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The dress rehearsal of a wedding should be a precursor that what’s to come will be perfect—or at least, that it is meant to be perfect. One would think that at his own wedding’s dress rehearsal, Apollo Justice would have nothing to worry about.
So why is his own fiancé setting off his bracelet?
He hates it: the way Klavier is making his stomach swim each time his “ach, no, it’s nothing,” makes the band of gold tighten around his wrist. He hates that his stomach is swimming to begin with, as if he doesn’t have enough faith and trust in the man he’s decided to marry. (And it took a lot for Apollo Justice to be ready for marriage. Divorce is expensive in two ways, and both his heart and his wallet can’t afford that heartbreak.) So, surely his bracelet is overreacting. Maybe it’s silly to be worried that Klavier is hiding something. It could be a stupid surprise he is planning for their wedding tomorrow. Klavier’s a rockstar; he’s theatrical. He enjoys putting on a show.
Except Klavier knows Apollo hates surprises. He knows how after every sudden disappearance and every sudden betrayal that Apollo Justice doesn’t do surprises. So he wouldn’t.
But if not a surprise, then what is it?
Their rehearsal dinner passes without a hitch. Not that Apollo expected a disaster, per se, but he keeps watching Klavier and fiddling with his bracelet and waiting for… something. But nothing happens. Nothing happens as they set up their dressing rooms, either. (Mostly thanks to Trucy ensuring Apollo doesn’t walk into the wrong one because “geez, you’re so distracted, Polly; pay attention so you don’t get bad luck!”)
When it’s time to practice the ceremony, Apollo’s on edge. He still has no idea why.
At least the sanctuary of the private and small church Apollo preferred and Klavier was kind enough to defer to is lovely. There are some finishing touches to the decorations that will be applied tomorrow morning, Apollo is told, but Klavier was right. Lavender flowers and glittering gold are stunning together.
As Thalassa walks Apollo down the aisle, it occurs to him just how lucky he is to love Klavier. And how lucky he is to love Klavier Gavin tomorrow. And how lucky he is to love Klavier Gavin every day after. They’re just practicing it now: a series of rehearsed motions that ordinarily Apollo would scrunch his nose at—something he has scrunched his nose up in the past at because they don’t need a song and a walk and a kiss to vow their love together. But some part of Apollo is starting to think all of this parade won’t be so bad if only so afterward, he can have the ring and the memories to never forget that for a moment, for a day, their love had been the most important thing in the world.
He stares at Klavier waiting for him at the altar.
And then—his bracelet cinches tight enough around his wrist to hurt.
He is clinging to his mother’s arm as they rehearse one of the most monumental walks of Apollo’s life, and all Apollo can think is: Something’s wrong. I know something’s been wrong this entire time, but now, it’s really wrong. From the distance, he can’t identify the specific tell; is Klavier’s brow crooked? Is his rockstar grin pulled thin? Is it something in his shoulders, or the way he distributes his weight between his feet?
All he knows is the instant Klavier moves, Apollo does, too; nearly a second earlier.
On the right side of the sanctuary, there is a door leading outside. Klavier bursts through. The worried voices of their friends clamor after him as Apollo leaps into the cloudy sunlight, too—right on his heels.
Klavier isn’t crying yet, but he looks as if he is close to it.
His face is flushed; he’s pacing, hands sweeping from his face to his waist, as if they’re unsure what would help him appear the most composed. His breathing is erratic; he’s gulping down air that he believes will soothe his lungs. (It doesn’t.)
He looks up from the asphalt of the parking lot before Apollo can call his name or touch him. But as soon as he looks over Apollo’s shoulder, he spins away.
Apollo hadn’t realized Thalassa had followed them outside until she says, “Prosecutor Ga—Klavier…” She does not step closer than Apollo’s shadow. “I am sorry. Please, tell me to leave if you wish. I understand I may be overstepping or making you uncomfortable—”
“No.” Klavier shakes his head bravely but doesn’t lift his head. He doesn’t turn to face her. “No. After all we’ve been through—after all your kindness… you could never make me uncomfortable. Just… give me a moment.”
Slowly, Thalassa joins Apollo’s side. They share a brief, awkward glance. It’s been months since she told Apollo who she was to him and even now he still doesn’t know how to look at her sometimes.
“Klavier, what’s wrong?” Apollo fists and unfists his hands. He wants to do something to help—touch Klavier’s hand, his shoulder, his elbow—but somehow, maybe because they’ve always had to be wary of paparazzi, they’re both bad about touching each other in front of other people. So Apollo stands there, hands at his sides as he watches the battle rage across Klavier’s face. “And don’t say it’s nothing. We both know you don’t do—” He gestures to the sanctuary. “This doesn’t happen over nothing.”
“It feels as if it should be nothing.”
“It’s okay that it is not.” Thalassa folds her hands in front of her like she used to do when she had been at the witness stand years ago.
Then, and slowly, and finally, Klavier turns to look at her.
“You must be gentle with yourself, Klavier. Weddings are, by nature, emotional events. It is only natural to also find yourself a little emotional about it.”
Klavier runs a hand over his face. Apollo notes there are still no tears yet. “I want to be happier about it—”
And for a moment, for a brief and silly second, there’s a pang in Apollo’s chest. He swallows it down because again, he will trust all these years of hard-earned trust and love in Klavier Gavin that says, He doesn’t mean how it sounds; not like that. I know that.
“I’ve always thought—it sounds shallow when I say it out loud.” After another pause, Klavier adds, “But in every dream I’ve ever had of my own wedding… I think… I’ve always imagined myself being walked down the aisle. And it’s fine that that’s not the case for us. Really, I’m happy with how our ceremony will go. I think it’s—anyway, besides, it’s not like I have anyone to walk with me. I mean, Kristoph is—”
Oh.
“He deserves to be where he is, now,” Klavier says slowly. Tightly. “I know that. And I don’t want a murderer at my wedding. But I do… I suppose some part of me still wants my brother with me. I find myself wishing I could at the very least celebrate the happiest day of my life with him.”
Apollo swallows. “Yeah,” he rasps.
“I think about Daryan and how even though I hate what he’s done, he was still the first person to pop into my head when we talked about our best men. I thought about reaching out to the other Gavinners to see if they might be interested, but we haven’t spoken in years. It hurt to send them just invites when years ago, I would have made them groomsmen.” Klavier runs a hand over his face. “Don’t get me wrong: I am grateful to Simon for taking on the role of my best man. If he hadn’t barged into my office to demand it of me, I don’t think I’d have had the courage to ask him. And I am fortunate to have the incredible people I do have at my side now, but even still.” Klavier sighs, heavy and sad. “I miss… knowing I had people who would walk me down the aisle. Who I once wanted to. I didn’t think I would feel this way, but I… I suppose I do. And I really, really miss them.”
Thalassa says, “Of course you do,” so easily, so kindly, like it’s as obvious as the sky is blue.
A sad smile curls Klavier’s mouth. He closes his eyes and leans forward and drops his head onto Apollo’s shoulder. Without guidance, Apollo’s fingers find their way into Klavier’s hair, idly brushing.
After a moment, Apollo swallows. “It’s not quite the same. But I get the feeling about things being different than you imagined. I… I feel the same way about Clay, y’know.”
Klavier sucks in a breath against Apollo’s shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Klavier’s hair is soft under Apollo’s fingers. “You’re more of a romantic than I am, but I understand how not having people here that you realize you always assumed would be here… makes a lot of things feel different than you wanted them to be.” Apollo takes a deep breath. It’s shakier than he intended. “While he was still here… I don’t know. Maybe I took Clay for granted or something.”
Klavier’s arms wrap around his waist.
“Klavier, if I may…”
Slowly, Klavier straightens up. He peels away from Apollo. Both turn to Thalassa, but her gaze is set on the horizon burning ahead of them with the falling sun. “I had someone whom I genuinely loved, but never had the chance to marry. Instead, I married someone who I cannot claim to have genuinely loved.” When she turns back, there is a bright sheen in her eyes. “Dreams are rarely perfectly realized. But at least you two have each other. And that is still good. Nothing needs to be perfect to at least be good.”
There’s another lesson somewhere here, too, Apollo thinks as Klavier wipes at his face. In the irony that a year ago, Apollo would have never dreamed of someone walking him down an aisle. Weddings were rarely something Apollo entertained with daydreams, but there had been no question that there would be no one to do the courtesy for him because the one guy who perhaps should have left and didn’t come back. (Not until he was already dead.) To have another parent, now—to have a sister, now—it’s a reality Apollo never anticipated.
Klavier sniffs and wipes at his face before reaching for Thalassa’s hands and squeezing them. “On the topic of taking things for granted, let me not do you the same discourtesy, Frau Lamiroir.”
“Klavier…”
The corner of Klavier’s mouth curls. “Let me thank you, won’t you? I need to.”
“You do not need to.”
“I want to.” Klavier clears his throat. “Thank you. Not only for this moment, but for every time you have been kind enough to be a mentor to me over these past several years. I am always reminded that there is so much to learn from you. And I am grateful for that honor.” After a pause, he adds: “And of course, thank you for giving me Apollo, too.”
Thalassa smiles. It is a warm smile, a smile Apollo doesn’t even think he’s seen her direct at him before. “You’re a good man, Klavier. You should know that.”
Klavier sniffs. Thalassa’s thumbs do that motherly thing she does where they rub over the backs of his hands.
There’s another lesson somewhere here, too, Apollo thinks as he looks at their hands; a lesson about how there’s gratitude to be found in how life changes, perhaps. That there’s not just grief.
And something in Apollo’s head finally clicks.
Admittedly, Apollo’s bracelet rests much more comfortably on his wrist than it did yesterday. Admittedly, there’s a lot less tension in Apollo’s shoulders, too, as he stands at the altar and watches Thalassa walk a very, very happy (and very, very handsome) Klavier down the aisle towards him.