re seated in the car. He whips the rearview mirror over to Kristoph, forcing him to look at himself.
Kristoph ducks his head and pushes the bridge of his glasses up his nose. “I didn’t realize you had this hairstyle trademarked.”
Klavier just repositions the rearview mirror. He starts the engine, and the car rumbles noisily to life. He’ll give Kristoph a little taste of his so-called hedonistic lifestyle by breaking the sound barrier on the way to the restaurant. He smirks a little as he says, “Remind me to let you review the paperwork after dinner.”
There’s a new face at the office and— Apollo gulps— it’s an undeniably handsome one.
He’s a summer student, due to start his last year in the fall, from what Apollo’s heard. His laugh from across the meeting room is loud and genuine, and his smile is wide. His hair is a deep brown with subtle highlights, cascading in shiny waves over his shoulders. Apollo’s had a handful of crushes in his life, but this might be the fastest developing one ever.
He laughs at a joke Makoto, the receptionist, tells. As he laughs, his eyes land near Apollo, and Apollo freezes like a deer in headlights. He’s too aware of the student, and it shows!
Darting his gaze quickly away, Apollo takes a huge bite of his sandwich and recommits his attention to his phone. Clay texted him, and he should respond. He fiddles with his phone for a moment.
(… Maybe he isn't looking now.)
He looks back over, and sure enough, the summer student is talking to Makoto again. His eyes are dark and sparkly, and they light up while he listens to Makoto.
They haven’t spoken yet. Is there a chance that the student could be his soulmate…? In what kind of situation could he possibly say those words?
He starts to think of scenarios. It could be poetry. If he’s ever reading something that’s not an article, Apollo will ask what he’s reading. Or what if it’s something completely different— like evidence from a case? They might have to construct case files together, since they’re both new…
He’s lost in daydreams before he knows it. And unfortunately for his keyboard, the thing that brings his attention back to the office is dressing-covered lettuce falling out of his sandwich. Crap.
“Apollo?” Makoto asks, staring confusedly. “What are you doing?” The summer student is, of course, looking over as well. Double crap.
“I-I’m fine!” he shouts back, before realizing that he shouted at all. The summer student looks taken aback.
Apollo turns to his keyboard and starts cleaning it, determinedly keeping his gaze fixed in front of him. Great. Now he’s the Messy Sandwich Guy.
Klavier wakes up with a song in his head, and it’s not one he’s ever heard before.
He drags himself out of his warm bed and into his home studio. It’s really an extra bedroom that he repurposed for recording, installing sound dampeners in the floor so as to not disturb his downstairs neighbour. (As for his upstairs neighbours: the birds don’t mind. Perks of a penthouse.)
Usually his music takes on a rock edge when it’s transposed from his brain and through his guitar, but this tune wants something more mellow. He strums the chords out, a simple progression that he’ll underscore with drums and echo with keyboard. Klavier lets his eyes slip shut, lets the music carry him away. He wants something cosmic, something… ethereal, godly, even. The lyrics are on the tip of his tongue— it starts in the skies and weaves through the stars and briefly alights on the surface of the earth—
Apollo.
Klavier’s breath catches.
And then, as if the god of music and the sun and truth has blessed Klavier himself, the first two lines are in his brain.
“Anything else before we break?” Donovan, their keyboardist, addresses the group. It’s their first of two shows in LA tonight, and they always have a brief team meeting before each show. They have about an hour before it’s all systems go, and for a stadium as large as this one, the crew is huge. The opening act is nearly all set up, but Klavier can hear them arguing through the wall. They’re even younger than The Gavinners, mere teenagers, and the pressure of touring must be getting to them.
With that in mind, Klavier brings up calmly, “I actually have something in mind for the set list.”
The other three members collectively pivot to face him. “Wait, really, Klav?” Donovan asks, right as Blanco, their drummer, says, “What! No way!”
Daryan articulates everyone’s feelings by saying, “Klav, that’s great, man! You’ve had writer’s block for what, like… three months?”
Klavier nods. It’s easy to forget, being as busy as he is, but it’s true. The wellsprings of his creativity had been drying up there for a little while. “Yeah. Do you think they’ll let me trial it?”
Daryan is honest. “Probably not tonight, man. Gotta give the techs a little more heads up. Y’know us though, we’re cool with whatever. Y’sure ya don’t wanna save it, polish it up for the studio?”
Klavier shrugs. He wrote the song in a fit of inspiration just this afternoon, and although he knows it’s good, Daryan has a point— there really isn’t time to set up for this new song, even if it’s way more stripped down than their usual stuff. “It’s pretty different, to be honest. I just wanted to test the waters. Would you like a listen?”
“Hell yeah!” Blanco says. He leans in immediately.
Donovan smiles and nods. “I’ve missed your other stuff, Klav.”
That leaves Daryan, who shoots him an incredulous look. “What, ya need approval? Of course I wanna hear! Get to it, Pianoman!”
Klavier laughs, feeling lucky to have such supportive bandmates. They are friends, first and foremost, and have always been. He just gets so… flooded sometimes that he forgets that they’ll always have his back. He grabs his electric guitar and starts to strum.
The lyrics came to him over the course of a few hours, but the tune seemed to flow so naturally that he had to rush to get it recorded before he forgot. In his sleep, the song played effortlessly, beautifully, as if there were no earthly instruments that could produce those sounds. His transposition is a mere try at that— but to his credit, he gets pretty close.
Klavier plays on. When he closes his eyes, he sends himself far away from the city, somewhere you can see the stars. The light in the sky is fading, giving way to dusk, and then he’s zooming up, up, up into the stratosphere. It’s him and the night sky, just him at first, and then suddenly, he knows he’s not alone. He whips around in midair, his senses telling him that it’s—
Apollo. The god of music, of archery. He’s holding a bow of glimmering gold, and in the darkness of the night, he shines like the sun he represents.
Klavier goes on singing, the words sliding effortlessly from between his lips.
Apollo nods, as if he approves of the music. Then he speaks—
“It’s more like nine and a half.”
Klavier strikes the wrong chord.
He stops.
And opens his eyes.
The whole room seems to take a collective breath at the same time. He didn’t finish the song, but his concentration is broken now, and they seem to know it. What in the world just happened?
(Apollo?)
Donovan is the first to speak. “Holy shit, Klav.”
“You gotta play that tomorrow night,” Blanco says, his voice still muted from awe. It sounds like he’s resurfacing from a deep sleep, almost. Klavier feels the same.
“We gotta play it,” Daryan affirms, then amends— “If you’ll let us, Klav.”
Klavier blinks himself out of his daydream, setting aside his confusion for later. He looks up from his guitar at them all. “Of course. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Yeh- hes!” Blanco whoops, clapping his hands. “A new hit for The Gavinners!”
“I’ll send the crew a demo, and I’m sure they’ll make it work for tomorrow night,” Klavier tells them all, secretly more than pleased that everyone likes the song. It’s horribly cheesy, but it feels like a validation of… his soul.
A hearty slap lands on his shoulder. He looks over, and it’s Daryan.
“Nice one, Pianoman.”
Klavier smiles.
Apollo doesn’t know why he’s here.
“Why am I here?” he all but shouts into Makoto’s ear. The stadium is absolutely packed, and they’re moving slowly through the crowd to find their seats right across from centre stage. Makoto did not tell him ahead of time that the music would be so… loud, and he’s struggling to hear himself, much less to catch a reply from her.
Makoto has a tight hold on his wrist, and he’s reluctantly gripping hers in return. He knows the exact point on the underside of his wrist where his soulmark is, and her fingers are squarely on top of it, his bracelet having inched up his arm to expose it. It feels strange to let someone else touch his soulmark, and the childish part of him wants to squirm away. But he knows that it’s better that they don’t lose each other.
“Because Kiara was busy tonight! Though honestly, I don’t know how she could pass up tickets to The Gavinners for some stupid first date—”
“So I’m your back-up?!” Apollo exclaims, not even concealing his distress. He could be home with Mikeko right now, starting his weekend off with a relaxing activity instead? He was given the impression that his attendance was tantamount.
Makoto, oblivious to Apollo’s internal crisis, stops walking and double checks the tickets in her hand. “Our seats are here!” she says loudly, over the opening act. They’re much too loud. He’s going to get hearing loss like this.
“You didn’t answer,” he insists. He’s glad to sit down though, because it means that Makoto can stop touching his soulmark. He subtly pulls his wrist away and turns his torso toward the stage.
Makoto turns to him like he’s a completely ungrateful brat, which in her eyes, he is. “You’re here because Klavier Gavin gave these tickets to me, and I was not going to come here alone, and because we met him at the same time!”
Apollo blinks, more than a little confused. “Who? Why?”
A faint blush rises on her cheeks. “You know, the boss’ brother! Klavier Gavin! And… I might have… telegraphed that I’m a fan,” she says honestly.
Apollo winces just as the opening act unleashes a loud crashing noise. Was that supposed to be music? “If they’re anything like the opening act, I can’t see why you would be,” Apollo snarks, upset over the state of his eardrums.
Makoto only frowns at him and gestures around them. The stadium is clearly sold out, and there’s got to be thousands— if not, tens of thousands— of people packed in here. But nothing can rain on her parade, it seems, not even Apollo’s cynicism. She’s quick to switch over to a little half-smile. “The Gavinners are really good! Me and the whole population of LA think so! Now, stop being such a wet blanket!”
And Apollo has to concede that he’s been a bit of a downer, so he laughs at her joke and promptly shuts up, trying to bob along to the racket that the opening act is generating. Is he that much of a wet blanket?
When The Gavinners finally do come on stage, the fervor increases ten-fold. Despite Apollo’s earlier decision to not be so negative, it’s almost as if he can feel something inside him physically wilt at the band’s storytelling and banter, and how the crowd falls for it hook, line and sinker. From their excellent seats, Apollo can see the bands’ expressions clearly, and the smirks and easy smiles just scream of self-satisfaction. They’re all confident to the point of being cocky, and it’s grating.
“Washroom,” Apollo tells Makoto, not waiting for a response and instead ducking quickly out of their row and down the aisle toward the men’s room. He doesn’t even need to go, he just needs to regain some patience. Those guys are the exact kind of people that Apollo can’t stand— everything handed to them so easily, everyone celebrating the tiniest things about them, and of course, most annoying of all— them all clearly thinking that they deserve it.
He realizes abruptly— and with a sigh— that he’s being the exact sourpuss that Makoto thinks he is. So, after splashing some water on his face, Apollo finally decides to brave the concert again. They must be doing an introduction for a song—he can’t hear any music through the walls.
When he walks back into the stadium, he finds that he was right. Klavier Gavin himself is speaking, and Apollo finds himself spitefully wondering how real the German accent is.
“— new. Something unreleased as of yet. We’ll call it a test drive, ja?”
“We think it’s the perfect wind-down,” another band member says. Apollo has just started weaving through his row. The band plays an intro that sounds very different from their rock stuff. In fact, as the song goes on, Apollo thinks that it’s downright… cosmic.
Klavier Gavin is behind the mic, as he has been for the whole night as their main singer. Apollo grudgingly admits that he has a good voice, that it is definitely Klavier’s best instrument, even over the guitar. Apollo says a quick hey to Makoto to let him know that he’s back, and she’s saying hi back, and he nearly, almost, just about misses the opening lines—
Tucked in your corner of the sky
Fall right back into place before the sunrise
Apollo’s eyes widen so much that he’s surprised his eyeballs don’t fall right out of his head. He whips his gaze around lightning-quick to look at Klavier Gavin, but the lead singer is (what else did Apollo expect?) crooning away, delivering the next lines with a voice like butter. His eyes are closed, and he’s seated with his guitar in his hands, skillfully plucking out chords. He looks serene, like the music is flowing gently out of him and into the air. Apollo can see that next to him, Makoto is captivated. Everyone is, it seems.
His brain goes into doubletime.
Those are my words. That’s my soulmark! He screams internally at himself, over and over. He can’t even listen properly to the rest of the song. A million questions and possibilities are flitting through his mind. My words are song lyrics! They’re… they’re Gavinners lyrics! Does that mean that Klavier Gavin is… But no! He didn’t say them to me! So, does that mean that my soulmate is a Gavinners fan? That has to be it.
The song, Apollo reluctantly admits, is beautiful—what he can hear of it, anyway. He’s still abuzz with excitement over his soulmark discovery, and it’s taken over the vast majority of his brain function. It occurs to him that maybe he should learn the name of the song, so he focuses once more on the stage when the song begins to wrap.
The lights shine brightly onto Klavier Gavin. They shine so bright that he absently wonders how the singer isn’t blinded completely. There’s no hiding from light this strong. His fingers play out the last chords, and then—
The lights go out, and the stage is covered in darkness. Apollo feels his heart beat wildly. He’s not so fond of the dark.
The applause is instant. Cheers erupt from a thousand throats, people clap and stomp and propose. The girl on the other side of Makoto actually screams marry me, Klavier! Apollo still doesn’t get the appeal, but the song was pretty nice.
Finally, the lights come back on and the band is fully decked out, some even switching their instruments out for flashier iterations. They’re basically all shirtless except for Klavier Gavin, who isn’t leaving much to the imagination either in a very tight tank.
“Ya didn’t think that was it, didja?” the one with big hair hollers. The screaming seems to double in response. Apollo readies himself for more rock—which is to say, he subtly tries to cover his ears and focus instead on the song he just heard. There’s a lot of musical crashing, but he succeeds for the most part, and soon The Gavinners are bounding off of the stage.
So, after the encore and the stampede of bodies leaving the stadium, after he and Makoto say their goodbyes and see you laters, after trudging up his apartment stairs because the elevator is broken and then making instant ramen, Apollo collapses onto his couch. He slips his bracelet off and turns the underside of his wrist over. He reads his soulmark for what must be the hundredth time, and runs a thumb back and forth over the permanent ink.
As he reads the words, he hears Klavier Gavin’s voice delivering the lyrics pitch-perfectly, melodically, soulfully. Even though the guy might annoy him, Apollo can’t deny his talent. It’s obvious that this song belongs to him from the way he sings it. It’s a little weird to have his soulmark actually be the words to a Klavier Gavin song, but then again… maybe it’s not. It’s still beautiful, after all.
It runs through his mind again, just the way Klavier Gavin sang it, every little inflection.
Tucked in your corner of the sky
Fall right back into place before the sunrise
Apollo commits the tune to memory, singing it over and over again to himself until he falls asleep, right there on his couch.
.
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.
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