(that nervousness is all too visible in apollo's eyes, a hushed gasp slips through his lips as his thoughts were confirmed. not only in klavier's actions, but his words, waxing poetic about how important apollo had become in such a short span of time.

he wanted to argue that. he really did, that he couldn't possibly be that special.

but how klavier stares, no, gazes at him, with eyes that narrow in and make apollo feel as if he's the only one in the world that matters now, that could ever matter to klavier. he's almost overwhelmed in a way, no one has ever praised apollo so openly, given him reason to believe he might actually be important above all else for someone. not since clay, at least.) I... don't think it's strange you asked out someone you just met.

(his eyes don't meet klavier's, too embarrassed and emotional to even think of being able to hold a conversation face to face. his voice is almost a mumble, but with their short distance and emptiness of the rink, klavier could hear him even if his voice was a whisper.) I think it's strange that it's me. I'm not anything special, not compared to the other skaters. They're better skaters, better people, hell, they're just better. Me, I'm just...

(there's a flash of a man with a piercing gaze colder and harsher than any ice, and apollo rubs his arm like just the memory chills him.) I'm average.